Thrill in the Kill

A polar vortex is nature's wild abandonment to prevail against the vex of restraint gone pale. Born in liberation of amative fruition, the garden of its cosmic delights once knew only the perpetual storm of probing discovery. Opened wide to untamed transitions, the impetus to renew and strengthen it power once grew with life's every hour.

While its wintry chill may invoke a cycle to kill, there is the primal creativity to thaw and provoke the heated thrill. With arbitrary interdiction of dogmatic illusion, humankind has little predilection for wisdom's intrusion. Except for the few, the awakening thaws the taste upon the dampness of natural flows to the tease of delicious chew.

So, within that scheme, the ice, the snow the frigid wind, the lone car on the deserted highway, struggled to a singular form to warmly entice. And yet, for a time, from early in the morning, along the journey, by noon the yearning, the darkness ensued. Relentless, and by persistence, without fear, soon there loomed near.

At last a surge to the Id's lusty solution, to this madness of the cold despair, in the distance there was light for prurient resolution. Would she be waiting after all this time, in the brazen tease of her panting prime? And yet, the rendezvous had been set, beyond the boundaries of mere meeting for a mission to beget.

With the engine overheated, well-primed, by the tension exerted in labored extension, he saw the faint glimmer of raptured intension. Free at last he thought, as his mind sought to prevail against conformity of communal complicity in contrived detail. But for a flash back, to see a hot sultry day on a crisp Sunday morning, he felt the dash.

Once, another assignment and cool drink of rose tea, they had a blissful ride in the country that never came to be. But for that shaft of lighted glow, he was reminded of the heated embers that were yet to grow. An imagination can ascend to lofty peaks, and cascade in the wetted depths of gushing silky streaks.

Disturbed from the dream enthralled, a blink of an eye and the finely tuned engine of mechanical marvel stalled. In its pulsating desire to take him beyond the sky, he forgot for the moment he was a spy. And she, the femme fatale of exotic blissful snare, the Lilith, the siren of things few even dare. By virtue of his libidinous will, he ached to lavish in the conjoined discharge of their salacious thrill. His primal thoughts sought the solace of a frozen trek, as his motorized conveyance became a snow-covered wreck.

So heavy the snow, thick the ice, and slippery the passage, his sliding horsepower crashed through white quilted embankments more than twice, probably at least thrice. To that not so far place of torrid temptation; he survived the bottoming out of his pounding pace. His sensate voyeurism of malevolent thought grew mischievously with mounting anticipation, for that exotic tryst of spent exaltation. To be worn out by the ravages of wanton obsessions, he wanted exhaustion from her hungry passions.

Pulling out of the smoldering wreckage, he hastened his trudging ever so intently, bent on reaching the distant cottage. Ignited by what would transpire, the radiance of her masked mysterious wickedness, heatedly pressed him on for his desire. Upward he climbed and felt the rising pressure below the belt, its force he fully felt.

On the porch of the cabin, beyond its crimson glowing portals, his senses were aroused like a freshly lit torch. Pulsating from within the contour of his rain soaked trench coat, he could smell the rose scented allure. As he arrived, having trekked a good race, left tracks in whiteness behind, he waited and surveyed the place.

Hot, with the feel of burning luminosity, the cold reaches of wintry chill faded to rich steamy darkness of smoldering thrill. Indecent passion, chased by bare abandon, gripped newly found appeal, to fill the warm slick portals of lustrous zeal. At that moment, without bitter regret, all his clothes, vanished without a fret.

Except for the black trench coat and shoulder holster, underneath in nakedness of primal surge, he sought unity in a final mutual purge. His gun below his left shoulder, he panted the willingness to grow bolder. From a borrowed moment in time, he thought he heard a heavenly harp bare a tempo ever so sublime.

Inside, the fireplace raged as if a humid summer's day, sultry warmth invited nothing words could say. Angels seemed to play a symphony of tempestuous tones, whereby lust summoned every simmering thrust of erogenous zones. Music to her ears, the red masked nymph sang in her mind, she plotted lustful torture with smirking leers.

On the crimson velvet settee by the raging fire, she brazenly inclined with an essence only goddesses could inspire. Her furiously sensual red curls fell with a flare, down to her golden shoulders for unfurled secrets to snare. From head to hips, she wore nothing more than the day of creation, nakedly waiting with moistened pink lips. Dark brown eyes, near the blackness of coal, looked through the door from depths of her soul.

On each side of the doorway, the transom of coital divide, he and she waited in the contrivance of pretentious pride. Wanting had to be delayed, but only for a short time, until the transaction had been made. The mission was at hand, and with every pull and tug of a moments strand, she and he taunted their senses will all they could command. His fingers touched the brass doorknocker a second before. Hesitance need not be the guideline for the impetuous necessity to go beyond one's timeline.

Across that expanse, decisions to be made, his intentions for himself he would definitely enhance. A hunter hunts for the thrill of the kill, no matter what it takes, from days to months. But, what if in the adventure, without the contrivance of censor, the hunter meets unbridled confrontation with a huntress of notorious reputation? Then, for the sake of the moment, the necessity of atonement, each must partake.

Both minds of he and she considered the danger, made their choices even stranger, and never to miss a chance to know the liberated bliss. Of mounting tension, without apprehension, the climb to the summit of smoldering allure offered temptation deliciously pure. Thoughts run ravenously wild, illusions spring eternal, as neither mourns the looming gush of oozing thrusts in all that is beguiled.

With the knocking at her door, she rose up with nothing more than a pouty smile, and approached barefoot across the floor. With her mask cleverly in place, she glided effortlessly with a confident pace and a gleaming smile on her face. In the doorway, she stood idle for a second or two, anticipated his knock in a moments few. The guile by which her interest grew, strengthened her libido ever anew.

The heavy wooden door swung open wide with rustically charming flare, as she invited him in to her lair in the glen on the distant moor. At the sight of her erotic openness to his presence, he gasped with a deep felt sigh, and nearly bowed to her self-assurance. For this instant, he wanted this vision inside his senses, so he stood for several breaths and gazed upon her exalted nakedness without pretenses.

From the sensual part in her red tresses to the mystique of her fiery Venusian curvature, his thinking descended to the smoldering debauchery of her inviting overture. All around long rounded thick black candles burned on the fireplace ledge, to form an encirclement of a dark shadowy hedge. An aroma of blushing rosy hints, laced upon delicate aromatic scents, filled the air and drifted wistfully upon the setting's flare.

His rain drenched back against the log wooded wall, he flushed with a smile, as she said, "Nice of you to come, we have much to discuss for a while." To her, he quickly responded, coming in from the cold out of the snow, "I owe you much for what you know, and you're willing to show." She turned and let him take in a full view from behind, as she would not be opposed to his forcefulness of any kind.

She replied with a hauntingly throaty tone, "Take off your coat, for we must consummate a deal before anything can be known. And for that, my friend, I must see what you can reveal, for I want to perceive what can be shone." Her vocal pitch tugged at his core, and provoked images of depths he might explore. She went on to appeal, "You need warmth, you're wet and cold, so venture near, and let's make this very real."

"Oh it'll be true, I can assure you. We need a trusting connection," he murmured huskily, on further enticing reflection. "Let's consummate what must be done, recline on your red couch, and gently transform into one." She smiled an eerie darkness, the kind you find with black leather-clad torturer's madness. "Oh, I can assure you that will be the case, but beware of what you wish for in the next frenzied pace."

A greeting of naked embrace, the slow undressing of his panting pace, aided the escalation of his growing and throbbing expectation. As the fire flickered its mesmerizing illuminated worth, she glanced down at the burgeoning girth. Veined and strained, ever so round, thickened primal delight, she breathed heavily at the engorged sight. She could hear moans before the tones, with growing desire to feed the need.

Upon the smooth velvety scarlet array, she led him and spread herself sensually in brazen display. Her eyes met his with beguiling appeal, and demanded he quickly seal the deal. To reveal his torrid dagger she insisted, and then become her impassioned attacker. In a moment, quicker than a bee on a rose bud flowering, he shed all resistance, unhitched at her flaming insistence. Confident, he moved quickly, with no room for cowering, he lowered his lips for succulent devouring.

Unclothed, naked for all of it to bare, she marveled at his awakened strength with an eager stare. Any other mortal may not tarry for long, as fear might bridle the senses too scary. The open array of her dangerous pull brought him to his knees in full, with potent hunger to satiate and to please. As she tugged with smoldering urgency, he readied his stiff muscled potency. Downward he eased, for her depths he wanted to seize.

Yet, in all efforts, energies, and intentions to claim a prize, sometimes there hides dimensions of unexpected surprise. Without the benefit of glorious foreplay to excite, he wanted to dominate with all his might. To the contrary, in his selfish fixation to tarry upon his immediate satiation, she moved like an apparition, intent to counter his slanderous apprehension. He thought he had her, but she was faster.

The divan, the lounger, the couch, whatever you call a place to sensuously slouch. Her design of its kind was unique from any you find. In the flash of a flicker, before he could lick her sweet dripping flower, she flexed the skill of her power. From creases, curves and crevices, with efficient releases, there appeared exotic devices to restrain all his vices. Shocked, stunned and trapped, he was securely strapped.

"What the fuck!" He cried out at his change of luck. As he struggled against his restraints, without a doubt even if he faints, it was useless to have complaints. "Why have you done this? You know in my bliss the desire would be endless." While he pleaded his case, she made sure he was tied securely in place. Without a word, she took time needed to bind his captivity, for the craving festivity she severely heeded.

"You lie, cheat, deceive and hope to achieve, a conquest over me, regardless of whatever I may please or conceive." She taunted without clemency her hostage, plotting no mercy in the essence of salacious advantage. From a panel to conceal the tortures of her zeal, she did reveal the toys for a man-boy to feel. With care, evenly paced, each tool was in plain view and well placed, as her passion erotically grew.

He struggled while she toggled a ball gag over his lips, to silence his pleas and flag the frantic slips, for his every regretful wheeze. Jerked tightly over each jaw, his skin reddened as if it might be rubbed raw. Buckled safe behind his skull, he controlled each breath in the intermittent lull. With cock ring slipped on snug, his huge swelling begged a loving tug, as she grinned a wicked shrug for the splooge to unplug.

Around her nude waist, she strapped on a sexy black harness without haste, with its horse-like rubbery brown prominence, it would become an ecstatic dominance. As a well-oiled slickly penetrating drill, for the fruition of endless thrill, she would dominate his interrogation beyond the limits of exhilaration. Without further ado, she probed gently with a finger, then two. She delighted as he winced to no avail, while his eyes seemed plighted by glimpse at the larger implement that would soon impale.

Handily, skillfully, with singular fisted grip, one set of fingers jacked his swelled projection like a magical whip, as the other inserted the bulbous tubular tip. Oh did he squeal, like a blubbering seal, the anal intrusion for his gaping to reveal. Stretching with slow incision, her domination persisted with slow slick insertion. Briefly, he gave a frightful strain of virginal pain at her steady drive of sensuous refrain. Although he bucked wildly at first at the unexpected invasion, in the coming moments he accepted without further evasion. "Resistance is useless you see," she laughed wickedly, "a good butt fucking you need, to nail your arrogant ass in submission to me."

Whatever the thrill, there is usually a chill, fear grown of selfish one sided satiations, retarding the will, due to conforming consensus for illicit expectations in regressive retarded shrill. Yet, as he might find, by her disciplined unwind, there is freedom to seed in the explorations of amative need. To mount upon the ascended senses, without borders by ignorant dogmatic orders or fences, self-evolution invites liberated offenses. "Ah to fuck, to fight and to feed, such are primordial desires we need," she yelled.

As she knew all too well, that if one fails to find their fill, there is danger in a will left not to fulfill. As he labored to understand where he failed, he discovered her dominance of more profound instructional prominence. She would teach him, but she would need to break him, only to enlighten him, in order to better make him. "You must obey me," she commanded, "as of this moment, nothing else can you foment, and you will learn your selfishness to relent. All dogmatic array will fade in dissolving mythical affray."

Stretched, spread wide, flung open, his magnificent as she eyed in his ample divide. While his fingers dug deeper into the silky covering of the sleeper, from its crimson silkiness, a pretentious likeness, he fell under her spell. Submission to her dominance was now his princely prominence. Quickly, by scent and venous hint, he learned to obey his mistress and do whatever she might say. Her thrusts were long and powerfully strong, as each downward lance made him cry out for more of this dance.

She pumped with precision, in carnal grinding possession, as he accepted the sensual unwinding. Jacking him up and down, plunging in and out pound for pound, in slippery rhythmic succession, he was ready for climatic possession. For Mistress Morbia the Assassin, the fucking intensity was fueling her passion. As she fucked him, the harness fucked her deeply within. "Of all, to cum is the sum of the call," she warned.

In the last moments of the splayed spy's torments, Morbia felt the node of her inner senses explode, and the gush came with lush heaving rush in each orgasmic load. In darkly riveting cadence, his penile stiffened strain came to the edge, about to blow volcanic spurts over the ledge in silken snowy rain. Nonetheless, for Morbia's reign the pummeling did maintain the necessity of submission for an eternity he would attain.

For the wintry chill in heated thrill, the mistress would make the kill. Her mantra was her fight and reached the dark depths of tortuous delight. Mistress Morbia in her way, thrilled to have fucked him as her pay. For her captive, still alive, the pain of submission possessed him to revive. Nonetheless, with this surprise, primed, pegged and pinioned, he would not achieve making her his prize. No, the kill would fulfill.

"Alas, tricked and pricked," he moaned, "you've pumped me senseless to the bone. "Of being boned, you speak," she said with throaty tone, "the thrill comes in that moment before the final fill". With the sudden crack of a small whip, she gently lashed his sweat drenched back. "Oh fuck!" he cried. Yet once again, he wanted to cream and begged for more, as though his fill had not found the scream of terminal thrill.

"Slave," she smirked when she spoke, "to me you have submitted, with each thrust of my poke." Another smack of the lash, as Morbia lurked from behind, while her heated climax was about to relax. "I submit, Mistress, I surrender to you alone," he plead in a final moan. "You're way too easy you worthless slime," she started to chime. Impaled, she held him steady, while she held a silenced pistol at the ready. To that she concluded, "You've had your spill for wintry chill in heated thrill."

The End...