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Prescription for Evil Deeds

Author: Daddy Treacherous

Filed in: vision, abstract, mental fantasy



Prescription for Evil Deeds It is not at all a fault that I am how I am. Yet, it is a flaw of the universe that I exist in. Am I wrong for longing to bring the wickedly naughty into submission of a passionate decadence?  Am I wrong for firmly laying hold upon the neck of the subject and impaling her tonsils which thirst? Is it a fault if my every thought screams for flesh to be under my fingertips? To do with as I wish, to mead into the perfect vessel filled with every evil desire. Is it prudent for me to lay heavy upon, lie up, and lay in, while laying all over, inside and releasing this glory that warms the very nerve endings through out this flesh that willingly gives itself to my evil deeds? I am evil in deeds for each lash, the next stroke, the prying open of cavernous spaces, which beg not to be opened yet give to my continuous probing? Visions of oil leaking thru and over skin so soft, so tight, so supple that marks from the crop seem out of place, bordering on wrong.  Evil me, to put this scrumptious flesh through so much pain for evil me, so much pleasure for evil me. So much for the scrumptious flesh, for nothing comes before my evil needs. If not this flesh then it shall be another, but none that has been known is as ripe, none is as fresh, none squeezes and holds tightly sending rivers of waves through the essence of man as this flesh has.  Evil me shall not relinquish this flesh to another, as it sucks, swallows, devours each inch into itself. Ever harder, ever faster, the flesh rages and moans, bucking wildly back and forth. Roaring, lasciviously withdrawing the power from evil me with each stroke, each thrust, each bead of sweat and oil that trails down the arched back towards the shoulders.  Evil flesh quivers as it is pushed and pulled and made to do my bidding. Flesh spread wide so wide, hands slippery as the sound and smell fill the air. Euphorically evil, strenuously intense my evil essence seemingly ready to leave my body and enter into this flesh, this deep dark orifice.  I have been seduced, yet I was the seducer. It was not her yet my own evil thoughts and deeds that are the seductress. I have been enchanted into believing it was my bidding that was being done. Senses leaving me, my mind strains to gain control yet, her flesh will not allow it. For her flesh is pounding me, and pounding me, and pounding me. Hands groping and grabbing yet unable to control the movement, because evil me wanted the oil cascading over her body, all over her body, inside her body to make it pliable to my evil need while gleaming in the light upon each thrust.  I am my own undoing, as she leans back sweat pouring off her brow, bridle in her mouth, whilst my moans betray me. Without thought my hands reach for her throat gripping, clenching, squeezing harder and harder mad at what has transpired, my chin resting upon the back of her wet neck, yet she knows that this is the very thing will spill this seed and finish my evil deed…

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