Words for the boys, I've loved. Loved enough to hurt.

Words for the boys, I've loved. Loved enough to hurt.

1. I've never forgotten all of the firsts that you and I shared. The moments, the times, the depravity, the sensuality. I'll never forget that you handed me your heart. as I shared mine. I'll never forget the look in your eyes as we twisted your heart to make it hurt, the pain, the release, the love. I'll never forget how together for so many years, we enabled each other to be the person we were, the person we needed to be, the person we are. I'll never forget all that you gave, all that you took. I'll never forget what might have been, what could have been, but was never meant to be. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget.

2. We were connected you and I, in a way that surprised us both, with a connection that kept bringing us back over so many years, even though we knew that it wasn't meant to be.  I remember the tears that fell as a result of the spanking, the paddle or the twisting of the heart. But most of all, I remember the tears that fell the day that we had to walk away, the tears that came with the final goodbye. I'll always remember that pain, a pain like no other. I'll always remember you. 

3. You're included here because I loved you enough to hurt you, the reality is that love wasn't enough. While we did so much more than fuck, you fucked it up. There's nothing else to be said.

4. Oh god. I remember the beauty of your submission.  I remember your touch, your presence, your worship.  I remember your mouth against my toes, my skin, my cunt.  I remember the hours that passed as we talked through the night, of how determined you were to never fall asleep before I, the insomniac. I remember the emotional gifts that you gave to me, the way you permitted me to leave my mark upon your skin, the way you put your life into my hands as I took the breath away from your body.  I remember your acceptance of your place within my life, as I accepted your need to submit as a cuckold boy. I can still hear you beg for me to hurt you. I can still see the hurt and pain in your eyes that filled with love, as your tears fell, while you watched he and I fuck. I can still hear you gag the first time you took his cock into your mouth after it had come from inside of me. I can still hear the words "I'm yours", the sound of your voice, the touch of your hands, the beauty of you as you lay broken at my feet and still wanted more. I can still remember the depths of your submissive self. I can remember the love you had, the love you showed, the love we shared. 

5. It infected you. It affected us. A darkness that infiltrated every pore of your being, that led you to wanting to feel pain because it was the only way you could feel. The only time you could physically feel. Emotionally feel. If love or pain was enough to have saved you, you never would have died. I will carry you with me, always.  You were the last I truly loved enough to hurt. But your going left a pain that remains with me still.  My heart carried a love for you then, it will carry it for you always. 

Craved

A desire burns, a body trembles with a deep need as yet unsated.  A simple touch creates a hunger that isn't satisfied.  I want to place my hands on you, tearing at your skin with my nails, I want to feel your body against my own, dampness of burning skin sliding against the other as I feel your strength from your body as I pull you closer.

The beast unleashed, let free from its cage, as you beg and plead to be taken, to be broken, to bleed, to cry.  And the pleadings only serve to increase the need to hurt you more, to enshroud us in a depraved darkness as it covers us and we are swept away in the licentious moment in time, becoming one in the erratic beat of passion and desire that sounds out within the room.  

Irregular and ragged breath that you take, a beating heart pounding to its own cadence.  Body so tight that it cannot take in its breath, lungs screaming for air and life.  Eyes wide and glazed with a fire burning deep within.  Butterflies fluttering, juices dampening soft and silky thighs.  The darkness unleashes a beast, a primal woman, that sees the need burning deep within you.

Hair gripped in hand, shoving you to the ground, raising your face with one hand as the other snaps against your cheek, head spinning, falling deeper into a place where nothing exists but that moment, and you and I.  Dragging you across the floor, skin scraping on the bare floor, a cacophony of moans and groans escaping your engorged lips.  Thrown to the floor, being held with my heel from my shoe, I reach for the belt that is hung over the door.  The smell of leather permeates the air, wafted under your nose to excite you further.

The sounds of your scream echo in the silence, as your body shakes uncontrollably, the sense of power courses from the leather up through my arm, crashing down through my body in a never ending spiral. There is urgency, heat and passion, harshness and cruelty, as the leather beats at your skin, as your screams tear me apart, ripping me open, baring the beast that has been caged inside for so long.

Sensations take hold, your choking from my foot against your neck, the harshness of the leather against your reddened skin.  As I reach down to take you in my arms, my palms coming down against the soft flesh of the cheeks of your ass, exploring, probing, until they find where they want to go.  Your body shaking and yet soaring with the stimulation of my fingers and my breath against your neck as I whisper into your ear.  The screams that escape your mouth as I push in deeper, the screams that continue to excite the beast, primal cravings as I take you in my hand, deep gutteral utterances escaping your lips, as you are taken. 

Used. Ripped. Assaulted. Broken.

And yet, it was embraced, welcomed, needed.

Craved.

Beast

I don't  want to touch you with gentle hands

Or talk to your with a soft gentle voice.

I don't want to look at you with softness or love.

I want you to see my darkness. To pull you into

the dark and depraved. I want you to feel the desires

that engulf me, overwhelm me, that fills my veins.

The ones that exist in the darkest corners of my psyche.

I want to strip you bare. Taking down the walls that keep you safe.

I want you to feel what I do; as I do. Battling against a

darkness and desire that takes you down to the lowest of places.

I want to rape your body, to rape your mind.

To hurt your heart with cruel words that squeeze it

with their harshness. I want my hands to tear at your your body,

raking nails over the softness of your naked flesh.

Taking you, hurting you, marking you right through to

the depths of you, through to your soul.

I want you to feel the beast that lives inside of me, to see it,

feel it, crave it. Love it. To open the door of its cage,

to set it free, so that it can be unleashed upon you.

You opening the door to be a willing victim. A victim,

to be taken, broken. And yet still beg for more.

Need...

"I close my eyes, inhale, and feel a rush of heat and energy that takes my breath away. It is the feeling of wanting something so much that it borders on an actual need, and the power and urgency of this need overwhelms me.”

… Emily Griffin, Love the One You’re With

And it is. And it does.

Belt

She didn't have to say a word, the look from her eyes said it all.  The way her hand held the belt made him shiver.

It had been a while since he had last felt the touch of leather, the mark was one he had worn for days and the memory even now made the sense of fear build in the pit of his stomach, he moved his legs as he felt himself begin to harden.

His mouth was dry, he couldn't speak, his lips parting to utter the words except nothing could come out.

She moved slowly towards him, her eyes not leaving his for one moment.

She reached down, feeling his hardness inside the black silk panties she had left for him to wear.  He couldn't even groan, but the desire within his eyes said more than enough.

She leant forward, kissing him deeply, her hand fisting in his hair bringing him closer.  As she stepped back, she placed the belt in front of his lowered eyes.

He kissed it.

He knew what was coming next.






*where my thoughts were today*

Mine

I remember the first time, as if it were yesterday.  I remember not knowing what to expect, not knowing how it would be, the sense of fear so overwhelming I could hardly breathe.

I remember you took my breath away.

I remember how it felt to be there, with you, to place myself into your hands with a level of trust so deep; I had never felt so scared yet so safe all at once.

I remember the first time you touched me and the sensations it sent right through my body.  I remember looking into your eyes and the look going straight between my legs.

I remember the way it felt when you covered my eyes with your hands, plunging me into a darkness that only served to heighten my other senses, before you carefully placed the mask over my head.

I remember the anticipation I felt as I was there knelt before you. The fear, the arousal, the sense and the fear of the unknown and of you.  I remember you leaning over me, whispering in my ear, telling me that you were going to hurt me. 

I remember how those few words made me feel. But more than that, I remember how every moment of the first time made me feel.

I remember the way it felt as it made contact with my skin, I remember the electricity that passed through my body as I cried out from the pain that you caused with the cane that you used so expertly.

I remember the way it felt as the initial shock melted away within my body, the feelings spreading through my body like ripples on a lake, as it sent me cascading over the edge like a waterfall over a cliff.

I remember the way it felt as you covered me with your body, holding me close, letting me know that you were going to do it again.  I remember the way that you took my face in your hands, bringing my eyes up to meet your own and the way that I could see deep within you, the longing, the desire deep from within your soul.  I remember crying out as the pain seared through my skin and into the depths of my body.  I remember the gasps that left my mouth, the groan that escaped from my throat, I remember the tears as they quietly poured over my cheeks and onto the pillow beneath me.

I remember how it felt, when you reached down and touched me, my own wetness betraying the arousal of my body, of how sensitive my skin was to touch; to your touch. I remember your touch, the way your fingers felt against my skin, how your nails felt as they gently traced a pattern over my shoulders and down my back.  I remember the burning pain as your nails broke my skin as your other hand reached up and twisted my hair in your fist. I remember the pain searing through my head as you dragged me to my knees by my hair.

I remember how it felt when you touched me gently, with love and tenderness.  The insatiable look within your eyes as your beast prowled within, showing me that you had only just started; that you wanted to hurt me so much more.  I remember how it felt when you hit me, slapped me, bruised me, the sting of the leather as it made contact with my thighs; my ass and my breasts.

I remember as I began to float outside of my body, watching you hurting me.  Watching myself lost to the moment of exquisite pain.  I remember the marks covering my skin, the welts from your cane, the hand shaped bruise on the cheeks of my ass and the marks of the crop in little patterns over my thighs.  I remember the taste of blood from the cut on my lip, the way my cheeks stung from the intensity of your slaps.

I remember the marks around my wrist from the rope you had tied me with, the redness and soreness from where I had fought against those ties, trying to escape from your brutality.  I remember the way my legs ached from being restrained by the bar, which had pushed them open wider than was naturally comfortable.

I remember you holding me, the way it felt when you stroked my hair as I curled up in a ball shaking and shivering while my body and mind desperately fought to reconnect.  I remember begging you, pleading with you, screaming at you, then thanking you.

I remember being before you, in front of you, knelt before you. I remember your arms holding me up as my legs crumbled beneath me, the way my body shivered at your touch.  I remember your voice, the names that you called me as I hated you, despised you, being angry at you. I remember wanting you, needing you, feeling you, loving you.

I remember the taste of you, the smell of you, the intensity of your touch.  I remember your desire, your arousal, your need as you took what you wanted, what you needed, however you needed.

I remember through the pain and the tears, through the way that you had broken me, that I told you that I loved you.

I remember you shouting "MINE".

Lovingly broken.

A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, gently rolling down his cheek before hitting the table to which he was tightly restrained.  His chest began to heave as the single tear turned into a gentle flow, a puddle of tears forming on the wood beneath him.

She didn't stop.

The solid oak paddle that he had presented to her only a short while ago, continued to make heavy contact with his naked cheeks, a sharp intake of breath each time the wood made contact with his reddened skin.  His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with the force of the grip as he held on to take the pain that she was inflicting upon him.

But even though it hurt him beyond words, even though he was almost broken, he knew that it was nothing less than he had deserved.  He had unleased the beast, and in turn had been restrained against the table, slumping against the wood which was keeping him in the position, his naked ass at just the right height to take the blows that were regularly making contact with him.

She wasn't angry.  But disappointed.  The evening was supposed to have been a special one, and he had ruined it.  Unintentionally it would seem, but he knew straight away that he would regret what he had said.

And he was. Regretting it.

Regretting it in a way he normally wouldn't, but he had unleashed the beast and in doing so, he was almost broken.

His tears continued to fall.  His sobs could be heard between each contact the paddle made with his skin.  His beggings fell on deaf ears.  His pleadings and screams doing so also.  Her arm ached from the repetitive movement of bringing the paddle down upon him.

He was slumped over the table, his sobs clearly audible, the tears falling in a constant stream.

He was broken.  But beatifully so.

And she knew that he had learned his lesson.

She placed the paddle on the table next to him, and wiped the tears that were falling from his eyes.  His hair was matted with sweat, tears and snot. His ass was already turning purple and black from the bruises that were making their way to the surface.  As she released him from his restraints, his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. 

His breathing was erratic, his sobs had eased although tears still fell. But he was done screaming and pleading. 

"I'm sorry."
"I'm so sorry." he had whispered.

"I'm glad to hear it." she replied.

"It's over. It's done." she said to him as she slowly lifted him up from the floor, taking him into her arms.  And as he gripped her arms tightly, and rested his head against her chest, his broken self sobbed, his chest heaving, and she felt the tears making contact with her skin as she continued to hold him, stroking his hair.

Her arm ached.  And she could see that she had gone to a level she had not taken him before.

He was broken.  Yet beautifully so.

As he turned his face up to look at her, she kissed him gently.  She knew that she had come close to going too far as she looked at him, the pain he was feeling clear from the look in his eyes, but she also knew how to control the beast even when it was unleashed.

"I'm sorry." he whispered hoarsely. "I disobeyed and broke the rule.  I am sorry.  God it hurts."

"It's supposed to. That's the point" she replied and she held him, stroking him, bringing him in close. 

"It's over. It's done." She repeated to him.

"Thank you." he whispered back as he moved his broken body in closer to her arms, drinking in its warmth and comfort.  Comforting himself in arms that had inflicted such pain upon him.  Knowing that she loved him despite hurting him.  Knowing that with every contact of the paddle that it had been done with love. 

But she had hurt him.  Broken him.

He knew that.

But she loved him.  She cherished him.

He knew that too.

He

intrigued me.

He still does.

It is quite rare, that someone touches the part of me that leads to a desire to dominate another.  Although naturally dominant, it doesn't automatically mean that I have a want or a desire within me to dominate everyone.  In reality, that desire is touched so infrequently, so rarely, that when it is touched, when it is aroused, it is quite exceptional.

It is even more unusual that someone not only touches that part of me, but also unleashes the sadistic need too, that makes me want to hurt them just as much as control them or feel for them.

But he affects that part of me, it is as if he reaches inside, caressing it, stimulating it, unleashing that innermost desire that lies within. And in turn, he unleashes the beast that paces back and forth waiting to be set free.

He arouses that part of my need, inspiring it, stirring it awake, something not many often do.  My inner self, reciprocates to the wonderful depths of his own submissiveness that to me, flows gently, willingly and unhindered out of his every pore.

He is open and honest, genuine and simple.  He is straightforward, emotionally open and rather sweet. And yet I know that there is so much more that lies within, that exists within the dark.

He makes me smile. He makes me laugh.

Talking freely about so many things, the weather, the day, and the darkest desires of the night.  He opens his mind and shares it with me.  His heart is opening in the same way, without extortion or coersion. He shares his words, his thoughts and his feelings. His weaknesses, his worries and his fears.  He shares his spirit with a gentle intelligence.

He blushes when I ask him things, yet not shying away from things for which he has been judged. His eyes slowly falling away; shyness, and humilation a powerful combination.  

He is like a pet.  He purrs like a cat, deep sighs of contentment as I touch his hair, his face, or deep inside. 

He simply smiles when I call him by the name I have given him, his eyes saying so much more than his lips are able to at times.

I've named him Moog.

Pain in the office. . . .

 I've only been back at work two days since the Christmas break which thankfully gives me all the time off from the day before Christmas Eve to when the schools return, which was for us, yesterday. 

But by god, it can be such a place of frustration.

One guy who every year comes out with his "vision" for the companies for the next year, who just has no concept of the financial situations and limitations which are going to be even harder this year than last.

One guy who just has an innate need to creep and brown-nose, and who seriously, gets right up mine! He never ceases not even when it doesn't get him anywhere.

There are bonuses of being the boss at work, for me I couldn't have it any other way, (it's a control thing lol) but at times it would be so much easier if we could kick some ass, whip them into shape, quite literally. Life would just be . . .so much easier!

But today, with frustration at an all time high, while I was sorting through the paperwork piled up on the desk from my Christmas Break all held together with clips, "the beast" was unleashed.

An increasing desire to hurt, to inflict the pain, to find the release that doing such brings . . .a shame it couldn't be that way in the work place.  Because I could seriously have put those clips to very good work today!!!

Excitement ~ the acts or the response?

"My experience with other "dominant" women is that, frequently, they only act dominant, and are excited not by the dominant acts themselves, but by the excitement given off by a submissive man in their life." The Lazy Domme's Guide.

A couple of weeks ago when I was browsing through various blogs and I came across the above writing which was made within a blog by Lazy Domme.  It was referring to the fact that in the writer's experience many dominant women often aren't excited by the dominant acts themselves but by the responses and the excitement that stems from the submissive man in their life.

The author goes on to write within the blog about how to change that and how to make it more exciting for women ~ it is a blog which certainly struck a chord with me for many reasons, one I enjoyed reading and one certainly worth checking out!  But the comment I've quoted above was one that kinda stuck with me.

It stood out.

It certainly got me thinking (and I love comments and words that do that!)

I think it stood out, because for me, it couldn't be further from the truth, the fact that I personally get so much from the dominant acts.  But also maybe it stuck because I cannot imagine anything worse than just having to do things "just because" and not getting any pleasure or enjoyment out of it. 

For me, I am totally excited by the dominant acts.

I am totally excited by the acts of sadism. 

Because if I wasn't excited by them, if I didn't enjoy them, I wouldn't be doing them.

Why would I want to do something that I didn't like or enjoy?

The quthor went on to comment that she felt that many dominant women are getting a raw end of a deal, by not getting pleasure out of the acts themselves. And yes, perhaps it is a raw deal.

Of course, there will always be people who are doing just that.  Just as there are those who "submit" just to please their more dominant partner.  Just like there are those in an FLR where the woman doesn't truly want to lead the relationship but are "guided" by the submissive.  There will be people who will get a raw deal. People who will do things just to please and not because it meets their wants or desires.

There are times when I will choose to do things because it is something that the submissive may like or enjoy, but I still get something from it, I must still like or enjoy what I am doing or going to do.  I believe that both peoples needs are important and need to be met, regardless of the dynamic, but, if I didn't want to do something, if I didn't like it. I wouldn't do it.  I wouldn't do something just because someone "expected" it or "demanded" it.

As a dominant female I do the things that I want to, that I enjoy, that I get something from or out of.

If I don't; I don't do it.  It is quite simple really.  No raw deal.

But, while I get excited by the act, of course I get excited and enjoy his feelings, his reactions, his own excitement. It really is a combination, not only of the dominant acts, or the submissve acts, but also about the end result. The feelings it creates for both, the things it brings in emotionally, physically or psychologically, both to the submissive and also to myself.

They go hand in hand, they are part and parcel of the same thing.  Together they are what I need and want.  The things I do and the feelings it creates.

I don't subscribe to the thought of it being all about the Domme. Neither is it all about the submissive. It isn't just about the act. It isn't just about the excitement or feelings.

It is about it all.

It is about the whole thing, from the dynamic and the relationship itself, to the acts, the feelings and the whole experience; for both!

I love the "acts", I love the things that I do, I love the feelings and the psychological changes it brings about.  And I love the way those things are all connected.  I get excited by the things that I do, even from the most simple of things. It doesn't have to be complicated or indepth, dominance and submission can be experienced in some quite beautiful and simple acts, but I get excited by the things I explore, the things that create excitement within the submissive, the feelings it creates within them and within me.

The excitement doesn't just come from what is given off from the submissive. It doesn't just come from feelings I experience. For me it is about it all, the relationship, the acts, the feelings and the end result.

For each.

For both.

Edited to add relevant links.

Hurt him.

Hurt him.

I want to hurt him.

Seeing him standing in front of me makes me want to hurt him all the more.  I watched him from the window as he walked up the path, purposefully closing the gate behind him.

I saw him stop, draw breath as if he was summoning the courage to walk further, a mixture of nervous anticipation and excitement.

He wasn't aware that I was watching him, but I stood without movement in the window, watching his movements, his expressions and the look in his eyes.

He knocked twice on the door and stood back, I continued to watch him, I was in no rush to open the door to let him in, actually I was, because there was so much that I wanted to do to him, but I wanted to draw him in gently, to take my time, to allow the anticipation and his nerves to draw him into a place of shyness and vulnerability.

I wanted to witness the transition from the confident man who strode up to the gate to the man who in only a short few moments would be so far removed from that man it could almost be two different people.

I wanted that transition to be subtle.  To be gentle.  To be slow.

I wanted to watch the changes within him, the way his senses heighten, of how his skin jumps at even the slightest or most delicate of touches.

I wanted to witness his struggles.

The battle in his mind of his fears against his desires.

But oh I want to hurt him.

Kissing him deeply, my hands tangling into a tight fist within his hair.  Pulling his head back slowly, stealing his breath. Kissing his chin. Pulling his hair.  Kissing his mouth. Pulling his hair tightly.

Kissing him.  Biting him.  Hurting him.

I will hurt him.

.

Ruined

My tongue leaves a trail of dampness as it explores
you.  As it makes its way from your ear lobes and down
the side of your neck.  You flinch. I pause. If only for a
moment to whisper in your ear. Your skin tingles as the cool air
hits the dampness on your warming skin.  Your eyes remain
hidden behind a blanket of silk.  You shiver.  Shudder almost as
the tip of my tongue slowly moves down you.  Flicking over your 
chin, your neck, down to your naked chest.  I tease your
nipples, gently caressing them as they harden beneath the
administrations of my tongue. Before I suck. Before I bite. You
groan from within, moaning. Your breathing heavy as you
encourage through your exhales for me to continue.  I move further
down across your stomach, down your sides to your hip bone and you
shiver with the teasing that leaves you squirming, trying to
guide me to the place that you want me to be. Yet I tease you
purposefully. Circling around you, going anywhere but the place
that you long for my tongue to make contact with.  I move further
down, you move away, move toward me. I tease you purposefully.
Circling around, the tip of my tongue teasing, Your body rising
from the bed where you are restrained at wrists and ankles.  Your
body burning. Burning with need. Desire. My tongue is damp, warm,
moist against your skin. You long for it to touch you, to tease
your hardened sex.  The muscles tighten in your thighs, your toes curling. Every movement of your body is felt.  My nails carve into
your skin, leaving a reddening mark as they follow the trail of my
tongue. The feeling from the dampness of my tongue, against the
harshness of my nails confusing your mind, your body.  My
tongue is sucking and nibbling, swirling around over your skin;
over your body. Your back arching. Your muscles tense. Your
breathing deep and heavy as my tongue circles around the hardness
of your cock, the fullness of your balls.  My fingers teasing as they
find the entrance to your ass.  You are almost inviting me in, begging
me to take you in my mouth. To push my fingers in deeper.  And
just as I do, you start to cum. You are begging for me to touch
you, to help you on your way. Except I stop. Watching the
frustrations that scream through your body.  The lack of
stimulation. The lack of pleasure. It is ruined.

A walk in the park

It is late. 

We left the party a short time ago, much later than planned. But we had been enjoying ourselves.  I had been teasing you relentlessly all evening.  The occasional whisper in your ear of what I was going to do to you when we finally made it home.

I could see the tricks your mind was playing on you. 

The fear of the unknown.

The arousal that this fear and these thoughts brought to your body; to your cock.  There was no hiding it.  And I would smile at your arousal, you would blush at the humiliation.

The streets are quiet and we walk home together, the only sound being our breathing, and footsteps upon the pavement, the heels of my boots, the sound of your shoes.  And even though it is the very late hours of the night, we take a short cut through the park.

"Come on, we will be fine. I will look after you" I say mockingly when he protests that it isn't safe to be walking through the park at this time of the night. 

"Isn't it I, who should be taking care of you?" he asks in return. 

I simply smile at him.

"Nothing is going to happen to me while I walk through the park.  However . . .who knows what will happen to you?" I laugh dismissively at him. Walking on ahead of him, as his mind plays scene after scene of all the things that could happen in the next 10 minutes from the tiniest of seeds I have just planted within his mind.

I want to hurt him. 

The beast has been prowling all night, it is desperate for escape.  I want to tease him, hurt him, mark him.  I want to hear him pleading and begging for me to stop as I scratch, twist, slap him.  Which makes me only want to hurt him all the more, just as his hesitancy right now makes me want to hurt him and I have to stop myself from doing so right there. 

I leave him standing there as I walk on ahead of him, my feet are now aching and tired.  I am needing a drink and am feeling aroused at being out in the open air.  There is something about being out in the open, the feel of the air against skin, the danger of being seen and found.  My mind drifts to thoughts of the last time we were in this park. Walking through I had sat on the bench, him kneeling between my legs, his face buried between my thighs as he brought me to an orgasm with his tonguue.  I had then made him walk the rest of the way home with my juices all over his face.  He hadn't been able to look up at anyone all of the way home for fear that someone would know what he had just done.

I smile at the memory of his humiliation.  My body reacting to the memory of the wonderful orgasm that he had brought me.  

"Will you hurry up!" I say to him, as he increases the pace of his walk to catch up. 

He seems on edge. Nervous somehow.  He looks around, not really being able to see anything in the darkness of the unlit park, but looking around anyway as if someone is going to jump out at us at any time. 

A short distance later, in the middle of the dark park, I sit down on the same bench we had before. I tell him that my feet are aching, that I need to remove my boots and that I will walk the rest of the way bare foot.  

He stands before me, and just as he leans down to unzip my boots the back of my hand comes swiftly across his face, knocking him off balance and onto the ground. 

He is stunned, shocked by the force of the slap, the few drinks he had earlier at the party rushing straight to his brain, his eyes have glazed over as I know that it hit his submissive psyche with the same force of contact that it made on his skin. 

Before he has time to recover, before he has any time to realise that we aren’t alone, that someone is behind him, grunting as they grab him by the hips and flip him over onto his stomach. He is still dazed from the slap across his face but realisation is starting to hit and he begins to lash out, trying to push this unknown person away.

He is struggling now.  Kicking. Lashing out. Trying to push him away.  He is shouting. Swearing.

A hand forces its way into his hair, pushing his face down hard into the dirt. 

He is beginning to plead now, begging to be let go, but instead he is forced further forward, a mouth full of dirt, he coughs and splutters up the bits of soil that found its way into his mouth.  

From his head, the hand slides down his back, pushing him down harder, pinning him between his shoulder blades. The other hand groping and finding their way in the dark to the top of his trousers.   

"Oh god. Please. No! Please stop!"  he begs. 

Hearing his begging; hearing his pleas goes straight to my cunt. 

But the stranger does not stop.

Instead he pulls them down harder, yanking the trousers down over his naked ass, catching them on his cock, which despite the pleas and the begging to stop is obviously aroused at the force in which he is being taken at that moment.

As the trousers reach his knees, he stops.  You are exposed.

“Please NO! No. No. . no . . .no . . . no . . .n . . . “ 

You realise you are fighting a battle that you can only lose.  You hear the stranger unzip his trousers and feel the hardness of his cock against your naked, exposed ass.  You are crying now. Slow tears beginning to fall into body wrenching sobs.

“Please don’t hurt us” 

You are pleading. 

You have no idea that I am still sat on the bench watching you.  Watching him hurting you.  I make no noise. No sound. No movement. 

Instead you begin to scream as you feel the head of his cock at the entrance to your ass.  And you scream louder still as you feel him force himself inside you.  He grunts and moans with each thrust, groping at your body, scratching you, hurting you. All of the things that I have been wanting to do to you all evening.

Your screams have turned into moans and groans. 

Moans and groans which turn into a state of arousal despite that you are there in the park, on your hands and knees being fucked in the ass by an unknown stranger. Your own cock is hard and protruding from your body.  Just as you begin to find your voice again, pleading with him to stop, he forces you down further into the ground.

He is fucking you.

Slapping you.

Hurting you.

With each thrust his grunts get louder, deeper, throatier.  You feel his body begin to spasm as you feel him come deep inside of you. 

“Noooooo . . .” you cry out “Please help  me, I am begging you to help me”

You are laid there, semi naked.

Your trousers still around your knees.  You are scared to move, scared of what may come next. Your body quivering.  You feel him move away from you as he pulls his cock from out of you.   And what seems like an eternity but is only a matter of seconds, you turn to look for me. Your mind trying to make sense of the invasion of your body. 

The stranger on the other hand, is stood in front of me. Where you had been only a short time before as you had bent to remove my boots.

I look at him.

Leaning into him as he embraces me.  My mouth making contact with his as I devour his mouth with my own.  His hands gripping my breast through the blouse I am wearing.

“I love you” he says.

I smile at him.

I look down where you are still exposed on the floor.

And then I smile at you.