Saturday, October 4, 2008


I go about my day, as every day, structured and in charge. Each task set before me a battle I wage on my own. Each hurdle I clear without much thought. Each day much like the last, much like the next, much the same as they have and will be.

Yet void. Missing. Incomplete.

I know you are there. I know you watch. I know you wait in the shadows for something, for me, for you, for time...I don't know.

I know it is not mine to ask. I know it is not mine to question. I know I am simply to go about my day, as every day, structured and in charge.

Yet I long for your touch. Your words. Your eyes. The feeling of your fingers moving towards my neck. Your hands tangled in my hair directing my mouth where you want me to go. Eyes capturing my movements, allowing more or less of what you want to give. I long for these moments with you.

The moments I am in the shower and listen for the sound of the door opening, wondering if you will appear. Nights in the dark, straining for the sound of you approaching. Searching the crowd on the street for your face. The anticipation of me on edge.

It is on this edge I go about my day. Every day the same as the one before, much like the day that will come next. Waiting...wondering...anticipating your next move.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008


The pillow still holds the shape of my face. My face holding the weight of my body. My face pressed against the pillow without the aid of my arms to take the pressure. Arms held by you, hands held by you, unable to keep the shape of my face from being left in the pillow.

The bed still holds the shape of my knees. Knees bent holding the weight of my body. My ass in the air waiting for you. Your gaze heavy on my back, tracing the curves of my hips, following the line of my spine down to where I am open for you. Waiting. Exposed and wet for your touch.

Your fingers were not soft. Nothing tender or gentle about you. Reaching to find where I was hiding from you. Plunging deep and claiming me as yours. The sound of the wetness against your fingers as you teased my pussy. Lapping at my clit, your tongue rough and possessive.

Your cock dancing before my lips. Just out of reach of my tongue. You were not mine. The sheen of the drop of cum teasing me from the tip. Not mine to taste. Wasted on my cheek. Your hand on your cock, where my hand should be. The hardness I can't feel, the firmness I can't touch. Not mine to feel.

The coldness of the lube dripping past my ass. The shiver that ran through my body not from fear or cold. The pressure of the plug as you slowly slid it in. Full, but not full by you. Tortured by you, because of you, wanting you. The need to feel the warmth of you, the depth of you.

Your head tipped back and your hand stroking your cock you watch. My pussy dripping wet. Wanting to feel you inside. Needing to have you touch me. Your other hand on my clit, rubbing faster in time with your pleasure. My eyes pleading for my own release.

You groan. Ribbons of cum spread out across my back. I feel the warmth settle into my skin. Your fingers stop. The plug comes out. You stand up and walk away.

I roll over, on edge, needing to cum. Needing to scream. Needing to release. I hold it. Just as the pillow holds the shape of my face.

Friday, August 22, 2008

On The Road

Exhausted. Every cell in my body aches for sleep. Every fiber of my being screams for rest. My mind spinning on the events of the day, of the week, of the month. Walking down the hall, my jacket flaring with each stride. My pace more purposeful than my mind.

The smell of hotel cleaners, luggage, weary travel haunts this place. Miles strapped to the backs of those who wish to shed the day for a moment. Shed in the fluorescent lit hallways leading to the same door to the same room of the same place.

And down this hall I walk. Sliding my card into the door, waiting for the blinking green light of welcome on the lock. Through the door, into the dark room. Cold. Too cold. Too quiet. Too sterile to be home. I leave the lights off. Not wanting to be reminded of where I am.

The bag thumps on the floor, next to the other bags that hold life for the moment. I debate about just throwing my jacket on the bed. Too tired to hang it up. Too tired to watch it taunt me from the other side of the room while I sleep.

My shoulders shrug it off. Falling to my wrists to catch it before it hits the floor. I drape it over the back of the chair, the black of the fabric contrasted by the maroon tapestry.

My toes hurt. Remembering the pointed toe, it's not a surprise. I wonder, for the tenth time today if You would like them. If they are tall enough, or too pointy, or if the buckle on the toe is too much. I wonder if the toe cleavage on my pinkie toe is too much. If You would approve, or if You would find it garish. I smile.

My hands move to the buttons, starting at the bottom of the Grey blouse I'm wearing. It will be wonderful to get it off. One at a time, moving up my stomach until it hangs from my shoulders.

I reach around the back of my skirt. The zipper loud in the stillness of the room. Sliding it down past my hips to land in a puddle of black at my feet.

More than anything I want to take off my stockings. The black against my skin clings to me. The ridges at the top dig into my thighs. I want them off. Stepping out of each leg, one at a time each one joins the puddle of my skirt.

I hang my blouse, and reach down to undue my bra. The clasp undone, my breasts heavy against my chest. Naked. I stand. I breath.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something is here. I am not alone. My arm crosses to cover my breasts as I hear the click of the door behind me. Turning, heart racing, I see a movement in the shadow. One slow step back and I am stopped by the wall. Cold, hard, pressing against me, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Do not be afraid little one.

The voice sounds familiar. The shape in the shadows known by every cell of my skin. I am frozen. Frozen in anticipation, frozen for flight. Eyes large, peering into the darkness, I seek to see him more.

The metal slides into place as the door is locked shut. The cold hard sound echoing in my head.

You should be more careful with the safety of my property. You do not know who watches you.

Pressing harder against the wall, trying to melt into the roughness of the texture. Standing. Exposed. Waiting for his next move.

Lay on the bed. Feet towards the top. Your head hanging down over the edge.

I pause. Hold my breath for a moment. Torn between running towards him and running away. I take a deep breath and realize my nipples are hard. One step away from the wall and the moisture between my thighs cools in the air. Slowly, the bed comes closer. I could try to argue. I could try to resist. There is no point.

Legs stretched towards the headboard. Arms stretched out from my side. The perspective of the room is different upside down. His feet softly padding across the floor. I can make out his shape as he moves across the room to sit in the chair.

Show me.

I spread my legs. My cunt wet and swollen now. Aching to be touched. My fingers twitch to reach for him. His skin is so close.

You are wet, I am pleased. Show me how you take care of yourself.

My fingers reach between my legs. My middle finger tracing circles around my clit. Spreading the wetness that has pooled around my slit. Moving slowly, the sensations start to build. One finger dips inside. I am wet, I am hot, I need to feel him. Faster my fingers move, and I moan. My cunt starting to grip something that isn't there. Needing to feel full. Needing to have him inside me. Needing.

I try to pull my legs up to arch against the sensations. They won't move. I pull harder. The rope pulls against my ankles, tight, taunt. Like each nerve in my body, pulled but not released.

Give me your hands.

His voice has moved. I didn't hear him move. I raise my arms above my head and feel one hand grasp my wrists. The rope cold and harsh against my skin. Firm. My arms no longer move.


Hands lift my head. Slowly I feel the satin fabric lowered over my eyes. The darkness fades to black. No shadows move here. No movement at all. I am fully alert, listening, smelling, waiting in anticipation for what he has planned next.

Cold, pressing on my slit, I feel something. My body pulls against the ropes in vain. In one great thrust I am filled. Full. I moan as the buzzing starts, muffled by my cunt.

Don't let that fall out.

All of my focus is diverted to the buzzing fullness in my pussy. Filled. Aching to be pounded. Wanting more than the soft vibrations of the dildo. Muscles clamp to keep it in place, sending new sensations to my brain. My mouth opens and I breathe.

His musky scent registers a flash before I feel the warmth of his cock stroke my top lip. My tongue darts out to taste him. Slowly his cock traces the outline of my mouth, leaving a trail of him behind. I realise why he wanted my head over the edge of the bed. Spread out he can see me. The goosebumps. My nipples hard. The end of the dildo hanging out of my cunt. He can see it all. My mouth is perfectly positioned for his cock. For him to tease me with his cock while he watches my skin react. For him to see that I don't cum before I am told. To see that I am his.

My mouth opens, and my tongue reaches for more of him. Reaching to take him in my mouth so I can taste him. Wanting him to slide past my lips and let me suck on him. He presses forward slightly. Just allowing me the tip. Teasing my now watering mouth with his cock.

Hips moving he presses farther. Past my tongue. Reaching for my throat. Opening to him, I want to take him completely. Hands reach down, grabbing fist fulls of hair. Holding my head, pressing his cock farther into my mouth.

Fucking my mouth, the sound of skin on skin, wet on wet, my tongue moving in circles around his shaft as it rapidly moves in and out of my mouth. He is getting bigger. My lips feel the cum starting at the bottom of his shaft, wanting to release. Rapidly he thrusts, and then he is gone. I hear his groan at the same time I feel the ribbons of cum spread across my chest. Ribbons painting a road map across my tits.


The warmth of his cum is leaving, making my skin cold as the moisture evaporates in the air. Lips swollen, mouth wet, I swallow. A deep breath and I feel the cum running down my side. Sticky. Thick. Wet. I am his.

Very good little girl. Now it's your turn.

Thursday, August 7, 2008


You are patient. Your patience solid in my storm. Solid to guide my flitting thoughts. Guide me here.

Here, You wait, Your eyes searching.

Arm draped over the back of the chair. Foot propped up on leg. Leaned back. Your body misrepresents the intensity of Your mind. You are not relaxed, at ease. You are stalking, coiled, ready to pounce.

Primal fear. The fear of the hunted, the fear of the prey. Perched on toes ready to take flight. Every nerve in my body on alert. Ambient sounds fade away to the rush of blood. Breath slows to conserve for the chase, lips parted, mouth ready to take the first gasp of air. Eyes focused on You.

You smile and lick your lips as You take notice. Your body does not betray Your mind. Your eyes pull.

One uneasy step at a time. One shaking toe in front of the other. my body betrays my mind. Screaming to run, screaming to hide, screaming to laugh, or cry, or jump up and down. One shaking toe in front of the other.

A hand. A hand solid in my storm. Reaches out to pull me in. Eyes drawn to the hand. The fingers reached out to grip mine. my eyes travel to His, once again, captured. Locked. Shoulders relax. Mind eased.

"you are Mine".

Sunday, July 27, 2008

A Puppet

You overwhelm me with your presence. Your voice inside my head. Thoughts of you creep in when I am least suspecting, least prepared. You are there.

Your body is under me now, as I have imagined those many nights. My head resting on your shoulder. My back to your stomach. My body rises and falls with your breath. I melt into you.

My arms stretched out above my head, hands pinned by your shoulders. My back arched against you. Legs spread around yours, feet twined in your legs. Your arms come out from underneath me, touching me, holding me, like I have held myself for you those many nights.

Your fingers splayed across my neck, pressing down my chest. Finding my nipples hard and wanting. My breath stops as you pinch. Pulling them up, pulling them down, rolling them under the palm of your hand. I feel your cock stiffening under me, feel it rise between my legs. I arch to meet it, seeking to have you fill me.

Fingers tracing down my stomach, following my curves accentuated by the arch of my back...exaggerated by the position of my body.

"Stop moving, I will touch you where I wish. When I am done, I will tell you."

My breath stops again. I feel the wetness begin to drip down past my ass, down towards him. I relax into him. Mold into him. Concentrate on his fingertips.

The fingers move past my stomach, reaching for my clit. They find it wet, swollen, tender. One finger taps it gently and I squirm.

"Stop moving."

He taps again and I stay still. Two fingers now. Rolling from side to side. I begin to drift away to the rhythm he is making on my body. Pinch. Tap. Roll.

My mind centers on the building sensation. The electric build up in my stomach. I arch towards him with a moan.

"You cannot cum if you don't stop moving."

A whimper escapes between my lips. Parted. Panting.

One finger slowly slides down towards my cunt. Dripping, dripping so wet it is cool between my legs. He traces circles around the opening to my pussy. Getting his fingers wet, sliding from my opening back up to my clit, back down again. Making me wetter, making me want him to fuck me with his fingers. Just one, just to feel one slide up inside me so deep. Just one so I can clamp my pussy down around it and feel the fullness of him.

"You are wet. You are very wet. You please me."

His fingers continue dancing. Sliding circles from my clit to my pussy. I fight to keep from moving. I moan in anticipation. I feel his cock twitch between my legs. I want him to shove his cock into me hard. I want him to dig his fingers into my hips and grind me down on top of him. I want to feel his stomach contract as he flexes to pound harder.

His fingers slide lower, sliding towards the tight opening of my ass. His thumb pressing lightly, firmly. I gasp.

"If you move, you can't cum."

I try to relax. I try to clear my mind of everything but the blissful anticipation of having him inside me. The feeling of his thumb pressing, sliding past the tight opening of my ass. Slipping in just a bit. The feeling of my muscles clamping down on him, urging him, stopping him. His other hand now rubbing my clit faster. Harder.

"I want to fuck you now"

A squeal escapes my lips as he thrusts his cock into my pussy. Three rapid thrusts nearly throwing me over the edge. Three fast thrusts just enough to make me moan.

And then he is gone.

The head of his cock pushing against my ass, sliding in slowly. The brilliant pain, the pleasure, the fullness I need more than I can take. He is fully inside me now. His fingers gripping my hips. His breath ragged beneath me. My back arched against him. He stays still for a moment as my body contracts around him.

He begins to thrust slowly. Each thrust tensing his stomach against my back. His fingers frantically rubbing my clit, tugging my nipples, sliding more rapidly in and out of my ass.

"When I cum, I want you to cum".

My mind focuses on the feeling of his cock. The feeling of him swelling. His breath speeding up, his moans in my ear. His fingers digging harder, pulling me onto him harder, his hips more rapidly thrusting.

I can't hold off much longer. I'm fighting with every bit I have. He is merciless on my clit, rubbing and tapping. I need to cum. I need to release. I need to contract around him and make him fill me.

One great thrust, driving himself deep into my ass, burning from having been fucked so hard. His fingers pinching my nipples until I cry out. I arch my back as the waves start to crash. As my cunt contracts around the fingers he has shoved inside of me. My ass contracting around his cock, milking every drop of cum from his body. I feel the gush of cum shoot out of him and deep inside of me, deep into the core of me, filling me, dripping out of me with each convulsion from me.

Spent. He wraps his arms around me. Lifts his shoulders to release my hands. Rolls over to hold me. Breathing heavy. Full of him, he is still inside me. I rest. Content.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Meeting Time

Do You have to go? It's just a meeting. Meetings aren't fun. i want You here with me. i want You to stay. Or better yet, take me with You. It can be a virtual meeting. A meeting You have to attend, but only in mind...only in voice...not in body. i want Your body to be with me. You can turn the phone on speaker...set it on the desk. i will be quiet. i will not make a sound.

If you clear off the corner of the desk You can just bend me over. You could still see Your computer, Your papers, Your meeting could still continue. One hand on the small of my back, the other taking notes while You slowly feed your cock deep in my pussy.

my legs can spread right around Your chair if You prefer. i can sit in Your lap, and grind lazy circles while You concentrate. i can tip my head back and let you take notes on my stomach. i can not move at all, simply tighten my wet cunt around You harder and harder....faster and faster as directed by Your eyes.

Too distracting?

Would You prefer me on the floor? Kneeling between Your legs, tongue tracing trails from your knees to your hips. Waiting for Your hand on the back of my head to allow me to wrap my lips around You. Waiting for the guide of Your fingers in my hair to tell me to pull Your cock all the way into my mouth. i can taste You now... i don't mean to be demanding.

i just want my own meeting.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Who Are You?

I know who I am.

I've spent years coming to my own conclusions. Traveling down my own path...sometimes a path of beauty...sometimes a path of destruction. My path has been my own, either by choice or necessity. It has brought me here.

To the point where I know who I am.

I've spent years searching for that face. The mind. The soul. The spirit to match mine. The patience to tame me. The strength to own me. The knowledge to teach me. Not to complete me...but to conquer me.

But who are You?

Where have you walked? What have you done? Have you gained all that society has told you to gain? Do you love, or do you hate? Do you fight or do save that for me? Have you amassed a set of tricks, with skill and practice? Do you have experience to bring to the table? Have you loved and lost...or never done either for fear of losing yourself in the end?

Where are You now?

You should tell me. I'll be first. You can check your baggage at the door, or you can bring it in and unpack. You can sigh in comfort, or scream in rage. You can breath...or hold your breath in anticipation. Just tell me...

Who are you?

Saturday, May 31, 2008



How do I electronically send a copy of a goosebump? Is it possible to fax a replica of a bead of sweat? Will a picture capture the sound of my breath?

When I close my eyes, I hear your voice. I feel your breath on my skin. My fingers become your fingers tracing down my body. Head tipped back, arched, reaching for the you that is not there. My nipples reacting to the touch that isn't you pinching.


I've been wet for days. The sweet warm wet of anticipation. Swollen and tender, sensitive to each movement I make. Every time I sit down, every time I stand up. Every time I move my body reminds me of the reaction I have to you.


Thoughts of you tie me in knots. Thoughts of you tying me in knots. The inability to escape the wonder, the questions, the unknown. Wondering if you think of the ropes under the bed. Do you think of the candle on the nightstand as more than light? Do you have plans involving ice? Maybe you prefer heat. Maybe you'd be more pleased with the handcuffs. Which ones do you want to play with, which ones will you choose?


Somehow, in the midst of the thoughts, lucidity is supposed to creep in and allow cognition. Somehow I'm supposed to know. I'm supposed to determine. I'm given the control to give you proof. Proof of the intangible. Proof of the tactile. Proof of the response to the anticipation. And if I fail?


Sunday, April 20, 2008


You think you know. You hide behind shame, behind social norms. This is the part of you I want to see. Your upbringing shelters the you that wants to find me, that runs from me. Scared.

I am not the enemy. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. Not physically. I am not dangerous. Not to your body.

I make you question your assumptions. I make you look behind the truths that you hold so dear. I make you want to share. I make you want to hide. I make you want to run. I make you want to stay in the places you have found comfort. Yet, when you are there they are hollow without me.

You wonder whether you are willing to take on the responsibility of me. You wonder whether you are willing to pass up the opportunity of me. The battle rages, the rage comes out in ways you have not experienced in a long time, in ways you haven't let yourself feel.

I will touch you. I will hold you in the most comfortable way. I will turn over every facet of control, and with that I have you. You need me. You need to control me. You need to know me. You need to own me. You need to have me. And only then will you be fulfilled.

I will teach you things you didn't know you wanted to learn. I will push your boundaries as you push mine. We will tie each other in knots, punish each other for our own weakness. We will take out our own aggressions in our own ways. We know what we are looking for...but we do not know what we will find.

We will find the unknown. The control and uncontrolled, the loss and the gain. The need and the want...met...lost.

Walking into it with eyes wide open. Walking into it blinded by lust. Walking into it with baggage that cannot be checked. Expecting nothing. Expecting everything. Expecting to learn, expecting to teach. Expecting to fail.

You will run. I will run. Will we catch each other in the end? Can you find me in the rabbit hole? Will you want to look?


Quit thinking.

It's not about that.

It's about the feeling. The tactile sensation of your skin. The feeling of your blood reacting to my touch. Your breath speeding up as you think of where I am wet. Where will you fuck me next? Where will you come on me now? When I suck you off will you moan my name? That is all that your mind can hold.

Hold that. Hold that true. That is all that is real. That is all that is now.

Now cum. Let me taste you. Let me smell you. Let me feel you. Let me hear you. Tell me it's my turn. Make me scream out your name. Make me forget the details.

Hold that. Hold that true. That is all that is real. That is all that is now. That may be all that there is.