The Expression

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?

Taken. Not Taken

You, and all that you are,  every curve and line,  every expanse of silken skin,  every orifice,  every dark corner of your heart….

mine. 

Not taken,  no matter how it seems  when I render you helpless and take your body like a slave to my pleasure. 

No, not taken,  but given in a perfect, desperate love more complete than passion or romance alone could ever be. 

One of my poems from my deleted blog

Trussed

I like you trussed.  Helpless.  Exposed.  Your mind racing at what might be next,  the nature of pleasure,  the nature of pain;  how,  and how long I will take you. 

I like to watch the rise and fall of your chest,  how your breathing increases as I approach,  your eyes darting to my hands.  What are they holding?  What signals do they give you? What are my intentions. 

Your eyes dart as your mind roils and I revel in your gasp at my first touch. 

I like you trussed,  Hanging limp and spent afterwards,  your voice low and raw,  a single line or mascara down your cheek,  your head bowed,  I like the soft whimper as my hands  run up your side, up your back the last time and I cut you loose,  the way you fall into my arms,  Your body spent.  Your mind at rest.  Your soul at peace. 

Consent

It has always about what you offered. And how far I would take it.

That does not change, but know this, there comes a place of offering where I will take all of you to a new place that will leave us both transformed.

A poem from my banned blog. Thank you to all who send me these!

A Reason to Celebrate the New Year

Somehow, in every place you offer,

I fit. Perhaps stretching the boundaries at first,

But always, in the end,

In the tightest, most forbidden places

That no one sees,

I fit.

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.

Still finding my old poems from my Tumblr deleted site saved by others. Thanks to all of you who reposted them!

Consequences

Blindfolded, you feel more  intensely.  Each caress.  Each tiny pinprick of pain

is distinct from the other. 

Until all subtlety is abandoned and I split you asunder,  losing my control to my passion, 

forcing each cry ripped from your lips,  each one the consequence of your surrender. 

One of my poems from my deleted blog, found on someone else’s blog.

Wait. Watch.

Lay there.  Wait.  Watch  as I lay things out.  Flogger. Crop. Plug. More.  As I anticipate which pain, and where I will punish you with tonight.  As I anticipate what tender places I will penetrate, with what and how long,  and how hard.  Watch. See my smile.  See my shaft rise,  hard as stone.  Know,  you are mine,  helpless before my desire. 

When, or If

The thing is, I always start tender and for a few moments, maybe more, you are uncertain how you will bring me pleasure, when, or if the caress will turn into a sharp slap, when, or if your tender pink nipple will find itself clamped, chained or twisted. When, or if, you go from lover to slave and back again.

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.