Oh, dear, god, yes, thank you, bless you, you are the miracle, I owe you my life all the time, I will do what you want when you want now and forever always, I will willingly give you my body, my time, my money, my home, I am your slave, I will offer you my family, my entire life is yours, it is in your hand, and every second you don't pull the trigger is another precious moment I owe you, thank you, thank you, thank you for sparing my life, please, I will do anything for you, anything at all.
This is what the gun offers to the person who holds the gun. Anyone and everyone in their sight owes this litany to the gun holder, all the time, whether it is listened to or asked for or not, and there are those who say they are immune to it, and that may very well be true at the point in time any of the rest of us think to ask, and we can laugh and have a beer and laugh at those who think the gun holder is a threat to those they love and care about. No, not them. Not the type. And we laugh. Perhaps uneasily, but we laugh; not a lot of choice there: they have a gun.
But the litany of the gun is incessant; the gun's very existence, it's only real purpose, is to force the litany from the person looking up from their knees into the barrel. The whole kill and injure things it can do take a back seat to what it is most often used for: to threaten. It isn't about safety or protection or having a tool. It is a device primarily designed to hand the wielder the ability and the power to be a threat. To be the threat. When the gun fires, it ceases to be a threat, it becomes something that kills or maims; it wreaks loss onto someone who couldn't offer enough. Even if they're shooting at the gun holder. But that's a different situation from what is happening more and more in America these days. No, guns are being fired upon people who are unarmed, who are no real threat to the person with the gun. Something unspeakable has happened to get them to kill for reasons we think we can not possibly understand.
I think, in at least some of the cases, we can. Because all of us have bad things happen to us, and mercifully, for the most part, they aren't bad enough to drive us to kill. That doesn't mean we are immune from that kind of bad; we've just been lucky. And when things start to fall apart for the gun holder's life, whether it be a job problem, or a relationship problem, an argument with someone, something we never find out about, the song gets louder. It never stops. It can't. When enough things fall away, when things get to be so bad that the people end up killing lose their reasons for going on, for living, for caring, the song bellows. The acts of people who are surprise murderers are a surprise to them, too. Murderers who survive murder-suicides tell this often. They couldn't see it coming and when it got there, they couldn't stop it. Law enforcement, the people who have to deal with the aftermath of what guns can do altogether too often all assure us: every last one of us are entirely capable of killing, under the right (or rather, incredibly wrong) circumstances.
This temptation, this call to power, is very strong. My faith in the idea that people will always be able to resist this siren call has left this year. Too many people are dying by a gun; it is such an easy way to kill.
It is too easy. Killing should be hard. Without a gun, for the majority of people, it is. Oh, sure, we can argue that anything can be a weapon and that won't stop someone who is really determined, and no, the unavailability of ease won't stop someone who is hellbent for leather to kill. But if it is more trouble than it is worth, if it takes too long, the opportunity for the madness that we in our modern society don't seem to be able to spot ahead of time begins to increasingly pass as time slips by. Guns account for more murder weapons used than all other weapons combined in America. No justification logic about the number of guns that aren't used for murder countermands this. They make it too easy. Period. There are too many owned by people who shouldn't have them, who have no real reason to own one beyond their pride, their desire for power over others.
The Bushmen, the most primitive society on earth, who use a fairly deadly poison on their hunting arrows, go very far out of their way to take the weapons out of the hands of anyone who is having any kind of altercation for any reason over anything. Remarkably, it is the women who take the weapons from the men. The poison is slow acting, and almost always fatal, and is excruciating to suffer through. The Bushmen community is small, close-knit, and everyone is considered important, and even though fights and disputes happen, no one is worth risking losing and there is no question or argument about the removal from the scene the almost-always-fatal weapons. The Bushmen are actually happier than most of the rest of us, despite what we would call astonishing poverty. They have to hunt to eat and dig in the ground to drink. But still, they laugh a lot; they like each other, and manage to get along better than most of do in our more "advanced" cultures.
This is not happening in America. We're too busy, too rushed, have too many of our own problems to be concerned with anyone else. There are so many of us, too many for us to expend our energies toward, and eventually, people come to be considered expendable, not worth our time, we can do without people who don't agree with us, they are exhausting, don't bother us, that's too hard, and if it that means some have to go so far to stay out of our way as to have have to die, that's okay, we can find a way to distract ourselves from that idea and we do. We're all going to die anyway. No reason to really care about people we don't care about.
We've lost something in there.
In America, the stance of gun ownership has become more like a cult, a religion, and the phrase "I'll give you my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands" is a mantra that is a misquote of Charlton Heston when he was the head of the NRA, a group that doesn't even qualify as a non-profit organization, a group that primarily concerns itself with extending weapons sales for weapons manufacturers. Their most recent response to a national atrocity came down to "more guns"; even they acknowledged that. It was a sales pitch.
That line about hands is filled with arrogance and pride and has become core to current extreme gun advocates. The understanding of that phrase is actually a reversal from what it actually says: people who shout it seem to understand it more along the lines of anyone who attempts to take the gun will be killed for trying it. Which means that the gun owner is unwilling to relinquish the power the gun offers them under any circumstances. They aren't willing to die for their gun, they're willing to kill for it. If power corrupts, this is the absolute corruption of absolute power. It is a life and death matter, not one of safety or security or rights or preserving any notion from a couple centuries ago about the idea that the government could not afford a standing army and they were going to count on the citizenry to preserve the nation. The power the gun offers has become more important to the gun holder than anyone he or she loves; god save those fools for attempting to take this kind of power from the gun holder. Good thing ignorant fools are expendable and replaceable, no matter who they are: crazy-ass liberals, strangers, friends, family, if necessary.
Gun owners have reiterated to me, over and over, every time they chant the line, that they are willing to kill to keep the power. Then they try to laugh and say let's have a beer, come on, don't be an asshole, there's no way I'll ever kill anyone, ha ha, I'm not a threat, I'm not in the demographic of killers, you should be thankful people like me are keeping you and your rights protected, god you are so stupid for not seeing it my way because I am not giving up my gun, not for anything, and don't bring it up again, it's god damn unpatriotic. Especially not for you, no matter what, no matter what kind of threat you feel from it, asshole. Go away.
So, if the guns are so important, so safe, so sane, I would wonder why it is that gun owners don't open carry into their jobs, on review days, when they know they are going to get a bad review. How many bosses would feel safe reprimanding an employee who has a gun on their hip? The very presence of the gun would demand the litany from the boss. Seems just wearing a gun would get one promoted with good raises all the time, and won't we all get along better? Does carrying the gun into church make the other worshippers safer? How about to restaurants? Movie theaters? If the gun is nothing more than a tool, and a symbol of freedom and democracy and the American way/dream/whatever, then everyone who doesn't have a gun should feel perfectly safe with the responsible gun owner, the private citizen, who is only showing off their power to all because they have it under perfect complete benevolent control all the time, right?
When I see a private citizen open carrying, I not feel any sense of safe. The person with the gun is, regardless of their real disposition, making it clear that they are going to get their way no matter what, and they always appear to be incredibly pissed off, even if they are smiling and laughing. The gun is an angry thing. The concealed weapon carriers are no better or different, they are just harder to spot. They still always appear to be deeply suspicious of all the unarmed people around them, and not seeing the weapon does not make me feel any safer.
Gun owners can, at times, be extraordinarily arrogant and hypocritical: this power cannot tempt me, I am above it. Only bad people are the problem. Only people who are foolishly terrified that I would ever under any circumstances ever misuse the power ever, I mean, my god, you are all such fools who even think about wanting to take this glorious secret power away from me, you, all of you are the problem. I couldn't possibly be the problem. I am so strong, so above you all, you need never worry about me. I'm not the type. Now change the subject.
Every murderer has, at some time or another, with, I believe, very, very few exceptions, has uttered this assurance to themselves, to assure themselves and those around them that they are, don't worry, immune to the litany of the gun. And they can't see when they are mirroring the litany: you owe me everything because I have spared your miserable life again, today even, and whatever you do, don't piss me off. I have a gun. Too late.
Weapons do not make peace. Trust makes peace. And trust isn't earned, it's given. Guns are an attempt to take trust, by force, no matter what. And all they offer is the opportunity for the target to give absolutely everything to the wielder and that will eventually not be enough, and the peace the gun holder feels, the joy of getting everything from someone is false, a lie. As soon as the gun gets put down, everything that was gained with it will fall away. Then what? Pick it back up, idiot.
The primitives have it right. There is a time and a place to have a weapon, and there is a time to have it taken away. The problems with the killings has not been with the gun, nor have they been that an individual had a problem they couldn't get through. The problem is that when the crisis arose, they were alone with a banshee that screamed a solution that would re-empower them, save them, and by god they would not give it up because that was all they had left.
Guns are dangerous. Those who own them are not safer with them, they are putting themselves at risk with them, the risk that they would at some point not be able to resist what they offer. And while that sounds extreme, far reaching, and an outrageous exaggeration, no, you don't get it, you don't understand, asshole, god, you are so stupid, it's not that simple, there have been altogether too many instances of those who could not do so to write this idea off as ridiculous. The solutions of throw those hopeless people away cannot work; sooner or later, our strength fails us all. Because that is the core to all the spectacular uses we've been suffering through. It is a failure of philosophy, of resolve, of our ability to resist a temptation we have thrown ourselves in front of.
Murderers and criminals do not take lives because they are happy. Only the incredibly psychopathic and sociopathically insane do that. Looking for the signs of those sick people in those around us will not often enough thwart what has been happening. The madness that has been overwhelming us is not in there. We're looking for the wrong problems.
The problem is that we are alone at the wrong times. Alone with monsters. Monsters that make outrageous promises, that won't shut up.
Have your guns. Use them for good. There is no question, shooting a weapon is fun. But when the time comes you have to have them taken away from you, give them to the person who loves you. If you don't have such a person, if you do not have such people, you should not have a weapon that demands you demand the litany from everyone you know. You're not safe. If you proudly proclaim Mr. Heston's propogandized slogan, you are already under the spell. If you can't hand your gun to someone who loves you, someone who's afraid of what you might, at an impossible moment, do with it, then you are at risk of killing them. And if you can't see that, they are as good as dead already.
There's some laughter that has to happen, laughter without any kind of threat anywhere near it. There isn't any kind of one-button solution. We need to be involved enough with each other to see something might happen, and we need to trust each other enough to give up our defenses, our offensive systems. Because that is the choice: we either have to love and care for and trust each other enough to lower our barriers and believe we will be alright, or we have to kill each other. There is no other choice; guns afford us no other option, and they have such an easy one they want to tell us about.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Posted with Blogsy
Friday, September 28, 2012
Discountenance
By Brewt.Blacklist
When they are not on their knees, of course.
Indeed. It’s as though they save all their strength for then.
Probably a defensive mechanism. I suspect the verbal attacks are that, too.
Possibly. Take this one, for example.
My Lord, I...
Shut up. Don’t interrupt me. God damn it, what was I saying? Oh, yes. When this one isn’t here with me, she, as you well know, is a bubbly energetic little feminazi, hating all things male, always making sure all the little boys around her are kowtowing to her every whim. Which, interestingly enough, she completely recants when she’s here with me.
Really?
Yes, she repents of all her little put-downs and control-grabs and paper efforts at being a dominant and in control of her life that she doesn’t let anyone ever get out from under. Like with you.
Yeah, tell me about it.
Here, she’s a gutter hole, and allows herself to be used and abused until someone else is happy: me. It is quite amazing, her little hocus pocus act of a quick change in and out of something her mother would be proud of. She goes from princess to slave when she walks through that door.
So she segregates her life. She lives in boxes.
A box for when she wants to feel good about herself, a box for when she doesn’t feel good about herself, a traveling box, an in-front-of-her-mother box, a working box, a shopping box, a god-I’m-bored-entertain-me box, an admire-me-look-don’t-touch box, a leave-me-the-fuck-alone box—which she keeps you in, by the way, and a box that she hides from everyone that she is deeply ashamed of and cannot keep out of no matter how hard she tries. She hides it from everyone except me. Here. And now, of course, you.
Why me?
Believe you me, this wasn’t her idea. You were pretty much the last person on earth she wanted to have this part of herself exposed to. She said so. Which is why I picked you.
I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.
And that doesn’t matter in the least little bit to anyone except her. At this point, if we were to ask her, she would rather you had never even been born. And your foolish admission that you are even slightly uncomfortable here gives her a glee you can’t see.
So she really does hate me. I’d suspected, but I never gave credence to that thought before. Tried not to think about it.
Before tonight, she actually didn’t care about you one way or the other. You were just a fly to her, a speck, an annoying gnat. You were kind of a name in a hat. Now her interest in you is through the damn roof: now she’d just as soon see you die a grisly and horrifying death than have you be here with me. In flames. Wouldn’t you, my dear?
…
Why isn’t she answering? I thought you said she was submissive.
Because if she answers with the truth of her feelings and insults you, she knows she’ll be punished quite severely, and if she lies and tells you how wrong I am and how much she cares about you—please don’t do this to you for your sake, ha, ha—she’ll be punished most severely for untruthfulness. And if she doesn’t say anything, she’ll be punished exceedingly severely for not answering my question. A lovely quandary, don’t you think?
So it doesn’t matter what she does, she’ll be punished.
Yes, she will be. Interesting how she picked the one she thought she could save face with, don’t you think?
Obviously.
Do you have a suggestion?
First of all, you don’t need to tie her up.
Why not?
She’s not going anywhere. And it will be harder for her; it’s amusing to have to force herself to stay there and submit to you without the added benefit of being forced from the outside.
So what keeps her here?
You’ll have to ask her that, but she won’t have an answer. She doesn’t understand it herself. It’s nothing rational. She can stand up and walk away at any time. She. Just. Doesn’t.
So what, she’ll just endure it all right there?
Absolutely. Watch. Uhhh! Uhhh! Uhhh! Uhhh! Hhhh.
Quite the act.
Not an act. You do it. Convince yourself.
I don’t know that I can; it goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.
So? It goes against everything she’s ever been taught as well. Not to mention her feelings. And the endless prattle about respect for women she carries on with day in, day out, about how men are supposed to be nice to women, to care for them, put them on pedestals? Puh-lease. Ooohh, and now our poor little baby girl hurts; see? Tears. Here. Take this, and do it.
Uh.
Harder, you fool.
Uuhh.
You’re not even going to get her attention that way. I suppose just using your hand isn’t going to be any better. Hang on. Let me look around…here. Use these.
I would hate those.
Not as much as she does. Come on; man up. Do something to her you wouldn’t allow to happen to you. Something horrible. It’s what you’re here for.
I don’t think this is what I had in mind.
It’ll be alright. Tell him.
…
I said tell him.
Y-you can u-u-u-use those. On me.
Be more adamant, bitch. Beg. Persuade him.
Pl-please. Put themmm in in in me.
More. Put your heart into it. For your friend.
I want you to do it. Please. I beg you.
Con. Vince. Him. Whore.
I’ll I’ll help. And I’ll…I’ll suck your cock.
You haven’t had the time of day for me for months. And now you’ll suck my cock to get me to hurt you with…these.
Yes.
Before, or after?
…
Uuhhh! Sometimes, I do not know why I put up with this little moron. She doesn’t seem to want to learn. Uuhhh!!
Maybe this is fun for her.
Uuhhh!!! Answer him: before, Uuhhh!! or after? Uuhhh!!!
Arrgh. Hhh. Both. Hhhh.
Why?
I don’t know how to answer that. Sir.
Are you going to take that?
I don’t believe you. Prove it.
Ow. Mmmm. Ow. I’ll just would you like how about if I…this? Please, sit down, I’ll show you. That’s it. Yes. Let me touch you here, yes, oh, oh, there it is, there you are, mmm, mmmmnngkygnk mmmm mmm
She’s sucking your cock. Think about it; how long have you fantasized about that? Dreamed about it? Whacked off to the idea of her putting your cock in her mouth willingly?
A lot.
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
Really? Because it doesn’t seem to be doing it for you.
‘Cause you’re here.
I don’t think so. It’s because you wanted something else from her; a blowjob just isn’t enough, is it.
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
Yes. No. Shit, yes. Something else.
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
…hhh…
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
This is boring. Let’s get at it. Put this in her. While she’s doing that.
Hhhh. Fine. Where, here?
MmmmhmhMHM! MMMHNGNGHK!
Murmph. I suppose I’m taking a chance here that she’s going to fucking bite me, huh.
Nonsense. If she bites you, we’ll do something truly terrible to her. She knows that. Again.
MmHmMM! MMhhmmMM! MngkygknmMMM!
Fuck, this is starting to work for me.
Doubtless. Having a woman rape her own mouth with your cock while you are hurting her, while you are sticking her with something like THISSS!!! is one of the best things in the world. I live for that shit.
MMMANNhhhhh hhhh hhhh hhhh.
Close your lips around his cock. Suck him down. Make yourself uncomfortable. Now stick her. Ssslllooowwwlllyyy.
MGYNKNGYK! MGNGKNGNMGNHhhhHHH!
Jesus Christ! I have never felt anything like that before!
You know where it’s even better to have your dick? In her ass. While you’re pulling on her hair with one hand and choking her with the other, and someone else is whipping the ever loving shit out of her tits, her stomach, her pussy, and oh, let me tell about what the cane can do to her. Cigarettes. Wax. Electricity. Alligator clips being ripped off her like a zipper. You will never feel anything else like that in your entire life. There’s no point in hurting her if you’re not inside her. And that is why you are here. You, you fucking lucky-ass bastard. Give me those. I’m going to stick them all in her ass…
MMMUUWWAHHH AARRH! ARRGGHGH! HHH! ARRGHGHG!!
That’s what I want. Stick her slower. Oh, god. I’m gonna want her fucking ass, come here, deeper, you slut, take it all down, make as much noise as you can, fuck you, you cunt, do it, I’m gonna cum down your throat and when I’m done I’m gonna slap your pretty little dolled-up face until I can’t lift my hand and you’re going to have to explain the bruises as an accident to all your friends and I’m going to hang you by your hair yes yes YES YES YES….
What do you mean, ‘no’?
Exactly what it sounds like. It is not gonna happen.
So what, you think it’s all going to go back to the way it was?
Yes.
That’s not what I want.
I don’t care. You don’t get it, do you. I didn’t do that for you; I did it for Him. And now that it’s over, it’s never going to happen again. Ever.
Uh huh.
Besides, who’s going to believe you? Now fuck off, you shit-eating bastard. Leave me the hell alone. Don’t you even try to talk to me again.
…
…Good talk…Shit. You forgot your coffee.
Shit.
What was that?
Yes. Yes, of course, I remember him.
There is a long string of profanity running through her head right now. Watch her face; you can see it all. See how the breathing stress has kicked in? She’s adjusting herself. Lowering herself. Fighting whatever the fuck it is she believes she comes here to conquer.
She is really struggling with all this right now, isn’t she? Has she ever run away?
Wouldn’t you?
Of course I would.
Not her. Of course, I thought she was going to call you a motherfucker.
Well, you know, I’ve thought a lot about what she said, and I think that would actually be a good idea. Except it should be a shit-eating bitch. Do you still have any of those needles?
Of course. Whole box of them.
That is just great. May I?
Be my guest.
Thank you. Now then. Which finger do you use to masturbate with, honey? It’s cute how her hand is shaking, isn’t it? Oh, you use two of them, do you? You slide them on either side of your clit, right? Show me. Er, us.
…
Uhhh! Do it, cunt. God damn it. Obey him as you would obey me. Christ.
Oh, yeah. That’s it. I want you to be wet for this. Mmm Hmm. More. That is just lovely. Does she always sluice up like this?
She’s a fucking whore.
Yeah, she sure as fuck is. Hey, did you want to fuck her in the ass while we do this to her?
You need to ask? Atta boy.
Uhhhgh ughr ahh ahh ahha hh.
Okay, give me your hand, baby. Just going to slide this…right…under...the…nail. Does that hurt? Answer me.
Fuck, yes.
How ‘bout that. Next one. Mmm hmm.
Ooojjjhhhh…
Damn, she’s twitching right around my cock! Yer doin’ gooood.
Given what you’ve said, I’m not surprised. Alright. So. Two in the good hand, now let’s put a few in where it matters on her. Uhhh; nipple. Uhhh, other nipple.
Hhhh. Hhh. Hhhh. Hhhh.
Is this hard yet, darlin’? Heh, heh, good. We’ll put a few here where it’s so wonderfully wet. Right…along…there. Yeah.
Oh, godddd.
Gotta match.
Pl-please. Aarrgh!
Can you guess where the next one goes, sweetie?
Please, please pleasepppelease no no no no no...!!
Yyyeeesssss.
Aarrrggh! AAARRRRGGH! Hhh. Hhh. Please take them out!
Not a fucking chance. Now play with yourself. Make yourself cum
Iiiittt hhhurrtsssss.
Yes, I’m sure it does. Now do it.
I have to say, I am impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you.
I-I don’t knnnooww that I c-c-can cum llllike this.
Then this is going to go on for a while.
Uhh. There. There. I came. Please let me stop.
You lying sack of slut. Did she?
Nope.
That’s why he’s in your ass.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
That is what we’re doing; we are going to fuck the bejesus out of you. Now get yourself off.
Oh god. Ow. Ow. Ow. Owwww.
You bet your ass she does. There is a puddle down here.
Good, ‘cause it’s about to get worse for her. I need more needles.
Pleasenopleasenopleasenopleasenononono…
You talk too much. We’re gonna fix that. Hold your god damn head still.
No! No! No! No! Not there!
Could I trouble you to bend over here a bit, maybe hold her head a bit stiller than she seems to be able to do? Yeah, by the hair is good. Okay, so, good, her head between my thighs, now I’ll just pull her upper lip up…
Nnnryrhiuhghgyn!
Right. In. Along. The. Lip. Three more.
ARRRHGHGH!
Two to go.
NRYHAAAAA! HAAA!H-HAHAH!
One last one, then my fun begins.
NRNYAHNRNGHAHNRHGHAyennFFLUCCHH YOOOUUU!
I love how evil you’ve turned out to be, but you know, at this point, she probably will bite you.
Naw, I’m not putting my cock in her mouth. She’s gonna lick my asshole; I feel a shit coming on.
Ahh Ahh Ahh AhhMMGPGHMGPHM.
Here, sit up, maybe put a little weight on her tits, rub them around some. Yeah. Now get your tongue out of your mouth and into my ass. We’re gonna be here until you cum, darling. So. Get. To. It…Wait a minute. What the fuck are you doing?
You didn’t think this was just going to be hard for her tonight, did you? Don’t you fucking move; you do not get to stand up and walk away from this any more than she can. You have the same trick to perform. Here. Get the needles into your own cock, nine of them, just like are in her, two into your own jack-off hand, and we’ll do this until YOU cum, or I’ll tell her cut your dick right off and eat it…she’d love that, you know…
September 2012
THE SUBMISSIVES I have encountered have all been quite delicate creatures, easy to frighten, easy to offend. Mouthy as hell.When they are not on their knees, of course.
Indeed. It’s as though they save all their strength for then.
Probably a defensive mechanism. I suspect the verbal attacks are that, too.
Possibly. Take this one, for example.
My Lord, I...
Shut up. Don’t interrupt me. God damn it, what was I saying? Oh, yes. When this one isn’t here with me, she, as you well know, is a bubbly energetic little feminazi, hating all things male, always making sure all the little boys around her are kowtowing to her every whim. Which, interestingly enough, she completely recants when she’s here with me.
Really?
Yes, she repents of all her little put-downs and control-grabs and paper efforts at being a dominant and in control of her life that she doesn’t let anyone ever get out from under. Like with you.
Yeah, tell me about it.
Here, she’s a gutter hole, and allows herself to be used and abused until someone else is happy: me. It is quite amazing, her little hocus pocus act of a quick change in and out of something her mother would be proud of. She goes from princess to slave when she walks through that door.
So she segregates her life. She lives in boxes.
A box for when she wants to feel good about herself, a box for when she doesn’t feel good about herself, a traveling box, an in-front-of-her-mother box, a working box, a shopping box, a god-I’m-bored-entertain-me box, an admire-me-look-don’t-touch box, a leave-me-the-fuck-alone box—which she keeps you in, by the way, and a box that she hides from everyone that she is deeply ashamed of and cannot keep out of no matter how hard she tries. She hides it from everyone except me. Here. And now, of course, you.
Why me?
Believe you me, this wasn’t her idea. You were pretty much the last person on earth she wanted to have this part of herself exposed to. She said so. Which is why I picked you.
I’m not sure that makes me feel any better.
And that doesn’t matter in the least little bit to anyone except her. At this point, if we were to ask her, she would rather you had never even been born. And your foolish admission that you are even slightly uncomfortable here gives her a glee you can’t see.
So she really does hate me. I’d suspected, but I never gave credence to that thought before. Tried not to think about it.
Before tonight, she actually didn’t care about you one way or the other. You were just a fly to her, a speck, an annoying gnat. You were kind of a name in a hat. Now her interest in you is through the damn roof: now she’d just as soon see you die a grisly and horrifying death than have you be here with me. In flames. Wouldn’t you, my dear?
…
Why isn’t she answering? I thought you said she was submissive.
Because if she answers with the truth of her feelings and insults you, she knows she’ll be punished quite severely, and if she lies and tells you how wrong I am and how much she cares about you—please don’t do this to you for your sake, ha, ha—she’ll be punished most severely for untruthfulness. And if she doesn’t say anything, she’ll be punished exceedingly severely for not answering my question. A lovely quandary, don’t you think?
So it doesn’t matter what she does, she’ll be punished.
Yes, she will be. Interesting how she picked the one she thought she could save face with, don’t you think?
###
I HAVE never done this before.Obviously.
Do you have a suggestion?
First of all, you don’t need to tie her up.
Why not?
She’s not going anywhere. And it will be harder for her; it’s amusing to have to force herself to stay there and submit to you without the added benefit of being forced from the outside.
So what keeps her here?
You’ll have to ask her that, but she won’t have an answer. She doesn’t understand it herself. It’s nothing rational. She can stand up and walk away at any time. She. Just. Doesn’t.
So what, she’ll just endure it all right there?
Absolutely. Watch. Uhhh! Uhhh! Uhhh! Uhhh! Hhhh.
Quite the act.
Not an act. You do it. Convince yourself.
I don’t know that I can; it goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.
So? It goes against everything she’s ever been taught as well. Not to mention her feelings. And the endless prattle about respect for women she carries on with day in, day out, about how men are supposed to be nice to women, to care for them, put them on pedestals? Puh-lease. Ooohh, and now our poor little baby girl hurts; see? Tears. Here. Take this, and do it.
###
HARDER.Uh.
Harder, you fool.
Uuhh.
You’re not even going to get her attention that way. I suppose just using your hand isn’t going to be any better. Hang on. Let me look around…here. Use these.
I would hate those.
Not as much as she does. Come on; man up. Do something to her you wouldn’t allow to happen to you. Something horrible. It’s what you’re here for.
I don’t think this is what I had in mind.
It’ll be alright. Tell him.
…
I said tell him.
Y-you can u-u-u-use those. On me.
Be more adamant, bitch. Beg. Persuade him.
Pl-please. Put themmm in in in me.
More. Put your heart into it. For your friend.
I want you to do it. Please. I beg you.
Con. Vince. Him. Whore.
I’ll I’ll help. And I’ll…I’ll suck your cock.
You haven’t had the time of day for me for months. And now you’ll suck my cock to get me to hurt you with…these.
Yes.
Before, or after?
…
Uuhhh! Sometimes, I do not know why I put up with this little moron. She doesn’t seem to want to learn. Uuhhh!!
Maybe this is fun for her.
Uuhhh!!! Answer him: before, Uuhhh!! or after? Uuhhh!!!
Arrgh. Hhh. Both. Hhhh.
Why?
I don’t know how to answer that. Sir.
Are you going to take that?
I don’t believe you. Prove it.
Ow. Mmmm. Ow. I’ll just would you like how about if I…this? Please, sit down, I’ll show you. That’s it. Yes. Let me touch you here, yes, oh, oh, there it is, there you are, mmm, mmmmnngkygnk mmmm mmm
She’s sucking your cock. Think about it; how long have you fantasized about that? Dreamed about it? Whacked off to the idea of her putting your cock in her mouth willingly?
A lot.
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
Really? Because it doesn’t seem to be doing it for you.
‘Cause you’re here.
I don’t think so. It’s because you wanted something else from her; a blowjob just isn’t enough, is it.
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
Yes. No. Shit, yes. Something else.
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
…hhh…
Mngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.
This is boring. Let’s get at it. Put this in her. While she’s doing that.
Hhhh. Fine. Where, here?
MmmmhmhMHM! MMMHNGNGHK!
Murmph. I suppose I’m taking a chance here that she’s going to fucking bite me, huh.
Nonsense. If she bites you, we’ll do something truly terrible to her. She knows that. Again.
MmHmMM! MMhhmmMM! MngkygknmMMM!
Fuck, this is starting to work for me.
Doubtless. Having a woman rape her own mouth with your cock while you are hurting her, while you are sticking her with something like THISSS!!! is one of the best things in the world. I live for that shit.
MMMANNhhhhh hhhh hhhh hhhh.
Close your lips around his cock. Suck him down. Make yourself uncomfortable. Now stick her. Ssslllooowwwlllyyy.
MGYNKNGYK! MGNGKNGNMGNHhhhHHH!
Jesus Christ! I have never felt anything like that before!
You know where it’s even better to have your dick? In her ass. While you’re pulling on her hair with one hand and choking her with the other, and someone else is whipping the ever loving shit out of her tits, her stomach, her pussy, and oh, let me tell about what the cane can do to her. Cigarettes. Wax. Electricity. Alligator clips being ripped off her like a zipper. You will never feel anything else like that in your entire life. There’s no point in hurting her if you’re not inside her. And that is why you are here. You, you fucking lucky-ass bastard. Give me those. I’m going to stick them all in her ass…
MMMUUWWAHHH AARRH! ARRGGHGH! HHH! ARRGHGHG!!
That’s what I want. Stick her slower. Oh, god. I’m gonna want her fucking ass, come here, deeper, you slut, take it all down, make as much noise as you can, fuck you, you cunt, do it, I’m gonna cum down your throat and when I’m done I’m gonna slap your pretty little dolled-up face until I can’t lift my hand and you’re going to have to explain the bruises as an accident to all your friends and I’m going to hang you by your hair yes yes YES YES YES….
###
NO.What do you mean, ‘no’?
Exactly what it sounds like. It is not gonna happen.
So what, you think it’s all going to go back to the way it was?
Yes.
That’s not what I want.
I don’t care. You don’t get it, do you. I didn’t do that for you; I did it for Him. And now that it’s over, it’s never going to happen again. Ever.
Uh huh.
Besides, who’s going to believe you? Now fuck off, you shit-eating bastard. Leave me the hell alone. Don’t you even try to talk to me again.
…
…Good talk…Shit. You forgot your coffee.
###
HEY. YEAH, you were completely correct. Practically verbatim. Uh huh. Abso-fucking-lutely. Wouldn’t. Miss. It.###
YOU REMEMBER your friend, don’t you?Shit.
What was that?
Yes. Yes, of course, I remember him.
There is a long string of profanity running through her head right now. Watch her face; you can see it all. See how the breathing stress has kicked in? She’s adjusting herself. Lowering herself. Fighting whatever the fuck it is she believes she comes here to conquer.
She is really struggling with all this right now, isn’t she? Has she ever run away?
Wouldn’t you?
Of course I would.
Not her. Of course, I thought she was going to call you a motherfucker.
Well, you know, I’ve thought a lot about what she said, and I think that would actually be a good idea. Except it should be a shit-eating bitch. Do you still have any of those needles?
Of course. Whole box of them.
That is just great. May I?
Be my guest.
Thank you. Now then. Which finger do you use to masturbate with, honey? It’s cute how her hand is shaking, isn’t it? Oh, you use two of them, do you? You slide them on either side of your clit, right? Show me. Er, us.
…
Uhhh! Do it, cunt. God damn it. Obey him as you would obey me. Christ.
Oh, yeah. That’s it. I want you to be wet for this. Mmm Hmm. More. That is just lovely. Does she always sluice up like this?
She’s a fucking whore.
Yeah, she sure as fuck is. Hey, did you want to fuck her in the ass while we do this to her?
You need to ask? Atta boy.
Uhhhgh ughr ahh ahh ahha hh.
Okay, give me your hand, baby. Just going to slide this…right…under...the…nail. Does that hurt? Answer me.
Fuck, yes.
How ‘bout that. Next one. Mmm hmm.
Ooojjjhhhh…
Damn, she’s twitching right around my cock! Yer doin’ gooood.
Given what you’ve said, I’m not surprised. Alright. So. Two in the good hand, now let’s put a few in where it matters on her. Uhhh; nipple. Uhhh, other nipple.
Hhhh. Hhh. Hhhh. Hhhh.
Is this hard yet, darlin’? Heh, heh, good. We’ll put a few here where it’s so wonderfully wet. Right…along…there. Yeah.
Oh, godddd.
Gotta match.
Pl-please. Aarrgh!
Can you guess where the next one goes, sweetie?
Please, please pleasepppelease no no no no no...!!
Yyyeeesssss.
Aarrrggh! AAARRRRGGH! Hhh. Hhh. Please take them out!
Not a fucking chance. Now play with yourself. Make yourself cum
Iiiittt hhhurrtsssss.
Yes, I’m sure it does. Now do it.
I have to say, I am impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you.
I-I don’t knnnooww that I c-c-can cum llllike this.
Then this is going to go on for a while.
Uhh. There. There. I came. Please let me stop.
You lying sack of slut. Did she?
Nope.
That’s why he’s in your ass.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
That is what we’re doing; we are going to fuck the bejesus out of you. Now get yourself off.
Oh god. Ow. Ow. Ow. Owwww.
###
SHE REALLY loves this, doesn’t she?You bet your ass she does. There is a puddle down here.
Good, ‘cause it’s about to get worse for her. I need more needles.
Pleasenopleasenopleasenopleasenononono…
You talk too much. We’re gonna fix that. Hold your god damn head still.
No! No! No! No! Not there!
Could I trouble you to bend over here a bit, maybe hold her head a bit stiller than she seems to be able to do? Yeah, by the hair is good. Okay, so, good, her head between my thighs, now I’ll just pull her upper lip up…
Nnnryrhiuhghgyn!
Right. In. Along. The. Lip. Three more.
ARRRHGHGH!
Two to go.
NRYHAAAAA! HAAA!H-HAHAH!
One last one, then my fun begins.
NRNYAHNRNGHAHNRHGHAyennFFLUCCHH YOOOUUU!
I love how evil you’ve turned out to be, but you know, at this point, she probably will bite you.
Naw, I’m not putting my cock in her mouth. She’s gonna lick my asshole; I feel a shit coming on.
Ahh Ahh Ahh AhhMMGPGHMGPHM.
Here, sit up, maybe put a little weight on her tits, rub them around some. Yeah. Now get your tongue out of your mouth and into my ass. We’re gonna be here until you cum, darling. So. Get. To. It…Wait a minute. What the fuck are you doing?
You didn’t think this was just going to be hard for her tonight, did you? Don’t you fucking move; you do not get to stand up and walk away from this any more than she can. You have the same trick to perform. Here. Get the needles into your own cock, nine of them, just like are in her, two into your own jack-off hand, and we’ll do this until YOU cum, or I’ll tell her cut your dick right off and eat it…she’d love that, you know…
###
…AARGHGH! HHH! HHH! HHH!! HHH!!!...###
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Mrs. Poe
By Brewt.Blacklist
Once in the city, it was everywhere. My God, what had he done this time. There were lines all over the place—thirteen, fourteen, I quit counting—all leading to a Mr. Ellis’ hotel room. Hmmm. He hadn’t taken this tact for quite some time; it always ended catastrophically: the glasswork eventually all broke down until mass suicide was the only course left for the poor souls infected. I felt bad for Mr. Ellis; I could short-circuit most of the worst, but some things I will simply not be able to correct.
No one answered the door, so I let myself in. I found a young lady there, masturbating furiously, completely fixated on keeping her man’s cock in her mouth, otherwise starving. Mr. Ellis was comatose and twitching on the bed, so that much would be easier.
The lines into the girl seemed to be hinged on the lines he had running out of the building, and they were so knotted up, I wasn’t going to be able to unhook any of them without seriously hurting everyone involved, certainly not without any of the other ends; they were even starting to interconnect and produce feedback loops. I started with one, didn’t matter which one at this point, and followed it out across town to find another girl on the other end.
Roxanne was attached through the ass, in more than one way. The psychic mind-control line from Mr. Ellis, and the cock she was engaged with. I did allow her the dignity of finishing, as if getting fucked in the ass has any dignity to it. This was going to be hard enough as it was without interrupting something with a man she understandably had gone to great lengths to get into her; he was not a young man, and the effort she had exerted so far might have been enough to kill him outright. The shock of getting caught doing this little something he obviously shouldn’t be doing—what would his wife think—would for sure put him right down for a dirt nap. Once he finished with a decrepit shout, she gave the impression to feel obligated to lick him clean, and as is so often the case, he let her. Something I had never had the stomach for, but it was also a part of a bit of what I was doing here; there was a connection in there someplace I was having trouble making. Once he was on his way, I stepped in and noticed how incredibly peaceful she was, and had a strong hesitation hit that almost kept me from interfering at all; I could just be making things worse. But I knew that to find my errant mate, I was going to have to unravel a few things, at least until I could get enough of Mr. Ellis put back together enough to risk my looking in there.
“Please, come with me.” She looked up and didn’t question things a bit. I had to stop her to remind her to get dressed. Something else that got my attention from Poe’s usual modus: he was always very specific on what to suggest to his victims, and a blanket layer of submission just wasn’t his style. On the bus as we crossed town she asked “Do I know you?” and I got to shake my head with the truth. For once. She pulsed next to me, and I could feel her assessing her situation, trying to decide if there was anyone there with us she would like to extend an invitation to. I held her hand, and it was enough to keep her down, but I knew that I would have to hurry, for that wouldn’t be enough for long.
When we got to Mr. Ellis’ accommodations, his young ladyfriend, Melinda, was still at her chores: sucking cock—that showed every sign of spurting on its own power without her—and doing everything she could to bring herself off. Her sex was badly bruised for all the hitting she was doing to it.
Roxanne’s eyes got wide as she saw her next redemption at hand, taking her clothes off as she crossed the room to match Melinda.
“Stop that.” I knew that wasn’t going to work, but said it anyway.
“No fucking way, bitch.” She straddled him, and I was as powerless to do anything to interfere as the girls were.
“Hey, get off him; he’s mine.” A skirmish was stirring around the room, and it could have gotten real bad, real fast, and it was Roxanne that proved worthy enough to try to defuse it; she, in my book, was worth redemption for that alone.
“Do you like ass-licking, chiclet?”
“No. Just cocks. Just his.”
“How ‘bout balls?”
“That’d be okay. His.”
“Can we share? I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“I like asses. I’ll lick yours when I’m done here.”
Melinda considered for a moment, then realized what I already knew, that she hadn’t had an orgasm in a long time, and if there was a chance for even a moment of relief, she would take it.
“Deal.” Another soul of consequence to give another chance to, even if she doesn’t know why, even if it looks to the outside like she’s just being selfish; there is value to cooperation. Sometimes, these little glassworks failures get way out of hand, and anyone who can find a way through them without throwing someone else out the window merits the trouble, as far as I was concerned.
The girls set out to get Ellis’ erect cock into Roxanne’s ass, and his balls into Melinda’s mouth, and they were happy. Even I couldn’t find anything to put against their feelings which were indeed sincere and not manufactured or manipulated. Humans are so weird.
I let the girls carry on and finish before I started in on my part, sorting out and untangling the lines from Roxanne to Ellis, from Roxanne to Melinda that she just forged, getting the girls calmed down and relaxing just a little enough that I could work. It was mayhem in there, and when I finally got enough of it laid out before me so I could start unhooking, Ellis fucked everything up and came again, just lying there, out of the blue; one of the other lines from the outside had fired. Melinda got distracted and all the glasswork I was working with caved back to original, and she started over. Hands back between her legs with a vengeance, sucking cock, which set Roxanne back to square one, screaming for someone, anyone, to please put something in her ass, something big. Damn me, I couldn’t see another way out of it. I gave in; I helped.
It took a while, but eventually, I got Roxanne unhooked. I was never going to be able to get her anal fixation corrected; the glasswork done there was incredibly crude, but deeper than I could do anything about without destroying even larger parts of herself—she didn’t deserve to become a vegetable—and I finally just had to give up, consigning her to a full future of anal sex that most men dream about.
After I turned her loose, I hunted down the other ass sluts, the fellatrices, the dog fucker, and the dean with the bladder control problem. I was tempted to leave that one, because it was indeed funny, but Melinda was going to have a rough enough time without that little connection, so I unhooked her, too. The incontinent dean pissing setting off the feedback on the line to Ellis to make him piss into Melinda’s mouth that was almost permanently attached to his cock was something I didn’t want her to have to live with. He was going to piss into her mouth more than was necessary even without the added bonus of force from the outside, and leaving it worse for her wasn’t on my to-do list.
I decided to let the strippers and the exhibitionists go, they weren’t going to hurt Melinda and they weren’t going to interfere with what I needed anyway; the hard ones to deal with were the pregnancy-fetish cheerleaders, because there were so many of them, and the lesbian masochists into tit torture because, well, those are just plain always difficult. It took almost a month to clear enough clutter away that I could begin to start wading through what Ellis was left with, and frankly, I was horrified.
He was a monster, the kind my consort had no alarm or concern about, but always set my teeth on edge. Mr. Ellis hated women with a depth that was frightening, and as is usually the case, it went back to his mother and the abuses she wrought on him. Gave me a moment or two of pause. He had committed verbal, emotional and physical abuses that the simplest of which were revolting at best, at worst had destroyed lives; he had committed innumerable rapes up to and including murder, doing his darndest to counter the overall decrease in sexual assault over the last two decades. When I found Cindy—the rape was atrocious—the only reason I could even bring myself to continue to look was that the man I was looking for was there, even if only ancillarily. In a way, I truly wanted the horrors of what my spouse had done to him to follow him all the days of his life. The dozen deaths that were set in motion for him to experience through the lines would have been too good for him.
But I knew I wasn’t going to be able to accept that, either, and had to settle for unhooking the ability my dearest heart had left him with, making it so he couldn’t wreak his unholy will on the innocent any more. The glassworks I had been working with were all this horrible thing’s handiwork with only a slight tinge of he to whom I had forsaken all others for—that I was so unrighteously disconnected myself from, that I was trying to find—and the best thing I had done this last year was make it so Ellis couldn’t control anyone through the glassworks ever again, save one.
I finally found what I was looking for: the line that led back to my man; he had missed it. It was thin, gossamer, and wretchedly tangled, but it was there, and I could follow it back to what I myself needed. Bad as things were with Mr. Poe, things were worse without him, and I knew and accepted that now, and could foresee as little as my ability to do that allowed, expecting the road I was on to be difficult at best.
That only left Melinda. The lines from Ellis to her were too many for me; they didn’t amount to little connections here or there, they were to the depths of soul, and, as much as it saddened me to leave her with this abnormality, the only thing I could pray for was my faith in her own strength to keep him at bay from everyone else. I gave her enough of a survival instinct to try to stay alive, to eat and not let the mess get too bad, and permission to herself to go ahead and love and care for the villain she would be cursed with for the rest of her life.
My heart was racing, melting, catching, breaking, mending, lifting, flying, laughing, crying, stopping, starting, stopping, starting, starting, starting. I found my legs unable to support me, and I knelt down before him, into the only proper position for me to be in before him and wept.
“And to what do I owe this?”
Couldn’t talk; had some more crying to do. His putting his hands on me didn’t do a thing to stop the waterworks.
“I must insist, my love, that you get this all out of your system faster, and speak with me.”
I could feel him rummaging around in me, to try to find something to extend in a little comfort. His efforts in the glassworks never worked on me, but it was sweet of him to try. Eventually I had cried enough to have cried enough for a while, and managed to get some semblance of words out.
“I…I am so sorry. I have been horrible to you. Please forgive me.” I was gearing up to bawl again; couldn’t help it.
“My nearest, the idea that you have come here without assault weapons blazing does more for me than my delicate ego deserves. I do, though, believe I was the ogre, if I recall.”
“But that doesn’t excuse my leaving you. It was heartless of me. And I am here to make amends.”
“I do not know what that means, my breath.”
I could finally consume air again without shedding salty water. “Th-there have been a great many things I have refused you, my soul, that I should have no position to deny you from. And I come to you to now offer them to you as a a a tribute to the…baser things I have always scoffed at, ridiculed, set myself apart from and tried to stand above as superior to you, that I indeed now acknowledge as a part of you, a part I must love, a part I can no longer use as a way to exert power over you.” I let it settle a moment before I finished what I had come here to say. “I am here to submit to you, my lord.”
He sat and looked at me for the longest time, inscrutable. I waited, for I could do no other thing without disrupting the restoration I sought. I tried not to anticipate, tried not to make connections, tried not to do anything except prepare to accept whatever he said next.
“And what, as an example, might such a thing be, that you feel you’ve kept me from?”
I wasn’t exactly prepared to be called on for a freeform demonstration; I had expected something more along the lines of a direct order, and had spent a long time considering what might some of those requests be, and how could I fulfill them with whatever grace I could assemble. Given the number of permutations I had considered, I chose something that I assumed to be reasonable to be somewhere near the top of the list. I got my knees to move, and wielded enough willpower to keep from falling right back down. After two breaths, standing before him, my him, my all, I felt for and found the catches to my clothing, setting about to release it all. Naked, nude, bare, unconcealed, unprotected, stripped, defenseless was only the beginning. He had seen it all before—albeit a long time ago—and this alone was not the end of my gift, the offering I had worried so much over. Once I was without garb, I turned my back to him, looked over my shoulder, tipping my head down the way I knew he liked, and pronounced the words I had planned for, the words I had practiced, with the smile I truly felt: “Please. Come in.” I closed my eyes, bent at the waist, reached around toward him, behind myself, and set about to humiliate myself, suggesting a way in he had not been granted. I spread the cheeks of my bottom, feeling the cool air caress my anus, adjusting myself to point my exposure directly at him, and waited. And waited. My face flushed, what if I have done the wrong thing, and I had no choice on this course but to wait and breathe and what if he says no, will this be for naught, I waited, I deserved to wait, to be embarrassed by this, I know this is what he wants, I waited I waited I waited.
I could feel a tear trickle out from between my eyelids, and I made a slight whimper. I was defeated. I was lost. I was denied. I had nowhere to go.
“Sweetheart.”
The floor called my name, and I raced to it, throwing my face on to it, my knees hurt and I didn’t mind, I arched my back, pulled harder with my hands, and had more tears to cry. I shuddered and bawled and wailed and lamented my shortcomings and begged, God, how I begged, please, my love, take what you want, my ass, my cunt, my mouth, my life, here, here, here. Take me, use me, hurt me, bend me, break me, just please, please, please, fuck me, if you ever loved me, if there is the slightest hope you can love me again, fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me now.
“Beloved. Have you seen our son lately?”
I threw myself up, whirling to face him. Nothing ruins the mood like the mention of offspring, and it took a moment, a quick moment, to recover enough to answer him; this was unexpected. I released my arrogance, my need, my desire, and lowered my eyes: “No. Not for a long time.”
“Let’s go see him.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Hmm? Do what, my pet?”
“Ellis. And why would you let him perform those atrocities on all those poor women?”
“Frankly, my dear, I was a little bored.”
“But some of them may have been important; Ellis was terrible at this, and they were all going to die.”
“They will anyway. There are over seven b-i-l-l-i-o-n of the little wretches running around; no one would miss the few that my amusements cost.”
“I understand you have a bent for destruction that I am trying to accept. Why didn’t you just start another war?”
“Ach, wars are so difficult. All the prep work, to try to find a way to make the conflicts happen at the cultural level, it’s exhausting, and I’m still trying to recover from the last one. Besides, the humans have made war too destructive. Retool the wrong person, and they could end everyone with the touch of a button. It took quite the effort to get this crowd here as it was, and to have to replace them? We’d have to ask for help, and that would be embarrassing.”
I set about to be faithful and fill the vehicle with acceptance, understanding, cooperation, compliance, submission. I had to trust him. Had to. Had to. Before I could change the subject, he beat me to it.
“Besides, it did what I wanted. It got your attention.”
The sun shone a little brighter, the bucket of bolts got a little quieter, and my redemption was at hand.
“I-I love you, Mr. Poe.”
“And I love you, Mrs. Poe.”
I fell back into the already-old habit of weeping, and found my joy in a crappy automobile in the middle of a nameless road, in the middle of some continent that continued to move with or without me, in the middle of some century I had no more concern for.
Eventually, I wanted to say something, anything to encounter my partner again, just to hear his voice. “You do know, Honey, that that suit fell out of fashion over ninety years ago.”
“Why, my loving wife gave this to me. Wouldn’t dream of changing it.”
“Well, your loving wife desperately needs to shop for you.”
“Whatever would make you happy, my familiar.” He smiled, I rejoiced, and just like that, we were back. The Poes were back, and we were again a couple, and we were on our way to becoming a family again, and I was indeed happy. I slept.
It was dark when we got there, where were we, some local podunk fine arts facility that rented out rooms to make ends meet. The clunker died in the parking lot. He left the keys in it, “I don’t think that will get us much further,” and we abandoned it, stepping inside.
“Ah. Still has a penchant for the Oriental, I see.”
We passed a sign on our way into the ballroom: “Chinese New Year Celebration.” Once inside, the decadence was reminiscent of the Qing dynasty; there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on any human form in the room. The orgy was wild enough to even get my jaded better half’s attention. Screams punctuated the walls, the ceiling, overlaying the moans and groans, and the curse words of sex were the chorus, no translation necessary: Jībā, shăbī, yín chóng, chòu biăozi, bàojúhuā, cào, gàn, rì, rì, rì.
In the middle of it all, above it all, was our son, our beloved son, and the room was full of lines, all leading to him; this will take years to repair. He was participating, controlling, enjoying every act within range. There was a woman’s head in his lap—unusual that she was the only Vietnamese there—with a small round scar on the side of her face. The poor thing was miserable, gagging, crying and appeared to have been doing so for quite some time. As the only non-participants in the orgy in the expanse, we immediately got our boy’s attention.
“Mom! Dad! Omigod!”
“Darling!” I ran up to him and threw my arms around him.
“What are you two doing here? I’m so happy to see you!”
“Haven’t wearied yourself with the Asian crowd, yet, eh boy? I have all the confidence in the world you will someday discover the Jews, or maybe even the Presbyterians. Having fun?”
My beloved sat beside me; I was between the two men on earth I loved more than myself, and it was heady, dreamy, and the bliss I had been waiting for all this time was mine; it was here, and I fell into it headlong.
“Yeah. Isn’t this great?”
“My son, I must say, I can totally understand; at some point, sooner or later, a boy wants to have relations his mother, and your solution to that problem is inspired. But it is utterly wrong.”
Oh, God, have relations with my husband, with my with my my wait, son?
“What?” That wasn’t me. It was the dreamboat to my right. Never mind; what was I just thinking about?
“You imbecile. You somehow managed to push her, to change her, to reglass her, and even though I don’t know how you did that, you have made a rather serious problem for yourself.”
No, no, no problems here. Mmmm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your lines are into her. So, if I were to do to her what husbands do to their wives, you won’t feel it as me. You’ll feel it as her. In effect, you’ll be having relations with me. Makes me wonder some things.”
Why are we wasting time talking? Why aren’t we fucking? Isn’t this an orgy?
“Wait, what? No, no, that’s not what I wanted.”
“And that is the problem. She’s the only one of us that can unhook lines. But not if she can’t see them.”
God, I’m thirsty. Is there something I could put in my mouth that might have something in it, something that might eventually come out and be wet? Yeah, I’m sure, both of you have what I want, I don’t care who starts, please, please, please.
“No! No! That’s not right! Wait! You have to fix this! Dad!”
“It would have been better for all concerned if you had simply taken what you wanted from her, instead of weaving in this cockamamie scheme to get Mommy and Daddy back together. Wife!”
Father, son, my God, what does that make me? Whatever it was, it was sacred. I looked up at my love, my everything. Yes, yes, yes, “Yes?”
He pulled his face into a grin, the gaping ear-to-ear shit-eating fuck-you grin I loved him for; it was such a secret indulgence for me. “Fuck everyone in the room, my precious. Have a ball.” He looked over me, past me. “You too, son.” Then back to me. “Come find me in Easton when you’re done. I’ve got a teacher to look in on.” And he stepped away, slipping out of the door, leaving me to fulfill his need for me, through me, with me, praise God, I love this man.
I had the time of my life. Funny, my son didn’t seem to be in very high spirits, and he screamed a lot; odd that he did it when I did.
November 2011
A tribute piece, probably better understood if the works I am referring to are read first: Parker's Mr. Poe, and pamela's Mastering Mandy###
THE WORST is to have to clean up after him. The chaos he leaves takes much more to resolve than to make; I don’t think he appreciates that. I actually just happened on to one of his efforts, some poor little thing he’d seen to getting herself raped and impregnated. I recognized the work—very clean, no lines, sheer artistry, it was almost like he was showing off to someone—extraordinary that he’d left her asexual in the end; it was so deep I couldn’t get rid of all of it. I didn’t want to do anything about Cindy’s pregnancy, but I did leave her at least able to masturbate with a reminder to keep her hands out of her child’s pants, and tried to stave off the inevitable. But it did tell me he’d been through here recently, and given past patterns, I knew which direction to go from here.Once in the city, it was everywhere. My God, what had he done this time. There were lines all over the place—thirteen, fourteen, I quit counting—all leading to a Mr. Ellis’ hotel room. Hmmm. He hadn’t taken this tact for quite some time; it always ended catastrophically: the glasswork eventually all broke down until mass suicide was the only course left for the poor souls infected. I felt bad for Mr. Ellis; I could short-circuit most of the worst, but some things I will simply not be able to correct.
No one answered the door, so I let myself in. I found a young lady there, masturbating furiously, completely fixated on keeping her man’s cock in her mouth, otherwise starving. Mr. Ellis was comatose and twitching on the bed, so that much would be easier.
The lines into the girl seemed to be hinged on the lines he had running out of the building, and they were so knotted up, I wasn’t going to be able to unhook any of them without seriously hurting everyone involved, certainly not without any of the other ends; they were even starting to interconnect and produce feedback loops. I started with one, didn’t matter which one at this point, and followed it out across town to find another girl on the other end.
Roxanne was attached through the ass, in more than one way. The psychic mind-control line from Mr. Ellis, and the cock she was engaged with. I did allow her the dignity of finishing, as if getting fucked in the ass has any dignity to it. This was going to be hard enough as it was without interrupting something with a man she understandably had gone to great lengths to get into her; he was not a young man, and the effort she had exerted so far might have been enough to kill him outright. The shock of getting caught doing this little something he obviously shouldn’t be doing—what would his wife think—would for sure put him right down for a dirt nap. Once he finished with a decrepit shout, she gave the impression to feel obligated to lick him clean, and as is so often the case, he let her. Something I had never had the stomach for, but it was also a part of a bit of what I was doing here; there was a connection in there someplace I was having trouble making. Once he was on his way, I stepped in and noticed how incredibly peaceful she was, and had a strong hesitation hit that almost kept me from interfering at all; I could just be making things worse. But I knew that to find my errant mate, I was going to have to unravel a few things, at least until I could get enough of Mr. Ellis put back together enough to risk my looking in there.
“Please, come with me.” She looked up and didn’t question things a bit. I had to stop her to remind her to get dressed. Something else that got my attention from Poe’s usual modus: he was always very specific on what to suggest to his victims, and a blanket layer of submission just wasn’t his style. On the bus as we crossed town she asked “Do I know you?” and I got to shake my head with the truth. For once. She pulsed next to me, and I could feel her assessing her situation, trying to decide if there was anyone there with us she would like to extend an invitation to. I held her hand, and it was enough to keep her down, but I knew that I would have to hurry, for that wouldn’t be enough for long.
When we got to Mr. Ellis’ accommodations, his young ladyfriend, Melinda, was still at her chores: sucking cock—that showed every sign of spurting on its own power without her—and doing everything she could to bring herself off. Her sex was badly bruised for all the hitting she was doing to it.
Roxanne’s eyes got wide as she saw her next redemption at hand, taking her clothes off as she crossed the room to match Melinda.
“Stop that.” I knew that wasn’t going to work, but said it anyway.
“No fucking way, bitch.” She straddled him, and I was as powerless to do anything to interfere as the girls were.
“Hey, get off him; he’s mine.” A skirmish was stirring around the room, and it could have gotten real bad, real fast, and it was Roxanne that proved worthy enough to try to defuse it; she, in my book, was worth redemption for that alone.
“Do you like ass-licking, chiclet?”
“No. Just cocks. Just his.”
“How ‘bout balls?”
“That’d be okay. His.”
“Can we share? I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
“I like asses. I’ll lick yours when I’m done here.”
Melinda considered for a moment, then realized what I already knew, that she hadn’t had an orgasm in a long time, and if there was a chance for even a moment of relief, she would take it.
“Deal.” Another soul of consequence to give another chance to, even if she doesn’t know why, even if it looks to the outside like she’s just being selfish; there is value to cooperation. Sometimes, these little glassworks failures get way out of hand, and anyone who can find a way through them without throwing someone else out the window merits the trouble, as far as I was concerned.
The girls set out to get Ellis’ erect cock into Roxanne’s ass, and his balls into Melinda’s mouth, and they were happy. Even I couldn’t find anything to put against their feelings which were indeed sincere and not manufactured or manipulated. Humans are so weird.
I let the girls carry on and finish before I started in on my part, sorting out and untangling the lines from Roxanne to Ellis, from Roxanne to Melinda that she just forged, getting the girls calmed down and relaxing just a little enough that I could work. It was mayhem in there, and when I finally got enough of it laid out before me so I could start unhooking, Ellis fucked everything up and came again, just lying there, out of the blue; one of the other lines from the outside had fired. Melinda got distracted and all the glasswork I was working with caved back to original, and she started over. Hands back between her legs with a vengeance, sucking cock, which set Roxanne back to square one, screaming for someone, anyone, to please put something in her ass, something big. Damn me, I couldn’t see another way out of it. I gave in; I helped.
It took a while, but eventually, I got Roxanne unhooked. I was never going to be able to get her anal fixation corrected; the glasswork done there was incredibly crude, but deeper than I could do anything about without destroying even larger parts of herself—she didn’t deserve to become a vegetable—and I finally just had to give up, consigning her to a full future of anal sex that most men dream about.
After I turned her loose, I hunted down the other ass sluts, the fellatrices, the dog fucker, and the dean with the bladder control problem. I was tempted to leave that one, because it was indeed funny, but Melinda was going to have a rough enough time without that little connection, so I unhooked her, too. The incontinent dean pissing setting off the feedback on the line to Ellis to make him piss into Melinda’s mouth that was almost permanently attached to his cock was something I didn’t want her to have to live with. He was going to piss into her mouth more than was necessary even without the added bonus of force from the outside, and leaving it worse for her wasn’t on my to-do list.
I decided to let the strippers and the exhibitionists go, they weren’t going to hurt Melinda and they weren’t going to interfere with what I needed anyway; the hard ones to deal with were the pregnancy-fetish cheerleaders, because there were so many of them, and the lesbian masochists into tit torture because, well, those are just plain always difficult. It took almost a month to clear enough clutter away that I could begin to start wading through what Ellis was left with, and frankly, I was horrified.
He was a monster, the kind my consort had no alarm or concern about, but always set my teeth on edge. Mr. Ellis hated women with a depth that was frightening, and as is usually the case, it went back to his mother and the abuses she wrought on him. Gave me a moment or two of pause. He had committed verbal, emotional and physical abuses that the simplest of which were revolting at best, at worst had destroyed lives; he had committed innumerable rapes up to and including murder, doing his darndest to counter the overall decrease in sexual assault over the last two decades. When I found Cindy—the rape was atrocious—the only reason I could even bring myself to continue to look was that the man I was looking for was there, even if only ancillarily. In a way, I truly wanted the horrors of what my spouse had done to him to follow him all the days of his life. The dozen deaths that were set in motion for him to experience through the lines would have been too good for him.
But I knew I wasn’t going to be able to accept that, either, and had to settle for unhooking the ability my dearest heart had left him with, making it so he couldn’t wreak his unholy will on the innocent any more. The glassworks I had been working with were all this horrible thing’s handiwork with only a slight tinge of he to whom I had forsaken all others for—that I was so unrighteously disconnected myself from, that I was trying to find—and the best thing I had done this last year was make it so Ellis couldn’t control anyone through the glassworks ever again, save one.
I finally found what I was looking for: the line that led back to my man; he had missed it. It was thin, gossamer, and wretchedly tangled, but it was there, and I could follow it back to what I myself needed. Bad as things were with Mr. Poe, things were worse without him, and I knew and accepted that now, and could foresee as little as my ability to do that allowed, expecting the road I was on to be difficult at best.
That only left Melinda. The lines from Ellis to her were too many for me; they didn’t amount to little connections here or there, they were to the depths of soul, and, as much as it saddened me to leave her with this abnormality, the only thing I could pray for was my faith in her own strength to keep him at bay from everyone else. I gave her enough of a survival instinct to try to stay alive, to eat and not let the mess get too bad, and permission to herself to go ahead and love and care for the villain she would be cursed with for the rest of her life.
###
“MY DEAREST treasure, you have found me. Even I am impressed.”My heart was racing, melting, catching, breaking, mending, lifting, flying, laughing, crying, stopping, starting, stopping, starting, starting, starting. I found my legs unable to support me, and I knelt down before him, into the only proper position for me to be in before him and wept.
“And to what do I owe this?”
Couldn’t talk; had some more crying to do. His putting his hands on me didn’t do a thing to stop the waterworks.
“I must insist, my love, that you get this all out of your system faster, and speak with me.”
I could feel him rummaging around in me, to try to find something to extend in a little comfort. His efforts in the glassworks never worked on me, but it was sweet of him to try. Eventually I had cried enough to have cried enough for a while, and managed to get some semblance of words out.
“I…I am so sorry. I have been horrible to you. Please forgive me.” I was gearing up to bawl again; couldn’t help it.
“My nearest, the idea that you have come here without assault weapons blazing does more for me than my delicate ego deserves. I do, though, believe I was the ogre, if I recall.”
“But that doesn’t excuse my leaving you. It was heartless of me. And I am here to make amends.”
“I do not know what that means, my breath.”
I could finally consume air again without shedding salty water. “Th-there have been a great many things I have refused you, my soul, that I should have no position to deny you from. And I come to you to now offer them to you as a a a tribute to the…baser things I have always scoffed at, ridiculed, set myself apart from and tried to stand above as superior to you, that I indeed now acknowledge as a part of you, a part I must love, a part I can no longer use as a way to exert power over you.” I let it settle a moment before I finished what I had come here to say. “I am here to submit to you, my lord.”
He sat and looked at me for the longest time, inscrutable. I waited, for I could do no other thing without disrupting the restoration I sought. I tried not to anticipate, tried not to make connections, tried not to do anything except prepare to accept whatever he said next.
“And what, as an example, might such a thing be, that you feel you’ve kept me from?”
I wasn’t exactly prepared to be called on for a freeform demonstration; I had expected something more along the lines of a direct order, and had spent a long time considering what might some of those requests be, and how could I fulfill them with whatever grace I could assemble. Given the number of permutations I had considered, I chose something that I assumed to be reasonable to be somewhere near the top of the list. I got my knees to move, and wielded enough willpower to keep from falling right back down. After two breaths, standing before him, my him, my all, I felt for and found the catches to my clothing, setting about to release it all. Naked, nude, bare, unconcealed, unprotected, stripped, defenseless was only the beginning. He had seen it all before—albeit a long time ago—and this alone was not the end of my gift, the offering I had worried so much over. Once I was without garb, I turned my back to him, looked over my shoulder, tipping my head down the way I knew he liked, and pronounced the words I had planned for, the words I had practiced, with the smile I truly felt: “Please. Come in.” I closed my eyes, bent at the waist, reached around toward him, behind myself, and set about to humiliate myself, suggesting a way in he had not been granted. I spread the cheeks of my bottom, feeling the cool air caress my anus, adjusting myself to point my exposure directly at him, and waited. And waited. My face flushed, what if I have done the wrong thing, and I had no choice on this course but to wait and breathe and what if he says no, will this be for naught, I waited, I deserved to wait, to be embarrassed by this, I know this is what he wants, I waited I waited I waited.
I could feel a tear trickle out from between my eyelids, and I made a slight whimper. I was defeated. I was lost. I was denied. I had nowhere to go.
“Sweetheart.”
The floor called my name, and I raced to it, throwing my face on to it, my knees hurt and I didn’t mind, I arched my back, pulled harder with my hands, and had more tears to cry. I shuddered and bawled and wailed and lamented my shortcomings and begged, God, how I begged, please, my love, take what you want, my ass, my cunt, my mouth, my life, here, here, here. Take me, use me, hurt me, bend me, break me, just please, please, please, fuck me, if you ever loved me, if there is the slightest hope you can love me again, fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me now.
“Beloved. Have you seen our son lately?”
I threw myself up, whirling to face him. Nothing ruins the mood like the mention of offspring, and it took a moment, a quick moment, to recover enough to answer him; this was unexpected. I released my arrogance, my need, my desire, and lowered my eyes: “No. Not for a long time.”
“Let’s go see him.”
###
THE CAR he had was laughable. It sputtered, it wheezed, it argued. It was like old times, and I felt like things were maybe going to be alright between us. It was worth letting my hair down, I decided, especially considering what I had done not an hour before. Please, let it be alright between us. We need to be able to talk. I need us to be able to talk. Both hands and one foot, now both hands and both feet.“Why did you do that?”
“Hmm? Do what, my pet?”
“Ellis. And why would you let him perform those atrocities on all those poor women?”
“Frankly, my dear, I was a little bored.”
“But some of them may have been important; Ellis was terrible at this, and they were all going to die.”
“They will anyway. There are over seven b-i-l-l-i-o-n of the little wretches running around; no one would miss the few that my amusements cost.”
“I understand you have a bent for destruction that I am trying to accept. Why didn’t you just start another war?”
“Ach, wars are so difficult. All the prep work, to try to find a way to make the conflicts happen at the cultural level, it’s exhausting, and I’m still trying to recover from the last one. Besides, the humans have made war too destructive. Retool the wrong person, and they could end everyone with the touch of a button. It took quite the effort to get this crowd here as it was, and to have to replace them? We’d have to ask for help, and that would be embarrassing.”
I set about to be faithful and fill the vehicle with acceptance, understanding, cooperation, compliance, submission. I had to trust him. Had to. Had to. Before I could change the subject, he beat me to it.
“Besides, it did what I wanted. It got your attention.”
The sun shone a little brighter, the bucket of bolts got a little quieter, and my redemption was at hand.
“I-I love you, Mr. Poe.”
“And I love you, Mrs. Poe.”
I fell back into the already-old habit of weeping, and found my joy in a crappy automobile in the middle of a nameless road, in the middle of some continent that continued to move with or without me, in the middle of some century I had no more concern for.
Eventually, I wanted to say something, anything to encounter my partner again, just to hear his voice. “You do know, Honey, that that suit fell out of fashion over ninety years ago.”
“Why, my loving wife gave this to me. Wouldn’t dream of changing it.”
“Well, your loving wife desperately needs to shop for you.”
“Whatever would make you happy, my familiar.” He smiled, I rejoiced, and just like that, we were back. The Poes were back, and we were again a couple, and we were on our way to becoming a family again, and I was indeed happy. I slept.
It was dark when we got there, where were we, some local podunk fine arts facility that rented out rooms to make ends meet. The clunker died in the parking lot. He left the keys in it, “I don’t think that will get us much further,” and we abandoned it, stepping inside.
“Ah. Still has a penchant for the Oriental, I see.”
We passed a sign on our way into the ballroom: “Chinese New Year Celebration.” Once inside, the decadence was reminiscent of the Qing dynasty; there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on any human form in the room. The orgy was wild enough to even get my jaded better half’s attention. Screams punctuated the walls, the ceiling, overlaying the moans and groans, and the curse words of sex were the chorus, no translation necessary: Jībā, shăbī, yín chóng, chòu biăozi, bàojúhuā, cào, gàn, rì, rì, rì.
In the middle of it all, above it all, was our son, our beloved son, and the room was full of lines, all leading to him; this will take years to repair. He was participating, controlling, enjoying every act within range. There was a woman’s head in his lap—unusual that she was the only Vietnamese there—with a small round scar on the side of her face. The poor thing was miserable, gagging, crying and appeared to have been doing so for quite some time. As the only non-participants in the orgy in the expanse, we immediately got our boy’s attention.
“Mom! Dad! Omigod!”
“Darling!” I ran up to him and threw my arms around him.
“What are you two doing here? I’m so happy to see you!”
“Haven’t wearied yourself with the Asian crowd, yet, eh boy? I have all the confidence in the world you will someday discover the Jews, or maybe even the Presbyterians. Having fun?”
My beloved sat beside me; I was between the two men on earth I loved more than myself, and it was heady, dreamy, and the bliss I had been waiting for all this time was mine; it was here, and I fell into it headlong.
“Yeah. Isn’t this great?”
“My son, I must say, I can totally understand; at some point, sooner or later, a boy wants to have relations his mother, and your solution to that problem is inspired. But it is utterly wrong.”
Oh, God, have relations with my husband, with my with my my wait, son?
“What?” That wasn’t me. It was the dreamboat to my right. Never mind; what was I just thinking about?
“You imbecile. You somehow managed to push her, to change her, to reglass her, and even though I don’t know how you did that, you have made a rather serious problem for yourself.”
No, no, no problems here. Mmmm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your lines are into her. So, if I were to do to her what husbands do to their wives, you won’t feel it as me. You’ll feel it as her. In effect, you’ll be having relations with me. Makes me wonder some things.”
Why are we wasting time talking? Why aren’t we fucking? Isn’t this an orgy?
“Wait, what? No, no, that’s not what I wanted.”
“And that is the problem. She’s the only one of us that can unhook lines. But not if she can’t see them.”
God, I’m thirsty. Is there something I could put in my mouth that might have something in it, something that might eventually come out and be wet? Yeah, I’m sure, both of you have what I want, I don’t care who starts, please, please, please.
“No! No! That’s not right! Wait! You have to fix this! Dad!”
“It would have been better for all concerned if you had simply taken what you wanted from her, instead of weaving in this cockamamie scheme to get Mommy and Daddy back together. Wife!”
Father, son, my God, what does that make me? Whatever it was, it was sacred. I looked up at my love, my everything. Yes, yes, yes, “Yes?”
He pulled his face into a grin, the gaping ear-to-ear shit-eating fuck-you grin I loved him for; it was such a secret indulgence for me. “Fuck everyone in the room, my precious. Have a ball.” He looked over me, past me. “You too, son.” Then back to me. “Come find me in Easton when you’re done. I’ve got a teacher to look in on.” And he stepped away, slipping out of the door, leaving me to fulfill his need for me, through me, with me, praise God, I love this man.
I had the time of my life. Funny, my son didn’t seem to be in very high spirits, and he screamed a lot; odd that he did it when I did.
###
Enormous continued appreciations to the inspirations of Parker and pamela, and the other numerous generous writers that are so worth the admiration they so deserve. And continued desires, on my part, for their continued indulgences for what I keep doing to their creations.Saturday, August 18, 2012
Another Celerity
By Brewt.Blacklist
“Come here.”
“Uh…”
“I said come here.”
Gulp.
“Take your panties off.”
“What? No.”
“Take them off. Right now.”
“Why are you doing this? Yuck.”
“It’s what men do in the mornings. It’s time. Take them off.”
“The window’s open.”
“Doesn’t matter. No one’s up. Do it. No, don’t turn away from me. That’s better. Do you want some lube?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Now.”
“I have to pee.”
“This first. Lie down.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. And I want you to.”
“…”
“Come on. Won’t take long.”
“Can I still get the lube?”
“Better hurry.”
“Am I going to put it on you?”
“No, put it in you.”
“God, it’s cold.”
“Ready? Lie back. There. Oh, yeah. Aahhh. Mmmm. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh! Uhhhh.”
“Wait. What? That was it?”
“Umm hmm. Thank you, baby.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s all it took?”
“You were complaining that I was taking too long.”
“Yeah, but, this, I, no, oh, oh god. Hhh. I don’t think this is what I had in mind.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Uh, sure. How often do you do this?”
“Damn near every day. Why?”
“I don’t…really? I mean, I’m right here, all the time.”
“My point exactly. But you don’t want it that much.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, what do you think I am? Frigid?”
“Well, you’re not in the mood very much any more.”
“Women work different than guys. How often do I have to tell you that?”
“Well, won’t this solve the problem? I’ll get myself ready when I need it and you just be there for the finish.”
“Murmph. Hey, when do I get to?”
“Hmm?”
“You…you know.”
“Whenever you want.”
“Well, what if I want it right now? Hmmm? How would you like it?”
“Well, yeah, sure. Lie back down. Come on. Let me just get down here like this, Mmmm. Like this?”
“Ohhh, what if I want…ohhh…”
“Hmmm?”
“Maybe I want…mmm…come on, big boy.”
“Hmmm? Well, that’s gonna take a little while. You know. I’m uh, kinda out, at the moment.”
“Do it anyway. Put out. Perform.”
“What if I do this? Or this?”
“Mmm, uhh…no, no, stop. Stop. Screw it. This isn’t going to work. Get up. Come on, get off me.”
“You sure?”
“I still have to pee.”
“Sure. We can pick it up when you get done.”
“What if I…”
“Hmm?”
“Never mind. Pervert. I…I don’t think I like this.”
“And what would you suggest?”
“…I need a shower.”
“Want me to join you?”
“God, no. Where’s my coffee?”
“So what do you think about?”
“Hmm?”
“This morning. Before I got up. What were you thinking about?”
“Well, obviously. The obvious.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not obvious.”
“Uuhhh…”
“Because you know I can see it. When we are…you know…and I get done before you. When you take too long.”
“See what?”
“I can see you’re not there with me. You aren’t thinking about me. Or what we’re doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m thinking of you. Even this morning.”
“Well, that’s sweet, but it’s not true.”
“Actually, yes it is. You, you, you.”
“No…wait. It’s…something else. You’re thinking of…doing something else to me. Aren’t you?”
“Well…ummm…”
“That’s it, isn’t it. You’re thinking of doing something to me. What is it?”
“…”
“Come on. You can tell me.”
“…You’ve…already said…no…”
“Huh? Wait. You mean…back…”
“No.”
“Shit, isn’t that what guys want? Oops. Ha.”
“Well, yeah, sure, I wouldn’t refuse that, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.”
“Oh. So you want…up…in my…m-m—”
“—I would never turn that down, either, and it has been a long time, you know. But that’s still—no.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, it’s kinda like, wrong.”
“You mean…another—”
“No, I told you. No one else. Just you.”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
“Uh, um, well…”
“Just say it.”
“Hfhfhfh. You know how you’re afraid to tell me about what you think about? You know, on this? I think it’s because you’re afraid I’m gonna say ‘oh yeah baby’, and then you’re committed. I’m afraid of the opposite.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’m afraid you’re gonna say ‘oh, no, you bastard’, and that’ll be it. We’ll be done.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Harumph. Okay. Hhh hhh. I think about—it’s…wrong. You know how this is all supposed to feel good? Kinda…the opposite. That’s what I think about”
“You want it to—”
“—Not me. You.”
“…”
“…Uh, yeah.”
“You mean…oh my god. I, uh-hh, that’s sick.”
“See? That’s what I was saying.”
“Jesus. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to do that to me?”
“It’s a power thing.”
“Aww, was someone mean to you? Do you want me to go beat ‘em up? No, wait. That didn’t come out right.”
“Well, that’s just it. You’re the one that’s been disempowering me.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“No, really. Every time you exercise your power to say ‘no’, you’re disavowing my needs. As being unnecessary, unworthy, regardless of what we do. And you’ve been saying ‘no’ far more than you’ve been saying ‘yes’ for quite some time now. So what do you think: is that making my need diminish, or escalate?”
“I have no idea what to say about that.”
“That’s just kinda the way it is. So, I guess we just drop it. Gotta run; talk to you later.”
“Wait. I said ‘yes’ this morning.”
“Yes, and that was good. Thank you.”
“Well?”
“You think that was enough?”
“…”
“Hey.”
“C’mon.”
“Where we goin’?”
“You know.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Come here. Mmmm. Mmm. Right here. There. Ohhh. I like this.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Oh. Oh. God yeah. Do it. Do me. I wanna finish with you inside me. Uh. Yeah. Ohh…uh uh uh UH UH YEAH!! HH Hh hh hh…mmm. Mmmmm. Ohhhmmm. Yyyyeeaahhh. Mmmm. How’s that?”
“Aaaahhh. This was nice.”
“Aahh. Hhh. Wait. Wait. You—you didn’t. You didn’t finish.”
“Uh, no. No. That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t—oh god—I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
“Hm?”
Gulp. “O-okay. Do it. I—I mean it.”
“Hhhh.”
“Look at me. It…it’s okay. Do it. What you’ve been wanting.”
“…”
“…yes…”
“Uhh!”
“Aarrouughh. Hh hh hh hh. Was…was that enough? Hh hh.”
“It’s a start.”
“Oh god. Shit. Again.”
“You sure?”
“DO IT!”
“Uuhh!!”
“Uh! Enough yet? No? Again!”
“UUhh!”
“Aarrghh Aggain!”
“UUHh!!”
“AArrGgainn!”
“UUHH!!!”
“ARRUUHH!”
“UUUHHH!!!” UUHHH!!! UHH! UH! UHHAAAAAHHHHHH!!! HHhh! Hhh! Hh! Hh! Hh!”
“HH! Hh! Hh! hhhh hhhhh hhh hh h…ow…ow. Ow. Oh god. God god god god.”
“Aahh…you okay? ...Hey. All you alright?”
“Noo…ooww…”
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
“No, shut up—Ow—Hhhh. Isn’t the point here to—uuhh—not have to apologize for—oww— what we need? For what we give?”
“You’re—hhh—you’re right. Th-thank you.”
“No, that’s no good, either. Is it. Not, uhhhh, powerful enough.”
“True. True.”
“So. Oh, oh god. Was that along the lines of what you meant?”
“Yes, yes, it was.”
“Do we…do we have to do it like that every time?”
“Wouldn’t think so. Don’t really know how to answer that. Depends on how long it is between, probably. Have to admit, it’s quicker.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Let’s find out. Hold still.”
“Oh. Oh god. Uh. Uh. Oh, shit-fuck, that…huuhhhhrgrrgh hh hhh hhhh hhhHHHAAARRGH!!”
Copyright August 2011. All rights reserved
“Good morning. Oh, god, what a night. I…uh, …oh, god, I’m sor…”“Come here.”
“Uh…”
“I said come here.”
Gulp.
“Take your panties off.”
“What? No.”
“Take them off. Right now.”
“Why are you doing this? Yuck.”
“It’s what men do in the mornings. It’s time. Take them off.”
“The window’s open.”
“Doesn’t matter. No one’s up. Do it. No, don’t turn away from me. That’s better. Do you want some lube?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Now.”
“I have to pee.”
“This first. Lie down.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. And I want you to.”
“…”
“Come on. Won’t take long.”
“Can I still get the lube?”
“Better hurry.”
“Am I going to put it on you?”
“No, put it in you.”
“God, it’s cold.”
“Ready? Lie back. There. Oh, yeah. Aahhh. Mmmm. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh! Uhhhh.”
“Wait. What? That was it?”
“Umm hmm. Thank you, baby.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s all it took?”
“You were complaining that I was taking too long.”
“Yeah, but, this, I, no, oh, oh god. Hhh. I don’t think this is what I had in mind.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Uh, sure. How often do you do this?”
“Damn near every day. Why?”
“I don’t…really? I mean, I’m right here, all the time.”
“My point exactly. But you don’t want it that much.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, what do you think I am? Frigid?”
“Well, you’re not in the mood very much any more.”
“Women work different than guys. How often do I have to tell you that?”
“Well, won’t this solve the problem? I’ll get myself ready when I need it and you just be there for the finish.”
“Murmph. Hey, when do I get to?”
“Hmm?”
“You…you know.”
“Whenever you want.”
“Well, what if I want it right now? Hmmm? How would you like it?”
“Well, yeah, sure. Lie back down. Come on. Let me just get down here like this, Mmmm. Like this?”
“Ohhh, what if I want…ohhh…”
“Hmmm?”
“Maybe I want…mmm…come on, big boy.”
“Hmmm? Well, that’s gonna take a little while. You know. I’m uh, kinda out, at the moment.”
“Do it anyway. Put out. Perform.”
“What if I do this? Or this?”
“Mmm, uhh…no, no, stop. Stop. Screw it. This isn’t going to work. Get up. Come on, get off me.”
“You sure?”
“I still have to pee.”
“Sure. We can pick it up when you get done.”
“What if I…”
“Hmm?”
“Never mind. Pervert. I…I don’t think I like this.”
“And what would you suggest?”
“…I need a shower.”
“Want me to join you?”
“God, no. Where’s my coffee?”
“So what do you think about?”
“Hmm?”
“This morning. Before I got up. What were you thinking about?”
“Well, obviously. The obvious.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not obvious.”
“Uuhhh…”
“Because you know I can see it. When we are…you know…and I get done before you. When you take too long.”
“See what?”
“I can see you’re not there with me. You aren’t thinking about me. Or what we’re doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m thinking of you. Even this morning.”
“Well, that’s sweet, but it’s not true.”
“Actually, yes it is. You, you, you.”
“No…wait. It’s…something else. You’re thinking of…doing something else to me. Aren’t you?”
“Well…ummm…”
“That’s it, isn’t it. You’re thinking of doing something to me. What is it?”
“…”
“Come on. You can tell me.”
“…You’ve…already said…no…”
“Huh? Wait. You mean…back…”
“No.”
“Shit, isn’t that what guys want? Oops. Ha.”
“Well, yeah, sure, I wouldn’t refuse that, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.”
“Oh. So you want…up…in my…m-m—”
“—I would never turn that down, either, and it has been a long time, you know. But that’s still—no.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, it’s kinda like, wrong.”
“You mean…another—”
“No, I told you. No one else. Just you.”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
“Uh, um, well…”
“Just say it.”
“Hfhfhfh. You know how you’re afraid to tell me about what you think about? You know, on this? I think it’s because you’re afraid I’m gonna say ‘oh yeah baby’, and then you’re committed. I’m afraid of the opposite.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’m afraid you’re gonna say ‘oh, no, you bastard’, and that’ll be it. We’ll be done.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Harumph. Okay. Hhh hhh. I think about—it’s…wrong. You know how this is all supposed to feel good? Kinda…the opposite. That’s what I think about”
“You want it to—”
“—Not me. You.”
“…”
“…Uh, yeah.”
“You mean…oh my god. I, uh-hh, that’s sick.”
“See? That’s what I was saying.”
“Jesus. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to do that to me?”
“It’s a power thing.”
“Aww, was someone mean to you? Do you want me to go beat ‘em up? No, wait. That didn’t come out right.”
“Well, that’s just it. You’re the one that’s been disempowering me.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
“No, really. Every time you exercise your power to say ‘no’, you’re disavowing my needs. As being unnecessary, unworthy, regardless of what we do. And you’ve been saying ‘no’ far more than you’ve been saying ‘yes’ for quite some time now. So what do you think: is that making my need diminish, or escalate?”
“I have no idea what to say about that.”
“That’s just kinda the way it is. So, I guess we just drop it. Gotta run; talk to you later.”
“Wait. I said ‘yes’ this morning.”
“Yes, and that was good. Thank you.”
“Well?”
“You think that was enough?”
“…”
###
“Hey.”“Hey.”
“C’mon.”
“Where we goin’?”
“You know.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Come here. Mmmm. Mmm. Right here. There. Ohhh. I like this.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Oh. Oh. God yeah. Do it. Do me. I wanna finish with you inside me. Uh. Yeah. Ohh…uh uh uh UH UH YEAH!! HH Hh hh hh…mmm. Mmmmm. Ohhhmmm. Yyyyeeaahhh. Mmmm. How’s that?”
“Aaaahhh. This was nice.”
“Aahh. Hhh. Wait. Wait. You—you didn’t. You didn’t finish.”
“Uh, no. No. That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t—oh god—I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
“Hm?”
Gulp. “O-okay. Do it. I—I mean it.”
“Hhhh.”
“Look at me. It…it’s okay. Do it. What you’ve been wanting.”
“…”
“…yes…”
“Uhh!”
“Aarrouughh. Hh hh hh hh. Was…was that enough? Hh hh.”
“It’s a start.”
“Oh god. Shit. Again.”
“You sure?”
“DO IT!”
“Uuhh!!”
“Uh! Enough yet? No? Again!”
“UUhh!”
“Aarrghh Aggain!”
“UUHh!!”
“AArrGgainn!”
“UUHH!!!”
“ARRUUHH!”
“UUUHHH!!!” UUHHH!!! UHH! UH! UHHAAAAAHHHHHH!!! HHhh! Hhh! Hh! Hh! Hh!”
“HH! Hh! Hh! hhhh hhhhh hhh hh h…ow…ow. Ow. Oh god. God god god god.”
“Aahh…you okay? ...Hey. All you alright?”
“Noo…ooww…”
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
“No, shut up—Ow—Hhhh. Isn’t the point here to—uuhh—not have to apologize for—oww— what we need? For what we give?”
“You’re—hhh—you’re right. Th-thank you.”
“No, that’s no good, either. Is it. Not, uhhhh, powerful enough.”
“True. True.”
“So. Oh, oh god. Was that along the lines of what you meant?”
“Yes, yes, it was.”
“Do we…do we have to do it like that every time?”
“Wouldn’t think so. Don’t really know how to answer that. Depends on how long it is between, probably. Have to admit, it’s quicker.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Let’s find out. Hold still.”
“Oh. Oh god. Uh. Uh. Oh, shit-fuck, that…huuhhhhrgrrgh hh hhh hhhh hhhHHHAAARRGH!!”
###
Saturday, June 23, 2012
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