Taken and The Orgy

A sweet scent of night wafts cascading through the window-screen across
my body in the bed, limp, satiated, sheets silken wrinkled around me. I
am helpless here, spread out, pink-beige flesh, deep crimson desire, an
immolating passion, a need want so
deep I can feel it in singed flakes of torn desire running rampant
through my blood and taste it in my mouth my empty open craving mouth.
Satiated, yes, but the night air calls my name and I am once again
stranded, alone, wanting and waiting, watching, seeking
release, willing to drive myself there but preferring another, any
another, many anothers.
My nipple deepens in color, erects, grows meaty and firm, blossoming
before my eyes, transfixed and staring helplessly, helplessly. I can do
nothing but wait. Blackness surrounds me the cool air arouses me. Shards
of passion prick at my skin, seeking to draw out my red red, soul dark
blood, seeking to claim me, oh yes, that is it, claim me, bend me to its
will, force me into the body of this insatiable creature and yet I love
it. He placed the bracelet, intricately carved, a glorious thing of
beauty an immense thing of
power and glory upon my arm, grasping it delicately, softly, his nails
slightly into my skin, his soft finger-pads marking branding me with
heat, and he commanded me to wear it always as a sign of his ownership.
It felt so light so airy free as he chained me, so
vanishing and palpably soothing simultaneously as he bent his head to my
lips, then his lips to my nipples calling to him, being soothed by the
warm wetness of him and then between my thighs in a kiss which journeyed
me rampant wild and ecstatic across nameless lands of joy and beauty.
But he had left. Ownership remained. And the thing of beauty, the
silver chains now seemed heavy, an almost intolerable weight.. Still I
desired him, still the passion flowed through me and burst forth in
brilliant bloom only for him. Even with the others,
always his image his body him taking me, him claiming me, him covering
me soothingly in white-hot desire-passion always him, always him.
Ownership. Love and demand, desire and restraint, raging battles inside
me and sweeping rages of glory and beauty. I was not prisoner, the
chains could be lifted simply as silk but there I stayed, bonded and
bound, awaiting his return, craving my fulfillment, from him only, taken
and claimed, helpless in the soul.

———————– second story ———————

“The Orgy” by kollontai

He walked out the door, disheveled and distraught, slightly destroyed.
He’d been fucking continuously since ten, and it was one in the morning
now. He breathed in the cold air that swirled through the dampness of an
on-and-off drizzle and struggled to the car. Oh, he had come but now he
felt not satiated but restless and searching. There was no more blood in
his penis but it felt increasingly like there was no more blood left in
his body. He was emasculated and trembling, tossing himself into the car
and driving home.

Old college friends. They’d had orgies since those days and he’d
attended faithfully, finding pleasure and an enjoyable release.
Suddenly, the fun and enjoyment was gone and he felt like a devoid
shell. He’d made love from the other side now and sought something more.
He felt dirty. Sex never made him feel dirty, but he felt it now.
Although he’d worn condoms and wiped himself clean, he felt tainted and
diseased, like the fluids of the women he’d fucked that night were
eating away at him, like they were repulsive and he was too. He needed a
shower. He needed soap and water and to throw
away these clothes.

The highway was deserted at this late hour and it was only sporadically
that a pair of headlights would gleam quickly by him. He hoped the
anonymous passengers felt better than him. He felt anonymous, like he’d
just screwed a bunch of disgusting anonymous women and he was another
like them. A whore. Suddenly he broke into a
salvo of coughing, again, and again. He thought it was his flu returning
but he couldn’t control the car anymore, there were tears in his eyes
and he pulled to the side of the road. He was doubled over and nauseous.
He was dying somewhere and then it was over, and
he returned to traffic.

He came home at last, took a shower, washed all over but couldn’t erase
the taint, the loofah burning rough into his skin, pain surrounding him
all around. He fell into bed and tried to erase himself in the chafing
sheets, dreaming wild sex-dreams that brought
no satisfaction, all wide-open cunts spread before him that could not
grasp his cock deep inside them, come-dripping bodies taken by so many
yet which he could not taste. Cocks he could not suck, men who would not
take him, efforts too casual, too easily passed by and forgotten. A life
of nameless encounters, forgotten faces and lost friends.

She forgave all, swore to forget, but he did not and he fell sobbing
into her arms as he penetrated her, and as he came the tears burst forth
from him, and as she exploded and cradled him deep
his tears covered her breasts like his mouth and he cleaned her of his
come, licked her clean, purified her, and she lifted him to her faced,
kissed him, wiped away his tears, and he was claimed and finally safe.