I am already crashing up against him on the way home, seeking impact. He sees the aggression before we get inside, he probably saw it building hours before, and fed it quietly all night long… slipping scraps under the table into the hungry maw when I wasn’t looking. We are still giggling and being silly as I push him police-style into the apartment.
“Only cuts and bruises, no permanent damage please!” he declares. He makes me laugh.
I am bristling with pent up energy that spikes as he closes the door, he softens under it… it looks like he is still moving around being normal, hanging coats, getting a drink, chatting, but it is clear as day to me. He is suddenly underwater, every movement slows, he makes himself open, accessible, it is imperceptible, subtle, it screams at me like a siren, he may as well rip open his chest and bleed all over the floor for the effect it has on me… God, I love how he can do this. I don’t know how he does it, but he does it and it makes my blood boil. Every act now becomes a superficial irrelevance, he is just waiting in this void, making sure he is within reach of me, being available, signalling vulnerability, waiting.
I don’t even know how it happens, details get lost when I am like this.
He is suddenly face down on the bed (clothes, where are his clothes?)… I am on him. His wrists quickly attached to the bed, I straddle and claw at him, I am seeking purchase, I am trying to get inside him through his skin, I am having trouble breathing, gasping desperately for air, looking around to find something to get inside him.
I undo my belt quickly, slide it through the loops of my jeans, stand back and swing it through the air at him. It strikes him with a satisfyingly solid feel and sound, a sharp and heavy *crack*. I hit him again, and again, his back, his arse. He tries to stay still, but manoeuvres himself so he can wrap a protective arm around the back of his neck. I see him protect himself, know that I am not familiar with the length of the belt, and should feel bad, but I don’t. The belt flies over and down again and again, each time the sound and force resonates up my arm and into me, his skin reddening. He feels like he is cowering from me, I know he is afraid.
I land on his back with a thump and lean down to him, he peeks up at me and it would normally break my heart, that look. He is hopeful, he seeks reassurance and his mouth opens as he reaches for the kiss that he knows is coming.
I hiss at him, cold and cruel, “You think you get to kiss me, bitch?!”
I see him recoil from the words, he doesn’t know what the right answer is. His brain stutters.
I slap him, it is awkward in that position, he winces, his eyes screwed shut, the face of a boy betrayed, I slap him again, and again, harder, he knows better than to turn away, but I know he is struggling to remain open to me.
“I asked, do you think you get to kiss me, bitch?!”
“I… I had hoped… maybe… I had hoped so… Ma’am…”
I shake my head, and I slap him over and again, trying to get some force behind it. I am reeling, I can’t breathe, the room is a vacuum and I am struggling to get air, gasping loudly into the silence, sucking at the emptiness.
He sees that I am scaring myself, hears something close to the edge, it brings him back, he whispers comfort and permission, both. “It’s ok, it’s ok, sweetheart…”
It nearly undoes me, that incredible sweetness, I feel myself melting from the inside, then I shake it off and the tenderness between us is gone.
I stand up and turn the belt around, the buckle end hits him, the feel and sound dull and unsatisfying, so I try it again, and again. Blood beads in spots where it cuts him on his arse, his back. I wipe some onto my finger and taste him, it is strangely calming, I get some more and bring my fingers to his mouth. He licks at them, and I push them into his mouth. He is expecting to taste my pussy, but he gets the iron taste of blood instead, I don’t know if he is surprised, I don’t care.
I finally step away and look at him, my breathing harsh and rasping, his back rising and falling as if we are keeping time together, his flesh is a bright red bloom, blood leaves dark evidence of violence across his skin. I am not nearly done with him yet.
Edited to add: I did an audio reading of this post: Crash: Audio reading.
“Only cuts and bruises, no permanent damage please!” he declares. He makes me laugh.
Please don't throw me into that briar patch!
Oh, and very hot scene :-)
I know that feeling… I can't quite imagine taking it out on someone else. Instead I take it out on myself.
Still. Your boy, he is wonderful.
Tom Allen: “Please don't throw me into that briar patch!”
*laugh* Of course not Br'er Rabbit, I would NEVER…!!
“Oh, and very hot scene :-)”
Anonymous: “I know that feeling… I can't quite imagine taking it out on someone else. Instead I take it out on myself.”
Oh my, what an intriguing comment…
The feeling can really be defined as sadistic sexual aggression… is that what you thought also? Or were you referring to a more destructive feeling and self harm?
If you are not a BDSMer, please don't confuse that scenario with anything other than my expressing my desire for my boy. I know that it can look like something harmful from a certain perspective.
“Still. Your boy, he is wonderful.”
Yes, yes, he is.
Ferns: “Oh my, what an intriguing comment…”
I'm a long-time reader of this blog (never felt the push to comment before), so I do realize what this piece was about. I suppose I should have been more specific–I feel that I understand the enormity of feeling, the building and power and a kind of rage, energy growing and swelling and needing to get out. I don't quite comprehend “sadistic sexual aggression”, but the hugeness, the inevitability that you described…that I feel I know. :) If that makes sense.
Anonymous: “…I feel that I understand the enormity of feeling, the building and power and a kind of rage, energy growing and swelling and needing to get out. I don't quite comprehend “sadistic sexual aggression”, but the hugeness, the inevitability that you described…that I feel I know. :) If that makes sense.”
Thank you so much for coming back and clarifying!
And yes, that makes perfect sense. For me there is no rage, but it is aggression and violence linked to sexual sadism. The feeling of it building, the enormity of it, the inevitability you talk about is exactly right.
I have written a couple of other pieces *just* about that feeling, about how my body isn't big enough to contain it, that I feel like I might explode with it, the frustration that I can't express it fully… all that.
“I am not nearly done with him yet.”
I hate when you do that…
Brids: “I hate when you do that…”
*laugh* All the more reason to do it, my dear!
I know this one. I’ve heard the recording. It makes me want to pluck my heart from my chest, store it in a paper bag, in a safe, in a vault, in a cave, in the deepest part of the ocean. For safe keeping.
Is it wrong that I love that imagery? *smile… hug… pats*
A beautiful voice, a very hot scene, a very descriptive mind. I love it. I believe I listened to it previously almost a year ago but I had to hear it again. ~smiles~
*smile* Thank you, I’m glad you liked it.
This may be the hardest thing I’ve read—harder, of course, because it’s cut up with crazy sweetness and gentle humor. I don’t know, I’m confused. I usually click away from your blog with the understanding that I don’t know anything about anything. Well, I know you’re consistently awesome (I mean in the formal sense, but in the colloquial sense, too).
My choice moments (but really the whole thing is a choice moment!):
“He is suddenly underwater, every movement slows…he is just waiting in this void, making sure he is within reach of me, being available, signalling vulnerability…[And later]…(clothes, where are his clothes?)”
I die from drowning. Murdered! You push us underwater then we choke when you make us laugh. :) You shift gears like a…what? What’s really quick and really smooth and looks really cool in motion?
So there’s this. And the body shots. And the new corset will arrive soon. (Yes, I took note! Ha!) *Sigh* Ferns, you are ruining other women for me by the bus load. Sleep with that on your conscience. :)
This is possibly my favourite comment EVER! Thank you so much for dying from drowning and explaining your murder so sweetly! *smile*
I *will* sleep with that on my conscience!! *tosses and turns and zzzzzzzz…*
Wow I SO identify with this one!
*smile* Why am I not surprised! Glad you could relate.