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*
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.
Warning... TMI for some.. It's about self harm...
I have been looking through old journals and came across this..
This was my mind set, quite a few years ago, a lot has changed and so have I, but I though it might be wise to share...
She feels safe here. Safer here than anywhere else. Because Outside… Outside there’s uncertainty. There’s danger, and risk, and instability. She never knows what’s going to happen Outside. But here… here, in this white-tiled haven, she’s got everything she needs.
The people Outside– they think she’s so strong. And she is. She speaks with a purpose, moves with precision. She never lets anything faze her. They just don’t know. They don’t know how much stronger she can be when she is here.
She sits here for hours. Here, she’s an artist, and her body is her canvas.
She pens her story in maudlin simplicity. She writes angrily in lurid strokes on her arms, watching in fascination as her drama comes to life. Her handwriting makes serrations on her broken flesh, her words creating her gory setting. She craves the control. She delights in the coloured strength she coaxes out, the darkness she creates. Her brush dips into puddles of liquid glory, and she gently draws them into sorrowful streams. And it hurts– it hurts like hell, but she knows what she’s doing.
It isn’t long before her weakness spills forth, and she lets it. She cries, and as she cries, her tears roll off her cheeks, turning blood red as it touches her skin. She quiets, and her tears hum their own melody. And when it’s over, she smiles.
This was my mind set, quite a few years ago, a lot has changed and so have I, but I though it might be wise to share...
She feels safe here. Safer here than anywhere else. Because Outside… Outside there’s uncertainty. There’s danger, and risk, and instability. She never knows what’s going to happen Outside. But here… here, in this white-tiled haven, she’s got everything she needs.
The people Outside– they think she’s so strong. And she is. She speaks with a purpose, moves with precision. She never lets anything faze her. They just don’t know. They don’t know how much stronger she can be when she is here.
She sits here for hours. Here, she’s an artist, and her body is her canvas.
She pens her story in maudlin simplicity. She writes angrily in lurid strokes on her arms, watching in fascination as her drama comes to life. Her handwriting makes serrations on her broken flesh, her words creating her gory setting. She craves the control. She delights in the coloured strength she coaxes out, the darkness she creates. Her brush dips into puddles of liquid glory, and she gently draws them into sorrowful streams. And it hurts– it hurts like hell, but she knows what she’s doing.
It isn’t long before her weakness spills forth, and she lets it. She cries, and as she cries, her tears roll off her cheeks, turning blood red as it touches her skin. She quiets, and her tears hum their own melody. And when it’s over, she smiles.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Jigsaw...
My life is -- to put it mildly -- complicated. This journal is my sanctuary, my special place. When I'm down, I write here. When I'm happy, I write here. When I'm stressed, I write here.
Sometimes I cannot find my voice, and I cannot post. These days are the worst as I walk around with the weight of the world upon my shoulders. And then something will happen -- a comment from a friend, whether they think I'm going to like it or not or an email, a text a picture or a whole bunch, or I'll read a post by someone else -- and that's all it takes. A shift, two or three small paces to the left; and I'm back in the room.
The comments I receive from you people hearten me. Your support of me as a person. I shouldn't need validation -- in theory, we none of us do. We "write for ourselves". We "don't need validation". How many times have I written or read those words, pertaining to me or to someone else in this community? Dozens, perhaps hundreds. But the truth is that you help strengthen me by reading. I do not ask you to condone or condemn my life choices. Just read me.
I bare my soul to you. I have been doing so since I started writing here. I have made choices in my life that have surprised even me; I'm not an amoral person, and yet I transgress certain moral boundaries that from an external perspective I once found abhorrent. On one level, I am ashamed of my transgression. On another, it fits into my mad, bad, complicated life like everything else. I perceive it as a multi-piece, highly complex jigsaw... but I'm still missing some pieces. And people like you also help me to find missing pieces too...
And through writing here, I seem to find these pieces, one at a time. Mother, lover, friend, support. Sometimes they are blurred but I still have many more to go. Some pieces are being hidden from me deliberately. Some are just out of reach. Of some I am not even yet aware. Eventually, one day, I'll find them all.
Sometimes I cannot find my voice, and I cannot post. These days are the worst as I walk around with the weight of the world upon my shoulders. And then something will happen -- a comment from a friend, whether they think I'm going to like it or not or an email, a text a picture or a whole bunch, or I'll read a post by someone else -- and that's all it takes. A shift, two or three small paces to the left; and I'm back in the room.
The comments I receive from you people hearten me. Your support of me as a person. I shouldn't need validation -- in theory, we none of us do. We "write for ourselves". We "don't need validation". How many times have I written or read those words, pertaining to me or to someone else in this community? Dozens, perhaps hundreds. But the truth is that you help strengthen me by reading. I do not ask you to condone or condemn my life choices. Just read me.
I bare my soul to you. I have been doing so since I started writing here. I have made choices in my life that have surprised even me; I'm not an amoral person, and yet I transgress certain moral boundaries that from an external perspective I once found abhorrent. On one level, I am ashamed of my transgression. On another, it fits into my mad, bad, complicated life like everything else. I perceive it as a multi-piece, highly complex jigsaw... but I'm still missing some pieces. And people like you also help me to find missing pieces too...
And through writing here, I seem to find these pieces, one at a time. Mother, lover, friend, support. Sometimes they are blurred but I still have many more to go. Some pieces are being hidden from me deliberately. Some are just out of reach. Of some I am not even yet aware. Eventually, one day, I'll find them all.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Her....
In her arms I'm arched back, my hair a black spill on the mattress around my head. Her lips touch the line of my neck, hands sure at the small of my back.
It's good here with her.
We match. Strong desire heats......
It's good here with her.
We match. Strong desire heats......
Rope....
Winding around her body, the bite of the rope into her flesh is sharp. Enough to remind her of who is in charge.
Her breath started quick, shallow, slightly alarmed at the sight of that coil in his hands. Now she breathes slow and deep. Rhythmic, her lungs expand, fill and muscles push out air. Over and over.
Lips slightly parted, eyes halfway closed, her fingers intertwine but loosely so. Her muscles are relaxed. And later this will puzzle her. That being wrapped in rope so tight will bring her lax and warm muscles and a state of tranquility.
For now, she lets it roll through her.
This rope space.
Her breath started quick, shallow, slightly alarmed at the sight of that coil in his hands. Now she breathes slow and deep. Rhythmic, her lungs expand, fill and muscles push out air. Over and over.
Lips slightly parted, eyes halfway closed, her fingers intertwine but loosely so. Her muscles are relaxed. And later this will puzzle her. That being wrapped in rope so tight will bring her lax and warm muscles and a state of tranquility.
For now, she lets it roll through her.
This rope space.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
*sighs* Trying to stop the washing machine that is my head....
The great thing about fantasy is that you are free to think about anything you want and none of your other emotions get involved. Of course this at times can be a draw back too because sometimes you just don’t know how you will feel until you live it or you think that you wont feel bad because it feels so good in the fantasy.
Sexual fantasies are great because they are pure sex and all those other feelings that often can hold one back sexually are freed in the fantasy. When one is sexually aroused they are often in a non- rational state of mind. It is similar to being drunk or high. It is its own high. It’s hard to think clearly when in that state. I know my own state of horniess has many times led me and my rational side has been no where to be found. Now I wonder does the fantasy state where your other emotions are almost hidden from you come about because of the arousal or is that just from the fantasy state??
Sexual fantasies are great because they are pure sex and all those other feelings that often can hold one back sexually are freed in the fantasy. When one is sexually aroused they are often in a non- rational state of mind. It is similar to being drunk or high. It is its own high. It’s hard to think clearly when in that state. I know my own state of horniess has many times led me and my rational side has been no where to be found. Now I wonder does the fantasy state where your other emotions are almost hidden from you come about because of the arousal or is that just from the fantasy state??
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