My imagination is taken by muse, desires to choose from. I’d like to see you in something black, something short and with flow. Yes. A black baby doll dress and white panties.
“Yes, Daddy.” You never disappoint.
“I can’t wait to see you dressed up for me. Waiting for me. Hurting for me.” A text. I’m doing my best to describe the feelings I’m having for you. The craving. What I want, what I need from you.
Screeching in your head you say.
I’m excited tonight, to have you on stage again. I’m familiarizing myself with the mic this time. I have things I want to say.
The night goes on and you are at my side, outside of all the noise and conversation, people and socializing, your attention is mine. With every glance, I have all of you.
The stage is wrapping up. Its time.
I struggle to hold on to reality, to keep control. I have to warn them this time. They have to know what’s coming.
Moving the cross. The audience hasn’t yet gone dark in my mind. I’m keeping them there, the lights, the noise, the movement.
Setting down the knives and other play things. I’m still present. At the back of the stage against the wall, I can feel you standing there.
Walking over to you. The floor is still solid, the sounds are still there, the lights are still on. Your bashful smile and my heart is yours.
We exchange for a moment. Somewhere the lights are going dim, the black is creeping in. The building and it’s walls and occupants still exists, everywhere else is darkness. I have to warn them.
I have your hair. For a moment I’ve forgotten.
The chair, I take you to the chair and force you to the floor.
Remembering my place I sit.
“Hello everybody, this is my muse.” The music goes silent.
“Say hello to muse.” “Hello muse…” “She get’s embarrassed pretty easily. That’s kind of the idea here.” I’m putting your mask on you, I’ve made the last of the adjustments. I turn your face to me and run my latex gloved hands down the side of your cheek. The mask covering everything except your eyes and mouth. You are beautiful.
My hand makes its way to your throat, I squeeze. You let out a breath of momentary calm, momentary release.
You start to struggle.
The room has gone dark, there is nothing left of it. No life. Figures. Standing. Silent. Motionless. Faceless.
The thrashing starts. There is nothing left of my leash. I’ve forgotten to warn them.
You thrash and fall to the side. The microphone hits the ground.
I’m back now. I land a slap across your face and straighten us back up. I need to give them warning. The microphone.
“That was an example of what you are about to see. Muse and I play a little differently. Risk aware consensual kink in the form of Cnc. Consensual non-consent.” “It will look like she is not consenting. But she has. Muse. Tell them you have consented.“
Your response is guttural, forced from haze while you try to swallow through the dryness in your throat.
After beating you, punching you, slapping you, repeatedly. Commanding you. Demanding you.
“Show them what I want to see.” I’ve forced you to your knees again. My blade running down your thighs, the sharp point rupturing skin as it easily slices through cells with a satisfying scrape. Blood forming on adjacent lines as I trace new ones down the back of your legs.
“Show them what I want to see.” You give under the blows, my elbow between your shoulder blades. Your back is arched, you’re on your knees again. You’re not showing them what I want to see.
“Show them what I want to see.” My paddle across your ass, you scream as it comes down for the third time only to be hit twice more and again. Kneed in the gut and slapped in the face. Choked to a stupor, your ass in the air, on your knees.
“Do you think they can smell you. Do you think they can smell your cunt.” You are no longer on your knees, you have flattened yourself. Hiding your shame. Legs pressed together. Wet cunt and white underwear pressed to the floor. You whimper.
I have your throat. Thrashing again. I beat your ass bare handed until you scream and beat you again. On your back now breathing through my hold. I’m squeezing your neck. I can see you fading. A slap across the face. You’re back again only to fade again as I grab tighter. Another slap to the face. Again. Again.
I sit and breathe with you for a moment. I kiss your face. Run my hand down your cheek. Kiss your lips.
You are moved on to your knees once more.
“Show them what I want to see.” On your knees, face down. You spread your legs and arch your back. Your cunt on display.
Just the way I like it. Good girl, muse.
You showed them your submission to me. You gave me all of you and nothing else. You were nothing else.
No more thoughts to bother my muse…
This writing can also be found @ EdgePlayBDSM.com
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