Thursday, December 18, 2008

More on the power of submission

Greetings all,

In response to my previous blog entry amber juel left a comment. Here is my reply.

Greetings amber,

I believe that the expression of one's nature is a strong motivator in decisions (both good and bad) and overall happiness.

I would agree.

You list some potential pitfalls of supressing a submissive nature, but I found that just as many problems arise when one tries to express a submissive nature without fully understanding the need behind it.

Again I would agree. Sadly, it is often the case that many females who do not accept, or even understand, their nature look for ways to express it. This can often lead to problems. For example, she may select the wrong sort of partner, or may behave in maladaptive ways, or may engage in activities that she will later regret. Her nature motivators her, but without understanding it, there is the risk that it will control her, rather than the other way around.

For example, I had such a strong need for a dominant male force in my life that I tried to submit to men who were not dominant, to men who had no concept of my nature or my need. As a result, I was used, taken advantage of, and heartbroken more times than I care to admit. I was supposed to be smarter than that. In hindsight, I acted stupidly because I didn't understand what drove me to do those things. For me, understanding the psychology behind my nature has brought peace and I no longer seek inappropriate relationships.

Well said. It seems to make sense to me that the better we understand ourselves, the better the quality of the decisions we will make that affect us. Sadly, there are many people who seem unwilling or unable to go through this learning process and who are therefore doomed to a lifetime of bad decisions and unhappiness.

I am very happy to learn that you have reached a place of inner peace. I believe that with respect to D/s such peace does not require a relationship (although that is the ideal) but rather an acceptance of self, and an appreciation of the best ways to navigate through one’s life.

I remember the first night I was in the presence of a man who was truly dominant.

He sounds like quite the fellow!

At the end of that evening, I didn't even recognize the face in the mirror. It was literally glowing, with eyes that glistened brighter than any star. How was that possible?

It has been my experience, that in those moments that a deeply submissive female allows her inner self to come forth she is truly beautiful. The layers of armour, the tall walls of defense, and all of the ugly fortifications are stripped away to reveal the shining radiance of her true nature. Like a flower that has long been in the dark and is exposed to the sun, the submissive blooms, her petals unfurl to show her inner essence, and she radiates an amazing aura. For someone such as myself, who has so often been privileged to be the first to observe this in many females, it is an amazing experience.

As I suspect it was for the fellow you were with that evening.

I think it was the first time I realized the true power of submission, but I also believe the energy was a reflection of the power that was focused so intensely upon me. In other words, I'm not so sure submissive power can be sustained just through service. I think there needs to be a dominant force from which the submissive draws enough energy that can be reflected - much as the moon reflects the light of the sun.

Yes I would agree. While a female’s nature may be submissive, the true power of it can only be realized in a proper pairing with a dominant personality. So, while she may live in balance by accepting her nature, the true force of the power is one that comes from reflection and radiance.

Nicely said, amber.

Be seeing you,

Monday, December 15, 2008

The psychology of submission and power

Greetings all,

In response to my article on Rules and Rituals I received the following comment from amber juel.

>I had a conversation with a male friend today regarding the differences in our approach to bondage. His is casual, light-hearted and teasing while I get more benefit from formality and the psychological aspect, but the end result is the same for both - intensity and release.

In any event, the conversation reminded me of this...

Rituals provide the vocabulary for expression of devotion and eroticisation of the mundane. They must be crafted with care, designed with the psychology of submission and power in mind, and enforced with dedication.

It would be interesting if you could speak more about the psychology of submission and power.<

As you know I believe that a female’s submissive nature is greatly determined by genetics. IOW – it is encoded into the very cells of her body through many years of evolution. Of course, social conditioning has an important to play in this process, different cultures tend to promote or suppress these natures to a lesser or greater extent. However, I do believe that the natural tendency to submit is wired in from birth.

Therefore, the psychology of submission is, to me, not about how one “becomes” submissive (since that is not really possible) but rather how one can express one’s submissive nature. It is about how the mind processes these natural urges, how it comes to terms with them, and how it displays them. When poorly handled the female may behave in maladaptive ways which will permeate every aspect of her daily life. She may find herself feeling stress, unable to cope, eating too much (or not enough), sleeping too much (or not enough), etc. IOW – because they have no way to express their inner nature and the power associated with that nature they tend to struggle.

Submission is also an expression of power. Some equate the loss of control with the loss of power, but I would disagree. The submissives I know have often told me of how energized and powerful they feel when they are given an opportunity to explore and express their nature. In this sense, power can be equated to energy. So, even though they are controlled, still they are energized. This is a curious paradox, that a female when she is serving on her knees should feel a strong rush of energy coursing through her body. This energy can often have an erotic (sexual) component, but that does not always have to be the case. The performance of an act of service to another is often enough to give this charge of energy.

I am told it can be powerful indeed.

So, with respect to psychology of submission and power I would say that by coming to terms with one’s nature, and finding a place of balance from which to serve, a female can enjoy a heightened level of energy (power) that would normally not be accessible to her through any other means.

I trust this has answered your question.

Be seeing you,

Follow up to the Masochistic Female

Greetings all,

In response to my blog entry about the Masochistic Female, amber juel left a comment. Here is an excerpt and my response.

>At any rate, you seem to characterize women who enjoy smacks on the butt during sex or even rough sex as having a mild or latent masochistic bent. What is your view of women who enjoy or crave being bound? What of those who have a need to release control even to the point of submitting to punishments and humiliations they do not crave, they do not enjoy and would never have ever considered possible? What of those women, Mr. Cross? Do you consider them to be latent masochists as well?<

Greetings amber juel,

Thank you for your comment.

My blog entry was focused on the masochistic female, I deliberately avoided speaking about the submissive. You are correct, I do know a small amount about the nature of the submissive female.

Still, your question is well taken. Does a girl who submits to pain and punishment, not because it gives her pleasure, but rather because it gives her partner pleasure, a masochist? Does a female who endures humiliation, not because it arouses her, but rather because she it will satisfy her partner, being abused? Certainly such women exist, and I have known a few of them. They are normally deeply submissive and therefore see service as their path to personal satisfaction. IOW – by performing a service, no matter what it might be, they fulfill their nature. As such they do not see pain as pleasure, they do not see humiliation as empowering, rather they see these things as acts of submission through which they can satisfy their nature.

I can’t see how such women can be described as being masochistic. They do not process intense stimulation as pleasure (i.e. it hurts), nor do they view humiliation and degradation as being enjoyable. Rather they accept these acts as part of their service, much the same way they might view cleaning their Dominant’s toilet – an act that they don’t enjoy but they willingly do.

However, this opens the door to a set of rather slippery stairs. Where is the line between submission and abuse in this sort of situation. If a woman must endure something unpleasant in order to maintain the relationship is she being abused? If she gain no pleasure from the acts that her partner visits upon her is she being taken advantage of? At what point is a line crossed between acceptable and unacceptable behaviours? These are not easy questions. In the end, all I can say is that it is up to each submissive to constantly evaluate her situation and determine if she is still where she needs to be.

Too, it must be remembered that another aspect of BDSM is “Bondage and Discipline”. I have not written a great deal on this topic, but your comment brought this to my mind. B&D refer to the various forms of restraint that can be placed, and disciplines are the behaviours that can be enforced. In bondage, many females find what is called “the freedom of the ropes”. A liberating loss of control. Is it masochistic to want to be bound in ropes or chains? I don’t think so, although such bondage is often the pre-cursor to S&M play. Is being obedient to a discipline a form of masochism? Again, I don’t think so. Disciplines are another way that the submissive gives up control, allowing another to structure her life.

How does B&D differ from D/s? I would think that B&D are more oriented towards actual activities (binding, rituals, etc) whereas D/s is more about a mental state of being.

But I think I may need to talk about that more in the future.

I hope this answers your question, amber.

Be seeing you,

Friday, December 5, 2008

New Link Added

Greetings all,

I have added a new link in my Shibari section to Nekoko Deli's blog. It is worth a viewing. Some amazing photos.

Be seeing you

Thursday, December 4, 2008

The Masochistic Female

Greetings all,

The masochistic female interests me.

I know nothing of masochistic males, their motivations, challenges, or issues. I know nothing about them, because I have never been very interested in learning about them.

I also know very little about abused females. By abused females I refer to any who have been emotionally, intellectually, or physically reduced by another. In this sense, to be reduced means to be made less, to have ones sense of self-esteem, self-worth made smaller. To feel less good about oneself. The opposite of being enhanced. True, I have encountered more than a few women who have claimed to have been abused as children, or even later on in life. Some have spoken of rape, or other forms of sexual torment. Others have spoken of physical punishments far in excess of what I would consider normal or required. Still others have spoken of emotional abuses, the denial of love, the battering of tender emotions, etc. So, I have encountered such women, but I know little of them. Again, I am not too interested. When I work with a girl I am much more interested in who she is now, not in her history. I will examine her history if I feel it is relevant to her development which is not always.

I do know something about the masochistic female. By this I mean a woman who finds pleasure and satisfaction in forms of stimulation that the majority of our society would consider to be painful. This pain might be physical (i.e. beating, cutting, binding, etc), but might also be intellectual (humiliation, degradation, objectification, etc). I do not engage in emotional or spiritual sadism since I do not believe that these things enhance the female.

Trying to understand the motivations of the masochistic female can be a challenge to those on the outside of the BDSM community. How can offering one’s flesh to be bruised, whipped, pierced, etc, be pleasurable, let alone an enhancement? How can the drinking of urine be seen as being somehow uplifting? How is it possible that anyone would take pride in being called a slut, a cunt, or a whore? Where is the empowerment in bellying to a man’s shoes and begging permission to kiss them, or even more having to beg permission to go to the bathroom, or even orgasm? The whole thing appears opposite and counter-intuitive.

Here is what I know and believe.

To start one requires a woman of strong character, a strong sense of self, including self-esteem. True, I have worked with women who came to me not feeling too good about themselves, but this was not because of low self-esteem, but rather because they were conflicted between what their nature was telling them to do (i.e. the masochistic lifestyle) and what their society has been telling them to do (be the same as men). They were embarrassed to talk about this with their friends and confidents for fear of being ridiculed and branded a traitor (“Dorothy! How could you! You let a man smack your bottom? What do you think we feminists have been fighting for all these years? Bad girl, you have brought shame onto all of us!).

The women I select are not doormats. They are not passive. They are not seeking some sort of bizarre absolution for past “sins”. Such women are easy to spot. I call them “martyrs”. They see pain as their just punishment for past transgressions. The pain does not arouse them, rather it is simply a way for them to try re-balance themselves. I have no interest in such women.

Of course, quite a few women who don’t declare themselves as being masochistic probably have some trace leanings in that direction. Perhaps they like “love bites” or perhaps they like a bit of a smack on the rear end when they are being taken from behind. Perhaps they like some crude language during sex. Many women will freely admit to wanting their sex “rough” by which they mean they want their partner to have a more dominant role in the bedroom. And is there not a sort a cliché of advice that many women are given about being a lady most of the time but a whore in the bedroom? All of this speaks to a latent masochism in all these females. But these women also are of little interest to me. I prefer my masochists to be rather more extreme.

I have spoken at length to the women I have worked, both in person, over the phone, or even via the Internet. They speak of the enormous powerful energy they feel when I work them. It lifts them up, transports them into another dimension where they feel a certain perfection of self. As they are whipped they process the sensations as the most amazing of pleasures. In part this is because of the endorphins that are released into their bloodstream (much like a runner’s high). But also in part this is a spiritual experience because they feel true to themselves. They feel they are being true to their nature.

And it is not only the actual experience that is positive for them. All of them also report am amazing range of positive experiences right after an intense session. Some feel giddy and happy. Others feel powerful and energized. Others reach a place of wonderful peace and contentment. Still others report a reduction in stress which helps them deal more easily with their domestic life.

True, there is also a rather negative thing known as “sub drop”. This is a depressed feeling that comes when they are no longer high into the session. This is almost like a withdrawal, and in my experience is a direct result of a lack of ongoing interaction. My session time with my girls is limited, with the exception of my wife. I am pleased to report that she rarely ever feels sub-drop.

IOW – I believe that sub drop only happens in those cases where there is no ongoing relationship (interaction) between the sadist and the masochist.

Given this range of positive responses to sadistic treatment it is not difficult to understand why these women would seek out these experiences. Quite simply they feel good at both a physical and intellectual level. But why should this be the case?

I think the physical part is the easiest to understand. Different people experience physical stimulation differently. Pain and pleasure are simply two sides of the same coin. There is little difference between them from an objective viewpoint. It is how we each subjectively process the stimulation that allows us to determine if something is painful or pleasurable. Too, pain can often be morphed into pleasure. The “runner’s high” I mentioned is a good example. As the endorphins are released by the intense stimulation, the result is pleasure.

But what about those who feel empowered by being degraded? How can this be seen in any sense as being positive? Is there pleasure in being called “fuck meat” or “hole toy”? Can having one’s head stuck into a toilet be considered empowering? Can pitiful begging to drink a man’s cum be really considered as an enhancement? Is being required to eat from a dog bowl beside the table, or being kennelled at night in a cage, a sign of high self-esteem?

The simple answer to all of the above is yes. Very much so.

The paradox for the deeply masochistic female is that the lower they are brought, the higher they soar. Part of it is simple pride, “Look at what I can do! Look at what I can handle!” Another part is sheer exhilaration, as they experience the rich wealth of emotions and sensations that are part and parcel of this sort of experience. Still another facet is arousal – there is no question that such treatment makes these women incredibly wet and needful, which has the effect of making their orgasms rather powerful indeed.

In other words, they love it. No, it’s not for everyone. Only a few need apply, and of those that do, only a select few can handle it. They must be strong. They must be able to handle the treatment without it bruising their own ego and sense of self. They must have vast resources of internal power and energy to call up and offer the sadist so that he can use it to shape the session.

The powerful female masochist is a very special creature.

And that is why they interest me a great deal.

Be seeing you,

Fiction - She Fears


Here is another pov. This was written in 2004 in response to some comments on a writer's group that I belonged to. The comments were rather negative concerning BDSM in general and myself in particular. In essence I was told that my writings were promoting a bad attitude towards women. I was told that I was advocating abuse. Rather than argue, I wrote this short piece.

The story contains reference to a character called Alexander Waring. He shows up in quite a number of my pieces. He is a Master Trainer of female submissives and is very good at what he does.

Be seeing you,


She Fears
Copyright 2004 Mackenzie Cross
All rights reserved

There is a room.

The polished wood floors reflect the dim light of a small lamp set on a night table. Even if she could see, few of the room's features would be evident, except for the neatly made bed upon which she lies, hands by her side, legs parted. The blindfold she wears prevents her having this option. Her ability to see is not under her own control. There is only a
single colour in her world right now, black.

She is very afraid. Yet her cunt is throbbing.

Her fears are no ordinary anxieties. They are demons who have erected a canopy of terrors stretched across the horizons of her life.

They stretch to her past. She has lived her night-time horrors. They have dates and locations. They have faces and figures. They are the events that have shaped her, twisted her, depressing her spirit, until all that was left was a tiny spark of hope sheltered
behind impregnable walls of indifference, coldness, and of course the fears themselves. She can name her fears. They are the names of those who abused her. A too long list of men to whom she sacrificed an ever-shrinking piece of her heart.

All she had ever wanted was to be pleasing, to help make them happy, at least that's the way it always started out. And even though each one of them had been different, in a way, they had all been the same. There was a pattern to each relationship.

The beginnings were always thrilling and intense. The men had seemed so powerful confident and assured. She felt herself pulled towards them, even (especially?) when they seemed dark and dangerous. It made her cunt throb, being near them.

The fucking had been great. Their sex had been marathons of lust. It was hot and tight and almost perfect. Feeling them cum would send shivers from her cunt to her teeth. She would scream her pleasure. It was raw and nasty and she loved it. Between the sex
she would fill the time with domestic chores which filled her with a pride of accomplishment.

But it never lasted very long, after awhile there would be sly comments and thinly veiled insults which quickly grew into vicious attacks on her character.

She remembers always accepting the blame. Somehow, no matter what happened, it would always be "her fault". Even when it was their fault. She tried her best but it was rarely good enough. Some of them would yell and scream. Some of them were cold and quiet, but all of them punished. There would be beatings frequently coupled with a form of torture only a five-dollar whore could still describe as sex. Her body and mind still bare the scars of those punishments.

Sometimes they would tell her she was "asking for it". Some of them told her to beg, and she did. When she didn't the beatings were much more brutal.

After awhile she would leave promising herself never to let it happen again. It was a promise she never kept. Soon she would find another loser and the pattern would begin again.

Finally she stopped altogether. It has been five years since she spread her legs for a man. She misses that a great deal. But at least the beatings have stopped. And she swore she would never beg again.

There have been years of therapy and support groups, which have helped to remove the sharpest edges from the cruelties of her past. Still, she suspects that she may never rid herself of her past, the imprinting runs too deep.

But it is not only the past that she fears.

She fears herself. Looking inward holds no peace, no balance. She fears she is not normal, that there is something wrong with her. Perhaps she is some sort of sick pervert who seeks out these lowest of men so that they will demean her, making her small. She has tried blind dates, single's nights, even joined a church, always looking for a regular sort of guy, the kind "good" girls marry. But none of them gave her a spark. None of them made her cunt throb.

After awhile the dates dwindled to nothing. There didn't seem much point.

She fears that she is getting what she deserves. She fears she may always live alone.

And still her fears continue.

Her fears stretch into her future. They cloud tomorrow, making it unclear. The healing has taken many years. It is still taking place. It may require every remaining day of her life to cleanse her being and make her whole. She fears this may well be the case, even while she prays it may not.

One of her therapists pointed her to the Internet, to the world of domination and submission, the BDSM online community. She has spent many hours at her computer, reading about women who give themselves over to the power of another, and who seem to find completion, something they call the liberation of bondage. She has spent time in chat rooms, meeting dominant men and submissive women. The conversations struck a resonant chord inside of her. Might it be possible for a man to control a woman without abusing her? What sort of woman would beg to be whipped? She yearned to know more, to discover if she was one of these women, but her fears always held her back from taking the step of meeting someone. Fearful that she would hate it and even more fearful that she would crave it.

But all that changed two months ago when a woman she had grown to trust and respect asked permission to recommend her to a very special person, someone who might be able to help her. With an impulsiveness, she hoped she would not regret, she agreed. A week later her door bell rang and a well-dressed man handed her a small cream coloured envelope and then walked away without saying a word. Her name was precisely written on the front with a broad stroke using deep purple ink. Inside was a sterling silver business card inscribed with only a name and a phone number.

Alexander Waring

Of course she had heard of him. Alexander Waring, Master Trainer. Everyone on the Internet knew of him. He was one of the very best, his name spoken in awe and reverence by many. But what did he have to do with her? He trained beautiful submissives, not abused women. It was an act of pure courage to pick up the phone and call. It took a great deal more courage to agree to meet him for lunch.

He was not what she had expected. Short and solid with a conservative style of dress, he was almost diametrically opposed to her impression of the fetish-wearing, leather macho men she had envisioned. He spoke softly in a deep soothing voice, watching her with probing eyes as if he could read her secrets. Near the end of their meal he told her she was a submissive, and he could help her. She would have to move in with him.

Even now she is not sure why she agreed. Except perhaps, for the first time, in a long while, her cunt was throbbing again.

That was six weeks ago. In all that time, he has not touched. Neither for the purposes of pleasure nor pain. He has taught her his rules, how to keep his home. She has chores every day and they must be done correctly. When they are not, he tells her. He has a way of speaking, a way of looking at her, which is like a punishment. He has told her he knows she can do better, so he expects her to do better. And so she tries, for she has always wanted to be pleasing. On a few occasions he has praised her, and that has been a wonderful feeling.

He has taught her how to stand and how to move. How to hold position. How to speak. Sometimes he has had other woman visit, richly sexual creatures. She has seen them kneel and postures in attitudes of sensuality which are beyond her ability to perform. She has listened to the sultry quality of their voices, expressive and filled with desire. She has heard them beg. Sometimes they beg for sex, sometimes simply to serve. A few have even begged to be punished. He never forced them, they did it on their own accord. At first she didn't understand, but he allowed her time to talk to these women, his "trained girls". They had no fear, only a full desire to serve and be pleasing. They explained the power dynamic, and it made sense.

She has grown to envy these women, and their abilities to display themselves, even their ability to beg. She has asked him to teach her these things as well, but he has refused.

Which is why she also fears the present, this room, this bed. Each night since she arrived he has required her to spend one hour in the bed, blindfolded, with her legs spread. It was very difficult in the beginning, she was afraid that he would take advantage of her. She is still afraid. But it is a different fear this time. It is the fear of uncertainty, of not knowing. She knows the moment is upon her. She fears what will happen, or perhaps what might not happen.

She fears she is not good enough. She fears failure and rejection. She fears he doesn't find her attractive enough. She fears he has no interest in her cunt, and its deep throbbing need.

She hears a door open and footsteps approaching the bed. It is Alexander, she has grown to know the measured rhythm of his steps. He removes the blindfold and holds her gaze for a moment. After all this time she still has trouble meeting his penetrating stare. Only now she also feels it deep in her cunt. He turns and begins to walk away. She is now allowed to prepare herself for bed.

"Sir?" There is a delicate tremor to her voice, the song of a bird before its first flight.

He turns back, a question in his eyes, and waits.

And so she says the words she promised herself she never would. "I need your touch. I need to feel again. Please?" There is a long pause into which there is only the sound of breathing. She knows what she must do. "Please Mr. Waring. Please, anyway you want. I beg you."

A small smile plays on his lips as he moves back to the bed. He reaches with his hand, down between her parted thighs and does something that sends glorious shockwaves through her body. She gives herself over to the experience as her needs overtake her. There is only sensation and joy.

And somewhere deep in her mind the knowledge that she can now accept herself, her identity, and her submission.

And for the first time, in a very long time, she fears no more.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The Rape II

Greetings all,

Here is something I wrote this afternoon. It is a fiction inspired by a true story.

Be seeing you,


The Rape II
Copyright 2008 Mackenzie Cross
All rights reserved

It has been a pleasant afternoon outing, window shopping at a high-end sex boutique followed by cappuccino in a small bistro in Little Italy. Idle conversation interspersed with erotic innuendos. They know each other well, and while today lacked the intense sex which is so often part of their time together, still it has been enjoyable. He is driving her back to her car so she can continue home on her own. Darkness comes early this time of the year and the headlights of the car illuminate the darkening streets through as they cruise through a quiet middle-class neighbourhood.

She looks at him as an idea occurs. “I’d love to suck your cock”, she says. There is a light mischievous quality to her voice.

He smiles to himself. It is something she often says. He glances at the digital clock in the car’s dashboard. “I think there’s time”, he replies. His voice is deep and strong. Even after all their time together she can still feel it in her belly. As always she finds it intoxicating, yet there is something else in his voice, a sharp edge which causes something to flutter inside. She looks at him as he drives, wondering if it is just her imagination, or something different she senses. This feeling of not really knowing excites her at a primal level and she senses the wetness beginning to release in her cunt.

He turns onto a side street and parks the car in front of a non-descript house. He pushes his seat back unzips his pants, and pulls out his flaccid cock. Turning sideways he faces her, she see the slow sardonic grin and the way the light from a street lamp glints in his eyes like the reflection off a blade. Inside her belly the fluttering increases as her wetness continues to seep. She cannot hold his gaze for long.

Rising to her knees on the car seat she leans over, lowering her head to swallow his soft member. It is not difficult, he is not large. She leans forward more, pressing her nose against his groin, breathing in his scent. It is masculine and powerful, and heightens her own awakening desire. She uses the suction of her mouth to pull him deeper down her throat while at the same time caressing the length of it with her tongue. His cock begins to grow insider her mouth, and she smiles to herself. How she loves to arouse him!

Distantly she is aware of his hand at her belly, unbuttoning and then unzipping her tight jeans. In response she begins a languid up and down movement on his rod. After all this time she knows how best to please him. Not too fast. First she will make him fully hard before switching to the quicker, more violent strokes which she favours. His right hand is now at her back, and slips to her ass, between the fabric of her jeans, pushing aside the thin ribbon of her thong, till it finds the end of the small metal plug she always inserts before they are to spend time together. The plug sits on top of a small post, which is terminated in a round base decorated with some cut crystal. He has taken pictures of her from behind so she can see it. It looks like she has a jewel where her asshole should be. She finds it exciting to wear it for him.

He takes the end of it in his hand and starts fucking her ass with the plug. Pulling it all the way out, he waits for a moment before forcing it back in. Sometimes he does it hard and fast, sometimes slow. She never knows what to expect.

His cock has grown harder now. It has become more difficult to swallow the whole length of it. She is a petit girl, and her mouth is small. But she craves the sensation of being filled and so she pushes herself down, forcing it in, until she feels herself start to gag. Then she lifts up so that most of it slides between her lips, until only the head of it remains in her mouth. She loves the taste of cock, his cock in particular, and is loath to give it up entirely. After a moment to catch her breath she pushes herself down again. Her cunt is leaking now, she can feel it. Her ass is responding to the plug’s fucking as she reaches out with her hand to grab the base of his cock. Even if she can’t fit it all the way in, at least she can make sure he feels a tightness all along its length. She begins to pump him harder, faster, wanting to taste his cum.

As his right hand continues to slowly fuck her ass with the plug, she feels his left hand at the top of her head, grabbing a length of hair, twisting it hard. He doesn’t do anything yet, just holds it so she is aware. Later he may control her head movements this way, as he has done in the past. She knows the path to his greatest pleasure is via control, utter control of her every part of her, even her breath. His hand grips her hard and there is pain, a sharp sort of hurting, but she embraces it. The pain releases a complex cocktail of chemicals. They transport her, release her to another place. She feels herself losing her identify, slipping away to a place where she is but a mouth, hungry for cock, eager to please.

She hears his voice, “Release”. She is not ready but still she responds. This is how she has been trained. She comes on command. She pushes her face down, impaling her mouth on this length, and at the same time grinds her ass against his hand, trying to push the small metal plug deeper into her needy hole. In her mind she creates a vision of darkness, where a terrible beast rapes with brutality and a single-minded savageness leaving her broken and bruised. It is enough, she shudders and gasps trying to suck in air, and feels her cunt fluids flowing freely now, soaking her panties, wetting her jeans.

He pulls her head up off his cock until he can see her face. She feels a thin line of drool on her chin as she breathes hard trying to take in some fresh air. He examines her carefully as if he is noting every little detail. She looks into his eyes. There is something there, something that she has seen glimpse of in the past, but never quite as blatant as this, never quite this obvious. There is something primal there, something freezing cold and burning hot at the same time. She senses the power of it, and its intensity frightens her deeply. In all the times she has known him, in all the cruel and sadistic acts he has visited onto her willing flesh, she has never seen him this way. It is as if someone else is looking out through those eyes, or perhaps something else.

He smiles, and his smile is terrifying. It is the smile of a predator before it feeds on the living flesh of its victim. His hand pulls at her hair, guiding her face back down into his lap. She opens wide. She has no choice. Reaching out she encircles the base of his cock again with her hand. He has grown larger still, somehow larger than she can ever remember. This should be impossible, yet it is happening. It is longer now, and thicker too. How can this be? Yet it is.

He takes his hand out of her pants, and grabs her arms, first one then the other. He positions them behind her back, locking her wrists together in his grip. She is almost helpless. With his other hand, he now moves her head up and down, side to side. She has no volition of her own, her mouth has become nothing more than a device for him to jerk off with in any manner in which he finds pleasure. He pulls her down hard on it, and it pushes deep, past the tight ring of flesh at the back of her throat, slipping all the way in for a moment. She begins to choke and gag, she feels the bile beginning to rise from her belly. She struggles to lift herself up, fighting his control. After the briefest of moments he allows it. He continues to move her up and down, slowly but irresistibly. He lifts her face again, just enough so her mouth is clear of his cock for a moment as she bends over. Her throat feels stretched. It hurts. Her cunt is pulsing.

His right hand lets go of her wrists, but she holds them in place. She has been trained. He places it on the back of her head while still holing the shank of hair in his left hand. She feels power flowing through them, raw and wild. Her breathing becomes shallow, her thoughts become slow.

What happens next is the rape of her mouth. There are no other words to describe how she is used. It is nothing which she has consented to, nothing which anyone would consent to, yet he does it. With his two hands his strength is impossible to resist. He fucks her skull for his pleasure, not caring if she breaths, or chokes, or even pukes. He rams her head down over his too large cock forcing into her throat. He twists her head back and forth, and lifts himself off the seat to grind it into her face. Her nose is covered with the soft flesh of his groin and she can’t breath. She is trying desperately not to retch, but it is so fucking hard. She tries to signal him, pushing herself up, making desperate little noises, but he doesn’t seem to care. It goes on, and on.

Then he pulls her up to examine her face again. Her face is smeared in liquid. The drool from her mouth, some clear snot leaking from her nose, and tears from both eyes. Eyes that have become glazed and difficult to focus. But somehow through the fog of passion she sees him. She sees his eyes blazing darkly in the night. There is a passion there, one of lust, but also something more. It is a passion to hurt and destroy.

“Sir?” she whimpers. But there is not the faintest trace of acknowledgement. The body may be of her lover, but it is as if the mind had been replaced. He smiles again and she does not know him.

He pushes her head back down. She tries to resist, but it is impossible. His strength cannot be denied. She tries to keep her mouth closed, but he gives her hair a savage twist and she opens her mouth to scream at the pain of it. In that instant he forces his cock into her mouth and continues its rape. How long it goes on she has no idea. He keeps bringing her to the edge of vomit, within a breath of it, and then pulls back. He uses her mouth with the same rapid sledgehammer strokes which he uses when slamming into her cunt or ass. She is desperately trying to hold on. Some small part of her is amazed that he can push it down her throat like this. No one has ever done this before, not even him. She is being raped by the beast, taken and used against her will, her only option is to try and ride it until he is done.

Then he pulls her off again and throws her against the car door. Reaching over he touches a button and her seat reclines all the way down. He grabs her, turns her, placing her belly down on the seat. Pulling down her loosened jeans he yanks out the plug and pops it into her gaping gasping mouth. She closes her lips around it. She has no choice.

And now her ass is raped. There is no lubricant, only the thin sheen of her own drool on his cock. He does not go slowly, opening her carefully as he sometimes does. Instead he slams his cock in, tearing her open. He is so large! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! There is only pain now as he fucks her nether hole. Pain where his hand twisted her hair. Pain in her jaw from being stretched. A raw scratching pain deep in her throat.

He places one of his hands in the small of her back, so she cannot move. His other hand is higher up, between her shoulders. The compression makes it difficult to breath. He lifts himself up on his knees and then drops his full weight onto her ass, driving his rod as deeply as possible. It feels as if she is being ripped open. She feels herself starting to black out.

Somehow, dimly, from far away, she hears a roaring. At first she thinks it may be inside her head but then she knows it is no noise she has ever made. It is no noise she could ever make. It is the sound of an animal in triumph. It is the sound of an predator who has killed its prey. She no longer can feel him. She is lost in some other place. There is something warm and liquid being pumped into her ass, but she can’t tell what it is. Thinking is too hard.

Later, afterward, when he releases her and sits again on his own seat, she will kneel over his cock again, cleaning it with her tongue, tasting the last traces of his semen and the funky aroma of her own ass. As she performs this worship she will murmur her thanks over and over again. Never has he taken her this way. Never has anyone taken in her this way.

She has been raped.

She loved it.

And she will want it again, soon.


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