July 2008
19 posts
i’d like to see bondage with a minimum of rope - spare, simple, elegant availability…
a breast in a bow, tied tight, while hands are reaching for the ceiling
ankles tied to wrists, kept splayed with a single strand around the waist
straight arms, hands clasped behind the back, body bent by a loop from toe to neck
wrists lashed together, secured to headboard, a body which can writhe...
there are times when i realize that I own you
One is when we dance, and the twist of my hip, the touch of my hand, the fingers on your waist move you to my will. Another is when I climb into bed behind you, and the tip of my cock touches the skin of your backside and you snuggle back to me, an almost subconscious reaction, as my arms reach around you and make you small in their embrace. The most divine such instance, though, is as my fingers...
June 2008
33 posts
oh, to have these words, which trip tumultuously from the tip of my tongue, form a trail as my lips meet your skin on a meandering path from the nape of your neck to the top of your thighs…
to caress a collarbone
the soft skin of your shoulder
to dance over decolletage
to press my mouth to your breast
to kiss each nipple until it stands to kiss me back
to run the tip of my tongue...
fuck my prosaic paeans to pleasure - what i want is to fuck you - i want it to hurt you, i want it to be deep, i want to fill you - but most of all, i want to feel the warm wet muscles of your cunt wrapped around my cock, providing that exquisite desperate rush to the cusp and then tipping over to the blinding crest before descending, slowly, to a shared denouement….
you are the canvas on which i want to paint my passion - the imprint of my teeth on your breast will be red and ragged, the welt on your ass will be sharp, defined by the pinpricks of blood rising to the surface, the usually private entrances to your body - your cunt, your anus - will be ravaged and agape, and you will know by the joy with which i hold you that you have been used
i feel tense
and it would soothe me to rain steady swats on the naked skin of your upturned ass. i want to feel the slap of my hand meeting your flesh, i want to see the gradual glow generated by each blow. i want to feel the heat as the blood rises to the surface. i want to see the grimace on your face turn to resigned acceptance then beatific joy. i want to feel the weight of your body across my lap, and...
there are times
when i can appreciate the seductive glance, the feminine line of a naked waist, the swell of a breast…
but right now i have a single minded lust for pussy. the word which comes to mind, which feels right, is to possess, but that is obviously ridiculous - i dont possess a pussy - i want to have it open before me, i want to spread it with fingers, i want to caress it with my tongue, i want to...
i walked back into the room...
and I was, ironically, surprised to see her there, tied to the bed, a wary, though not scared, look in her eye, cum creating a smudged white trail amongst the black hair
negotiation
even while he held her as they lay, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her back toward him as close as love would permit, there was a subtle negotiation occurring. her hips pushed back trying to find him, he slowly moving the hard, probing phallus until it found another orifice against which he pushed, and she, with a sense of giving herself, acceded to him…
paying for sex
I would pay snippets of ideas and half formed fantasies where you are the star of the evolving show.
i watched her as i lay...
and wondered why she played this coy role … she turned to slowly bend and push the last vestige of her clothing, the thong which clung to places she wished it didnt, even as she kept her knees close, making her task more difficult… not meeting my gaze as if this would make the moment private, as if she was hiding, despite the fact that i would soon have my tongue in that place she...
just putting it out there...
i like period sex. I’m not saying i prefer it, just that i’m definitely not opposed to it. Not only is everything warm and slippery and wet from the very beginning, but it seems that period sex creates the leap to base, primal, fun from the start, and gets raunchier, harder, more intense from there.
of course i can tell the difference
between “don’t stop” and “Don’t. Stop.” It’s the occasions I choose not to that worry me.
let me start by saying
she was beautiful, not cute or pretty, but rather she was tall, statuesque. She stood with her shoulders back, erect, quietly observing, strong but with the inherent weariness of strength, projecting the challenge that to be considered her equal i would have to be stronger, shoulder her burden, subdue her … i walked toward her and began to laugh, inwardly, at my cliched conjecture - this was...
my lover was chatting to a guy
and as I watched her she seemed interested in the conversation yet i felt that she was thinking of me, that we shared this sense of being constantly conscious of each other, where the other was, the state of happiness of the other person
… as i walked past, my hand snaked over that cute ass clad so snugly in denim, caressing the curve, my fingers moving briefly between her legs, claiming...
i was transfixed
and i would love to be able to ascribe my interest to prosaic ideals - sinuous sensuality, suggestive swagger, lithe languorous limber lubriciousness - but the reality is that I wanted her sex. The ironic faux pas of a black thong under a white skirt had its intended effect of riveting me, and I could do nothing but think of possessing the pudenda that led me…
her body was molded to the stool
her legs tied to its legs, a long spiral of rope keeping them as straight as the wooden struts, her arms creating an unbalanced arc, extending further down the other side of the seat, her fingers wrapped around the staves, her wrists secured at the places where vertical wood met horizontal, her hair the only thing not affixed, swaying gently with her diminishing attempts to capture freedom…...
