Placement

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restless,
shifting weight from foot to foot,
as He positions the prickly jute, 
concentrating on the way He winds it ’round,
on the way it comes to rest upon her skin, biting,
and not on He who is doing the winding,
He whose flesh grazes hers,
whose breath is heavy and hot against her neck,
whose soft, yet forceful lips leave a slightly wet, cool trail,
as He works his way ’round, up, through, and around

her loose fingers stray,
following that loud, ass-backward, inside voice she has,
the one who keeps shouting and pushing herself to the forefront,
the unsettled, messy girl who needs

and wants,
and needs

that noxious voice which permeates, 
spreading its unwanted tentacles nimbly
under the surface of her skin,
first taking hold of her thoughts,
then conquering every ribbon of unwilling, aching muscle

she tells those fingers to reach down
and to adjust,
to find and target each tiny imperfection,
to, with her selfish actions,
demand perfection and symmetry,
to fidget and forget about trust,
and patience

she overpowers,
she deceives

she defies, not only Him, but her

she knows what she needs,
but doesn’t want to know

so, she bucks and she pushes against the very binding she knows she truly needs

desperately

His binding,
His will,
His way

one last time, though she’s been warned,
she commands those deceptive fingers
to reach out,
to touch His tie

He slaps her wandering, distrustful, hand,
hard,
an echoing crack, a lingering, itchy, throbbing sting

and she smiles

a smile of defeat,
of humbling,
of placement

and then, she disappears

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-image found on Tumblr, source unknown; shared as part of Masturbation Monday

Lingering…

I ‘m trapped in a lingering haze today,
Spellbound, thoughts in flight, stuck on replay

Your captivating lure, a mist upon my skin,
As achy reminders echo last night’s din

Whispers hovering in fevered clouds,
My inner voice howling, remembering how

Your stringed pins gripped fiery flesh, trapping desire,
And your hands drew salacious wings, stoking the fire

Until your commanding words set my wanton spirit free,
My body your vessel, aching to please

How the air abruptly changed when your flesh merged with mine,
And our breath became one, how there was no time

Then our hearts became fluid, melting from within,
One consumous puddle, an ocean of sin

Sometimes, Always

Sometimes it’s
fuck me like you own me
I’m not going to break
grab me pull me
force me
don’t ask if I’m okay
leave your mark
make me yours
please show me please
harder deeper faster slower
unwind me
I am shudder moan wetness pain pleasure breath catching need

Sometime it’s
pull me closer
I’m so sorry
wrap me tight
I need to believe
don’t stop
keep going through the tears
please possess me please
tighter stronger deeper
make my brain stop spinning
quiet calm I need you
please don’t ever let me go

Always it’s
the deepest connection I’ve ever known
tethered souls
fulfilling bursting desire lust
I love you I love you I love you
whispers in my ear
moaning gasping devouring
white knuckles twisted sheets muscles teeth sweat trembling hold my breath
look me in the eyes
time stopping narrowing focusing shutting out the world
oh god oh god oh god
anchor me I’m floating away
we are meant to be

What If?

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What if he took her by the hand, led her to their room and asked her to lie back on their soft sheets and relax?

Maybe he’d lie at the bottom of the bed near her feet on his side, head resting on one hand, the other resting on the bed just a few inches from her.

What if he asked her to spread her legs wide for him, allowing him full view, and directed her to touch herself, no looking down or away, only looking into his eyes?

Maybe she’d be asked to touch and touch, building to a plateau, fueled by the look in his eyes and the small, telling movements that assured her he was enjoying what he was seeing – the slight grin forming, his fingers barely curling to grip the sheet, the growing bulge in the front of his pants.

What if she was asked to stop when she was just on the edge, ready, eyes filled with need, and told to remove his pants and touch him, placing him into her mouth, only to be abruptly told to stop, only allowed just a taste?

Maybe she’d be asked to lie back again, to gently massage her breasts, using two fingers to pinch and pull her nipples, to get herself slick and circle and dip with her fingers until she was on the edge again.

What if his hand traveled the few inches up the mattress to barely graze her folds with his fingertips as her own fingers worked, her back arching and her head instinctively turning to the left to bite the pillow so as not to wake the children?

Maybe just his almost-dipping fingers and his slightly tickling fingertips on the outside of her would force her to pause in touching herself for fear of toppling over the edge without permission.

What if, after her body had just begun to calm, he asked her to continue touching herself, this time using his middle finger, tracing and circling her opening before plunging not so gently into her, massaging her g-spot rhythmically, to a beat seeming to match the beating of her own heart?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good job she was doing, but she still didn’t have permission to come, not just yet. Maybe he’d direct her to get to that edge and stop and start again. And stop and start. Maybe she’d try to never break the eye contact because all she wanted was to please him. Maybe watching him, watching her would make her want to keep touching herself for as long as he’d keep watching.

What if he relentlessly massaged her g-spot, now with two fingers, as both of her hands moved to pleasure herself, using her fingertips to travel over her own skin, squeezing her breasts, palms up and down her stomach, two fingers persistent on her sweet spot? What if it became completely impossible to keep her body still or her back flat on the bed? What if her hips danced and bucked? What if her toes curled, pressing their toenails into the bed, a wordless begging of their own? What if the only way for her to remain quiet was to bite her own lip or clench her teeth or hold her breath?

Maybe he’d tell her what a good girl she was for following his directions. Maybe he’d finally tell her if she asked him nicely, he might let her come.

What if she looked him in the eyes, and asked with a shaky, small voice, “Sir, may I please come for you?”

Maybe his fingers would continue to be unrelenting as he said, “Yes, come for me.” Maybe her own fingers on the outside paired with his fingers on the inside, all the fingers stroking and swirling and sliding in all the right spots at just the right time, would make her come so hard she couldn’t stay quiet no matter how hard she tried. Maybe she’d shake and writhe and ride the waves of pleasure for longer than she imagined could be possible from simply the touching.

What if, as her body trembled and quaked, still feeling the downslide of her orgasm, he moved between her legs, entering her and sending her body and mind to a raw, primal place of wanting and begging and needing? Of grabbing and pulling and biting and sweating? Of moans and covering her mouth and many more “please, Sirs” and wetness and smiles of pride and pleasure? Of tired bodies and eyelids which wouldn’t stay open? Of tangling and drifting? Of peace?

Maybe they’d feel as if it was all just as it should be.

What if they finally felt at home?

Lost in You

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Waking in a haze, wrapped in your warmth, the dark curtains manage to dampen the sunlight threatening to creep in. There’s no playing hooky today, so I must open my eyes. It takes every ounce of will power I have to peel myself from the mold you’ve made for me.

As I ready for the day, I can’t stop grinning. I didn’t even know the grin was there until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a little bit of you reflecting with it. Gliding the clothing over my flesh, stretching and bending to dress, I notice the marks, places that are a little sore and tender, delicious reminders, a map of all the places you’ve bound me to you. And that feeling, that overwhelming, consuming feeling, it lingers and lingers. I still feel you. I still hear you. I want you, even more, if that’s possible.

All day, as I go about my routine, I find myself losing entire chunks of time. I pause, again and again, still grinning, still consumed. I can still feel your body moving mine with a look, a few words, a grab or pull or embrace. My body remembers its hyper-awareness as it obeys, my mind lulled and completely focused on you and how you make me feel.

And that look, oh god – I can’t stop seeing and feeling that look in your eyes. That one that sees right through to my core, to a place no other has been before. I hear those two words roll from your lips, the ones that make me want to give you more and more until there’s nothing left.

My forehead still feels the warmth of yours, the pressure of your hand on the back of my neck pulling me to you, your breath hot on my lips, reminding me to keep my eyes open as I obey your gentle command, over and over again. I feel the pride and pleasure and power behind your smile, each time my body complies.

I feel all of you, owning all of me.

My skin tingles, my cheeks are flush and I’m glowing. I’m glowing inside my haze today, lost in you.

I hope you’re lost, too.


-shared as part of Masturbation Monday 132

Letting Go…

I need you. I am ashamed.

Those words are maybe the most difficult I’ve ever spoken. I’m not perfect, and I never was. I never will be, although I spent way too many years of my life hoping I could be, wishing I could live up to other’s expectations, and hoping I’d be enough.

And for most of my life, I tried really hard not to need anyone, even though I poured my heart into every relationship I ever had. I let others need me, but I couldn’t need in return. I mean, I could, I just couldn’t let the other know just how much.

I also jumped in with two feet into anything I did – relationships, school, jobs, everything. I found strength within myself to get through anything, regardless of the cost to me. It was never a question of whether I could, I just did.

I did what I thought I should. I put others first. I came through. You could count on me. Always.

But that had a high cost. So high.

It has taken me a long time, but I’ve come to a place where I can tell others when I need them, although it’s not always easy. I still feel shame, but I’m trying.

With M, I’m so open about my needs, but it feels all tangled at times, because I have this intense need to please him first and to seek his permission to put my needs on the priority list. And when I fail at making myself clear in what I need or expressing it fully, because I’m ashamed, I end up feeling even worse, as if even he isn’t making my needs a priority. I’ve made that mistake more than I care to admit.

Over the last few years, I’ve shared with M how much I need him, but my job is an issue that has only gotten worse. I’ve tried to express just how much worse, and what I need because of it, but I’ve not always succeeded. Now, I’m at a place where, despite the amazing things going on in our relationship and with my girls, I feel like I’m drowning. My job is sucking the life out of me. It has slowly, over the course of 13 years, completely depleted me, and it has far reaching affects in all areas of my life. I’m running on fumes at this point, and the thing is….I know I have the strength to get through. I do. It’s a part of me which will never ever go away. I can dig deep and do whatever I have to.

But I don’t want to be strong in this case, not anymore. The cost is far too high. Putting that face on and stuffing those feelings away so I can get through turns me into someone I’m not, someone I don’t like. Someone who isn’t ME.

And I NEVER want to feel like a foreigner in my own skin again.

In order to get through it, I need M more than I ever have. I need him to be the life raft. I need him to help me to not lose me. Ever again. I need my needs to matter as much to him as they do to me….and in order for him to be able to fully do that….I need to lay them in his lap and let go of the shame I feel for needing him as much as I do.

Slowly, and layer by layer, I have shared my deep need for him as well as my needs. I have laid them all out, open and honest, absolutely and completely.

I can’t say my shame is gone, but it’s one step closer to letting it all go. And it’s allowing us to go even deeper together. We are building the structure we need to get through it, the structure I need. It’s going to be a process, one we’ll have to tackle together.

And my strength? It’s still here. He’s my raft right now. I’m hanging on with all my might.

But I’m still kicking my feet like a mofo, while I hang on.

Even 

even in his sleep,
his arm lifts as soon
as mine begins its
slide beneath his,
seeking his heat and security

even as I sleep, when I turn
to the other side, he follows to cradle me, hand traveling up my body, coming to rest around my neck, arm draping over mine

for a moment, his fingers
slowly trace the length
of my neck to my hairline,
sliding into my hair to grab
a handful, resting his fist

after a few exhales
have passed,
his hand slowly
resumes it’s place
around my neck

even in sleep, I am his

Need

A few hot-on-my ear naughty whispers
The barely-touched wisping of your whiskers

A head-to-toe, rolling chain reaction
The awe-sum of our lethal attraction

A thrum-nagging just under my ribcage
The breath-catching shudder begging assuage

A please-oh-please pink on my blushing cheeks
The oh-god shiver causing lacey peaks

A twinge-clenching, heat wave radiating
The leg-crossing pulse never abating

A breathy-moan between teeth escaping
The finger-tip-touch leaving mouth gaping

A head-nodding command moves to my knees
My buzz-humming body eager to please

A bubbling-molten pool of fiery need
My aching soul does only-for-you bleed

Take me, I’m your head-thrown back ecstasy
As I call out, ‘Please, Sir’, quite breathlessly

Our two-becomes-one passion colliding
My mind-body-soul-is-yours abiding

Denial

Denial, delicious agony
Body aching for release
Yet, an eager acquiesce 

Repeated, deliberate tease
The ultimate come hither
Her thorns made to wither 

Played like a hungry zither
Thrummed to the edge, taunting
A foreshadow, a haunting 

Soul-stripping wanting,
Obeying, her only mission
Bared, tunnel vision 

Body responds with precision,
Following every command
Her pleasure in his hands 

Skillfully planned
Her breaking point found
Then expertly unwound 

With his words she’s unbound
A back-arching explosion
Writhing commotion 

Summoned with a singular motion
A journey to a deeper level
In this connection they’ll revel