Sorry guys, I know I haven't written lately. Things have been.... rough.

I will again soon. I promise.

Things will get better.

I won't give them any other choice.

Last Frolicon Photoshoot HNT

Frolicon PhotoShoot HNT 2

Frolicon Photoshoot HNT

Snippets of a dream

My kitchen, in the house in my head.
You on your knees. My hand on your chest, shoving with words and grief and the sheer power of my fury.

Your arms around my waist, restraining me, forcing my hands to stillness. My fierce almost sobbing breaths against you.

Biting kisses, still as much anger as love. Your hands on my face, my fingers digging into your shoulders.

Pressing you into the table, leaning into you and forcing your body bent back with the sheer force of my desire.

On your back, on my table, golden wood and paler gold skin. My body atop yours, cream and curves and heated slickness.

Riding you, breasts bouncing. Your hands reaching to them, my hands slapping yours away, taking you, using you for my own pleasure and watching your face a study in pleasure and agonizing need as I shake and tremble and cum above you.

Sometimes it hurts.

Recently, I made the decision to break things off with someone I was walking a dangerous line with.
It was a mutual decision, because he couldn't give what I needed, and I wasn't willing to let myself grow gradually more and more resentful of not getting my needs met.
I wasn't willing to harm his current relationship, and he wasn't willing to harm mine.
So we walked away.

It was the right thing to do.
The grown-up thing to do.
The ethical thing to do.

And that doesn't make it hurt a damned bit less, any time I let myself think too hard about it.

Kink After Kids

A few random thoughts on kink post-kids:

• They're amazing at finding bruises with pointy little knees and elbows
• Gags are useful when your only set of eyebolts is 10' from the toddler's bedroom door
• Toddlers are terrifyingly handy with a short singletail. Mine has managed to catch me across the face with it twice... AFTER my attempts at hiding it in the closet failed miserably.
• Fetish parties don't happen anymore, unless you have a spare $60 for babysitting on top of the cost of going to the party
• It's amazing how much that can make me miss my community
• The 19mos old is the biggest sadist in the household
• On the previous note, kinkiness is clearly genetic. Ours has never seen us play, and yet takes canes, whips, or whatever else he can find (his current favorite is Mommy's dressage whip, which she can't seem to hide well enough) and beats the dog (surprisingly lightly, since I have seen him swing that sucker hard enough it'd have left welts), then set aside the whip and start petting her. 

I seriously wish I were kidding about all of these things. 

Courtesy of Rush HNT

I don't normally do groin shots, but Rush took this the other night and suggested that I use it.

Madness

There's nothing sexy about my mood today, nothing sexual. I am worn to the bone and so on edge I could cut with a look.
I don't want to play today, don't want to toy with you and enjoy your pretty reactions. I don't want sex, or the taste of your cock on my lips.
Not today.

Today I want blood, and I want the sweet knowledge of pain, and injury.
I want the wet snap of bone and the sharp hiss of the razor, the gentle burble of blood.

I want a body hanging like a side of beef from a hook, the cool darkness and the weight of the blade in my hand. I want to take out this rage on innocent flesh and feel it give beneath my hand. I want the uncontrolled swing of fury, lodging deep in muscle and bone. I want the spurt of blood as it gives, the flow of life from a body spasming in pain and fear and rage. I want the walls spattered with beautiful ruby designs painted by a swinging arc of shining steel.
I want the deep primal screams which only terror give, the scream that means you know that your death is not coming, but here in the room beside you.
I want the shuddering cry as the last trickles of life flow from your throat to the floor.

Blurry Mirror HNT

A Gift HNT

Old Memory

Heart racing as you approach, sound of you, sight, and scent in that order.
Knees going weak like they always do the moment you touch me.
Your hands on my arms, fingers twisting in my hair and my breath coming in short, fast pants.

Turning me roughly, pressing me down, confusion and trying to respond but not sure what you want.
Hands hitting the wall, yours gripping my hip and pulling me out to you. Whining moan of anticipation as I realize what you intend.
Your zipper echoes, or maybe that's only in my head. It's taking everything I have not to press back into you, to plead to feel you.

...and then there you are, then you are inside me, filling me, toolongtoothicktoomuch and it doesn't matter because every part of me wants you more than any response from my body can convey and I am whimpering, pleading incoherently and you are dragging me up by the hair, warning me again, "Hush," and I can't not obey but I don't know how to be quiet right now, don't know how not to scream with you inside of me but I know that I can't, know that I have to be quiet and the inside of my head is screaming incoherently in need and pleasure and desire.

Suddenly, abruptly, you are gone and I am whimpering in loss without conscious thought of it, confusion and need and something almost like grief until you force me back around, pressing me to my knees and whisper roughly to clean you up.
My lips are eager, hungry, and almost immediately I am swallowing you, choking and pressing myself further onto you, taking in every inch before I draw back and suck every bit of the taste of me from your cock. I want to continue, want to taste your satisfaction on my tongue, but you are pulling me up, turning me again and I am confused and whimpering and hungry for you but in this space I am almost unable to argue or to disobey so I stand, turn, bend back over and am rewarded by your hungry mouth against my pussy, dragging another moan from my throat that I stifle only at the very last moment. I cannot stop the whimpering, though, and I know you will be angry but I can't stay completely silent in the face of the heat of your tongue against my clit and your teeth against my labia.

Abruptly, you pull away from me, an it takes every ounce of strength I have to keep from falling to your feet and begging you never to stop.

Waking Dream

Pinch me
Is this real
This feeling of release
I’m floating in your heaven
In the corners of my dreams

Tasting life
Numb again
Close my eyes
It begins…

I cannot stumble here
I am safe inside my head
When I wake up Ill forget
I’ll come back to my mess

I will not leave
Stay asleep
Slip further in
My ecstasy

Safe inside my mind I hide…

-Natalie Walker

I don't even have the words for how amazing my husband is:

Hand in hand we stand. A life to live,a family to build and a friend to cherish, together, in support and compassion. So take my hand, My Love and look out on our future. Catch me when I stumble, wipe away my tears and be my shield as I will for you. You smile and I know I've been offered my dreams, that sparkle in your eyes assures me of the joy at hand and your soft touch calms the beast within. So take my hand, My love and dance to the music of our lives!

You inhabit the landscape of my heart, painting the rising and setting sun with your passion. You encourage the green things to grow and the wild things to play. The breeze sighs your name as it caresses the land. You live within me and I am grateful for that!

Yes

It has been too long, beloved, since I have tasted your submission on my lips.
It has been too long since your eyes have darted from mine, shy and downcast.
It has been too long since you have bitten your lip, your voice an aroused, embarrassed whisper: "Yes, Ma'am".

Your body stretched across mine, across my lap with your hands in the small of your back, wringing nervously but your cock warm and half-hard trapped between my thighs. My hands rubbing your rounded ass, teasing you while tiny whimpers and moans escape your lips and your hips move against me whenever you can't quite help it. The first blow- not too hard but your jerk and low moan are symphonic as I'm getting steadily more aroused against you. The next, harder, and the next. Backing off a little, rubbing and teasing and stroking your perineum until your wriggle and shiver before another flurry of spanks. Your ass reddening against me, heating up, your sounds becoming more anguished and yet your body relaxing against me, submitting to my hands to my touch, to my will.
You have no idea how beautiful that you are right now, no idea how much I want you just yet.

It is later, and the toys are set aside, the bed cleaned off, and you have licked the cum from your fingers with embarrassed, pleased eyes and hidden your face against me.
It is later and you are still sticky against your belly and the ache in my cunt is threatening to turn to pain as I lie back, beckoning your face between my legs, dragging your head where I want you, placing you against my engorged and throbbing clit.
Your eager obedience thrills me, as always. The avid hunger with which you approach me, tempered with the strength of your desire to please me and slowing you down to approach as I prefer. The kisses up my thighs, cheeks pressed firmly against the ticklish skin, heated breath against the hyper-sensitive flesh until I am moaning in wanton desire. Quick flick of your tongue, teasing and hungry as you taste my arousal, taste the soaking proof of my desire for you. Your groan louder than my own moan as you press into me, licking and sucking and kissing and teasing my clit with flicks of your tongue and gentle touches of your lips.
Your tongue sliding between my engorged lips, pressing deeply into me, circling my lips until my fingers curl around your neck and press you into me in clear demand.
Your lips against my clit, your tongue circling me until I am moaning and arching into you and it isn't going to take much longer, my love, before......

Yes.

Yes, this.

Your face pressed between my legs, your tender submission in my hands, your head resting on my thigh in complete surrender as I shake and moan against you, riding waves of pleasure and need and love and desire.

Yes, my love.

Yes, this.

Belated Silk Robe HNT

Replacement second showerHNT

Ease

Helplessness. Fear. The pain of watching someone you love in pain.

Close your eyes. Step away from Here, step into There.
I Myself, Spirit in Flesh, Speak.

Sunshine on my back, breeze across your face. Grass beneath my legs and I am seated now, with your head in my lap. You're speaking softly, but the words are indecipherable. It doesn't matter though, they the words are irrelevant. This is the slow drain of poison from a wound, voice and air to pain long-left hidden. I do not need to bear witness to the words themselves, but only to the pain they come from as they hit the air and pop like soap-bubbles blown from the hand of a child.
My hands gentle across your face, stroking your head, running tender fingers across your cheeks, tracing the curve of your eyebrows and the quirk of your lips. Exploring the whorl of your ear and the line of your jaw; wordless comfort, silent acceptance, unspoken promise.

Slowly, slowly the words fade, the toxin tapers off, the wounds are cleansed and can heal. You can heal. My lips soft against your forehead in a last caress before your eyes open free of pain again.

Not so much

The last week has been really, really unpleasant, so no pretties here to post.

Sorry, my loves, I'll try to have sexier week going forward, but given that there's a 15 year old crashing at my house.... yeah. Curbs the fun a bit.

Meanwhile, wanna see something totally unpleasant about rape?

Strangers don't commit rape- friends, dates, and lovers do- and many of them will admit it, as long as they don't have to use the R word.

Replacement shower HNT

Prayer

I've shut off, shut down. I can't feel you anymore.

I've prayed on my knees to the Goddess in in my heart and in my head and in the Moon at night.
Her voice, it whispered in my ear that I am stronger than this, and I am stronger than I know.

I closed my eyes and leaked bitter tears but held my own in the struggle to stay aloft.

I have walked away a hundred times and cried a thousand more, but this time, this time it is different like every other time and I will pray not only for my own strength but for yours.
I will pray for your peace, and for your joy, and for the love you deserve.

My hands will trace ritual and my lips will speak prayers and my heart will beg that you have all of the best that you deserve.

Drowning, aching. Grieving a loss I never had.

You're too close and I can't see anything but your face, taste anything but your scent.

You're too far away and I can't touch you.

Unfinished Dream

Curled on the couch, casual intimacy that speaks of a thousand other intimacies which in waking life we have never shared. My body pressed to yours, back to chest, an arm warm and heavy around me as something silly plays on the television that I am not really paying attention to.
Slow movements of your hands, skimming along my waist and finding the hem of my loose shirt, sliding up my stomach. Your hands are so large against my body that it scares me sometimes and thrills me at others. A soft moan drawn from my throat by the heat of your skin against mine as your hand makes teasing circles over my rapidly-heating skin. My soft whimper as your fingers find the undersides of my breasts, eliciting a a small writhing motion from me, that presses my ass harder against your groin. Your low, growling response, pulling me harder into you and making me catch my breath hungrily.

Your hands wrapping around my breast, large enough to palm it, teasing my nipple until I shudder against you and make small pleading sounds. I can hear the satisfaction in your voice as tangible as the steadily growing erection against my ass, and when I feel you bend against me, I close my eyes for the scrape of teeth on my neck that I know is coming.

I have completely forgotten about the television until a laugh track startles me, making me jump against you, and your hands tighten in reflexive protectiveness before we both laugh. You're undeterred, however, and it is only seconds later that I feel your teeth sinking into the curve of neck and shoulder and I am gasping, whimpering and writhing against you in unspoken plea.

In Praise of the Vulnerable Man

This is just made me cry.
This is my husband. This is my Rush. This is my Mate, who is not afraid to cry in my arms.
This is the man I love, whose strength to be vulnerable allows me to give the same to him.
This man who trusts me enough to be vulnerable, is the man in whose arms I can be.

You are the bravest man I’ve ever met 
You unreluctant at treacherous ledge 

You are the sexiest man I’ve ever been with 
You, never hotter than with armor spent 

When you do what you do to provide 
How you land in the soft as you fortify 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 

You, with your eyes mix strength with abandon 
You with your new kind of heroism 

And I bow and I bow down to you 
To the grace that it takes to melt on through 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man 

You are the greatest man I’ve ever met 
You the stealth setter of new precedents 

And I vow and I vow to be true 
And I vow and I vow to not take advantage 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man

I love you. I trust you because you trust me.
You are my safety because you understand the courage it takes to bare your soul. 

Older HNT

I found this in my phone's downloads folder.
Judging by the hickey on my breast and my hair color/length, Rush took it not long after we got together.

Quiet Night In

We have been teasing, toying, and playing all day.
Text messages and pictures, low laughter on the phone. I know that you want me, and it is mutual my love.
But first, there is life to put to rights: cooking for the rest of the week, caring for our child, cleaning up the house, a shower and hair dye for me, shaving with long, slow strokes of the razor until my skin is pink and smooth and as soft as massage oil can make it.
There is the shower for you, and clean sheets for the bed, dealing with the small mountain of clean laundry.

But finally, finally, there is me, and there is you and there is nothing else.
There is your body against mine, the wild-shy look on your face and the predatory glint in mine.

There is my low chuckle, "I think you've missed me, sweetheart," and your whispered affirmative.
My order to welcome me back, by kissing every inch of my body.
Long, slow moans as you obey, beginning at the arches of my feet. I am infernally ticklish, and detest being tickled, but in the years we've been together you have learned to touch me without my most dreaded response, and my low, throaty sounds are entirely those of pleasure tonight.
Unsurprisingly, you linger at the juncture of hip and thigh, teasing my warm pussy with tiny kisses and heated breath, before following orders and moving on.
Across the flat planes of my belly, in the hollow of my hip and curve of my waist, along the sensitive undersides of my breasts and gentle teasing kisses to my hardened nipples.
Long, slow caresses of your tongue to my neck, until I grab your face and drag you in for a kiss of my own. Your almost-innocent smile of pleasure, thrilled at pleasing me and my answering grin of delight.

Kneeling across my chest now, giving me the show I requested. My hands roaming your body, teasing your nipples, stroking your thighs, toying with your balls as you stroke your cock. My fingers in your perineum, tongue flicking across your cockhead, your indrawn breath.
"Cum on my breasts, love," my quiet order.
Your moaning assent, head thrown back and eyes closed. Your body spasming, heat splashing across my breasts and trickling along my throat. My soft sound of pleasure.

Your body, lying across mine now, cooling cum sticky on our pressed-together chests. My body moving against yours in demand.
"You're not finished yet, love." The words alone enough to harden you again, but not so large now, not so thick.
I am 120lbs and built to proportion. I love to be fucked hard, but my cervix can't take another round of rough sex tonight, not when I seem to only ever attract well-endowed lovers and my Rush is certainly no exception.
We have learned, though, that the second erection is not so long, not so hard, and much easier on my still-sore body.

"Ride me, my love. Fuck me until I cum."
I love the eagerness on your face at my words, love your joy in pleasing me, in pleasuring me.
I love the ease with which you slide into me, no stretching now, no soreness or pain. Only the warm weight of your body inside of mine, the joyful fullness of your cock in me.
Your hips moving, face intent, my fingers finding my clit almost unnecessary because you keep hitting that spot, keep stroking me over and over as you kneel up with your hands on my breasts and your hips pounding into me but there is no pain now, only pleasure, and soon I am spilling over the edge and moaning against you as I shake and cum and cry out your name.

I was bouncing, writing happily about committing violence on you, when three simple words broke it.
Broke me.

How ironic. I was writing about breaking you, when your words broke me.

“I trust you.”

You don’t understand.

I have heard a thousand “I love you’s” from a hundred throats. That is not arrogance but truth. I care for people and make no secret of it, accept them and let them know that- it is damned attractive in a world in which we all feel as though we must be ‘perfect’ to be loved.
I have heard a thousand ‘I love you’s’ from a hundred throats, and perhaps a dozen, in close to 30 years, truly meant it, meant it as I do.

So those words mean little to me- they are a way of justifying your emotions, your desire, a way of expressing need without admitting that it is need and nothing more.

I trust you.

Those words are rarer, harder.

Do not misunderstand. I hold the trust of more people than even I probably realize. I have made a career of being the person people trust.

And yet, it never fails to hit home, never fails to kick me square in the chest and draw an almost subliminal need to be worthy of that trust.

I am thankful I don’t hear those words often.

You thought they made me uncomfortable, seemed amused by it.
You misunderstand.

It isn’t discomfort you see. It is the abrupt drop of tensed shoulders, the standing from a stalking crouch. It is the Predator turning from focused hunter intent on maiming you, into a purring pussycat and tempting me to rub against you in invitation to stroke her coat.

Solitary Intimacy

All that Rush wanted for Father's Day was for us to ride together.
We just bought him a motorcycle, and we finally got my love running again. Finally.
Saturday was a clusterfuck of love and pain and joy and sorrow and deep, deep grief.
But in the end, late that night, after joy and companionship in the brightly lit garage with the scent of brake fluid and laughter, I rode her home.

Sunday morning, I slipped to my knees so that Rush could place the collar around my neck. On these days, we are in service to one another: one Mother's Day & my birthday, he to me. On Father's Day & his birthday, I to him. It settled around my throat, cool and slightly heavy and a joyful reminder of my promise to the man I love.

An hour or two later, we hit the road together for the first time.

I have never ridden with a partner, and only ridden with another person twice. A random friend in Florida, and my roommate in Alabama. That was nearly 7 years ago. I have always ridden alone, for the nearly 10 years Skya has been mine.
I have not even been on her in 2 years, and it took a little while to remember basic lane discipline, to return the muscle memory of throttle and clutch and front brake, rear brake, shifting with my feet, leaning and turning and bracing against the highway wind.
Rush rode behind me, his faster bike and more recent riding deferring to my cruiser and long time away from the road.

We had our fits and starts, a clog in the petcock and her determined slowing despite everything I had on the throttle and a desperate slap to the choke before it abruptly cleared and we shot forward into the sunshine with Rush fast behind us.

The highway is my least favorite riding: cars and hot asphalt and traffic inching too close to my fenders and wind shoving me along the lane and nothing worth looking at for hours on end. But at the north end of 400, off of exit 17, GA-9 opens into a beautiful, curving path to my favorite mining town of Dahlonega.

It was bliss to ride again, and a new type to ride with the man I love, my best friend.
Riding together is a solitary form of companionship. You are together in an incredibly intimate manner, depending on one another for direction, leadership, protection, and laying your life in your partner's hands. You follow them into curves and across bridges, trusting they know the route, trusting they will not lead you astray or into danger.... and yet it is also solitary. We do not have the fancy new helmet with the CB radios or bluetooth phone access. We ride solitary with only earbuds playing our separate music and the singular thoughts passing across our eyes. We check on one another in mirrors and with quick turns of our head, but every curve is taken alone and every dapple of sunlight hits only our eyes as we ride together.

Solitary intimacy as the wind passes around us, against us, as each curve leans ahead of us and we judge alone at what speed we can take it. Singular companionship as we choose the route together and ride alone along it, every one of the million split-second decisions required on these curvy mountain roads decided alone and yet weighing into the decision of the other.

Pulling up beside one another at stoplights, stop signs. A nod, a grin, hand signals our only communication and yet we are as in sync in this moment as in the throes of sex.
It is almost a disappointment to arrive in Dahlonega and park our bikes side by side in the space, despite my aching back and vibrating ass. It is almost a loss to regain speech and lose the solitary intimacy of riding together.

Fortunately, we have another 4 hours of riding ahead of us...

(Stopped for a picnic on the way up)

Good

Bored and mischievous, hungry and teasing.
Reminding you of your precious rules, while poking at them.
You told me this morning, "Good men don't need rules. Why do you think I have so many of them?"

Maybe I'm better than you, then.
I have one rule.

Don't hurt people you love.

Maybe I'm not.
Maybe I suck at it.

Because I want to push you into breaking your rules.
I want to ride down the elevator with you and step into you, watch the flicker of panic as you back into the wall. I want to stand on tiptoe and kiss you, knowing you won't stop me if I take the initiative, if you can tell yourself it wasn't your fault and you didn't do it.

I want to bite you, press my teeth into your skin until you can't restrain your most primal self from rising, from reaching for me, from taking what you both want.

I want to push you. I want to force you.

I am not a good person.

But I think you knew that.

Delayed Back HNT

Wise words

Sorry for being late on the HNT- I'll post it later today.

Meanwhile, Guy Baldwin's words are, as usual, incredibly powerful in most contexts than simply BDSM:

"Let me remind you that the words integrity and integrate are related.
In psychology, we speak of an “integrated personality,” and by that we mean that all the parts of one’s self fit together and mesh smoothly with all the other parts.
We mean that no part of the self is exiled.
We mean that all parts of the self welcome all the other parts.
We mean that none of the parts of the self is at war with any other part... As I said last week in Los Angeles, 'The brave may not live forever, but the ashamed do not live at all.'”

(This is from his Keynote at the Houston NLA )

Live. Live as who you are. 

Laugh. Loud and long and without fear. 

Love. Not only others and the world around you, but yourself... all of it. 

Loving and Fucking

You taste like sweat and the indefinable scent of hot engine. I can smell the motorcycle on you, smell it on myself. If I were a girl, if I were fastidious, if I cared, I would probably be repulsed.
I am not a girl, I am not fastidious, and I was raised by bikers. This scent is comfort to me, and thanks to Wolf it is sex as well.

I have not smelled this on a lover in 10 years, not smelled the mechanic scent of hot metal and engine grease in the skin of the man I will fuck, and it makes me a little silly, a little giddy.
Oh, you are not Wolf, thank Goddess. You are not the man who was once my lover and who broke my heart as only a child's heart can be broken.
You are my husband, my Mate, the man who has chosen to stand by my side through sickness and health, pregnancy and breastfeeding, wealth and poverty. You are the man whose hands are in my hair but my heart is in your teeth and I no longer fear that you will bite down.

We are playing in the bed like children- teasing, nipping, kissing, and laughing. This is what I forgot once that sex could be like. This is what you taught me again. My teeth in your shoulder, your mouth on my nipple. My gasp, your moan.
The taste of sweat on your skin, the weight of you against me.

Your mouth between my legs, long-anticipated. Squirming, moaning, joyous and laughing and loving.

Your hands pinning me, changing the tone, my laughing, biting response.
Your body inside of mine, instinctive arch and moan against you.

Your body pounding into mine, my nails deep in your back. Every stroke slaps my cervix but for once it feels almost good and I do not shift my hips away.

Your hand on my head, lifting me, forcing me to watch you fuck me, watch your cock slide in and out of my so-willing pussy.

My breasts bouncing with every thrust, almost aching with arousal.

My hand on my pussy, teasing my clit as you fuck me, fast rising sharp shaking crest of orgasm with you deep inside me.

Pressed face-down now, your hand between my shoulderblades holding me down, your body slapping against mine, your free hand teasing my ass until I squirm and moan against you.

Your rhythm increasing, your thrusting harder until I squirm from pain as much as pleasure but I want this, want this climax, wants your body spasming inside of mine...

Until finally, together, we come down, curled together, sweating and tired and sated.

Setting Fire to the Rain

Last night, in the cool darkness of the car as Rush and I sped toward home, we talked.
Listening to Adele, listening to "Set Fire to the Rain," and the plaintive, bluesy lament of her knees too weak to stand in your arms.
I am reminded, with painful, heart-squeezing suddenness, of the last time I held you within my body.

Never before, and never since, have I been so willing to walk through fire for someone. Never before, never since, have I loved with so much passion and so little reason.

Memories:
The scent of you: hot metal and cigarettes and spicy musky arousal.
Your bedroom, with the rainbow fan left over from some long-ago child  moving the hot hair over our bodies as we lay spent in one another's arms.

My body moving over yours, stretching gorgeous fullness of you inside of me. My thighs tireless from constant horseback riding, riding you, moving you in and out of me with the rhythm I have only in horses and sex.
Your dark hands on my breasts and my little gasps and whimpers. Looking down, still learning to enjoy sex as pleasure, not pain, revelling in the sight of your body moving inside of mine. Your voice, a chocolatey chuckle, "You like seeing me inside of you, don't you?" My flushing, stammering reply... 17 and still so innocent, so shy, despite the worldliness I claimed. "Yes...."
Your low voice, telling me to bring myself- to cum for you.
Leaning back a litte, aching with fullness, your hands on my breasts, twisting spirals of pleasure from my nipples fluttering to add to the heat in my groin. My fingers finding my clit, shy at first- I am still too nervous  to share this often- small circles while you move against me until the pleasure grows, spills through me in shivering waves and low moans as I spasm against you. The deeply masculine satisfaction on your face as you pin my gaze with yours even as I shudder and whimper against you.
Your hands tightening on me, flipping me until I am beneath you, pinned, a little breathless from the aftermath of my orgasm and the adrenaline of the sudden movement. Your body pounding harder into mine, you willing now to take your pleasure and my body arching to meet you, hips matching your pace with greedy hands and mouth on your heated body.
Feeling you tighten inside of me, tighten against me, my body responding instinctively to the promise of pleasure and spasming around you again as you finally spill yourself inside of me, the mini-orgasm of my lover's orgasm dragging my nails into your shoulders.
After: your hands idly tracing my body. Poessession and pride and pleasure in your touch. Little ticklish wriggles and soft moans as I lie spent and sated against you.


A flood of memories now:
Taste of mango dropping down my hand as I sucked my fingers clean and licked the juices up, your eyes watching me as I suck each finger clean individually, thoroughly.
Moments later, your cock in my mouth, satisfaction of your low groans. Silky hard ridge of your cockhead under my tongue. Choking pleasure of taking every inch of you in- still inexperienced at it but so eager to learn, so eager to please you.
Later still, the movie forgotten, dusty scent of your couch and the tickling of your hair against my thighs, the heat of your mouth between my legs. The whimpering arching sharpness of your teeth lightly teasing my clit, your tongue lathing it gently afterwards until I arch and moan and grind into you begging wordlessly for more.

Your car, late at night. Church parking lot, ancient graveyard behind us.
The taste of you filling my senses, neck sore from sucking you but I don't care- I just want this. Shiver down my spine from the location, your hand on my neck, heat easing the muscles even as you press me further onto you. My low humming moan against your balls and your complementary shiver.

Rushing adrenalinefearjoy riding behind you, eyes closed in refusal to see the speedometer and tangible expression of trust in you. Smell of leather even over the rushing wind, arms right around you. Humming motor between my legs, tight press against you. Exhilaration of riding a motorcycle again- no knowledge yet of the greater joy of riding my own- with someone I love.

The last days:
Curled against you for what I didn't know was the last time. Your body wrapped warm and safe around mine. No, you were not safe anymore and I knew it. I was not 17 anymore, not naive anymore, and there was more pain and anger and bitter rage between us than there ever had been love. Your hands in my hair, your fingertips on my skin, and the mingled joyregretneedhoperagelove of every single moment I think about you.

I let it fall, my heart,
And as it fell you rose to claim it
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed my lips and you saved me

My hands, they're strong
But my knees were far too weak,
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet

But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.

But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!

When I lay with you
I could stay there
Close my eyes
Feel you here forever
You and me together
Nothing is better

'Cause there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew,
All the things you'd say,
They were never true, never true,
And the games you'd play
You would always win, always win.

But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!

I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
When it fell, something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time!

Sometimes I wake up by the door,
That heart you caught must be waiting for you
Even now when we're already over
I can't help myself from looking for you.

I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name

I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
When it fell, something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time, ohhhh!

Oh noooo
Let it burn, oh
Let it burn
Let it burn

Numb

I feel smothered and encumbered and defeated and drawn
Disappointed, over-extended and frustrated and shaken
This over-giving , over-loving, this care taking goes on
With no chance of intermission.
I'll be checked out, I'll be gone

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I feel anxious, I am nervous, I am bored
I'm overwhelmed, rather be out of my gourd

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I am lonely, I feel hungry and unloved
I feel angry, I am livid, need a hug

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

Relaxing Night HNT

Kiss With a Fist

Fight me.

Hit me.

I dare you.

I am violent today; weeks of frustration and pain and rage and hurt bubbling over in a manic, almost-friendly sort of violence.

I am bouncing to Florence + the Machine's "Kiss With a First" and fantasizing about it.
About hitting you. Being slammed against the wall.
Kicking you. Your hand on my throat.
My foot to your knee.
Your palm sharp across my face.
The ringing in my head. The grimace of pain on your face.

The kiss that is 3/4 bite and nothing that resembles gentle.
The tearing of clothes, preceded by another bruise.
The slap of bodies in something like lust and something like hate and something like love that most aren't strong enough to give.

You dreamed

Images you've given me, the dream in your head:
Crowded bathroom from your youth. Broken towel rack, bruised knees, cold wall against hot skin.

My mind responds with images from the home inside my mind. Images from the bathroom I've painstakingly built in my own fantasy world: the sunken garden tub surrounded by plants, 6' glass brick window over it, and granite and glass brick shower large enough for 3, with 5 rain-style shower heads and reclaimed teak benches. The long, waist-high counter running the length of the room, two sinks and a vanity seat comfortable enough to convince even me to wear makeup.

My mind responds with towel racks sturdy enough to use for barre, and soft rugs to ease bruisable knees.

I hear your voice whispering in my ear, the words that started this entire spiral:
"you cornered me in a bathroom and took what you wanted... and I didn't stop you". 

Again, my mind responds with a plot line, details to fill in your bare statement: an image of steam from the shower rising around you. The sensation of tile beneath my feet and the sway of my hips as I stalk toward you. The cornered look in your eye, half fear and half anticipation. Towel held in front of you like a shield from my nudity... or perhaps, from your reaction to mine. The slow, curving smile flitting across my lips- pleasure and anticipation and challenge- as I reach you and wrap one hand around the back of your neck, pressing myself into you as I pull you down to kiss me. There is no question, no offer here. My lips are a demand, and your response merely payment.

My imagination offers a tangled barrage of images: the towel dropping as your hands move to grip my arms, holding me in place against you. Your hands, your mouth, on my breasts, rough and hungry with long denial. My gasp and arch against you at the sharp pain/pleasure of teeth in sensitive nipples. My body bowed back against you, your hand beneath my lower back. 

Low ache of tile beneath my knees, your thighs beneath my hands as I drag you into my mouth. Low growl of contentment at the long-awaited taste of you. Teasing flicks of my fingers against your balls, choking fullness of each deep-throating press of my lips to your groin.

My legs wrapped around you, gripping your waist with the ease of nearly 3 decades of horseback riding. The sharp ache of you inside me, stretching me. The moaning warmth of your teeth against my throat. The dig of my nails in your back, coppery scent of blood in the air. 

In the shower. Hot water running over your skin, reddening it until a part of me waits for Beastie to split through your skin like a bad werewolf movie. The image should disgust me, and yet it doesn't.

Cold tile against my back, your hands gripping my ass. Thighs burning with strain of gripping you and cunt joyfully full. My nails digging into your shoulders, breasts bouncing, and the sheer animal lust on your face almsot enough to drag me over the edge into orgasm.

Outside, steam swirling around the room and the tile floor cold beneath my feet. My breasts pressed into the counter, body bent beneath you. Brief glimpses of your face in the mirror, eyes almost angry and hands rough on my hips. One hand lifting to my head, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back down until I am pressed down and helpless beneath you- your legs spreading mine, your hands forcing me down and over. Ache of my jaw against the cold counter, and the stark contrast of the heat of your skin, the heat between my legs. 

Over and over, the video loops in my head, until I squirm in my seat and fight the growing wetness between my thighs. 

Corset HNT

Farmers Market Thursdays

Warm sun on my skin, cool breeze caressing my hair.
Good company, conversations about food, sex, and other sensual pleasures.

I can smell fresh bread, cheese, peaches, and the earthy tone of vegetables on the back of my tongue, and the lingering aroma of honey in my mouth.

I returned to work reluctantly, but with joy in my steps.

Morning Pleasure

Morning. Waking is slow, hazy, full of snoozes and press of naked warmth.
Grey dawnlight slowly filling the room, and the curl of your body against mine.
Skin to skin, back to beating heart, breasts lying heavily on your arm, drowsy half-hard heat against my ass. I am warm and safe and loved in this nest of pillows and high-thread count sheets, down comforter over me and your body tight to mine.

I almost don't remember it happening, it seems only natural, only normal, for your arm to wrap around the curve of my waist, stretch between my breasts, press into my sternum, and your fingers to wrap around my throat gently. It seems only natural, only right, for your hand to find the base of my throat and squeeze a little. And of course, it is only natural that my breath escapes in a rushing low moan, and my entire body arches back into you. It is only right that my legs part, ass grinding into you in reflexive plea.

I love this feeling- the heat of your body against mine, the langorous hum of my arousal infiltrating muscle and vein and wire-tight nerves. When your cock hardens against me, it's simple reflex to roll my hips against you, positioning you against my already-wet slit. When your hand tightens in my throat, it's automatic for mine to find the bedstead and cling there as though tied. And when your teeth find the back of my neck, there is little that could stop me from pressing back into you and pulling you inside of me hungrily.

Oh, I know that we will be running late soon, know that we could be interrupted any moment by a waking child, know that the slow easing of darkness presages a frantic morning... but right this moment, with your teeth in my skin and your fingers pressed into my throat, I cannot bring myself to care. Nothing in the world is as important right this moment as the fuzzing of my brain, the brief temporary quiet in my too-busy mind. Nothing in the world is as important right now as the slow slippery slide down the rabbit-hole into peaceful submission.

And then I am stretched tight around you, back arched away, connected only at your cock deep inside me and your hand wrapped around my throat. Every stroke seems to reach deeper like this, and I am wetter than I have any idea how I’ve managed so early in the morning, I who dislikes morning sex. But the slickness between my thighs gives lie to my usual disdain for it and my panting moans are hardly noises of contempt or impatience.
When you flip me onto my stomach, thighs tight against you and ass pressed into your hips, my entire body surrenders into yours. This position, physically comfortable yet completely helpless, is my hands-down favorite. I love the depth you reach inside of me, the inability to escape your hands, your body, your searching mouth and biting teeth, your cock heavy and full inside of me. I love the helplessness, love the angle, love the sensation of you filling me against my tightened pussy.

...and then, without warning, you are gone from me and there is only the lingering memory of your teeth in my skin as you whisper in my ear that you will finish this tonight, and far less gently.

Real Life Stuff

That was taken last Saturday. The silver car is my Norah. She is totalled. It's been a hell of a week. Rush and I spent all of last weekend car-shopping with limited results. I miss my girl a lot, but am deeply grateful for her service, and her protection of my family.
We are all okay- Rush's elbow seems to have been re-injured a bit, Bonkers is a little clingier than usual (but we mostly managed to convince him that it was all a very exciting game), and I am banged up bot all right. It was entirely the other driver's fault (she turned in front of us to get into the parking lot the pictures was taken from), so we aren't being penalized for it or anything.

Anyway... that's where the real life junk is right now.

Beyond that...

We separated from Akasha a couple of months ago, and things betwen Rush and I improved significantly almost immediately. I am semi-dating a couple of people, but have a distinct tendency to fall for people who are unsuitable in some way.
I'm leaning far more heavily toward submissive than dominant these days, and consequently have been looking along those lines... even harder than looking for a submissive, which I never would have believed, but given that I don't want a submissive D/s relationship so much as I want someone I can play with in a submissive headspace... well, therein lies the dilemna.

Work is still pretty wonderful- I love working in an office full of people almost as weird as me, in various ways.
Bonkers is growing like a damned weed, and climbing absolutely everything he can get within 10' of. If I know you personally, drop me a line and I'll send you some pictures.

Friday Night

Curled at your feet, the sense of comfort and safety is enough to allow some of the previous week's stress to slowly fade. Your hand in my hair, awareness of the rest of the world fading away like the tide retreating under the moon. Soft skin over hard muscle, your thigh beneath my cheek. Gentle weight of your tumescent cock against my face.
I can hear the TV in the background: Irish accents, gunshots, and a woman's voice. I can't bring myself to care. I can't bring myself to notice anything except the softness of the fleece beneath my knees, the weight of your hand in my hair, and the taste of your cock just outside of the reach of my lips.

The warmth of kisses, nibbles, and nips to your groin. Not touching your cock, not yet. Slow sucking kisses to your balls, rolling them gently around in my mouth. Leisurely toying with you; there is no hurry tonight. Nuzzling your cock, enjoying the heat and half-hardness against my face. Gentle nips to the crease of hip and groin, slow licking strokes to your perineum.
It is a slow, pleasant eternity before I take your cock into my mouth, suck you in slowly. Even this is gentle, leisurely. We have all the time in the world tonight, and I am tired and more interested in this focus on you without haste or urgency.

Your kilt is up around your hips now, my chemise brushed aside in your eagerness to toy with my wet pussy. You know what sucking you does to me, know the wetness you can expect without having ever touched me.  Your fingers are eager against me, skimming across my outer lips until I moan and rock my hips in wordless plea. Fingertips barely touch me as my inner lips part for you, allowing you easy access to my slippery center and coating your fingers with my arousal. A single hard press and your fingers are inside me, stretching me, and I am arching into you and screaming, low and wordless, offering myself, begging for more. When your fingers stroke that spot in me, my knees go weak, and I fall forward onto the table, only braced arms catching me in time. The sudden loss of you inside of me pulls me to my feet, whimpering inarticulately and starting to turn to you in confusion and loss but then your hand is in front of my face, fingers sticky with the scent of me and I am licking them eagerly, dragging your fingers into my mouth and sucking them clean with something close to desperation.

Bent back over, your hand between my shoulderblades a silent command as you enter me and I am writhing, whimpering, trying to be still but stretched so full and aching with it. Arched like this, your every stroke strikes my cervix and it hurts but with your hand pressing me into the table and your legs forcing mine open wider I almost don't care; I just want to please you.
Your hips are rough against mine, and I am losing my balance on my toes, arched to keep you inside of me. But every time I start to fall forward your hands are on my hips, dragging me back relentlessly and I am opening to you, arching into you until you drag me back... you sprawled on the couch and my body bent backwards over you. Your hand on my throat, on my breast, voice rough as you whisper into my ear to fuck you, please you, and my hips moving desperately to obey as I am stretched helpless and open to you. The utter helplessness of it drags me further under, and the burn in my thighs, growing soreness in my pussy: they are irrelevant against your pleasure and this delicious satisfaction of being completely used.

Finally, I am on my knees again, choking on you and my arousal is running down my thigh as I suck you. My hand is tight to my lips and my teeth are cutting into them, but it doesn't matter against the sounds that you're making. Somewhere far off, I know that I'll regret this in the morning, that I'll be sore, but I don't care right now when your hand is in my hand, urging me deeper and faster until I am choking on you with every stroke, deep throating you as often as I am able. With my free hand toying with your balls and stroking your perineum, I can feel you tightening, readying, and I am hungry for you. Speeding my own pace and deepening every stroke until my throat burns and my neck aches, I finally feel you arch into me and press me furhter down until my only choices are to swallow or choke and I swallow you eagerly, pressing myself as hard onto you as I can to simulate the last, deep stroke inside me as you cum.

Finally, I feel you start to come down, and with a secret smile, I stroke my tongue over your frenulum gently, softly, teasing the last shuddering ripples of pleasure from your orgasm before laying my head on your thigh and looking up at you with teasing innocence. "Feel better, Sir?"

Starting HNTS again?

WickedKitten is absolutely amazing.

I Want.

I am hyper and bouncy today, and I want to tease you.

I want to stretch you out and tie you down and make you helpless beneath me.
I want to drag my body down yours until your eyes go wide and sapphire dark. I want you to feel the tips of my breasts against the skin of your chest, want to trace my nipples across your face while you writhe and strain and beg wordlessly beneath me.

I want to make you helpless.

I want you to arch against the ropes and try to reach me while I laugh and nip at your open mouth.
I want to slide your lips against my own and suckle them gently, then nip you and giggle at your flinch. I want to breathe along your cheek until you shiver and run my fingertips along your jaw and down your throat. I want to wrap my hand around your neck, closing it until you fight me instinctively. I want to press my fingers in until your face goes tingly from the blood backed up in your brain.

I want to make you fear me for a moment.

I want you to see the giggling madness behind my eyes; the part of me that doesn't care if you're wounded at the end of my fun, the part that will lick your blood of of my fingers with something like glee.
I want to watch you flinch when I close my teeth on your windpipe, want you to remember the strength of the human jaw from those anatomy classes so long ago. I want you to taste the copper of fear on the back of your tongue while I revel in the memory of blood.

I want to make you want me.

I want to ride you, want to feel you inside of me whle you writhe in helpless lust beneath me, merciless against my whims. I want to roll my hips against you in a belly dancer's  tease, dragging you almost outside of  me and then rolling back down until you bottom out and fill me up. I want to move against you, teasing and torturing and opening myself for you. I want to taste your sweat on my skin, and I want to lean down and close my teeth in your throat as you fuck me.

A Lunatic Fear

She was the color of sand on the floor of the desert. Her eyes caught moonlight and held it. Somewhere far away, he tried to tell her there was no time and it wasn't safe. He thought he spoke, but he couldn't be sure. The skin of her legs was against his and there was no barrier left between them. She had fire in her skin and the moon in her eyes. She was close enough for him to breathe into her lungs, and the moon washed through her to him, and he could no longer instruct his hands not to pull her down to his mouth.
Here, he said to her, to himself. Here...
He told himself clearly and firmly that he must not. Not yet. Not here, not this way, with the moon in them both. But it felt so good and he would rather drown in her eyes, be burned by her skin than fade into... despair, a shadow of a shadow of fear. Her eyes could swallow him right here. Her eyes and her hand, and he would be content.
Then his mouth was against hers and hers warm as light on his and she was pressing herself into him, her desire an animal with wings that carried them both over the edge of the abyss they'd skirted for so long. He drank from her, drank from the source of energy that belonged specifically to her and nobody else in all the universe.
-A Lunatic Fear
B.A. Chepaitis

Memory

Scent of you on my skin, catching me off-guard with a smile and knot of arousal as I attempt to fall asleep.

Weight of you against me, sweat on your face and the flickering amusing thought to lick it away.

Hot breath against the curve of my back and buttocks, paired with the pressure of your hands on my skin.

Fullness of you inside me, hand tightening in my hair until I reflexively arch and moan against you.

Brush of fingertips down my spine, teasing hints at what's to come until I shiver against your hands.

Taste of myself on your cock and soreness between my legs.

Pressure in my hair, on my head, forcing me down onto you until I choke and moan and grow wet again.

Sensation of your mouth on me, so close to too much and so deliciously right. Depth of your fingers in me, stroking me to the screaming point.

Burn of my thighs as I ride you, contentment on your face as I move over you, taste of your skin on my lips.

Squeeze of your hand on my throat and burn of your teeth in my breast as I writhe and cum against you.



Today, brief hints of your scent on my skin and residual desire building again for the taste of you.

Vanilla Date

People kiss without teeth, without biting.
How does that work?

I'm so confused.

Dreams

Your face across the table from mine, canines flashing as you smile. Red wine glass in your hand, liquid the color of blood flashing ruby-lit across your hand. Cruelty and promise in your eyes. Candlelight golden across your skin.
Shiver across mine. Your smile deepening as you note my chillbumps in the warm room.

In the car. I am driving, too much wine in your system to give you the keys. Dangerous promises in your posture; relaxed predatory recline across from me.
Your voice hoarse, a low command. "Open your legs as you drive." I obey without thought or question, only realizing a moment later that I've done so. My skirt rides up, but for once I'm thankful for my semi-modesty, and the fact that this jean skirt doesn't ride up easily. I wonder if you'll reach over, touch me where my thighs part for you as I drive. Half of me hopes you do, half of me fears wrecking the car.
The briefest skim of your fingers across my exposed skin as I pull into the driveway is enough, bringing the last half hour's arousal and anticipation into a singlequick gasp torn from my throat.

Later. Upstairs. You standing before me. Predatory smile activating the deepest prey centers in my brain, memories of times when humans still skittered about the trees in desperate attempts to avoid predators. Shivering, almost touching you. Heat so close it tightens my breasts, hardens my nipples. Your hands a slow skim down my arms, teasing hints at the heat of your body. I want to lean forward, close that blatantly artificial distance, but the evil in your smile roots me in place, afraid to move.

Flashes now:
Your hands skimming up my legs, thumbs brushing the center of me with a single teasing stroke before retreating again.
Your hand flat across my belly, pinning me down.
Your teeth in my throat, pleasurepainpleasurepain.
Hand around my breast, low moan dragged from my throat.
Fingers delicately pinching one small nipple, and my gasping scream.
Your laugh, a throaty, growling chuckle.
Your hand in the center of my chest, weight applied forcing me down, forcing me still, forcing air from my lungs until the weight and size of you controls even the flow of oxygen into my body.
Moaning whimper, hands grasping for you but blocked.
Flash of memory: your tie slipping froun around your neck. Silver and blue and silky tight around my wrists.

Teasing touches to the center of me, sharp pleading gasps, aching desperation and need for you...

And then, awakeness. A single pleading whimper before I slipped back into sleep... and far less pleasant dreams.

Easy steps through the trees.
Glimpses of you like teasing flashes of a woman's bare skin.
You're well ahead of me, but it doens't matter.
The trail you leave is easily followed- an invitation to a predator.
I know this game, this 'go away closer', know the temptation and the tease of it.

I know what you're trying to do as our beasts stalk one another in the wild while the human sides keep a reluctant rein in the wider world.
I know your beast better than you do, know my own as you cannot yet.

So I'll play this game of 'stalk and pounce' and let you think you'll win. Let you think the man will keep rein on the beast.

But the predator is stalking you, darling, through thre wilds of our minds.

Some days I badly miss the freedom to indulge in self-destructive behavior.

That is all.

Escape

Hurting. Aching. Raw fear mixing with fury I don't know how to ease, how to sublimate, how to turn into something constructive. The predator paces the cage in my mind, bars slammed shut before she does something the human will regret later. She wants out, wants to escape this anger and confusion. She wants to run to someplace safe and clean, where the stifling blanket of frustration isn't choking us, where the tension isn't thick enough to cut with only the sharpest of word-knives.

We want to escape. We want quiet, peace, the sense of being loved without anger beneath every word. We want the earth beneath bare feet and the warmth of loving arms around us. We want comfort and a safe place to scream out the pain. We want for it to be okay to be hurting, without anger or questioning why. We want to be allowed to miss the freedom of the skies without accusation of resenting the earth.

I want to escape, to run until the anger doesn't chase me away from you and your tension doesn't cut me like a knife.

Ritual

Slow, deep breaths.
Smudge the space.
Clear myself of you

Lay out the altar
Tools of my trade. Aids of my soul. 
God figure. Father, protect me from my own heart.
Goddess. Mother, heal my aching soul.
Stone for Earth. Earth, teach me strength to walk away.
Incense for Air. Air, clear me of desire for you.
Candle for Fire. Fire, burn away this pain & desire.
Shell for Water. Water, wash away my pain.
A drop of blood for Spirit. Let it all come out in this drop and be gone from me.

Walk the circle. Knife of bone and stone.
Here is boundary between Outer and Inner. 
Here is the line between you and me. 
Here is where I set the barrier: only enter, what I seek.

As Above, So Below.
The Six Sacred Directions, hear my plea. Accept my offering of tobacco
Ancestors, share your  wisdom. Accept my offering of cornmeal. 
Little People, take my honey and pay no tricks on my head or my heart. 

Stand, and face the Moon.
Mother, heal me. Cleanse me of the desire for that which harms me. 
Turn, face the setting Sun.
Father, protect me. Shield me from that which would harm me. 

Feel the Earth beneath my feet.
Caress the Wind that stroke my body.
Soak in the Heat the touches my skin.
Feel the Water droplets on the grass on my legs.

Heal me, Shield me, Help me. 
It hurts. 
Give me strength to walk away. Guide my steps along the right Path. Help me not to stray from it. 
Ease my aching heart when I am tempted to turn back. 
Give me the strength, and the courage, to go on where I should. 

Sink to the ground, let the earth heal me. Let it strengthen me.
Cry. Let the tears purge me. Fire and water, burning droplets. Stretch out on the earth and soak in Her presence, feel the air's caress like a comforting touch.

And after a small eternity, stand renewed and strengthened.

Thank you, Mother. 
Thank you, Father.
Thannk you, Earth. 
Thank you, Air. 
Thank you, Water. 
Thank you, Fire. 
Thank you, Spirit.
Thank you, Six Sacred Directions.
Thank you, Ancestors. 
Thank you, Little People. 

Thank you, strong heart for healing. 
Thank you, strong feet for walking. 
Thank you, strong eyes for crying.
Thank you, strong hands for crafting ritual. 
Thank you, strong voice for speaking our pain. 
Thank you, Self, for strength and love. 

Close the Circle.
Carry the joy into your life.

Slow stalking steps.
Deep, easy breaths.
Paws barely touch the ground, a cat's tiptoe.

The scent of you is intoxicating, distance irrelevant to the brief flashes of it on the wind.

The predator in my head has settled to wait, settled to slowly hunt.

I hope she knows that this hunt is not one at which she can succeed; hope she knows that sometimes all prey escapes.

I try to explain, share images of deer that bound away and times when other predators are simply biggerfasterstronger, but she does not understand the concept of losing, does not understand not trying.


She doesn't understand that she can't have you.

Half-awake dreaming

Eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. Fingers trembling with lust, and something more. An animal, primal *need* to touch, hold, share, give. The stroke of fingertips across a bare hip. The barest caress of lips against a throat. The gentlest brush of teeth prompting a soft sigh. The heat of a body pressed against mine. Weight and scent and glorious vulnerability of arms around me. The intoxicating scent of you, shifting into the sweeter, sharper, muskier notes of arousal. The almost unconscious shift of my hips as much demand as invitation. The slow curling of arousal in my belly, and the shift of you against me. Hardness pressed into my skin, enough to draw a primitive moan from my suddenly tight throat. Need. Desire. And something more. A chemical cocktail with a terrifying resemblence to nitroglycerine.

Forest dreams

Today the walls are too close. Today, the windows are too small.
The sunburn aches on my back, a potent reminder that I don't spend enough time outside anymore.
My eyes ache from the monitor, eyestrain and headache from sedentary boredom.

Time spent on Pinterest staring at other people's gardens, other people's dreams while staring at a computer trying to make enough money to pursue my own.

Today, I don't want to stare at other people's dreams.
Today, I ache to walk out, pick up my car, and just drive.
Roll down the window and taste the cool air, drive north until I hit the mountains. Drive north until I'm lost on back roads with no idea of where I am going. I want the horizon to be close and green, the only walls around me.
I want to find a place to pull off; just leave the car running and walk out. Wander the woods until my clothes stop itching and I remember the taste of loamy air on the back of my tongue. Find water and head upstream, away from people, splashing until I am soaked and taste the copper from the hills in micro-particles.

I want to strip my clothes off and run, letting the brush tear at me- whipcracks of penance for my indoor life and softened skin. I want to run barefoot along the creekbed, wincing at the occasional sharpness beneath my feet and ducking the trees around me until the veneer of civilization sloughs off and I remember how to run.

I want to find a game trail and launch myself along it, easier strides finally settling into the rhythm from childhood when we all knew how to throw ourselves into the movement, ducking and dodging and moving with the speed born of a sixth sense about every rock, tree, leaf, and bush.

I want to remember what cool water feels like beneath my feet and the air tastes like when you're free.

Instead, the phone rings and my eyes are drawn again to the glowing screen...

Predator Sex

The predator is pacing, restless in the cave behind my eyes.
I've been giving her small outlets with teeth and hands and the taste of your neck beneath my lips, but she is hungry now and disinclined to wait longer.

Your small moans at every scrape of my teeth are plenty to keep her attention, and she has been just behind my eyes and nipping at my psyche for hours now. Finally, when we reach the bed, she is tired of waiting. The immediate surrender in your face, the slackness of your jaw and the heavy lidding of your eyes drives her to the fore of my mind, takes control of my hands until you are lying  back across our bed and I am atop you and eyeing your neck with a lust somewhere between blood and sex.

There is no gentleness to me tonight. No soft kisses, and gentle nips. There is no kindness in my eyes or softness in my jaw tonight. Only the weight of my body pressing yours down, the pressure of my teeth in your skin. Tonight, there is only the purring satisfaction at your soft sounds of pain and the snarling pleasure in your tiny gasps of fear.
Tonight, there is the taste of your fear on my tongue and the knowledge that in this state it is easy to go too far, to bite too hard.
In this state, the tight pressure of my teeth around your nipple falls so easily into the taste of blood.
In this state, the soft texture of your belly is an almost unbearble invitation.
In this state, the vulnerability of your cock breeds a desire not to pleasure, but to rip and tear.

I know you can tell. I can see in your face, in the tightness around your eyes when you see the hungry way I eye your erection, that she is angry and hungry and wants to hunt.
You are my Mate, but tonight, you are prey.

I can't bring myself to ease the pressure of teeth scraping just a bare increment too hard against your cock. I can't bring myself to stop biting down- more gently than I desire!- on the round bulbs of your balls. I can't bring myself to be gentle tonight with the most vulnerable part of your body, so I finally give up.

Drawing myself back up your body is an exercise in restraint, an exercise in resisting the temptation to take a chunk out of your skin and revel in the taste of meat on my lips. Only when I reach the top of you and sink my teteh into your neck, do I realize that I am wet. Only when I taste the coppery scent of your fear do I realize that I am hungry for more than blood and meat.

Only when I see the barest flinch and low gutteral moan when I fill myself with you, do I allow the predator to slip her chain a little more. Only when I feel the thickness of you sliding inside of me, do I arch myself over you, the tips of my breasts dragging across the skin of your chest with every thrust of your hips.
Only when I am riding you, filling myself with your heat, do I let myself close my teeth on your throat and growl the predator's hunger and lust.
 Only when I feel your shudder beneath me and harden even more do I let myself smile and ride you to oblivion with my hand around your throat.

Predator Tears

The predator paces n my head, caged and angry. An eerie howl- equal parts rage and pain- pounds behind my temples and pircks tears in my eyes.
The predator does not handle pain well, does not hande denial.
She does not understand human ethics, or why she cannot have what she wants when it sits before her, wafting delicious scent of arousal to her keen nose.

She does not understand, and it is the inside of my heart on which she sharpens her claws.

Flashbulbs

Flash: Red wine glass cradled in your hand. Your fingers curled around the delicate bowl. Brief image of them around my breast.

Flash: Your smile, canines prominent. Trickle of arousal.

Flash: Warmth of your body pressed against mine, scent of you surrounding me. Sensation of melting arousal warmth in the pit of my belly.

Flash: Your hand on my throat, wrapping easily most of the way around. Strangled moan ripped from my half-parted lips.

Flash: Sensation of your teeth in my skin, curiousity about just how sharp your canines are.

Prey Dreams

The woods around me are cool and green, but I don’t notice- not today. Rarely am I prey- I have reminded lovers more than once that I am a predator in my own right- but in this moment I am the frightened rabbit Rush named me for, bounding through the woods with fear hot on my heels.

Fear isn’t the only thing. My feet are pounding, bare into the cool earth, and while I know my own steps are loud, they aren’t as loud as those behind me. So rarely am I the one pursued in my dreams, but today, I am. Branches slap at my exposed skin, leaving welts of their own before you even begin to draw close, and every bush I dodge and tree trunk I leap seems to reach out and exact its own toll for passage… or perhaps it seeks to slow or catch me for your use.

I can hear your steps behind me, over my own labored breathing, and a glimpse back is enough to make me stumble. That stumble is enough to be my undoing, slowing me just enough for an animal leap and outstretched hand to force me to my knees, scrambling painfully in the dirt, trying desperately to rise before… but it is too late, and the full weight of your body lands across me, driving the air from my lungs with a surprised grunt.

I’m nearly useless until I can breathe again, able only to draw my knees up in a pathetic attempt at something between the fetal position and kicking you away. Your only response is a growling laugh- as much the beast as the man- and a deft yank at my legs to force them back down while I choke and wheeze and try to curl away from the heat and weight of your body across me. I won’t mention the secret whimpering desire to curl into you, instead.

My breath is slowly coming back, gasps of oxygen slowly drawing strength into my limbs, but my legs are already pinned by your weight and my wrists by your hands. Your face is nearly atop mine and I want to snap and bite like the captive animal I am at this moment, but the snarl on your lips is enough to freeze me in place.

I am reasonably certain that if I call a true halt to this, that you will. Reasonably certain that if I call ‘Red,’ that you will stand, help me up, and all will be finished. But there is a kernel of doubt in my mind, and that kernel  freezes my limbs and wets my thighs.

The ground is hard beneath my back, little sticks and sharp edged leaves cutting into my skin and I know I am bleeding from at least one of the scratches that line my body like whipmarks. I know it in a much more visceral sense when your snarl abruptly becomes a growl, your face lowering to my neck, dragging my wrists as you slowly smell down the length of my bare body, causing goosebumps in a strange cocktail of fear and slowly growing desire. The first bleeding scratch you find is along my ribcage, ironically just below the old barbed wire scar and your tongue is oddly raspy against it. For once, it doesn’t tickle and in fact makes me writhe in pain until you clamp down on my skin with sharp teeth, freezing me again with a gasp and small whimper.

In this moment, I feel more like prey than I may have ever before, frighteningly unsure of what exactly you intend but only certain that I have little to no choice in it. I am embarrassingly grateful that your teeth are relatively gentle, and as your cheek grazes my side, my breathing speeds up again but for entirely different reasons.

I know you can hear the change, and the touch of your face against my skin as you explore my body with the most primitive of senses holds a note of cruel playfulness now, knowing that my body will respond to you despite my mind’s screaming fear… or perhaps because of it. Abruptly, the teasing caress is replaced by your teeth again, this time in the soft skin of my belly. My strangled gasp is closer to a barely restrained scream, and I know you can smell the abrupt switch to fear-scent along my body. Your reaction is clear and completely primal as your body sinks into mine, hands tightening on my wrists with bruising force, and your teeth sinking into my skin with enough force to make me writhe and scream against you in something between need, pain, and utter terror.

Finally, finally, your teeth slowly release the now well-marked skin of my belly, leaving behind a scatter pattern of rounded teethmarks and a faint trembling throughout my body. Only now do you move farther down my body, and the trembling is of a different sort when your cheek grazes my exposed hip and your teeth skim the hollow between hip and mons.

I hear your breathing change now, scenting the steadily growing arousal between my thighs and it triggers a change in my own- high, keening whimpers of fear and desire as my mind flips between desire for your mouth on me and fear of your teeth in the most sensitive skin of my body.

The graze of your teeth across my labia are enough to make me cringe, and your growl is closer to a chuckle now, which is less than reassuring to my panicked heartbeat.Twisting my wrists desperately, I am thankful that you are distracted enough by the scent of my arousal that your hands have loosened, allowing me to yank my hands free and scramble from beneath you when you rear back in surprise.

In a second I am on my feet and moving but fruitlessly. Without bothering to stand, you you simply leap at me before I can run, bringing my back down hard enough to see stars. Even more vulnerable now, prone in the crunching leaves I try fiercely to wriggle away, but succeed only in settling your weight more firmly across my body. Your hands pinning my arms now will leave bruises without question, and as I buck against you, I can feel you growing harder against my exposed ass from the writhing kiss of skin on skin and the intoxication of complete power over me. Redoubling my efforts, I only earn myself the sharp, bruising pain of your teeth in the back of my neck.

The force of your teeth in my neck flips a switch in the deeply primal, feline part of my psyche and I drop limply beneath you in surrender. I can feel your mild surprise and confusion in the increased pressure on my arms anticipating a trick, but there is no trick now. Your teeth in the back of my neck give the most primitive aching corner of my psyche a simple message: He wins. This is earned.

With a low moan, my head drops to the forest floor and I writhe beneath you in blatant invitation, arching my neck slightly into your teeth. Despite the lust I can now smell equally clearly on you, your suspicion remains and my arms are dragged behind my back to be pinned one handed while you lift yourself slightly from my body and drawing a whimpering moan from me. Lifting my hips in primitive request, I am surprised by the sharp smack to my ass until it’s quickly followed by one large hand pressing my face back into dirt when I lift it in startled inquiry. There is a potent reminder in the rough force that regardless of any change of heart, initiative today is unwelcome and control of this moment resides firmly and completely in your hands. A soft whimper escapes my throat as I subside back to the ground, fighting my own urge to press into you. Your chuckle is nearly human now, and the hand that runs caressingly down my side is a clear reward for my obedience, which draw another small whimper from my throat, but this time in gratitude for the gentle touch.

I revel a little now in the vulnerability of my position- naked, prone, wrists pinned in one of your hands at the small of my back, and your body easily pinning mine. The heat of your skin and scent of it rubbing into mine is enough to make me moan and ache to arch into you, even as your legs roughly part mine and I can feel the hard length of you pressed against my ass. No fear of punishment or desire for obedience is enough to stop my hips from rising to meet you, and even your free hand roughly pressing me back down elicits not the slightest contrition.

Finally, finally, I feel the head of you nudging me, opening me, and when my inner lips finally part and you slide inside of me the sound pulled from my throat is matched only by your low sound of satisfaction.

I am physically incapable of stillness now, not with the heavy heat of you inside of me, stretching and filling me, and shortly I am writhing beneath you and matching every pump of your hips. I can feel you stroking my g-spot with every thrust, but your hand forcing my face back into the ground reminds me once more that my input here is not encouraged, and for the moment I am simply prey to be taken and enjoyed. I can’t not rock my hips to meet yours, can’t stop the steady stream of moaning whimpers spilling from my parted and dirt-covered lips. I may not be able to control any of this interaction, but neither fear nor obedience can stop me from responding to it, can stop the steady stream of pleading sounds ripped from my throat as you fuck me.

I have no idea how much time passes, no idea when  my body finishes adjusting to yours and the movement of my hips roughens, deepens and matches yours. I have no idea when the painful pressure of your cockhead against my cervix becomes almost pleasure, or if I just stopped caring due to the endorphin rush. I have no idea when sweat and arousal mixed to create the potent, slippery scent permeating the air around us, or when you released my hands and let me brace myself for your thrusts.

I have no idea when the last shred of control fell from us both, or when your teeth found my neck again. I have no idea how much time passed before I felt the telltale speeding of your hips, the change of your thrusts to cross the line into pain, or the clenching of your hands on my hips. I only know the effect on me, only know the anticipation that rocked my hips to match every painful pleasurable stroke. I only know the tightening of your hands on my hips- another set of bruises I anticipated with pleasure now- and the growling roar pulled from your throat as you spilled yourself in me.

I only know the mini-orgasm that tightened my body as my lover’s orgasm always does, and the heated collapse of your body across mine, spilling me again into the dirt. I only know the tight wrapping of your arms around my body, pinning me close to you and ignoring my half-hearted attempts to move. I only know the chuckling, raspy words spoken with an effort and growled into my ear, “Who says you’re done yet?”