| Forced Submission Fantasy Number One: Tourniquet Training Before the Beast .Yes, seriously…CLICK OUT OF THIS THREAD RIGHT NOW! http://www.beastforum.com/Still here? Oh goody goody goody... my fantasy form awaits her fate for your delectable enjoyment…***Thin rain and light leaving… the wood smell in the rain… the metallic taste of my own blood… the black pain of my jaw that overwhelmed me to nauseous breakdown with every jerking thrust against the bruised flesh of my limp thighs… I could not feel my right arm… I could not feel anything other than him tearing up the inside of me or those parts that he had already subdued by force… my stinging, biting, cutting nosebleed still disorientating my concentration… my tears beyond release now blinded me… his tourniquet about my throat stealing my breath every time I broke eye-contact… every time I wasn’t counting… every time I couldn’t smile for him... and all the while his black dog paced up and down at my head…“Want to see yourself?” a rhetorical question… the tourniquet didn’t move…His hand reached down the side of the workbench, and rose up with a vanity mirror. I was staring desperately at his face trying to re-establish eye-contact… the tourniquet didn’t move…“There you are Gemma… take a look…”… the tourniquet didn’t move… I desperately rasped for air… congealed spittle and blood moved in my throat and mouth in bubbles of choking panic… my eyes didn’t move from his gaze… they couldn’t move from his gaze…“Take a look Gemma…” … he flicked a casual finger at the pencil near my jugular… the tourniquet closed… my eyes swelled with pressure… my jaw exploded into a ripple of pure black grinding agony… that which I could still identify as my body beyond pain twitched of it’s own accord… the spark of life leaving my extremities, only meat remaining… my diaphragm thrashed inside of my bruised chest in a fruitless attempt at operating my lungs… I could just feel my throat close completely, that which was not physically restrained being blocked by my own fluids… the pencil jerked back of its own accord, but the blockage remained… he reached forwards and smacked the side of my head with the mirror… a stream of fluid ejected from my mouth as the pain in my jaw spiralled me out of consciousness… This time my final thought was along the lines of hoping that he had killed me…So… there was still hope…***There are certain expectations our bodies seem to have about our general experience that are readily apparent when these expectations are denied.I was once hit by a car: it clipped me off my bicycle, and as I blacked out, I distinctly remember thinking “Shit! I’m going to die! Is this it?” The last element of the internal dialogue actually expressing disbelief at the limited sphere of my life up to that point…I expected to come round in bed… perhaps I imagined I was dreaming? When I sparked back into my surroundings, folded up in a ditch, the pain immediately forced me back under. Again, I figured “This is it, I’m dead… oh shit…”And so the long day wore on… blinking in and out of oxygen reality… tiny checks to assess the damage, then closedown…Until that is my eyes opened, and stayed open… that was worse… every message from my body indicated that I was totally incapacitated… tiny exploratory movements returned a disproportionately punishing agony line straight to the very core of my tolerance…Yet I was alive, alive and conscious... alone in a ditch, miles away from home, help, or any way to summon help.For hours I continued to lie in the ditch, until it dawned on me that nobody was coming to assist me, nobody was coming to save me.That was the hardest pert of my ordeal to accept: that I was completely alone in myself throughout the whole traumatic series of events...***The burn of ammonium salts on my split lip jerked me back into hell on earth.I came round to the uncanny sensation of disbelief... had he managed to secure another victim while I had been under? The poor girl lying next to me looked destroyed. Her face was a mess of reds, blues and browns, her eyes looked so swollen I was surprised if she could see through the angry lids. Tear lines of what presumably must have been make-up spread down her battered cheeks and over her ripped ears... her hair had been rudely sliced with what must have been a straight edged blade, or even garden scissors to give the effect of a hideous parody of glamour… funny... she had the same earrings as I was wearing when I set out to meet the girls...Physical pain returned to my jaw just as my mind made the connection... my last thought being, if he didn't kill me, I would certainly do it myself at the nearest opportunity...***I rose up into pain once again, but this time froze... something was very wrong indeed, more so than even before... something ... about... the smell...The smell that had roused me from unconsciousness this time was not resuscitative chemicals, but... something terrifying... something primal... like I was prey in the presence of a predator...A new pain in my stomach and the sensation of drool falling away from my face indicated that I was facing forwards now... my diaphragm informed me that my lungs were clear, though it protested at every breath... the tourniquet... the tourniquet… was... not... there! It wasn't there! It wasn't fucking there any more! Oh god thank you thank youthank youthank you...My jaw heaved pain at my smile, and the black crush of dental nerves ground their relentless monotone of agony until I almost passed out again."I see you are happy..." My body tensed at his voice, spasms of muscle pain shooting up and down my useless frame."Good." The light went strange through the slits of my eyelids... for a moment I relaxed... and then the sensation of being hunted returned with a start... what was going on now?A boot to my bent knee ripped flesh off the cap against the wooden floor… the coldness of the wound as unpleasant as the soaring arc of pain, an awareness of my legs being restrained uncomfortably wide almost ignored, my mind frozen in terror at the sensation of a tongue working my new wound clean at the edges… I knew what the smell was now… I knew what he was doing…I couldn’t move my hands anymore… I didn’t know why… I could just about lift my head, and a little of my torso off from the unforgiving surface I was balanced over…“Uh-uh. No moving Gemma…” A straight line of pain tore out of my thighs… aftershocks built up waves of nausea and panic in my protesting sides… my head jerked of its own accord, my vision now totally blinded with blue pain tearing across my swollen eyelids… what was left of my hair was plastered to the mess of my face, and pulled at the roots in protest of this agonised movement…“Now, bitch, you get to act like a real one…”Heavy paws forced my back to arch slightly, then the pin-pricks of symmetrical claws digging, scrabbling as I shook, and finally making deep incisions as my stomach ejected its bile… the tiny drops of foul emanation flicking hellishly against my shattered bridge, and I spun briefly out of experience… My sore thighs brushed fur as my lips were probed once more, this time by a much broader intruder… I struggled to spit out the ball of vomit in my throat… and the dog found my injured opening… he pushed, and my wounds opened again… the jerk of spasming agony prompted a stronger push and my throat ejected its foul contents along with a silent scream of despair…I was vaguely aware of a presence at the side of my head, but I was beyond disorientated as I howled in surrendered misery…The dog began to swell inside if me, and I started to taste blood again… mouth still wide open in utter horror… the black agony of my jaw now dwarfed by the swelling inside of me…"I see you are happy..." a rustle near my ear, then a new overwhelming smell of plastic… I suddenly had to fight for breath… panicking, my wild inhaling brought a smooth surface into contact with my lips… my lungs started to spasm again… rough movement at my throat, and a sensation of loose constriction… through tight eyelids I saw only black…I cried as I receded… Why was I alone in this? Why did no-one come to help me, to save me?THE END***What... in… Hades am I doing exploring this particular strata of sexual domination, you might ask? In truth I am fascinated by fantasy forms that are at direct odds with the person who engages them i.e. the idea that a person can engage their dark desires safely, calmly, and without harming anyone is a joyous thing for me, and if I can assist in any practical way, then I feel very satisfied as a writer, as an acquaintance, as a friend.I’m really sorry if I offended you. It was not my intention. I posted this here to entertain fellow fantasists: lovely, calm, imaginative people who would go out of their way to free a vile wasp from a window rather than swat it… genuinely pleasant people who just need that little extra mental stimulation to achieve orgasmic joy, just like myself… that’s the real reason I write erotic fiction, that is the audience I court, and I am sorry if this quirk of mine upsets you.Now, do PM or e-mail me if you really feel bad about this, 'kay? If you do it in public, you may well find that your arguments are held up to more robust scrutiny than if we engage privately, so please, please, please engage me personally, and I will do my best to allay your fears.Thanks for reading, and do be honest in any feedback: I can’t get better without criticism, and you cannot offend me personally, I promise. |
