Enrique Iglesias

This man.. his music videos make me horny.

A friend pointed me at the official video for Hero today, and I've spent the last couple of hours watching others... I've always loved Enrique's voice, never knew he was hot, or that his videos were so... interesting.

grr

Cant' figure out how to delete a post, stupid thing

Frustration and Disappointment...

Imagine that you've spent your life up until today craving a certain kind of treat. Something that others have had before and described as sweet and delicious, melting in your mouth, the absolute ultimate in treat satisfaction... Now imagine that you've finally found someone who has this treat, who is willing to share it with you... They give you a taste, just a tiny sample of this thing that lives up to your every orgasmic fantasy. Its a taste that crawls into you, burns through your blood, consumes you. They tease you with the idea of more, another taste some other day perhaps... and then you never see or hear from them again. Now you still have those cravings, intensified for having actually experienced the treat, all you can think of is tasting it again... You may become reckless in your ravenous, insatiable desire to continue the experience begun with that single taste...

*headtilt* think that one got away from me, we'll back to the literal.

I've been wandering a couple of BDSM sites (FetLife and CollarMe) and both have been a fantastic resource and way to meet people who are already involved with that sort of thing. So much so that I actually met a guy who interested and intrigued me enough that for the first time ever, I agreed to meet in real life.

I'll start by saying it was worth it, even in light of the fact that I never heard from him again. It was, as I say, just a taste of that lifestyle... His hand in my hair pulling my head back, pulling me to him for that first kiss... So smug about my stupid shyness, we both knew I wanted it but I just couldn't break through that awkward/shy moment on my own... Him focusing on my face, reading my expression, my response as his hand closed over my throat, his smile as I gasped and pressed into his palm... Light slaps to my face whenever I forgot to say Yes Sir, and I never thought I'd enjoy being called a dirty little slut but he made it sound like the most delicious and desirable thing a girl could ever be... Best of all, the way he responded with increased intensity when I opened my eyes to watch him watching me...

It wasn't much, just a taste. The rest was so mellow, so comfortable... I got to overhear a phone conversation with his slave, the way it sounded so much like the same sort of conversation any other couple would have... Our talk was a mixture of "getting to know you a bit better" and discussing various things about kinky type things, smothly shifting from one topic to the other and back again.

Simple, easy, fun... No drama, no tension... and before he said goodbye he said that he was interested in seeing... But the disappointment comes now. Didn't hear from him for a few days, msg'd to say hi and got no response... Msg'd again a day or two later asking if I should just go away... He said no, but that he was busy with work. No big deal, right? I left him alone figuring that eventually he'd say hi again... Maybe he still will, but I don't believe so.

In a fit of typical ME stupidity, I managed to delete about half of my friendlist on yahoo. When I went to try adding him back, it was denied.

I'm of two minds, or more actually. If he was just being nice in saying he'd like to talk more/etc, I wish he hadn't. I have no problem with being used if its made clear thats as far as the interest goes, you know? The hope is that he really is busy, and still, and there's some reason he denied my friend request and never responded to the msg I sent him about having deleted my flist... The realistic, albeit cynical view is that he was never interested, got what he wanted, and I'm not worth considering for more or ever playing with again. I'd have liked to maintain a friendship, even on purely platonic terms, but some people just aren't interested in that.

Here's where I tamp down the bit of a pouty, insecure girl who keeps mentally going over and over that day trying to figure out what I did wrong... especially the bit that wants to email him and ask him to tell me what mistakes I made so that I can know better for my next attempt but... The intelligent, self-respecting thing to do is leave it alone. If he's busy, maybe he'll say hi eventually. Otherwise, annoying him isn't going to change a lack of interest, its just going to be drama... and nobody wants that.

A friend tried to tell me that I should ignore my pride, that maybe he's testing me to see if I will beg for his attention, that D/s relationships are different from normal ones, that he may want me to show some big sign of yes I'm interested and want to serve you but... He didn't strike me as the headgame type.

Any rate. The Disappointment is that my first taste of things seems to have fallen flat, and the craving is all the more intense for that little bit of having gotten to play. I continue my search, not letting my failure turn me away just yet. After all, just because I like someone doesn't mean they have to like me... and that taste has given me more of an idea of what I want to do now.

In all? Worth it, the frustration is expected, mostly sexual in nature to be completely honest. I'm tempted to accept other invitations to play but am restraining myself as none have come from anyone that I find appealing in the same way as I did the first one.

Such is life, yes? The interesting ones are either uninterested or too far away, at least that I'm used to

:)

Dolcett Girls

They were mentioned to me last night, and I find one thing about it incredibly amusing.

Years ago, when yahoo had its user created rooms still, there was one called "Kill Her Slowly" where people would play out scenarios of murder and extreme violence.

You'd think that someone there would've mentioned the Dolcett Girls, people who consider that sort of thing a fetish. Don't you think that would've come up there, of all places?

The most that ever came of it was someone once showing me one of the Dolcett pictures (which I can't seem to find to link at the moment.)

Stolen poetry: Curse of the Succubus

Soft, white flesh
I long to caress
I smell the life within her
An unnatural fire ignites my veins

Ruby red lips form my name
Seductively and with passion
The sound of her heart throbs in my mind
Deep down I am sickened, but the urge is so strong

Damn me sweet whore
Take me to the depths from whence you came
How I can live with death?
How can I live without?

I hold your lithe form in trembling arms
You writhe like a goddess of love
And invite me to partake
In lust, condemned and damned

In your eyes I see promise
In your curves I feel promise
I am spellbound and moonstruck
I go in for the feast

A cry of both pain and pleasure
Rents the night air
Blood, sweet lifeblood I drink greedily
Draining your beauteous form, darkening my soul

I indulge like a glutton
Until a pale corpse lies before me
Though sated, my spirit shrivels
And I cry undead tears

Through the wracking sobs I hear
The laughing…
The taunting…
The Succubus forever delighting in her game

Copyright © 2001 by Aaron Wilson

love

Love is fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.
Joan Crawford

Dr Horribles Sing-a-long Blog

Knife Play (for SB) mild, some blood

The blindfold wasn't on right, she could see just a bit from under the edge.

The hands that tied them were big, long fingered like a pianist... it gave her ideas that made her blush a little and she heard a soft chuckle as the figure leaned in to brush soft lips against her cheek “Getting anxious, my lovely?”

The gag kept her from responding, though she made a soft sound that hopefully indicated her eagerness... There had been no warning, no preparation for this scene... Just a phone call that told her to be waiting on the bed in the dark. The blindfold had come from behind, tied quickly and with just enough roughness to give her a moments concern before those lips pressed against her own and then the gag was put into place.

“I'm not going to tie you tonight, but I expect you to stay completely still no matter what happens.” the light glinted off of something in those hands, but she couldn't see it because of the blindfold. Her breath caught.

Sulfur scented the air as a match was lit and touched to the candles sitting on the bedside table. Moments later, the overhead light went out and everything was aglow with soft dancing flames. She could see a hand as it came toward her, brushing hair back away and tucking it behind her ear. “You aren't going to be able to scream... but trust me my love, I will know if you need it to stop.”

Out of sight, she could hear the other hand sorting things on the table, then a brief silence.

Something cold touched her belly, causing a flinch. The hand on her hair moved faster than she could've expected, tangling into her locks and tugging “I said. Be still.” there was a note of irritation in the voice, but it didn't quite hide the amusement.

The cold moved across her abdomen slowly, giving her a chance to focus on its sensation, giving her a few moments to identify it. Not ice, there was no trail, no drip. What, then?

An unexpected prick of pain made her gasp as she realized that the tip of a blade had just pierced her just above the navel. Tension shot through her body as the knife moved again, the sharp of the blade just barely touching her skin, just enough that she knew it could be used at any moment as it trailed its way slowly upward.

The flat of the blade brushed across her left nipple. Rather, it wasn't quite touching but so close that just the nearness of it was agonizing because it would have been so easy to arch and make contact... She behaved, and was rewarded by a chuckle as the right nipple received the same treatment. It was harder being good the second time, but even though she managed it she was pleased when it moved on again.

When the blade touched again, there was pressure behind it, and it was moving over the curve of her shoulder. She could feel the skin parting beneath the sharpened edge, just a light separation and then a slow seeping of blood. There was a murmur as the figure leaned over her, breasts in her face as those soft warm lips moved along the trail, tongue swirling as it followed that thin line of blood.

Mistress leaned back again so that the candle glow could illuminate the girl's lightly trembling form. The knife wasn't within her limited view, and she couldn't feel its touch. She took a moment to breathe deeply as she prepared herself for whatever might come next.

What came was a light pressure against her thigh as Mistress's hand slid over its softness and dipped into the valley in search of moisture. The light made her fingertips glisten as they passed up again and a low murmur of approval came from out of sight “So sweet, my love...”

An instant later the knife came back, and it took all of her willpower not to shift, not to even breathe as it moved slowly over her throat. She had a moment of fear as it paused, pressing down against her jugular. It seemed that the wild, uncontrollable thumping of her heart would draw the blade down, tempt it to slice too deeply... but nothing happened. It just rested there, biting just a little into her skin, drawing blood but no more than a paper cut would have done.

As the blade finally moved away she could still feel the erratic thumping of her heart, only now it was echoed between her thighs. Mistress would never harm her, this was meant to tease, to tantalize... yes, even to frighten just a bit. Adrenaline could be a powerful aphrodisiac, and fear was a guaranteed way to bring it to the surface.

The weight on the bed shifted away as Mistress reached for something, then leaned over her... hand moving over her thigh again before gently pressing to indicate that she should part them, spread them wider, then wider again. She heard the buzzing just before the toy was pushed into her; it took a few experimental thrusts before it was settled with the attachment fluttering against her clit as the core of it pulsed within. The gag muffled her moan as Mistress allowed her thighs to close again, leaving the toy securely in place.

The knife moved along her hip, harder now. She was having difficulty keeping still now, and each time she lost that battle the blade pressed harder. Flesh parted beneath its tip as it moved over her hip and carefully upward through the valley between her breasts. Her nipples weren't touched this time, not that it made a difference. The knife moved in a wide circle, tracing her aureole then spiraling gradually inward. The nipple was avoided as the circuit came close the other breast got the treatment instead.

It didn't touch her throat this time... instead, she could feel the cold of the steel against her cheek, caressing her earlobe, then jumping down to move over her arm. It stopped at her wrist pressing harder than was comfortable for a moment, but not drawing blood. Just... the force of it reminded her that she had given her Trust, which was a dangerous thing, but it also showed her that the trust was well placed as she was in no real danger.

Almost as if to spite that conviction, the knife moved sharply upward, cutting deeply into her forearm so that blood spilled down onto the sheets. At the same moment Mistress's free hand forced itself between her thighs, pressing the toy more tightly, pushing it in more deeply “Come.” was the command, one obediently and immediately obeyed.

Later, once the world returned, the gag and blindfold were removed. Mistress showed her that the cut hadn't been as deep as it looked, then carefully and gently cleansed and bandaged the wound. The toy was switched off, though it was left in place for the moment, an indication that the night still had more play in store... but the knife was put away.

The real story

I'll admit this... I didn't leave the abusive ex because of the violence. I would urge him into it, bait him when he was in a bad mood, encourage him to vent his rage on me. Even then, he was never rough enough, even in the midst of a red-haze-rage he still apologized for being the kind of person that would enjoy taking it out on me sexually... If it'd just been the violence, I'd have stayed, found ways to tempt him into exploring the darkness beneath the surface..

But he was too passive aggressive. He ignored me when I made him angry, took it out on me when he was upset at other people. He picked fights so that he could justify disappearing for 2 or 3 days to see friends that I didn't like and would've told him to go hang out with anyway. They played him like pro's, blaming me for all his troubles, so that he'd come home and do the same. They helped me in a way, as it was easier to enrage him in those moods.

Even the night he tried to set the bed on fire with me in it, though it was a major incident that led to me making the decision that it was time to go... wasn't the reason.

The truth? We went to hang out with some friends of his, a couple that he played with sometimes. They brought out the flogger and took turns on me, then on him... This was all fine and well and had me worked up more than a little, but then he killed it. He signed the death warrant to our relationship. He started trying to get me to use the flogger on him, got his friends to help him try to guilt me into it... saying that I was worthless as a sub because I wasn't willing to take control in order to satisfy him.

It was the one subject that, once broached, he didn't stick to his passive aggressive ways on... though I wish he had. He brought it up at every opportunity over the following couple of weeks, a childish combination of anger and hurt as he tried to bully me into playing Domme for him. When I refused, he would stomp out and disappear to that couple's house for days on end. He would come home again and immediately launch into it, whining, pathetic...

The only reason I was sad to leave him was that I loved his dogs, and his mom was awesome.

"Playtime"

Advisory: Disturbing content, graphic violence, rape, murder. Read at your own risk, complaints will be laughed at as you've been warned.


Music

Thumping, pumping, grinding

Driving the audience into a frenzy of Lust

People bumping, touching, fondling

Strangers sink to the ground locked in an embrace, lips, tongues, hands seeking purpose

Desire.

Need.

Lust.

She stands at the edge of the stage, almost purring with satisfaction.

She comes for the show.

She stays for the fun.

The show is done...

And now...

It is playtime...

She stalks through the crowd, a predatory presence which is felt, but unnoticed. She pauses to watch with the tiniest smirk quirking her lips upward.

It has been too long since she has played, since she has fed the darkest desires.

The first one comes to her, eyes wide and full of wonder as he studies the glint in her eyes. "Hungry" she says petulantly, lower lip pushing out just slightly as large blue eyes flutter at him pleadingly.

He nods, reaching for her hand, scanning the crowd. He pulls her close, shielding her with his own body. He is strong. Muscles rippling just beneath the surface of flesh and sweat drenched tshirt as he shifts, putting one arm around her. His breath comes in quick gasps of anticipation.

She doesn't know how she attracts them, only that they find her. There is something within them, some need to feel, to hurt, to feed... They understand her own need, come to attend to her, giving of themselves if necessary. Sweat, Blood, Life itself if that is what she wishes...

When the demon comes, it calls to them somehow, and they obey. They need her as she needs them. As the demon needs them. The darkness calls, a siren song of forbidden desire... and one cannot resist or deny its call...

She smirks just slightly to herself as he slams another away, a weak one who could not hope to satiate or even whet her appetites.

This one, he calls himself Kent, finds the dark corner, pulling her into an embrace. She whispers her pleasure, allows him a taste of her lips, then pulls away. "Hungry" the same petulant almost whine which cannot be ignored. He nods. "Wait here."

She leans against the wall, absently toying with the hem of her skirt as he slips back into the crowd. She watches him dodge through, occasionally losing sight but knowing he will return before long with what she craves...

Moments, barely minutes, later... A figure enters the other end of the short alley way. Her champion, with another in tow.

The girl is small, petite even. Short blonde hair framing her face. Pouting lips and wide, frightened eyes. SHE Smiles with pleasure, gesturing for the girl to move forward. Smiling as the girl obeys, pressing herself close, stretching upward in search of a kiss.

She allows the girl but a taste of her lips, enough to tantalize... Speak of future rewards... The girl shivers as she is pushed away, gently.

The man moves forward, taking the girl in his arms, petting her hair as he speaks soothingly. Stroking one side of her neck as the girl instinctively leans into the touch, exposing her throat.

She watches, smiling. A soft glow reflected in her eyes as she leans forward, nuzzling. Her lips brushing across the hollow of the throat. One hand comes up, snaking around the girl's back to hold her steady as teeth lightly nip across the shoulder, along the neck. The tip of her tongue tracing the hot vein as she glances to the man, who nods, tightening his grip on the girl, leaning down to press his mouth against hers in a kiss, stifling the scream as She sinks her teeth into the girl's throat.

There is no gentleness, no teasing or playfulness. No pointed fangs to ease the way as teeth tear at flesh, gouging it open, ripping at the vein. Blood pours from the jagged wound, filling her mouth, filling her cleavage and pouring down the front of her shirt. She drinks, swallows greedily, whispers words of love to no one who hears...

The girl weakens, becomes limp, falls to the ground in a heap as He releases his support, reaching for Her. She smiles, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. His hands move to her breasts, smearing the blood across her shirt front. His fingers move to the buttons, ripping them away, pulling the shirt and dropping it onto the still warm body at their feet. She turns his face from his kiss, arching her back as he turns his attention to her breasts.

Obediently he traces a line of kisses downward, one hand cupping a breast as his lips close around one pert nipple, teeth nipping lightly, then harder as she arches into him. He pushes her roughly against the wall, growling as she wraps one leg around his waist, pulling him against her.

She growls in response, rubbing herself against him, urging him on, tempting him to greater darkness, to the violence she craves.

"Take" she commands, biting into his ear as her nails rake across his back, tearing both shirt and flesh. He arches with the pain, pressing her more firmly against the wall. She brings the other leg up, wrapping both around his waist, supporting herself by strength of her legs and her back against the wall.

He bites, hard, into her nipple, growling. A trail of bites upward to the throat where he nuzzles, for the briefest moment, before sinking his teeth into her throat as she had done only minutes before with the girl.

She arches, squirms against him. "Harder." His arms wrapping around her waist, crushing her against him. She whimpers with the pain and the pleasure of it. His teeth grind together, bruising flesh, scraping bone. He drinks hungrily, thrusting drily against her as she moans in his ear.

Behind him, a shadow. Another comes, as they always do...

Her eyes open wide, full of fear. The shadow is filled with lust, hunger, an impulse to conquer and protect...

Before Kent is aware, he is torn roughly from his prize, shoved against another wall. His head is slammed against brick twice before he loses consciousness, looking to Her, fully aware of betrayal as she beckons to the "rescuer" who quickly moves to take his place.

The new one, nameless, hungry. His lips move to her breasts, suckling, lapping away the blood. His hands move to the clasp on her skirt, letting it fall into the mud. "Take my Reward" he says with no urging from her.

She smiles, reaches for his belt. He growls, taking it from her, grabbing her wrists. Using the belt he roughly ties her arms to a bar above her head, forcing her onto her toes. She whimpers, plays victim, waits. His shirt and pants fall, fly across the alley to land on a dumpster. Roughly grabbing her legs, forcing them apart, ankles on his shoulders, slamming her back against the wall.

He growls as his fingers dig into her waist, forcing himself completely inside with a single stroke. Her cries, high pitched, sounding fearful...

Does he notice the difference when the screams become whimpers, lengthen into moans? Does he notice when her legs shift, slide down his sides to wrap around his waist, seeking to control his frenzied thrusts? Is he aware, even, when one hand moves, with no thought or command from himself... One dirt and blood grimed thumb pressing and rubbing at her clit? When his own body moves more slowly, drawing out each stroke in time with the raisiing of her hips?

For certain he does not notice when his victim smiles, watching a bloddied form stagger to its feet. Some glint in her eyes echoing or perhaps even reflecting the shine of light on a steel blade.

The grip of her thighs around his waist loosens, the bonds on her wrists come free and she slips down the wall. She whispers something "Surprise" as a sharp pain warns him, too late, of danger. The blade crosses his throat, tracing what seems at first only a faint line. His body continues without thought. Blood splatters across her face, into her open lips. Her body convulses on a wave of pleasure as he falls away, pulling out. She whimpers, reaching for the other who obeys instantly.

"Mine" he mutters, covering her mouth with his own, pulling her to the ground, laying her across the body as she franticaly tears at his jeans, the offensive barrier between them. Moments later, soft gasps and whimpers are heard from her. He is moving within her even as the nameless one spills his seed uselessly on the ground in his dying moments. "Bitch" he mutters as she squeals, already lost within her newest lover.

Later, the music begins to die down as the last band wraps up its performance. Taking the knife, she kisses Kent, whispering to him. "It was good." He smiles, watching the knife with an almost sorrowful eye. "One last time?" he asks hopefully, noting that he is prepared for the occasion.

She smiles sadly, but nods as he rolls over onto his back. "Like this, then..." and she nods again as she straddles him, lowering herself onto him. They move in time with the dying music, and he stretches up to kiss her.

"I'm sorry..." she whispers as she returns the kiss, bringing the knife up.

"Thank you..." he says softly, closing his eyes, arching up against and into her.

"Goodbye." she says softly as she draws the knife across his throat, throwing her head back as she rides through his death spasms, biting deep into her lip to control her own screams as the spasms begin deep within the core of her body, radiating outward in a deep warmth and satisfaction.

Afterward, she leans down to brush a kiss against already cold lips. "Its better this way." she whispers to the body as she stands on shaky legs to gather her clothing.

A moment later she sighs as she studies her skirt. "Bastards. Got mud all over my favorite skirt." She glares at the three bodies. "Serves you right."

She finds a lighter in a pant pocket somewhere, setting fire to a dumpster and turning it over onto the bodies. She waits for a couple of minutes for the alarms, and the sprinklers to wash away the worst of the mess.

She whistles softly to herself as she slips between the firemen who rush onto the scene, confident she will go unnoticed.

Later, in the cab on the way home, she stretches luxuriously, feline, and purrs to herself. "Been too long since I Played" she mutters to the driver, who nods and presses down on the gas pedal.

Violence Fetish

I crave it, I hunger for it, I dream of it. Violence.

Nothing calms me more on a bad day than loud music. Nothing gives me more of a jolt, a recharge, than a good loud thunderstorm. Nothing thrills me more than a loud movie with lots of explosions, blood, violence... The more violent the better. Natural Born Killers, Boondock Saints, Sweeny Todd, House of 1000 Corpses. The more violent, the more horrifying, the more twisted... the better. Horror, violence, blood, rape... Anything. The more twisted the better. I need it. Monsters, vampires, demons...

The Darkness of the human mind and soul...

It is a sign of my madness, a symptom of the seething rage within me... and for the longest time I thought I was alone.

When I was 18, I met a man who called himself Loki. He was not Loki, neither god nor angel, just a man who called himself Loki. A man who craved of violence as I do, who savors chaos and darkness, danger. Who dreams of rivers of blood. We were drawn together, an intensity that could not be denied. A need that would not be refused. Stolen kisses, late night meetings. He had a girlfriend, I had a boyfriend, neither of us cared. We weren't very careful about getting caught, or about anything else. We both sort of hoped that I would get pregnant, so that we would have to stop lying and sneaking... but we enjoyed it.

There was a fog that year, every night for at least a week, we drove through the city looking for places to park. The fog protected us, shielded us. People we passed by looked like shambling zombies, like something out of a B-Movie.

Our favorite places to go were church parking lots, the blasphemy satisfied a need for perversity.

We carried out the affair in front of everyone, under their noses. We would all go out together, and he would grab me, drag me around the corner, kiss me, touch me. They would be feet away, if they turned the corner they would see us, but none of them ever knew.

We shared our dreams, our fantasies. In those dreams, and in our fantasy, we killed. Violence, so much blood. Together we would burst into homes, slaughter families, torture, dismember... We would make the husband watch as we removed the unborn child from his wife's womb and killed both. Would make him drink their blood. Would make him bury the bodies...

During sex, more often than not, we would talk of those we wanted to hurt. Of people we knew, who we would kill first. How we would kill it. It would begin slowly, stalk, capture, conquer...and as the fantasy became more involved, the tempo increased until we were so involved in our visions of gore that the violence of it didn't seem significant until afterward, until the bruises and the marks showed up against my skin. Bite marks, scratches, bruises from his hands being wrapped around my throat... and the orgasm was never better than that.

I was his succubus, he my incubus, and for the time that we spent together...nothing else mattered...

But in the end, it was too dark, too violent... We both began to wonder, worry, when the line would be crossed. How long before it wasn't enough to merely talk about killing and maiming, how long until we needed to actually do those things?

We exorcise our inner demons through thought or action, but give yourself to it and it is the demon who is in control, not you.

We stopped, except once in a while still... even if it is years in between... sometimes the hunger comes again, a craving so intense it cannot be denied, or ignored, or forgotten.

Yet, even with him, it has never been enough. I need it, the violence, the rough... but even he wasn't enough for me, I would beg for more, harder, rougher, but they can't do it. Can't give me what I need. Can't fill the void.

If I believe in my nightmares, only Moloch can do that... and if I don't believe in the dreams, then I am left with the fear that no one, nothing, will ever do it for me.

Hurt me. Break me. Bleed me. Fracture, fragment, release me. Destroy me.

Before I destroy you.

So...

(Post edited... we'll leave it as a bit of emo and move on with life)

Should've gone to bed earlier, when I was feeling all squee and blushy over silliness and second-hand compliments. Would've had amazing dreams if I'd gone in that mood.

Frustraion and Irritation

Here's the thing. I am most often viewed as a socially dominant, aggressive, intimidating woman. In part because I'm designed of amazonian proportions, except luckily I get to keep both breasts because I'm useless with a bow :).

I'll admit, once I find my feet in a new group, I tend to go Alpha Female. I'm the social chameleon who changes spots to stripes as necessary to fit in and gain acceptance. I've been known to infiltrate cliques just to see if I could shift the dynamic away from someone I didn't particularly like.

There's this misconception that someone who appears as socially dominant must be dominant in other ways as well. I'm guilty of it as well, viewing Arrogance as a reflection of a Dominant nature, its the most likely thing to attract me. Even though I know from experience that this may be completely wrong, that this publicly aggressive person may prefer to shed that mask within the confines of a bedroom or relationship.

Its frustrating, disheartening even. I keep attracting these men who want me to take control, where in all actuality I'm a girl who doesn't even like making decisions for herself... much less anyone else. I've been guilt tripped and bullied into taking on the role and I despise it. I'm not into humiliation and degradation, but force me into a role I don't want and it comes naturally... and makes me despise myself almost as much as I despise you for making me do it. Its the kiss of death to any relationship.

As far as concerns partners (caveat, so that I don't offend those subbie males and such of my acquaintance!)... I find that I cannot love my lover if he insists on casting me into the role of Domme. My attraction for him fades, my interest in him disappears. I lose all respect for him because to me... it makes me view him as less of a man.

I require a man who is capable of being aggressive, demanding, DOMINANT... when I am around an arrogant, aggressive type of man I find that I crave him. I want to be near him, to hear his voice, to see his smile. Make him smile. I want to do little things like fetch him drinks, curl up at his feet and listen to him tell stories or just watch him. I want to be within reach so that he can reach out and touch my hair, settle his hand onto the back of my neck. I want to sit quietly as he caresses my throat, pets my hair, and talks to his friends. I want to go to restaurants and when I cannot decide what I want, be able to tell him what I am considering so that he can tell me what to order.

But I can live without those things if he will at least take the initiative sexually. Tell me that he wants me, tell me that we're going to the bedroom now... grab me and pin me to a wall... Anything, so long as it leaves no room for doubt about his desire and affection for me.

A man who cannot do at least that for me, I can't help but view him as weak. Pathetic, even. I feel as much affection toward him as I do my vibrator, which is to say... I begin to consider him a temporary accessory to be used until I find something that better suits my tastes. Batteries are cheap, that type of man is a dime a dozen.

I think I've watched too many John Wayne movies...

Still more D/S musings

Some questions that I was asked about the topic, and my responses.
I have a great deal more to say soon, once I've organized my thoughts.
Anyway, onward:

1: are you looking for a purely sexual sub role, or does your submissiveness involve more than just your sexual role.

Partially its sex. Primarily, though, I've found that I most enjoy the mental/psychological aspect when it is done right... I do have one friend that I mostly get to talk to online who knows me well enough to play that up, he keeps me hungry for him, always eager to please him when we do have a chance to spend time together, he always teases me with the idea that maybe the next time I'll get more out of it... Even when there are months between our visits, he can still make me wet just by telling me he wishes I was on my knees before him, or he's in a mood where if I were there with him he'd have his hand wrapped in my hair... When we're together all he has to do is look at me and smirk just a little and I'm instantly horny and impatient for an opportunity to sneak away to some dark corner together... We've never had sex, he's never given me an orgasm... though I've come close to it while giving him blowjobs. He teases me with the thought that eventually he'll get around to taking it further, and we both know that probably won't ever happen but even that doesn't spoil the game... Its all about the mindfuck.

2: what is your level of experience in the sub role if any

Very minor... Some via the internet, some mindgames played with friends that know me well enough to know how to stay under my skin. I tease myself by playing subbie to people who don't know I'm doing it. A friend who liked to tease and joke about my being his concubine, sending me to fetch him drinks, letting me kneel at his feet... he has no interest in D/s but was willing to play those little games with me because he knew they made me happy. Things like that. Low level games played with people I trust who, while not Dominant or into the lifestyle, were willing to play with it if only to see how far I would be willing to go for them.

I have been whipped, shocked, cut, set on fire.. I've gotten to play rough, been bitten and bruised. I've been handcuffed, been led around on a collar and leash though neither were in sexual ways.

I've never had a Dom, never been officially trained... I've played at it, but not had anyone who really knew what they were doing to guide me through it. I've networked with subs to learn what it was like for them, what drew them, how/why it made them happy... I've talked to Dom's about the same topics. I've wandered a lot of websites and taken a lot of advice on reading material.

I've never had a Dom because, frankly, the ones I've talked to who were interested wanted to move too quickly. They were not interested in taking the time to get to know me as a person, to let me do the same with them. They were not willing to take the time to earn my trust, learn my limits and boundaries. They made no effort to earn my trust or respect. Instead, they wanted me to dive head-first into the experience with no preparation, no concession to my comfort levels, no effort on their part to reassure me about my own safety. Because they were not willing to consider my needs, I rejected their offers. I would rather pine for something that seems unattainable than put myself in danger by taking the risk on someone who obviously doesn't care about me or they'd be willing to do those things without my having to insist.

3: what of the following are you willing to be trained for:
bondage, yes
discipline, yes
humiliation, No. I had enough of that from a fairly recent abusive relationship
verbal abuse, No, again... abusive ex boyfriend who loved to do this
water sports, No. I have no interest in anything involving bodily functions
spankings, Possibly. I've enjoyed the occasional hard slap, but never been spanked
nipple play (clamps) I'm willing to give it a chance, though my nipples are very sensitive...
rough sex, Yes.
voyeurism, Yes.
anal sex, Absolutely Not. This is my one dealbreaker, nothing anal.
blindfolds. Yes.
you may add to this list if necessary. There are a lot of things that I'm curious about as I learn about them, but few that I would specifically ask for. I am willing to at least consider anything except anal and those things involving bodily functions. Consider, as in I have the right of veto if I decide I don't like it. There are some things that I do specifically want to eventually try, but things that I will not offer or agree to until comfort levels have been reached (violence, rape play, etc)

4: what if any of the above is off limits. Anal, water sports, scat, bestiality. Especially Anal though. Nothing goes near my ass. No fingers, tongue, cock, toys, absolutely nothing. I've had a couple of ex's who essentially tried to rape my ass, unlubed, thinking that if they "surprised" me I'd get into it and forgive them. Not only do I not find it appealing in the slightest, but due to these traumatic incididents, they are an instant turn-off, mood-kill, deal breaker. If my partner tries to push the issue, I will end the involvement. If they cannot respect my feelings on this subject than they cannot be trusted.

More D/s Musings

Years ago, I had a not-thing with this guy. Most weekends I'd end up snuggled up on his couch watching a movie that we would eventually forget about while we fooled around, I'd end up going down on him, and afterward we'd go back to watching tv.
I was perfectly happy with this situation because I enjoyed the circumstances, enjoyed the small ways he would give me instructions or occasionally even orders, enjoyed the way he would hold me afterward and pet my hair.

This lasted for almost 2 years, and very few people knew about it, that was part of the fun.

My favorite part was that he would hold my hand while I slept.

This not-thing was also part of what made me think that I was the submissive type, because I took so much pleasure from the mere fact that I was giving HIM pleasure. We never had sex, I never asked, or even wanted to. All I wanted was to be allowed to please him, after a while it got to the point where would have cravings for the taste of him. I never had any thought of or desire for orgasms, it was the sensation of being aroused that brought me pleasure... Its the same still, I prefer arousal to orgasm, the knowledge that I am the reason that my partner is enjoying themself. I enjoy the slow fade of coming down after being turned on, I enjoy it more than the big bang of actually getting off. It is only... well, not quite rarely, but still not often... that I feel the actual desire to climax, instead preferring to stop just short of that point. Far better the tension of being just shy of that point, then slowly finding my way back to calm again.

I only sometimes enjoy oral sex (receiving, I love to give), generally when my partner understands that this is part of foreplay. Most men basically try to force an orgasm out of me, getting impatient and frustrated, taking it personally, not understanding that it is my preference and not some failing on their part. Because of this, I get bored. I refuse to fake it, its pointless... why reinforce their misunderstanding? Maybe I'm not the only woman that is like this, but for all intents and purposes during the moments of our interaction... I should be, shouldn't I? They claim the attempts to give me orgasms against my will ("You just need someone who can do it right, that's all!") are because they want Me to feel good, yet they can't be bothered to pay attention to what DOES make me feel good. Trust me, if I want it... I'll ask for it.

I could never give up men because, not being into oral or caring about orgasms, I don't think I'd be able to adequately please a woman... hence, I've never traveled below the belt. I tried once, fingering a girl... I had somehow not yet discovered what the clit was for, so my entire attempt involved me sticking my thumb inside and wiggling it around. I didn't realize until years later how stupid that was, and I still have to resist the urge to apologize to the girl in question because ohmygod what was I thinking? I can't think it was all that pleasant, and I'm not surprised that things never progressed to that point again. However, because of this, I've yet to find a courage to experiment further. They say that only a woman can truly know how to please another woman, as she knows from personal experience what works. But thats far from true. 1) not being interested in orgasms, I doubt I'd have the slightest clue how to go about giving them. and 2) What about that whole thing where everyone has different preferences and such? Hmm? anyway, I feel like a fraud when I say I'm bisexual. I admire women, I find them attractive, I'm attracted to and aroused by them... But I don't know that I'll ever have sex with one because I'd be too embarrassed to explain my shyness when it comes to things below the equator. So that makes me one of those bi girls I despise, the ones who make out with other girls in public because it turns guys on.

Supposedly I should be frigid, since I don't care about orgasms... But I'm actually a bit of a nympho. I want sex, I enjoy sex. I enjoy the fact that my partner is enjoying sex. It all makes perfect sense to me. But apparently it would make me a bad sub, because part of the Dom's job is to give the sub pleasure, get them off. But... there's got to be more than one type of sub. I mean, there is, there are dozens of types. All the varieties of 24/7 subs that range from the housewife who keeps Sir's house clean and waits for him to come home so that she can please him... to the pony girl who wears long skirts in public to hide the crop sticking out of her ass. There's the subs who want to be beaten and abused, the ones who even enjoy being flat out degraded, the ones who live for the opportunity to service their masters... Or the casual sub who plays once a week on date night, or occasionally surprises their partner by bringing out the kit and asking to be tied up.

Me, I fall somewhere in the low range, I think. And yeah, that could be because I haven't experienced anything to know what I like yet... But I have a general idea, what sorts of things interest me. I definately don't want to be degraded or beaten, I won't do as I'm told if its something I'm not interested in doing. I won't use a safe word because I believe that No, in all situations, should be accepted as meaning NO. (Single exception, rape play... But thats something that should only be done with a partner who knows you well enough to be certain of your limits and boundaries.) The idea of spanking doesn't appeal to me, but being flogged across the back... Knife play, done right, absolutely... But I'd only accept being tied up if it was rigged in a way that meant I could escape easily, and my single incident with the law was enough to prove I'm not as into handcuffs as I thought I might be. Being ordered around appeals as a game, not as a lifestyle (In the Secretary "You may have 4 peas" and her giggling as she complies... but not in a situation where I'm genuinely meant to obey or face punishment). The idea of being punished for naughtiness, yes. The idea of being punished for correction? No.

I enjoy seeing the marks, being bitten, scratched, bruised... but never beaten, pain is enjoyable only to a certain level. I want to feel hands pressing against my throat, but not wrapped around it. I want to find that moment where the darkness begins to rush inward and the world becomes static, then quickly clears away again... I do not want to lose consciousness, or be in danger of actual choking. Spanking, no. Slap on the ass, yes. And never, under any circumstances, even if they're sure I might like it once it happens, anything remotely Anal related. I want to play with toys, go out in public wearing a vibrator contraption with my partner in control of the remote, but not in embarrassing situations. Crowded nightclub or bar, Absolutely. Quiet restaurant, not a chance. I want to enjoy the surprise of the toy being switched on, not worry about whether anyone else can hear it. And I don't want to be made to orgasm in public, or in front of people. I just want to go through the evening in a constant state of arousal, knowing that when we are alone... things will get truly interesting. Anticipation building until that moment when the door closes, the lock turns, and a trail of clothing is left behind in search of the couch, chair, or appropriate surface. I'll wear what clothing I'm told to, but only if its something I'm comfortable in. And DDD Breasts do not go out in public without a bra, I'm simply not comfortable with it. I'll wear a short skirt and a thong in case there's opportunity to find a dark, secluded area to play in... But I will not expose myself in front of strangers.

The idea of kneeling beside my master's chair, being petted or having my hair played with, allowed to lean my head against his thigh... and being told to fetch drinks or do small tasks, absolutely. The idea of sitting naked in the dark, blindfolded, waiting or my orders? Mildly. The idea of following a step behind, eyes kept downcast, existing only for the moments when orders are given? Not so much, not as more than a game. The idea of being woken in the middle of the night to pleasure my partner, or interrupted at some mundane task to go to the bedroom, oh very yes.... But the idea of being interrupted when I'm busy with something, ordered onto my knees and expected to perform, not so much. Being a slave? No. Living and waiting for the moment when I'm wanted? Fuck no, I've done that most of my life and it hasn't been a pleasant experience. The idea of being pinned to the wall and kissed thoroughly? Oh gods yes... (There is still a man I wish I had said yes to in those circumstances, but I never thought he'd have done it if he'd been sober at the time... Damn my occasional morals...).

I want to be wanted, to be reminded that I'm wanted. I want someone to be tender and gentle and loving. I want to be worshiped, but not fawned over. I want someone to do things for me because they know it pleases me, of their own volition otherwise it is meaningless. I want to be the one that pleases them, because I'm the one they want, and because they understand that doing so pleases me. I want to be known, physically and otherwise, my limits and boundaries tested and carefully expanded. At my pace. I want there to be a hint of a request when an order is given, and an alternate option given on those occasions that I refuse. When I do something wrong, I want to be taught rather than reprimanded. When I want to speak, I want to be listened to, heard... And I want to listen raptly as my partner speaks, even if it continues for hours on end... But I will not be lectured, bullied, or told that my way is wrong or that it is not good enough. I want to explore things at my pace, in privacy so that I can work through the shyness of learning something new. I want to be asked for my preferences and opinions, and told or ordered only to do those things that my partner knows for a certainty that I will want to do. I want to go only so far, because beyond that point I begin to feel used, resentful, and ultimately betrayed.

I want to play, not be used.

Some say that because I have limits, things I will not do, some that I will under no circumstances even consider... I'm not a sub, I'm too opinionated, too independent. I say, maybe I'm a challenge and an adventure, an exploration in possibilities and potential. Maybe, like being bisexual, I'm a fraud who just likes to be seen as a sub... Kneel at the feet of someone who will tell me to fetch a beer. I say? If you feel that way, you're obviously not meant to be the one who tames me.

D/s Musings

Why is it that every guy I find who claims to be Dominant either turns out to be a switch who wants me to Dom for him... or just never follows through, effectively proving himself All Talk. Why is it that so many people can't understand the concept of me being a person who simply cannot Dom? Socially, yes, because I don't put up with shit and I don't waste time with polite lies... but privately, I have no interest in taking control and to be completely honest I'm not even comfortable giving orders (unless they're flat out doing something wrong, of course). Having to be socially dominant is something that I hate doing, but being someone who prefers to be Alpha Female.. its unavoidable.

Having to be sexually dominant is just... 1) it holds no interest or attraction for me, I get nothing out of it, plus I feel awkward and downright uncomfortable when someone tries to talk me into it... 2) When forced or guilted (which is more common) to take the role, my antipathy for playing the part is such that I find myself losing all respect for and attraction to the person. Yes, some compromise is necessary for a healthy relationship, but some people have boundaries and limits that they cannot change even for someone they truly care about. Telling me that I have to learn how to take the role will only make me angry.

I don't think there's any direct correlation, but to me... Its like saying that even though I hate the mess and discomfort of period sex (yeah, lets shove something up there while it already feels like a porcupine is doing the disco!) and am turned off to the point of being mildly disgusted/nauseated at the idea of anal sex (me participating, I could care less what others enjoy)... I should do those things just because my partner is turned on by them. I don't know what sense that makes except that to me it seems unreasonable to expect someone to do something they are completely turned off by. Now, if it were something that I was curious, or slightly interested in, of course. But otherwise? If my partner was patently uninterested in something, I wouldn't ask or expect them to do it. For example, yes... I'm a bit of a gasper. Not to the point of actually wanting to be choked out, and I'm not likely to try hanging myself any time soon... but the pressure of a palm against my throat at the right moment is enough to just send me over.

I've thought a lot, long and hard even, trying to understand why it is that I'm so opposed to playing the dom. People keep telling me that even as a good sub, I'd be willing to do it to make my other happy... but it just doesn't' work like that for me.

Last night I had a couple of conversations that helped me understand.

One was with a guy that I've known for over 10 years now, who I know has always been interested... and who I'd always thought of as someone I could go to eventually... That I could trust and would eventually go to... Until he told me that he's now realized that he's also submissive. Which came as a shock until I thought about it. Really, he's very like me in that everyone assumes he'd be dominant because he tends to be an imposing and even intimidating figure publicly. So why couldn't he, like I, prefer to take the opposite role in private?

Anyway, it was part of a long string of disappointments in that area. Every time I've found someone who says that they're dominant... one of 3 things will happen. 1, the most common. They turn out to be a switch and want me to be as well. 2, They simply fail to follow through. Or 3, my least favorite... They want to immediately jump into ordering me around without taking time to get to know me, my limits and boundaries, or earn my trust.

The second conversation I had last night was more vague, and just sort of accidentally led to a realization. I could probably Dom a woman, and get into it as things progressed... Yet still not a man, and why? Because. I want my men to be Manly and my women to be Feminine.

And there it is. My men have to be confident and assertive, willing to go for what they want... I'm simply not attracted to or interested in the ones who can't be that way. I can't handle “puppy dog” types who just want to follow me around and do whatever I say. I cannot respect a man who won't debate, or even argue with me occasionally. I am not attracted to someone who can't be assertive and confident, who won't occasionally pin me to a wall without warning and kiss me senseless... **GRIN**

Conversely, I cannot stand a man who is overconfident or demanding. And while I like my women to be somewhat feminine, I don't really get along with the Really feminine types. I don't wear makeup, I don't get the point of fashion.

So, I'm catch 22... but I'm used to that :)

"Their Plaything"

Whispers in darkness, She sighing softly as cloth slides away from skin, as lips caress newly exposed territory. Throat, shoulder blade, curve of breast and... Ahhhh, yes, lips closing around nipple, teeth scraping lightly at first as pressure is applied...

"Yeah..." A low voiced whisper of approval, Him lurking nearby with avid eyes... watching, waiting for his invitation to play.

Fingers touching, caressing, feeling... Here, at the peak of the other breast. There, now, teasing the inner crease of thigh. Up, brushing across parted lips. Over, tucking a lock of hair behind Her ear.

"Lower." comes the instruction, murmuring approval as His command is obeyed.

Palm cupping, holding something precious a moment before fingers slide between folds, dancing lightly across sensitive skin before moving away again.

"Tease." She whispers, hips shifting in invitation.

"Yes." my voice, distant in the haze of need, passion's hunger.

"Lower." His voice again.

Lips relinquish the captured peak and blaze a trail lower, ever obedient. Distracted before reaching His intended goal, traveling over the curve of hip with a trail of moist kisses. Bite here, not hard. Fingers moving, parting, revealing... as my eyes raise to meet Hers, and then His. The invitation is soft "Hold her."

He moves to the bed, leaning in for a kiss. First from you. Then from Her. Then, rearrangement as She leans back against him, his hands coming 'round from behind, fingers delving, parting, holding as requested...

Hands free, one claiming the curve of hip, the other toying lightly as I watch Her face. Tracing edges and lines, never slipping within, not even when another impatient shift of hip threatens. Nuzzling against his knuckles, kissing the back of his hand, then kissing Her in that place more intimate... Tongue flicking lightly for a moment before lips claim, then release. Experiment, tease, play...

Her voice soft, a whimper. Knowing she can feel his hardness against her, knowing he won't play without the invitation. Her hands taking hold, holding, a low almost growl "No teasing."

Obedient, fingers slipping within, tongue and lips dancing. Well taught, poetry of movement as her whimper becomes a pant, then a cry, hips bucking as His palms flatten against her belly, holding her in place. Not stopping until She does, then sitting up.

Wrist captured, not by Her... by Him. Together, without speaking, they move me into her place. Held down, him holding my wrists in his hands, his lips against my throat as he watches Her, commanding "Lower."

'3in1'

Her breath is soft across my cheek as I nuzzle closer, sliding my arm around her waist and lazily running nails along her spine. Her tiny sound of pleasure wakens Him, as his lips press for a moment against my shoulder. Words are murmured too softly to be understood by anything but tone of voice. Too exhausted for the moment to take action, small affectionate moments pass interchangeably amongst us. His teeth sinking into the place where shoulder meets neck. Her hand moving over His hip. My leg shifting between hers as I press closer. His body pressed more snugly against my back as he raises to one elbow leaning across to claim Her lips in a searing kiss. Me, sitting up to watch, hands moving over warm skin, playing lightly across sensitive areas. Her hand capturing mine, guiding so that together we are touching Him. He breaks their kiss long enough to take hold of me, tugging me so that for a moment I am straddled across His hips, then on the other side. She rises now, and across him it is our turn to kiss. For a moment the fires rise, and it seems perhaps we are not too tired, not yet sated after all... Then without discussion we settle again, Him in the middle now. She snuggles close against his one side and I the other, each of us stretching an arm across him waist to cup a palm against the other's hip. His arms wrap around us, his lips pressing first to one forehead, then the other as he whispers sleepy approval... She and I, our eyes meeting a moment, smile as he drifts away from us... but each feeling secure and adored, follow closely behind.

"Justine"

The words wouldn't come right.

She was staring off into the distance, her eyes taking on that blankness they took whenever the silence lasted too long between them. Her fingers against his arm had turned cold, and her grip on him had relaxed. Even as she waited for her answer, she was letting go, and that was the last thing that he wanted from her.

The problem was, with a girl like Justine, you simply couldn't come out and say things like that. You couldn't tell her that you loved her, that your every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of her, that she haunted your dreams. You couldn't tell her those things because she wouldn't believe them, and she would hate you for it.

It wasn't that Justine didn't know she was beautiful, or that she was unaware of the way her entrance into a room drew everyone's attention. She Knew that she was gorgeous and that a man would give anything for just a chance to be with her. She was more than aware of the effect her physical appearance had on the people around her, and she despised them for it.

Justine wanted to be loved for herself, because she as a person was appealing. Not because her hair was golden and felt like melted silk.

He knew these things, and he understood her need. She had explained it all to him over the phone, her honeyed voice travelling the miles between them and drawing the very heart from him. They had talked for almost a year over the internet before she would allow a phone conversation... And after that it was several months more before she would send him a picture.

Justine was everything that he wanted, and it had nothing to do with her beauty. He couldn't deny that he appreciated it, but it had nothing to do with why he wanted to be with her. He had developed an instant crush on her when she was nothing more than a girl on a keyboard several hundred miles away from him. Her caustic, often self-depreciating wit, her intelligent and animated conversation, her dark and sometimes disturbing humor...

"Do you remember, the first time I asked you for a picture? It was a couple of months after we met in the chat room... You sent me an autopsy photograph from one of Jack the Ripper's victims. The first time I asked for a phone number you gave me the line to a support group for compulsive masturbators... When I freaked out because I thought I'd bombed my finals, you told me to be glad it wasn't something like Driver's Education. For easter you sent me a valentines day card, for Valentines Day you sent me Halloween candy. When I agonized about breaking up with Anna, you sent me a dozen roses with a smiley face balloon."

Justine inclined her head towad him slightly, showing that he had her attention, but did not turn toward or in any other way acknowledge that he had even spoken. He knew from experience that she wouldn't turn to him until he had answered her question in the way that she hoped to be answered. Instinct told him that, if he failed to convince her of the reality of his feelings, she would get out of the car and walk away without looking back, he would never see her again.

He was filled with a sense of desperation.

"You want to know why I love you?" He waited for a moment, but there was no response. He was buying time, trying to prod his thoughts into some acceptable semblance of coherency.

"Yes, it is because you are beautiful. But I saw your beauty long before I saw your face. I saw it in the way you phrased certain types of questions. On the one year anniversary of the night we met online, you sent me a burned CD that included Lorenna McKennit's rendition of the Lady of Shallot. The rest of the cd was rock, some punk, a couple of country songs, then out of nowhere... This voice singing of such sorrow and loneliness, I could see the Lady risking everything for one good look at the great Knight Lancelot, giving up everything for that one glimpse of Camelot. It was haunting, I found myself listening to the song on repeat, I found a copy of the poem online, I caught myself wondering at odd moments whether it was Worth it, all that the Lady had lost..."

He smiled, laying one hand over her cold fingers, giving her what warmth he could.

"I started to think of you that way, a Lady trapped in this life she couldn't stand, lost in dreams of something she couldn't touch. Everything you told me about your family, their expecations of you, your own hopes for the future... When you speak of it your voice takes on this tone, like a child wishing on stars they know they can't reach... It makes me want to hold and protect you."

"I realized that I loved you the night you called me up at 3am to turn on the television and sit on the phone with you while we both watched the Princess Bride. That was a week before you sent me a real picture of yourself, six months before we met the first time. I told my roommate that I was in love with a girl I'd met on the internet and he told me I was insane, there was no way I could love someone I'd never met. He realized I'd dumped Anna because I didn't feel half the connection with her that I do with you."

He scooted a little closer to her, letting his voice fall to a whisper. "I can give you hundreds of tiny reasons, details, things you've said and we've done together, and all of those add up to why I can't imagine a life that doesn't include you... But I can't give you a clear cut reason Why... I just love you... and the rest doesn't matter. Distance and time we can deal with, if you wanted me to I would move anywhere you wanted to go... Just on the off chance that I'll end up spending the rest of my life there with you."

It wasn't enough, she deserved something more... Maybe it would be better if she walked away and never looked back. Maybe she could find the guy who would spontaneously compose a poem to perfectly describe the inner beauty that eclipsed any mere physical attractiveness... He just wasn't capable of it. He'd scraped the bottom of the barrel here, and he couldn't do much now but pray that she understood everything behind the words as much as what was actually said.

Justine gave a soft sigh, the cold air making her breath a puff of white that hung in front of her like a thought bubble. She shifted in her seat, and his heart stilled. He wasn't sure it would start beating again if she opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Justine shifted again, her eyes closing, and turned into his arms, pressing her cheek against the rough weave of his sweater. His heart kicked up again, pounding so hard and so loud in his ears that he almost didn't hear her softly whispered "Thank you."

snippet: Falling

"If I jumped, would you catch me?"

He smiled, wrapping his arms around my waist, and pulled me closer. He whispered something into my hair as his lips pressed against my throat in a soft kiss. He knew that I was asking whether, if I fell, it would be a beginning or an end. His hand moved up my spine to rest at the back of my head, his thumb brushing back and forth across the fast-beating pulse. He knew, I knew that he did, and he knew that I knew he understood...

But he didn't answer.

"Fallen Angel"

I crave violence.

I crave an outlet for the rage that builds within me every time I watch some disgustingly happy couple neck in the park, hold hands at the mall, kiss at a red light...

I crave expression, art... but art of a different sort... A way to show, to teach, to warn...

Yesterday I saw a woman walking alone after dark. She was so lovely. She wore a bemused smile, pausing every few moments to stare at a sparkling diamond on her left hand. The sparkle reflected in her eyes as she turned toward me. She was so alive, so vibrant with joy that even I, who knew nothing about her, realized that she had just become engaged. I expected her to shout at any moment, to scream to the heavens with her ecstasy at being loved, but...

She continued walking without comment, lost in her own world. Safe within the protective bubble of her news, excluding any who would share her pleasure. Her eyes slid over me without pause, her step didn't falter. She paid no more mind to me than she would a pile of excrement in her path, save avoidance on a level she was probably unaware of.

So I followed.

I fell into step behind her, dirty bare feet making no sound as I padded along in her wake. She hummed softly beneath her breath, unaware of the dirty fallen angel who moved between the worlds. My teeth ground together as I recognized the tune, a hymn I myself had once sang in this same bliss... This sure and certain knowledge that I was loved, and always would be. I had felt warm and safe, I had a purpose. I had known, beyond a doubt, that my love could never be proven false.

It wasn't. HIS was. HE turned from me. I stood at his side during the battle, I supported and loved him, I looked down and away from those who would turn their back’s on all that HE offered… and still he cast me out because I would not enter into the fray.

Nothing will change his mind, he will not heed my prayers, he does not take pleasure in my good works or deeds.

Mothers were calling children into the houses as we passed, it was going into that time of night where most families are sitting around a table, or gathered before the television. The streets become deserted and lonely, reminding any solitary soul who might wander by to peek into those warm happy cocoons of familial love that they are excluded. Outcast. Unwanted.

A man opened his front door as we passed, called out a greeting to the woman. She paused to share her news and receive congratulations. I stood beside her, making no effort to remain disguised within the darkness but still… They did not respond to my comments, or answer my questions. Nothing that I could do would make them notice me.

It was fitting. They are, after all, made in His image…

I decided then, as the woman and I continued our walk down the street, that it was time to take an action. I would step forth into the world, I would do things that would force them to acknowledge me. I would make a mark. And if they would not see me, I would kill them all.

We turned into an apartment complex, moved through the deserted halls and entered a small dark apartment. The light was blinding when she turned it on, its unprotected bulb sent roaches scurrying into dark corners. She dropped her purse onto the couch and walked into the bathroom.

I watched as she undressed, my being filled with envy. Her flesh was soft, shaven smooth. An exquisite butterscotch tone faded to a soft milky white which showed the sparse covering of the bikini she usually wore while sunbathing. Her breasts seemed to have been perfectly formed, barely swaying as she bent over the tub to start a bubble bath. Well shaped legs moved upward, the muscles in her thigh rippling slightly as she went down to one knee, her posterior a lopsided heart shape.

I glanced in the mirror as the tub filled, comparing my own plain appearance to this woman’s supple form. HE had put all of his love and detail into the creation of Man and Man’s Consort.

My complexion was pale, uninspiring when compared to her butterscotch sweetness. My figure was insignificant beside her generous curvature. My hair hung limp around my shoulders while hers flowed freely to her hips. My pale eyes were nothing the electricity which fairly sparkled in hers.

God had spared no effort on Man, while he had wasted none on his Angels.

She slid into the luscious warmth of her bath while I stood over her thoughtfully. Her eyes closed as she sank within a sea of jasmine scented bubbles. Her knees peeked out of the water as she wet her hair.

I leaned forward, bent double at the waist. My hand did not cause disturbance as it moved into the water, I felt nothing of the warmth of the bath or the texture of skin as my fingers closed around her throat.

She felt me then, in those moments. Her eyes flew wide, her mouth made an ‘O’ of surprise. She struggled, spilling water over the edge of the tub and soaking her clothing. Her hands flailed, grasping at the edge of the tub, trying to pull herself out. She gulped water instead of air and fought harder for a moment. The overwhelming scent of jasmine filled the small room as her kicks shattered the bottle against the wall. Glass shards opened wounds in her foot and calf. I saw, quite distinctly, the word ‘help’ form on her lips.

My fingers tightened around her neck, pushing her back against the porcelain tub. My other hand reached into the water, grasping her hair firmly. I leaned close, the ends of my own hair trailing through bubbles. I smiled, releasing my hand from her throat to take hold of her chin, my other hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head.

Her body relaxed, an expression of relief crossed her face as she tried to sit up.

>>SNAP<< Her eyes went blank, her body limp.

Instantly I felt regret. I wished that I had taken more time, that I had put the same effort and care into her destruction that had gone into her creation, but I could do that next time. Already her spirit was beginning its journey into the heavens, where she would report what she had seen.

I stood, shaking the water off of my hands, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turned to leave. There was a faint tint of pink to my cheeks now, a certain softness about the lips. My wings unfurled, stretching their tattered tips until they brushed against the bathroom walls. I smiled, leaning forward to whisper to my reflection.

“This is what happens when you ignore me.”

"Dark Love"

"Come" she says, beckoning over her shoulder as she walks away. There is an imperious sound to the word which is at odds with the complacent smile on her lips and the flicker of emotion in her eyes. I pause for a moment, watching the movement of her lithe form as she opens the basement door, twisting at the waist to see if I will follow. It makes a striking picture, the stretched fabric throwing one breast into stark-relief, the unconsciously seductive pout of her delicately curved lips, and again that shadow darkening her blue eyes.

I could no more not follow than I could dance on the ceiling... This is my clever way of saying that I am drawn to her now as I have always been. Moths with their searing flames have nothing on the bittersweet attraction I feel toward Jeanette, the conflagration that destroys the moth could be considered pleasurable in comparison to the shredding I should get if she ever finds out that I think myself in love with her.

How do you tell your best friend of twelve years, the same girl you have had giggling slumber parties and makeovers with since fourth grade, the same girl who cried on your shoulder six months ago after discovering her boyfriend in bed with another woman, the same girl who shuddered delicately when confronted by any evidence of homosexuality: that you are a lesbian, and coincidentally madly in love with her?

You don't.

"What is it?" My head tilts to one side as I join her at the top of the stairs, peering down into the darkness. My only response is her hand at my hip, urging me to move forward. I hesitate for a moment, fighting back that childish fear of the darkness which even in my early twenties, I have yet to conquer. That the viscous dark fills the same basement we used to terrify ourselves by filling with imaginary ghosts and monsters probably does not help, not even the knowledge that said beasts were constructed by an overactive mind and nothing more.

Her hand pushes again, sliding up from hip to waist, fingers curling into the small of my back. The movement is slow and gentle; it sends a shiver of wanting through my body, this intimate caress. It gives me the courage to take the first few steps. Courage is bolstered after a moment by the sulfuric smell of a match being lit and put to candle. We are in the center of its light, held safe within a magic circle of protection. I focus on that, forcing it to be enough for me to see whatever it is that I am being taken to.

She is a step behind me, her fingertips trailing up along my spine to grasp my shoulder, nails scraping lightly against the back of my neck. Her thumb was brushing up and down along the rapid pulse in my throat. My mouth is dry now, my thoughts in a thunderstorm of activity. Could there be some significance to these actions, these gentle caresses, her breathy sigh that whispers my name halfway down the staircase?

I stop, turning to look up at her, allowing all of my confusion to show on my face. "Jenni?"

She smiles softly, leans forward to press her lips to mine in a fleeting kiss. The back of her hand brushes against my cheek before she touches my shoulder, urging me to turn around and continue.

Stunned, I comply. My thoughts are blank now, unable to process this new stimulus, unable to focus on anything but the momentary warmth of her lips on mine. I think I am in shock.

Her whisper confirms the thought, as we continue down the stairs. "I know that you love me, you always have. It used to scare me, you know... Like your fear of the dark, a deeply debilitating fright that made me unable to understand its meaning... Or my own feelings..." Her hand moves through my hair for a moment, tangling amongst the curls. I can almost hear the smile in her chuckle as she frees herself and continues.

"It was Paul who helped me figure it out, though I still don't quite know how. Seeing him with that girl... I was so hurt, so consumed by jealousy. But my first thought was of you, wanting to see you, be comforted by you. I knew that you would be there for me, as you always had been. I felt safe when you held me. I knew that if we were ever together, you would never cheat on me, you would never hurt me."

We come to the bottom of the stairs. The wide expanse I have explored in childhood dares is changed significantly. Where it had previously been one large room, it is now separated. A brick wall adorned by a heavy metal door claims more than half of the space. I study the shiny new padlocks for a moment before turning again, knowing that whatever secret she has to share lies behind the new construction.

With one hand she tugs at a chain around her throat, pulling out a key which she uses on the locks. That strangely complacent smile is on her lips again as the door swings inward, she watches me expectantly, a flicker of emotion again coloring her eyes. As I step within, she follows with the candle held high, swinging the door shut behind her.

The flickering flame delves into dark corners, exposing a Spartan room. A table with three chairs, two cots against the wall with blankets piled on them; a curtain in one corner offers a modicum of privacy to the small shower and toilet. A row of shelves contain supplies, candles, food and such.

"The walls are over a foot thick, completely sound proof. There is running water, but no electricity. Dad had it built as a bomb shelter of sorts, about four years ago, just before he died. You could survive down here for years... and no one would ever know..."

There is something sinister in her tone, some flickering hint of badness which is supported by a sudden shifting within the room. One of the blanket piles is pushed away as a man sits up, blinking owlishly in the half light of the room. He stares at me as if I were an apparition, rubbing his face as he struggles to his feet. "Ashley?" It is Paul, the unfaithful boyfriend who broke Jeanette's heart by disappearing shortly after the cheating incident. "Thank God..."

Hope lightens his dark eyes as he stumbles forward, reaching out toward me. At the last moment he veers away, turning to stare at Jeanette as she speaks again. "Paul came to beg forgiveness, offered to do penance... But he tried to go away again when I brought him here. So I hit him over the head and put locks on the door." He stumbles backward to fall onto the cot again.

"Jenni?" I flinch away from the possessive look in her eyes, glancing toward the door as I consider flight.

The candle's flame flickers, and then dies as she blows it out. Darkness falls upon the room, swallowing me whole. I back myself into a corner, clenching my hands into tight fists. I can feel my nails tearing into the flesh of my palms; my mind is full of static.

I hear a soft scraping sound somewhere off to the left, followed by Her voice. "Paul will never leave me again." It is a breathy sigh of contentment which makes me shudder and cower more deeply into my corner, my bastion of safety. "Paul will never leave me again... and neither will you."

The door slams with an echoing clang which bounces around inside my head and erupts from my throat in a soul searing scream. As the scream dies down and my lungs fill for another, I hear Paul's weary voice from across the room.

"Don't bother; no one will ever hear you."

Daydreaming (ShowerThoughts)

The world exists in two places, two phases. They coexist separately, each having a purpose and a necessity, each having its reason and reality. Time operates differently in these places, one moving in with the languid pace that sometimes quickens in response to hungers… the other moving normally, operating and functioning as necessary.

There is the world within… and the world without.

Inside, time is slow. Each second lingers, stretches out with a feline grace before eventually relinquishing itself to the next but not without some regret. Each moment exists within an eternity, living for itself, for the one that came before and the one that comes after, each moment aware of what it is losing as it moves on with a sigh.

Words are spoken softly, ideas conveyed through soft sounds and touches. Sensation is communication, hunger sustained and satiated through contact. Need is not a thing that is spoken of, merely acted upon.

The world within exists for the moment, each moment, the now, the caress and glide of flesh, the questing touches, revealing words. A universe of communication carried between instants, spoken and known without effort, without worry of misunderstanding.

The clock is stopped at 3am, or perhaps the moment has lingered far beyond its allotment. Time is a solid, a tangible presence too jealous of its focus –or lack of being focused upon- to move willingly. Realities coalesce, fuse together, separate and return again, never questioning…

Figures, one and another, dancing to a beat older than envious time… a sensuality that lives within the pool of perspiration at the hollow of her throat, the rasp and rumble of his breathing. He stands, straight and strong and confident, the master of all things, the king of worlds, the servant of her whim. She lies, bound by hand and foot, a creature to comfort his needs, but the true mistress of the moment.

Communication, hunger, passion… these things rule the world within the walls, dominating and subjugating faint and fickle reality. Each touch, each sigh and moan, is a promise of the next. Flesh moving, sliding, hands and lips exploring, fuelled by hunger, patient desire teasing, seek the breaking point.

What began with a giggle ends with a strained and straining plea for mercy, as un-pious and unapologetic she cries out “Please… please…” and he obeys.

The world without, outside, it doesn’t exist. It does exist, but it is irrelevant. Others move in the outside world, others exist and breathe and live and love, but don’t matter. The world without is a succession as darkness become greyness and then varying shades of light before fading into the blueviolet bruise that scales down into darkness again before the cycle renews.

To those without, everything is of essence, importance. Time cannot be ignored, schedules must be met, needs must be considered and fulfilled. Passion is a dream, a series of moments stolen when luck favors the fortunate.

To those within, nothing exists but the moment, the touch, the taste. To those within, only they exist, only contact is real, only hunger matters. Only now, only you, only me… Moments stolen away from reality, the rest is forgotten.

3some (one too many)

I knew as soon as I saw him that I wanted him, but it wasn't until my lover went after him that I made a move.. not in competition, but because she and I like to share... and obviously we were both interested.

I knew I was in trouble when he ran to his car to get his collar and leash, that smile as he held it up in silent question... and I found myself lifting my hair out of the way without hesitation. She watched this with uneasy eyes, and that situation didn't get any better as the evening progressed... because the more time we spent together the more obvious it was that his preference was for me, not her.. Yet neither of us could really tell her to go away without being rude.

We should've... She was being wild and forward and greedy, sitting with her face in his lap even though he made no encouragement or invitation, I wished she'd at least been drunk to justify it because... I was embarrassed a bit. For her? Of her? He let her play as he sat on the couch between us, but smiled when I shifted so that my leg covered his groin and she couldn't reach anymore. She switched to trying to play with me, not noticing I wasn't responding. Not noticing that my gasps and sighs came from his more subtle touches rather than her bold ones.

He never told her no, so I assumed he was interested... and when he said he needed to choose, encouraged him to just go for the threesome option... I didn't want to not be the one he picked, and I was fairly sure all hell would break loose if she didn't get picked. So, we went to the bedroom with him.

In view of the others he made attempts at equality, he'd kiss me first, then her... He'd touch and pet us both. The moment we moved into privacy that pretense dropped. He kissed her a couple of times, played with her breasts a little, that was it.

She and I both being subs, he ordered her to show her work ethic (thank you, George Carlin) for me while he stayed higher, kissing, tesing, tormenting and testing my limits. We talked, his attentions focused completely on me, and I couldn't help but respond fully to him.... to the point that I pretty forgot she was between my thighs and the orgasms happened because of his kisses, his hands on my nipples, the things he was saying...

He told us right out front that there'd be no actual sex, but that he'd be willing to do quite a lot else... so when he said I'd earned a reward and ordered me to switch positions with her so that he could get behind me while I went down on her... I remembered to pay attention to what I was doing more because he reminded me to, and his hand would stop the wonderful things it was doing whenever he noticed I wasn't doing my job. It was her that finally claimed to be done, an soon she was sitting beside me watching as he ordered me onto his back so that he could make with the orals.

The first orgasm hit as soon as he started, the next half dozen came with increasing loudness until I finally had to shove him away or die because I could no longer breathe. Immediately he stretched up beside me, holding me, kissing me, caressing me until I calmed down again and reminded that he'd been promised a blowjob.

my girl ended up doing almost all of the work, I took my turns but sometimes stamina can be bad as well as good, and he kept pulling me back up for kisses and more of that wonderful talk, putting her back to work... and even though we'd agreed thats since she'd done most of the work she deserved the reward, but somehow I got it instead... Yum.

I do feel bad, though it was amazing for me... she was left out *sigh*
Worse, he told me the next day that if she hadn't been there, the 'no sex for 30 days' rule would've been bent, or ignored completely. Ah well...

I did get him. Eventually..

Unfortunately, he never followed through :(

He sits in his chair, hands lazily toying with her hair as She kneels before him with Her cheek against his thigh. I kneel beside Her, looking up at him as he shares tales of his wilder days... He'd known girls with a thing for cutting, girls who would come to him. He would mark them, intricate and detailed carvings. She smiles at me and I smile at him as She mentions thats something I'd be into. "I had to stop" he says, and I make no attempt to hide my disappointment as I ask why "Because I liked it a little too much." I tell him thats a pity, because I've never found anyone who would play that way with me. He smiles and says maybe its been long enough.

Later, he's sitting cross legged on the floor, I'm laying with my head in his lap. He takes hold of my hand and brings it up to kiss my fingertips before turning it over. The sharp edge of his thumbnail traces a pattern against my wrist while he watches my face to see the response. I try not to squirm but it can't be helped, and I can't hold back a murmur of sound that makes him smile "I thought so."

Eye Contact

He pushes me back against the pillow, hand tangling in my hair as he takes it from beneath me. The fingertips of his other hand playing across my nipple as he chuckles and leans in for a kiss. Habitually, my eyes drift close and he makes a soft sound of displeasure. My face is captured between his hands as I feel his fingers against my eye lids and I look at him. There's a stern look on his face as he holds my gaze until I understand he wants me to look at him. He leans in again, eyes on mine as his lips press against mine in a soft kiss, then another. Moments later, I forget, distracted by sensations of She and He both, my eyes drift and instantly his lips move away from mine... returning only once my gaze is locked with his again. It made my breath catch, that added connection, the intensity of it causing my heart to skip and leap. I admit, I clung to him, just like any heroine in a cheesy romance novel. His hair was soft under my fingers, and his shoulders strong as I wrapped my arms around him, and he chuckled against my ear as he moved to kiss the side of my throat. "I think you like it."

An interlude with 'Wash'

He's been teasing me afternoon and evening, little touches, kisses. "You want something, what is it?" I refuse to answer, because already I've discovered myself incapable of the word No with him. He gives me that smirk, that all knowing, evil, sexy little smirk of his. I sit for hours and watch the guys play cards, amused. Their conversation is better than inside where the girls are sitting around babbling about things that don't interest me. Right now, HE is what interests me, so in the chair beside his is where I stay... and between rounds in the game he leans over to kiss me. He holds my hand, running the sharp edge of his thumbnail against my palm, chuckling when I shiver in response. In retaliation I lean over and start kissing his neck, purring in his ear when that makes him shiver. "You want to have sex." he mutters, capturing my face so that I can't turn away this time. "You want to fuck." I smile silently, there's no point trying to deny such obvious truth...

Later, curled up on the couch watching a movie. The front door is open, which blocks his roommate's view of us on the couch. Others can probably see the way I squirm as he keeps me curled up against him. I intentionally wore a bra with thin fabric, anticipating the feel of his fingers playing across my nipples through fabric. Torture, such exquisite torment... I turn my face away, looking at the television and he pinches a nipple hard between his fingers, squeezing until I look back at him again... The look on his face is best described as sadistic glee as he switches to tweaking the other nipple until I try to pull away... Not because of pain, it probably does hurt but I can't tell through the haze of pleasure. I curl up against him, rewarded by kisses as his hand slides down to my zipper and oh gods do I want to let him do that but... This is when I notice his roomate's girl staring at us, and the guy sitting on the other couch near the television... So I squirm away, catching "Wash'" gaze and glancing down the hall toward his bedroom hopefully. "You want the cock." he whispers in my ear, almost a growl there and I refuse to answer verbally even as he guides my hand and being the obedient girl I show what attention I can to it through pants.

Still later, the rest of the thanksgiving guests have gone. My housemates tried to make me go home, but he had me pinned to the wall, telling me in between kisses that it was my choice if I wanted to go home or stay with him, refusing to say yes or no. Silly boy, if the answer isn't No, I'm staying. So we're back on the couch again, his roommate is outside smoking (roommate's girl has disappeared into the bedroom I think.) "You want the cock." he taunts again, smirking even though I refuse to say yes. He leans me back, pinning me to the couch as he growls low and bites, shaking his head back and forth... That spot on my neck will likely ache like a bruise for a week, but god I'll love that little reminder... Even though somehow he manages to always do it so that it hurts like a bruise without showing as one... Then he has me pinned further, stretched out on the couch with him on top, kissing in between his taunting declarations of the things he knows I want and hope for... until his roommate comes in and tells us to get a room.

He settles down and we curl up again to watch the rest of whatever movie it is that we're watching, I have trouble focusing as he takes every opportunity to tease, pinning me again whenever his roommate goes outside for another smoke. By now, if he'd only ask again, I'd actually be willing to admit that YES I do want it, him, everything...

I don't know if its a respite or torture of a different sort, the domestic scene as everyone pitches in to clean up and put away the Thanksgiving leftovers. "We'll have to pull the futon out." he kisses me and goes back to doing dishes. I laugh and continue with my assigned tasks. When he comes back from the bedroom he's carrying a tarot deck, I watch as he does two readings. A 3 card, then the full spread... He looks at me oddly and shakes his head, putting the cards away... and refuses to say what he was trying to discover though he seems bemused by the results while admitting they weren't very helpful.

Finally, bed, he orders me to strip and I remove everything but the thong and soon we're kissing again and he's tormenting me in such exquisite ways while holding our usual vague sort of conversation. "If we don't stop this." he says while grinding against me through his shorts and my flimsy bit of cloth "We'll both be in trouble." I ask why, and he drops the bomb "Because our 30 days aren't up yet.." Yes, he intends to obey the house rule and for a second I feel the urge to cry out of sheer frustration, which obviously pleases him. I point out thats only two weeks, trying to make it seem like nothing and no reason to wait... instead, I'm half a breath from begging and really two weeks sounds a lifetime away from this particular moment. "No." so smug.

I growl and struggle beneath him, wanting up, wanting to assert myself, wanting to take control and DEMAND. I'm ready to fight him for it if I have to, and there's fire in his eyes as he snarls and shoves me back down, pinning me to the mattress with his hand wrapped around my throat... There's such malicious glee in his expression and his voice, Pride as well. Every inch of the Alpha Male as that hand squeezes and he growls "Only on MY terms." his face close to mine. The world starts to fade in from the edges (does he have any idea exactly how close I was in that instant?) and I struggle to loosen his grip just enough so I cay say Yes... and he lets go, pause a minute while I remember how to breathe again... Then he's kissing me just as fiercely as if there'd been no interruption.

I can't help but laugh "You like it when I get angry." and he smiles, saying nothing. "Why do you enjoy that?" Again he has no answer, and it isn't until later that I consider my attempt to take control... it allows him to conquer me, proves that I still present him a challenge. Not until later, though... First there is him, and I suspect I'm being punished for my moment of rebellion. He's up to his knees, straddling my thighs so I can't squirm free, then higher so that he's pinning me by the chest and its obvious what he wants... I resist long enough for him to give an irritated grumble and rise off of me long enough to remove the shorts. This earns further punishment as he orders me to push my breasts together for him, and he is displeased as I try to find the right angle to do both. No, the rhythm is his to set and mine to accept as I work from an awkward angle to do what I can to add to it. I can't just be there and let it happen, always I am the active participant in my own downfall... but such a delicious punishment as he taunts me about liking the feel of his cock in my mouth.

Moments later I'm licking my lips and he's flopped over onto the bed with a very pleased smile as I snuggle up close and tease that he looks ready to fall asleep. He is, he admits... Though if I want reciprocation, he'll do so happily... though he's already realized I'm a special case. "I could do that, but we both know it'd be four hours later and you'd be pleased... but not satisfied, because there's another 2 weeks before you can have what you want." I consider it, because I have extremely warm memories of the way his mouth works and yes... There'd be a number of orgasms (I should mention to him at some point that even this is a rarity) but he's right... The orgasms in the end tend to be irrelevant, everything short of the actual PIV... its just foreplay, and no amount of how wonderful it can be is enough without that. As he says, I'm a special case.

So we kissed a bit more, then snuggled up and talked a while.