Letters from the Marquis - Tales of the haunted

[MarquisdeShey]

Intense. Precise. Sharp...

I have no way of preparing myself for what is coming next, I try counting your steps as if it would predict the moment in which your rage connects with my burning shame. The agony when you pause. The element of surprise makes my heart push against my breast and shallows my breath. My arms tremble and my knees sink into the cold ground with each blow. My soul quivers.
The physical pain is not nearly as intolerable as being here. I have told you or tried to – “It’s not who I am.” I am caught in a spinning web, cocooning my lies. Hate fermenting in the depth of what I disguise as myself. I want to leap out of this position tare your eyes out of their socket and dig my nails into your flesh until you are stripped of it. I hate this position. I hate what you are doing to me.
How many have knelt before you? How can one be dignified? A line of servants. Cart pulling mules. A weak submissive. The word burns like acid on my tongue. Not a submissive. Not a submissive.
…I run my tongue slowly over the corner of my lips; the skin is raw and tender. The rope wraps around my lips, knots at my nape and continues endlessly towards the ceiling. My feet are bound by chains – cold and heavy.
“Straighten up.”
My body jerks towards the direction of your voice. Needle pricks scatter about my body by the sudden movement. I feel your hands brush against my skin, a metal band wrapping around my neck. My head lowers defeated. A fine line cuts into my flesh.
“Straight.”
A warm trickle runs between my breasts. My mind lingers in a single image – you. Face stone cold. Eyes filled with ice and steel.
Your hand is now moving down the length of my spine, a circle enclosing around my waist. A padlock clicks. Your steps move away from me. Silence. What would I see if I could look at myself? Would I see the synchronized welts rising on my flesh? Would I see the fine lined tendons standing to attention and holding me with its endless strength? Will I see my strength or my shame? There comes a point when the mind becomes a throbbing weight of useless matter. When do you stop questioning? Stop resisting? It’s not how I pictured it at all.
….
I wait. Anticipating the moment when you become the shadow in my dreams. The streets are now deserted and frozen. A cry in the distance… a howl. I want to imagine your approach. You are dressed like the night, prowling gait, muffled screams, then pain. My mind races ahead.
Ring…Ring…Silence.
My heart sinks. I swallow the lump back down my throat. Slide the phone back into my pocket and leave the alley behind. Ghostly streets a chill brushes up against my skin. I am hollow. Your eyes appear before me and then vanish. Play. This is the song I listen to in moments like this. You laugh. I got it all wrong.

Hate. Rage. Power. That’s what it takes. Your voice vibrates inside my head. Dense sounds pulsating through a barrier set long ago. I really thought I could. I don’t want to look weak. Weakness has nothing to do with it, you retort.
….
Whip and flesh. My body jerks again and a new layer of blood slithers down my chest I can barely feel the blade slicing through my skin. It’s almost knowingly that my mind would go back to that place. Feel nothing. Yet, deep inside my body is responding. It’s sick. My thighs are burning, my scent reaches my nostrils and my pupils dilate. Raw. Painful. Longing. Rusty.
I crave this – this unwanted humiliation, violation. It’s not me. I whisper. My cheeks sting with sweat and tears. I want to see what I look like, but when I open my eyes its perpetual darkness. How long have I been here?
…
I pull my coat tighter around my body. The music is blaring in my ear. I am moving not looking where. My body seems to have a direction and I follow. The river glistens at a distance. Past the boat house. Nights and nights of mind numbing encounters until reality set in. Heading towards…
A hand wraps over my mouth, toxic, sickening. I gasp for air… the lights go out.
Short. Sharp. Precise. Numb.
…
You grab my hair, in one swift motion I am on my feet. I scream. No sound. My body gives. You jerk me up again. The blade slices the same wound. My head is spinning. I scream. No sound. Your hand falls hard across my face. My body hooked to the wrack. I can’t feel the ground anymore.
I am delirious. Cold. My flesh burns. I have wanted this – cleanse is what I told myself, one memory to erase years of guilt and shame. I am erasing you completely. Is it really possible? Is it? Purging. I want to be terrified, but there’s a conflict of interest within my body. I am aroused. My nipples erect. When I press my legs together I can feel the wetness between them. It’s unnatural. Invited. Bitter. Sweet.
I can give you what you want, but you have to be patient. There’s no patience when your whole body wants to be ravished, ripped to pieces. Silence the voices that scream – Not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not beautiful enough. Liberation. To be freed of this obsession with pain and death. I want to die a thousand solemn deaths and be released from this infernal existence.

…
Hate. Rage. Power. That’s what it takes. Your voice vibrates inside my head. Dense sounds pulsating through a barrier set long ago. I really thought I could. I don’t want to look weak. Weakness has nothing to do with it, you retort.
….
Whip and flesh. My body jerks again and a new layer of blood slithers down my chest I can barely feel the blade slicing through my skin. It’s almost knowingly that my mind would go back to that place. Feel nothing. Yet, deep inside my body is responding. It’s sick. My thighs are burning, my scent reaches my nostrils and my pupils dilate. Raw. Painful. Longing. Rusty.
I crave this – this unwanted humiliation, violation. It’s not me. I whisper. My cheeks sting with sweat and tears. I want to see what I look like, but when I open my eyes its perpetual darkness. How long have I been here?
…
I pull my coat tighter around my body. The music is blaring in my ear. I am moving not looking where. My body seems to have a direction and I follow. The river glistens at a distance. Past the boat house. Nights and nights of mind numbing encounters until reality set in. Heading towards…
A hand wraps over my mouth, toxic, sickening. I gasp for air… the lights go out.
Short. Sharp. Precise. Numb.
…
You grab my hair, in one swift motion I am on my feet. I scream. No sound. My body gives. You jerk me up again. The blade slices the same wound. My head is spinning. I scream. No sound. Your hand falls hard across my face. My body hooked to the wrack. I can’t feel the ground anymore.
I am delirious. Cold. My flesh burns. I have wanted this – cleanse is what I told myself, one memory to erase years of guilt and shame. I am erasing you completely. Is it really possible? Is it? Purging. I want to be terrified, but there’s a conflict of interest within my body. I am aroused. My nipples erect. When I press my legs together I can feel the wetness between them. It’s unnatural. Invited. Bitter. Sweet.
I can give you what you want, but you have to be patient. There’s no patience when your whole body wants to be ravished, ripped to pieces. Silence the voices that scream – Not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not beautiful enough. Liberation. To be freed of this obsession with pain and death. I want to die a thousand solemn deaths and be released from this infernal existence.

…
Your breath hot against my neck. Your voice leveled. Power.” You bow and kneel as a sign of respect, adoration, a sign of servitude. Not shame. I can’t take anything from you. Unless you allow it. I don’t need to stand above you to know I have you.”
The lowering of chains. You release my eyes. I am face to face with you, my groin responds. I look around the room adjusting to the soft light. The warm glow of candles, I follow your body. In your right hand a knife glows like fire. You follow my gaze. You hold it before me. Place it on my breast, poking the soft flesh. Slide it past my nipple. Below my ribcage, you thrust it into my flesh. I whimper. A wound opens where you touched. You do it again, again, and again. I let out a painful cry. Your hand falls against my cheek, shattering my dignity. A fresh set of tears unleashes.
You walk to the wrack and lower my body until I am kneeling. Arms extended over my head. You sit before me. I bend down to kiss your boot. Your boot comes up and kicks me across the chest. I stumble to the ground; a sharp scream scales my throat. Too late. Fear and panic cross my face. The leather strap falls hard on my shoulder and stomach. I scream and a deep cut runs across my neck, a stream of blood. You wrap your hand around my hair and yank me back to kneeling. You unzip your pants, releasing your cock. Hard. Erect. In one swift motion you cut the rope around my mouth and shove your cock in it. I feel you pound against my throat. Your fingers wrapped tight around my hair. My head throbs and my eyes spin. Blood runs warm, fresh, and strong down my chest. Rusty. You fuck my mouth deep. Hard. Enraged. You pull away. The toe of your boot is prodding the spot where your hunting knife sunk into my flesh. I scream. I plead. I need to go. I need to go.
You grab my hair. Nails dig into my waist. We crash into the chair. I feel your cock. Hard. Hungry. My bladder aches. I try to press my legs together. You pry them open. Your hand against my cheek, my being trembles. Your cock slides inside me. Our eyes meet – steel and terror. Your cock ravishes my insides. You tear open old wounds. I sink my teeth into your flesh. A bloody scream escapes your throat. And just like that… I lose myself…
Rage-full…Hate-full… Power-full.

….

Ring….ring…ring…