Time for Tea

*MATURE CONTENT* (also revised – I fixed some errors – I’m rusty at this, so please forgive the repost)

Finally, the girls had settled down and she’d gotten them tucked into bed. She exhaled in a deep sigh, walking down the short staircase, and went to the kitchen to do as he’d asked. Standing in front of the sink, Lana grinned as she put on the water for tea, hoping. She’d thought about him all day long. 

Behind her, she could hear the sure rhythm of strong footsteps approaching, and she could feel the butterflies begin to flutter in her belly.

How does he still do that? 

As he moved in quietly behind her, Rick leaned in and pressed himself against her, causing her to reach out and brace herself against the counter. Gently brushing her long, reddish-brown curls away from her ear, he whispered in his deep, scratchy voice, “Take off your clothes and come sit in front of my chair.”

Again, she did as he asked, first pulling her tan, linen blouse up and over her head, then she unbuttoned her dark, well-worn jeans. As she was lifting first her right leg to pull off her pants, then the left, she thought about how not long ago, she never would have done anything like this. It would have seemed ridiculous. 

Take off my clothes in the kitchen? Sit at his feet? Never, not in a million years. 

And now, as she unfastened her lacy, black bra, watching it fall at her feet, she realized she was not only willing, but compelled to do so. It fueled her.

Stepping out of her panties, the ones he’d chosen for her to wear just that morning, she walked to him, kneeling to sit at his feet, as usual. Because that’s where she has always belonged.

Sitting in his favorite chair, Rick leaned forward a bit to hand Lana the deep shade of red he’d chosen. “I’d like you to paint your toes,” he said. 

He sat back, and he watched. His eyes were drawn to the easy way in which she folded her knees up to her chest, not meaning to show off, but exposing herself to him, nonetheless. As she leaned over to paint, the delicate way in which she pinched the polish brush between her first two fingers, the gentle manner in which she swiped the drips from the brush onto the edge of the bottle just so, biting her bottom lip in concentration, the way she glided the brush across each nail with precision and grace – it drove him mad. She is so damn irresistible. 

Just as she finished the last nail, Rick rested on his knees in front of her, and locking her gaze, he wound the jute around her ankles, round and round, up and through the middle, the exquisite mix of the roughness of the rope and the softness of his touch sending shivers through her. 

Not at all what she’d expected, Lana was immediately off-balance, watching him, waiting to see what he expected of her, the anticipation building. 

As he handed her the polish again, expecting to watch as she so nimbly began painting her fingernails, the tea kettle whistled and beckoned to her. Her eyes moved up to meet his gaze again, and she said with a grin, “It’s gonna be really difficult to bring you that tea without spilling it.” 

Such a smart ass, but I wouldn’t change a thing, he thought to himself. 

Rick chuckled, stood, walked to the kitchen, calmly taking the kettle off the burner and returned to her.

“The tea and nails can wait, but I cannot,” he told her, bending to scoop her in his arms…

-photo credit Natashi Monko, found on Tumbr



she stood there, shivering,
although she wasn’t cold,
arms at her sides,
just as he’d asked,
fighting her natural urge
to cross her arms in front of her,
hiding her bulgy spots 

hungry eyes admired her,
for much longer than she’d expected,
stripping her,
her nakedness far deeper than flesh

but, that voice in her head was so loud,
the one begging him,
hoping and wanting,
telling her what she needed,
pulling at her attention,
the attention he deserved

she didn’t know it,
but he intently watched 
the struggle unfold within her,
welling in her eyes,
but refusing to release

he’d like to say he didn’t love it,
that forcing her to overcome herself 
wasn’t so damn satisfying 

but it was,
oh, God, it was,
for them both,
although it wasn’t always easy

nothing worth having is easy,
they say,
and she was worth the effort,
his everything,
so, he’d make her fight,
with a smile, even,
loving every minute of it

he’d lead her straight to him

kissing her with gentle lips,
down the nape of her neck
and across her shoulders,
he wound the jute, 
‘round and ‘round and ‘round

the crazy thing was,
she wished in that moment
she could peel off her skin
and step out of it –
scream a guttural cry,
melt and allow herself to easily 
be re-molded

for, who she was inside right then,
wasn’t who she was,
nor who she wanted to be –
not any more, dammit,
but she needed to 
embrace her,
and quiet her

overcome her

the soft, suede flogger
struck her breasts,
again and again,
waxing and waning in strength,
in a rhythm all his own,
but never quite hard enough 
to make her recoil,
which is what she loved
(needed, she thought)

that voice in her head 
begged for more,
and harder,
oh, please

oh, please,
break me

and he did,
he broke her

he broke her, not with force,
but when he looked into those teary eyes,
and did exactly what he wanted,
paying no attention 
to what she thought she needed

and though it seemed completely 
ass-backward from the outside looking in,
that was exactly what she needed,
to fit once again
in her skin

in his arms,

Not-So-Fly Swatter

*Mature Content

Under the bed lies leather fly swatter,
M bought from an Amish donut store.
But, he never swats flies,
Just the backs of my thighs;
Each wallup creating (his) belly laughter.

-Photo is mine; limerick created as per M’s instruction. He’s been daydreaming of taking it with us to the next play party, lol.