I watch you sleep, I do that sometimes, it is sweet. You snuffle and shift and occasionally you mutter to yourself.
Tonight, you have half thrown the covers off, you are curled up, and your pretty arse is exposed to me. Your pose is childlike and unintentional and completely slutty, like you planned it this way, like you are smiling secretly to yourself at your own cleverness.
I sent you to bed with the crotchless … Continue Reading
You make kissing noises at me, from the side there, not really looking at me. I smile and watch your mouth, your lips pressing together, pursing, then opening slightly, you are trying not to smile back at me, your face deliberately and cutely serious, the gentle sucking noise soft and moist and enticing.
“Are you making kissing noises at me?”
You smirk, “Of course, Ma’am!”
I laugh and grab the back of your head and … Continue Reading
We are on Skype having a chat when the phone rings. He is expecting a call, excuses himself, picks it up. I stay online and listen to his end of the conversation, waiting for him to finish. I get a little bored and send him an instant message.
He messages back, “Yes Ma’am…”
There is a smile in his voice as he continues his conversation. I can hear him stifling the grin as … Continue Reading
I don’t want ‘play’, the pretty, the tools, the toys, the games, the amusement, the cute, the acts, the implements, the controlled, the measured give and take, the things.
I want violence, force and shoving and slapping and tearing at flesh and smashing you to the ground and not giving a fuck about you. I want fear and helplessness and tears and surrender and panic and animal lust. I want growling and screaming and … Continue Reading
They go to a caning workshop, sit on the comfortable couch, touching gently, watching the woman in leather deftly wield the instruments, listening intently to her explanations as she demonstrates her craft.
She strokes his puppy head, he shifts closer to touch more of her, she leans into him now and then to whisper about what they are seeing. She had never been so interested in canes, she is not a sadist (she sees him … Continue Reading
I am sunken low and depleted, for reasons, these reasons, those reasons, the other reasons, all of which bore even me. My boy is charming me, being cute and funny and papering over the widening cracks with tenderness.
He writes, bolstering me during the tedious day with email after email full of kindnesses and beauty. He ends one with:
“I miss you Ma’am and again I’m thinking about you sweetheart…”
The ‘sweetheart’ (sweetheart!) is unlike … Continue Reading