Soliloquy

Chronicles of a Switch
2012-04-24 06:44:55 (UTC)

not my intention

I didn’t intend to.

That is becoming my mantra. I’ve been saying it with increasing frequency since Kit and I started deepening our relationship, and especially in these past weeks. Almost a year since our first play date, and I’m still not used to having a person in my life who never tires of me; who gets excited at a soft whisper, a touch, a searing glance. I can’t control my reaction to it, or her, one bit. I wish I could. I wish I could see those lusty eyes burning with need and hold the predator at bay. I wish I could tone down the roar of arousal that follows Kit’s fingers across my skin, or her mouth latched onto mine. Not that D doesn’t ignite my desire; he definitely does, and I can’t resist him either. A few kisses can undo me. But D isn’t always ready when I am. Kit, on the other hand… I know it annoys D that we can’t keep ourselves in check, and we have clearly bothered Stilgar on more than one occasion. We don’t mean to. Both of us can fight our own desire; neither of us can hold off our conjoined need.

Most times we do just fall ass-backward into shenanigans. Eventually one or the other exhibits some small sign that the pleasure from all the petting and nuzzling and scritching is escalating far beyond the norm for just cuddles. That seems to be all it takes. The first telltale quiver, the first repressed whimper, the first bitten-back moan… Any of those acts as a crack in the dam, followed swiftly by the breaking. We are caught together in the flood, and can do nothing more than plunge steadfastly forward and occasionally remember to come up for air.

Kit’s very presence serves as an aphrodisiac to my inner sadist. If our play dates aren’t planned, I don’t start out intending to hurt her (see, there it is again). Something about her can flip my mood from light and sweet to sharp and sadistic in an instant. It doesn’t matter how I was feeling or what I was thinking about. She can snap me out of a submissive mood with little more than a heavy-lidded gaze. My effect on Kit appears to be just as strong: by the time I think we need to wind down our teasing, I’ve managed to rouse her inner masochist. It’s incredibly difficult to keep the Sadist in check when Kit is quietly begging me to let Her out, even a little, even just for a moment.

I don’t know if Kit realizes how much of a fight it is to keep that side of myself under control. It’s a rare instance in that I can let the Sadist free “a little.” Once I crack that mental door an inch to let Her slither through, She tends to bash it completely open in Her passing. And with every thwarted encounter, that door becomes a little less sturdy, a little more difficult to bar shut. The Sadist knows what She is missing when I lock Her away, and the Lady is not pleased. I denied myself the pleasure of my dominant side, my sadistic, twisted core, for years. Now that I can fully embrace it once again, it’s pushing to make up for lost time. I CAN win the struggle, but it requires more and more effort. The last time we had to stop short, I had to ask Kit to leave the room so I could regain my focus.

I think, on that occasion, that I pushed my dominant side away TOO hard. I remember that I stayed in the bedroom long enough to start feeling human again, and then went out and snuggled on the couch with D for a while. But the Sadist was still simmering just under my skin. All I’d really done was pull myself back from the edge. Even if it didn’t look it from the outside, all my movements felt predatory. I didn’t get a look at myself in the mirror, but I’m pretty sure my eyes were still sleepy and glazed. And when I encountered Kit in the kitchen, it seemed that she still felt it too; her motions were nervously jerky and she seemed caught between knowing she should move away and wanting to stay and let me do as I would. I think it was at the point when I couldn’t resist drawing nearer to steal a few kisses that I decided I needed to do SOMETHING to knock myself out of this mindset.

So I did. I took the Sadist and I… shoved. I know that isn’t going to make any sense, and even with an unlimited amount of time and more than enough space to try to explain, I doubt that I could. So, I locked away the Sadist and bolted that mental door. I think I threw that metaphorical bolt a little too hard though, or tossed more than just the Sadist through the doorway. The rest of the day, I felt so… off. Not quite myself. On the other hand, it was easier to slip in my submissive headspace. With no trace of my dominance anywhere in my mind, I felt a little empty, but not necessarily in a bad way. Afterward, when I was around D, I could feel my subby side filling the void. That strange feeling stayed with me all through work and most of the night, though without D present, I went back to being a little edgy, as if I didn’t fit my own skin.


On the other hand, once Kit and I DO get some time to ourselves after more than aborted play session, the results can be VERY gratifying. *grin*

On one such occasion, I vividly remember digging my nails into both of Kit’s nipples, shuddering hard myself with every pain-laced cry. I don’t know if it was because I was feeding off the sexual energy about to boil over, or because I’ve caused Kit to make that same noise so often while I cum, but as I clenched her nipples harder and twisted, I couldn’t help myself. I came just from hurting her. Just thinking back on it makes me wet all over again. I’ve cum before from a little stimulation, or from touches that were nowhere near my sensitive areas, but never from sheer sadism. It was intense. I loved it. I don’t know if I will ever be able to replicate something like that ever again, but I’m glad I could experience it at least once.

The last time I was able to really let the Sadist out was yet another morning that I didn’t intend playtime. D was going out for the day, and Kit and I were curled up in bed. After D kissed me goodbye, I rolled back over, snuggled tight against my girl and closed my eyes. I was right on the verge of sleep when Kit started rubbing my back. Some of the tension leaked out of me, and in my half-asleep state, I must have made some small noise. I felt Kit’s fingers run down my back again, and across my ass. I nuzzled closer and made another appreciative moan. When she clutched at my hip, I stirred drowsily and half-cracked an eye to look at her. When her nails dragged over my skin, I was suddenly wide awake. Apparently Kit couldn’t resist my little sounds of pleasure.

Our playtime was fairly short, especially compared to our usual sessions. There are two things that really stand out in my mind (especially since I’m writing this more than a week after the event).

I’d teased Kit with the idea of using her as my guinea pig for some rope harnesses I wanted to try, and then forcing her to kneel between my legs and go to work while I flogged and cropped her. Apparently Kit was quite enthralled with this idea, because when she rose to acquire a hair tie, she detoured to the side of the bed before returning. My puzzlement lasted only a moment as she dropped the crop by my hand and softly murmured that I could use it if I wished.

Oh, and I did. Her muffled yelps sent tremors through me, and I found myself wondering what it would be like if I HAD tied her first. The first few snaps of leather against skin were largely meant for encouragement; I found out very swiftly that the quick sting made Kit redouble her efforts. Then her whimpers started getting to me, and I propped myself on an elbow. As a bonus, then I could watch Kit shiver as I brought the crop down in rapid strikes, the time between series of blows becoming shorter and shorter. I thought about cropping her until I came, but at some point I abandoned it altogether in favor of holding her in place by her hair. When I finally relaxed my grip, I was pretty sure we were done. I was completely satisfied, and wanted nothing more than to cuddle.

Next time we attempt something of the like, though, I think I’d like to be in a more vertical position. Not standing, necessarily (in fact, definitely not standing, since I would probably just collapse), but maybe while sitting… I can see a number of places in my house that would be at about mouth-level to someone on the floor, and I think Kit would like it as well if I could put my claws to use along with a beating implement. Hell, I know *I* would enjoy it. *wink*

It seems that every time I think our play is winding down, Kit replaces all the satisfaction she just put so much effort into with a burning hunger. As hard as it is for me to keep my inner sadist under control, it seems even harder for Kit not to let her inner masochist out to play. After a few moments of cuddling, she was nuzzling my chest again in that way that clearly signified she was very much NOT finished. My heart hammered in my ears as I wondered aloud what she wanted. That damned breathless whisper made my breath come short and my mouth go dry all over again. Despite knowing that Yuko was due in a little over half an hour, I couldn’t say no. The Sadist was welling up in me, and Kit’s pleading gaze was too much.

I took a good length of rope and bound her hands behind her, then pinned her on her back. I dangled the ends across her skin, watching that dreamy expression pass across her face. I bound one breast with quick, jerky motions, pulling each loop tighter than the last. Each tug was accompanied by an electrifying moan. I made sure the rope slipped a bit more when I moved to the other breast, dragging it harshly across her skin. Kit’s face was utterly rapturous by the time I finished my last knot, having mashed both breasts together before I secured them.

Kneeling beside her, watching her pale skin turn a pretty shade of purplish-blue, I reached on the table for my knife. Even the flat of the blade seemed to excite Kit as I slid it across her swollen breasts, gently prodding with the tip. I remember commenting that her tits looked just… about… ready… to… POP -- and then dug the knife point hard into her breast. The resulting look of horror made me chuckle, and I couldn’t help but twist the blade a little first before I lessened the pressure. Kit’s eyes stayed on me while I caressed her other breast with the knife as well, jabbing it into several different places, grinning while she shook. I then asked Kit if she wanted to see what would happen if I cut her while she was like this… to see how her blood would flow while she was bound. The fearful, lusty nod of assent made me shiver.

With her breasts tied so tight, I knew that she wasn’t going to bleed very much, if at all. Even so, I spoke of what it might look like to puncture the skin and watch a red ribbon of blood shoot across her stomach, to run down her chest in a river. I love the look Kit gave me, at once terrified and eager. Straddling her lap, I gripped one breast hard , holding it steady with my nails sinking into the flesh. I wanted to hold her gaze while I cut her, but I still didn’t quite trust myself, and watched the line appear on her skin instead.

As expected, she didn‘t bleed immediately, but the twitching and moaning from Kit was ferociously exciting. I wanted more. I set my mouth around the fresh wound and sucked blood to the surface, shuddering hard as her hips bucked beneath me. I really want a better knife, one with a sharper edge so that it will leave a cleaner line. While I desperately wanted to mark her again (and again, and again), I forced myself to sheathe the blade and set it aside. I remembered that last time, Yuko and Stilgar were unhappy that the cuts had scarred, and while those had already faded, I wanted to continue on in their good graces so I could do such things again. This injury was much more shallow than their previous counterparts, and, if Kit could go without picking at the scabs, probably wouldn’t leave any mark at all. If there weren’t the guys to consider, I might have eventually considered cutting her deep enough to leave something permanent. Whenever I saw the healed remains of my handiwork, it sent a little thrill through me. Kit admitted that she was a little proud of them as well, though the balance of her feelings was that she wasn’t sure how else to feel about them. So, while I would have loved to discuss such a thing with her, I know that I’m not the only one with a claim to her, and forced the Sadist down.

I finally undid the ropes with a none-too-gentle hand, though I left her wrists tied. I don’t remember much between that and Kit asking me if she could try my recently-bought needles. Ever since I got them, I’ve been aching to try them. I’m even curious as a bottom, though I’m sure that when the time comes, I’d better be tied down, since I can’t be certain that terror won’t win out.

I applied the cleanser very carefully, in a sensual brush against Kit’s skin. The rope marks were standing out clearly as the liquid dried, and they brought quite a smile to my face. My room smelled of a hospital as I cleaned my hands as well. It gave me an interesting idea for a scene, actually, though I don’t have any particular fetish for anything medical. Odd.

I pulled the first needle from its package and gripped Kit’s upper breast. The tip rested just against the fold of skin, and I held her eye as I pressed just hard enough to let her feet how sharp the tip was. I thought she was going to bite right through her lip as she watched me, and I paused another moment to ask if she was sure this was what she wanted. She told me yes. I asked if she was ready. This time the answer was no, and I couldn’t help my sadistic smile as I replied “Good” and drove the needle through.

Under normal circumstances, the sound that came out of Kit would have been heart-wrenching. She twisted under me, tried to jerk her whole body away. I’m glad I was taught the right position for my hands, otherwise I probably would have jabbed myself with her thrashing. On any other day, I would have gladly killed the person who put Kit in such pain. That day… That day, I was a monster. Her first shout was a jolt through my very core, and her helpless writhing while I straddled her only emphasized that, in that moment, she was completely mine, to do with as I pleased. That she couldn’t escape. That she was mine to abuse. That her pain was my pleasure, and that her suffering was my satisfaction. In that moment, I was absolutely exultant, still holding the thin strip of metal stuck through her breast. In fact, I hooked a finger under each end and pulled up slowly, carefully, watching the skin stretch with a sick fascination. I can’t describe the expression Kit wore, or the noises she made, but it was a wonder I wasn’t grinding myself against her leg.

As Kit wasn’t sure how much of this new toy she’d be able to take, I’d originally only removed one from its packaging. If she allows me to do it again, I will have to set out a few at once. Too much time between such intense bursts of pain lessens her taste for it, as she informed me, and makes it more difficult to take the rest. I popped the second needle in a timely fashion, and laid it next to the first, searching Kit’s face. If she had been nervous before, it was nothing compared to the second one. Previous to actually being stuck with the thing, she could only imagine how much it hurt: now she KNEW. She whimpered as I readied the second needle, and gave that same scream that made me tremble inside as I pushed that one through as well. My first attempt had gone in shallower that I’d intended (bad for the bottom, in that more nerve endings lie close to the surface of the skin, and is more painful than a deeper play piercing), so I took more time lining up the next, taking into account Kit’s reaction.

With that one, she jerked so hard she managed to knock the needle off course, ending up a little crooked and with that fleshy bubble. By the time I readied the third needle, I had already come to appreciate the difference between piercing and medical needles for this kind of play. The only other time I’d practiced, I put a decent amount of sharps in a very willing and incredibly good-natured demo bottom. In fact, she let the whole class of complete amateurs just poke and prod and prick away. The needles we were lent for the session were VERY good. They had such a nice glide, and barely pulled at all. I don’t know if said bottom’s skin was just more accepting of them (being poked WAS her major kink, after all), or if the needles made all the difference, or a combination of the two, but if we are going to do this again, I want to get better sharps. After trying the ones we have as a bottom, I’m pretty sure I’ll add a “stat” to that desire. *grin*

As I raised the third sharp to place against her flesh, Kit admitted that she didn’t know how much more she would be able to take. I asked if this one was okay, since it was already free of the package, and she nodded. Feeding both my sadism and my OCD, I went as far as to suggest one more, to make a matching set on her other breast. Kit agreed to that as well, though she had to take a deep breath of consideration first.

Kit is braver than I: if *I* was reacting this way to something, I would have called a halt to it with the first one. On my third thrust, her reaction was so violent that it tore her whole breast from my hand. I slapped a palm down over the spot, the needle still embedded in her flesh, then pushed it the rest of the way through. Why I just didn’t take the damn thing out, I couldn’t say. My immediate reaction was to finish the job, and my apologies to Kit if it was rougher than the first two.

The gentleman who taught the course on needle play asked us at the beginning why it was interesting to us. After hearing us out, he said something that I didn’t really understand at the time: that, for some people, it was very much about fucking. Even when he explained it, I grasped the concept at an intellectual level, but was still very baffled. Sitting beside Kit, twirling that little rod of metal, I think I finally started to get it. Those holes existed only for us: I was violating Kit in a terrifyingly intimate way. And once those needles were out, the holes would close, and no one else would get to use them as I did. It was a strangely erotic thought, and an erotically intimate experience for me.

It was about that point that Yuko arrived, so I gingerly removed the sharps and released Kit. I wished I’d kept better track of the time, so we had more time to cuddle and wind down, but I was (understandably, I think) quite caught up in things. All considered, I was actually expecting to drop afterward, since instead of taking time to rest and talk, I had to subject myself to a flurry of activity (pleasant though it was). I left Kit all the supplies to properly clean herself up while I took a rushed shower, knowing that we were supposed to go to lunch with Yuko, and I had to work shortly after.

By the time we were seated in the restaurant, my eyes were barely open. I hadn’t slept much, and the time I HAD been expecting to sleep had been put to other use. Not that I minded, but I felt a little bad that Yuko and I actually got to spend some time together and I could barely make conversation. I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but I do recall occasionally glancing over at Kit through the duration of the meal and watching an assortment of marks blossom and fade on her skin. The shirt she’d worn out was low enough to show where my nails had scored her chest, where my teeth had been placed, and even the slightest shadow of where the rope had lain. Not all at once, though, which was the part I found amusing. Every time I looked over, the painting had changed, even if the canvas remained the same. I finally remarked to Kit that the evidence of our playtime was showing, and while she blushed adorably, there was just no way to cover it up. Not that I would have wanted her to. *grin*

Luckily lunch didn’t take as long as I thought it would, so I had the better part of an hour to sit and talk with them both, and cuddle up to Kit in lieu of aftercare. She was so sensitive then that if I hadn’t pulled away when I did, I could have easily gotten wound up all over again. The slightest brush of my fingers where my claws had so recently been, the press of my lips even though her shirt had her giving me that familiar, intoxicating, heavy-lidded stare of desire. I managed though, and got through the rest of my day with a self-satisfied, albeit tired, smile on my face. Even my coworkers noticed, and inquired with their teenager wink if I'd had a wild night. I winked right back, thinking they had NO idea...

I am incredibly honored that Kit allowed me to gleefully stick sharp things in her. I know how afraid of needles she is, and the trust that she has in me is beyond humbling. I don’t stumble across luck much in my life, but I am lucky beyond words to have a willing kitten to practice all of my depraved desires on, AND a depraved Sir willing to inflict the same on me.

Sometimes -- not often, but sometimes -- life is just GOOD.




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