Category: Crimson Writ

Where my words give lie to the wolf under the skin.

Hues of Something Darker

If my chat logs are a wine cellar, my conversations with Madeleine are the rare vintages, to be savored and sipped at sparingly. And yet, I have so many gems. So many moments captured that still have the power to make me pause. I can feel the wolf stirring. She is prey he knows well; she tastes of the chase, the sublime submission when teeth meet throat. The scent of her, when she is close, is enough to bring him fully awake.

***

D’jaevle says “You are more then welcome to sleep here, against my chest. I will keep away all the bad dreams…except the ones I want you to have.”

Madeleine smiles at that and snuggles her head against your chest. “You are perfect, you know, as a master. As my master. I know you care about me, and would never do anything to really hurt me. But at the same time, you aren’t one of those masters who’s so coddling and adoring that you wonder who the master is, really.”

D’jaevle says “My position is to take care of you; not serve. It is to protect; not appease. It is to give; but only what I think you need.”

Madeleine smiles. “That’s what I mean. I’ve had doms before that were so desperate to please -me- that it made me wonder who had which role, there.”

D’jaevle shakes his head with a faint smile, “Don’t get me wrong. I do adore you. But I adore you as my pet.”

Madeleine is happy to be adored, in whichever way it comes.

D’jaevle says “I adore your neck, for how well it marks, and how the tightening of my fingers causes the same tightening between your thighs.”

Madeleine says “I don’t adore the way my neck marks ;)”
Madeleine says “It’s likely to get me in trouble.”

D’jaevle says “Ah, but I do. It would not be as much fun if there were no marks left at all.”

Madeleine thinks the back of her neck is a good place for those… or lower. ;)

D’jaevle wouldn’t mind leaving some very pretty ones along your breasts next time.

Madeleine says “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t last time.”

D’jaevle says “Why is that? I left plenty of marks elsewhere.”

Madeleine shrugs. “I don’t know… maybe you were too busy on my thighs. They got more than their fair share.”

D’jaevle arches a brow, “More? Too much for your thighs?”

Madeleine says “Biiiig dark bruises.”

D’jaevle smiles, “I will make sure to spread them out across your body more evenly. Happy?

Madeleine laughs. “Actually, that’s probably not good. It’s easier to hide them if they’re only in certain spots.” Madeleine adds “If they’re everywhere, kinda hard to hide. Plus I don’t want to look like a leopard. ;)”

D’jaevle rolls his eyes, “Make up your mind, fickle beast.” He bites your ear lightly.

Madeleine laughs. “I’m a woman… you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

D’jaevle looks down at you in his lap, “And I am cruel. I shall leave one here, ” His finger runs over your neck, right where it meets your shoulder. “And here,” Fingers slip down to your breasts, tracing the curve of one, stopping along the side, “Maybe here…” Fingers continue to your hip, lazily teasing the skin.

Madeleine grins. “All new places… perhaps one day, there won’t be a single part of me below the neck that you’ve not marked.”

Stranglehold

Stolen gestures,
like tender words,
will only go so far in the tempering
of each illusion.

Sometimes, I am in awe of you – your gestures, the way your hips
move, the flash of a thigh, your own need.

When I’m not ready to strangle you, of course.

Habits of Contention

I’ve done some writing about my past, as if writing about how I became interested in certain themes might provide context to the rest of the writing I do here.

I’ve given glimpses into my relationship with NE (my best friend and my submissive). I’ve posted several conversations showing my interaction with women I’ve spoken to in the past.

But there are a few women I haven’t spoken about, for various reasons. There is one I want to speak to now.

She is the closest thing I’ve had to having a partner in crime. She can be submissive, but never an unequal. She can be tempting, but never quite the innocent. She can be stubborn, but never truly unreasonable. She is devious, evil, curious, and occasionally cruel. She is the only person I’ve ever driven more than two hours just to meet.

I love the predator in her. Especially when I see it behind her eyes, under me.

***

Djaevle nuzzles your wrist, finding the broken skin, his mouth hot against you as he licks again, slowly, “And I…” his mouth slips lower, along your arm, nipping the skin, “..will ensure…” his body shifts as he kisses up to your neck, “…that you enjoy it.”

Madeleine gasps softly as she tilts her head to the side, her hair falling away from her neck. “This is a good beginning,” she whispers, her eyes still closed.

Djaevle leaves small wet kisses along the edge of your neck. Pressing you back on the bed, he looms over you, hands pressing the silk up and away from your breasts, “I once held someone’s hands over her head…” Fingers trail down the top of your breasts, “…and teased their nipples, breasts, skin…” his hands press in, tugging on the tips lightly, then harder, “…until they begged to cum…they would have done anything…”

Madeleine groans at that. “And did you let her?” she asks, looking up at you with impassioned, but curious eyes.

Djaevle lowers his head to your nipples, blowing gently against them, his hands slipping along your arms, drawing them over your head, “…now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” His teeth draw down on the nipple, and back, tugging slowly, and then rolling it, teasing it as he would your clit, taking his time to lick slowly, then abruptly bite down, only to gently tease it again.

Madeleine looks at you for a long moment, watching, then asks, “What do you get, personally, out of being a dominant? What do you value most about it… what part is your greatest personal thrill, and why do you think it is?”

Djaevle chuckles, not releasing your hands, but drawing his attention up from your breasts, “I enjoy making women want something. I enjoy feeling and watching their pleasure. I enjoy the place I can put them, when things are felt on an entirely different level.”

Madeleine hmmms. “Interesting perspective,” she muses.

Djaevle looks down at you for a moment and then shakes his head with a smile.

Madeleine grins. “What…? I’m intrigued by psychology.”

Djaevle says, “Right.”

Madeleine is, really.

Djaevle leans back on the bed, away from you, “Anything else you wish to know?”

Madeleine hmmms. “Do we ever get to roleplay? As in the entirely fictional sort? I miss that.”

Djaevle smiles, “Very demanding, aren’t we?”

Madeleine gasps indignantly. “I demanded nothing… I just asked.” She grins.

Djaevle says, “Did you have a particular setting in mind?”

Madeleine shakes her head. “Here… we can just make up something.”
Madeleine wants to play at vampires and indians.

Winter Rain

I was alone until it rained –
and faltering words on lips were stained.

You taught that words were promises,
in a feast made of your pride.
And I bought them with the silver
in the tears that you denied.

But when all the rain has passed tonight,
taking all the things I’d soon forget.
The one lesson you failed to teach me,
was in the words we’d both regret.

Job Satisfaction

To me, reading someone’s writing, especially if they don’t do much of it, can be more intimate then kissing. (Note – this is a *fictional* story).

***

SB White

I slowly let my skirt fall below my knees, revealing my pink garter and crotchless panties. I bent over, picked up the shirt, and put it on the chair with the rest of my clothes.

“Dance,” he ordered. I slowly began to gyrate my hips, running my hands over my breasts, my stomache, my crotch.

“Take off your bra.” I unhooked the front of the clasp and placed my bra on top of my other clothes.

“Pinch your nipples.” I let my hands roam over my round breasts, stroking my nipples until they were hard. I pinched each nipple between my index finger and thumb.

“Twist.” I twisted.

“Pull.” I pulled.

“Stop. Go answer the door. Don’t put on any clothes. Bring your guest in here.”

I went to the door and opened it. There stood a tall, beautiful, dark haired woman in a long leather coat with a large hand bag. I took her back to the room.

“Tie her up.” Wondering what I would use, I reached for her. She grabbed my wrists, took a pair of handcuffs out of her coat pocket and placed them on my wrists. “Put her on the bed and secure her hands to the headboard.” She tied the handcuffs to the headboard.

“Make her beg.” She took off her coat to reveal she was wearing nothing underneath. She grabbed my right breast and twisted my nipple hard while she bit my left breast. She continued to work my tits with her mouth and moved her hands to my cunt. She parted my lips and slipped a finger inside me. She massaged my clit with her thumb while she moved her fingers in and out of me. I was so hot…and then she stopped. She sat down in a chair, pulled a cigarette out of her coat and lit it. She told me that if my nipples did not stay hard, and my cunt wet, I’d pay. I laughed. She smoked her cigarette and went to the bathroom. When she returned she pinched my nipple and declared it was time for my punishment. I tried to tell her I was still wet, but she would not listen. She tied my legs to the bed so that they were spread wide. She took a clit whip from her bag and began to spank my clit. It stung. My clit burned. It turned me on even more but I wanted her to stop. I asked her very nicely to stop. She laughed. I begged.

“Stop,” came the command. She stopped. “She’s had enough of that for today. Make her come.” She bent over the bed and kissed me. She moved her mouth down my body to my cunt. She gently sucked on my clit and fucked me with her fingers. After just a few minutes, I came.

“Now leave.” She stood and untied me. She kissed me on the mouth, put on her coat, and started to walk out the door. I noticed the clit whip sitting on my chair. I told her she was forgetting it.

“It’s a gift from him, ” she said as she walked out the door.

I went to the computer and typed, “Thanks.”

“I thought you might like it,” he replied. “The money has been deposited into your account. Same time, same place?”

“Of course,” I replied. I turned off my webcam and shut down my computer.

I love being a cyber whore.

~SB

Contextual Integrity (or, why you are on your knees)

A few days ago I shared the audio clip that I posted just before Christmas with a friend.

A bit about LX: she came to me because she has a growing interest in D/s, one I’ve helped her explore. Although the exploration hasn’t been intensive, it has touched on mind play, bondage, and headspace. She’s a graduate student studying human rights and is someone I consider quite intelligent if a bit naive in certain areas.

Which makes her reaction to the audio clip rather fascinating. When I asked her to send me her thoughts on it, she transcribed the clip and added comments explaining what was wrong with it. These comments are, in her own words, rooted in feminism. This leaves me feeling rather conflicted.

If feminism is the idea that women are the equal of men, you can consider me a feminist. I do believe that because there are certain physiological and social differences between the sexes, there are activities where one gender has the advantage. In the end, however, it is the individual that decides the level of competency in any given area.

LX’s italicized comments follow the bolded sections they refer to. The red italicized sections are my response.

****

I become an extension to you
Or rather, you become an extension of me

I reacted to this statement because if I – hypothetically speaking- become an extension of you I become something less than you, something without an entity of my own. In patriarchy that’s the place that women have always been given, the place that has been reinforced by the system. Even when said in a context of consensual DS it is rather perplexing that it isn’t questioned but accepted as part of the “nature” of DS. It’s like the woman is erased and is only allowed to exists because of the man who allows her to exists as an extension of him at that!

Becoming an extension of a person is not a lessening. It is a focusing. When I am with someone, in a D/s setting, I am paring them down. I am removing all that is unessential and laying them bare. I am eliminating all distractions and forcing them to exist in a single moment. I become a conduit, a focal point. A lens.

I may say that they are becoming an extension of me, but the truth is that in serving me, I am serving them. It is one of those little ironies that make D/s so fascinating for me.

****

The spread of my fingers, the tightness of a grip wrapped around your pretty little throat

These are adjectives traditionally used (and quite often) to describe femininity, assigned to women. In patriarchy a woman isn’t a woman if she isn’t described, defined as “pretty,” “little.” These words also have socially assigned values of their own, and they seem to be adjectives that belong to someone who is learning, who needs to be taught, to a little kid.

You are correct – every word spoken or written comes with it a symbolic history. It is one reason I am so in love with words. In love with the right words.

You look for a patriarchal echo behind these words. In truth, I was aiming for a more sinister note. When I think ‘pretty little’ neck, it is in the context of all the bad things that can happen to pretty little things. Perhaps your thoughts on the adjectives provide a deeper explanation for why they come to be associated with the numerous scenes played out in tragic consequence.

But this is a lesson in how each of us relates to the words we use. If I were to tell my boss that she is a slut, I would get an entirely different reaction than if I say the same thing to my date who was currently begging me to finally let herself go over that edge I’ve kept just out of her reach.

****

I can make you understand that every breath that you take is a gift from me

The first part of this phrase I find very condescending. The second bolded phrase, my breaths are not gifts from anyone, they are mine. Even in this position, when someone has power to not allow me to breath that person has taken something that does not belong to him/her. They are not gifts, they have been appropriated or misappropriated. Again, this reflects a lot of male/female relationships in patriarchy that say women are dependent on men even to breathe.

If you remove the power exchange undergone in these moments of D/s, if one individual is not assuming authority over the other in a physical, mental, or emotional manner, than we are no longer speaking of D/s.

What difference, gender? Although it is possible to root the power exchange in the male/female patriarchal dynamic you so often speak of, that is a choice between partners. To believe that is the sole basis for power exchange is to ignore the fact that this exchange plays out between same-sex couples; that it plays out in reverse, with a female dominant; that some couples switch, depending on mood and nclination.

****

Which is why I leave you no choice, I’m just going to take it from you
I am going to take this and everything else from you

It’s not enough that you’re going to take “it” from me, but you’re going to take everything else so that there isn’t anything else left behind without you willing it. Again, the negation of a woman’s own self. Even in the realm of the sexually consensual everything else will be taken from here, her self will be vanquished.

We live our lives under constant pressure. Even those of us who keep it simple. We all have responsibilities we cannot ignore without consequence. Ignore work and you jeopardize food, housing, and creature comforts. Ignore friends and family and you jeopardize those relationships that provide you with emotional support. Ignore your hobbies and interests and you jeopardize your own mental health. Everything in life, even those things that by nature are meant to provide you with release, have burdens of their own.

My gift is that of freedom. I will take everything from you and then I will provide you the space and acceptance to just be.

****

I want you to lay there with the weight of the hand around your neck.

It’s not enough to take “it” and everything else, you have to impose your will on the woman.

Yes, I will take everything from you.

And then, if you are good, I will replace it with something that will make you aware of how nerve endings can be played to a music as terrifying as it is thrilling. I will replace it the promise of pleasure that lingers for weeks, a second self, a silhouette of sinful indulgence.

Wake Up, Wake Up

Wake up, wake up
no time to wait
so much to do, if it’s not too late.

Where’s your keys, where’s your car
your own two feet can’t take you too far

Wake up, wake up
no time to waste
you’re almost thirty, have to find a mate.

Gotta marry, gotta make the grade
So many to love, lest love degrade.

Wake up, wake up
no time to consider, too much’s at stake
A few more tumbles, a couple of kids to make.

You must raise them to be just like you
talking shirts and super glue

Wake up, wake up,
you’re almost dead
pass on your wisdom from all the books you’ve read

You must be a teacher, a mentor, to lead,
Pass on your life, it’s your life they need.

Wake up, wake up,
now it truly is too late
you’re gone now, it’s over, but for curiosities sake –

Were you happy? Were you merry? Did you smile enough?
Did you make a life out of life, or was it just filled with…stuff?

Hunter’s Game

I admit it. I am a predator. I am at my best when I let myself enjoy the hunt. When I am testing, teasing, and tempting my prey. I am not ashamed to take advantage of naivete and innocence. If I find weakness, I exploit it. I make a study of knowing points of entry. I notice the shiver when my fingers linger on your neck while taking your coat.

I remember when you tell me how your last lover got you into bed with a rose and a promise.

I smile when you say you don’t kiss on the first date, because you’re touching my hand while you say it.

I watch the way you cross your legs when discussing your favorite way to be touched.

***

I’ve been watching you.

No, don’t look behind you.

You won’t see me there.

I am in your pulse.

Your breathing.

I am your need to experience life in a way that awakens you.

[audio:MassiveAttack_TheHunterGetsCaptureByTheGame.mp3]
Massive Attack, The Hunter Gets Captures By the Game