No Idea

No Wonder I Am Smitten

It's the knowing. The certainty. That you will. That you want to. No, need to, move from fantasy to reality, anything, anything at all, to please me.

The Simple Truth

The simple truth is that you are beautiful. Always have been. Always will be. Perhaps none have seen it, too busy with their egos and fears, but that does not change what you are, only how you see yourself.

So let me capture you, with cameras and words, with the soft touch of a lover and the confidence of a man who knows the truth.

The simple truth. You are beautiful.

A Different Kind of Art.

Stop. Just like that. Let me admire you a moment. Each curve. The position of submission. A moment of perfection before the passion is unleashed and you are made a different kind of art.

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.

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. 

Too Perfect

She is perhaps too perfect, too close, and at the same time too far away. Owned but only in the moments she is in need of the particular passion you offer, the only way you know how to love, an odd mix of tender and madness, too much for some, for most perhaps, but all you have.

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.

Lost and Found

Lost and Found

It is the white space,  the place between anticipation and the residual pain of marks,  of lashes,  the moment of it,  as it lances through you and the pain does not even cry out,  it simply consumes you and there is nothing else, and you are no longer what you believed,  not submissive, for that does not matter,  not in your own particular kind of love,  you are lost and found in it,  all other worries exploded, no longer important, a single minded woman finally in a peace you cannot explain,  the world around you lost,  your soul, found. 

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.