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Submission - Blog Posts
Nothing hotter than the thought of you sitting in the corner turning into a leaky mess hearing every moan and whimper as you watcher take it all
The Best of Lessons
It is the best of lessons, the more fucked out I leave you, the more the surrender. the more desperate the need to please. And what man could want more than that perfect desperation from his perfect woman?
Deeper
Do not get me wrong. I think you are beautiful. I adore each curve, the rise of your breasts, Your hair, full, dark and wild. The full, pink pucker of your lips, the laughter and fear in your eyes. You know this. How many times have you caught me, gazing, my eyes flowing like fiery silk on your every line, hands caressing you like the miracle you are? But your beauty runs deeper, fed by passion, the need to please, all the way to helplessness, and into the dark spaces we both crave.
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This is one of the poems from my banished "The Other Poems" blog. I am always glad when I stumble on one, or find one on someone else's tumblr.
Every time you share a poem, you help me find one of the banned poems, and help me connect with lost connections because of the purge here.
All of You
It has never been about what you would or would not show, what you would or would not do; never about just how hard or how loud you would cry out. It was never about how far the torture could go before you sputtered the safe word, or how, the next time we went further. It was not about your hunger to please, your messy desperate hunger, your submission. what you would or would not wear and where. The collars. The chains. The cuffs. It was not how or where you wanted to be filled, or marked with cum. It was not how, once you saw that fantasies could and did become real, you gave yourself to them. It was not how often, or how many. It was not the desire that matched, sometimes somehow exceeded mine. It was not the hair trigger that set your need off, the way your body, so exquisite and lush, writhes. All those are delightful and more than most women have to offer. more than most women are. but it has always been, always be, your ability to trust the love you feel, the desire rises, and surrender to the one man who knows, and wants, constantly wants, all of you.
Time Well Spent
We took the time. So much of it when we could have been doing.
But instead, we chose intimacy first. Time. Spent. Wisely. Learning
Just how much, and how far. How many and how much you believed you could.
What excites you. What scares you and yet still calls, now that you know fantasies happen.
And now, that time behind you, I know just how far to take you, and a bit beyond.
A Different Kind of Art.
Stop. Just like that. Let me admire you a moment. Each curve. The position of submission. A moment of perfection before the passion is unleashed and you are made a different kind of art.
Love and Surrender
Look at you. All you want. So much more than you imagined possible when you, tentatively and soft admitted you might like.. a little submission. Maybe. Just a bit.
But that is not how it works. You know that now As you surrender a bit, and a bit more still. Baby steps down the rabbit hole to your nature, happiest now
in a place you never imagined, with marks on your skin and marks on your soul and a need to give, and surrender, and belong to me, in ways you never thought possible.
And yet, are, and even more than are, leaving you hungry to fall deeper still, becoming a creature of love and surrender, full of need to become perfect, to know you are enough.
You always were, But now, you know.
Hopefully Enough
Hear them rustling behind you. Footsteps. How many? I promise you. More than you expect. Hopefully enough that when they are done, you will realize how desirable you are, and not just to me.
A Particular Love
I have a particular love
Of desecrating the innocent,
Particularly
Those who do not think they are.
Nothing Close to mine
Dressed less. Showing more each time I take you out. Feeling eyes on you. Feeling the hunger of strange men, rabid, wild, but nothing close to mine.
Surrendering
Surrendering involves trust, fear, a discomfort as you are exposed further than you ever expected when you began this journey.
Weakness
I have a weakness for you surrendered
By the Time I am Sated
Ah, the time I will take with you. Your arms tied high. Your legs spread. Dressed in nothing but heels and a collar. Teetering. Exposed. Unsure where you are, only that for the next few hours, every square inch of your body will be touched. At times softly. At times roughly. Your body mine, and by the time I am sated, your soul as well.
Sometimes Submissive
Sometimes submissive has nothing to do with ropes and chains. There are no harsh commands or red marks left by hands and crops or chains. It is simply staying still as I take you in. Look at you, a woman no one would suspect contains such passion. Savoring each curve and your perfect skin. Knowing all that others cannot see, all that would amaze and scare and thrill them about you
is mine
Owned
My hands say it. More than my words. More than any title or name. Sure. Confident. You are owned.
What Only I Hear
Cry out. Shout. Gasp. Writhe.
Here you are mine and no one will hear your fear, your surprise or your surrender. You are mine. Now and forever.
I Cannot Get Enough
I cannot get enough of you. Not for a lack of trying. Not for a lack of pushing you into your imagination where dreams and fantasies become, yes, real. Not for a lack of desire, which somehow only grows each time you are moved beyond what you believed possible. There are more ways to render you helplessly loved than one lifetime can hold; not that I won't try. And try again, slave to your moans and screams and the look of love in your eyes afterwards. Ah, that look. I cannot get enough.
A Game We Play
It is a game we play, going out in a strange city.
You wearing just what I tell you, tighter with a neckline you'd never wear in our home town. Breasts lifted up like prize possessions, damn near an advertisement, one that gets the attention you deserve.
It's a game we play, surveying the room. Seeing who notices, particularly those alone for the night. Seeing who notices the small anklet gold and diamonds catching the light. Seeing who, and yes, it often shows, has grown hard as I kiss you in candlelight, hands around your shoulder, lingering in the shadow of your cleavage.
It is a game we play, often enough, imagining him, and how and where you want him, or at times, them. Imagining size or girth and the feeling of them, imagining their surprise at just how tight you are on their oversized, swollen members.
It is a game we play, until that one time, when I stand and walk, and invite him over for a drink of you.
By now
By Now
By now you should know. Never say you are mine to do with unless you mean it.
I love finding my poems from my banned poetry site.
Not So Certain
Trust. One step further, then one step more, certain, but not so certain there is not a shiver at the touch of something unexpected, sharp as a knife, dangerous, and tender both.
Consent
It has always about what you offered. And how far I would take it.
That does not change, but know this, there comes a place of offering where I will take all of you to a new place that will leave us both transformed.
Suddenly Safe
And then, you suddenly realize the fantasy is about to come real. Me standing, directing the pleasure of everyone involved in a way you never believed happens. Certainly not to you. A smile on my face, half wicked, half so full of love you ache for it, feeling suddenly safe in this strange place you find yourself.
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Fill in your fantasy. With the right person, they can happen. But for Gods sake, make sure it is the right person who will both push you and protect you, and love you even more after it is done.
Releasing the Collar
The hardest thing is to let go, release the collar after an age of your gift of submission, to see you, dressed for a world that can never own you as I do.
But, I smile as you rub the marks of collar and crop. The memories will hold me until you need what only I can give, and take what only you have.
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So many people believe submission is about forcing control. No, it is about surrendering control, and treating that surrender with all the respect it deserves.
And if you are fortunate, and have that kind of relationship, it is glorious. It is hard to go back. If you are more fortunate, you never will.
Too Perfect
She is perhaps too perfect, too close, and at the same time too far away. Owned but only in the moments she is in need of the particular passion you offer, the only way you know how to love, an odd mix of tender and madness, too much for some, for most perhaps, but all you have.