She comes when I call her.

I wait in the dark. Patiently. I do not wonder. Her arrival is a fact.
Carved in her bones.

I hear her far down the hallway, her steps a nervous, uneven cadence of heels along hardwood. Half-way, she tries to compose herself.
Her even steps are taking her away from the rhythm of her life.
The gray of work, of home.
The grayer still of the men, boyfriends, encounters.
She leaves them behind when she comes to me. 
When she hears my voice, her life begins.

She comes when I call her.
I wait in the dark. Patiently.
I am naked, in the black.

I know, before she enters, that she has tried to make herself sexy for me.
It is something she does for me, and, strangely, I appreciate the effort.
A gesture, for me, as if I didn't spend months approaching her, learning her, enticing her, whispering of secrets that, eventually, she simply had to learn.

She is mine, and nothing else matters.

She opens the door, and before her eyes can adjust I'm on her, a violent pull on her arm, bringing her into the dark. A hand grabbing her throat, slamming her against the wall, the door closing with a sound softer than her skull to the wall.
I enjoy the whimper of surprise, pain, fear.
Its the fear that makes her precious.

Her eyes start to adjust, I can tell, and the moonlight gives her the outline of my face, the light of my eyes, the sharp of my teeth in a feral grimace.
She starts to smile, and my fingers tighten on her throat. Her breathing is a struggle.
I don't allow her any more air than she absolutely needs, and she can feel herself teetering on the edge where I want her.

I take her lower lip between my teeth, pulling it tight, and steadily increasing force and pressure. My teeth are sharp, her wailing begins to build.
I feel her sob.
I feel her tongue reach out to caress my upper lip, just barely.

Another reason I keep her.

Red trickles onto my teeth and lips.
Commitment.

I am barely aware of throwing her to the floor, of my weight on her back.
I feel the knife shredding her clothes, I feel her teeth fighting my fingers as I force the gag into her mouth, I feel my skin along nylon. 

It is some time before I finally have her tied to the bed. I know she couldn't help but try to struggle, to escape, and she is strong, but has no where to go but back to gray.

I have sharp things, things that I use to carve her skin, to write my words, and I whisper them in her ear as I do. My body takes great pleasure from hers as I scrawl . The room is filled with the scent of my sex, 
And her's as well.

Straddling her hips, I look down. The girl who entered is gone.
The girl I adore, ache for, love.
In her place is my perfect victim.
The thing that I need. I have no other words.

I take the gag from her mouth. We kiss softly, barely touching, as my writing continues.
From gray, to black, and now to color.
To life worth living.

She comes when I call her.

She will leave when I let her.

Its so slow
The toy she wears
Moving inside me
She fills me as my body lies pinned under her.
Her weight soft and warm and still.
Except for her hips, and my legs wrapped around them.
Pulling back.
Leaving me with an empty that makes me want to cry.
My arms shaking as she moves back in
It takes a year of my life
But finally I am full and complete
Only to feel it fade
My orgasm is just as slow
Silent
I can barely see
Just her dark eyes in the blackness
She doesn’t understand
And whispers
“My god. You’re glowing”
She sees me.

I like it when she struggles.
I like how she growls, and her fists pound on my back, and her nails dig at my flesh angrily.
I like the sound of her when she’s slammed against something hard.
Floor.
Wall.
Counter.
I like how that makes her pause, stunned, confused, a tiny, tiny bit afraid.
Maybe more than a tiny, tiny bit afraid.
But she’s angry too. I used to think it was the fear I loved, but it isn’t.
Its the anger.
Its hot, unrelenting, powerful.
Just like she is.
She’s no victim.
She fights, she even almost wins.
And she’ll keep clawing at me, keep trying to bite me, hit me, anything she can to get me to stop.
Until that one moment.
Right before she goes over the edge.
That point the instant before her body surrenders to me, and I see it in her eyes and she adores me.
Loves me.
Her struggles become thrashes.
Her screams and growls become moans and whimpers.
Her body wraps around me, tightly.
And her eyes never leave mine.
Pleading.
“Don’t ever let go.”

Note to self: Don't just read the 'free text', you HAVE to read the full profile.

*head-desk*

sorry

The skin along her back

I remember the skin along her back most of all.
Running my fingertip over it as she lay on her stomach next to me head turned away,
wandering from one freckle to another
memorizing each one
til I can draw them in my sleep

Tracing the supple muscles, her breath soft and relaxed
almost half asleep
drawing spiralling patterns slowly winding concentric helixes
lazy wandering paths along her spine

And at some point her breath turned silent
response to the flesh and touch and closeness
barely a motion in her fingers not quite wanting to dig nails into sheets
not quite yet

Single finger roaming through the small of her back
the crease before the hill of her ass
and one shuddering wind caught in the boughs of the tree
breath rises above the silence as her body commits
takes the match,
embraces the fire

And now the muscles along her inner thigh quiver at the slightest caress
the barest touch of my fingernail redstreak vanishing
rising higher
and now her fingers clutch at the sheet and pillow holding on
though I won't let her fall

And I wander into her fire
and her breaths are whimpers
and every inch of her skin gasps for air and contact
and the air is filled with her scent and presence
and it wraps around me and she cries as she opens herself to everything and Iím at her center
and body dancing in place with my circling touch and now I'm guiding her every motion and
shudder and flex of such strong muscles and lifting her and dropping her ever so slightly and
every motion followed by her body and she cries and there are no words and she gives to me and
I drown in her.

Gwen

The bar dark…enough people to be left alone…alone with thoughts of…of green…and random scents and memory…lime swirling in martini and my skirt probably too short and the occasional touch of eyes along my calf…and the cool of glass under my
fingertips…and…

"Oh Mistress Vendela, what do you see in your crystal…martini glass?"

looking up, to my left…an impish smile…strangely warm and inviting…

and eyes…

eyes…eyes like Marie’s…dark and mysterious…wise and vast and knowing and..and distant…long talks and debates into the morning hours…slow methodical lovemaking…knowing every inch of skin and muscle…knowing each pressure point, each reaction…guiding…cool and calm and confident…but not…but holding my hand in the dark…but not…listening…but not…

pausing too long…confusion…both of us…or maybe just me

"Um, what…?" my only reply

a soft laugh

"Sorry, you looked like you were divining the future, there. A barfly crystal ball."

A joke like Claire would make…her laugh girlish and sweet…ever motion of her body a song of bells and bracelets and chains clinking gently together…almost always barefoot…gypsy skirts and she laughed and made me laugh with her…tickling me
awake…reveling in every sensation as we fucked (she laughed when she said that word too)…feeding me cherries and smiling down at me under the willow in the park in spring and summer and fall and grass tickling my toes…and her toes tickling me…and
dreams…sweet dreams with…with…

now my own soft laugh…shy smile, but unavoidable.

"No…no future in there…just lost in thought."

"Nothing wrong with that…" that smile, matching her easy tone, "Its so tempting, isn’t it? To get lost that way."

"To wander down every winding road, to fall into spirals..to…I don’t know…" and what am I saying?

her smile spreading, hand resting so briefly on mine

"Hey…easy there…I didn’t come over to make you…y’know…explain your deepest secrets"

her chuckle…and I see her for the first time…soft auburn hair, a short mop atop an equally soft face

my smile less shy now, so easy

"And I didn’t mean to sound so deep and cryptic. So…just what did you come over for?"

"Oh, you know, I go from bar to bar…finding beautiful women…" a sip of her own drink…something exotic…deep green and cloudy…"worming my way into their lives…getting them to take care of me, support me, for a while…then leaving them to move on…breaking banks, breaking hearts, the usual."

my mouth opening in surprise, ever so slightly

and her laugh, deeper this time, shifting to a giggle

"No…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…it was a joke, dear"

realizing how silly I must look…closing my lips…staring down into my drink…cheeks slightly blushed

looking back up, after a long moment…into eyes so deep…so welcoming…and I can’t look away again…staring and staring

her neck, long and supple…the muscles…pulse beating just under the surface of warm skin…

like Tetsuki’s…gymnast dancer contortionist…wiry…corded…strong like cable…her whole body that way…Tetsuki who would twist her body into knots during sex…would writhe inhumanly with my hungry mouth between her thighs…would tie me in flesh when we groped…who’s arms so very strong could lift…wrap tight …but not hold

turning the stool to face her…her knee slipping between mine…almost hearing the brush of my pantyhose against her denim…

"I’m afraid I don’t make enough money to take care of someone who is just going to disappear…it’d be an expensive hobby." My turn to smile confidently…trying to…

"That’s OK, in real life I take care of myself…this is just my secret identity"

and I like her

"How many others do you have? Identities, not sugar-mommas."

she purrs playfully…and I could listen forever

leaning close…whispering…lips brushing my ear…my fingers gripping the bar…drowning grip knuckle-white…

"Many…many many…so many people to be and play"

and I’m shivering…and her hand just above my knee…and I notice my thighs part ever so slightly at her touch…I smile through a soft shaking breath

fingers like Carol’s…tearing and grabbing and hungry…her cunt filled with earthy scents and delights…growling…grunting…devouring…always insatiable…teeth marring flesh…red nailstreaks down backs…unrelenting lust…but after…coated in cooling sweat…bodies still and silent…after…she wouldn’t…couldn’t…

"They have a word for that, you know."

"Oh?" and her question-smile coaxing me with delicious, earthy lips

leaning into her…scent full, intoxicating…sweet dark drug…a lock of her silk mane touchng my brow…my whisper

"Schizophrenia."

and we both giggle…and her hand is higher now…under my skirt…she must feel my heat now…through panties and pantyhose and too many layers and my opening thighs

lips like Madeline’s…soft…full…pale…her fingers so eager to wrap in mine…to learn each touch…barely more than a girl when we first kissed, her very first…eyes bright and wide with wonder…holding on to me as if for dear life…sleeping, always, with my breasts between those lips…drinking…needing…devoted and…and…

"It means you never stop exploring….never stop discovering" and she’s serious…and she’s touching me…and my hand…shaking…reaching out to the collar of her blouse…pulling weakly…bringing her closer…her look of almost-surprise…and her lips
are so close now…breath on my cheeks…the tang of alcohol, green and cloudy…and her fingers higher…slow circles…and my eyes barely open…and my lips barely open…and my thighs opening for her…and her voice…

"I’m Gwen"

weakening will…strength fading with a shudder along my spine…my quiet reply just

"Gwen…"

"And you are…?"

"Yours."

Probably a bad idea

She’s beautiful in the pictures, all bound and on the floor. I beg her to show me how to tie someone up like that. She finally relents.
And she’s helpless.
I smile down at her, and she instantly knows something up.
The sound of my zipping going down, the whisking as my pants fall to the floor.
“You can’t be serious,” she says, with a confidence I adore. Like I couldn’t possibly be about to do what she knows I’m about to do.
Before either of us know whats happening, my cock is in her mouth, my hands on either side of her head, holding tightly. I’ve never fucked a girl like this, and that has been a big mistake.
I know I’m going to pay for this later.
I thrill to the muffled sounds, some kind of attempt to protest, to get me to stop and get back in my place.
But her mouth is soft, and wet, and warm, and her tongue is lashing at my cock.
I can’t help but laugh out loud.
I know I’m going to pay for this later.
I want to cum in her mouth, shoot each and every droplet down her throat.
I want her to drown in my cum.
But I can’t. I’ll lose momentum. I’m not stupid. The moment she has a moment, this is done.
I groan as I pull myself from her.
“Bitch, you are...”
A light, but firm slap on her face shuts her up.
“You very much want to consider your situation, Kitty, and the appropriate tone of voice, I think.”
Oh, I’m definitely going to pay for this later.
I drag her along the floor into the kitchen.
“Where do you keep the scissors?”
I know, of course, because, as I said, I’m not stupid. But I love the tiny hitch in her throat this evokes.
And the sound the scissors make as the metal scrapes.
I run the cold steel along her cheek. The mix of fear, anger, need in her eyes. The smell of her cunt. Then along her lips, and I know she aches to let her tongue taste, but she won’t give me the satisfaction.
Which is fine.
I’m careful not to be too rough here. The floor is very hard. But I’m a little rough, putting her onto her knees, her face on the cold linoleum.
Under her skirt are her favorite panties, soaked through. A single snip to get them out of the way.
Now I know I’m going to pay for that.
She’s been quiet. I like that. She knows I’m not fucking around.
But she can’t contain the moan as I slide into her. She can’t help but fuck back against me. I hear her sobbing. I hear myself grunting and laughing.
I shoot liquid fire into her, and listen to the little girl noises she makes.
My cock slowly softening.
Leaning over, I bite her ear sharply,and whisper
“I may be Your Bitch, Mistress, but you are Daddy’s Cuntling.”
I’m going to pay for that.
But I don’t care.

Meeting Her Friends

I’m pacing around because they’ll be here soon.
“You really have to calm down. They are my friends, they know about you, and they are very nice people. Well, except when you want them to be cruel...” she laughs.
I sigh and try to relax. I’ve never met any of her friends before. But, I DID ask her to introduce me to people.
Relaxing vanishes in the amount of time it takes for the sound of the door to go from my ears to my brain.
“Now behave, “ she scolds.
And I do. And the three of them ARE very nice, though I’m too wound up to remember their names. Two of the women are about our age, and one is much younger, and she looks a lot like I feel. New to everything, and ready to jump out of her skin with excitement.
She strokes my neck as we go into the living room. She sits on the sofa, and with the slightest of pressure, guides me to sit on the floor at her feet.
I fluctuate back and forth between being annoyed that I’m sitting like a child on the floor, and feeling like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. The latter wins out, for the most part.
There’s smiles and laughter and small talk. One of the women compliments my toes, painted bright red to show nicely through the nylon. I’ve had them on all day under my jeans. I’m fairly certain I blushed a whole new shade of red. More laughter, but its sweet and I can’t help but enjoy it.

But soon I find I’m having a hard time paying attention. Its not my fault. She knows how much I love it when she wears stockings and I find my hands constantly on her foot or ankle or calf and I don’t even realize my lips are wandering the nylon and then my teeth and tongue.
“He’s quite sweet, Mamacat, but he does seem a bit ill behaved for company.”
Yeah, THAT is when I realize I’ve been chewing the sheer black material. My brain is not always my ally.
“I know. I was hoping he’d figure that out on his own, but I guess I’ll have to take care of this.”
I feel cold down my spine.
“What?” I look up at her with big eyes.
Grabbing my neck, she pushes me onto my knees and I know from the sharpness of her nails that I’m in trouble and I’m not to leave this position.
“No, I’m sorry, I just...” I start
“Shut the fuck up and pull down your pants and lean over.”
I pause, my eyes to our three guests. Two are smiling, the girl is biting her lower lip, very hard.
“Did they say something??? Do what I fucking told you, Bitch!”
The order takes away any real thought, and I do as I’m told. I’ve stopped wearing underwear much of the time, my bare ass up in the air, my cock hanging down towards the floor.
Its cold and firm and teases my anus only for a moment before ramming into me. My back aches and I groan loudly. My head falls back down to the floor as she fucks me. I’m fucking back against her for a moment before I remember that I’m being watched.
The two women stare intently, the girl’s thighs are squeezing tight.
I devour the shame of it all. I stop moving back against her, which only makes her slam harder into me.
My cock is rock hard.
I whimper, and say something like ‘Mistress’, but its hard to tell.
Her hand, slick with lube, grabs my cock and starts working it intensely.
I’m confused, it doesn’t feel like punishment, just a little embarassing and very hot.
She whispers “Cum, Bitch.”
And I do. I unload myself on the hardwood floor making tiny sounds, whimpers and sobs.
She pulls out as suddenly as she entered me, the loss is profound.
On my knees and elbows, trying to breath, above a pool of my cum.
“Now, clean that up, Bitch.”
I look behind me, her eyes are cold and I know what she expects.
I inch back, lower my head, and with just the tip of my tongue, begin to clean up the mess I made. One lick after another.
I hear one of the women say, “Yes, its ok.”
And then the girl is on her knees with me. Her eyes meet mine as she takes her first taste.
I see myself.
We clean the floor very thoroughly together.

One of the things I don't find particularly sexy about BDSM are the costumes and 'special effects'.  Don't get me wrong, some of the stuff is TRES hawt...but for me, it sometimes comes across as a little silly.  

It distracts from the important thing.

That there are knees on the hard floor because they simply have no choice but to be there.

That a fingertip under a chin can become the absolute center of the universe.

That a harsh, dirty word whispered can bend a spine and part thighs.

That's all I really care about.

Everything else, to me, is just for show.