The night’s still aslumber,
in a crowded bondage lair.
Forms mingling, chaste. No haste, but,
sin wafts in the air.
We lock eyes from afar.
Aloof. Nary a thought to spare.
Do you muse? What excuses
my apathetic show of care?
Where went my avowed lust –
I’d breathed – no – growled into your hair?
What of deeds of past eves
when we’d mated: hurt, entwined, bare?
Mere fickleness of man, you think,
to not tend to the bond we share?
Ache sharper than my palm’s wake,
when you turn, felling me from your stare.
Slayer, not like this. Look!
Look back, damnit! Look here!
Peer, dear lover, past my veneer.
See desire persevere.
Dare I play with fire,
inflamed beyond compare?
I suffer death with every breath:
your smile, your touch – to another player.
Fair Lady, go play, court pain,
indulge a kinky night’s affair.
Too shall I woo pleasure,
in periphery, yearning, aware.
Then when we have whet hunger,
and the night’s alight, sincere,
come back, fall into orbit mine.
Feel me pull you everywhere.
Needing, pulsating, wanting, hot –
let’s coalesce into a pair.
To behold was hurt divine,
but to hold you is my ardent prayer.
Author: inviktus11235
A crisis in three words [MF20s-30s][MF][Rough]
A crisis in three words
What is a crisis?
When I’m taking you. Hard. Practically skewering you into my bed. Nothing but your hips absorbing my momentum when I pile-drive into your pussy. And you croon at me, with heavy lidded eyes, a word with each thrust: come. inside. me.
“Come inside me.” We haven’t had *the talk*.
That – is a crisis.
Three Words to undo it all, Three Words to find them. Three Words to bring senses to the edge of release looming behind them.
Woman, are you mad?! The temerity! Do you know my predicament? Every single ounce of my male body, backed by eons of evolution, is primed to claim you with my seed. Not just anyone; *you*! Every act of my love-making is the Feral inside who hungers to tame the Feminine. When I grab your jaw and devour your mouth. When I grasp your hair and bite your neck. When I hold your wrists and fuck your sex. I have chosen you, as you have me. I will mark my possession with swollen lips and bruised thighs.
But for *you* to tell me to mark you! Witch, your invocation stirs deep instinct.
Some thoughts are prettier left unsaid [M20s/F20s, D/s, degradation, bondage]
I can’t decide. I don’t know if I should wrap you in my arms. Plant gentle pecks on your pretty face. Nuzzle you into my neck. Or if I should hold you against me hard, gagged, hooded, clamped as I bruise your insides with my claim to my fuck-toy rag-doll with needy wet holes that you are.
I guess I’ll do both.
We will start slow. Your collaring for the night will be an act of love. I will administer it with a feathery touch and a warm whisper.
We will then find our rhythm. My debauchery of you will be an act of love too, dearest. I shall administer it with reverent vigor.
I will start with your lips. And I will know you will fail. You will enunciate. Force words upon your tongue that stir your loins. You are mine, are you not? Say it. Your heart thumps achingly at the timbre of my voice in heat, no? Say it. That pang of hunger in your belly will only be washed down with my seed, yes? Say. It.
Speechless [M/f][18+]Denial][D/s]
I like it when you leave *me* speechless.
When you come to my door in the middle of the day. Sometimes I am a detour. Sometimes, the destination. A lunch break. A shopping trip. Perhaps a lull in your work.
Your kiss means business. Your lips are not timid as they negotiate with mine. Confidence burns in the caress of your tongue. You bite my flesh and devour my breath. Your body molds sinuously against me. Hands grasping hair. Hips gyrating into hips. Your taking from me is deliberate, transactional. And yet I feel I have the better end of the deal.
You push me in to the middle of my living room. A step taken, an article of clothing lost. By the end you are almost naked. On some days, not. You choose to keep on what you have chosen for me to take off.
And then you kneel.
No, not to press on with your conquest. Your demeanor changes. You hold yourself down on your knees, eyes level with my buckle. Hands primly folded behind your back. Your thighs titillatingly spread, not brazenly so. The skin on your neck and bosom is flushed. Our breathing fills the silence.
Free-use [M/f][Bondage][free-use, duh?]
She is in my room and on my bed. Naked, collared, flushed, aroused. She is tied up in my rope. On her back. Legs open, knees up. Ass and pussy hanging off one edge. Mouth hanging off the other. She is blindfolded. One or more of her holes, which I may not be inclined to use, are plugged closed. The remainder, nerve endings alive with anticipation, are at my service.
She lies there for however long I please. The clock ticks and her heart throbs and her skin tingles. Vulnerable, pliant, splayed wide open. I tower above her undulating form. I am quiet and she is still. Like a doe wary of danger, in the primitive part of her brain, prey senses predator. And I am hungry. Greedy. Possessive. She is mine. She is *mine* before she is *her*. *Mine*, and only for me.
I may fuck her aching asshole hard and deep. She gasps with the sharp pain of being stretched, and grunts with the deeper hurt in her guts. But her mind pays no heed to flesh. It is drunk – indulged in the satisfaction of being filled.
Al-Ta’dib: School of Behavioral Correction – Admission Letter [D/s][Anal][Oral][Bondage][Training]
Dear applicant,
Thank you for your inquiry into the Institute. After reviewing your personal statement, I am pleased to accept your application into the program. Congratulations! You have been inducted into the next batch of Trainee Sluts. I will be your teacher for the duration of your instruction.
The following is a detailed prospectus of the program. There are core units which will be taught concurrently. Each unit has mandatory coursework, and options to specialize with electives. Each teaching session will have a bespoke combination of these units, tailored to your needs. You will be home-schooled at a residence of our choosing. The frequency of classes will range from fortnightly to multiple times a week, depending on our schedules.
Please review this coursework and select an appropriate course of instruction.
—
## The Essence of Slut
In this unit, I will lay the groundwork of your identity. A Slut knows what she wants. She is unafraid to share it, all the while respecting, and demanding respect for, her partner’s and her boundaries.
A crash course in My Slut [Mdom][D/s][M/f][Creampie]
When you come to my place on the appointed date, I will give you a crash course in My Slut.
I want you to come prepared as we had discussed, and with an overnight bag. The evening will begin with me entertaining you in the living room. Small talk. Making out. Unbuttoning clothes. Negotiating last details of our session. I will then ask you to walk into my bedroom. I will follow a few minutes later.
The time you will have alone is to be spent usefully. My bedroom will be dimly lit. You are to leave it as it is. You will disrobe completely, and place your folded garments in my closet. On my bed, you will find two articles. They are for you to wear. You will wear these until your lesson is done.
The first article is a leather collar. It is a symbol of my ownership of your will. Note the sturdy construction. The metal ring at the front. The worn notches at the back. It is not a decoration and I will not use it as such. It is your privilege to wear my collar. You will wear it with pride.
Authority exchange [satire, exhib]
From:
Office of the Director,
Transportation Security Administration,
Department of Homeland Security.
Subject: Distressed agents.
Ma’am,
Let me forego niceties and be blunt. Please, stop traveling through airports with objects inserted in your rectum to get pulled aside for mandated cavity searches to feed your paraphilia.
I have received multiple reports through the chain of command. Agents across the country were left distressed after encounters with a passenger who became “deliriously excited” when the metal detector pinged. The woman reportedly wasted no time leading the way to the inspection room, disrobing, bending over and spreading her buttocks in an open invitation.
I am told you claimed to be conducting “freedom of navigation operations” when requested to relent. Ma’am, this is not the South China Sea. Navigating with a vibrating toy that has to be extracted from your anus does not help protect the right to travel for citizens through our airport.
I hope a request directly from the head of the department will convey the weight of our concern. Again, ma’am, please.
Signed,
Brewing [M/F, d/s, exhib]
We are sat in a coffee shop in my rustic neighborhood mall. Large windows let in the warm seductive rays of a sleepy sun. It is late in the afternoon. The last wave of customers is coming in. The air is serene, the hustle-bustle of business a constant hum that muffles the voices of patrons. Our little bubble of privacy in the open.
Our cups are half-empty, their lukewarm contents long forgotten. Mirroring each other, we sit leaning back, legs crossed at an angle, and torsos facing straight. There’s a small wooden table between us. My hand rests there. Yours are folded in your lap. I can see your well-worn sneakers and part of your leg. You’ve come wearing a skirt, as I had asked.
This is the first time we have met in person. Our exchanges online were not long. They were, however, quite raw. Our current conversation is equally proper. How do you behave when you ask polite, probing questions of a stranger who has already disclosed their filthiest fantasies when they were faceless? Meaningful as interest in books and sports and art may be, in this moment it is an exercise in platitudes.
In heat [M/F]
Do you know when you are crazy attracted to someone? No, not infatuation. Not respect. But selfish, lustful, animal magnetism. A draw so strong, so consuming, that the mind exorcises thoughts for the sake of sanity.
And that exorcism is oh-so-filthy. Thoughts that scarcely form into threads. Words that would scarcely ever part your lips. Visions that scarcely manifest with a face. They all do. It is an ejaculation of desire that will splatter into the void. Kinda pathetic. But it feels so, so good too.
I remember thinking for someone:
I want to push you against the wall and run the tip of my tongue from the base of your throat to your ear. Taste the salt on your skin and feel the thrumming of your pulse. I want to grab you by the side of your neck as I plunder your mouth.
I want to rip your blouse open, to tear your panties off. No, not disrobe you. No, not have you undress. Shred. Your. Clothes. You may want me. I want you more. So I will *take* faster than you can *give*.