My response:Scars are the physical manifestation of a life lived on the edge or in the darkness. My two great loves were people who comprised both of these. Their scars were mental and physical and I loved them more than I can adequately express in a lifetime. So of course, the answer must always be yes.
If the scars
of my mind
showed on
my body
would you
still
love
me.
-Jas©
I was listening to A Love Supreme, part IV Psalm by John Coltrane when I left work tonight. Walking through the empty halls, seeing the lights from the cars and my city. Listening to the melancholy, the denouement, the end of this brilliant piece of music.
I see the pairing of this energetic Jazz and the city as character. Made much more evident as I emerged into the night. On the roof of the parking garage, the panoply of lights and the city stretched out like, the Jazz bounding in my ears and heart. I feel a connection to the people of my city. I realize that I love them.
I don’t like most of them, I don’t know them. But at this moment, I am connected to them all, I feel boundless love for them. And as the last strains play, I want for only two things. One more play through of this sweeping music and you.
Whoever and wherever you are. I hope this finds its way to you.
I have only the beginning of
I know nought of ending
though, brow furrowed, perhaps memory plays me false and what was ended seems begun
a trough, a truth, a gathering in the shallows
Memory returns to me
where sunny disposition and savage grin
traipse forward
down below in shades of hill another prepares to catch what falls
in sepia tone, sepulcher and rhyme
catch then climb
another day forward
Another day with you lost to me
I see the sunset, and the wisp clouds and the precise pink orange at the horizon, deepening as I elevate my gaze. And I know I can take a picture but I don’t want to show the cold impersonal way that a camera takes a picture. I want to paint how my heart lifts at the sight and impart the incongruity of the weight of this moment and the light whimsy of it as well. I want to share this real ephemeral moment with you. And beyond the scope of physical touch, I want to share the way I see everything in this world. Being that I am not a painter, I hope my words are enough.
Rule 1
You will follow orders in the spirit of not the letter to which they are given. Asking for clarification one time is allowed.
Rule 2
You will greet me with a deep kiss, whenever you enter the room I am in.
Rule 3
I will pick out at least one article of clothing that you will wear that day. If you are not with me, you will call me and ask.
Rule 4
You will wear your seatbelt whenever you drive or ride in a vehicle. If I am driving, I will buckle you in. You will wait while I do this without speaking.
Rule 5
If a seat by my side is not available, then you will sit on my lap.
Other rules are individual to the relationship with my submissive. These 5 are my standard. I prefer to give orders rather than establish rules. Though over time, consistent orders can become rules.
Note: I am not with anyone right now.
I want to go to your work and sit under your desk. I want to run my hands up your legs, kneading them. Slide my hands to your thighs, denim jeans impeding, run my nails across the fabric with enough pressure that individual lines of force dance across the sensitive skin.
Reach up, still hidden, unzip the jeans. The sound loud and clear to anyone passing by. I push my fingers through the slit. The rough teeth against the back of my hand. I trace you and hear your breath catch. I grow hard. Unable to do anything but touch you. I slide my hands over your panties until they are soaked with you.
The scent of sex hangs heavy over your desk. People who pass by look at you, effort on your face to maintain. To not gasp and grunt. When you can’t take it anymore you make your way to the ladies room. Making sure that the coast is clear, I follow. Putting a out of order sign on the door I slip in. Water is running and you are splashing water on your face. Trying to come down. That won’t do.
I sit you on the high counter. I remove your shoes, then your pants. I run my hands across the goosebumps from the too cold air. I remove my shoes, then my pants and underwear. I stand erect, precum dripping from me, I put on a condom. Thin walled, to feel you.
You are right at waist height, I spread your legs, holding them apart at the knees. Pulling your panties to the side, I step in, guiding myself into the warm, wet center of you. You clamp your cunt over me. I thrust into you. I put your legs around my waist. Inviting you to clamp down. I thrust, pause, unbutton one button on your blouse. You undo your bra, freeing your tits to be squeezed and tweaked as we fuck in the center of your work. Only an out of order sign keeping us from discovery.
I can’t hold back and start thrusting faster, your tits bouncing, hard in the cold air. I cum, but you don’t. Not yet. I pull off the condom, dick semi hard and covered in cum. I order you to your knees, a compromise to what I need, “suck me clean”, I order. You kneel on my pants, looking up, you place your mouth over me. Licking me like a lollipop, sucking the last drop of cum, I watch you swallow.
Then back on the counter for your turn. I sink down on my knees, head between your thighs, tongue thrust into you, tasting where my cock had been. Licking and sucking. Nipping and setting teeth on, using my hands and tongue until you start to shudder. I slip another condom on, hard again from hearing your animalistic groans and yips.
Then quickly stand, hand still working, keeping you right at the edge. I thrust into you, left hand thumbing the upraised nub of your pleasure, right holding and squeezing your tit. I thrust into you, you spasm around me, orgasm rocking you, I keep thrusting frenzied, needing to cum, needing to feel the orgasm as you ride the high of yours.
A minute, an hour. Panting, sweating. Nothing but the warmth, the wet and you. When you cum the third time, pushing, grinding down on my hard but sensitive cock. I know I’m not going to cum again. I stop thrusting and kiss you. Your need, and kiss, hard. Sucking my tongue. I stroke into you, just wanting to savor this. To feel connected to you.
Pelgris 