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.
Showing posts with label P. Show all posts
Showing posts with label P. Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
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.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Do they....
realise that most of my writings from that part of my imagination that's been fueled by one person. Make that two now. Mind you I think they know it by now. *chuckles* if they don't I may have read things wrong.
I am not a nympho or a sex addict. I do however have a very good libido when it gets going. At the moment it's simmering away, bubbling constantly. It takes very little to get it to almost boiling lava atm. There are a few times I have pondered just going into the room and snogging them awake, *chuckles*.But am not that brave due to the niggling fear of rejection, plus it's a work day. See *grins* I can fully justify it. I can't help it if I am dating two people that are very addictive in their own right & together, well I can't imagine not being with them.
Distance & time makes a difference & I know in my head that both together & separately both will make time for me. And I love that, I also want to drag ( although seriously doubt there will be dragging) them both away to a room & show them how much they affect me & how. Mostly because with words I can tell them. With actions, takes it to a whole other level.. And sometimes that's what is needed for me anyway.. I am still a cynic and romantic (go figure...) so while words may woo me, actions will prove it to even to my most cynical self..
Although now I know that I can drag people away to have some time.. * chuckles* I shall be bloody well doing that. I like having the frisson of unfulfilled passion but arggh it frustrates me like nothing else can... it's that time shortly after the all that passion & desire has been spent & you are exhausted, panting, sweaty & grinning like loons, that the world is sharply in focus & all everything is right with it. It can be like that after a good snogging/ petting session but just sometimes it is just all about the sex.
I am not a nympho or a sex addict. I do however have a very good libido when it gets going. At the moment it's simmering away, bubbling constantly. It takes very little to get it to almost boiling lava atm. There are a few times I have pondered just going into the room and snogging them awake, *chuckles*.But am not that brave due to the niggling fear of rejection, plus it's a work day. See *grins* I can fully justify it. I can't help it if I am dating two people that are very addictive in their own right & together, well I can't imagine not being with them.
Distance & time makes a difference & I know in my head that both together & separately both will make time for me. And I love that, I also want to drag ( although seriously doubt there will be dragging) them both away to a room & show them how much they affect me & how. Mostly because with words I can tell them. With actions, takes it to a whole other level.. And sometimes that's what is needed for me anyway.. I am still a cynic and romantic (go figure...) so while words may woo me, actions will prove it to even to my most cynical self..
Although now I know that I can drag people away to have some time.. * chuckles* I shall be bloody well doing that. I like having the frisson of unfulfilled passion but arggh it frustrates me like nothing else can... it's that time shortly after the all that passion & desire has been spent & you are exhausted, panting, sweaty & grinning like loons, that the world is sharply in focus & all everything is right with it. It can be like that after a good snogging/ petting session but just sometimes it is just all about the sex.
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