The Erotic Writer

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Red Flag

I struggled with this. The little stereotypical feminist who still has the audacity to reside in the back of my brain was screaming and knocking things over… I could barely hear myself write. – X

 

 

The air in his study was scented with book dust and the ghost of his russet flesh. He’d been hard at work on a new project for over a week, only emerging to run and shower.

I was lonely.

I tiptoed in front of him and squinted at something on his desk, arching my back. The yoga pants I wore were so tight that the center seam could replace his caresses. Almost.

Not really.

But he didn’t even look up.

My complaint died in my throat as he grabbed my hips in his big hands and squeezed hard enough for me to feel my bones. One hand traveled between my legs and the other went smoothly up my shirt as he pulled me onto his lap.

Both hands rubbed, then pinched. I was wet so quickly I felt the heat of my own juices along with him. He growled softly with approval and I went from wounded to desperate in seconds. I turned and offered him my naked mouth but he just stared, breathing his breath into me. His fingers were expert.

Slow pinch.

Flick.

*Squeeze*

Rub.

Sigh…

I rubbed him over his jeans. He was gloriously ready, yet he pulled me to standing and nudged me toward the door without a word. He flipped the page of his notebook with still-sticky fingers. I didn’t exist in his world anymore.

I gave him a stony look and stalked out, still throbbing. I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for the din between my legs, so I decided then and there to finish myself off in our cold bedroom. Again. Right before the door slammed behind me he whispered something at his notes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

<<{{[[O]]}}>>

The bowl of cereal was getting soggy, the peeled banana beside it turning a scatological brown.

My lust was an unfamiliar animal caged inside my ribs. He’d always been intense, but sometime during the course of our relationship, the tables had turned. Before, I had waved myself in front of him like a red flag and he’d reacted accordingly. I reveled in his taurine aggression… but now, his vice-grip on me was undeniable. Confusion and frustration was replaced by almost frightening desire just as soon as he decided to put his hands on me.

He walked in and rummaged in the fruit bowl, determining their ripeness by touch. A store-shiny apple. A leathery pomegranate. He thumbed the blush crevice of a white peach. I let out a muffled yip.

He bit into it and smiled around the peach gore. Just before walking out, he put a warning finger on the crook of my neck.

“I mean it.” His hand still smelled like me.

<<{{[[O]]}}>>

The sun slanted crazily into the window when I heard his study door open again. I stretched on the bed and pulled up my thigh high socks, one of his few vices. My nipples hardened at his footfalls. I laid on my stomach and arched my back. I held my breath.

His gait slowed at my semi nakedness. I spread my thighs. He took a step toward the bed. I turned and he saw taut nipples. He took another step toward me. I reached out to him…

…And he tipped into the bathroom and locked the door.

I bounced off the bed and walked into the closet, cursing. I grabbed an expensive shoe and started to beat the wall with it. It felt good to destroy something beautiful. My breasts jiggled crazily with each blow.

A big hand appeared in my peripheral vision and grabbed the shoe out of my hand. He shushed me before I could yell, pushing me up against the wall chest-first. He knelt behind me and slid the heel on my foot, then made me put on its pair. I felt the heat of his breath where it counted.

“Arch your back for me. Like before.” I didn’t want to obey, but my body betrayed me. My ass jutted out in front of his face. His hands trailed up the outside of my legs, smoothing the socks he loved so much. He bit a sock higher up on my thigh, then bit me right at the crease were thigh met ass.

I whimpered. He chuckled.

He bit the other side hard enough to ache. I reached back to rake my fingers through his hair but he slammed my hand against the wall. “No touching.” My lips quivered, but my hand went limp.

He palmed my ass. Spread. Squeezed. Bit. My forehead was to the wall and my breath was hot and wet as sweat on my face. He caressed the swell of my ass, and bit a cheek. Then, the other.

He licked spirals into my bruised flesh, then kissed his way up my back until he reached my neck.

Once there, he bit hard enough to make me whine.  His heat-seeking fingers found me quick and rubbed his name into my clit.

I kissed the wall without thinking.

He hooked three fingers inside me, head bowed to take in my moan. Then, he pulled his hand from between my legs and headed back to the bathroom.

“I’ve got a dinner meeting in an hour, honey,” he casually said over his shoulder.

What?!” It came out a wheeze.

“Meeting. My agent called earlier, talking about some opportunity…I’ve got to get ready.” He was naked and hard, but his face wasn’t even flushed. Before I could stop myself, I slapped him.

“Asshole!”

He rubbed the welt on his cheek and looked me up and down. I shivered, but my lust didn’t let me back down.

“Fuck off already. You’ve had your fun.” My knees shook.

“I certainly have.” His voice was icy.

I stomped into the bedroom, long-legged as a giraffe in heels. “Oh yeah? Well, you can forget having any more fun at my expense because I swear on everything that’s holy that there’ll be no fun until I-”

He slapped his hand over my mouth and wrapped his arm around me. I pounded on his muscular arm and kicked with all my might but he was too big, too strong for me to significantly hurt him. He walked us to my vanity and knocked all the expensive bottles off with one swipe.

My scream went from muffled to strident as his hand moved from my mouth to the back of my neck and pressed my face into the mirror. His face was flushed now, his teeth bared. He spread my legs apart forcefully with a knee.

“You son of a bitch,” I growled.

“What did you swear before?” He yanked at a fistful of my hair.

Fuck you.”

He smirked, then slammed into me hard enough to push all the air out of my lungs. He was fast and so relentless I couldn’t catch my breath to moan. Pinpoints of light danced around his reflection and mine. For some reason, getting what I wanted only made me angrier.

I growled and tried to buck away, but he was buried deep inside me, holding me to him.

I spit in his face.

His eyes widened and he slapped my mouth. Hard.

He’d never slapped me before.

The unsounded depth of his eyes frightened me. I felt in my bones that we in a place he’d constructed carefully in his fantasies, and I didn’t know whether I liked it. Fear trumped anger and I went lax, but my pussy grasped his cock hard enough to slow his thrusts.

My body had spoken. It was all he needed.

He licked the glossy bloodboil  on my lip.

The head of his cock caught somewhere inside me and I cried out. He slapped and pinched until I felt heat, tasted salt but I didn’t tell him to stop. He stuck his tongue in my mouth to taste me.  He hurt tonguing my little cuts, but his saliva tasted good steeped in my blood.

He fucked a deeper hollow into me, but I was completely enthralled by what he did to my face. I held my breath as he licked the bruises on my lip, eyes closed in ecstasy. He bit hard enough to draw fresh blood, then groaned. The sharp, sudden pain made me flutter around him. He stuck two fingers in my mouth and then wiped them on my neck and breasts, leaving bright crimson streaks on my skin.

Seeing the red made him quicken, and with a final growl he spurted inside me. He shivered against me as he licked the drying blood off my neck. Although I was pinned by his cock, I still felt like a spectator in the scene.

He shoved his fingers in my mouth again and his fingertips came out a frightening red. He rubbed it into my clit, then fell to his knees and sucked my hard clit into his mouth. My reflection bounced rhythmically with the deep trollings of his tongue.

His come, mixed with my blood, worked deep inside me then out again by his restless tongue…

My hands turned to trembling fists on the vanity. He sucked for his pleasure, not mine but my breath still stopped, started, stopped again. A red-streaked rivulet of saliva dripped from the corner of my mouth. When he bit where he’d been sucking my orgasm slammed into me like an invisible freight train. He tugged my twitching clit with his teeth, never losing his rhythm even as I bucked in his face.

The heat wasn’t concentrated in my cunt anymore –  it was also in my scalp, my face, and every pinpoint bruise his teeth had made on my skin… it was like many little, intense orgasms instead of just one.

I didn’t realize I’d been crying until he licked the tears from my cheeks. It was surreal to be almost frightened by the man I loved, but he was just as kind now as he’d been cruel before. He gathered me in his arms and carried me into the bathroom, covering my bruised face with gentle kisses. He set me down on the porcelain throne and drew a bath. My mouth tasted like I’d sucked on a dirty penny.

“Don’t you have a meeting?”

He tested and re-tested the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot for us. I hiccupped like a child who’d cried herself soporific.

“He’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” He caressed me with a new, less restrained tenderness.

He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out something pearl handled and wicked with stainless steel. He gave me a long questioning look. “Will you do this for me?,” he asked. He held out the straight razor with both hands, head down, just a humble servant making an offering to Kali.

I shivered, but my skin was damp with heat.

“I promise I will never, ever hurt you. Let me show you how much I desire you.” The cracks in his voice doubled and tripled in the strange acoustics of the bathroom. He was hard — hungry — again. Most surprisingly, so was I.

My ears rang as I took the blade and stepped silently into the water.

About ximenawrites

I undulate in your vision A strange beauty in a world of plastic, collagen and steel The endearing oddball the living, breathing Picasso that you want to figure out but too afraid to venture into my penumbra you cower at the gate, fingering the knob on the door to my most secret place wishing you could find the courage to walk with me love me, just as I am

14 comments on “Red Flag

  1. paul1510
    April 15, 2012

    Ximena,
    wow, a very hot piece of writing.
    I used to like a little rough play, but I doubt that I could play that rough.
    Good thing it’s fantasy.
    Your inner feminist shouldn’t worry.
    Warm hugs,
    Paul.

  2. Mystique
    April 15, 2012

    Sometimes I wonder if some of our inner muses throw tantrums to try to guide us to the right source to tap into as a writer for new pieces. That’s not to say you shouldn’t try to break new ground or experiment but if it’s really causing a racket inside, I don’t think one can truly spin something at max level since they’re fighting so much inside.

    For me, rough and dark is a welcome but for this piece (esp from the female’s point of view) it just felt like a domestic violence scene which just happened to have some sex in it, by the time I was reading the part about her blood being spread all over, I was queasy.
    (Probably cause of the injuries she was sustaining from the desk and mirror)

    It wasn’t ‘lost in the passion hence things got really rough and injuries occurred’, but the psychological, emotional and then physical abuse to the female felt so complete that I found myself being drawn and focused to that through your writing than anything else.

    I wonder if the same scene was written from the man’s point of view, would his thoughts and feelings behind it make it hotter for me since he’s the aggressor in this fantasy, perhaps the one holding the power and discovering new darker sides to themselves by accident could be another suitable way to depict human sexuality at a bestial level, if that was what you were aiming for with this piece…

    This isn’t a reflection on your writing skill as it was crafted as skilful as always, I could envision and feel everything clearly and sharply, but it is one of many responses that your writing has churned up, this is what I happened to feel while reading this.

  3. vanillamom
    April 15, 2012

    wow …wow…

    hot and violent and intense and …almost redemptive.

    this was *smoking* in its intensity. Yes I’m repeating myself.

    nilla

  4. wordsmithingimp
    April 15, 2012

    Not every moment of this was my cup of tea (though I think I know a few people who would be all over it), but I’m really happy that you stepped outside of the comfort zone of a lot of people and wrote it. I liked the weird kind of vulnerability on both parties–the girl in enjoying something that feels awful, and the guy in sharing his darker fetishes.
    I do see a bit of what Mystique was talking about with abuse–mostly in the sense that it doesn’t sound like these two had ever talked over the idea of play this rough before. While in concept it’s not all that different from some of the other non-con stories on this blog, I know there was a difference for me largely born of the fact that the guy in this is presumedly a significant other introducing a very violent and unnegotiated dark side, rather than some sort of stranger or otherwise clear protagonist. I’ve been masturbating to the latter since high school–while the former hits closer to legitimate fears I have about abusive relationships hiding under the guise of “kink.”
    Still though, there’s a definite difference between this kind of story as a fantasy, and this kind of story as an actual relationship. And you worked in enough hot description (especially loved the “invisible freight train” and the bit with all of the bite-bruise-mini-orgasms) to keep me hooked throughout the piece despite my reservations. So I think that’s a job well done on your end. :)

  5. Wyeth Bailey
    April 15, 2012

    Brilliant. I just . . . sigh. I reluctantly admit to being aroused. And I think that is a reflection of the story’s redeeming core: her ambivalent — no reluctant, defeated arousal (that I choose to believe is at a level above a physiological rape reflex response). As reader, I found myself slip easily behind his angry eyes and hands, then to her damaged mouth, her fearful heart. The effect was disorienting. Really brilliantly choreographed. This is not pornographic violence. This is art. I will be forever bothered by my reactions. Brava.

    • ximenawrites
      April 16, 2012

      If she really wanted to, she could’ve fought him off. Impaled his shins with her heels. Explicitly told him to stop.

      But she didn’t.

      She was simply keeping herself & reacting to this new side of the man she’d loved [and fucked] for years. She was scared, disoriented, maybe even mildly disgusted by his bloodlust – but not put off.

  6. ximenawrites
    April 16, 2012

    Thank you for your honesty! You can’t imagine how pleased I am at *all* of your responses, both enthusiastic and reluctant.

    //I wonder if the same scene was written from the man’s point of view, would his thoughts and feelings behind it make it hotter for me since he’s the aggressor in this fantasy…//

    You bring up an interesting point.

    I considered writing in his POV [or in the third person] for precisely the reasons you mentioned before, but I chose not to capitulate for the sake of my own comfort and the comfort of others.

    I had to write it from her POV.

    //For me, rough and dark is a welcome but for this piece (esp from the female’s point of view) it just felt like a domestic violence scene which just happened to have some sex in it//

    Does consent make what happened between them completely okay in an arbitrary, ‘normal slice-of-life’ sense?

    If submissives/slaves are completely honest with themselves & their Dominants/Masters, it’s not all flowing juices and unending pleasure and the perfect amount of pain every time. Even with consent there is fear, reluctance, cruel humiliation, frustration, despair and insecurity.

    I felt compelled to explore and write a scene between two people [who love each other deeply] during a violent sexual/spiritual epiphany.

    The protagonist loves her husband. She trusts him implicitly. And, in the end, *she’s* the one wielding the weapon.

  7. wordsmithingimp
    April 16, 2012

    “Does consent make what happened between them completely okay in an arbitrary, ‘normal slice-of-life’ sense?”
    Again speaking more from a personal place than broadly, it was less the specific actions of the characters, and more the overall concept of shady consent within a relationship that made me hesitate.
    I kept thinking more of that sucky situation where a dom/top tries something radically new and the bottom, initially too shocked and disoriented to express their discomfort, goes along with a scene that isn’t actually okay with them. That is not at all the kind of situation you were writing about–the bottom in your story was clearly discovering a new facet of her sexuality and enjoying it. It’s simply that in reading about her headspace, I was inevitably reminded of scenes that have started out the same way for close friends of mine and then veered into traumatically different results.
    You were completely successful in conveying a “sexual/spiritual epiphany”– particularly with that bit about offering to Kali. :P I can just *also* understand an “Isn’t that abuse?” reaction. Violence in sexuality is weird and complicated, and we all need different boundaries to make what we do feel okay. I personally need a certain kind of negotiation before I can give someone reign to terrify me. Other people like greater or lesser degrees of “feeling it out.” C’est la vie.
    That wall of text aside, I’m all kinds of excited about the way everyone on this blog has been pushing their comfort zones as writers, and everyone’s comfort zones about what makes “acceptable” erotica. It’s seeing this kind of drive to innovation that should allow folks to see the genre as more than porn–as lovely as porn can be.

  8. Liz
    April 16, 2012

    This was fantastic. Primal, rough, and harsh, yes but also arousing, dominating and visceral. I never got the feeling this was anything less than consensual and being in her head showed that.

  9. LittleOne
    April 17, 2012

    Wow. A really interesting story and one that I felt conflicted about. Her genuine suprise when he slapped her was a really good marker for the relationship taking a new turn, one that feels he had had more thoughts about then her. Doesn’t feel like abuse to me, cause she could have said no, or stop… feels more like a scenario that they’d talked about but he just pushed it abit further, just abit out of her comfort-zone. For me that was really hot.

  10. Pingback: » THIS Is Why Erotica Readers Are Happier People Lexi Maxxwell

  11. dirk
    May 12, 2012

    Really liked this. Uncomfortably sexy. The prose is so clean and simple but the total effect is so alien and other.

  12. Remittance Girl
    June 30, 2012

    Having a dark turn of mind, I was left with the impression that he was handing her the straight razor to sit in the bath and slit her wrists with. I’m assuming that wasn’t your intention. (Perfectly valid if it was, but your other work that I’ve read leads me to suspect not).

    I loved the writing. Some of your metaphors were magnificent.

    “I kissed the wall without thinking.” What a gorgeous line.

    I really liked the build up of this. I like the way it addressed the conflict as reaction to rejection. He’s something of a cypher, which is understandable in the context of such a short story. But it’s my way of saying… these two intrigue me. I’d like to read more about them.

    Thanks for posting this.

    • ximenawrites
      August 4, 2012

      //Having a dark turn of mind, I was left with the impression that he was handing her the straight razor to sit in the bath and slit her wrists with.//

      You’re not completely wrong. Maybe he just wanted her to nick a vein…have a better taste.

      Even if I had written a longer story, I would’ve wanted him to remain ‘the man in the study’. I don’t want the reasons for her keen desire for him to be too apparent to the reader. It adds to the mystery…even the flash of disorientation or discomfort at the intensity of the fucking.

      It forces the reader to fill in the blanks. What lover would you have let get away with that? Suddenly, the mystery man (or woman) has a face and a personality.

      Thanks for commenting :)

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