Thursday, May 24, 2007

Serving The Beast

My fingers shaking as I press the number four on my phone, the speed dial taking over with it’s familiar beeps. One ring…two….

“Are you there?” His voice comes from hundreds of miles away.
“In the parking lot.” I say.
“Turn it on.” The Beast in my ear gives the command in a tone as cold as steel, but at the edge of his words I can hear his excitement. I reach into my pocket, where the control is hidden and feel the tiny red phallus come to life, fresh batteries making even the first setting an intense thrill.

A small whimper escapes me a result of both the sudden buzzing in my pants, and the realization of what it is I am about to do. His responding gasp eggs me on. It is nothing to me to be in my car with it on, still not too big a deal being semi public, but I am about to be fed to the wolves.

Take a deep breath. Step out of the car.

Excitement taking over me, mixed with urgency and embarrassment, I walk toward the entrance. The motorized doors making their hiss and sounding strangely normal to me, like somehow my actions, my intentions, should have changed their sound. I move toward the shopping carts, his voice rings out as if he’s reading my mind.

“Don’t take a big basket; get one of the small ones.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice obedient, knowing he can hear it shaking, and wondering if he knows it’s as much from fear as excitement. This whole time my mind is screaming, ‘Stupid thing to get arrested for.’ And I try to push it aside. Moving slowly, carefully, because I am already so close to coming.

Whimpering and moaning under my breath, preying no one hears me, and hoping that my Beast still can, I walk the aisles, nervously chattering into the phone, rambling about all the things I’m seeing around me.

“Aisle One” I tell him, “Baked goods, and prepared foods.”
“Take a loaf of bread,” he tells me. I choose a loaf of sourdough; its phallic appearance not lost on me, and place it in the basket on my arm. I wander on, not really knowing what I’m doing, or what I’m expected to do, snaking my way up and down.

“Aisle Three, Sire.” I report, trying to keep my voice even.
“Go ahead and turn it up to two.”

My hand reaches obediently for the switch in my pocket, the sensation jumping into me as I comply. Somehow, I keep moving, walking up and down the aisles like a lost child. I’ve broken out in a cold sweat, my knees want to buckle, and I find myself stopping every few feet, giving in to the machine, so relentless, tucked up tight against my clit.

“Turn it up to three.” Says this Beast, this relentless, beautiful animal, knowing full well what it’ll do to me. There is no escaping the yelp that rings out clearly from my lips as I comply. Clutching my stomach, bending down, looking for all the world like I’m sick as a dog, I stare at a row of cereal, the brightly colored kid friendly boxes swimming before my eyes as I give up, give in, allow the orgasm to take over.

“Such a good girl, so eager to please.” Hearing his voice shake, knowing how much he’s feeding on this, sends me to my knees, and I feel the fluid rush of my orgasm collect in my panties. Grunting and gasping into my earpiece, and hearing his excitement on the end of the line, my whole world contracts to a single point. Only my labia dancing against the vibrator, and his ragged, intense, breath matter. My climax does not really end, it only steps back, the bite taken off of it a bit. I gather myself and rise, beginning to move down the aisle again, so very slowly.

“You may bring it down to two.” He says, with a sadistic giggle at the relief he hears in my exhale. With little ability to control my legs, I shuffle on, more afraid than ever of staying in one place, random noises spilling from me, like a forgotten tea kettle spitting and whistling on the stove, all the while his sharp voice rambling in my mind. The Beast is intense, more worked up than I’ve ever heard him, his voice trembling as he asks,” Are you near the restroom?”

“It’s at the end of this lane.” I say, his question striking through my heart like a bolt of lightening.

“Go ahead and go there.” Like a gift, and I rush to the sanctum, stopping for a moment as I see an employee stocking shelves in front of the restroom, the sharp purr of the vibe making the decision an easy one. The door barely closes behind me and I am lost to it, catching the latch to the big stall and falling to my knees, flushed and flowing and crying out, and I hear him echo my passion, so close, so ready to give me what I’m working for, he drops phone in his excitement. Through my own cries, I hear fumbling, buttons pushing, and silence…. The dreaded accidental hang up that seems to plague my best sessions.

Fumbling, myself, now, on all fours in the stall, cursing and coming, trying to get ahold of my phone, pressing the button and thinking of how I must look like a crazed animal, a picture of my cat, crouching in the midst of her heat, flashing through my mind. The ringing, the line opening, but I hear his breath has calmed. “Are you calm enough to leave?”

“I think so...” Comes my throaty whisper.
“You may turn it back down to one, then-“
“-OH Thank You!”
“-leave the room when you can.”

I take a moment to run some cold water across my cheeks and stare deep at myself in the mirror, ‘What are you doing?’ I think, and again, ‘Stupid thing to get arrested for.’ My face is flushed, I look feverish, sweaty.

Breathe. Leave the room. Go. LEAVE.

Somehow I’m in the store again, walking past the same blonde, teenaged, emo-boy stocking mac’n’cheese in the entrance, he stares after me as I walk past, I’m sure he heard. There’s no way he didn’t. Bending carefully to gather my “shopping” (still just a lonely baguette), being kept ever on the edge by my little phallic friend. I whisper to the Beast about the boy and hear his excited whimper egg me farther on.

Still lucky, most of the aisles are clear, it’s the middle of the day on Wednesday the store is only sprinkled with people, and those are members of the ‘geriatric set’ shuffling around. But as I turn the corner from aisle six to seven I see a pair of employees in the corner of my eye. And from seven to eight there they are still, I freeze. Whispering to the Beast about them I grab a bag of potato chips and feign intense interest in the ingredients as they pass. I overhear them, something about a co-worker and a manager, not about me, I release a sigh and tell him it’s ok.

“In the freezer section now,” I tell him, pressing my face to the cool glass of the ice cream cooler. And elderly couple wanders by, looking at me with watery eyes, and I wonder if their ears are strong enough to hear it buzz. It’s the polite way I greet them, they way you always feel obligated to recognize strangers that make eye contact, I think, that sends him over his own edge. His moans and gasps growing stronger in my ear, a rush running through my body, it’s the moment I’ve been working toward, and I feel both satisfaction, and grief at the sound of it.

“At the end of this aisle, stop.”
“Yes Sir.” A few moments lost in travel, punctuated with our puffing, excited breath.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, Sir”
“You are going to set the vibrator back to three-“
“-Oh God!” I make no attempt, this time, to hide my whimper.
“-you will return to Aisle 1 and put the bread back. Once the bread has been returned, you may leave the store. You do not have to walk casually for this.”

Breathe. You’re almost done. Breathe. Move! GO!

I move like I’m wading through concrete, the tiled floor stretching out before me into eternity. Tunnel vision. Somehow I’m next to the bread rack and swimming through loaves trying to remember where my own loaf came from, crazy manic energy making it important to put it in its place. I focus on the bright green and yellow of the package to guide me. The bread released, so are my legs somehow, and my pace meets my pulse as I walk through the doors. That hiss not sounding so desperately normal, now.

I orgasm twice more trying to walk to my car, and really let myself go once I’m safe in the driver’s seat, giving the Beast a feast of sounds, gasps and curses, clueing him in to how much I was effected by this task. Before our connection is severed, He assures me that I’ve done well.

“Such a good pet.” He says to me. And I thank him for the chance to show him how willing I am to please. “We will talk again.”

Thursday, May 17, 2007

In The Rain

It’s one of those humid days where an unexpected shower is celebrated. I see you sitting, in pj bottoms, bare-chested in the rain. Head tilted back, enjoying the drizzle against your face. I take the opportunity to enjoy the view for a moment before approaching silently. Your first clue to my proximity is my placing my hands on your knees, to brace myself as I kneel before you. Resting my head against your stomach, I nuzzle, gently your chest, as I feel your hand caress the back of my head. Running your fingers through my hair, they tangle, a little because of the rain. As I begin to kiss your chest I feel your fingers tighten slightly, pulling my hair a little, accidentally.

Rising up on my knees I face you, your hands move to cup my face as you bring me toward you, pulling me into a series of deep kisses. When our lips part we both gasp a little, left hungry for each other in our embrace. The warm rain playing against our steaming lips. Leaning forward I whisper into your ear, just your name, but on my hot breath I can tell it makes your pulse quicken. I begin to lower myself, kissing my way slowly, carefully, your chin, your neck, stopping for more than a moment at the hollow place where your collar bones meet. A bit farther down now, again I press my cheek against your stomach. Your hands have traveled, now, to my shoulders, fingertips digging in a little, in anticipation.

My hands begin to play with you, through the fabric of your pants. Inquisitive fingertips, pressing against your firming shaft, I seek out the head, tracing firmly the rim. I feel your hips shift, the electric connection of my touch bringing you closer to me. Fingers trailing down now, drawing figure eights against your balls, and then cupping them in my open palm for a moment, rolling them slightly in my fingers.

Hungry for you now I lean my face against your thigh, using my breath to farther excite you, I blow, alternately hot and cold against your skin, the sensation muted only slightly through the material of your pants, cotton isn’t much of a barrier, and not much of the effect is lost.

I release the drawstring now, and lower your waistband taking with it the elastic of your boxer-briefs. Your cock exposed to me, standing at attention, ready for my skin. I oblige it by relieving my bosom of my halter and enveloping your shaft in them. Using my hands to press my breasts against you, completely encircling your shaft with my cleavage, I feel your thighs tighten now, as your hips thrust almost involuntarily, creating a crazy kind of friction with the heat of our bodies, lubricated by sweat, and the rain.

My palms pressing against my tits, your cock trapped between them, begin to move, up and down, causing my breasts to roll. I lean my head down, lips moving ever closer, slightly parted, warm breath puffing against the swollen tip. Upon one upstroke my tongue escapes my mouth, flicking only once, the very end. I hear you suck your breath through your teeth at this sensation, and feel your whole body tighten against me. Your fingers travel now, to the small of my back, to that place you know makes me melt, and the heat of your touch brings an animalistic need to my body. In a rush I suck the head of your cock into my mouth and begin to pull against it with my tongue. Tightening my lips and pressing downward I use my mouth to mimic you entering my pussy, I show you what a struggle it will be to ease your swollen phallus into that soft wet place. Your hips buck fiercely now, desperately signaling your desire for me. I relax my hold on your shaft and allow you to enter my mouth in a rush. I open my throat, taking you deeply, your shaft filling my mouth perfectly, and I start to pet you from inside with my tongue.

Still using my hands on my tits to caress you, I’ve moved them lower, my nipples now brushing your balls, I feel your sack tighten against them, and moan at the sensation. The sound from my throat causing vibrations against your cock, driving you mad, and you grab my head and begin to guide me, thrusting into my face in slow strokes, while my tongue wraps itself around your shaft. My fingertips seeking out the tender skin of your thighs, dragging my nails lightly across the skin there, returning to your testicles and tracing those light circles. Placing thumb, first and middle fingers each hand, high on each testicle and drawing down, creating a milking motion. A groan floats down from your lips and again I hear you suck your breath through your teeth. I pull my mouth away from you and hear you gasp in sudden disappointment.

The sky opens and the rain pours on us, full force, beating against my back and soaking my clothes. Halter pulled up now almost to my shoulders, tan cotton shorts, clinging to my thighs like a second skin, hair clinging to my cheeks, still flushed, lips crimson from the friction of your cock. The warm rain across the bare skin on my back sending waves of sensation through my body, driving me toward you. I rise, climbing into your lap as you again take the back of my head in your hands. Once again our lips meet, our passion translated through our tongues, dancing in each other’s mouths as our hands betray our greed for each other. Roaming like frightened animals, scurrying across each other’s bodies.

My hands find your chest; trace the muscles of your stomach, travel to your sides, exploring your skin. They move to your back and my fingers caress the small of your back, giving you a taste of my own pleasure. Your hands move from my head, to my neck, cupping my face briefly before pressing onward. To my shoulders, squeezing gently, and along my arms, settling for a moment on my sides as you position me so that I’m straddling your prick. Then on the move again, reaching now to cup my tits, one in each hand, palms up, thumbs brushing my nipples. A natural rhythm develops between us as we grind our hips together. My shorts, and my panties, are the only thing separating us. Your hands, on my breasts begin to turn, palms at the sides of them now, your fingers begin to curl, firmly grasping my tits as we buck together. Our mouths press together alternating between deep kisses and shallow gasps for air, intermittently moving from lips, to cheek, neck to ear, back to lips. The desperate need for each other not allowing us to focus.

Your hands move again, fumbling now with the button-fly of my shorts, then with the fabric sticking to my wet thighs as you pull them down, my panties coming with them. I rise, gaining my feet momentarily to kick them aside and climb back onto you. My bare pussy now hot and wet against your straining cock. Your skin there is smooth, like no other sensation, and I begin to rub myself against you, needing to feel you sliding against my sex, tip to sack, clitoris to perineum and back. Careful, even in my hunger not to let you enter me, I love this too much.

My back arches and my shoulders fall back. Breasts present to your face, your lips taking their cue, nibbling, then sucking, opening and taking a mouthful up to my areola using your tongue like a nursing infant. The electric waves of your touch sending me to orgasm. You feel a slight rush of fluid as I come, my hips bucking so wildly now that your hands on them can barely hold on, it’s all you can do to keep me from falling off your lap. I press myself more firmly to you and my hands find my bosom, I clutch, firm handfuls of breast, you can see my nails digging in, my sounds becoming more and more animalistic as my orgasm peaks, I cry out as it crests, and just as I come down from it, my hips jerk again. This time I am unable to control you entering me.

My swollen pussy lips stretch to allow you, feeling nearly torn by your girth, as my hips sink forward, pressing you still deeper into me. Breath coming in gulps and gasps, my chest heaves. Your mouth opens as well, as if in surprise, your eyes try to widen, but are forced shut again by the torrent coming down from above. You cling to me, arms encircling my body, crossing behind me, hands gripping my biceps. You place your cheek to my bust, hiding your face in my bosom, I can feel your breath puff against the skin there. I lace my fingers behind myself, and you shift your grasp to my wrists, knowing what this will do to me.

Like a well played violin, my body begins, once more, to tense. The sounds elicited from my throat, belong to no language known to man, unintelligible syllables, exaggerated consonants wild vowels. And in the midst of it, again I say your name. Using my wrists now to guide my body you lead me to roll my hips in circles against you as you thrust into me, working me like you own this body you twist, figure eights now, and then back and forth, circles once more, and to figure eights and back. Having you use me this way does something to my body. The way a sculptor wields a chisel, you control my movements to create your own art upon the canvas of my flesh.

Our bodies so close together that our breathing compliments, your lungs filling creating my exhale. You lift your face to my neck, kissing, sucking, and licking hungrily. Our own form of communication develops, in total synchronicity I brace my heels against the chair and push as you lift us to your feet. The force of us rising to your full height brings you farther into me, still holding my wrists you support me, your arms a cradle. The total lack of control brings me again to that sweet electric heat, my cunt convulsing on your cock, you take the steps slowly. Matching the rhythm of my orgasm to your footfalls, you add to the pressure inside me.

Walking carefully, nearly blinded by my hair as you nuzzle my neck, you cross the patio. Fumbling with the back door you manage to work the slider while giving my left nipple a bit of attention, sucking my areola into your mouth and placing it between your top teeth and your tongue you suckle at my breast. Entering the house and somehow shutting the door behind us, you place me now on the back of the couch, so that I’m balancing on the edge intensifying the situation even that much more.

Bringing your hands back up to grip my shoulders, you push yourself away from me. Exiting me completely, stepping back, a wicked grin spreads across your face as I, in surprise flail desperately for support, saving myself, barely, fingernails digging in to the fabric at my sides. You wait just long enough for my shocked expression to fade before dropping to your knees in front of me. My heart still pounding both from being separated from you so suddenly, and from nearly toppling in surprise, skips yet another beat as I feel the burn of your unshaven cheek slide across my swollen, clitoris.

As I find your lips against my clit I also find your hands, left using your fingertips once again to stroke the nerves at the small of me back, right taking its own path, making its home palm against the front of my neck. I lean into it, allowing my chin to rest against the back of your hand controlling my breathing by lifting and lowering my face, I allow my mind to wander, my traveling between all the parts of my body painting their own portraits of sensation in my mind.

The black spots before my eyes growing larger, I reach for you. My palms loving the sensation of your closely kept hair against them. Lacing my fingers behind your head I pull your face farther into me, burying your mouth in my sex. You respond by greedily working my wet slit with your tongue. Long slow strokes from bottom to top, much like an ice cream, and soon you feel my pussy surge again as you raise me to orgasm. I feel your lips lock against my clit, my hips bucking wildly as you begin to suck. I throw my head back releasing the pressure from your hand at my neck, and as the world comes swimming back into focus, my mind centers on your fingertips, desperately digging into my skin, communicating to me through your touch exactly how much you enjoy making me come.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Afternoon Delight

In this world of word processors and email, I have come to notice how neglected a thing the pencil has become. I, myself, have been guilty of ‘processing’ my words. The passive ease of typing and spell checking, although attractive, I think, has taken from me some of the freedom and power in my words.

Given the opportunity to, once again, wield a pencil, I find myself struck by a sense of satisfaction found, reborn, in watching the page filled by my movements. The words themselves, although sounding the same in my head as I write them, somehow feel more important as I see them written in my own script. The act of erasing is so violent actually scrubbing, and wiping away the proof of my own thoughts, leads me to exercise more caution in the words I choose.

The intense compulsion toward all things expressive makes as benign a thing as reading in a coffee shop, for me something tantamount to public masturbation. When a phrase is enticing, my mouth moves, tasting the words, a perfect paragraph will cause me to read aloud, to call out, to share, not at all unlike the moans and cries pulled from my lips in the depths of pleasure.

The ideas brought to life in my mind by an artist’s beautiful words fill me with a perverse sort of glee. A Catholic’s first communion is wrought with an intense sense of awe for this holy act and with a selfish pride in being allowed to taste the wine. It is the same, in this, for me.

Although I know a word written is a word shared, and that I am most likely a part of an audience, a multitude of readers, being allowed to taste the joy and pain placed before me by the writer feels so very intimate, so real each time, like a tryst, causing stolen whimpers in shadowed corners…

My writing this, your reading it, I’ve opened a door, you’ve crossed a threshold. A commitment to each other in each letter. What I’ve shared, what you’ve learned – we are no different than lovers, now.

So I light a cigarette, inhale deeply, and ask,” Was it good for you, too?”

Thursday, May 3, 2007

The World at Her Command

A passionate woman. A perfect mind. An amusing distraction.
A deep appreciation for humanity. A dream. A fantasy.

The plaything. The confidant. The muse.
A love of words, of passion. Connection.

Owned by a Trinity. Revered by degree. At a loss for completion.
Through skin. Through words. Through memory.

A power even greater guides. The future's sacred trust.
Another Master. Another name.

A feast of responsibility.

Importance. Necessity. Self Reliance.
The world at her command.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

Back Into The Mist

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Doing 90 and it’s midnight there
Screaming my favorite pissed off song
Having confessed your true importance
When I was nothing all along

You shrug your shoulders, stupefied
Saying pain was not your goal
But you knew what you were doing
When you tore into my soul

This kind of desperation
That I’m seeing in myself
Is strictly something coming from
Being put up on a shelf

I know you can appreciate
That I love how strong I feel
But each new time you blow me off
The pain is much too real

Fingers dial, baited breath
‘Should I even have made the call?’
Rejoice the anguish when you cut
With words I knew would fall

So, yeah, I AM pathetic
And this connection is a crime
But I still can’t help but wonder
How I became not worth your time

You asked me for my servitude
And I give it gratefully
Do your tasks with humble heart
Just so you’ll look at me

Hurt me and I’ll need you
Because I live that kind of pain
I will celebrate this emo
And go driving in the rain

Some day I’ll gain perspective
Grow a pair, and walk away
But even if that time does come
I’ll wish you’d just ask me to stay

Mutual Adiction

It is the way you use your words

The gifts of them you make
The compulsion I see in you
I’m not sure how to take

This type of true intensity
Has really played its part
Tattoos a mark I’m sure will scar
Upon my mind, and heart

I have never known someone
To give as soon as you
As much the best part of their mind
With purpose not untrue

I made you my owner
And now you are my pet
Epiphany has struck, My God!
My match may have been met

Unwilling to concede to you
The game’s more fun this way
I think I might enjoy this ride
See just how hard you play…

The Balance In Ownership

Precious torment, secret bliss
No sacrifice as pure as this
The gentle touch of ice or heat
No torture ever quite so sweet

He rules me with an iron hand
My sleeping breath at his command
The waking sound that fills my ear
Tells me again, that he is near

My dancing clit, my violation
I live for this sweet degradation
The blindfold sound, his hidden face
The precious limbo of Sub.-Space

My birthright is to be his tool
To beg the chance to act his fool
Our sacred trust, this desperate need
Each selfless gift negating greed

The things he has to think and be
Give the power back to me
I push he pulls. He gives I take
And when it's right our minds will quake

A climax sought, is not the prize
But truth behind each other's eyes