… solipsubmissive …

“Power is so characteristically calm, that calmness in itself has the aspect of strength.” ~ Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

Not only has this creep shamelessly plagiarized D’jaevle’s blog, Blood, Sex, Crimson, when he has had the wherewithal to change the words, he’s done so badly.  Horridly.  In a way that makes me shudder.

And he is my new project.  ~narrowing eyes~

You are NOT the alpha or the omega or even the stupid PriZm.  You are an egregious cretin with no discernible talent, which is evidenced by the fact that you STEAL from one who has genuine talent.  Find a new way to stroke yourself.  I’m pulling the rug out from under this one.

… immediately

Zeitgeist and Zeitgeist Addendum

‘twould be a shame to let others think for you, yes?

If i were really a tulip, i would want to be one of these.  They look tousled.  And like they’re on fire.

“Like freshly fucked flaming flowers.”

It is likely a good thing i am not currently in a relationship.  i’m ridiculously defiant, which is likely a product of the most recent beginning and ending with G.  i’m even intolerant of the usual things from my favorite sadists … the distance, the amused disdain, the mind fucks.

As one of them recently asked me … “When did you become so demanding?”

i’ve always submitted from a position of inner strength, but i think some of the things i went through this year and some of the upcoming changes in my life have put me in an interesting place.  i used to feel as though i needed to belong, utterly and completely, to a One and Only, and that he had to be a sadist.  I craved (and still crave) depth, difficulty, and … let’s face it … ever increasing levels of depravity.  But i no longer want that relationship.  At least not a one on one forever sort of thing.

i want here and now.  i want live in the moment.  And i want them with that sadist, that infuriating, intellectual sadist.  Or, possibly … more than one.  It’s an intriguing situation to ponder.  Does it mean that i’ve moved past ownership?  Belonging?  Or … can one be owned, can one belong to another, without that need for titles, attachments, and all the trappings of marriage without the actual ceremony or legalities?

i have no idea.

i do know that it brings a whole new set of problems for me.  Jealousy.  Not on my part.  On his.  Because, really … it’s too much to ask for it to be uncomplicated, isn’t it?

Fuck.

105 hits in the past hour and thirty minutes … and still counting.  

Someone in Florida has had a busy little clicking finger, now haven’t they?  ≈laughing softly≈

Effin’ sadits.  Bah.

The air pulsed with it, almost crackled with the intensity.  elise lifted her head, suddenly and urgently alert.  She’d heard nothing, seen nothing, but her instincts told her danger drew near.

After a moment, she placed her hands back on the keyboard, her fingers resting lightly on the keys, settled unerringly on home row, but she didn’t begin typing.  Even the quick clicking of the keys would mask one of her senses, and just now, she needed them all, especially the ability to detect sound.

Restless, she turned, wincing at the way her desk chair squeaked into the stillness.  Did she hear soft footfalls on the stairs?  Her stomach flipped and her breathing quickened, telltale signs that she was beginning to panic.  She closed her eyes.  Your mind is stronger than your fear, elise, she silently chided herself.  Control it.  

When she opened her eyes, she saw him.

Startled, she stood in one fluid motion, her eyes darting from where he stood in the doorway, to the open door of the bathroom fifteen feet away.

“You won’t make it, elise.”

She narrowed her eyes, a tactical error, for it betrayed her intentions, revealed the fact that she intended to fight him in this.  An instant before she lunged in that direction, he read it on her and intercepted her in two smooth strides.  Without stopping, he lifted his arm and backhanded her, then watched in satisfaction as she crumpled to the floor and pressed a hand to her temple.  She whimpered, and he smiled.

Dazed, elise rolled to her side, then struggled unsteadily to her hands and knees, attempting, once more to make it to the bathroom.  He let her gain a couple feet, then pushed her over on her side with the toe of his boot.  She curled up in an attempt to protect herself and watched him approach through slitted eyes.  His knees.  He’d hurt his knees exercising long ago, and they still gave him trouble.  He might win in the end, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

He stopped, one of his feet less than an inch from her lips.  elise turned her head so her lips rested on the toe of the boot that had pushed her into this position.  She exhaled, her humid breath fogging the polished leather, then cautiously wrapped an arm around his lower legs.  When he didn’t move, she lifted eyes spitting blue sparks to his, and watched the look of satisfaction on his face turn to one of surprise when she began pounding at his knees with one small balled up fist.

He took an instinctive step back, but elise tightened her arm around his ankles, just enough to trip him up.  He rolled with the fall, then lunged after her when she made another break for the bathroom.  ”You little cunt.”  He grasped a handful of her dark curls, bringing her up short.  He flipped her onto her back and dodged her hands when she came at him with her nails.  Before he could capture both of her wrists in one hand, he felt a sudden burn in his neck where three of the sharp tips dug furrows in his skin.

Triumph flashed in her eyes.  First blood was hers.  He bellowed his rage as he finally managed to control both her hands and pressed them painfully, wrists crossed, above her head.  With his other hand, he pushed up her shirt and bra, watching the quivering, vulnerable flesh of her breasts spill free.  His cock hardened painfully at the sight before bloodlust, fueled by the scent of his own blood and her fear, obscured his vision.  He bent and captured a puckered nipple between his teeth, then growled and sank his teeth into the flesh around it.

elise arched her back and screamed, kicking with her feet to try, somehow, to get away from his mouth, from the pain, and from the fear.  Her heels dug into the soft carpet, her efforts futile.  He covered both of her legs with one of his own, then withdrew his teeth and began suckling from the wound he’d just created.  Tears crept from the corners of her eyes to trace a path across her temples and soak into her hair.  When he lifted his face and saw them, he smiled, a dark, sanguine smile.

“Yes, elise.  I want your tears and I want your blood.”  He stroked her tangled hair, fanned out in a tumble of curls on the carpet.  ”But most of all, I want your fear … your heady, potent, intoxicating fear.”  He took her earlobe gently between his teeth and whispered, “It is something you can never deny me, slut.”  He increased the pressure of his teeth until she writhed beneath him and could no longer fight it.  She cried out, then dissolved in panicked sobs, no longer sure if he intended to bite the tender morsel clean through or not.

“Please stop,” she begged through her sobs.  He bore down harder.  ”Omigod, pleasepleaseplease, noooooo!”  Her words ran together, almost unintelligible with desperation.  He growled and fumbled with the buttons on his jeans, freeing his cock, then pushed up her skirt and scraped aside the flimsy cotton of her panties to surge inside her in one brutal thrust.

He fucked her hard, hard enough to push her in incremental bits across the carpet until her head banged painfully into the nightstand.  Grunting,  he continued to surge into her, using her, slaking his thirst and his need in and on her body.  He reached down with his right hand and grasped her thigh, pulled her leg up and around his hips, then slid his hand down to sink his nails and his fingertips into her exposed ass.  She gasped with the new pain and arched up into him, allowing him to thrust deeper, agonizingly deeper inside the soft walls of her cunt.

And then, she stopped fighting it, gave herself over to the pain, the humiliation, the degradation, allowed herself to fall, tumbling, into the abyss of his sadism.  She babbled, no longer coherent, words that weren’t words, sounds guttural and raw, tinged with desperation.  And she fucked back at him, something instinctive taking over to find the edges of pleasure in the pain.  It overtook her then, surprised her with its intensity as she convulsed around him, gripping his cock with the violence of her orgasm.  He felt it grab him and suck him down into the vortex as well, and with a last strangled cry, he ripped into her as deeply as possible, saturating and filling her with his sadistic seed, before collapsing heavily atop her.

Time stopped as they lay, tangled and tattered, breathing hard, not speaking.  Slowly, awareness returned in painful pieces for elise, as she began to feel each contusion, each wound, the sting of her abraded back.  He released her hands, and they moved, as if of their own volition, to the sides of  his head, buried themselves in his hair.  elise smiled slightly at the finger shaped bruises he’d left on her wrists.

“petal.”

One word, and her heart filled.  ”Shhh.”  Her lips pursed around the sound, then found the wounds on his neck.  She kissed one softly, then quietly began suckling until they both, utterly spent, fell asleep.

Because he finds it hot when i write for him.

Very very hot.

***

elise burst through the kitchen door, still jogging, and headed straight for the refrigerator.  she grabbed the container of filtered water and began drinking it in long swallows.  she felt his presence even before she turned to see him filling the doorway between the kitchen and the den, his hands braced on the wall above the opening.  

she smiled.  ”You’ll get fingerprints on the wall, love.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if you hadn’t been so loud.  Was it your intention to disturb me?”

Normally, such a statement, delivered in a calm, even tone, would have alarmed her, but she was in too good a mood, still high from her evening jog in the crisp air of the early spring night.  ”Perhaps it was,” she returned with an impish smile.  ”i feel so … alive.”

He quirked a brow.  ”You might feel less alive after I thrash you for disturbing me.”

she laughed at his dour tone.  ”Are you going to thrash me, Sir?”

“No.”

elise tilted her head, oddly disappointed.  ”Why not?”

“Because you want me to.”

she thought about that a moment, then shrugged cheerfully.  ”i’m sorry i disturbed you.  i think i’ll head back out and work off some of this energy.”  she opened the refrigerator and stuck the container of water back inside, then popped over to stand on tiptoe before him,  her face lifted for a kiss.  He slid a hand into her hair and tugged her head back until her neck was exposed.  He bent and began nibbling right over her pulse.

she caught her breath.  ”Or perhaps you want me to stay in and work off some of this energy,” she murmured.

“What I want, you infuriating little petal, is to destroy that insufferable optimism you consistently manage to recover.”

“i shall endeavor to be only pessimistic henceforth, Sir.”  her blue eyes danced with fun.

He chuckled despite himself, and smacked her on the ass.  ”Go.  Run.  Come back exhausted.”  she smiled.  ”I’ll ruin you later.”

“Then i have that, Sir, to which i can look forward.”  And without a backward glance, she left again, slamming the door on her way out.

He shook his head and went back to the den to shut down the computer.  Obviously, he’d get nothing else done once elise returned.  The beast within him stirred, hardening his cock.  

Already, he could taste her destruction.

Sometimes i wonder if we are inspired by the Muses … or if we are the Muses.  We three.  

Three is a magic number.

Beauty lies in everything we do, in all the things we touch.  There are no edges, nothing sharp.  Just ephemeral suggestions of the spaces between, and then even those are gone, as we entwine with one another, overlap, until those who look upon us cannot tell where one begins and the others end.  

Ah, how we dance.  Every look, every sigh, every touch is magic, as though we speak a special language that needs no words.  We thrum with energy, bleed vitality, and exude creativity in waves that roll outward and crash into the soul, sending up a spray under which one can stand, arms outflung, face upturned, mouth open and receptive, in the hopes one might become saturated in the mists of our imaginations.

You … the Lady … hands deft and sure, one with the Earth as your fingers manipulate the wet clay.  It is no accident that your creations are receptacles, objects into which one can pour oneself and find sustenance.  In you and upon you, we nourish ourselves.

You … the mermaid … spirit and soul of light, one with the Sea.  You paint stories without words, give life to creations of color and beauty were there were none.  We are your canvas. In you and upon you, we find our light.

And me … the aether … the whispers within your mind.  i am the air in the abyss, the soft, sweet darkness that encircles and embraces.  i evoke, quietly, with words, and upon you both i lean, for, without you, without your light, without your willingness to receive, i am nothing but stillness.

We are each strong and sure and beautiful on our own … no question.  Together, we are sublime.

Make love with us.  Come … share.

Embrace.