hands
flogger
smashing cane
palm smacked across my face
head banged against the wall
fingers twisting screaming nipples
knotted lashes fiercely flying
buttocks, tits, up into cunt
chain wrapped around my neck
stealing breath
claiming life
crawl.
and in your crawling
say everything.
sobbing.
shaking, choking sobs.
pleading.
here, he said.
drink some water.
take a deep breath.
from here.
now
breathe out.
and again.
feel that?
i felt it.
i knew.
he frightened me.
he hurt me.
he left colors on my ass,
groaning red and purple-black
my skin has never known.
these welts don't bring pride.
these are welts of shame
for not giving,
for not trusting,
for not knowing...
there was no pleasure there.
he left me standing
back against the wall
hands behind my neck
chain around my throat
sobs sending tears down my cheeks.
tell me that you love me, he said.
again! he said.
i love you! i cried
in deep despairing grief.
i stood there
as ordered
until i heard him leave.
i threw myself on the futon
and soaked the sheet with tears.
and yet.
i submitted.
i did not flee the pain.
and he was here.
there's something that he wants.
still.
something that he wants from me
something that he values
something
that makes him
try
to train me,
try
to mold me,
try
to free me
from holding it back.
he knows it's in there.
he knows he wants it.
he knows he'll get it.
and i'll tear myself open
and offer my soul.
no one has ever wanted me the way he does.
i will learn.
and i will give him what he wants.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Castigation
My Master is angry.
He flogged me with his words, then forged them into a dagger for me to drive into my belly, every hour on the hour. He demanded proof of my obedience, and every hour on the hour I stained a handkerchief with my falling tears and droplets of blood, then sent it off with words of regret and submission and panic and love.
His chain is tight around my neck, and even in the silence, especially in the silence, I feel his anger. My eyes seek his, promising perfect obedience while seeking signs of his desire. There is nothing but silence. I go through my day, you see me go through my day. But what passes before you is only the thinnest of shells.
I am with him.
All that I am
is focused on him.
In this my world,
nothing
exists
but him.
I love you, my Lord.
Please forgive me.
He flogged me with his words, then forged them into a dagger for me to drive into my belly, every hour on the hour. He demanded proof of my obedience, and every hour on the hour I stained a handkerchief with my falling tears and droplets of blood, then sent it off with words of regret and submission and panic and love.
His chain is tight around my neck, and even in the silence, especially in the silence, I feel his anger. My eyes seek his, promising perfect obedience while seeking signs of his desire. There is nothing but silence. I go through my day, you see me go through my day. But what passes before you is only the thinnest of shells.
I am with him.
All that I am
is focused on him.
In this my world,
nothing
exists
but him.
I love you, my Lord.
Please forgive me.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Masterpiece
The girl is on display, a treasured piece,
her value greater after months of training
and control. She wears his mark, a curving
burning scar that only hints at searing
pain she welcomed when he made the brand.
She'd smiled her tears, knowing that the act of
marking showed his faith in what she was
and what he'd make her be.
So here she is -
naked, marked, and on display, soon to
give her hands and mouth and cunt and ass
to all who wish to sample the great Master's
latest work. The line is long. A line of
hungry, horny men, and women, too,
appetites aroused by what they see
and by the tales they've heard. They nearly drool,
bringing a wry smirk to eyes and mouth
of he who owns and offers her to all
who'd like a taste.
And now the fun begins.
One by one they take their turns - flogger,
cane, and spanking hand to start them off,
before invading every hole presented
to be raped. She's dripping cum, eyes
grown numb from such abuse, but deep inside
a glow because she knows her Master's pleased.
And when her torment's done, it's time at last
to serve the man to whom her soul was lost.
She does what he demands, submitting to his
evil whims while peering round the corner
just in case the Beast appears. She swallows
fear. He has her heart. And though he keeps it
in a jar with all his other trophies,
she still murmurs of her love while kneeling
there before his cock.
Her life is his.
her value greater after months of training
and control. She wears his mark, a curving
burning scar that only hints at searing
pain she welcomed when he made the brand.
She'd smiled her tears, knowing that the act of
marking showed his faith in what she was
and what he'd make her be.
So here she is -
naked, marked, and on display, soon to
give her hands and mouth and cunt and ass
to all who wish to sample the great Master's
latest work. The line is long. A line of
hungry, horny men, and women, too,
appetites aroused by what they see
and by the tales they've heard. They nearly drool,
bringing a wry smirk to eyes and mouth
of he who owns and offers her to all
who'd like a taste.
And now the fun begins.
One by one they take their turns - flogger,
cane, and spanking hand to start them off,
before invading every hole presented
to be raped. She's dripping cum, eyes
grown numb from such abuse, but deep inside
a glow because she knows her Master's pleased.
And when her torment's done, it's time at last
to serve the man to whom her soul was lost.
She does what he demands, submitting to his
evil whims while peering round the corner
just in case the Beast appears. She swallows
fear. He has her heart. And though he keeps it
in a jar with all his other trophies,
she still murmurs of her love while kneeling
there before his cock.
Her life is his.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
A sudden swarm of suitors
The Irishman has been probing the possibility of spanking me again. Which usually involves the pleasure of his cock in one orifice or another. Two requests this week, after a long silence, although unfortunately both encounters failed to materialize.
Meanwhile, I've been e-mail flirting with a young redhead with some Irish in his genetic mix. Are we surprised? Five years younger than the philosopher, though at least not in academia. While out of state, he is no further than the northern part of that rival state on the other side of Washington, DC. He answered the craigslist ad I placed late in December, during that regrettable period of estrangement from my demon muse. He is into BDSM, a bit of a sadist though nowhere as extreme as my Master. Like many doms, he is mainly focused on the sexual play aspect of it rather than developing someone's submission on a deeper scale. Still, I think I would enjoy exploring his perspective.
Let's call him Ian.
I had sent him away when he first answered my ad, because I had specified over 40. But he came back recently, very insistent that I not be closed-minded about age, and I've been enjoy our very titillating correspondence. Of course, just as it turned out he is part Irish, it also turned out that he has a girlfriend, and the relationship is not an open one. Even if it's just for play, it would be lovely to give my ass to someone who doesn't have to sneak around and could even have me at his place so we could be assured of full privacy.
Which brings me to the architect. Let's call him Evan. I can't remember if I've mentioned him before. He answered the same craigslist ad that brought me and the philosopher together, and he presented me with a painfully arousing extended scenario of what he would do with me if I came to his door. It never came to pass for assorted reasons, including the little fact that I fell in love with the philosopher. We haven't been in touch for a good 2-1/2 years. And then suddenly Evan, too, reappeared in my Inbox. We started writing again and now, finally, we will be getting together.
Tomorrow.
Unfortunately, once again it will be here. But at least he doesn't have a girlfriend. (And he's over 40 as well.) However, he shares an apartment with a woman who was formerly not exactly a girlfriend but more a friend with benefits. Now they are just friends, but have agreed not to rub each other's noses in their sexual adventures. I'm impressed, actually.
He doesn't see himself as a dom, but the scenario he presents is definitely one of control and some measure of discomfort. I did tell him that I belong to a sadist, which I suspect intrigues him.
What is delicious about both Evan and Ian is that their kinks include a desire to stimulate me and bring me to orgasm. Ian writes of punishing me for my teasing e-mails by binding me down and forcing me to orgasm again and again and again, after which I will be spanked and fucked in the ass. They do all want to fuck my ass.. Since my Master is concerned with his pleasure alone, and the Irishman's modus operandi is to spank, fuck, and run, either of the other two would be a nice change.
I am allowed to do this. I am allowed to play, to fuck, to serve, even to have a more steady paramour of whatever sex. But I belong to my demon muse and my primary devotion is always to him. He used to speak of the inevitability of my leaving him for someone else, but hasn't done that much lately. Maybe he sees how my sense of being his has grown deeper and deeper. I don't know. It's silly to speculate about him.
So yes. I am allowed to play and have even on occasion been encouraged to do so. He thinks I was created to serve men's sexual pleasure and should be generous with my gifts. I do not have to ask permission, but I may if I wish. And, if I wish, or when he thinks I need him to do so, he will require my suitor to ask permission to use me.
Evan long predates my Master, and I look at our approaching meeting as unfinished business. I will tell my master about it but see no need for permission. The Irishman came into the picture during my rift with the sadist, but I did ask permission to continue once my beloved demon muse took me back.
Ian is another story, however. Ian popped up during the break, but came back and seduced me with his tantalizing e-mails now, while I am my Master's. And Ian is a dom. Maybe that's one of the big differences. He needs to show his respect for the one who owns me... for the fact that someone DOES own me. So should it ever come down to meeting, he will have to ask my Master's permission. You can't just play with someone else's toy. I am my Master's property, and another dom must ask permission before trespassing.
Especially if he plans on leaving welts on my butt.
Meanwhile, I've been e-mail flirting with a young redhead with some Irish in his genetic mix. Are we surprised? Five years younger than the philosopher, though at least not in academia. While out of state, he is no further than the northern part of that rival state on the other side of Washington, DC. He answered the craigslist ad I placed late in December, during that regrettable period of estrangement from my demon muse. He is into BDSM, a bit of a sadist though nowhere as extreme as my Master. Like many doms, he is mainly focused on the sexual play aspect of it rather than developing someone's submission on a deeper scale. Still, I think I would enjoy exploring his perspective.
Let's call him Ian.
I had sent him away when he first answered my ad, because I had specified over 40. But he came back recently, very insistent that I not be closed-minded about age, and I've been enjoy our very titillating correspondence. Of course, just as it turned out he is part Irish, it also turned out that he has a girlfriend, and the relationship is not an open one. Even if it's just for play, it would be lovely to give my ass to someone who doesn't have to sneak around and could even have me at his place so we could be assured of full privacy.
Which brings me to the architect. Let's call him Evan. I can't remember if I've mentioned him before. He answered the same craigslist ad that brought me and the philosopher together, and he presented me with a painfully arousing extended scenario of what he would do with me if I came to his door. It never came to pass for assorted reasons, including the little fact that I fell in love with the philosopher. We haven't been in touch for a good 2-1/2 years. And then suddenly Evan, too, reappeared in my Inbox. We started writing again and now, finally, we will be getting together.
Tomorrow.
Unfortunately, once again it will be here. But at least he doesn't have a girlfriend. (And he's over 40 as well.) However, he shares an apartment with a woman who was formerly not exactly a girlfriend but more a friend with benefits. Now they are just friends, but have agreed not to rub each other's noses in their sexual adventures. I'm impressed, actually.
He doesn't see himself as a dom, but the scenario he presents is definitely one of control and some measure of discomfort. I did tell him that I belong to a sadist, which I suspect intrigues him.
What is delicious about both Evan and Ian is that their kinks include a desire to stimulate me and bring me to orgasm. Ian writes of punishing me for my teasing e-mails by binding me down and forcing me to orgasm again and again and again, after which I will be spanked and fucked in the ass. They do all want to fuck my ass.. Since my Master is concerned with his pleasure alone, and the Irishman's modus operandi is to spank, fuck, and run, either of the other two would be a nice change.
I am allowed to do this. I am allowed to play, to fuck, to serve, even to have a more steady paramour of whatever sex. But I belong to my demon muse and my primary devotion is always to him. He used to speak of the inevitability of my leaving him for someone else, but hasn't done that much lately. Maybe he sees how my sense of being his has grown deeper and deeper. I don't know. It's silly to speculate about him.
So yes. I am allowed to play and have even on occasion been encouraged to do so. He thinks I was created to serve men's sexual pleasure and should be generous with my gifts. I do not have to ask permission, but I may if I wish. And, if I wish, or when he thinks I need him to do so, he will require my suitor to ask permission to use me.
Evan long predates my Master, and I look at our approaching meeting as unfinished business. I will tell my master about it but see no need for permission. The Irishman came into the picture during my rift with the sadist, but I did ask permission to continue once my beloved demon muse took me back.
Ian is another story, however. Ian popped up during the break, but came back and seduced me with his tantalizing e-mails now, while I am my Master's. And Ian is a dom. Maybe that's one of the big differences. He needs to show his respect for the one who owns me... for the fact that someone DOES own me. So should it ever come down to meeting, he will have to ask my Master's permission. You can't just play with someone else's toy. I am my Master's property, and another dom must ask permission before trespassing.
Especially if he plans on leaving welts on my butt.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Knots and lashes
A flogger lives in my bed.
The flogger my Master had ordered be made for him to use on me.
He has rarely used it on me.
This was the first time. When I struggled to keep from protecting my breasts from the knotted ends of the strips of leather. When I struggled to keep my legs open so that he could flog my tender cunt.
And this was the last time, when he gave me a taste of what he could do, as I stood facing the wall, my bottom thrust towards him, my buttocks presented for flogging, feeling the pain of the flogging which was as nothing to what I felt when he slashed at my pussy.
I am not a masochist.
I don't need pain, not the way some speak of needing pain.
But there is something about the pain of being flogged...
I told him that I am drawn to the flogger... that I don't quite know why, but there is something about it... something about this particular type of pain...
I will admit here that I want it, although I know that he has given me only a taste of what it can do. Something in me wants it. Something in me wants it for more than 2 minutes. I think it will do something to me... for me... if we had time... and he flogged me enough for the pain to possess me...
No. Not the pain. Not so much the pain as the experience of being flogged. Do you understand the difference? Can you explain to me the difference?
Something about an extended flogging... I think it would be another way for him to impress on me the absoluteness of his ownership of me. And to teach me - by demonstrating how willingly I suffer for him - how deep and pure is my submission.
What I said to him (minus typos) was:
Hurt me, my Lord.
Let me suffer for you.
Read my pain in my eyes.
Read my love in my eyes.
Then send me back to work
with my butt covered in welts
and my face wincing with pain
from the flogger's sadistic kisses.
I will squirm in my seat
blessing the burning
and blossoming bruises
that remind me I'm yours.
The flogger my Master had ordered be made for him to use on me.
He has rarely used it on me.
This was the first time. When I struggled to keep from protecting my breasts from the knotted ends of the strips of leather. When I struggled to keep my legs open so that he could flog my tender cunt.
And this was the last time, when he gave me a taste of what he could do, as I stood facing the wall, my bottom thrust towards him, my buttocks presented for flogging, feeling the pain of the flogging which was as nothing to what I felt when he slashed at my pussy.
I am not a masochist.
I don't need pain, not the way some speak of needing pain.
But there is something about the pain of being flogged...
I told him that I am drawn to the flogger... that I don't quite know why, but there is something about it... something about this particular type of pain...
I will admit here that I want it, although I know that he has given me only a taste of what it can do. Something in me wants it. Something in me wants it for more than 2 minutes. I think it will do something to me... for me... if we had time... and he flogged me enough for the pain to possess me...
No. Not the pain. Not so much the pain as the experience of being flogged. Do you understand the difference? Can you explain to me the difference?
Something about an extended flogging... I think it would be another way for him to impress on me the absoluteness of his ownership of me. And to teach me - by demonstrating how willingly I suffer for him - how deep and pure is my submission.
What I said to him (minus typos) was:
i'm drawn to it
i don't quite know why
again, i don't LIKE pain
but there are certain kinds of pain
certain implements...
they reach something.
i will give myself to it, my Lord.
for you.
and...
i'm not sure how to say this...
i think it will draw things out of me, my Lord.
that you will draw things out of me with it.
i remember that first time...
how i automatically protected my breasts...
you had to physically open me up...
and keep reminding me to spread my legs...
there's that balance of fear and trust.
not trusting that you won't hurt me.
because you WILL hurt me.
but trusting that you are my Master and i must submit.
period.
Hurt me, my Lord.
Let me suffer for you.
Read my pain in my eyes.
Read my love in my eyes.
Then send me back to work
with my butt covered in welts
and my face wincing with pain
from the flogger's sadistic kisses.
I will squirm in my seat
blessing the burning
and blossoming bruises
that remind me I'm yours.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Raped
You pushed me down with your words.
You held me down with your voice.
You chained me down with a power
that banishes all resistance
and cannot conceive of defeat.
Then you raped me.
Later,
bruised and bleeding,
your cum dripping from my mind,
I begged for more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written for my Master and posted with permission. As is the following. The sadist's comment when he read this poem was: "Now this I liked." He didn't think much of yesterday's piece. That one was a riff on something he said. While it was written for you guys, not for him, it does relate to his plans for sharing me, so I felt a request for posting permission was in order.
Note: Just so there be no chance of misunderstanding... My reference to rape here is pure metaphor. As a poet, I use what images I can to paint my own truth. This has nothing to do with the reality of rape, and should not be misinterpreted as such.
You held me down with your voice.
You chained me down with a power
that banishes all resistance
and cannot conceive of defeat.
Then you raped me.
Later,
bruised and bleeding,
your cum dripping from my mind,
I begged for more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written for my Master and posted with permission. As is the following. The sadist's comment when he read this poem was: "Now this I liked." He didn't think much of yesterday's piece. That one was a riff on something he said. While it was written for you guys, not for him, it does relate to his plans for sharing me, so I felt a request for posting permission was in order.
Note: Just so there be no chance of misunderstanding... My reference to rape here is pure metaphor. As a poet, I use what images I can to paint my own truth. This has nothing to do with the reality of rape, and should not be misinterpreted as such.
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