"...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

Images & Visions

My eyes paint images

I've not yet seen

of you.

My mind creates visions

I've not yet witnessed

of you wanting,

needing

bared and exposed.

And I think of all

the ways that I

want you and

with each new thought

the desire builds,

the wanting grows,

the longing aches.

Let us paint the images,

create the visions.

Let us share the desire

and wanting

and need.

To please

I can feel the heat of your breath, I can feel the closeness of your cheeks to my thigh.  I can picture a desirous look that floods your eyes.

And you wait and I wonder if you are taking me in or just wanting to prolong that moment.  A slight touch, as I feel your fingers gently trailing up my thigh, tracing, teasing and I can sense your mouth getting closer as my body tightens.

My body is swamped by a longing, as an urge surges through me to push my hips and shove your face deep into me.  And still I can feel your gentle touch, as my hands fist into the sheets, as I grasp onto the pillow and still I have the urge to pull you in.  There is something about that moment, that moment before the delicious torment of your tongue delves into the depths of my aching cunt.  That moment as my body is taken higher even without a touch.  I feel your face drag against me, my body filled with such glorious sensations and I'm overcome by a carnal desperate longing.

My eyes tightly close when I feel your breath so close to me, it's warmth, the depth of your breathing before you finally slip out your tongue and press between the folds to tease, to torment, to taste.

To please.

Stolen.

A gentle touching of lips.  A gloved hand tracing his chiselled jaw, cupping his face she looks at him, his lips, wanting to devour them, to devour him.

 

But despite her hunger for him, her mouth softly brushes his, a kiss so gentle it takes his breath away, stealing words from him that he had yet to find.

 

He pulls her in closer, tighter, urging her to take more from him. But in that moment, he realised she had already taken everything, that she had stolen so much more from him.

 

She had taken it bit by bit, she had taken him piece by piece, but in taking it, in stealing it, she had set him free. 

 

He realised he could not let her go, for she had him in her hands.

 

All of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No idea

You had no idea as we had dressed for the evening formal dinner that this was how the evening would end.  In the days of planning, neither had I. But with everything in place, I knew exactly how the evening would pan out. I knew that we would stay for dinner, we'd have champagne and dance a little.  But I also knew that at the end of the night we wouldn't return home alone.  And I knew that what was going to be a pleasure for me, would torment you.  That what would build me, would break you.

You had no idea until you had seen us flirting over the dinner table, a dark haired, younger very handsome man with the most kissable lips. You could tell from the way I looked at them, that I wanted to devour them, to devour him.  You could tell from the way I looked at him and the way he looked at me, that there was a current of electricity, shocks passing across the table which everyone else was oblivious too.

You had no idea where we had gone when I had excused myself from the table to "powder my nose" and you had no idea where he had gone when he had left a short time after.  The bewildered look on your face when we returned together, flushed faces, and a smile on my face.  As I sat down beside you and guided your hand between my legs, you knew.  You knew what had just happened and as I placed my hand on your device I could feel your cock begin to stiffen and I knew that you knew.

You had no idea that he would be coming home with me. With us.  And you had no idea that you would be sat across the room, the same room, while I straddled him, kissed him and lowered myself slowly onto his hardened cock.  And as I took control over his cock, the speed and depth to how he entered me, I could hear and sense your humiliation as I told him how wonderful it was to finally have such a big cock inside of me, to be filled by a real man.  I knew. I knew that you were longing to be him, longing to be in that place, that you weren't jealous of him, but longed to be him.

I knew that your cock would be straining against the device I had locked you in before we had gone out for the evening. After all, I wanted you properly dressed, you looked so handsome in your dinner suit, the bow-tie, it was as much as I could do to keep my hands from you before we had left, I had teased you, tormented you, edged you until you were so aroused and then locked you away.  Laughing at your frustration.

And there you sat, across the room, witnessing him fucking me.  My kissing him, our moans and groans of passionate release as he fucked me harder, deeper, as I rode him.  All the while, you sat there watching us. Watching him. Watching me.  

We were lost in the desires, the lust of the moment, oblivious to your humiliating defeat, oblivious to the strains of your cock.  Oblivious to your burning cheeks of longing, of need, of desire, your broken humiliation as his cock filled me deeply. Oblivious to your own moans as he came deep inside of me.

And you had no idea that soon it would be your turn.  That this would be your moment of even deeper humiliation as I order you to your knees before him, to clean his cock which had moments before been deep inside me.  

And you had no idea that your humiliation would only be complete as you led on your back while I straddled your mouth and ordered you to clean me, to clean me deeply and thoroughly, your tongue recoiling at the taste of him.

And you had no idea as your tongue brought me to a shuddering orgasm that my juices, his juices would flow over your face, your mouth, and your tongue, trickling down the back of your throat causing you to gag. You were broken. Your humiliation marked by us both.

You JoJo. Had no idea.

Craved

A desire burns, a body trembles with a deep need as yet unsated.  A simple touch creates a hunger that isn't satisfied.  I want to place my hands on you, tearing at your skin with my nails, I want to feel your body against my own, dampness of burning skin sliding against the other as I feel your strength from your body as I pull you closer.

The beast unleashed, let free from its cage, as you beg and plead to be taken, to be broken, to bleed, to cry.  And the pleadings only serve to increase the need to hurt you more, to enshroud us in a depraved darkness as it covers us and we are swept away in the licentious moment in time, becoming one in the erratic beat of passion and desire that sounds out within the room.  

Irregular and ragged breath that you take, a beating heart pounding to its own cadence.  Body so tight that it cannot take in its breath, lungs screaming for air and life.  Eyes wide and glazed with a fire burning deep within.  Butterflies fluttering, juices dampening soft and silky thighs.  The darkness unleashes a beast, a primal woman, that sees the need burning deep within you.

Hair gripped in hand, shoving you to the ground, raising your face with one hand as the other snaps against your cheek, head spinning, falling deeper into a place where nothing exists but that moment, and you and I.  Dragging you across the floor, skin scraping on the bare floor, a cacophony of moans and groans escaping your engorged lips.  Thrown to the floor, being held with my heel from my shoe, I reach for the belt that is hung over the door.  The smell of leather permeates the air, wafted under your nose to excite you further.

The sounds of your scream echo in the silence, as your body shakes uncontrollably, the sense of power courses from the leather up through my arm, crashing down through my body in a never ending spiral. There is urgency, heat and passion, harshness and cruelty, as the leather beats at your skin, as your screams tear me apart, ripping me open, baring the beast that has been caged inside for so long.

Sensations take hold, your choking from my foot against your neck, the harshness of the leather against your reddened skin.  As I reach down to take you in my arms, my palms coming down against the soft flesh of the cheeks of your ass, exploring, probing, until they find where they want to go.  Your body shaking and yet soaring with the stimulation of my fingers and my breath against your neck as I whisper into your ear.  The screams that escape your mouth as I push in deeper, the screams that continue to excite the beast, primal cravings as I take you in my hand, deep gutteral utterances escaping your lips, as you are taken. 

Used. Ripped. Assaulted. Broken.

And yet, it was embraced, welcomed, needed.

Craved.

Passion

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

Joss Whedon



*I* LOVE this.

Broken Dream

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

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

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

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


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

Awaken

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

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

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

He entices me. Draws me in.

Awakens me.

Ecstasy

… here was a boundless sensual freedom, theirs for the taking, even blessed by the vicar—with my body I thee worship—a dirty, joyous, bare-limbed freedom, which rose in his imagination like a vast airy cathedral, ruined perhaps, roofless, fan-vaulted to the skies, where they would weightlessly drift upward in a powerful embrace and have each other, drown each other in waves of breathless, mindless ecstasy. 

–Ian McEwan, On Chesil Beach

Passion

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

Joss Whedon 

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".

Tornado

I drown in a sea of white.

My whole self having been swallowed and swathed within sheets, pillows and covers. I am engulfed in the bed where you had been, before leaving with the rising sun.

I can still feel you, smell you, taste you.  My body aches.  My body is sore.  My lips still feel your own, languishing in the passionate kisses that we shared.  My ears still filled with your gentle whispers of sultry and libidinous longings.  My nipples still hardened from the touch of your mouth as you consumed them.

The bed looks like a tornado passed through leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. 

A storm that happened so quickly, and passed as soon as it started and my body feels the after effects of the tempest of a storm that you created.  

I stretch out gently across the bed.  You have gone.  It is calm now.

My thighs are stuck together. 

Drawing him near

She leans into him, fingers ploughing through pliable flesh, nails dragging into his back.  Thighs parted around his head, gently closing around him, engulfing him, bringing him in, drawing him near.

The desire flows between them just as freely as the juices that flow from her into his mouth.  The longing, the hunger, the lust as his hands grip her thighs bringing her closer still, enabling him to go deeper into her.

His mouth finds the spot, that it hungrily searched for, and she gives into the administrations of his mouth as her resolve melts gently away.  He loves to bury his face into the smooth folds of soft pink skin, deep into the depths of her, he is sustained by the pleasure that he brings to her.

He finds his rhythm of teasing, gently, a quick pause, waiting for a reaction, some acknowledgement, a movement or a touch that urges him on.  She floods him with a fresh wetness and his mouth opens to take the flow, as he feels the urge and desire from her engorged sex.

His face is painted with her juices as he feels her body tense, feeling her body tipping over the edge as his hands reach around to tease, the gentle sensation of his fingers probing her ass, matching every flick of his tongue. He can feel her body tense.  He can feel her as she falls over the edge, as she shudders lost to the wave of orgasm that screams through her body.

And she leans into him, fingers dragging through pliable flesh, nails dragging into his back.  Thighs parted around his head, gently closing around him, engulfing him, drawing him near . . .

Excitement ~ the acts or the response?

"My experience with other "dominant" women is that, frequently, they only act dominant, and are excited not by the dominant acts themselves, but by the excitement given off by a submissive man in their life." The Lazy Domme's Guide.

A couple of weeks ago when I was browsing through various blogs and I came across the above writing which was made within a blog by Lazy Domme.  It was referring to the fact that in the writer's experience many dominant women often aren't excited by the dominant acts themselves but by the responses and the excitement that stems from the submissive man in their life.

The author goes on to write within the blog about how to change that and how to make it more exciting for women ~ it is a blog which certainly struck a chord with me for many reasons, one I enjoyed reading and one certainly worth checking out!  But the comment I've quoted above was one that kinda stuck with me.

It stood out.

It certainly got me thinking (and I love comments and words that do that!)

I think it stood out, because for me, it couldn't be further from the truth, the fact that I personally get so much from the dominant acts.  But also maybe it stuck because I cannot imagine anything worse than just having to do things "just because" and not getting any pleasure or enjoyment out of it. 

For me, I am totally excited by the dominant acts.

I am totally excited by the acts of sadism. 

Because if I wasn't excited by them, if I didn't enjoy them, I wouldn't be doing them.

Why would I want to do something that I didn't like or enjoy?

The quthor went on to comment that she felt that many dominant women are getting a raw end of a deal, by not getting pleasure out of the acts themselves. And yes, perhaps it is a raw deal.

Of course, there will always be people who are doing just that.  Just as there are those who "submit" just to please their more dominant partner.  Just like there are those in an FLR where the woman doesn't truly want to lead the relationship but are "guided" by the submissive.  There will be people who will get a raw deal. People who will do things just to please and not because it meets their wants or desires.

There are times when I will choose to do things because it is something that the submissive may like or enjoy, but I still get something from it, I must still like or enjoy what I am doing or going to do.  I believe that both peoples needs are important and need to be met, regardless of the dynamic, but, if I didn't want to do something, if I didn't like it. I wouldn't do it.  I wouldn't do something just because someone "expected" it or "demanded" it.

As a dominant female I do the things that I want to, that I enjoy, that I get something from or out of.

If I don't; I don't do it.  It is quite simple really.  No raw deal.

But, while I get excited by the act, of course I get excited and enjoy his feelings, his reactions, his own excitement. It really is a combination, not only of the dominant acts, or the submissve acts, but also about the end result. The feelings it creates for both, the things it brings in emotionally, physically or psychologically, both to the submissive and also to myself.

They go hand in hand, they are part and parcel of the same thing.  Together they are what I need and want.  The things I do and the feelings it creates.

I don't subscribe to the thought of it being all about the Domme. Neither is it all about the submissive. It isn't just about the act. It isn't just about the excitement or feelings.

It is about it all.

It is about the whole thing, from the dynamic and the relationship itself, to the acts, the feelings and the whole experience; for both!

I love the "acts", I love the things that I do, I love the feelings and the psychological changes it brings about.  And I love the way those things are all connected.  I get excited by the things that I do, even from the most simple of things. It doesn't have to be complicated or indepth, dominance and submission can be experienced in some quite beautiful and simple acts, but I get excited by the things I explore, the things that create excitement within the submissive, the feelings it creates within them and within me.

The excitement doesn't just come from what is given off from the submissive. It doesn't just come from feelings I experience. For me it is about it all, the relationship, the acts, the feelings and the end result.

For each.

For both.

Edited to add relevant links.

Your friend. My lover.

He was your friend. 

But he become my lover. 

You invited me over for dinner. 

A special evening you had prepared to help ease and remove the stresses of the week that I had had at work. 

I had been hesitant in making the trip.  The ninety minute journey was always hard work, especially on a friday evening. But I was free the next day and thought it was an ideal opportunity to have some time out. To relax and for us to spend some time together. That it would give us plenty of time to do all what I had planned and plenty of time for you to attend to the growing needs that my arousal from our time apart had created.  

It was a couple of weeks since I had seen you.  I was looking forward to it.  I had plans for you. Plans for us.  The beast had been kept within its cage and was prowling for release. The thoughts running through my mind had only served to increase my already aroused state.  Your own arousal had built each day that you continued to be denied and locked.  

I needed some time out, I needed to be treated, pampered, worshipped. And I knew that you were more than capable of doing all of these things. 

I could have had you fuck me the minute you opened the door and let me in. 

Instead we kissed, hard. A hunger and passion growing with every lingering second.  I wanted you there and then. And my hand made its way down your body, down to your hardening cock straining in the device which it had been in for the time we had been apart. The constraints it placed upon you causing you to gasp and moan, causing me to smile and laugh at your discomfort, at your pain.

And then he caught my eye.

Sat over on the sofa, he had been watching the growing passion between us.  I stopped and smiled at him.  I was annoyed that the plans I had for the evening ahead had to be put on hold but didn't show it to him. 

You said he was your friend. 

I whispered into your ear annoyed at this outside intrusion, "He will be my lover".

You stopped, looked at me. Eyes crestfallen.

You knew I wasn't joking.

You had decided to introduce us at dinner that night.  He and I never made it to dessert. As you cleared the table after dinner, the look in your eye as you glanced over to me said it all. 

Arousal. Jealousy.

Longing. Frustration. 

I told you to close the door as you went into the kitchen.  I knew you would be straining to hear any and every noise that you may hear and that not being able to would tease, torment and torture you. Now you would suffer for making plans without checking first.

He and I had moved into the lounge.

Sitting comfortably on the sofa we chatted freely and openly, and every so often I could hear you moving around in the kitchen, hoping for any sign, any signal of what was happening behind the closed door.  I knew that you were frustrated, annoyed, and desperately wanting to know what was happening.

He was different to you in so many ways.

But there was something that attracted me to him almost immediately.  I remember noticing the slight flecks of grey appearing in his hair, brought to my attention the moment he pushed his hand nervously through it.

I could tell he was a little unsure of what was happening, knowing that something was going to, but not having any idea what would.

I shifted myself on the sofa, bringing one of my stockinged legs up so I could turn and face him. His eye was drawn to the laced top which he could see through the split which ran up my thigh in the long ankle length skirt.  His hand was resting uneasily on his leg and reaching over to it, I stroked my nails teasingly along the length of his fingers, placing my own around his fingers, I moved his hand from his own leg over onto the top of my stockings as I told him to touch me.

He looked up at me. Up at the kitchen door. Confusion clear to see on his face. 

"It's ok" I said to him.

"He already knows"

He was shaking slightly. From nerves? No, not really. More so from anticipation, from arousal, from being unsure of what I was saying to him was right. He looked at me in somewhat disbelief as his fingers traced the lace around the top of my stocking, my legs moving apart as his hand moved more forcefully between my thighs, soon discovering that I wasn't wearing any underwear. His fingers soon found their way between my legs, my own body betraying the deep arousal that I felt at his hand, at what we were doing with you only a short distance away.

The groan that escaped from my mouth caught both him and me by surprise.

He stopped.

I looked at him, demanding him to carry on. 

He teased me with his fingers, plunging them deep inside, fucking me with his hand until I came on his fingers hard, my juices running over his fingers and as I removed his hand I forced his fingers into his mouth, he licked his own fingers clean before I kissed him hard. Tasting myself upon his lips. 

His cock was hard. 

His eyes slightly glazed, his breathing deep, yet shallow. A hunger growing, a passion building.  We kissed fervently, passionately, hungrily, hands roaming everywhere, clothes being removed with haste, abandoned as they were thrown without care.  Moans and groans clearly audible mixed with heavy breathing and passionate gasps.

The kitchen door opened, you had come to serve dessert, except, I was already having it.

I was having him.

Passion

The moment ignites the passion and fervour, as my mouth meets yours. Nails dragging down over your skin, a trail of welts raised and red are left behind.

Mouths brought together hungrily as a tongue flicks over your lips, forcing its way between them.  It fucks your mouth and the kiss devours you, consumes you, and moans of unsated arousal and pleasure escape from deep within. 

A body grinds down upon you, forcing itself against the hardness of your cock. The wetness seeping against your skin, the heat of the cunt burning against the dampness.  You know what is to come.

The mouth moves down over your body, a trailing tongue tracing the red welts adorning your skin, a light trail of saliva, causing goosebumps as the coolness meet the heat of your naked skin. 

You are marked in more ways than one. Lost to the feelings of the moment, the desire, the hunger, the passion.