Hours. I can spend hours savoring each square inch of perfection,
made perfect not by popular standards or the right software, but made pefect because it is you.
I am slowly findling my poems from the Tumblr purge of my former site.
in the candlelight and fire your body is art, full or line and shadow, tied, able to move just enough to prove your helplessness.
I caress your back, stopping to nibble, my sharp teeth leaving small marks on your alabaster flesh. branding you as mine.
My fingers cup your bottom, They…
My hands say it. More than my words. More than any title or name. Sure. Confident. You are owned.
Still finding some of my old poems from my Tumblr delete sight. Thanks to all of you who reposted so many of them.
There is no reason to rush. We have the night. We have tomorrow and I have you, helpless in lace.
I fondle the knife in my pocket. Small and sharp, I will take my time touching you, slowly slicing the soft fabric and letting it fall, enjoying your exposure, bit, by bit until it falls in a black puddle at your feet.
I will touch you, at first as tender as a whisper, but only at first.
As my passion rises, I will shed my gentility like a snakeskin and take you like the animal I am inside. I will make you cry out in pleasure and pain, and kiss the tears of helplessness as they trace down your cheeks.
I will force you to your knees violating your tender lips until I am sated, and then release you to my arms can carry you to bed, my lover, my dearest, my slave.
I cannot get enough of you. Not for a lack of trying. Not for a lack of pushing you into your imagination where dreams and fantasies become, yes, real. Not for a lack of desire, which somehow only grows each time you are moved beyond what you believed possible. There are more ways to render you helplessly loved than one lifetime can hold; not that I won't try. And try again, slave to your moans and screams and the look of love in your eyes afterwards. Ah, that look. I cannot get enough.
And then, you suddenly realize the fantasy is about to come real. Me standing, directing the pleasure of everyone involved in a way you never believed happens. Certainly not to you. A smile on my face, half wicked, half so full of love you ache for it, feeling suddenly safe in this strange place you find yourself.
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Fill in your fantasy. With the right person, they can happen. But for Gods sake, make sure it is the right person who will both push you and protect you, and love you even more after it is done.
Hear them rustling behind you. Footsteps. How many? I promise you. More than you expect. Hopefully enough that when they are done, you will realize how desirable you are, and not just to me.
Are you familiar with Literotica? If you are wanting a larger readership you may find it there.
I am, but I have to admit, I had not thought of them for a long time. Maybe I should submit a few things.
Perhaps you suspected asking was dangerous, but here you are. Collared. Leashed. Blindfolded. In a strange place. Rustling outside the door. Enough to make you wonder. You hear something mechanical and I tell you. The cameras.
You are dressed beautifully. Made up beautifully. Lips perfect. That too will be captured on camera, as will what is left of you, ravaged, cum covered. So much of you taken less like a lover than an object of desire. Yes, everything captured. Start. Finish. And everything in between. Asking was dangerous.
My hand reaches and finds your thigh, resting there where all can see, wondering, like you, if, or rather when, my hand will reach up and claim you, claim your moist heat for my own, opening you, probing you, never satisfied until you cry out in surrender to your own pleasure.
They can not know as I know, that were I to slide my hand slowly up your silken thigh, right now, right here, you would allow it, the perfect submissive, always willing to take, or give pleasure at the moment of my desire.
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Tumblr killed my former site, The Other Poems, after eight years of poetry and over 12,000 readers and friends. If you like this poem, please consider reposting it so I can find my friends and followers again. Thank you.
Even knowing what is about to be done to that mouth yet again, you smile. No wonder I adore you.
Formerly “The Other Poems” with 12,000+ readers and correspondents until without warning Tumblr decided I was no longer worthy of web space.
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