Dedicate

"I wrote a poem about it, and then threw it away, because that’s the last thing I need right now: More words dedicated to people who will never dedicate a single thing to me" Charlotte Green.

Wise words Charlotte, very wise words indeed. 

I've written posts. I've written words. Yes, I've written poems too of things from the distant past, of things more recent.  At the time they were a release of thoughts and feelings, but they're deleted, thrown away never to see daylight, never to be seen, read or witnessed for this very reason! 

Writing for me, is often a release.  I don't do it for other people to read, to comment or even to see.  It is quite simply for me. 

I have, or should say had, several hundred draft entries here on my blog, they've been purged.

Using the delete button can have a very cathartic feeling of it's own, cleansing away the negative, taking away the toxic feelings, taking away the things that no longer need to be there. Things that do not need anything further dedicated to them other than the original function of a release (and relief) at the time of writing.

And the purging, the letting go it brings about it's own sense of release. 

But Charlotte, you're right, we do not need to dedicate things to people who will never dedicate a single thing in return. 

So, let's not.

"Let go"

"Let go" it cries,

wanting to be released.

Wanting to feel a freedom

of the world as it flies

on it’s own. Soaring above,

floating away.

But it's caught

between

here and there,

"Let go" it cries,

wanting to be released.

Wanting to feel a freedom

of a different direction,

a different path,
a new life.

There is no pulling it

back, as the string

is released, letting it go.

Floating...

Floating...

it floats beyond reach

with its own wishes
and hopes
and dreams.

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.

Our Tune

We wrote our own music, performed our own song, creating a melody that worked in perfect harmony.  We were together you and I. Lost in our own world at the melodic moments that we composed.  The tune plays in my head when I think of those moments.  The rhythm of your heart, the sound of your breath creating the beat to which we moved.

Bodies swaying rhythmically as your pleading words sang from your lips, a voice so smooth as you sang to me.  And the sound of falling tears as beautiful as any song that could ever be written.  The aria of being filled your mind with a sweet tranquility, as we stole the air from your lungs.

Graceful fingers playing you beautifully like an untuned piano, hollow sounds  artistically changing to a melancholic chorus.  Something so balletic in the way that I played you, touched you, loved you. An a cappella of unspoken words never to be spoken, and a tune no longer to be heard.

Dreaming

I had a dream last night.

The whole events of "letting go" as I wrote about HERE in April of last year replayed themselves in my mind.   And I have woken this morning feeling that whole sense of emptiness that overwhelmed me at that moment I stood up and walked away, the moment that the heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was as if it happened only yesterday, and yet it seems a lifetime ago.   But I am somewhat taken aback at how fresh those memories are, the feelings, the emotions, the sadness, of how vivid the look of pain in his eyes can still haunt so many months later.

I know what caused it to be in my dreams, I know that something happened yesterday, something that someone said, was just like hearing something from all that time ago.  Same words. Same sentiment. Different person.

I am not sure how JoJo and I have not crossed paths since last November, in fact, I thought I saw him pass outside my office window as I daydreaming out of it this morning.  And it is strange how he doesn't come to mind and yet not only last night did I relive that whole moment, and then today, I had a fleeting glimpse of someone who was so much like him pass outside the window.

Someone commented on a post about JoJo recently, saying that I gave him the gift of opening him up to be the person he was, so he could be the person he wanted to be, that I had accepted him in a way that others close to him hadn't. But that, however hard, letting him go was, that was also a gift to him.

But at times, even now, it doesn't feel like a gift.

The sadness of his eyes can haunt, I know that it hurt him, and yet it was the last thing that I would ever want to do on an emotional level (hurting him from a sadistic point of view is a completely different kettle of fish), but, I know that it did.  And yet, I know it was the right thing, and I hate that there is a little seed of doubt from the dream I had last night as to whether it could have been different.

Because I know it could not have been. 

Of course it couldn't.  Not really. No matter how much we may want something to "be", we cannot make it "be" if it really stands no chance of ever being.

Yes we can make things happen, we can make things work, but, only if they are on the same page, wanting the same things, needing the same things.  And he and I weren't, we didn't.  And it still makes me feel somewhat sad, in a melancholic way, of having to let go so completely, so totally. 

With such total finality.

I miss the conversations we would have, the way we would explore the depths of his mind, finding an understanding for his longings, his needs, the things for which he carried so much shame.   I miss the times we laughed, the times we shared, I miss his vulnerability and the way his eyes would drop, the way his cheeks would blush and burn.  The way he would plead for more and then beg to stop.  The conflict of his desires battling at force with the thoughts in his mind.

But despite that, or even because of all of that, it was the best thing for him.

Yes I know.

But, that aside, there's that little tiny part of me that sometimes wished that it didn't have to be that way. We could have continued to share so much, but there would always have been the things missing from what we needed, I didn't want to resent him, I didn't want him to resent me.   I could have taken almost what I wanted, but couldn't do that to him.

Blegh! Dreams.

How difficult they can be at times, re-living a situation, a moment in time that was always best left in the past.   And it was. It is.  And I need to shake this feeling. 

At times like this, insomnia and not being able to dream is a little more appealing! 

Touch

Touch has a memory.
~ John Keats

The memory of your touch lingers, the softness of your skin, the gentleness of your touch as your fingers traced the curves of my body, the roundness of your nails causing shivers to run through me, goosebumps forming wherever you have been.

The warmth of your breath against naked skin, the coolness of your tongue as it trails, following the path that your fingers traced only moments before.

You take me to the moment where I feel nothing but your mouth on my skin.   I see nothing but you.  I feel nothing but you.  I hear nothing but the sound of you calling my name, whispering gently, begging and pleading.

Touch has a memory.

Mine

I remember the first time, as if it were yesterday.  I remember not knowing what to expect, not knowing how it would be, the sense of fear so overwhelming I could hardly breathe.

I remember you took my breath away.

I remember how it felt to be there, with you, to place myself into your hands with a level of trust so deep; I had never felt so scared yet so safe all at once.

I remember the first time you touched me and the sensations it sent right through my body.  I remember looking into your eyes and the look going straight between my legs.

I remember the way it felt when you covered my eyes with your hands, plunging me into a darkness that only served to heighten my other senses, before you carefully placed the mask over my head.

I remember the anticipation I felt as I was there knelt before you. The fear, the arousal, the sense and the fear of the unknown and of you.  I remember you leaning over me, whispering in my ear, telling me that you were going to hurt me. 

I remember how those few words made me feel. But more than that, I remember how every moment of the first time made me feel.

I remember the way it felt as it made contact with my skin, I remember the electricity that passed through my body as I cried out from the pain that you caused with the cane that you used so expertly.

I remember the way it felt as the initial shock melted away within my body, the feelings spreading through my body like ripples on a lake, as it sent me cascading over the edge like a waterfall over a cliff.

I remember the way it felt as you covered me with your body, holding me close, letting me know that you were going to do it again.  I remember the way that you took my face in your hands, bringing my eyes up to meet your own and the way that I could see deep within you, the longing, the desire deep from within your soul.  I remember crying out as the pain seared through my skin and into the depths of my body.  I remember the gasps that left my mouth, the groan that escaped from my throat, I remember the tears as they quietly poured over my cheeks and onto the pillow beneath me.

I remember how it felt, when you reached down and touched me, my own wetness betraying the arousal of my body, of how sensitive my skin was to touch; to your touch. I remember your touch, the way your fingers felt against my skin, how your nails felt as they gently traced a pattern over my shoulders and down my back.  I remember the burning pain as your nails broke my skin as your other hand reached up and twisted my hair in your fist. I remember the pain searing through my head as you dragged me to my knees by my hair.

I remember how it felt when you touched me gently, with love and tenderness.  The insatiable look within your eyes as your beast prowled within, showing me that you had only just started; that you wanted to hurt me so much more.  I remember how it felt when you hit me, slapped me, bruised me, the sting of the leather as it made contact with my thighs; my ass and my breasts.

I remember as I began to float outside of my body, watching you hurting me.  Watching myself lost to the moment of exquisite pain.  I remember the marks covering my skin, the welts from your cane, the hand shaped bruise on the cheeks of my ass and the marks of the crop in little patterns over my thighs.  I remember the taste of blood from the cut on my lip, the way my cheeks stung from the intensity of your slaps.

I remember the marks around my wrist from the rope you had tied me with, the redness and soreness from where I had fought against those ties, trying to escape from your brutality.  I remember the way my legs ached from being restrained by the bar, which had pushed them open wider than was naturally comfortable.

I remember you holding me, the way it felt when you stroked my hair as I curled up in a ball shaking and shivering while my body and mind desperately fought to reconnect.  I remember begging you, pleading with you, screaming at you, then thanking you.

I remember being before you, in front of you, knelt before you. I remember your arms holding me up as my legs crumbled beneath me, the way my body shivered at your touch.  I remember your voice, the names that you called me as I hated you, despised you, being angry at you. I remember wanting you, needing you, feeling you, loving you.

I remember the taste of you, the smell of you, the intensity of your touch.  I remember your desire, your arousal, your need as you took what you wanted, what you needed, however you needed.

I remember through the pain and the tears, through the way that you had broken me, that I told you that I loved you.

I remember you shouting "MINE".

Once Loved. Once knew.

"Strange how someone you once loved can become just another person you once knew."

 Nicki Minaj

The end of another year.

A year which for me, saw a final goodbye of someone who had been such a part of my life for so long, even if from a distance at times.

They were someone I once loved.

Someone I loved in a way that I had not before.

Someone I loved because of things that we had shared, in many ways, and in ways not shared with another.  I know that they will be things that will not be shared again, not with them or indeed with anyone else.

But, while they were someone I once loved, they have in many ways, through the separation of time, become just another person I once knew. 

I didn't think at the turning of this current year that it would witness this.  I didn't think that the words that came from their mouth ever would.

The thing is, they have before.

I know first hand the depth of the darkest places they go to and when lost in that darkness that the only thing they know what to do is to lash out at those closest to them.  Except, this lashing out, has led to the separation in distance and time.  Their decision. Their choice.

I think, even though someone can become someone we once knew, that the feelings that were once felt, will always be felt.  That we will always carry them with us, even if in the recess of our thoughts and memories, that just because someone isn't with us any more, that they are not a part of our lives, we do not simply just forget. It doesn't mean that we no longer care.  It doesn't mean that we do not remember or that we just stop feeling.

We just remember differently.

We just feel differently.

But, for them. For him.  He was someone I once loved. Through his actions and his choice, he is becoming only someone I once knew.

Although I know the passing of time will never take away what was our reality, it may make us strangers.  The passing of time and the growing distance will never take away the fact that they were someone I once loved.

Whether they were once loved. Or whether they are becoming only someone once known.

Nothing can take away the reality of what was.

Breathless and wanting

The club is busy. 

But then it is a friday night, and it is one of the reasons why I decided to bring you here on this particular time. You are unsure. Hesitant of what lies before you.  But the fears that you have create a desire within your mind. A desire which your body clearly shows.

"We'll have a great time" I had told you, not really trying to reassure you, but just making a statement as we had walked in several hours before. 

And now I'm sat there wondering where you have wandered off to, although not overly bothered that you have left me alone.  I am comfortable in my own company.  I am comfortable in the company of people who I do not know.  I do not feel a need to talk if I don't want to.  I don't feel that I have to.  I am content with people watching. 

And that is exactly what I had been doing since you had gone for your roam around.  I enjoy this time out and I know that you cannot do anything while you are securely locked in the confines of your chastity device. And the little fluffy white towel that I have allowed you to wear over it, for now at least, covering that, keeping at bay the humiliation you would feel if someone were to discover what lay beneath.

I privately had hoped that someone would discover it, from touching you without your permission and wondered how you would react.

I smiled at that thought as I lower myself into the water. 

The bubbles from the jacuzzi relaxing me to a point where I'm quite happy if you don't rush back anytime soon.

After all, you've just brought me to an intense and wonderful orgasm with your tongue while I ignored your administrations while sucking another man's cock.  Your arousal limited by the constraints of the device, I had heard you groan more than once with the frustration but also the discomfort of your own arousal, something which only heighted my own.

The wonderful liberating feelings of doing what you want, when you want and with who you want. Even if those "who" aren't known.  No care in the world.  No worries as to what anyone else may think or feel.  And how such kinky, wild or even outrageous sex can be so self-actualising.  That it can cause you to lose all traces of self-consciousness.  That you can lose who you are in that moment, but can be who you are. Be who you want to be.  No worries. No judgement.  And that at the heart of every wild sexual thing that you may do, is that you can be yourself.  That you can lose your ego.  That you lose any self-consciousness and can be who we are. Freely and unobstructed.

I sink lower into the water feeling the warm bubbles against my naked skin, I sigh as I lean my head back, closing my eyes for a short while.

I am lost in my relaxation.

Not oblivious to the others that share the jacuzzi with me.  Not totally oblivious to the girl next to me giving the man she is with a blow job in the water.  Her head bobbing up and down, coming up for air every so often, or his hands on top of her head forcing her down under the jets of water to take him into her mouth and throat more deeply, with her forcing her face to the surface gasping for air.  A look of fear on her face each time he holds her down harder and for longer.  The look of fear, the way he forces her makes my own body stir.

I am not totally oblivious to her hand that is gently moving up and down my leg while she sucks him and neither am I oblivious to his hands playing with my now erect nipples as he twists them, pulls them and flicks them.  I keep my eyes closed for extended periods of time, allowing my body to sink into the feelings that my own body brings as it reacts to the administrations of this unknown couple. 

Unashamedly, I do nothing to stop either of them.  Instead, I relax into the feelings, sighing deeply as her fingers reach into the depths of my arousal.  Her fingers are long and slender, but do not take long to find how to bring me to a gentle orgasm. 

The jacuzzi comfortably holds 15, maybe even 20, but there are 8 or 10 of us in there at the most.  The girl and myself; the only females.

My eyes wander to the rather interesting scene playing out before me.  A grey haired man, probably in his late 40's maybe early 50's but certainly well toned for his age stands up, tentatively stepping over the entangled legs and feet that are in his way as he makes his way to stand behind the other girl.  

My eyes quickly glance over his face, his body.  My eyes meeting his own as we exchange glances and smiles.  His cock is erect, hard, and I can clearly see the veins running through it.  I find myself drawn to him, something about the way that he moves without word.  Purposefully. His cock certainly looks good enough to suck, I can certainly imagine taking him deep into my mouth.

But as those thoughts go through my head and in turn through the rest of my body I decide that it is something for later, certainly when my "wandering friend" has returned.  After all, it isn't something that I would want him to miss out on. 

I watch as the older man stands behind the girl lowering himself slowly as his cock enters into her with force as she is taken completely by surprise by this intrusion into her body. She comes up quickly from the cock she is sucking. Her fingers working furiously inside of me.  She gasps, groans and moans.  I do the same and move to allow her easier access to the depths of me as she furiously moves her fingers in and out of me, rubbing against my clit that is stood to attention at the wonderful feelings that her fingers bring to me.

The guy she is with, looks up as he watches this unknown man pumping hard into his partners cunt.  She is struggling for balance until the older guy grabs her shoulders to steady her.

"Fuck her hard man" the guy next to me says, "Fuck her and use her however you want to.  Fuck her like the dirty slut that she is".

The man certainly does so, forcing his cock in and out of her, pushing her down into the water, she tries to maintain her sucking of her own guy's cock.

His words resonate in my head.

I look at him.

His voice brings shivers to me. I do not know if they are good or bad.  But there is something about his voice, the way he talks, the way he grants a complete stranger permission to use his partner in this way.  I recognise the voice from earlier and I continue to watch him as he turns to face me.

I am struggling to place him, struggling for recognition, yet I know that he isn't completely unknown to me.  And then he turns to me and whispers "It's my turn to play with you now, except this time I get to see your face". 

And I smile.  And I blush as I smile.

As it all falls into place.

I know that he was the same man that had stood behind me, playing with my body when I had forced my partner against the wall while I devoured his mouth with my own. 

We had been locked in a moment of breathless kissing, my teeth biting his lips, my tongue forcing its way deep into his mouth as I forced his head against the wall.  He on the other hand had touched me from behind.  His hands had forced their way between my legs, around my body, twisting and pinching my nipples so hard they hurt, playing with me all the time that I was locked in a kiss.  He had brought me to a fast and furious orgasm, I felt my own juices running down my thighs as he whispered thank you into my ear before he had walked away. 

I hadn't seen his face.

He hadn't seen mine.

And when I had turned to see who it was, it was impossible to know from the small group of people that had stood and witnessed my orgasm stolen by a complete stranger which one he was.  I scanned the room for any clue.

Except there wasn't one.  I didn't even know who this person was who had stolen such a wonderful orgasm from my body. 

But now, several hours later, I knew exactly who it was.

He pulled his girl towards him, the man still pumping into her. He kissed her deeply before turning away from her handing her over to this rather sexually adept guy and kissed me in exactly the same way.

I am left breathless.

Breathless and wanting. 

Breathless and wanting him.

Wanting him. Desiring him. Needing him.

He doesn't say anything as he looks at me. He simply grins. And I want to slap him and hurt him. But I want to kiss him, and hurt him and fuck him. And I want him to take me and use me and fuck me and to force another orgasm from me. 

Although this time, I want him to do it while I look into the depths of his eyes.  They draw me in. Our eye contact lasts as he moves towards me.

He remains silent.

And my body is doing things that it shouldn't be. And I am thankful that my own arousal is washed away with the warm waters of the jacuzzi and the bubbles that continue working their way around my body.

He leans against the back of the tub with one of his arms, and looks at me still grinning.  I am determined not to break his gaze.  I don't want to look down at the hard cock that I can feel against my leg.  I know it is there. I can feel it. I remember how it felt from earlier. 

In fact, I remember far too well.

His hands are on me now. 

One of them pushing the hair back from my face, the other deftly sliding over my body, between my legs, over my breasts, fingers pinching my nipples, twisting them, hurting them.  I groan deeply as he twists them harder.  One of my hands is pressing against his cock and I can tell that he likes it as I begin to tease him. 

He moves now. Sitting wide legged. He pulls me closer and without thought or hesitation I am on his lap.

And the water is bubbling furiously around us. And I don't know who guided his hardness into me, but I know it was me that kissed him furiously, biting and sucking his lips, drawing blood as I do so. And his hands grip my ass tightly as he pulls me down around him, I feel his pelvic bone hard against me as he forces me down further, pushing his cock deeper inside.  And the water and the bubbles splash around us.

And I'm breathless.

Breathless and wanting.

Breathless and wanting him. 

And his girl is watching us now. And the guy fucking his girl is watching us now.  And the other people in the jacuzzi are watching us now. 

And I am screaming into his mouth as I fuck him and I don't notice the people around us, the people stood watching us.  And I don't care that they are stood there watching us.  And I don't care that I am screaming into his mouth. And I don't care that he is fucking me and I am being brought to a most intense orgasm by a complete stranger when only mintues before, one was stolen from me by his girl.  And I don't care that I don't even know his name as he forces me down with such force onto his cock that I can feel him deep, deep within me.  And I don't care that he is pulling my hair as I devour his mouth with my own.

And I am remembering the orgasm he stole from me earlier. And his hands are around me. And I'm pushing down onto him, harder and faster and I cannot believe I am about to orgasm once again.

And I bury my face into his neck, biting and sucking hard into the pale skin and his fingers are sliding around my ass, finding their way between the cheeks. And oh god, he remembers from earlier just what happens when his fingers find their way into my ass.

And I am breathless.

Breathless and wanting.

Breathless and wanting as I fuck him. As he finger fucks my ass. One finger, then two and I am forcing myself down onto his cock to feel him, but at the same time forcing myself down onto his fingers that are now deep within me.  And my heart is racing fast, and my breathing is shallow, and my long nails dig into his skin, scratching him. Hurting him.  And I feel hands all over my body, not just his. But his girls.  And the hands of the man that was fucking his girl.

And there are hands and mouths on my neck and back. And there are hands on my breasts and on my body.  And his cock is still hard within me. And he is kissing me, kissing my neck, holding me, whispering things to me about what else he wants to do to me.  And I am riding him harder and faster.  And there are hands and mouths and bodies everywhere.

And I am lost to the waves of orgasm that course through my body.  As I look up from his neck to see the grey haired guy stood behind me.  And he whispers into my ear

"It's my turn now" as his cock forces his way into my ass.

And I remember how beautiful his cock had looked before he had taken the girl from behind. But now here I am, two cocks pumping in, tearing me apart, stretching my insides.  And the girl is sucking and playing with my nipples and I am fucking and being fucked.

And wave after waves of orgasm courses through my body and as they do so, I look up and see you have returned. 

And you are stood there looking at me, a look of surprise but deep arousal upon your face.  The towel tied around your naked body.  And I know that your cock is forcing against the constraints of the device. And I can make the outline out from behind the towel. 

And you are drinking in all that is playing out before your eyes.  Watching the guy I am sat upon, the guy who is fucking me deeply from behind, the girl who is sucking on my nipples where you had been only a short time ago. And the hands of the others playing with any vacant body part and skin that they can touch. 

And I can see your arousal.  And it arouses me even more.

And I am breathless.

Breathless and wanting.

Breathless.

As he fucks me harder. As she sucks me harder. And as I feel the cocks inside of me coming to the brink of yet another orgasm, my juices mingling with the bubbles of the jacuzzi.  My screams being lost amongst the voices of "fuck her harder", "fuck her deeper", "fuck her ass" and they are fucking me harder and deeper.  And as they steal another orgasm from the depths of my body, their own being given to me.

And we collapse into the water.  And we are breathless. Breathless and spent.  Our bodies all intermingled in the depths of the water.  The bubbles playing havoc with a highly aroused body. Hands gently stroking and touching as we recover from the activity of only moments before.

I turn and look at you stood there, your eyes taking in the scene that has just played out before you.  I smile at you. My eyes beckon you over to join us.  Except I know that you are hesitant in revealing the device which you wear.

I raise my eyebrows and you know that I am losing patience in waiting for you. But I can see the battle going on in your head. The humiliation of people seeing, but your desire to be there with me.

And with that, you remove the towel placing it onto a peg on the wall.  Your eyes lowered as you step gingerly into the water.  Your cheeks flushing with the embarrassment at showing yourself in this way.

"See it wasn't that bad was it?" I ask you as you lower yourself into the water.  I move slightly to the side to allow you to sit next to me.  "But see what you miss out on when you wander off" as I grin at him.  Hands still stroking my body, my own touching bodies but not knowing who it is touching.

I can sense your nervousness. Your arousal. Your longing.  And you are breathless and wanting.

"I really need to remove this device" you whisper into my ear.  "May I?"

"Maybe JoJo. Maybe."

Crossed the line

It is August and the chance to have an extra week away, a break down to the coast, somewhere which we haven't been for many years.  Revisiting a place I've been so many times before, as a young child, as an adult, as a parent.  Taking the time at the end of the day, to watch the sun setting out over the sea, taking some photos and taking some time in thought after the chaos of a busy day. 



I am sat on the dunes watching the sun set over the waves that are crashing over the rocks and onto the shore where only a short time earlier, families had been spending the day in the last of the summer sun. 

The sky is painting such a beautiful picture, a myriad of colours amidst the clouds in the sky, the colours reflected in the breaking waves and surf as it crashes onto the beach.  It is a beautiful time to be there.  The quiet at the end of the day, there is an eery silence, no screaming children, no families playing on the beach, just the noise of the waves and the wind and an occasional person walking their dog, a couple walking hand in hand ankle deep in the chilly waters, a hardened surfer catching the last of the days surf.

I had sat in this same place many years before, except the feelings back then, were so different to the ones I was having now.

You had been sat next to me.

I don't even know why we had come away, only a few days before your betrayal had been uncovered.

The secrets and the lies.

And although this time I was able to sit with peace and quiet, memories of family holidays taken even years before you in this very place, that time with you I had sat with hurt, with anger, with all of the feelings that your betrayal was leaving in its wake.  Trust broken. A relationship destroyed. A heart aching for what had been.

Back then, the reality lay heavily upon us, there were no words or actions that would or could ever put it right. The only thing I had always said to you was that I needed your honesty, the only “rule” that had been there. That the moment that there was a lie, was the moment that really was it, even if it was the beginning of the end, just like it had been back then.

I don't know why we had come.

A bit like those people who go through with a wedding just because everything is paid for, even though you already know it is going to be a disaster.

That was the same with us.

We had come away because it was all paid for. You had visions of it being the trip that could “fix” what had happened. Except there was nothing that would ever be strong enough to fix what you had done. There never could be.

I don't know why I had agreed to come.

Even though the sunset ahead of me back then had been beautiful, just like the one I was watching now while remembering, the feelings that had engulfed me weren't.

I have always loved watching the sunset, nothing more perfect than watching it set over the sea, nothing to see for miles apart from the changing colours of the sky, reflecting in the moving waves.

The sunset ahead of me now, reminded of the one that we had watched in this very place many years before.

How things had changed since that time.

You had said we could use this time to talk. Except every time there was the opportunity, that every time I asked why, your eyes would fall in the direction of your feet, and the same answer of “I don't know” would be the only thing that would escape your lips before the tears escaped from your eyes.  You couldn't look me in the eye.  And I knew even when you said something, what was now the truth or not.

We had explored so much in the years that we had shared.

But, you knew there was a line.

It had been there from the very beginning and now you were finding out the consequences of what happens when you step over it. Except, I was finding out just how hard it was, of just how it felt, of just how hard it was to be letting go.

I was hurt. Betrayed. Heartbroken.

I had cried many tears during those early days, but the tears had turned to a pain and an anger that burned like a fire out of control. 

And during the time we had spent together away, while sat in this same place that I was only recently, back then you had thought that “make up sex” was enough to make it better.

We had always had such great sex.

You had been so eager to please, eager to learn how to please. You had spent many hours buried between my legs, your tongue buried deep inside of me. You had learned to delay your orgasm while you fucked me. Your cock filled me in a way no-one ever had, or has since. I loved the way you stretched me, filled me. I made you beg to go down on me after you had come inside of me, licking me clean. I will always remember the look of humiliation burning in your face and that made me want to force you all the more.

And here we were.

The coolness of the air mixing with the warmth of the setting sun. Your hand was trailing up and down my thigh. I could read you like a book, just like I always had done. I didn't acknowledge you, instead I continued to look out over the sea, watching the changing shapes of the clouds. Your fingers found their way between my legs and I hated right then just how my body always reacted to you, of how my cunt throbbed with the longing, of how my body betrayed itself from the wetness that was already finding its way over your fingers. It was as if you were trying everything to make the previous week disappear from happening. Except it had. It couldn't be ignored, it couldn't just be wiped away, however much I wish that it could have.

You brought me to an intense orgasm, my moans being lost in the sound of the waves still crashing down onto the shore. Except you weren't finished and I was lost to the intense feelings of arousal that you never failed to bring to me.  I didn't care about anything at that moment.  All of the feelings that we had shared, all of the things that we had done, flooded through me. 

And there on the sand dunes, you forced your fist deep into my cunt, in just the way I had taught you, and you fucked me hard with your fist, almost punching deep inside. I loved the way that your hand stretched me, filled me, hurt me. I lost count of the amount of times that you forced an orgasm from my body each time your fist punched inside.  I could feel my own juices gushing out over your hand, down over my thighs, dripping onto the sand beneath me.

Your other hand finding its way to my arse as you started to find your way in with your fingers filling me up even more. Oblivious to whoever may be close, whoever may have seen, you fucked my arse as hard as you fucked my cunt, and I was riding your fists lost to the wave of orgasms that took over my body. As I lay there totally spent, my body recovering from the intensity of the orgasms that had ripped through my body, I shivered from the dampness of my exposed skin as the breeze moved over me.

How could things have gone so wrong between us, when so many things were so right?

I had led there, closed my eyes and almost for a moment nothing was wrong, everything was perfect.

Except it wasn't.

Even when you buried your head between my legs, your tongue buried deep inside lapping up the juices that you'd already forced from my body. You had begged to fuck me, but my body couldn't take much more. My insides were feeling sore from the hard fisting that you had given me, but even those feelings couldn't take away the pain that my heart was feeling.

But you stayed there, your tongue gently teasing me, tempting me, drawing my clitoris back out where you sucked on it, gently biting it, and soon the feelings within my body of longing returned. While you sucked, while your tongue found its way deep inside me, your fingers spread the cheeks of my arse where you tongue found its way, deep into its depths. You knew how much I loved your tongue there, and as it darted in and out of the depths of my arse I heard you moan and groan as you tasted me.

I felt the hardness of your cock against my leg, and I wanted you, buried deep inside me, stretching me. I wanted to be totally fucked, my body left stretched and filled; filled with you. Knowing that really it would be the last time that it would be.

"Fuck me."

And you had not needed to be asked twice, you positioned yourself behind me, knowing that I loved to be in this position so I could feel you deep inside me.

And you did.

You fucked me long and hard, pushing me down into the sand, all of the hurt and the anger that had been buried within coming out as I screamed at you to fuck me harder. I wanted it to be pushed out, to be forced out, and I had always loved your cock inside me, loved to feel you inside me, I loved to feel you cum deep inside me. And my orgasms were building and washing over me, and you were asking to cum, and I wasn't ready for you to yet.

"Fuck me harder dammit."

And you did, pulling my hair, fucking me deep, pulling on my shoulders so you could get your cock deep inside as hard and as far as you could.  And I was hurting from where your fists had filled me only moments before, and it felt as if all of my insides were being forced out of me, taking the pain and the hurt that you had caused.  But it wasn't enough. It still wasn't enough.  I wanted more. I wanted that hurt of the heart pushed away. And although I knew it would hurt, I wanted you deep within me.

"Fuck my arse now."

I saw the hesitation in your eyes.

"Goddamit, do it now will you?!" I had shouted at you, leaving you with no doubt of what I wanted.

And you withdrew from my red and sore cunt and forced the length of your cock straight into me, I screamed with the force that you took me, the orgasm ripping through my body as you continued to fuck me, to stretch me.

I had been the only person who had been able to take your size in my arse, and you had learned over time to control your orgasm for as long as I had wanted. It had brought tears to my eyes on many occasions as we had learned together how to get you to fuck me, to stretch me. You learning how to do it, my body learning how to take such an intrusion, which often screamed out with the pain that seared through my body.

And you begged me, begged to be allowed to come.

"No. Just stop."

My body couldn't take any more.

I was sore and hurting, stretched and my whole body ached from the abuse I had ordered you to inflict upon me. My cunt was stretched wide, my arse was sore, throbbing with the fisting and fucking. But I needed this. I wanted this one last memory of how it felt, knowing that there would not be another time.

The confusion in your eyes, the glazed look in your eyes I knew you were desperate to come. Your arousal was clear for all to see, as your hard cock which was wet with my juices protruded out from your body.

I looked at you, put my hands between my legs as I brought myself to an orgasm, my juices over my hand I wiped it across your face, mixing with the juices that were already there and the sand which had already stuck to you. Your mouth automatically opened to taste my fingers, to lick them clean, just as you'd always done.

You were led there confused. I stood then, my whole body shaking from the wave after wave of orgasm that had coursed through me.

I stood to the side of you, relieving myself into the sand, the breeze blowing the warm liquid over your face, over your hair, all over you.  And as I dressed I turned to you and said “You want to come. Then bring yourself to an orgasm”

“You want to do things on your own. Do this on your own. You won't ever do so with me again”

And with that, I left you there.

Walking away, not looking back.

I couldn't bear to stay even though such a big part of me wanted to. I didn't want to hear your empty apologies. I didn't want to hear you begging and pleading saying that things could be ok. I didn't want to see the tears that fell from your eyes.  I didn't want to hear your empty words when you said that things could be ok.

They couldn't.

They never could.

You had crossed the line. There was no going back.

Thirsty ?

 "are you thirsty?"

"yes"

"yes what?"

"yes Mistress I am thirsty"

His eyes filled with fear as I take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom.  His eyes filled with confusion as he couldn't understand what was happening, or why I was taking him there.  I squeezed his hand as a sign of reassurance, but knowing that it wasn't going to reassure him at all.

"It's ok, I'm just getting you a drink"

"Thank you"

His voice struggling to be heard, his eyes looking down at his feet.  I let go of his hand, reaching towards him and removed the top he was wearing, his arms shifting by his sides, his fingers clasping tightly with uncertainty.

"Lie down on your back"

He hesitates, and I reach forward and push pressure on his shoulders, making him go down to his knees before he moves himself onto his arse, and lying down.  I stand over him, peering down at him and watch him for what for him, felt like the longest of times but was moments only.

He closes his eyes but I can still see his eyeballs moving quickly behind his eyelids. 

"Open your eyes"

I speak gently to him. I want to see the expression in his eyes, I need to be able to see the battles he is having within, the longing, the need, and the place that he goes to.  But I know he is unsure of what is to come, we haven't done this before. Or at least I haven't with him.

"It's ok baby"

I whisper to him.  And then tell him to open his mouth.

I am still standing over him, straddling him from a height. My stockinged legs placed either side of his head.  He doesn't know where to look, if he looks straight up he will see my naked cunt, and he is going through some sort of battle of wanting to look but being embarrassed to do so.  I smile at his shyness, I smile at the fact that he is doing this for me.  I smile that he looks so vulnerable led there beneath me.  I smile that although is head is telling him not to do it, that his heart, that his need to submit and please is giving him the strength to be there at that moment.

I lower myself down slightly.

"Open your mouth wide ~ you won't be thirsty for much longer"

The realisation of what is about to come his way hits home.  His face filling with a sense of panic.

"I'm not thirsty"

"oh come come now, you were a moment ago, so that hasn't changed has it?"

He nods.

"I think you're telling little fibs"

*laughs*

He shakes his head.

"just open your mouth"

The battle continues within his head, I can see this is pushing a limit for him, but a limit he wanted me to push.  I am not going to let the negative battle in his head win and try to reassure him.

"It's ok, it's going to be ok, now open your mouth for me, like a good boy"

He smiles at hearing those words, the affirmation of what he is.  And just as he does, I begin to relieve myself.  The warm liquid flowing into his mouth, splashing over his face, his eyes filling with his own tears.  His cock twitching from the humiliation of being made to drink this way, from me.

He begins to choke, not being able to handle the amount of liquid that is coming from me, I laugh at him gently. He is trying to swallow, trying to take as much into his mouth as he can, the rest falling over his face, wetting his hair and the mat that he is led on.

"There's a good boy" I whisper to him as I reach down to touch his head, touching his cheek, wiping up a splash from his face and giving him my finger to suck. 

He does so eagerly, tasting me. 

Wanting more he looks up at me, begging with his eyes

"please Miss, may I have more"


"Maybe JoJo. Maybe"