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Sweet contradiction. Something which feeds such unparalleled desire beneath my loin cloth. I have come to inflict pain this night, but laced around the most mind-imploding pleasure. I am intoxicated by a heady mixture of rage and painful arousal. They dance around each other delectably, each yearning like famished wolves on this chilly midwinter night. I stand just out of sight to the side of her patio, fully erect just by the scent of her fragrance and the pulsing of her quim which rhythmically regulates inside my temples. All the while my molten fury is bubbling beneath my peepers, as I have a score to settle this night. This isn’t our first rendezvous and the last time I was caught somewhat off guard. Keeper doesn’t make the same mistake twice. Not this night.
She sliced through my pelt with her sweet contradiction, courting madness in the same instance as she showed every dash of coherence and meticulous intent. I was made to bleed, in order to open myself up in front of my addressees and exhibit my own thrashing monster. It writhes on the outside now but only should I encourage this. Mostly it is holstered in the shadows but not this night. This night, I am the tree at her window. My thorny boughs are spitting sap at the prospect of making my way inside. All in good time Keeper. I must bide my time for a minute, perhaps two, until the opportunity presents to slink in unbeknownst. I lie in wait like the blackest panther, incisors bared but tongue flicking wildly behind them. The contrasting emotion has crack-like tendencies and shoots streams of anti-endorphins hellbent on smothering its brethren. Feeling my humanity dissipate is one fucking large head-rush. We’re talking peepers at twelve, pallid headboards of wanton lust. I catch first glance and everything cranks up to 13; she meanders from one side of her boudoir to the other with nonchalance, impervious to anything audible as her head is shrouded in a pure white towel. As she dries off her lively brunette hair, this presents the chance I seek and I bolt for the door stealthily and, with analogous fleetness of foot, slither inside like serpentine mist.
I time it precisely right as I lurch to the shadows just before she makes her return journey to the dresser mirror. The crimson curtains which offer foliage are still swaying but, given the fact that her patio door has been left ajar, she’s still none the wiser. To remain undetected required many mega pixels of motion in such a malnourished time-frame that I need to realign. The edges have begun to creep in and I’m doing the stalking here.
She is clad in her robe and nothing else and she opens it to glance over herself in her full-length reflection. Her angle obscures my visual and this maddens me. I feel my burly cock biting at the rim of my pants, ready to strike fast…and deadly. I contain my monster…for the time being at least. I want her to know I came. She changes coordinates once more, padding barefoot back to the well-lit bathroom. This poses another problem as shadows are no longer my friends, not if I wish to stay on the front-foot at any rate. With less than no procrastination I bound to the open doorway and again play the waiting game.
I need all of my ears about me to decipher her positioning as, should she face me, then a split-second is ample for her to arm herself. My Monster growls at weakness so my next action compounds its fury. I have to glance, once aware she has her back to me, I pour my peepers around the door frame for just one leer of her lustrous pink pelt.
Denied. Her leg is upon the tub as she shaves herself but, again, wretched blind-points obscure my ocular orbs the sight they crave. I linger there for a moment as the robe lifts just enough to reveal her exquisitely rounded back-rack. It also provides Intel as to her shaving preferences as, just as I had thought, there was one region she never shaved. Pruned but never sheared.
It’s game over for my imposing monster as I snatch at the moment and grab her mouth and lower throat and commence to dragging her kicking and screaming back into the boudoir. Although mostly muted I can hear her taunts ricochet from the palm of my left hand. I remain silent for the time being and forcefully encourage her onto the crimson divan.
I then bind her to the sturdy frame with callously tightened electrical wire, tight enough to pinch through the skin but all the while inviting her to struggle. I tie her thrashing pins second and she makes every attempt to spill some of my own crimson. Catching me fully in the cheekbone with her kneecap, I apply a tad more authority when strapping her ankles down. Now I have some down-time, perusal time.
Amazingly her curves are still hidden beneath fabric so my first move is to tease the blade I have slid from its casing behind the straps which tease it closed so efficiently. She hasn’t stopped cursing the whole time but I have shut it away so as not to allow her any kind of reprieve. Now, with her spread-eagled uncomfortably taut across the mattress, the white noise subsides once more.
“You fucking bastard. Untie me this instant” Her pleas fall on indifferent ears as I haven’t lost sight of our previous shared moments. “Shut up cunt or I’ll slice you through to the pine beneath you.” I tug on the straps with the business side of the blade and her gown is sheared wide open.
Sin and Punishment,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014