NSFC

I don't normally comment on the comments that people have left in response to the previous blog entries that I have written, not unless it is a point for discussion, a question that I think is best to answer in a blog or just because I want to . . .but, its not a common occurrence it has to be said.

Anyway, Her toy commented on an entry I wrote on Friday Talking . . .(while fucking) needless to say, it is rather an "erotic" based post (the title kind of gives that away in itself lol) but on reading the post Her toy commented with the following . . .

So, i think this might be entirely selfish of me to say, but You may want to consider a NSFC (Not Safe For Chastity) warning for some of Your posts. Or maybe not. :)"

Cuckold H from Lady Beautiful's Journey commented in response . . .

P.S NSFC (Not Safe for Chastity) is a good idea but really we know what blogs we read and what they contain.

And this is very true!

We do all know what type of blogs we are reading, we also know what the content is likely to be, so in that way, everyone is responsible for their own choices about what they read. 

So, why do I not use or intend to use any such warnings?

It's my blog. 

I choose to do what I do, choose to write how I write, and that is within my control and in the ways I want to, not because someone has told me to do. (See, I'd never make a good sub beyond bottoming lol)

And yes, even in blogland it comes to "control". After all, for me, it is all about control.

But here, I am in control of what I write, what I choose to write and what I don't.  I have the freedom to write what I want, how I want and to not have any limitations imposed on that (within reason of course lol)  But, I guess the main reason I do not include any warnings, particularly the "Not safe for chastity" is because, I'm a sadist.

If you read my blog and are in chastity and it makes you suffer. Good.

If you are within chastity as part of your own dynamic and end up suffering or struggling even more.  Good.

I'm a sadist. 

I like people suffering. I like the fact that people suffer and struggle.  I don't do sympathy (or very rarely!) and I enjoy the struggles and difficulties that one may face while in chastity. 

So, why would I want to warn them away?

Why would I want to make their life easier?

Hmmmmm . . .I wouldn't.

Sorry . . .what was that you muttered under your breath?  Something about Bitch?  

LOL

Yes I can be. 

Yes I am.  But then, that’s part of who I am.

So, no warnings, no NSFC at the top of my posts. Read at your peril and battle with your struggles . . .oh, and have a little self control *wink*

LOL 

One and the same.

The tremble in your chest, your eyes watering, your body shivering under touch, your cock hard and throbbing, every inch of your body receptive to touch. 

You lie there in a place where your mind, your heart, your body, your cock are all intertwined with someone and within yourself, each part feeling and expressing the love, the longings, the cravings and the desires of the other.   Your body betraying your mind, your eyes betraying your heart.

You lie there, eyes closed, breathing deep and shallow, whispering I enter into your mind with questions and words, teasing, humiliating, hurting with names that are whispered intensely and fiercely into your ear. 

The words probe you, infiltrating and penetrating, a hand finding its way around the back of your head, finding its way into a strong hold upon your hair.

I lean forward, my mouth only millimetres away from your own, teasing you with the tip of my tongue I seize your lower lip with my teeth as the grip upon your hair tightens and forces your mouth towards mine. 

I kiss you softly, watching your eyes respond, watching the resistance fade away.

One look, one word, one suggestion, one touch, makes you hard, gives you butterflies, makes you weak at the knees.

The resistance has faded, leaving surrender and trust, the love from your cock is one and the same as the love from your heart.  The feelings from your mind are one and the same from your body. 

All intertwined, all as one. 

None of it is yours anymore. 

But that's just how it should be.

Talking...(while fucking)

The hunger is restless. 

It is like a thirst that cannot be quenched; a desire that cannot be satisfied.  No amount of masturbation can satiate the feelings that rage within, nothing which can prevent the depraved thoughts from growing in the mind. 

Depraved thoughts of you. Of me. Of many things.  Two, three, more times a day, in light, in darkness and yet it still isn't enough to calm the desire and the hunger that burns in every fibre of my being.  It still leaves me unsated. The desire, the longing, the urgent need still screaming, the hunger still restless.

So I imagine him, fucking me up and down the room, the kind of animalistic fucking where furniture goes flying, as bodies fall from one wall to another; hair pulled, face slapped, bruised, battered, bitten. Forced against the table sending the contents splaying all over the floor. Thrown against the sofa and on to the floor. Frenzied and frenetic fucking all played out before your eyes. 

His voice in my ear, talking while fucking, whispering into my ear of the things he is going to do to me, the things he is going to make you watch while he does them to me. His voice reverberating through my mind, around the room as he tells you what he is going to do to me.

And this does it to me.  It opens me. 

A voice, his words, the sound of the deep and sexy voice that has such an hypnotic effect, it enters into my head and opens me up more to him.  And he is talking and fucking. 

And you are watching still.

And without him touching me further, his words are forceful and strong, commanding and compelling, they are another implement in our pleasure, another tool in a box of so many. They penetrate my body, my mind.

And I come.

To the sound of his voice. To his words.  

And I am fucked, physically, emotionally, verbally.

My body shakes. The dampness of my skin against his from the forceful way he has taken me, he runs a fingernail down my spine, it is wet, I am wet.  And I feel naked, empty, open.

And still you watch.

He whispers into my ear, moving me down to my knees before him.

"Tell me how much you like my cock" He says. His words penetrating into my mind once more, infiltrating into the depths of me.  My own body reacting to the desire and longing from his words.

I kneel before him. His cock is hard, large, thick, I love the way the veins stand out, how it stands perpendicular to his body from where it is so hard from arousal. And as I touch it, while looking at you, I smile.

"I love it . . .I want to suck it and taste it and feel it . . ." I reply, still watching you.

You know how much I like to suck cock and yet you know that it has been so long since I have done so with yours.  And as I lean forward to take his cock in my mouth, my eyes do not break from your gaze.  I can tell that your cock is hard without being able to see it. I know that you are sat there wishing this were your cock being taken into my mouth.  I know that in the depths of your mind that you wish it was your mouth the cock was forcing its way into.  I know you are desiring, lustful, fervent, and that you are invaded by the words, aroused by what you have seen played out before your eyes.

I tease you with my eyes while I tease him, touch him, taste him.

I am taken to a place of ecstasy and surrender.  He grabs my hair, forcing himself deeper into my mouth, his grip on my hair is hard and harsh but it makes me groan from desire and want him all the more.  I am gagging now as he fucks my mouth, my eyes are no longer locked on you, they are locked on this beautiful cock and the body behind it.  And it is fervent and frenzied and it is rough and hard. And there are tears in my eyes and upon my face as he forces himself deep into my mouth and my throat.  And he is fucking me deeper and harder and I am gasping, gagging, choking, struggling for breath. And your breathing is shallow. And in the distance I hear you moan.

His voice unlocks me. Breaking the hold that he has on me.  Taking me away from the place I had drifted to. I do not hear what he says, but know that he has spoken to you.  You are blushing, humiliated at the words that he has thrown at you.  Seeing you there, like that, arouses me deeply.  I feel the hunger rising, the desire building at your discomfort, at your humiliation, yet knowing that will go straight to your cock.  Just as it goes straight to the depths of me.

He pulls me to my feet by my hair.

"Do you know how wet she is?" He asks you.  You nod, your eyes glazed with longing, with your own desire and arousal.

"I am going to turn her around and I am going to slam my cock deep into her. Hard. You love the sound of my balls slapping against her ass, don't you?"

His words, his voice and your reaction goes straight to my cunt. His words alone orchestrating the build up of another orgasm. 

And he pushes me over to the chair, where he fucks me hard, and I hear your moan as I groan at him entering me.  You are sat there watching him, watching his cock, watching me.  And I cannot get enough of him, and I want him to come in me and on me so he is there for longer, so I can feel him long after he has taken me. So you can taste him upon me long after he has gone.  And his words reverberate around inside me, and his cock is pounding into me.

And he is talking and fucking.  And you are watching. And longing. And wishing.

And I come at his words. And I come as he comes.  And as he comes he is still talking. Still fucking. And you’re still watching.

And he talked. And he fucked. And he talked while he fucked.  His voice, his words, echoing around inside the mind as he continues to whisper in my ear.  

And I beckon to you with a glance.  

There is no talking. 

There is no fucking.  

It's your turn now.

Sleeping with . . .

“I like sleeping with somebody”
- Anon, 12th century AD

I like sleeping with somebody
New
Special
But often.
Taboos broken down.
In exploration.

I like sleeping with somebody
Kinky
Animalistic
With you
With others
With both, all together.

I like sleeping with somebody
Raw
Passionate
Erotic
With devotion
With spontaneity.

I like sleeping with somebody
Sensual
Concupiscent
And salacious
Raunchy but romantic
Loving but lascivious

I like sleeping with somebody
You
Him
Together
Whether here or there
Anywhere or everywhere.

I like sleeping with somebody.

.

What is this . . .

what is this thing inside me that yearns, burns when i am near you
what is this thing that shakes me up and calms me down and makes me smile, laugh, cry, die a little bit inside when you’re away
what makes YOU so special that you get to crawl around inside me,
touch me in places i’ve never been touched before
intimate places, deep, dark and secret places
places pale from lack of light of day
who gave you the right to steal my thoughts at any moment you so desire
to make me smile unexpectedly at a remembered word, an unexpected kindness
why do you get to be the one to scale my wall, peek over,
smiling wickedly at what you find inside,
even my darkness, that hidden ugly, i expect you to judge
why don’t you
where’s that tail tucking, bucking, i expected as my due
why do you have to be so original
so fucking unstereotypical
so lyrical
so beautifully damaged and patched back together,
scarred and maimed
exquisite in your pain
yet still able to love
what makes you
tick?
and how did i so quickly succumb to your throbbing beat

~Elonna



*I* love this!

I lost you.

"It" affected us both.

"It" infected us both.

And because of "it" we have ended up walking a path that no longer runs parallel.

A path that no longer crosses or meets and yet, it does not seem right that we walk along such separate and distant paths; walking (although I know that you are stumbling along) and that you are lost, licking the wounds that the infection has entered into so deeply.

I know that you walk away, in silence and in solitude. But to do so was your choice.

It wasn't what I wanted for us, for you or for me.  I always said I would be your friend . . .no matter what.

I miss you more than you know.

We shared so much, you and I. It is hard at times to know that we no longer share any of what was. I know as I walk along the path without you, I remember the good times.  

I look and remember fondly on all that was, even when what "was" was at times, endured.  I always said I would be your friend, that I would always endure anything for you. 

I miss you more than you know.

I have no idea what you remember as you flounder along the path, unsure of the direction or where you are heading, and not knowing which way to turn now that you choose to walk it alone.  You don't need to be walking it as a solitary person, alone . . .lost.

I know so much was lost.
I know that I lost you.
But I also know you have lost yourself. 

But that in losing you, but also in trying to find. . .I came so close to losing myself.  I miss you more than you know.

Great Expectations . . .

"Now, I return to this young fellow. And the communication I have got to make is, that he has great expectations."

- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

No!

Actually I am not referring to the Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

But more so the expectations that so many often place . . .place upon people, on situations, on daily happenings and occurrences.

In the words of Charlotte Bronte “Life is so constructed that an event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.”

And in so many words . . .this is so very true.  So in light of this . . .are we right to have expectations?

Or, is it one of those things where we will always end up disappointed because the reality will never achieve the level of expectation that we may place? 

Or without expectations or indeed if we lower our expectations does that mean we are always settling for less than we may want, desire or deserve?

I do not think it is wrong to have expectations, as long as those expectations are realistic, are achievable.  Except, we often place expectations upon people to be something that they cannot be, we often place expectations on situations which are impossible to achieve.  And it is then, when those expectations are not met, that we feel let down, that we feel the negative.

It is these expectations which are the ones we maybe shouldn't have, shouldn't hold onto. 

Life isn't a fairy tale.

It isn't like a film on the big screen where everything has its perfect ending, it never can be. 

So why do we torture ourselves with placing unrealistic expectations on events or on people or on life? 

It doesn't mean that we cannot have hope.  It doesn't mean that we cannot expect certain things from people . . .from events or from life. 

We can. We do.

But people cannot be more than they are.  Life cannot be more than it is or more than we can make it.

However much we may like to think it is possible, is it really possible to have everything we want? Is it really possible for others to meet our needs? Or is that placing an expectation so great it can never be matched? Or, is it in reality, placing a very unrealistic expectation . . .an unfair expectation?

We cannot, nor should we rely on others to meet all of our needs . . .and instead perhaps should stop expecting life to be different, stop expecting everyone to meet our wants, stop feeling entitled to everything we may want . . .expectations can so often not be met, causing a feeling or misery or that we have been let down by the actions (or not!) because those expectations haven't been met. 

The reality probably is, we haven't been let down . . .just that we have placed an expectation that was too big . . .too great . . .to ever truly be met.

Is lowering our expectations meaning we are settling for less? 

For me, no. I do not think so.

I do not believe it is the case.  I think in lowering our expectations to a more realistic level, to something that can be achieved, we have the possibility of the life that we want, that our needs will be met, that we can find happiness, contentment and joy. 

Lowering our expectations doesn't mean that we are settling. It doesn't mean that we aren't expecting at all . . .it is more about expecting the realistic rather than wishing things could be different or that people could be different. 

We often expect too much. 

People often idealise people. 

But in the words of Leo Buscaglia

"Never idealize others. They will never live up to your expectations.”

And that is very true.  They won't.

Instead it is about accepting.

Accepting people. Accepting situations. Accepting a reality. 

Loving someone for all that they are, for what they do and in the way that they do it.  Accepting that they are human and cannot achieve the impossible and that while someone may have such great expectations, that great expectations are often not achievable.

Lowering our expectations of them and accepting them in this way means we are not let down by them, (even if they weren't actually letting us down anyway) it doesn't mean that we are settling . . .instead we accept . . .instead we are fulfilled by them, by who they are, by what they give.  People can only do what they can do, we need to realise that, accept it. If it means we lower our expectations of them, then so be it.

Loving them for exactly who they are, for all that they are . . .there is something rather wonderful in being able to do that.

A beauty in being able to accept, rather than to expect. 

Hope.

"When there’s something you really want, fight for it. Don’t give up, no matter how hopeless it seems- and when you have lost hope, ask yourself if, in ten years from now, you’re gonna wish you gave it just one more shot. Because the best things in life— they don’t come free"

unknown

Twisted world . . .

A simple touch, a simple caress draws you into a twisted

world that is filled with darkness.  A body that aches

to be touched, a body that craves to be taken, to be broken. 

A body that craves to be hurt. 

Craving the touch a body burns with an intensity and a passion.
A need to show you how drawn into the world that you are, a deep ache that burns within, a longing. A desire.  A want. A need.

A craving to be taken. To be controlled. A deep ache

that burns within. A longing to touch, to tease, to hurt. 

A craving to taste the darkness.

A touch is heated against the warmth of your flesh, and within

the darkness you can see.  Within the intensity you feel the

gentleness.  Under the strong hand which guides you to live again.

You crave the eyes upon your flesh, you crave the taste of

me upon every last inch of you.  A taste that you need like your

next breath of air. The craving, the draw, the allure into the world of

darkness and lustful fantasies along with the needs of reality.

You long to be breathless. You long for the air to be taken
from your being and filled with love and pain. Consuming the very
deepest parts of you, taking you in every way. Sharing you
with the beast that lies deep within. 

All of the passion, the need, the desires, spiralling into the depths
of an abys of passion, of pain, of love, of darkness. Deep
into the depths of a twisted world where you can set it free.










.

Standing there

He was standing there. 

Leaning against the wall, his right leg casually raised up with the sole of his black shoe flat against the brick work.  His jacket done up but his black shirt underneath loose at the collar, his tie hanging out of the right hand pocket where he stood with both hands casually resting.

I sat there, about 20 feet away. Watching him watching everyone else.  Every couple of seconds he would look in the other direction, just as if he were waiting for someone but wasn't sure which way they were going to come.  He looked impatient, on edge, nervous even.  He glanced at his watch and then went back to looking one way and then the other.

I continued to watch him, not breaking my gaze. Even when he looked over in my direction, our gazes met, but I did not look away.  He looked for a matter of seconds, before breaking gaze and looking downwards.  I continued to stare and smiled inwardly.

He went to look up once more, his hand nervously reaching to his fringe as he pushed it away from his rather boyish looking face.  He looked vulnerable, shy, uncertain.  When he saw that I was still looking, he averted his gaze, looking down at the silver watch that was on his wrist once again. And he blushed. 

I smiled outwardly this time at the reddening of his cheeks. I could see he was trying to look up enough to see if I was still looking at him but not wanting to be caught doing so.  I was determined not to look away.  He must have been in his early twenties, maybe even a little more, yet appeared in his persona and through his reactions like a young boy. 

I continued to watch him, wishing at that moment that the wall he was leaning against was in a quieter place and then how it would be a perfect place and that he was stood in a perfect position to be pushed hard against the wall, a hand around his throat forcing his head back against the brick work, covering his lips with my own as I would kiss him deeply.  There is something so desirable about full lips that makes me want to kiss them, to suck them, to bite them.  Even from the distance I was, I could quite clearly make out the outline of his lips, but there is something that hits me whenever I think about kissing . . .the desire to do so builds with an intensity and a speed that is incredibly powerful.

And as I watched him, the images that ran through my mind of doing just that to him, right there, right then made me smile inwardly and outwardly, my own body reacting at the strength of the thoughts and the whole host of images running through my mind like a film on fast forward.

Devouring. Tasting. Biting. Teasing. A tightening grip.  The fear within his eyes.  The deep desire from within. An intake of breath. A gasp. A groan. A moan.

Lost in my own thoughts, my gaze still not averted. He is still nervous. Still looking from one side to another. Wanting to look up but afraid of seeing if I am still watching. 

I am. My gaze not averted at all. 

He looks up and I am drawn by the way his body is reacting, drawn by the reddening of his cheeks.  I hold his gaze for just a while longer and he looks down blushing again, his boyish charm so endearing, so appealing, so attractive.  And yet, it brought some sadistic thoughts to the forefront of my mind.

And he looks away in the other direction, the moment gone.  I glance up, the traffic lights have turned green and I am already running late for work, but the thoughts remain with me as I continue the drive.

They remain now.

.

And he waits.

And he stands there.

And he waits. 

His hands down close to his side. His fingers twitching nervously, his face showing a deep level of concentration as he tries to crush the urge his body has to move.  He is forcing himself not to move, not to fidget.  He is standing tall, his body straight. His muscles taut. He knows she likes him that way. 

And he waits.

He knows better than to move or to turn.  He listens for any hint that she may be near, that she is coming close.  He hears nothing.  He listens harder, concentrating hard.  The time passes so very slowly.  The anticipation builds, along with the nervousness and his fear.  And he craves for her to be there, to see her, to touch her, to feel her. He craves for her to inflict whatever she may desire to upon him.

And he waits.

He feels nervous.  His stomach is churning along with his mind.  And his thoughts drift to her.  His mind filled with an abundance of images flashing through his mind. His memory creating a myriad of images, one after the other.

He is thinking about her. Hearing her voice. Feeling her touch. Inhaling her smell.  And with the images and the thoughts his body starts to react.  His cock starts to harden.  No amount of thinking or willing it down is successful. 

And he waits.

He is warm now. His face flushed. He looks down at the reaction of his body to the thoughts in his mind and blushes.  He knows that she likes that.  And the more he thinks of her, the more his body betrays him.  And he strains to hear her but hears nothing.  His body twitches with anticipation.  His mind running away with a collection of pornographic thoughts and desires.  His body reacts further.

His stomach is tied in knots. The butterflies of anticipation flutter within him.  And there is a fear of the unknown. The not knowing where she is.  The not knowing what she will do. 

He longs to move. He longs to turn.

He longs to see her.

And he waits.

.

Where does . . .

 . . . the time go to?

Or more so, where has the time gone?  It has been several weeks since I have blogged, and although a couple of times in the past week I have logged on to try to catch up with reading some of the blogs I follow, there hasn't been any time to blog . . .or indeed the inspiration to.

Taking time out for the holiday didn't help, I had hoped to have wifi in the villa except there wasn't any, so my chance to sit and write late in the evenings wasn't there . . . still, the holiday was fabulous and I have been bitten by the New York bug.  Someone said to me, that it is a place you will either love, or hate.  But I love it.  And that is an understatement.

The days mini man and I spent in New York were packed and busy, a bit like the city itself, but we also had some incredibly wonderful moments, and managed to get some wonderful pictures.  I have a thing about sunsets (you may recall an earlier blog where I included some pictures that I had taken, a last sunset that was shared . . .) but the night that we sailed out into the harbour from Manhattan and saw the sun set behind the Statue of Liberty was just beautiful. 

The photo above is one of many that we took, seeing the Manhattan Skyline, Brooklyn, New Jersey and the Statue in daylight, at sunset and at night.  Pictures will never do this place justice . . .just as seeing it in reality when you've only seen it in pictures is just breathtaking.  Although I have to say, another thing that was breath taking was the climb up to her crown which we did later in the holiday . . .talk about torture! lol

We had great fun up the Empire State and there's certainly something magical about going up there for the first time.  We were blessed with clear skies and could see for miles and miles . . .what a view! 

We had a great time watching the baseball, and a wonderful afternoon in Central Park (how I loved that place . . . .) a show on Broadway, a most wonderful bagel (which certainly do not taste the same back here!) and simply the most beautiful weather we could have asked for. 

I LOVE New York!

Although we then spent 10 days in Orlando, and we did have a good time, nothing came close to our New York experience and we are already talking about hoping to go back soon.  Maybe next year . . .maybe earlier. 

Who knows?

I've received some messages and comments about my lack of blogging . . .it is nice to be missed :D

But the holiday has been the real reason why, catching up since I've gotten home has been another . . .and a lack of inspiration right now has been another reason . . . but still . . .slowly getting back into "life" at home . . .maybe the blogging will be next.

I just need some inspiration . . .

The bottom of the barrel

I learned today, that someone I used to be very close to, attempted suicide on Monday.  

It isn't the first time. 

He said, it won't be the last. 

No amount of help, of trying, of anything is able to help him, or to save him from himself.  It at times, breaks my heart to know someone struggles so much.  He isn't a bad person.  But he certainly knows how to lash out and hurt with his words.  This goes in stages. 

He hurts with his words.  Cuts off any contact with anyone and everyone. And reappears months, maybe a year or so later.  It is a pattern that seems to repeat itself.  I've lost count of the number of times that it has in the time that I have known him.  But no amount of trying to "reach" will make any difference.  He remains just out of that reach, but that is his plan and his intentions. 

It is incredibly difficult.  Sometimes though, we just have to realise when there isn't anything that we can do. It is incredibly hard to accept that there isn't anything that I can do. 

Not something that sits well with me at all.

I learned today that someone I know has breast cancer.  

I hadn't seen her for a while. Now I know why.  A little older than I am, but a mum to a 10 year old.  It's times like this that just make you wonder.  It is times like this that it often brings to our minds of those we have already lost. It brings to mind all of the "potential" that life can throw at us, the fears that we can live with, and the completely devastating impact such things have on someone and their life.

I learned today that a friend of mine who had been struggling to conceive for many years lost the twins that she had been carrying as a result of recent fertility treatment.  How we wish that we could take back the things that we said that everything would be ok.

It isn't. How can it be?

It seems to be a week of sad news. 

Someone attempting to take their own life.  Another one doing all they can with treatment to save their life.  And two potential lives that never had the chance to be.

All very different, all situations which make someone think, reflect and ponder the things that life throws our way.

It is certainly situations like this, which make you dig deep, to be able to be there for those who are facing this, to be that support.  At times, it is also incredibly hard when it triggers memories of loss and times which had been laid to rest a long time ago. 

So, it's been a somewhat difficult week one way or another.  A week which has been filled with such heartbreaking news.  Someone who doesn't want any help. Someone who wants all the help they can get.  Someone who doesn't know what they want from those around them right now.

Life.

Loss.

It's never easy. 

Sometimes it can really scrape the bottom of the barrel.

.

No time . . .

I hate that there has been no time to write. No time to blog. No time to do anything of late. 

Getting everything sorted ahead of mini man and my trip to New York and Orlando next week has left little time for anything else, work has been busy, days have been busy and although there are a million and more blog entries buzzing around in my head, I haven't had chance to get anything down. 

It is frustrating.

Still, I will be going away armed with netbook next week, so if I do get chance to write, then I can.  As it is, there will be over 7 hours on the plane so, that may be a chance to get some things down . . .maybe. 

So, it's not good when there's nothing new to read.  It's not good when I don't have time to write.  I miss it. In many ways.  But sometimes, as with everything, "life" gets in the way.  That is the reality.  That is even the reality with Ds, with FLRs with whatever relationship anyone may have.  Reality happens. Reality needs to be dealt with.  We can't just avoid it. 

But it will pass.

Eventually.

.

And it's not enough.

And you beg.  But it's not enough. 

And the more you beg, the more my sadism is sated.  The more I want to hurt you.  And you begin to beg and plead and your breathing is heavy and you look at me with pleading eyes.

But still it's not enough.

And I want to hurt you.

And I want to slap your face, making you look up at me after each slap and hearing you say "thank you" each and every time. And I want to do it again and again, making your cheek blazing red and that it takes you longer and longer each time for you to meet my gaze.  And your slowness makes me mad and it makes me want to hurt you all the more, so I hit you harder. And you beg even more and still it's not enough.

You are knelt on the floor, your hands are cuffed behind you. And I am stood before you looking at you, watching you, feeling you, hurting you. And I am calling you names and every time I call you a name your cock twitches at the humiliation. 

And you are hurt. And you are scared. And you are begging for me to stop.  And the more you beg. The more I want to hurt you.

And I stand there looking down at you, listening to you beg and plead and cry.  And I am calling you a slut. And I am calling you a whore. And I am calling you a pathetic fucking bitch and with every name there is a sigh. With every name there is an involuntary reaction from you body. And with every name your eyes glaze over just that little bit more.

And I bring your face up to look at mine with my hand under your chin. 

And I stop. And watch you. Your eyes glazing. 

And I place my hand on the back of your head pulling it forward. Leaning forward I bring you closer to my mouth and I cover it with my lips.  And I am kissing you. Devouring you. And I am biting and sucking on your lips. And I know it hurts. And I can feel you wince. And I can feel you try to pull away. And still you look at me, your eyes not breaking the pleading stare. And I kiss you harder. And I suck harder on your lips and I can feel them begin to swell beneath my own.  And I am kissing you. And I am eating you. And I am devouring you.

And I want to hurt you some more. And I want to hear you beg. And I want to see you cry. And the beast is raging and the more you beg, the more the beast rages.  And the more you cry, the more you plead, the more the beast wants to come out and hurt you and take you and break you.

I push you back away from me, and you lose your balance almost toppling over. And I laugh. And I make you crawl across the room on your bare knees, the coldness of the floor on your knees being felt with every inch.  And I tell you that you need to fetch me the paddle that is on the side. And I tell you that you're going too slow. So you crawl faster. And seeing you there crawling away from me, your arse on display, makes me want to hurt it, to make it red. It makes me want to mark it. Mark you. And it makes me want to fuck you there and then. 

And you bring the paddle in your mouth with difficulty and I laugh at your struggles as you crawl back across the floor. And you are trying so hard to keep it in the grip of your mouth, your lips still swollen from my kiss.  And you are gripping it as hard as you can and there's saliva running down over your chin and I hear you suck as you try to stop yourself dribbling so much. And you stop before me on your knees and lift your head up towards me.

And still your eyes are begging and pleading. And your breathing is heavy and deep.  You kneel back at my feet, waiting. Waiting to be told what to do next.

Except I do not speak to you. Reaching down I remove the paddle from your mouth as you move your jaw as you can feel the release of the weight that had been in your mouth.  And I uncuff your wrists. And you are embarrassed at the amount of saliva all over your face and go to reach up to wipe it with your cuffed hands.  I slap your hand away sharply bringing my hand back across your cheek.  And you draw a sharp intake of breath. And you look at me with pleading eyes.

And I know that you want me to hurt you.

And I know that you want to beg.

But you know how much that begging makes me want to hurt you. And when you beg to stop it just makes me want to hurt you all the more.  And you know that I don't like "fake" begging, that I don't like it when it is not genuine and real and felt. And you know that you need to convince me and that if it isn't real and felt that I will stop and walk away.

And I tell you to fucking beg.

To beg me to hurt you and then knowing that you will be soon begging me to stop. And you present your naked arse to me. Your head down near to the floor and you cry out as the wooden paddle makes contact with your bareness.

And you beg me to hurt you. Beg me to hit you harder. And the more you beg, the harder I do it. And then you are pleading, pleading for me to stop, crying with the pain. And your skin is getting redder and redder.

And your pleading is getting louder.

And you begin to cry, and the sobs are getting louder. And you don't know whether to beg to be hurt or to beg me to stop.

And I laugh at you at your confusion of what you are begging for. And tell you to beg properly. And still you don't know what you really want to beg for. I continue to paddle the cheeks of your arse, the back of your thighs and your lack of focus moves into the realms of confusion. And your begging comes out in gasps between the sobs that engulf your body.

"Fucking beg properly" I tell you. You beg over and over, "please hurt me" "please don't hurt me" and I tell you to make up your mind and for you to convince me what it is you really want, and at that point I know that you don't know what you really want.

And as you're begging I tell you that I don't believe you. That it's not enough.

And you are crying so hard, and there's saliva coming out of your mouth, and your nose is running all over the place and I reach down, bringing your eyes up to look at mine and I see that you have drifted. And your cock is hard and betrays your body. And I want to hurt you even more but know that you cannot beg to stop and you cannot beg for more. And that you are there on the floor beautifully broken.

And I bring you close into my body and I am holding you as your body is wracked with sobs.

And I'm holding you close. And I am bringing you down, stroking your head, gently pushing the hair away from your face. And I am wiping the tears that are falling from your eyes. 

And you are looking at me with more focus now.

And I continue stroking your face as your body begins to calm down and the sobs turn into sniffles as your head rests upon my breast. And your breathing slows down and becomes calmer.

And you look at me with those most beautiful eyes that you have and as I see you smile, I know that you are back. 

.