Erotica: The Fight Within

***all pieces of erotica are works of fiction. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual, safe, ethical, or sane.

I need to specify to those reading this, that playing during high emotion can be dangerous.  You can miss verbal/body cues, overlook a safeword, or face the issue of potentially blacking out/disassociating.  

I wrote this to explore parts of my psyche I’ve yet to delve into.  But I also wrote this to someone with whom I trust my life.  

The goal of delving into the darker parts of the mind, is to learn.  There is more revealed in the unconscious mind than in any other medium.  

Even if I never delve into this scenario in person, I will have revealed everything I need to…subconsciously.  Master has told me, on more than one occasion, that my writing gives him insight because I pour myself into it.  It is the same reason he refuses to read unfinished work and offer suggestions.  If he did, it could influence me.

I explore darkness only with someone who can bring me back into the light.  I explore brokenness only with someone who can piece me back together.  I explore emotional fuckery only with someone who will not be crushed beneath the weight of it.

What you choose to do is your decision.  Just know, if you cannot separate what is done in a scene from what happens in real life, your relationship can be irrevocably changed or damaged.

You once told me, Sir, that I push your boundaries unlike anyone else.  

I had to think about that.  At first glance, it looks as though I lack respect for your limits.  But, when we talked about it, you told me it meant I pushed you as you push me.  

We have successfully faced quite a few demons and delved into some dark places.

We have moved seamlessly from physical pain to mental and we continue to push against what is deemed as safe and sane.

We are risk takers Sir.  I’d have it no other way.

With that in mind, I wish to request a new boundary to be explored.

I want you to make me angry Sir.  

I want you to throw me against the proverbial wall and help me bring the bricks down.

I want to feel the thrum of adrenaline and the fire in my veins.  

I want to fight you.  

I want to growl and scream and cry.

I want you to take me down without mercy.

Are you willing to brave this with me Sir?  Are you willing to catch me on the other side as I come down?  Are you willing to help me deal with the guilt when this is done?

Are you willing and able to keep me sane without losing yourself in the process?

We don’t play angry.  We have always refused to play during any heavy influx of emotions. 

Tonight, I want that to change.

Please, Sir?

You are a crafty bastard Sir.  When I asked for an emotionally charged scene, I did not expect you to have me set it up.

You know how much I hate making decisions.

I know you’re fucking with me.  But I also know you want to understand how far to push me.

See, you can read me my body like no other.  But what I choose at the beginning, gives you an idea of how far to go.

I understand it.  I just don’t like it.

I knew the two fastest ways to anger without conflict.

Step one: My song. On repeat.  Seven minutes of mesmerizing lyrics that take me over.

You can see the change in me.  There is a reason I rarely play this song.  It stirs my mind like a woman possessed.  It makes me feel…violent.

Step two: Handcuffs

We both know the cuffs alone will make me fight.  I tried breaking the kitchen chair last time we used them.  

This time, you were smarter.

You locked one wrist in front of me, pulled the chain between my legs, and locked the other one.  Then you pulled the leg irons chain over the cuffs and pulled them down and around the leg of the bedframe.

I am technically free to move within a small area.  With difficulty, I can switch from kneeling to sitting but little else is possible.

You snap your fingers.

I Breathe deeply.  We are about to begin.

You want me immersed.  

I sit down on my ass, my knees bent and my hands loosely hanging.  My top half is bare, and the room is chilly.    My fingers are playing with the soft fabric of my leggings already.  Can you see my anxiety already Sir?  I don’t think I have hidden it very well.

The leg irons pull against my ankles.  I have twisted the chain already, but I refuse to say anything.  I will deal with this.

I look up at you.  I am scared Sir.

For all my bravado, I do not like being angry.  I know that I could hurt someone.  I know that I could hurt you if I sink too far.  I feel very small for asking for this.

You read me so well.  You look deep into my eyes, my lip trembling, and you run your fingers through my hair.  It soothes me.  I close my eyes to revel in it and you backhand me.

We’ve started.

From this point, you won’t let up until you are ready…or I color.

Would that be wrong?  To color on a scene I’ve requested?  

You will tell me that it is not wrong.  And I know for damn sure, we would never be trying this if you didn’t trust me to speak up when needed.

Those thoughts cross my mind all the time.  

So, let’s see what happens Sir.

Are you ready?

I am waiting for the music to start.  

“Are you ready for this?”. You ask only once.

You are giving me an out.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want it.

“Press play” I state firmly.

Without another word, you press play.  I know we have put the song on repeat for the length of the disc.  It will continue to ramp me up until it is turned off.

The headphones are immersion ones.  They close me off from the outside world.  All I can hear is the music.

Then, you leave.

I fucking hate being alone.  I get antsy and worried and scared.  

Forty-five seconds in.  My eyes close of their own volition.

1 and a half minutes in.  I can feel my face contorting into a smirk.

2 minutes.  My lips move unconsciously to mouth the dark words.  You were smart Sir.  By using the instrumental track, with only the backup vocals, I can sink ever so further.  The ability to sing along and keep myself distracted from the emotion is no longer an option.  

My chin drops to my chest.  I roll my neck to one side and slowly to the other.  I can feel the cracking of the bones. 

3 minutes. My heart is pounding. My eyes are open and unseeing.  My head cocks to the side, glaring into the nothingness. 

Four minutes.  Even though I know I shouldn’t, I start rubbing the cuff rings.

The cuffs are cool to my thumbs as I rub the metal.

My thoughts are dark Sir; and sneaky.

We are halfway through the first play of the song.  The bass drum is beating loud.  I am tugging more frantically at my cuffs now.  I feel them pulling against my hands.  

I am going to bruise.

I am watching the door.  I’m determined to be free by the time you come back.  I plan to tackle you.  I’m going to take you to the floor and have you beg me for mercy.

I can do it.  

I smirk.

If not, I will go down fighting.

I was unprepared for the mask Sir.  As soon as the darkness descended, I started bucking.  You appeared from nowhere.

Were you watching me?  Where?  I could not see you.  

Why would you hide Sir?

Are you scared of me?

Won’t you let me free Sir?  

I can do such wondrous things to you.

After all, you cannot see the fire in my eyes with a hood on.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Whatever shall we do Sir?  Won’t you let me out to play?

You have turned the volume up.  I can feel the vibrations across the whole of my ears.  I feel the zipper on the hood open across my mouth.  I strike forward to bite you.

Rule number 2 in our dynamic.  I am never to bite.

I’ve just declared war.

I am pulling roughly at the handcuffs.  If I can shift the bed frame, then you have no chance.

I feel your hand grip the back of my neck, as though you were planning to lift me.  You press my body forward.  Your other palm presses harshly against my mouth and pinches my nose through the hood.  I did not even have a chance to take a breath.  I’m trying to wrestle free.  I can hear the clanking of the metal over the music.  I feel like a feral animal trying to free itself. My head is locked into place by your strength.  

I am going to pass out.

Then, you let me breathe.

Or so I thought.

One big breath is all I managed before you shoved the gag between my teeth.  You made sure I would be able to breathe by picking the ball gag with holes.  But it clearly tells me that talking is out of the question.

Good.

If you want an answer, you are gonna need to read my fucking mind.

Sir.

I feel the chain go slack for a split second.  You must have lifted the corner of the bed.  I pull quickly and round my head in what I believe is your direction.  It connects with something.  I turn the other direction and roll onto my back.  I know I cannot run with the way I am chained.  But I do have enough room to kick you.

I kick out, low to the ground, and my foot connects.  I know instantly I have hit too low.  Your boots hurt quite a bit when kicked with bare feet.  I aim higher but I feel your hand grab my ankles.  My arms are stretched as you hold me tight.

Then the blows start.

A firm smack right onto my ass.  

I hate this position.  I hate having my legs in the air like a baby.  It is humiliating…and you know it.  That is exactly why you do it.

Two. Three. Four.

In such quick succession, I cannot catch my breath or bearings.

Five hits me full force to the top of my pussy.

Fuck.  I guarantee you heard that through the gag.

Six. Seven. Eight.  

Harder and harder you hit my ass.  My body is trying to rock against the floor.  Anything I can do to get free.  I am not fairing so well at that.

Nine is a firm kick to the ass by your boot.

God Dammit.

Ten reigns down on my pussy once more.  Pretty sure I am going to be icing for days at this point.

You drag me by my ankle across the carpet until we meet linoleum.  You roll me over in one smooth motion and use the leverage of the chain to pull my knees up under me.  My ass is now in the air and my face is pressed to the cold floor.  My shoulders are burning, and my wrists are swollen.  I am biting down on the rubber of the gag so hard I am expecting it to split.

I feel a heavy thud against my thighs.  Oh god, not that one.  I hate it.

Five thwacks, each getting harsher and harsher.  The hood is wet now.  It clings to my eyes as they water, and I have soaked the bottom half with my spit.

I keep trying to shift away from the blows.  For a masochist, I move a lot Sir.  Have you ever noticed that?

Five more and I am sobbing.  My legs are shaking to the point that I cannot hold them up anymore.  Then again, as soon as I started to drop them, I felt it.

You finally unsheathed the knife you were hitting me with.

The broad side of the blade is cool against my skin.  I feel its tip at my belly button, with the rest of the length sliding down to my pussy.  It is your warning to keep my position.

And it is my chance to end it.

Not a chance in hell Sir.

Is that all you’ve got?

My legs are trembling.  I feel like I have been at the gym for a couple hours on a treadmill.  I feel the knife sliding against my skin.  I am trying to hold still.  I know there will be marks.  Even the dullest of your knives leave me with welts.  

Ever so slowly, the tip slides down between my legs.  I feel you grab the crotch of my leggings and I feel the sharp tug as you slice them.  The knife leaves my skin for just a moment and I feel your fists shred my clothes the remaining in bit.  I can only feel them clinging to me from my calves to my ankles.  Then the blade is back.  

You are cruel Master.  I am trying to focus on where the blade is at, but the music is distracting me too much.  If I had to guess, knowing the marks it will leave, I am positive you are drawing little smiley faces that I will be staring at in the mirror for the next week.

I am not amused!

But I can imagine the smirk you must be wearing at your own ingenuity.

I feel the tip slide down my thighs and to my calves.  I feel the rest of my leggings fall from my body.

Time is relative in the dark.  I lost count of the amount of times my song has played.  I know my ass stings.  I have no idea how long you have been marking me with that blade.  I know it periodically slides between the lips of my vagina and I hold my breath every time.  I know my jaw aches from the gag and my neck is sore from being on the floor in this position.  My shoulders still burn, and my body shakes from either adrenaline or cold.  Of which I am not entirely sure.

But I want more Sir.

When you have finished with the blade, I feel you give me one last whack with it after you sheathed it and I felt your breath light up the cuts along my backside.

Gently, you pull me up to my knees and let me lean my head against your legs.  The music is turned down until it is a mere whisper.  It stays constant, and I still cannot hear you, but it curbs the adrenaline.

You pick me up to standing but my legs cannot hold me.  So, you leave me kneeling and drag me to wherever you desire me to be.  You bend me over the bed.  It keeps me kneeling but puts the pressure on my abdomen instead of my knees.  I put my forehead against the softer surface.  

Your hand is rubbing my ass.  It feels nice.

Then I feel the cold.  You just dumped ice water down my back, across my ass, and over my legs.  My body tenses instantly.  We both know I do not do well with temperature change.  

This is new.

And then I understand why you turned the music down.

POP

Fuck.

It is the fucking cattle prod.

Yes, it hurts.  But it is the sound that gets me.

Once to the thigh.  It travels with the water as it drips down my skin.

Then you set it off near my ear.  I jumped and thrashed.

Another to the ass.  The knife marks light up with the electricity.

Did you know open wounds increase the intensity of the shocks?  Of course you did.  This is your favorite.  To watch me bend and bow to the lightning.  To watch me shiver from the cold, or is that fear?

One. Two.

POP. This one doesn’t touch me but I can hear it near my face.

Three.

POP.

Four. Five.

POP. This time I hear it behind my neck

Then one long intense one between my legs.  I screamed with that one.

POP. I can hear it again, but I cannot tell where it is coming from.  This time I hear it and it is followed by a smack to my ass.  It must be the belt.  

I cannot hold back the cries anymore.

Smack.

Smack.

POP.

Silence.

Where am I Sir?

I am very, very cold and I cannot open my eyes.

My ears are buzzing but there is no defining sound.  My body is shivering but I feel a warm hand on my stomach and one in my hair.

My heart has slowed.  

My mind is jumbled and dark.  I’m not really sure what is going on.

I don’t know how long it took but my eyes finally flutter open.  It takes several tries.  The room is very bright, even though we have black out curtains up.

I finally open my eyes and I see Master there.  I am laying on my back with my head in his lap.   He is watching me.  He seems worried. 

I see his lips moving but I cannot understand what he is saying.

Everything is a blur, but I can guess what happened.  

I stare up at him with a soft smile.  I am in the safest place right now.

He is waiting for an answer.  

I know the question.

“My name is Joji.”  I see him breathe a little easier. 

He brushes my hair from my face and rubs soft circles on my tummy with his thumb.

“And my name?” The question sounds so soft to me, but I can hear him again.

“Master.”  As I see him smile, I know that we are both going to be fine.

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.