On the Rocks


Easing herself into the eggplant-colored leather of the chair, she leans back and unties her robe. Grasping the soft, fleecy fabric, she opens it, letting it come to rest against her sides. Bending her knees, she pulls her feet up to the cushion on either side of her ass, planting a heel against each armrest, opening her legs so she is on display for him, just as he’s asked.

Reaching in to her right robe pocket, she retrieves the new vibrator he’d slid in there a few moments ago. Now, she’s ready.

Behind her, in kitchen, as she patiently waits, she hears the creak of the cupboard door, the tinking of his wedding band against the glass as his fingers embrace it, his strong hand scooping ice cubes from the basin in the freezer. He’s going to pour himself a glass of the Basil Hayden’s she just bought him. She knows what he’s going to do once he pours it and comes to her, he told her so. The anticipation has her breathing so rapidly she’s shivering beneath her goosebumps.

As she sits, the room is silent, except for the sounds he’s making – now, the clink of cubes into the glass, the snap and rip of the paper seal and the pop of the cork as the bottle is opened, the glug, glug, glug of the bourbon as its poured from the bottle. She listens as the cubes crackle when the liquid warms them and their clanking together and against the sides of the glass as they begin to float. Then, his slow, easy footsteps and the rattling of those cubes as he approaches makes her chest rise and fall in deep shudders, her brow slightly furrowed. She’s a little nervous. It’s never been quite like this before.

As he rounds the chair, their eyes meet, and he grins. Oh, God, that grin. That grin of pride and power; it makes her smolder, but it also makes her want to do whatever it takes to keep seeing that grin. To keep feeling that look in his eyes. The look that says, “You are MINE.”

He sits on the floor a few feet in front of the chair, one leg crossed in front of him and the other bent at the knee as he rests his arm on top of it, holding his drink.

“I want you to do what I asked you to do earlier. You can start now.”

She knows exactly what he means; she never forgets his instructions.

Pushing the button on the base of the bullet shaped vibe, she presses three times, taking it to the most powerful setting. Watching him watching her, she presses the tip to herself, gasping at the fierceness of the vibrations, muscles clenching all the way through her legs, curling her toes. She tries to focus on him, on the way his eyes light up at each gasp or twitch she makes, at the way he sips that drink and licks his lips as he stares at her, at the grin that seems to get more thirsty, despite the draining of the liquid in his glass. Yet, her brain keeps sidetracking with worry she’ll disappoint him, feeling a bit of performance anxiety.

Although she’s done this for him so many times before, this time feels different. She feels as if she is not only on display, but as if she is truly performing for him. Not in the way one might perform on a stage pretending or acting, not at all. She feels the most vulnerable she’s ever felt, completely exposed and in this predicament solely and formally for his entertainment and pleasure. Simply because he wanted to watch, and she wanted nothing more than to please him.

“Close your eyes and relax,” he says, tenderly. “Just focus on how it feels, that’s it.”

Immediately closing her eyes, she slows her breathing and isolates in her mind the feeling of the vibe, moving it slowly in a circular motion on the spot that drives her crazy. She focuses on each buzz and hum, on every pulsing sensation in her core, on the radiating heat meeting the cool air on the surface of her skin. She listens to the sound of her own breathing. 

Within a few minutes, she feels the telling, emanating heat and tension overcoming her. With abandon, she moves the vibe and bucks her hips until she’s so close she fears she might topple over that edge, then she takes the vibe away, just as he wishes. Cupping her mound with her hand, she pants and allows the feeling to wain a bit, before she begins again on the next lowest setting as per his instructions. Taking much less time to reach that clenching heat, she opens her eyes and feels him watching her. That look on his face, the intensity of it baring her – it fuels her, stripping away any remaining anxiety. It’s a look not only of adoration in his eyes, it’s hunger. It’s ownership.

On the last and lowest setting, she is so aroused and so engorged, the vibe feels slower, but so deep and rumbly. She slows her breathing. She looks into his eyes. She is HIS. The buzzing is intense and methodical, sending sensations straight to the muscles which haven’t quite relaxed. They take root, causing the beginnings of the contractions that will grip her whole being if she doesn’t back off. Not daring to displease him, she removes the vibe and squeezes her thighs together, throwing her head back in a long, exhaling moan.

Pressing that button three times again, she returns the vibe to the most powerful setting. Just the sound of the buzzing has her squeezing her muscles in both anticipation and fear. Oh, fuck, she loves to hate it! She knows it’s going to be so intense that she’ll want to beg to stop and she’ll want to beg for more. When she does finally come, she knows she’s going to fucking explode. For him.

Opening and closing, her eyes clench and release with the waves of pleasure. She watches him, that look on his face one of possession – she’s feeling a bit like prey. Willingly so, and she can’t wait to be taken. Her body writhes and undulates to the vibrations taking over. She continues to move and feel and become that look in his eyes and that grin on his face.

The pressure becomes so intense she stills herself, bracing for what she knows is about to happen. The orgasm grips her. Every muscle in her body responds. Her back arches, hips lifting off the cushion as she closes her eyes and bites her lip to keep the scream from escaping and waking the girls. 

Before she even opens her eyes, he’s in front of her, fingers entering and massaging her, sending her flying, again and again, wetness pooling on her turquoise robe.
Finally, he lets her body rest, but only briefly.

“Turn it on again, the highest setting.”

The look on her face must have been rather surprised and questioning.

“Don’t move it until I say to.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Following his instructions, she presses the vibe to her sweet spot, now fairly tender. As she does, she hears the sound of the ice clanking in the glass again. And that grin….oh, my. Now, it’s hungry and devious. Gliding that cube over each nipple, he circles and holds it on each peak briefly. She picks up the faint smell of the bourbon as it slides over her warm skin, leaving a cool, trickling trail, making its way over her abdomen and down her legs. Her low moans and gasps only add to his pleasure, it’s obvious.

He reaches down one last time for a new cube and concentrates on her mound. Up and down, tracing her folds with the tip of the moon shaped piece of ice, threatening to enter her, holding it in place at her opening until she bucks at the stinging, cool sensation. When he moves the ice, his fingers enter her again, the heat of his fingers on her cold skin sending shivers up her entire body, culminating in those muscles deep in her core. She has no control over her body’s response – her arm flails and grips the arms of the chair, her hips rock and her heels dig into the leather. Her eyes close so tightly her head begins to hurt.

“Okay,” he says and she finally removes the vibe.

When she opens her eyes, she sees him. He is sitting back, smiling, and chewing that last piece of ice in his glass, obviously very pleased with his evening, on the rocks.

Reworking of an old post, as I make M his favorite drink….happy  long weekend!

The Beginning


arms held above by command,
she shivered beneath his stealthy hands,
the white candles liquified,
she closed her lusty green eyes
and savored,
each moment the heat drowned her flesh,
arching her back and drawing breath
in sharp hisses,
short pours had her writhing,
while the longer had her biting
both of her lips,
his teasingly soft caresses
and contrasting, pinpointed presses
drove her mad,
but the cool rigidity of the blade,
is what stunned her senses and made
her still,
as it slid over her skin,
stripping over and again,
and just when she’d thought he was through,
she saw his coy grin and she knew
he’d just begun

-photo credit tumblr.com

Ignite Me

I am your wick
A thread through your core
Thirsting for your touch
Ignited by whispered words
The heat of your gaze taking hold
Radiating, encompassing warmth
By your hand, your instruments
Melting inhibition
Drawing my soul to the surface
Fueling your smoldering need
Defying all external forces
Except you, I burn
And I burn, for you
One surrendered flame
Dancing, free flowing
A fiery, lascivious glow
Of wanton desire
I am your wick
Ignite me

-photo credit google.com

Half Empty?

M has often said that I have a knack for focusing easily on the negative in a situation, especially if it has to do with the two of us. I can’t say that isn’t true, because it is, and sometimes it’s pretty frustrating. 

But I don’t focus on the negative because I’m a pessimist or because I enjoy wallowing in misery. I do not enjoy creating my own misery or conjuring anxiety for the sake of feeling crappy. I have a deep need to understand things, especially when it has to do with us. I need to know the why’s and how’s, especially when it comes to his thinking, and he is not an especially verbal person, so I ask. 

Our relationship is the foundation on which I stand every day. It’s woven into my backbone, and I count on it, I count on us, and this structure we’ve built. So when I feel unsure about a situation, or something has left me feeling off, I need to talk it through with M so I can understand. Sometimes I just need reassurance, because I’m fighting old habits or ways of thinking, and I’m left feeling vulnerable. 

Either way, when I’m focusing on the negative, I’m focusing on what I cannot understand or explain on my own, and I’m desperately trying to NOT make poor assumptions or speculations. I’m looking to him for clarification and assurance. Instead of allowing my mind to create a negative space that hurts us both, I’m leaning on him and placing confidence in him to guide us in the direction that suits us. 

That’s progress, I think. I’m not seeing the cup as half empty or doubting his abilities. I’m saying to him – our cup is not half empty or half full, but together we are the pitcher that can constantly refill the glass. I’m asking him to help me tip the pitcher. And, luckily, he is very patient, and we’ve talked it through so many times, he usually understands. 

Sleep Talk

Most nights, M falls asleep before me. I hear his breath, deep and steady, feel the comfort of his chest rising and falling against my back, and his arm draped around me as I read. Almost always, just when I think he’s slipped fully into sleep, I hear his whispered voice, warm on my ear. Each time, endearing words, ones that melt my heart.

Last night, he said, “Kay, I love you with my whole heart. I’m lucky to be your husband”, as he leaned in to squeeze me harder and kiss my cheek. Then, just as quickly, he slid into a slumber.

The best part about the sleep talk, is that he must be thinking of us as his brain and body let go and relax. ‘We’ must occupy his thoughts. Not his busy day or his ‘to do’ list for tomorrow – just us.

I wonder if, in his thick slumber, he dreams of me as I dream of him?

*Revised post
*photo credit Google

The Infinite Playlist

Some time ago, as I sat at M’s feet, he put some music on, one of his favorite playlists. I’ve heard it many times before, but this night it was much more than just listening to music in the background.

As we listened to a few songs and talked about our days, a particular song came on, and I described to M an exact moment I remember that song being played, a happy, romantic moment from long, long ago. Yet, it doesn’t seem like so long ago! It was so lucid – I remembered what we were wearing, how the candles were lit, and our surroundings. I remembered how he touched me and how his body felt against mine as we danced. And the words he said, I’ll never forget those.

Lying his iPad on the living room floor, M pulled me down to lie with him. That’s when he told me something that melted my heart……this playlist, his favorite, is one he created with all the songs that remind him of us. Of specific times and places and things we’ve done together, over the past 21 years.

We scrolled through that playlist and relived our history, surprising one another with some of the tiniest of details in our rembrances. The design on the blanket we laid upon. The time, stuck and blinking on the clock, the smell of the flowers in the air, the spoken words of a stranger next to us. We felt as we felt, we saw as we saw, experiencing all those moments again, and again, together.

M and I love music. It is more than just words and sound; music marks the passage of time. It’s alive that way – it can take us on a journey, keeping vivid  bits of our histories, preserving them so purely. Each lyric and melody evoking a response from all of our senses. Summoning emotion, sometimes so strong it’s difficult to listen. Inspiring strength and planting seeds of hope.

Every playlist is a song after a song, but it’s also a memory after a memory. An endless reel of reminiscence and aspiration.

You want to know the best part? Every day, we are creating a new playlist. And I get to keep making them with my soulmate.

Rock on.

*A spruced up oldie, as I sit here making a new ‘us’ playlist.