Owned

Mine. Yours

You give yourself to me,  surrender more than your body,  but your trust as my fingers caress you,  the flat of my palm smooth against your belly,  down,  slowly down,  smiling as your pelvis rises,  smiling at your helplessness,  your legs tied, spread wide,  one arm tied, one free,  the silk scarves soft and strong both,  you are beautifully vulnerable your body alive under my touch as my fingers approach your heat,  as they slide over your swollen heat,  the damp texture of your loins trembling,  as a tease you, tracing the moist slit that presses upward against my hand that rises then pressed against you, finally letting one thick finger slide in, just barely, sliding up towards your clit, finding it, hard and tender as I kiss your neck, 

You reach out in darkness,  the blindfold tight against your eyes.  My fingers probe as your hand finally finds my cock, you grasp it, your fingers tight around it’s shaft just as I plunge my own fingers deep in you. 

“No” I whisper.  “Caress it. Softly.” You cry out as my fingers swirl hard against your clit,  as another hand grabs your breast,  your excitement building, desperately to pump,  to let your hand reflect your hunger. 

“Caress.” I command  and the strain of it, your body now being mauled by my strong hands, while your hand struggles to obey,  softly sliding over my hardness, cups my balls smooth and shaven, so hungry for me,  but obedient, 

My fingers press your clit firmly now,  the rhythm of them back, forth, firm and steady,  savoring your cry, watching your beautiful fingers  slowly, lightly rubbing me as my own hands  take you hard, your soft breast helpless,  your clit enslaved. 

“Mine.” I say softly, but firmly too,  sure of your giving, sure of your body,  certain the first orgasm of the night  teeters on the edge, as your voice,  uintelligible whimplers,  as my hand commands you to slow your touch even as my own speeds up,  presses harder until you cry out,  as your entire body spasms,  lost in sensation,  as your hands abandon me,  and you grasp the sheets in beautiful agony then falls limp, your bruised chest heaving. 

I straddle you and take your hands and place them against my shaft.  “Now.” I say.  “Now pump me. Make me cum white and hot over your breasts.  and I watch your fingers,  your manicured nails as they surround me and gently move, up and down, slow, firm, 

My sigh tells you,  tells you the pleasure that fills me at the sight of you,  of your touch,  of the knowing that shortly my pleasure will erupt and cover you, the beginning of our night.  Yes, only the beginning,  my own helplessness in love,  no less binding  than the silken scarves that bind you and leave you at my mercy. 

Hours

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.

Thoughts Noir

Dreams own me as they once owned you,

Love in flux, odd and as uncertain

As the next flick of the crop

Or tender touch, one after the other

To your perfect, swollen, pink clit.

Dreams. Not imagination, but something deeper,

A recognition of what lives inside us both,

You a siren from the forties, but less dressed,

Waiting forever for the pleasure and pain

I cannot help but offer, both of us somehow,

Enslaved.

Lovely blog 💕 😊 😀

Thank you!

Not Just Lust

You wipe the last drop of another man's cum, the fourth tonight, your lips uncertain, knowing I have watched each one take their pleasure with you, knowing I have seen your own pleasure with perfect strangers. Your eyes too, uncertain whether I will still want you, whether I feel the same as I felt a few hours ago, just as in love, just as passionate, the kind of passion we have always had, built on more than lust for your body, built on knowledge of who you are, needs, flaws, and glorious imperfections and even this, the dream finally fulfilled as I watch. You look up, waiting, and then, seeing.

No, my love. Nothing has changed as I wrap my fingers in your head and guide your puffy tender lips to my swollen shaft, eager to feel what they did not. Not just lust, love.

Creation

You could easily believe you made her up

She is that perfect.

A perfection beyond skin and curve and smile

even when you own her, maybe

particularly then. So perfect

that had you not held her

flesh and her heart in your hands,

you would not believe she was real.

You could not have,

even in your dreams, vivid as they are,

created her or the love

her body emanates in every image,

memory and hope.

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

Just As...

And just as you think you have found every possible way to submit... I prove you wrong.

More than Sex

More Than Sex

Your back arches with each thrust.  Your back, supple and soft,  feels the hard table under you,  feels the hard thrust of my cock,  feels the power of my love as I look down,  my hands grasping your hips,  my eyes devouring you, as I slide in you,  again and again.  Not content to feel you,  my desire is to own you,  to make you mine in a way you never could have imagined wanting,  to make you cry out in a soulful desire and surrender,  to fill you, not just with my shaft,  not just with the warm liquids of love,  but with something deeper,  that plunges your depths,  and touches your heart with each mad thrust. 

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I have been gifted a trove of poems from my banned "Other Poems" blog. So I will be posting some of those between my newer ones. This poem is from the older blog.

I am slowly finding the poems I lost in the Tumblr purge of my former site.

Serve Me.

Serve me.  Indulge my every whim and desire.  Give yourself to my pleasure,  and I will give myself to yours. 

I love when one of my poems from my deleted blog finds me!

For, Not To

You and I know.  There is no filth involved.  Not between us.  No matter what others would think,  every act,  no matter how it seems,  is done for,  not to.