The Ways She Is Mine
Captive to my words, intricate verse, or simple command, woven through her being. Erotic pronouncements, evoking dark, dirty visions of exposed nakedness, passionate embrace, of a being willingly given, a love, roughly taken.
A masterpiece, carved from trials, sculpted into perfect form. Prostrate before me, an offering, a gift, a treasure to be protected and guarded above all else. She has placed herself into my hands, to be used, to be taken, to be reduced to a sensual, whimpering mess, at my pelasure.
Sharpened to a savage point, a singularity where wit and intelligence merge. She intimidates, and dominates others, but to me, she submits. Standing tall in the storm, she weathers the ferocious waves of a thousand anxieties, until she is once again under my spell. She hears my voice, and is strengthened, she hears my desires and is made weak.
Through whispered need, and giggled ideas, I have learned, her want, her deepest craving. She is mine to please, to satisfy, to explore and control. I explain in low menacing tone, the sadistic rituals I will lead her through, and see the flame burn behind desperate eyes. I know the seeping yearning that pools, the ache that radiates in her sex, and the fire that erupts at my touch.
Soft, pink, full of pleas, and petitions. "Please Sir", when my fingers are inside her, "Please Sir", when her need is overwhelming. Rosy, and plump, pressing kisses to my mouth, and my chest, hungry for more. Wet and warm, as they engulf my hardness, sucking hard, dragging contented growls from my own.
Heavy in hand, sensitive and soft. Stroking and caressing, she surrenders. Eyes closed, nipples hardening, a whimper as my mouth closes around her perky cherry. Writhing under my attention, the object of my worship.
Coloured with bruises, red and blue, she lifts her cheeks eagerly for more. She craves the sting of my hand, the bite of the paddle, to be filled with plug or cock. Her tightest hole, stretches with a groan, she is full, she is sated.
Her sensual core, it is mine. She gives it to me, she does not touch without permission, but she offers to me whenever I desire. Her soft insides, welcoming my cock, as I claim her, and we are one. With long, slow strokes, or fast, desperate thrusting, I take her, until she begs to be filled with hot seed.
It is a fragile thing, beaten by ignorance, clawed at by demons and torn by bullies, but in my care she is healed. I am her safe place, her shelter, she resides in my shadow, and finds peace. The fabric of her soul is rare and precious, and in the darkness, she shines.
Her greatest gift, never demanded, but lovingly extended. It gives me strength, and purpose. I am a better man for it, I strive daily to earn it , to deserve it, and when she kneels before me, her collared throat presented, I know, she is all I need!
The Ways He Owns Me
With words, an elegant, luminous, filthy words captivating my deepest being. A resonance of prose and creating that releases pounding, into a literature of fucking, filling, taking. His words are a vitiating poetry destroying all my inhibition.
With his voice
A sound that keys my hidden sensual, unlocking secrets, truths and personal. Taking me to my knees. Plunging into my heart and mind, a leading, proficiency of stone-on stone-gravel whispering deep of all my hidden pink.
With his hand
His hand on my face, my cheek, my neck. His large palm cradling me soft then turning fierce and glowingly brutal. Fisting my hair, gripping my neck, taking me into trust, owning every breath I take.
With his lips
His lips, full of promises fulfilled, lips that caress, that drink, that sip greedy of my skin and sin. His lips that seek out all my tender, and teeth that make me want to bend and grovel into deep, willing surrender.
With his scent
His smell, that presence, that power. The spicy raw that invades my senses, sinking deep into permanent memory. A scent that makes me need, ache and crave, even when he is gone, separate, far away from me.
With his body
His size, so much bigger, stronger, braver. Weight that covers, pushes, thrusts. A body, I can lay on, climb inside. A rib cage safe behind his heart where I can hide. He is all-encompassing weight, pinning me down, protecting me.
With his hands
His hands masculine. Hands as big as my head, that hold my waist, that push my legs high, and demand my yielding grace. Hands that circle my wrist, my ankle, my thigh. Hands that carve me, shape me, own me fucking beautiful.
With his cock
His hard, stern masculine. That part of him that fits deep into every hole and hand I have. The sleek skin, created for tasting, riding, remaking. His cock is an addiction. A beast that makes me craven, begging-needing
With his attention
He owns me hard and relentless. I am caught and captivated, by every minute given. His attention enslaves me, trains me, makes me willing to give everything I have up to his needing. It burns scalding over my soul.
And all my giving, my needing, my desire, for all his parts, his dark, his time, his hours. It is my everything I yield up to him, and it is my everything that ties firm him to the leash he holds in his hand.