CNC
CNC= CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT
trigger warning of this writing:
-consensual non-consent, heavy emotional kink, rape scene/fantasy, violence.
Under no circumstances do I, would I or would I ever subscribe to non-consent scenes, play or violence.
Please have a baseline understanding of kink & bdsm prior to reading & respect the creative muse when she whispers or screams…
Consensual non-consent is not something to play around with lightly.
Consensual non-consent or CNC is not something to play with until you MASTER consent.
When I say master consent: truly learning how to have your own boundaries, verbalize them, find non-verbal ways to communicate them and also respect and honor other peoples boundaries, listening to them and understanding their ways of communicating them non-verbally. Doing this OVER and OVER hundreds of times with integrity and humility. Mastering consent also comes with apologizing and taking ownership if you ever do overstep someones boundaries. We are human and the best thing we can do when we breach someones consent is to take full accountability, apologize and vow to not cross their boundaries again.
CNC is a very advanced kink practice that should really only be reserved for a very long term partner that KNOWS you, RESPECTS you and has shown you repeatedly that they know how to respect your boundaries.
With that being said…enjoy this whimsical writing of a fantasy CNC scene.
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consensual non-consent by candice leigh
Lightly snowing in January in New York City, 3am, she sleeps alone. She begins to hear movement outside her fire escape window but brushes it off as being the snowstorm and wind and falls back asleep. The window shatters and all of a sudden she is being wrapped up in a blanket being taped with Duct tape, a gag shoved in her mouth and a blindfold put over her now ever alert and dilated eyes. She doesn't know how many intruders were in her apartment, but she senses 3 or 4. All of a sudden she is being lifted over one of the men's shoulders and taken out of her apartment, into the elevator which she recognizes, brought down to the street and put in the backseat of a car. The city is quiet at 3am, but everything still moves so fast. She is scared, curious but starting to get turned on. She tries to follow the direction the car is going to gather her blind sense of direction, but eventually her last sense of a grip of control diffuses like God particles exploding into nothing, everything and she loses all sense of spatial awareness and reality.
The intruder in the backseat keeps playing with her hair, shifting from massaging her scalp to a strong pull making her eyebrows lift. And every few precious minutes, he reaches up and under the blanket, between her legs, gently slipping her underwear to the side slowly like a heavy velvet curtain. He almost has to pause by the intensity of her quivering but continues and persists to find her wet slit. He doesn’t penetrate her, just feels and relishes in her wetness and stays still as she squirms and moans from under her open, full of saliva gagged mouth. The car eventually comes to a stop, his fingers leave, her panties spring back into place as if they were never manipulated with in the first place. Her mind becomes still yet slightly confused with the stopping of his touch and the car.
"Where are we now?" she wonders.
"How long was our drive? Who am I with? Am I safe? Do I hate this? Do I love this? Maybe both? What is happening next? Is this real? Am I about to be raped and murdered? Is this my man following through on the most outrageous kinky fantasy I’ve ever fucking had!?”
She is taken out of the car. It's cold outside and she infers she isn't in the city anymore by the rustling of the trees, the sound of the snow kissing the ground and also her face. There is a unique juxtaposition that she loves by the sensual way the specks of snow land on her face, the howling of the wind, the softness of fresh and ripe snow she can feel under her shoes as each step submerges her deeper into...everything.
This sensual sweetness mixed with the fierce fire of her wrist being dragged by this mystery man,the other two men walking behind with heavy steps. Every so often one of the other men forces her to walk faster, barking…
"Hurry up you stupid sleepy slut. You don't even know whats coming for you. You don't know how hard you are about to get fucked. And left in the snow to freeze and be eaten by wolves with your blood shattered EVERYWHERE and no one to care!”
She doesn't recognize his voice and this brings a sense of deep and cold doom in her bones. Her jaw is now hurting from being pried open for so long, the sound of her cry and the warmth of her tears left unheard and unseen.
They eventually stop walking and she is pressed up against a tree that's trunk is almost twice as wide as her body. The duct tape holding the blanket around her is cut, the blanket opened almost ceremoniously as she is offered like an angel in the snow. Rope begins to press firmly into her skin just shy of her clavicles, just at her hipbones, and again near her spread ankles.
As she is pinned to the tree,freezing at the dermis, but boiling below, he slowly unfastens the metal notch in the gag, removing it from her mouth, unleashing spit too--dumping on her exposed breasts. He slides her spit on her chest down to her pussy as if he is returning a river back to the ocean.
Her first gasp of air through her now empowered mouth shatters and cuts both the silence and him too.
Her breathy inspiration breaks the stillness of his own thoughts for the first time in the last
few hours of her internally momentous, yet quiet struggle.
He's forced to feel her more deeply now, to HEAR her more deeply, almost had forgotten what exactly SHE does to him too. Her one gasp of a breath cracks and melts him like an ice pick, puncturing and piercing his center deeply in a way that all too profoundly invigorates, enrages and terrifies him.
Her one half breath, her wetness, her cold and attentive nipples, her warm insides that he anticipates, her now free mouth and tongue, her eyes still covered all fill his ice picked puncture wound with power, energy, vitality, force, and in this one perfect moment in the snow blanketed woods--with purpose...
but also he hates that she has this capacity.
To engulf him,
TO RULE HIM without even knowing she rules him, to fill him as she can with something as short winded as one crescent half of her fucking breath, with the sound of her gasp.
In one half breath, one fucking HALF OF A BREATH she inhales her power back...and part of his...
soul...
Though he will never admit to this unspoken exchange.
Ever.
Not even to the ice filled abyss of wind, pine and shadows where his secrets indeed would be forever held and kept safe as they also would have been with her. The trapped truth and trapped words only add to his absolute fucking enraged helplessness that come with realizing his absolute existential absence of control.
Of her.
Of how he feels.
Of how he feels for HER.
Her wordless half breath and unbounded mouth terrify him because he knows more of her words, her sounds, her truths or are they lies? also have the potential to both fill and feed and kill and destroy him.
Let alone utter the words, "I'm leaving.”
Both sides of the breath.
Life and death.
He thinks and holds back…
Fuck, she brings me life.
Fuck, she’s going to bring me to the depth and deaths of me too.
It infuriates him that something so deep can happen in the span of two seconds, her oblivious and closed eyes to his reality, so deep in her own dark universe, unable to see him.
To REALLY SEE him.
In fury at STILL her control over him, he slaps her across the face--hard--hoping for a reprieve from his shaking inner self.
The icy snow that was once the needle pricks of sensual pain on her cheek all of a sudden become the remedy too. His warm hand print leaves her with a rush of heat, the dozens of snowflakes stampede in like nurses eager to help. His hit lives on her cheek, reverberating into her being and over time, delivering his one thousand secrets and his one thousand love letters to her that he was too afraid and cowardice to hit…send.
Send me into our rapture once again, she longs.
Send me the truth and tell me the whole story, insecurities and all.
Send me your thoughts, even if you don’t— I can hear them. All of them.
Send me your love in my dreams. I can feel every embrace.
Again, she falls in love with the chill and the idea of being "rescued", if only by the nature of the snow, though so brief almost immediately forgettable. She’s long passed the days of waiting for anyone or anything to “rescue” her… but in this moment— the fantasy thaws something hard and calloused around her chest and she wants so deeply for her captor to also be the only thing, place, person, moment, penetrative feeling, anything…that can also rescue her.
“Can the wound be the remedy and the remedy be the wound? Please can the story go like this?” she thinks.
She doesn't just THINK this, her soul sobs for this, drips wet for this, her entire body covered in raised arctic bumps NEEDING this to be the crack that breaks the ice…
her ice because she can’t get to what is underneath,
just beneath the ice…alone.
Holding her jaw firmly, he kisses her cheek skating his thumb across. She is the ice, her cheek--his entire rink.
"I know it's you.", she whispers.
"I dremt this. You took me. You came for me.You put me over your shoulder, just like you did. I had outgrown the small house, the small pink bed I was sleeping in. Before I fell asleep tonight, before you came, I cried alone asking God, the cosmos, the anything that exists beyond what I can see, feel or know for something MORE. How deeply I've been needing, pleading, craving, painfully LONGING for something MORE."
Ignoring her sweet melodies, the window of time closing like a vortex from her half breath that opened him to the core, to the moment of him freezing back over, fully hardened, fully shelled, fully erect, fully ready to penetrate her twice as deep as only she could imagine penetrating him with her stupid fucking half breath that he never should have allowed to enter him, scratching her cheek wishing his nails were as sharp as metal skate blades…
God how beautiful her cheek would look with the sweetness of her blood dripping down, meeting her lips, her lips meeting his.
He unzips his pants quickly, pulls out his cock, rips off her blindfold, splits her folds wide, puts his entire everything inside her.
His power.
His body.
His soul.
His heart.
His shame.
His guilt.
His fear.
His so much fear.
He passionately kisses her, taking every last drop of her sap like a good tree made to give.
Her eyes open as she sees this new world, this new reality for the first time…and him too.
He’s staring deep into her eyes so present, as if nothing else could have possibly been birthed into the universe besides this, them, right here, right now.
She thinks she has been caught by him.
He thinks she has caught and slowly tortured him.
Their eyes lock and they are both equally and in mirrored ways both completely caught.
They are both found out.
Both and each tied.
Both and each bound to one another.
Both and each submissive to one another.
Both and each with unspeakable power over one another.
Both and each completely ruined, completely changed, completely in for an unpredictable journey that neither has any control over.