I will share one final conversation between Madeleine and I. There are many others, all of them as delectable, or more so, than the ones I’ve already shared; but they will remain solely mine for a while longer.
The first time I met her (not the first ever, but the first as the person I have grown to be) I bit her neck and drew her to the ground. There were tears in her eyes when she came for me.
The second time I met her, I left her body battered and bruised. I was rougher with her than I have been with anyone else in my life. I let myself the freedom to enjoy her absolutely, and in return she found within her a place of absolute peace. A place of balance where everything, for a few hours, was simply right. For someone who is constantly moving, seeking, pushing, testing, wanting, this was a small gift, an important gift. And she earned it with her devotion and hunger.
D’jaevle grips your wrist and pulls you closer with a rough tug. “Knees.”
Madeleine kneels, sliding down your body, and looks up at you sweetly. “After you’re done tormenting me, may we play?”
D’jaevle looks down at you, eyes hard, his lips parted enough for you to see his bared teeth. His fingers wrap around your neck. He gradually tightens his grip around your throat, adding pressure. “Perhaps.”
Madeleine’s cheeks flush. “Thank you Master…”
D’jaevle bends your head back and his teeth flash before he throws you back roughly, forcing you to put your hands out behind you.
Madeleine looks a little puzzled by the sudden show of ferocity, and catches herself, inching back a little.
D’jaevle watches you. He steps closer, straddling your waist as he looks down on you, his dark eyes flickering across your body.
Madeleine looks wounded, somehow, in her eyes. “Why are you angry, Master?” she wonders, guilelessly.
D’jaevle slowly lowers himself onto his haunches, both hands slipping behind your head as he looks at you, “Is it anger you see when you look at me?”
Madeleine looks at you again, curiously. “Perhaps not anger… violence,” she muses. “Volatility.”
D’jaevle allows himself the hint of a smile, and his hand comes down, almost as if he was going to slap you, but it stops and his fingers rest under your chin, “Where does that put you?”
Madeleine lifts a brow, but nuzzles against your hand. “In a scary place… like I’m going to fall through that door, and you’re going to step back.”
D’jaevle does nothing to stop you from nuzzling, but neither does he encourage it. His eyes simply watch, “Do you think I would let you fall far?”
Madeleine shakes her head. “Just enough to bruise my rear end. To make a point.”
D’jaevle leans closer, lowering himself further, almost kneeling against your chest, his weight hard against your body, “And what point is that?”
Madeleine shakes her head again. “That’s what I don’t know… that’s why I asked why you were angry.”
D’jaevle leans down and kisses you. His lips are dry at first. “Must I have a point?”
Madeleine moans softly, dry or not, and hazards a slip of her tongue along your lower lip. “No,” she admits.
D’jaevle punishes you with his mouth, his lips parting and teeth grazing your tongue, biting lightly as he lowers himself until he *is* kneeling over you, pinning you to the ground.
Madeleine squirms beneath you, more from pleasure than any desire to escape. “Maybe that’s your point,” she whispers. “That you don’t have to have a point.”
D’jaevle doesn’t answer you. Instead, he kisses harder, tongue fighting its way against yours, teeth biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
Madeleine yelps against your lips, her own lower lip quivering from the shock of being bitten so hard. And liking it.
D’jaevle reaches for your wrists and holds them over your head. He lifts himself far enough to reach down and roughly yank your shirt up over your chest, leaving your breasts exposed. He settles down again, thighs just under each breast so that they rest against them slightly.
Madeleine looks up at you curiously, as if she’s just having a hard time figuring you out today. Her wrists flex beneath your grip, and her little pink tongue strays out to taste the blood on her lip.
D’jaevle rakes his fingernails down the tops of your breasts, until they reach your nipples, fingers cruelly biting into the hard tips. Again, his eyes don’t leave yours.
Madeleine gasps, arching her back into your touch, however painful it may be.
D’jaevle actually brings his hands back up – this time slapping each breast along the side, much as he has your ass, turning the skin red.
Madeleine’s eyes darken a little as she looks up at you somewhat obstinately, and bites her lip to avoid making a sound.
D’jaevle peers down at you, finally smiling, “Not going to let me hear you?” Once again his fingers rake across your skin, fingers cutting white swathes through the red as they slip down.
Madeleine shakes her head determinedly, trying to hide the shiver at the bite of your fingertips.
D’jaevle his fingers pause at your nipples and they spread around the abused skin and then close, twisting slowly, “Are you sure? Not one small cry?”
Madeleine’s eyes flash with hesitation and uncertainty. But she clenches her jaw and remains petulantly silent.
D’jaevle pinches even harder, his fingers unrelenting as they pull back. He leans closer, inches from you.
Madeleine stifles her whimper at great cost to her willpower, and squeezes her eyes shut tightly.
D’jaevle remains that close, his fingers cruel, harshly twisting, “Must I do this to your clit to hear you cry out?”
Madeleine yelps aloud at that, and shakes her head quickly. “No…”
D’jaevle slowly relaxes his fingers, and watches your face as the blood returns to each nipple, “You sure?”
Madeleine pants softly and nods her head eagerly. “I’m sure…” she murmurs, breathlessly, whimpering again as her nipples throb with pain.
D’jaevle lowers himself, moving down your body until his head is level with your chest. His breath tickles your skin, the home of suffering nerve endings, but his touch is gentle, light, softly nuzzling your skin.
Madeleine purrs softly, basking in the weight and warmth of you atop her.
D’jaevle slowly begins to bathe your skin, tongue running the length of each breast, leaving it glistening as he tastes you.
Madeleine sighs softly. “You’re tormenting me again…”
D’jaevle chuckles, his lips lightly brushing your nipples, and underneath, “Now, or before?”
Madeleine mutters. “Both…”
D’jaevle rests his head against your chest, his breathing soft and slow as he finally closes his eyes, lost in the warmth of your skin.
Madeleine runs her fingers through your hair slowly, combing it back away from your face.
D’jaevle finally stirs himself and crawls up your body to look into your eyes with a smile, “Poor dear.”
Madeleine resists the urge to stick her tongue out at you and instead smiles sweetly.
D’jaevle chuckles, “Still want to play?”
Madeleine nods vigorously.
D’jaevle finds his feet and pulls you up, “Roles?”
Madeleine says “Perhaps we should reprise our earlier roles… me the living sacrifice, you the evil monstrous lord of the village.”
D’jaevle says “You up for that, ma fille?”
Madeleine grins. “I think so, mon maitre.”
2 thoughts on ““Not going to let me hear you?””
Thank you for your response to my question on your last entry about you and Madeleine. You answered exactly the question I was trying to express.
I didnt enjoy your entry entitled “Not going to let me hear you” written March 13, 2006. My reasons: The slapping of a female’s breast to make red as is done in slapping the arse is too painful to read; the visual makes me sick; I didnt even finish reading the article.
I will retain Blood, Sex, Crimson Blogs in my favorites but I think Ive had my fill of disgusting prose.