Stepping out

So dinner was lovely. 

An unassuming evening, no expectations (therefore no disappointments), a chance to relax over some great food, a chance to chat freely and openly.

There is something about being able to be open about who you are, the needs that you have, the lifestyle that you follow, without judgement, without fearing that someone may not understand, with someone who actually gets "it". 

And even though that person may be submissive to your dominant, there is still a level of understanding of the whole dynamic and you don't feel weird that you have a particular kink or fetish because you know that even if it's not the others kink, there is more often a non judgemental acceptance.  Not that I feel weird about my own kinks, fetishes or needs.  I've accepted them and who I am a long time ago, but still I know that not everyone is at that same place.

Even without the expectations, even without any "role" in place, even without a dynamic, there was still very much a natural way of being.  And natural because neither of us had be anything other than who we are, and that is another great thing, the chance to be who you are. 

He was nervous, a little shy, he blushed (lots - perfect!) and there is something about that open display of vulnerability in some ways which is decidedly sweet, the way his cheeks would flush and he'd lower his eyes, the way he would smile when I would say to him that there was no need for him to be embarrassed for what he shared, felt or spoke of.  

For me, I so enjoy the battle that this reflects, the slight embarrassment, the emotional feelings that are created inside one when they are blushing, an opening of thoughts and feelings and yet, the emotional battle of that too.  As an emotional sadist, I like the fact that there's a little bit of an uncomfortable feeling, that there's a battle going on. 

He arrived with a most beautiful bunch of flowers, having already known what was in there included not only some of my favourite flowers, but done in a bouquet of my favourite colours.  His effort and careful thought certainly didn't go unnoticed and when I commented on it and thanked him, he blushed a little bit but his face lit up as a beaming smile crept across his face.  It is such simple things such as this, which are in their own way quite special. That someone shows that interest, retains little snippets of information and genuinely does things to place a smile on another's face is heart-warming.

It wasn't that he had bought me flowers that was totally responsible for the smile on my face (although it did make me smile as it's been such a long time since anyone has bought me flowers apart from the mini man on birthdays and Mothers Day), but it was the careful thought that he had given, that he'd obviously retained things that we had spoken of and shared.  He had even made sure that a certain type of flower was not in the bouquet as I had once shared the thought that they reminded me too much of funerals.  Simple things, but quite lovely.

He was very interesting (and interested), he was attentive and very sweet, open and a wonderful ability not just to listen but to truly 'hear' what was being said. It's hard to believe that we have known each other for quite some time but have only just taken this step to meet face to face and even though it was in a week of some serious work deadlines for me, dinner was lovely, the company was great, the conversation flowed easily. 

It was great to connect, but more so, to be able to connect without expectation, without any pre-conceived ideas, and just the chance to be who I am, with people who can be who they are, a mutual respect and understanding, that is often quite a rare thing to find. 

Time will tell

Words
that touch the
heart
the mind
creating visions of
future times.
And while neither
can be totally
sure there

may indeed
be a whole
lot more!

And time
will tell, and time
will show
the reality of how
these things may
go. An existence
beyond
both screen
and wire
which will feed the
heat
and hearts’
desire.

And soon, dear boy,
a moment
will be

I’m sure.

To discover
whether there’s a
whole lot more.

But ‘til and beyond
a friendship grows

as secrets shared
as open hearts
lead to a flow
of thoughts
of words,
which engulf
and flood
feel and heal
and begins
to make this
virtual
real.

And words already
matched
with a voice,
a sigh,
a tut,
a laugh
and a “yes let’s try!”

And a moment will come
when a touch
can occur,
and be granted
with
a smile,
a raised eyebrow
a passing look,
a fleeting peck,

upon a cheek (or neck?)
a time
to come
face to face
communicating no
longer in
some virtual place.

And yes it could be
this
and that
and yes it could be
all you’ve
said,
and more.

And oh!

My goodness the
possibility
to be so much
more.

I’m sure!

But while it may be just the gist of the thing,
and tho’ both may be unsure,
time will show
and time will tell,
dear boy,
whether there can be a whole
lot more.

A gift of words

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and its thought has found its words" Robert Frost.

I love words! 

Reading them, writing them, hearing them, sharing them.  There is a beauty in how they can create such wonderful images, that they can create a vision that brings those words to life. 

I love them to flood the senses, touch the heart and trickle to the soul

I'm a word whore.

I can't get enough of them.

But, I had a truly wonderful present recently - a rather wonderful gift of words, something written, something sent to me, for me. 

A poem. 

And I loved it. 

And while I am not going to share it here, I just love how when you read something, as you see the words before you that they reach out, touch you, touch the heart, flood the mind.

And it was that and more. A whole lot more!

And I love it. 

The gift, the words, the gift of those words and that someone has such a wonderful gift and shared that gift with me is something quite lovely and it plunges in and warms the heart.  There is something quite special, that someone takes that time, that thought to send such a wonderful present. 

I've been touched by words, and in several ways recently, left lost for words of my own in response (quite a rare thing for me yanno?) but, sometimes it does happen. 

But that's the beauty of words.

And I love them. 

Out of the comfort zone...

I've never been much of a "scene" person. 

Munches hold little interest for me or to me. 

Clubs - I haven't really found them to be my "thing" either, I've been to a couple in the dim and distant past, but certainly as a "bystander" rather than a participant.

And I know that is just how it was then . . .but who is to say it is that way now?

I wanted to go to a rope workshop this week, but with everything else that happened last week I couldn't quite bring myself to go, even though I've always had a lurking interest in learning how to fling string.  I feel disappointed that I didn't just put myself there regardless of how I was feeling about going.

I would say that I'm more introvert than extrovert, I'm comfortable in that way and that works for me, I don't particularly care what people think of that, it's just how it is.  But life can pass by.  And I think that is how I am feeling right now.

Some recent events have made me really question myself, where I am, but more so what it is that I ultimately want and need from life.

This past week or so has really made me start evaluating, reflecting, and while it's also closed the heart off considerably, while it's put a wariness of trusting back in the forefront, it's also made me take a step back, reflect and see what I'm missing out on but also what I can do to change that.  Ultimately though, that can only come from one person - me! 

A short space of time has passed but various events within it has made me feel so much anger towards myself and the trust I'd put out there, it's made me feel all sorts of things that I really wish I didn't feel.  Other events have made me realise that life can be incredibly short, and that the loss of my friend as I wrote *here* has made me determined to make some more positive changes, to take some positive steps and that is what I am intending to do.

I'm going to step out of my comfort zone that is often far too comfortable for our own good, I'm going to step out of that zone and experience things that I may not have done before.  New things, different things, and yes I know that some things may make me feel uncomfortable, but as they say great things never come from comfort zones.

it's time to step out there, and it's time for some great things!  I'm going to venture to some clubs, I'm going to venture to some workshops.  I've got some great friends who share this lifestyle, it's time to reconnect until I hopefully am able to truly connect in the way that I want to - with one.

A life is stilled.

No matter what anyone says that someone shouldn't feel guilt, it doesn't stop the feelings of guilt when you learn someone has attempted to take their own life.

Not only attempted, but succeeded.

I recognise that someone's decision isn't my fault.  I recognise that there have been no warning signs and that just as many others didn't, I didn't have any idea either. 

But, my goodness, when I was speaking with them in the very late hours of the night and into the early depths of yesterday morning. I quite simply had no idea, there was no inkling of their feelings, their intentions.  There was no suggestion that in a matter of less than 24 hours they'd be gone.

How could I not see it?  How could I not have known?  How could I not have heard the things that they didn't say?

We spoke of so many things, and yet, it would appear that so many things were left unspoken. 

Why didn't I see it? Hear it? Feel it? Why couldn't they share?

My mind is haunted by words that were never uttered, haunted by thoughts of could I have done more.  I have a deep sense of guilt deep within my heart.  My heart aches for them, that they were left feeling in life, that nothing was actually worth staying for, and right now, I am angry at myself for the fact that I didn't see it, didn't hear those feelings and didn't see what was going to happen a few hours later.

My mind has played over the conversation over and over again, looking for clues, did I miss an outstretched hand that they wanted me to take?  And yet, no matter how many times I play it over.  There is nothing. Nothing which could have suggested that they had reached the end.

I feel as if I've let them down in some monumental way.  I feel as if I've failed them, but also, so very sad that they were left in a place where nothing else was an option. 

Did I fail in being the friend to them that they needed?  Even though I was the person they reached out to, just as they've done before.  And yet still I didn't know, I didn't see it, I didn't feel it.  They didn't show it.

We talked, we even laughed, sometimes through tears, but we laughed.  How could I not have known?  How could I fail them so very badly?

And I have. 

I know this was their choice, THEIR decision because they couldn't cope with where life is, the things that are happening.  My rational mind even tells me it's not a reflection on me.  But, it does feel that way, somehow.

Why does it feel as if I've failed them?

Because it does feel that way and more.

I've lost a lot of people from life, my Mum, my brother, my grandparents, a cousin my age, a close friend.  I've even lost an uncle to suicide, and each of those losses carry their own feelings, they bring their own types of grief and pain.

But right now . . ?  Right now guilt and sadness and pain and loss and a deep sense of failure flows through me right now.  A sense of failure but more so, the heart-breaking realisation that they couldn't reach out enough, that they couldn't find the words.  Or was it us not hearing?

Oh how I wish I knew.

I feel anger towards myself that I didn't see it. Anger and guilt and pain and loss.  And a deep sadness that a life has ended in this way, that someone was filled with so much pain, filled with so much sadness, so much heartache that for them, there was no other option.

Did they feel as if they were not cared about? 

So many people showed them this wasn't the case, maybe they couldn't see it, or maybe we failed in showing it enough. 

Did we really fail?  Did we really let them down? 

Or was it just me.

The day is dark and my heart aches right now.

To my Friend

May you find the peace within your
heart that you were

not able to find here.

I hope your anguish
will now forever cease

And that your deep anxieties
will be replaced by endless peace.

I love you. Always.
Kat

Steps.

You write your first draft with your heart and you rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is to write, not to think.

Sean Connery, Finding Forrester.

For me, the key is having the time. The motivation. The inspiration.  And I haven't had any of those for so long.  It's been so long since I've written. So long since I've had the time to write.  Life is busy. Life is manically busy and there's no time to write let alone think!

On Wednesday, I stood in the Abbey at the funeral of a friend who was just 49.  A battle lost against bowel cancer.  And standing there as I watched her two teenage daughters talk of their Mum, it hits home just how precious life is.  How so easily life can be taken away, that it is so short.  She was making the most of her life, doing the things that she loved to do, right up to the end, right to the moment that the damn awful disease that cancer is stripped her body of life.

It makes you realise that sometimes, just sometimes, things have to take a back seat, that there are things that must come first.  Whether things are from the head or the heart, the first key is to take the moments that we have, to take the opportunities, the chances, the risks.  Because it can be over all too quickly.

There can be times, there can be moments when something so beautiful comes into our lives, completely out of nowhere.  We may not understand it, we may want to question it, but sometimes we have to trust in it. Trust in ourselves, trust in the ability to make and take the right decision, the right path for ourselves.  It may not work. But sometimes, perhaps we just need to have a little faith.  Perhaps we just need to take a step into the unknown, for as I've been reminded this week, we never know if that step may be our last.

Sian. Rest in peace and free from pain.

The fire

"In everyone's life, at some time our inner fire goes out.  It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit."
Albert Schweister

This quote, these words will not mean a great deal to many people. But I came across these words in the depths of last night when a really bad night of insomnia prevented me from sleeping.  When so many thoughts, questions without answers passed through my mind.

They speak to me.

They are close to words I've recently spoken. Of bonfires, and flames and bellows.   I'm sat here right now, watching the day begin to dawn, the light starting to creep into the sky, the birds outside beginning to wake with their morning song and I realise that my fire had gone out.

That my fire had been rekindled. And while someone has come along and thrown water over it, for whatever reason that may be, that it is still there, still burning in the embers and not totally extinguished.

This week sees it being 5 years since I lost my Mum. Her passing has left a void that is felt every day.  We lost another family member this week. A dear friend has been told that the tumour on her liver has been joined by several others, that her body is being attacked by cancer, just as it attacked and finally took my Mum from me.  Sometimes, words are just so hard to find. Words are sometimes impossible to find.

And I feel guilty that my focus for a little while was taken by the flame, by the warmth, by the way the flames could dance as the inner spirit is woken from it's dormant state.  But I liked how it felt. Liked how it made me feel. It made me see that it was, that it is possible, however short lived for the spirit to be really felt. For the things, the feelings, the wants and needs and desires to be felt.

There is a real deep sense of loss for many things right now.  These past few days have added to that too. And those feelings, are probably just enough to put the fire out. 

Just not yet.

Just not right now.  Maybe tomorrow.

Flowers . . .

For my flowers.  I thank you!

They are simply beautiful and lovely and sweet.  Just like you, the person who sent them to me.  

It means a lot, that you asked for certain flowers to be included because you know how much I love them and their personal significance, but also that you asked for certain flowers to be omitted - the note that you sent did show to me just how much you'd taken on board, the things that you remembered of the things that we had talked about.

So, I thank you, sincerely, for your thoughtful care, for your very good memory and for a wonderful surprise - they are very special.

They have made my day.   

*YOU* have made my day.  

*smiles*

Thank you!

Letting go

You didn't ask, but tentatively your hand reached out to my own that was resting on the table.  And gently your fingers found their way around my hand, your grip tightening with every passing second.

Our drinks remained untouched, the ice slowly melting, watering the drinks down even more.  Words remained unsaid.

I had wanted to take my hand away.  I didn't want to give you anything to hold onto; there was nothing to hold on to.

You squeezed my hand, I could sense the pleading within your touch, the way you tried to gain a response from me as you stroked my hand with your thumb.  I tried to resist the sparks that it sent through my body.  I was desperate not to let you know that my stomach was in knots, that although the electricity between us was clearly felt, it was not enough.  That it could never be enough, especially when the things that were wanted were oh so much more.  I know that while we could give so much, it would always fall short.  We would always be both left unfulfilled.  Cheating each other out of what we ultimately wanted.  We would always feel shortchanged.  And that gave room for unhappiness, resentment even.  


It was better this way. Even if it didn't feel like it.

We didn't notice the people around us, those who came and went.  We didn't notice the people that passed by, the ones who sat nearby or indeed anyone else.  We didn't notice the people on the other side of the room who sat and watched us and the painfully sad moment that we were engulfed within.  I continued to look ahead, not needing to glance in your direction, not needing to look at you to witness the sadness and begging from your eyes.

I couldn't bare to see you this way, I couldn't bare how you just couldn't let go.  I couldn't bare farewells and goodbyes.  But we knew that was what was coming.  We both knew it was what was needed.  And yet we both knew it wasn't as easy as saying goodbye.

Your eyes caught mine.  And the emotions that came from your eyes tore at my heart.  Your eyes screamed and begged and yet there was no sound.  Your hand gripped my own tighter pleading with the same intensity, and as I glanced away I noticed the single tear that gently fell from the corner of your eye.  Your other hand reaching up to discreetly wipe it away before anyone else witnessed it.

"I can't do this" you whispered.  "I don't want things to end this way."

"But we can't do this either."

"I can't say goodbye." 

"So don't say it.  Just turn and walk away."

"I can't."

My heart was pounding.  Part of me wanting to take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply.  Part of me wanting to revel in his tears.  Part of me wanting to force him over the table and hurt him.  Part of me wanting to hold him and to whisper that it would be ok.

But, there was the part of me that knew that this was the right thing.  For him. For me. For us. For everything.

It didn't make it any easier.

It doesn't make it any easier knowing that it is the right thing when there's a part of you that doesn't want to believe it is the right thing.  But deep down you know.  Deep down you just know it is the right thing.  It doesn't stop it hurting.  It doesn't stop it reaching in and squeezing the life out of your heart, twisting it, turning it, hurting it before placing it back inside.

I gently pulled my hand from his.  Not daring to look at his face, his eyes or the sadness within.

"I can't do goodbyes."

 "I can't just walk away."

And with that, I stood up.  Knowing that what I was about to do was for him, for the best even though a part of me didn't want to let go.

"I can.  I will.  For you. For the best."

"But is it? For the best?"

And I stood, touching his face gently with my hand. Not daring to look at him, my heart feeling like a mirror hitting the floor as it shattered into a load of tiny pieces.  And as I started to walk away, my own tear matching his, I simply whispered "Yes JoJo. It is." 

Darkness

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift."  Mary Oliver

It is sometimes hard, to see what can be a gift to us.  Even the hardest of things that life may throw our way can be a gift.

It can give us the strength to get through the things that we face, it can give us the courage to do the same.

But it can also give us the ability to see that strength and courage exists within ~ often we do not feel strong, we do not feel courageous, and often we aren't able to acknowledge it until we come out of the other side of that darkness.

It is often difficult, when that darkness comes from someone we loved, or even love.  It is difficult when the "darkness" that we face is something that ultimately we cannot control.  It is difficult when we face a time in life when that darkness covers everything like a shroud, preventing us from "living", allowing us merely to survive.

It can be incredibly difficult when we are lost in the darkness to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  At times, it is hard to believe that there even is a light.  But, we know that there is.  We know that this too will pass.  Somehow.

And yet, it is hard to understand (or certainly is at the time) when the gift is one of darkness.  It is hard to understand when that gift of darkness comes from someone we love.  From someone who loves in return.  

Only afterwards, with hindsight, with clarity can we begin to see the gifts from that darkness.  We see it when the light begins to return, when we are or have reached the end of that tunnel.

However dark.

It was a gift that was given. 

He

intrigued me.

He still does.

It is quite rare, that someone touches the part of me that leads to a desire to dominate another.  Although naturally dominant, it doesn't automatically mean that I have a want or a desire within me to dominate everyone.  In reality, that desire is touched so infrequently, so rarely, that when it is touched, when it is aroused, it is quite exceptional.

It is even more unusual that someone not only touches that part of me, but also unleashes the sadistic need too, that makes me want to hurt them just as much as control them or feel for them.

But he affects that part of me, it is as if he reaches inside, caressing it, stimulating it, unleashing that innermost desire that lies within. And in turn, he unleashes the beast that paces back and forth waiting to be set free.

He arouses that part of my need, inspiring it, stirring it awake, something not many often do.  My inner self, reciprocates to the wonderful depths of his own submissiveness that to me, flows gently, willingly and unhindered out of his every pore.

He is open and honest, genuine and simple.  He is straightforward, emotionally open and rather sweet. And yet I know that there is so much more that lies within, that exists within the dark.

He makes me smile. He makes me laugh.

Talking freely about so many things, the weather, the day, and the darkest desires of the night.  He opens his mind and shares it with me.  His heart is opening in the same way, without extortion or coersion. He shares his words, his thoughts and his feelings. His weaknesses, his worries and his fears.  He shares his spirit with a gentle intelligence.

He blushes when I ask him things, yet not shying away from things for which he has been judged. His eyes slowly falling away; shyness, and humilation a powerful combination.  

He is like a pet.  He purrs like a cat, deep sighs of contentment as I touch his hair, his face, or deep inside. 

He simply smiles when I call him by the name I have given him, his eyes saying so much more than his lips are able to at times.

I've named him Moog.

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!

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.

 

 

 

 

I say goodbye

You were my best friend,
For the first time,
I was completely loved,
I still am.

I saw your heart, Simple & kind,
And I loved you,

Like no other,
I still do.

I thought we were forever,
You and I,
I believed in it again.

I cry for you and I cry for me,
Wishing it was so simple,
As we dreamed it would be.

We now realize,
All of our buried fears.
Heart-breaking disappointment,
Swallows us up in it's tears.
It's too late to look back.

My best friend,
Completely loved.
I say Goodbye,
Still loving you.

Teasing.

He is knelt.

Naked. 

Blindfolded. 

His hands restrained behind his back.  She sits there watching him, taking in every inch of him.  Her mind is drifting to thoughts of hurting him, torturing his beautiful body, tormenting his cock, his nipples; his lips.

She traces in her mind the muscles in his thighs, his chest.  The images of all she wants to do charging through her mind. He moves his head trying to decide where she is, what she is doing.  He has been there for only a short time but his senses are already heightened due to the lack of sight.

She makes him stand and unties his hands before leading him across the room. He has no idea where to, or what his fate is going to be.  The blindfold is still firmly in place and as he stumbles along he grabs onto her as if his life depends on it.  She brings him to a standstill places his arms down to his sides and leaves him standing there.  Even with the blindfold in place she can picture the fear in his eyes, the fear of the unknown.  Something she has seen before when he has been allowed sight.  His cock twitches, his body betraying the desire that the fear brings to him.

She knows he is nervous, she knows that he is unsure, but she also knows that he trusts her, that he places himself safely into her hands, whatever those hands may do to him.

He is left standing there for what seems like eternity, but is minutes only. She smiles at his discomfort, his vulnerability and drinks in the nakedness of his body, imagining herself hurting it, hurting him and knowing that as yet, she cannot go there, that she needs to reign in her sadistic urges.  That she needs to keep the beast caged and away.  She sighs deeply at the thought however and watches as he moves his head to where the noise has come from.

She tells him to get on the bed, helping him back to the edge of it so he can get his bearings slightly.  He does so, lying on his back, and she attaches his cuffs to the top of the bed.  Moving down to secure his feet at the foot of the bed.  As she fastens each one, she takes the moment to tantalise and tease him, placing her mouth gently above his own, yet not quite touching, pulling away if he moves to meet her lips. She traces her tongue and her lips over his over his chin, his neck, his ears, with each gentle touch he shivers, gentle moans come from within him, and his hardening cock is begging to be touched.

She moves over him, sliding her own body across his, enjoying the feel of his skin, of his body beneath hers.  She traces down his body with her nail, digging it and dragging it into the skin, a reddening mark coming to the surface as she moves down the length of his naked body.

He is spread-eagled.

Restrained.

Blindfolded.

And she takes a moment to drink him in, watching his body reacting to the thoughts that are running through his mind, watching him drift, watching him aroused, watching him respond.  And he looks helpless and vulnerable yet strong.  And his vulnerability is breathtaking and beautiful, and his cock is hard and perfect.  And she wants to take him there and then, she wants to hurt him, use him.

But she doesn't.

She moves back over his body, sliding over him, allowing her tongue to trail tenderly over his warm skin, trailing up his inner thighs, along his stomach, but always avoiding his cock which is screaming to be touched.  He tries to manoeuvre so that he can place himself under her tongue and mouth, but she moves quickly away, bringing her hand down as she slaps him, not a slap with force, but one which makes him cry out with surprise. The slap is not enough to hurt him, and neither is it enough to prevent his cock from being hard and erect and longing to be touched.

She moves towards him, bringing her mouth closer to his.  She smiles as he anticipates the kiss that he thinks is coming his way. He knows how much she loves to kiss, of how much she takes with just one kiss, and he loves that she loves it, and he loves to feel the passion growing within her as her lips make contact with his own.  Even though blindfolded he senses where she is, tilting his head to meet her, making his mouth available to her; never knowing if it will be a gentle probing kiss, or one which makes him wince with the pain as her teeth take hold. 

Except this time, she avoids his anticipation, moving her mouth away from him, trailing her nails into his skin, across the tips of his hardened nipples. She flicks them gently at first and then harder, feeling him flinch as the tips of her nails catch the tips of his nipples.  They are red, engorged, and she places her mouth over them as she teases them with her tongue, he was not expecting this and the groan of pleasure escapes from his mouth, reaching up she twists the other nipple between her fingers, his groans of pleasure mixing with groans of pain as she bites and twists and hurts him gently.

She still trails her fingers from her other hand across his body and leaves his nipples wet which harden further when the coolness of the air touches them after she moves her mouth away.  She traces his body with her tongue, down over his chest, across his ribs, over his stomach, his hips.  His cock, just as before, screaming to be touched.

She stops and admires it.

Keeping her eyes upon him watching and gauging his reactions.  She stops tracing her tongue over his hips and without warning licks his cock hard from the head to the base and back to the head again.  His body bucks with surprise, his back arching up to meet her mouth that is firmly around his cock.  The groan that escapes from his mouth clearly audible.  Pressing her self against his legs, grinding upon him, he feels her arousal against his skin, her own arousal and wetness clearly felt. 

She teases him gently with her tongue, watching his arousal build, the pleasure coursing through his body, and as she watches him, she allows her own orgasm to wash over her.  She takes him in her mouth, deep into the back of her throat, her tongue teasing around the shaft and head of the cock as he moans.  She thought about biting him, hurting him, twisting his cock and balls with her hands, but at this moment, she is gentle, tender and soft. 

She lightens her touch further still; holding his cock in one hand, her tongue gently swirling around the head of his hardness, featherlike touches that can only just be felt, and she watches as he tries to arch himself even more to feel more force from her mouth and her tongue. 

She is watching him.

Teasing him. 

Frustrating him. 

Watching the arousal building in his body, his mind floating, the whole of his body sensitive to the lightest of touches.  And he is pleading and begging, and he is moaning and groaning and his breathing is fast and shallow, and his cock is twitching as its close to orgasm.

"It's not all about hurting and pain now is it?" she comments to him.

"No, but you want to hurt me don't you?" he asks tentatively.

She smiles. Returning to the teasing and tormenting of his body, with her tongue and her fingers, thinking that this is going to be fun, she simply says

"Maybe JoJo.  Maybe."

.