Friday, August 21, 2009

She crawls

She's wet.
She's naked.
She crawls.
She's wet and naked and crawling in the rain.

He stands on the street corner, shielded from the rain by a large umbrella. The light changes. The light says WALK. It should say CRAWL. She crawls, naked and wet. Naked and wet, rain dripping off her nipples, she scrapes her knees on the pavement as she crawls across the street. Her eyes are locked on his, her pain and humiliation meld with his pleasure and sadism to dance their union in the air between them as she comes closer and closer. She reaches the other shore just as the light changes. He admits to himself that he is pleased. He would not have liked to have seen her flattened by the large taxi snorting impatiently as it waits to surge forward.

She's wet and naked and crawling in the rain.

He sits in the golf cart, protected by the rooflet as if in a surrey with a fringe on top. He looks over the rise and sees her crawling towards the green, naked and wet in the rain. He can almost see the blisters where her skin has been burned by the lust-filled stares of the golfers as she crawls by. He knows what they are thinking. Some of them would love to beat her ass with their golf clubs. Some of them would love to fuck her ass with their over-confident cocks. Some of them would be content fucking any hole of hers they could stuff their cocks into. He's sure she can feel their desire, but knows she has only one goal. She crawls, foot by foot, over the long, smooth, expanse of green, her hair falling in sodden strings across her eyes as she works her way towards him. Those eyes link to his as soon as she is close enough, and his eyes are all she sees as she finishes her journey and then kneels, shivering, before him.

She's wet and naked and crawling in the rain.

He sits on the porch, comfortably rocking, and watches her approach. He is dry. She is wet and naked and crawling in the mud and the rain. She makes her way across the narrowing space between them. The ground has turned to mud after days of rain, and her pale flesh is splashed with mud. Her knees are cut and bruised from crawling across a patch of large, coarse gravel. The winces flying across her face betray her pain but she never stops. He grows hard at the flashes of pain across her face. As she draws nearer, he hears small moans and cries of pain escape her tempting mouth, and he grows harder still. She raises her face and he takes command of her eyes. A symphony of submission and sadism, dominance and pain, fills the air and echoes among the rain-drenched trees. Pulling her with his eyes, he leads her up the steps. She is panting, breathing hard, trembling, whimpering without even realizing she is doing it. He rises from his chair and enters the building. She follows him, still crawling, as he strides down the hall and enters their room. She scurries to catch up. He closes the door behind her.

She is naked.
She is very very wet.
He throws her down on the bed.
He brings his hand down hard on her ass.
Down the hall, they hear her scream.


Paul said...

OG, it seems you have humiliation down to a fine art.
A thought occurs, do that where I live and several policemen would appear quickly, it normally takes hours for the police to arrive, even in an emergency.
Love and warm hugs,

Spanky said...

Very well written and compelling. Kudos to you!

nancy said...

I could see the whole story play out..every dark bit.
Thank you for sharing.

oatmeal girl said...

Paul, I've come a long way in understanding about humiliation, in getting a taste for it, in knowing how hearing about it pleases the one who owns me, and in longing to truly please him by submitting to the debasement he envisions for me. As for the police... My Master seems to know how to get what he wants. but for now, alas, this is no more than a story...

Thank you, Spanky! And if you haven't commented here before, welcome. And if you have, welcome anyway. It's late and my brain is horribly foggy under the best of circumstances.

nancy, thanks. It was all very clear in my mind. The section about crawling over the gravel to the porch is based on something I wrote for him while I was away, as I sat on my cabin's porch looking through the rain across an stretch of sodden grass and sharp, large chunks of stone to the cabin where my music classes were held.

The sadist was very pleased with both the original vignette and this piece as well, which I shard with him. It was really written for both him and the blog at once.