Sacred

Yesterday I wrote about experiencing a frenzy and honeymoon stage, and that our experience has been that the most profound and organic growth has happened in the time since that phase of things. That honeymoon was a necessary part of our awakening, but we had to slow and continue to allow for our relationship to be a priority in our lives amidst the bustle of normal life. That’s the only way it’s sustainable, and we both wish to live this deeply and vulnerably connected forever.

Living in this deeply vulnerable way fulfills us both in a way nothing else ever has – it’s our backbone. The only way to be truly loved is to be known, in my opinion, and that’s exactly what we are doing – allowing ourselves to be known and consistently making the effort to know one another. In doing so, M has been able grow in his unique leadership and I in my surrender, and we have had to constantly communicate and receive in order to know and be known. Profound isn’t even a word that summarizes the process. It’s not always easy but it’s worth every ounce of work.

Knowing M, being a part of his growth, and experiencing his evolution in our relationship mesmerizes me and fulfills me in the most soul-deep way. I asked for this, so I had to allow him to step up to the metaphorical plate, which included (still includes as we grow) him deciding what the plate looked like and me accepting the plate. That’s when the profound stuff happens. It’s truly magical.

Our growth and evolution has taken many forms, of which sexuality is one. We consistently communicate openly and vulnerably about ourselves and our sexual desires. For a long while, my desires and wants exceeded his – I’d had the time to read and think and it’s all I thought about for a long time. While M wasn’t blindsided, because we’d had some discussions, he also hadn’t had much exposure, and we weren’t as vulnerably open as we are now. Much of it was new to him and being so vulnerable was something we’d grown into and were still growing. Also, I wanted to sprint and he wanted to walk. I had to learn to walk, too, and trust in the process, in him. That’s what I’d signed up for!

We began to walk, together. There came a point where our desires seemed to even out, where we’d tried much of that initial pool of things on my ‘list’ as well as things from his as he grew and found what fit. We tried things in different ways, adding our own spin on it all, making it our own. We integrated it into life as life allowed. We allowed ourselves to settle into it, while continually talking about new things on the horizon. Sometimes new toys or new activities made their way into our repertoire. None of it was ever solely about sex – it was about our growth in these roles, in our evolution as a partnership, in our vulnerability and acceptance, and our open communication. It was about trust. I had to truly trust him to lead and walk alongside him, following him. He had to trust I’d speak up for myself and never lose that voice. The foundation of trust we have created is unbelievable, and absolutely necessary.

That trust lead to a level of comfort and freedom that has opened so many doors for us. M began to bring up for discussion lists of things I never imagined he desired. Hell, I wasn’t sure I did; I hadn’t considered many of them. They weren’t even on my radar. The tables turned while I walked alongside him, and it’s unreal. The feeling is unreal. I’m often awestruck. Now many of those things on that list are things in which we regularly engage. Some we’ve tried, some we have just began dipping our toes in the water, and others we may never try. Some are on my hard limit list. And this same process applies to the other areas of our lives, not just our sexuality. This will constantly evolve. That’s the best part!

The thing is, THIS is the feeling I dreamt of years ago. And it’s this simple place of walking at a pace that allows us to enjoy every moment of knowing one another, of evolution with M leading, of trust that allows us to explore our desires together.

It’s a sacred place, for which I’m grateful every day.

The Forest 

I’m lost in a forest of the tallest trees, inundated with wickedly bent, sinister trunks, and thicket so dense my feet can barely move, the air damp and heavy, sitting like rocks in my lungs.

Swiping and slashing, I claw at the overgrowth’s sharpness, aching to lift my legs and move, grasping for vines that might save me. Yet, I don’t want to be saved. I crave absolution. 

On tattered, tired, and bended knees, I offer you a ridged branch, begging for penance, desperate for your command, yearning for you to envelope me in the shelter of your palm. 

Help me be my vine.

And then I wonder, how heavy is that staff? Is the weight just too much?

You answer, you deliver. You take and give, give and take. With each strike, a little of you infiltrates me, suffocating the darkness, penetrating every fiber of muscle, saturating each porous bone, filling and filling until you seep up through every follicle and pore, spilling out and bending to my every contour, forming a shield upon my flesh that no thorn can puncture.

And now, I can weave my vine, with threads of you in the center, the strength in its core. 

Together we can conquer; we can see the forest though the trees. 

Home

Behind the soft brown scarf, she could see nothing but blackness. The precise squeeze on her nipples and the pinpointed pinch on her clit were just the right amount of pain-pleasure to keep her on edge. Arms cuffed above her head and legs tied with the prickly jute, calf to thigh, she was completely exposed to him, in more than flesh. Butterflies swirling in her belly, she folded into her smallness, anticipating him.

Her hearing hyper-aware, she picked up on the slight tinking of the metal pulls being lifted, then the gritty slide of wood against wood as he opened the red wood drawer. She knew which drawer it was as soon as she heard its uneven slide – it was the drawer of impact implements, and her heart began to race.

As she lay there waiting, breathing already a bit labored, the mini clothespins on her nipples were quickly becoming the center of her world, so much so that she forgot about the impact until she felt the whoosh of air, followed by the first landing. His releasing of the clothespin from her clit had caused a surge of blissful agony, followed by an engorged ache which thumped to the beat of her heart. It was so sensitive, she could feel even the slightest shift in the air, so the crop’s swift strike brought about a guttural, almost panicky scream. Oh, God. She knew there’d be more. And more.

The strikes came, in a quick rhythm, one after the other while he watched her face contort and her back arch in love-hate of every single strike. In that moment, her entire being focused on the sound of the crop on her tender, swollen skin, on the delicious, rhythmic pain on her clit and the glorious pinching of her nipples. 

Landing harder and harder, the strikes came in rapid succession, until he stopped, abruptly, leaving a silence that was just as loud as noise.

In her stillness, she heard the click of a button and a simultaneous buzz – she knew that noise! Oh, God, she knew. 

Strike, buzz, strike, buzz. Over and over. Again and again. 

There was nothing else, only he and her, the pinch and the strike and the buzz.

Layers of pain-pleasure flowed, one on top of the other, like conflicting currents, flooding her brain. Feeling the overwhelming evidence of her arousal, cool against the heat of each landing, she could even hear her wetness with each strike of the crop and pressing of the buzz.

Desperate for release, the humming in her center flowed outward to her surface, consuming her. It was all she could taste, all she could smell. She felt like she needed it more than she needed to breathe. The coil he had wound so deeply in her core was so tight, it pulled at her skin. It clenched every muscle and clamped shut her eyelids. She was afraid of its impending intensity; she was afraid of letting it go. 

But, it wasn’t a choice.

Ripping and slicing through her entire body, her orgasm took over. It was viscous and glorious and painfully heavenly, causing her to writhe and struggle against the restraints. The grunting and moaning sounds coming from the back of her throat didn’t even sound like her.

When she finally began to float back to earth, he pushed inside her, grinding and slamming into the puffy ache, pain-pleasure rocketing her body right back to the same heightened state from which she thought she’d returned, and then beyond. And further. Until he’d taken all he wanted from her.

Removing the scarf, he looked her in the eyes. All she saw was his dominance reflecting her surrender. Infinite love.

She saw home.

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown; included in Matsurbation Monday, week 130

Written in the Stars

he scribbled his intentions
across her willing flesh
with fingertips and glistening
streaks of wetness
leaving pools of hope and lust
in her clearly seeing eyes

he penned chapter after chapter
over her every curve and thew
with warm whispers
fevered grips and moans
and commands that pushed her toward
leaving her speechless, no need to speak

he illustrated their story
in the spaces that were once
between them

he bound their story
with a spine made of their blood and sweat
which could never stop growing

their story is written in the stars

~photo credit Tumblr

Sin

I kissed a beautiful girl
and I liked it,
she tasted much better
than cherry Chapstick

her lips were sweet-hot
like ripe-honeyed fire,
and her tongue did this swirly thing
in my mouth, a live-wire

she had velveteen skin
I couldn’t stop touching,
and when it met mine,
fingers were clutching

draping in waves
over sun kissed shoulders,
melon-y blond tresses
invited necks kisses that smoldered

and that baby skin soft spot
just behind her ear,
smelled just like raindrops
I swear I could hear

‘would you do it again?’,
you ask with coy grin,
of course I would,
she tasted like sin

-image credit grayscalegalleryltd.co.uk, via google images

Whimper

‘stay quiet, love’

his tracing fingers glide downward, knowingly, a well traveled route on the map of her flesh, a living, breathing map he created, he her cartographer, charting and plotting, committing her to memory, creasing and folding in all the right places

mesmerized, his entirety is focused on her responsiveness to him; in an instant, goosebumps rise to meet his touch, a shivering ripple, a wave of eagerness summoned to her surface by the barely contained vibrations from his recent strumming with the canes and floggers, every hiss and buzz, each whack and thwack reverberating, she the oscillation to his thrumming

instinctively, her eyes close and her mouth falls open in a savoring exhale, as she’s reminded of the heavenly hum of the rope, of the way his nimble fingers wound the jute, ‘round and ’round, it’s prickly tightness setting her free

continuing the deliberate strums with his fingers, paired with an airy bass of whispers in her ears, he watches for her body to respond in chorus, reveling in his ability to pluck here or there and illicit the desired response

flooded with a wave after wave of arousal, she’s overwhelmed in him; it’s as if each individual goosebump forming is a silent scream, her body crying out to him, alive in him, begging for him

and all she can do, is whimper

– Shared in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie  Tale Weaver prompt, also shared as part of Masturbation Monday 141

img_7046

The Librarian, Part 1

img_6526

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

Fumbling behind the counter, the librarian quickly tried to act like nothing was going on.

Fuck! Can he see the blushing on my cheeks?

“How can I help you?,” she asked a little too quickly.

“I need to pay my fine.”

“Sure. May I see your card?”

Taking his card, she quickly looked up his account. He handed her the money, and without making too much eye contact, she gave him his change.

“Thank you. Have a great day,” she said with a nervous smile as he turned to walk away.

It felt like every patron knew that she had been stealing glances at Tumblr on her iPhone all afternoon long.

Do they notice the impatient squeezing of my thighs, as I try like hell to alleviate some of the throbbing pressure between my legs? 

Momentarily embarrassed, she felt how wet her panties were and realized she could smell her own arousal soaking through.

God, I’m at work, what am I thinking?

Yet, with each step she took, there was that chilly, wet reminder. The worst part was, it was making her even more turned on.

In a desperate attempt to get her mind back on her work, she went to the table area to see if there were any books needing to be re-shelved. It was then that she saw him. Felt him.

Oh, my, he’s beautiful.

His look caught her eye, to be sure, but it was more than that. His energy was heavy hheat in the air, instantly giving her goosebumps. As she walked closer, her chest tightened, her breathing becoming shallow and quick.

What is wrong with me? He’s just a guy!

But this feeling told her he wasn’t just a guy. There was something about him that made her want to feel things – his hands around her waist, his chest pressed against her own, his whiskers against her cheek as he whispered in her ear…..

It felt as if she already knew what he’d say when he whispered to her; as if he already knew her. She had to meet him. She had to hear his voice, see his eyes.

Luckily, there was a loose book on the edge of the table at which he was sitting, so she slowly made her way over, not yet trying to draw any attention. Just as she neared the opposite side of the table, he looked up from his paperwork. Briefly, he looked into her eyes, and her belly began doing backflips, but there was no doubt this man had lowered his eyes and was now staring at her chest.

Oh, shit! Am I disappointed? How could I be disappointed at his looking at my chest if I don’t even know him? 

It was crazy, she new, but she felt like she did know him, needed to know him. She was drawn to him, despite the fact he wasn’t trying to hide that he was admiring her tits. Maybe because of it.

Almost as if he had been hypnotized, his head snapped up, looking her squarely in the eyes, and he smiled, and unashamed smile.

Those eyes, oh God. And that smile – I could look at it all day long. Is that cockiness or confidence?

As her mind wandered, mesmerized, she accidentally knocked the book from the table to the floor. Without hesitation, she bent over just a little too far to pick up that book, knowing he’d have no choice but to look. She wondered if he’d notice how wet her panties were.

Actually, she hoped he’d notice.

-Image by Marcus Ross, found on Pinterest. This is an excerpt reworked from an old story, and shared again as part of Masturbation Monday. I realize the ‘naughty librarian’ thing has totally been overdone, but I couldn’t help it. I think I was a librarian in another life. Subsequent parts will be shared weekly. Hope you enjoy!

img_6352-2

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

Forever…

You allowed me to silence the noise, 
To listen to my voice,
A conscious choice,
To feel the pain to find the joys

You are the sparkle in my spirit,
The waterfall to my basin,
The steady voice; I always hear it,
The capital to my nation 

With you, I can finally exhale, 
Adding tools, while sinking nails,
Trading anchors for billowing sails,
Building foundation, while blazing trails 

You allowed me see myself clearly –
To stop fighting against rules,
Because we write our own, freely,
Scribbling in margins, forever youthful

-image found on Tumblr