“I want to really kiss you right now.
And yes, I knew what type of kiss he was talking about.
One of those deep, passionate kisses that makes me weak at the knees. The kind of kiss that sends electricity straight through me. The kind of kiss that makes my nipples stand erect. The kind of kiss that makes me hunger for him. My breathing goes ragged and my fingers take hold of his face. My tongue searches out his in such a panic. I’m afraid to lose him. To let go. I don’t want to fall away from the moment. He is my lifeline at this very moment as we hungrily stay connected.
There is no chance to break away and undress. Not yet. For now it’s the kiss.
The rest will come soon enough….
Friday, June 17, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
In the quiet part of the night......
I sit and think, listening to the thoughts that I allow out when I think I can cope with them. In the quiet part of the night,I wonder about the 'what if's', 'the maybes', the 'if onlys'. In this time I ponder about the rights & wrongs, justice, injustice and how if you wait long enough eventually you will see people get their just desserts, both good and bad. I also wonder about friends, loved ones past and present, a fleeting thought for some wondering if they ever give a passing thought, then I chide myself for being sentimental,, because, out of sight is out of mind is it not?
In the quiet part of the night, I think of the future, what it has in store for all of us, not just me. I think of the happiness I have found in the last few months, and it makes me smile. I realise many of us, have dreams and hopes, some as with my own are not so grounded in reality as one would hope. While it's a good thing to have an unobtainable goal or high hope..But I wonder how many get so down hearted when it's realised that it was just pie in the sky to start with. *Shrugs* I speak of none of my friends, but just in general terms.
In this quiet time, I reflect, but don't worry about things that have happened, tis past now and that's where it will stay. I try not to worry about the smaller things. I also don't take people's attitudes as an affront to me, after all it may not be me they are annoyed with. Just shrug it off and leave it be.
I also reflect on decisions that I need to make and they will come soon, but only when I am good n ready and not before. I have to deem when I think the time is right to do them, no one else can decide that for me..
But mostly it's just time, time for me.....
In the quiet part of the night, I think of the future, what it has in store for all of us, not just me. I think of the happiness I have found in the last few months, and it makes me smile. I realise many of us, have dreams and hopes, some as with my own are not so grounded in reality as one would hope. While it's a good thing to have an unobtainable goal or high hope..But I wonder how many get so down hearted when it's realised that it was just pie in the sky to start with. *Shrugs* I speak of none of my friends, but just in general terms.
In this quiet time, I reflect, but don't worry about things that have happened, tis past now and that's where it will stay. I try not to worry about the smaller things. I also don't take people's attitudes as an affront to me, after all it may not be me they are annoyed with. Just shrug it off and leave it be.
I also reflect on decisions that I need to make and they will come soon, but only when I am good n ready and not before. I have to deem when I think the time is right to do them, no one else can decide that for me..
But mostly it's just time, time for me.....
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Collar....
It's fastened about my neck. Black leather. Wide and soft yet unyielding. When I tip my head back I can feel the buckle there and it gives me a shiver of delight. The wide strap attached sits against my spine and my wrists are bound. If I relax them, it pulls on the collar so I must hold myself erect. This is different because I must now force myself to keep my muscles tight. This raises my normal level of docility when I have a collar on. This is a new state of being.
I am aware of being there, aware of the disconnect. I can see myself in your eyes now. Hair loose about my shoulders and arms, I can feel it against my back. I am flushed and wanton. There is no disguising what I am, what I want.
I am there displayed for your gaze. Bound for your pleasure. Kneeling in submission and obeisance. The things I am when I'm not your toy fall away. All I want, all I need is to please you, to be used and owned. Later I'll think this over and it will make me uncomfortable, but not enough to change, not enough to stop the craving to feel it again.
Then your weight is on me, pressing against me. My nipples are abraded against the rug beneath me. My thighs are tightly together and you grunt each time you thrust into me. I can't move back against you. I can only writhe and moan. It won't be long before I begin to beg you.
"pleasepleasepleaseplease..." it's like a whispered mantra, a spell and it hangs in the air around us, mingling with the scent of sex.
I am aware of being there, aware of the disconnect. I can see myself in your eyes now. Hair loose about my shoulders and arms, I can feel it against my back. I am flushed and wanton. There is no disguising what I am, what I want.
I am there displayed for your gaze. Bound for your pleasure. Kneeling in submission and obeisance. The things I am when I'm not your toy fall away. All I want, all I need is to please you, to be used and owned. Later I'll think this over and it will make me uncomfortable, but not enough to change, not enough to stop the craving to feel it again.
Then your weight is on me, pressing against me. My nipples are abraded against the rug beneath me. My thighs are tightly together and you grunt each time you thrust into me. I can't move back against you. I can only writhe and moan. It won't be long before I begin to beg you.
"pleasepleasepleaseplease..." it's like a whispered mantra, a spell and it hangs in the air around us, mingling with the scent of sex.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
This is not.....
I never saw myself in my own fantasies; I couldn't bear it. I didn't see myself as someone who ought to be in those situations. When I made myself come, it was always to faceless men and women in whatever roles I wanted them to be in, saying and doing the things I wanted to say and do but never felt like I could pull off with confidence. Maybe I didn't really want to; I had no one in my life whom I craved to be naked with behind my eyelids at night.
Then you, the dark horse in the running, rode up, and everything finally became possible. Yet, while I love you, this is not a love letter.
This is an I-want-to-fuck-you letter.
Past experiences have taught me patience, how to sweetly torture myself while waiting for the right moment. I want you. This is why, when we spend time together, my fingers are knotted on the tabletop and my ankles are locked.
This is not a love letter. This is a confession.
You turn me on effortlessly. My mind swims with thoughts of your head between my legs and me coming against your tongue while your fingers are buried inside me, locking me to you. My mouth is dry, my panties wet. I can't concentrate on anything but how badly I want you.
This is how I get through the days until I see you again. I picture all the scenarios that will unfold once you know how I feel and feel the same way. We'll do anything, I'll do anything you want. I can see us going further than we ever planned or thought possible, and being so fucking glad we finally did.
You're with me everywhere I go. I fantasize about how your skin will feel against mine. I can hear my own screams in my head. I walk around with my body buzzing and my head foggy. The anticipation—the need—is both killing me and changing my life.
This isn't a love letter. This is a success story.
I respect you. You are a person who deserves what I have to give, and I will give it to you. This isn't a love letter. This is a promise.
I want to enthrall you. I crave you. I want your soft, choked moans in my ear, your hot breath against my neck. I want to hear your unintelligible mumbles of ecstasy. I picture us afterward, our flushed faces resting against the pillows, smiling wordlessly at each other like we both know some amazing secret, and it makes me ache. This is not a love letter. When you kiss me, you'll find out just what this is.
Then you, the dark horse in the running, rode up, and everything finally became possible. Yet, while I love you, this is not a love letter.
This is an I-want-to-fuck-you letter.
Past experiences have taught me patience, how to sweetly torture myself while waiting for the right moment. I want you. This is why, when we spend time together, my fingers are knotted on the tabletop and my ankles are locked.
This is not a love letter. This is a confession.
You turn me on effortlessly. My mind swims with thoughts of your head between my legs and me coming against your tongue while your fingers are buried inside me, locking me to you. My mouth is dry, my panties wet. I can't concentrate on anything but how badly I want you.
This is how I get through the days until I see you again. I picture all the scenarios that will unfold once you know how I feel and feel the same way. We'll do anything, I'll do anything you want. I can see us going further than we ever planned or thought possible, and being so fucking glad we finally did.
You're with me everywhere I go. I fantasize about how your skin will feel against mine. I can hear my own screams in my head. I walk around with my body buzzing and my head foggy. The anticipation—the need—is both killing me and changing my life.
This isn't a love letter. This is a success story.
I respect you. You are a person who deserves what I have to give, and I will give it to you. This isn't a love letter. This is a promise.
I want to enthrall you. I crave you. I want your soft, choked moans in my ear, your hot breath against my neck. I want to hear your unintelligible mumbles of ecstasy. I picture us afterward, our flushed faces resting against the pillows, smiling wordlessly at each other like we both know some amazing secret, and it makes me ache. This is not a love letter. When you kiss me, you'll find out just what this is.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Dom/sub or what? :)
I’m in flux, but I know that I’m a switch. I enjoy the idea of being submissive. I’m a pain slut, which I feel overrides the submissive bit because I bite/hit/scratch, etc back.
I know that for some people BDSM can be non-sexual, but for the most part it is very sexual for me. I do, however, enjoy power. I love having power over people. It’s a rush. It’s liberating and it makes me feel like I can do anything.
When I do submit, they have to have ticked or pressed the right buttons, I don’t just hand over power to anyone and I feel that power exchange should be done with extreme caution. I don’t like using the word submissive to describe me because people think that means I’ll let someone do whatever they want to.
On the contrary, I have very selective standards about who I would play with. I do not have the patience of the saint. Violation of trust and agreement are big no-noes. I honestly think that any “submissive” bit about me would still include me topping from the bottom, well at least in most cases. I’ve only met one man that I would gladly submit to.
I’m also bi. I often refer to my orientation as being“sexual” because I’m interested in whatever makes me happy sexually and I feel that I’m very adventurous and open to trying new things.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Marks....
It is late, and finally I am in that brief peaceful time before I go to bed. I head to the bathroom, I remove my shirt and stare at myself in the mirror, and the reminders of you left on my body.
My shoulders are covered with fiery red marks. Not your standard high school hickeys but actual hard bite marks purple in a few places but mostly that screaming, crying red. Bites (the kind that lets you know it really hurt )when they happen are almost too much. I am on the edge of too much and not enough and you take more from me with the bite than the creamy whiteness of my skin.
It is surprising to me that I am so fascinated by these marks. So entranced by them. I am cataloging them and memorizing them, knowing that I carried away the more concrete reminder of our time together. You get only the memory; I get the marks, which I can look at any time. That is my special possession, but you know I am not possessive; you have only to ask to see them.
I am tired of the word "mark" so I pause here and look for an alternative; my Thesaurus says thus " a device pointing distinctly to origin of ownership" and think that perhaps the word "mark" is a good one after all. I think I will use the word over and over again after all, but you know why don't you?
We love the bite; it is the most direct expression of who we are, within that I feel the ecstasy of need and fulfillment and I know finally I am almost home.
My shoulders are covered with fiery red marks. Not your standard high school hickeys but actual hard bite marks purple in a few places but mostly that screaming, crying red. Bites (the kind that lets you know it really hurt )when they happen are almost too much. I am on the edge of too much and not enough and you take more from me with the bite than the creamy whiteness of my skin.
It is surprising to me that I am so fascinated by these marks. So entranced by them. I am cataloging them and memorizing them, knowing that I carried away the more concrete reminder of our time together. You get only the memory; I get the marks, which I can look at any time. That is my special possession, but you know I am not possessive; you have only to ask to see them.
I am tired of the word "mark" so I pause here and look for an alternative; my Thesaurus says thus " a device pointing distinctly to origin of ownership" and think that perhaps the word "mark" is a good one after all. I think I will use the word over and over again after all, but you know why don't you?
We love the bite; it is the most direct expression of who we are, within that I feel the ecstasy of need and fulfillment and I know finally I am almost home.
Monday, May 16, 2011
endless possibilities.
I find myself at a loss of what to write to you. How can I put into words, the feelings you conjure, and the tantalizing visuals you produce in my head? How can I write a fantasy, knowing it will never be exactly what I want, because I orchestrate it, rather than we? When my lips brush yours, would you lightly stroke the nape of my neck with your fingers? Or would you suck my lower lip, asking without words to gain entrance so that your tongue could find my own? Perhaps you'd demand, rather than ask, pulling me tightly against you until my body is crushed against yours, your mouth devouring my own with no apology.
Each action can in turn set off its own chain of possible reactions, which would in turn set off different responses from me... the possibilities are quite frankly endless my darling. Endless. Let's return to that simple, innocent kiss.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your fingers curl to the nape of my neck, stroking the fine hairs until I feel small shocks of electricity. Gasping, my lips part and you seize the moment, your tongue stroking my lip, coaxing my mouth to open more. Your hands slip down my back, softly tracing the curve of my sides, the tiny indentation of my spine. I exhale slowly, my breath warm on you as my tongue dances tentatively with yours, a game of cat and mouse -- meeting, retreating, but always returning. My hands cup your jaw, thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks as we both close our eyes, lost in a moment that has become an eternity of tenderness.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your teeth catch my lower lip, sucking it playfully. Rather than pull away, I press my lips more firmly against yours, coaxing your teeth apart with my tongue. My hands glide restlessly along your chest, unfastening the buttons in their wake until my fingers soothingly slide against your unrestricted skin. As my tongue swirls against yours my fingers bite lightly into your hips, pulling the evidence of your arousal against my abdomen, where each shift in my movement brushes against you intimately. Our mouths part and my lips move of their own volition along your neck, seeking the hollow of your throat. I hear the soft groan of approval just as I feel the shiver of your voice directly against my lips. My tongue strokes the spot lazily before moving to the side of your neck. My teeth scrape your skin as I suck lightly, tasting you and then bathing the spot in soft tender kisses.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your growl in response causes my heart to leap, and before I can think, your mouth is hot against mine, demanding entrance with such a force I have no option but to concede. Your hands snake around me, grasping my backside and pulling me roughly against you. There is no thought but your taste, your scent, the feeling of your thickening manhood pressing through your pants as if it is mocking the flimsy material of my skirt. Your hands ride higher, sliding underneath my blouse and along my back. My hands grip your shoulders helplessly, and I feel needful, wanton. Your hands stop momentarily at my sides, your thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts and a faint grunt of approval as you find I am only clothed by the shirt. I feel your muscles clench beneath my hands and somewhere mixed in with the sound of my blood thundering in my ears come the rip of cloth, the pop of buttons.
Drowning against you, in you, I wrench my head free with a gasp for air, trying to clear my overloaded senses. Before the breath fills my lungs, it escapes in a moan as you lower your head to my exposed breasts, your mouth fastened to my nipple. Your tongue flicks harshly against the sensitive nub, a tortuous pleasure conceived to once again banish any logical thought from my mind, replacing it with a pure, almost primal, feeling. A desolate sigh leaves my dry lips as you relinquish your possession of my breast. Within moments your shirt is off and my hands aimlessly roam your back, stroking every muscle, every shift and plane in your flesh. You pick me up and deposit me without fanfare on the counter, lowering your head once more to my other breast before I can utter a word. Your lips and tongue circle the rigid peak of my nipple, driving me to distraction as I shift restlessly, trying to coax you into sucking my nipple. Cool stone chills my flushed skin. I tilt my head down, watching you, and realize you've pulled my skirt up to my waist without ceremony. Your eyes catch mine and hold them, a silent challenge reflected there. You continue to watch me as your mouth finally hovers over the painfully hard nipple, lightly brushing your lips against it. My eyes flutter shut and the sensations instantly stop, and as my eyes open once more I watch you, watching me.
Your tongue flicks once and a strangled moan escapes my throat, but my eyes remain riveted to yours. Your teeth scrape lightly and I shudder, watching you intently with what I know is a pleading stare. You finally concede and I am swept away again as molten heat spreads through me with each suck and scrape of your mouth. My nails rake down your back, . I squirm uncontrollably, desperately, until you grab my hips and pull me forward.............
... I really must apologise... I had a point... but I forgot it. Right now my only desire is to have you close to me, to explore these endless possibilities.
Each action can in turn set off its own chain of possible reactions, which would in turn set off different responses from me... the possibilities are quite frankly endless my darling. Endless. Let's return to that simple, innocent kiss.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your fingers curl to the nape of my neck, stroking the fine hairs until I feel small shocks of electricity. Gasping, my lips part and you seize the moment, your tongue stroking my lip, coaxing my mouth to open more. Your hands slip down my back, softly tracing the curve of my sides, the tiny indentation of my spine. I exhale slowly, my breath warm on you as my tongue dances tentatively with yours, a game of cat and mouse -- meeting, retreating, but always returning. My hands cup your jaw, thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks as we both close our eyes, lost in a moment that has become an eternity of tenderness.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your teeth catch my lower lip, sucking it playfully. Rather than pull away, I press my lips more firmly against yours, coaxing your teeth apart with my tongue. My hands glide restlessly along your chest, unfastening the buttons in their wake until my fingers soothingly slide against your unrestricted skin. As my tongue swirls against yours my fingers bite lightly into your hips, pulling the evidence of your arousal against my abdomen, where each shift in my movement brushes against you intimately. Our mouths part and my lips move of their own volition along your neck, seeking the hollow of your throat. I hear the soft groan of approval just as I feel the shiver of your voice directly against my lips. My tongue strokes the spot lazily before moving to the side of your neck. My teeth scrape your skin as I suck lightly, tasting you and then bathing the spot in soft tender kisses.
My lips brush yours, lightly, teasingly. Your growl in response causes my heart to leap, and before I can think, your mouth is hot against mine, demanding entrance with such a force I have no option but to concede. Your hands snake around me, grasping my backside and pulling me roughly against you. There is no thought but your taste, your scent, the feeling of your thickening manhood pressing through your pants as if it is mocking the flimsy material of my skirt. Your hands ride higher, sliding underneath my blouse and along my back. My hands grip your shoulders helplessly, and I feel needful, wanton. Your hands stop momentarily at my sides, your thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts and a faint grunt of approval as you find I am only clothed by the shirt. I feel your muscles clench beneath my hands and somewhere mixed in with the sound of my blood thundering in my ears come the rip of cloth, the pop of buttons.
Drowning against you, in you, I wrench my head free with a gasp for air, trying to clear my overloaded senses. Before the breath fills my lungs, it escapes in a moan as you lower your head to my exposed breasts, your mouth fastened to my nipple. Your tongue flicks harshly against the sensitive nub, a tortuous pleasure conceived to once again banish any logical thought from my mind, replacing it with a pure, almost primal, feeling. A desolate sigh leaves my dry lips as you relinquish your possession of my breast. Within moments your shirt is off and my hands aimlessly roam your back, stroking every muscle, every shift and plane in your flesh. You pick me up and deposit me without fanfare on the counter, lowering your head once more to my other breast before I can utter a word. Your lips and tongue circle the rigid peak of my nipple, driving me to distraction as I shift restlessly, trying to coax you into sucking my nipple. Cool stone chills my flushed skin. I tilt my head down, watching you, and realize you've pulled my skirt up to my waist without ceremony. Your eyes catch mine and hold them, a silent challenge reflected there. You continue to watch me as your mouth finally hovers over the painfully hard nipple, lightly brushing your lips against it. My eyes flutter shut and the sensations instantly stop, and as my eyes open once more I watch you, watching me.
Your tongue flicks once and a strangled moan escapes my throat, but my eyes remain riveted to yours. Your teeth scrape lightly and I shudder, watching you intently with what I know is a pleading stare. You finally concede and I am swept away again as molten heat spreads through me with each suck and scrape of your mouth. My nails rake down your back, . I squirm uncontrollably, desperately, until you grab my hips and pull me forward.............
... I really must apologise... I had a point... but I forgot it. Right now my only desire is to have you close to me, to explore these endless possibilities.
For you.
Bites will turn into beautiful bruises worn proudly..Dark promises that thrill and tantalize whispered in the half light of a shared room, promises that swirl around the head like smoke, filling active imaginings with longing, lust, want, desire for the promises & falling deeper & deeper in love & lust for the owner whose voice utters them.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Afterglow....
Written after a visit....
After glow, that's what I am still seeing as I look into the mirror tonight, just hours before I was in your grasp.
My eyes heavy my body weak, and still wanting, still feeling your touch. I close my eyes and feel you here, touching me right now .
I imagine your voice and it tells me where to touch, just how hard and just how much. I feel your hands exploring me and my body starts to tingle I can hear your voice guiding me as my hands slide across my aching breasts imagining there your hands and not my own. How I wish you were here to see the Goosebumps on my skin. For you to see the wetness you have created with just mere thoughts of you.
When I think back on today, how lost my body became to you, how you took my mind, my soul, and my senses. How taken you made me feel, with skill and strength and the power of lust. With a knowing of what you wanted and how to get it. To feel the power of your body with even your most delicate touches, how you made me respond with such wild uncontrolled abandon. All sounds gone except that of your voice, that of your breathing, all my senses tuned into your hands, your face, and your voice.
The exquisite pleasure you bestowed against my skin with your delicious mouth. Feeling nothing but crashing waves of pleasure the kind that rips the breath from your chest And makes you feel so alive that you could die...
Now hours later just the thought of you and I am now so wet, dripping wet, flowing with the need for you, my breasts and my lips are swollen from the thought of your kisses, the kisses I still feel burning on my lips from hours before, still prickling at my neck, still grazing against my flesh.I can still feel where you had yours placed against me today. I can feel my pulse racing thru my fingertips, I can feel my skin flush my eyes wondering aimlessly uncontrolled, that familiar dizziness from early coming back again.
I can still feel your hands running smoothly down my back and cupping my ass tightly dragging my aching body against yours. I can feel my nipples grazing across your chest feeling them tighten and throb against your warm flesh. I remember staring up into those lips and wanting you to lay them on mine, to tease me with them to devour me with them and in more then any thought I could have imagined your lips burned into me more powerfully then I could express. Make me beg, tease me to my limits. You rendered me helpless, you took all my control, I could feel you breathe your lust into me as I breathed mine into you.
It was like our bodies, and our needs and all our desires dance in a rhythm. I feel you have taken my body and control it now, I feel you always touching me, I still can smell your scent on me, I can still taste you on my lips. You have become like a craved fruit from a forbidden garden to me. Your caresses and your strokes have brought out my carnal urges and left me saturated with desire. .
After glow, that's what I am still seeing as I look into the mirror tonight, just hours before I was in your grasp.
My eyes heavy my body weak, and still wanting, still feeling your touch. I close my eyes and feel you here, touching me right now .
I imagine your voice and it tells me where to touch, just how hard and just how much. I feel your hands exploring me and my body starts to tingle I can hear your voice guiding me as my hands slide across my aching breasts imagining there your hands and not my own. How I wish you were here to see the Goosebumps on my skin. For you to see the wetness you have created with just mere thoughts of you.
When I think back on today, how lost my body became to you, how you took my mind, my soul, and my senses. How taken you made me feel, with skill and strength and the power of lust. With a knowing of what you wanted and how to get it. To feel the power of your body with even your most delicate touches, how you made me respond with such wild uncontrolled abandon. All sounds gone except that of your voice, that of your breathing, all my senses tuned into your hands, your face, and your voice.
The exquisite pleasure you bestowed against my skin with your delicious mouth. Feeling nothing but crashing waves of pleasure the kind that rips the breath from your chest And makes you feel so alive that you could die...
Now hours later just the thought of you and I am now so wet, dripping wet, flowing with the need for you, my breasts and my lips are swollen from the thought of your kisses, the kisses I still feel burning on my lips from hours before, still prickling at my neck, still grazing against my flesh.I can still feel where you had yours placed against me today. I can feel my pulse racing thru my fingertips, I can feel my skin flush my eyes wondering aimlessly uncontrolled, that familiar dizziness from early coming back again.
I can still feel your hands running smoothly down my back and cupping my ass tightly dragging my aching body against yours. I can feel my nipples grazing across your chest feeling them tighten and throb against your warm flesh. I remember staring up into those lips and wanting you to lay them on mine, to tease me with them to devour me with them and in more then any thought I could have imagined your lips burned into me more powerfully then I could express. Make me beg, tease me to my limits. You rendered me helpless, you took all my control, I could feel you breathe your lust into me as I breathed mine into you.
It was like our bodies, and our needs and all our desires dance in a rhythm. I feel you have taken my body and control it now, I feel you always touching me, I still can smell your scent on me, I can still taste you on my lips. You have become like a craved fruit from a forbidden garden to me. Your caresses and your strokes have brought out my carnal urges and left me saturated with desire. .
Monday, April 4, 2011
Herself....
I see her as one face and one body that shows different moods, different emotions, and different feelings. Not the triple aspect or three Goddesses rolled into one. She can be young and full of life and then old and near to passing, just as she can be calm one moment and then battle-enraged in the next.
She is Mother, Sister, Aunt, Daughter but most of all, she is my patron Deity. She is not the easiest to please and can be almost arrogant in her assumption that I will do her bidding.
She sits on my left shoulder sometimes, I feel her laughter at things and I smile joining in with the joke, she is sarcastic, demanding and loving sometimes all at once.
She is the beauty of strong, real womanhood — not an unattainable dream. As a maiden she seduces us with promises of glory in battle and with the beauty of her body. She promises us her honor and she never fails to deliver. As a mother she teaches us and protects us. She helps us to achieve all that we desire. She is both our mother and our consort. As a crone she is old age and the loss of our prowess, but she is also experience and knowledge gained through loving life. She is an old friend. She is loyal and expects her chosen to be the same.
She is a shape-shifter and goddess of magic. Her nature is mutable — swiftly adaptable to circumstance and situation — so that she can be the Battle Raven in one instant and a woman brimming with sexuality the next, or a loving, nurturing mother. Though working with her and being chosen by Her is not easy and it is not without its troubles.It affects my relationships, and what she demands of me. But would I swap her or change my allegiance not a chance.
This evil man of mine.....
He rolls over and looks at me.
His eyes moving up and down me. Looking at what is his. To do with as he pleases. I can feel my body responding to his gaze. No need for more, my skin flushes, shivers run up and down me, inside and out, anticipating his touch. He knows I'm ready for him. He knows my instant arousal. His breath against my skin. His lightest touch. It doesn't take much. It's ridiculous.
My body betrays me. Choosing to submit, whether I will it or not. But of course I will it. This man, with his decisiveness, his demands, his expectations and arrogant assumptions. It totally weakens me. Reduces me to a trembling fool. I give in to it. Every time I give in to it. I revel in it. He takes possession of my body, my heart and mind, with his words, his body, his knowledge of me, his care and thoughtfulness, his sadistic sexuality. I am lost. I am his. I am hopeless. Bound and owned without being touched.
His hand grazes my skin. There is a rush deep inside me, blood flowing and head pounding, my body urgent in its response. He says he thinks some pain is in order. Oh. Ah. But how can I stand that I wonder? See how my flesh thrills to his slightest touch? How can I bear a heavy touch? A depth of pain? A burning? Impact on my tingling sensitive skin? No. How will I deal with that? When his lightest slightest touch is agony in itself? When I could scream just from a finger tip against me. No, its not possible.
He moves from the bed. I bury my face in the pillow. Breathing deeply, as if control of my breathing somehow gives me control of the pain to come. Why? My mind grasps wildly, thrashing about inside my skull. Why do I accept this, want this, need this, feel fear and excitement? So many contradictions. Don't I just want his touch? His body. His cock. What is this, with the pain? Nonsense and madness. Need, desire, passion and heat.
My body is thrilling already, hot and reddened, blood rushing around me as if it seeks to flee the crop. And there, suddenly I feel it and know it. The masochist enters my head. That sensitivity to his touch has flicked into red hot passion, a passion that needs to be fed. Demands to be fed. Seeks intensity. Cries for pain. Howls like a beast, wild, untamed and unnamed on the moor top.
Bind me, knock me into my submissive space. Tear me and hurt me, slam me down to where I belong. . That wants him, needs him deep inside. Pain thrums and burns, agony, searing, mean and cruel pain. It's horrid. And wonderful. I love him. I hate him. And its hot and fierce and made of..... sex... I love him, need him, want him, must have him. Hate him. My body is humming with delight and agony. Why are we wet he says. Because I am a masochist say I. Evil Evil man. Deny it all you want, there is the evidence, the need the desire.
And so he touches me.
His hands dig deep into my red hot welted skin. Oh, the sheer delight. Passion embodied, vividly hot and red. My body is screaming for him, his sex, his touch, his hands, his body. I need it need it need it. Now now now.
Nothing else will do.
Heat surrounds me.
My mind is dazed.
My body weak.
I am replete.
I curl against him. Loving him, adoring him.
This evil man of mine.
His eyes moving up and down me. Looking at what is his. To do with as he pleases. I can feel my body responding to his gaze. No need for more, my skin flushes, shivers run up and down me, inside and out, anticipating his touch. He knows I'm ready for him. He knows my instant arousal. His breath against my skin. His lightest touch. It doesn't take much. It's ridiculous.
My body betrays me. Choosing to submit, whether I will it or not. But of course I will it. This man, with his decisiveness, his demands, his expectations and arrogant assumptions. It totally weakens me. Reduces me to a trembling fool. I give in to it. Every time I give in to it. I revel in it. He takes possession of my body, my heart and mind, with his words, his body, his knowledge of me, his care and thoughtfulness, his sadistic sexuality. I am lost. I am his. I am hopeless. Bound and owned without being touched.
His hand grazes my skin. There is a rush deep inside me, blood flowing and head pounding, my body urgent in its response. He says he thinks some pain is in order. Oh. Ah. But how can I stand that I wonder? See how my flesh thrills to his slightest touch? How can I bear a heavy touch? A depth of pain? A burning? Impact on my tingling sensitive skin? No. How will I deal with that? When his lightest slightest touch is agony in itself? When I could scream just from a finger tip against me. No, its not possible.
He moves from the bed. I bury my face in the pillow. Breathing deeply, as if control of my breathing somehow gives me control of the pain to come. Why? My mind grasps wildly, thrashing about inside my skull. Why do I accept this, want this, need this, feel fear and excitement? So many contradictions. Don't I just want his touch? His body. His cock. What is this, with the pain? Nonsense and madness. Need, desire, passion and heat.
My body is thrilling already, hot and reddened, blood rushing around me as if it seeks to flee the crop. And there, suddenly I feel it and know it. The masochist enters my head. That sensitivity to his touch has flicked into red hot passion, a passion that needs to be fed. Demands to be fed. Seeks intensity. Cries for pain. Howls like a beast, wild, untamed and unnamed on the moor top.
Bind me, knock me into my submissive space. Tear me and hurt me, slam me down to where I belong. . That wants him, needs him deep inside. Pain thrums and burns, agony, searing, mean and cruel pain. It's horrid. And wonderful. I love him. I hate him. And its hot and fierce and made of..... sex... I love him, need him, want him, must have him. Hate him. My body is humming with delight and agony. Why are we wet he says. Because I am a masochist say I. Evil Evil man. Deny it all you want, there is the evidence, the need the desire.
And so he touches me.
His hands dig deep into my red hot welted skin. Oh, the sheer delight. Passion embodied, vividly hot and red. My body is screaming for him, his sex, his touch, his hands, his body. I need it need it need it. Now now now.
Nothing else will do.
Heat surrounds me.
My mind is dazed.
My body weak.
I am replete.
I curl against him. Loving him, adoring him.
This evil man of mine.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Dreaming......
It rains, and I think of you.
Water, racing across the window, sculpts the shadows that fall across my desk; my fingers trace the changing landscape, following the dark lines, and I remember.
I remember the way the rain tasted on your skin. pressed to your skin on your face. I turned my head upwards to catch the drops of rain as they slid over your skin and onto my waiting lips.
I drank you in.
In my room, I can hear the rain, tapping at the glass of the window, and when I open it, just a crack,the torrential downpour has caused streams of rain on the tarmac outside...
I listen, and I remember.
I remember hearing your heartbeat as I stood, my head resting on your chest, and it sounded like the rain outside, that if we didn't let go, the moment would crash through us, leaving us tangled, the space between us lost.
But we didn't let go. We clung together, eager to drown in each other's heat, our desire turning to ferocious need, our legs and arms clasped tightly; you were no longer simply rain-wet, you were fever-drenched, and I felt you tremble and quake against me.
Eventually the rain passed. And, after I had kissed the rain from your lips, after your fingers had brushed my wet hair back away from my face so that you could see my eyes again, we let go, reluctantly, unsure, just a bit awkward, as we attempted to find our footing alone.
I remember.
But you are not here, now, and I have only the memory of rain, the shadow of rain, to remind me.
Water, racing across the window, sculpts the shadows that fall across my desk; my fingers trace the changing landscape, following the dark lines, and I remember.
I remember the way the rain tasted on your skin. pressed to your skin on your face. I turned my head upwards to catch the drops of rain as they slid over your skin and onto my waiting lips.
I drank you in.
In my room, I can hear the rain, tapping at the glass of the window, and when I open it, just a crack,the torrential downpour has caused streams of rain on the tarmac outside...
I listen, and I remember.
I remember hearing your heartbeat as I stood, my head resting on your chest, and it sounded like the rain outside, that if we didn't let go, the moment would crash through us, leaving us tangled, the space between us lost.
But we didn't let go. We clung together, eager to drown in each other's heat, our desire turning to ferocious need, our legs and arms clasped tightly; you were no longer simply rain-wet, you were fever-drenched, and I felt you tremble and quake against me.
Eventually the rain passed. And, after I had kissed the rain from your lips, after your fingers had brushed my wet hair back away from my face so that you could see my eyes again, we let go, reluctantly, unsure, just a bit awkward, as we attempted to find our footing alone.
I remember.
But you are not here, now, and I have only the memory of rain, the shadow of rain, to remind me.
Museings......
Why is it that we fear those parts of ourselves we least understand? Why do we let others pre-define how we should feel about certain ideas?
Strength is accepting the freedom we have and finding the distance needed to understand that the voices we listen to all have their own needs and wants; that no matter how kind and well-intentioned they are, no matter how professional and educated they sound, they cannot separate their own desires from the message they carry.
No one can. The voice you most need to listen to is the one hardest to hear. Your own.
Strength is accepting the freedom we have and finding the distance needed to understand that the voices we listen to all have their own needs and wants; that no matter how kind and well-intentioned they are, no matter how professional and educated they sound, they cannot separate their own desires from the message they carry.
No one can. The voice you most need to listen to is the one hardest to hear. Your own.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Dark Cravings.....
There is a hunger, an aching void that demands to be filled, a desire that is all consuming... I want, I need, I crave, I ache. At times it seems I cannot get enough.
I can't explain it. It's intense, ferocious, savage, out of control. It's the spark that becomes an inferno and devours everything in its path. It is my worst enemy, yet it is a comfortable friend. I am used to it, but I am terrified of it. It is a raw energy. It's something within me, it is me.
It manifests in my dreams, leaving me to wake up drained. It runs through me just as surely as the blood runs through my veins. It sneaks into my thoughts, it dictates my actions. But I can conceal it.
Usually I am the mistress. I am able to hide it, bury it deep within me. I have to restrain it in order to go about my day-to-day business. No one sees it, no one knows it's there. It is content to lurk within, waiting for the moment when I will turn it loose.
But there are times when I am not strong enough to ride out this hunger. There are times I don't want to keep it secret. I let it loose. I surrender to this power. It takes command of me. I find myself shocked by the wanton attitude, the words which slide out of my mouth, the unbridled sensuality in all that I say and do. There is a part of me that is horrified by each and every action. Yet at the same time, I know how much I want this. I know this is also who and what I am. I am nothing but a total Bitch...and I enjoy every second of this passion.
And when this happens, there is only one thing to do, one way to feed this hunger..Let me give the pain. Send me soaring with sensations. Take away my inhibitions. Want to make them beg, whimper, shiver, moan, scream, shake, thrash, reduce them to tears... Use whatever means are necessary. Take me to where I need to go, take me past my limits.
I want to feel it...I need to feel it...I have to feel it. Make it real.
I can't explain it. It's intense, ferocious, savage, out of control. It's the spark that becomes an inferno and devours everything in its path. It is my worst enemy, yet it is a comfortable friend. I am used to it, but I am terrified of it. It is a raw energy. It's something within me, it is me.
It manifests in my dreams, leaving me to wake up drained. It runs through me just as surely as the blood runs through my veins. It sneaks into my thoughts, it dictates my actions. But I can conceal it.
Usually I am the mistress. I am able to hide it, bury it deep within me. I have to restrain it in order to go about my day-to-day business. No one sees it, no one knows it's there. It is content to lurk within, waiting for the moment when I will turn it loose.
But there are times when I am not strong enough to ride out this hunger. There are times I don't want to keep it secret. I let it loose. I surrender to this power. It takes command of me. I find myself shocked by the wanton attitude, the words which slide out of my mouth, the unbridled sensuality in all that I say and do. There is a part of me that is horrified by each and every action. Yet at the same time, I know how much I want this. I know this is also who and what I am. I am nothing but a total Bitch...and I enjoy every second of this passion.
And when this happens, there is only one thing to do, one way to feed this hunger..Let me give the pain. Send me soaring with sensations. Take away my inhibitions. Want to make them beg, whimper, shiver, moan, scream, shake, thrash, reduce them to tears... Use whatever means are necessary. Take me to where I need to go, take me past my limits.
I want to feel it...I need to feel it...I have to feel it. Make it real.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Meme...
I AM.... very different on the inside than a lot of people think, and only a few have been allowed to see.
I SAID.... I would not fix people this year.. so far I am doing pretty well on that.
I WANT.... my self belief to return.
I WISH.... I could just be me, rather than a personality that is made up of triggers that others have left.
I HATE.... nothing.. Hate is wasteful.
I MISS.... my self esteem and confidence.
I FEAR.... losing the ability to think or to write. To being alone. These scare me beyond belief.
I HEAR.... your voice and I melt.
I WONDER.... what people see in me to make them hang around, even love me.
I REGRET.... a lot of my actions when I was living in Penarth, I look back and think wtf?
I AM NOT.... as wordly wise for my age as people think.
I DANCE.... with Annon. Alone. Whenever I can; I love to dance.
I SING....badly and loudly but like the dancing it helps.
I CRY... often. But I believe sincerely that the healing properties of tears are seriously underrated.
I AM NOT ALWAYS.... as confident/strong as people think I am.
I MADE.... my bed, and whatever the consequences, I will lie in it.
I WRITE.... all the time. All of it. But I love to write, so this suits me fine.
I CONFUSE....a lot of people it would seem. I don't mean to.. it just happens.
I NEED.... to believe in myself. Easier said than done.
I SHOULD.... get out and visit more often.
I START.... to think and then I think too much...
I FINISH.... relationships with great difficulty. Relationships of any nature, not merely romantic. And even when one is ended, despite knowing that the person must be ex lover/friend etc for the good of my mental health, it doesn't mean I can forget them or what happened easily. It stays with me for a long time.
I TAG.... no one. Anyone. This is a meme I did for me. For a change
I SAID.... I would not fix people this year.. so far I am doing pretty well on that.
I WANT.... my self belief to return.
I WISH.... I could just be me, rather than a personality that is made up of triggers that others have left.
I HATE.... nothing.. Hate is wasteful.
I MISS.... my self esteem and confidence.
I FEAR.... losing the ability to think or to write. To being alone. These scare me beyond belief.
I HEAR.... your voice and I melt.
I WONDER.... what people see in me to make them hang around, even love me.
I REGRET.... a lot of my actions when I was living in Penarth, I look back and think wtf?
I AM NOT.... as wordly wise for my age as people think.
I DANCE.... with Annon. Alone. Whenever I can; I love to dance.
I SING....badly and loudly but like the dancing it helps.
I CRY... often. But I believe sincerely that the healing properties of tears are seriously underrated.
I AM NOT ALWAYS.... as confident/strong as people think I am.
I MADE.... my bed, and whatever the consequences, I will lie in it.
I WRITE.... all the time. All of it. But I love to write, so this suits me fine.
I CONFUSE....a lot of people it would seem. I don't mean to.. it just happens.
I NEED.... to believe in myself. Easier said than done.
I SHOULD.... get out and visit more often.
I START.... to think and then I think too much...
I FINISH.... relationships with great difficulty. Relationships of any nature, not merely romantic. And even when one is ended, despite knowing that the person must be ex lover/friend etc for the good of my mental health, it doesn't mean I can forget them or what happened easily. It stays with me for a long time.
I TAG.... no one. Anyone. This is a meme I did for me. For a change
Thought I would share this...
1. There are at least two people in this world that you would die for.
2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.
3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.
4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.
5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.
6. You mean the world to someone.
7. You are special and unique.
8. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.
9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.
10. When you think the world has turned its back on you take another look.
11. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.
3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.
4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.
5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.
6. You mean the world to someone.
7. You are special and unique.
8. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.
9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.
10. When you think the world has turned its back on you take another look.
11. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Reflections.... Looking at myself..
Slowly coming out of the darkness....
It is always an enlightening thing, to step back away from yourself to analyze what makes you who you are.
You hear bits and pieces of how others perceive you, and you have a perception of yourself, often the two do not match up.
I have heard myself described by others as "wild". I don't think that is correct. I have done some wild things, but, I don't think I am wild. I would think the description would be more accurate as adventurous. I have a good sense of adventure, willing to try just about anything at least once.
When confronted with a new situation, I do not fear the unknown. In fact, I embrace the unknown, anxious to experience something new.
I don't have a problem moving on in life, stepping away from the familiar, parting the overgrown brush and entering uncharted territory. That carefully planned, precisely landscaped yard with flowers planted all in a pretty row is monotonous and boring in my eyes for very long. Give me the wild, overgrown, untamed! I may not be wild myself, but I am excited to the wildside and explore.
I am determined. Presented with a problem, or something I don't grasp, I will work on it until it is solved. I like to understand what lies before me. I will charge head first into it wrestling it to the ground, simply to know what it is that sits before me. I am resourceful, surrounding myself with books, Internet, information in any source. There is so much to know, so much to learn, so much to experience, how could a person possibly ever get bored in this lifetime?
Along with those character descriptions walk side effects.Shyness for one thing, lacking in self confidence another.Things I have dealt with my entire life. As I get older, I learn to work around it, but it still stares me in the face. There is another....
I absolutely thrive on the "new", the unknown, the project unplanned, the problem unsolved, that once I solve it, conquer the challenge, plan the project, I'll move on. If the project is an ever evolving one, new challenges, new territory then I can stick with it. If that person is multi faceted, open minded and willing to embrace life with a passionate energy, then I will remain stimulated. It is the mundane, the stagnant that I choose to walk from.
At times it is a character flaw. Other times it is beneficial. Always, it is me, always it is prevalent.
I am not easily impressed by material possessions signifying a person's "place" in life. This says nothing to me except for the fact that they have money to spend.
Where's your passion? Why IS that your passion? What is the motive for your passions? An inner feeding of the soul, or for an image you want to project. I love passionate people. Breathing in their strong energy, allowing the surge of my own when mixed with theirs, and projecting it back to them. This energy exchange with passionate people, merely wanting to share, not steal the other's energy, it is like none other.
Passion within myself along with the passion within others is wonderful. That is what I look at.
I was given the foundation at a very young age by my mum, of self confidence. She constantly reminded me that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. With simple perseverance and determination, willingness to open your mind to new knowledge and ideas, and making adjustments as needed, just about anything can be accomplished. I had forgotten that lesson for a long time....
I am learning that this is a good lesson to keep learning...
It is always an enlightening thing, to step back away from yourself to analyze what makes you who you are.
You hear bits and pieces of how others perceive you, and you have a perception of yourself, often the two do not match up.
I have heard myself described by others as "wild". I don't think that is correct. I have done some wild things, but, I don't think I am wild. I would think the description would be more accurate as adventurous. I have a good sense of adventure, willing to try just about anything at least once.
When confronted with a new situation, I do not fear the unknown. In fact, I embrace the unknown, anxious to experience something new.
I don't have a problem moving on in life, stepping away from the familiar, parting the overgrown brush and entering uncharted territory. That carefully planned, precisely landscaped yard with flowers planted all in a pretty row is monotonous and boring in my eyes for very long. Give me the wild, overgrown, untamed! I may not be wild myself, but I am excited to the wildside and explore.
I am determined. Presented with a problem, or something I don't grasp, I will work on it until it is solved. I like to understand what lies before me. I will charge head first into it wrestling it to the ground, simply to know what it is that sits before me. I am resourceful, surrounding myself with books, Internet, information in any source. There is so much to know, so much to learn, so much to experience, how could a person possibly ever get bored in this lifetime?
Along with those character descriptions walk side effects.Shyness for one thing, lacking in self confidence another.Things I have dealt with my entire life. As I get older, I learn to work around it, but it still stares me in the face. There is another....
I absolutely thrive on the "new", the unknown, the project unplanned, the problem unsolved, that once I solve it, conquer the challenge, plan the project, I'll move on. If the project is an ever evolving one, new challenges, new territory then I can stick with it. If that person is multi faceted, open minded and willing to embrace life with a passionate energy, then I will remain stimulated. It is the mundane, the stagnant that I choose to walk from.
At times it is a character flaw. Other times it is beneficial. Always, it is me, always it is prevalent.
I am not easily impressed by material possessions signifying a person's "place" in life. This says nothing to me except for the fact that they have money to spend.
Where's your passion? Why IS that your passion? What is the motive for your passions? An inner feeding of the soul, or for an image you want to project. I love passionate people. Breathing in their strong energy, allowing the surge of my own when mixed with theirs, and projecting it back to them. This energy exchange with passionate people, merely wanting to share, not steal the other's energy, it is like none other.
Passion within myself along with the passion within others is wonderful. That is what I look at.
I was given the foundation at a very young age by my mum, of self confidence. She constantly reminded me that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. With simple perseverance and determination, willingness to open your mind to new knowledge and ideas, and making adjustments as needed, just about anything can be accomplished. I had forgotten that lesson for a long time....
I am learning that this is a good lesson to keep learning...
Tangled up.....
Interwoven, entangled, inseparable? Or can you delineate, draw boxes around them? Seems some can. For some it is indeed pure power exchange, for others straight up no nonsense SM.
I've thought about this a lot. Well, you know, it's a nice topic to think about while you travel home after having a deep discussion in the early hours..Weigh it up, what would you choose if you had to choose one thing?…. I can't do it. I want it all. I'm greedy. Sex, Ds and SM. Intricately threaded together like a multi coloured tapestry. Wrap it round my body and flood my mind with it. Drown me in it.
The pleasure of SM, the thrill of pain, is enhanced by the knowledge someone is controlling me. Even while they inflict some deviant tool on me, knowing I love it, knowing I hate it, knowing I need it, the extent of pain, too light, too heavy, is out of my control. I enjoy the game as much as the pain. The not knowing, the submission to the strokes, the acceptance and lack of battle with the sex weapon wielder. Plenty of battle with the pain, but submission to the act. There lies the excitement. The control lies elsewhere, power is exchanged, as pain is applied. The thrill of submission, physical and mental.
The release of Ds, give up all tensions, slip away from the day, have someone strong to guide and nudge. Find freedom in control. A rock that supports, arms that cherish, a mind that directs. Boundaries you understand, clarity and honesty. Give and take to the nth degree. Emphasised by submission to pain play. To know the hand that cherishes will be stern too, severe and sadistic. To know the mind that adores you will be demanding and strict, give no inch. The physical intimacy of sexual pleasure with a person you desire. Links it all. Ds till your toes curl and SM full of joy and laughter.
Can I pull out a thread without the whole un ravelling? I'm greedy, greedy, greedy. Don't get me wrong, I find joy in each strand. Pleasure in sex, pleasure in being guided and mentored, pleasure in SM play. Fun and laughter all the way. But when you throw it in all together, the right mix, ah that's icing on the cake.
But I know what I want. And if I can't have it? Well there's always chocolate and coffee…. I know, so much excitement, how do I contain myself? *chuckles happily*
I've thought about this a lot. Well, you know, it's a nice topic to think about while you travel home after having a deep discussion in the early hours..Weigh it up, what would you choose if you had to choose one thing?…. I can't do it. I want it all. I'm greedy. Sex, Ds and SM. Intricately threaded together like a multi coloured tapestry. Wrap it round my body and flood my mind with it. Drown me in it.
The pleasure of SM, the thrill of pain, is enhanced by the knowledge someone is controlling me. Even while they inflict some deviant tool on me, knowing I love it, knowing I hate it, knowing I need it, the extent of pain, too light, too heavy, is out of my control. I enjoy the game as much as the pain. The not knowing, the submission to the strokes, the acceptance and lack of battle with the sex weapon wielder. Plenty of battle with the pain, but submission to the act. There lies the excitement. The control lies elsewhere, power is exchanged, as pain is applied. The thrill of submission, physical and mental.
The release of Ds, give up all tensions, slip away from the day, have someone strong to guide and nudge. Find freedom in control. A rock that supports, arms that cherish, a mind that directs. Boundaries you understand, clarity and honesty. Give and take to the nth degree. Emphasised by submission to pain play. To know the hand that cherishes will be stern too, severe and sadistic. To know the mind that adores you will be demanding and strict, give no inch. The physical intimacy of sexual pleasure with a person you desire. Links it all. Ds till your toes curl and SM full of joy and laughter.
Can I pull out a thread without the whole un ravelling? I'm greedy, greedy, greedy. Don't get me wrong, I find joy in each strand. Pleasure in sex, pleasure in being guided and mentored, pleasure in SM play. Fun and laughter all the way. But when you throw it in all together, the right mix, ah that's icing on the cake.
But I know what I want. And if I can't have it? Well there's always chocolate and coffee…. I know, so much excitement, how do I contain myself? *chuckles happily*
Monday, March 14, 2011
One for Him and One for Her :)
The rest of you get to enjoy the words :)
For Him:
Sin.
If you were chocolate, I would eat you.
I would let you feel my tongue, naughty and rough, running up and down your length, enjoying your bittersweet taste.
I would wrap my mouth around your heat and drown in your depths, taking all of you inside me.
And when you’re ready, I would swallow.
I would taste every last drop of your thick, sticky syrup.
And gods, I am starving.
For Her:
Desire.
Her mouth drew my gaze as I watched her speak, watched the quick, pink tongue swipe over her bottom lip. The air between us grew heavy with want, with expectation and desire.Our bodies leaned in, toward the other. I can smell her - a bit of perfume, her shampoo, beneath that, her skin. I swallow my desire to reach out and lick up the line of her neck, taking in her taste.
Her fingertips trace up my arm as we talk. A casual touch that leaves goose flesh in its wake. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the front of the tee shirt she's wearing. I see the pulse beat at the sweet hollow of flesh at her throat.
For Him:
Sin.
If you were chocolate, I would eat you.
I would let you feel my tongue, naughty and rough, running up and down your length, enjoying your bittersweet taste.
I would wrap my mouth around your heat and drown in your depths, taking all of you inside me.
And when you’re ready, I would swallow.
I would taste every last drop of your thick, sticky syrup.
And gods, I am starving.
For Her:
Desire.
Her mouth drew my gaze as I watched her speak, watched the quick, pink tongue swipe over her bottom lip. The air between us grew heavy with want, with expectation and desire.Our bodies leaned in, toward the other. I can smell her - a bit of perfume, her shampoo, beneath that, her skin. I swallow my desire to reach out and lick up the line of her neck, taking in her taste.
Her fingertips trace up my arm as we talk. A casual touch that leaves goose flesh in its wake. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the front of the tee shirt she's wearing. I see the pulse beat at the sweet hollow of flesh at her throat.
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