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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

Break Me

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

Take Your Fill

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Disrobing, I exhale, closing my eyes
The sound of your feet, anticipation’s rise

Kneeling, embraced against your frame
Whispering compliance, I speak your name

The stroke of your finger over delicate skin,
The tremble of need, vibrating within

Eyes meet eyes, magnetized,
Strong hands gently spread aching thighs

No further words pass passionate lips,
Only the sound of your fingertips

For night is tender, awaiting your will
Please, use me, Sir, take your fill

– image via greekmeds.gr

Pedestals

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Asking M to dive into this journey with me was one of the most frightening things I’ve ever done. It felt like I was running, leaping off a cliff. Except, there he was listening. Trying his best to understand and absorb what I was saying, looking at me with no judgement whatsoever. There he was, leaping with me.

We leapt, together. I, with a soul in an uproar, trying to find center, to shed and get back to who I am, and move forward to who I wanted to be. Leaning on him was frightening, but necessary. Along with all the internal challenging I was doing, was a growing vision of what we could be as we grew. Especially since we felt so at home, and were thriving in this environment of constant and deep communication, of evolution.

As we dove, I was guilty of wishing for us to feel a certain way – he the dominant who took the reins easily and with few hiccups. It was easy to overlook the fact that M was traveling a journey of his own as well, in his own way, on his own time. I put him on a pedestal and expected him to be superhuman. That wasn’t clear to me until longer than I care to admit. I don’t mean the kind of pedestal on which one places a sacred love that you wish to elevate, hold closely, and protect. I mean the kind where there are rose colored glasses and expectations as tall as skyscrapers. The kind that is selfish.

No matter how much I wanted to believe I wasn’t expecting M to be someone he’s not, or grow and flourish at my speed, that pedestal allowed me to expect and hope for things that weren’t fair to expect or hope for. He is who he is, and just because I envisioned this didn’t mean it would look this way. And the most horrible part about putting him on that sort of pedestal, was that sooner or later he was bound to do something that would knock him off. He is human…and I wasn’t expecting him to be, or I was expecting him to be the same kind of human as me. Neither was okay.

The worst part is that when he would fall, I’d have trouble with that, because I wanted him to behave another way, to understand this way or that. To just know. To want the same things as me in the same ways and make that happen.

I won’t lie and say I don’t sometimes still catch myself doing it, because I do. But these days I do know nothing is ever how we envision it, and the best way to develop realistic expectations is to communicate, trust, be patient, and open my damn eyes to see what is right in front of me. I love what I see.

He is who he is, we are who we are, and it’s nothing like I once envisioned. And I’m ridiculously happy with that.

I Awake…


I awake to vibrations of electric blue
Afloat in a sea of me and you

Where time is waves of thrashing heat
And space is endless as our bodies meet

Eyes still unfocused, yet clearly I see
My soul knows every inch of the flesh against me

Molding together like sinking feet into sand
Or aching clay resting in the palm of your hand

Pushing and pulling like the moon and the tide
As my body to your commands does eagerly abide

~photo credit truenomads.com, reworking of an older poem