Valentine’s day 25

I watch the swaying roll of hips. My wife crawling to the first soft puddle. The sheen of wet on hard wood. Her mouth dips down and red full lips part. Soft pink tongue presses against the wood. She plants her knees far apart, leverage so that she can lick the wood clean. The soft hidden rose if her sex opens like the flower I have cherished and punished.

I fight myself. My cock is raw and pushes against the underwear and pants. Pain flares. There is always too much of a good thing. Still, the thought of my hardness pushing into her. Melding us together. The feel of her warmth around me. Almost, almost I give in. Though, I know it would be more pain than pleasure. Though I know, I risk damage. I still feel myself tightening. Pain and heat spreading.

I push that down. If I am not in control, this could go very badly. There is a part of me that wants to take her and hurt her and see the fear and desire war in her eyes. It’s that part that I dare not show. If we were alone, then breaking her would be a good thing. Something we both want, both need. As long as we put each other back together afterwards, as such a thing takes a toll on us both. But if Tara sees the monster…It’s too soon. Too much like her old master. It would undo everything.

It is this realization that hits me like a pitcher of ice water. It’s why it’s too soon for the handfasting. Why Tara knew that she couldn’t yet. She senses I’m holding the darkest parts of my desire back from her. She is correct. I’m an idiot. I rushed, thinking she’s seen everything that is important. But this, this part that so rarely shows. This part that wants the screams and the pain more than it wants control and pleasure. The part my Sara sees, and knows, and lusts for.

Very well. For Sara, a bit of both. But quietly. I slip out of my dress shoes and pad on naked feet to where my Sara is licking up the juices of Tara. The largest puddle before the toy chest. I kneel next to Sara. Brushing against her. Feeling the softness of her thigh, up her back to my raven, flechted into her skin. A testament to our desires.

“Make no sound,” I whisper.

She turns and looks at me, nodding her head. My good girl.

I run my fingers down her, pinching and playing. I twist her nipple until tears and the soft choke of a whimper. I pull her arm up, pushing her face against the top of the toy chest. Pulling her hand to rest on the fabric over my stiff cock. Her shoulder is at an angle that I know hurts. I unzip and put myself into her hand. I release her. From past games she knows not to let go or squirm. I slide my index finger inside her. Feeling the slick warmth suck me in.

“Only if you can make me cum do you get to orgasm,” I say, pushing another finger inside.

She grips me, trying to jack me off at this angle, but she’s unable to do much more than run her fingers over me.

I spread my fingers apart, making room for a third finger. The sounds of her whimpers making me clamp down hard. The sound of her panting and mewling. I can’t stand it. I’m weak.

I pull my fingers out of her. Reach over and pull her other arm up. I could dislocate her shoulders like this, arms held behind her wrenched back, neck muscles holding her up. Trying to maintain a balance that gives her some control. No. That won’t do. Control is mine. I pull her arms up. She’s crying and pant screaming softly but audibly. I push my cock inside of her. The rawness making me want more. I slam myself into her. The slap of flesh against flesh and her screams pulling my cum out of me. Spilling my seed into her. I keep slamming into her hoping I’ll break her. Hoping for a red. But it doesn’t come. And I’m completely spent and consumed with shame.

I let her go. I pull in great lungfuls of air. Almost hyperventilating with the violence. I see blood on my cock. Mine or hers, I can’t tell. She turns around and sucks the blood and cum and honey juices off of me. Cleaning me up, unbidden. I’m definitely the one bleeding. Her tongue probes the cut and I gasp. Her eyes meet mine. And like a jolt, the last cum in my body spills slow into her mouth. She sucks me down, her eyes never leaving mine.
Just us connected. Just us. And our foxy girl in the next room

What am I afraid of(audio) 

I’m afraid
that today will be the day that I don’t cry
That
Today will be the day I don’t reach out
That
Today will be the day where I feel isolated
That
Today will be the day I can’t see tomorrow
That
Today will be the day that it won’t hurt to think about
That
Today
will be
the day

Pointless musing on a midnight clear

So much seems to hinge on circumstance. The turn of a phrase or an action. A misplaced step or a perfectly balanced step. More and more I see the limits of what may be possible as the disadvantage of not being impulsive or not being secure enough financially to take an action or not have enough faith in my abilities to land on my feet. Because, if I did, I would have flown to her when she got hurt. It might not have made a difference but we would know.

Or I would have moved to Texas where, it seems, there is a nexus of my tribe. And that could be a miracle or a folly. But I can’t know at this distance.

Or maybe that’s all delusion and I’m just wonderful words on a screen and in person it would be disaster. But I don’t know, because I can’t think to take any kind of step to bring me to them. Is it prudence or cowardice? Am I so bound in secondary rules that I can’t even go without a strong reason or a invitation?

Or are they just dreams that on seeing we’d all wake up from. I wish I could tell you.

Strength bleeds backwards

There was a time before blood and bind
Before dance and bone
Where reverie wakes
And sky’s do groan

So lonesome
in the endless expanse
Made merry
Give chase

But burn back blades
Fire whips it’s frenzy
All control lost and only
In its absence noted

Shout surrender
Heart pounding
Straining for one last beat
one last hush of blood

Fear permeates
The quiet unsaid
Leaving potential lies
To churn out stomach lining

Waiting for the pustulmelous fragility to burst
Lost in thoughts that won’t cease
And the hardship that comes

Knowing your thoughts
Knowing that you are past bearing
That some words should never be uttered

And the only shelter
Is the arms of silence

Silly heart: revisited

The reality is I’m starting to fall for you. I get butterflies when I see that you liked something and when you comment it makes me feel, about what I posted, validated. It’s not a game. It’s what I feel and I don’t want to play games with you regarding my feelings. What I am is afraid. Not just afraid that if I say something, it will be revealed that I’m reading far too much into things. But also that I may lose someone who genuinely likes my work, because I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.

You asking if it was a game was like a kick to the stomach. It’s not a game. I would never knowingly play with someone’s emotions like that. It’s a action dictated by fear. I only didn’t realize that until something was said. Now that I know I must face it. As I feel I have by publishing a response. Tell me whatever you wish. I wait.

Words and choices

I would say everything
But would I be believed?
I would make known all my intentions
But would they fall on deaf ears?
I would hold you forever
But would you squirm away?
I would love you until the stars burn out
But you would still be far away.

I’m scary, I say things that are forever things. Things that life has taught can be only lies. Nothing lasts forever, nothing but the fear and the loneliness. So I am not believed.

I would demonstrate my heart
Prove again and again, what is written there
Grow with you
But I’m the scary one. Saying pretty things, things your mind whispers, cannot possibly be true.

Softly dying

In the complications of morning
The heat of the coming day
My heart has started trembling
Begging you to stay

Life, it runs in circles
And I am lost within
Just stay with me awhile
I’ve lost the will to win

I’m right back at beginning
Stay in the dying light
The softest breathe of mourning
I long to make it right

But stay with me, my lover
And drink my blood like wine
I am lost, forsaken
I fear, it may be time