I have a confession to make: I have seen the movie, "Natural Born Killers", at least fifty times through. At least. When it was on HBO in the mid-1990s, I watched it every time it was on and I wasn't doing anything. While I was out a lot in the mid-1990s and did a whole bunch of things, I was also up all night pretty much every night, and there were hours when no one was around or awake. Aside from the fifty or so times I've watched it without distraction, I've also had it on as background noise more times than I can count.
I'm a parent now. I can't do that anymore.
But this story isn't about the movie; it's not a critique or analysis. It's about how I've never been able to get all the way through it if I've been in the same room as a woman with whom I've been sexually intimate--and my slave is no exception.
Does the movie itself turn me on? Yes and no. There are parts that would be completely hot if they involved consent and not snuff. That part when Mickey assaults the hostage in the motel room with the knife could have turned into some hot knife play action (not that I would have wanted it to actually be IN the movie--but the fantasy fragment is there). The part where Scagnetti strangles Pinkie, the prostitute, would have been hot if he hadn't killed her...and again, the essence of fantasy is there.
Consent is key, and of course, in the movie, the women are victims. It doesn't stop me from changing the behavior in my mind into something hot, and that's why I get turned on. I have no desire to kill anyone or make a woman do anything without her consent, but seeing a woman helpless, as both of these women were...well, that's how my life as a sadist began. A far lower-quality film I saw in my childhood had a woman tied up, helpless, struggling, screaming, as she found out she was about to be burned alive. The snuff was a disappointment, but the fantasy was there, and I couldn't help being turned on. I could separate it in my mind, but back then, I didn't dare think any females were actually willing to do anything of the kind: being tied up, experiencing fear, struggling, screaming...willingly?
How wrong I was.
My slave also loves this movie, and we were watching it together. After we got through the aforementioned scenes--long after; I think we were on the prison scene where Wayne Gayle asks Mickey for the live interview--I slid my hand into her pants and found her wet.
I wasn't going to finish the movie. That much was clear.
I brought to orgasm once, twice, three times, then four, and she told me, "Master, I'm getting uncomfortably wet."
"A slave's life is not about comfort," I said, as I started on the fifth.
I took her back to the room, leading her by her hair. I pushed her face down on the bed and yanked her pants off. I ordered her to take off her hoodie. She had a shirt underneath, and I took that off myself. I had use for it.
I wrapped the shirt around her head, combined the ends with a handful of hair, and held her down with the shirt securely over her face. Not only could she no longer see, but her breathing became difficult, which made her panic. She clawed at the shirt and squealed. She struggled. Her head thrashed back and forth.
She was wet before. Now, she was soaked.
Thrusting into her was easy. Holding back the orgasm took tremendous effort. I slowed my pace at first, gaining control...her panic reaction nearly caused me to fill her on entry. Once I gained control, I quickened my pace and put more force behind my thrust.
I let her panic for some time, then I took the shirt away from her face. "Does that scare you, little whore? Make you claustrophobic?"
"Not claustrophobic, Master, but scared, yes."
"And you love the fear."
"Yes, Master, It turns me on so much."
"Mmmm...you're so fucking wet. Did that movie turn you on?"
"Yes," she gasped. She was still trying to catch her breath.
"What part? Was it the knife?" I know she loves knife play.
"That turned me on, yes, but the part with Pinkie."
"He wasted her, didn't he. He should have taken his hands off, let her live, savored her fear."
"Yes, Master."
"You won't go to waste. You know why? You're my little plaything. I don't want to lose my little toy." I wrapped my hands around her neck, putting pressure on the sides. She clawed and my arms and my hands, then she gripped my upper arms hard for awhile. When they weakened, when she was losing consciousness, I let go of her neck and smacked her head. I let her catch her breath, then I did it again, but this time, I fucked her savagely while I held onto her neck. It felt so fucking good, but I was in control of my orgasm now; I wasn't going to cum until I was done enjoying her. Would have been a shame to waste her when she was this wet.
I let go of her neck, let her come back to her senses and catch her breath, then I wrapped the shirt around her head again. I fucked her harder, harder, growling and grunting,her reactions feeding my primal savagery. Then the surge came, and I exploded inside of her.
We really need to own that movie on DVD.
Afterward, we cleaned up--we needed to, badly. Fluids were everywhere. When we crawled back into bed, I cradled her cheek in my hand, I looked into her eyes, and I said, "You mean everything to me."
"You mean everything to me, Master," and she smiled.
We kissed. I stopped to kiss her nose, like I always do. It always makes her smile and laugh. I love her smile and her laugh. I wouldn't trade her for the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment