Words for the boys, I've loved. Loved enough to hurt.

Words for the boys, I've loved. Loved enough to hurt.

1. I've never forgotten all of the firsts that you and I shared. The moments, the times, the depravity, the sensuality. I'll never forget that you handed me your heart. as I shared mine. I'll never forget the look in your eyes as we twisted your heart to make it hurt, the pain, the release, the love. I'll never forget how together for so many years, we enabled each other to be the person we were, the person we needed to be, the person we are. I'll never forget all that you gave, all that you took. I'll never forget what might have been, what could have been, but was never meant to be. I'll never forget you. I'll never forget.

2. We were connected you and I, in a way that surprised us both, with a connection that kept bringing us back over so many years, even though we knew that it wasn't meant to be.  I remember the tears that fell as a result of the spanking, the paddle or the twisting of the heart. But most of all, I remember the tears that fell the day that we had to walk away, the tears that came with the final goodbye. I'll always remember that pain, a pain like no other. I'll always remember you. 

3. You're included here because I loved you enough to hurt you, the reality is that love wasn't enough. While we did so much more than fuck, you fucked it up. There's nothing else to be said.

4. Oh god. I remember the beauty of your submission.  I remember your touch, your presence, your worship.  I remember your mouth against my toes, my skin, my cunt.  I remember the hours that passed as we talked through the night, of how determined you were to never fall asleep before I, the insomniac. I remember the emotional gifts that you gave to me, the way you permitted me to leave my mark upon your skin, the way you put your life into my hands as I took the breath away from your body.  I remember your acceptance of your place within my life, as I accepted your need to submit as a cuckold boy. I can still hear you beg for me to hurt you. I can still see the hurt and pain in your eyes that filled with love, as your tears fell, while you watched he and I fuck. I can still hear you gag the first time you took his cock into your mouth after it had come from inside of me. I can still hear the words "I'm yours", the sound of your voice, the touch of your hands, the beauty of you as you lay broken at my feet and still wanted more. I can still remember the depths of your submissive self. I can remember the love you had, the love you showed, the love we shared. 

5. It infected you. It affected us. A darkness that infiltrated every pore of your being, that led you to wanting to feel pain because it was the only way you could feel. The only time you could physically feel. Emotionally feel. If love or pain was enough to have saved you, you never would have died. I will carry you with me, always.  You were the last I truly loved enough to hurt. But your going left a pain that remains with me still.  My heart carried a love for you then, it will carry it for you always. 

There you'll be . . .

8 years ago. 

8 years ago today, she took her last breath.

8 years ago, my Mum, my best friend lost her battle.

We were there by her side, our hearts shattering into a million tiny pieces, so many unfinished conversations, the regrets of words that were never shared.

And yet, in some small way, I shall be thankful that we were given the chance to say goodbye, we were given the chance to share thoughts and memories and say "I love you" from the day that we were told there was nothing more they could do, they said a couple of weeks and it wasn't even that. 

I spent every moment I could with her in the last 6 weeks of her time with us, we sat and watched the spring flowers outside grow, the lambs making their first appearance into the fields.  On the morning of the day she passed we'd watched a wild deer running through the fields, it had stopped and it appeared to be looking in at us, I still remember that moment as clear as day. 

Cancer, you bastard!

You robbed us even of the extra few days they said we'd have, right to the last, you took her away from us. 

Her last spoken words will haunt me forever as she woke on that morning and she whispered "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore." And from there we knew, that this would be the last day that we would share with her, and my heart filled with a pain that no amount of words can or will ever describe.

While in the depths of grief after she passed, I certainly felt as if she'd taken so much with her, as the rawness eases from the loss of someone, when the edges are not so sharp and jagged, you realise that they have left you with so much.  Memories, many precious memories and the love that fills the heart.  The passing of time can never take that away just as it cannot take the void away that exists. 

Her dying took so much away. 


There are two songs which just remind me of her so much . . . this first one has such heart-breaking words and yet they are so beautiful and in fact, also make me think of others who have been close to me who I have lost, including my friend who recently died.  Because the words are so true there too.

"Every place we ever walked and
Everywhere we talked, I miss you
You never leave my mind
So much of you is left behind"

This song also reminds me of my Mum....

"I'll keep a part of you with me
And everywhere I am there you'll be......"

8 years may have passed.  Some days it seems like only yesterday, not a day goes passed when something happens I wish I could tell her about.  

I miss her.  Everyday. 

My heart is her home. She will live there forever.

"...ing".....

Seed planting

Thoughts developing

Nerves building

Excitement mounting

Butterflies growing

Time passing

Eyes meeting

Knees quivering

Hands shaking

Face smiling

Cheeks blushing

Eyes lowering

Skin touching

Pores perspiring

Mouth sighing

Lips touching

Tongues meeting

Hands roving

Hearts thumping

Body longing

Hands groping

Fingers rubbing

Mouths groaning

Trousers straining

Arms gripping

Mouth exploring

Senses exploding

Cock hardening

Eyes darkening

Lust building

Bodies aching

Cunt dripping

Tongue lapping

Heart pounding

Muscles tensing

Toes curling

Limbs clamping

Palms twitching

Mouths groaning

Hips plunging

Hands gripping

Teeth biting

Mouths Screaming

Bodies convulsing

Fluids releasing

Throat sighing

Arms holding

Time passing

Bodies spooning

Calm returning

Destiny.

We heard the news yesterday, that the coroner has released the body following the death of my friend.  A moment of sadness, but also a moment which means that family and friends can now make plans to say a final farewell.  A farewell to someone who was special to a lot of people.

They were a friend, who had touched life in many different ways.

Every person you encounter in your life, whether it is significant or not, leaves an imprint on your soul… from the tiniest speck to a small mark to a huge spot. Sometimes they are like wounds that need time to heal, and sometimes they are like kisses that you wish you had more of. Everyone is important…they help to shape us to be the people that we need to be to be able find our true happiness.

They couldn't find their happiness in life and that makes my heart ache so very much for them.  They used to say be who you are, believe in yourself, be the person that you want to be and you will find happiness and ultimately the person you are meant to share it with.  My heart aches that they never found that happiness.

They once said to me, enjoy the journey in getting to that place, enjoy the people you encounter along the way.  Each person comes into life for a reason even if we may not see it at the time, they may be there for only a short period of time, but there's still a reason, it just may take us time to figure out what that reason is.  And sometimes, that reason may not bring happy times, it may bring sadness and heartache and pain and that makes it doubly hard to ever understand why that person has come into our lives. 

We shared this conversation again on the night before they took their life, and their words echo in my mind.

And this parting comment . . .

There will be a time that journey will reach it's destination, a moment when you are truly happy, when you are loving but more so truly loved back, then you will know that you have arrived at your destiny, that the people you've met along the way were only part of that journey, and when you find that happiness, that love, know that it's your destiny and you've arrived at your destination.  If you're not truly loved back, if you're not truly happy, then it's not the destination and the journey is not over.

My friend was part of my journey, a journey where I've not reached my destination . . . their words will remain with me always, I wish that they were still taking their own journey, but hope with all my heart, that in their destination they are at peace.

Give me some pain!

It's been a difficult week. 

Emotionally draining. 

Emotionally confusing.

Emotionally difficult.

Different feelings, and different reasons, different causes. Some things I've not yet processed, some things that I'm not ready to put out there and there's a mixture of loss, sadness but also hurt, disappointment right through to anger.

I re-joined the gym this week after over 20 months away due to the various surgeries etc I've faced but early this morning I hit the gym today for a high intensity spin class, there was nothing about easing back into an activity gently, there was no taking it easy. 

Instead I pushed myself in a way I've not done for a long time, I wanted to find a release for the emotions that are all whirling their way around inside and wanted to feel something physical.   I needed a release of endorphins that could just bring some relief to the feelings that I've had.

I needed something to clear the mind.  I needed to push myself so hard in that class that I didn't know how I'd actually walk out of it at the end.

And that's exactly what I did do.

And now, several hours later the muscles in my body ache, they're tired and beyond sore, and it's a relief to have a physical ache instead of an emotional one draining the body.  It's a relief that my mind is feeling that physical pain, that physical ache and soreness.  It gives the mind a break, it gives the heart a break, it gives me a break.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't a person that felt so deeply, that wasn't so emotionally driven, things would be a whole lot easier at times.

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

And I hate it

There are moments, moments like this, like today, where there's a black cloud filling the day.  The sky outside may be clear and blue, the sun maybe shining, but here inside my head, over me, surrounding me is a big black cloud of fucking horrible funk.

And I hate it.

And I can't shake it.

I know it's a whole host of reasons, the arrival of Mothers Day which brings a whole host of feelings to me.  Throw in two nights of terrible insomnia, and the wonderful feelings of spending a matter of hours with someone followed by the drop and reality that it won't be for a while.   

And it all brings about a cacophony of emotions and feelings that feel like a stormy sea bashing at the sea defences. My defences.  I feel storm battered.

And I hate it.

And I want to turn the clock back to how I felt in the early hours of Thursday morning, the moment where I had an arm draped across my chest, a head sleeping on my shoulder, the weight of which weighed heavily but just brought about a sense of closeness in the darkness of the night that even when sleep eluded me I was filled with such a sweet and wonderful feeling.  And that seems so far away from where I am right now.

And I hate it.

I didn't sleep well last night. 

Neither did I the night before.  Instead the past two nights have been filled with a whole host of difficult feelings, painful reflections, I've had memories flood back in of the moment that people have literally drifted out of life, my witnessing their taking their last breath.  Haunted by the recollection of the time I almost drowned, I led there feeling just as I did at that moment, the way it felt as the water slowly filled my lungs as I saw life, my own life slowly ebb away.  I've had recollections of times in my life where it's been filled with such a sense of deep loss.

I feel haunted by the sense of loss, emptiness and sadness.  I feel like I'm drowning under a big black cloud.

And I hate it. 

And I'm trying to find the rays of light coming through the cloud and yet I am filled with a sense of foreboding, a sense of fear, as if something is going to go tearing through life and rip something else away from my heart. 

Right now, my heart feels vulnerable.  *I* feel vulnerable and quite alone. (A very rare thing for me to feel!)

And I hate it. 

Not the feeling of my own vulnerability, so much as that of my heart.  There is a beauty and a strength and a power in being vulnerable, of opening yourself up to someone and being vulnerable with them, to them, to the feelings you have.  But this heaviness, this darkness, this sense of emptiness that is enshrouding right now is quite overwhelming. 

And I hate it.

And my goodness, I'd give anything right now to transport me back to those early hours of Thursday morning, for that sense of warmth and closeness and just "being" in that moment. The closeness of skin, the closeness of feeling and watching him sleep, watching him breath, but just feeling. That moment.

But, the reality? Is that I'm as far away from that moment as I possibly could be.

Instead, I'm drifting into the darkness of a storm, the depths of funk that have come out of nowhere.  I feel as if I'm in a "drop", I feel disconnected in a way I don't want to be disconnected and yet, I can't disconnect from these horrible feelings.

And I fucking hate it!

Screw poetry!

"Screw poetry, it's you I want, your taste, rain on you, mouth on your skin."
Margaret Atwood

There are no poetic words waiting to spill all over the page.  There is no melodious soliloquy or discourse. 

There is no painting of aimless silhouette's on a naked canvas depicting an artistic longing.

Instead there is just the carnal and lascivious desires that are burning, that are longing, that are screaming for attention.  There is the ravenous hunger for sensual touch, your touch. 

Your fingers, your hands, your mouth over me, upon me, in me.

There is the rousing desires, of wants and needs. 

Screw the words, screw the poetry, screw the art upon bare canvas. 

Instead  I want you. 

Your hands, your mouth, your body touching mine.  Instead I want to touch you, to kiss you, to bite you and hurt you.  I want to breath you in, taste you, hold you.

There is no need for epodic rhyme. 

There is just a need for a moment.  A moment with you, with a mellifluous symphony of desirous worship.

Thoughts....

Salacious thoughts of

hungry lips

between wrinkled sheets.

Of nibbles and bites.

Desires

and wishing, a fervent

longing.

Do you have any idea
how often I think
about you,

of you?
Licentious longings

of touch, of taste,

of intimate gentleness,

of pain.

And if you knew

of the desirous thoughts

I have, a distance you

might keep.

But would that distance

take you further

away

or would it bring

you closer?

She loved . . .

She loved to tease him. Tasting him with her tongue.  She loved to leave a trail of saliva over his body, relishing in the shivers and goosebumps that were created as the cool air hit the heat of his skin.

She loved these moments of closeness and intimacy, ones that followed their wild and passionate times that they had shared only moments before.  She loved to kiss him gently. To kiss him where she had teased him, tormented him, beaten him. Hurt him.

She would stroke him tenderly,  as her lips gently kissed him, hands and lips gently soothing away the pain that had engulfed his body and marked his skin.  She loved to lavish his body with kisses, thanking his body with each kiss for the pain he had suffered for her.  She loved to kiss and wipe away his tears and his hurt.  Hurt and tears that she had brought to him, which fell for her.

She loved to touch him. Stroke him. Hold him. Taking in his taste and his scent, both of which were always embedded in her mind, in her heart, in her soul.  She loved to hear him sigh, to hear his breathing change as he regained some sense of normality.  She loved to hear the release from his body, releasing the tensions as it processes and sets free the pain and the torment that had permeated through to his depths.  She loved to watch him in that space, that moment. That depth. That darkness.  She loved to watch him. She loved him.

Silenced

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

Ingrid Bergman

I silence your words with my mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are silenced.

A view from afar.

I saw him yesterday.

From afar.  

He was sitting on the bench in the park, the weight of the world, if not the universe on his shoulders.  I watched him, his expressions, his reactions.  His pain.

And it took me back, right back to that time he had told me about his wants, his needs, his desires.  It took me back to that moment where his vulnerability was so clear, it took me back to that moment when he had come to me and told me about what had happened with his wife, her reactions at her discoveries.  It took me back to our "sliding doors" moment, the things we shared, the things we explored.

His vulnerability had always drawn me to him.  It wasn't a weakness or an issue, it wasn't a failing or a problem, it was beautiful. And his vulnerability touched me then, just in the way it always had. I remembered that night, where we had curled up on the sofa, his head in my lap, my hand gently stroking his hair while he talked.

I wanted to do that right then.  To walk over to him, to stroke his head and gently soothe out the pain and the stress that was obviously overwhelming him right now.  I wanted to touch him, hold him. Hurt him.  His vulnerability always had a way of awakening the sadistic beast even without him realising, or even trying to.

I've missed him.  But I remembered the last time I saw him.  The letting go that was right, but incredibly hard.  I remembered then his grip on my hand, the sparks that is sent coursing through me.  We have shared so many moments over the years.

And I've missed him.

I had hoped that in letting go, that he would have moved on to find a life to fulfill him, in the way that he needs, the way that he wanted.  I had hoped that he was happy.  But watching him then, he looked far from happy.

I know that we just aren't on the same page, not really.  And that is incredibly hard to admit when there's so many shared lines, shared chapters.  But, we want a different outcome, our stories are not the same, there is no happy ending ~ there never could be.  But it is hard, incredibly hard when there is common ground, common feelings, a shared attachment, a meeting of opposites.

And as I stood and watched him, I wished that it could have been different.  I wish that the ending could have been happy, but, while it could have had so much happiness within it, there would always have been things missing.  Things not right.  However hard, however much it broke my heart, it was for the best.

Sometimes letting someone go is the hardest thing in the world, but, I did it for him, for the right reasons. Although seeing his pain, his sadness. Although seeing that look in his eyes right then, I felt angry that someone or something was causing him those feelings.

I wanted to hold him. Soothe him. Tell him it would be alright.  Instead I could do none of those things except stand and watch him and hoping he would be, will he be ok?

"Maybe JoJo. Maybe"

 

Pain in the office. . . .

 I've only been back at work two days since the Christmas break which thankfully gives me all the time off from the day before Christmas Eve to when the schools return, which was for us, yesterday. 

But by god, it can be such a place of frustration.

One guy who every year comes out with his "vision" for the companies for the next year, who just has no concept of the financial situations and limitations which are going to be even harder this year than last.

One guy who just has an innate need to creep and brown-nose, and who seriously, gets right up mine! He never ceases not even when it doesn't get him anywhere.

There are bonuses of being the boss at work, for me I couldn't have it any other way, (it's a control thing lol) but at times it would be so much easier if we could kick some ass, whip them into shape, quite literally. Life would just be . . .so much easier!

But today, with frustration at an all time high, while I was sorting through the paperwork piled up on the desk from my Christmas Break all held together with clips, "the beast" was unleashed.

An increasing desire to hurt, to inflict the pain, to find the release that doing such brings . . .a shame it couldn't be that way in the work place.  Because I could seriously have put those clips to very good work today!!!

My toy!

The first time I brought you to orgasm was while you were talking to your mother. 

You had been talking to her for what seemed like an age.

I was bored.

My feet had been massaged to death and I decided that I wanted to tease, that I wanted your attention, your undivided attention. Not a little bit fitted in between a sentence every now and then.

I was playful.

And decided that you were the little toy that I wanted to play with.  Mother or no mother. 

I started to run my nails up and down the inner sides of your thighs, even beneath the trousers that you were wearing I know that you could feel them, I felt you shiver, I saw your own self begin to harden beneath the material.

Your eyes pleaded with me to stop, except it just made me want to tease you all the more, determined that I was going to make it as hard for you as possible (quite literally!)

Your breathing was beginning to change, you started to shift uncomfortably, and just when you were about to reply to her once again I started rubbing your hardening cock with my hand, causing you to gasp with a sharp intake of breath.  I heard you tell her that nothing was the matter and that you were listening.

I giggled as I began to tease you some more.  My hands working up and down the inner lengths of your thigh, gently brushing against your cock and balls every now and then, causing small sharp intakes of breath which made you look at me with pleading eyes; causing me to do it all the more.

I slowly unzipped your trousers, freeing the hardness that begged to be played with. Your eyes however begging me not to.  I grinned mischievously at you. You already knew that I wouldn't stop even if you asked me. A soft sigh escaped from your lips as I gently stroked you, all the time you just kept talking.

You didn't look at me when I lent over you, my tongue following the path of tiny raised welts that my finger nails had just carved into your skin.  You didn't dare to look at me as I began to tease your hardness with my tongue, flicking it quickly across the very tip.

Tantalisingly slowly, gently teasing.

You didn't dare to look at me when I reached up inside your shirt and started flicking your nipples with my fingernails.  More gasping, more sharp intakes of breath causing me to do it all the more, yet harder.  I watched you flinch each time I flicked the erect nipples with my nails, watching the way that you would screw your eyes tightly together and grimace, trying to find a way to quietly process the pain.  All the while listening and talking to your mother.

I gently twisted them between my finger and thumb, rolling them back and forward, gently at first, waiting until you were about to speak before twisting them hard, digging my nails in.  Watching you wince, while silent moans were desperately trying to escape.

Your mind was confused, not knowing whether to expect the gentlest of touches, or the harsh pain inducing force.  Back to teasing gently, I began to move your legs apart, exposing yourself to me, and I slid two fingers inside my mouth, wetting them with saliva, and watched the fear grow in your eyes as you tried to figure out what I was about to do.

Deep down, you already knew it.  Just as from the grin on my face you knew that I did too.

I was getting more daring.

The sadist in me was wanting to hurt you more.  And although you couldn't say it, I know that you were pleading with me not to as I teased the entrance to your ass with my finger.  Your cock began twitching, precum spilling over the end showing quite clearly that although you feared what was coming next that the reality was it aroused you.

And as I buried my fingers deep into you, I took your cock deep into my mouth, tasting you, teasing you with my tongue.  Licking it with force and fervor. You gasped, almost choked at the mixture of pleasure and pain, the mixture of delightful teasing combined with the intrusion into your body.

I took your cock deep into my throat, my tongue teasing around the head, flicking with great enthusiasm.  I could tell from the way that you were tensing up that you would not be able to hold it anymore.

Between gasps and sighs, between deep inhalations and brief exclamations your words stuttered, as you struggled to find the words.  All the time I am teasing you, sucking you, working you provocatively to the edge.  My fingers working competently yet arousingly until you can fight it no longer.

I knew that she was confused about what was happening and I knew that you were struggling to deny that anything was happening, your own mind confused with trying to focus on the conversation but distracted intensely with my mouth, my hand, my fingers.  And through sighs and moans as I took you from my mouth, one hand working frenziedly over your cock, the others fingers working deeply into your ass, you came. 

You struggled to find the words between your moans but managed to say goodbye to your mother.


I took the phone from your hand placing it onto the table smiling at you while sitting back and watching your expression.

I grinned at your confusion, your embarrassment.

I grinned at my toy.

Paint a picture . . .

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

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

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

Without colour.

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

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

Your body is like a beautifully created art work. 

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

Your body is illuminated. Your skin is alive.

It is exquisite.

You are  beautiful.