Real

Where do you go when all the lines are running across your vision like blurred tears, or rain (or just smudges of your conscience)?

***

12.24.01

D’jaevle draws back slowly, his eyes meeting and holding hers. And then his hands drop to her waist, turning her to face him – his grip firm, movements sure. Pressing forward, his head lowers immediately to her chest, drawing a line down along the top of her breast, along the edge, savoring the bare skin.

Wynn tips her head back with a moan, eyes shut. Her hands start at his shoulders, then slide down his back firmly, moving back up again… fingers pressing against him through his clothing.

D’jaevle presses back against her fingers, his head moving back to her neck and his own hands resting on the front of her jeans, fingers hooked, “To push the edge.” His fingers unsnap the top button, drawing the zipper down. His fingers press down, slightly, just under the edge of her panties, “…press into you?”

Wynn gasps, her eyes snapping open, looking into his, now. She pushes her hips against his hand, invitingly. “Yes.” She keeps her eyes locked on his, her hands push her jeans down her hips and drop to a pile at her ankles. Taking a step forward, she rests her hands on his shoulders, rocking her hips to press against his hand.

D’jaevle holds her gaze. Without hesitation, his hand slides between her skin and her panties, palm inward, hand curved so that she can feel it, from the tip of his fingers, to his palm, slide with deliberate patience against her heat.

Wynn bites her lip, her eyes shut briefly as she groans, then open again to lock back on his. She moves her hips back and forth, enjoying the feel of his hand. Her voice is breathy, gasping between words… “The line… between the two… seems to be blurring … quite nicely.” Her brow furrows as she lets out another groan of approval.

D’jaevle keeps his hand utterly still as she rocks against it, letting her press harder, pushing his hand deeper against her. His other runs to her neck, fingers pressing against it, lightly; his own breathing a ragged match, “You said…as much reality as given. Can you take,” His fingers spread against her, pressing hard, “real fingers?”

Wynn cries out… “Yes!” Her knees begin to buckle… her entire body trembling from the intense pleasure. She holds onto his shoulders firmly, keeping herself as steady as she can.

D’jaevle ever so slightly tightens his fingers that now hold her neck, his other hand unexpectedly meeting one of her thrusts, fingers poised and now slipping deep inside, only to draw out again and remain still, and then, a few thrusts later, press in again, deeper. His voice soft, a bit hoarse, “Real fingers…pressed inside…what of a real voice, pushing harder still? “

Wynn nods quickly, a loud moan released with each thrust of his fingers inside her. She feels her legs begin to weaken, she slowly lowers herself down to the ground, attempting to pull him along with her without breaking the thrusts.

D’jaevle follows her down to the ground, pressing her knees upward, thighs parted slightly. His hand presses down, sliding her panties to mid-thigh, his eyes flickering down and then back up to meet her eyes, his hunger in his words, “Can you handle that?””

Wynn nods again. “Try me and see…” She meets his gaze, the same desire reflected back at him through her eyes, grinning slyly up at him. She kicks off her panties, spreading herself along the ground. “But… can you?”

These Are the Moments

You sit across from him or her and try to hide the shiver that starts at the top of your spine and ends somewhere under the skin and between your thighs. You don’t necessarily know this person all that well. They are articulate. Intelligent. Playful and serious at the same time. They take their time with things. The way they watch the manner in which you carefully offer yourself in smiles and laughter tells you that they can be patient. The way they recklessly steal a kiss (somewhere between lips and cheek) tells you they aren’t afraid to be.

So you do not know this person, and yet you do; in the way you know something you want, the way you feel when envisioning that set of diamond earrings you’ve been promised or dreaming of that stormy-colored silver convertible you’ve sworn to own one day.

And this is the kind of knowledge that doesn’t rest easily; it shivers and burns and chills in nervous anticipation of something that won’t be – can’t be – as perfectly necessary in reality as it is in that moment you realize you want it.

***

There was a moment there, when my arm brushed your breasts, where I wanted you to know. To know how well I can bring teeth and lips to play against your skin. To know well the tightness inside, drawn to hardened nipples that are teased with teeth that are cruel in the aching 10 remembrances left behind. There was a moment where I wanted you to push back, to let go and see how far it could take you, to dare to be bad enough to feel my hand between your legs and against you. A moment where you could want more than you fear, and then match it with needs of your own. And there was a moment where you did, where you said fuck it and closed your eyes to feel it and think of how good it felt to be bad, to taste it just to know…and in knowing be lost in something that threatened to take you under and leave you submerged in a glazed heat that would turn your skin to parchment and leave me drafting your existence in bursts of lust both autobiographical and metaphorical.

Reverence

NE is reverent.

There are certain areas of her life that she considers sacred. Sacred in the way little girls view their favorite stuffed animals. Sacred in the way older girls should be able to remember their first love. Sacred in the way children trust their parents.

She is still able to trust like that. There is no one else I know who has managed to maintain the capacity to trust at this level through adolescence and young adulthood. This trust is not born of naivety or ignorance; NE has been burnt in her past. More than once, and quite harshly. She’s learned from her mistakes. But this place of innocence is a part of her. Unconsciously, she surrounds herself with people who will protect it.

But these sacred places, these sacred places she holds inside her, she trusts these sacred places with a completeness of self that I am almost made the less for in not having the ability to share. I have my own citadels of belief but they are born in the iron lines of will and experience. They are blood stained and hardened.

Her place under me is sacred to her. She sees my writing on here through a lens colored equal parts amused sarcasm and reverence. She doesn’t follow the links I have listed so carefully along the side (though I have never forbidden her to). When she comments, she comments anonymously (which is just silly, but I can’t find the heart to admonish her too severely for it). The only time she reads other blogs is when I assign her some specific entries to read. The last time I did this, I also requested she write her thoughts on each entry. Here are a couple of her responses.

***

Ambient Storm – The Girls Gotta Have It.

My initial reactions: Fuck me, that was beautiful, perfect and fucking sexy.

This post was really well written. It was right to the point. And it was enough to stir jealousy and desire in any woman, but particularly me. I feel that way about sex more often than I ever have before, but it is still so fucking hard for me because I don’t cum like that. In truth, I think that a few years ago, I would have hated that post, but the fact is now I can let go like that with Bear. I am so glad. I have to admit, I want to try that; not exactly like that, but something similar.

My favorite part was her quick, solid and without even mentioning it, ability to let go. But with a more straight-forward reaction…this fucking post made me want to have sex or get-off right now. This was very erotic with even touching on the should I – shouldn’t I thing. It was really interesting because in a way it was about her control over herself. I love that.

Additionally, if I question your motives…were you trying to make me want to get a vibrator? I truthfully have never heard a more convincing argument.

Bliatz – Confessions of a Word Whore

God, she is so expressive. OK.
I am like her in some ways but not in others. First of all, the asking. I hate to be asked how I feel or something of the kind by you. The reason why is that I am not sure that I will answer correctly…I am such a first baby. Maybe I am not at the right place yet, maybe my answer will not make sense, maybe I don’t even have an answer to that. Having said all of that, it is still something that needs to happen. I agree with her that it does force me to understand myself, but between you and me, I think that most of it is a way for you to pin point more of where I am on the staircase.

Secondly, the commanding. Again, I don’t really like having to tell you that I am your slut…this in itself is not a turn-on for me (most of the time, although I have to agree that it is amazingly freeing and it does take away the guilt that you could feel. I cannot believe how self-observant she is!) I don’t think that it ever has been. But I am all about the reaction. I am all about the vehicle to take me over the edge.

Really, if I examine myself, I am all about the rewards for doing something well. What I do love about “dirty-talk” (I actually hate that phrase) between you and me is that it doesn’t feel like dirty talk. If I had to name an instance that I loved (I mean died…) when we were talking together, I would say after I am really turned on and under you. When I feel like explaining something to you in detail, like how it feels you are sucking on my nipples or how sexy it is when you hold me down, while you are holding me or rubbing me. That is so erotic. And truth be told, I am all about when you reward me verbally. It really makes me wet, and to me it absolves me from my sin.

NE

Trick of the Light

There was a period of time where I experimented with hypnotism. You could go so far as to say I ‘dabbled’ in it. I am far from an expert, but I did learn a few things.

1. Hypnotism does work.

2. How well you respond to hypnotism depends on several factors, not the least of which is personality (surprisingly, it is the imaginative strong-willed type that tend to make the best subjects). Other factors include the setting, desire, and rapport with the hypnotist.

3. Hypnotism *cannot* force you to do anything that goes against your moral code – but you may find yourself doing things you had not thought yourself capable of. The subconscious is a very tricky beast.

Aside from the obvious (setting of control), hypnotism shares one important element with Domination: it provides a place of freedom. While hypnotized, there is a freedom from conscious constraints, a freedom from burdens.

In this freedom is born the sometimes beautiful, often comical, and occasionally erotic, unmonitored activity of the human mind.

I first started playing around with it at seventeen or so. Friends of the family were staying at the house and they had a daughter the same age as my oldest sister. One late evening I convinced them both to let me attempt to hypnotize them. It worked to a small degree with my sister’s friend, but my sister slid under quickly and deep. Her trust in me made her an ideal subject and I focused my attentions on her.

I tried small things at first – having them recite the alphabet backwards without hesitation. Successful here, I moved onto slightly more complex post-hypnotic suggestions (such as laughing when a particular word was said). I placed restrictions on each suggestion (to have them fade after a few hours) and before bringing them back up I would instill a sense of relaxed refreshment that would last long after the other suggestions faded. One curious after-affect of the process was the development of a surprisingly strong trust bond between my sister and I. Each session increased this bond until, towards the end, her attachment had the taste of dependency. This faded after a week or so.

I continued to experiment with hypnosis with various degrees of success for the next several years. My attentions turned inward and I practiced self-hypnosis and meditation. Eventually my attentions were turned towards other areas and I stopped thinking about it.

Until recently.

Because now I’m seeing it in another light. Might not there be other aspects to this hobby? I’ve always been fascinated in the boundaries we create. My hunt is one of testing, nudging, driving, taking others over these lines. Physical lines of pleasure and pain. Mental lines of vulnerability and freedom.

Where can you go when you slide that deep? How similar is this place, under hypnosis, to the place my submissives live in when I own them with my words, my will, and my hands?

Clever Criminals

My hands know you like clever criminals.
familiar with the heat of your skin, but most particularly,
with the way your mouth turns up when you want to smile but can’t remember to.

***

These are the moments.

A moment when my fingers brushed your breasts, where I wanted you to know.

To know how well I can bring teeth and lips to play against your skin.

To know well the tightness inside, a coiling of heated steel that twists in sweet pain.

A moment where I wanted you to push back, to let go and see how far it will take you.

To dare enough to feel my hand, virtual or real, between your thighs and against you.

A moment where you wanted more than you fear and matched it with needs of your own.

One moment that lasted just…this…long.

Paying the Devil

You don’t yet understand what it means to be naked. Your conceptions on being stripped bare are just a beginning. To be naked in front of me is to be my sin to unravel.

When I am done, I will know you. I will know you from the inside. I will covet your broken dreams and remake them as fever-sketched scenes that are too thin to be real, and too sharp to be otherwise. I will taste all of the imperfections that make you desirable. I will make you own them as the beauty marks and scars that make you unique. I will convince you to embrace the least of your cravings and make it the greatest of needs. I will murmur your secrets against the silky folds of your sex until they spill over and stain your skin.

I will fuck you from behind because it makes a bitch of you.

I will fuck you slowly because it makes you beg.

I will fuck you because you are beautiful.

When I am done, I will have the shape of you. I will be able to close my eyes to trace your thighs with invisible fingers and you will shiver. I will nuzzle your breasts with memory-drenched lips and time and distance will be less than the space of a single whispered word. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you will feel it. Welcomed in a single moment of surrender I will be forever inside of you. A voice in the dark every time you close your eyes. When you are unmade by your acquiescence, I will piece you back together with my words woven into the fabric of your desires.

I will leave you trembling and vulnerable to the world’s cruelty and hungers before cloaking you in the protection of my guidance.

I will be your devil and your salvation.

BDSM – The Text Adventure Game, Part II

(Part I here.)

> TELL PORTIA TO GET TO HER KNEES

The weight of the flogger gives you a bit more confidence, and it comes across in the surprisingly harsh tone in which you speak. You order her to her knees.

She looks a bit unsure of herself and her eyes remain on the flogger in your hand – but she isn’t yet entirely convinced.

> PUT HAND ON PORTIA’S NECK
(putting your fingers around Portia throat)

Now we’re getting somewhere. With your free hand, you reach for Portia and wrap your fingers carefully around her throat, an act that elicits from her a slight gasp. You can feel the heat of her skin against your grip, feel each breath she takes, ragged and increasingly uneven. And, closing your eyes, you can even feel her pulse as it rests along the inside of your hand. When you open your eyes it is to see Portia’s gaze on you with a simmering intensity to match the strength of your hold on her.

(Portia is stilled.)

> TELL PORTIA TO GET TO HER KNEES

She slips to her knees in silence, her wide eyes locked onto yours. There is some fear there, but it is driving something much larger before it – a hunger, tightening and tightening inside her until it’s tip is sharp enough to draw blood. With your hand on her throat, you guide her downward.

(Portia is on her knees.)

> TELL PORTIA TO UNZIP PANTS

There is just the slightest hesitation before she reaches up and, with trembling fingers, draws down the zipper of your jeans .

> SAY THANK YOU

That hurts. Down deep, that hurts. Way to let me down, man. Come on, try again. Be strong.

> FUCK HER

Excellent idea, but don’t you think there are a few things left to do? If you handle her right, she’ll give you the best thirty seconds of your life. Well, for you, the best twenty seconds. You stud.

> POSITION HER FOR SPANKING

With your zipper down? Don’t you think you should do something about that?

> POSITION HER FOR SPANKING

Ok, ok. You drag her up with one hand and…

(To be continued…)