Redblog: Lillinn

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3 August

One day, I will show you Lilith. She knows your secrets, you see, she knows your true name, and if she wanted to, she could scream it to the heavens. You couldn’t do anything about it—she’s got you in the palm of her hand. When you see her, you’ll go weak-kneed, and you’ll know exactly what it is you want. Oh, you may resist at first, but once that’s done, that coy little game, you’ll fall on your knees and beg her to fuck you.

How did you think, after all, that it was a cock that ruled the world? Wave it around as you will, it’s only in the end something that comes and goes at my discretion and valor, but the mysterious power of my femininity is something that stays with me all the time, tied to the inexorable cycles of the moon, the tides, the push and pull that is generative, germinating life itself. I hold those secrets inside me, and you crave them. You may have creative force, but without my mysteries, your seed would fall on fallow ground, the cum-drops, tear-drops of a lonely little god.

You will fall on your knees and worship that power that you do not, cannot, understand. It’ll pull you from the base of your being, starting at the deep-seated shaft of your cock and dragging the rest of you screaming into the darkness. But you’ll learn to love that darkness that I give you.

You will kneel before me, naked, stripped bare and mercilessly, I will allow you to squirm, a soft smirk curving over blood-red lips as you grovel. The pink tip of your soft little tongue will flick out and you will guide it along the contours of those boots you love so much. You don’t even know why, but as you taste the synthetic smoothness of the vinyl, your dick will get hard, precum swelling to its tip, standing there in a tiny little viscous, salty droplet that will run to the ground, unused until I say it’s used. Even if you won’t lower yourself, your dick tells the story—it weeps for the wanting of me, for the fear that I will send you away from my presence.

You crave me, and you begin to feel it now. It starts in your belly and crawls along your thighs, where you close your eyes and imagine the touch of my crop, the biting sting of my displeasure if you fail me. You can hear me growling in pleasure as I watch you squirm; you’re hard even thinking about my pain, and your lips press gently against my ankle. You can’t help but moan softly, and that song takes on a life of its own, flitting out into the room. A whisper of the damned. I hear it and smile; my breath picks up to see you like this, a slut on his knees.

I tell you to look at me, because I want to see that desperation in your eyes, and you don’t disappoint me. I turn, pivot effortlessly on the balls of my feet and tell you to get to work worshiping those long, milk-white legs that you say you love so much. I can feel the tremble in your fingertips as they run over fishnet and garters. If you were in a position to, you’d bend me over the bed and fuck Betturkey me senseless right now, but you’re not, and you know if you so much as think about it, I’ll beat the need right out of you until you remember why you’re here.

Soft, moist lips caress the backs of my thighs, the soft curve of my ass that peeks out from underneath the short skirt. Your fingertips clench into my thighs because you can smell it now, the wetness of my cunt, the scent of arousal pervading your nose as you draw in a deep breath. Oh god, oh god how you want it.

But it’s not god you should be asking. You will witness the presence of Her Grace.

I see you overcome by your own desire. Now is the time to show you, to remind you that it is not your own whims that you should listen to, not the fickle god inside your cock that is directing this little soiree. I turn to face you, crook my gloved finger under your chin, and guide your face up to look in my eyes. You can see that I’m not pleased, and something inside you curls around itself in abject fear.

I grab you by your hair, and tell you to get to your feet. But I don’t give you the time to think it over, and jerk with all my might. You’re coming whether you like it or not, and I guide you the precious few steps to the bed with an iron grip. I force you to stand there for a moment and, looking down, you can see, for the first time, the graceful arc of my tits curving over the top of that vinyl bustier that you love so much. Oh, how you want to bury your face in them, have their weight hanging on either side of your face as you kiss the moon-pale skin, and flick your tongue on a taut-and-tightening nipple.

“You need,” I purr, “to remember why you’re here.”

And I wrap my hand around your cock and squeeze tightly. You gasp. I grab your hair and pull you to me, taking from you a kiss with bruising force. I push you hard to the bed, and bark for you to get on your knees.

The crop fits into my hand like I was born to hold it. It arcs through the air with you unprepared and comes down on that white skin, striating it red. Red, white, red, white, red, white, as your blood rises to your defense, and I am cruel, cruel enough to continue to whip you as you moan, and squirm, knowing better than to jerk away. There’s a spot underneath you on the bed, getting bigger, a dark wet spot. You can’t hide it from me, how much you need me, and it makes me lord my power cruelly, bearing down harder with that whip.

“Why are you here?”

“For your pleasure, My Mistress, My Goddess,” you gasp, the words coming out reflexively, like they are words you have always known and lived.

“What do you do when I want something?”

“Give it to you,” the words come out uneven as I give you another slash across your ass with the crop. You push your ass out towards me like you’d really like for me to put some lube on these vinyl gloves, and jam them straight up until I find your prostate, Betturkey Giriş rub it until you collapse in trembling ecstasy.

“What do you do when you want something?”

“Ask you if I may have it,” you say, your voice ragged.

“Good,” I say. “On your back.”

The assent comes almost instantaneously, but I can see from the fear in your dark eyes that you don’t yet know what to expect. I am silent, lips refusing to part and give you any inkling. My boots clack dully across the hardwood floor, each thud final, as you wonder what instrument of torture or delight will next find my fingers. The crop is set carefully on the dresser, and I reach for lengths of rope, carefully cut to the proper size that I desire. Your hands: bound. Your feet: bound.

You are completely at my mercy. You are my whore.

I sit on your chest, give you that wicked look, and yank up the edge of my skirt to expose that cunt you’ve been wanting. Nothing covering it. Just a precisely shaven triangle of smooth skin, pinkish lips peeking out delicately. It makes you hungry, I’m sure. You can taste it on your lips. I shove it in your face, but you don’t dare lick it, even kiss it, without my permission.

And I’m not going to give it to you, because I am not in a giving mood. My gloved fingers slide over my cunt, dipping into the sweat and the arousal, slicking back up my slit to my clit. It’s already swollen because I came into this tonight knowing what I wanted, and knowing that I would get it, and my own arousal is piqued because of the welts on your thighs, the blood risen to your cheeks, the desperate desire that I can see you drowning in through your eyes.

“Watch me fuck myself.”

Not like you had a choice.

My fingers rub in a circular motion, my gloves shining in the low light with moisture. I throw my head back and moan, the tips of my long, thick hair caressing your stomach with teasingly light sweeps. My other hand pulls a tit out from underneath the tight fabric of the bustier. I pinch my nipple. It hardens under my touch, and I can feel your breath pick up as you watch that, as you scent arousal coming stronger and stronger. Your hips twitch, mimicking my own rhythm as evidence of my lust begins to pool and puddle on your skin.

“Mistress, no, please…” It’s a breathy request, and it makes me smile. Now you understand, you understand that this is what I wanted in the first place, and when you see that I’m not stopping, you start to get more desperate, a ravaged note coming into your voice. “Don’t leave me like this, don’t make me useless, Mistress, Goddess, please… please use me. Use me as your fucktoy… oh god… please fuck my cock… Please… fuck, please…”

You’ve been a good boy.

Your cock twitches, jerking upward as I slide down your torso, black gloves slicking up your chest to your face. My cunt slides easily down your length, because I’ve taken you like this times, so many times that you can’t remember the exact number, only that each instance, it was everything, there was nothing else in the world but me and that whore of a cock that you have.

I fuck you hard. I fuck you deep, torquing my hips so your cock grinds hard against my g-spot. You can feel that too, rubbing right against the corona of your dick. It feels good—so good. But you know what happens if you cum and I didn’t tell you to. You know. And you dread it worse than you dread anything else, you want the Black Plague more than you want my wrath, the wrath that comes with you forgetting whose pleasure comes first.

I get tight around you, so tight that you don’t know how to keep from exploding. My fingertips dig into your nipples, twisting them so hard that you don’t know how to reconcile the pain with the intense pleasure of my cunt as I’m about to cum. The tops of my fishnet stockings feel like they’re ripping into your skin, so rough as I fuck you. Your cock swells like it’s about to burst as my cunt grips tight around you. I cum for what seems like minutes upon minutes, my body writhing, tits with hard nipples arching towards you, but not close enough to your mouth for you to take one between your lips. My cunt squeezes you so tight, so tight you can’t take it, and you feel like you’re losing your mind as you thrash your head from side to side.

I slide off of you, jade lightning darting through my eyes as I look down at you. Your heart is pounding. You crave that release that I, and only I, can give you. I turn, pressing my hips towards you, shoving my cunt in your face. It’s still got the taste of you in there, somewhere, precum mixed with my own juices, my own cum sliding down my cunt and towards your lips.

“Clean me off.”

The order is implicit. It is not an option. You moan softly, your tongue darting out to lap at the soft folds of pink flesh that you have been wanting, wanting to touch, to lick, to worship, all evening long. I throw my head back as I feel you start to suck the cum off the lips of my cunt. My lips part, and I spit into the palm of my glove before reaching down to rub that sore, aching cock of yours. You moan into me. My hand strokes a rhythm—but it only starts soft, and soon, I’m working my wrist with expert motion, fucking your cock with my hand.

“Don’t you fucking cum until I tell you to,” I growl.

It’ll be awhile before I’m done with you yet. I grind my cunt into your face, and I can tell from the way you moan that you’re losing it. Losing your fucking mind because I’m making you do it. I’m making you taste those secret places deep inside me and it’s what you’ve always wanted, everything you’ve always wanted but were to scared to admit.

You were too scared to admit that you worshiped this cruel Goddess. It seems silly now, as you’re pushing your hips against my hand, fucking my gloved and clenched fingers for all you’re worth. I own you, body and soul, and you know this. I’ve marked you. If I want to fuck every inch of you that I can fuck, cum all over your entire body to make you remember whose property you are, I could. And you’d love every minute of that, too.

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