The forbidden

These little games we say
Bound up
In shadow play

Words caught in mind
Scenes played out
In glances

Scent the air
With raw desire
Hands seconds from each other

Haunt my dreams
Stoke fires higher
Until a glimpse

Spills out
on the page
Wet rush

Sound of leather on skin
The soft crack
A sound stifled
By a bitten lip

Red and ginger
Sitting is the reminder
A void of remember

Just our words on the screen

Song for the day(may be a repeat)

This once held a video for an artists that turned out to be a predator. This person gave a bad name to the entire BDSM Community and I can no longer support him in any fashion. Really, I stopped supporting him a while ago but now I’m removing him from old posts.

Things I want

Rasp
Shudder
Red blossom
Fades black
Green

Salt
Heat
Breathe held
Nerve fires
Languid

Words
Promises
Trust builds
Secrets kept
Hope

Thoughts on writing about kink

Any time I post something pertaining to kink, I tend to get more kink followers.  And I read their words and I am reminded that I want that too.  Not just the romantic or sensual things but the Dominance and Submissive dance, the pain and pleasure.  I want it both.  The emotional side and the Switch(master predominant) side.  I don’t want to have to choose.  I know that I will, if I must.  But I would rather both.  The reminder is like a building fire with no outlet.  It can make me reckless. Maybe this is a TMI situation, but I’ve never been accused of shying away from brutal self discovery. 

Reflected star

A candle flickers to life
Rasping the spark
Kind words a scourge
No balm to the furies within
Drinking midnight wine
Alone in my bed
Straps that held me down now hold me up
Consenting nonconsent
Strange the last flares of thought
Slipping into oblivion.

Waking dream 

She stood before me. Tall in her heel, standing fierce. The soft paleness of calves curve upward. Her form is strength and hardship. But soft, so soft. Flesh that takes the markings of our lovemaking, that marks the lines of her possession. The heady scent of her cunt mingles with her soft perfume. Smelling of delicacy and delight, recalling the taste of her sweetness. Eyes take in the slight abundance of belly, this she sees as flaw and I see as beautiful. Yielding, the sound of a flogger slapping lightly, further marking her as mine. Her breasts are pillows, showing my bite marks, bruising in blacks, blues and yellows. She says they hurt and remind her of my attention and intention throughout the day. Each mark, each bruise, each small pain, reminding her of my total possession.

She watches me drink her in, wicked grin on her face. This our ritual each time. Her grin bursts wider pulling deep within me. This the smile that makes me want to ravish her, to take her until there is nothing left but grunts and pain and pleasure. All humanity torn away. Give in to shear animalistic rutt.

Her eyes twinkle, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she knows and deeply approves. Knowing in my gaze and less than tender mercies, finally at last, how truly beautiful she is.

State of the Union

In my bright eyed youth, I was a less than good person. I did things. Profitable morally questionable things. But I’ve never been one for morals. Ethics and honor, sure, but common morality never held my interest.

But even that ended and when my interest in the lifestyle if not the money began to wane, Morgan found me drinking a rum and coke at a club. She took me back to her place and we fucked. It wasn’t making love or anything controlled. It was pure animal need. But for some reason I felt drawn to her. So it wasn’t just sex, it was something else.

But I didn’t think that at the time. I kept going back to her and I always told myself it was just sex. Until it became evident it wasn’t. You can only spend so many nights holding each other and talking before you are forced to acknowledge that you just want to be with them. Morgan had an interest in Dominance and Submission, and in pain. In BDSM parlance she was a pain slut. It is not an insult. She gloried in it.

I became her top and over the course of a year or so, her Sir. It had gotten to the point where I could see spending my life with her. Until that September morning that took her from me. You can read about that elsewhere.

So I had become a Dominant. And in controlling others in that context had found a measure of peace. But with Morgan’s death came a bleak sadness that would persist for years. The anger and sadness made me a dangerous top and I came right to the edge of control a few times. In those years, I hooked up with an old friend from my life pre-Morgan.

Eric began pulling me out of the darkness. And through his love, I found the strength to keep going. I also found that being a top was not all that I was. With Eric, I felt safe. I didn’t want to be in control all the time and with him I learned Submission. We were happy for a time but he was unwilling to stay in one place and wanted a 24/7 Sub. Which I am not. I finally asked if he would stay with me. He wasn’t and we parted.

So I wasn’t a full time Dominant and I wasn’t a full time Submissive, so what was I? Was it just play to me? No, I enjoy the psychological aspects too much for it to be just play. So after some research and searching my heart, I find myself a Switch. And that fits comfortably. But I also found that play relationships and even long-term sub or dom relationships were not wholly what I wanted.

So what did I want. What was missing? That’s right. The thing I denied with Morgan, and that which I wanted but never fully realized with Eric. Love. And all that entails. So began my search and I thought I found it several times and each time I was wrong. Then all unaware, writing my poetry and stories, a heart was reading and opening. Scattered comments and likes and this person was always on my mind. I am and was disappointed when they wouldn’t comment but would like what I wrote. I always want to know why, why something is liked.

And when she would comment it was like a sunburst. And I knew, I was falling in love. I started really paying attention and at the last confessed the state of my emotions and very much to my surprise found my affection returned. So after years of searching, she found me. Like lightning from a clear blue sky. I don’t know what the future holds, can’t know it.

But Goddess of my heart, I love you. It has been a long journey and now that we’ve found each other I am profoundly grateful to whatever gods or spirits intervened, if any did. Or just the spinning chance of the cosmic wheel. In any case, my Cha’trez, you have me. All that I was, all that I am, until the stars burn out in the sky. Until the universe collapses, and even then my love for you will exist.

Open doors

The flesh is a mere gateway. A doorway to pleasure. A medium by which worship and devotion are made tangible. A lash of the whip binds the mind to the flesh, that lance of pain bled exctasy binds mind to mind. A moment forever frozen in memory. The tracing of a scar line evoking love and care, devotion and pleasure. All from a simple mark of flesh. Flesh is a mere gateway, but a gateway to the mind, eternal.

Better to be lucky?

I feel like I have been terribly lucky, even though I don’t believe in luck, with my past partners. Though I also know I am ignoring disappointing relationships when I say that. My Morgan was an accomplished Submissive and the older woman as well, by three years. She effectively fostered my training in being a Master. I had the desire but not the tools. That we extended beyond play into a place where I can only say that she was mine and I was hers, is amazing to me. Everything began with her. I wish I could say it ends with her as well and we’re happy and still together, but as anyone who reads my posts knows, this is not the case. Then there was Eric who was my Master. As I’ve said, I’m a Switch. And being a Submissive is some of the best training on being a good Master. Seeing both sides allows me to better see how best to proceed in both aspects. And even with My Miss, while it lasted, she was a phenomenal submissive, especially for one so new. I was thrilled with what time we had together, though it seems like that is at an end now. I have friends who have had bad Submissives and bad Masters and can only be grateful to whatever leather clad whip bearing god(dess) is looking out for me.

My fetish

It occurs to me that I’ve never stated my fetish. Yes, I’ve said I’m a BDSM Switch weighted towards Top. But to me that’s like saying I’m Pansexual. It’s just a fact, a part of who I am on a fundamental level. Now, most kinky things, they are just part of the landscape. Albeit a more interesting one than vanilla values. Tying up or being tied up is just interesting if you get me. The more complex the better to my way of thinking in general.

My fetish however? It’s simple. I get off on the pleasure of my partner. Not in a ‘let’s everyone have a good time’ way, but in that I require their pleasure for my own. I like going down on women for that reason alone, along with the shear physicality of it. I study anatomy and psychology to further my options. I have spent many times with partners going down for a few hours. I recommend strapons with me because I’m nearly guaranteed to orgasm multiple times while going down and I want my partner to have more pleasure than I can physically provide. As fetish’s go, I think its a good thing for all parties.