You’re the Fire and the Flood (I’ll Always Feel You in my Blood)

Spread me beneath you
I am soft
I am pliant
I can feel the truth in your fingertips
Your touch speaks volumes
writing and rewriting
what a strange story this is

Kiss me please,
let me feel your hunger pangs

Does it burn within you
the way it scorches me?
I can feel your lust
on the sharp edge
of your teeth

I feel your heart hammering
pounding against my chest
I can taste your need on your tongue
you’ve made me such a mess

love me to pieces
chip away at everything I am
burn me to ashes
and rebuild me again

Please, hurt me
please, wound me
But only if you kiss away my tears

Master, Daddy,
Manipulator of my fears

Struggle Snuggles

I collapse onto the bed. Everything moves like molasses. I feel so ancient when I am so tired. My body does not want to work any more. Sleep, it cries, Sleep, please. I crawl on elbows and knees to the head of the big bed, curl around and under and against the numerous pillows that I keep.

You follow me on your knees and slide my leggings off of my hips, down my legs, pull them gently from my toes. I mumble something. Resisting every second that I have to have my eyes open. You carefully unwind my arms from around the soft mounds of fabric and I whine, a high-pitched, mewling little whine. My eyes are closed because I cannot take the harsh light any longer.

“Turn off the lights,” I whimper.

“First, your dress.”

Your hands move under the soft, flowing fabric and you tug at it until I move and comply and participate. I roll over and around, squirming, and whining the whole time. It too comes off of my head, and flies to some unknown destination.

“The lights,” I whisper. 

Continue reading

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.

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

TMI Tuesday: The Ways You Paint Me

Color is everywhere–nature, food, clothing, skin, animals. Different colors symbolize or mean different things in different cultures. Finally, color affects mood.

Rainbowtmi

From your life, tell us about an object, experience or idea related to each of the colors of the spectrum:

1. Red:
The way I burn for him and him alone. Flames that consume me, threatening to fill my lungs and drown me in heat… the hue of my cheeks when he says beautiful or filthy words to me… the colour that his hand leaves behind on my skin.

2. Orange:
His vivacity… the way he makes me laugh on a bad day, even when I think no one else can…
3. Yellow:
The bruises ten days later, still marring my thighs and cheeks and feet… reminding me of lessons learned and the sweet pleasure that comes from the torment of pain… the way I feel when a coworker comments on my marks and I’m scrambling for an answer because I couldn’t possibly tell them what a depraved girl I have been…
4. Green:
The impossible feeling of jealousy when other eyes move over him, sizing him up, taking in all that he is, coveting what I want to  only be mine…
5. Blue:
The unfathomable depths of his eyes, all at once beautiful and terrible, all-knowing and unknowable, full of passion and longing, stern with command, dominance, dark and light, reflecting winter storms and snow clouds, bleeding out intensity that stops me in my tracks…
6. Violet:
What it feels like to hear him speak in his mother tongue to me in quiet moments of intimacy, voice husky, raspy, dark… growling out the syllables in beautiful lyricism and desperate intonation… and even the words I do not yet know the meaning of… I can hear the melody… I know the song…

 

Bonus: What is the color of sex?
Golden, like stars exploding behind my eyes, supernovas, while you whisper sweet and dirty nothings, the need in your voice makes a fire move through me and when you plead with me to whisper your name… *your* name and no one else’s, only yours because that is who and what I am—yours… molten, shining gold, like the way I feel when you tell me in the middle of sex how beautiful and desirable I am, even if in that moment, I struggle to believe it, I know your words are true because you’re saying them… honeyed bronze like the colour of your hair, and like the way I feel, glowing from the inside out with an ethereal light, like I am precious because you are so deep inside of my body and my mind, how I could not be…

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!