Bridgycat - Kink
Bridgycat 2011.07.26. 20:15
NC-17, angst, dark, slash
You can literally feel the darkness closing in on you along with the spearing breaths all over your body, you're finally trapped inside of it and it becomes so vivid, so apparent that you no longer have a choice regarding your reality for the time ahead as you can't help but lightly gasp by the first touch of slick, thin lips right by you throat. You're devoting yourself entirely to the power of strangers as you lie there exposed to their filth and their ruthless, momentary love like the whore you truly are on days like these and you do it because you need it to survive.
Somebody's kiss through your flesh, teeth grinding up against your skin and for a moment there you feel your pulse beat in your every vein as you're increasingly aware of the number of people within the room you're the centre of when another strikingly hot breath reaches and carves itself into the back of your neck. Suddenly there's a hand upon your shoulder and for the briefest of seconds you think of him. Think of his fingers instead of theirs, of his lips and teeth and tongue and agonizing warmth all around you, of his body heavy against yours and his stare throbbing in your eyes and it stings in your gut as you realize he's not there with you. Like you're some God damn school girl. Cold, cold steel introduces itself in such excellent contrast to your heated skin you have to react to it, opening your mouth in a quick, sharp inhale and you're forced to neglect him as your mind goes completely blank by the touch of it. You can smell the leather in your next breath and a slight rush dazzles through you as you think of what's next to happen, it seems like centuries since the last time and everything comes speedily prickling back to you and you need it now, you need it right now. The thick, harsh material that fills up your nose with its rough, fresh scent brushes up against one of your shoulder blades before finding its place wrapping around your throat and you're the dog with the prettiest collar of all. Its untouched texture surrounds you so roughly as it tightens over your flesh, making you whiff a few hasty breaths in the course of adjusting to it as good as possible before it settles so closely around your neck it might as well be a second skin. As you draw for air whoever it is on his knees behind you locks the leather strap with a pounding breath up against you and it's real again, you're back in it and it feels so good to acknowledge the pain something stirs you to create small shivers spiraling somewhere so deep inside of you, throughout your little aching limbs in their grips and it's definite, you can't get out of it now. You're home.
But why do the knots in your stomach only tighten when you think about what they're gonna do to you, the glory you're about to relive again?
There are fingers on your back, on your chest, there are breaths in the air at your closest, infecting what you inhale with their own, private warmths and all of a sudden you picture yourself in fumes and it works with your precense so clearly something starts ticking in your mind. Their nails against your skin are not as good as they used to be. Trying to grasp the surface you're positioned upon for a reason unclear to your mind, you await further releasing familiarity in their moves, something to tell you the one thought carefully beginning to grow in your brain is wrong and your previous conceptions about all of this are right, but it doesn't happen. Someone has attached a leash to your collar by now and as they playfully, fiercely whip it against your skin for the first time you just wait for the good pain to mingle with the bad to create something rare and bittersweet for you to lose yourself in but it doesn't because there is no more good pain tonight and by this you think you're starting to realize that against your will.
They've got your hands now, they're so small and childish in the others' rough grips, and as the metal collides with your skin once more there's that sting again and you catch yourself in the middle of pulling out of their fingers' touch when it suddenly becomes so obvious you don't want whatever they were about to do with you.
You're supposed to like this, love this, live for this, it's your safety, for God's sake; you're supposed to desperately try to savour every moment of it, the pleasure is supposed to be on this completely different level of extremity and in a few minutes you're supposed to be screaming at the top of your lungs because somebody'll be fucking you so hard it's pure insanity you even survive but you merely sit there in the dark, breathing heavily and not wanting their hands on your body anymore.
Your heart starts to race as they keep on touching you, you feel someone tugging at the leash and as what you hope is a tongue suddenly connects with your bottom lip you jerk your head sideways to avoid it and the only thing that move causes you is further pain as the collar almost pulls your skin off when the strap gets roughly rattled again because you're disobeying them. You're their slave for tonight. Remember?
You're not allowed to say no.
Can you taste the irony?
Before you know it there's a strong hand on your jaw, turning your face back to where they want it and rough lips press against your tender ones, swolling them, hurting them and you merely twitch in pathetic attempts to get away but you can't move because they're in control and the fear that used to intoxicate you to delerium comes creeping more rapidly than you expected it to. The moment the dreadful kiss ends you hear yourself whimper in the dark, hear yourself plead to those not listening and your frail body immediately developes a frequent shudder as you realize this is the one worst place to utter the word "please" if you're not prepared to take the consequences. You're a child again and you're alone in a crowd, with every "no" that comes out of your mouth the closer they seem to get and your shiny, new collar pains your neck so badly when they tug at it again and again when you don't do as they say and you cross your arms over your cold, bare chest in some sort of a desperate attempt to make it go away because you don't wanna be here anymore. They rip your hands from your shoulders, make the leather burn into your skin, you're a bad dog and they're gonna make you see that right now, aren't they?
Your body is theirs and they prove it tonight and your panicked scream fills up the room before they muffle it with what they think you need 'til the point where you want your mind to explode.
You walk home hours later with legs so weak you just barely manage to support your own weight and when he the next day asks what you did last night you just kiss him on the lips and pray for him to never ask again.