Last friday night, after the animal play class, after causing trouble with Sals, Hunter and I were craving dirty filthy fun. The plan- drink and eat at Joe’s Garage with Sals, then head off to Tounge n’ Groove, the women and their friends night at Abode:
Oh the trials and tribulations of getting there- we caught a tram into the City, hopped off planning on getting a Taxi for the last 2 or 3k, but it took us over half an hour+ in the cold, me in white silks and corset, Hunter in a suit, before we were able to wave one down.
Once we got there, we were able to get in with a breeze, have a few drinks, get into the upstairs area… all good fun as Hunter laughed each time I asked about the music “is this good?”. You see, I am woefully lacking in wisdom of what is good Trance and House music. I know a few types of beats I enjoy, but beyond that, I’m lost.
Upstairs we caught up with The Colnel and a lovely bloke that had just come back from the Rubber Ball who knows Zille, and then, business as it were out of the way, it was time to get a bit dirty. We had planned on pulling local talent as it were, but there was almost nothing unattached so we gave up and made our own fun.
He has this beautiful MM blade tucked into the back of his suit pants, long sharp metal with a serated base.
I have the sweetest drag queen face, pretty boy in a dress, ready to have my silky knickers cut off.
It was my fault
As hand hits
against the side of my face
and I come back bleeding
thats right asshole
hit me again
hips and cock grinding up and to attention
I sat in the metal chair against the wall of the cell, hands above my head, legs spread wide wimpering as he lifted the glass bottle but pulled out the blade instead. Blade against flesh, do I really need my left eye? Pretty pretty pirate, wouldn’t I look so hot on a peg leg, I already have a parrot back in the states…
Blade slicing off underwear, fist into my face, hand into mouth, hand into cunt, hand wrapped around cock, hand across my mouth as the blade slides up into me. Don’t – Dare – Move – Don’t – Dare – Breathe
Clean blade with my fithy mouth downing another drink downing another handful of fingers desperate not to gag up all over my pretty shiny whites my lovely shiny whites as his fingers his blade pushes up between slit and thigh to find a home at a pressure point.
Turn, twist, dance falls into a heavy beat as we stand, dance, fall again and here he is now in the chair, his knife my knife in my hand, my hand steady as a surgeon with the blade at his neck, blade to his face, hand across his face. I knew the space he was in but I had to push him anyway, my hand on his hard cock, lapdancing blade in hand.
It slams into a stop- Step back fucker. Someone unaware of the subtelty of blade to silk to cravat has wandered within inches and I freeze and he and I both lock eyes with the newbie. Unaware, oblivious, and we hear someone in the hallway asking him to step back. He doesn’t get it. Not everyone does flashy scenes. It can be about words and a blade hidden underneath silk, steady hands.
He kisses me deeply.
We realized back in Sydney that we hadn’t ever truly snogged.
No deep passionate kisses. Kisses had always been a momentary brief gift between blows and promises. But after the rant of a certain Aussie Perv saying that they were concerned “Hunter was Corrupting our D/s paradigm” or some such BS, or was it challenging, thwarting, fucking with… whatever… it’s our goal now. More soon on how we fucked with it at Ballarat. But now kisses are in, are on, are part of the dance and I breathe in the hops on his breath, breath in the metal on his tongue, breathe in the depth of his tongue and sigh, swoon, dance on.
Downstairs we listen to music and I ask again “is this good?”, some yes, some no.
Strangers appear and formal introductions ensue, old friends appear and the dance swirls on. I coak my demons back inside their cages, fury bubling up at the back of my spine as he does no such thing. The scene spins into my little boy and I in a new dynamic, a new version of the story. A thousand roles, a thousand truths, another kiss and the beat goes on.
Outside we try to hair a cab with me flashing my ass to passing strangers. The dance goes on back home, in bed, under purple fleecy softness, and finally, sleep descends upon our waking world.