Some things are not for sharing

I wrote him a new poem today.
A new, little poem.
And you can't have it.

Some poems I write especially to recite to him, as I kneel between his legs, naked and adoring, my eyes embracing his, my hand on his cock, my love kissing his face. Sometimes, after, I ask if I may publish them here. If I may share them with you.

Usually, permission is granted.

Sometimes I don't ask.
Sometimes I don't want to share them.
These poems are a special gift of love,
from deep inside me to deep inside him.

Today, I had no time to ask or not.
You may not give it to them, he said.

I didn't want to anyway.

It's a small poem. Nothing fancy. Nothing deep. Nothing complex. It's very open. And it comes from Daddy's baby. I don't think he's ever had a poem from his baby before. And he wanted to keep it to himself.

He did have a message for you all. He wanted me to say that if you like the words you read here, in simple black letters on a white background, just think how much more impactful it is when delivered directly by the artist. (He didn't add - in a private performance by the naked artist, but he easily could have. He feels very possessive about his little poet, and likes to flaunt his ownership.)

We've been talking lately. Writing. There has been nakedness. Nakedness inside. Everything stripped away. Bleeding pain exposed. I am feeling very close to him. I won't presume to say what he feels. But I know how he touched me.

He sent me down to lie on the opened futon, my pale body on the dark, blood-red sheets. Spread you arms and legs wide, he said. I'm going to hurt your nipples.

Oh, I thought. I hadn't expected the nipple clamps to be ready yet. I thought he would talk about them more, build up my fear and my desire. Yet now...

I went downstairs.
I lay down on the dark sheets,
my limbs spread until I was a giant X.
I lay down and waited.

And yet, surprisingly, I wasn't trembling.
I wasn't afraid.
I was just...
there.
Soft.
Open.
Offered.

He came down.
He sat down beside me on the bed.
He stroked my breasts.
He leaned over and softly,
sweetly,
one by one
took each nipple between his lips.

I kept thinking that he was preparing them for the clamps. But no. He was caressing them. No more than that.

Eventually, he did pinch and twist them. Most of the time, he was more gentle than usual, and even the worst of the assaults, which made me squirm and cry out, had a sweetness and gentleness to them.

He kissed me.
There is no way to convey the beauty of his kisses.
These were utterly without aggression
and...

words are reducing what was transcendent.

My body began to undulate.
He held me to him,
and kissed me
and stroked me.

And then he spanked my pussy.
Over and over, he brought his fingers down on my pussy.
Maybe 2 fingers.
Maybe 3.
Just the right number to fit between my legs.

I gave little cries, and then...
and then I cried out Yes.
A cry,
a statement,
it caught me by surprise and he saw that.
I knew then.
I knew,
and he knew,
that I was saying
This is good.
I want this.
I like this.

He mentioned it later, and said this was today's lesson.
That I liked it.
That I wanted it.
Not just to please him.
To please me.

He gave me that.
He brought me there.

All this time he has been trying to teach me that I don't want it, that I am meant for other things. He would hurt me fiercely, beat me harshly - not that others more used to pain would consider it harsh, but I felt it as that. He was teaching me, warning me, letting me see his darkness, his hunger, warning me against the beast by giving me a glimpse. And sometimes the beast would break through and give me a taste of his true, unmoderated hunger, leaving me with visions of what could be if the beast weren't holding back as part of his plan of seduction.

And now?
Perhaps my Daddy was saying - here.
This is what it can be.
Now that I've cleared away your romantic vision of pain,
here.
Taste this.
A dish with just a little hot pepper. And next time there will be a little more. And the next time after that, a little more yet, though never too much, and I will open my mouth and put out my tongue and reach my head towards him and beg to be fed.

And maybe he thinks that this way we will both be safe.
Maybe he thinks that this way the beast will leave us alone.

I don't know.
I'm speculating.

But that's for the future.
For now...
I am soft and floating and happy and beautiful.

What a lovely way to start the year.