This story is not pornographic. It is an excerpt from a larger work which is also not pornographic. When I first posted this story, it included a naked statue photo that Facebook would not allow. I’m sure there’s something I can switch on or off in FB to remedy this, but I don’t know what that is, so I’m reposting (without the “porn photo”) so I can put the link on my FB page. If you would like to see the offending picture, go to andromeda.
In the Andromeda tale, the hapless young maiden is offered as sacrifice to an enraged Poseidon. Her foolishly mortal family had pissed off the God and she was bound to a wave at sea to appease the monster Poseidon had sent to ravage the city; the young beauty saved (of course) by the iconic monster killer, the magnificent half God/half human, Perseus. Francis would play the part of both monster and monster slayer and I would play the heroine, who (not according to script), would turn into the whore as whoreish behavior was the end game in all of our fantasies. We didn’t actually “play” these parts, there was typically no dialogue, no attempt at authenticity—we simply imagined ourselves as these people and let our bodies tell the tale. I sat naked on the floor and Francis tied my wrists behind me, both his hands and mine shaking just the slightest. I closed my eyes and listened to him undress, I felt him in front of me, I felt his cock at my mouth. He slapped me lightly and I opened my eyes and the rape by monster began. I gave myself to him. Submission was freedom. Submission was letting go of convention and inviting in all that is unknown and possible. Submission not just to monster or man, but submission to the instinct that courses through our veins. Submission was power as it eliminated fear, submission was sensual, submission allowed sex and fantasy to soar.
Monster claws pulled at my flesh, a forked tongue tore the walls of my insides. Just when I thought I could take no more, scream no more, Perseus appeared brandishing weapons of sex and steel. Francis spoke in character. I will fucking save you, woman, fucking save you. I will fuck you till you beg me to stop. But I never did such begging, as much as Francis would have liked it; my rhythms matched his, my urgency, my need to release somehow contained until that moment I saw his face tighten. Our bodies exploded upon the wave, orchestrated by a jealous Poseidon no doubt, an explosion that blew pieces of fantasy and flesh around the room like burnt paper pages, an explosion that I would revisit many times. We lay spent in sea and salt on the floor. Francis wiped the hair from my face and minutes later he asked me, “Are you okay, darling? You know you’re still tied, don’t you?” “No, Francis, I didn’t,” I replied. “I couldn’t tell.” The heroine was sated, the fantasy over.