Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Do You Remember?

Do you remember that time? That one time. Trust me, it was different from all the rest. The sound of breath held in anticipation. Wonder in met eyes. Waiting. Wanting. Questions that went unanswered until sometime later. Do you remember now?

No?

I do.

Urge

How is it that we, as a society, as people, have developed such intricate rituals of leaving our mark? Why do we feel the need to claim, and to be claimed? Is it an innate desire, an animistic urge not yet removed through evolution...or simply the conditioning of the society in which we are placed...the higher thinking version of peeing on a piece of grass.


Every "chick-flick" is based around the concept of claiming and being claimed. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, insert some sort of conflict, insert some sort of resolution, insert claiming in the form of carrying her off into the sunset, putting the ring on her finger, dipping her back into a passionate kiss, fucking her madly...they're all the same. The sociological imprint to desire this claiming is quite deeply embedded.

Yet, to want to be claimed is somehow archaic, old fashioned, out of step. Society has not completely shifted from the standard acceptance to "that's bad"...not quite yet. In the silence of our minds we still want to claim and be claimed. Society cannot force that out, not yet.

In the recesses of the silent dark, the urge to feel the hand clamped around wrists. The urge to claim the deepest parts of each other. The urge to mark. The urge to be marked. The urge to call it "mine". These have not faded. In the recesses of the silent dark, the urge grows.

It is from this urge, this base and primal desire, that I wish to be claimed. To be owned by one who is worth of ownership. To be conquered by one who wins the battle. To fight and be fought. This urge to be laid over a knee and firmly brought in line. The urge to be knelt in the corner and subdued. The urge to be spread and immobilized for the taking. This...oh yes...this is the urge.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Words

Ordinary words and phrases
set to time
with extraordinary beats
pounding
thud
Against a backdrop of shards
broke crystal
smashed
crunch
Under the weight of thoughts
heavy
pressing down full body
smothering
suffocating
empty.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Work

Mind full of necessary thoughts to complete the task, his entrance is unnoticed. His prowl silent until lips against my ear announce his presence.

"Are you working, pet?"

Nerve endings fire all at once as my fingers hold their position in mid task.

"Yes...but not now."

I try to turn my head to meet his lips, those lips so close to skin.

"No, pet, keep working."

All hope of concentration gone. My mind fights with my body to obey. To listen and keep working. He does not want my attention on him, but in that moment he is all there is.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as the backs of his fingernails trace down my neck. Hand spreading across the front of my throat, fingers on one side of my jaw, thumb on the other. His palm pressed against my racing pulse. Holding my head firmly in his grasp, the other hand melts down my chest to reach inside my bra and grasp one swollen breast. Thumb across the nipple, catching on the piercing to pull just a bit. Pinching lightly at first to squeeze then flick then twist until I gasp.

"No, pet, keep working." His hand tightens around my neck, stopping the turn towards his mouth.

His body shifts against my back. I can feel his excitement, pressing so close. Fingers itch just to reach back and touch him.

His hand moves lower, palm open and fingers splayed, down the curve of my belly towards the warmth that is spreading for him. Fingers tease the outward skin, tracing as if blind and seeing for the first time.

My hips shift, legs spread in anticipation. My head held still by his firm grip. Pulse racing and breath ragged, I sigh.

Delicately, his finger parts the flesh and begins slow strokes. Slowly exploring each and every fold and crevice, the world revolves around his hand. One finger reaches to dip inside the pool of wet, slipping farther in his quest.

"Pet, stop moving. If you move I will stop."

My head tipped back against him I moan.

Two fingers thrust in quickly, palm pressed firmly against my now swollen clit.

"Pet, you may grind against my hand, but you may not cum."

Hips begin slow steady movement. Urging him deeper. Riding his palm. Legs spread farther in an attempt to seek more. Each movement a little faster, hips bucking, his hand stays firm and solid. The excitement builds, it is getting close. I clasp his fingers tighter with each thrust, squeezing tighter as the tension reaches the peak.

But all at once the hand is gone. Fingers pressing against my lips, tracing the outer curves. The heavy scent of arousal seeping into his skin.

"Taste it, pet."

I open my mouth and he lays the taste on my tongue. Closing my lips around his finger to suck, flicking my tongue against each fold of skin.

"Now, pet, get back to work."

And he is gone. His touch ripped away leaving nothing but cool air where his warmth once stood. On edge, writhing, brain disjointed, without him.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

His

His eyes take in her form as he enters the room. The light flickering over the skin of her back from the candle placed behind her. The tilt of her head dropping her hair softly over one shoulder. The muscles in her back tense as she hears him enter. He follows the curve of her back to the swell of her hips, to her round ass perched on top of her heels as she kneels waiting for him to approach. He stands for a moment just to take in the sight.

He can sense her coil as he approaches. The involuntary tension in her shoulders, her neck tightening, her toes curling just a bit. The shadows from the candle in the front catching the flush spreading up her chest to her cheeks as he walks around to see her from the front. Kneeling, legs spread, eyes down, cheek tilted up, her lip quivers and he fights back a smile.

The plans for the evening settle in his mind. She is such a good little pet. So willing, so mailable, so directable. Maybe too willing, he worries that he may grow bored with her...that she may not prove to be enough of a challenge for him...that she won't be all that he believes that she can be. The challenge, after all, is part of the fun.

She struggles to stay still, he can see her eyes following his feet under her lowered lashes. He watches the movement as he walks around her form. Such a handful this girl. For all appearances she is perfectly obedient, following his instructions to the letter. Yet, he knows, behind those appearances sits an analytical mind...waiting for him to act...judging his moves...willing and able to stop the dance at any time. Oh yes, this is the challenge...this is what he desires.

More than her flesh. The smooth skin of her neck exposed and tense. The rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. The tips of her nipples hard and eager for his touch. The soft swell of her thighs leading to the sparkle of wetness between her legs already. Her flesh is enough for most, but it is more than her flesh he desires. It is the challenge of her mind that draws him near.

As this is the moment. The moment he has crafted so carefully. She has built the set, but he wrote the script. As she kneels at his feet, she holds her submission in her hands, and until now he has allowed it. For it must be freely given, or it is not his to take. It is in this moment that his palms sweat...and his heart races at the thought. So easily she could wrap her fingers tightly and withhold that which he needs. She could look at him and meet his eyes in challenge and smile and the moment would be lost. In this moment...despite the props, the costumes, the cast...it rests firmly in her hands.

And with the slightest movement she raises her hands and opens her palms to him. She is his for the taking.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Plugged

How is it that a plug can bring almost instant submission? It is more than the societal teachings that it is taboo. The taboo has been overcome, if not sought for too long for it to hold any power. It is more than the physical sensations. The same sensations can be caused by numerous other objects...without the same reaction. Yet, with the directive to insert the plug...from that moment on...it is almost impossible not to submit.

Just hearing the command to plug the ass makes it difficult to make eye contact. The feeling of the tip pushing against the tightly closed hole, makes "Sir" roll off the tongue so much easier. The fullness once it is in makes kneeling the necessary posture. After a bit, a simple flick of the clit, and begging is the only option. He who controls the plug controls the girl. It is almost as simple as that.

Admittedly it is different when following the directions to insert the plug than when simply laying passively and receiving the insertion. Yet, the end result is the same. Every movement, every breath, every twitch, every single pulse is a reminder of the plug. That reminder can sit in the recesses of thoughts, simply announcing it's presence. It can also scream out for recognition. Either way, it's always there.

Sometimes the plug is simply used as a tool of training. Begin with the smallest of diameters and work up to something resembling the girth of that which is ultimately intended. Sometimes the plug is used as a tool of pleasure. Heightening the arousal and sensations during a particularly intense sexual session. Sometimes the plug is used to tease and tantalise. To remind the wearer that certain voids can be filled, leaving others gaping and wanting.

All of the reasons for the plug have their purpose and benefit, depending on the circumstance...and the receiver. All of the reasons can be beneficial and enjoyable, given the right scenario. Still, in the middle of the benefits and pleasure, the need to submit is the overwhelming desire.

But how is it that a plug can bring almost instant submission? How? Because it feels so good, so bad, so right, so wrong, so intense, so everything...all at the same time.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Why?

Why is it that You do what You do? Why do You reach out? What is the origin of Your urges that lead You here? There are so many perspectives on this place.

Are You here for the mental stimulation? The mind fucking that is available when the guard is dropped and it is safe? The availability to vent Your own private fantasies? Is it simply the ability to speak the words and know that they fall on willing ears? When the fantasies are processed and enjoyed...played back with their own spin...is that what You enjoy?

Are You here for the psychological enjoyment? The dance at the edges of taboo? Do You seek to discovery all that lies within the boundaries, and then push the boundaries a little farther. Is it simply that pushing that You are after? When the boundaries are clearly stated, or even implied...is it the thrill of going just a little bit further?

Are You here for the challenge? The conqueror's spirit unleashed on something unseen? To obtain as Yours...to do what cannot be done...to take what cannot be taken? Do You seek the struggle and the fight? Is it simply to win something? Is it to hold a prize at the end, knowing that it was worthy of the effort?

Are You here for the control? Perhaps the control You are missing elsewhere. Control You have never been able to name, or to identify. To set forth a plan and a vision and have a willing subject follow through because ultimately You do control more than Yourself? Do you seek to pull the strings like a puppet master? Is it simply the chance to play a god that draws You?

Are You here for the physical release? Is the simple kinky fuck all You seek? The long slow buildup to the equivalent of a high dollar hooker? The ability to simply have a warm wet hole to fill with Your fluids without the remorse or guilt of emotion? Do you simply seek Your own pleasure without having to reciprocate? Is it simply a live blow-up doll that You seek?

Did i miss something? Is there another reason? Is there another purpose for You? Perhaps. Maybe. Maybe You seek something You have not yet fully accepted. Maybe the reason is not clear to You. Maybe You came here without a reason. Maybe You don't want to know.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Ode

Thoughts in recess with nowhere to go
lost to the vacant storms raging
Birthed in turmoil, suffocated in silence
drawn from the depths by furry
tamped by monotony of mundane
Pull harder.
Push deeper.
Drive farther.
Don't stop now. Not now...not there...
There.
Breath.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Professional Appearances

Hidden behind the professional facade of stained wood and intimidation, perched in my chair of control, my mind drifts. With pen poised on paper, and eyes fixed on words that blur, blood already rushing between my now parted legs. With one hand in my lap, I covertly pull up the hem of my skirt feeling the cool air touch the moisture building between my thighs.

Slowly my fingers reach between the folds of skin towards the soft silky center...the hard round nub of my clit already aroused and pleading for attention. My eyes close and breath hitches as my finger begins slow circles around the sensitive button. The pen in the other hand shaking slightly mirroring the movements of it's mate.

People walking by outside my door can see me at my desk. Lost in concentration. Lost in the moment of thought. The intense look on my face only given away by the flush on my neck and my cheeks. I must not move...I must not wiggle...I have to keep my breathing normal. The heels of my shoes dig into the carpet for traction. Spikes hooking on the shallow pile of the rug. The left stocking pulled slightly higher than the right rubs on the back of my hand as I reach lower to insert a finger into my now dripping cunt. Slowly I lean farther over the desk, over the work that is the facade so that my finger can go deeper. Deeper like yours.

Visions of you behind me, pulling the chair out from under me and lifting my ass for access, run through my head. I can almost feel your fingers digging into the flesh, spreading my cheeks so you can see my holes spread open for your access. I want to put my face on the cool hard surface so I can feel the wood under my cheek as it would feel if your hand was on my back bending me over. And an involuntary gasp escapes my lips. I bite my tongue. I must be silent. I must breath normal. I must not flush. I must not wiggle. People are walking by the door of my office. I must look busy.

Counting...counting to 50...counting each circle of my clit that my thumb now makes. Counting each thrust the now two fingers are making into my wet pussy. Slowly as to avoid giving away the movement or sounds of what I am doing. Counting as if it were your cock filling me. Counting as if it were your hand on my ass. Counting as if it were your tongue on my clit. Counting as if you were about to cum...as if I could feel you fill me...counting to 50 so that I can...so that I can...Whisper thank you over the pen I am now biting between my teeth as my cunt clinches down around my fingers. Whisper thanks for the visions of you, for the memories of you, for the thoughts of you as I feel the moisture drip out and stain my chair. Whisper thank you as I must be silent.

The knock at the door signals the entrance of duty. Responsibility chases out the visions of you and I am forced to be professional. I was just working on something very interesting, I say.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Pain

"You know, I wonder... do we take the pain because it's arousing or do we take the pain because we crave the "good girls" and soothing that follows...." anon.

Pain as a gateway to pleasure is one few dare to approach, much less breach. More and more will stand at at the threshold and gasp in wonder at the sites to behold. The whips, the chains, the ropes, the floggers, the bars, the crops, the paddles. Some will even giggle as the breach the gap with a playful smack on the ass on occasion. Most, even if only in the deep dark recess of their mind, have wondered what those wonderful things may do...cause...mean.

Some will acquiesce to the experience because of a partner. After days, weeks, months, years of pleading the partner has worn them down. They will either become the recipient, or grudgingly pretend to wield the paddle.

Some will even look for the experience as a means to an end. The end result of soft hands on raw skin caressing away the sting. Rubbing away the marks. Compassion's substitute.

Some, on the other hand, crave. Longingly gazing at the back of the hairbrush. Sadly running hands over smooth unmarked flesh. Wishing, waiting, wanting that release. The endorphin rush, the dopamine surge, the "sub space"...call it what you will...the full entry into that place where pain is no longer just pain.

That place...across the threshold where pain has become pleasure. Where each strike brings the release closer. Where each stroke of the paddle is more intense than any man made toy with batteries. Where tears and snot and spit and natural lubrication flow from one's body until one final *whoosh* brings toe curling release and screams that blood filled ears can't hear.

Oh yes. There are many reasons we do what we do...but the "good girl" at the end is but the icing on the cake.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

A View

It appears, at first glance, nothing out of the ordinary. A man, sitting quite comfortably in the chair in the corner. You can look, it's ok, he can't see you right now. Notice the set of his shoulders as his arm drapes across the back of the chair. His legs, one propped up on the other. He appears relaxed, doesn't he? Look closer. Do you see the set of his jaw? Did you look in his eyes? Few do. His eyes are quite captivating from an angle, but hold more than most people can take straight on. Look at them now, it's ok, he can't see you right now. He is focused. He is primed. He is coiled and ready, but he will take his time. This is his way. In the mean time he will simply spin the wine in his glass, watching the dark liquid creep up the sides, knowing he has it trapped.

She is late. Then again, she is always late. Perhaps this is the reason his jaw twitches. She has done this before. Not like this, mind you, but he knows her habits. With every passing second his ire grows. Yet, it appears, at first glance, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a man in a room, enjoying a glass of wine.

We see what he can't see. The girl, slightly frazzled, obviously nervous, standing on the other side of the door. Back pressed up against the wall, eyes focused on the ceiling, hands wringing, she stands. She has been there for a while, before we came along. She should turn around and knock. She should. Standing in the hall dressed like that will eventually draw unwanted attention. Surely she knows this, surely she knows she must.

Shhh...watch. She will knock now. He will look at the door. He will pause before acting. This is what he does. Shhh...wait...there. See it? Just as I said. Do you see her hold her breath waiting for a response? Do you see the fear in her eyes as she wonders if she has the right door? Do you see the calculation cross his face as he lets the moment drag on for a bit?

Now listen for his voice. It's really quite fantastic...

"Open".

Did you see her jump? Did you see her wipe her sweaty palms before she tried the door? Did you see her hold her breath? Look closely, watch her throat. You can actually see her pulse. Listen to her, the fear, the excitement, the thrill, the nerves all come out in her voice.

"Sir...I'm sorry...I know....I'm late...and...I was...nervous...and my shoes..."

"pet?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Is that how you are to greet Me?"

"No, Sir."

Do you see her eyes drop to the floor? Her back is straighter now, her breathing more regular. Her pulse is slowing, now isn't it?

"Come here."

He hasn't moved still. The wine still swirls, trapped against the sides of the glass. His arm still stretched out behind him. Yet his eyes have a new glint. Watch his eyes, for they will tell you what he feels.

She moves slowly, each step purposeful. She is focused on the floor so she can't see the glint we see. Stepping softly she stands before him. Carefully she kneels, knees spread, resting on her heels, chest out, eyes down, hands on her thighs. Her face only inches from his knee now. He can see her chest rise and fall. She can hear him breath.

"Sir, how my this girl serve You this evening?" Her voice is calmer now, softer.

"Much better, pet."

He moves with purpose. Setting his wine carefully on the table. Uncrossing his legs and sitting up in the chair to maximize his height. He looks down at her, fully focusing his gaze on her face.

"you were late. you have earned another punishment. That is four that must be delivered at some point. I tell you this so you don't become confused. I may or may not deliver punishments this evening, I have not yet decided. But this evening is not a punishment for you, it is to see how well you can serve as My pet. Should I determine that punishments will be delivered, I will clearly state such. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Tonight you are My pet. you are here for My enjoyment and My enjoyment only. Should you happen to orgasm, then that is an added benefit, but this will not be an aim nor a goal. I will touch You the way I want to touch you. I will enjoy you the way I want to enjoy you. I will use you simply for my personal pleasure. If at any time you want to stop do you know the safety word?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Do you want to stop?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. Now stand up pet, and lay on the bed. I have some things to prepare and I will be with you in a moment."

This excites you does it? It excites her too. Her pulse is racing again, if you will notice. Her breathing has quickened...see? Will she pass the test? Will she be able to please him? Will he enjoy the use of her?

We will see...maybe...possibly. That part is still unknown. He has left the room for the moment. She is lying on the bed, waiting for him to return. Stretched out and naked, ready for his enjoyment. It may be that this is not what he wants this evening. It may be that he is in search of the cane. It may be that he is in search of the paddle. It may be that he has left and that is all he wanted. Could it be that he will be back, that he will touch her and allow her to touch him? Would he possibly allow her to feel him? We will see...maybe...possibly. That part is still unknown. For we must leave now. This is a delicate moment and our presence is no longer wanted. Come along.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Touch

I've been waiting for hours. Energy bundled in my chest screaming to escape the calm exterior. Right ankle crossed over left, mounted on stilettos leaving impressions in the carpet. Stockings the backdrop to palms on thighs. Straining for the sound.

*click* *squeak* *thud* *thump* Your presence is announced by the very structure of the house. As if I can't feel you enter the room. As if you are so small and insignificant that the house must give a warning call.

Each padded footstep builds my tension. Straining not to turn and look, fighting the urge to speak, challenging myself to my own serenity. Eyes closed I breath deep the scent of you as you near.

"Hello, My pet. you have waited well. you are a lovely sight. Now, follow Me." His voice breaking the silent fast I have waged. I follow him from the room, down the hall, through the door, and stand patiently at the foot of the bed while he removes the trappings of the day. The tie, the shirt, the shoes, the belt...all put in their place and addressed while I wait.

The light bleeds through the drawn shades and casts dancing shadows on the bed. Taunting in their erotic tangles of darkness. Pulling me in, daring me closer, calling me friend.

"Tonight, My pet, I would like you to make a choice. Will you choose the tie or the rope?"

Stunned for a moment I pause. I don't like choices, I don't want choices. What is the difference in the plan? What does it mean? Which one does he want? Which one has he planned? If I choose one, what do I lose in the other? My mind swirls into panic.

"Tie, please" I finally stutter. He nods and reaches for the tie recently discarded.

"Turn around pet."

The tie is wrapped around my eyes...once...and then wrapped from under my chin to the top of my head. Hair is caught and pulled as the knot is securely fastened at the top of my head. Silk engulfing my skull, muffling sound, blocking light, knowing I look like a cartoon, I stand.

Light breath at my neck tells me he's close. "I'm going to lay down now. You can not hear well. You can not see. You can not open your mouth fully. With those constraints I wish you to explore my body."

He is gone. I am alone. Standing. Not knowing whether I am allowed to undress, I tentatively take off one shoe. With no rebuke, I take off the other. Slowly, waiting for direction, I continue to undress. Button by button my blouse falls away. The clasp of my bra undone allowing my breasts free. My skirt sliding down over my hips to a pile on the floor. The stockings left on because he enjoys them.

Tentatively stepping towards the placement of the bed in my mind, my knee hits the edge. Palms sliding across the sheets looking for him I find his calf. I kneel at the edge of the bed and begin to touch. His feet tendoned and masculine, rough and rugged. Absorbing the feel of every cell through my fingertips. Sliding my fingers up his calves to his knees. Up to his thighs and past his hips. Up over his stomach and past his chest. Up to his shoulders and down his arms. Up his arms and to his neck. Up his neck and to his face. His lips. His eyes. His cheeks. His ears. My fingers painting the picture of him in my mind.

Raising myself up onto the bed, I kneel beside him. Leaning down to kiss his chest. Tongue darting between bound lips to lick a trail up his chest. My cheek pressed against his shoulder, gliding along to the place where it meets his neck. Nipples like stylists tracing the outline of his arm, his bicep, his ribcage.

Circling my nipples against his chest I rub harder enjoying the coarseness of his hair. Reaching down between his legs tracing trails up his shaft with the back of my fingernails. Catching the bit of pre-cum from the tip and bringing it to my lips for a taste. Covering his shaft with my palm to feel the pulse and reaching for his balls with my fingers I moan.

Sliding down between his legs I can wait no longer. I rub him against my cheek, hug him against my neck. Only the tip of my tongue can escape my lips for the briefest of tastes. Wrapping my hand around him I stroke him firmly to feel the swelling build. Stroking him with one hand, the other caressing his balls, my tongue tastes the inside of his thigh. Grinding against his shin, rubbing my nipples against his thigh, I need him.

His shin comes up to meet my hungry clit, grinding with me. His thighs tense against my nipples. Each stroke of my hand bringing him closer and closer to his release.

With no warning he rolls me off of him and the bed creeks and he is gone. Arms reaching for his body finding nothing but sheets and pillows in the wake of his departure. I am left on my stomach waiting.

His hands between my thighs pushing them farther apart is the only indication of where he has gone. Fingers digging into my flesh pulling it farther apart. In one swift movement he pounds into me, and in one swift movement he is gone. Hands again pulling me farther apart, one swift movement filling me deeper than I think I can take, and one swift movement and he is gone. Once more, his hands pull me apart, he slams into me, and rapidly pulls away. I am writhing, moaning, pleading the best that I can through a clamped jaw.

I am ready to explode, I need him, I need to be filled by him. His hands pull me apart and he presses against my ass. Firmly and without hesitation he enters me fully in one stroke. I push back against him and plead for him not to go. Please don't leave this time. He continues on a smooth even beat, pounding my ass in determination. With each thrust his balls hitting my clit and driving me closer and closer to the edge.

His hands grab my shoulders, fingers digging in, as he thrusts harder. The muffled sounds of his efforts, the muffled sounds of my moans, blending with the panting of our breath. Each thrust deeper. Each push harder. I'm waiting.

I can feel him swelling. His balls are heavy and hard against my clit. His nails are digging into my shoulders. With my head thrown back and my back arched I plead. Please. And with a deep guttural growl he says the words I've been waiting for all day...

"Cum My pet...cum for Me now...cum hard."

And I do.

As he covers the inside of me with his own explosion I milk him with mine. Each wave of release squeezing him a little harder, urging him a little more, wanting just one more drop. He collapses on top of me spent. Still buried in my ass, nails still embedded in my shoulders, his breathing slows. The sweat pooling at the base of my spine I lay splayed beneath him. Content. Waiting.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Please.

I'll be good. I'll be nice. I'll be nasty. I'll be naughty. I'll be anything...just...please.

Don't let me talk. Don't let the words tumble from my lips. Keep my mouth busy. Silence my mouth with yours. Fill my mouth with you. Gag me if you must. Just don't let me talk. Please.

Don't let me think. Don't let the thoughts swirl. Make my mind open. Make my mind focus. Make my mind empty but for thoughts of you. Thoughts of your words. Thoughts of your touch. Thoughts of your pleasure. Just don't let me think. Please.

Don't let me move. Cover me with your body. Pin me under your weight. Tie me down. Bind me up. Scare me stiff. Just don't let me move. Please.

I need to let go. I need all sense to leave. I need the meditation of skin. I need to feel, to touch, to lick, to breath, to flow. Just let me let go. Please.

I need to be filled. I need to feel full. I need every bit of you inside of me all at once. I need to feel like I'm bursting with you. Please.

Please.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

There

You close your eyes as her fingers brush your lips. Touching your cheek the softness of her hands slide down your face. Her hands, the hands that bring you pleasure. The hands that bring you joy. Grazing down your neck for a moment her hands are there.

The texture is slightly off, slightly different. Too soft, too hard, too light, too delicate, not delicate enough. She moans. The sound is slightly off. Too high, too low, too loud, too soft. Her scent is slightly off. Too sweet, too covered, too masked, too clean, not clean enough. But your eyes are closed and for a moment she is there.

You roll her over and spread her legs. Feeling for the wetness you know is already there. She is ready, she is waiting for you. The warm dark place that is your escape. Your place. You slide inside, feeling her grab you with the deepest part of her. You sigh in relief. You've found your home and she is there.

You know it's not her. You know if you open your eyes it will be a different face. You feel the difference in the curves below you, rising up to meet your thrusts. You know she can't feel the heat building, because it's not her. She's not there.

But I have a secret. I know I am not her. And you are not him. You are not the one who brought me to this dark place and left me all alone. You are not the one who left me empty and longing for something to fill the void. But for a moment, you are there.

And in that moment my hips rise to meet yours. Eyes squeezed tightly shut in our clandestine foursome we shout out at the unfairness of the world and relieve our burdens. We collapse in each others arms out of desperation. Not because it is really what either of us wants, but because we are there.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Gentle Hands

Gentle hands with a mind of their own trace the outline of my silhouette as I lay on my side. Turned facing the wall, he knows I'm not sleeping. He can tell by the rise and fall of my ribs that my breath is not even. It comes in shallow gasps as he traces down to my lower back. My hips shift as his fingers trail up my spine towards my neck and back again, never breaking contact in his methodical exploration of skin.

Firm hands pull my hip so that I am laying on my back. Hands tilt my cheek so my lips meet his. Lightly dancing on the edges of my mouth, exploring my mood, testing my reaction he nibbles my lower lip lightly as I suck in a gulp of air.

Fingers trailing down my neck. Tracing my collar bone, down my chest, to the tip of a breast. Rising and falling with each breath. Delicate traces around the raised flesh, a slight roll with his thumb. Moving on.

Nails dragging lightly down the sensitive skin of my stomach. Moving to compensate for each breath, each pause, each pulse. Pulling my leg over his so I am open to him, for his fingers, for his exploration.

Splayed, his hand continues it's exploration down past my navel. The tip of each finger sending different sensations as they each cross sensitive flesh. Down towards the middle of my legs, and across my thigh, I sigh in frustration as he passes where I want him to settle.

Grazing up the other thigh the back of his hand brushes against the outside of my lips. I arch my hips against his hand, and he moves with my motion. Always staying just barely within a breath of touch.

He lays himself across my stomach. Blocking my view of his exploration, and preventing my further movements. His weight a comfortable reminder of his presence and charge. He glances back at me with a twinkle in his eye, kisses my stomach, and continues.

With one hand he gently pulls apart my lips, holding them open to the cool air. Moist from his attention I feel each breath he takes as he enjoys his journey. With the other hand he begins to lightly explore my clit. Drawing his finger up one side, and then down the other. Stopping at the bottom and then back to the top. Taking it between his finger and his thumb lightly rolling it searching for the hidden nub that makes me jump.

He leans on me harder, holding me steady. Wetness is pooling and beginning to seep from my cunt, as my breath picks up pace and my fingers grip the sheets. His fingers reach down to catch a drop as it begins it's descent towards my ass. The finger pushes the wetness back inside gently, rolling it around the walls of my cunt. His knuckle against the wall of my cunt brushing against the bundle of nerves that makes me moan. I let out an involuntary groan of pleasure.

He moves to settle himself between my now shaking thighs. Never breaking contact with my clit, never leaving me empty. My legs fall farther open granting him access to anything he wants to do.

His tongue begins to circle my clit. Slow lazy circles to keep me from falling over the edge. My cunt is fuller now, I don't know how many fingers, and I don't care. The pressure of each finger pressing on the side of my cunt as they move slowly in and out. His tongue lapping at my clit. My breath coming more rapidly.

His tongue stops. He leans up and looks at me with a glimmer in his eye. I feel him pushing on my cunt, twisting his fingers, pumping slowly into me as I drip onto his hand. I press against him, spread my legs wider and plead with my eyes to cum.

One hand on my stomach, and his mouth is back on my clit. Sucking...flicking...licking...twirling...his mouth is relentless. The sheets are bunched under my fists, my head thrown back on the pillow as I moan. Please...please...please....

His fingers still probing my now throbbing cunt continue to press. Harder and harder they press. I don't remember his fingers being so large. I've never felt so full from anything other than his cock. His hand rotates. I groan. He gives one more firm push and I feel him slide into me completely. His fist, up to his wrist is engulfed by me in one swift move.

His tongue continues and I cry out. He rolls his fist inside me and I can't hold on any more. I beg, plead, cry out...and he finally says the word I've been waiting for all night.

"Cum".

In torrents the waves hit. Rolling over my body and shaking me from head to toe. My cunt clasping down on him with force that causes him to groan. My legs locked around his head so he can't move. Crying out in pleasure it continues for what feels like hours.

Sometime later, I raise my head to see him resting his on my stomach. His hands holding my breasts and teasing my nipples. The comfort of the weight of him stretched out on top of me. I reach for his head, for his arms, for anything to bring me back to earth. His fingers find my mouth, circling my lips before parting them to allow me a taste. His gentle hands with a mind of their own.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Countdown

"30...29...28...."


Each number drawn out. Each number punctuated by the breath taken before and after. Each number leading to the sensations, the building, the frantic reach for what must come next.


Wrists bound above my head, my hands tense and straining. Not in an attempt to break the bonds, but straining for more...less...anything...the next. It's coming, it's never coming, it has to come.


"27...26...25..."


The pillow catching my breath coming in gasps. Pressed against the cool comfort my lips begin to dry. Parted, panting, tongue darting to moisten between breaths. Moans break past despite warning, rushing from my lungs. Teeth clenching to stop the next noise that is sure to come.


"Oh dear...that wasn't a noise? Was it? We can't have that. 30...29...28..."


And it begins again.

Fingers brush against the inside of my ankles, urging them farther apart. His heat reaching in tendrils towards my back as he leans over adjusting himself. Softly, firmly, legs are positioned where he needs them, where he can touch, for the best view.

"27...26...25..."

The warning breath of his kiss dances across my back seconds before I can react. The point of his tongue darting and dancing across the sensitive skin at the base of my spine. Hands tracing invisible patterns on my thighs.

"24...23...22..."

Hips grind towards release, the need, the want, the urge to have more. The vibrator he positioned on my clit shifts, sliding off the mark. His fingers dig into my hips lifting them up, sliding a pillow underneath. Giving him better access to the hole now dripping with anticipation. His thumb replacing the vibrator, he begins to massage my clit with determination. Two fingers slip easily inside, exploring for pleasure.

"21...20...19...you're doing good, but you better try harder."

I press down against his thumb, focusing on the sensations, the feeling of his fingers inside me, the tingle of his breath against my skin. Trying, reaching, wanting to cum. Frustration building that it won't happen. Fear.

"18...17...16...Almost half way there, it's up to you how this goes dear."

His fingers plunging urgently, thumb moving frantically. My breath is coming faster as my hips press against him. Face buried in the pillow holding my breath for focus. His tongue slides down the slit between my cheeks moistening as it goes, preparing. The sound of the lube bottle opening and the cold trickle pours down the crevice left open and exposed by the way he has placed me.

"15...14...13..."

His thumb still moving, fingers pulled out they spread the lube evenly. Lightly pressing against my ass, politely asking to be let in. For now. My cunt squeezes empty the place he has left, urning to be filled by him again. Wanting to have him inside me. Needing just one thrust to push me over the edge.

"12...11...10..."

His tongue moves down to take over, enveloping my clit. Sucking, teasing, flicking. One finger sliding slowly into my ass, I gasp and clamp down. His other hand reaches up to caress my back.

"9...8...7..."

Both hands on my thighs. Spreading them further apart, caressing them, kneading them, squeezing them. Tongue plunging inside me, deeper in search of my release. Sensing my urgency, tasting my pleasure.

"6...5...4..."

He sits up and runs his well lubed hand down the length of his shaft. His other hand reaching back for my clit, rubbing with well practiced motion. The lube bottle is opened again and dripped once more. The head of his cock is hard, hot. I can feel the pulse as he presses against my ass.

"Ready or not, you had to come...you knew the rules. 3...2...1..."

And with one swift motion he plunges from the tip of his cock to the base of his cock straight into my tight lubed ass. Unstreatched. Unused. The muscles clamp down around him and I hear him gasp as I let out my own cry.

One thrust is all it takes and I feel the sensation build. I'm cumming. Everything I have and everything I am begins to spasm around him. He tries to pull out slowly, to thrust softly, to ease into me, but the sensation is too much. I push back against him, he pushes against me, and pounds over and over. As the waves crash over me I cry out for more. Harder, faster, deeper, longer, please...I need more. And he gives me everything I need and more.

In one great thrust I feel him swell and explode inside of me. Each jet of cum hitting the inner core of me bringing electric jolts of pleasure. I squeeze him harder, begging for more. He collapses on top of me. The entirety of his body pressed down against my back, my thighs, my shoulders, my cheek, my calves. The whole of him burying me alive.

"Next time, cum faster so I can fuck you properly." He says.