Rating: NC 17, of course!
Summary: I walk to him, drifting my fingers over his shoulders. He groans low in his throat, but says nothing and - more importantly - doesn't move. His skin is taut, shimmering with a light film of sweat. His anticipation is tangible, something that hovers in the air like humidity.
Warning: Blood, dominant/submissive themes, bondage, and other squeasy things that you may not like.
He grunts and I look over as I hear the sigh of the leather restraining him. He's shifting, pulling at it unintentionally. My right arm lashes out and smacks him with the whip - Crack! - to get him to stop. He immediately freezes.
"Good." He's still, every muscle tensed to not move. I walk to him, drifting my fingers over his shoulders. He groans low in his throat, but says nothing and - more importantly - doesn't move. His skin is taut, shimmering with a light film of sweat. His anticipation is tangible, something that hovers in the air like humidity.
I walk back over to my dresser, bought specifically for nights like these. It contains everything I could ever need for this sort of thing, and it's handy as hell. I open a drawer, poking through for a little bit until I find a nice, sharp knife. I run it's blade against my hand, barely wincing at it cuts my palm smoothly. Blood wells up in a fine line and I fist the hand. Perfect.
Returning to him, I stroke his face with the flat of the blade as I kneel slightly. He's on his knees before me, chained with his arms outstretched. Leather straps hold him still, keeping all that strength in check. He's so sexy when he's restrained... So much pure power in his body, forced to bend to my will. No one would ever think that he's like this - a little submissive bitch. He loves pain, he loves it just as much as I love giving it.
It's a nice arrangement, actually. I can do whatever I want and he doesn't complain or tell me that I'm going 'too far'. I've had too many like that - they say that they can take anything, and they flake out before I've broke out anything even remotely fun. A whole load of pussies, all of them. And he knows that I'll do everything I can to humiliate him, to dominate him, to hurt him - and I won't whine about my conscience later.
Fuck, do I even have a conscience anymore? Not in the bedroom, I don't...
He's silent as I trail the blade down over his chin and his neck, leaving behind a little trail of red. I tilt his head back, exposing his throat, and gently nick one of the veins throbbing at the surface. The blood pools and spills down and I lean in to capture it with my tongue. He tenses as I taste him, hot copper tang in my mouth and - damn I'm hard. Blood always does that to me...
The blade flicks over his nipples, not breaking the skin but coming just that close. His breath hitches in his throat with each movement of my hand, coming ever lower...
His erection is standing prominently against his belly now, bobbing pathetically as it pulses with each beat of his heart. I let the knife dance down his stomach, avoiding the expensive leather harness straps that crisscross his torso. The tip, that sharp point, grazes the underside of his cock and he outright hisses.
I throw the knife then, I throw it behind me violently. It clatters and he trembles. I love when he does that, even though it's something I punish - and I do punish him with a mighty backhand to the face. He goes still again. I fucking love when he shivers though. To know that I inspired such fear in such a man... three hundred pounds of muscle, a man who inspires fear in anyone who sees him. A downright monster... and he's afraid of me.
God, the rush is enough to give a corpse a boner.
I stand, going to the levers in the corner and starting to wheel the one. The chains groan as they lift his weight and I see his hands close around his bonds - he's holding himself in them as they lift him so that his wrists aren't torn from his body. The machine lifts him so that he is no longer on his knees, but he's not on his feet, either. He has to hold himself there. I know the strain won't hurt him for awhile - he's strong enough to handle it. I just like him being that much more helpless.
Back to the dresser again, and this time I find the little plastic packets that he really doesn't like. He's terrified of needles...
"Glenn," I whisper as I approach him again, popping the slim metal shafts from their packets. He sees them glint and whimpers quietly. "Quiet."
I pinch the skin on his inner forearm, and he's watching my every movement as the needle draws so close to his flesh and - he whimpers again as I pierce him, the point coming out the other side. Little points of blood form on each end.
"You hate needles, Glenn." He should know from my tone that I want him to respond.
"Yes, I do."
I get another and repeat the process - he is quiet this time. A third, a fourth... The line grows to his wrist and elbow and by the time I'm finished he's panting, his body twitching and sweat dripping from him.
"Please," he whispers, his voice hoarse. I slap him again. Twelve needles glinting in his skin, each adorned with their individual ruby droplets. Such a perfect complement... But it is time for more.
I reach for one of the many candles flickering about - their soft light is the only thing illuminating us in this ritual. We do this once every two weeks or so - mostly less often than that - due to time constraints. Of course, I dominate him at other times, but rarely are we able to get so detailed and so intimate with the situation.
He shivers as the flame nears his chest and I let it brush gently - he groans, but I let it go. He has no hair there anymore - I've burnt it all off. Another brush, another groan... I cycle it back and forth, and then kneel to follow the flame with my tongue. There's just something about scorched skin - it has a taste to it that nothing else does. Nothing.
His cock bumps against me but I ignore it. His precum is left behind, but I ignore that as well. I move to the left, raising the candle to the needles -
He screams as the flame touches his already abused flesh, his body tensing up and the chains clinking as he pulls at them.
"Yes, scream," I whisper in his ear, pressing my body to his as I burn him again. His voice is torn between agony and bliss and I relish every nuance of the sound. Moving back for just a moment, I set the candle down before pushing against him once more. I run my hands down his chest, tweaking his nipples and pinching him cruelly.
I slap him. He knows what will happen when he does that, but he still says it... Crazy bastard...
He knows how I watch him, how I hunger for him. We are not in a relationship, we are barely intimate with each other except for these meetings. We rarely speak outside of the bedroom - our contact is limited mostly to the painfully brief texts that we send each other. It fits, though.
But every time - the minute we part - the hunger begins to grow again. The insanity resumes to encroach on my being. I see him in my mind's eye, I taste him on my tongue, I feel him on my flesh. He consumes me - he brings with him a type of lunacy that only these nights can soothe.
I capture his lips with my own, kissing him brutally, biting his bottom lip and sucking his tongue into my mouth to bite that as well. He lets me dominate, trying to meekly kiss back but completely blown away by my voraciousness. My hunger.
I stand again, I go to the dresser, rummaging, finding a steel bar with wide straps - Yes, this is what I want. I can no longer tease both him and myself - we haven't done this in almost a month. I need to continue on.
He shifts his leg for me as I buckle the first strap around his muscled thigh, and then I kick his leg out - a leg spreader, keeping him open as I lock the second strap in. He's now perfectly spread for me and I know he can't be comfortable at all.
I return to the dresser, pulling something large from behind it. An enormous mirror, which I move to prop up in front of him. He refuses to look at himself, his eyes downcast, but I don't care. It's not for his pleasure - it's for mine. I love to watch us. I love to watch his face when I finally fuck him... Fuck, I'm so hard...
The last thing - a smooth metal cage that I close over the base of his cock. The sound that escapes his mouth as the icy steel touches his sensitive skin is worth more than any paycheck. I swing the last part under his balls and he hisses as I lock it up. He won't come now until I'm goddamn good and ready to let him.
"Matthew," he pants. He's just as needy as - if not more than - I am.
"Silent," I reply, not bothering to slap him this time. I pull my pants off, revealing my nudity to him, my arousal standing proud. I circle behind him and kneel - he's at the perfect height for what is about to transpire. I knew he would be, though.
The gap closes between him and myself as I press myself against him hard. So warm, his body so hot, and I thrust my fingers into his mouth. He sucks them graciously, wetting them thoroughly before I pull them from him and promptly, rudely, finger him.
I can't take it anymore - I rip my fingers from his body and line my cock up with his entrance. He trembles and I snap my hips.
He screams as I fill him with little warning. I languish there for half a moment before pumping into him, every thrust pulling another cry from his throat. I look in the mirror at us - at him, strapped up and hanging - at me, the insane grin on my face as I fuck him - his cock in its cage.
"Glenn." I love how we do that - say our names back to each other. Of course, at this point, he's yelling and I'm just barely able to pant in reply. My hands grip his hips to hold him tighter to me as I rut into him - God, he feels so good. Snug, hot. No one knows what he feels like - I'm the only one to ever know that feeling... to give him this pain...
I'm not going to last long - I knew that the minute I stepped into the room. I can feel my balls drawing up, tight, tighter... I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my own howl as I come, filling him with my seed. His skin breaks under my sharp teeth and his blood fills my mouth, inspiring me to keep thrusting as my orgasm wanes.
I cling to him as I shudder, as I come down. My shaft, now flaccid, slips easily from his body and I rise to my feet. I go to the levers again and let him down - he sighs as his knees hit the floor and he can finally relax.
I return to him, releasing the cage from his cock and wrapping my hand around him. He has softened slightly in the grasp of the steel, but now returns to full hardness.
"Tell me how much you love this," I gasp as I start to pump.
"I love this more than any other thing in this world," he whispers, his eyes closing as he starts to give in to the pleasure.
"You like how I fuck you?"
"Yes. I love how you - oh - fuck me."
"I'm the only man to do that."
"The only man."
"And I'll always be the only one."
"The only one. Only you."
His breath is coming in short, breathy gasps, and I know he's close.
"You love the pain I give."
"Not yet, Glenn." I squeeze him roughly, jerking him furiously.
"Not yet. Who does these things to you?"
"Come for me, Glenn." The words have barely left my mouth before he obliges, his whole body curling in on itself as he screams on final time. His essence shoots from him, splattering my chest and neck, and he cries out with each shallow breath that he's able to gather.
Finally he is spent, and he hangs shattered in my arms. Both of us are sated for a moment, but we both know... after I let him down, after we shower, after we pack up and he goes back to his home, his children, his wife... The lunacy will only grow again.
It will grow until we are able to feed it once more.
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