16 July 2015

Passing by in a blur

It passes by in a blur.

Life that is.

It has this habit of digging its feet into the mud and kicking up lots of crap that puts up a screen, it makes you lose focus, it stops you doing the things you want to do and the things that you have to do or must do take over.  

You lose sight, often of things which are still important as the other things take over.  You put on a back burner things that were once bubbling nicely.  You have to put on hold things that you really didn't want to.

Not because you want to.  But because you have no choice.

It has been like that for me this year.  Not just the past month or two, but the whole year.  The chance, the time, the motivation and the inspiration to write, has been missing.  The chance for many things has been missing.

Life is what happens. 

And of course it does. It has to.

But something has to give.  Yes, of course, you must prioritise and take care of things that must be taken care of.  The necessary things.  You have to fight through the things that you have to battle through. 

But something will happen that will make you STOP! and realise that things have to change, and that to enable that to happen, you have to make those changes.

That other things are important too.

That there are other important things that are needed in life, aside from the important, aside from those battles.  To ensure that those things that have just been on simmer can be brought back to the boil, so that there is time not only to do the things that you want to, but to enjoy them too.

Some things you just cannot prepare for.  Some things you just can't stop happening.  But, something has to give.

The past months have been filled with levels of stress that I've not had or known for a long while.  the insomnia is at its worst for as long as I can remember.

 But, with all this going in, it also brings home the void that is there, the void which I want but more so NEED to fill. It brings to the forefront what is missing, it shows you that life is passing by in one big blur. And it shouldn't.

While it is all under control (it has to be with me!) the time is coming when changes are being made.

Big changes.  Life changing changes.  

*I* am making those changes. I am taking control of those changes and what is happening to make it happen.

I took a moment to stop and smell the roses. 

An enforced time out which gave me time to do nothing but think. 

And that short time, of nothing more than a few hours gave a moment of clarity that hasn't been able to be there for so many months.

It was a wake up call for me that made me realise that I have to make some changes, not least to sort out the stress levels, but to fill that void, to make changes to life in a positive way.

It is no good just to "live".  I need to be "alive", I need to feel alive.  I need to LIVE.

Life is passing by in a blur.

I want to see life passing and enjoy it passing. I don't want to get to a point and wake up and see that I've missed the whole journey.  I don't want to get to a point and realised that I should have been sharing that journey.

It's time to make changes.

15 July 2015

Perfect was gone.


Standing there you looked perfect.  Too perfect for words.   

There was something about the way that you stood, the way that you were dressed, the suit, the tie, something that said perfection. 

My perfection.

I wanted to corrupt that perfection.

I wanted to corrupt you.

You watched the seductive play of my eyes, trying to read the thoughts racing through my mind that came a reality from the smile that crept slowly over my lips. 

You knew.

You knew damn well what I wanted. 

What I needed. What I was going to take. You knew that I’d play by my own wants. My own needs.   

You knew it.

You’d always known it. 

My eyes focussed on you, my eyes drawn to the tensed muscles in your neck, and I wanted my mouth upon you, tasting you, biting you, running my tongue along where the crispness of your starched cotton shirt met the gentle warmth of your skin. 
Too perfect for words.

As lips teased the warmth of your neck my hand reaching to your tie. You wanted it knotted perfectly in place.

I wanted it gone. 
Hands moving over the coolness of the shirt, feeling the heat of your body underneath. You wanted your dress shirt perfect.

I wanted it gone.

As I raked teeth along the softness of your neck, your chin, lips gently touching yours, touching exposed flesh, wanting to devour you. 

Too perfect for words.  Too perfect.  

I wanted perfection gone.

I wanted to corrupt it.  I wanted to corrupt you.

Eyes shine with lust.  Tongues meet, whipping at each other.  No softness but strength and heat as teeth gnash as I take your mouth.  Hands working over your perfect dress shirt, removing it from its perfect tuck. 
You knew.

Perfect was gone.


"In normal life . .  .."  

Why do people think that I do something different in "normal life"?

I am as I am, who I am and what I am every day in my life.  I don't switch "me" on and off.  

This is me.  This is MY normal. 

I do not consider the needs that I have, the desires that exist within me, the kinks or the fetishes that I may have to be abnormal.  

I am NOT abnormal.  And neither is my life compartmentalised with some things being normal and other things not.  Life just is. 

I do not consider the D/s that I may follow, or the FLR to be not normal, it is, as it is. Part of normal life.  Part of MY life. Part of ME.

Yes, it maybe different to others, but why should it make what I do, what I have, what I want abnormal? 

It doesn't.  Not to me.

It is different compared to a lot of people, a lot of situations and a lot of relationships and that is OK. I absolutely accept that.  But what I don't accept is that "this", isn't normal life.

You see a lot of profiles on sites which says things along the lines of "in my normal life I enjoy  . . . ." and then lists activities and interests outside of D/s, but what makes that normal?

For me, all of the things that I do are normal.  Each part of my life is normal.  I do not consider that my FLRs or my D/s needs to be abnormal, they are all part of "life".  Normal life.

14 July 2015


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


Exactly this. Exactly.


19 January 2015

A missed opportunity

"I think we both missed out on a great opportunity here." Carrie, Four Weddings and a Funeral.

These words spoken by Andie MacDowell in the film having spent the night with Hugh Grant as she is leaving to go back to the US.  The realisation that something has potential, and yet bad timing, difficult circumstances prevents that potential from growing, from developing.  Of course in the film, they don't miss out completely as they do end up together.

But, it is those few words that echo in my thoughts right now, although it wasn't after spending a night, it wasn't after anything particular, but it's still something that recent events makes me think that yes, there's been a great opportunity missed out on here.

Something which could have been great, something with potential, something that could have been rather interesting and lovely.  But alas, that opportunity has been "thrown away", lost. Missed.

And I think we have. Both missed out that is.

And that is a real shame.

16 January 2015


If I cut you off, chances are, you handed me the scissors. - unknown

Nothing more to be said.

14 January 2015


I need.
To feel that closeness. That intimacy. The intimate moments that come from such simple moments. Moments of closeness.  There is nothing so precious as moments such as this, when there can be such a beautiful closeness.
I need.
That warmth. That bond. That connection. I need to feel the depths of his submission to my dominance.  To feel him, and letting him know from my touch how much he is cherished and in return, I can feel his obsession, his passion, his love.
I need.

Mouthful of forevers

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.
— Clementine von Radics, “Mouthful of Forever”

Just because.


13 January 2015


A gentle touching of lips.  A gloved hand tracing his chiselled jaw, cupping his face she looks at him, his lips, wanting to devour them, to devour him.
But despite her hunger for him, her mouth softly brushes his, a kiss so gentle it takes his breath away, stealing words from him that he had yet to find.
He pulls her in closer, tighter, urging her to take more from him. But in that moment, he realised she had already taken everything, that she had stolen so much more from him.
She had taken it bit by bit, she had taken him piece by piece, but in taking it, in stealing it, she had set him free. 
He realised he could not let her go, for she had him in her hands.
All of him.

12 January 2015

Don't . . .

Don't call me Miss
you do not have that right
You fucked that up
You truly lost that right.

Don't call me Yours,
That time has long since gone
You did what you did
And I have moved on.

Don't call me anything
Not even my name.
We are no more.
I do not play games.


It’s easy to take off your clothes and have sex. People do it all the time.

But opening up your soul to someone, letting them into your spirit, thoughts, fears, future, hopes, dreams… that is being naked.

— Rob Bell

I *love* this type of nakedness.  Peeling back the layers, delving into someone's mind, thoughts, heart.  Bringing them out of themselves, opening them up, revealing them to their very core.

I *love* the bare honest truth of what someone is, of WHO someone is.  Of all the things that make them "them".  It is easier to strip to be naked, than to peel those layers away, than to allow someone to do that.  To place yourself naked, bare, vulnerable at someone's bidding.  I *love* that vulnerability. I *love* that trust someone places as they open themselves up, trusting me with their words, their depths.

And it is special. And wonderful. And beautiful.

I will wait for walls to be taken down.
A voice that will call to the depths
With precision I pull away the layers
Offering trust, security, letting you know it's ok
to fall. That someone is there to catch.
That I am there to catch. And to hold
you as you lay naked, vulnerable and exposed.
There's a fear that you feel, a fight that you must fight.
But as I hold tight I will never give up
my hold. Holding you tight, reassuring you
that this is your place.©

11 January 2015


There is something incredibly hot watching him stroke himself. The strength in his hand, in his fingers wrapped around his hardness.

Watching the precise and deliberate strokes, teasing, torturing, tormenting as they take him to an edge that she denies him from falling over. Eyes glazed with a desire so lustful as he fixes his gaze upon her own lust filled eyes.  

Her own hands, mauling his flesh, scratching, pulling, twisting the skin of his thighs, his ass. The pain and teasing only heightening his desire further, he feels the pressure building within him like a volcano waiting to erupt.

Pre-cum drips from him, she knows that it will soon be hers, and indeed his again, but not until she is ready, not until she is ready to grant his body that release from his frustration. She loves to hear him whimper, she loves to hear him beg "please" as she makes his fist tighter around his cock, making him move harder, faster, more deliberate, more controlled.

She loves to hear his low growl of pleasure, of his arousal resonate in her ears.

She loves to watch him struggle to hold that moment, denying him for as long as she is able. She revels in the frustration in his face, the longing and salacious desire that burns in his eyes. Her own arousal deepening at the control that she has over his body, over his cock, over him.

She loves to see his face, his eyes filled with desire, with wanting, with love.  His body trembling with excitement, a sheen of sweat over him that enables her hands and fingers to glide easily over him, teasing him, stroking him, arousing him.

His movements grow with anticipation of that moment, and she loves to watch his salty seed spurt out of his body, over his hand, his groans and screams that escape his mouth in relief. 

And then she loves to give that seed back to him, forcing his fingers into his mouth one at a time as he recoils against the saltiness upon his lips, his mind which hasn't recovered enough to prevent this invasion in his mouth.

He sucks his own fingers, taking in every last drop. She loves to see him hungry for it.

For himself.

For her.

His skin

His skin is the parchment
upon which I write
secrets words
with my tongue -
stifled symphonies and
secret sonnets
as he moves only
to my rhythm.
Wrists are bound
by the chains
that bind him
to the easel,
and to me.

Fingers tighten around
his neck, as
he struggles
to breathe against
the confines of
the tightness.
His body is my
journal, my diary,
my blank sheet,
of paper.

His body
becomes my
canvas as I begin
to create.
To write.
To paint.
Filled with a carnal
desire of
and calligraphy.

Secured tight to
a flatbed easel,
Passions spill onto
skin. With
gentle strokes
savage licks.
I want you to
be of my creation.

10 January 2015

Swallow to the root.

" Your mouth is an erogenous zone, no question about it - but in its entirety. 

The back of your mouth, tongue, palate and throat have a different range and number of nerve endings than the sensitive front of your mouth, but they transmit messages of pleasure to your brain and genitals just the same.

Sucking (suckling) and swallowing in an erotic context stimulates nerve pathways whose function is to build on your arousal levels, including the production of the arousal hormone, oxytocin. We get physical gratification from oral stimulation and we get it in spades when we swallow our lover to the root."

- Violet Blue

I wiill remind him of this (amongst other things) when the time comes.

When his time comes.


I've been too busy.  Too busy to get the words down, the thoughts out from the mind onto the page.

I'd like to say it's been from lots of wonderful things; that I've been distracted by a sweet vulnerable submissive boy, that I've been teasing and torturing him, loving and hurting him.

But alas, however nice the thought, that would be a lie.

How I wish that it were not.

Distracted yes.

I have been.  Not in the way I want to be or wish I'd been.  Although I have been lucky enough to communicate with some very wonderful new people of late which brought the year to a lovely end, and indeed has been a great way to start the new.

But, it has, in turn served only to remind me of things that are lacking, things that I need, but it has in a way, made me think, made me realise that I have to take steps to stop things being lacking. 

It's not a new years resolution. But yes.  It is. Time.

Unfortunately, the distraction in life has simply been because of life.  The working kind.  The kind that sees you toil through 80+ hour weeks, working at home, in the office, through the night.  A laptop by the bed communicating with people on a different continent when things need to be agreed and closed.  A notepad filled with nothing but meeting notes and lists of things to do.  Lists of lists of things that I needed to do. 

Not lists of things I'd love to be doing, that at times, I ache to be doing.  But lists of things that I have to do.

I miss having the time to write.  I miss having the inclination, the motivation, but more so the inspiration. 

The inspiration to the words, to feelings, to emotions, to life.  

The inspiration that feeds me, fulfils me, balances me.

We enter a new year. 

Many things the same as last apart from the two digits at the end of the date.  And yet, many things are different. 

The want, the desire for that inspiration in a way that hasn't been there for quite a long time.

I feel the beast prowling. 

The emotional sadistic beast. 

He prowls. 

He has awoken.

He is alive.

09 January 2015

Balance rather than equality.

"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
That's it.
A somewhat simplistic way of looking at why an FLR works, of how a dynamic, a relationship of D/s, or a TPE "fits".  But as simplistic as it may be, it reflects , for me, so much of how it is.
We are not the same. We do not have the same needs, rules that work for one, do not work for another.  I have that need for control, and I need to be with someone who wants to give that control up.  He needs things in the opposite way than I do.  It isn't equal in terms of the power exchange, or in terms of how it works and yet it is so very balanced.
And this is why, for me, an FLR with a power exchange works.
It isn't about equality.  I don't think or look at my partner, as lower than me.  I do not consider them inferior or myself superior.  I don't. At all. 
We are equals.
But it is in the depth of the power exchange where that inequality exists, and yet, it is that inequality, which achieves the balance.  Fulfilling both in the way it is needed. 
It isn't unequal, it is just balanced differently.  And this is what makes it work. 
That is why I love it.  That is why I need it.