Occasionally readers complain when I do content notes, because they think that content notes are a way to turn people off a story – a ‘danger’ sign that tells you not to enter because here be dragons – or Beasts. This week’s incredible guest blog, by Kinky Goldfish, in which he indulges a fantasy shared with a lover about letting the primal, aggressive Beast within him drive a powerful kink scene, requires many content notes. And I promise with my whole heart that they will make today’s guest blog more popular, not less. Although content notes, on a blog like mine, sometimes function as ‘warnings’ so a few readers without those kinks can click on past, more commonly their effect is the same as a sales pitch. Like a big sign which says ‘don’t press the big red button’ tempts you to reach out and touch it. So yeah. Today’s guest blog includes vicious birching and hardcore kink. Public exposure and humiliation and aggressive anal sex. Keep out of the big scary castle. Do not read corrupting pornography. Whatever you do, don’t unleash The Beast.
This post contains public exposure, BDSM, birching, stinging nettles, degradation, humiliation, unlubed anal and piss. It is erotic fiction and you shouldn’t try any of this without having in-depth consent chats with your partner and anyone else involved in the scene (including those who will see it playing out).
The Beast makes aggressive use of his slut
A shiver runs through you, standing there naked in front of the hotel room window as instructed, recalling the past months together. We have shared confessions, fantasies, the dark corners of our sexual souls. Explored a little: bound wrists, a spanking or two. You gave me that black dildo with a flogger on one end that we tried on our weekend away and you realised how much a red, stinging arse made you come hard.
We have both wondered what it might be like to just let ourselves go, be as depraved as we feel in the moment. To let that powerful sexual cocktail rushing through our veins transform us into the creatures lurking in our shadows.
I call mine The Beast. Some other being – raw, animalistic – that I feel inside me but have never dared to fully let out. What would he look like? What would he feel like? And so you, being the curious deviant you are, asked for a date with The Beast.
You don’t know what’s coming. You just know that you should be prepared as requested in a note left at the front desk on a card without an envelope, so the desk staff would know what a perverted whore you are. And here you are, collar on, with a fine chain hanging down between your breasts. Wrist restraints and ankle restraints strapped on, not yet fastened together. Waiting patiently.
I am late. Of course I was going to make you wait. Besides, I wanted to see what you looked like in the window from the street below and ensure you were properly on display.
Finally, the door opens. The Beast does not knock. You stay still and watch me enter, more cocksure and confident than usual, almost a stranger. I’m wearing a dark suit, black shirt. Black leather gloves. I look like I’m about to commit a crime. They add just enough menace to elicit a throb between your legs. You notice that in one gloved hand I have a bouquet fully wrapped in paper. An out of place romantic gesture. You smile. It is met with indifference.
“I see you are ready. Good,” I say in a voice deeper, more formal than the usual playful tone. No greeting, no smalltalk. Just the expectation: you will do what you are told.
“On your knees,” I say in the tone I would use with a dog.
I walk to the desk behind you and lay the bouquet down on it. You maintain eyes front as I inspect you. You are looking extraordinarily compelling. Skin smooth and soft. Peach-like buttocks breaking out into goosebumps. Tattoos running down your arm, across your breasts, over your back. A bird of paradise. Nothing in my expression gives any of these thoughts away.
That one tattoo jars, though. We will deal with that presently.
I hold my hand under your chin. Move my lips close, making you wait just long enough so that you edge forward to touch them with yours. Tongue darting out in need. I pull back and smile. Then move forward to lightly lick your lips and tongue like I’m savouring an ice-cream. Those are all the pleasantries you’re getting today.
“How many cocks has it been since the last time we met?” I ask.
“Six. No, seven!” you hastily correct. My cock hardens at my power to make you nervous.
I know you’re lying. I know how cock hungry you are. What a greedy cum slut you are and just how capable you are of seduction. You will certainly have drained a couple more victims at that conference in Kiev and that doesn’t even account for the women you’ve bedded in-between. I raise an eyebrow.
“I think we’ll round that up to ten, shall we?” My voice is that of a bored headmaster. “Stand up. Face the desk.”
The desk is in front of the window, exorbitant minibar price list and hotel stationery shoved to one side. The curtains are wide open. You are on display to all the office workers carrying out their drudgery in the building over the road, unaware of the scene unfolding in this room, except for one young woman’s face, furtively glancing upwards from the photocopier, curious.
I unwrap the bouquet. They’re not flowers. You see now that they are stinging nettles and birch switches. Your eyes widen as I unroll them like a chef preparing his knives. We both enjoyed a story about a birch caning some time ago, but seeing them for real already has you imagining how they will feel.
“Now, how many did we say?”
“Ten,” you blurt.
“Sir.”
“Ten, sir.” You’re flustered. Wonderful.
“Good girl.”
I hear the short gasp in response. You usually earn your “good girl” much later. But much later I will be gone and The Beast will have taken my place. I know your cunt is already running hot and wet.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Let’s prepare this first of all,” I say, waving my hand at your chest.
I pick up the stinging nettles and trace the tips, feather-like along your arms and circle them around your breasts, being careful not to sting you. But you know what is coming. I see your nipples hardening. Two beautiful pencil erasers I love to pinch, twist and bite.
Tattooed across the top of your right breast is the name of your ex-lover. A youthful folly from an intense relationship years ago. An attempt by him to claim the future you. But I own you now.
With a tilt of my wrist, I draw the jagged edge of the leaves across your breast, paying extra attention to that tattoo. You can’t help but breathe in and hold it to counter the pain, but it just pushes your chest into the nettles even further. Like a good toy, you keep your eyes on the wall behind me and stifle your moan. The raised rash appears almost instantly, distorting the tattooed name. How satisfying to know I can erase that ex-lover so easily.
“Turn around. Hands on the desk,” I say, casting the nettles aside. The gloves lend me a sense of invincibility.
You obey, placing your body in a right-angle, arse thrust towards me, breasts hanging down, head bowed. I know you love this offering position. The slight undulation of your body gives you away. I give you a quick caress of admiration and ownership across your buttocks, my thumb just grazing your arsehole and pussy lips before withdrawing. You are as wet as I had hoped and your lips are blazing hot.
I pick up the birch switches. They smell fresh and woody, bound together at one end to form a handle. The other end has some of the bark stripped back and you can see the nubs of the buds that are about to catch on your skin. They make a satisfying rustle and swish as I step back and warm up my stroke like swordsman.
I trace them around your buttocks, letting them tickle and scratch your arsehole and cunt briefly, then run them down the backs of your thighs. But only once. You have the feeling there is going to be no soft, playful teasing today. And you’re right.
Thwack!
The first one, straight away, hard across your arse cheeks. Fucking fuck, that stings! You tense, gasp and grit your teeth. And I take absolute pleasure in your reaction. You immediately withdraw your arse in a jolting reflex that produces a beautiful arch of your spine, only to ease backwards again in service, as you let the pain blend with the pleasure mainlining into your cunt.
“Legs wider,” I order.
The sharp swishing is your only warning before the next stroke lands a centimetre above the other.
“Where are your manners, slut? Count them out.”
“Two,” you gasp. “Sir.”
“I want to see a puddle on the floor before we move onto our next item on the agenda.”
Thwack!
“Three, Sir!”
A short pause. But no touching. No caressing. Just a pregnant pause of anticipation. I can hear your breathing, jagged, trembling. You’re waiting for the next one, trapped in a delicious mix of wanting it and not wanting it at the same time.
Thwack, thwack, thwack! Three in a row.
“Four, five, six, Sir!” your voice slightly cracking on the last number.
Rose stripes, welts and redness are starting to show. One middle dotted line of burgundy marks where the birch buds have bitten harder. Good, good. You just catch me out of the corner of your eye, as if I’m checking in. But this is different from the caring check-in you’re used to, where our exchange of glances includes a flicker of conspiratorial smile. My face is a craftsman checking his work. I want to see whether the tears are welling in your eyes yet.
I can already see the glistening juices starting to dribble out of your cunt. Let’s see if we can get some dripping happening. I know you can come like nobody I’ve ever known before. You come sucking cock. You come being spanked. You come from a “good girl” or “slut” whispered in your ear. I’ve even watched you come just sitting there thinking about it.
Thwack!
I see the shudder. The endorphins are overwhelming you now.
A breathless whisper. “Seven. Sir.”
I am rewarded with a stringy drip from your pussy stretching down to spot the floor. I might make you lick that up later.
My cock absolutely rigid now, tense against the fabric of my trousers. The Beast is on his way. The next two strokes are hard enough that end of one of the switches breaks off.
“Eight! Nine! Sir!”
Eyes scrunched shut. Silent tears roll down your cheek. Cunt juices drip down your thighs. What a fucking little pain whore you have turned out to be. Like a mad conductor slashing out the final baton beat of a symphony with a flourish, the last stroke is the hardest, evenly placed across both arse cheeks.
“Ten.” A groan I know only too well. The strain of you holding back your orgasm. “Sir. Please! Please may I come?”
I pause. A satisfied smile you can’t see spreads across my face. “You may come, whore.”
I savour the moment as you exhale your held breath, your body writhes and shudders and your pussy drips more of your juices to the floor. Like the well-trained creature you are, you keep your hands on the desk.
I stand back and admire my work. I’ve produced a nice, even pattern of stripes from your thighs up to your arse cheeks. The birch switches added more texture than a flogger or a hand.
“Good girl. Now, that arse of yours is adequately prepared, let’s get more comfortable.”
I pull on the chain hanging down from your neck and drag it over your shoulder to lead you to the bed. With your trembling legs, you make little effort to resist. Only enough to please me. I run my hand over the welts on your arse before taking you by the shoulders to turn you and push you down onto the bed. You do a fine job of only wincing slightly at the pain of the fabric scratching your raw arse cheeks. I peel off my gloves, finger by finger, and neatly place them on the desk.
I push you onto your back and grab your ankles. Then roughly grab each wrist and clip it to its respective ankle restraint. There’s nothing you can do but just spread yourself wide for me, exposing your glistening cunt and arse. Finally, I take out my thick, hard cock. Its purple, bulbous head that you like so much is as swollen as you’ve ever seen it.
“I think we’re going to be having some more of that arse. It will be nice and warm by now,” I say, as if I’m ordering a digestif from a waiter.
And because I love the taste of your arse so much, I push you right back, pull your arse cheeks apart and inspect your spicy, dark hole. It’s so inviting, already wet from your cunt juices. I start flicking my tongue over it before pushing it nice and deep, mingling your pussy juices with my saliva. It’s so wrong and dirty and delicious. Fuck. I love it so much, as does The Beast who is starting to take control of me. The impeccable Master starts to give way to this craven animal.
My voice is lower. A gravely catch in it, almost growling. “Do we need any lube? I think not today, no. There are enough juices for both of us and, besides, I want it to stretch you.”
You strain to raise your head and look down the length of your body to see my cock rubbing up and down your cunt, then resting at the entrance of your arsehole. Nice and slimy and wet now, you feel me ease just the head of my cock in. I do enjoy that first widening stretch, then the moment I feel the resistance give way and your arsehole close around the head of my cock like a lover’s embrace.
You gasp, unable to resist or even guide me with your hand. I’m going use you however I fucking want. I ease out again to stretch you and push in a little deeper. And deeper still. There’s nothing like the warm tight, perversity of an arse fuck. There’s a brief moment when you tense your arse around my cock and then relax. Every breath and tremble ripples through you to me.
I start to build up a rhythm, holding your restraints for leverage, and begin to fuck your arse in earnest. The Beast fully takes over. I descend into the dark corners of my own pleasure of using you. The thrusts become harder, more abandoned. I’ve got you pulled up against me with the restraints. You’re groaning and writhing, the pain from your birching has you jacked up. I grab your hips, digging my nails in, leaving long scratches.
You look up at my eyes and I’m somewhere else. There’s a moment where you swear my eyes have morphed into those of a wolf, its claws ripping into your sides. By now I’m just a grunting frenzy and I can’t hold The Beast back. I’m just an animal clawing at you, fucking your arse.
You disappear into your own subspace pleasure and you give over to it. My jaw muscles tighten, my chest muscles swell and flush red and you feel my cock swell even more, needing to explode. But instead of pushing in up to the hilt and coming deep inside your arse, I pull back, just enough to not slip out. With your arsehole clasped around the head of my cock, I pump my full load of cum into the entrance of your arse.
My heaving breath subsides. I undo the wrist restraints and you flop down. Your legs are aching, your wrists sore, your arse is a mess. It’s wonderful.
“Into the bathroom.” I growl.
I pull you up by the chain and lead you to the bathroom. It’s one of those open hotel bathrooms, nicely tiled, very modern. And we’re going to soil it.
“Crouch,” I command.
You obey.
“Push my cum into your hand.”
Like the deviant you are, you squeeze out my freshly unloaded cum into your hand.
“Taste it. And wipe it on yourself.”
You don’t need to be told by this point. You’re already scooping it up. A greedy cumslut, licking up my cum from your arsehole. A filthy slut. My slut. Obediently, you spread my cum all over your tits, over those stinging nettle welts. All over that tattoo, erasing his name with my cum and your filth.
“What a dirty whore you are. You need cleaning up.”
And then you feel it. The splashing warm jet of my piss against your chest. I piss all over your tits to wash off my cum. The Beast is lost in the enjoyment of this. Pissing on his pet. Marking her.
“Open wide,” I bark.
You feel that hot splash of my piss hit the back of your throat. You swallow, you spit. It’s all over your face, your chest, you’re dripping in all of my fluids. Craving anything that comes out of my cock. I see your come-shudder and groan, but you’ve earned it, so I let it slide.
“Good girl. Now clean yourself up.”
And with that, I zip myself up, turn and walk out of the bathroom.
You slide to the ground, sitting there for a moment, letting the rush subside. Then pull yourself up onto your jelly legs and get into the shower. The warm water washes over you, cleansing away my cum and my piss off. The stings and welts smart, so you turn the water a little cooler. After a few minutes, you feel my naked body behind you wrapping my arms around you, tenderly soaping you from behind. I wash your hair, massage your head that you lean back against me without turning around.
“Was he here?” I say. My voice is back to its usual calming tone that is so familiar.
“Yes. And it was amazing,” you answer softly.
We shower together. I hold you and we gently soap each other and kiss, then towel each other off. I’m gentle with your wounds. Wrapped in our towels, I sit on the bed, propped up against the bedhead. You lie between my legs with your back to me and rest your body against my chest, head against my shoulder, and fall asleep, exhausted, to my gentle stroking of your hair.
An hour later you come to. You’re tucked up in bed and I am gone. You stretch, your arse still feeling freshly reamed. Then you stand and walk over to the mirror to inspect those marks. You have a batch of red scratches from your hips to your lower ribs. The marks on your arse and thighs are a fine, deep purple now. But the bigger surprise is the writing in black marker pen across your sacrum—“Beast’s Slut.”
You check your watch. There’s just time for one more wank before you have to leave.