On Raven
Ah, yes. My thoughts now after another-short-visit.
The subject of pain. There was more. I wanted more. It felt good to me, and to see in his eyes how much he enjoyed inflicting it upon me made it SO much more intense and pleasant. Even now, thinking of his half whispered/half hissed "yessss..." makes me crave it even more, makes me wish to be even more...violent. And more permanent as well. More deeply bruised, more...solidly reminded of the pain of that previous encounter. Small fantasies in my mind of having such a bruise on my arm and him grabbing it and pulling me to him to nearly force his mouth to mine, seeing me wince and draw in breath making him that much more forceful, that much more...lusty. And on the subject of force, I want that too. I WANT him to force me, to not stop when I tell him to, to MAKE me his. Fantasy rape or whatever it's called, I want it. I want him to use me. To use me as his property. Which is why I deliberately endeavoured to make him angry, why I am so eager to see him on Saturday, why I want him to hate me. Again, so much focused on what *I* want. But...he wants that, too. The control, the power. The light in his eyes when his hand is on my neck, and my newfound delight in him choking me...and my newfound delight in sodomy as well. So many things I never knew I'd try, never wanted to. And so many that I now enjoy so thouroughly after such a short period of time that I am already changed. Much changed. I cannot now even contemplate enjoying sex without it hurting. Without him teaching me something new about myself. I tell myself that I do not want what he's offering. I tell myself that I want something else. I tell myself these things and I do not know how much of them are lies and how much of them are just concealing the truth. I think about what he is and how he treats me, the respect he shows me in even the smallest of things. I think about all of these things and I cannot stand another moment without him fucking me. Fucking me as I want so desperately to be fucked, to be used, to be OWNED. And yet...even if he does fuck me, it will be goodbye. And I will be left with my own choices, willingly made, and the consequences of making them myself. *sigh*
Laters
Ah, yes. My thoughts now after another-short-visit.
The subject of pain. There was more. I wanted more. It felt good to me, and to see in his eyes how much he enjoyed inflicting it upon me made it SO much more intense and pleasant. Even now, thinking of his half whispered/half hissed "yessss..." makes me crave it even more, makes me wish to be even more...violent. And more permanent as well. More deeply bruised, more...solidly reminded of the pain of that previous encounter. Small fantasies in my mind of having such a bruise on my arm and him grabbing it and pulling me to him to nearly force his mouth to mine, seeing me wince and draw in breath making him that much more forceful, that much more...lusty. And on the subject of force, I want that too. I WANT him to force me, to not stop when I tell him to, to MAKE me his. Fantasy rape or whatever it's called, I want it. I want him to use me. To use me as his property. Which is why I deliberately endeavoured to make him angry, why I am so eager to see him on Saturday, why I want him to hate me. Again, so much focused on what *I* want. But...he wants that, too. The control, the power. The light in his eyes when his hand is on my neck, and my newfound delight in him choking me...and my newfound delight in sodomy as well. So many things I never knew I'd try, never wanted to. And so many that I now enjoy so thouroughly after such a short period of time that I am already changed. Much changed. I cannot now even contemplate enjoying sex without it hurting. Without him teaching me something new about myself. I tell myself that I do not want what he's offering. I tell myself that I want something else. I tell myself these things and I do not know how much of them are lies and how much of them are just concealing the truth. I think about what he is and how he treats me, the respect he shows me in even the smallest of things. I think about all of these things and I cannot stand another moment without him fucking me. Fucking me as I want so desperately to be fucked, to be used, to be OWNED. And yet...even if he does fuck me, it will be goodbye. And I will be left with my own choices, willingly made, and the consequences of making them myself. *sigh*
Laters
<< Home