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| Blogs > Stillcuriouslyh > My Blog |
Stillcuriouslyh part 1 Fiction
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Stillcuriouslyh part 1 Fiction Prelude continued… Stillcuriouslyh He takes my hand and leads me to our bedroom. He turns me around, where I am now in front of him but facing our bed and away from him. He starts softly kissing the back of my neck as he reaches around my waist to unbutton my jeans. I can feel my pussy getting wet as my need to have him inside of me just begins to arouse me. Suddenly he isn’t gentle anymore as he shoves me down into the bed and my knee catches on the frame, causing me sharp pain. He tugs and pulls my jeans off, I lay still as I know if I struggle, he will hurt me more. Why did he leave my panties half on my leg? The answer comes too soon as he pulls my hands down to my ankle and ties them with the rest of the panty. It is so tight, and I lose feeling in my hands before he has his pants down and his cock out. He whispers in my ear, did you think I didn’t see that smirk on your face when the neighbor commented on how happy we always are together? You trying to send smoke signals to him bitch? As his words penetrates my ears his cock forces its way into my asshole. I am dry and want to cry out in pain, but I know this will only encourage him on. He starts in again, but not at a whisper but an almost yell into my ears “What do you want bitch?” My mind carries me away... Want to know what I truly want? Happiness for him. He is never satisfied, truly. I am unable to truly satisfy him, not as long as I still breath. Someday when he puts me deep into the earth, maybe he will be happy and satisfied. Yes, I see exactly what the previous paragraph says, but doesn’t say. If he is truly happy and satisfied, won’t that make me completely free? I believe so. Yes, my own freedom is what I want, no matter how it comes. Maybe this is why he keeps me just an inch from death? I believe he relishes his control, more than his own happiness. I see sadness in him. He is often sad. He loves our . May they never truly know him. May they only see the picture I have painted for them for so many years now. He told me years ago that all love stories either end in a tragedy or begins with one. I wonder sometimes which ours will be. Suddenly I am drawn back into reality. I am always able to disconnect during times of his need to hurt me. The reconnect is always harder for me. He is crying. I look around the room trying to orientate myself back into the present. How strong or fragile is my mind to be able to just not be there? This thought of my mind’s stability brings me in closer to him. I ask him, without saying a word but making eye contact if he is done hurting this vessel. He gets up slowly leaving me tied and reaches into his jeans and pulls his pocket knife. He looks at it for a while before he cuts my hands free. I can’t feel them just yet, but already dreading the feel of them waking back up as the blood starts to recirculate. I see his sadness. I am no stranger to sadness, and I want to comfort him. If only I were enough for him. Do all men feel this need to hurt others? Why did God make us so much weaker than a man? I can now feel the pain he inflicted, and I resist the need to curl up away from him. Instead, I reach for him, I want to please him. He almost falls into my arms. I stroke his hair, and kiss his head. I urge him back into our bed. He lays next to me quietly, then he starts in again, but this time he wants to please me. He says “baby, I need you.” He caresses my breast as he starts to kiss me deeply. But his right hand moves towards my throat, maybe he will just leave it there and not choke... Maybe I should start from the beginning as our lives now are so convoluted that not may would truly grasp or come close to understanding our relationship. I remember my dad, my brother and I called him da. I remember my older brother, as he held my hand during our ’s funeral. Both of them were very kind to me and I know that I loved them dearly. I can’t remember a lot from before I was stolen or even a lot about being taken away from the life I was born into and forced to be nothing but a slave. Slaves don’t matter. I do believe my master saved me from a worse fate than I can imagine. I am usually very grateful to him. Sometimes, I yearn for things I shouldn’t and I know it is evil of me to be so selfish. Most of the time I am very content to be his. Just to be his good girl. I love to please him, as he rewards me when I satisfy him and his need of me. It is in the times of his need to hurt me that I become the most ungrateful and feel anger towards him and also the desire to be free. Free to decide how a man may touch me and free of the pain he so joyously inflicts. I can feel his hand move away from my already sore and bruised neck. He gently whispers baby let’s take a shower and afterwards I will<b> massage </font></b>your entire body with my hands and mouth… and my need to please him has returned and my desire to be touched by him with it. My master has always told me “Without the pain, there is no appreciation for the pleasure.” Also, “All good love stories will either begin or end with tragedy.” He might be right about the pain, and it depends on who is telling our love story where the tragedy falls… |
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12/28/2019 10:50 am |
Steamy
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Wow.... nicely written... skillful
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1/3/2020 6:34 pm |
Thank you! Unfortunately, the formatting doesn't allow you to read this in its full entirety! Stillcuriouslyh
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2/9/2020 10:03 pm |
I think I now understand.
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