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IC : Weblogs : alexandraa : "It's In His Touch........"
It's In His Touch........ (0)
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Posted by alexandraa on Wed 23 Apr 08, 6:06 PM
He rolls over and looks at me.
His eyes moving up and down me. Looking at what is his. To do with as he pleases. I can feel my body responding to his gaze. No need for more, my skin flushes, shivers run up and down me, inside and out, anticipating his touch. He knows I'm ready for him. He knows my instant arousal. His breath against my skin. His lightest touch. It doesn't take much. It's ridiculous.
My body betrays me. Choosing to submit, whether I will it or not. But of course I will it. This man, this dominant man, this alpha male, with his decisiveness, his demands, his expectations and arrogant assumptions. It totally weakens me. Reduces me to a trembling fool. I give in to it. Every time I give in to it. I revel in it. He takes possession of my body, my heart and mind, with his words, his body, his knowledge of me, his care and thoughtfulness, his sadistic sexuality. I am lost. I am his. I am hopeless. Bound and owned without being touched.
His hand grazes my skin. There is a rush deep inside me, blood flowing and head pounding, my body urgent in its response. He says he thinks some pain is in order. Oh. Ah. But how can I stand that I wonder? See how my flesh thrills to his slightest touch? How can I bear a heavy touch? A depth of pain? A burning? Impact on my tingling sensitive skin? No. How will I deal with that? When his lightest slightest touch is agony in itself? When I could scream just from a finger tip against me. No, its not possible.
He moves from the bed. I bury my face in the pillow. Breathing deeply, as if control of my breathing somehow gives me control of the pain to come. Why? My mind grasps wildly, thrashing about inside my skull. Why do I accept this, want this, need this, feel fear and excitement? So many contradictions. Don't I just want his touch? His body. His cock. What is this, with the pain? Nonsense and madness. Need, desire, passion and heat.
My body is thrilling already, hot and reddened, blood rushing around me as if it seeks to flee the cane. And there, suddenly I feel it and know it. The masochist enters my head. That sensitivity to his touch has flicked into red hot passion, a passion that needs to be fed. Demands to be fed. Seeks intensity. Cries for pain. Howls like a beast, wild, untamed and unnamed on the moor top.
Bind me, beat me, knock me into my submissive space. Tear me and hurt me, slam me down to where I belong. At his feet, beneath him. Controlled by him. Broken into a sobbing, sweating, weeping wreak that.... that seeks to be fucked by him and him alone. That wants him, needs him, needs his cock deep inside. Pain thrums and burns, agony, searing, mean and cruel pain. He is a bastard. I hate him. It's horrid. And wonderful. I love him. I hate him. And its hot and fierce and made of..... sex... I love him, need him, want him, must have him. Hate him. My body is humming with delight and agony. Why is your cunt wet he says. Because I am a masochist say I. Bastard. I hate him. Deny it all you want, there is the evidence, the need the desire.
And so he touches me.
His hands dig deep into my red hot welted skin. Oh, the sheer delight. Passion embodied, vividly hot and red. My body is screaming for him, his sex, his touch, his hands, his body. I need it need it need it. Now now now.
Ah, blessed relief. His cock slides into me.
Nothing else will do.
Heat surrounds me.
My mind is dazed.
My body weak.
I am replete.
I curl against him. Loving him, adoring him.
This evil bastard of mine.
Edited Wed 23 Apr 08, 7:25 PM by alexandraa
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