Again

After

After.

After. After it all. After the rough filling. The bruising of your softest tissues. The marks. The taking of more than your body. After one more orgasm than you believed possible. After you are left breathless and limp. Spent. After all that, still... the tiniest of smiles.

A Game We Play

It is a game we play, going out in a strange city.

You wearing just what I tell you, tighter with a neckline you'd never wear in our home town. Breasts lifted up like prize possessions, damn near an advertisement, one that gets the attention you deserve.

It's a game we play, surveying the room. Seeing who notices, particularly those alone for the night. Seeing who notices the small anklet gold and diamonds catching the light. Seeing who, and yes, it often shows, has grown hard as I kiss you in candlelight, hands around your shoulder, lingering in the shadow of your cleavage.

It is a game we play, often enough, imagining him, and how and where you want him, or at times, them. Imagining size or girth and the feeling of them, imagining their surprise at just how tight you are on their oversized, swollen members.

It is a game we play, until that one time, when I stand and walk, and invite him over for a drink of you.

The Expression

There it is.

The expression

I have come to know.

You on the precipice

Between the familiar

And surrendering to letting it happen,

That one thing, once imagined,

Once fantasy, now upon you,

Your last chance to use the word

And be safe, or give yourself

To more that you believed you would ever

Actually

Do.

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I remember the first time I saw that expression on your face. And the second. And… Trust and desire as we moved from fantasy to reality.

The photograph is from a reader, used with permission. @capemayartist-blog

The Culmination of Assurance

It is the after. After the surrender. The taking. The sweet ravaging with all its pain and desire. After the orgasm. and the next orgasm and the last, forced orgasm, and we are both spent, and we fall together in silken tenderness, so sure of our love we could weep, this, the after, the culmination of assurance.

Lovely blog 💕 😊 😀

Thank you!

It's Always the Smile

in the end, it is always her smile. Not to disparage the rest of her, every line and curve and sway. The curls. The glint in her eye. But in the end, it is always the smile. Captivating. Always true. Sexier than a smile should be, you feel like a king, when she submits with that smile, and her subject when she devoirs you.

Dangerous

I always believe beyond the odds, the time, the distance, that the fantasies we dream have space to become reality. Too many already have for me to think otherwise.

And that is what makes every moment we are together dangerous.

The Best of Lessons

It is the best of lessons, the more fucked out I leave you, the more the surrender. the more desperate the need to please. And what man could want more than that perfect desperation from his perfect woman?

By the Time I am Sated

Ah, the time I will take with you. Your arms tied high. Your legs spread. Dressed in nothing but heels and a collar. Teetering. Exposed. Unsure where you are, only that for the next few hours, every square inch of your body will be touched. At times softly. At times roughly. Your body mine, and by the time I am sated, your soul as well.

Pretense

Let's not pretend that any touch means anything but "mine."