Theatre of the Peverse (Trigger Warning) Fear isn’t a vice, it’s more insidious

Theatre of the Peverse (Trigger Warning) Fear isn’t a vice, it’s more insidious than that. It creeps under your skin, makes it shiver and crawl, and gets in all the places where you don’t want anything, now or ever, to go. Fear touches you in inappropriate places, violates you until you just want it to go away so you can feel clean again.  Fear wandered into your mind, and felt like it was suffocating her veins, squeezing each one until they felt like they were going to burst. She wished it was like a vice. He slapped her again, and the world rushed back into focus. She blinked, looked up at him. Cloth against her tongue, pushing up between her teeth. She glared, hoping it looked tough. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She rolled onto her side, and bit her lip a moment before she shrugged. “It’s kind of been on the list for a while…” As if that was a good enough reason. As if that was the reason at all. “There’s a reason it’s still there, you know.” He paused, and she could see it work its way through his mind as his brow furrowed and relaxed. “Do you trust me with it? I mean, do you trust me enough? It’s going to be pretty intense."  She let it hang there for a moment, and then nodded. "I do. That’s why I want to do it.” His hand was against her throat, and if her hands hadn’t been securely tied to her sides, she’d have tried to fight him off. She had, in fact, just minutes ago. She could see the scratches in his forearms, feel the skin underneath her nails. “I’m going to fuck you up.” It was said nonchalantly, which really didn’t help. She was squirming, but that seed was starting to bloom, and she wasn’t sure whether it was the fear coursing through her, or familiar lust. Either way, she squeezed her legs together, which made him laugh. “You silly little slut, is this turning you on?” The hand on her throat squeezed, and she felt the panic of suffocation crystalline in her mind before he suddenly released, and she sucked in air through her nose. His other hand was between her legs already, roughly groping around, fingers grazing against swollen flesh. The tiniest of moans burst past her lips, but it died on the gag. For the first time, she was grateful for it.  “How are you going to let me know if I go too far?” She smiled, bringing up her hand and snapping her fingers, three times. He nodded, and she found the serious look on his face almost unbearably beautiful. “And if you can’t do that?” She almost giggled, but just rolled her eyes instead, before opening her eyes wide, sucking her lips into her mouth to emulate being gagged, and shook her head violently from side to side while clapping her hands against her thighs. The spell was broken, and the po-face melted away from his features to be replaced by a warm smile. He reached up and held her cheek, before chuckling. “Ok, ok. You get it. I get it. Last chance. You sure you want to do this?"  She was. She’d spent the last three nights barely sleeping out of a mixture of excitement and indecision. She’d wanted this for years, a recurring fantasy that she’d been too scared of to even acknowledge at first, before relegating it to a weird perversion, before finally realising that this was a man she could share it with, and be safe while doing so. It was theatre, a bit of mutual drama that they could both enjoy, but she knew it would feel real in the moment. "I’m sure.” He nodded. His finger was inside her, and she was rising up to get away from it. Regardless, and almost in spite of her, her body was clamping around it, trying to hold it there was little waves of pleasure shivered up and down her spine. She shook from side to side, trying to dislodge the chair he’d tied her to, maybe have it smash on the floor so she could get away. The hand at her throat shot out, grabbing the side of it. “Oh no, you don’t get away that easily.” His voice was treacle. Tar. Thick and poison. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would make him go away. Fear pulsed like a heartbeat. “Not yet, at least.” She opened her eyes, and stared up at him. The look in his eyes was a curious thing. Sadism brimmed there like tears that would never fall, but behind them, warped and muted behind the character, she could see something like love. For a moment, the fear pulsed a little less strong. And then his hand came up again, and she lost herself to it. -- source link
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