This blog is for those over the age of majority in your region. While I normally post stuff I’d let my 15 y/o read THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE DAYS. If you are under 18, go away.
I’ve been absent, I know. It happens. 🙂
I have a number of pictures to share with you. It’s a theme similar to this time last year – the flora around me. I can’t help it. The blooms captivate me.
But this isn’t about that.
I was worried that I had nothing to share with you. I haven’t written anything in HW4 and there isn’t much research done this week because I’ve been doing other things. I get distracted and then foomp nothing’s done.
I’m working on it. I have been pondering the story in the background. I need to go back into the previous books and adjust her pregnancy. I think cutting the gestation in half is bad. It gives me no room to get anything done in book four. How could she possibly hunt an evil witch if she’s A) heavily pregnant or B) a brand new mother of triplets?
As I said, I thought at first that I had nothing to share today. Last Saturday morning, however, I got slapped with a short story. It’s less than 1800 words and it’s erotic. I have said in the past that I am an inspired writer and every now and then, stories just pour out of me, as was the case on Saturday.
A funny little story came out of it too. It is my habit to rise at sunrise (or close to it) and get on my laptop. I turn music on and put headphones in. When The Boyfriend wakes up he texts me, “Good morning, girl.” I usually get up and go into the bedroom.
That’s what happened Saturday. He texted me and I automatically rose. This time I unplugged my computer and took it with me. I’m not entirely sure I stopped typing. I sat on the bed. *click click clackety click*
“Writing?” he asks.
*Frankenstien grunt… click click clackety click*
He laughs. “Yep, I guess so.” He picked up his phone, opened a game, and waited me out.
I wrote the entire thing in less than an hour. It’s had a brief edit but that’s all. I have no real idea what the trigger was just that this happened.
I have a strange idea for a story – I want to write a yoga-kink story. One where the sub/slave is doing Sun Salutation, for instance, and her Master is doing her. Nipple weights, restraints (with mobility within the parameters of each movement), paddles, crops, etc. That one will be fun to write. 😉
Enjoy the story and happy Friday!
She hung there, nude, on her toes, wrists in cuffs that wrapped around half her forearm, draped over the back of her hands and offered her a small bar across her palms that she could grip. And gripping she was. A hook held the cuffs together. The hook was attached to a chain that snaked down from a firmly anchored hook in the ceiling.
Her head was thrown back, breath escaped her in panted puffs. Her skin was on fire and that fire had soaked into her blood. The fire was in her groin. Thick fluid coated her inner thighs, slicked her core and made her easy to toy with. Her skin was pink and red, welted in places, though no bruises marred the creamy satin of her flesh.
He hated bruises. He had worked hard at learning how to combine pleasure with pain without leaving the ugliness of the purples, yellows and blues caused by broken blood vessels beneath the skin. He loved the waterfall of copper and silver hair that flowed down her back. He tapped the crop he held against his thigh and smiled with vicious pleasure as her head jerked up and she gasped. He aimed, swung and tapped a particularly large welt.
A scream escaped her.
A chuckle left him. He knew that scream. It was all need, carnal and animal. He could smell the need on her. The fear. She trusted him with her life, a gift he didn’t take lightly, but still, she was afraid. Afraid, he thought, that he wouldn’t take her, that he wouldn’t make them one and thereby make them both whole. Afraid, he thought too, that he would hurt her more and that he wouldn’t.
So he laid the crop down and stepped up to her, behind her, just close enough that he could feel the heat of her flesh on his bare chest. Not so close that the iron need, locked behind the zipper of the leather jeans, the need that was his, could touch her. He punished himself cruelly by waiting. Someday, he thought, he would examine his need to punish himself. For now, however, the anticipation was bittersweet and totally worth it.
Please, she thought, please, please. It was one of only two coherent words she could keep in her head. The other was now. She pushed back on her toes and succeeded in brushing her body against her. Primal, primitive pleasure shot through her at the evidence of his own need shot through her and made her growl softly. She’d discovered, as she’d grown into the woman she was, that with age came greater orgasms. They were deeper, richer, tore her apart at a cellular level it seemed. And she definitely knew how to appreciate them better.
He growled in return and stepped forward, pushing her back into place then forward, forcing her to stretch her arms as she stepped forward on her toes. He knew the burn in her shoulders would need taken care of but right now, he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her, dragged his hands up the softness of her belly and weighed her breasts in his hands. He pinched the nipples tightly, pulling them away from her and lifting her breasts up.
Her sound of pleasure turned to one of pain. She had large breasts and gravity tugged on them hard, fighting the grip he had on her. She squirmed, tried to push up further on her toes. The pain was hot and bright red in her mind. It took a long minute for her to understand this punishment but when she did she submitted, relaxed her body against him and gave herself up to his hands again.
Satisfied, he slowly let her breasts down and let go. He relished the whimper she released as the blood rushed back into her nipples. He grabbed her jaw and twisted her head to kiss her. It was hard, fast and awkward. Unsatisfied, with the taste of her on his lips, he moved around her. He took possession of her jaw again and held her firm. He fought with instinct and lightly brushed his lips over hers.
His lips were hers, no matter what he thought, she decided. She loved the feel of them, the taste of him on her. She waited, soft and pliant, and let him tease her. She flicked her tongue out and swiped at his lips. She almost smiled at his answering groan but the way he took her mouth in the next moment prevented it.
She just had to do it, didn’t she, he asked himself. Just had to breach his control and try to take it from him. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced her lips to part and branded her with his need for her. And all it took was his hands to brush against her hips, to ghost around the curve of her ass, for her to take the hint and wrap her legs around his waist. He knew that she’d gripped those little bars across her palms and put her weight on her arms until she’d settled around him.
Still, he wasn’t happy. He slid his hands up her arms and unhooked her. There, that was right, he thought as her arms dropped around his neck. He staggered, caught himself, then carried her to the bed. He dropped them both down, catching his weight on his arms. Seconds later he wrapped himself around her and continued the assault on her mouth even as she cried out in surprise and pain.
Oh damn it hurt when both of them landed on the welts on her back but she didn’t care. She fought the restraints, struggled to be able to fulfill her need to touch him. She growled and whimpered when all she could do was grab his hair and turn the kiss into an equal battleground. They fought for supremacy, licking, teasing, biting, devouring. Their need filled the room with sounds.
Finally he broke the kiss and disengaged her fingers from his hair. He rose to his knees and stared down at her. When she tried to rise to touch him, he put his hand on her chest and pushed her back. He wanted to look. Her hair was everywhere, spread across the pale blue pillowcases like fire. Her eyes were wild with need, lust and love. The expressions on her face alternated between need, lust, love and fury. The fury amused him. He knew it was there because he wasn’t touching, wasn’t letting her touch.
Because there was fury, he grabbed her wrists and forced her arms over her head. He leaned over her, sighing at the feel of her mouth on his chest, and searched for the chain and hook he knew was attached to the headboard, buried behind the mattress. When it rattled, she stilled then bucked against him, struggling to get her wrists out of his grip.
He merely chuckled, laid down on top of her to kiss her briefly then changed his position. He straddled her legs, holding them closed. She struggled, eyeing him warily. He grinned, she fought not to grin back. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips along her jaw. She turned her head to give him access. He tasted the sensitive spot behind her ear then slide his mouth down the column of her neck. He set his teeth around her throat as her chin went up.
She laid there in total submission, limp and soft. She let him know that she was his. Then, as his mouth moved over her, lips and tongue soothing, teasing, tormenting, she writhed for him. She cried out for him, twisting and wriggling. And when he spread her legs, laid between him, she opened for him. She welcomed the bruising grip on her hips that kept her from bucking and dislodging him as he tasted her thoroughly. The heat built in her, swirling higher, brighter and hotter with each stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth.
He lifted his mouth and his eyes and watched as he pierced her with one finger then two. She screamed a word as he curled those fingers and brushed against the tight bundle of nerves. He refused her, brushed against it again. She wordlessly screamed her fury and need . He teased again.
Tears rolled from her eyes as she fought to keep all that fire inside from exploding outward. She screamed that word again. She cried as he denied her, again. She growled, helpless to stop it, as he slid his fingers from her grasping core only to plunge them back in.
Finally, he gave his permission. One word and then his mouth at the apex of her womanhood.
Her body coiled tightly as she tried to let go. She couldn’t force what she needed; she had to wait for it to come to her again. Her breath lodged in her chest. Then he stroked once more with his fingers, set his teeth around her and bit down lightly. It was like a volcano erupting, hot, intense and totally encompassing. The pleasure burst from her with a wrenching scream that tore her throat and a waterfall that almost drowned him.
He made her explode again, and again, and once last time before he slowly brought her down and moved back up her body to cover her once more. He tucked one arm under her shoulder and use the other to stroke her face. He whispered to her softly as she looked at him with eyes that didn’t see clearly.
She could feel him, smell herself on him. She could feel him nudging at her core as he tenderly made sure she was alright. She forced herself to focus on him because she needed him in her, needed them to be together, and she knew he would only enter her if she was with him.
Tell me, he demanded. Tell me you need me.
I need you. Her voice was raw, ragged, soft, as she pressed her cheek against his hand.
You want me. He pressed the words from her.
I want you. The desire blazed from her eyes.
You love me. It wasn’t a question, he knew it as well as he knew his own name.
I love you. The truth of it was in every fiber of her being, in the way she breathed as she said it.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, opened herself to him again.
He got a grip, lined himself up, then let go. He let go of his steely control and slammed into her. He rose up and held himself pressed against her, pelvis to pelvis, root to core.
Finally, they both thought. Peace at last.