chapter 2: fuckin' mortality
Circe says it happens thusly...
Thoughts gather and disperse... They dance themselves into numbers and shapes and words and feelings, show their independence, dependence, interdependence, flaunt themselves then flee...
And I am all there is... Waiting...
***
How long have I been in this dark? How long have I been this rigid, seemingly naked body... cold and stiff and alone and without a sense to my name? And where the hell are you? I want to call out, but either I have absolutely no control over my physicality, or my mind just hasn’t any words... But I feel no fear. I am simply puzzled... struck blind, deaf and dumb, unable to touch, breathless, intangible nothingness. I am fucking nothing. Nothin’ at all. Mmmm... It is good.
I unleash a contented sigh...
And inhale... Stomach flinches, eyes open wide. There’s air in my lungs, and my ears pound to the sound of my breath and the throb of energy chasing through my veins. I gasp. I try to jerk up, but my hands and feet are held. I form words...
‘What. The. Fuck...?’
And I’m there... here... I’m back.
Clean, new carpet smell... Muzak... White ceiling, nice art deco light-shade—stained glass, shades of red—pretty. Classy, even... Pillow under my head... Crisp linen... Furrow in my brow. A light tickle on my chest, and I look to the site and groan. Blonde again. I try to move my hand to brush the tresses away from my breast, and you know that I couldn’t. I can’t. Overwhelmed with feeling, with sense, I close my eyes, and remind myself I to breathe now. Inhale deep, to the gut, right down, and let it go. Ahhhhhh.....mmmm... Okay. I am aware.
There’s no need to look, I see myself. My Goddess soul lingers over her new clothes, appraising and applauding, making mental notes of the tailoring required. The skin is a blessing; vibrant, smooth, tight and glowing, a light shade of tan spread evenly all over a fleshy, but athletic body — quite a delight. The only change is where the aureole wraps its coffee-coloured corona angelically around a soft, rosy nipple. And they sense a watchful soul. The aureole puckers and stiffens, the nipples turn rigid, flushed right up to their pale pink tips. Breasts swell in response, and sit themselves up on their chest. Wow, they really are some good boobs.
But, unfortunately, the blonde hair is a cliché, thick, wavy, leonine, mid-back when standing, at a guess. My soul rolls her eyes, and frowns at a perfectly staged lock, laid like a path from breast to the head. The face is stereotypically pretty; unremarkable. Except to say, the eyes have it. The eyes of the Goddess always remain. We lock eyes, my soul and me, and she enters me and we are us. We open our eyes and grin, feeling snug in our new outfit.
Don’t you think we really are too good to be true?
Complete at last, with full knowledge of who and what I am, I go to brush that damned blonde lock from my breast. But again, you know that I couldn’t. I can’t... My neck arches back, the crown of my head pushing into the pillow. I shake my head vigorously, and my hair tumbles back over my shoulders. I relax back down, and turn my head to regard my plight. I look at my tied wrist, and groan. A very expensive, very nice pair of black stockings is now wrecked. One has been tied and bandaged around my wrist, the other knotted to the end of the first, stretched and fastened to, I assume, the bed leg. Damn! I wiggle my fingers and tug on the restraint. Yup, well held.
I look left, and am glad to see no more of my stockings have been ruined in the name of an unwinable game. I grin when I see your burgundy and black striped tie knotted around my wrist. I giggle, and inhale sharp as a tense heat fill my crotch. I crane my neck to try to get a look at what you’ve connected it to. And all I can do is hope it is something of yours. But I like the tie. A lot. It’s elegant, high-class, rich, and it’s silk, so I can twist my wrist within the knot. It doesn’t bite in, doesn’t dent my skin, it doesn’t have the tight elasticity of my stockings. (And it’s yours... yummm.)
Lifting my head, peering over my fairly sizeable breasts, the rise and fall of my belly... Looking down my shapely, thick-ish thighs, to my little fleshy feet. I snort. My bra. Your belt. I drop my head to the pillow and laugh and laugh, and shiver with the first pang of really, truly wanting you. I take another peep. You really are the best. One bra strap grips my ankle in a tight lasso, and the other strap is tethered over the low bed post. The twisted cups dangle inelegantly and do no more than gently sway as I kick my leg violently against your handiwork. My other leg, my right, has little chance to move. I can flex the muscles and swivel my foot from the ankle, but I am pulled tight from the hip and the knee, the joints are pretty much immobile. The belt buckle digs into my skin and chafes my Achilles. Methinks that belt could be my downfall...
So here I be... tied to the bed, spread like the splayed Vitruvian Man, harnessed in my underwear, restrained by your masculine symbols. Arms out, legs wide, head centre. My five points. I’m a pentacle. I’m a star. I’m The Star. Giggle...
This bed is my stage, and I am merely playing on it.
And play I will... for you My Man. I will shine. For You. My Man.
The mere reminder of you and my cunt contracts. Oh ye gods, what you don’t to me... My pussy is just so full and so sensitive, that all I have is tense my pelvic floor, and I am absolutely consumed by pre-orgasmic bliss. I close my eyes and groan, nuzzling my head back and into the pillow. I tilt my hips up and push my arse down, slowly wiggling it left and right. I clench my cunt in a slow and steady rhythm, squeezing on sweet cream, feeling my clit come alive, as my flaps nudge against it... ever so softly... with every forced contraction.
Your breath tickles my ear. I tilt my head and purr... Mmmmm. I knew you were here. I hula my hips and exhale long, feeling the thrilled warmth build in my belly and spread. Your low, raspy whisper in my ear, ‘Circe....?’
I know I say, ‘Yes, My Man?’, but my guts leap into my throat when I hear you speak—they block my voice so what you hear is just a garbled groan... and I ooze. I open my eyes, and look to you, my ear buzzing with your breath and your sexy proclamation of my own true name. But where are you? My eyes search the room, my nostrils flare, my ears alert for any sound. Where in the fuck are you?
I look to each tied wrist and strenuously tug on each hold. I wrap my hands around the bonds, and pull hard, hoisting myself up some. Fabric rips on my left, and I get some extra length, enough to rest on my slightly bent elbow. I smile and take some weight on my arse. My right leg is still pulled tight by your belt, but there’s some give in the left, and I yank and feel the bra strap noose burn into my ankle. I turn slightly to the right, taking the weight onto my right arse cheek and hip. My clit pulsates madly against the touch of my labs. And again, I squeeze...
I watch over my tits and tummy, past pointed peaks and gentle slopes, admiring my golden strip of pubic hair, watching my pussy work itself. There are small rhythmic grunts in my throat, and my heartbeat blasts, blares. I clench and release, feeling juicier, fuller, softly swollen and tight. I release I long sigh and drop my head back, hair caught in a pile between my upper back and the bed, throat fully exposed, chest slightly raised.
I giggle low and think of the lengths you gone to... To make me yours, at your mercy... to force me to relinquish my control... tame me... to make me beg for you. Mmmm... To have me at your leisure, leaving me unfulfilled and frustrated... teasing me, playing me, trying to wear me down... I fucking outright laugh, and get sticky as I do. Circe plays with pigs in mud and loves it... she is down and dirty... has skillz. You fucking dill... I really could cum laughing.
All you had to do was ask, you know?
I writhe and moan and giggle and feel my joints stretch and jerk. My nipples burn like crazy and I yearn to touch them, calm them, kiss them gently, lick them sane, and ease their pain with my tongue. My desire for myself bursts out in a long, loud moan, and foreshadowing shudder. I circle my hips, grind down where I can, starting to sweat, trying to breathe, longing for your touch, for my touch…
‘Circe....’ You breathe in my ear. My body buckles.
‘You’re mine now, you know...’ Yeah, I hear that... I lick my lips and nod... it’s all I can manage as this orgasm builds. You blow gently in my ear... a single strand of your hair brushes my cheek. ‘Do it for me, Circe...’
My belly explodes in a silent bang, the aftershocks ripple through my body. I jerk up hard, gasping, eyes wide (Where ARE you?!), jaw dropped, dumb. I hear a tear, and a piece of lacy, black fabric is catapulted onto the bed, still knotted to your tie. My left wrists aches, but my shoulder drops. Before I have time to contemplate the ruination of more tasty knickers, I am up to my third knuckle in cunt. My hand has shoved itself under my arse, wrist facing forward, aiming fingers at my hole, and shoots inside before I am even fully conscious of having broken the bonds.
I hear you chuckle low... ‘Mmmm... Yes,’ you whisper... ‘Fuck yourself... screw yourself good, Circe.’
And Circe certainly does. You know that. I rest my coccyx on my wrist, your tie padding the bone, sliding the top of my arse groove over it. I turn further to my right, tugging my left leg hard, sliding my right hip as far under me as I can, stretching that buckled leg as far as it can, not knowing I could soon dislocate the knee. Hands between my leg, fingers fucking hard, thumb on my clit, hips thrusting as far as my bonds will allow, bra swinging, belt buckle biting, stockings taut... asphyxiating my wrist, gasping. Cunt tightens. Fingers paint my interior wall with my pussy’s milk, thumb still pressing on my clit, miraculously unmoving on that slick, smooth little button. And I feel it coming and yelp. I call out your name...
And you are there. I see you and I sigh; you are there as you must be. Standing at the end of the bed, looking down on me while I fuck myself silly, eyes glued to my cunt. Watching me...
Watching as I cum... And I see you smirk as I stare at you, wide-eyed, ecstatic, frenzied, out of control... doing the exact thing you wanted me to. I close my eyes tight, lest you dare catch my eye, and I ride the wave of my orgasm... body heaving, juices flowing on my fingers, my cunt turning hard, pushing out cum, clit throbbing, brain overwhelmed by blood flow, unable to vocalise anything more than loud groans and one amazed and explicit ‘fuck’. I see nothing but stars, hear only my rasping breath and the tiny whimper in my throat, only feeling the electricity of my overcome nerves, cunt cum filling my nose, the smell giving my tongue a delicious hint.
My body heaves and shivers its finale... yet I breathe. By the lung full. I let my fingers slip out, and unthinkingly wipe them on the torn lace, pat myself a little dry with your tie. I trail my hand out from under my arse, up my side, to my mouth. I curl up as much as I can and gently suck and lick my fingers, as I breathe myself back to sanity... When I come to, I am murmuring quietly to myself as I lap at my fingers. I stretch, smile... I open my eyes, and see your haven’t moved. My eyes rise no higher than your belly. I want to look at you triumphantly... narrow my eyes at you and warn you not to fuck with me again. You cannot win. I always win. To think you thought I would be here if I didn’t want to be…
I giggle...
You chuckle...
Game over, winner decided, I gesture at the restraints, and order them off... I wait for them to fall.
But I couldn’t... I can’t.
I...
You chuckle.
And I know. I sigh. I know. I have fucked myself, big time, and in doing so have allowed you to completely screw me. Yes... I am yours body and soul.
‘Hehehe,’ says you.
I look up to your chin, your jaw, your winning smile, and feel you demand my gaze to yours.
I look at you. I look straight at you. I watch a tiny glint dance joyously in your eye; feel a tear drop from my own.
Oh My Man, we have fucked me mortal.
Thoughts gather and disperse... They dance themselves into numbers and shapes and words and feelings, show their independence, dependence, interdependence, flaunt themselves then flee...
And I am all there is... Waiting...
***
How long have I been in this dark? How long have I been this rigid, seemingly naked body... cold and stiff and alone and without a sense to my name? And where the hell are you? I want to call out, but either I have absolutely no control over my physicality, or my mind just hasn’t any words... But I feel no fear. I am simply puzzled... struck blind, deaf and dumb, unable to touch, breathless, intangible nothingness. I am fucking nothing. Nothin’ at all. Mmmm... It is good.
I unleash a contented sigh...
And inhale... Stomach flinches, eyes open wide. There’s air in my lungs, and my ears pound to the sound of my breath and the throb of energy chasing through my veins. I gasp. I try to jerk up, but my hands and feet are held. I form words...
‘What. The. Fuck...?’
And I’m there... here... I’m back.
Clean, new carpet smell... Muzak... White ceiling, nice art deco light-shade—stained glass, shades of red—pretty. Classy, even... Pillow under my head... Crisp linen... Furrow in my brow. A light tickle on my chest, and I look to the site and groan. Blonde again. I try to move my hand to brush the tresses away from my breast, and you know that I couldn’t. I can’t. Overwhelmed with feeling, with sense, I close my eyes, and remind myself I to breathe now. Inhale deep, to the gut, right down, and let it go. Ahhhhhh.....mmmm... Okay. I am aware.
There’s no need to look, I see myself. My Goddess soul lingers over her new clothes, appraising and applauding, making mental notes of the tailoring required. The skin is a blessing; vibrant, smooth, tight and glowing, a light shade of tan spread evenly all over a fleshy, but athletic body — quite a delight. The only change is where the aureole wraps its coffee-coloured corona angelically around a soft, rosy nipple. And they sense a watchful soul. The aureole puckers and stiffens, the nipples turn rigid, flushed right up to their pale pink tips. Breasts swell in response, and sit themselves up on their chest. Wow, they really are some good boobs.
But, unfortunately, the blonde hair is a cliché, thick, wavy, leonine, mid-back when standing, at a guess. My soul rolls her eyes, and frowns at a perfectly staged lock, laid like a path from breast to the head. The face is stereotypically pretty; unremarkable. Except to say, the eyes have it. The eyes of the Goddess always remain. We lock eyes, my soul and me, and she enters me and we are us. We open our eyes and grin, feeling snug in our new outfit.
Don’t you think we really are too good to be true?
Complete at last, with full knowledge of who and what I am, I go to brush that damned blonde lock from my breast. But again, you know that I couldn’t. I can’t... My neck arches back, the crown of my head pushing into the pillow. I shake my head vigorously, and my hair tumbles back over my shoulders. I relax back down, and turn my head to regard my plight. I look at my tied wrist, and groan. A very expensive, very nice pair of black stockings is now wrecked. One has been tied and bandaged around my wrist, the other knotted to the end of the first, stretched and fastened to, I assume, the bed leg. Damn! I wiggle my fingers and tug on the restraint. Yup, well held.
I look left, and am glad to see no more of my stockings have been ruined in the name of an unwinable game. I grin when I see your burgundy and black striped tie knotted around my wrist. I giggle, and inhale sharp as a tense heat fill my crotch. I crane my neck to try to get a look at what you’ve connected it to. And all I can do is hope it is something of yours. But I like the tie. A lot. It’s elegant, high-class, rich, and it’s silk, so I can twist my wrist within the knot. It doesn’t bite in, doesn’t dent my skin, it doesn’t have the tight elasticity of my stockings. (And it’s yours... yummm.)
Lifting my head, peering over my fairly sizeable breasts, the rise and fall of my belly... Looking down my shapely, thick-ish thighs, to my little fleshy feet. I snort. My bra. Your belt. I drop my head to the pillow and laugh and laugh, and shiver with the first pang of really, truly wanting you. I take another peep. You really are the best. One bra strap grips my ankle in a tight lasso, and the other strap is tethered over the low bed post. The twisted cups dangle inelegantly and do no more than gently sway as I kick my leg violently against your handiwork. My other leg, my right, has little chance to move. I can flex the muscles and swivel my foot from the ankle, but I am pulled tight from the hip and the knee, the joints are pretty much immobile. The belt buckle digs into my skin and chafes my Achilles. Methinks that belt could be my downfall...
So here I be... tied to the bed, spread like the splayed Vitruvian Man, harnessed in my underwear, restrained by your masculine symbols. Arms out, legs wide, head centre. My five points. I’m a pentacle. I’m a star. I’m The Star. Giggle...
This bed is my stage, and I am merely playing on it.
And play I will... for you My Man. I will shine. For You. My Man.
The mere reminder of you and my cunt contracts. Oh ye gods, what you don’t to me... My pussy is just so full and so sensitive, that all I have is tense my pelvic floor, and I am absolutely consumed by pre-orgasmic bliss. I close my eyes and groan, nuzzling my head back and into the pillow. I tilt my hips up and push my arse down, slowly wiggling it left and right. I clench my cunt in a slow and steady rhythm, squeezing on sweet cream, feeling my clit come alive, as my flaps nudge against it... ever so softly... with every forced contraction.
Your breath tickles my ear. I tilt my head and purr... Mmmmm. I knew you were here. I hula my hips and exhale long, feeling the thrilled warmth build in my belly and spread. Your low, raspy whisper in my ear, ‘Circe....?’
I know I say, ‘Yes, My Man?’, but my guts leap into my throat when I hear you speak—they block my voice so what you hear is just a garbled groan... and I ooze. I open my eyes, and look to you, my ear buzzing with your breath and your sexy proclamation of my own true name. But where are you? My eyes search the room, my nostrils flare, my ears alert for any sound. Where in the fuck are you?
I look to each tied wrist and strenuously tug on each hold. I wrap my hands around the bonds, and pull hard, hoisting myself up some. Fabric rips on my left, and I get some extra length, enough to rest on my slightly bent elbow. I smile and take some weight on my arse. My right leg is still pulled tight by your belt, but there’s some give in the left, and I yank and feel the bra strap noose burn into my ankle. I turn slightly to the right, taking the weight onto my right arse cheek and hip. My clit pulsates madly against the touch of my labs. And again, I squeeze...
I watch over my tits and tummy, past pointed peaks and gentle slopes, admiring my golden strip of pubic hair, watching my pussy work itself. There are small rhythmic grunts in my throat, and my heartbeat blasts, blares. I clench and release, feeling juicier, fuller, softly swollen and tight. I release I long sigh and drop my head back, hair caught in a pile between my upper back and the bed, throat fully exposed, chest slightly raised.
I giggle low and think of the lengths you gone to... To make me yours, at your mercy... to force me to relinquish my control... tame me... to make me beg for you. Mmmm... To have me at your leisure, leaving me unfulfilled and frustrated... teasing me, playing me, trying to wear me down... I fucking outright laugh, and get sticky as I do. Circe plays with pigs in mud and loves it... she is down and dirty... has skillz. You fucking dill... I really could cum laughing.
All you had to do was ask, you know?
I writhe and moan and giggle and feel my joints stretch and jerk. My nipples burn like crazy and I yearn to touch them, calm them, kiss them gently, lick them sane, and ease their pain with my tongue. My desire for myself bursts out in a long, loud moan, and foreshadowing shudder. I circle my hips, grind down where I can, starting to sweat, trying to breathe, longing for your touch, for my touch…
‘Circe....’ You breathe in my ear. My body buckles.
‘You’re mine now, you know...’ Yeah, I hear that... I lick my lips and nod... it’s all I can manage as this orgasm builds. You blow gently in my ear... a single strand of your hair brushes my cheek. ‘Do it for me, Circe...’
My belly explodes in a silent bang, the aftershocks ripple through my body. I jerk up hard, gasping, eyes wide (Where ARE you?!), jaw dropped, dumb. I hear a tear, and a piece of lacy, black fabric is catapulted onto the bed, still knotted to your tie. My left wrists aches, but my shoulder drops. Before I have time to contemplate the ruination of more tasty knickers, I am up to my third knuckle in cunt. My hand has shoved itself under my arse, wrist facing forward, aiming fingers at my hole, and shoots inside before I am even fully conscious of having broken the bonds.
I hear you chuckle low... ‘Mmmm... Yes,’ you whisper... ‘Fuck yourself... screw yourself good, Circe.’
And Circe certainly does. You know that. I rest my coccyx on my wrist, your tie padding the bone, sliding the top of my arse groove over it. I turn further to my right, tugging my left leg hard, sliding my right hip as far under me as I can, stretching that buckled leg as far as it can, not knowing I could soon dislocate the knee. Hands between my leg, fingers fucking hard, thumb on my clit, hips thrusting as far as my bonds will allow, bra swinging, belt buckle biting, stockings taut... asphyxiating my wrist, gasping. Cunt tightens. Fingers paint my interior wall with my pussy’s milk, thumb still pressing on my clit, miraculously unmoving on that slick, smooth little button. And I feel it coming and yelp. I call out your name...
And you are there. I see you and I sigh; you are there as you must be. Standing at the end of the bed, looking down on me while I fuck myself silly, eyes glued to my cunt. Watching me...
Watching as I cum... And I see you smirk as I stare at you, wide-eyed, ecstatic, frenzied, out of control... doing the exact thing you wanted me to. I close my eyes tight, lest you dare catch my eye, and I ride the wave of my orgasm... body heaving, juices flowing on my fingers, my cunt turning hard, pushing out cum, clit throbbing, brain overwhelmed by blood flow, unable to vocalise anything more than loud groans and one amazed and explicit ‘fuck’. I see nothing but stars, hear only my rasping breath and the tiny whimper in my throat, only feeling the electricity of my overcome nerves, cunt cum filling my nose, the smell giving my tongue a delicious hint.
My body heaves and shivers its finale... yet I breathe. By the lung full. I let my fingers slip out, and unthinkingly wipe them on the torn lace, pat myself a little dry with your tie. I trail my hand out from under my arse, up my side, to my mouth. I curl up as much as I can and gently suck and lick my fingers, as I breathe myself back to sanity... When I come to, I am murmuring quietly to myself as I lap at my fingers. I stretch, smile... I open my eyes, and see your haven’t moved. My eyes rise no higher than your belly. I want to look at you triumphantly... narrow my eyes at you and warn you not to fuck with me again. You cannot win. I always win. To think you thought I would be here if I didn’t want to be…
I giggle...
You chuckle...
Game over, winner decided, I gesture at the restraints, and order them off... I wait for them to fall.
But I couldn’t... I can’t.
I...
You chuckle.
And I know. I sigh. I know. I have fucked myself, big time, and in doing so have allowed you to completely screw me. Yes... I am yours body and soul.
‘Hehehe,’ says you.
I look up to your chin, your jaw, your winning smile, and feel you demand my gaze to yours.
I look at you. I look straight at you. I watch a tiny glint dance joyously in your eye; feel a tear drop from my own.
Oh My Man, we have fucked me mortal.