Shifted

At your feet I’m seated
Fingers running through my hair
Your hand reaches out before me
“Come with me,” you turn toward the stairs

Gentle command to sit
Instructions, my fingers obey
Body a vessel for your pleasure
Open for you and on display

Curtain remains open
Your hands lather, rinse and tease
Eyes focused on me, you see
My body responds as you please

“No coming, wait for me,” I hear
Your look and voice command
Barely dry, fist in my hair
Release, guided by your hand

Bent over sink, made to watch
Roughly, my robe is lifted
“Look how beautiful you are,” you say
But, it’s your confidence that’s shifted

I do see me, yet more of you
Under your complete control
Tie to robe used as cleave
In the mirror, I’m made whole

We are one, two parts that’s fit
Smiles and grunts and moans
Release after wet release
Finally, we’re home

Mesmerized by your presence
As you guide us to our bed
On top I willingly follow
By your hand and words I’m lead

Arms bound by yours
Pace controlled by your hips
Body complies over and again
Foreheads touch, then greedy lips

Your eyes locked with mine
Tell me I’m yours, I’ve always known
Finally under your control, your lead
Unbelievable how much we’ve grown

Lunchgrams

As I was kissing M goodbye this morning, I realized I had forgotten to put his baggy of carrots into his lunch box. I fetched them and he unzipped his lunch box for me. On top was the note I put in, just as I do everyday.

M: You know, the first thing I do when I get to my office is open my lunch to read your note. I never wait until lunch. And, I keep every one. They are in my desk drawer.

My M is not always a man of many words, but I know what he was saying to me, either way. The look on his face as he speaks says volumes.

I miss you and think of you just as much every day, M. I appreciate the ‘little’ things you do for me, too.

P.S. I sure hope there’s a lock on that desk drawer.

Throw Away the Key

When M and I are together, there is most always music in the background. More times than not, it is Pink Floyd, the Pulse album. Such soothing sounds……

After those first couple of minutes, I rarely hear the lyrics. The sound may register at times and I may even sway into flogger blows as he swings to the beat. But, last night, during a brief pause, as M was changing to another implement, I heard these lyrics:

“You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me ’til I’m sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.”

They struck me so deeply in that moment, I vowed to remember them. In that exact moment, those lyrics could have been a narrative. I just closed my eyes and focused on breathing. On feeling M. And M…he raised that implement, he re-arranged me. He held me close and locked me up tight, and I know he meant forever. He’s never in our history together, been more in my head.

There are not words for my gratitude and appreciation for him. Only…..I’m his.

Yes, I Am

There are so many things which M says, words or phrases he uses, that are fuel to my fire. Even the way in which he says them sends my head to a place reserved for him. The satisfaction I feel in making him proud, in fulfilling his need, the desire and need those words conjure, it’s unimaginable.

But, there is one phrase that grabs me like no other can. When he says, “That’s my girl,” my brain hums to match my body. Not even just in a sexual situation, but anytime. I am not only making him proud, but he’s declaring that I’m his. Oh, my.

Yes, Sir, I AM your girl.

Are We Going To Talk About It?

Last night, M and I were tangled up on the floor in the living room, listening to music and talking. He asked me a question I wasn’t really prepared to answer.

M: So, are we going to talk about it?

Me: About what?

M: The fact that you can come when I tell you to now. That when I tell you to and do something like put my hand on your throat (among many other possible things), you do as I ask. You are able to talk about any other detail, I’m surprised you haven’t brought that up yet.

Me: Sometimes I need a while to process things too. I just want to hold it close for a while.

M: What do you mean?

Me: It’s almost overwhelming. It’s unbelievable to me that you can tell my body what to do, then do exactly what you know I need you to do. And I, in my head, am thinking to myself that you know exactly what to do, what words to use, that I want to give you what you desire, and I can focus on only allowing my body to respond. Its like meditation, with you. It’s unreal.

M: Yes, it is.

Except, it’s not.

Sunday is Funday

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It’s busy with cleaning and lawn work, grocery shopping and laundry. There’s homework to help with and a dog to be walked. It’s also the one day in the week when we usually have no other plans. We mosey through the day going from one task to the next. M bakes bread and we often cook together, so much of our time is spent in and out of the kitchen.

All day long, I get towel snaps and whacks with wooden spoons (or the spaghetti strainer….ouch). I get nipple pinches and ass grabs, fists in my hair and neck kisses. We feed one another and there are many deep, groping kisses. Without fail, when the girls are occupied, I’m ambushed and brought to a quick, knee-buckling release, usually many times throughout the day. If I’m really lucky, I’m sweept up and taken to the basement for a quick, lusty interlude.

These things happen during the week as well, and the kitchen is by far my favorite room in the house. But, Sunday is my favorite day – barefoot, hair behind my ears, clothes splattered with whatever it is we’re cooking, and M’s hands all over me. I don’t care one bit about the food….I’d prefer to be devoured.

All and Nothing

Eyes cast downward and arms clasped gently behind my back, the dim light from the laundry room passes over me, reaching across the room. A soothing sound emanates from my iPad and I know there are words being sung, but I don’t hear them. I only hear him, his footsteps slow and methodical on the hard floor as he chooses his instruments from the drawer. I don’t care what he’s pulling from that drawer, but I know he can see my grin. I anticipate what is to come, the nervous excitement from the pit of my belly working it’s way to the outside. My grin tells it all. I know he will take me. Somewhere and nowhere, all at once. Our place.

I don’t need to see his face to know that his is reflective, thinking over his plans for me. Confident, but not arrogant. I know he’s wearing a slight grin, too, but his is different. He knows what is to come. His is the smile not unlike one would wear when the last card in your hand is trump. Except, this is no game.

Rigid and cool, the crop shaft presses against my lips and I part them, welcoming. No words, just a gentle push as it makes it’s way to rest on my bottom teeth and my jaw closes to hold it, as I know what he wishes. I watch as he pulls the homemade suede flogger out of drawer, one swift swing close to my body, a snap in the air, cool against my skin, my nipples responding to him. The lower part of me clenches and holds, not at the snap, but in response to his show of presence, my wetness flowing and tingling for him.

Not more than a few seconds later, his warmth radiates and the scent belonging purely to him sends chills through me, gooseflesh forming as his feet come to rest between my open legs, kneeling before him. Grasping the crop, he gently slides it from my teeth with a slight upward push, telling my head to follow, then letting the crop come to rest next to his thigh. Again, one quick swipe through the air next to me, but this time I twitch at the sound, at the whoosh made with that instrument I love to hate. “Do you really think I’d hit you near your face with this?,” he says with a coy grin. “No, Sir,” I say through a grin of my own. Then, with a chuckle as he speaks, he says, “Well, then that’s two for flinching,” and behind my back, with the flick of his wrist twice, I feel that crop land two whacks, one squarely placed on each cheek. We both giggle, eyes locked, something more than feeling passing between us.

I am his mercy. He is my control. And, in this moment, we are nothing else.

Moving Forward, Always

M and I have been talking so very much lately. Over the last 8 months, it’s astounding to me how much better we communicate and how much we’ve learned about ourselves and about one another.

Despite the roller coaster highs and lows and the turmoil that I’ve expressed along the way, I’ve never been happier. I’ve never felt so free. Even when I’m terrified at what I’ll face, even when I feel ridiculous at admitting and sharing my feelings, I feel, for the first time in my life, that it’s safe to do so. I feel stronger, even at my weakest feeling moments.

M and I have tweaked our rules to address all the things that matter to us right now. Believe it or not, that’s changed from even a week ago. But, we are on the right track. We feel it.

Love. Trust. Respect. Safety. I feel those things. He’s wrapped me up tight in them.

And hope. Always that.

P.S. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart to all of you. You never cease to brighten my day, make me think and reflect, and feel connected in this world.

Kay

I See You

The moan when I kiss you in the morning to wake you up.

My from-behind hug in the kitchen as I make your coffee.

All the swats and kisses, nipple pinches and towel snaps, hair grabs and neck kisses in the kitchen.

All the sexy ambushes everywhere, all the time.

The naughty looks/gestures/words when the girls aren’t looking.

They way you always listen.

All the thank you’s for the things I do.

The forehead and nose ring kisses.

When you pat the front of your chair, calling me to you.

When you come to lay your head in my lap, wrapping your arms around me.

When you ask me to help with your chores to keep you company.

When you help me with mine to keep me company.

Your willingness to try things that may initially be uncomfortable.

Your receptiveness, your self-teaching and learning, your thinking and planning.

All the times you say ‘I love you’ throughout the day.

All the times you say ‘You’re so beautiful’ throughout the day.

When you reach for my hand as we walk or sit.

When you open doors for me, no matter where we are.

When your hand instinctively goes to the back of my neck.

When you shift me to spoon and whisper ‘Goodnight’ in my ear.

When you cook and bake for us and tell me to write.

When you push or challenge me, knowing I’m better for it.

All the silly things you say and do to make me laugh and smile.

Your giant bear hugs that make my world pause.

Those loving, raw words of love and devotion just as you begin to drift to deep sleep.

All the ways you try to make time for us – the last minute dinners, sneak away sex, even quick, lusty interludes.

When you play with my hair as my head is on your lap.

All the times you know exactly what I need and never fail to provide.

When you listen to my needs and try your best to meet them.

When you hold me accountable.

When you let me sleep in.

There are so very many more. I see it all. I see your love and devotion. I see you making quality time for us. I see that you think of me. I feel it all. I do.

Re-Fitting

What if, as I shed all that armor and let myself out, I’m realizing that this life I’ve built doesn’t fit me anymore? M and I fit, better than ever and my girls are happier for it, but the rest….it doesn’t fit.

I love my job and what I do for others, but my brain is definitely under challenged. I feel stuck. I feel sad, like I’m wasting parts of myself. Writing helps to challenge me and helps to sort things out in my head and I’m grateful for that. I know there are other activities I could engage in as well, if I made the time.

As for connecting with others, I spent the better part of the last 15 years keeping friends at a distance. I never did really let them know ME in the first place. That me inside might be too much for anyone to handle. I might feel weak or exposed, I might even feel rejection. Now, in real life, there isn’t a single soul I can call and talk to on the phone. I meet a friend for dinner or send a message or text to catch up a bit, but there isn’t a single nurtured, meaningful relationship. That is my fault. I know I need to figure out how to reconnect with some of my friends, ones I know would appreciate it.

This skin I have from the weight loss feels defeating sometimes. I need to focus on the healthy life I’ve created and not the stupid skin.

Without a doubt, these feelings are adding to my discontent. I know that M is NOT responsible for any of these feelings. I own them.

I don’t need M to fix this or fix me. I have his love and support, of that I am certain. I know what I need to do, even if it feels insurmountable some days. I always stay the course. I always have hope.