Every so often, for a couple of days, I have very dark desires. Even what turns me on is different. I’ll watch forced fantasies, consensual non consent scenes. I’ll masturbate roughly, often causing myself pain, discomfort, possible bleeding from the force of my own actions.
I’m not sure a lover has ever been able to pick it out – not even my ex husband who truly knew me and read me so ridiculously well sexually.
I don’t share the mood verbally, yet my actions, if I really reflect how they are with another, are even rougher.
One night, for example, Mr. Texas and I were in the hot tub and he was being stubborn and not admitting to his stupidity (don’t get this scenario wrong – I admitted to my own stupidity and was asking for him to do the same). I was done playing nice, so I propelled myself on his lap, dug my nails into the sides of his ribs right below his armpits, and bit down on his jawline alongside his chin.
He immediately panicked I would leave a bite mark on his face and that would frowned upon in the military (I didn’t).
He admitted he was stupid, and we made out, where I took his face between my hands and kissed him until he struggled to breathe.
Upstairs, when he reached around and grabbed at my backs of my thighs to bruise the muscle with his fingers, I bit down hard upon his chest, sinking teeth into muscle until my teeth touched into the skin. He pushed me away, told me that we needed to establish some sort of rule that that was not okay.
I mentioned our safe word, unapologetic. In my head, I was picturing my teeth tearing into his skin and my hand reaching into his heart – sort of like what you see in movies or supernatural stories.
Later, as I straddled and impaled myself upon him, I leaned forward and pushed my fingers into the deep teeth marks, smiling at his sharp intake of breath at the pain, kissing softly alongside his neck. In my head, I tasted his blood in my mouth as his pulse became weaker – sort of like a vampire movie, I suppose.
At some point in the night, I was flipped over and he was driving himself into my warm body; he slowed down and his hands softly caressed from hips to breasts, gently squeezed, caressed up to the sides of my neck. My own hands fluttered to cover his own, kept them along my fragile neck for a moment longer. I closed my eyes and imagined him squeezing the breath and blood from circulating life into my body as he was deep inside of me, stroked in and out as I grew dizzy and weary, and eventually strangled the life from me.
That would be a way to go, far kinder than most people’s, falling asleep with my lover’s cock creating pleasure, never to wake again. It would be hot if he grunted and groaned his pleasure over my unconscious body, came immediately after extinguishing my life, his semen dripping out of me.
It would be like a play, this fantasy, and the onlookers would hold their breath at the turn of events, this tragedy, and we would stand up and take a bow when the reality of the scene set in, proud of our accomplishment, our feat, our daring, and the horror and grief of the onlookers would realize that this wasn’t real, this thing in front of them, and would be relieved.
His life, my life, a life, played out to the finish.