Telling stories, allegories, letting ourselves go

“Did you miss me, baby?”

I thought briefly about the million and one things I could or wanted to say to him when he asked me, all the little ways in which I had missed him, and all of the small ways in which I worried that things might be different or strange between us. I felt the hesitation I always feel when He returns from a trip or when I do… the small inkling that we are different people than we had been before our absence from one another. All the things that may have happened, all the words left unspoken.

“More than you could know,” I murmured. It was the truest answer I could conjure up. When I was away, learning and teaching in the neon desert, I had missed him terribly. “Did you miss me?”

“I did, Pooh.”

I peel off my clothing and stand before him in matching red and black plaid. He is amused and aroused. He loves red and black plaid. I climb onto the bed on all fours with my ass up and my back arched. My much shorter hair no longer hides my inked up shoulders.

His hands roam briefly before pushing my panties to the side and filling me with one sharp, deep thrust. I lose myself in the feel of him, and the sounds of his voice, gravelly and deep in my ear. His praises and his pleasure resonate deep within me. We are fervent and feverish. I need this. My core heats and spreads out to my skin. I feel the familiar fire in my belly early and quick. He makes me beg for the privilege. Reasserting our relationship. Reasserting that I am his and come at his pleasure. He lets me. He fucks me through my orgasm.

He talks to me through my moans and cries. He rides me hard and moans in my ear. I am wailing and praising him. How good he feels. How much I missed him. How much I missed the way he touches me. How much I need him to fill me, to mark me, to make me his again. As his climax builds, he is already working me to my second. In my haze, in my feverish little mind, my mouth keeps running and I am unaware of what I am saying. Dirty, lovely things. Baring myself to him in so many ways.

He asks if I’m going to come again. He wants me to come with him. He’s so close. Something he says, some words I can barely remember now send me over the edge for the second time. The clenching, roiling, vibrations of my body, some words that I speak make him groan from the bottom of his toes. He’s cumming, filling me  up, just the way I want. Just the way I need.

Our bodies break apart and he turns me over, onto my back. I quickly scoot my bum down the bed and wrap my legs around the back of his thighs. His hands peel my bra down and he pulls my heavy breasts out. His fingers stroke over my skin. He praises my tits: how soft and big and beautiful they are, such pretty nipples, such a sight. I blush beneath him as he admires me. We curl around one another like the fog outside the windows, curling round the city streets. I fall asleep before I know that I am tired.

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

Post-coital Meanderings

Sometimes when I am still floating in the after sex haze I have thoughts that course through my mind completely unfiltered. I pick up my phone and type out a draft and save it for later. This is what this is:

 

I love the way I say “oh, god” when I am at a loss for words and you answer, “Yea, baby?”

I know that you are asking me to elaborate on what I’m feeling, instead of just calling to a nameless divinity.

But part of me…

Thinks that part of you…

Is acknowledging that when I’m calling out “oh, god” I’m calling out to you.

And I’m not saying you’re a god… because I’m not that far gone. But when I am so far gone, and so deep in our play, and so mind fucked by you… you are the only one that exists for me… in the whole world. In that moment it is just you.

And so for moments… you are the Alpha and the Omega, as it were. When I’m calling out “oh, god” I am calling out to you.

Past All Thought of If or When, No Use Resisting

It is 4 am and I feel the warm cascades of sleep threatening to envelop me, but so too do I feel aroused, in need. We’ve talked all night and it’s miraculous that I’ve kept my hands to myself until now. I am feeling pliant–no, more than pliant, I am feeling subservient, submissive. How strange the subtle difference between being willing to be used and wanting to be of use. Not just to be of use. I want… pleasure. Of a kind that only he can bring. Like reading my thoughts, maybe reading the tension, reading me, suddenly warm and fidgety and doe-eyed, he speaks up first.

“What do you want, baby? Anything your sweet little heart desires.” Continue reading

Words Remembered

In a darker more beautiful world, I’d fuck your heart
right through your chest.

The sad thing is, I think you’re fucking me with, but
there is a part of me that wishes you weren’t.

I’m the Master of Self Control.

Are you? One of us needs to be, because I’d cut my breasts
open as an invitation, given the chance.

I’m aware. It’s why I keep myself in check.

SLAP.
SLAP.
SLAP.

Shiver. Hiss.
Don’t start something you can’t finish, Daddy. I’ve
been ramped up like this for days…

When I put my hands on you next… you will bleed
and squeal and cry. And you will hurt… your eyes
will roll in the back of your head, and your toes will
wiggle… and you might even drown. Pause. And then
you will come.

…Do you promise?

He wants to taste my blood and tears.