It’s rare for a writer to make my heart hurt like this. Please give a very warm welcome back to the fabulous LM, who has shared a couple of snippets of this particular kinky relationship with us over the last few years. Her writing is as poignant as her scenes are kinky, and I’m so grateful to her for letting us peek into her play, and her emotions, and the bittersweet tone of this particular connection.
Note: this story contains references to extreme BDSM, including knife play.
My soul is yours
“My soul is yours” is what he tells me to write on my body. It’s such a hot, sexy request that when he messages it the day before we meet it hits me with that gut punch of lust but making the journey to his on several trains, I’m suddenly nervous and wonder when I’m going to get the time to write it.
Our relationship has changed a lot over the 15 years we’ve known each other. We’ve been casual, we’ve had our own BDSM love story and we’ve crossed a line and fucked as exes. Things are different still. There’s now a distance, a casualness which I still can’t get used to, but he’s hot and addictive and I can’t tear myself away.
We’ve long confessed to each other that the chemistry between us is something else. “I still own her” he says when I tell him my cunt throbbed at something he said. And he does. My cunt responds in a way I’ve never known with anyone else. My head does too.
On my way to meet him, I text him and tell him I’ve just passed the car park. The car park that he picked me up from for our first night in a hotel. His response? “Wet already?” I feel myself grin, flush and quickly put my phone in my bag so no one else can see.
When I was on my last train, he texted to say it was time to make myself come, but it was busy and my head wasn’t in it. He responded by saying I’d be punished and I couldn’t help but smile. I put my vibrator in, took my coat off, got my lipstick out of my bag and wrote “my soul is yours” before quickly putting my coat back on before someone saw. Even writing this, I feel that… shyness.
Because it’s not just the fact that he can make me wet and throb from a distance, it’s the fact that he gets me, that he got through all the barriers I had up when we met and the barriers I put up when we ended. It’s automatic.
He texts, she responds.
And yet, at this stage of our relationship, I don’t feel like I’m truly his until we’re together. It’s when I get off the train and I see him looking at me with a hunger that I haven’t seen in months that I feel like I can relax into being his. It’s when we get to his place that I know I’m his.
We take our shoes off and as he gets closer, he can hear the vibrator. I take my coat off and he holds my arm up and growls as he reads the message. It’s only then that I remember he likes and wants this as much as I do. He pulls me close and we snog and grind against each other like horny teenagers. He suddenly makes a noise and I realise he can feel the vibrations from the bullet inside me and it’s like we’re joined in the hottest of ways without even having taken our clothes off.
I know how much he wants to mark me and he wastes no time in biting my shoulder and neck. I hope that I bruise. He uses his bear claws (meat claws – his kitchen drawer is our toy box) to scratch me and I love watching the red marks come up on my body. He replaces the claws with a knife and slowly traces it down my body and then fucks me with the handle.
Later, he grabs his belt and thrashes my arse. I love hearing his belt making contact with my skin. He goes harder than he has done before, harder than he means to at one point and he stops, worried that he’s truly hurt me. Happy and buzzy, I sit down without thinking and instantly feel his work.
That evening when I get home, I rush straight to the mirror to look at the marks I hopefully have. Sadly, my arse hasn’t marked – there’s not even a hint of a bruise or redness but I have one or two scratches from his claws, a graze from the knife and a bruise on my shoulder. I sigh happily.
The next day, my throat is sore and croaky. A mark of just how much I sucked his cock. A testament to how much I crave his cock.
Over the next few days, I watch my bruise change colours. I trace it, take pictures and then see another one that was hidden by my hair. They last just over a week. He’s proud of that.
I still feel his ownership, but only in small ways now. When I hear music he’s sung, I smile or grin and sometimes shift in my seat. When I smell coffee, I’m transported back to the early days where we’d go to the park and he’d push me against a tree and we’d kiss passionately. Every now and then, I can hear the sound of my saliva hitting the floor in my house. When the sun streams through the dining room, I remember how fun it was as we played on the bean bag. It doesn’t happen often but when I have vivid dreams of us, I wake up tingling like we’ve been together. And I still send him videos of when I make myself come because that is the one rule that has always stayed.
Our relationship has changed a lot over the 15 years we’ve known each other. It might only be casual now, I might only see him once every few months, I might not feel owned like I did but it’s there. He likes to remind me I’m still his.
My soul is his.