I dare to dream sometimes

I dreamed. And I felt selfish for it. Not for dreaming, but for the things I dreamed of. 


I dreamed that I lived in a nice flat in the city with my lover, wood flooring, scattered rugs, a cat, a nice big kitchen/living area, huge shower, and two bedrooms, the rest isn't really important, the rest is just what fills up the space around the aforementioned important things. 


Anyway, I lived there with my lover, his wife was out of the picture, because, let's face it, how could anybody look at my lover and not want to jump his bones? Unless they were a straight man or a gay woman. But she's neither as far as I know, all I know is that she doesn't love him like I love him. I've never met her, we've never talked a lot about her, I may be misjudging her horribly and I'll go to hell for it. I don't care. I love him. 


And as well as having my lover, I had my Sir, not living there, just staying when he came into the city. Coming over for dinner after a hard day at work, having the kind of wonderful intelligent dinner conversation I love so much, then, after dinner, after dessert and a cup of tea, bidding my lover good night, and taking me to the other bedroom to use me. To tie me up and beat me and make me beg for more and more until both of us were satiated, satisfied, and ready to fall asleep, my head resting on his chest, his arm around me, keeping me warm and safe and happy.


On nights when Sir wasn't around I'd spend my time sometimes cooking but mostly jumping my lover's bones. Fucking him until neither of us could go on, until we collapsed on the bed, soaked in sweat and cum, and slept, warm in each other's arms, spooning, warm and safe and happy. He'd have another lover too, or maybe more than one, a pretty girl or two (or more) who would come over and play with him, or both of us sometimes.


I dreamed it. And I want so much for it to be true. I feel selfish for wanting it. For wanting my dream house of love, with those closest to my heart, those I care for more than anything else in the world. 


Everybody can dream.

The point

The blood flowed steadily, hot, dark, shining in the dim orange light of the street lamp. Her eyelids flickered and she moaned, his leather gloved hand around her throat made more sound hard, the bare fingertips dug into her pale neck, bruising, hurting her, but she didn't ask him to stop, her eyes rolled back, and she gasped, eyes suddenly wide as the knife found its way to her clit, "mm, mm, please" the words were barely above a whisper, but he heard, he knew what she wanted. 
Ten.
She moaned into him, her knees trembling, he pushed the knife just a little harder into her clit and she stood on her tiptoes, imploring him with her eyes. 


Nine.
He whispered filth into her ear and she whimpered. "Please, please Sir." She didn't finish the sentence, unable to find the words, her breath came short as the knife dug into her tender flesh.


Eight.
He released her neck, grabbed her hair and threw her to the floor. Pushing her face down onto the rough road, pinning her with his fist tangled in her hair, he spat in her face.


Seven.
He forced her legs apart, shoved the toe of his boot into her soaking crotch, she cried out, tears coming to her eyes. The sound of a zipper reached her ears, and then he was inside her.


Six.
He forced himself into her soaking cunt, moaned. "Oh yeah. You like that you little cunt? Or you like it a little harder?" He wrenched her head back, arching her back, pulling her up, close to him, holding the knife against her throat so hard she was afraid to breathe. 


Five. 
He pulled his dick, slick with her juices out of her pussy and she gasped as she felt him pushing against her tight ass, whimpering in pain as he pushed himself into her, making a noise of satisfaction. 


Four. 
"God you're such a tight little slut!" A drop of blood ran down her neck, her chest, her cleavage. He fucked her harder, till she was afraid he'd tear her in half and cut her throat.


Three.
"Are you gonna cum? Are you going to cum while I break you little bitch?" "Please!" Tears ran down her cheeks, barely able to breathe, aching and battered and bruised and bleeding.


Two.
He threw her onto his back, folded her in half, slammed into her ass again and leaned down to sink his teeth into her throat, clamping down over the bloody line on her neck, drinking long and deep.


One.
A growl tore from his throat, animal, harsh, wild. "Cum! Cum for me slut!" Tell me who owns you and cum for me!" "You!" She screamed into the night "Oh God Sir!" Her screams were cut short as he clamped his mouth down over hers, her body shook, her muscles clenched around him and he growled again, jerking against her, filling her with his cum. 


They fell together arms wrapping around each other, a tangle of limbs, searching lips, tears and cum and blood and sweat. The shredded remains of her dress and stockings were scattered on the ground around them, she felt the graze on her face stinging in the cold air, the blood sticking and clotting around her cuts. She ached everywhere, deliciously.