When she saw Him her world lit up.
Something deep inside tightened in awareness and her heart ran to Him.
Her body followed.
She kissed her hello against His delicious mouth,
pressed it into His skin with her fingertips as they ran slowly down His back...
Her hips searched for His,
and for just a moment He indulged her.
Warmth spread
up her belly
licking her breasts as her chest tightened
and she reveled in the sparks between their mouths.
As they parted she smiled up at Him,
the smile created by His nearness,
and sank to her knees
a natural gravity between them drawing her to her place.
Her cheek pressed to His thigh,
she wrapped her arms around His calf and knew what it meant to be home.
Where she belonged.
Good girl.
When she saw Him her world lit up.
She shuttered her eyes and smiled politely.
She kept to herself
Everything He never asked for.
Good girl.
More
i've been hit.
Slapped, punched, kicked, whipped, flogged, caned, paddled, and spanked.
i want to be broken.
Obliterated.
Shattered.
Erased.
i need more.
i've been fucked.
Screwed, sexed, and made love to.
i want to be owned.
Taken.
Hard.
Quietly.
As if it is an undeniable force of nature.
It's own kind of gravity.
i need more.
i've been optional.
A comfort, a plaything, a distraction, a sometimes girl, and a temporary place holder.
i want to be required.
Essential.
Necessary.
i need to belong.
i need to find my home.
i need more.
Slapped, punched, kicked, whipped, flogged, caned, paddled, and spanked.
i want to be broken.
Obliterated.
Shattered.
Erased.
i need more.
i've been fucked.
Screwed, sexed, and made love to.
i want to be owned.
Taken.
Hard.
Quietly.
As if it is an undeniable force of nature.
It's own kind of gravity.
i need more.
i've been optional.
A comfort, a plaything, a distraction, a sometimes girl, and a temporary place holder.
i want to be required.
Essential.
Necessary.
i need to belong.
i need to find my home.
i need more.
Fading
i won't leave in a fiery rage.
i won't leave behind a slamming door.
There will be no flood of tears.
No petulant tantrums.
No begging or pleading.
No fight.
When i leave i simply stop existing in the way i always existed before
Like the wind when it stills, quietly becoming air
or the last ray of the setting sun, fading before it turns the corner of the earth and becomes a sunrise elsewhere.
One minute You feel it, the next minute You won't.
One minute You see it, the next minute You don't.
Maybe You'll notice right away,
maybe it's something that will come to You later,
but someday i will become noticeable only for my absence
indefinably yet conspicuously not there,
like being in a house and suddenly realizing there are no pictures on the walls
or hearing an orchestra with no violins.
i don't fade because i'm angry.
i don't stop because You made me.
i don't leave because i no longer want to be there.
i go because not every orchestra piece has a part written for violins.
Because not every house design works with every piece of art.
i go because nature needs wind, but it also needs stillness.
Because there is a time for sunrise and a time for sunset.
i understand loss and change as a part of life
Like everyone must someday, i have learned to let go
or at least accept the new thing i have to hold on to.
Still there is a deep and soundless sadness each time i have to leave where there is no part for me.
Still there is a secret, daring hope that one day i will find a place where i am truly meant to be.
i won't leave behind a slamming door.
There will be no flood of tears.
No petulant tantrums.
No begging or pleading.
No fight.
When i leave i simply stop existing in the way i always existed before
Like the wind when it stills, quietly becoming air
or the last ray of the setting sun, fading before it turns the corner of the earth and becomes a sunrise elsewhere.
One minute You feel it, the next minute You won't.
One minute You see it, the next minute You don't.
Maybe You'll notice right away,
maybe it's something that will come to You later,
but someday i will become noticeable only for my absence
indefinably yet conspicuously not there,
like being in a house and suddenly realizing there are no pictures on the walls
or hearing an orchestra with no violins.
i don't fade because i'm angry.
i don't stop because You made me.
i don't leave because i no longer want to be there.
i go because not every orchestra piece has a part written for violins.
Because not every house design works with every piece of art.
i go because nature needs wind, but it also needs stillness.
Because there is a time for sunrise and a time for sunset.
i understand loss and change as a part of life
Like everyone must someday, i have learned to let go
or at least accept the new thing i have to hold on to.
Still there is a deep and soundless sadness each time i have to leave where there is no part for me.
Still there is a secret, daring hope that one day i will find a place where i am truly meant to be.
Scandal
The way You make me feel is scandalous.
It doesn't fit into the way my life is being built.
i am working so hard to be independent.
i try so hard not to need anyone.
It's an uphill struggle all the way.
If i have learned anything it is to never, ever want anyone more than they want me.
You make me need.
Instantly.
In ways that burn through me and drip down my thighs and ache in my belly.
In ways i don't want to need anymore.
In ways that are so true to myself they terrify me because i know i can never have them.
i can never be as i'm meant to be.
i don't have that luxury.
And so the way You make me feel, exactly true to myself, exactly in my place...pussy dripping, mouth eager, aching to please...is scandalous.
A moment stolen from life, which could never see me the way i see myself.
It doesn't fit into the way my life is being built.
i am working so hard to be independent.
i try so hard not to need anyone.
It's an uphill struggle all the way.
If i have learned anything it is to never, ever want anyone more than they want me.
You make me need.
Instantly.
In ways that burn through me and drip down my thighs and ache in my belly.
In ways i don't want to need anymore.
In ways that are so true to myself they terrify me because i know i can never have them.
i can never be as i'm meant to be.
i don't have that luxury.
And so the way You make me feel, exactly true to myself, exactly in my place...pussy dripping, mouth eager, aching to please...is scandalous.
A moment stolen from life, which could never see me the way i see myself.
How to be a Lady
Generally, i am not one to chime in on public debates. my feeling has always been that my opinion is best expressed privately to Those i am certain want to hear it and who i know value the ability to disagree peacefully over the self-congratulatory feeling of being "right". However, after reading a certain writing on Fetlife, i find i can't quite bite my tongue hard enough-so excuse me while i have myself a rant.
i don't consider myself an authority on anything really, but i do my up-most to behave gracefully. i consider myself a lady, and as such i feel i can say one thing with certainty-that's bullshit. Being a lady has almost nothing to do with anything in that post. What most of those bullet points so neatly lay out are the surface-level expectations of one particular person who puts their seal of approval on the Donna-Reid-Clone Lady Factory. If that's what turns You on, fantastic. If that's what turns Your partner on, good on You for Your efforts. It still has absolutely fuck-all to do with what makes a person a lady.
Yes, i said fuck-all.
Keep Your house however makes You comfortable. Be naked in any way You're comfortable. Say and wear what You want. Be as hairless as one of those crazy sphinx cats or a fully natural hippie chick. Your talents are Yours to identify as You wish and to use as You wish-and hosting a party need not be one of them. You don't have to cook either. Create a relationship dynamic that is right for You and Your partner-the royal treatment, while certainly not excluded, is definitely not mandatory.
Some things about this writing are slightly less wrong. You shouldn't hate men for being men....but not hating people simply because of their sex or gender identity is just part of not being an asshat. You are not however obligated, as that bullet point implies, to put up with unacceptable behavior because "boys will be boys".
i do agree that airing Your dirty laundry in public is not a good idea-it's usually not consensual, and creates drama which no one likes. That being said, You are not a golden retriever. If You have an issue, it is not about being disloyal, it is about Your wants and needs. It is always, always appropriate to talk to Your partner about Your wants and needs. It is even appropriate, with their permission, to seek guidance from other people. If there is any risk of danger or abuse, run-don't-walk a person You can trust and loyalty can suck it.
Finally there is the point that You shouldn't apologize for Your femininity. That is absolutely right on. Whatever Your femininity looks like-clean or dirty house, in dress or in pants, whatever Your physical sex and orientation-if You have femininity You should rock it Your way.
Being a lady isn't about what You do with Your hair or Your house or Your sexy bits. It isn't about anything on the outside at all. As Emily Post Herself said, "Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use."
If You want to be a lady i think it's all about what is on the inside. Be sincere and honest-about Yourself and to other people. Be considerate and aware of those around You. Be mindful and present, slow to anger and quick to forgive. Treat others as they would like to be treated, even if You wish to be treated differently.
And of course, don't let anyone decide for You what being a lady looks like.
Not even me.
i don't consider myself an authority on anything really, but i do my up-most to behave gracefully. i consider myself a lady, and as such i feel i can say one thing with certainty-that's bullshit. Being a lady has almost nothing to do with anything in that post. What most of those bullet points so neatly lay out are the surface-level expectations of one particular person who puts their seal of approval on the Donna-Reid-Clone Lady Factory. If that's what turns You on, fantastic. If that's what turns Your partner on, good on You for Your efforts. It still has absolutely fuck-all to do with what makes a person a lady.
Yes, i said fuck-all.
Keep Your house however makes You comfortable. Be naked in any way You're comfortable. Say and wear what You want. Be as hairless as one of those crazy sphinx cats or a fully natural hippie chick. Your talents are Yours to identify as You wish and to use as You wish-and hosting a party need not be one of them. You don't have to cook either. Create a relationship dynamic that is right for You and Your partner-the royal treatment, while certainly not excluded, is definitely not mandatory.
Some things about this writing are slightly less wrong. You shouldn't hate men for being men....but not hating people simply because of their sex or gender identity is just part of not being an asshat. You are not however obligated, as that bullet point implies, to put up with unacceptable behavior because "boys will be boys".
i do agree that airing Your dirty laundry in public is not a good idea-it's usually not consensual, and creates drama which no one likes. That being said, You are not a golden retriever. If You have an issue, it is not about being disloyal, it is about Your wants and needs. It is always, always appropriate to talk to Your partner about Your wants and needs. It is even appropriate, with their permission, to seek guidance from other people. If there is any risk of danger or abuse, run-don't-walk a person You can trust and loyalty can suck it.
Finally there is the point that You shouldn't apologize for Your femininity. That is absolutely right on. Whatever Your femininity looks like-clean or dirty house, in dress or in pants, whatever Your physical sex and orientation-if You have femininity You should rock it Your way.
Being a lady isn't about what You do with Your hair or Your house or Your sexy bits. It isn't about anything on the outside at all. As Emily Post Herself said, "Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use."
If You want to be a lady i think it's all about what is on the inside. Be sincere and honest-about Yourself and to other people. Be considerate and aware of those around You. Be mindful and present, slow to anger and quick to forgive. Treat others as they would like to be treated, even if You wish to be treated differently.
And of course, don't let anyone decide for You what being a lady looks like.
Not even me.
Control
Cum for Me.
Cum for Daddy.
...my own imagination cannot compare. When my hand slips down between my thighs and my fingers touch that throbbing little button i try to think of anything.
Anything at all.
Whatever will take me over that edge.
...my own fantasies cannot compare. i am shaking with want, the dripping ache just won't go away. i am desperate and greedy and with everything i am i want to cum.
i just can't.
No matter how i try, no matter how i want.
...my own will cannot compare to the sheer force of His want. Or maybe the two have strangely become one and the same. The idea is frightening, but when i feel the power of that very idea somehow my body lets go and i sink into my place.
Cum for Me.
Cum for Daddy.
Cum for Daddy.
...my own imagination cannot compare. When my hand slips down between my thighs and my fingers touch that throbbing little button i try to think of anything.
Anything at all.
Whatever will take me over that edge.
...my own fantasies cannot compare. i am shaking with want, the dripping ache just won't go away. i am desperate and greedy and with everything i am i want to cum.
i just can't.
No matter how i try, no matter how i want.
...my own will cannot compare to the sheer force of His want. Or maybe the two have strangely become one and the same. The idea is frightening, but when i feel the power of that very idea somehow my body lets go and i sink into my place.
Cum for Me.
Cum for Daddy.
As Strong as a Slave
Every single person on this earth defines themselves. What
follows is not a guide, a yardstick, a should be, ought, comparison, or
lecture. It is only a peek into how I personally exist in my
self-identified label as a slave. I respect everyone’s right to live their own truth by their own definitions.
I make BLTs with the attention to detail given to surgical procedures. I remember important dates, birthdays, needs, favorites, and preferences as if they were seared onto the inside of my eyelids. I am that person my people can call at 3am just because they’re lonely who will answer every time and never judge. I am happy to get that glass of water, wake up early to make breakfast, bring a night light even if I have to ride three different buses to do it, help with a resume, answer emails, hold hands, listen when they don’t make sense, pretend I was already awake when they called, finish to do lists, or simply stand behind them. I do these things for the people I care for simply because I care about them…but I also do it for me.
I have an organic need to be needed. It is a part of everything I do, as essential to my well being as breathing. It’s probably one of the less glamorous things in the Kinkiverse the way I do it, but there is happiness there for me.
To me, being a slave is also happily tangled with being pleasing…but it doesn’t mean being a doormat, being dependent, mindless, or naive. In order to be the crust of someone’s apple pie, I have to be as strong as they are. To do that, I must be steady and clear headed. I must be dedicated and decisive. I must earn my place by being a pillar of dependability and grace. I must have an iron spine and unblinking sight, the capacity for absolute loyalty and truly selfless unconditional love…and of course the ability to make up for my many many failings in these departments. With me there will be no mindless bowing and scraping, no waiting around to be puppeteered into action-I am not a shrinking wallflower of capitulation, no matter how sweet I am. If I am bowing I do it with my mind fully engaged. If I am your puppet it is because I walked over and handed you the strings. I am a slave not a Kink Action Barbie.
Being a slave requires an incredible amount of strength and work (sometimes more than I have), and so I guard my resources jealously. Some I am willing to share, some I am willing to lend, yet some are unavailable to any except the person who owns me-even if that person is not known to me as is currently the case. Until I belong to Someone, it is up to me when and how I give that energy and to whom.
I decide based on many factors, but the most important are these-does the person I am serving recognize that the strong, solid backbone of service hides a heart that is intensely vulnerable? Do they understand the need, the fear, the flaws and insecurities that are mixed into my supportive foundation? Do they respect, nurture, support, and beautify my gift? If they break me will they fix me? Will they break me if I ask them to? When our time is done and my heart is poured out will they return to me the fire I need to fill their heart with my devotion?
That is a lot to ask, so mostly I keep to myself, but I give what I can because I love that sound people make when they eat something I fixed up…the way I can hear their happiness in their voice when they say ‘good girl’…..I love imagining all the wonderful ways I made their day better without them even noticing and relish it like a juicy secret. I share with people I trust and I am pleasing and pleased. I drink in happiness that comes from the give and take, and I create new ideas every day about what it means to be as strong as a slave.
I make BLTs with the attention to detail given to surgical procedures. I remember important dates, birthdays, needs, favorites, and preferences as if they were seared onto the inside of my eyelids. I am that person my people can call at 3am just because they’re lonely who will answer every time and never judge. I am happy to get that glass of water, wake up early to make breakfast, bring a night light even if I have to ride three different buses to do it, help with a resume, answer emails, hold hands, listen when they don’t make sense, pretend I was already awake when they called, finish to do lists, or simply stand behind them. I do these things for the people I care for simply because I care about them…but I also do it for me.
I have an organic need to be needed. It is a part of everything I do, as essential to my well being as breathing. It’s probably one of the less glamorous things in the Kinkiverse the way I do it, but there is happiness there for me.
To me, being a slave is also happily tangled with being pleasing…but it doesn’t mean being a doormat, being dependent, mindless, or naive. In order to be the crust of someone’s apple pie, I have to be as strong as they are. To do that, I must be steady and clear headed. I must be dedicated and decisive. I must earn my place by being a pillar of dependability and grace. I must have an iron spine and unblinking sight, the capacity for absolute loyalty and truly selfless unconditional love…and of course the ability to make up for my many many failings in these departments. With me there will be no mindless bowing and scraping, no waiting around to be puppeteered into action-I am not a shrinking wallflower of capitulation, no matter how sweet I am. If I am bowing I do it with my mind fully engaged. If I am your puppet it is because I walked over and handed you the strings. I am a slave not a Kink Action Barbie.
Being a slave requires an incredible amount of strength and work (sometimes more than I have), and so I guard my resources jealously. Some I am willing to share, some I am willing to lend, yet some are unavailable to any except the person who owns me-even if that person is not known to me as is currently the case. Until I belong to Someone, it is up to me when and how I give that energy and to whom.
I decide based on many factors, but the most important are these-does the person I am serving recognize that the strong, solid backbone of service hides a heart that is intensely vulnerable? Do they understand the need, the fear, the flaws and insecurities that are mixed into my supportive foundation? Do they respect, nurture, support, and beautify my gift? If they break me will they fix me? Will they break me if I ask them to? When our time is done and my heart is poured out will they return to me the fire I need to fill their heart with my devotion?
That is a lot to ask, so mostly I keep to myself, but I give what I can because I love that sound people make when they eat something I fixed up…the way I can hear their happiness in their voice when they say ‘good girl’…..I love imagining all the wonderful ways I made their day better without them even noticing and relish it like a juicy secret. I share with people I trust and I am pleasing and pleased. I drink in happiness that comes from the give and take, and I create new ideas every day about what it means to be as strong as a slave.
The Importance of Thumbs
Something about
Daddy’s thumb
Along my greedy tongue
Between my wanting lips
As i suckle softly
Makes me feel
Safe and small like a little girl
Contented and playful like a kitten
Seductive and wanton like a slut
Obedient and needy like a slave in heat
All at once
In that moment
My breath, my heart, my mind, my world…stops
All there is, is Daddy’s thumb in my mouth
And all i am
is His
Daddy’s thumb
Along my greedy tongue
Between my wanting lips
As i suckle softly
Makes me feel
Safe and small like a little girl
Contented and playful like a kitten
Seductive and wanton like a slut
Obedient and needy like a slave in heat
All at once
In that moment
My breath, my heart, my mind, my world…stops
All there is, is Daddy’s thumb in my mouth
And all i am
is His
Hurt
Hurt me.
Please.
Write passion on my skin.
Burn it into my muscles.
Make me feel it in my bones.
Let it echo after it's all over in every move i make.
Hurt me so i will remember.
The look in Your eye.
The wretched bliss of Your touch.
The way You violated me for Your pleasure.
And my own.
i am not a masochist.
i don't crave pain.
What i need is You.
Evidence of You.
Proof.
Symbols of those moments when You draw me near and take possession.
my vulnerability laid bare in the marks
flesh hot and bruised
soft in Your grasp
subjugated to You completely
Yours for the taking
and marking.
It's the most primal release of Your power over me.
The mating of Your passion and my desire.
Please.
Hurt me.
i need You to.
Please.
Write passion on my skin.
Burn it into my muscles.
Make me feel it in my bones.
Let it echo after it's all over in every move i make.
Hurt me so i will remember.
The look in Your eye.
The wretched bliss of Your touch.
The way You violated me for Your pleasure.
And my own.
i am not a masochist.
i don't crave pain.
What i need is You.
Evidence of You.
Proof.
Symbols of those moments when You draw me near and take possession.
my vulnerability laid bare in the marks
flesh hot and bruised
soft in Your grasp
subjugated to You completely
Yours for the taking
and marking.
It's the most primal release of Your power over me.
The mating of Your passion and my desire.
Please.
Hurt me.
i need You to.
On Edge
i can't seem to sleep no matter how tired i feel
Every time i close my eyes i feel Your fingers in my hair.
my nipples throb as i see You at my breast
Your mouth on my titflesh
teeth biting
lips suckling
warm tongue making my skin prick with goosebumps as You tease me
each moment a day before Your fingers slip between my legs to feel exactly what You do to me.
What You do to me even when You aren't here.
It's hard to sleep with thighs this slick
with a clit this swollen
with my pulse growing faster as images run through my mind
captured in stolen glances when i was on my knees for You.
The tilt of Your head
The way Your eyes closed
The look on Your face and the catch in Your breath as i worshipped at Your cock.
Oh God the taste of You.
How can i sleep when i can't stop
licking my lips
remembering Your excitement dripping into my mouth?
i can't help but feel Your weight on me
the grip of Your fingers into my hips as You
held me
beneath You
and slid inside of me.
But now
Without the heat of You surrounding me
and the throbbing length of You filling every inch...
i slide my fingers against my sopping cunt
and it hurts for You and
i can't get enough.
i push further
fingers eager as they thrust inside or
greedily play at my clit.
my body weeps and trembles with longing
and i give myself more.
i push myself to the very edge
my back arching in frustration as i linger there
unable to stop
unable to finish
and i ache in that desperate space
between.
Why can't i sleep?
Why can't i cum?
It's You.
my body screams and my mind finally answers
That dark growl of Yours
filling my consciousness
The image is of You leaning into me and demanding what is Yours
"Cum for Daddy."
Every time i close my eyes i feel Your fingers in my hair.
my nipples throb as i see You at my breast
Your mouth on my titflesh
teeth biting
lips suckling
warm tongue making my skin prick with goosebumps as You tease me
each moment a day before Your fingers slip between my legs to feel exactly what You do to me.
What You do to me even when You aren't here.
It's hard to sleep with thighs this slick
with a clit this swollen
with my pulse growing faster as images run through my mind
captured in stolen glances when i was on my knees for You.
The tilt of Your head
The way Your eyes closed
The look on Your face and the catch in Your breath as i worshipped at Your cock.
Oh God the taste of You.
How can i sleep when i can't stop
licking my lips
remembering Your excitement dripping into my mouth?
i can't help but feel Your weight on me
the grip of Your fingers into my hips as You
held me
beneath You
and slid inside of me.
But now
Without the heat of You surrounding me
and the throbbing length of You filling every inch...
i slide my fingers against my sopping cunt
and it hurts for You and
i can't get enough.
i push further
fingers eager as they thrust inside or
greedily play at my clit.
my body weeps and trembles with longing
and i give myself more.
i push myself to the very edge
my back arching in frustration as i linger there
unable to stop
unable to finish
and i ache in that desperate space
between.
Why can't i sleep?
Why can't i cum?
It's You.
my body screams and my mind finally answers
That dark growl of Yours
filling my consciousness
The image is of You leaning into me and demanding what is Yours
"Cum for Daddy."
Thursday
The assignment: Write about what Our playtime on Thursday might be like.
He was going to be there any minute. Her eyes scanned the dark bar, hovering just above every head, searching for Daddy's towering frame, warmth tightening in her belly every time she thought it might be...but He wasn't here yet, so she stirred her drink absently and watched the room from under her eyelashes.
Then she felt it. The warm breath on her ear, moving down her neck as long fingers pressed against her throat in a light caress. "Waiting for me, pretty girl?" It was Daddy's voice, low in her ear, calming her and yet...her pulse beat harder against His gently tightening fingers and beneath her dress her nipples peaked in response to His lightest touch.
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl."
His hand gripped her harder and His pleased growl moved through her as Daddy's other hand slipped His card between the full swell of her breasts, giving one a sharp slap. "Order drinks, a gin and tonic for Me and something strong for You, and come find Me little slut."
She did as He said. She always did just as Daddy said.
One Minute
Be still.
Focus.
Breathe in.
Wait.
Heart beats.
Patience.
Breathe out.
Fate.
Listen.
Wonder.
Breathe in.
Need.
Hoping.
Desperate.
Breathe out.
Greed.
Screaming.
Silence.
Breathe in.
Pain.
Gripping.
Lusting.
Breathe out.
Strain.
Relax.
Have faith.
Breathe in.
Love.
Stillness.
Softness.
Breathe out.
Love.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
Breathe in.
Slake.
Drinking.
Thinking.
Breathe out.
Shake.
Tremble.
Unseen.
Breathe in.
Know.
Record.
Behave.
Breathe out.
Grow.
Mindful.
Kindness.
Graceful.
Flesh.
Grounded.
Certain.
Patience.
Rest.
Knowing.
Loving.
Giving.
Breathe in.
Focus.
Breathe in.
Wait.
Heart beats.
Patience.
Breathe out.
Fate.
Listen.
Wonder.
Breathe in.
Need.
Hoping.
Desperate.
Breathe out.
Greed.
Screaming.
Silence.
Breathe in.
Pain.
Gripping.
Lusting.
Breathe out.
Strain.
Relax.
Have faith.
Breathe in.
Love.
Stillness.
Softness.
Breathe out.
Love.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
Breathe in.
Slake.
Drinking.
Thinking.
Breathe out.
Shake.
Tremble.
Unseen.
Breathe in.
Know.
Record.
Behave.
Breathe out.
Grow.
Mindful.
Kindness.
Graceful.
Flesh.
Grounded.
Certain.
Patience.
Rest.
Knowing.
Loving.
Giving.
Breathe in.
Freed
Open me wider than You spread my legs.
Expose me to more than Your eyes.
Feel me with more than the tips of Your fingers
the ones which send shivers of heat to my belly.
Drink in my passionate cries.
When my back arches for You, lift me higher.
When my thighs start to tremble, hold them still.
Hold my breath in Your grip and remind me
of Your arrogant possession.
Break me beneath Your will.
Ripped
Aching
Desperate
Needful
Small
girl
Crying
Burning
Flying
Greedy
Broken
girl
And on the days that i lay shattered
it is Your glue that will fix me.
Poured across my writhing body
is the reminder of Your power.
In Your control i am truly free.
Now You See Me
The weight of Your gaze upon my heated flesh bows my shoulders and the beauty of Your power leaves me breathless and doubled. With my cheek upon the cool wood i can hear my heart beating in my ears and i hold my breath so the anticipation of my body does not drown out the sound of even Your tiniest movement. i arch my back, lifting my hips into the air in greeting and invitation and my thighs already shine with my need for You. i know You can see my want dripping toward my knees and i am at once thrilled and nervous. i listen for the sound of Your breathing, every nerve in my body reaches out and i can feel You-better than i can feel any part of myself. i feel Your pleasure and my soul rejoices. i feel Your want and my sex heats, running sticky with desire.
Your warm thick hand runs along my spine. You cup my bottom, soft and possessive, skin on skin and bring me back to You from that place inside myself. With a gentle kneading motion Your fingers trace circles and i hear Your deep voice murmur, ringing through every sinew and synapse.
It is good to see you, girl.
Used.
Bound
Something about
the way well-worn leather moves against my skin
gripping tightly around my wrists and ankles
secures that hidden part of me that is ever-spinning,
tightening lustfully or
churning with anxiety or
floating with elation underneath the pretty girl the rest of the world sees.
Something about my cuffs
grounds me
in the most freeing way,
liberating me from the illusion of control
from the shadow of what might be
and tying me to the present.
Each small movement speaks:
Right now, focus.
Right now, breathe.
Right now, serve.
Right now, peace.
the way well-worn leather moves against my skin
gripping tightly around my wrists and ankles
secures that hidden part of me that is ever-spinning,
tightening lustfully or
churning with anxiety or
floating with elation underneath the pretty girl the rest of the world sees.
Something about my cuffs
grounds me
in the most freeing way,
liberating me from the illusion of control
from the shadow of what might be
and tying me to the present.
Each small movement speaks:
Right now, focus.
Right now, breathe.
Right now, serve.
Right now, peace.
I Am
i am Daddy's little dolly.
i am Daddy's pretty princess.
i am Daddy's slut
His pet
His cunt.
i am Daddy's sweet little thing.
i am Daddy's obedient slave.
i am Daddy's fuckpuppet
His kitten
His cocktoy.
There are so many things i am for Daddy...and the funny thing is, He didn't make me into any of them. i was found like this-He just happened to be the only one who saw me as i am. Even i couldn't see me. That is the magic of Daddies...or at least one of their magical powers...the ability to see so clearly into little girls and carefully coax us out of ourselves...
Here little girl, sit by Daddy. Whisper quietly into His ear all the secrets He already knows about you. He will pet you and nod patiently as you lament your weaknesses, accepting them easily. He will hold you tightly as you speak about your broken bits and kiss them better. When you finally confess your desires, even the dark ad the deep, even the ones that hurt inside and out, He will smile because He already knows. That's why You chose each other. He saw you, and some tiny tingling part of you was instinctively aware of Him.....
i am afraid. Of nearly everything i am. Of all i am not. i am terrified of being exposed and i am frightened by what i may become. When i look at Daddy, i know that He knows. i see Him seeing me and for a moment i freeze in panic as He reaches to peel back every layer and explore; to expose me to myself and to Him. In that moment i want to run, but His hands are warm and His eyes are wicked and kind. i remember that He saw me, and here He is anyway. It doesn't make me less afraid, but it definitely makes me braver.
i am Daddy's brave girl.
i am Daddy's pretty princess.
i am Daddy's slut
His pet
His cunt.
i am Daddy's sweet little thing.
i am Daddy's obedient slave.
i am Daddy's fuckpuppet
His kitten
His cocktoy.
There are so many things i am for Daddy...and the funny thing is, He didn't make me into any of them. i was found like this-He just happened to be the only one who saw me as i am. Even i couldn't see me. That is the magic of Daddies...or at least one of their magical powers...the ability to see so clearly into little girls and carefully coax us out of ourselves...
Here little girl, sit by Daddy. Whisper quietly into His ear all the secrets He already knows about you. He will pet you and nod patiently as you lament your weaknesses, accepting them easily. He will hold you tightly as you speak about your broken bits and kiss them better. When you finally confess your desires, even the dark ad the deep, even the ones that hurt inside and out, He will smile because He already knows. That's why You chose each other. He saw you, and some tiny tingling part of you was instinctively aware of Him.....
i am afraid. Of nearly everything i am. Of all i am not. i am terrified of being exposed and i am frightened by what i may become. When i look at Daddy, i know that He knows. i see Him seeing me and for a moment i freeze in panic as He reaches to peel back every layer and explore; to expose me to myself and to Him. In that moment i want to run, but His hands are warm and His eyes are wicked and kind. i remember that He saw me, and here He is anyway. It doesn't make me less afraid, but it definitely makes me braver.
i am Daddy's brave girl.
Inside
i didn't say You could do this. Get inside of me this intimately. More completely than when You fill me with Your fingers or Your dick. i feel violated. i want to run. Far. Fast. i want to close up my heart and put it back in its corner so my belly will stop hurting. i want to swallow the words You bring right to the edge of my lips so i don't feel the sweat of panic i get right before i say what i am actually thinking. i want my mind to race...to make noise and keep me up and worry like it always does...it's too quiet up there when You are around. You are seconds away from ripping the covers off of me and i'm digging my fingers into the sheets-the thought of cold exposure is making my eyes sting with tears. i made this bed-this miserable lonely bed-and i had always intended to stay in it Thank You Very Much. At least i know what's in here with me.
You make me feel so good i can only respond as i have learned to-with immediate, paralyzing, stomach-heaving fear and the kind of secret desperate want that lives in every part of every bit of a person. More than anything, i fear You will find the closet. The one with the bulging door and the triple dead bolt. It is where i keep...Everything. Fear, hurt, panic, shame, hate, anger...everything i haven't had the time or ability to deal with. Every feeling i have ever put aside in favor of functioning. Every fucked up thing i don't want to look at. Everything i fear will break me goes in there. Everything i fear will make me unlovable...goes in there. Wherever You wander inside of me seems to open for You and the idea of that door opening makes me feel like i may vomit. i am terrified...and all i want is for You to hold me.
You are the scariest person i know, Daddy. Not because of Your toys or Your play but because i know now that if You ask it of me i would give myself, expose myself, in ways i never have before and had never planned to at all.
You make me feel so good i can only respond as i have learned to-with immediate, paralyzing, stomach-heaving fear and the kind of secret desperate want that lives in every part of every bit of a person. More than anything, i fear You will find the closet. The one with the bulging door and the triple dead bolt. It is where i keep...Everything. Fear, hurt, panic, shame, hate, anger...everything i haven't had the time or ability to deal with. Every feeling i have ever put aside in favor of functioning. Every fucked up thing i don't want to look at. Everything i fear will break me goes in there. Everything i fear will make me unlovable...goes in there. Wherever You wander inside of me seems to open for You and the idea of that door opening makes me feel like i may vomit. i am terrified...and all i want is for You to hold me.
You are the scariest person i know, Daddy. Not because of Your toys or Your play but because i know now that if You ask it of me i would give myself, expose myself, in ways i never have before and had never planned to at all.
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