The End of the World - Part 4

As he drove past deserted farms, and around some sort of army base, he recognized that Claire had made a signifcant concession in agreeing to consider what he had said. At the same time, even as he drove back towards her house, he realized that he was being monumentally stupid if he ever returned.

She was intelligent, attractive and interesting, as well as the only person he had met since he woke up. He was attracted to her - he could acknowledge that to himself. She was exactly the type of woman he had been attracted to before everyone went away. Strong, self confident, powerful.

He had been luckier than he deserved in the women he had met, before. Beautiful, sexy women who, when no one else could see, enjoyed being dominated, being hurt by him, and finally comforted by him. Claire didn't appear to be like that, but maybe they could make it work. If she gave him a chance - he ruled his needs, they didn't rule him. He could make it work.

Claire, on the other hand, was far more confused. On the one hand, John had been understanding, caring and gentle. He had a great sense of humor, he could even laugh at himself. On the other hand, what kind of person liked to hurt the person they were with? The person that they cared about.

She knew she was missing something - girlfriends had talked about how much fun dominant men could be...

Just Sex

She hung by her wrists from a chain that had been wrapped around the oak beams of their bedroom. Her toes just brushed against the floor, and if she stretched, she could just reach the floor and relieve the pressure on her shoulders.

He lounged on the bed, his eyes drinking in her pale naked body as it swayed back and forth whenever her feet needed a rest. She had been there for what felt like hours, but had really only been about twenty minutes.

It took a physical effort of will to keep from going to her, but he knew that the longer he held out, the better it would be for both of them.

"The people on Survivor do much harder stuff than this," she thought to herself. It also occurred to her that truly bizarre thoughts ran through her mind when she was tied up like this.

When she thought she couldn't take any more, and the agony of not knowing how much longer it would last almost became too much, he got up from the bed and stepped behind her.

He always seemed to know just where her limits were, unaware that she was telegraphing her need for him with her body language. She heard a drawer open, and a black silk blindfold covered her eyes.

She shivered with anticipation, and he swung what sounded like the riding crop through the air.

She didn't have long to wait as he began to lash her with the crop. Each blow across the cheeks of her ass resulted in an involuntary cry of pain, and as it continued, they became louder and louder.

He grabbed her tight around her chest, hugging her close - his fingers unerringly finding her erect nipple and pinching it.

"Too much for you, my sweet?" he whispered in her ear.

"No. I want more. Give me more.". She squeezed her thighs together and felt how wet and aroused she was. Her nipple ached with loss as he stepped back from her.

The crop's target now alternated between her ass and the tops of her thighs. When she spread her legs after one particularly sharp blow, he whipped the insides of her thighs as well.

She tried to close them up again, and even that small amount of pressure on her clit almost made her come, she heard him say, "No." And she lifted her right leg as high as it would go.

Stripes now crisscrossed the area between her lower back and her knees, and she could feel how aroused he was when he held her close again.

"My little slut. My pain slut. You know that you are mine, don't you."

She nodded and he rewarded her obedience by pinching her other nipple tight.

"Such a good slut. A good little whore. Do you want more? Do you want me to hurt you some more"

Another nod by her, and his other hand slipped between her legs. Her pussy, thighs and clit were all soaked with the proof of her excitement. His fingers slipped up inside her and she came, her body bucking against the restraints.

He continued to hold her tight as she rode out her orgasms, pressing her against him. He could feel the heat from the marks burn against his skin. It was all he could do to keep from rubbing himself against her, to finish all over her ass.

The sudden shock of cold air brought her back to reality as he stepped back from her. Her muscles were completely relaxed as she hung there, waiting to be punished again.

The crop slashed across her stomach and she grunted in surprise. However, he only whipped her a few times before she felt the sting on her breasts. She screamed and felt him wrap his arms around her again.

This time, instead of punishing or pleasuring her more, he unlocked the cuffs supporting her body, and she collapsed into his arms.

Before the last sting from the crop could fade away, she was lying on her back on the featherbed, and he was driving up inside her. She arched her back and almost came again as his mouth found hers and forced his tongue inside.

She gripped him with her thighs, still burning from the crop, and pulled him deeper within herself. Her arms found his shoulders as he held himself over her, and she used the leverage to fuck back at him - urging him on.

When he was getting close to coming, she wriggled out from underneath him and crawled underneath his chest. He was too surprised to move as she took him in her mouth.

Her fingers dug into his ass as she took him as deeply as she could. When he entered her throat, she began to gag, triggering his orgasm, as well as her own.

She held him inside her as long as she could, until her throat almost rebelled against her need. When she pulled back, she could taste his come on her tongue and she milked his softening cock with her mouth.

He turned around on the bed as she lay there, tasting his sweat and come on her tongue, and spooned himself around her. Holding her gently, he stroked the angry skin he had abused such a short time ago.

The warmth of his body relaxed her, and she could feel his now soft cock rest between her thighs.

"That's ok, I know how to wake him up again" she thought to herself....

The End of the World - Part 3

Claire confronted John with the magazine, shoving it his face. John had a feeling that her discovery of his porn stash was inevitable - but had hoped to have more time to raise the subject in a better light.

"You're just like the last guy, and if you think that I'm going to be your little slave girl, I'll take care of you the same way I took care of him if you try to touch me ever again."

"Claire - I'm nothing like the guy at the bottom of the river. I'm just starting to get to know you, but I would never do anything to you that you didn't want. You have to understand..."

"I don't have to understand anything, asshole. You picked out this filth, out of all the porn in New York city, and now you can't tell me you don't like it. Misogynous pig! I want you out of this house NOW! Get out!"

"Stop!" The commanding tone in his voice was unmistakable, but had no effect on Claire.

"Fuck 'stop'! Get out!" Claire reached past John to get the shotgun that was leaning on the wall behind him. "You have until I count to three."

John raised his hand to show that they were empty, and took a step backwards, slamming into the wall. "Go ahead, you can fucking shoot me, but you're going to have to listen to me while you do it. I'm not leaving until you have at least heard me out."

Claire looked at him with her finger pressed tight against the trigger of the shotgun, deciding what to do. It would be easiest just to kill him, and bury him out back - or just to push his car into the river - that wasn't a bad idea, she had to give him credit for that.

John stood there, simply awaiting her decision, and looking her in the eye. He didn't mention the fact that while some men are assholes, she probably shouldn't keep killing the few that were left.

"Talk" she growled at him.

"What you saw in that magazine isn't about rape, or just hurting women. It looks like that, but everything is negotiated in advance. There are rules - and nothing is done without consent. You use safe words to make sure that no one does anything they don't want to do."

Claire had heard of safe words before, probably on Jerry Springer, but the fact was that this guy was just like the last one. He just talked a better game.

"I knew you were going to look in that box. And I knew you would react like this. Last night was great, and I don't want you to kick me out or kill me because you think I'm someone I'm not. But if I was just like the last guy, wouldn't I have been holding the shotgun when you came in here? Wouldn't I have stopped you from reaching past me to get it?"

There was some truth to his words, and Claire tried to look past her anger and see the situation objectively. The last guy had shown up with an arsenal of weapons, and she had overpowered him the night after he arrived, once it was clear what he intended for her. John had been nothing but gentle, and had never gone near the gun.

"How can you say that you're nothing like him, when you have a box full of magazines showing women in pain, being tortured?"

"Because those women aren't being tortured - they enjoy what they are doing. A lot of it is role play - and there are women who enjoy pain as part of sex. Some enjoy more, some enjoy less, but I have never ever done anything to a woman that she had not only consented to, but most of the time, she's asked for it."

"I don't want you to kick me out. I know that it's a lot to ask of you, but I'm still the same person you met yesterday, and who stayed with you last night."

"Go for a drive - I want some time to think about this. I don't know that you'll ever change my mind, but I'll at least think about it."

The End of the World - Part 2

John and Claire talked late into the night, and inevitably the subject of what their responsibility was to the rest of humanity was, if any. It was obviously an uncomfortable subject - especially given Claire's experience with the only other man they knew to have survived.

By this point, they had both had a fair amount to drink, and had both been starved for human contact. Claire moved closer to John on her couch.

"It had been a while since I was last with anyone - I didn't really have a boyfriend or anything before... it happened."

"Me either - and until I met you, I wasn't sure I would ever have a chance to be with anyone again, you know?"

"Well, at least the guy I get to repopulate the earth with is cute" Claire said with a grin as she leaned in to kiss him.

The ended up in her bedroom, their initial nervousness washed away by relief at finding someone else in the world. They tore at each other's clothing, leaving it strewn behind them in the hallway. The sex was fast and desperate, as if they were trying to reassure themselves that they were still alive. She cried out when he entered her, and he came for the first time.

"That is the first time I haven't used a condom since high school." He admitted after he collapsed beside her.

"I'm clean, but we probably should..."

"If you have something, we're pretty well screwed," she cut him off. "I'm clean too, but if either of us is lying, well, it's just us now..."

She began crying, both in fear and in relief, burying her head in his shoulder. They had sex again, and this time it was slow and tender - as if their need for each other had finally just sunk in.

The next morning, Claire joined John at his SUV to help him unload. Neither of them knew where they would end up, but the idea of separating at this point was impossible to consider. She joked about the massive quantities of vodka he had hidden in every available space. He threatened to pour out the jars of olives that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed until the night before.

John pushed one box towards the from of the car, saying nervously, "won't be needing that anytime soon"

Her curiosity aroused, she peeked in the box while John was inside with another load of clothing and food.

The box was packed full of hardcore Bondage and Discipline related pornography. Magazines filled most of the box, and DVDs were optimistically tucked in the side.

She grabbed the magazine on top, which showed a naked woman bound in rope, writing in pain or ecstasy - it was impossible to tell - and stormed towards the house.

The End of the World - Part 1

The end of the world was different than anyone could have expected. And John hadn't even had time to think about it - he passed out one day from the same mysterious disease that was sweeping the country and the world, and he was alone when he woke up in Bellevue Hospital on Manhattan's East Side.

Had it been the Rapture, it certainly would have been cleaner - John's understanding was that those taken up to heaven would not have left their bodies behind for the scavengers. As far as he could tell, no one had been whisked away by their god - but at least in the nicer parts of Manhattan, the survivors had done a pretty good job establishing a quarantine for those taken ill, before they too surcumbed.

So when John left the hospital after he woke up, he spent a few weeks in an abandoned penthouse in Manhattan. The building's emergency generators held out long enough for John to discover that the tv and radio stations were off the air, and as far as he could tell, he was alone. When it was no longer safe for him to walk to the local supermarket, due to packs of feral pomeranians and toy poodles - who were surprisingly blood thirsty - John took a Range Rover from his building's garage and left the city.

He set out for Florida, thinking at least that finding heat in the winter would not be a problem, when he was surprised by spray painted lettering on the exit sign outside Havre de Grace in Maryland. It simply said:

Survivor --->

It was the first indication he had seen in the last month that he was not alone. He followed the sign and the arrows spray painted on the road to a small house in a subdivision by the water. It was getting dark and the lights in the house were on when his SUV crunched up the gravel of the driveway.

In between the porn, alcohol and drugs that he used to numb himself to what had happened back in Manhattan, he thought about what things would be like if he ever found other survivors. Initially, he was concerned about post-apocalyptic gangs roaming the landscape - but soon it became entirely clear that there was so much that had been left behind - more than anyone could eat, drink or burn in the rest of their lives if they did nothing else - he decided that even if they couldn't cooperate, there was too much for anyone to fight over.

And so he had never even thought to arm himself with a weapon. The back of his Range Rover was filled with cases of vodka, spare cans of gas, and non-perishable food. But as he looked at the well-lit house at the end of the driveway, he realized that he had forgotten something. People will kill or die to make sure that they have food and shelter, and also sex.

There were floral curtains in the windows of the house. And there was a shotgun in the arms of the woman who came out to see who he was. She was dressed in a gingham dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, and she clearly looked like she knew how to use the gun.

"Roll down your window, stick both hands out and open the door from the outside. Any sudden moves, and I'll ruin that pretty little car of yours."

As he complied, he shouted back, "Not that I'm insecure or anything, but this is a pretty damn big car."

"Not compared to my Extended Escalade ESV - what are you, worried about global warming?"

His laughter seemed to put her at ease, and she lowered the aim on her weapon slightly.

"How many people are here with you? You're the first person I've seen since I woke up."

"I'm alone now - there was one other man who came by, but I declined to join him as his harem of one. His plan was to drive around and collect all the women he could find, who would then repopulate the earth in his image. He didn't care what I thought about the idea. And now he never will."

The implication of what had happened to him was clear. Whether she was entitled to wipe out a third of the known remaining human race, John didn't know. He did know that he was unwilling to join the last guy in the bottom of the lake, or wherever he had ended up.

"Well, I'm not looking for a harem - just some company. I'm unarmed, and I don't mean you any harm."

She warily seemed to accept this, and at least she wasn't aiming the gun at his crotch anymore. John offered her some of his supplies from the car, and she allowed that she wouldn't mind some olives for a proper martini. He learned that her name was Claire, and that she had lived in this house since she graduated from school. She had been working as a nurse at the local army base, and he told her about his fears that no one would ever need his skills as an advertising executive again.

While they were making progress, they were still standing in the driveway when rain started to fall. When she started to shiver, he asked if he should just come back in the morning.

"Or if I promise not to enslave you, can we go inside your house?"

She laughed and waved him in, and while she appreciated the humor in his 'promise,' the look in her eyes made it clear that she was not the type to be enslaved.

About this Blog

I picked the name of this blog for three reasons, although any one of them would have been good enough.

The name Lucifer has been corrupted into a pseudonym for Satan or the AntiChrist, but that wasn't the original meaning. It comes from the Greek for 'Dawn' or 'Light' Bringer. Which is one of the reasons I chose it. I'm not so arrogant that I believe that I'm bringing a new dawn or light of any kind to anyone, but I do know that others have done so for me. Something for which I am eternally grateful.

Second, a religious nut in Times Square once insisted, as I was passing by, that I was truly the child of Lucifer - for no apparent reason at all. Rather than walking past, I decided to discuss this theory with him. As I was stumbling home from a bachelor party, I was so drunk I could barely stand. That fact became the central part of my discussion with this zealot - as in, 'I'm so drunk I can barely stand, but if I was truly the child of Lucifer, don't you think he would have arranged for me to live in a penthouse apartment, or at least a two bedroom? Why has he forsaken me?" Or, "If I truly had horns and a forked tongue, wouldn't I have noticed them before now? I'm so drunk I can barely stand, but would anyone care to check to see if my tongue is in fact forked?" Eventually, the police officer became concerned that the zealot was getting too angry, and asked me to move along. Somehow, I found my way back home, sadly to discover that it still wasn't a Headquarters for Evil.

Finally, BDSM has a reputation for being dark and evil, when in fact, the people I have met who were involved with it are some of the kindest, most compassionate and caring people I have ever met. So just as the name Lucifer has been corrupted by common misperception, so has the average person's perception of BDSM.

That doesn't mean that anyone associated with BDSM has your best interests at heart, and you should always play safe, sane and consensual. Some people enjoy the ideas behind power exchange, especially behind closed doors, and experience things more powerful than they ever have during vanilla sex. And some people just like to hurt women (or men). There is a difference.