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


storm’s eye entrusted
within your palm,
glowing fury extends,
momentarily calm

closing space,
meeting trepidous skin,
lightning flashing,
gooseflesh begins

circling orbs,
as breathing catches,
creating peaks,
heat stinging like matches

slowly and deliberately,
traveling lower,
crackling and buzzing,
gaining power

or maybe that was you,
the eye of the storm,
shooting streams of light
against my form

finally reaching
my pinnacle of need,
with back-arching, sheet-twisting, lip-biting greed

my body awake,
every molecule alive,
thrumming and humming
in overdrive

then you touch me,
pure energy on skin,
and I liquefy
into a thunderous din

Photo is mine


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


On humble, bended knees, I wait
Eyes closed, listening for his gate

Slow, ascending footsteps near
I feel his presence more than hear

Butterflies flutter as my insides smile
Not unlike when I walked down the aisle

Leaning in, warm skin on skin
Arms around me, he begins

Light brown hue and earthy scent
Jute unraveled with intent

Where his fingers end, rope begins
The prickly strength a part of him

Diamond shape and knots are wound
Lastly, crotch rope tightly bound

Friction criss-crossed, his will spun
Earthly stitches weave us as one

Awakening spirit, whole self to life
I am His, more than his wife

~photo credit


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


‘stay quiet, love’

his tracing fingers glide downward, knowingly, a well traveled route on the map of her flesh, a living, breathing map he created, he her cartographer, charting and plotting, committing her to memory, creasing and folding in all the right places

mesmerized, his entirety is focused on her responsiveness to him; in an instant, goosebumps rise to meet his touch, a shivering ripple, a wave of eagerness summoned to her surface by the barely contained vibrations from his recent strumming with the canes and floggers, every hiss and buzz, each whack and thwack reverberating, she the oscillation to his thrumming

instinctively, her eyes close and her mouth falls open in a savoring exhale, as she’s reminded of the heavenly hum of the rope, of the way his nimble fingers wound the jute, ‘round and ’round, it’s prickly tightness setting her free

continuing the deliberate strums with his fingers, paired with an airy bass of whispers in her ears, he watches for her body to respond in chorus, reveling in his ability to pluck here or there and illicit the desired response

flooded with a wave after wave of arousal, she’s overwhelmed in him; it’s as if each individual goosebump forming is a silent scream, her body crying out to him, alive in him, begging for him

and all she can do, is whimper

– Shared in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie  Tale Weaver prompt, also shared as part of Masturbation Monday 141



his hungry gaze
tortuous, magnetic
fingers graze
inciting, phrenetic

studying her curves
beckoning, revering
awakening nerves
blazing, nearing

crossing silky mound
calculating relief
tracing ‘round
pausing, brief

following his commands
eagerly pleasing
cartographer’s hands
infinitely teasing

peaks and valleys
mastering her reaction
explosive finale
forced extraction

reaching destination
a path not a when
whispering softly
he begins again

-art by Fernand Fonssagrives, found on Tumblr

Who She Is

img_6496Breathing deeply
Body quivers
Alive, waiting
Walnut strikes
Forceful and quick
Hands caress welts
Between thighs slick
Palm percussion
Clutter receding
Wanting more
Core is pleading
Stinging whip
Drifting inward
Layers stripped
Only He is heard
Leather belt
Sinking further
Soul is bare
Ready for merger
Wicked rattan
Warmth radiating
Relaxed and calm
Thick, rigid oak
Challenging bliss
Sinking in to
Who she is


*Mature Content

“Don’t move,” he said, backing slowly away while pulling the camera up to his face, one rugged hand gripping the curve of the case and the other wrapped around the large lens. His thumb and middle finger delicately and  deliberately squeezed and turned, slightly this way and that.

She could hear the friction of his knees against the sheet as he scooted back and forth, positioning himself for each shot, his breath quickening with each movement.

Preventing the usual, “Yes, Sir,” in reply, the ball gag rested snugly between her teeth, wrapping around to clasp tightly on the back of her neck at her hairline. She didn’t even nod in response. She was still. Captivated. Mesmerized by him. All she wanted to do was keep watching him, watching her. Her eyes replied for her.

With a few words or the grip of his hands, he lead her to where he wanted her, and she followed. She moved when he moved her. She shifted with his words. She did anything he wanted.

Every click of the shutter sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel his energy building, an electricity growing. Every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of his eyes and the bulge in the front of his jeans. His hunger was palpable; it emanated from him in waves, making her insides hum and forming goosebumps on the surface of her skin.

Without notice, the world around them melted away. It was only his lens pointing at her, and her looking back. There was no peripheral, no background, no noise in her head. There was no sound, other than his movement and his breathing and his words. Nothing else.

Except for the click, click of his shutter.

-older post reworked a bit and shared as part of Masturbation Monday.

-photo is mine

To Infinity, and Beyond….

Recently, M and I went to our first (shibari) rope group and not long after that, we attended our first play party. These events were our first time venturing out into the kink community, and I’m so glad we did (more on that in another post). The coolest part is that it’s an extension of something M spoke to me about a couple of months ago…

Not long after M had his surgery this summer, he had an epiphany of sorts. He sat me down and said he’d realized some things about himself and wanted to share them with me. He went on to tell me he’d been holding back on acting on and sharing some of his desires, as he’d been slowly working through some preconceived notions and societal, engrained beliefs. Going so deep or far, in his mind, made him/us cross a line into “really kinky”, and he’d worried about continuing down that path, wondering how far and deep into these things that path might lead us. How deep does the rabbit hole go? Because the things we already do have continually evolved, continuously stretching and pushing our boundaries and evolving our limits. 

Over the last 4 years or so, we’ve continually added and intensified, in so many ways, both in and out of the bedroom. I can’t even describe how amazing that journey has been; we’ve learned so much about one another and we’ve grown so much as a result. We continually feel like more – like more than we were the day before and the day before that. It is incredible. I’m constantly in awe.

M told me he knew we’d reached this place of having such a sure-footed foundation and such a high level of ongoing, two-way communication that he no longer worried about going too far or taking too many missteps, because he knew we’d talk the whole way through, just like we’ve been doing, and continue to grow in that process. There is no manipulation or hidden agenda from either of us, only trust, respect, and honesty. And because of that, he wants to continue to challenge us, to further explore, and deepen our relationship. He wants to go wherever we decide to go, together, with no feeling of restraint or residual, societal negativity present. If we are happy, that’s all that matters. Free to be ourselves. How amazing is that???

And since his surgery, there’s been this lightness, this happiness and fullness about him that makes my heart swell. He’s finally pain free, aside from some muscular soreness that should eventually subside. His brain is no longer cloudy and fighting to survive the day. Again, how amazing is that?? 

When he brought those things to me, I just listened. I was ecstatic to hear him sharing it all with me. Overwhelmed, in the best way. I didn’t push or ask him to further reveal anything; I figured he’d tell me when he felt it was right for us. 

He began to slowly introduce ideas into our play, but I didn’t know they were linked to these desires. But, WOW. And more wow. 

Then, a few months ago, he told me all the things he’d been fantasizing about and hoped could become a reality. Things like delving much deeper into rope, hopefully to suspension (we’ve only ever done floor work and partial suspension), trying an anal hook, attending community events, and some things involving voyeurism/exhibitionism.

One of the first things he asked me to do when he took control is to do things which he would watch/direct, so I knew how much he is visually stimulated. That has continually evolved as well; we frequently look at Tumblr together and share a blog for reposting things we like, talking about those things regularly. So, I wasn’t completely surprised when he told me he’d like to live out some of his voyeuristic and exhibitionist fantasies. He wants to begin to attend play parties and potentially go to club events, and he wants to play and participate at those events. There are times he wants to watch and direct certain activities. Although I wasn’t completely surprised, I also wasn’t expecting most of it. 

Which is maybe the best part of all of this. 

Although he’s shared so many desires and fantasies along the way, M felt he could be open enough to share those most vulnerable things with me, too, having worked through that process (he’s had a process and journey to travel over this time, too!) safely within the confines of this relationship we’ve built. Seriously, how fucking awesome is that?? I know I keep saying that, but I feel it, so deeply. 

I love that we can share anything and everything. I love that we evolve. I love that we can travel this journey openly, sharing all our fantasies and desires, but also have the ability to discuss and consider all the subsequent possibilities of doing so. It feels very healthy not to just jump right in to every single thing that catches our interest without considering the ramifications, both physical and emotional. We are in no hurry; M feels very strongly about going at a pace, both in and out of the bedroom, that doesn’t completely overwhelm either of us, and also wants us to be safe and informed about the things in which we are engaging. So do I.

The first steps began with our ongoing talks. In fact, it’s almost all we talked about for weeks and weeks! We learn and experience, and talk some more. And on, and on. 

Tonight, M and I will go to our second play party. Tonight, we will play. I will be nude in front of 50-100 of my closest strangers. (Gah!) But I’ll be doing it with him, my heart full of trust and my soul so full of happiness. 

I am often jolted by this unbelievable feeling. I can’t even describe it. We get to continuously make real our desires. We get to experiment and find what fits and what does not. We get to take this journey, free to be ourselves. 

I get to experience these new things with the love of my life. 

Last time, I asked for you all to wish me luck. This time, although I am a bit nervous, I know I don’t need any luck. I trust him. I trust us.

I’m just going to leap….

image found via Tumblr….one of my all time favorites!