Hisao's Many Fetishes
Posted: Tue Jul 13, 2010 9:10 am
It's a series of sketches with a theme. I don't even know what the fuck really. My recommendation would be that nobody actually reads it but I just know some of you will like this.
"Tell me a story."
"Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?"
"I can't remember that happening before."
"Well, I do. The way it always looks like you're straight out of bed - and I know that Emi fights a battle of epic proportions with it when you let her. It makes me want to touch your hair and ruffle it around. Man I can barely hold myself back sometimes. Also the way there are all sorts of exotic materials like oil paint and clay here and there after long stretches of arting. I swear, I once thought I saw woodchips in there, but I have no explanation as to why something like that would've been ended in your hair. Oh, and I like how your hair smells. If you've taken a bath it smells like soap, if you've been doing art it smells like paint and turpentine. And it always smells like you. You have the most excellent hair."
"That's really cute but you are starting to sound creepy. You have a hair fetish? What kind of a story is this anyway?"
"I don't have a hair fetish. I have a fetish for your hair. That's because I like you so much. Should I tell some other kind of story?"
You should tell me more about how much you like me."
*---------*
"Where did you even get all this stuff from?"
"Mail order. Just put it on, ok? Just this one time. Pretty please?"
"Well... okay if you really want. But it's going to be embarrassing."
She makes me go away while she's changing. I barely can contain my excitement, so I jump around a little in the hallway. Finally, and not a moment too soon, she calls from behind the door, so I go in and let my eyes revel in the most glorious sight I've ever seen. School swimsuit sailor uniform loli maid with prosthetic legs (in kneesocks), twintails, cat ears and eyeglasses. Fuck yes. Sweat starts pouring down my temples and palms immediately as I fumble for my state-of-the art digital system camera.
"So do you want to... fool around or something, like this?"
"No, this is good enough."
"Wait, what are you doing? Don't take pictures!"
She's blushing hard, trying to pull the microskirt of the maid uniform lower so that it would cover her tiny butt, a futile effort. That's so moe I'm about to get a heartattack. My pulse and breathing become alarmingly fast but I don't care. I frantically aim the viewfinder at her, my finger twitching to get the best shots so I can later jerk off to them. The camera flash reflects from her eyes, full of confusion, shame and embarrassment.
Haa haa haa haa.
*---------*
It's not that she gets pleasure from inflicting pain. It's that she enjoys seeing the results. It's not that I enjoy being hurt by her.
It's that I love it.
The rubber suit is chafing in a lot of places, but I can't help it. I squirm against the bindings that tie my hands and legs together, in vain. I'm completely at her mercy now. She walks with calm steps to the locker where she keeps her "tools". I see her pick up one, the one I like especially much. Twirling the long whip in her hands, she returns to me. Every step against the floor echoes clearly in the otherwise silent council office.
The stiletto heel is placed on my sack again, brutally applying pressure against the linoleum floor. I scream in anguished delight, and her slasher smile widens, exposing the pure white teeth. She watches down on me with disdain, with disgust. This is the pinnacle of ecstacy for both of us. Her hand rises menacingly, preparing to deliver more glorious pain. The whip lands on my back again, and again, and again.
*---------*
Acquiring rohypnol was the hardest part. Getting her to drink some "enhanced" tea was child's play. Now she's laying naked, completely defenseless, on my dorm room bed. I admire her body, its beautiful proportion and imperfect allure. But I cannot be tempted too much. I'm merely an artist and she is my muse-motif-subject. I begin my dark work.
My tongue is running all over her body, caressing each and every crevice and ridge of her horrendously scarred skin. It's the only place where we can be connected from. Only my tongue on her skin. Nothing more, nothing less. I savour the taste of her skin, the slightly acidic mixture of sweat, the soap of her last bath and her natural aromas. Not even ambrosia could compare to this. My glands are pumping at full force, producing incredible quantities of saliva that coats her from head to toe, gleaming beautifully in the pale fluorescent light pouring from ceiling. She remains unmoving as if dead, though just in deep sleep from the drug. The feeling is powerful, inebriating, as if I was a god. I continue without breaking the contact.
Hours later I stand back, taking a full look at her saliva-covered body. There must be literally liters of my spit on her. The sight almost makes me cry. It's beautiful. It's perfect.
*---------*
I CAN'T STOP PUTTING BULLET ANTS UNDER MY EYELIDS WHILE THE BLIND GIRL BRINGS THE CIRCULAR SAW CLOSER AND CLOSER TO MY----
"Tell me a story."
"Have I ever told you how much I like your hair?"
"I can't remember that happening before."
"Well, I do. The way it always looks like you're straight out of bed - and I know that Emi fights a battle of epic proportions with it when you let her. It makes me want to touch your hair and ruffle it around. Man I can barely hold myself back sometimes. Also the way there are all sorts of exotic materials like oil paint and clay here and there after long stretches of arting. I swear, I once thought I saw woodchips in there, but I have no explanation as to why something like that would've been ended in your hair. Oh, and I like how your hair smells. If you've taken a bath it smells like soap, if you've been doing art it smells like paint and turpentine. And it always smells like you. You have the most excellent hair."
"That's really cute but you are starting to sound creepy. You have a hair fetish? What kind of a story is this anyway?"
"I don't have a hair fetish. I have a fetish for your hair. That's because I like you so much. Should I tell some other kind of story?"
You should tell me more about how much you like me."
*---------*
"Where did you even get all this stuff from?"
"Mail order. Just put it on, ok? Just this one time. Pretty please?"
"Well... okay if you really want. But it's going to be embarrassing."
She makes me go away while she's changing. I barely can contain my excitement, so I jump around a little in the hallway. Finally, and not a moment too soon, she calls from behind the door, so I go in and let my eyes revel in the most glorious sight I've ever seen. School swimsuit sailor uniform loli maid with prosthetic legs (in kneesocks), twintails, cat ears and eyeglasses. Fuck yes. Sweat starts pouring down my temples and palms immediately as I fumble for my state-of-the art digital system camera.
"So do you want to... fool around or something, like this?"
"No, this is good enough."
"Wait, what are you doing? Don't take pictures!"
She's blushing hard, trying to pull the microskirt of the maid uniform lower so that it would cover her tiny butt, a futile effort. That's so moe I'm about to get a heartattack. My pulse and breathing become alarmingly fast but I don't care. I frantically aim the viewfinder at her, my finger twitching to get the best shots so I can later jerk off to them. The camera flash reflects from her eyes, full of confusion, shame and embarrassment.
Haa haa haa haa.
*---------*
It's not that she gets pleasure from inflicting pain. It's that she enjoys seeing the results. It's not that I enjoy being hurt by her.
It's that I love it.
The rubber suit is chafing in a lot of places, but I can't help it. I squirm against the bindings that tie my hands and legs together, in vain. I'm completely at her mercy now. She walks with calm steps to the locker where she keeps her "tools". I see her pick up one, the one I like especially much. Twirling the long whip in her hands, she returns to me. Every step against the floor echoes clearly in the otherwise silent council office.
The stiletto heel is placed on my sack again, brutally applying pressure against the linoleum floor. I scream in anguished delight, and her slasher smile widens, exposing the pure white teeth. She watches down on me with disdain, with disgust. This is the pinnacle of ecstacy for both of us. Her hand rises menacingly, preparing to deliver more glorious pain. The whip lands on my back again, and again, and again.
*---------*
Acquiring rohypnol was the hardest part. Getting her to drink some "enhanced" tea was child's play. Now she's laying naked, completely defenseless, on my dorm room bed. I admire her body, its beautiful proportion and imperfect allure. But I cannot be tempted too much. I'm merely an artist and she is my muse-motif-subject. I begin my dark work.
My tongue is running all over her body, caressing each and every crevice and ridge of her horrendously scarred skin. It's the only place where we can be connected from. Only my tongue on her skin. Nothing more, nothing less. I savour the taste of her skin, the slightly acidic mixture of sweat, the soap of her last bath and her natural aromas. Not even ambrosia could compare to this. My glands are pumping at full force, producing incredible quantities of saliva that coats her from head to toe, gleaming beautifully in the pale fluorescent light pouring from ceiling. She remains unmoving as if dead, though just in deep sleep from the drug. The feeling is powerful, inebriating, as if I was a god. I continue without breaking the contact.
Hours later I stand back, taking a full look at her saliva-covered body. There must be literally liters of my spit on her. The sight almost makes me cry. It's beautiful. It's perfect.
*---------*
I CAN'T STOP PUTTING BULLET ANTS UNDER MY EYELIDS WHILE THE BLIND GIRL BRINGS THE CIRCULAR SAW CLOSER AND CLOSER TO MY----
