Submissive - Blog Posts
Owned
My hands say it. More than my words. More than any title or name. Sure. Confident. You are owned.
What Only I Hear
Cry out. Shout. Gasp. Writhe.
Here you are mine and no one will hear your fear, your surprise or your surrender. You are mine. Now and forever.
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.
Before
The others, the ones before, the ones who have shared you, those who thought they owned you, and perhaps you too believed they did, until us, when you discovered what owned actually means and gave yourself to a slavery you only dreamed of before, liberating and eternal, no matter the distance.
Consent
It has always about what you offered. And how far I would take it.
That does not change, but know this, there comes a place of offering where I will take all of you to a new place that will leave us both transformed.
Suddenly Safe
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.
Releasing the Collar
The hardest thing is to let go, release the collar after an age of your gift of submission, to see you, dressed for a world that can never own you as I do.
But, I smile as you rub the marks of collar and crop. The memories will hold me until you need what only I can give, and take what only you have.
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So many people believe submission is about forcing control. No, it is about surrendering control, and treating that surrender with all the respect it deserves.
And if you are fortunate, and have that kind of relationship, it is glorious. It is hard to go back. If you are more fortunate, you never will.
Still finding my old poems from my Tumblr deleted site saved by others. Thanks to all of you who reposted them!
Consequences
Blindfolded, you feel more intensely. Each caress. Each tiny pinprick of pain
is distinct from the other.
Until all subtlety is abandoned and I split you asunder, losing my control to my passion,
forcing each cry ripped from your lips, each one the consequence of your surrender.
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.
The Culmination of Assurance
It is the after. After the surrender. The taking. The sweet ravaging with all its pain and desire. After the orgasm. and the next orgasm and the last, forced orgasm, and we are both spent, and we fall together in silken tenderness, so sure of our love we could weep, this, the after, the culmination of assurance.
When, or If
The thing is, I always start tender and for a few moments, maybe more, you are uncertain how you will bring me pleasure, when, or if the caress will turn into a sharp slap, when, or if your tender pink nipple will find itself clamped, chained or twisted. When, or if, you go from lover to slave and back again.
I am slowly refinding some of my old poems from the pre-apocalypse, tumblr style.
Slow Burn
Tonight I will fill you slowly.
My cock will push past the resistance of your swollen flesh
tortuously patient, savoring every inch of your depths,
every inch of your heat. I will take the time to feel you,
your wet warmth a tight embrace. every nerve of my shaft
in ecstasy as you body surrenders it’s secrets.
This too is control, knowing your hunger, knowing your desire to run amok with passion, I take you on my terms, a slow burn
desperately wanting to roar its heat, a bonfire of lust.
I am slowly finding some of my old poems, and friends on Tumblr. This is one.
Consequences
Blindfolded, you feel more intensely. Each caress. Each tiny pinprick of pain
is distinct from the other.
Until all subtlety is abandoned and I split you asunder, losing my control to my passion,
forcing each cry ripped from your lips, each one the consequence of your surrender.
I am slowly finding some of my old poems, and old friends, on Tumblr.
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.
One of my poems from my deleted blog, found on someone else’s blog.
Wait. Watch.
Lay there. Wait. Watch as I lay things out. Flogger. Crop. Plug. More. As I anticipate which pain, and where I will punish you with tonight. As I anticipate what tender places I will penetrate, with what and how long, and how hard. Watch. See my smile. See my shaft rise, hard as stone. Know, you are mine, helpless before my desire.
One of my poems from my deleted blog.
The power of submission
I look down to you on your knees, this vibrant, powerful woman, half dressed, submissive, hungry, oh so hungry to please, waiting for my touch, waiting for my command and I am more than aroused. I am humbled.
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.
Tonight I may want you romantic and soft, gentle and yielding, your beauty gently on display, or I may want you trashy and eye-catching in a way that makes the world around us gasp and turn their heads, or I may want you bound, knowing the ravaging is to be brutal and you left with no relief, knowing there will be marks, and the most amazing thing, the wonder of you, is that whatever I want, you give.
Taken. Not Taken
You, and all that you are, every curve and line, every expanse of silken skin, every orifice, every dark corner of your heart….
mine.
Not taken, no matter how it seems when I render you helpless and take your body like a slave to my pleasure.
No, not taken, but given in a perfect, desperate love more complete than passion or romance alone could ever be.
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.
When and Where
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.
This is How I Want You.
This is how I want you, spent from hours of touch and penetration, no part of you innocent or unfilled, your body trembling, your throat raw from moans and cries of orgasm, the sheets pulled loose by your clinched hands, your nipples tender, your clit throbbing, beautifully abused, you clamber up, and whisper, “Please” as you reach for my cock and draw it to your swollen lips.
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Tumblr killed my original poetry site, The Other Poems, after 8 years and 12,000+ followers. If you would be kind enough to share this poem, I may find some of my friends and followers.
On Your Knees
On Your Knees
On your knees, an act of worship, you take me in, your eyes meet mine, full of supplication and passion, your desire radiating like an aura.
I watch you lips as they kiss my hard passion, kiss the velvety shaft that yearns for you.
I watch you as you open your mouth, as your tongue, pink and vibrant, licks slowly, up….. down…. up…. Each touch of you like molten fire, wet, inviting, giving.
I watch your manicured nails as your hand traces slowly, teasingly down my belly, finding my balls, so swollen and tender, aching for your touch.
You smile, and your hand grasps my hardness, guiding it to your mouth, wide, generous in your love, in your submission as my hand reached down, presses you deeper, deeper around me, surrounding me, your lips full, your mouth full, flat against my belly,
I pump myself into you and you give yourself to me, your body, your mouth, no longer your own but mine,
my cock swells and you feel it.
My hands reach down and pull your breasts up, find the nipples, squeezing them, feeling you moan as your perfect lips, surround my cock, so deep in you, down, down to your throat,
then back out…. And in again, my hand now pressing lightly into your fragrant hair, my hips alive, taking your, making your mouth mine, an intimate kiss of submission, your body, your heart, your mouth, your heart, mine.
Lost and Found
Lost and Found
It is the white space, the place between anticipation and the residual pain of marks, of lashes, the moment of it, as it lances through you and the pain does not even cry out, it simply consumes you and there is nothing else, and you are no longer what you believed, not submissive, for that does not matter, not in your own particular kind of love, you are lost and found in it, all other worries exploded, no longer important, a single minded woman finally in a peace you cannot explain, the world around you lost, your soul, found.
Nessuna coppia in cerca di un padrone??😏
Nymphomaniac dreaming about being used by BBC and BWC. Use all holes and make me your sexdoll 🤤🤤🤤