I Love When One Of My Poems From My Deleted Blog Finds Me!

Hopefully Enough

Hear them rustling behind you. Footsteps. How many? I promise you. More than you expect. Hopefully enough that when they are done, you will realize how desirable you are, and not just to me.

Mine. Yours

You give yourself to me,  surrender more than your body,  but your trust as my fingers caress you,  the flat of my palm smooth against your belly,  down,  slowly down,  smiling as your pelvis rises,  smiling at your helplessness,  your legs tied, spread wide,  one arm tied, one free,  the silk scarves soft and strong both,  you are beautifully vulnerable your body alive under my touch as my fingers approach your heat,  as they slide over your swollen heat,  the damp texture of your loins trembling,  as a tease you, tracing the moist slit that presses upward against my hand that rises then pressed against you, finally letting one thick finger slide in, just barely, sliding up towards your clit, finding it, hard and tender as I kiss your neck, 

You reach out in darkness,  the blindfold tight against your eyes.  My fingers probe as your hand finally finds my cock, you grasp it, your fingers tight around it’s shaft just as I plunge my own fingers deep in you. 

“No” I whisper.  “Caress it. Softly.” You cry out as my fingers swirl hard against your clit,  as another hand grabs your breast,  your excitement building, desperately to pump,  to let your hand reflect your hunger. 

“Caress.” I command  and the strain of it, your body now being mauled by my strong hands, while your hand struggles to obey,  softly sliding over my hardness, cups my balls smooth and shaven, so hungry for me,  but obedient, 

My fingers press your clit firmly now,  the rhythm of them back, forth, firm and steady,  savoring your cry, watching your beautiful fingers  slowly, lightly rubbing me as my own hands  take you hard, your soft breast helpless,  your clit enslaved. 

“Mine.” I say softly, but firmly too,  sure of your giving, sure of your body,  certain the first orgasm of the night  teeters on the edge, as your voice,  uintelligible whimplers,  as my hand commands you to slow your touch even as my own speeds up,  presses harder until you cry out,  as your entire body spasms,  lost in sensation,  as your hands abandon me,  and you grasp the sheets in beautiful agony then falls limp, your bruised chest heaving. 

I straddle you and take your hands and place them against my shaft.  “Now.” I say.  “Now pump me. Make me cum white and hot over your breasts.  and I watch your fingers,  your manicured nails as they surround me and gently move, up and down, slow, firm, 

My sigh tells you,  tells you the pleasure that fills me at the sight of you,  of your touch,  of the knowing that shortly my pleasure will erupt and cover you, the beginning of our night.  Yes, only the beginning,  my own helplessness in love,  no less binding  than the silken scarves that bind you and leave you at my mercy. 

Hi. I love your poems. And especially the themes that inspire your poems. “To The Man Who’s Cum Is In Her Mouth” is brilliant.

Are you also on twitter?

Thank you for your kind words.

Not any longer. When they canceled the original site, I did not start Twitter up again.

More than Sex

More Than Sex

Your back arches with each thrust.  Your back, supple and soft,  feels the hard table under you,  feels the hard thrust of my cock,  feels the power of my love as I look down,  my hands grasping your hips,  my eyes devouring you, as I slide in you,  again and again.  Not content to feel you,  my desire is to own you,  to make you mine in a way you never could have imagined wanting,  to make you cry out in a soulful desire and surrender,  to fill you, not just with my shaft,  not just with the warm liquids of love,  but with something deeper,  that plunges your depths,  and touches your heart with each mad thrust. 

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I have been gifted a trove of poems from my banned "Other Poems" blog. So I will be posting some of those between my newer ones. This poem is from the older blog.

The Danger of Asking

Perhaps you suspected asking was dangerous, but here you are. Collared. Leashed. Blindfolded. In a strange place. Rustling outside the door. Enough to make you wonder. You hear something mechanical and I tell you. The cameras.

You are dressed beautifully. Made up beautifully. Lips perfect. That too will be captured on camera, as will what is left of you, ravaged, cum covered. So much of you taken less like a lover than an object of desire. Yes, everything captured. Start. Finish. And everything in between. Asking was dangerous.

I am slowly findling my poems from the Tumblr purge of my former site.

in the candlelight and fire your body is art, full or line and shadow, tied, able to move just enough to prove your helplessness.

I caress your back, stopping to nibble, my sharp teeth leaving small marks on your alabaster flesh. branding you as mine.

My fingers cup your bottom, They…

I love finding my poems from my banned poetry site.

Not So Certain

Trust. One step further, then one step more, certain, but not so certain there is not a shiver at the touch of something unexpected, sharp as a knife, dangerous, and tender both.

Soul Love

And after they are done with you. And after I am done with you and you are cut down. No one except the one who knows you best (Me) could ever understand why you would fall to your knees and thank me.

The Problem

The problem is... The problem has always been that everything reminds me of you, and there is not enough time with you, for me to tell you how.

Owned

My hands say it. More than my words. More than any title or name. Sure. Confident. You are owned.