Beatings and blue jean cut-offs.
See who else is being Sinful this Sunday. 
Sep 272014
Oct 292013
The initial request was for the room at the end of the hall, next to the heating and air. That was room 106. He spoke with the manager, made financial arrangements, and the room was theirs.
She arrived shortly after he did. Following unspoken orders, she stripped and proceeded to tighten the gag around the back of her head, tightly. It was a rule that she had to have her gag on her person at all times.
He turned up the T.V. for background noise. They barely noticed that the air-conditioning was out by the time they were focused on each other. The mingling of sweat, tears, and juices made the room smell like sex, and seem to be warmer in temperature for it. A cold shower cooled them both; and they were on their way.
Shortly after the guests of 106 had arrived, maintenance alerted management that the air-conditioning system for the entire wing was freezing up. The manager sent Sammy to turn the A/C down in every room down the wing, except 106, as it was occupied. When he got to 105, he made his way to the thermostat, but was stopped in his tracts by the sounds coming through the thin walls of the room next door. They had the T.V. on. That wasn’t what caught his attention.
Sammy heard the man’s voice speaking in a heavy tone. He heard the slapping of flesh against flesh. Even through the gag that Sammy was unaware of, he could still hear muffled cries of a female. His excitable cock sprung to life. He stumbled onto the bed and ripped it from his trousers. He shot his glistening load into a handful of tissues while listening to room 106.
A month went by before Sammy noticed that she had arrived before him. That never happened. She entered the room and Sammy asked another employee to watch the desk while he went to take a piss. He took off in a quick jog towards the direction of room 106. Sammy knocked on the door a few times. He could hear skittering inside.
“Management. Please open the door.”
She was already undressed and gagged. The knock completely threw her off. She was trying to unhook the back of her gag so she could at least get it down around her neck enough to peek out the door. She wrapped herself up in a towel.
She opened the door only a smidgen. Sammy jammed his foot inside and pushed right passed her. She immediately told him to get out. Sammy closed and locked the door behind him. He turned to her, her gag hanging from her neck. He’d wrestle away her towel, pin and gag her. He would enjoy fucking her for the ten minutes it took him to get off.
She screamed and huffed into a ball that would not hear any of it. Her cell phone was *dinging* with a message saying that He was going to be about twenty minutes late.
Oct 162013
He slung her across the quaint living room. She was received into his stone fireplace like a naked wrecking ball. Her fear was immeasurable. She was inside now, with him. Bruises, cuts, and much more were hushed by adrenalin. Hyperventilation was never more than a moment away. She shook.
She wasn’t scared of the likelihood that she would forever be locked away in his mountain forest of snares. She was scared because there was no likelihood. Her new station was unequivocal. He would not have done this unless he was completely prepared. She was terrified because she believed him. No one would find her.
She’d suffered him before, but with slipped absolutes and excessive beatings. There was no closure to their prior relationship. She broke free of it. The mental abuse took longer to shake. Now she imagined him, limitless and with no accountability. It was fearfully inconceivable.
She saw a future of torture, masquerading as punishment and lessons. He had unlimited access to who he would decide to mold her into. Her silence was a mixture of how blindingly certain her fate was, and her slow descent into a hole of lost hope. His ability to destroy her mind was starting. She was afraid of it as much as the beatings. Once he was in her head, he was everywhere. He would own every part of her. He wouldn’t let her go. She pleaded to God and Anyone Listening. He would kill her. He would destroy her mind.
He saw the harsh realization, even in her body. Her eyes became more vacant. She flinched at his touch. He wanted to comfort her. He didn’t want to go through a period of her hating him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to teach her about flinching again. Those were long, hard lessons for her. He hoped that she’d remember some of her time with him. He wanted her to be a good girl for him. She was always such a good girl, but she left him. She ran. They were going to deal with that punishment later.
He wrapped his arms around her. He needed to support her. He knew that she need to process this information and come to comprehend how it would change her future.
He tightened his arms around her. She was shaking. Absorbing the fear and reality, she finally started to cry. She whispered…
“Get the fuck off me.”
He punched her in the face.
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Oct 012013
Her car wasn’t made for camping. A past Master was also attending the event and offered to meet for directions once GPS hit the country, dirt road. He was already there when she pulled up. Camping was more his thing.
She got out and gave him a quick hug. He made small talk about the road to the property being rough. She thought he seemed aloof. His behavior was an underplayed ruse, set up for the pivotal introduction of the chemically-kissed rag to her face.
He let her slip down into his hands, and then boosted her right into his trunk. He unlocked her car and took everything from it, packing it into his. Her car would be in the river and they would be two hundred miles away, deep in the woods.
A rough bump leading up to the property roused her enough to question her own whereabouts. She was packed in a trunk like luggage. Her head hurt. He opened the trunk and dragged out a huge duffle. It landed with a *thunk* and kicked up its weight in dust. He grabbed her hair and towed her from the trunk onto the patchy, dusty yard.
He released her in the same fashion as the duffle; and she rolled over, coughing.
“What is this!?”
She was dazed and needed fresh air. She stood slowly and looked around to see a small camping lodge, the vehicle she came out of, and a boundless forest that surrounded it all. The thick walls of trees felt suffocating. Or maybe it was the situation.
His eyes fell to her, and his hand settled at his waist. He knew she’d be scared. He didn’t know how long it would take for it to sink in. He started watching her movements. He knew that she was having trouble processing this. He understood that.
He spoke calmly. Everything from his tone and body read complete honesty.
“Listen, pet. There were some things that didn’t quite play out the way they should have those few years back. So… You’re not leaving here. You understand? I’m you’re Master, again. There are no boundaries. No safewords. Those are gone. You’re my property. It’s up to you how long you fight it.”
She stood in stunned silence. He took a deep breath and continued on.
“I fixed the fences. You won’t make it that far, but if you did, the jolt would kill you. The wolves in the woods would take you if you got out of the house at night, if the cold didn’t first. For safety reasons, running isn’t a good idea. Besides… I’ll hunt you. I’ll track you… The punishment would not be worth it.”
The word “punishment,” made her buckle. That voice. That word. Fat sobs stuck in her throat. She couldn’t be there. She could not. He moved to her with purpose, and she could not physically stop him.
He stripped her. Any attempt to block him, and he’d hit her. He yanked at her hair, manipulating her body, until she wailed in pain.
“A fight would kill you, pet. Settle down.”
Once she was naked, he commenced with the fevered pursuit of dragging her into his small home. Her unheard screams were louder and more intense than they had ever been. He grabbed hold of her throat and slammed the door shut behind them
“It’s ok to be afraid, girl. I would be too.”
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Jul 192013
Once Upon A Time a “Domly Dom” – who was really just a big talker with a drinking problem – made a trip down down to Alabama for the weekend for us to play. It was supposed to be a weekend filled with new experiences, some hardcore play, and boundary pushing. Instead, in the moment there was a wave of overwhelming sadness and disappointment that rolled over me when I realized I wasn’t going to get that. He couldn’t give it to me.
I left our session completely dissatisfied. It was late. Very late. On a hunch, I called a guy who was more of a flirt than a friend. More of a business partner than a flirt. But we were mixing that shit up. Although it wasn’t a good idea, it kept me horny. Kept me wet. Kept me nasty. He answered. We met.
I wanted to fuck, but there wasn’t really room in the backseat and we were both in a hurry. He had to get home and I had quite a drive before reaching mine. He told me to spread my legs and fuck myself. I got out my Mimi and rubbed it up and down my entire cunt. He slapped at my thighs. His hands are huge. He likes getting big handfuls of my flesh, especially my ass or thighs, giving a squeeze and letting go only to slap down a massive hand in the same spot.
I had just pulled down my pants around my ankles, so the positioning was awkward, but I spread my legs wide for him while he asked me if I was a whore. Was I a slut? Was I going to do what whores do? He liked to slide his thick fingers inside my cunt. He’d do two, then three, then four. He’d move them around and pant while he watched my face, then watch his fingers while they fucked me. Mimi was running wild all over my pussy, too. She can even reach my extremely shallow G-spot, so I was just teasing myself before exploding. He had pulled out his cock and was stroking that big, black fucker with his free hand. His fingers rotated from fucking my pussy, to my mouth so I could suck off my juice, and then to slapping on my thighs. I was ready to soak his seats. He asked me if I wanted to cum. I told him I did. He pulled on my nipple rings a few times and then shoved what felt like his -entire- hand inside my snatch.
I had an amazing orgasm. I sucked his hand clean, and he wiped the rest on my thighs so that I’d stink of cunt juice. He told me to suck his cock. Just the tip.
I did.
Just the tip.
Nov 192012
He’s so possessive.
Mine – he says. His.
He likes it when I say the word when we’re fucking.
Even when we’re not. I don’t forget.
He’ll beat parts of me red and raw so that I’ll remember.
My tears and promises swear that I will.
His. All of it. All of me.
My panties are always wet.
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Mar 012010
“Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction.”
— Pablo Picasso
Rip me open.
Destroy my walls.
Set my screams free.
Give me an open, safe cradle.
And a fist of iron.
Save me.
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Dec 012009
The room was cold and dark with the air conditioning unit providing a loud hum for background noise. It made for my own type of sensory deprivation. My hands were always cuffed and occasionally, as I rolled over or squirmed, I hit myself in the head with the lock that latched them together. I would mentally curse and then was thankful almost simultaneously. He didn’t wish for me to squirm against that which bound me, but my guess is, if I did, he wanted to make sure that I didn’t go anywhere.
When I rolled over or moved he would reach for my collared neck, my hair, or hip and roughly tug me back to him so that I never strayed far in the large bed… always tucked under him, curled around him, or hips positioned so that he could lay over me. Whatever he liked. I needed him to pull me back and put me where he wanted me because it’s never comfortable to sleep alone for too long.
At times when I’d get hot and the sheets felt too restricting, I’d kick at them. A swift, strong hand would still me. My body’s natural desire was for his touch and the need for it to overpower me. I wanted him to take me so badly.
His hand would wrap over my lips and my nose and cut off the air from my body. I would struggle at first, but soon enough I would become still and tight against him. I surrendered. When I was close enough to him that his excitement could be felt, he would give me my air.
I do not remember sleeping. I remember drifting off, feeling completely safe, comfortable, and happy with my back arched and my throat exposed. I wanted him touching me… all the most sensitive parts of me …..at his whim ….constantly and throughout the night. The more often he did it, his hands covering me, the more I yielded to him and the less I fought.
I was always going to be his.
He wasn’t giving me a choice.
