I will make a canvas of your skin
In blacks and blues
In swirled greens and yellows
In words pressed deep into flesh
My marks will bind us
Deep as the soul
This possession of all that you are
Belies the truth
Your total possession of me
Looking up
Tears
Eyes pleading for one more flick of the lash
The key to your ownership
Words drip like heroin
“Thank you, Sir”
BDSM vs. Abuse – http://wp.me/p8gLxj-72
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I wake up at 2 AM most nights. No matter when I go to sleep, BAM, 2AM and I’m awake. It’s not too bad, I suppose. I get time to write. But my mind isn’t drifting to writing lately.
I wake, but my still sleeping brain reaches for you. I’m convinced that not being able to touch you; not being able to bury my face in your neck and smell you. Not being able to kiss your spine and murmur, “Mine.”
Not being able to do that, because you are not here with me, wakes me fully. My mind missing you, my body straining for you.
If I’m being honest, I have this image of you waking next to me, snuggling back into me as I kiss you and we move on to less gentle pursuits as I possess your every nerve ending, until you are floating in pleasures.
Not that we would not have been with each other before sleeping but I wake up with a need for less control and more take what I want.
These are my thoughts lately. 2AM without you.
The smell of you in my throat
The taste of your orgasm on my tongue
The wet slickness of you slowly drying on my face
The clenched fist of desire in my pelvis
The shaft of me grown stiff and throbbing
The ache of your lips wrapped around me
The pressure and heat of your tongue
The scent of winter rain
The thrumm of us moving in concert
The pain of handcuffs suspended
The ecstatic breathe that slips past the constriction of my hands
The feel of your leash in my pocket
The weight of you in my lap and arms
The sight of you kneeling at my feet
The sound of leather striking skin
All packaged up, running through my head and nerves
When you say
Sir
We make our choices
Each one slaved to our voices
This pain is lossless
Format break me free
Hearts in chains
What do I know of acclaim
Accused of being heartless
Truth hidden in darkness
Break me free by enslaving me
Putting your needs in front of me
I’m in control but at a word it stops
It stops
It stops
This echo makes uniform ripples
And rules make it the sweeter
You’re all so distant but
Miles have no meaning when you say Sir
I’m the divisor of torments and salivations
Both
But my destruction is always a hairsbreadth from midnight
Waiting on words not spoken
Truths not muttered
And the question
And the question
Ask
I have only truth.
I have dreamed a thousand lives and in each you are there. I’ve kissed you a thousand ways. Made love to you with word and skin. Fucked like beasts. Commanded and caressed. But in each, you will not stay. All I have learned, all the pleasures, the highs and the lows, all my knowledge I bring and still you walk away. I bare my soul and jump with my heart wide open, and still you walk away. And so I wake, because why live in the dreaming if I cannot be with you. I wake and try to find a way to another.
But I cannot get away from us. Why are you still single? Always that question. Always the answer, “That’s complicated.” Hoping they let it go, hoping to allow you to know me better before most of my secrets come spilling out.
I suppose I could lie. That’s the logical thing to do. But I can’t betray your memory. I won’t lie. So they hear a tale of sadness and pain and depression and that’s no way to get a second or third date. Yes, date.
Netflix and chill is bullshit. Even if we get to the point where sex is involved, I’m going to refer to those nights as the nights we fuck. Or better, as scene’s. Give me some emotional connection or give me a paddle in my hand. Preferably both.
A proper date. With dancing, with music, with conversation.
Fuck! You can see how bad I am. I’m all over the place even just writing about looking for a relationship.
Just shortcut it. If you like me, read me, and call me SIR and mean it. We’ll get there. Roll the dice. Make a move. My caution comes from a good place, it’s not lack of assertiveness.
Or ask me to text you, apparently I’ll ramble on and on.
When you say, “Sir”, it sends a frission through me. It ignites me like treated wood, builds burn to bright. My possession of you leads to possibilities of public and private. A touch to remind, a choker to mind, a corset to bind, harsh hemp rope making you mine. We are everyday. We are happy. You spark and burn when shocked and bled. My beautiful girl. Mine, mine mine, growl pours from lips to teeth biting clit. My need for you, my joy for you, each touch and sentence spoken, binding us closer. Commands become the choice of happiness and we move in tandem. You to hurt me as I command. My pain is pleasure and you are never denied. Passion pours from us in simple touch, the light in our eyes making truth where others see betrayal. We are blood and hope and fit together. The only thing improper is desire left to rot. But you hop and smile and say Sir. An exploration of boundaries, of each desire taken to the bleeding edge. Our comfort in the choices of each other. Of each other.
For I shall kneel at the altar of shadows
And dance amidst dappled pools of light
I shall drink from the cup of the ages
And sing with the choir of night
I supp at the table of wisdom
and tumble into dawns cold grace
I have slipped deeper into submission
and slept in her razor embrace.
A hard limit is a line I won’t cross. I won’t take without the consent of the taken. Once given, I won’t betray my word. I defend those I consider mine.
I don’t like to be humiliated or insulted. If I want something, I say what I want. If the answer is no, that’s OK but I don’t beg. I don’t play the try harder that’s not enough game. If something is needed or lacking, I expect to be asked for it or told in what way it is lacking.
The games I play have a start and an end. Which I will declare. If I don’t say it is a game then it isn’t.
Pelgris 