The Brat's blog: "Erotic Writings"

Fuck A word used so casually that it makes me blush. Thinking of the outline of your dick pushing against your pants Permanent hard on. Who needs Viagra. Fuck me I gasp, laying spread open before you Rosy pink labia swollen with need My body feels empty without you. Fucking Ache filling my void My womb contracting around your cock, your fist, your body Your body entering mine, my body swallowing yours. Fuck Can be so simple, insert tab A into slot B Can be so complex, with what, with whom, where, why Can be so emotional, to give, to receive, to belong. Fuck Can be dangerous, in a dark alley pushed up against the wall. Can be healing, the wounds of the past eased by a lover Can be anything, in the moment of heat. Fucking you I push past your resistance, feeling you give to me. The warmth of your body yielding to my power. Your thighs, wrapped around my ass urging me on. Fucking hard Slapping against your mons Your screams vibrating down to my clit As you slowly loose control. Fuck A word to make me blush A word with impact A word with strength. ©copyright crave 1998

I've decided I was born in the wrong century. I've always been fascinated with the early 18th century. Women wearing tight corsets and huge dresses, often with no underwear, just layers and layers of petticoats. Cursteying before the Lady of the manor, servants scurrying around, trying to serve in a discrete manner. The formal, stiff manners that are expected to be followed, but can be done with such grace. The grooming...finishing schools, dancing lessons, music lessons....ohh...it would be such wonderful torture. My body type is such that would fit quite nicely into this time period. I'm rather short and voluptuous and have a slight hourglass figure that would be accented by a corset. I just get a quivver imagining a full white ball-gown, lace ruffles at the bottom. My hair, up high on my head with a few ringlets artfully arranged to cascade down the sides. I stumble during a dancing lesson, scuffing my friend's white silk slipper. She cries in outrage and scolds me mightily for being so clumsily. The governess, hearing the noise, comes to investigate. Noticing my friend's distress and hearing what occurred, she orders me to keel across a horsehair ottoman. Weeping, I kneel before the ottoman, my chest pressed into the prickly horsehair, my bottom raised in the air. The governess tosses my skirts over my shoulders, the white ruffles cascading down on either side of me. With a cane, she delivers 6 evenly spaced strikes in rapid succession on my thighs and bottom. My friend watches all this with great glee. When the governess is done, she runs her hands over the welts, pinching my bottom with strong fingers. She tells me that this will serve as a reminder for me to not be so clumsy in the future. As soon as the governess has left the room, my friend runs over to me and helps me to stand. I gasp as the lace on my petticoats scrape against the fresh welts. She kisses my tears from my cheeks and promises me she never meant for me to get beaten. She embraces me, our breasts, pushed upwards by the corset, crush against each other. She pulls away and looks at me, her lips red like strawberry jam. With a slight hesitation, she kisses me on the lips and fire runs through my body. I pull away from her quickly, surprised and ashamed by my desire. She takes my hands and places them around her tiny waist and with a small smile, pulls me down to the floor with her. Kneeling, we face each other. The white of my skirt, mingling with the peach of hers. With a careful hand, I explore the softness of her skin, tracing along her collarbone, just to the swell of her breasts. She breathes in with a shudder and leans towards me again. ©copyright crave 1996

I paced in the hallway, wishing once again, that we had left 30 minutes ago. You said that you would be home an hour ago, giving us plenty of time to get to the party. I stumbled a bit as my high heel caught on the carpet and only the shortness of my black leather skirt allowed me to retain my balance. "Damn", I swore, "now I have a rip in my stocking". I headed towards the bathroom to get some nail polish to stop the run, when the front door suddenly swung open. Startled at the noise, I started to turn around, only to find myself grabbed from behind and a hand over my mouth. "Don't scream, don't move and I won't have to hurt you". said a slightly familiar voice. "I have a very sharp knife that would do some serious damage to that pretty throat of yours. I'm sure that you wouldn't want that to happen, now would you?" I shook my head no as much as it was possible to do and thought about attempting to get away. I had taken a self-defense course and I knew how to get away from an attacker. I relaxed into my attacker's body and got ready to slam my high heel on her instep, but she was to quick for me. She grabbed me by my hair and slammed me up against a wall, the side of my face pushing into the rough concrete as her other hand roughly frisked me. One of her thighs shoved its way between mine and her body pressed up against me. Her hands roamed under my skirt and pinched my naked bottom. "This is quite a slutty outfit. I hadn't planned on a woman so readily available for me. I think I should take you out someplace, maybe share you with some friends, or perhaps just keep you all for myself. But first, no more stupid moves like you were attempting a few moments ago." She stuck a blindfold over my eyes, but not before I caught a glimpse of a black leather vest and intense brown eyes. She grabbed my wrists and roughly tied them together with rope, then proceeded to pull on my wrists and move me towards the door. Except, I sat down on the floor. "I'm not going anywhere with you, especially not blindfolded and tied up. How dare you invade my house and just think I'm going to follow you. My girlfriend's going to be home soon and...." A sharp slap across my face shut me up as all I could see were bright stars, tears from the shock, sprung into my eyes and I screamed. Now I was really pissed, but scared. "Are you done now? I'd hate to have to gag you, but I will if you keep talking. So, if you are ready, we'll leave now." she said coldly. I just nodded, thinking that perhaps it would be better if I bided my time and planned my escape. My legs were still free and as long as I wasn't gagged, I could scream for help. With a rough yank on the rope, she hauled me to my feet and out the door. As soon as she shut the door I took a deep breath and prepared to scream. I opened my mouth and it was stuffed with a cloth. I choked and gagged on the unwelcome, surprise intrusion. "I did warn you", she said quietly and pulled me down the sidewalk. For the first time, I felt truly frightened. Here was this madwoman, with a knife, leading me down my sidewalk, bound, gagged and blindfolded. I frantically tried to untie my hands, but she was holding onto the knot and all I got for my efforts, was a huge yank on the rope that caused me to stumble. I heard a car door open and she pushed down on my head. "Get in and don't hit your head. The last thing I want is an unconscious captive" As soon as I sat down in the car, my ankles were tied together. My wrists were then raised above my head and tied to a handle in the ceiling. She placed the seatbelt around my waist, locked and slammed the door. I chewed on the gag, trying to spit it out before she got into the driver's seat. Her door opened and I smelled her sweet perfume as she got into the car. "Open your mouth." she ordered and ripped the gag out. "It doesn't matter if you scream now. No one is going to hear you anyway. She started the car, turned on the music loud and drove off. We drove for what seemed like hours. She occasionally reached over and pinched my left nipple, startling me with the pain, or in-between my legs to fondle my labia. Despite myself, I felt my labia swelling and wetness pooling between my thighs. She laughed evily and rolled my clit between her fingers, enjoying my discomfort. The car slowed down, then stopped for a moment before taking off again. "You certainly made that toll booth operators day." She laughed and I blushed imagining what I must look like. The car bumped over the familiar uneven surface of the Bay Bridge and I knew we were heading into San Francisco. My mind raced as I thought of all the alleyways and deserted warehouses that she could take me to. Finally, the car stopped for good and she untied my wrists and told me to have my ankles untied by the time she opened my car door. I bent forward, feeling the knots with my fingers, pulling futially at the rope. I got the knot out seconds before she opened the door to haul me out onto the street. I wavered a bit, trying to get my balance on slightly numb feet. "Quickly!" she ordered, and I stumbled after her, not certain of my footing, trying to see underneath the blindfold. She rapped sharply on a door and I felt the light hit my face as the door opened. Pounding music and the laughter of women assaulted my ears. My arms were pulled behind my back as she walked me forward. "Don't fight, or the other kidnappers here will have their way with you. Can you hear their captives screams?" As we walked further into the room, the screams and pleas of the other captives became clearer. As we passed by one woman, I could feel the rush of air from a whip, seconds before it landed on her skin. I shivered and moved closer to my captor, ironically seeking protection from her. "What, are you scared?" she chuckled. "You should be, but don't worry, I want you all to myself. Take off your clothes." I stood still for a moment, wondering how to get out of this, wondering what would happen if I ripped off the blindfold and ran. A sharp coldness appeared at my neck. "Apparently you need some assistance with this request. I can cut your pretty clothes off, but I don't think you'd appreciate it. Now Strip!" I fumbled with the buttons on my shirt and pulled it over my head before pushing my skirt down to the floor. As soon as I was naked, she grabbed my left wrist and sent me spinning into a wall. She shoved my wrists and ankles into cuffs and I was spread against a wooden cross, my nipples rubbing against the wood. "Now, finally I get to have some fun with you." she said, running her hands up and down my back, before slapping my ass with her palm. I squealed in protest and pulled against my restraints, cursing at her. She laughed. "Oh, I don't think you'll be swearing at me for much longer". I felt the warmth of her body leave me, then the sharp lash of leather cut into my shoulders. I screamed, more from the shock than from the pain. The pain blurred everything. I remember the sting of the first whip, replaced by the heavy thud of another. My shoulders aching from the weight of the leather pounding against my muscles. My body, swaying from side to side as she flogged my ass. She took me down from the cross and bent me over a table, fastening my wrists above my head. She held me down with a hand on my back and hit my ass with a wooden paddle, ordering me to count the hits. The more she hit me, the more I wanted. Then, she pressed her body against mine, holding me until I stopped shivering. . My rosy labia, peeking out underneath my ass invited her explorations, her fingers swirling over my clit, just long enough for me to feel the beginnings of orgasm. "Well my captive, are you ready for your final test?" she asked. I heard the whistle of a cane cut through the air and groaned. My ass, already swollen and hot, would feel every searing cut of that cane. I grabbed onto the edge of the table with my fingertips and took a deep breath. She tapped the cane against my thighs and I grumbled "Just get it over with!". Wrong thing to say, she brought the cane full force down across my swollen ass and I lurched forward. The initial impact turning to a slow, fire burn spreading across my skin. 12 times she let that cane fly, each impact more severe. I clawed at the table, wanting the pain, yet fearing it at the same time. Her fingertips gently played with the welts appearing on my ass, sending my body into sensation overload. Unclipping my wrists, she hauled me up on top of the table and flipped me over onto my back. The coldness of the leather, soothing, yet irritating my sore ass. Her warm mouth encircled my nipple, gently pulling on it with her teeth. I groaned and arched my back, wanting her to take more of me. She laughed and held me down to the table with one hand, while the other spread my legs to feel the wetness between my thighs. "And here I thought you weren't enjoying yourself." Her fingers invaded me, turning inside of me, filling me with need. She fucked me hard, pounding her fist against my pubic bone, claiming me as her own. I came when she leaned forward and kissed me gently on my lips. I held her close to me, grateful to be the captive of her heart. ©copyright crave 1996

Her grace and willingness astounds me at times. She takes my breath away, with the strength of her submission and makes my cunt ache with desire. The passion, quietly dormant inside of me, is brought to full force simply by the bowing of her neck and her whispered "yes Ma'am". So many scenes, spontaneous and planned. The strength in her exciting me, awakening the Beast who wants to bite through her flesh and lap at her life blood. She bends across the bed. Her only restraint is her obedience to me. I grab fistfuls of her flesh, twisting the warmth of her body. My hot breath against her ear, telling her my need, before my fangs dive into a soft spot and bite...hard. She writhes beneath me, moans forced from her throat. I hold her knife in my hand. The knife that has her power, her energy, her sharpness coursing through it. The coldness of the blade kisses her throat, her face and then ever so slowly trails down her back. My hand pressing against her shoulder blades to remind her to keep still as the sharpness leaves red welts from shoulder to thigh. I want more. The Beast wants more. She wants to cut her open, to enter her completely, to drink. I hold the knife between her trembling legs, drops of wetness clinging to her thighs. Inhaling her scent, I slide the blade along the soft, tender skin where thigh meets cunt. I turn her around, stare into her eyes filled with wanting, with desire, with fear. My lips brutally join hers, than rip away. She arches towards me, trying to recapture them. Instead, her chest it met by the point of the knife. I press the tip into her skin, wanting to puncture her with savagery. I play with my passion, turning the blade, twisting it deeper into her. I want to take her. I want to fuck her with her knife. I want to hear her scream. But not yet. Black leather belt, doubled up in my hand. Her back towards me, waiting for the blow. I watch her, pacing behind her, planning my attack, timing it to her breath. Her exhale turns into a scream with the first impact. Then the second to match the first. A rhythm of blows dancing on her back as all of my focus and energy is on her. Then we both hear the growl and the bark of her dog. Scene stops and she is instantly snaps up from bottom space to protect me from possible attack. We laugh together as the puppy thinks that we should stop playing with each other, and start playing with him. I center her again back on the bed, she deepen her breaths and I start to hit her. Again, the dog bounces and barks to be played with and again, we laugh. However, I'm frustrated, thinking we'll have to call the scene. Then, she makes the most beautiful act of submission. She slides off the bed and kneels at my feet, her head resting on my thighs. She offers her back fully to me and I am overwhelmed by the pride I have in her. I gift her with my pain, raining blows upon her back and her ass. She cries and dances with each strike, but accepts them fully. "Six more" I tell her and she whimpers. I take my time with these, I want this moment to last. I want to remember looking down at her body, offered completely and trusting to me. I want to remember the feeling in my arm as I raised the belt overhead and slammed it down on her waiting back and ass. I want to remember the sound of the slap of the leather against her soft flesh. I want to remember dropping down to join her on the floor and pulling her onto my lap. Holding her, soothing her, feeding her the way she feds me. There is strength in submission. There is power in submission. I have been blessed with a powerful, strong, and willing submissive. I honor her. I honor the responsibility. ©copyright Crave 2001

She is hungry. I see it, feel it coursing in the air around her and leaping towards me. Unplanned desire, there are no toys here in my room. I look for the one possibility and offer her my two inch black leather belt. This is all there is...all except her own tools of passion and pain. Her teeth sharp as the tiger that now prowls my room. Her nails the tiger's claws tracing upon my skin. She takes the belt, lays it upon the soft, white comforter and quietly directs me to bend over the bed. My arms are spread wide, directly out from my body. My palms face down as I turn my head towards the top of the bed. I hear the sound of my knife pulled from its leather. A knife kept sharp and ready for use...as tool, as eating utensil, as weapon of attack or defense. This knife I wore at my side for so many months that it became an extension of my own body as I soldiered in a far off hostile land. This knife full of my strength and being. The cold blade takes my breath with its sudden application to the skin on the back of my neck. She turns it, from flat to edge and lifts it away till the curve of the point connects with my skin. Slowly, the blade is dragged from the tip of my spine to the base of my back. "Don't move." I struggle with my senses to prevent the arching of my back. Stop the involuntary shudder as the blade's point touches the pressure points of my lower back where the slightest finger push will ignite a visceral response. I know how sharp this blade is. I know that it will slice through skin with barely the force that types these words. I struggle for control even while I submit to the desire of this Tiger stalking her prey upon my back. I feel the resistance of steel dragged through skin. She continues to cut through me, if not through skin and sinew; through time and place, through spirit and reality. There is nothing save this blade, Her, and my submission to the Tiger's hunger. She continues. I feel the welts, rising as my throat opens with escaping moans of desire and despair. Her hand, ever so lightly, rest upon my bare shoulder. A reminder, a warning....a comfort. The cool touch of her hand upon my hot skin a touchstone I return to after each tremble is defeated, each moan is ripped from me. "Face me." Her voice soft, ringed with its own steel. I stand. I return her gaze, full on. She wants this, does not seek the false honoring of dropped eyes but expects me to meet her penetrating contact and open my soul even as I open my body to her. She sees me, sees into me, sees who I am. The kiss is demanding, deliberate, desire calling that refuses to allow my answer. I chase its call only to feel the point of the blade upon my bare chest. My eyes stay locked in the embrace of her gaze. Her voice soft and slow, she tells me of her hunger. Her desire to taste the very life running though me. The blade sharp, penetrating, I am convinced as it is pulled through me. She drops her head, quickly, and sucks. Then again, the blade sharp in its bite, is drawn across my skin. She feeds again. I stand, without moving, my hands free at my side. "Turn around." Her hand then presses against my shoulder again, and I lay myself down upon the bed. My arms form a cross of my body as my palms press into the soft comforter. I hear the knife returned to its leather and the quiet rustle of the cotton comforter as the leather belt is taken up. Silence. The first blow rips through me. Sharp, it tears the breath from me and I scream with its suddenness. My one shoulder turns as my head whips to the other side. My hands remain still against the cloth. I seek my breath, my mind crying while the voice of reason within me counsels that if I can only find my breath and keep to its own cadence, I can withstand the pain she gives to me now. She waits. Just as I find the rhythm she strikes, denying me its path through the pain. She beats me hard, without quarter. She rains blow upon blow upon me. Each one tears a hole into my body, ripping me open and I cry out. I scream. Yet, I remain, bound by only her desire and my willingness to please her. The dog barks. High, fast barks punctuated with a deep growl. The pup, not really for she is more than two years old now, has never witnessed such acts perpetrated upon me, her provider and Alpha. I hear the pup's weight bounced upon the floor and her growl and instantly respond to this threat to the scene and to the Beast who has claimed me as her own. This Beast who beats upon me is real, yet so are the teeth of this dog beside the bed. Submission abdicated in the instant of the threat. The puppy wants to play. We laugh and return to our own play. Her hand rests again, light as ever, upon my shoulder. I fall into its touch, relaxing, relinquishing even as more blows fall upon me I feel my body opening to her, widening, deepening, releasing. My skin her canvas to paint with weal and welt. The dog growls and barks again. The beast strikes and the puppy wants to play. We laugh, even as a question unspoken hangs in the air. How will we continue with this pup that wants attention? The beast is still hungry. I look into her eyes and then without thought, unbidden, I slide from the bed to her feet. I kneel, my head against her leg, my face upon her soft, silken skin. One hand rests upon the floor while the other lightly wraps around her leg. Her hand caresses my head while the other rests the belt against my back beneath her. She strikes. Sudden, searing the leather bites again into my back. My head arches, I cry out, I fall slightly more towards the floor yet my face remains upon the softness of her leg. Again, and again, she tears my flesh with the wailing leather. I feel myself give in to her, my back spreading open, my body breathing in the biting pain of the belt in her hand. I relax into her. Her words are soft, soothing as the coolness of her hand upon my face. "Six more. Six more, I want you to take for me." I cry out in anguish. I can not take six more. I can not take even one more my mind demands of my common sense. My body waits, while my mind cries its despairing thought. The words remain unsaid, unspoken, unrealized as the first blow wails into me. The force pushing me downward. I rebound the few inches I have been pushed just as the second blow makes contact. The voice crying out is not my own. I am seperate, there is nothing save my breath and its loss as even it is ripped from me with the succeeding strikes of the leather in her hand. I cry with the pain as she rips me from myself. Then, it is over. As quickly as the pain rained down, she is there, pulling me into her. I curl into her protection, her strength, her embrace. Soft words tell me of her pleasure, her pride, her love for me and the honoring of the pain I have taken for her. In these moments of searing leather and blade eating through my skin, I have been willing, bound only by her power and her passion. I am hers. Drayke ©copyright Drayke 2001