The Noose

A very long time ago I read a story (it seemed ancient then ... now - not so long ago) about a woman who was driven by such a sexual frenzy to an orgasm while watching a man being hanged, with a noose about his neck, and a scaffold under his feet.

A crowd of both men and women were all around her. Smothering her. Touching her everywhere. From behind her. In front of her. Grabbing her breasts. Slipping hands and fingers underneath her skirt ... into her panties. The lust-driven crowd was in a fury. The whole of it -- everyone. Anyone within a distance to see.

When the victim - noose wound tightly about his neck - fell to his doom - nothing to save him, the crowd pressed even closer to the woman (how could she be a mere spectator and feel like this, she thought) ...the squirm of so many bodies allowed her to move, to coil like a snake ... in such a way so she could push forward with her lower body ... her vagina, so swollen and wet, her clit so hard and begging for pleasure ... and with only a few thrusts of her hips, she came ... long and fiery ... again and again. Like waves. You know them.

You've experienced them. Even now you may be preparing yourself for that moment of madness ... when your body is like a sea ... you roll and flow like waves of the ocean your own, special ocean

The woman's orgasm was so pleasurable she was ashamed. How could she have such passion ... such an overwhelming desire to be fucked hard and deep watching this horrible sight? The death of a man by hanging? A human dangling at the end of a rope?

That's her story. What follows is mine:

Pleasure and pain. Hot, thick candle wax dripping slowly on my sensitive skin. You -- licking my clit with each burning drip. I have to get away from you. This is too much for me. But you have such a strong grip on my hips you won't let me go. So I slither away from you. I'm down on all fours and crawling like a wildcat. How humiliating! All the while, I think of ways I could make you pay for this.

Now, your cock, hard as flint, is inside me. You pump me with your tool of destruction and pleasure as if you are a bull and I am your cow. It feels good and I hate it ... I hate YOU for it. I want to come and I can't. I need to and you won't let me. I ache for an orgasm. Screaming at you ... begging you ... hating you ... please ... let me come ....Shocked like a million lightning bolts, you slap me on the ass, my God, of all things! You order me sternly, popping me firmly, only once, with the flat palm of your hand,

"Now COME!"

Straight from my uterus and through my vagina oceans of come flow like a fountain. I'm not screaming and begging you to "please help me" anymore. I'm screaming and forgetting who I am ... shouting,

"What the hell are you doing to me?"

Again, I try to crawl away from you, like an animal, trying to escape and I'm confused ... intense pleasure ... erotic pain. All the while I'm crying and yelling at you -- things I didn't understand then, and don't understand now.

Your hands grab my hips again, tightly. Your strong, bitter-sweet grip is wound about me like a noose. You slap me on the ass once again. You don't even shout the words this time,

"Come again." you whisper, with passion and purpose in your eyes. Eyes that bore right through me ... as if you are reading my soul.

Tapped like well-water, shouts escape me, but I'm starving -- my watery cleft is desperate. My screams feel driven from me, by you again, and I'm still fighting. Growing angrier by the minute.

My body won't listen to me. My clit swells and bursts. My vagina contracts ... on and on ... over and over again ... because you ... with those eyes like lusty daggers ... slapped me on the ass and ordered me to come.

You ... now, your hard cock ... stays inside me, in and out, slow and fast, soft and hard, changing rhythms, changing direction. Everything changes except your rod, slick and hard and smooth, like polished silver. You hang tough and won't give in.

But me, I'm buckling under. Falling slowly. Giving in. My screams of anger turn to moans and whimpers. I feel a sort of "nothingness" float over me. Sighs of comfort and completion settle me deeply ... yes, I would have said it then, and I'll say it now, a deep settling, like the silence after a thunder storm ... damaging

At last I'm very much aware of you, and realize you are not laughing at me. You look at me and I feel lost. You whisper words and phrases no one should hear but me. Your finger tips touch me lightly and speak a language no one's body can understand but mine.

It occurs to me, that all this time, not one bone, not one hand, not one finger, not one leg, not one muscle has been, is, or ever will be in my control ... never when I'm with you. You are in control ... then ... now ... always.

It pisses me off ... I guess. Or does it?

I look at you again and think about how you're not laughing at me ... how you never laugh at me ... you never make fun of me. Of course, I think you don't laugh out of respect.

But the truth is, you can't laugh because it feels so damn good.

Pleasure and pain