Songs About Fucking

She's 21 and in America, she's just split up with her boyfriend, running away from everything she knows, trying to find something she believes in.

She's been walking around the cold streets, wanting to feel something, and has just sat down in a bar. After having her passport studied hard, she's drinking beer and listening to music on her own.

She's got long red dreads, with beads dotted here and there, skinny, pale skinned from a nocturnal lifestyle, piercings, heavy black eyeliner and mascara but no other make-up. She's got that punk lack of concern about showing flesh, and her 'Songs About Fucking' T-shirt has the neck and arms torn off so that her black bra is clearly visible. Ripped fishnet stockings snake out of biker boots, but the tops aren't hidden by her short, pleated skirt.

If this was nighttime she'd have all the boys hitting on her, and she'd do anything they wanted just to try to feel again, but she's still on UK body clock and the place is empty. She closes her eyes and drifts off in her grungey mixtape for a while, it's not the most experimental in the world, but safe and soothing, appropriate. Can't not have Nirvana, and despite the over-familiarity, it still hits the mark. Bit of early Mudhoney for energy, Sonic Youth, Butthole Surfers and Pixies aren't really grunge, but fit her mood better than most of the slop that is. Plenty of Albini of course, but for some reason, it's Melvins that are pushing her buttons today.

She rewinds and nods along, now that her eyes are open she notices there's someone sitting opposite her, perhaps he's a Brit too. He's kind of hot, she might as well see if he'll bite. She raises her bottle, he smiles and waves his coke back. She gestures at the seat next to her, and he shrugs and walks over.

They shake hands and introduce themselves, laughing at each others' similar accents. She offers him a beer when she gets a new one, but he says he's fine. When she gets back to the table, he's listening to her headphones, asks what the current track is. She checks, and tells him it's Meat Puppets. For some reason, this makes him smirk at a secret joke.

Their conversation quickly moves beyond recommendations for places to visit, and without really knowing why, she's spilling her guts about all her problems. There's just something about him she trusts, something that makes her want to open up to him. He's stroking her hair as he talks softly, and things start to seem better. His eyes are amazing, warm and cool, pulling her in without giving anything away.

She's lost track of what he's saying, but it doesn't matter, his hand is sliding up her skirt, but it doesn't matter, her voice is sleepily replying to him automatically, but it doesn't matter. All that she cares about is how incredible she feels, like all her pain has been wrapped up and put away, allowing a deep, welling up of arousal.

The barman might have noticed what's going on, but probably doesn't care, figures some English girl who drinks beer at lunchtime always hooks up with strange guys in bars. Still, he'd prefer a bit of privacy and asks her back to his hotel. She literally can't refuse.

It's not the Hilton, but his room is nice and clean, not that she really notices, she's still swimming in the space between his eyes and voice. He lays her down and she's soon not wearing any underwear, she doesn't worry about how it magically disappeared, she's just glad that he can easily touch her, while she's gently stuck to the bed.

She comes a couple of times in this blissful state, soaking up the new patterns of thought he suggests, it starts to feel like she's always known him, like they came here together, like her deepest desire has always been to serve him, to please him, to obey him.

She's sucking his cock expertly, hungrily, gazing up at him adoringly. She's started to feel again, She's found something she can believe in.

Music Fetish

I have a music fetish, I love people who understand the kind of music I like, who can create it, but also who can make music with my desires, although that's not so hard, I have fairly obvious keys to push, strings to pull.

What really impresses me is when they can combine the two, not just play me clean, but balance the different notes of me to create the perfect, controlled feedback whine, the buzzing drone of lust.

It's hard for me to explain, it's something that needs to exist in the moment, with someone who knows me very well, can watch my responses, and set opposing forces against each other so they make the desire stronger.

Say, a phrase like, "You don't need to think, girl, I'm in charge," could be hot or annoying depending on who's saying it, depending on the context, depending on their intentions. But, at the right time, in exactly the correct tone of voice, utterly devastating.

E - Deep, low, bass string of wanting to be controlled, wanting to give up responsibility.
A - Strong pull of independence, self direction, knowing what's right and not wanting to give that up.
D - Fuzzy, warm arousal, holes plugged, wet sliding
G - Tight, middle string, that even though neither of us really think that's how things should be, buying into male dominance and female submission perpetuates a system that limits everyone, and should be resisted.
B - Soaring liberty of accepting what feels right, what you enjoy, what makes you feel like yourself.
E - High, pure string of knowing that it's all play, easy, fun, that everything we say can float away, and all that's left is total understanding.

Use your fingers to firmly hold down a couple of steady chords, strum slowly and menacingly, distort, distort, distort until it all bleeds together, amplify through something big and powerful, and build inexorably towards the crescendo, where everything goes supernova.

Sweet Young Thing

I seem to fantasise a lot at gigs, maybe it's all the standing around, the noise too loud to really talk to your friends, the anticipation, the smell of bodies pushed up against each other.  The music I like makes me horny too, sometimes it's because of the cold, headfucking lyrics, but most of the things I'm into at the moment are more visceral, sounds that fuck me on a more basic level.  This band were one of those: deep, and repetitive, lulling and dominating in equal measure.  I wanted someone to fuck me and own me as much as they did. Then I saw him.

He was young, probably a student, not someone I'd have paid much attention to normally, although he was pretty enough: long dark hair, cute indie/metal clothes.  What caught me was his stare, right at me, for a long time, like he knew me, like he knew all about me.  I looked away, nervously a few times, but when I looked back he was still staring, I couldn't read his expression, there wasn't anything about me to attract attention, I was dressed down, he didn't seem angry, or mocking, or flirting, he was just... looking.

I suppose he could have been someone I'd briefly met elsewhere and forgotten, maybe he'd seen me give a talk, was someone from a party, or perhaps I'd only ever seen him encased in rubber.  Still, I started imagining things after he'd drifted away, that perhaps we'd had some strange encounter and then he'd made me forget who he was, that maybe he'd come back round behind me and trigger me to follow him into the toilets, I'd suck his cock with blank eyes, and then have my memory wiped again.

Puppyboy

I went to a fetish fair, with another couple of first timers and a friend who goes regularly. On the newbies tour round the venue, Cindy was fascinated by all the vintage costumes and vertiginous shoes, but I hadn't really seen anything that grabbed my attention. Until I saw him.

Tight full body black rubber suit showing off his skinny punk boy physique, paw hand restraints, and a stylised dog mask with floppy ears. He was being led around on a collar and leash by an unassuming looking master wearing a hoodie and band T-Shirt, and Puppyboy wasn't acting like an animal at all, just casually walking and chatting. There was no overt dominance going on, but, really, there didn't need to be.

If it wasn't for his eyes, I wouldn't have been so transfixed, but there was a soft, given look in them, an expression of complete satisfaction. He was in his rightful place, he didn't have to worry about anything, he was complete.

I followed him around a little, drinking in the sight, but too shy to approach. I wouldn't have known what to say anyway, it was a strange kind of desire that was fired in me, I think I wanted to be him rather than own him. Not because of the outfit, not because I wanted to be a puppy, but I just longed for that peace in his eyes, that knowledge that he was leashed, controlled, and all was right with the world.

Buzzing

The music fills my head.  I'm drunk and alone, but the sound keeps me safe, fills up the gaps where fear normally hides.  I watch the band playing, fuck, I love musicians' hands so much, skillful, strong fingers, delicate one moment, flicking like a slap to the face the next.

He's got hands like that, hands that make me watch them, hands that smoothly pull my mind into his anchors.  I need them on my body so much it's like the air's made of aching for him.

I take another swig, let the alcohol numb my desire for a while, even though I know it'll just make it worse in a few moments.

There's so many people here I'd like to fuck, I let the music make everything seem like a film, at a distance, beautifully lit and shot, no consequences.  I smile at someone I half know, he nods back politely, can't place me and doesn't find me attractive enough to bother asking me to remind him.

I feel old suddenly, no-one's looking at me with furtive fantasies the way I am them.  Not even the balding guys with fading T-Shirts and beer guts.  When did I stop being someone that got chatted up at gigs?   I feel my eyes getting a bit wet and drink some more, I don't want to associate tonight with sadness, this band's amazing, focus on that.

Soon I'm lost in the drones, the feedback pulling at my body, slithering inside me, puppeting me with it's sadistic whine.  For a moment I think his hands on my shoulders are in my imagination, but then I turn and time slows to a perfect, endless moment as I look into his grinning face.

"I didn't think you could make it?"

"I skipped work early, I can always get them to let me go if I try."

I'm so happy I must be glowing.  We stand next to each other, moving perfectly in tune with the music, in tune with each other.  I'm buzzing, and nothing can hurt me now.

Controlled and Obedient

Trudy closed the chat window, leaned back in her chair and sighed happily.  Sure, she'd lost three hours when she'd only meant to have a quick conversation, but it had been worth it.  She was a bit fuzzy about exactly what had happened, but it had definitely been fun, the dampness of her knickers showed that beyond doubt.

It meant she had to rush to get to the art preview at her friend's gallery, but somehow she didn't feel stressed.  As she showered, she lingered the spray over her clit, and could almost feel someone licking there, his hands holding onto her behind.  She shivered a little with how vivid the hallucination was, but just kept going a little longer, a little longer.

She was so worked up it didn't take long to get to the edge of coming, and as she hung there for a moment, she heard the voice in her head getting louder, more insistent controlled and obedient, controlled and obedient, obey, obey, obey...

As she fell into orgasm part of her mind was surprised that she'd got there without needing to touch herself, but the thought was soon washed away in the water running down her legs.

The nice, relaxed feeling stayed with her as she walked down the road and got on the bus.  It was as if the part of her brain that worried about things was asleep, leaving her free to enjoy the everyday things she normally ignored: the feeling of the breeze against her skin, the colours of leaves against the sky, the smell of the food stalls.  She laughed to herself at how simple things seemed, how easy it was to just live in her body for once, rather than dismiss it as an unreliable container for her mind.

Even the bitching and status seeking at the party didn't seem to penetrate her haze.  Trudy smiled and chatted brightly, and noticed how easy it was to find the right words to say to people, the best body language to convey interest in what they were saying, along with confidence in her own words.  She felt as if she was someone else, and yet more herself than ever.

Something was helping her, as if a hole she hadn't known was there had been filled.  She stood and tried to work it out, and again, on the edge of her hearing, was a voice gently whispering  controlled and obedient, controlled and obedient...


It was so strange, she'd imagined that feeling controlled and obe- ... that feeling like that would have made her more passive, scared, like she couldn't think for herself, but instead it made her feel stronger, worth more.  She had a secret, something she could draw on when she needed.  She wasn't exactly being puppeted, but an invisible hand was guiding her, protecting her.

It felt... man, it felt really fucking good...

Holiday

Theresa watched the rain slide down the window of her hotel room as she half heartedly went through the conference notes.  She'd been hoping to get a bit of time to herself after the sessions were over for the day, but the weather made it seem pointless.  Still, she couldn't seem to concentrate on setting things in order, but it wasn't that urgent, she'd already delivered her paper and could just write everything else up in the week.

Her hands started idly playing with her phone, should she text James?  He might know of a bar that was worth getting a bit soggy to get to, and there was always the chance they could end the night with another little fumble.  She played their previous encounter over in her mind: the conversation about language and control that had started to generate intense glances as the wine was drunk, the way his voice got softer and more persuasive, the way she was in bed and coming before she really knew what was happening.  She'd rung him as soon as the thought was done.

"Hey, Tess, what's up?"
"Ah, the weather's dreadful, know anywhere close where we can relax for a bit?"
"You want to relax?"
She swallowed hard, he noticed, chuckled and continued, "Look, why bother going out, let's just have dinner in the hotel, it'll be easier for me to talk you into bed when it's just a lift ride away."
"Can't you at least pretend I'm not that easy?"
"I'm just reminding you that I'm that good.  Of course, we could just skip the restaurant and have room service..."
She weighed up the suggestion, what was the point on making in harder on themselves?  "Fuck it, go on then, I'll come to your room, your university's richer than mine."
"Great, room 291, give me about half an hour."

---

James opened his door and smiled appreciatively at her in her summery dress. "Very nice, but you didn't need to change, I like the academic look."
"I just wanted to pretend I was on holiday, not working."
"Good plan.  You've given me an idea." He pulled a blanket off the bed, threw a few cushions around it and started laying out plates of cold food from the room service trolley.  Theresa laughed, and helped out setting up the indoor picnic, then lounged down on the cushions with him.

She was about to help herself when he shook his head.  "No, you're on holiday, Tess.  Relax.  Let me do it."
 The air got a more charged and her head started to buzz a little.  He did have a talent for using the right words to put her into a submissive headstate.  She leaned back further, as he selected a plateful of food.

James picked up an olive, held it to her mouth, watching carefully as she parted her lips to allow him to slide it in. He ate some food himself as she chewed, feeding her the next morsel or sip of wine when she was ready.
Now and then he'd whisper gentle encouragement, "That's right," "just let me take charge," "good girl..." until every mouthful made her more open and accepting.

When they'd had enough, he cleared the plates aside and lay closer to her.  "Feeling better?"
"Mmmm," she was too spaced to say much, and just gazed up at him sleepily.
"Good. Now, just close your eyes."
She settled back, smiling as her eyelids drifted down, already responding to the authority of his voice.
"It's time to take a break, Tess, let yourself go on holiday for a little while. Imagine yourself somewhere completely calm, completely peaceful."
Theresa's stomach started fluttering, she was excited and nervous at what was about to happen, but already found herself in a cool, green meadow by a stream, leaves dappling the sunlight.
"That's right, you can just rest here, there's nothing you need to be doing, nowhere else you have to be." He carried on talking her down, his voice a soothing flow that she couldn't quite keep up with.  Some words seemed very clear, "... relax now, deeper ..." and then she just heard a fuzzy drone as her thoughts drifted away from her.

---

As her eyes fluttered open, Theresa breathed deeply, and tried to stretch.  She was slightly puzzled to realise that her body was not responding, but it didn't seem particularly important, so she just let the desire to move slip away.
James placed a hand on her leg and she became aware of him speaking  "... still feeling nice and calm, enjoying your peaceful holiday from being in control of your mind, of your body ..."
She smiled.  It was nice, so much simpler.  She felt pleasantly tingly, especially where James' hands were touching her.  He parted her legs, they moved easily for him, but then felt so heavy, so impossible to shift by herself.

His hand slid up her thigh, gentle and firm, the way he did everything.  Her knickers were wet through already, and his fingers glided inside her easily.  It was a strange sensation, her hips were used to moving to help the rhythm, but they stayed still, as if she was deep asleep and dreaming.  Only her eyes could really show how she was feeling, burning and glazed at the same time, he ate up the desire hungrily, stoking it more.

As she got more helplessly turned on, he seemed to be able to tell, and slowed his hand frustratingly.  She groaned, her gaze pleading.
"It's OK, Tess, it's just that things work differently here, when you're having a break from being in charge."
She panted, not really understanding, but accepting his words without question.
"That's right, just go with the flow, you can't make anything happen, just accept that and everything will be fine."
Theresa felt something start to change, she couldn't quite keep it going at first, just dipped into the feeling then back out, but after a while it became second nature, as she started to surrender all thoughts of being able to force things.
"Just rest," that made it easier.
"Let go," easier still.
"Good girl." She fell completely, overwhelmed more than ever before, and it just kept going on and on, until he'd taken every drop of will from her.

---

This time she could stretch, and she moved luxuriously, feeling like she'd had everything massaged and cared for then slept in the most comfortable bed for a week.
"Enjoy your break?"
"Mmmm."
"Want to stay here the night?"
"Mmmm."
"Going to do whatever I tell you?"
"Mmmm."
"Good girl."

Missing You

Come home.  Kiss me hungrily, like you've been thinking about screwing me all week.  Push me up against the wall.  Stare into my eyes.  Explain how completely fucked I am.  Grind your hand against my cunt until my legs give way.  Shove me down on the carpet.  Force me to say things as you stick your fingers inside my wet hole.  When I'm panting and desperate, pull away.  Laugh at my pleading.  Pull out your belt.  Make it snap in the way that makes my skin bump.  Tell me to roll over.  Turn me on my front when I hesitate.  Pull up my skirt.  Pull down my knickers.  Wait.  Just as I think you won't, let the leather strike me hard.  Repeat.  When I'm crying, rub your hand over my arse, kindly but firmly.  Move yourself over me, whispering in my ear to calm me.  Put your fingers in my hair, stroke it, then pull gently.  As I gasp, tell me to stop thinking.  Pull my hair again, and tell me you meant it.  Keep pulling occasionally as you slide into me.  Remind me that the more aroused I get, the more I relax, and the more I relax, the more aroused I get.  Fuck me harder. Tell me to let go.  Tell me to come.  Wipe yourself on my clothes.  Stand up.  Go to unpack.

Home

Pete listened. The walls were thin, the noises loud. His fingers rubbed idly around his belly, occasionally sneaking down the treasure trail and into his pubes, twisting and pulling, then back up. He was struggling with a mixture of emotions, but eventually arousal won out, and his hand went lower, stroking in time with the thumping from the next room. As the cries became more unrestrained a look of disgust distorted his features, but he couldn't help speeding up with them.

He could hear a muffled male voice grunting orders,"Shut up and take it, slut," then as the rhythm became more urgent, "Come for me, bitch, come for Daddy."

Pete whined and obeyed. He wiped his dripping hand down the side of the bed, before falling into a fitful sleep, full of dark dreams.

The next morning he couldn't look Jack in the eye, but his flatmate didn't notice, he was always cocky the day after a conquest.

"Has she gone?"

"Yeah, I gave her the money for a taxi,"

Pete hadn't needed to ask really, Jack didn't want to waste his time with someone after he'd fucked them. "Ever the gentleman."

"She wasn't complaining," Jack said half to himself, indulging in a cruel, self satisfied smile.

Pete's face flushed, he knew he should have just gone to his room, but a part of him enjoyed being tortured like this. He ate his toast, watching his friend casually, glancing away if he looked up from the newspaper. Jack always had an invisible glow of confidence, but the day after sex it seemed seemed more intense. When this was combined with his half-dressed scruffiness and unwashed, musky smell, Pete just wanted to roll onto his back and submit. He felt a hard on starting and went to do the washing up to distract himself.

"What are you doing today, then? Fancy coming to the market?" he called over from the sink, hopefully.

Jack screwed up his face. "Naah, I'm gonna go back to bed. Didn't get much sleep, you know..."

Those silly fantasies of them being a couple, out doing everyday, domestic tasks would have to wait. Paul got ready and left the flat with only a few vivid flashes of kneeling, servicing, licking...

---

The shopping put away, Pete walked towards his room and realised that the music he could hear was coming from there, not from Jack's room. What the fuck? He waited for a few moments, not really knowing how to process this, partly excited at the possibilities, partly concerned for his precious records.

He couldn't stand it any longer, and his hand turned the doorknob. Jack was sprawled on his bed, in his underpants, flicking through the porn he'd found in the bottom drawer. It was a fantasy come to life, but his stomach crawled and his sweat felt like insects.

"Ahhhh, finally! Were all the stalls run by cute boys again?" His casual dig was offered with a hot, nasty sneer.

Pete was frozen by the door, frantically running through possible reasons for this invasion, but all he could manage to mumble was a hesitant "What...?"

Jack got up and walked over to change the record. "Sit down, mate, I just thought it'd be nice to hang out a bit, fair enough?"

"Yes, yes, of course, fine..." Pete perched on the edge of his bed as if he was an interloper, but his strange host waved at him to relax back on the pillows. He was starting to get a little giddy from the smell left on them, when he realised what the album was, and went cold.

He looked over at his flatmate, who was now sat by the desk with his arms folded and a dark fire in his eyes. The magazine hadn't done anything for him, but now his cock was obviously starting to thicken through his thin shorts. Pete's rose helplessly too, his breathing quickened, his mind slowed down. All involuntary, conditioned responses to the music he'd been wanking to since he was a teenager.

"So, here's the thing," Jack drawled in a low voice, "I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it. Not 'cos I want to fuck you, I ain't a queer, and even if I was you ain't all that. You're just going to give me some entertainment."

Pete's thoughts didn't seem to be connecting, the situation was so bizarre that it was easier to pretend this was all just a dream. He knew Jack was a control freak, he was always taking advantage of Pete's crush to get him to do things, but this was way beyond that.

"Undo your trousers. Touch yourself." Fine, his erection was straining painfully against his fly anyway. "Tell me something that'll make me hard."

There was no end to how strange this was going to get. Pete racked his increasingly fuzzy head for something that would excite his friend. The sight of a submissive boy wanking didn't seem to be driving him wild, but there must be something he was getting out of this.

"I can't think straight, Jack, why are you being such a bastard?" he gasped, and was rewarded with a twitch in the other man's pants, a flash in his gaze.

Of course, it made sense, thinking about the girls he brought home, they weren't bimbos, they were intelligent, successful women. People who had something to lose, who knew what it meant that he could reduce them to drooling, needy holes.

Pete grinned inside. He knew how to play this game. "It's this music, why did you have to put this one on?" Always show them you know how clever they are.

"I thought you'd appreciate it. I can tell what you're doing in here when you blast this shit you know." Now Jack was starting to get aroused for sure, and he somehow seemed even more attractive as his guard slipped a little.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just can't stop myself, what do you think it's like for me living with you?" Pete's voice was soft and contrite, "Having to watch you seduce all those girls, finding their weak spots, the right words, the right touch to get under their defences..."

His flatmate grunted and stuck his hand down his pants. "Fuck it, you like it. You like the angst, you fucking emo."

He wasn't wrong, for all his affectedly lowbrow language, Jack was a total killer at seeing exactly how people worked. Now it was time for Pete to see if he could do the same. He slid lower down the bed and allowed all his shame and desire to the surface. "Don't call me that," he whispered, eyes wet and wide.

"Fucking. Skinny. Ugly. Pathetic. Emo. Stalker." Every word was punctuated with a thrust of his fist, and Pete echoed the movement, tongue wetting his lips.

"I can't help it. I want you."

Their eyes locked, one pair full of disgust, the other pair full of self-disgust. The fizzing emotion bouncing backwards and forwards, increasing in power with every desperate breath.

Pete's lust was making it hard for him to think, the music was pounding, this was normally the money shot, but he had to find a way to push his friend over the edge first or he'd lose this unspoken game.

Jack laughed softly, walked towards the bed, held his dick just a fraction too far away for Pete's to brush against it. "You little fuckwit," he said almost kindly, as he slowed down the pace of his hand to an aching tease, "you're supposed to lose."

Pete looked into his eyes, so cold and calm, and realised he'd been kidding himself. Jack nodded his permission and Pete tipped over the edge, cum roping over his own chest, pulling out his heart and will with it.

His tormentor chuckled and put his cock away. "Good boy. Now, get cleaned up and make some dinner. I'll want something before I go out."

Pete was still breathing hard as his flatmate left the room. He knew he should feel humiliated, embarrassed, used, and of course there was a layer of that floating on the surface, but deeper than that, where it counted, he felt like he was home.

Track 5

Hey

hey

Do you remember me?

haha, no, should I?

We chatted last week

haha, sorry I was pretty wasted, I guess

Yeah

cool, so, what you up to?

Oh, Just hanging out, watching some porn

haha, cool

You?

what?

What are you up to?

oh, just chilling, got some music on

What kind?

huh?

What music are you listening to?

oh, some grunge

Yeah? You like that kind of thing?

sure, it gets me going, hehe

Maybe I'll send you some stuff

haha cool

So give me your email address

what?

So I can send you some mp3s

oh sure, it's [deleted]

Good. Are you wasted now?

hehe, a little

OK. Did you get the email?

huh?

I just sent you some mp3s in an email

oh, cool, ok

Got them?

yeah, wow, looks good

Put them on

what?

Listen to the first track now

which one's the first one?

It's got 01 at the start

oh yeah, haha

Just open them all up, play them in order

sure thing

Is it playing?

yeah, wow, man, this is pretty good!

I know. Just focus on the music, let it seep into you.

fuck, man, this is heavy shit.

Yeah, it really gets inside you doesn't it?

yeah

It's so slow, and powerful, it just kind of pulls your mind down with it

yeah

Sometimes it seems to fill up all the gaps between your thoughts, wrapping them up, soft and safe

yeah

Dissolving them in dark, deep water.

mmm

Leaving you blank, open, receptive

mmm

It's nice to just drift like this, reading my words without needing to think about them.

mmm

You're starting to feel horny, like the music is lapping gently against you, making you feel good

ahhh

Stick your hand down your pants, your hand fucking you slowly, not under your control any more

ahh god

That's right, you don't need to think, don't need to be in charge, don't need to be responsible for you actions.

fuck

Good, just keep fucking yourself, for me, because I'm telling you too

jesus

Feels good, doesn't it? Feels good to give up control like this, feeling better and better with every stroke.

ahh

Sorry, was that an answer?

yes, yes it feels good

And you want to keep feeling good don't you?

yes

You want to feel even better, don't you?

yes

Yes, what?

yes please

Good. Just relax, you're doing very well, keep following my words, keep fucking yourself for me.

nggghh

You want to come don't you?

yesss

But you can't, can you?

nooo

Because you need my permission.

yessss

So what are you going to do?

uhhhh, ask?

Don't sound so uncertain. You know what to do.

pplease

Please what?

please can i come?

You can do better than that.

i don't know - please - i really need to come!

A bit better. Keep going.

i can't think - the music - please, i'm begging you - please let me come!

What would you do for me if I let you?

ahhhh - anything - anything! please

Good. Come on the cymbal crash in track 5. Then listen to the rest of the album. Then go to bed.

oh thank you thank you you're so hot can i talk to you again please

[offline]

Things I Remembered

1. Love is endless.  I don't need to hold on, don't need to scrimp and save, as if I'm losing something when I love someone. I don't have to choose who to give it to as if I've only got a limited amount to offer - I love people as much as I love them, regardless of how I feel about anyone else. The more I give, the more I'm replenished, and have even more to give next time. 
2. You can't control other people.  However much I'd like to be able to puppet those around me - even if it's to get them to control me - everyone makes their own choices.  You can trick them, you can manipulate and influence them, but they're still unpredictable, still free, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
3. Now is all there is.  I've been going round and round, trying to plan what I'd do if this, if that, but of course all that's going to do is drive me mad.  All I can do is respond to what's in front of me, try to do the right thing and enjoy the perfectly imperfect moments.

Slow Crash

I shifted around on the lumpy sofa for the hundredth time, desperately hoping I'd find the magic position to finally get some sleep. My knees were pulled up high so I didn't kick my friend slouched on the other end, and there were snoring and shuffling people draped around any chairs or cushions in the rest of the room. I could feel a hangover starting to take root, and sighed heavily, wondering how long it was until the first bus.

Someone quietly opened the door and walked through to the kitchen. I opened my eyes a crack to see who it was, and felt a slight buzz of excitement when I recognised the cute guy I'd been chatting to earlier. I racked my brain to check if I'd made a complete arse of myself, or if I could get away with joining him for a cuppa. We'd ended up sitting next to each other in the slow crash of the party; polite exchanges about our shared seminar class had led into more friendly discussions about mutual friends, local bands, and the strangely intimate mocking of each others' taste in books, films, and music that was only possible when you recognised common ground. It seemed safe enough, so I got up carefully, and picked my way through the debris.

He looked up as I came in and gave a flicker of a smile, too brief for me to read.

I tried to say "Hi," but all that came out was a kind of cough. I swore inwardly and got myself some water.

The kettle had just boiled and I wondered if it was OK to ask where the mugs were. I assumed he lived there as he'd come from one of the bedrooms, but of course he might have got off with one of the housemates after I'd crashed out. He interrupted my thoughts by asking if I wanted some Camomile Tea. I nodded cautiously and asked, "Have you got any pills? My head's killing me."

He opened a cupboard. "I think they've been in demand, there's only these left." He handed me some strong tablets for tension headaches. I shrugged and swallowed them. They'd either kill the pain or knock me out, either of which would be fine by me.

I watched him as he made the tea, it might have been the lack of sleep, but I was fascinated by the way he moved, even doing something as simple as this. My eyes followed his hands as they shifted things around, put things in the right place, calm and in control. He opened a jar of honey, dipped a spoon in, swirled it in his mug then lifted it, licking off the excess. My gaze stuck helplessly to his mouth as the everyday became suddenly charged and sensual.

He noticed me staring and stopped, slightly embarrassed. "Want some?" He asked.

I nodded without thinking. He repeated the sequence for my mug, and then to my surprise ended at my lips. They parted treacherously, and I let the warm, sweet liquid drip down my throat, hungrily caressing the metal with my tongue as he pulled it away. He studied the process with scientific interest, then silently searched in my eyes a little longer than I could bear.

To break the tension I grabbed my tea, but was too hasty, and it spilt over my hand. I swore, but before I knew it, my wrist had been grabbed and cold water was rushing over the scald. Instinctively I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. "No. Leave it to go numb," he instructed firmly. My arm went limp; it was as if the tap was washing my willpower down the drain. I watched the plughole swirl and the white noise of the flow filled my head.

Eventually I realised my hand had been placed back at my side and I shook myself mentally. There was something wrong about this, something dangerous. I was letting myself get too interested too quickly. I should thank him for the drink, go back to the sofa and stop being such a sucker.

He moved towards the door. "Do you want to come upstairs? I'll educate you with some decent music..."

"Sure," I replied without hesitating. I never did have much self-control. I grabbed my bag on the way back through the living room, glad that my friend had stretched out on the sofa in my absence. She'd probably figure out what had happened.

His room was dimly lit and I could see that it was starting to get light outside. There weren't any chairs, so I perched primly on the edge of the bed. He flicked through his records, but then seemed to reconsider and put on a CD. Some kind of Post-Rock by the sound of it: instrumental and clever, but suitably soothing for this time of night.

The headache was going, but my shoulders were aching from earlier, so I rubbed them absently. Before I had time to realise what was going on, he was kneeling behind me and doing a much better job. I groaned at my stupidity, it must have looked like a terrible come-on.

"What is it?" he asked gently, "Should I stop?"

"Oh God, go on, it's amazing." He chuckled, but I didn't care if I looked desperate, his touch was sending all sorts of chemicals to my head. The warmth of his hands dissolved my pains, he seemed to have an easy understanding of how to manipulate my muscles and leave them tingling and relaxed, as if they were on his side not mine. He pinched my neck and I stopped thinking, my body felt loose and limp like a rag doll, and I slumped back, letting him support me.

I felt myself being laid down, and clumsily helped him move me up the bed. He was next to me but at a slight distance, so I rolled onto my side to look at him through half-closed eyelids. "What's up?" I asked softly, worried I'd bored him.

"Nothing," he reached over and stroked my face, "I just thought you might be wanting to go to sleep."

It sounded like the most perfect suggestion in the world, but I shook my head. "I'm fine, I haven't felt this good for ages."

He smiled in the way I was starting to recognize: warm and open but with a hint of something dark under the surface. "Well, that sounds like a challenge."

I opened my mouth to reply, but at this opportunity his thumb slid in, purposefully stilling my tongue and distracting me. He pulled it out after teasing me for a while, and I found myself moving towards him, my mind full of the warm honey he'd fed me earlier.

He held one hand at the base of my spine, the other searched smoothly over my skin for points that made me react. Our eyes were locked together, I felt like he was exploring my mind as well as my body, and I couldn't hide a thing. I was breathing hard, something about his cool, casual detachment made me burn all the more fiercely.

His initial survey over, he placed his fingers lightly behind my neck, thumbs at the base of my skull. I felt a chill, suddenly aware that I didn't know this guy very well, that the gesture could be a precursor to my death rather that my pleasure. He saw the fear in my gaze, and I shivered again when I realised he was pleased.

I started to pull back but he hushed me, "Hey, it's OK, you can trust me."

"You realise that's not very reassuring don't you?"

His eyes flickered with amusement. Still, I felt better, there really was something that made me feel safe with him, even if I was being fooled, I wanted to go along with it.

My head suddenly seemed light, and I felt like I was floating. I wasn't sure how he was doing it, stroking pressure points perhaps, or just releasing knots of tension. In this haze I didn't notice the exact moment our bodies pressed against each other, when our lips met, it had just always been this way.

Something needed to happen, clothes slid off with some grunting and fumbling, as we impatiently tried to connect as much skin as possible. He made use of the map he'd developed earlier to precisely home in on my most responsive areas, but I was too overwhelmed to do much more than grab onto him frantically in return.

The sensations were filling up my brain, pushing out thoughts, and I didn't have any of my usual defences up when his fingers finally slid between my legs. I gasped as the world narrowed to the length of his touch.

"Christ, you're so wet," I could hear the desire he'd been hiding start to break through, and part of me was gratified I wasn't just some kind of experiment to him. I realised the hardness I felt against my leg was his cock, and that my hips had been betraying me for some time by trying to get closer to it.

I started to fumble down the side of the bed, reaching for my bag, but he stopped me, "Shh, I've got it, don't worry." I heard the crackle of a packet, and used the time to catch my breath. I might have been hyperventilating: the tips of my fingers were numb and I felt like I was slightly outside of my body. For some reason the more aroused I got, the more relaxed I felt, a sleepy lethargy making my limbs heavy.

He gently moved me where he wanted me, lifting up my hips and sliding into me slowly but insistently. He was close enough for me to be able see how dilated his pupils were. The dark circles became my whole universe, soft and deep, they gave my mind sanctuary, allowing my body to move to his rhythm without interference. My need was stronger than usual somehow, without me being able to do anything to control the pace.

I moaned, but the sound was suddenly stifled by his hand. It pressed over my mouth carefully, not hurting, but completely taking away my ability to cry out. My eyes widened as his narrowed, he started thrusting brutally, and we both breathed hard in unison, letting the hints of dominance and submission hang in the air.

I felt the fluttering, pulsing sensation build, and I barely heard my muffled grunting any more as deep, primal movements took over. I bit into his hand and he let me, crushing me into the bed as he came as well, a wave of raw connection blazing through us.

I was so spent I couldn't move, but eventually felt him slide away, then return holding a glass of water to my lips. I gulped it gratefully, spilling a little on my chin that he tenderly wiped away. He settled back down next to me, and as we nestled up to each other, I finally felt sleep take over.

I've never not known you

This is part of a slightly disjointed series that I'll write about more coherently when I have time, these are just snippets as they come to me.  Previously: Kitty lets Milton humiliate her, Kitty and Johnson share some blood , and Milton meets up with an old girlfriend.  Now for the shadow that's been hanging around in the background.

----

I could feel him coming near, I could always tell where he was, the connection between us was too deep to ignore.  I lay in bed, listening to music, just marking time until he let himself in, wondering idly why I could never seem to change the locks.  He was hiding his thoughts for some reason, I sighed, he'd probably invented some new torture for me.

Soon Joshua was at the door to my room, "Hey, Sis,"
"Hey, Bro."
Despite my better judgement I was glad to see him, a part of me always felt something was missing unless we were together.  The way twins are meant to be.  He kicked off his shoes and lay next to me, it seemed pointless to argue, he'd treated every bed I'd ever had as if it was his own.
I looked in his eyes and we remembered the times we'd first explored each other's bodies and minds in the dorm room, the strange, aching mix or wrongness and desperate rightness.  It had never really changed, and we could have been back there as our hands sought each other without us needing to think about it.

"So what game are we playing today?" I asked him lightly.  No matter how much he hurt me, no matter how much I cried over him when we were apart, when we were together we were in a bubble that nothing could burst.
"No games, I just wanted to see you."
I snorted. "Sure."
Something soft came into his gaze, and I was taken aback.  I'd seen that look before, but not for years, not since our little disagreement.  I felt my mind opening up to him instinctively, desperate to trust someone, even if it was only for a moment, but then I caught myself.  It had to be a trick didn't it?
"It's alright, Kit, don't be scared, it's me." I felt his barriers come down, he was leaving himself vulnerable, what the fuck was going on?

For a long, haunted moment we hung there, two sets of eyes glowing green in the dusk, shivering with a desire that had been there all our lives.  Then we were kissing, hungrily and sweetly, sensations blurring between us as we slipped from head to head.  I could feel that this was coming from deep inside him, I wasn't quite sure what it meant, but I couldn't deny him. I'd deal with the consequences later.

Our bodies took over, I felt the familiar sensation of his cock sliding into me without resistance, it was like it was meant to be there, as if we'd been born fucking.  Our sensations mirrored, I stopped caring if they were real or echoes of his, and when we came, just for a moment, I felt whole.

The Deal

He looked over the quote, frowning slightly. "Hmm, I was hoping you could do me something a bit better than this."

"It's already cheap rates, what are you after?"

"Oh I don't know, something more... giving..." I breathed in sharply, and he looked at me with an evil glint in his eyes. He pointed to the sheet, and my eyes followed his finger as it spiralled round the figures. "I mean this bit here, surely you can go down a little bit for me..."

I was being played hard, but it was so... tempting...

He reached around and squeezed my shoulder lightly. "I mean, you could even do it for free since it's a project you really believe in..."

I felt spacey and suggestible. He was deliberately trying to make me loose my business head. I should have pulled myself together, told him that was the price, and he just had to accept it, and yet... and yet... it really was a project I believed in...

Not

I'm not young
I'm not pretty
I'm not sensitive

I'm not polite

I'm not thin
I'm not shy
I'm not smooth
I'm not gentle
I'm not kind
I'm not pleasing
I'm not sweet-voiced
I'm not groomed
I'm not yielding
I'm not attentive

I'm not fragrant

I'm not nurturing

I'm not child-like
I'm not hesitant
I'm not seductive
I'm not small
I'm not patient
I'm not exotic
I'm not considerate
I'm not tight
I'm not weak
I'm not in awe
I'm not feminine

Knives and Basements

These are the things that have been filling my thoughts, distracting me from work, making my dreams sticky.

Things to do with dark, damp basements. Being tied up with rope for hours, left alone, not knowing when he'll come back.

Things to do with rags tied round my eyes, hearing him come down the stairs, not knowing where he is until I feel the knife at my throat.

Things to do with blood spattering onto plastic, hooks hanging from the ceiling, trays of surgical instruments.  This is about torture, not killing, but the look in his eyes says he'll go all the way if he has to.

Things to do with Stockholm Syndrome.

Things to do with losing control completely.

Things to do with wanting to tell him anything, wanting to do anything he wants, wanting to obey completely. Not so I get freed, not to save my life, just because he's in charge and I can't remember anything else.

Under His Thumb

The lights were dimmed, a group of friends were watching a film at Chris' house, Polly was feeling sleepy and had curled up on the sofa next to him.  She was using the darkness as a bit of an excuse to snuggle towards him, hoping she could blame her semi-consciousness if he pulled away.  The others were joking about some gory scene, Chris joined in, but Polly felt his hand casually rest on her head and tried to keep breathing normally.  Time started to move strangely, she could hear the conversation, the film dialogue, but it seemed very far away and her whole attention narrowed to the slight weight of his touch as he stroked her hair.  She felt like his pet, an object of affection but no great importance.

The others were getting drunk, arguing jovially about something, and they wouldn't have noticed as his hand moved over her face, tracing the shape of her eyes, nose, and finally her lips.  His fingers gently held her jaw as his thumb brushed her mouth, achingly slow and soft.  Polly parted her lips helplessly, desperate for him to continue, slightly embarrassed by how much she wanted this.  His thumb slid inside, she tried to lick it erotically, suggestively, but he pulled it out, annoyed, and tapped her mouth firmly in chastisement.  

After a few moments, Chris slipped into her again, and she fell into the rhythm he set, letting her tongue follow his lead.  It was a little like a kiss, but of course with all the associations of thumb-sucking, she started to feel safe, peaceful, protected.  The movement slowed, Chris caught Polly's eye and nodded upwards.  She assumed he wanted her to go upstairs and left the room in a daze.

She hesitated on the landing, then found his room and stood in the dark, not knowing what to do with herself.  After what seemed like too long, the door opened, Chris turned on the light and chuckled as he saw her awkwardly lurking there.  Neither of them spoke, and eventually he moved towards her, returning his thumb to her mouth.  As he stared hungrily into her eyes she felt her thoughts dissolving, her submission growing.

Chris pulled her waistband out and slid his other hand into her knickers, echoing the pace and movements from above.  There seemed to be an energy growing and pulling right through her.  She felt as if he was rubbing her away, and the more she disappeared, the more aroused she got.  Just as it seemed too much to bear, he gave one last, firm press on her clitoris and she lost herself completely.

Snow Drift

Soft, fuzzy flakes drift down all around. It makes my thoughts lazy, spiralling slowly down, merging into one another until everything is cotton-wool. I watch for hours, all sense of time lost in the hush.  This room is warm and protected, all the more so because of the cold outside. It makes me lethargic, disinclined to move.

I lay back onto you, my ear on your chest, hearing your heart beating steadily.  It fills my head, a womb-like thrumming, hypnotising me more with each dull boom.  I could stay like this forever, wrapped up in you, hidden from the outside world.  Everything stops, we're outside time, free to float, and drift, and fall.

Let me win

My head was on my arms on the table and I groaned a little.

"What's up now?" He asked. We'd ended up last of our group in the pub, and he was probably just worried I'd drunk too much and he'd have to help me outside to puke.

"Nothing, just men doing my head in." I replied, and sat up to take a sip of water.

He tutted. "I don't know why you let them hurt you like this, I know you're into all that, but..."

I stopped him. "Chance'd be a fine thing!  He's not doing anything to hurt me, that's the problem!"

He frowned at me. "Oh, I don't want to know this..."

I didn't listen. "I'm just... bored. I can't get on with my life because I'm craving some nastiness, some darkness..."

"Can't you just, I don't know, fuck yourself up a bit?"

"What do you think I'm doing now?" We stared at each other a little too long. Eventually I looked away and broke the silence, "It's not about pain, anyway. It's just a means to an end."

"So what is it about?"

I sighed, and declared the obvious. "Control."

He considered this for a while then stood up. "I need another drink."



There was a pint on the table in front of me. "Oh, I don't know, I think I've -"

"Drink." His tone was strange, I had the glass to my lips before I knew what I was doing. "Do you want to be my pet?" He continued casually.

I spluttered and went red. "Wh- What do you mean?"

"I was just wondering if that was what all this was about, if you were trying to get me to... take charge." He sipped his drink and looked at me with an odd expression.

"No, God, no, sorry..." I was thrown. I'd been flirting with him recently, but I didn't think it was going anywhere. Still... When he'd asked... I'd felt something like... joy?

I looked down at the table, he was idly drawing something in some spilt beer, something like a zigzag? A circle? I went cold. It was a spiral. I looked up and he met my gaze. "Drink," he said again. I complied.

Somehow I managed to speak. "I'm not, you know... I'm not trying to get off with you.

He laughed. "I should hope not, I don't find you very attractive" I was cut, his words stabbing into me like hot blunt knives. I felt tears in my eyes. His smile was familiar and unsettling at the same time. "Shh, pet, what's wrong? I thought you liked some emotional pain, a little psychological torture?"

Things seemed to be spinning wildly. "What's going on?" I whispered shakily.

"Same as always, we're just hanging out, fucking with each other's heads, I was just suggesting... that sometimes... you can let me win..."

I rushed outside into the cool night air, and retched up my guts on the pavement.