Everything

One of my poems from my deleted blog.

The power of submission

I look down to you on your knees,  this vibrant, powerful woman,  half dressed, submissive,  hungry, oh so hungry to please,  waiting for my touch,  waiting for my command and I am more than aroused.  I am humbled. 

Suddenly Safe

And then, you suddenly realize the fantasy is about to come real. Me standing, directing the pleasure of everyone involved in a way you never believed happens. Certainly not to you. A smile on my face, half wicked, half so full of love you ache for it, feeling suddenly safe in this strange place you find yourself.

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Fill in your fantasy. With the right person, they can happen. But for Gods sake, make sure it is the right person who will both push you and protect you, and love you even more after it is done.

On Your Knees

On Your Knees

On your knees, an act of worship, you take me in, your eyes meet mine, full of supplication and passion, your desire radiating like an aura.

I watch you lips as they kiss my hard passion, kiss the velvety shaft that yearns for you.

I watch you as you open your mouth, as your tongue, pink and vibrant, licks slowly, up….. down…. up…. Each touch of you like molten fire, wet, inviting, giving.

I watch your manicured nails as your hand traces slowly, teasingly down my belly, finding my balls, so swollen and tender, aching for your touch.

You smile, and your hand grasps my hardness, guiding it to your mouth, wide, generous in your love, in your submission as my hand reached down, presses you deeper, deeper around me, surrounding me, your lips full, your mouth full, flat against my belly,

I pump myself into you and you give yourself to me, your body, your mouth, no longer your own but mine,

my cock swells and you feel it.

My hands reach down and pull your breasts up, find the nipples, squeezing them, feeling you moan as your perfect lips, surround my cock, so deep in you, down, down to your throat,

then back out…. And in again, my hand now pressing lightly into your fragrant hair, my hips alive, taking your, making your mouth mine, an intimate kiss of submission, your body, your heart, your mouth, your heart, mine.

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.

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.

Time Well Spent

We took the time. So much of it when we could have been doing.

But instead, we chose intimacy first. Time. Spent. Wisely. Learning

Just how much, and how far. How many and how much you believed you could.

What excites you. What scares you and yet still calls, now that you know fantasies happen.

And now, that time behind you, I know just how far to take you, and a bit beyond.

Nothing Close to mine

Dressed less. Showing more each time I take you out. Feeling eyes on you. Feeling the hunger of strange men, rabid, wild, but nothing close to mine.

It is always nice to find one of my poems from my Other Poems site so I can reclaim them here.

To The Man Whose Cum is In Her Mouth

You have it all wrong, thinking I have share her with you. Oh no. I have instead gifted her with your cock. A bit of pleasure, different enough to excite her, a fulfilling of her fantasies, with you as the bit actor, large enough, polite enough, willing to follow instructions, able to be watched without wilting, a man who appreciated what she is, from her curves to her breasts, to her uncommon tightness, and of course, her ability to take, even you, beyond her throat. No, she was not shared. What we have goes beyond anything you felt. Trust me. I know. We have done this before with different actors. And we will do it again.

I do not have to tell you how satisfying you were. Her orgasm tells that story. We are both glad you were all you advertised. All you promised. Too many are not. And now, should you see her on the streets of the city, you will know what lies underneath, what it feels like inside her, So tight it is like a fist grabbing and pumping, yet warm and slick and hungry. You will know her throat, all of it. And you will know me, beside her. taking her night after night, feeling all you felt, and more. Feeling the heart that makes her, her. Mine.

No my friend, she was not shared. You were given to her. That, and nothing more.

Never Enough

Somewhere, someone

Told you you were too much.

While I am left thinking

There is never enough.

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This poem has little to do with size.