so, um....fantasm....yeah....
fantasm was absotively posilutley the best eye-opener for my life in a long, long, time. there are no words to explain the experience and i haven't completely resolved everything in my head. i twisted my ankle in a war with a girl i met...
she was color and life breathed into a mortal shell. her eyes called out to me, "take me, love me, beat me, whip me." and then she turned and walked out. my heart fell, my desire wanned as i took another swallow of the courage of my family. she had left, without so much as a wink or a smile. how am i to know? how am i to understand this new desire? how do i pursue that which might not welcome pursuit. and then she turned. she smiled and looked down like southern belles of old to a new suitor. her head tossed in the direction of an open room and with outstretched fingers indicated a very quick arrival time. a deep breath brought new life into my lungs and relieved the lightness of my head.
i enter to find my new addiction being wrapped in plastics of greens, blues, and reds...a color for every emotion i was feeling. silence was the conversation of choice until a duffle bag was unzipped revealing a trove of wonders waiting to bring a nice young girl to her knees. children on christmas will never be as bright-eyed as i, when the choice was before me to select my weapons. ah, the pleasures of inflicting pain. for an appetizer i brought forth a nuremburg wheel and a set of claws, expressly to tantilize and bring her excitement to acceptable levels. "i will work to elevate you." and i must admit, my sadism began to take hold. "just enough to bring you down." my next instrument was a mit made from the tender, soft fur of a hare, but accented with small razors in the fingertips. my riding crop also called for attention. her pain was exhilarating. however, it seemed she had had enough.
the plastic encasing her supple flesh was breached. and in the barrier's weakness she found her escape. suddenly the submissive role she chose mutated into malice and revenge. she would have satisfaction! left with only my crop, i raced to the bag to find a suitable weapon. the only thing with the versatility that i required was a second riding crop. turning to face my opponent, i see her weapons of choice are matching floggers. this war will be messy. she was ready and attacked with feral angst. remember, the most beautiful thing about strangers is that they know nothing of your abilities. with a quick step and moved easily into position to deliver the first strike. it's impact was felt by participants and observers alike. she waited to turn, allowing the fullness of the blow to sink into her skin. the ultimate shame is that her panties stifled admiration from the audience. but the little bones in their ears told them it was powerful. turning, her eyes promptly found mine. behind the soft hazel shade of her eyes a storm was brewing that could not be controlled. no more games, now it was her turn.
she came like a wild beast freed from its prison. and this time her attacked landed. my best attempts to hinder her blows were nothing compared to her animosity. she threw me down. she pulled my shirt from my body as i wrestled to gain control of the situation. but all was futile. back to our feet we begin the real battle. crops flailing, floggers flogging. the tapestry of our bodies became like bloody, industrial sunrises, equally beautiful and painful to see. the scene blurred while our bodies brought destruction upon the other. in a moment of regrouping a stepped back to survey the battlefield once more. my plan of attack was direct and in seeing her heaving breaths and frail demeanor i lept towards my prey. but in my attack i myself became weak. i myself became frail. i myself collapsed as my right foot buckled under the speed of my desire. the pain was dulled by the drugs, but the severity of the situation made me utter a word that was safe. i laid there and breathed. she laid there and breathed. we moved closer together and held each other to comfort the others wounds. how anticlimactic of a finish, but in her the smell of her sweat, the heat of her skin, and the tenderness of my flesh, i found a comfort for which no previous experience could provide reference.
often i have hated to leave a person. often i have made reasons to stay and experience more. but this experience was complete. and there were no words i could use or looks i could give to let her know how the rightness of our pain.
-end
okay, so i may have used a lot of fancy words, but if you were in a fight with another dominant and ended up twisting your ankle like a fucking pussy, you'd make it sound pretty, too.
more later, with pics.....hehehehehehehehehe
-kip