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


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


Standing at the kitchen counter, she quietly and quickly assembles the sandwich, squaring the meat and cheese and bread, just so. It goes into the Baggie with a pinch and a zip. 

As she methodically works, her thoughts are busied with arranging today’s list of things to do: call the school, revise the contract, do some laundry, and on and on.

Behind her, as is true of most mornings, she hears his footsteps on the hard floor, slow and uneven, tentative from sleep. As he nears, she feels the muscles in her body tense. She knows why, but she doesn’t want to know why. Already, she is telling herself, “Let him in, let him in.” Still, she tenses, closing her eyes, her body deceiving her, as usual. 

Enclosing her, his arms wrap around her, sliding in under her own arms and around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder, and his whiskers brushing against her cheek as it locks into the crook of her neck. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, optimistic. 

She hears the sigh before she feels it, knowing it has just escaped her own lips, wishing it had not. Closing her eyes, she wills her body to relax, but it does not, she is busy after all. There are so many things to do, doesn’t he know that? 

As soon as the last inch of air releases her lungs, that telling sigh, she feels it. The courage, the risk, the hope, slowly letting go – his fingers not so tight, his arms not so strong, his head a bit heavier on her shoulder.


-a post from a few years ago reworked and shared in response to the daily prompt, Uneven; photo found on Pinterest


Reposted and audio added in celebration of our 18th anniversary (together 23 years!). This is for you, M, the love of my life! 

(Please be kind, it’s my first recording ever!)

I thought I knew about a lot of things before I met you

but I never knew what slow, deep kisses meant,
or that they could last all night long

I never knew what the smell of the first morning breeze could do as my head lay upon your chest,
or how that breeze could carry me throughout the day

I never knew how my own chest could ache in your absence,
or that I could smile all the way to my fingertips when we joined again

I never knew I could get butterflies deep in my belly every time you kissed my neck,
or that my desire for you could consume me

I never knew that shared laughter could cure almost anything,
and shared tears could say much more than words

I never knew I could feel fire in my veins when you hurt,
or that my heart’s fullness could spill over when you smile

I never knew I could need like this,
that I could feel swaddled by another so completely, I can finally rest

I thought I knew all about hope before I met you

but that was before I believed in magic

-Image credit, also shared as part of DVerse’s Open Mic Night. Scoot over there and check it out!

Can’t Wait…

I can’t wait to find her

when I see her,
she’ll take my breath away;
I won’t even see it coming

there’ll be something in the way she holds herself,
the way she moves,
humbly confident,
aware of her natural beauty,
but not trying to flaunt it,
completely unaware of the eyes which gravitate to her,
because she doesn’t need their approval

she’ll have an air of classy comfort,
maybe wearing jeans that hug her curves (oh those curves!) in all the right places,
a simple t-shirt and casual jacket,
heels that accentuate the subtle arch in her graceful feet,
an easy elegance about her that makes me want to know how those curves might feel against my palms

there’ll be a lightness about her;
she has worries in the world,
but she tries not to let them get her down,
she loves to listen and share her joy with others far too much for that,
but I’ll see them in the way her shoulders square ever-so-slightly against the world,
and I’ll long to help her carry the load,
to remind her I’m right here,
to kiss her forehead for no reason at all,
scoop her up in a big bear hug when I hear the telling sigh I know so well,
or place my hand in the small of her back when she’s nervous

she’ll love to talk,
and she’ll want to jump right in,
right past all the silly small talk,
straight to what makes us tick,
to the talk that makes our eyes shine,
that causes our faces and hands to come alive and the air to spark electric,
right to the grit that holds our future

when she speaks,
I’ll know she means what she says,
and says what she means,
her voice just loud enough to hear,
not wanting to draw attention to herself,
a slight shyness about her,
an innocence that longs to remain untouched

and yet,
there’ll be this other part of her,
this fiery part that glimmers so brightly in the center of her eyes if you look long enough,
the part that sees my wolf staring back,
seeking it,
longing to be taken,

and I want nothing more than to do just that

I can’t wait to find her

-image via Pinterest

I Wish…

I see you here most days;
I hope to

I seem to have made it a habit,
coffee, and you

there you sit,
legs crossed, in your well-worn
gray Woodstock t-shirt, 
sipping your coffee,
mindlessly scrolling through your phone, 
in no hurry

every now and then, you look up to stare,
at everything and nothing at all,
an easy smile for any passer by, 
a quiet confidence, 
a contentment that’s contagious

and your eyes, oh God, 
your warm, deep green eyes with tiny orange flecks,
remind me of how it used to feel sitting beneath my favorite willow tree on sleepy summer nights

I want to know your name,
I want to feel it roll off my tongue, 
a sound as familiar and comfortable 
as my favorite, cozy sweatshirt

I want to know what you like for breakfast and how you take your tea,
I want to know when you’re afraid 
and when you’re too tired to sleep

I want to recognize your laugh 
from across the room,
feel your eyes on me without even 
having to look

I want to know you

I see you,
and I wish you’d see me, too

-image credit Pinterest, poem inspired by image