My Response V ~ sufficiently interested

Dear sufficiently_interested

It is rather strange that you took the time to send a message but all you could comment on was how long my profile took to read and a pathetic attempt at sarcasm at how I must like writing.

So what if I do?

You don't have to read it. 

No-one is forcing you to read it. No-one is forcing you to do anything.

But why bother to comment if that is all you have to say?

You said you read it because you  are "sufficently interested"

Can I just say, so you are left with no doubt . . .that feeling or interest is most definitely NOT mutual. 

I am not even remotely interested, let alone sufficiently so.


Good luck!

Balance

"Some people have confused equality with symmetry, making the assumption that everyone should have the same thing . . . Sometimes setting the same rules for both partners simply doesn't make sense because you are different people who want different things. In attempting to give each person equality you could lose sight of what each person actually wants.  Work to achieve balance rather than equality." Tristan Taormino 

And that is exactly how it works for me.  It is about balance.  It is about achieving a balance.  It is about different people with different needs who want different things and whose needs certainly won't be met by the same rules!

I don't want equality.

I don't want superiority.

I want a balance. 

A relationship which works by giving each person (or persons) within that relationship the balance that they need.  We all have different needs, we all want different things.  There will of course be needs and wants that are shared, but it is still quite possible to have those different needs and wants met, even when there is such a big difference.

I do not want symmetry and I think just with how they are established that a relationship with power exchange cannot reflect symmetry, not really.  I don't think they are about "equality", but they are about a balance.  A balance which is achieved through that exchange of power, a balance which is achieved because there are different rules for each person, but ones which enable each persons needs to be met.  That the exchange of power brings about that balance, brings about those needs being met, regardless of how different they actually are.

I need to be in control.  For me, it is all about control.  I need to dominate because that is who I am. What I am.  What I need.  The balance within my own relationships comes from being with someone who has quite the opposite needs and it comes with that power exchange.

Of course each relationship will find balance in different ways, according to the needs of each person and in what way they achieve it or indeed perhaps need it.  But for me, it isn't about equality or my being superior, it is all about achieving a balance.

And I very much need that balance.

But it comes from an exchange of power.

It comes from being within female led relationships, it comes from aspects of D/s, it comes from my dominating over someone who submits, simply it comes from my being in control.  It comes from the bringing together of two different people who are at different ends of the D/s spectrum. But because they do, they naturally balance.

And that works for me!

Except we didn't . .

I dreamt about you last night.  Yes you!

I dreamt that you and I fucked.

A dream, that felt so real it could quite easily have been a memory of the reality rather than a dream of an illusion.  When I woke I really had to stop and work out whether it was a dream, reality or an illusion. 

I was aroused.  I was wet.

I dreamt that you and I fucked.

We were there. You know the place we always liked to be.  The place we have been so many times before.

Except we weren't.

You kissed me. Deeply. Passionately. Hard.

Except you didn't. 

I pulled you closer, and I remember so clearly the way that you touched me. I remember so vividly the feeling of your hand in between my legs as I orgasmed over your fingers, watching your face as you licked each finger clean. 

I remember every feeling, every moan, every escaped breath. 

You were wearing black.  And blue.   I said how apt as I wanted to mark you black and blue.  I removed your clothes, forced your head between my thighs as I melted into that most wonderful moment as your tongue plunged deep inside me.

Except it didn't.

The orgasm you brought me to when your fingers plunged into my ass.  The wetness glistening over your face as you looked up at me. 

Except it wasn't.

And I asked you to fuck me. 

Just in the way we had always enjoyed fucking. Fast, Hard. Deep. And I felt it. I felt you. And I orgasmed as you came inside me.

Except you didn't. 

But I dreamt of you last night.  You fucked me. 

And it was just how I always remembered.

Except JoJo. This time we didn't.

Lose the labels!

"I have tattoos, so I’m a trouble maker. I have curves, so I’m fat. If I wear makeup, I’m fake. If I say what I think, I’m a bitch. If I cry some times, I’m a drama queen. If I have guy friends, I’m a slut. If I stand up for myself, I’m mouthy. Seems like you can’t do anything nowadays without being labeled. So what, go ahead and label me, see if I give a shit…"

Ellen Dunsworth

Labels. 

There is something about labels that seriously get up my nose.  There seems to be a whole plethora of people who want to place labels on everyone else, or try to place themselves under a label which they are never going to fit.

I am an individual.

I take pride in that fact.  I like the fact tht I am different from many people and I don't try to make myself like another.  In short, I always try my upmost to stay true to myself, my beliefs, my wants and needs and desires.

And because of that I am not fond of labels.

I am not interested in having labels placed upon me, I am not interested in being labelled as anything, or defined as such.  Although to be honest, there would be so many that could possibly fit the list could be endless; and that is because I am who I am. 

I cannot fit into any little box which describes who I am or the needs that I have.  It would be impossible, unless I was to be chopped up into smaller pieces and each piece of me placed under all the appropriate labels that could potentially fit.

Of course in certain situations, lables can help in some ways.  They can help us to try to understand, get others to understand. They can go some way to explaining.

But, as is so often the case, people allow these labels to define them, to define who they are and their actions.  But in allowing this to happen, it can go so far that, not only do they define the person, but that person shapes themselves to fit the label.  That the label can mould the person so that they fit, instead of being what they are whatever that may be.

This, is something we see a great deal of in relation to BDSM.  A whole host of labels of dominant, top, submissive, slave, switch, sadist, masochist. . . it really is endless.  And people all over the place are trying to place themselves under a label to "fit".  And yet, on top of that, there's the whole host of labels given to the relationship dynamics too ~ D/s, M/s, FLR, HOH, Vanilla etc etc etc  But, many relationships bring together aspects from different ones, and it then becomes almost an impossibility to use any label.

It is the same for people.

Or at least for me it is.

I know that I do not fit into the traditional "Domme" role.  I know and am fully aware that I have been dominant all of my life, I know that I am dominant and that I have the need for control and to be in control.  I have even had what for me I guess I can refer to as a "vanilla" relationship yet, it was still female led.  And yet, it didn't need to be labelled anything.  I don't believe that I, or my relationships need to be labelled as anything, because there isn't just one that fit.  There would be many. Things that describe the dynamic and the people within them, things that describe the characteristics of those within them . . .it cannot be just one.

When I first discovered all things "BDSM", I did explore in depth the labels that get thrown around.  What they mean. What they stand for.  And like so many, there was a time in the very early days that I even tried to apply them to myself, my wants, my needs, my relationships.  But then when we label, there is this pressure that we place on ourselves to change.  There is a pressure to "fit" under that label and what others think or believe is right or wrong.

As such, these labels then change us.  They do not represent who we are. And I strongly believe that they hinder me.  And I say me, because I know that for many, they live for labels and place themselves underneath them. 

So. For me. Labels went out of the window.

I am who I am.  And while I may not fit under what labels people try to pigeon hole me under, I fit into what is right for me.  I fit quite perfectly in my world.

I am me.  People can draw whatever conclusions they wish.  In fact, people will draw whatever conclusions they wish to even without the labels.

But I know what I like. What I don't. I know what I want.  What I don't. I know what I need from a relationship, what I need from another as well as from myself.  I don't need labels to tell me that.  I don't need to be defined or limited by such.

I have always known I was kinky.  And I mean, from earliest sexual fantasies. I have always been dominant. I have always been in control of my life, my actions and the things I do within it.  I have a need for that control and have to have it.  But, I also am aware that my needs in terms of relationships don't fall under any "label" either. 

It simply is, for me, a way of being.

Whether people think that certain aspects are D/s, M/s, "Vanilla", Femdom, FLR.  It doesn't ultimately matter.  Everyone will have differing beliefs and opinions as to what comes under what label anyway.  Everyone will have different definitions, everyone will have a different angle, a different approach. And that is ok . . .but it also means that labels themselves lose their value and their validity.

What fits under a label for one, will not for another.  So in that way, labels cannot really help.

Yes of course, they can have some positives in terms of helping to explain, to give some "idea", to help others understand.

But, labels can define us.  Labels can hinder us and limit us. But more so, we can find that we change to fit under certain labels, because others think that is how it should be.

It isn't. 

We just need to be true to ourselves.  Be happy with our way of being.  It doesn't need to be defined, or limited, or hindered.  Quite simply, it does not need to even be labelled.

So, let's just be.  Let's lose the labels!

The first time . . .

I could sense the anticipation that was building up within your body, I could see the fear within your eyes even though you were looking away from me. 

Your body trembled, we weren't even close, our skin even barely touching.  I lean forward over you, leaning close into your ear as I whisper gently into it.

"You ready?" I asked.

You nod your head slowly.  

"I asked if you are ready"

"I . . .I think so . . ." you said in a broken whisper and I could tell that your mouth was dry.  That the fear you were feeling was preventing you from talking.

"Tell me. Tell me that you are ready. Tell me what you want.  Tell me what you need"  I urge you, wanting to hear the words from your mouth. Wanting to hear you plead and beg, and ask for what you wanted.

"I need. . . I want . . .I oh god, I need . . .need to be . . ."

"What do you need? You need to be what?" I asked gently, encouraging you to speak, to open up.  I know that making you say it out loud will only add to the humiliation that you're feeling right now.  That you are ashamed of wanting what you want . . .what you need . . .even more so admitting it.

"I want . . .and oh god I want to be fucked.  I need to be fucked."  you speak in the gentlest of whispers.

"How much do you need it? Tell me how much you want it."

"Please. Please I want it so badly.  I need it so much."

You are almost begging now through your words, the sense of urgency screaming from the gentlest of whispers.  The tone clearly showing me the pleading from within and clearly showing the need that you have.  But yet, you also know that in begging, it sparks off the beast within me. It makes me want to hurt you.

But right now, your body is trembling as I touch you, as I run my hands over your back.  You are naked. On all fours before me.  Your arms shifting occasionally as they are shaking and struggling to keep you in that position.

"Please. Please fuck me. I. Want. It. So. Badly.  I need. It. So. Much."

You have turned your head to look at me, so that you can show me the meaning behind your pleadings.  I look into the depths of your eye as a tear forms in the corner of your eye.

"Are you sure it is what you want?"

I know that you are begging, pleading, desiring it so much. But I need to be sure.  I need to know that it is truly want you want. Even though you say it is, I give you one last chance to change your mind.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes. I want it so much. I need it so much.  Please? Please . . . " 

I stand away from you.

Watching the emotions seeping through your body.  The arousal of your cock betraying the desire that you have despite the fear in your eyes. 

And I turn and nod.

And he is stood behind you.

And he is pushing his cock into the entrance of your ass.

"Oh. My."


"Do you want to stop?" I ask, making sure that this is really what you want.

"No. God no. Don't stop.  I can feel it in me. . . .oh god . . .I can feel it going in me."

He starts to push his cock into your ass. You are gasping and sighing. Pleading and begging. Breathing and whimpering.  I am stood there watching him fucking you. 

"It's so big. Oh God. I need this so badly.  Please Sir, fuck me hard!"

And as I look at you pushing yourself back onto him. I look up at him and nod. Giving him the ok to do just what you asked for.

"Ok.  Fuck him.  Fuck him hard!"

And as I look down at you lost to the moment, that is exactly what he did.

You've gotta go sometime

"And I am not frightened of dying. Any time will do, I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it. You've gotta go sometime."  Great Gig in the Sky. Pink Floyd

 

I have just realised that this is the first time within my blog that I have mentioned anything even remotely music related.

I have a love of music, in the same way I have of words, of poetry.  There are just some pieces that are incredible.  The images that they create do not need words, they do not need explanations.

And this piece of music came to me today . . .mainly because the lyrics came to me today.  It is one of my favourites . . . and it is HERE  and although there are different versions, I particularly loved the one that featured on the Pulse Album from 1994. 

It is incredibly haunting.

Beautiful. 

It doesn't need words.  It just *is*But one that I love.  It is one to listen to, relaxing in a darkened room, maybe by candlelight . . .it brings memories.

Bittersweet memories.  Of a time that was, but one that will not be again.  Wow, today has been a day of reflection. Of memories.  Of things that have been, maybe it is because I have been reflecting . . .reflecting on the things in my present, and the thoughts I have been having regarding the future.

Reminders . . .

"When someone is truly in your heart, they are never truly gone. They can come back to you even at unlikely times" 

For One More Day, Mitch Albom


It seems an age ago that I lost you.  And even back then, I missed you more than you know.

I still do. 

When someone is in your heart, they are never truly gone. 

Somedays, I wish you were.

I wish you were gone.

I wish the memories and feelings and all that was, was gone.  I know that what was, will never be again.  And although the memories come back, goddamit I don't want them back anymore.  I don't want anything anymore!!!

They came back.

The memories. Not all of them good. But I know that you won't.

Time may take away the harsh edges of the memories. It takes away the hurtfulness of the words that you spoke.  It takes away the ugliness of what you were capable of; of what you did.  Thankfully time and distance smoothes the edges. 

But I wish time would wash them all away, like the sea washing over the sand, smoothing it over leaving no traces of anyone that has been there before it.  I want that sea to wash over me, my heart, the debris that you left in the wake of your storm.

But even though it was hard.  Even though the final "goodbye" was something that I had to do.  It is still difficult.  It is still hard.

Goodbyes are never easy. Even when you know that they are the right thing to be doing.

You played a big part in my life, and even though some of that was so toxic, I know that was because of what infected you, and not "you".  It was so rare though, that the "you" was something witnessed.  I know that I was priviledged to see "you". I know so few have.

I miss "you", the real you. The you that you enabled me to see. To know. To care for. To love. 

That distance that has been there since we started the separate paths has never felt so great.  I find myself wondering how you are. How things are. Whether you continue to get the help that you need. Whether you are still in the same place that makes you push everyone away, especially those that care.  But always me.  It has always been me that you have pushed away. 

I would be lying if I said that it didn't hurt. 

It does. 

I don't miss the brutal and ugly words that at times so easily fell from your mouth.  I don't miss the way that you felt it ok to treat people as you did.  But I do miss you. 

And I thought of you today. 

The thought of you and the feelings that came, starting in the depths of my heart, in the pit of my stomach and I felt it rising to my eyes.  I couldn't fight it anymore, fighting the tears that I have fought back for you for so long.

I hate to cry. I mean REALLY hate it. 

And I wanted to scream at you. Why? Why did you? Why did you do it?

Why . . . .?

I tried so hard to do what I could. What I thought that you wanted and needed at that time.  I tried so hard not to be worried or angry, or hurt by your actions.

I was all of those things.

And although I still am, the passing of time takes away the harshness of it all.  And yet, even now, you find a way in. Find a way to bring those feelings back to the surface with their full force.

Your words resonate in my mind.  My heart carries the scars that you inflicted upon it.

It didn't make sense. 

You didn't make sense. There was no real reason. There was no explanation.  You were selfish.

You always were.

You could be so strong at times, but so damned weak and cowardly on others. 

And as I thought of you today, I felt so much anger at you.  A burning intense anger that made me want to scream!!!!

Angry that you've made me feel this way. That even after this passing of time, that even from a distance, the tears finally came about you. 

And who would have thought that they would come now?

After all this time?

After all that you put me through.

They come now.  What the hell is that all about?

Fuck you!

Paint a picture . . .

My breath is warm against your body. Your skin is tingling.  It is like watching a rose unfurl, unfolding and opening as you offer your body to me.

Your body is waiting. It is willing to be used. 

You are a blank canvas before me, the palest of palette without definition.

Without colour.

The first strokes against your skin bring delicate shades of purple and blue . . .later the patterns and textures are cultivated upon the same skin.

They mingle together, developing layer by layer, a hue of shades and colours.

Your body is like a beautifully created art work. 

Your incandescent skin is a spectrum of colours that build and changes before my eyes, the patterns and marks growing into a resplendent picture upon your skin.

Your body is illuminated. Your skin is alive.

It is exquisite.

You are  beautiful.

Is it really vanilla?

"Many vanilla people are surprised to learn that S/M includes erotic spanks, scratches, and bites, which are amazingly common forms of erotic expression. They are also surprised to find out that S/M practitioners can fall in love, and that they enjoy conventional sex acts such as oral sex and intercourse."
Laura Goodwin

I don't know what it is, but it never fails to surprise me the amount of people who can be surprised at the thought that those of us into "this" lifestyle would have any interest in "conventional" sex acts, that we would do something that many would consider "vanilla", or for that matter, that we would actually have some emotional involvement and "fall in love". 

Why wouldn't we?

What is it about being into this lifestyle that precludes us from any of these things? 

There isn't.

For me, it isn't about the act itself that makes one particularly dominant or submissive. It isn't so much about the act which makes it particularly "vanilla" or otherwise.  For me, it is about the way it is done. The way it happens. The way it is controlled.

Some time ago, I wrote an entry titled "You can't be a real Domme" which I wrote in response to a comment left by a submissive male who suggested that I was not, nor could not be a "real" Domme, because I had expressed my enjoyment of sucking cock! 

Within that entry I wrote about how it isn't the act for me which is either dominant or submissive, but how it is controlled.  And it is the same for me in what people consider "conventional". 

I don't think that certain acts are limited to either a "vanilla" or "non-vanilla" relationship.  But then, just as I am not one for labelling people, I am not one who tries to label the relationships either, mine are quite simply for me, female led.  Bottom line.

It doesn't mean that because my relationships are female led that it means it can only include certain acts.  It doesn't mean that because I make the rules, that I make the decisions or that I am in control that I cannot suck cock, or that I cannot have conventional sex, or that I cannot fall in love or "feel"

I don't think that certain acts are only "vanilla" and I do not think that those that many would consider "vanilla" acts cannot feature within a dynamic which involves Domination and submission or even S&M either.

Of course they can. 

It still isn't so much about the act, it is about how it is done, how it works for the people involved.  There will be things that don't feature in either type of relationship, it is all about personal choice.  Doing what is right, what is wanted and not doing the things that we do not want to do.

I am a sadist. 

I have a love of hurting people. It gives me pleasure.  I like to do it.  But just because I like to hurt someone, doesn't mean that because I am not "vanilla", that I am not capable of feeling. That I am not capable of emotions and that I have not or do not want to "fall in love".  For me, it is an expression of feeling, of love.  I have no desire to hurt just anyone.

So why just because I am an "S&M practictioner", does it mean that I do not, or should not do the things that feature in most peoples "normal" (using that word very loosely) relationship?

It doesn't.

Even what I would class as my most "vanilla" of relationships have still involved many aspects of kink, even fetish. They have still involved many things that many would consider S&M.  But they have also involved a lot of "conventional" things too. 

And this is one of the reasons why I do not attempt to "label" my relationships, just as I do not try to label myself or what I am.  Yes it can help for us to have some sort of understanding.  But, they can also be so limiting.

I do not like to be limited and I won't be limited by labels nor by what I choose to do.  I won't be limited by people saying that certain things are "vanilla" and therefore I shouldn't be doing them. 

If I want to do something, I will.

If someone has a problem with that, it really is THEIR problem.

Not mine.

I think some people do have a hard job to understand how certain things that we choose to do can be an erotic expression. I think some find it hard to understand how hurting someone can be an expression of love or that it carries any emotion or feeling at all.  It is more to do with ignorance and a lack of understanding than anything else.

But, being in this lifestyle doesn't stop us doing certain things that everyone else does . . .it doesn't mean that we don't involve the "conventional" and it doesn't mean that we do not feel or cannot fall in love.

We do.

We can.

If I want to suck cock. I will. 

If I want to fuck. I will.

Quite simply, I will do what I want, if I want to do it. When I want to do it and how I want to do it.  Nothing to me is purely "vanilla".  It isn't about the act, its about how its done. It's about the emotion behind it.

All very simple really.

Ruined

My tongue leaves a trail of dampness as it explores
you.  As it makes its way from your ear lobes and down
the side of your neck.  You flinch. I pause. If only for a
moment to whisper in your ear. Your skin tingles as the cool air
hits the dampness on your warming skin.  Your eyes remain
hidden behind a blanket of silk.  You shiver.  Shudder almost as
the tip of my tongue slowly moves down you.  Flicking over your 
chin, your neck, down to your naked chest.  I tease your
nipples, gently caressing them as they harden beneath the
administrations of my tongue. Before I suck. Before I bite. You
groan from within, moaning. Your breathing heavy as you
encourage through your exhales for me to continue.  I move further
down across your stomach, down your sides to your hip bone and you
shiver with the teasing that leaves you squirming, trying to
guide me to the place that you want me to be. Yet I tease you
purposefully. Circling around you, going anywhere but the place
that you long for my tongue to make contact with.  I move further
down, you move away, move toward me. I tease you purposefully.
Circling around, the tip of my tongue teasing, Your body rising
from the bed where you are restrained at wrists and ankles.  Your
body burning. Burning with need. Desire. My tongue is damp, warm,
moist against your skin. You long for it to touch you, to tease
your hardened sex.  The muscles tighten in your thighs, your toes curling. Every movement of your body is felt.  My nails carve into
your skin, leaving a reddening mark as they follow the trail of my
tongue. The feeling from the dampness of my tongue, against the
harshness of my nails confusing your mind, your body.  My
tongue is sucking and nibbling, swirling around over your skin;
over your body. Your back arching. Your muscles tense. Your
breathing deep and heavy as my tongue circles around the hardness
of your cock, the fullness of your balls.  My fingers teasing as they
find the entrance to your ass.  You are almost inviting me in, begging
me to take you in my mouth. To push my fingers in deeper.  And
just as I do, you start to cum. You are begging for me to touch
you, to help you on your way. Except I stop. Watching the
frustrations that scream through your body.  The lack of
stimulation. The lack of pleasure. It is ruined.

Ghosts from the past.

I have recently started using Facebook again.

It took me a long time to give in to actually having an account. Seeing all the drama that people talk about on other sites, it was one of the reasons that I decided to resist for as long as I did. 

However, something led me to the site.  A need to have to try to locate someone and it was for me a place to start.

FB is an odd place. 

I am now connected to people from all parts of my life,  including from my childhood.  There are people from my time at school, my time at University and in the later years too. 

There are some people who are quite clearly "scene", which has raised questions in the past from others on my list. But, no-one has really been brave enough to come out and directly ask. 

I do not divulge. But nothing would stop me from doing so.  

Most of the people I grew up with I rarely speak to on FB.  It is like they are there because we were once featured in that part of life, and for the main, that is where they remain.  There is the novelty of having a way to connect with people, but there's never an expectation that you have to, or indeed that you should.

In all honesty, that suits me fine.  I've changed a lot since then.  . . .

But the other night, someone made contact with me.  I haven't spoken to them in a long time and we are talking years here. Maybe even a decade or more. She was confused about a comment on my wall, that someone else had left and approached me about it. So, I clarified, we exchanged a brief update on life, loves and losses.  It seems that is something we both definitely share a lot of.

And just as we were saying our goodbyes, she let me know that M . . .someone that both she and I had known had committed suicide some time ago.

I hadn't known.  Not that there was any way or reason for me to have known.

But there are many things that I feel in regard to this . . .and to him.  I'm not going into these reasons now, but M has a part of my history.

I feel a sadness for him.

To know that the person that he was, has completely gone and that before his death he had become an isolated, yet hardened, even violent man.  She explained how an addiction to drugs had taken hold, how "just one", turned into something that controlled him and not the other way round.

I hadn't known.

The time we shared was a painful one.  There were wounds that took a long time to heal.  But despite all of that, I would never have wanted him to be in that place in the end, with no alternative or no where to turn.

I wonder often what happens.  How people grow into the places that they are. . . .where or if things could have been changed or shifted and for life to take on a different direction.

With M. There is nothing to shift.

It is something I will never know.

 

 

 

 

My Response IV ~ profile writer!

Dear will_you_write_my_profile

You didn't know that your own profile was blank?

Then you try to claim that you "attempted to fill it in ages ago" but that it didn't work.

Then you ask if I will help you do it now?

Will I?

Umm . . .in one word.

NO!

I will not write your profile!

Why would I?

I don't know you or anything about you!

And why would I then be interested in getting to know you further, if I've even had to write your profile?  Hmmmm . . . It really doesn't bode well for the future, if you can't even put a little effort in now.

Actually, wait a minute.

I will write it for you . . . .


"A right lazy cunt who cannot even be bothered to write a profile "


Would that do?

Marked as Mine

His eyes fall upon the marks that adorn his body. 

The deep scratches which have drawn blood upon his shoulders and back.  The red marks which are gradually turning purple and black upon the cheeks of his ass, the shape of the handmade solid oak paddle clearly visible as an outline, the bruising colouring it in like a child would colour a picture. 

The welts form a neat pattern of criss-cross from the cane that had made contact with his skin only a moment before.  Nipples raised, red and sore.  The word "MINE" scratched into the skin across his chest. 

He looks as if he wants to say something, but cannot find the words to express what he is thinking or feeling at that moment.  I watch him, without word, drinking in his reaction, the way he looks.

I stand behind him as he continues to look at his reflection in the mirror and at the marks that make his body look so beautifully abused.  He slowly turns each way, trying to see the marks that are over his beautiful body.

And I drink in the way that he looks, the marks upon his body, the look upon his face, and as his eyes raise to meet my own, I can see and feel the depth of feeling from his eyes that need no words.

"I am marked" he whispers almost in surprise.

I simply look at him in the mirror and nod.

"I carry your mark." he smiles and his eyes light up as these words leave with such an enormity of feeling from his lips.  I look at him for what seems like an age, but is a few moments in reality. 

I smile.

My eyes not moving from his own.

"You are. Because you are mine!"

I wanted

I wanted a man to spend the day.

To take his time. To tell me stories from in between my thighs. To lay on top of me for what felt like - or what was - hours, and kiss me.

(Kiss me everywhere. Kiss me softly. Kiss me madly. Kiss me til I was mad. Kiss me until our lips hurt. And then kiss me some more. And then still more.)

I wanted a man to forget that he had anywhere else to be. To fall asleep wrapped around me. To wake up inside me.

To wonder idly where the sun had gone.

anon