Bleeding for you
If I told you that I needed you would you understand
What if I said I desired you, would you feel the same
The yearning inside me was not preplanned
Every day with you just continues stroking the flame
Under you heel is where I have always belonged
Lying in wait for your next sharp command
Down at you feet my pride so very strong
I am here I was meant to be for so very long
Your whip marking my flesh is what I desire
Feeling so proud to bear your simple mark
Every sound of you voice sets me a fire
Wanting to have you lead me out of the dark
Where this is leading I have no real clue
Working into the unknown following you lead
I only know my submission to you is true
While every ounce of me is for you to bleed
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Confession by Doc Nolan
by Doc Nolan
Life was becoming a jumble. He hopped from task to task, looking over his shoulder at the ?
desktop constantly (when not gazing up at the clock over his cubicle). The alarms even began ?
to become a blur. The cellphone. The timer. The inbound messages. The intercom.
“Can I keep up?” James asked himself, speaking aloud.
A face popped up, peering around the edge of his cubicle. Long blonde hair. The smell of ?
Allure. A pair of low-hanging fruit. (James liked melons, but cantaloupes and pears were fine ?
too.). Then the usual words: “My face is up here, James!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Inside his skull the words were, ‘Caught again. Shit!’
“Have you finished yet?”, she asked. The Boss Lady! His supervisor’s ‘higher up’.
James’ mind went blank. Which project was hers. Damn! Which?
“I have it done soon, ma’am!” he said, hoping that whatever it was could be done ‘in time’. In ?
time for what? He couldn’t remember!
“Good,” she said. As she turned and left, he noticed she was wearing jeans. Tight jeans. ?
Very tight jeans.
His mind then snapped back to work – the timer had gone off. He moved papers around. Finally! ?
There! The yellow pad with all his jobs written down. Thank goodness. Best of all , the ?
alarm was just a nuisance one -- set to remind him to start on a short and not very important ?
project. Whew! But before the pad would disappear under the paper pile, James started going ?
down the list. Her job was somewhere here; he knew it was. And it was indeed.
He swore.
He hadn't even started on that one! He felt a deathly fear rise up in him as he looked at the ?
date. Today. Not possible, he thought. He looked again. Yes, today!
“What should I do?” he thought. He took some deep breaths. Get calm.
And then it was obvious what he would need to do. Go to her office. Speak the truth. Tell ?
her he would need an extension.
And that is what he had done.
The outcome was nothing like what he had expected. She had nodded, looked at him with a smirk, ?
told him to set in the chair opposite her. And then she delivered her incredibly strange ?
proposition.
And here he was – a month later – technically unemployed. She had fired him on the spot. ?
But…. But….
He heard a voice from the living room. “James! When you finish the ironing, I want you to ?
wash all the dishes – by hand. Remember you have to cook tonight! And I want it served by 6 ?
p.m. sharp! Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he shouted back.
So far he’d done ok. She didn’t seem inclined to fire him THIS time. She seemed to like ?
having him sleep on the tile floor at the foot of her bed, and do chores, and cook, and clean.
And now there was no forest of timers and alarms and distractions to contend with. He simply ?
needed to focus on her. His stress level was now so much lower.
James took a deep breath as he put the iron back above the washing machine and headed out: destination sink! Project: dishes.
Every Single One by Anonymous
She stared at me...
That kind of look which burrows deep into the recesses of my mind, stirring and arousing the heat of submission, of fear, of anticipation of her next action. The unknown -- creeping into forethought while her hands draw closer, cradling my neck.
Gently at first, her face advancing on mine, unbroken stare piercing me, I am impaled and unable to move from the visual bondage. Fingertips lightly grip, almost massaging the sides of my neck. I feel paralyzed, our breaths mingling in the space between us, heat and moisture washing back over both of us. Her forehead meets mine, eyes locked, noses touching very softly. She speaks, that tone of voice that gives me the shivers, calm and authoritative, loving and strict.
"I own every fiber of your being. The blood in your veins, the shiver in your spine, the fire in your loins and yes... the air in your lungs."
Those last words are accompanied by the closing of her hand about my neck, collapsing my throat in upon itself -- to cut off my air. Such a demonstration fills me with shock; my cheeks are flushing red. Slowly with every eternal second I feel tingling building in my cheeks, pressure in my head. My eyes begin to well up with water. She stares into me, watching the ticking of gears in my head. I am trying to work out when will she let go, why does she restrict me in the first place. Have I been bad, or perhaps good? I want to move but I am a puppet with cut strings, helpless.
The burning of lactic acid builds within me, melting into the heat of passion and fear, making me ache with a heady mix of emotions. My chest strains, trying frivolously to draw a breath against her will, Biological need battling with submissive desire to fruitless effect. Both are hers. She presses herself into me, locking lips, kissing my oxygen-starved mouth with passion, desire, lust and possessive greed. All the while her tongue hungrily explores my mouth. My body bucks and shivers, starved of life giving air. My head swims with slight faintness. It is now, now that she releases her hand, but keeps me pinned with that kiss.
Now my body desperately tries to gasp, and now I need my mouth -- for pleasing her. I love her attention, I withhold myself, longer, despite my desperation. My body quivers, my knees weaken. Moments before my inevitable collapse she so gently pulls back and our lips part. I gasp, as if my first breath again. I am bursting from my bubble of liquid desire that has had me drowning.
She simply speaks "Every single breath. Mine."
That kind of look which burrows deep into the recesses of my mind, stirring and arousing the heat of submission, of fear, of anticipation of her next action. The unknown -- creeping into forethought while her hands draw closer, cradling my neck.
Gently at first, her face advancing on mine, unbroken stare piercing me, I am impaled and unable to move from the visual bondage. Fingertips lightly grip, almost massaging the sides of my neck. I feel paralyzed, our breaths mingling in the space between us, heat and moisture washing back over both of us. Her forehead meets mine, eyes locked, noses touching very softly. She speaks, that tone of voice that gives me the shivers, calm and authoritative, loving and strict.
"I own every fiber of your being. The blood in your veins, the shiver in your spine, the fire in your loins and yes... the air in your lungs."
Those last words are accompanied by the closing of her hand about my neck, collapsing my throat in upon itself -- to cut off my air. Such a demonstration fills me with shock; my cheeks are flushing red. Slowly with every eternal second I feel tingling building in my cheeks, pressure in my head. My eyes begin to well up with water. She stares into me, watching the ticking of gears in my head. I am trying to work out when will she let go, why does she restrict me in the first place. Have I been bad, or perhaps good? I want to move but I am a puppet with cut strings, helpless.
The burning of lactic acid builds within me, melting into the heat of passion and fear, making me ache with a heady mix of emotions. My chest strains, trying frivolously to draw a breath against her will, Biological need battling with submissive desire to fruitless effect. Both are hers. She presses herself into me, locking lips, kissing my oxygen-starved mouth with passion, desire, lust and possessive greed. All the while her tongue hungrily explores my mouth. My body bucks and shivers, starved of life giving air. My head swims with slight faintness. It is now, now that she releases her hand, but keeps me pinned with that kiss.
Now my body desperately tries to gasp, and now I need my mouth -- for pleasing her. I love her attention, I withhold myself, longer, despite my desperation. My body quivers, my knees weaken. Moments before my inevitable collapse she so gently pulls back and our lips part. I gasp, as if my first breath again. I am bursting from my bubble of liquid desire that has had me drowning.
She simply speaks "Every single breath. Mine."
I Always Given In by Anonymous
You catch my gaze,
Sitting there, so beautiful.
The hot air carries your sweet sensuous scent to my nose and drags me closer by my very soul.
I yearn for you, mouth watering, head swimming, every breath feeding the fire in my chest.
I desperately desire to devour you.
I live for you inside me, but I try to resist. I know you hurt me, and make me work hard to overcome the effect you have on me.
I am so weak, the many times I've given in before mark my body.
My hand shakes, reaching out for you, fighting myself for every millimeter.
Fingertips finally reach you, touch you, caress and mold to your shape.
They take a soft grip and draw you to me.
to my lips, we meet and I feverishly take you within me.
Your sweet flavour floods my senses and my eyes close in pure ecstasy.
I am so weak.
Why must you be so delicious?
Damned cookie.
Sitting there, so beautiful.
The hot air carries your sweet sensuous scent to my nose and drags me closer by my very soul.
I yearn for you, mouth watering, head swimming, every breath feeding the fire in my chest.
I desperately desire to devour you.
I live for you inside me, but I try to resist. I know you hurt me, and make me work hard to overcome the effect you have on me.
I am so weak, the many times I've given in before mark my body.
My hand shakes, reaching out for you, fighting myself for every millimeter.
Fingertips finally reach you, touch you, caress and mold to your shape.
They take a soft grip and draw you to me.
to my lips, we meet and I feverishly take you within me.
Your sweet flavour floods my senses and my eyes close in pure ecstasy.
I am so weak.
Why must you be so delicious?
Damned cookie.
I'm A Slut? by Sillien
I had no idea just how slutty I was -- until it was pointed out to me by the Ladies of the Dominion. I obviously want nothing more than sexual attention. You should see me in my Dominion Panto costume, all puffy and frilly, with the nice, smooth stockings. Mmm, they feel so nice and silky and…*ahem*
And then there’s my stretched hole. Yes, it’s capable of opening itself wide to swallow things up -- the greedy little thing it is. It just wants to be filled to the limit and to be pumped, like the good little hole that it is. It took me quite some time to admit that that does indeed make me slutty. I mean, men with their dignity intact certainly don’t have the desire to drop to their knees and spread their cheeks wide open for penetration. They also don’t eat their Thanksgiving dinner “stuffed,” which is what my Mistress instructed me to do.
Have you ever heard of “Enhanced Rules Greedy?” Every Sunday night we have Games Night right here, in this very spot. I sit at that table just on the other side of the room. Every time I put points on the board, I get to touch myself. I get to stroke my little cock, something I don’t get to do much at all, until it’s my turn again. If I get zilch on a turn? I have to smack myself in the balls. And when I actually win a match? Ahh… I get to...ruin an orgasm. That’s right, my highlight of the week is often getting close to but not really cumming. I get it all worked up and then, just as it’s about to erupt… I have to let go. I watch it dribble out of me. How slutty is that?
Does my love of cunnilingus make me a slut? Wanting to go down on a woman? Fantasizing about giving her head like a good little.... .Oh, I suppose it does. I mean, women in that role are often called sluts, so why not also a man who loves having a woman’s juices splattered all over his face. A man who wants to crawl over to his Lady’s pussy lips -- and touch them with the tip of his tongue.
You know, I think what really makes me a slut is how all of this gets a rise out of me. How my penis starts to swell as I think about everything I have just mentioned. How ready for sex I get when Mistress talks about these things, too.
When it’s all said and done I think there’s nothing wrong with my slutty nature -- just as long as I keep focused on the fact that it belongs to my Mistress. I get to be a slut for her. And any shame I feel about it belongs to her as well.
The End.
And then there’s my stretched hole. Yes, it’s capable of opening itself wide to swallow things up -- the greedy little thing it is. It just wants to be filled to the limit and to be pumped, like the good little hole that it is. It took me quite some time to admit that that does indeed make me slutty. I mean, men with their dignity intact certainly don’t have the desire to drop to their knees and spread their cheeks wide open for penetration. They also don’t eat their Thanksgiving dinner “stuffed,” which is what my Mistress instructed me to do.
Have you ever heard of “Enhanced Rules Greedy?” Every Sunday night we have Games Night right here, in this very spot. I sit at that table just on the other side of the room. Every time I put points on the board, I get to touch myself. I get to stroke my little cock, something I don’t get to do much at all, until it’s my turn again. If I get zilch on a turn? I have to smack myself in the balls. And when I actually win a match? Ahh… I get to...ruin an orgasm. That’s right, my highlight of the week is often getting close to but not really cumming. I get it all worked up and then, just as it’s about to erupt… I have to let go. I watch it dribble out of me. How slutty is that?
Does my love of cunnilingus make me a slut? Wanting to go down on a woman? Fantasizing about giving her head like a good little.... .Oh, I suppose it does. I mean, women in that role are often called sluts, so why not also a man who loves having a woman’s juices splattered all over his face. A man who wants to crawl over to his Lady’s pussy lips -- and touch them with the tip of his tongue.
You know, I think what really makes me a slut is how all of this gets a rise out of me. How my penis starts to swell as I think about everything I have just mentioned. How ready for sex I get when Mistress talks about these things, too.
When it’s all said and done I think there’s nothing wrong with my slutty nature -- just as long as I keep focused on the fact that it belongs to my Mistress. I get to be a slut for her. And any shame I feel about it belongs to her as well.
The End.
She by Anonymous
She took me to a place that i had only read about. It was not long but it was long enough for me to know that I have been missing so much .
The light at the end of a tunnel? One can only hope...starving...ravenous...Thank you, Ma'am!
The light at the end of a tunnel? One can only hope...starving...ravenous...Thank you, Ma'am!
The Relationship Experience
A Relationship Experiment
The Voice of a familiar heard
Guiding aplomb and acceptance
Permission to surrender
Terminally adulatory
Eyes forced close veiled in black
Quick breaths are the only sounds
Seized tongue fastened, gag
No cushion, bare hardwood chair
Arms to arms, legs to legs
Leather straps bind tight
Exposed to another’s whims
Acceptance of vulnerability
Sensory deprivation, immobility
Emotionally overwhelming
Fear, excitement, apprehension
Adrenalin induced by unknowns
Could you allow this to happen?
Could you do this to your beloved?
If the answer to either is “no,”
“Where’s the trust in your relationship?”
The Voice of a familiar heard
Guiding aplomb and acceptance
Permission to surrender
Terminally adulatory
Eyes forced close veiled in black
Quick breaths are the only sounds
Seized tongue fastened, gag
No cushion, bare hardwood chair
Arms to arms, legs to legs
Leather straps bind tight
Exposed to another’s whims
Acceptance of vulnerability
Sensory deprivation, immobility
Emotionally overwhelming
Fear, excitement, apprehension
Adrenalin induced by unknowns
Could you allow this to happen?
Could you do this to your beloved?
If the answer to either is “no,”
“Where’s the trust in your relationship?”
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