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

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

Worth the Wait

“I forgive you,” he said, so easily,
as if it took no thought at all.

My heart wasn’t prepared for that,
how could it possibly be that simple?

Overwhelmed, I was forced to see,
to accept what looked grand
on the outside,
but so clearly was one small
thing, plus another, and another.

It became evident to me
that love is not in the grand gestures,
that it’s not just pretty words smashed together into eloquent vows.

Love is a stream of mindfulness,
of choice after choice,
of forgiveness,
tiny currents of trust, which compound, gaining strength,
a path of morsels, each one made of little bits of honor,
of memories, one after the other,
that leads you back to the person who is waiting.
Who wants to wait.
Who believes there is something worth waiting for.

I followed the path,
I forgive you, too.

Thank you for waiting,
we were worth the wait.

-image credit Tumblr


Today, I’m grateful.

There used to be this angst that surrounded a lot of what M and I did, and how we did it. It was angst built of words unspoken, expectations which were unrealistic and unfulfilled, feelings unexpressed. It was made of regret and grudgery. Left unresolved, those feelings and issues remained, a pool from which we drew upon, or even added to, when something else popped up. We tried to resolve them, but sometimes we couldn’t always, so we’d agree to move on. 

Sometimes, things felt like a competition, as if we each were keeping a running tally of what the other did or didn’t do, and then measuring it against our personal list of our own dids and didn’ts. There was always a winner and a loser. Someone didn’t measure up. 

There was a layer of hurt feelings which we were too scared or too immature to tackle. Yet, we never gave up on the tackling, or on one another. We never gave up on us.

Things are much different these days. Unspoken doesn’t happen. There’s no more fear of speaking and expressing, on either end. Expectations are much more realistic. Emotions, all of them, have a safe place in which to live and thrive, and we constantly clarify with one another to understand. 

As a result, that angst is gone. It’s been replaced with a genuine understanding of the other person’s intentions, a knowing that we are operating with the other’s best interest at heart, no matter what. We count on it. Believe it. 

That’s been absolutely foundational. It gets us through everything, with fewer hurt feelings and less residual negative impact. In fact, it helps us move forward with new skills and information, because we can get to the heart of an issue more quickly and talk it through. We learn from and with one another.

Another amazing result has been that we appreciate so deeply all that the other does to help, both individuals and the family as a whole. We see the intentions, the effort, the impact. It’s not a competition; it’s exactly the opposite. We each know what we bring to the table and want more than anything to use those skills to help one another, and the family. We need to. And we’ve built a structure that allows for those skills to be capitalized upon. 

Above all, I need to see him happy. I need to be a part of the reason he is happy. I need to do all I can in order to see that happen. He needs the same thing. Except now, we each truly see and feel that. We appreciate.

As we prepare for his surgery Wednesday, and we each continue to express ourselves so freely about it all, make plans, and talk about the future, I am overwhelmed by the positivity of it all, of the impact this renewal has had in our lives. I’m emotional and afraid and a million other things all at once. So is he. But, the anxiety that used to plague me has diminished so much because of this thing between us. M has expressed his feelings openly like never before. We know we can count on one another. 

I’m hopeful, even amidst the fear. So is he. 

Today, I’m grateful. 

Hot Guy

There’s this really handsome guy sitting in my living room. Lounged back in the chair, he’s sort of off-center, one leg swung over the arm and the other propped up on the ottoman. He’s wearing a really soft looking, gray, four button polo shirt and Levi’s that hug his ass just right. My eyes are drawn to the curve of his ass nestled on the edge of the cushion. I wish I could touch it – start at the top near his back and run my hand over that curve, feeling the muscled firmness against my palm. Maybe keep going, down his thigh, traveling to the inside, up to that bulge that seems to be taunting me from across the room.

Brow furrowed, his attention is focused on the new game he’s playing on the TV. Fingers swiftly moving over the white remote, pushing and gliding, his hands periodically shaking it with an abrupt up and down motion, and my mind begins to wonder….what else might those fingers and hands be good at, right now? They look so strong and able…

Every so often, the tip of his tongue pushes on his bottom lip until he unconsciously moves his lip down, making his tongue pop out to rest on top of it, his teeth clenching down, holding it in place. Ahhh, like he’s doing, right now. It’s so damn sexy. Glistening and slightly wet, it’s a dark shade of pink. I bet it’s so warm and nimble. I imagine his mouth is just as talented as his hands. I bet he tastes amazing.

I think he sees me watching him, but I can’t help it. My cheeks are flush, I’ve shifted in my seat at least a dozen times, and even crossed my legs, trying to give myself a bit of relief. He’s driving me crazy.

Oh, my. He just beat the level he was playing and turned to look at me, with a smile. Meeting my gaze, the room fell away. His eyes, oh, wow. What an entrancing shade of deep green, and so happy. And that smile! He smiles and I melt. I could look at that smile for the rest of my life.

“I love you,” he says.

Instantly, I’m reminded that I know all about that handsome man with the perfect ass and yummy thighs. I know what lies beneath those Levi’s. I know his strong, able hands, and all about that talented tongue. I know just how he tastes and smells, I know just how he feels about me. I know exactly how his body feels with mine. It fits. We fit.

And I’m reminded that I get to – I get see that smile, for the rest of my life.

I’m smiling, too.

*Happy Father’s Day to my M… thank you for making babies with me!

*ass pic credit Pinterest