You take a deep breath and begin to squirm from side to side like a snake, driving yourself forward. You can't tell if you're moving, perhaps a few inches you decide, but now your sore breasts are protesting, as your nipples drag on the pile of the carpet. And then suddenly it's all too much. You've done what I asked, you've let me tie you up, and beat you and fuck you everywhere it's possible to be fucked and now you've had enough.
"No!"
You raise your head again to make sure I understand. "Enough. I've fucking had it, all right? I'm not going to drag myself across this fucking carpet for you or anybody else, now get over here and undo my hands – now!"
You lie there breathing hard. I haven't moved. My expression hasn't changed. I'm sitting there just as I was before watching you.
You speak slowly and carefully. "If – you – don't – get over here right now and undo these cuffs.." But you know before you've finished speaking that I'm not going to move. And then something surges up inside you, an anger you didn't know you had and suddenly you're thrashing about on the floor determined by the sheer force of your rage to break free. You don't care if you hurt yourself, you don't care what happens just so long as you can get out of this and start inflicting pain on me.
And then I'm there beside you, holding you.
"It's all right," I say. "Everything's all right."
And exhausted by your rage you lie still.
"Please.." you say. "Please."
I stroke your cheek. Brush away the tears. "Everything's going to be just fine." I'm smiling at you. You're breathing hard. But feel yourself start to relax. Despite yourself, the touch of my hand on you is calming. You no longer want to hurt me. Just for it to be over.
And I hold your head and look into your eyes for a moment. "Crawl, Angie. Do it for me." And then let your head rest gently on the floor and return to my seat.
It takes you a long time to cross to where I'm sitting. When you looked back on it, you can't believe it was possible. You arrived, sore and exhausted, unable to see because of the tears. But you make it at last. You can feel your face against my legs.
Then I lift you from the floor, undo the cuffs and hold you.
"You see? You see what you can do when you try?"
You don't understand it, you don't know why, but you reach your ams round my neck and want me to hold you. And I do, and stroke your hair, and tell you how brave you've been until you're calm again and can look into my eyes. I'm smiling. I kiss you lightly on the lips.
"Now."
Brush a strand of hair from your eye.
"Shall we go on?"
For a long time you say nothing. Surely after everything that's happened, I'm not asking for more? Your heart is pounding. You struggle to come to terms with the rush of emotion. And then the word just comes out of you. You weren't even aware you were going to speak. I'm smiling down at you now. At the answer I knew was going to come.
An Escape
Carla stared out her classroom window on her planning period immobile to be productive, wishing she could be anywhere else. The politics of school were getting to be unbelievable and her patience for it is less and less every day. The tasks at hand were just too mundane after 20 years. Soon she would exercise with friends and go home to whining, fighting or silent moping. She felt guilty about wanting to escape so much as her family was generally supportive and loving but Carla had decided 25 years of marriage and doing the same job simply demanded something "new".
She wished she could visit with her friend Caitlin from down the hall. This year had been so empty since she lost her courageous battle with Cancer. Carla gained so much positive energy from her friend's generous spirit. Lately she found herself alone in her room, listening to the same CD over and over trying to get some energy to move on with her responsibilities…she glanced at the clock and her break was over, she ran to get the kids…and was now on autopilot, losing her personal thoughts to perform her job.
Carla returned from her hot, sweaty bus duty forced to retrieve Michael's phone number from her personal journal. She was trying to let go of this connection…high school was a long time ago…it was never going to be what she wanted… but at this moment in time, it was a perfect escape.... she made the call.
Carla drove fast through the winding mountains of NY. She had to get out of the city, fast. She was drowning in routine. Her long black curls flew in the wind. The energy from not running that morning was flowing through her veins.
"Oh shit!" she said when the gas light went on. She had forgotten to get gas and now it was late and she was 'nowhere'. Just as Carla was about to panic she saw a small cottage and a closed gas station. She pulled in and felt relieved when she saw a light on.
Carla gave an apprehensive knock at the door and couldn't believe the rustled but gorgeous man who came to the door. His sparkling green eyes and blond curls complemented his buff and tan body.
"Hi, can I get it filled up?" she asked, and pointed at her car.
"I'm sorry, Miss. But I'm only using my grandparents' cottage, I don't know how to operate the machinery. They closed it down before they went on vacation" the blond man answered.
"Shit" Carla hissed under her breath, starting to panic.
"Is it completely empty?"
"Yes!" Carla almost shrieked, really panicking now.
"Calm down Miss. You can crash here for tonight, and tomorrow we can take my car down the road to the nearest open gas station" he suggested, and Carla eyed him carefully, not really knowing if is was a good idea.
Seeing her doubts, he continued "It beats the hell out of sleeping in a cold car. Name's Eric by the way."
The connection was immediate. They loved ice cream, the beach, running, art, reading and California. Eric was a social worker trying to make a difference. He was also on an "escape" weekend to clear his head from the stresses of his job. Many women had crossed his path, but he told her of some idealistic view he had of "a wife", so he never married.
After much wine and some great pot, Carla welcomed his first deep kiss as they began to dance slowly. The anticipation was killing her. This was just what the doctor ordered and she felt glad about running out of gas. He ran his large hands over her small breasts. They were so sensitive, she breathed deep and tried to stay calm. Eric was glad to see she was so responsive and moved forward, glad that his evening had made this unusual turn. He continued his exploration of this beautiful body, soft and sensuous, neck, back, shoulders, stomach, ass, legs, all so tender and hot--dying to boil over.
Carla could wait no longer-- she reached into Eric's pants and rubbed his cock very gently at first and he too was anxious with anticipation. She lowered herself down and his pants off she began to rub and suck, soft, then forceful.
Eric was breathing heavy, and whispered, "Carla, you are so sexy, so hot, your touch drives me crazy."
"Oooh, aaah," Carla moans in reply as she gets deeper into his pleasure.
Eric moved Carla so he can enter her very hot, wet softness. He pushed his long finger up and back and searched for the magic spot--Carla looked like someone who would appreciate this.
"Eric you are unbelievable, I am being sucked into my pleasure…into another world."
His fingers moved rhythmically and she was lost to some physical sensations she only read about--she was moaning and caressing him and losing herself. She gathered her attention and mounted Eric to take him for a wild ride--she was ready, he was ready, they moved together slowly, cock in and out, brushing against every spot inside her. Then harder and harder til they caught the beat of the old Stones music they were listening to. The song went on and she was gone, taking in the bliss that had brought her away. Eric called her name as he, too was taken, into the moment.
Fallen Seraph
The world past is shrouded in a fine mist, obscuring the history and concealing the lies of which it beholds. It was a time of which we chose to forget about, whether it was intentional or a nat
ural as the passing of time that wears away even the mightiest of structures. Many things have been lost, covered with the aging of time, secrets to the world that we can only guess. How had it come that a time of such life and beauty is lost and forgotten to the world, only remembered by those nameless few whose presence is unacknowledged to the world.
The modern man seeks the answers to the universe. He must know all that he can, for knowledge is what fuels us to strive and evolve into the civilization that we behold today. We wish to receive consolation that we are the highest beings on this earth and nothing shall overcome and dominate us for as long as we have that fighting spirit in us. But alas, that ambition of ours shall ultimately lead to our demise. We seek the truths in good and evil, in life and death. We seek answers in places where there are none, or shouldn’t have any. Why? Insecurities and a feeling of loneliness have overcome our bodies and consumed us with materialistic greed and selfish thoughts.
We have given up of what fueled the spirits of Man before our interests of knowledge: faith. We were once mortally strong, but that time is gone, blown away by the evening wind and those people were sacrificed in the evolution of the modern man, nameless among people, lost in the history of time.
We dare not say it, but we know it to be true to our hearts. We are a corrupted race even the newest born child, in all its purity is already corrupted by the blood of which the child is a descendant from. Life and morality, like a flowing river, can be forever disdained for generations to come with a single drop of pollution, a single mistake in the flow of life. Faith is what is lacked among people, not of a God or of a future, but faith amongst virtues we no longer hold true to ourselves, that of fate. We refuse to believe that control of our lives are no longer within our grasps and so the concept of free will is presented, but truth be known, it is only because of fear that drives us to fabricate such foolishness to provide some solace for our souls.
The corruption is as natural as the dream of peace. What peace can there be in a world of such beliefs? As natural as wilting of every flower death of every tree, so shall be the dreams of peace. When there shall be more than one, there shall be war and hatred. But the dream of peace still lives on because so many of us fail to let go of that, holding on for something to live for, to look forward to in the future. But war shall never dissipate nor the fighting disperse. From the highest and most luminescent reaches of the heavens to the darkest, evilest depths of Hell, there wages of war over power. The cause is long forgotten, no longer cared as the prize of being the greatest consumes and overpowers them to continue their futile efforts of gaining an advantage that doesn’t exist and will never come into focus.
But who am I to judge the worth of Man. I am no judge, no jury, no executioner. I am merely a messenger, not from the divine or higher authorities, but a messenger in my own sense. Even the greatest of species fall and wither and a new one emerges: pure and full of life until the first taste of power and knowledge reaches their lips, knowledge that there can be more, more built and constructed, more to learn and to know in the universe about life…and death.
The Seraphim were those of the greatest power, highest among the classes of angels. Those who didn’t emerge from the death of a mortal, nor created from unknown celestial beings. Nay, the Seraphim just were, and no explanation is necessary for those whose faith drives them to believe once again. Highest among the heavenly divine, set upon this earth to guide and interact with the mortals. How ironic is it that we fear and awe at them yet we continue to rebel against the will and power of those higher than ourselves. Even amongst those who we respect and support, we shall conquer and resort to such animalistic and barbaric terms when weakness is shown.
Yet ere long, it soon came to realize that even the mightiest shall fall and all that is required is for but one Seraph to stray and the balance shall be lost and a new breed shall emerge from the ashes of the conquered and even the lost, shall rise somehow, like the rising of the phoenix from its own death. It is a cycle that knows no ends, but with the fighting spirit that all develop sooner or later despite what one may attempt to do to suppress it, we think of ourselves that we are higher above the cycle. We manipulate nature, tempt fate, and push the limits of the unknown. We attempt to break that circle in which the cycle resides in. We dance around the edges of the ring and surmise a solution, but truth lies in the center, all-knowing, being sought after by those on the exterior.
And what do we do to those who cause a threat to our survival? They are incarcerated for we attempt to resist our urge to eliminate. Cast off to the furthest reaches with no opportunities to reveal the potential that may lead to the demise of all. And so it was with the lone Seraph, who was tossed from the paradise of Heaven and cast among the toil of the lives of Man. Yet like a mastermind of crime, one cannot trust him to be amongst others, even those below the status of a civilized being. Because even the lowliest of creatures that we pity and despise all the same can rise up together and strike out in their fit of anger. And so was similar to the Seraph, whose mighty angelic glory amazed the simple minds of Man and gave new feelings of power with the presence of such a being stronger than themselves. Those in the heavens saw this new founded spirit from the simple race of Man and sought to save themselves for what surely was to come. The Seraph was captured and condemn to the fires of Hell where no mercy would be shown and his power only a incitement for those unholy and ghastly beings feared more greatly than any nightmare. For even the greatest among beings, those considered holy and those sent to help the lesser, fearing the fate of annihilation. Even those innocent of crimes will be punished and there is nothing to be done except accept that fate.
And so the Seraph, mightiest of angels, whose glory could tame the wildest creatures, whose voice commanded that of men and swoon women with their passion, stepped up to the Gates of Hell. And without hesitation, he stepped across the threshold without fear or spite for those corrupted “holiest” that passed the sentence for he knew that with this act, it was the beginning of their long-awaited corruption. One step in and he had stepped onto the soil that bounded him to an eternal pain. The wrought-iron gates creaked closed behind him, swinging inward and clicking with a deafening sound to announce a new soul lost forever.
Immediately, he wings caught fire, the temperature higher than any could expect. He fell to the ground on his knees as his once six beautiful wings, large and glamorous, were charred to burnt ash, he bare body unable to be concealed and revealed for the world to see. And how the mighty has fallen. We have yet to learn from our mistakes and so history shall once repeat itself. But even in the end, the ashes of life shall be scattered in the winds, never to be truly gone. And true to this word, the Seraph, falling with its glory gone, once a savior of life and servant of the life, became shrouded in evil, donned a cloak of darkness, and weapon of death. Thus born the reaper of lives, slave of the darkness, seeking revenge for the injustice never to be forgiven. And so the rest of the Seraphim fell, unknown that their fighting spirit and compassion for life, despite their fears, for they attempt to rise above the lesser species, would lead to their own demise. But the work is not done, for a slave is never righteously freed and the reaper continues to steal lives of the innocent, not because it seeks revenge, but because it desperately wants to suppress it and consequently our deepest feelings are brought to life. But no longer are the innocent truly innocent for the race of Man has seized its opportunity, a mistake unable of correction, so many years later.
It is but a matter of time before our attempt to break that cycle within the circle’s strengthen stronghold shall fail as all who attempt to eventually learn. And from the ashes, like the fallen Seraph, shall rise another and we can only pray, though we know it in our hearts that it will fail, that this twisted game of corruption shall end.
The End.
Racquetball
A friend of ours asked us to house-sit his house. Next to his garage was a racquetball court. It took us a few days t
o get out to the court as we found some 'other' pleasurable things to be do, but eventually we decided to try it out have some fun, and work up a sweat.
There are rackets that we can borrow so we go out to the court. We start just hitting it back and forth. While you haven't played in a long time, it's obvious that you've played before and make some nice shots. Eventually you ask if we should play a game. 'What are the stakes?' I ask.
'What would you like?' you ask very sexily.
My mind starts to whir and I say the loser - loses his or her shirt. You smile and say 'who knows where it will lead! You're on.' We decide to play to 11. You serve first and your first shot is right down the line and I can't even get my racket on it. Your point. Oh-oh! It's going to be a match. Eventually I get the serve and score a few points and lead 6-3.
Defiled Seduce Night Page 54