Friday, April 4, 2014

The Night is Dark

One fantasy that came to life for this wanting submissive...in the shadows, in an alley, with a whip in her Master's hand.

Exerpt from A Master for a Desperate Slave



The night is dark; there are no stars. She can hardly see a thing, since there are no streetlights in this part of the city. But she’s secure with a man at her side. Ben seems to thrive on the loneliness of out-of-the-way places, and she goes there with him because it’s what she does to please him, to have him. She’s afraid if she refuses, he’ll move on and find another woman.

    He pushes her into an alley where the darkness is so rich she smells it, tastes it, feels it up the back, a tingle of mystery and fear all wrapped into one.

    My God, he’s going to beat me here! her mind screams.


    They travel much farther than she expected they would before he finally shoves her up against a cement wall. She can smell the dampness, feel it with her hands. Her head is pressed against the surface and her lips meet the concrete. She tastes that, too.

    In one swift move he discards her dress, leaving her naked in unfamiliar surroundings. She wonders what he can see of her in his bleak, cavernous alley. Maybe his eyes adjust. Maybe hers would too, but that won’t happen. Ben slaps a blindfold over her eyes, and snaps the elastic strap around the back of her head. She’s pushed against the cement again, her arms raised and widely spread. He must have searched this neighborhood to find a place where he could tie her like he’d tie her to a St. Andrew’s cross. He says he hates the dungeon scene, too many memories.

    They met in a public dungeon, when she was fishing for answers to her strange fantasy life. But they haven’t been back since, and the inspiration behind the locations for their sex play continues to amaze her.

    Tonight, it’s this deserted alley, in this deserted part of town. On another night, they might be under a pier where he’ll bind her to the pilings.
 

    How does he know that robbers and thieves won’t be jumping out and mugging him—and her? she often wonders when they are in an especially derelict part of the city. Or that the police won’t suddenly decide to prowl the neighborhood for perverts? Maybe they’ve heard about the restless warrior and his submissive woman who haunt the night with their dark sexual deeds. How does he know? Does he have second sight, instincts, hunches, or is he just lucky? Are they lucky that they haven’t been found out, pummeled to death, arrested, or at the very least stumbled on by unsuspecting passersby?

    The cool of the wall climbs into her skin with the same degree of intensity that the whip Benjamin Hunter uses laces her backside with fire. A hellish pain rises as each cut of the lash lands with more might that she expects it will. He takes such chances with her, and yet, she keeps asking for more, wanting it with a lust that is rarely satisfied.

    The location requires that she hold her voice to low growls. The sound of his whips colliding with the air and her skin is enough sound to startle even the soused drunk. They can only hope that the neighborhood is deserted.

    She feels as if her backside is ripped apart. She knows the welts will be deep and he’ll soothe them afterwards. But for now its pure agony, agony of the body, agony of the spirit, agony of a bleeding heart that wonders why she loves this—that is until, at last, there is that wondrous transformation.

    Her pheromones fly now. She’s lifted away. Some sweet beauty lands about her like a benevolent dove.

    “Ahhhhhhhhh, yeeesssssssssssss.” A seething sound issues from her throat. Her head thrusts back and there’s a hand at the furrow of her sex, grabbing at the crescendoing feelings and bringing them to climax.

    Minutes later, she feels her ass cheeks pried apart by that same hand, and a thick fleshy rod thrusting its way inside her back channel. He only does asses in this mood of his, she’s learned. Hers has been taken and brutalized. The hugeness, the ferocity, draws her back to earth. This is very real, not ethereal at all, but a hard, banging, slapping, tearing sort of breach. Her mind engages again enough to worry how much her face will show the scratches from the concrete when they’re done.

    She’s glad it doesn’t take long for him to ejaculate inside her. He presses the meat of his cumming erection just a little farther into her previously greased entrails and groans with the distinctive pleasure of a contented man as he gives the finish an extra thrust.

    When the fucking is over, they move through the alley with the swiftness of those thieves they didn’t meet. Then they are back in his car, safe. She’s dizzy with the sexy rush, thinking about the naughty thrill of what they’ve just done.

    “Ah! Ben, you are a nasty ass!”

    “I beg to differ, you’re the one with the nasty ass. And you’ll get it again before I go to sleep.

    “Okay, you’re a brute!” she tells him. My brute, she thinks to herself.


Copyright (c) 2004 by Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved

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