IT IS WHAT IT IS

by Exwhiptrix

Raw. That’s what it feels like as you slam me up against the wall. No foreplay other than this dance, this game, this insanity that drives, feeds, punishes and leaves me gasping, breathless, continually on edge, frantic, frenzied. It works. It is what it is. Your hands tearing at my hair, wrapping your fingers once, twice, tangled in the tresses, securing your hold, you pause.

My eyes are closed as I wait for the onslaught. You wait until I open them. Commanded silently, I comply. Slowly. Afraid, but driven, compelled to acquiescence. You crush my lips with your own. The taste of blood mingles with your breath. I meet the attack forcefully, passionately, hungry. Craving whetted, but not yet satisfied. I forget to breathe. Drawing back, you take me with you. My arms, limply hanging at my sides, react impulsively. I reach up and clutch at your skull. Pulling you closer, fast. Together, we crash back into the wall. A carefully hung photograph in a glass frame falls. Shatters. Unnoticed.


Brutal. Tearing my mouth from yours by snapping my head backwards, your grip makes the roots of my hair ache with an intensity that only slightly overpowers the throbbing of my clit. Spinning me around, you release your hold. My chin drops, resting upon the base of my throat. Quickly, calmly, you painfully bind my wrists behind me. The cold, hard floor brutalizes my knees as you push me down without a word and move to stand in front of me. I do not look up. You wait. Your patience teases, threatens. I frantically work at that which separates me from your cock with my mouth. Handless, bound, I take the challenge. As if there was a choice. There is not. My bruised lips and teeth struggle to do that which my fingers, weakly moving in helpless motion, would perform so easily. This is not supposed to be easy. This is supposed to be hard. I undo each button, my tongue straining, pain emanating as I falter, metal scraping the tender flesh of my gums. Desperately, roughly, I accomplish my task and engulf you within my mouth. Strands of hair obstruct your view and so are removed. Becoming reins in your hands. You guide me. Deeper. Hard. Pounding. Scraping teeth make you wince in pleasurable ecstasy. Thrusting. The bruising of the back of my throat is delicious pain. You do not come. I am not worthy.


Frenzied. Scratching, clawing, biting, crying out unknowingly, unconsciously… We pause as I climb astride you. Your cock fills me. Completely. Perfectly. Beyond words. I lean forward. Grasp your wrists. You strain against me. But allow it. It pleases you. For the moment. I ache to possess you but know that you resist. It is your nature. I wait. So do you. Instinctively, from within, I begin to move. My hips pump, keeping you sheathed within me. Eyes closed. Mind blank. I am what I am doing. Lifting up, I hover, keeping just the head of your perfect cock inside me before slamming down. Grinding. Again. And again. And again. I begin to think. I am about to come. You do. Exquisitely. With abandon. Hard. You fuck me even as I fuck you, rising to meet each thrust. Your orgasm is but a brief and temporary foray into a thoughtless, uncontrolled existence.


Controlled. Your patience abates. I lose my grip upon your wrists as you throw me onto my back. I do not close my eyes. Make me work, struggle, stretch, not think, release, control, plunge, retreat… my eyes scream at you. I want to beg, plead, revel in the frustration, long for a climax, knowing there isn’t one. Ever. Not ever. That is what makes the pain and frustration so delicious. Turkish delight. You possess me with your mouth. Stabbing, swirling, nipping. A caress. Insistent pressure. My clit swells. Hardens, emerges. Throbs. My hips jerking, grinding into your face. You meet each thrust with measured increments of intensity with your tongue. Teeth. Lips. And stop. Start. Slowly, building, escalating, driving me upwards. Abandoning me. I await your permission. You are torn, yet you deny me. Cruelly, benevolently. I can only take so much torment. I want to be able to withstand more. You are not gentle as you demand that I come. I scream. Hips rising off the bed, back arching fists curled in sweat soaked sheets. I attempt to back away but you stay with me, forcing me to another orgasm. The first was mine. The second, yours. The third, the fourth, I lose track.


Uncontrolled. Acquiescent. Trusting, nakedly vulnerable. I want you on your knees, head bowed, wordlessly pleading to be taken in every way you’ve ever imagined, beyond your deepest desires, past the boundaries you hope exist. Dare me. Taunt me. Challenge me to surpass my own limits and let you find yours. In a perfect world, I make you cry, scream, arch, writhe, pant, slam your fist down on the bed in fury and then laugh maniacally as you find a piece of sanity that allows you to crawl back and reclaim your position. On top. In control. Calm, shaken but very stirred. Wanting, needing, to go there again. And again. Exposed. Demanding, insistent. No limits, you imply with a raised eyebrow and a commanding touch. I want to lose myself in that touch, not think. React from base instincts. Bend, break, shake, cry, scream, thrash, my head moving from side to side, hair flying, sweat pouring, wordless except for unconscious expletives which rise unbidden from depths untouched. I want to feel release, passion so extreme that it terrifies me even as it soothes. Knowing I cannot go back, accepting the resignation. The defeat. The victory. Submission. Domination. I want to feel humility and power but not humiliation or control as it chains, binds, strips, debases and frees me. Tears. Fear, anger, mortification mingle with triumph, exhilaration. There is calm…..


Amidst the sweat, traces of blood, I lightly touch your face. Trailing shaking fingertips down your body, tracing, remembering, shuddering, smiling, a single, full tear rising to one eye. It sits, waits, wavers, and then, bottom heavy, slips slowly through the lashes. I do not blink. It rolls, gaining speed down my face and is lost as it crests my jaw line, mixing with the sweat and semen that adorn the hollow of my throat, above my collar bones. Your eyes are closed. You do not see. I continue to caress you as you lay silent. Your hand mimics mine as you unconsciously move your fingers across my body. Silently, we write.

THE END

This story is taken from the missing site:

whiteshadow.pornopartners.com/bdsm/thestoryofmandi.html

Special thanks to: Exwhiptrix@aol.com

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