Erotic Stories

I want you. There is no other way to say it. When night breaks into day, spilling the contents of its lucid dreams all over my guilty flesh, my sleepy mind whispers one word: "you." It's been so long since I felt at home in this flesh I call my own and now you make me a prisoner to its hunger. My mouth drools with hunger for the blood you offered so easily. One finger dipped in the hot crimson copper that flows through your veins and between your legs, held just beyond the reach of my mouth.

That night I arched my head just a little forward staring at you with dangerous dark eyes and mouthed the words, "Be careful." Of course you're never careful are you? You never are. I've seen you do things some would say dance on the edge of insanity. I could cover you with my body forcing your fingers deep into the back of my throat where too soft flesh would swallow the fiery blood from your curled index finger.

Why are you doing this to me? I have done nothing to you, nothing at all. I dig my nails into my palms and pull the sheet over my body. I am too hot but the light is coming and it hurts my eyes and burns my skin. Its far too early to be awake. I like the night so much better. I am so exhausted it seems like weeks since I've slept well. I am so on edge every night is torture mixed with the anguish of unmet desire. The whole of my body trembles from being held too tight, a coiled spring, a waiting jaguar.

Hot tears fall from my clenched eyes pooling in my ears and making them itch. It's been so long. You have no idea how long. Years and years and years. Practically my whole life since I awoke and found myself alone. I've had no peace since the day you left. You torment me with your eyes glowing in my mind's light like a feral tom. Yellow eyes like flaxen wire coiled around a hot light bulb. I cannot escape the pain that seeing them burns into the folds of my brain.

I am dusty shut away from the world I once loved. I feel ancient. Brittle. Slow. I turn my head to the wall and remind myself some Owners never meet their slave and that this too shall pass. I wonder how I missed mine. I exhale slowly letting the burning in my chest subside. I try not to think of the thousands of dollars in toys that surround me. Toys I will never have the chance to use. I don't know why I collect them. I can't seem to stop myself. The smell of fine leather is somehow a comfortable torment I cannot give up.

I flex my shoulders. They hurt. It's a bad habit of mine to sleep for hours curled up in as small a position as possible. Some ingrained reflex from a leftover childhood nightmare. I flex and shove my plushy cat under my right arm to keep me from holding it so tightly to my body that I cut off my own circulation. I try to relax but the fire under my skin will not let me.

My body feels like its being driven on a thousand mile run. I am not ready for it yet I cannot stop. Cannot drive the worry and longing from my mind. Instead I run one finger tip across the criss-crossed scars on my left arm, my proof I am alive because I bleed when cut. My scars are a map; I am covered in them like tiny white rail road tracks crossing the wasteland of my body. Some deep, some shallow. All perfectly parallel like stitches.

I try to imagine where you are. I try to imagine the energy of the sadism I need like air. I imagine slipping into the city to pay a whore to take the poison from my whips. My feminism, alas, keeps me well restrained from the exploitation of the proletariat. Lucky for them. The beast inside me shifts restlessly, despondently. It used to fight me, to try to escape, now it just lies there feeling the whole of everything. I have studied suffering from the inside out. I know it well though it is always rather pathetic to see a sadist in pain. Sleep does not come. The waves of anguish do not stop.

My mind closes inward and I think of a night, any night really except the one I found out that you were leaving. I think about the night I beat you for the first time. I think about the blood. So much glorious blood everywhere..the walls, the floor, my hands coated in it until it ran down my arms past my gloves that we finally decided were pointless to wear.

Remember? There was a strobe light on and my scalpels were laid out in a row. I cut you head to toe in one winding serpent from right ankle circling your leg slithering past your breast onto your neck. You were nervous about the neck but the snake had to whisper in your ear. My magic needed a form and the constrictor took it. There was so much blood, you didn't know you were a bleeder.

We made little vials for you to keep in the fridge just for looks since anticoagulant ruins the taste. I remember parting the slip lips of your cunt with my scalpel and circling your clit with the point. You did not tremble when I used the flat to pull back the hood and let my tongue lap at your juices. It was a long night, we played for hours, past day break. It was so long ago...I shudder as I fall into a dreamless sleep, exhaustion finally ending my torment and driving me under the surface of slumber.

 

Go ahead...steal this banner to use on your own site. It's the ONLY thing here that you can use without permission : )