There is Power in Words

I remember the first time I heard your voice. It was like no other voice I’d ever heard. You might think it cut through me clean and surgical, tearing me asunder, rocking my world, touching me in ways unknown. But it did not. No. Your beautiful voice, with its lovely cadence, its deep timbre, its raw honesty and feeling… it could have never cut through me so perfectly.

Your voice was a ragged blade, tearing through the skin and muscle and marrow, leaving rivulets of blood blossoming from jagged edges. Your voice became a deep wound within me, unable to heal–every scab, no matter how newly formed, ripped fresh from the gash to let me bleed again. I feel you distinctly, an unending scar cut into the fabric of my soul. You are like a tattoo that only I can see, something living and breathing, a constant reminder of all that is you.

And like a tattoo, you are an addiction. I want a fresh needle, a raw wound, new blood. I ache for the sound in my ear as much as I ache for you, your body, your mind, the feel of your hands on me, the feel of my hands on you.

I thought about the first time I heard your voice, and the way it sent me spinning, reeling, flying into every moment that has passed between us since.

Who knew it would lead us here.

When You Touch Me, It’s so Powerful, I Can Feel It

I never know what I want. Because I always want more than one thing.

On one hand, I want you to be so cruel to me. I want you to slap me–my mouth, my tits, my ass, my thighs. I want to feel my jaw between your thumb and forefinger. I want you to make me look at you through the tears as you pinch my nipples, as your fingers dig into my skin. I want to feel your teeth break my flesh. I want your hand around my throat. I want my hair in your fist. I want you to wrest me to the ground. Knock the wind out of me. I want you to fuck me so hard, my body, inside and out, is covered in bruises. And while you do this, I want you to whisper into my ear all manner of dirty and awful things. I want your fingerprints emblazoned on me like a crime scene. Hurt. Me.

And on the other hand? I am emotionally weak. And so sensitive lately. There are words that bubble up from my toes that I want to speak and cannot. I want to whisper, tearfully, for you to be kind to me. Be sweet to me. Take me into your arms and coddle me. Brush my hair with your finger tips. Kiss my lips until they’re swollen and aching. Suckle at my skin gently. Snuggle me till I can barely breathe. Cover me in your body. Nibble my tattoos. Bathe me in the scent of you. Tell me… sweet… endearing words. Treat me like the baby that I am. Hold my arms above my head and love me with your words until I am crying from my eyes and from between my thighs. Take your time with me. Fuck me deeply, slowly, gently. Touch every inch of me. Break me with your kindness. I am fragile… handle me with care.

The only thing that I know for sure… is that I want you, in any way that I can have you.

I Wanna Shape a Hundred Million Feelings

I’m talking. As I speak, I become more aroused. Besides feeling it in my panties, I can hear it in my voice. I’m speaking dirty talk and ideas and words and my tone is becoming lower and my voice is becoming throaty. Sultry is, maybe, the word.

I’m talking fantasy and I’m aroused. And I know you are too. And I can tell you become more so by the tone of your voice. And I wonder if you’re answering in kind because you are genuinely excited or because by myself I’m boring you. This is how I am. This is how I think sometimes.

“Baby, you’re so careful with your language, with your words. You’re always worried about whether you’re going to weird me out or upset me. Say what’s really on your mind now, let it pour out.”

He’s right. There are words I’d love to say to him. Dirty, disgusting things. Sweet, emotional things. Strange, and maybe disturbing things. In the heat of these moments, I am not really responsible for the thoughts that cross my mind and my heart. But I am responsible for keeping them close to the bone.

“Let it pour out.”

I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking. I am not sure if I let you in behind my last wall, it’s a place where you would want to be. I cannot let the gate peak open. I am an all or nothing girl, and you know this better than anyone else. If the flood is allowed, it will be a deluge that doesn’t end.

I fear what I might share with you or say to you if I did not keep such a tight lid on my mouth, on the things I think about, on the things I want. But sometimes I want to. Sometimes I do want to give you the last inch of me.

But sometimes it is the last thing that I fear.

Drown Me, You Make My Heart Beat Like the Rain

He calls me Pooh in the sweetest, most endearing tone of voice. I can’t explain the complex web of emotions it brings about in me. When coupled with his beckoning me to his mouth for sweet kisses, I can barely breathe. He cups and sucks and lathes my breasts, showering them with attention. His eyes meet mine while he does and I can do little more than pant and squirm against him. He groans against my nipple and nuzzles the pale flash.

“I could spend a whole day here, just sucking and kissing and nibbling your beautiful tits,” he mumbles into my skin.  Continue reading

How to Scare Friends and Alienate People: Or, Why I am in the Dungeon

If you’re not following Mrs Fever’s blog, you should be.
fever
That picture is a link. Click it. Follow. She is sexy. She is philosophical. She is a little educational(!). She is very real.

And she has graciously hosted a guest blogger series on several different topics over the last couple of years, a few of which I have taken part in. She is currently hosting a series on “Coming Out”–on being your authentic self.

There are already posts up from this week that are well worth reading and commenting on. And today, my post is up. You can read this HERE.