29 June 2013

Taking the mind

^^^ this says it all.

It is a wonderful thing to crawl into someone's mind.

To sit there. To fill their thoughts, to take them one by one. . . .

Taking your thoughts. Taking your mind. Taking you.

28 June 2013

Missing the sunrise

It seems a lifetime ago that I was waking up in the mornings, walking the dogs over the deserted dunes watching the sun rise up over them, walking for miles before the town awoke, only the dogs, the birds and the wild rabbits out for their early mornings before being disturbed by the campers, day trippers and holidaymakers.  It is hard to believe that it is only four weeks ago.

Life continues to be busy, hectic. Stressful. Finding the time to do what I enjoy doing, has been difficult.  And even having taken several months away from writing, from doing lots of things, getting back into it hasn't been as easy either.

And as you will know from some of my previous blogs, I have a thing for sunsets (I've posted lots of my own pictures) such as these

but, I also like watching the sunrise too . . .and so . . .here is the one from the early morning dog walk, over the deserted dunes as the sun is just starting to come up.

I love it when it is like this, the first bit of warmth as it hits your skin, opposite to the last bit of warmth that you get from the sun going down.  Sunsets, sunrises can be quite breathtakingly beautiful and while I am looking forward to the ones we shall see in Turkey later this summer, it is always nice when they are closer to home.

We were blessed with some nice weather, which in May for the UK is quite unusual, especially as most of the country was drowning under yet more rain, we were blessed with sun.  Yes it was windy, but there is something quite lovely about watching the sea crashing over the rocks when its more of a stormy day, watching as the spray goes high up into the air and floating off into the breeze.

And I would give anything to be back there right now, walking while the sun rises, down on the beach as the sunsets.  Peaceful. Relaxed. Away from the daily grind and the things which drag us into things that need to be sorted but which are so continually draining.

Still . . .6 weeks and we shall be on the plane.  Going back to one of my favourite places, warmth, a beautiful beach, and beautiful sunsets.  While I won't be seeing many sunrises, or walking the dogs over the dunes, I am sure there will be some chance for some peaceful moments. Surrounded by the mountains, the sea, the beach.  Sometimes you just have to take a step back from the life we are in, back to the basics and what is around us.

Taking time to smell the roses.  I need to do it more often, as I know all too well, life is too short. 

Oh my! Shoe porn

Oh my.

I am in LOVE with these shoes.

I've got a real "thing" for shoes at the moment, and have come across some wonderful photos via tumblr of shoes I'm just falling in love with.  

 Perhaps I'm developing a delayed shoe fetish or discovering one that I never knew I had LOL

It maybe that during the past 10 months, due to my complete turn around in my "healthy lifestyle" I've now dropped 2 shoe sizes, which also means, these should now fit!!!

I think that these deserve a place in my wardrobe . . . .

21 June 2013

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

I saw this, and loved it.  Both the image and the words.  I wanted to place it here, for they are both beautiful

19 June 2013


He waited patiently.  But then he would have waited forever.
For her.
For whatever she had planned. For whatever she had in mind.
For whatever was his fate.

He would dare not move.  Or raise his eyes.  The sound of her footsteps echoing loudly as she descended the stairs precisely.  He counted the exact seconds she stood on each stair before stepping down the next.  He knew exactly how many more stairs there were to go before she would stand in front of him.

The sight of her feet being the first thing that came into his view and the tip of the crop that she held languidly in her hand, yet knowing her grip on it would change all too quickly.

He had openly presented himself.
For her.
For whatever she had planned. For whatever she had in mind.
For whatever was his fate.

He breathed in deeply, her scent filling his nose, drawing comfort from her close proximity to him and her aroma.  Regardless of what was to come his way he drew comfort in her presence.  Revelling in her attention, that she had yet to bestow on him.  Yet savouring every moment he was in her presence.  He was obediently waiting for his Owner, his lover, his everything.

And he, Her cherished pet.  Her toy. Her boy.
Her everything.

His waiting was over.


It lies in all of us.
Sleeping, waiting and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir.
Open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us.
Passion rules us all and we obey.
What other choice do we have?
Passion is the source of our finest moments.
The joy of love,the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief.
It hurts sometimes more than we can bear.
If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace but,
we would be hollow.
Empty rooms shuttered and dank.
Without passion we’d be truly dead.

Joss Whedon

*I* LOVE this.

18 June 2013


She placed them into his briefcase when he wasn't looking, knowing that the next time he would open it, that he would find them.  There was no way of knowing who would be there with him when he did, whether he would be alone . . .or not.  Whether it would be in the office or on the train.

Except, she didn't care. She didn't care who would see, or how he would feel.  She loved the thought of his cheeks burning with humiliation when he opened his briefcase to find them lying there.  She knew what thoughts would pass through his mind, the feelings that would course at speed through his body.  She knew the flash of desire, longing and needing that would reflect in his darkened eyes. 

He walked into the office, greeting his colleagues as he did so, placing the briefcase onto his desk, he opened it while talking to his PA.  As he talked to her, he reached into his brief case to grab the file they were discussing, except his hands found a soft silk.  He felt his cheeks begin to burn as his as he ran his fingers gently over the material.

His eyes began to darken, his body began to react, just as she had known that it would.  He shoved the panties into his pocket and excused himself briefly from the room.  Now that he was alone, he pulled out the silk, her panties. Raising it up to his nose.  He could smell her.  Her scent was there, strong, fragrant yet delectably and undeniably her.

He inhaled deeply, smelling her it made him groan out loud as his hand found its way to his hardening cock.  Her panties, not even her, had an effect on him.  He bunched them up in his hand, drawing in every part of her, before placing them back into his pocket.

He didn't even return to the office, instead calling his PA on his phone as he hastily made his way back to the car.  He knew she would be at home, waiting. And as he smiled at the thought of her, he knew that the spell she had cast on him lured him back.

May not be easy . . .BUT

IT may not be easy, turning the pages - taking the step.  

I know that in what I wrote HERE  that it may have come across in my words that I didn't want to turn the pages, that I was happy to stay where I was . . .where I am.  That I am not willing, wanting, or desiring to take a step.

I didn't mean that at all. 

I know that I want to turn the pages, change the shoes, the story to create and unfurl, for things to be different.  To take that step and many beyond it.   In the words of Martin Luther King "You don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step."

It doesn't mean it isn't a big step - it is!  But knowing it is a big step doesn't mean that I do not want to take it.

I do.

And that I am very sure about.

17 June 2013


"There's no such thing as nothing. In every nothing there is a something. In fact there could be everything" Libba Bray - Going Bovine

Nothing IS something, after all. 

Even if we are "nothing" we are still something.

Poor, cheap and bad philosophy maybe and yet maybe there's a grain of truth to it. You'll probably dismiss it and insist, "No, I am nothing." And yet there you sit, in front of the computer, existing.

I mean in a world where things that don't exist actually DO exist by virtue of thinking of can we, you, I or anyone deny the existence of such a truly physical object? (Sorry to call you an object, but you know (hopefully!) what I mean...)

And yet, even if "nothing" does exist by such a definition, it isn't what I want.  Nothing isn't enough, it isn't what I want. I want so much more. More of everything.

And yet, at times, like now for example, it seems as if nothing could be exactly what will be, how it will be and yet I hope that in this nothing, there could be everything.

It isn't as easy as it seems . . .

A couple of days ago, I wrote about turning the pages, of how you get to a point when you realise that you're stuck on the same page and have been for a long time.

You get the feeling that you want to turn the page to get to a new bit of the story - to create a new part of the story.

And then there is the conflict - the part of you that wants to rush through the new chapters to see what unfurls.  Not in a rush to reach "the end" because, that's not really a place that you want to rush to ya know?

I mean, you don't want to get to the end, but you do want to turn the pages, for the chapters to happen,  and you want it to happen now, and it isn't happening fast enough or how you want to, and its frustrating - as if the pages are a little stuck together . . .

But while on one hand you want those chapters to fly through, to play out at full speed, the other hand is scared to even look at the title on the next page, scared of reading the first sentence.  Fearful of what it may bring and all of a sudden, the page that you were on, didn't seem so bad at all.

In fact, it felt like home. It felt safe and comfortable and a pretty alright place to be.

And maybe, just maybe, it is better to stay there.

Better to stay in the place which you know, the comfort, the safety of where you were.  Knowing the equilibrium, knowing the balance, knowing of what there was, and what there is.  Not having to step outside of that zone of comfort, not stepping into the new, or the unknown. 

It is a bit like being in a pair of your favourite old boots, knowing that they fit, knowing that they won't pinch or hurt, that you can walk safely in them, that you won't fall on your ass on a slippy path, that they won't let you down because they just "fit".

And yet, turning that new page is like putting on a new pair of heels.

Shoes not yet broken in, shoes which are new, which make you teeter when you walk, that you walk out with trepidation and an uncertainty because you aren't quite sure of your step, just in case you slip over and take a hard fall.  Just in case you hit the ground. Just in case it's all going to go wrong. Or fail. Or hurt.

And taking off those faithful boots isn't easy.

Putting on the new shoes is even harder, because, I mean, it's a risk. Putting them on, in case they hurt, in case you slip, in case you fall - it's a risk ya know.  And it isn't as easy as it seems changing shoes.  It isn't easy taking off the old pair of boots, just as it isn't easy to turn the pages for the new chapters. 

But there is something, just something that makes you wonder, makes you question whether you're ready for a new pair of shoes, whether you're ready for a new chapter, even if you know deep down that you are.  No matter how confident you maybe in yourself, it is a step. A big step.

Taking that step - regardless of how much you want to, need to, desire to or long to!

It isn't as easy as it seems.

16 June 2013


I don't  want to touch you with gentle hands
Or talk to your with a soft gentle voice.
I don't want to look at you with softness or love.
I want you to see my darkness. To pull you into
the dark and depraved. I want you to feel the desires
that engulf me, overwhelm me, that fills my veins.
The ones that exist in the darkest corners of my psyche.
I want to strip you bare. Taking down the walls that keep you safe.
I want you to feel what I do; as I do. Battling against a
darkness and desire that takes you down to the lowest of places.
I want to rape your body, to rape your mind.
To hurt your heart with cruel words that squeeze it
with their harshness. I want my hands to tear at your your body,
raking nails over the softness of your naked flesh.
Taking you, hurting you, marking you right through to
the depths of you, through to your soul.
I want you to feel the beast that lives inside of me, to see it,
feel it, crave it. Love it. To open the door of its cage,
to set it free, so that it can be unleashed upon you.
You opening the door to be a willing victim. A victim,
to be taken, broken. And yet still beg for more.

15 June 2013

Broken Dream

Your text in the early hours of the morning woke me. 

Woke me from a wonderful and deliciously wicked dream that when I looked at your words, my body was already tingling, was already throbbing, desiring, longing, craving.

I almost had to stop for a moment to check that it had in fact been a dream, the arousal of my body, the way that I was feeling was so real, so deeply felt, that it was hard to believe that that arousal could come from a dream.

And I couldn't help but drift back to the images that had been within my dream only moments before . . .as hands touch, as fingers make their way into the warmth and wetness that the dream created.  I find myself in that moment. Hot. Wet. Aroused.

But I want to go back to that dream.
To you.
To us.


What is it that entices me? That draws me in? That pulls me in like metal to a magnet? The look of his eyes, the way that he smiles? The intoxicating heady aroma that fills my nose when I breathe in deeply.  There's a pull, a draw, an allure that captivates me.

It awakens the beast. He awakens the beast,  awakens the darker need in me.  I long to see his beautiful face stained with tears. I long to see the smile upon his face disappear with the gasps, cries and screams. I long to feed my fingers through his hair pulling him closer, the force pulling his hair and his scalp towards me.  The beast taking its skin, mauling his flesh, leaving red nail marks as they claw at his nakedness.  The desire for him to be on his knees, face pressed tight to my cunt as his tongue ravishes, devouring my aching flesh, releasing the built up passion from my body to his mouth.

I can feel his devotion, his love, his passion as my body tightens with the need.

He entices me. Draws me in.

Awakens me.

14 June 2013


A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.

Ingrid Bergman

I silence your words with my mouth. 

Kissing you deeply, biting your lips until I can feel your body begin to recoil with the pain. The sharp intake of breath willing me to kiss you harder, urging me to hurt you more, pushing me on, pushing you deeper.

The back of my hand impulsively comes across your face, knocking you back and I watch as the depths of your brown eyes began to glaze over, as you fall deeper and deeper in the dark space that you go to, where nothing else takes you.

I love to watch you as you process the sting from my hand, the pain across your cheek, your lips still stinging from the lingering kiss.  The confusion on your face of the lascivious combination of pain immersed under waves of pleasure, drowning in its depths.  My hands weaving through your hair, as I pull your head back exposing your neck, as I lean in to kiss you. Bite you. Each time you gasp it urges me to only to do it more, to do it harder.  It unleashes the beast inside as I want to hurt you more, to hear you gasp, to moan, to cry.

You attempt to touch me, to bring me closer, I know that you long to feel me closer, to bring me nearer and as I feel your arms pulling at their restraints I move back simply to frustrate you, reminding you that I am where I am, doing what I am, because I want to, for what I need. Not because you want me to be, or not for what you need.  A moan of frustration leaves your mouth at the same time that the back of my hand once more makes contact with your reddened cheek.

The impact of my hand across your face echoes around the silent room, your face reddening from the mark of my hand, the sensations of warmth and stinging coursing through my own body as you recover from the unsuspecting slap.  Your breathing deepens, your eyes darkening, greying like a sky when the moon eclipses the sun.  Your eyes glaze further still, shining like burnished metal, your body begins to sag and strain against the ropes around your wrists as you feel yourself descending into the pain and yet, the resistance of the rope forces you back up, forcing you to stay in a position that doesn't burn your wrists and yet your whole body is commanding you forward.

Your mind cannot process the predicament in which it finds itself, your exquisite eyes convey the bewilderment turmoil  that your mind finds itself within.  They display the longing, the hunger, the urgency, the desire, the passion and the beauty of your submissive depths.

Your eyes beseech, pleading before even a simple pleading can escape from your bitten lips.

I pull you closer, as close as your body will allow, your whole body straining against the ropes that bind you.  I silence your mouth once more with my own, covering your nose with my hand as I kiss you deeply, stealing your breath, taking everything from you.

Taking all that is yours.  Taking all that is mine. 

You are silenced.


"I close my eyes, inhale, and feel a rush of heat and energy that takes my breath away. It is the feeling of wanting something so much that it borders on an actual need, and the power and urgency of this need overwhelms me.”

… Emily Griffin, Love the One You’re With

And it is. And it does.

13 June 2013

Silent Movie

I am sat next to him on the sofa, his legs outstretched they seem to go on forever.

I imagine them naked, my tongue working up the inside of his thigh, working its way gently until I reach his cock that I can see outlined beneath the material of his trousers.

My mind drifts from his legs to wondering how far down my throat his cock would reach, I am sure that it would fill me going on the bulge within his trousers.  As my eyes wander upwards, I see his eyes watching me appraise his body.  I look at him, feel my cheeks redden a little as if he can see the images that rush through my mind. 

Our gaze doesn't break, not even when you come into the room with the drink that I had asked you to fetch for us.  You stand there watching me, watching him, and I don't need to look at you to know what you're feeling or thinking.  I can sense the daggers flying from you to him, the rising jealousy coming from the pit of your stomach.  I know that you are hating him right now. Loving this right now. Knowing those feelings grow within you, make the feelings grow within me even more.  They go straight to the pit of my stomach, a flurry of excitement and deep arousal gushing through my veins, while your own body is engulfed in jealousy at the closeness of him and I.

You hold out the drinks and I am forced to break my gaze.  I stare at you, raising my eyebrows slightly.  You lower your eyes and blush and know what you have done and yet, you couldn't seem to help yourself.  You also know that I will deal with that interruption later.

You kneel down by my leg and I feel the grip that you take getting tighter by the moment, trying to draw reassurance.  I do not respond or acknowledge, instead choosing to ignore your tightening hold, as if you're afraid to let go for fear of forever losing all that you have.  You continue to watch me and him.

I lean across the sofa, leaning in to whisper into his ear "He's all yours" 

I remove my leg from your grip and stand to walk away.  From the floor you look at me, your eyes beseeching, searching for an answer, waiting for me to tell you to follow.

I don't.

You look bewildered, scared, dismayed that I am leaving you there.  You not being aware of my plans for you. 

Instead I walk out of the room, leaving you with him. Leaving the look of fear in your eyes, your reddening cheeks, your twitching cock.

I head to the garden with my drink, taking a seat on a chair that I know if I swivel around on I will be able to see you through the glazed doors. 

I sip my drink slowly, savouring the coldness of the liquid, thankful for the chance to moisten my mouth that was so dry from anticipation, from knowing what was going to happen.  The feelings that your growing jealousy sparked within me, my beast is prowling.  The beast is aching to be released and let free. I resist turning round for a short time, but what feels like an age.  I want to watch your struggles.

I want to see you.

And him.

I turn around on my chair, just in time to see you take his huge cock in your mouth.  His hands pulling you in closer by your hair, I see you gag and choke on the cock that is forcing its way into your mouth, the same cock I had only moments before, been envisaging down my own throat.

As my own arousal builds, I close my thighs tighter to revel in my own feelings, the ones that seeing you with him have created.  The ones that have gone straight to my cunt.

And I watch him.  Fucking your mouth. Complete disregard for the fact that you are choking and coughing and gagging on him every time he forces his cock deeper and deeper into your throat.  And I am watching him take you.  And I can see the tears forming at your eyes from where he is taking you.

You are Gagging. Choking. Taking him in deep, all of him.

It is like watching a most beautiful silent movie.  His hands tearing at your hair, forcing you onto him.  Forcing himself deeper in to you.  His own arousal as he approaches and releases his own orgasm.  A scene played out from start to finish.  A most beautiful scene.

I see him lean into you, whisper something in your ear, while making himself decent.  He turned, looked at me through the window, a nod. A smile. And he leaves.

I go back into the room you are still on the floor where I left you.  Where he left you.

Exhausted. Drained. Spent. 

I kiss you gently on the forehead and wait for you to come back to me, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Holding you close as you collapse into me, your arms gripping tightly around my legs as I stroke your head.

You smile.

I know that we will do this again.

Turning the page.

There comes a day when you realise turning the page is the best feeling in the world, because you realise there is so much more to the book than the page you were stuck on.

Zayn Malik.

Pages have not turned in my book for so long.

Not just in the ones that I write myself, but the book of "life".

The covers have for some time, been firmly closed, there hasn't been a particular desire to re-open them.  I haven't wanted to.  I haven't.

But the quote is right.

There does come that day. There does come that point when you realise that you are stuck on a page. Stuck in a place where you no longer want to be stuck in.  My day has come.

I don't want to be stuck.  

I don't want to be stuck on this particular page anymore. I want to create new pages. New chapters. A new story. A new book.

A new life.  

It is time to open the covers . . .