bdsm
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I thought that fire had cooled,and yet all it takes is your gentle breathaimed at the embers buried in ashes, and once more I melt as your phoenix rises. It seems that still my body yieldseven to mere memories of your voice and your touch. Here, tonight, you are an unexpected (albeit known) phenomenon, and…
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Healing has been the hallmark of our odysseyand this last hurrah follows our patterns; it hurtsstill. There is a profound sense of loss, a bereavementas we drop out of dynamic, but even this sunderingis marked by a certain grace, consecrated by clearcommunication and consent. My tears fall into your hairas I hold you against me,…
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Vivaldi. I recall almost a tonne of Warmblood horsefleshbeneath me, sun absorbed by the bulging glossy ebonyof epaxial musculature, and I feel the raw power.He is a tightly coiled spring and I am under no illusionthat my physical strength is any match for his.There remains an aura of wild about him, and I knowhe could…
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The ink is fading from my skin(what a way for a flower to die)and my mind turns to the marksI left on yours, a calling card,an autograph from the artistwho was proud of her creation,proud even of the clayfor the way it yielded to her touch,the way it sprawled and grewalong her scaffolding, a scandent…
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Brinkmanship. To Pleasureand Pain, it is a mere gameas they vie for triumphover the battlefield of my flesh,and I, I am not paltry collateral damagenor simply the canvasupon which this masterpiece artworkof craving and climax is created.To yield is not passive.I participate in the compositionof your opus, respond to your touch,and you coax a duetfrom…
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He’s squeezed enough tears from me over the years, so these are not his. The day will come (I must believe it) when simple kindnesses will not notch an arrow then send it humming through the air until it hits the targethe left hanging on my heart. Again I bleed,but these tears water the roots…
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I offer you my tears, willingly, and yet we both have to work for them. Whilst their threatening presence ever lurksfor a variety of reasons, it takes the perfect storm to breach the dam walls. You’ve seen what I can take, and it requires a certain finesseto dance at the borders of breaking me,walking that…
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I rememberdry mouth and racing heartexhilaration and trepidationknit by determinationto experience for myselfthe phenomenonthat was the desideratum of my hiraeth.Todaythe approach is familiarand no longer needs a mapand despite the intoxication of anticipationand reason reminding methis is both fledgling and ephemeralmy pulse calms, my breaths deepenas I ascend the stairsand peace descends.With youI am able…
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My brain synthesised theory and experiencewith a dash of innate sense, a desire coded deep within the cellular blueprint of the fabric of my being, and I had ideas, predictions, hopes about how it would feel. Not physically, I was warned enough that the first time might hurt,that it was awkward and messy, and technique…
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Vivid imagination grasps at the pictures conjured by your words; technicolor andsurround sound, a theatre in my mind. And deep within the core of my being, both mentally and physically, the flickeringlights are focused to a point as a glass lensconcentrates sunlight onto kindlingand my fibres begin to smoke with desire,and you breathe gently across…
Spilled Ink from the Vault 