Song of Passion

Tonight, his chosen instrument is unlike any other he’s used. It’s beautiful, with a long shaft of soft walnut brown and an earthy smell. Slightly lighter in feel and a bit more flexible than oak, it is bound to create a unique feel upon her skin. When he holds it, he looks much like a conductor….and he is.

As her eyes close, she slowly exhales, all the warm air leaving her lungs. Her forehead leans slightly forward, making contact with the wall, the coolness of the light gray paint chilly against her flush skin. Inside, there is silence, but it is not a silence absent of sound or feeling. It is the silence born between them. The silence OF them.

Behind her, she hears his movements – the slide and shuffle of his feet on the floor, the spectacular whoosh and whip of the walnut through the air, varying with every stroke, the sharp crack and whip as the walnut meets her skin. From her own lips, there’s the involuntary hissing intake of air or low moan as each strike lands. Sometimes there’s even a stifled scream or the rapid rise and fall of her chest and eyes which fill with tears. It hurts, but the pain is brief, it is only on her surface. In an instant, it is absorbed, transforming into a deeply penetrating, aching pleasure, a tantalizing combination that makes her want more. And more. It’s deliciously overwhelming.

With each strike, the contact with her skin causes a chain reaction. The displaced cool air as the walnut cane makes its way toward her backside is a sharp contrast to the instant ribbon of burn as it lands, but then, oh god…then her body begins to truly play his tune. The wood which looks so rigid bends and flexes slightly with her contours, and it vibrates. The silky vibrations travel the length of the cane and back to his hand, back and forth, an endless loop until it’s pulled away and readied again.

Awakened by that bite of pain, her flesh is alive and her mind made open, acutely aware and ready for what is to come. 

Every single buzz of vibration creates a radiating hum that travels from the surface of her skin, deep into her bones, and it never dies. That hum remains, it’s melodious rumble becoming louder and louder, taking up more and more space inside her, taking over. She welcomes it.

Unclipping her from the cuffs which were bound to the wall, he lies her face down on the bed, still humming. Gently, he strikes her back and works his way down the length of her, increasing in intensity, turning her over to do the same on her front, the harmonious whiz and whir of vibration absorbed with each and every strike, her body a melody, a constant hum barely contained by her skin. It’s so loud, she wonders if he can feel it too. The look in his eyes makes her believe he can. And when he touches her, that hum is no longer contained. It overflows into him, and he into her. She is the verse to his chorus, the lyrics to his chords.

Together they are the sweet song of passion.

-photo found on Tumblr; shared as part of Kayla Lord’s Masturbation Monday prompt

The Beginning

arms held above by command,
she shivered beneath 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


*Mature Content

“Don’t move,” he said, backing slowly away while pulling the camera up to his face, one rugged hand gripping the curve of the case and the other wrapped around the large lens. His thumb and middle finger delicately and  deliberately squeezed and turned, slightly this way and that.

She could hear the friction of his knees against the sheet as he scooted back and forth, positioning himself for each shot, his breath quickening with each movement.

Preventing the usual, “Yes, Sir,” in reply, the ball gag rested snugly between her teeth, wrapping around to clasp tightly on the back of her neck at her hairline. She didn’t even nod in response. She was still. Captivated. Mesmerized by him. All she wanted to do was keep watching him, watching her. Her eyes replied for her.

With a few words or the grip of his hands, he lead her to where he wanted her, and she followed. She moved when he moved her. She shifted with his words. She did anything he wanted.

Every click of the shutter sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel his energy building, an electricity growing. Every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of his eyes and the bulge in the front of his jeans. His hunger was palpable; it emanated from him in waves, making her insides hum and forming goosebumps on the surface of her skin.

Without notice, the world around them melted away. It was only his lens pointing at her, and her looking back. There was no peripheral, no background, no noise in her head. There was no sound, other than his movement and his breathing and his words. Nothing else.

Except for the click, click of his shutter.

-older post reworked a bit and shared as part of Masturbation Monday.

-photo is mine

I Imagine


There she is. 

I’ve seen her a few times before, passing by on the nearby running trail, then inside the coffee shop afterward. Fidgeting while I waited, sipping my coffee, I’ve been hoping she’d be here, wanting to see her again. 

Standing a few feet away from the pick-up counter, leaning against the wall, she periodically looks up from her phone, while she waits. She’s probably thinking of what she’ll make for dinner, what errand she needs to run, or what bill needs to be paid, oblivious to my stare.

My eyes are always drawn to her, and today is no exception. In fact, I’m taken aback. I honestly don’t think I’ve blinked since I noticed her. I’d thought she was beautiful before, all natural and in her running gear, but…wow. Today, she isn’t wearing her running clothes, she’s dressed comfortably, with a casual elegance about her. 

She takes my breath away. 

Her light brown, knit sweater has a low neck, draping in folds to reveal her collarbones, and I can’t stop staring. I’m mesmerized by the way the thin bones angle slightly upward, her skin dipping down between the bone and the rounded shoulder muscle, begging for attention. They’re exquisite, perfect really. 

The drape of her sweater at its lowest point rests upon her full, round breasts, showing off their firmness. Dark and tight, her jeans hug the curve of her backside, which flows effortlessly to muscular legs, accentuated by the way the jeans tuck into her knee high, brown leather, riding boots. They have a slight heel, making her a bit taller, but still a few inches shorter than me. 

A sun-kissed, olive tone, her complexion is marked with a few stray freckles, my eyes dancing from one to the next, in anticipation.
Straight and sandy-brown, with caramel highlights, her hair hangs just past her shoulders, smooth and shiny. And with eyes a subtle brown, and thin, perfectly shaped lips a dark shade of pink, her face is kind, welcoming, content.

One of other women I often see stops to chat with her, and I’m instantly envious. She smiles as she talks, her expression at once tender and animated, emanating an aura of sultriness. Her hands move as she speaks, delicate and soft looking, with manicured nails on thin fingers. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, her hips move with a fluid confidence.

I stand from my stool to take a few steps closer so I can hear, not because I want to hear what she’s saying, but because I just need to hear the sound of her voice. Without looking, I listen, not wanting her to know I’m paying her too much attention, nor drawing any attention to myself. I hear a silvery voice that is smooth, airy and confident. Sexy. I get the feeling when she speaks, she means exactly what she says.

As I listen, I can’t help myself. I imagine.

I imagine what it might be like to trace her perfect collarbones with my fingertips. To walk up to her, reaching my arm behind her head to slowly move her silky hair to the side, so I can lean in and lick the dips in the skin, tracing up her neckline with my tongue, leaving a chilly, wet trail all the way to her magnificent breasts. 

I wonder if she’d be still, or if she’d sway, moving those fluid hips, shifting her weight to be nearer my touch as I cup those breasts, massaging them, biting them. I imagine that sultry voice, how her head might lean down over mine so she can whisper in my ear how good I feel, begging me not to stop. 

My stomach is in knots thinking of how smooth and delicate her palms might feel gripping my face, as my tongue touches those beautifully thin lips, reveling in the softness and warmth of her. I want to know how her fingers might feel tangled in my hair, how her nails might dig into my back as I make her moan. 

I imagine my hands covering her ass as I push her back into that wall, pulling her body into mine, our legs entwined, thighs pushing up between one other’s legs. My face is flush as I imagine her breathy moans when I slide my hand into the front of her jeans to feel how wet she is, running my fingers back and forth over her folds, finding her sweet spot to rub in small, quick circles. 

Most of all, I imagine those luscious, brown eyes looking into mine, filled with hunger while I tell her to come for me. 

My pants are quickly getting tighter, and my breathing has quickened, threatening to reveal my thoughts to those around me. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and now I’m the one shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to persuade my body to calm down. 

Needing to take a quick breather, I walk toward the restroom, heading in her direction. Just as I’m almost in front of her, she looks up, eye to eye with me, and smiles. I smile back, keeping eye contact until I’m past, then walk into the restroom. As I splash cold water on my face, I decide I must introduce myself as soon as I’m finished. I need to hear her voice, to see her smile again. 

Hurrying, I open the door and turn the corner to find her….but she’s gone. 

-image found on Pinterest, saved from; shared also as part of Masturbation Monday

The Truth Is

The truth is, I don’t need you. I can do this on my own. All of it. I am strong or soft, steadfast or pliant, cautious or free-falling, whatever I need to be to make it. I can live this life; it’s shown me I can survive. Vulnerably, even. This is my truth.

But, I want you. I want you so badly it consumes me. My soul yearns for yours on a level I didn’t know existed before you, and that only increases with time. We are inexplicably connected, you and I, and we always will be.

Not only do I want you, but I choose you. Actively. I choose you every moment of every day, no matter the moment. In sorrow and joy, pain and pleasure, anger and gratitude. During hands-in-the-air excitement and when overwhelmingly tired. Amidst it all, I choose you, with me. To be with me, and I with you. For you. Your smile gives my heart’s beating new meaning. 

Even when my struggle against myself pushes you away, I want you. In fact, that’s when I want you the most. I want to give you my trust on a soul-deep level, one that always lets you in. I choose to. You’ve earned it.

And, the thing is, I don’t want to just survive. I want to flourish. I will always challenge myself to grow and let go, whether it’s for you or not. I need to do this, it’s my nature. I long to be free, to be more and more me. To be. But with you, my soul soars freer. It’s so safe in your arms, I’m able to fly higher. And higher. 

You are my home. 

I wake, elated to be next to you. I revel in your touch, in your praise, and feeling you wanting me back gives my spirit new purpose. I want to love you with all that I am and hold nothing back. I want to surrender. More and more and more. Being a part of your happiness fulfills my soul. I want to do that for the rest of my life. 

You are my salvation. We are my church.

I don’t need you, but my heart and my spirit and my soul choose YOU. I want YOU. I freely choose to give myself to you. You deserve all I have to offer. 

I’m yours.

-image credit Tumblr

The Quiet Game


The vibrator wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just odd feeling. Shaped like the letter C, the flatter part was inserted and resting on her g-spot, while the other end looped up to rest tightly on her clit. It was snug against both spots, a lovely reminder, even as it was turned off, that he was there, that she belonged to him. As Eva stood there before him, she didn’t really know what to think of it, but her heart was thumping. There was no denying her excitement – the thrill of wearing it in public. The possibilities……

“There are a few rules. You must stay quiet, no matter what I do with this remote, no matter where we are,” Jay said, with an evil smirk. “And, if I allow you to come, I want your eyes open, looking into mine, the entire time. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I’ll allow panties this evening, given the circumstances. You’re going to be a dripping mess and I don’t want this to fall out. You’ll wear these.”

Jay held the panties open by the band as he sat on the edge of the soft, paisley chair. They were the sheer, cream colored panties with toffee lace on the front, the ones that matched the bra he had laid out for her to wear earlier. Eva stepped carefully into the leg openings, first her left, then the right, holding onto Jay’s shoulder, leaning on him a little. She was trying so hard to concentrate, grasping the hem of her little black dress and pulling it upward a bit to see her feet as she stepped into the panties, revealing the tops of the Cuban stockings he had also laid out.

As Jay slid those sheer panties on, his fingers traced the soft curves of her calves, traveling to graze the backs of her knees, and she hissed, his touch sending a shiver up through her entire body, her nipples taut against that lace, toffee colored bra. When they finally came to rest, his hands came around to cup both ass cheeks and squeeze. Hard. Eva looked up from her feet, feeling Jay’s eyes on her, watching her face, looking into her eyes, and there was that coy grin again. He knew what he did to her; he knew she was putty in his hands.

Leaning over, Jay scooped up one heel, a beautiful six inch, black patent leather with a red bottom. He gripped her calf gently, prompting her to lift her foot, and slid his other hand down to her heel, guiding it forward to slip her foot into the shoe.

Eva wasn’t sure how she’d react to the vibrator in public, but she was already so fucking turned on and they hadn’t even left the apartment. He hadn’t even turned it on yet! She could feel those damn panties getting wet and she had only been wearing them for maybe two minutes.

Repeating the same for the other foot, Jay sat upright, leaned back in his chair and admired her. She was a masterpiece.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, Eva. And you’re all mine.”

“Yes, Master, I am,” Eva replied, blushing a little. That word did something to her, and it probably always would. Mine. Oof.

“While we are out, you are to stay by my side at all times, unless you ask first or are told otherwise. I will take very good care of you, as always. I want you to relax, no fidgeting.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And don’t forget – stay quiet when I turn this on, or there will be consequences.”

Jay pulled the egg-shaped remote out of the pocket of his slim fitting, black suit pants and held it up. As his thumb pushed a small, white button, Eva’s panties ever-so-slightly hummed. Her clit and gspot felt the faintest of vibration. Eyes wide with surprise, Eva was just about to make a sound, then bit her lip instead. Jay just stood there, watching her. And that fucking grin, oh, God.

This is going to be the longest night of my life…

-image found on Tumblr