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

16 thoughts on “His Shadow

  1. Kay,

    I loved this. Your story is so real and so beautiful. Even when it’s smoking hot, it is deep and profound. That’s the depth of 23 years of togetherness coming across in your words.

    • Thank you, Lex! I always hope that shines through; it’s what matters most. It’s so lovely to see you here. I’m glad you’re back.💜

      • I have always enjoyed reading your posts for that very reason. The depth of love and respect you two share. It oozes from your words.
        And thank you! I am glad to be back. It feels good to write again.

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