The Underworld

Whispers from the Abyss M38 | Taken | NSFW | No minors

[fromhe11withlove]

This blog has been stopped; the author is no longer monitoring reactions/asks/messages. It was fun, but I no longer feel like continuing. The previous intro with a description of the content is here. Bye-bye.

[fromhe11withlove]

UPD: I’ve decided that I’ll still drop something here occasionally, because now and then my notes do end up containing things that fit this blog’s format. But it won’t be on a regular basis, and I'm still mostly not here.

[meatexe]

no no no u guys dont get it its not just abt wanting to be killed ok its abt them being able to kill u but not wanting to bc ur so warm n soft n nobody is ever going to look at them w such devotion ever again if ur in the fucking dirt n its abt them knowing tht they can push u to the brink of death n ur still gonna use the last bit of ur strength to crawl over to them n lay at their feet like an animal finding a quiet place to die n its abt the look on their face while they watch u struggle n feeling so so good for them bc they want to watch u at ur most ugly n desperate while ur fighting for ur life they want to see it so bad they’d risk everything for it !!!!!!

[fromhe11withlove]

btw every time I see posts about cock warming here, I read it as "cock warning"

[yourgodvalentine]

I've been thinking a lot about pregnancy as torture

[yourgodvalentine]

your body is not just your own anymore, and you can't do anything about it. if you try harming yourself, I'll tie you down. if you try starving yourself, my baby will take everything it needs to survive, at your expense. you will be forced to watch your body change against your will, to feel that horrible thing grow inside you and know that I put it there—and worse, I will take good enough care of you to do it again and again and again.

[fromhe11withlove]

Shout out to the non-sexual, purely practical uses of body writing and carving.

Someone dictates a phone number to me, and I need to write it down somewhere. Why not on your forehead? You're right here. Be useful.

Why not write the grocery list right on your thigh? You'll have to figure out how to discreetly lift your skirt in the store to read it—but you'll manage, won't you?

Or picture this: two sadists just chilling, playing tic-tac-toe right on your naked body. Using something sharp instead of a pen—a blade, a medical needle. Scratching out the completed row with a little extra pressure.

I think that when what's carved into you is, I don't know... the numbers from the electric meter? A reminder to call the auto repair shop? That reduces you to an object way more than any "property" or "fucktoy" ever could.

[fromhe11withlove]

"I'll make you worse." "I'll corrupt you." …Fuck that. I'll make you better. How about a recovery kink? A healing kink? I'll fix you—and you will thank me for it. Bitch.

[christclown]

These cuffs that keep a sub on tip toes are my current obsession

They're sure to make any chase short :)

[fromhe11withlove]

I want you to put on a little show for me. Touch yourself in front of me and cum while I watch. Nothing complicated.

But what if you're on a tight schedule, and a timer with big red numbers is blinking right in front of your eyes? And you'd better make it in time, or else.

What if I'm putting pressure on you, rushing you, telling you that you're not going to make it—what if I hit you every now and then when I get bored? A shove from behind, and you scrape your knees raw on the bare concrete floor.

What if you have to do it at gunpoint?

What if your hands are tied behind your back, and I just stand there laughing, watching you desperately look for something—anything—to grind against? Trying to hump my boot will only get you kicked in the ribs. You'll have to get creative.

What if I use numbing cream on you? You could rub yourself bloody trying to feel something.

What if I know that, with your medication, you couldn't cum even under threat of death? Well, that's not my problem. That's your problem.

Tick-tock.

[fromhe11withlove]

Don't tell her to swallow—tell her not to. Let her know she has to keep your load in her mouth until you give permission. Then take her for a short walk, or give her some task to complete, and watch her carry it out.

You can talk to her, ask her questions. It's amusing to watch her try to answer with her mouth full—the muffled hums, the desperate gestures.

At random moments, you can demand she open her mouth and show you she's still following your command. (Makes for a good photo op, too.)

It's enrichment for her. A chance to really savor the taste.

(And for you, a chance to enjoy the silence.)

[toxic-embrace]

Jewelry I can hurt you with. Carrying my tools with me at all times. Rings with spikes that poke and prick when I grope you. Elastic bracelet that I snap on your neck, body, and crotch to make you squeal.

Jewelry that hurts you to wear. Making you carry my tools with you at all times. Choker with spikes on the inside so I can wrap my hands around your throat and press on it. Necklace with a big clasp that I can use to clamp your nipples.

[fromhe11withlove]

I keep thinking about ordering a ring with these sharp little spikes on the inside. You know, so you can hold their hand, and from the outside it just looks sweet and romantic. But all the while, you’re squeezing their fingers, pushing those spikes right into their skin. It might even scratch them when you slide it on or off. And how about squeezing just a bit too hard, and seeing a drop of blood well up and run down their finger…

[fromhe11withlove]

Calming someone down when you are the threat.

"Hey, hey, you look nervous," you say as they come to in an unfamiliar place, head pounding, limbs heavy and uncooperative, and see a masked stranger before them.

"Why are you backing away?" you ask, advancing on them, deliberately invading their personal space.

"What, are you afraid of me? What's so scary about me?" you whisper, looming over them, pinning their wrists and pressing them into the mattress with your weight.

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down. I'm not hitting you, I'm not raping you, why are you struggling so much?" you smile gently, giving them a "calming" slap across the face. And they see in your eyes—or feel it in the hard-on pressed against them—that that's exactly what you're about to do.

[fromhe11withlove]

You are in a small room, bathed in cozy semi-darkness. It's lit only by the fire crackling softly in the hearth and the warm, honeyed glow of a single lamp. The outlines of bookshelves, heavy with old volumes, and a solid wooden desk fade into the soft shadows. You are here, settled deep into the cushions of the sofa by the fire.

And I am here with you, holding you. You are nestled in my arms, your back against my chest. My arms are wrapped securely around you, one hand resting over your heart, feeling its rhythm, the other cradling your shoulder.

You are safe here.

All your problems and worries are left outside the door. They have no place with us now. Feel the tension in your shoulders begin to melt, dissolving into the warmth of this room and my embrace.

You can let go.

Can you feel my hand now? My fingers trace a slow, soothing line from your temple, along your jawline. My palm is warm against your cheek as I gently, ever so gently, guide your head to rest against my shoulder, turning it away from the shadows. There’s no need to look anywhere but here.

You won't look at things that upset you.

You won't think about things that knot your stomach.

Your focus is here now.

Only on what is good, and gentle, and meant for you.

You feel deep, steady warmth where our bodies meet. It seeps into you, a quiet tide of calm. Listen to the slow, even sound of my breathing against your ear. Synchronize your own breath with mine. Just follow my lead. In… and out. That’s it.

Everything heavy is leaving you with each exhale.

Everything is alright.

Now, listen to my voice. It’s soft, and low, and meant only for you. It vibrates through my chest and into you.

I am always here.

You are never alone.

You are mine—and I cherish what is mine.

Your busy mind needs a rest, sweetheart. A moment of silence. Feel my fingers threading slowly through your hair, massaging your scalp in light, circular motions. Let each touch unravel a single worried thought.

No thinking of others.

No thinking of responsibilities.

No thinking at all.

Let your mind go quiet and still for me. Just focus on the sensations—the weight of my hand, the scent of woodsmoke and old books, the sound of the fire popping softly.

I will guide you. I will tell you what to do. If you stumble, I will catch you. If the world feels too loud, I will bring you back to this quiet.

You have nothing to fear.

There is only this moment.

There is only peace and safety.

All is well.

Remember this feeling. Let it settle deep within you. This calm is yours now. You will carry it wherever you go.

But right now, you don't need to think about that. Right now, you don't need to think at all.

Right now, you are just here with me. And that is all.

[fromhe11withlove]

This blog has been stopped; the author is no longer monitoring reactions/asks/messages. It was fun, but I no longer feel like continuing. The previous intro with a description of the content is here. Bye-bye.

[bunbun-is-happy]

THIS IS WHERE I FIX BROKEN THINGS

For V.

"You thought you could tease me and taunt me, bait me and lure me, and nothing would happen?" Your sneer snuffs out my hopeful smile that always pops onto my face when you enter the room.

"And this is my new hobby room where I fix broken things."

"Can't you let me go?... Please... We had fun..."

The despair in my voice sounds like I'm ready to cry any moment again. My body hurts like a bitch from hanging in these chains and sleeping on the hard floor.

"We are still having fun! Don't you like it?"

You stop for a moment, looking at me with raised eyebrows and an amused glint in your eyes, the Durex Performa condom halfway rolled onto your erection. The numbing cream in them was supposed to make you last longer. Back then, when I gave the condoms to you as a present, I was giggling mischievously. I'm not giggling now. You can be too revengeful.

"It is so easy, you just have to say no. It is not like I'm holding you here."

"Being your rapetoy is a job I might be able to do. I might apply!"

I just stare at you. I can't pull any words out of the chaos in my head. I silently watch you finish putting on the condom and pulling on the chains that raise not just my arms above my head but also my legs until my feet are almost at the level of my head and I'm obscenely open and ready for you.

There is a soft trickling sensation rushing out between my legs followed by the sound of something dripping fast onto the floor. Just a few seconds and it stops. I'm scared to think that it is my blood.

"It is always the same with you. You just like to beg, don't you."

Your calm, demeaning manner is pushing me over the edge. I'm snapping so hard, you didn't see that coming.

"Okay, fine then! I'll beg! Turn the condom around and let me have the numbing cream! It fucking hurts by now! It really, really hurts!"

"You call that begging? I don't take commands. You know that."

Your voice still sounds calm, but there is a snarl that warns me not to cross the line. I feel like I'm starting to hyperventilate.

"Sorry... Please?" I can even muster a shaky smile for you, but the fear already shows in my eyes. "Pretty please?"

You are laughing a little.

"Adorable. But no. See how easy it is to say no?"

And without ceremony, you are gripping my hips and push in, making me scream like you are killing me. You shouldn't have fucked me with those roses, talking about how I smell like them, even am like them. I'm still wrecked and bleeding.

"You are so good."

It feels like you are tearing me apart.

"So sweet."

I can't even beg. I can only scream. But there is a spark.

"Do you like it, baby?"

The pleasure is coming through, but it still hurts too much and you are showing no mercy.

"I know you do."

I'm sobbing loudly, trying to tell you that it hurts.

"So good... You are so fucking good."

I can feel every cut. My awareness is reduced to that part of my body you are fucking much too hard. It hurts. You are hurting me! You are tearing me apart! I know you should stop. I'm hurt! But it feels good. I want the pleasure more than my safety. I need this! Just a little longer.

"Please!... Harder..."

You are rutting and rutting endlessly, making my head swim and my body shake helplessly, praising me while you are tearing me apart.

When you make the mistake to pull me close and hold me tight, all folded up and flush against your body, I'm biting you hard, not letting go of the flesh close to your neck even when I taste blood. I need to share this violence with you, like a backloop. I need to hurt you like you are hurting me.

And you like it. I can tell from your moan and how you are gripping me by my hair to pull me even more into you. You are not stopping. You are fucking me like a maniac and I can't help it. I'm cumming so hard. You are fucking me right through it, holding my arching and wildly jerking body safe in your arms. It is not the last time you are making me cum before you do too.

I'm sweating and shaking so much, that I fall to the ground and lie unmoving the moment you loosen my chains. I'm hurting. I'm really hurting. And so exhausted, that I just want to sleep.

You are crouching down next to me and move a strand of wet hair out of my sweaty face. I look up at you with nothing but love in my eyes. I always love those who destroy me.

"One of these days you will learn to say no, baby."

I smile at you, as I'm thinking the one thing in my head you pretend you want to hear- No.

[fromhe11withlove]

Used

[For Alexis.]

“Ah, there you are.”

He found you in the bedroom, face down on the mattress. You hadn't even bothered to lift your head.

You hear the rustle of clothes. Of course, he needs to change; he just got home. You hope that afterward, he'll just go about his business and leave you alone. But the bed dips under his weight as he sits on the edge beside you. A hand lands on your ass, squeezing it pointedly through your sleep shorts.

“Why are you dressed?” he asks. Right. You're breaking the rules. Stupid, meaningless rules.

You try to blindly push his hand away.

“Not now,” you mumble into the sheets.

Your own voice sounds disgustingly hoarse. You’ve always hated it, but after hours of sobbing, it's even worse.

He brushes your hand aside.

“Why. Are. You. Dressed?” he repeats. Slowly, one word at a time. In that cold, stern tone you sometimes like, but not now. You thought you'd cried all the tears you had, but something vile and prickly is stirring in your chest again.

He doesn't care that you feel like shit. No one does. As usual.

You clench your jaw tighter, trying to force the feeling down. Then you push yourself up on an elbow and turn your head to look him in the eye. You know you look a mess—tear-streaked face, snot, red eyes… But fuck it. Let him look. His sex toy isn't very sexy today.

He does look. His gaze locks onto your face, scanning every centimeter. You wanted to say something cutting, but all your resolve instantly evaporates. Instead, you just sigh tiredly and answer:

“Just… can you not touch me today, please?”

It sounds pathetic.

“No,” he replies curtly, with a smile, and his hand returns to your ass possessively. The smile doesn't reach his eyes. They're watching you with greed. “I want you now.”

He's only wearing his jeans. You feel his hands hook the waistband of your shorts and underwear and tug them down.

You twist around, grabbing his wrist again, trying to curl into a ball.

“I don't want it now,” you hiss. This time, less pathetic. Like an angry cat.

He doesn't even consider letting go, just lazily hooks a finger through the ring of your collar and gives it a slight tug.

“Free use,” he reminds you. “Anytime. You belong to me. You agreed to this.”

“Ahhh fuck that!” you snap, your patience finally running out.

You are too exhausted to think too hard about what you're doing. You just twist and sink your teeth into his arm. You get a sharp jab in the stomach for it. You flail your fists, hitting anything you can reach, trying to scratch. Your nail accidentally catches on something on his jeans, and a sharp pain shoots through your finger, but you ignore it. You're fighting back.

As always, it's useless. You're in different weight classes, as he likes to remind you—in word and in practice. You end up on your stomach again, with him on top of you, your arm twisted behind your back to the point of pain.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. We'll have to fix that,” he says thoughtfully, and you feel a touch on that very finger that hurts. Seems you broke your nail down to the quick.

“Red!” you spit out hurriedly. Though without much hope.

He doesn't let go.

“Did you forget what safewords are for?” he asks with feigned surprise. “This isn't a scene. I'm just going to help you so you don't hurt yourself further… You'll have to bear with it a little, but it's your own fault…”

You barely have time to clamp your teeth down on the sheet before the torn piece of nail is ripped from the quick in one sharp motion. A nasty, sharp pain. The kind you don't like. Tears well up in your eyes again, and you whimper.

“There now,” he notes with satisfaction. “Stop resisting, or something even worse might happen to you… Will you be good?”

You've known him long enough to hear the threat in those words and take it seriously. Your choked 'Mhm' is enough for him. He releases your arm and gets up. He strips off your remaining clothes and tosses them somewhere on the floor. His hands grab your hips and pull you up, positioning you on your knees, so your ass is in the air. You hear the clink of a belt buckle, the sound of a zipper being undone. The click of a lube bottle opening.

No foreplay. He just positions himself behind you and pulls you onto his cock. Not in one smooth motion, of course—your size difference makes it somewhat difficult—but without ceremony.

Like a fleshlight, your brain supplies.

It hurts, and it stings, and it hurts, and it stings, and…

“Still so tight,” he chuckles, and starts to move.

You whimper again. Once again, you're just being used. You're always just being used. But you feel that thought, along with the pain, along with the sensation of his cock stretching your ass, starting to arouse you. As always.

“Tell me why you were crying,” he says. Not asks. Demands.

What does it matter? Why not tell him. Why not tell him while he's fucking you in the ass. You have nothing left to lose.

“Just thinking about how worthless I am,” you force out. You try to sound casual, but your throat tightens again.

“Oh, yeah?” he drawls, not stopping thrusting into you. “In what way, exactly?”

You swallow with difficulty—and start talking. Everything. Literally everything. It can't get any more humiliating than it already is. You're just a walking bundle of problems. Unattractive. Defective. Worse than everyone. The one who’s not enough. The one who's always abandoned, always cheated on, always used. Sometimes you manage to forget, to deceive yourself for a while, but it's always right there. Something always reminds you. A carelessly dropped phrase, a random memory, any fucking little thing…

“And you're just using me, aren't you?” your tears are dripping onto the sheet. “Just… fucking me, and then you'll dump me. I'm not good for anything else anyway.”

You sob, your body shudders and clenches—and clenches around his cock too. He grunts and starts moving even more sharply, his fingers digging into your hips, moving your ass back and forth, sheathing you on his length.

“Keep going, baby, I'm close,” he moans.

You turn your head and look back at him over your shoulder. A handsome face, showing pure lust. A heavy gaze, parted lips, beads of sweat on his forehead…

What did you expect to see there? What did you wish was there?

“You make me wanna die,” you giggle through tears, through your own matching lust, the shaking, the tension…

“But why? What's wrong now, sweetheart? You came to me yourself, remember?” he purrs in response, sensually, without a trace of sympathy. Accompanied by the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Something inside you seems to crack.

“I just wanted you to love me!” you almost yells desperately in a final attempt to get through to him. Casting the last remnants of pride aside.

You stare at him point-blank, from below, and he looks back at you, even stopping his movement. For a moment, you almost believe he heard you.

Until a cruel smile blooms on his lips, until he reaches for you, grabs your collar, and pulls you towards him, forcing you into a kneeling upright position. He turns your head to the side to see your face, and says:

“You know what I want? I want to cum inside you right now.”

He stares at you greedily.

The crack grows, widens, and something inside shatters, explodes into a million pieces, and he sees it.

And you can physically feel how that only turns him on even more.

He shoves you in the back, and you fall onto your elbows.

He's rutting into you violently, so fast you can't take it anymore. Your body reaches its climax almost simultaneously with his; you scream into the sheets, already soaked with your tears and drool. You feel him cum—deep inside you.

But he doesn't stop. You know this isn't over yet.

There's not a single thought left in your head.

…

You hear him leave the room. You hear the door close. Then it opens. You feel your finger being wiped with antiseptic and bandaged. You hiss softly but don't otherwise react. You hear him leave again. You hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen. You hear him walking back and forth through the apartment. Talking to someone on the phone.

You vaguely recall that yesterday you were hurt by how he was talking to someone else… Maybe. Your memory fails you like this all the time.

A strange thought comes to you: if you had something like a pencil within reach, you'd pierce both your eardrums just to not hear anything. But you simply don't have the energy to get up and find something suitable. A stupid idea.

The sheet beneath you is unpleasantly wet and cold from your own release. The throbbing pain in your finger is a slight distraction from the feeling.

You wish you could just not exist.

You watch the tree branches swaying in the wind outside the window. You don't feel the passage of time. Just watch as the sky darkens. The streetlights come on. It starts to snow. Big, fluffy snowflakes slowly, slowly fall down… You're cold. You imagine lying out there, being slowly buried by the snow.

Until the door opens and the weight and heat of another body cover you once again. You feel so small.

“Do you like it, my love?” a voice mockingly purrs in your ear as its owner forcefully pushes his cock into your tired, aching, miserable body one more time.

You're not a person. You're not even an animal—they have at least some instinct for self-preservation. An animal would gnaw off its own paw to escape the trap you walked into willingly. You're just a worthless thing to be used, ready to serve its owner again. Things are unfamiliar with concepts like dignity.

The thing opens its mouth and moans: “Yes.”

[tearing-my-wounds]

made a choking audio here you go you freaks

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[fromhe11withlove]

Kissing her on the parapet of a dam, the full moon above us. We've just come from a walk in the dark, frosty November park. I can taste the spiced tea from our thermos on her tongue. I'm whispering silly sweet nothings right into her lips, teasing her about how cold the tip of her nose is—and kissing it too. I gasp as she slips her equally icy hands under my sweater without warning. Just one of many small, precious moments.