Burning Certainty

this is no whim,
no ‘what if’,
no passing role they are playing,
it is their foundation,
their brick and mortar

he is the fire
pumping through her veins

for him, she is pure energy,
eager phosphorous, 
aching sticks of porous pine
waiting to bend,
a book of possibility,
resting in his hands

and he hungrily strikes her,
again and again and again, 
helping her to unlock her freedom,
to savor his conviction,
allowing her to feel trepidation,  
but matching it with
the encompassing smoke of trust,
true ignition

burning certainty,
never allowing her
to fade to ash

His Shadow


Strong, work-hardened fingers gently move the dark brown curls away from my face, pulling it to a bunch behind my head in His fist, and resting my right cheek on the ottoman. Instinctively, my eyes turn down toward Him as he speaks, kneeling behind me. “Watch My shadow,” He commands lovingly, His open palm pinning my head in it’s position.

Illuminating the room, the light seeps through the crack in the laundry room door, just bright enough. My eyes do see. They see the silhouette of a man, it seems.

Against His palm, my jaw opens in an involuntary inhaled breath, as my eyes watch that Shadow’s hips plunge forward, impaling me, reaching my end with one deliberately slow thrust. Then, it pauses.

Do you like that?,” I hear, in my Sir’s voice. “Yes, Sir,” I reply, breathy with desire. “Tell me you want more,” that same compassionately stern voice demands of me. And I tell him. I tell His voice I want more. And more. Oh, please.

Keep your eyes open and watch My shadow,” my Sir’s voice directs me again, and I see the Shadow’s jaw move as He speaks.

Then, Shadow begins His dance with me. His hips move in a fierce rhythm, back and forth, as Sir’s palm continues to pin my head to the ottoman, ensuring my eyes must continue to watch. Warm, gripping fingers firmly hold my hip bone at the same time, pulling me back in sync with the thrusts, quick and deep. I feel every inch of Him, smooth and warm, to the end, then back again, until the ridge of His swollen head catches on my entrance, momentarily threatening to leave it’s home, then plunging forward again. A few swift swats land on both cheeks, a radiating burn on top of those stingy welts made with the crop and the snaps and slaps from the brown suede flogger.

I feel Sir’s shifting body behind me, the warmth of His skin on mine, those swats that take my pleasure to a realm I never knew was possible. Yet, all the while, it is Shadow I see, moving against me, moving in me, with me.

Sir’s hand no longer holds my head in place, but I don’t dare move it. I’m mesmerized. Hands which I know belong to my Sir hold my shoulders, His fist grips in my hair, His hands deliver strikes and His fingers dig into my flesh, gripping and pulling as He pleases. Yet it is Shadow who throws his head back, his back rhythmically arching and straightening, coiling all his strength and desire into each fluid, hungry movement.

Behind me, I hear the grunting through clenched teeth, heavy sighs and guttural breathing. I know those sounds, I’ve heard them all before, so many times. But, it is Shadow making them, my eyes can’t be deceiving me. Shadow means to consume me, I can hear it. I can feel it in the air around us.

Please, may I come for you?,” I ask, over and over again, my voice, shaky with need, pointing directly at Shadow, begging. “Yes, you may come for for me,” Sir replies, every time.

And then the awe overwhelms me. It registers in me that they are one in the same. This man I’ve loved for 23 years has transformed, his hidden, primal nature finally out in the open, in control.

Devour me,’ I think to myself, He and His Shadow hovering over me.

*Trying like hell to articulate something which feels profound as I compose a post in progress, and took a break to read and get some inspiration. Gave this one a quick face lift, thought I’d share.

-image found on Pinterest


lying in wait
trapped in quivering skin,
petechiae speckled
from holding it in

prickly-thistled thoughts
and white-knuckled sheets,
as her mind replays memories
of their consumous heat

desperately, she craves,
but she dare not say,
her patience an offering;
surrendered prey 

-image credit Maria Concepcion via Flickr

Perpetual Fine-Tuning

M and I have plenty of miscommunications. Yes, still, after three years of growing thisdynamic together, and almost 23 years together. 

As the follower, I need M’s directions and expectations to be clear. I need to understand what he wants or expects from me, and I want to carry that out; I want nothing more than to please him. As the leader, he needs me to understand what he wants and carry that out. He needs me to follow without interjecting my own assumptions, rationalizations, and intentions into his directions and expectations. 

I’m not proud to say that I do that fairly often. Instead of asking clarifying questions when I don’t understand, I assume. Instead of being patient, I assume. Without a clear understanding, I assume.

M also sometimes has a difficult time being clear, communicating himself in a way I wholly understand. It’s something he freely admits. Verbal communication is something he struggles with. 

Many of our miscommunications happen because I take his initial communication at face value. I assume that no matter what, it will be carried out precisely how he vocalized it or wrote it. Except, life rarely allows for absolutes. Life doesn’t always allow for things to play out as he intended, and I may not be privy to the intentions. I only have the wording or the verbally communicated directions/instructions/expectations. And what he means and what I think he means may be two entirely different things. 

I thought that knowing M’s core intention was good enough, and to an extent it is. I KNOW he values me, he’s proven that over and over again. I trust that he never intends to hurt me. He knows those same things of me. So if something does hurt me, or hurt him, we can talk it through and move on, with no residual negativity. Unless we keep doing the things that hurt the other. Unless we’ve talked it through and talked it through, and it keeps happening. 

We both know there’s a learning curve, and that it takes communication and effort on both parts. Growth takes time. If a rule or expectation has been written or vocalized, it is M’s responsibility to vocalize why it can’t be followed through. He expects compliance from me; I expect follow through from him. If I don’t comply, I’ve communicated to him that his rule or expectations didn’t matter, that his wants/needs didn’t matter. If he doesn’t follow through, he communicates the same to me. I know that it may mean some adjustments of expectations from me, and it often does. It may mean asking clarifying questions and accepting answers, even when I don’t like or agree with them. It means accepting when something can’t or doesn’t happen, and appreciating his intentions and commitment to following through by communicating that it can’t or why it didn’t. He knows it means addressing the changes verbally on his part. It may mean that the rule or expectation needs to be revisited, rewritten, or even scrapped because it just isn’t working for us. We know these things, and we still sometimes struggle. We aren’t perfect, nor will we ever be.

We also know that it means never forgetting that forgiveness is the highest form of love and trust. It means knowing that it’s unrealistic to believe that the other is going to meet every perceived need we have in the way we envision it, and maybe it means they won’t at all, that the need is something we must meet ourselves, that we must master that on our own with loving support. 

It means listening. Really, listening. It means hearing both words AND actions. It means not being afraid to ask, share, talk. It means not being afraid to need. It means never forgetting that neither of us intends to harm the other, that love and honor are our highest priority. When we honor above all, we know we can fine-tune and continuously delve deeper to understand one another, to appreciate one another. And that’s all we’ve ever wanted.


your lips are some kind of magic

when they touch me,
time stops as my body catches fire,
surging from the inside out,
rippling gooseflesh, alive,
trembling with need,

I don’t even notice where I am,
but I damn sure know I’m with you

and all I want is more

-image credit wishespoint.com

Forgive Me

Forgive me

I’m in need of release
the day was so long
and it all went very wrong 
so I’m taking it all off, piece by piece 

Forgive me

I’ve got a fiesty attitude
no one was nice
I almost cried twice
conquer me, I need to be subdued

Forgive me

I feel like raisin’ some hell
my brain is full-tired
but my body is live-wired
ready to be under your spell

Forgive me

I’m gonna beg-and-plead more
tie me to the bed?
make my bottom red?
I’ll be waiting, knees to the floor

Forgive me

I’m addicted to sin
made a deal with your beast
on me he can feast
with a wicked, hungry grin

No need to Forgive Me
I’d do it all again 
I’m both hawk and wren 
and this is how I’ll always be 

-image found via Tumblr


“Don’t look away, eyes straight ahead,” he directed, after positioning her precisely where he wanted her.

Wanting nothing more than to please him, she dare not avert her gaze, but the truth was that she wouldn’t have looked away even if he hadn’t told her not to. She was captivated. Mesmerized. 

So many times before they’d experienced a similar scenario. Logistically it wasn’t much different. Bent over one side of the bed, her palms were flat on the mattress, feet shoulder width apart. Behind her, he stood readying for what was to come.

On the bench at the foot of the bed lay a plethora of toys and implements, none of which were new. She’d felt each one at his hand before, she’d been overwhelmed and pushed and challenged by each one. Craving the symbiotic exchange, a tethering force between them, she absorbed and savored his energy and desire each and every time they came together, two as one. 

Never was she more alive than when she was at his mercy.

Yet, this time in the cabin he’d rented, there was a mirror opposite her, on the wall next to the other side of the bed. Looking forward, she saw with her eyes what her heart had felt so strongly, that for which her soul had always longed. 

On his face, was this stunningly sly smile. His hands were all intent as they chose this implement or that, his weight shifting with purpose as he positioned himself for each whoosh or crack or sting. Normally her eyes would close as she sunk into herself, only feeling him, connected to him, but this time, all she could do was stare at him in the mirror. Her eyes would instinctively blink with each strike, but they never remained closed. She watched as he pushed her, as he admired the marks on her flesh, deliberately aiming for just the spot he intended to strike.

She saw him, alive in having her at his mercy. Alive in being himself.

But it was his eyes, oh god. They stole her breath away. His eyes owned her.

She’d thought she couldn’t feel any more alive, that her soul had been set free simply in the offering of herself to him. But that was before she saw their reflection in the mirror, before she saw it in his eyes that day. 

That was before she realized her entire soul belonged to him. She was His

-image via Pinterest 

Growing D/s: The Reality

I’d like to think that M was meant to be my Dominant, and I, his submissive. After nearly three years of growing this dynamic together, it certainly feels like this is true.

In the beginning, there’s no doubt that in my brain it was the convenient rationalization. It meant that my deep rooted desire to surrender would have a purpose, that my wants and needs would be met. It meant that I could finally completely unlock this part of me that needed to be met with Dominance on the other side, that I could trust in him to do that, to fulfill that need. I saw those qualities in him, to be sure. But I’d be lying if I said that I knew he’d be some Domly Dom that would just take over and lead. I’d be lying if I said he did. I’d also be lying if I said I just let go and was the perfect submissive. I’d be lying if I said I was today.

The reality of growing D/s as a long term, married couple is that that scenario couldn’t possibly be true for us. We could not possibly have been the sort of Dominant and submissive types I read about in books, or the ones I so often read about online. I can’t imagine it is in most cases. It most certainly does NOT look the ways I envisioned it in my head at the start of things when I had no idea how any such thing played out in real life, where M isn’t a millionaire and I’m not a struggling, fumbling, single gal who isn’t strong enough to handle herself.

What we did have was the life we’d built together for more than 20 years. We had two kids, jobs, everyday life stresses, and no dungeon. We had what we knew about one another, having fought our way through good times and bad, to enhance and build upon. We had a foundation on which to grow.

What that meant in the beginning, is that I had to do my own internal work, I had to offer him my submission. I had to make way for his Dominance, first. There is no way that I could possibly have gone into this with the expectation that he rise up to be the Dominant I had envisioned, that he should be some omniscient, all knowing man who would just inherently know what I wanted or needed because that is also what he wanted or needed. It didn’t matter that we had more than 20 years of history: M needed me to let go and begin to be his submissive in order to meet it with Dominance. He had to see that he desired and needed it too. He had to discover for himself what he needed from me and how that might look and evolve. We had to talk, and talk, and talk. We had to try, and fail, and try, and fail. We had to be patient and communicate.

There have been so many tears and stumbles. But somewhere along the way, my submission was met with Dominance. And more Dominance. And more. Until one day, my submission was expected. It was fueled and commanded and continuously deepened, creating this endless loop of power exchange.

Now, about three years later, I am most definitely HIS submissive. He is my MY Dominant. It looks nothing like what I envisioned in the beginning, nor will it ever. I still develop expectations and envision them being carried out and am stunned into reality when they are not. He still expects me to follow through with the things I offered from the start and sometimes forgets to recognize them or to hold me accountable. We stumble over how our messages are communicated and received, in both words and actions, because we speak different communication languages in some ways, and we always will.

But growing D/s is no different than growing anything else that matters to my heart: it must be grown at its own pace, organically. It cannot be prescribed, it cannot be held against some ideal. It has to be grown to meet the needs of the actual individuals, according to real-life abilities, taking into consideration the differences, according to each person’s needs, wants and desires. And not all of those will necessarily be met! I think we sometimes take that for granted! Some things we will always need to do for ourselves, because it isn’t realistic to ask them of another. Or maybe just not the one sitting next me on the couch. And that isn’t a reason to walk away, not for me, at least. It just means an adjustment in thinking and expectations. It means constant communication. It means not only thinking of me.

I can’t ever go back to being the person who can’t or won’t surrender. But I sure as hell can and will continue to grow this dynamic with M, knowing for certain it will most likely NOT be grown in the way I sometimes envision it in my head.

It will be better, because it will continue to be grown the way it should. And many times it’s staring me in the face and I’m missing it. Thank goodness he’s a patient man.

-image credit Carolyn Aitken