My Inner Darkness

6 min read

photo: The Life Erotic

I feel his hard body as he brushes against me. I feel the heat of him, the one who holds me in thrall like this. Why do I need to be here, why do I need to be kept as a personal fucktoy?

He did not ask me, he did not force me. No one forces me to do anything.

Yet it was he who revealed me, made me know what I am. Made me want to be bound, to be forced, to be tied down, ready and eager for all I know he will do to me.

I was the one who sought him out. It has always been within me to want this. To find him. To want this helpless vulnerability. To be controlled and dominated this way. I brought myself to this place, and surrendered into his offered bondage, giving myself into his discipline.

Yet I cannot see him, only sense his closeness, hear his breathing as his hands busy themselves at the ropes that spreadeagle my wrists and ankles wide apart to the bedposts.

I want to see him, look at him, but he has denied that to me by a black leather hood that encases my head, laced and strapped tightly around my throat to invert my mind back into itself.

It blacks out the place where I am. I only exist within the place he keeps me prisoner, there is nothing beyond the sensation of the ropes that hold me down. That fans the raging inner fire that is fuelled by the desperation of my spread body.

I want to scream my needs at him, but a ball distends my lips; I heard the buckle of its strap click to the last notch to close off all but mewling sounds as it was strapped securely into my mouth. I cannot beg, I cannot protest. Only suffer as my struggles tighten ropes around my outraged wrists and ankles. I can only imagine the naked obscenity that I offer him, the wet arousal that shows my lust so blatantly.

My head thrashes from side to side as my bucking hips thrust themselves at my unseen captor, silently pleading for what he knows I want, feeling his denial of me, knowing that he is denying himself because in that denial, he is giving what I want.

I love and hate that control he has over himself, and me, knowing he can keep me this way for hours. He owns me, yet somehow this taking of me is made to seem like the first time, every time. I do not know how he does that. Only that he never fails to give me that virginal sensation even though I am his total slut.

Somehow it makes his possession of me complete.

His hands touch me lightly, softly, tenderly. He gives me that touch in contrast to the cruelties I know he is capable of. His hands are all-knowing. No part of me can escape him, but as property that is what I want. His touch draws me deeper into his sadistic world of torment from which I can never escape.

His touch becomes the language by which I know him. Always new, always different in the places by which he finds me. He tongue circles my hard erect nipples, softly at first, first the left, then the right, drawing them up in turn between gentle lips that would be wasted on words.

I wait for the pain of his bite.

But he makes me thrust my breast into his mouth to get it. He knows I need my nipple rolled between his tongue and his teeth. He knows I want the pressure increased by exquisitely slow degrees until I am screaming into my gag and still thrusting myself upwards to get more. It becomes an agony and still I want more of it.

It is part of what I inflict upon myself.

And while the hurting is overwhelming my brain, he is caressing my clit with the softest touch that I can barely feel. Somehow he makes the two sensations blend into an ecstatic whole. I suffer one to get the other. And he knows I will go on suffering. I will go on demanding this from him, showing how I want to be used this way.

My body goes rigid, testing his ropes.

I want him in me, deeply in me. The flow of me betrays how much I need that. But I do not know how many hours he will keep me like this until he has drained me of self. I am his to do with as he pleases. I can get this nowhere else, and he knows it.

That makes me property, more assuredly than any chains or ropes ever can. I belong to this man who has me here, bound and gagged, who is using me this way.

He trails his tongue down across my belly, seeking me. I feel him taste me, drink of me, his tongue flicking itself across my clit, rolling it softly, tenderly. The fire in my nipples subsides as he ignites another, hotter one. I am screaming behind my gag, weeping with need, as he holds me on his eternal edge.

His tongue enters me, slowly, softly, exploring what I am.

I do not care that the cords hurt, that they are going to mark me. I want his marks. I want to show the world that I belong to this man. That I am owned. His tongue goes deeper in, forcing me to know him. How can it be that every time he takes me it is new, fresh, different. He has that skill to hold me on the edge in ways that seem forever.

He senses my rise to screaming climax, then withdraws himself until I subside a little.

It is a torture more intense than any pain he can inflict.

Then his tongue slides into me again, judging with fine precision just how far I can go before I explode; never quite allowing me to get there. The sensation is one of exquisite suffering that defies words. That is why I welcome my gag, so I can only scream silently at what he does, over and over.

His tongue is not like his cock, although it goes in and out of me. He uses his tongue differently. He withdraws it to circle my clit. He teeth bite softly before he slides in again…and again…and again. I am screaming now. Screaming behind the ball that fills my mouth. Screaming for release that I do not want. My brain is in a frenzy of not knowing where I am, only being at his sadistic mercy.

This cannot be. Each time I think that this cannot be. But each time it is.

Then I feel the moisture of his mouth slide up my body, taking of me as he pleases. His tongue caresses the leather of the ball that fills my mouth, teasing me yet again, knowing what I want. He could so easily remove my gag, but he does not. I want his kisses yet I want to multiply my helplessness by staying gagged. Just as I want to hold him tight, but want to stay bound.

His gentle lips trail up an outstretched arm to caress the cords tight around one of my wrists, as if to soothe the agonising bite of the rope. That makes me stretch myself tighter and harder as my fingers try to reach him. He checks that the knots are secure. I like that.

I want to suffer for him. It is why I am here.

As he moves close, I feel the hardness of his cock brush against me. I want it desperately, but he denies me while he finds new parts of me on which to inflict his pleasures. My entire body becomes orgasmic. He can touch me anywhere and I can explode, but he holds off long enough to allow me to subside between peaks of arousal.

My legs are tied wide apart. He can see and taste my wanting.

I feel his cock hard against me, driving me into harder frenzy. There is a touching of me, then a parting of me, sliding in, slowly, oh so slowly so that I must savour every moment of his taking. Not for him desperate thrusting. He moves with tender grace, knowing me. Forcing me to take what I must have.

He holds himself in perfect, hard stillness. Just his prick in deep. I feel only that. It is our holding to one another in an ecstasy of perfection. Despite my bonds, I gyrate myself on his still hardness. He allows me to use him; enslaved as I am, I feel totally free to do as I please.

My entire body is rising to meet his, that unstoppable inner wave that is growing within me. I feel it in the cock that is inside me, pulsing in unison with me.

It moves yet waits for me to reach my peak of explosion, to crest that inner wave he knows so well.

We ride together, we are as one now.

In my darkness I know only he who owns me. This is my sensation of being used as we rise together, a single entity. Our explosions coincide in the blinding flash of ecstasy as he pumps himself into me, deep, hard, knowing me completely by the screams that my gag cannot suppress.

It is not an orgasm that I just ‘have,’ it is wave after wave of increasing pleasure that I do not want to stop. He stays deep in me, to feel the powerful tide that ebbs and flows across us both. Stretched tight, it consumes me as I feel the weight of him forcing me down.

The bed creaks as I strain on the unyielding ropes. I want to break free to wrap him into me. But I can’t. He keeps me bound until I subside.

Then I sense him withdrawing, and carefully untying my wrists and ankles. Kissing the deep furrows he has left on my skin. My hood is unlaced and I blink at the light as he unbuckles my gag. My kisses devour him and my freed arms wrap him tight to me.

This is my deep content, to be held this way. My head rests on his shoulder as he softly strokes my hair. I feel so eternally safe like this, with him. My eyes close…just for a sweet moment. I feel a deeper blackness overwhelming me, and his tightening hold as I slip away into that other world that welcomes me after such sweet suffering.

Until I wake and want more.

The marks you leave on me

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