the way we were

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind…

Not quite those misty watercolor memories. The image is as clear as day and shining right here on the screen of my cell phone. I used to glance every so often–hoping that my colleagues were not standing behind me while I did–it all came rushing back to me then…

You, tied up.

Me, with whip.

You, waiting.

Me, with camera.

You, squirming.

Me, clicking.

You, cringing.

Me, laughing.

You, relaxing.

Still waiting.

Still squirming.


Still cringing.

–WHACK!!– (a little harder now)


Me wet.

You hard. (That was predictable.)

Me Tarzan.

You Jane.

That is quite a thought, that, you–submissive, feminized even. Yes.

No pictures of that, but yes memories… hopes blurred… “time erasing every line”… and now, with the magic of the keypad, delete. Gone.

sweet surrender

As I start to pull out of your driveway, I stop, immediately covered with goosebumps as I realize that you moved the seat back when you went to buy milk this morning. Yes, this morning. You took my car out while I lay naked and tied to your bed. You left me there, alone and tied, and rather than despair at this, I let go of all sense of myself, luxuriating instead in my incapacity to do anything but doze off, wander within my own mind–even with your plug filling my ass–your soft comforter covering me in the faintly sunlit room.
You hint while we are out walking about things I forgot on your birthday. We come back to your house, and you beg me for your spanking. That wonderful chair in the corner of your bedroom, you bent over my lap as I hold you down, pull down your briefs just enough to slap you once for every year.. hard. Harder than I ever meant to, but making me wet as I chance to slap you more–intoxicating–only to hear you whimper, watch you bounce back and flinch. All the way to this year… you compliant as I scoot to the end of the chair and plant my heels on your shoulders and push your head down. Good. Good.
We kiss, fuck. You ask me to tie you up. And I do. I go through your dresser drawers to find the restraints, the whips, the dildo, and I let at you, thrashing you to your outer bounds–or one would think. Intense, yes, but can I find your limit? You grasp at the restraints, breathing slowly. But you still want more. No. You never beg me to stop, I fear not, though I stop at last, your ass hot to my touch, red. You, quivering beneath the covers, calming, as I calm myself from the delight of watching your reactions.

I whip you again in the morning, waking next to you, letting you fuck me hard, and then wanting you all the more, aggressively, as I hold your wrists down and climb on top of you, biting and kissing you, my prey, my delicious lusty fuck meal.
I am exhausted now, dear, undone by the intensity of the experience… your voice carrying me through my own pain as you whip me, promising more, pushing me just a little more, asking me if I want more… and yes, yes I do. I pause, then tell you yes. Spank me one more time, don’t stop. And I shiver, awaiting it as you talk gently to me. And then I break into tears, none sad, but cathartic as I hold you, and you stroke my hair and tell me I am beautiful.
Where are the limits in this? I remember still holding that small red whip in my hand for the first time, running it over your naked legs, stunned at the power that I held there when I hit you and you loved it. I loved it. I feared it, a little, feared my own excitement at the reactions I could pull from you.

How has it come to this? How have we unleashed this craving for this exchange? for the intense vulnerability and trust as we push our physical capacity, and more than that, our emotions? Unleashing the demons, playing with them until they run far away, along with the everyday, the mundane. Finding the sublime in moments stripped of all but the moment itself, the whip, our bodies, our minds.

5 o’clock world

When you walk in the door from work, strip. Lie face down on your bed, and wait.

You will be tied, and I will be merciless.

These are the words you read, as you peruse your emails during lunch. Immediately, your cock grows hard, and you stop, wondering how you will make it through the rest of the day. A meeting at 1:00… distraction enough. Then, after 3:00, plenty to do. Plenty of follow-up work afterward to fill the day.

The appropriate plug is in the front seat in a bag. Go out to your car and find it. Fill that delicious ass of yours. Don’t worry: I have chosen the smallest plug–you’ll barely know it’s there.

Already, the afternoon has grown more interesting. “How will she know if I don’t?” you ask yourself, but decide in the end that compliance is the better choice. A trip out to the car, then to the men’s room… just enough time before 1:00.

It is not the smallest plug, in fact, but not a huge one, either–not uncomfortable or noticeable through your pants. What is noticeable, you are sure, is the bulge in front every so often, every time you glance at the screen where you saw my message. Tied. Merciless. What more?

The meeting is not dull, fortunately, peppered by lively discussion, so much so that the plug remains out of mind until you get up to move. A dull ache, your balls tight, your cock stiffening.. and then an effort to think of other things.. All right. All right.

And so the day will go, restrained excitement until 5:00, then a quick departure, the car in the parking lot, the door unlocked, open, the end of the day.

The hurry home hurry home, the driving, the cock let loose, hard, throbbing, balls wanting, your rocking attempts to feel the plug deeper still in your ass, so good, so good. So fucking good, and so tempting to reach down and stroke that smooth cock. Just a few strokes would do the trick. But no. Not yet.

You know I am waiting for you. You know that I will tie you and have at you, just as I promised. I will pull out your plug and lick your ass, then whip you relentlessly, lube your ass and penetrate it, marveling still as I seek your limits.. not finding them, thrusting the huge rubber dong deep into you in all sorts of ways, pushing your cheeks apart and digging my fingernails into your skin until I know your ass is spent, your skin stings, your cock is filled with raw need. You want to fuck me, and I want you more..

Really, dear, this does hurt me more than it hurts you, my cunt throbbing at least as much as your cock. And yet I dress, my demure clothes covering now the vixen fantasy I am when I greet you at your door after work. I have finished with you for now, and toss your clothes on the bed, unfasten the restraints, your back and ass red, your hole used and aching, your cock still stiff and still untouched.

“We’re going out,” I say..

And we do go out, out into the night, driving fast into the amusement and adventure that the world has to offer, unextinguished, unsatisfied and seeking, wanting, waiting until we have seen it all, sung it all, need just one thing more, just one thing–badly–rushing back here, back as I loosen the buckles, unbutton, unzip, and lie here on this same bed, my legs spread and high heels digging into your mattress. I urgently push your head down between my legs.

You want it.. want to smell me, taste me. I need you, need your tongue and fingers, need your prick as hard and as full as it is right now. I tell you over and over, moaning, squirming, pushing my cunt into your face, oh fuck me fuck me. And you do, don’t you? Won’t you? You will. You will feel the sheet brush against your tender red back, and you will shudder at the memory of it, half dreading half wanting, frustrated all the same. You slap me, slap my pussy, run the whip along my thighs.. first soft like feathers, then hard, with the sting that eventually hits my pussy again, you less cruel than I, but waiting, perhaps, to take your revenge when you flip me over and hold my hands down, force my legs apart and spread my labia and ram your fingers inside me roughly.. rub my wetness into my face. You slap my ass hard, then open me again and push your huge cock in deep until I cry out, then pull out–I cry then, too, wanting you again. You are a piston, slow slow, then fast, then hard and steady, necessary, unceasing as my body contorts and twists, squeezes and moans, quiet, then loud when I have come once, when I have come twice, when I have come and will come again, and you still have not stopped needing me.

rainy days and sundays

Drops of rain splash onto the puddles, reflecting grey on the cool streets this late summer day. I love the rain, love the excuse to let my feelings wander, let my senses explore.

Hot tea is on my desk, warming fingers that type these words now as the music marches on.. It is the Bach–you know the one, the one in my car, the harpsichord concerto, the F minor, second movement.. the one that makes me stop and watch the raindrops out the quarter circle window where I write, thinking of the rain falling here, falling outside the window of my bedroom down below. I wish you were here contemplating these measures, wish you were here behind me, reaching around to unbutton my blouse and run your hands over my nipples still tender from being clamped for so long last night, luring me down the stairs, tempting me down from this room full of artifacts.. the Rilke left open on the desk next to the laptop, the pictures of friends holding rabbit ears up behind my head long ago, the ben wa balls neatly in their box, the notes and notes, the drawings, the dreams, the condom wrapper torn open and left on the floor from the last time you took me here, leaning me over my chair and pushing my legs apart impatiently to suit your needs, and evidently mine. No, no, I say, not wanting to leave my comfort, my words. Yes, yes–eventually overcome by desire for you, as I always am.

But you are not here, no. It has been so long that I dream you, perhaps, wish these things, some of them, many of them.. my imaginings on the page–on the screen–here like desire itself, the creative urge. The urge to fuck you in my big bed, in fantasies that grow wilder with the passing days. Wild? Oh.. yes, wild always as I touch your skin, as I explore you in various ways.. always wild despite the variations, the kaleidoscope of possibilities twisted, turned into one more way to fuck you.

I want a rainy day. I want you here as the rain falls, as my hair falls–how it fell when it was longer–into your face as I lean over you, my cunt enveloping your upright cock in moments too warm, too delicious, too marvelous. I hover above you, hot above you, you needing that velvet rush, the tightness, me full and soft and humid and swelling around you, thrilled, I wait there, frustrating you, your hands on my hips, pushing me down as I resist, tease you until you force the issue, push me harder down and oh, oh fuck, as we slide in together, you say I am such a good fuck as I ride you, first sliding all the way up, then back down, deeper, again and again. And then stay there, rocking, while you hold my hips down, while you look into my eyes to see that look you know, that look you say I always have when I am about to come, and you have regained control, can keep from coming now yourself, and you have me. You have me. Now, you flip me, grab my shorter hair, push my face into a pillow… I no longer gasp at this so much as smile, relieved that you are taking me.. taking over my body and using it, using me, fucking me hard while you hold my arms down and kick my legs apart–but no.. teasing, teasing.. I want this, now not the largo movement, but the presto, the insistent now now that urges you violently inside me again.. seeking resolution.

It is raining. I hear the rain as I lie still in the low late afternoon light, lie low, lie here in my bed, lie here, spent, and thinking of you.

sunset, sunrise

Yes, I had to put the comforter between your skin and mine to fall asleep last night, to block the electricity, to calm down.

So I slept, not touching you.

What is a girl to do? You asked me to whip you.

I love to whip you now as much as I did that first time, that first time that I tentatively ran the red suede along your legs letting it slap you a little, a little more. The danger of what I was holding frightened me, intoxicated me… I crave it now, this power to thrill. It does thrill you, I see it as your face tenses with each crack, and then lets loose a broad smile. I lose myself in it, in the sound of the whip in the air, just before it casts a nice red line across your back, your legs, your ass.. The line rises–a welt?!–your ass redder and redder. Still the whoosh through the air and the crack makes you flinch, and then relax, more and more, as I find my pussy hotter, redder itself, swollen and wanting you to take it all out on me. Yes, I want you to.. And I stop whipping you grab ice and run it along your back, your legs, your ass, as I suddenly picture you unable to sit down for all that I have done to you.

And then you fuck me. You fuck me nice and hard, and you have already done it once, and do it again, pulling me up onto my knees and slamming me from behind. We are exhausted already late in the night, in the warm room, sweating both of us, fucking and collapsing, and yes, of course I have to have a barrier from you if I am going to sleep.

Morning comes, and I let the comforter slide off my shoulder, off my hip. I ease back into you, and there you are, sweating sex in the morning, your pillow smelling of you and me, your face still covered in my juices, my face coated in you. And we fuck again, every hole satisfied in the sunrise, fingers, tongues, nipples, ass, cock, you you you fucking me harder and more deliberately as I feel myself crashing again into inevitable climax, sure as the tide, sure as you will collapse, too, when you come, when you are drained, when there is nothing left..

and there is always more left…

all by myself?

Mmm.. mood lighting may not seem necessary when I am alone, but in fact it is the time when ambiance matters most, matters most for my imagination to run wild.

My imagination runs wild as the candles flicker, here in the shade-darkened afternoon room, dark save the balcony door left slightly open, a line of sunlight coming in with the faint breeze, the fresh smells of the day, the humidity, the buzz of the street below.

I wish you were here.

Is this not always what we say? think?, as we lie back in a soft bed, pillows propped up behind us, vibrators, toys, lined up for this sort of self-seduction. Masturbation is not always so well planned, but indeed, I do seduce myself right now, soaking in the warm perfumed bath, glancing at the used condoms tossed at some earlier moment into the wastebasket beside the bed.

My skin feels soft, damp, sweet, even to me. I lie back and groan to myself as my fingers plunge beneath panties put on why? Perhaps only to remind me of the way that you take them off, teasing, testing, making them wet. Naughty you. My panties are wet, yes, and it is because of you, because of that ever present image of you, your head there, down, there, your tongue circling and sucking, and my fingers reminding me of it all as I shut my eyes and lean back into utter luxury, the warm bath soothing, the tea, the candles again.. I am taken in so easily by all of this, and I want to be, want to let my daydreams bring you here to me now.

You are here. Do you remember these moments? Me, satiated. Yes, but after you hold my legs apart when I start to squirm, start to feel overwhelmed, and yes you overwhelm me with that circling tongue, you, the scent of you, your naked body stretched out with your hands pushing me apart, holding me down, bringing me to climax with that tongue, your mouth penetrating me through every orifice you find there, you licking with fury as I get louder and you feel your cock throb as you feel my orgasm closer, there, again, as you realize how easy it is to keep going and bring me higher and higher. Me satiated, perhaps, but wanting you, wanting to take you over.

You always move off of me, let me touch your cock, but stay on your belly, your ass inviting me to play with it. Yes, your lovely ass so willing, so tempting, so vulnerable there as you are, stretched out naked on my bed, your cock engorged, your balls heavy, your wish for me to penetrate you so keen as you soak in the flavor of my cunt all over your face. I want to tease you as you have teased me, but more, want to push you hard, see your face as your buttocks become redder and redder. I never need to tie you down for this: you willingly submit to my paddle, my hand, my hairbrush, all for the one moment that the sting is intense, the finger is wet and plunging into your ass so sweetly, so warmly as you relax then tense up in the confusion of the moment.. a strong sensation, pulsing, feeling that you might come quickly, explode. But you don’t. Not yet.

And I am so hot here thinking of this, thinking of you letting me whip you hard as you take it, only grimacing as I do it, and insisting that you want more as I question my own limits, whether I have pushed as far as you really can go. I find myself ever wetter, again, thinking of the way you push up onto your knees when the whipping seems to have ended, when you invite me, beg me to push my fingers into your lovely ass. When you want for me to lick your ass, suck your balls, fuck you.

Fuck me. My pussy is wet, swollen, primed from the coming waves and from the notion of your own lust, the awareness of your cock swollen too, wanting.

Tease. Tease.. I think of you here, the candles, the music, my breathing shallowed as I reach into my little orange bag and find the toys that most remind me of you. I fuck myself, yes, it is you, you fuck me here, somewhere in this daydream outside of time, outside of space, somewhere here in an afternoon, you are here, turning me on still. I tie my own legs to the bed, all the more excited by the restraints, nipples clamped, holes plugged tight, tighter, the no-escape pleasure like lava pouring down a mountainside hot hot, like you, exploding inevitably inside me as you pound me, as you take me, as you fuck me hard the way I must be fucked.