About Kay

For far too long, I lived being shamed of too many things and worrying far too much about what others think. I can't do that anymore. I am on a journey of self discovery. One of listening to me. One of acceptance. One of love. My self discovery has lead to a level of vulnerability with my husband I didn't know was possible. We have shared our lives for over 23 years, and are flourishing living a power exchange dynamic. This love is soul deep and all-encompassing, the thing in this life that sustains me. It is sacred. Along this road I've found the creative voice I thought I'd lost. My love and life with my husband inspires me to write about love, sex and sexuality, wholeness, and the deepest kind of connection on this earth. I'm here to share my voice. Welcome! Kay

Elust 99

My poem Secret is included in Elust this month. Have a look a around!

 

Welcome to Elust 99

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #100 Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Private Eyes
Brittle
Lust Highway

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I love a man in a suit
Church Smells, Beliefs and Fornication

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The House Next Door

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Feelings about bisexuality
On scheduling sex
Reasons I Didn’t Orgasm That Aren’t About You

Erotic Non-Fiction

Wet on the Washer
Smack
Alice Takes a Spanking
The GP – Part Two

Erotic Fiction

Rope Tattoo
Poseidon
Taking the Lead
Rites of Passage ~ Part 4
Home
Spanking Desires
How Could I Resist
Summer Smoke
Angel on My Shoulder

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Marks are Memories on the Skin
Him. His cane
Being Naked
A Prickly Situation
Collars in bdsm: Where did they come from?

Poetry

Secret
-05.10.17_15:03-

Sex News ,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

“What Were You Wearing?”

Elust 88

Home

image

This journey has taught me many unexpected things. What began as a journey of self discovery, morphed into one of relationship transformation for M and I. That shared journey, not just the past four years, but the last 25, has been a source of strength and support beyond measure. It’s one reason I am where I am today. Who I am.

I belong with M. There’s zero doubt. He’s my home. He’s my support, my shoulder, my lap, my love, my soulmate. But the thing I’ve learned on this journey that’s had the most impact is that I had to be my home before he could be. I had to belong to me. I had to own my own story, love all my selves, hope for my future, and believe in myself. Only then could I truly begin to offer my surrender on a level beyond anything I’d imagined, anything he’d imagined.

It sounds crazy – I needed to know I’d be ok with aloneness, with my ability to stand alone and be myself in order to be the most vulnerable, to be the most courageous in my giving to M. To truly surrender, and for us to do the hard work that makes this the most amazing, evolving partnership. It’s a sacred place.

It’s the place of true belonging.

-image via Pinterest

Don’t Save Me

img_5058

Don’t save me

Swooping in to fix things only robs me,
only serves to set me up to make the same mistakes,
to repeat the pattern,
to fail
myself

support me,
help to set me up for success,
say the hard things,
I can take it,
and don’t listen to my excuses

I need you to,
I’m counting on it

love me,
help me,
but don’t save me

help me save myself

Lost

img_2531

It’s easy to get lost in that gap between what you expect and what is reality. It’s easy to feel LOST and unsure. It’s easy to mourn the loss of the things that may never be, to hang on to those expectations and redefine them as needs. To tell yourself you can’t live without whatever would have come from those expectations playing out, even though their reality may look miles apart from what they look like in your mind. It’s easy to not see the beauty right in front of your face because you’re too busy being lost in the gap.

I know. I’ve felt all those things. Many times.

I think it’s easy to fall into this cyclical trap within D/s, especially when you’re the one who asked for this, if your personal growth tends to move at a much faster rate, at least initially, and there are love language differences to both understand and cater to. Add in a long history within the relationship, and there’s plenty to continuously stumble over, plenty of old thinking that creeps into expectations and you may not even know you’re doing it.

There are a few ways in which I’ve managed and diminished that lost feeling: honest and vulnerable communication, practicing patience and trust, and evaluating my own motives. The communication speaks for itself; it’s invaluable. The only way to be truly loved is to be known, so I must know myself, trust in my ability to search for and know my truth, and share that willingly. I must listen to, receive, and accept M’s truth, too.

I’ve had to be patient with myself, and understand that the world isn’t going to end, no matter how lost I’ve felt. I’ve had to have patience with M, and give him time and space for both understanding and putting belief and feeling into action. I have had to trust that he has our best interest at heart, always, and know that mistakes will be made.

Most importantly, in my humble opinion, is evaluating my motives, and challenging my perspective. Some things I initially believe I need, I do not. They are wants, and not necessity. Hanging on to those can create a very ugly place in my head that breeds resentment. This actually succeeds in diminishing my confidence in myself, and results in a snowball effect of sinking deeper into that pity party, causing me to question more things about us as a whole. It’s no good for anyone. Some things aren’t even fair to expect of another person, especially if the person just isn’t capable or willing, and they may not be healthy for either in the long run. Communicating is the only way to know.

Also, some things I believe I need, and think I’m not getting, are needs or wants that are actually being met, but I’m just not seeing them, because they don’t look the way I imagined they would, or I didn’t know M’s intent in his actions. Assumptions suck. Asking questions always helps; communicating always helps.

I’m not saying I can prevent myself from developing expectations, or never feel a gap between those expectations and reality. I’ll do those things again, I’m sure. But I don’t feel so lost; there’s comfort to be had in the knowing of myself and my truth, in our open communication, in my trust in M, and in practicing patience. And in enjoying the moments, in the here and now.

Break Me

C3345CB2-BAB3-427A-A384-CA7DBF6B61BF

break me

make me,
give me no other choice,
pull me from within myself,
over and over,
as many times as it takes

take me,
with presence,
with words and eyes before fingertips,
have no mercy,
make me yours

consecrate me,
force me to focus all my energy,
give me but one purpose,
claim my devotion,
coaxing it all to the surface

overtake me,
push me to my limit, then beyond,
catch me, love me,
make me,
never forsake me

but, please, oh please

break me

Secret

EF9197B5-B767-477B-B052-3F26F94D5B3F.jpeg

she is pure want;
she wants him more in this moment than she’s ever wanted anything

wrapping her legs around him,
all she wants is for him to do whatever pleases him;
she wants him to do it all

and he does,
he does what pleases him,
greedy, carnivorous, taking –
but she is greedy, too

you see,
that’s the secret he knows about her –
she is no different than he is;
she wants, she needs,
her blood boils just as much

its tangible, this not-so-secret,
it’s evident in the way he seems to be consuming her like he never has before:
hungrier, thirstier, more demanding,
as if he wishes to meet greed with more greed,
to coax it all to the surface into one consumous energy

and she can feel it, this coaxing,
in her blood, in the electric current connecting every neuron,
every square inch of her

placing her hand upon his chest,
reaching out as if to grasp his energy,
there is his heart, exposed,
right in the palm of her hand

he fucks her as if the world were about to end,
as if he could never get enough,
as if she were all he needed

whiskers tickle-scraping the soft skin of her neck,
she can feel the rhythmic heat inside him,
all that heat that also resides in her

she feeds his hunger, quenches his thirst,
melts into his every demand,
and finds a place inside her, so deep –
once secret, but no longer

he says her name in a growling moan,
and then she’s gone –
she’s shattered into pure energy,
absorbed into the smolder, that heat,
and she finds herself crying

the cold that once owned her rises to form a single sob,
as she arches her head back,
wrapping herself around him,
tighter still

that’s when she knows –
there is no way to measure this communion,
this transformation,
this living, growing thing that is both chaos and understanding –
no earthly scale will do

only hearts can feel and souls can know;
only theirs

-image via Tumblr

Alive

img_5321

he pulled me to him,
he pulled me into his lap,
so I was able to see directly into his steely eyes,
the way they go on forever,
the way they see right to my center

he ran his hand down my too-rigid spine,
and I felt everything in his fingertips;
there was no past,
no regret,
no resentment

it was just him –
skin, muscle, bones, blood,
the pull and squeeze of his familiar heart

it was Him,
all mine,
wanting me to be His

and so I let go,
I gave up,
gave in

I stopped fighting being alive

My Surrender

I am no mindless fucktoy
kneeling at the feet of any commanding boy

I am no opinionless subvert
reciting ‘Yes, Sir’s’, wearing plaid skirts

I am no boundless subservient 
doing anything I’m told, devoid of dissent

I am no willing doormat
bowing down, to be looked down at

I am a strong, educated equal
bringing just as much to the relationship table

I am a soft woman, insightful and self-aware
I know where I’m going and I know how to get there

I earned my inner wisdom with blood, sweat, and tears,
and I won’t allow that to be belittled, manhandled by fear

For, I am submissive,
and I choose to follow him

I willingly offer surrender,
because his love is both fierce and tender

I give myself to him,
because my happiness is his seraphim

He values my voice,
so I surrender my choice

He knows what I need,
because he’s asked, not decreed
and he’s been by my side for 24 crazy years, 
sharing in all of the blood, sweat, and tears

I surrender to this man, 
who owns every inch of my heart,
but he doesn’t make me whole, 
that’s my responsibility, my equal part

-image via Tumblr, source unknown

Watched, Part One

img_5182

At the corner of the couch, lying partially upright, she sat between his legs with her back against his chest, one leg outstretched on the cushion and the other draping off the front of the cushion. His strong arms enveloped her, and the fleecy softness of the gray blanket caressed her skin with each subtle movement, his fingertips stroking her upper arms as he praised her one more time.

“You did so well, Love. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she purred, his words weaving themselves into her veins, making her skin tingle.

“I love that everyone knows that you’re mine.”

Coming out in a low growl, the ‘mine’ shivered down her spine as his hand came up to her neck, palm flat against the front of her throat, his fingers and thumb slowly gripping just above her collar, beneath her jawline. She loved nothing more than to know she’d made him proud, but that particular word made a home in her chest. One syllable spoke an entire lifetime of feeling, 23 years of love, perseverance, and commitment. Ownership. It spoke directly to her essence – she belonged to him.

As his other hand kneaded her breasts, squeezing until she gasped, plucking at her nipples with a rough pinching and pulling, she wriggled a bit at the pain/pleasure. The stinging welts on her ass and up her back rubbed against him, the ouchy, bruised spots on her sit bones so sensitive as her weight slightly shifted. Her core clenched involuntarily, over and over, spasms of fire shooting straight between her legs.

He must have known that’s what would happen, because his hand cupped her cleanly-shaven mound, the warmth of his palm against the baby-soft skin causing her to moan. And want. Fingers barely grazed the delicate skin, up and down, like butterfly flutterings, teasing her need to the surface. Eyes closed, her body molded to his, relaxing into the safety and softness. The rise and fall of her chest synced with his, and her focus was solely on how he made her feel. She was lost in him.

In the peripheral, she heard the buzzing sound, but didn’t realize it was coming from under the blanket until she felt his arm rest on her thigh, the vibration traveling from his flesh into hers. Unconsciously biting and rolling her lip between her teeth, her chest heaved with irregular, nervous breaths.

“Keep your legs just as they are. Trust me,” he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek.

Suddenly, a sharp, brow-furrowing, open-mouthed intake of air stilled her chest, seizing her breathing altogether. The buzzing hum took its place within her, as he positioned the vibrator between her legs. Head fallen back against him and eyes shut, she wasn’t even sure how long she’d been holding her breath when she heard him speak again.

“Breathe, Love. And keep your eyes open.”

Opening her eyes, the realization hit her.

Oh, God, everyone can see.

That knowledge spread its tentacles through her, blooming in her cheeks and a creating a small knot which began to twist around in her belly. She forced her chest to rise and her lungs to accept the air. It was cooler than she remembered it being just a bit ago when she was naked in front of these same people, which struck her as odd. The coolness drawn into her nostrils and permeating her insides made her acutely aware of the contrasting heat flushing her cheeks, and the magnetic warmth between them under the blanket.

Scanning the room from face to face, she knew for certain that many people were watching the happenings in the room. They weren’t the only people playing, and for that she was very grateful, but, they were the only ones playing in this way, as all the others were using massage tables, the rope station, or the cross. This felt much more personal to her, even though what he had done to her on the spanking bench was soul-deep, a connection that had to have been evident to anyone watching. But this was something they’d never shared with anyone else.

Holy shit, they are going to see me orgasm.

-image via Tumblr

Bruised

IMG_7429.PNG

he was all teeth and muscle,
blades of white pinching at her goosefleshed breasts,
sharp intakes of air heaving,
leaving in gasps from her lips,
his warm wetness closing in around the sting,
sucking so hard her eyes clamped shut

but she did not arch away

she pushed herself further into his mouth,
welcoming the pain,
as fingertips dug into her back as if reaching for something he couldn’t wait to unearth

in that moment,
she wouldn’t have minded if he drew blood;
he was biting her, sucking her, devouring her

needing her

she would give all she had to give,
and she would take it all in,
all he had to give,
the needing, and the wanting, and the desiring,
the unhindered exposing of his soul to hers,
becoming one

for, they knew,
in the giving and the taking,
in this most sacred exchange,
they would both feel stronger than they’d ever felt before

more

in the end, 
she would be covered in bruises and bite marks,
scratches and ribbons of redness,
she would be rubbed straight to the bone with the kind of urgent exhaustion she imagined an addict felt between fixes

she would wake,
bruised to the marrow with him,
he a part of her, and she of him,
lying in his arms,
forever

-image via Tumblr, source unknown