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Beyond Expectations

I know what you are expecting. I can tell by the speed and depth of your breath. By the flush of your cheeks. By the way you nervously pull at your bonds, eyeing the implements of pain you so often need and fear.

But not tonight. No. Tonight, bound, you will be forced to endure nothing but my admiration, Caresses. Words of love. Gentle kisses everywhere. Adoration. Almost more than you can bear, so tender, you cry.

Still finding some of my old poems from my Tumblr delete sight. Thanks to all of you who reposted so many of them.

Helpless in Lace

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. 

Another of my poems from my banished blog. I love finding these!

Timeless Night

A little laughter. A little conversation. A bit of flirting. The gentlest of foreplay. Time. Or perhaps timelessness. Paying no attention to it, only each other, with an intensity that is gradual, like crabs in a pot, the heat rising slowly, the dance growing, more and more frantic, the heat suddenly all, passion, and more, life turned to a desperation for each other, for penetration, need, until finally, the little death in a cry and overwhelming. Gasps for breath. until it begins again. A little laughter in our timeless night.

A Change in Mood

A Change in Mood

It seems so intimate. So gentle on a Monday morning. Both of us knowing there is a long day ahead. A morning as gentle as the dawn sun until I tell you just what will be happening tonight. What to wear. What not to wear. and just how much of you will be ravaged by how many.

I love finding my poems from my banned poetry site.

Not So Certain

Trust. One step further, then one step more, certain, but not so certain there is not a shiver at the touch of something unexpected, sharp as a knife, dangerous, and tender both.

After

After. After he is gone. After the three orgasms. After more than you imagined when you whispered what you wanted, After the amazement and the fear and almost pain of too much pleasure. After the hours of holding in the wake of it all. After you come to your senses and understand just how taken you were, you gather what is left of your clothes and come back. Held. Holding. The softest beg in your voice. "What can I do to thank you?" Yes. You are the perfect lover.

No Matter

No matter how far the fantasies made real take us. There is always another step. No matter what the barriers to their realization, there is way past them. No matter your enslavement, I promise you, there is more.

No Idea

I am not sure yet, that you understand just how long I will want you, love you. How many dreams I have of you. How rough, and how tender I want to be with you. How many fantasies, yours and mine both, are left to fulfill. How many times I want to watch you dress and undress. See you naked. See you from across the room and feel my pulse rise. You can not know how many orgasms, all in a day, I plan for you. How many men. Toys. Places. Some of them public. How many nights spent entwined with you I still crave. No matter how long is left for us, I will always want more. You have no idea.

The Simple Truth

The simple truth is that you are beautiful. Always have been. Always will be. Perhaps none have seen it, too busy with their egos and fears, but that does not change what you are, only how you see yourself.

So let me capture you, with cameras and words, with the soft touch of a lover and the confidence of a man who knows the truth.

The simple truth. You are beautiful.

I Cannot Get Enough

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.