By Lisabet Sarai
Since
I talked about my cutting story earlier
this month, I thought I’d share a bit of it today.
I’ve
no experience with knives or blood play. I’d probably totally freak
out in the real world if someone proposed to draw blood as part of a
BDSM scene. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Blood has powerful symbolic and
emotional resonances (as illustrated by the popularity of vampire
erotica). We talk about blood bonds, the strongest connection
possible between two souls. Given my attraction to the psychological
side of BDSM – trust, surrender, communion – maybe I would offer
myself to my Master’s blade.
Anyway,
I’ve imagined this in “Limits: A Love Story”.
*
* *
All
our firsts parade through my imagination, an escalating frenzy of
sadomasochist indulgence. The first time he fucked my ass (during our
very first sexual encounter, but after a long and filthy epistolary
courtship). The first time he whipped me. The first caning, first
fisting, fire play, golden shower. In our years together, we've
demolished one limit after another, only to move on to the next.
I
know he cherishes me, that my willingness to explore and experiment
delights him. When I surrender, the assurance that I've pleased him
brings me far more fulfillment than any physical release he might
graciously provide. Now I wonder though, whether I've been topping
from below all along.
Perusing
his serious face, noting the way his lips press together and his
brows knit in tension, I'm suddenly convinced that this is all wrong.
I'm pushing him way beyond his comfort zone with my implicit demands
for ever more extreme submission.
"I'm
sorry," I mutter. "Forgive me, Master."
"What?
What are you talking about?" He grips my shoulder, leaning
forward, cruel fingers digging into my naked flesh. The slight pain
does not distract me from my misery. "I told you, Becca, it's
your choice. You can stop this now. You don't have to apologize."
"No,
no, you don't understand." My eyes itch as tears well up.
Trussed up as I am, I can't stop one from spilling down the side of
my nose. "I don't want to stop. But I think you do."
He
stares at me for a long instant, confused, before bursting into
laughter. "You think I want to stop this?"
I
nod, swallowing a sob.
"You
believe I don't want to carve my initials into your flesh? Mark you
permanently, so that everyone will know you're mine? You think I
don't have the guts?" He rises to his feet, towering above me.
For a moment I expect a slap in the face. A wave of lust crests and
drowns me. I squirm in my chair, struggling for control, feeling the
straps tighten around my limbs.
"No,
no, it's not like that, Master...I'm sorry...but I've been the
one...I'm never satisfied, it seems, always wanting to go one step
further, to try something more...."
"More
intense." He finishes my sentence for me. "More dangerous.
Something that requires even more trust."
"I
shouldn't be so greedy, so selfish. You're my Master. You should
decide how far we go, and how fast. What I want – it shouldn't
matter."
"Ah,
but it does matter to me, little one." He strokes my hair,
working out the tangles. His gentle touch floods me with a sense of
well-being. "I love your kinky mind, Becca, as much as your lush
body. I love pushing you – seeing how far you'll go, for me.
Discovering the depths to which you'll sink if I ask."
*
* *
If
you’re curious to read more, this story is one of two in my book
D&S Duos Book 1:
Kinky
Literature
Amazon
US
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UK
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Excessica
Lisabet, you are a word factory. I don't know how you manage to write so much.
ReplyDeleteI don't write as much as you think. I'm just pretty effective in keeping everything I've written available, recycling when needed! This is an old story from some anthology... repackaged.
ReplyDelete