Ignite Me

I am your wick
Ignited by whispered words
The heat of your gaze taking hold
Radiating, encompassing warmth
By your hand, your instruments
Melting inhibition
Drawing my soul to the surface
Fueling your smoldering need
Defying all external forces
Except you, I burn
And I burn, for you
One surrendered flame
Dancing, free flowing
A fiery, lascivious glow
Of wanton desire
I am your wick

Ignite me

-image found on Tumblr, source unknown 

Placement

img_5011

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

img_7046

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

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?

img_3240

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

img_5995

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

Anticipating You

img_6513

by the thinnest sliver of light,
a slight crack in the door,
delicate shadow stretches over dark sheet
reaching across the floor,
straining toward you

eyes downcast,
soft light spreads over tanned skin,
silky thighs resting atop the slender arc of calves,
splayed wide open, offering

arching, in a perfect curve,
back lightly tensed,
a muscled lines rippling down the spine,
accentuating, craving

shoulders pulled back, tight,
arms behind draw a line
to fingers resting on bottom,
pushing ample breasts upward,
on display, beckoning

two, small, impeccably taut,
nipples peak, ready

as I still and I anticipate,
no thought to what you’ll do to me,
or wonder about tools you’ll choose
to use

my body is alive,
bursting with an overwhelming hunger
to simply follow,
to fulfill any need,

to be your desire

I kneel, waiting,
anticipating
You

Just Listen

Crisp sheets smooth on clean-shaven skin
Cool breeze blowing in the window
Warm body slides in against hers
Hand begins its travel lower

First, slow circles, leg over his
Two fingers now fast on swollen clit
“Thank you for taking good care, Love,
Always, just the way I like it.”

Strong fingers dipping, massaging
Slowly teasing, then relentless
So close, already, as they wane
Then colide with needy clit to press

Endlessly seeming, his cycles
Circles and massaging, repeat
“No coming, stay quiet, or I’ll stop”
Listening, breath catching, eyes meet

Loving, his encouraging words
But she’s challenged, with no release
“Not yet,” each time she squeeze-clenches
Back arching, her hips beg and plead

Fingers pause, the pair’s heart beats sync
Telling her two rules she must heed
“Stay quiet, Love, and come when told”
“Yes, Sir,” as fists in gray sheets knead

Painfully slow, circles begin
On engorged and desperate flesh
Fingers abruptly slide, enter
His control, her trusting enmesh

Hissing, cool air between her lips
Her essence filled with desire
“Stay quiet and breathe, Love,” he says
Then, “Give it to me,” fuels the fire

Pulsing and contracting muscles
Radiate warmth as wetness pools
A pause, so short, body deceived
Release prolonged, fingers as tools

Beaded foreheads meet, their eyes lock
Open palm strikes delicate skin
Soft rub, hard strike, repeatedly
Her explosion nearing again

“Give me one more,” he growls, this time
Sending shivers down her arced spine
As fingers plunge each opening
Wrecking orgasm, his words in mind

Waves of pleasure, calming breath
In trembles and quakes, she lets go
Souls intertwined with his powerful words
“Just listen,” and her body does follow

*an older poem given a facelift

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

Just Your Words

Here we lie, face to face, skin on skin, our legs entwined and arms locking us together. The cool sheets are a sharp contrast to our warm bodies, and in no time the fluffy down is pulling in and trapping any fugitive heat. Our breath between us is the only sound aside from the whir of air pushing through the vent next to the bed. Absorbing one another, we lay, content.

Gently exploring, slowly savoring, our palms and fingers begin to navigate each dip and dimple, every curve and thew. The bed melts away to a sea of slippery gray. Somehow thicker, the air is urgent, in and out, our chests moving more quickly. And more. Touches, not-so-gentle, scratch and paw and knead. And need.

And we both feel it. There is something tangible between us. It’s grown and grown, and now it’s taking up all the space, there’s no containing it. There’s a not-so-invisible pull, an instinctual magnetism, defying the laws of attraction, this us having been carefully nurtured, a fundamental seed planted long ago, finally able to take deeper root. And then grow, to flourish.

Whispering in my ear, your words are a gentle, yet firm command, and the effect is unexpected. I am already aroused, of that there’s no question, but this reaction is in a realm all it’s own. Noticing immediately as I carry out your task, you ask, “You’re quivering, are you cold?” I don’t speak, I just nod that I am not.

It’s the truth, I am not cold, yet my entire body is shaking. You aren’t even touching me anymore, yet my mind is so focused and attuned to you, and my body is hyper-aware of this THING between us.

That’s when it registers….it’s just your words. That you want this of me, that you told me to do it, that I want and need to do this for you – it arouses me on a level I didn’t know existed until now.

I feel your knowledge of it, your confidence, your hunger, and when I see and feel your body’s reaction to it, oh god. Just when I think I can’t possibly be any more aroused, I see how much what I’m doing and the pleasure I derive from doing so, makes you squirm and moan. I see it in the heave of your chest, the arching of your back, the biting of your lip. I hear it in the low, feral growl rumbling from between your clenched teeth. I see it in your deep green eyes. I feel it in the tightening and pressure building in my core. I just feel, so much so that I don’t even remember breathing. I feel you, feeling me….until we explode, a passion chain reaction, all breath and fists and deep swallows, my wetness splashing into the sea of gray beneath us.

This pleasure, this connection, it is the most intense I’ve ever experienced. And you needn’t even touch me.