No space between

There’s no space between the moment our eyes meet in recognition of the gift we each offer one another.
There’s no space between your knees that rest on the floor before me and the awe that swirls deep within my core.
Theres no space between the blindfold blinding your sight and the beauty I see with my wide eyes.
There’s no space between the leather fastened around your throat and the way it feels to know you’re now mine.
There’s no space between the links of chain trailing in aid of binding your wrists and my sigh of the freedom you will now find.
There’s no space between me and the rouge of your cheeks as each time my palm meets your flesh, we connect. The lick of each flick of my crop, the bite of each plaited tail creating lines of exquisite delight, from me, by me, for me, your servitude ignites.
There’s no space between the breath that’s bated in anticipation of the next strike, and my adoring caress, of utter contentedness at your will to please, me, repeatedly.
There’s no space between each bruise I leave upon your flesh, each welt, each strike, each line, I wear, with you, as you. Each moment, you sit, reminisce, over the sheer intoxicated bliss you felt, remember, my pet, there’s no space between the joy and elation your acquiescence delivered so readily, to me.
There’s no space between the ecstasy repleting into the pain of craving to repeat the soaring exploration of our journey, trust me, I too ache to stay high on the rush our time together provides.
There’s no space between your need and mine, no time, like the present, you gift my life.
There’s no space between you and I.

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The way He…

she sits alone
sipping slowly
from the glistening rim
of drunken thoughts
cupping crystalised images
swirling in her sins
her palate whet
with remnants
of his scent
the way he made her
whimper
in wanton release
then turned her
gripping her hips
and forced her
teeth to bite the sheets
the way he worked her body
each curve designed
to be refined by his touch
the way he clutched
her neck tightly
as she beckoned
profanities politely
please
fuck me
the way he knew
how her flesh would rouge
with each lick
of his flicking crop
the way his digits
slid inside her
reminding her
how drenched she was
the way he owned
every moment
with the skill
of a professional Sir
the way she fell
to her knees
pleading to please
his every need
the way he soothed
her insecurities
with whispers
that dripped with pleasure
the way he showed her
how completely
she aroused him
by taking her
breaking her
remaking her
again
and again
she sat alone
in the dark
sipping slowly
from her past
knowing
the depth
of his impressions
went far beneath
her supple flesh

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My Poet Tree

Each of these following words, were gifted by the minds of some truly beautiful people of whom I have met, and kept, in my heart, since my time spent on twitter. They aren’t all writers, nor poets, just ones that I couldn’t bear to not have a small piece of them remain here, with me, together, in unity, for some sense of eternity.
To all those that contributed to this post, I curtsey, in complete gratitude. To those who are reading these words yet weren’t requested to participate, please don’t think you haven’t touched me, deeply, it’s just that these entries, I literarily needed.
Hope you enjoy this exquisite collection of poetic journeys I’ve had the privilege of being witness to.
These poets, were sent the same image, were not asked anything other than to gift me their words, their interpretation. And, without question, without concern, I had them flooding through my inbox within minutes. This, spoke volumes to me. As my intention was not to plug, nor promote, not to escalate their social status, not to do anything other than provide a home for their poem. And here, they shall reside.
With Love, Always x

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Please, by all means, if this image speaks to you, let your pen flow, in response, in the comment section below x

Why does it feel…

Why does it feel
like an eternity
since I kissed those lips?
When in reality
it’s merely been but a breath
that is yet to be exhaled
Why does it feel
as though my flesh
has been left abandoned?
When in reality
my limbs, my neck, my breasts
still bear bruises of your bite
Why does it feel
so long ago
that you held me close?
When in reality
the warmth of your touch
still smolders deeply inside
Why does it feel
like forever ago
that I got lost in your eyes?
When in reality
neither you
nor I
have blinked
since

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I don’t often write of love.

I don’t often write of love.
Sure, I may occasionally pen
‘Love
You’
Directed as a suggestion, more so than a profession. Yet, who am I to suggest such a thing? For I, myself know not what it means.
Sure, I’m familiar with the term, have used it broadly in exclamation of intensity, but what confusion simply using one word can often bring. I am a mother, a grand one at that. No, not a boast, I’m just that old. My love for these beings is undoubtedly the most intense I’ve experienced. Yes, I know I’d lift a car if one happened to be between me and the moment of ones life and death. This love, is without question. But upon reflection, would I find such strength, such a will within myself, to lift said burden from crushing me? History has proven to me, no. Now that’s not to say that my future reads as bleak, not admitting I find myself unworthy, it’s simply reminding myself that’s it’s only me, that will ever stop me from feeling truly worthy, of love.
I love to write of lust! The thrusts of such carnal toe curling throes, flows so easily from my pen. Again, I wonder if it’s because I feel safer with the boundary that using the word ‘lust’ over ‘love’ implies.
To be totally truthful, ‘love’ scares the absolute fuck out of me.
That single moment of undeniable vulnerability simultaneously makes me ache in yearning to taste, and hide my heart away… in aid of what, keeping it safe? Love of ones Self, is no doubt my life’s goal. Well, a challenge so far, but a goal none the less… Love of and for another, that love that has kept the hands and hearts of poets occupied for eons of time, and will continue to do so for eternity I suspect, yes, that love, terrifies me. I mean, honestly, allowing one soul to reach in, behind every mask I adorn, strip me of all pretense, cull me of any shelter, bare me of these layers that I’ve tirelessly placed in self preservation, of protection, against breaking, against being taken, as a fool, as a love sick fool…yep…terrified!
And what of the moment of realization that on paper, the realities simply do not connect all the dots, yet the way every moment of every single day is completely drenched by thoughts of how they make you feel, complete, worthy, wanted, needed. Is that enough? Is that love? Or just another lust that wears a cloak of blood pumping greed? Does love even need to make sense? Or is that the whole purpose? It never does, never will? Is that the hurdle that must be leapt? The edge of the cliff that must be found? The jump, the fall, the not knowing if you’ll crash n burn or flap n soar?
Fucked if I know! All I’m sure of is that I don’t often write of love.
For I, myself know not what it means…

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Ready… Or not……

Sensory overload
swirling within her core
All stored desires writhing
in awakening ache
to be freed

Stricken by greed
her long forgotten plead
now replaced by fingertips
of deeply gauging need

To feed
her only goal

Utter intoxication
of a sinful nights scent
completely sweeping
her arching spine

She crawls
prowling with the prowess
of a skilled killer beast
beneath a well rounded moon

Her swelling starvation
stirring growls of hunger
rolling in silent storms
behind a finely refined
lip bitten grin

She was famished
salivating in salvation
of savouring each new flavour
as it dripped from the fresh flesh
of her next unsuspecting victim

Ready…..
…………..Or not…….

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My favourite things

Ok… So I read a blog recently, and had a little giggle… This is just me having a little bit of punny fun in response…

The quills are alive
with the sound of muse•ic 😉

Red crops and poses of perfect submission
Bright toys of metal and soft purring kittens
Bowed little packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Screaming and moaning with licks bites and bruises
Cock swells and thirsts quelled no sub refuses
Wild pleading sighs from a room filled with sins
These are a few of my favourite things

Girls in short dresses with batting eyelashes
Dripping wet panties from crimson striped lashes
Silver links weighted to clamped nipple rings
These are a few of my favourite things

When no flogger bites
When no hot wax stings
When I’m feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things
And now I just need to be bad

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Image: Courtesy of Karl Louis

Do you remember?

do you remember when
all i had was fresh soils
for you to stroll upon?
every moment
was spent dreaming
of our forever,
our future,
together.
remember when
you lovingly planted
those very first seeds?
nourishing each
with poetic whispers,
creating memories
for us to keep,
sow and reap.
do you remember?

do you remember when
you laid the foundation?
pouring thick concrete
of honest solidity,
our eternity,
finally grounded,
soundly.
each wall was built
with hollowed holes.
windows of our souls
always kept open,
even through
chilling winds
of howling winters
we always knew
our sparked truths
would never freeze.
our intensity ignited,
burned.
do you remember?

do you remember when
you painted me?
oh how your palette
burst with vibrancy.
no other masterpiece
could ever compare,
for within each stroke
you owned me,
completely,
in totality.
and how the sun shone
on our breaking dawns,
warming our hearts
after long cozy nights
endlessly spent lying
beneath glistening stars,
our wishes cast.
do you remember?

do you remember when
one window jammed closed?
no amount of cursing
would jimmy it open.
that was when i knew
this home we had built
would be empty soon.
too soon.
you stayed absent longer.
time without you here
grew desperately dark
echoing lonely.
when you’d return
i’d brighten up
from deep inside,
but you couldn’t see,
didn’t want to,
you switched off
my every light,
in preference
of eyes destined
for eternal nights.
do you remember?

do you remember when
you closed the door
for the final time?
sliding the gold key
so easily
beneath me.
how you walked away
not even turning back
to stop and see,
how completely ruined
we had become,
we were once one.
now we are no more.
you left me
to break and crumble
into shattered fragments
of a battered lost soul
with no place
to call home.
do you remember?
i do
i’m still here
awaiting one worthy
of unlocking the door,
willing
able
determined
to complete
my full restore.

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Two Horny Poets

What do two horny poets do
late on a Sunday eve?
Share a delectable image
then pen of how it reads…
And here… Speaks the quills
of first Mark Davis, then my own…
Together…. Our diction grinds
and writhes and moans……
Enjoy 😊

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The text message was blunt
“My girl,I wait for you
Come now to my corner
You know what to do”
He sat there with his drink
Took a little sip
Watched her pull her dress up
Tongue flicked across his lip

Before she threw her head back
She bravely looked across
At work she was his senior
But here he was the boss
Fallen under his spell
Out on a Friday evening drink
And now she did what ordered
Did not need to think

He watched her fingers working
Didn’t have to taste
Knew his time was coming
There really was no haste
Looked around the bar
Their eyes were turned away
But knew the show was watched
Would be remembered the next day

He made her fingers work
Until with a muffled moan
He recognised the peak of lust
Then picked up the phone
“You did well” he text
Then got up off his seat
His entree had been served to him
Main course now to eat

Mark Davis
If you haven’t already, go treat yourself to some delicious erotica by visiting Marks blog by clicking on the link above….

Now for my words….

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The quaint little restaurant
had all but cleared
we had dined divinely
on spears of asparagus
oysters and caviar
He delicately wined me
into sublime intoxication
‘just enough’ He’d say
to have me swell
in a whirling elation
‘Now lift your skirt
twirl, and face me’
He slowly sipped
on the rich crystal rim
swirling His words
on His finely liquored tongue
as my fingers slid
scoring a light trail
my thighs parting
in delight of ascension
beckoned by His voice
‘slowly My love
don’t take what’s Mine
in a speedy haste’
my breasts heave
racing heart relaying
my need for relief
I paced my trace
Gently circling my clit
my lip forced into a bite
sighs filled the night
as my pleasure echoed
scents of sweet sin
lifted and bounced
from His own groan
that soon followed
His low tone had me shift
into a greedy frenzy
parting my folds quickly
rubbing my hungry palm hard
dipping a fingertip deeply
‘Stop’
He scoffed harshly
‘don’t you dare push
beyond the known edge
lift your finger My filthy pet
let Me taste let Me savour
the flavour that is Mine’

Thanks for the a•muse•ment

A slave to these letters
that pour from my pen
A novice to the script
a seeker of deeper dialect
I found an ever expansive world
that drew me back again and again

I found you

So I followed a few
deviantly delicious muses
Some to coax poetry
others biting for bruises
Tickling my linguistic tongue
you splayed your diction in succumb

So I fed

Filling my cup with your essence
drowning my core in your verse
Scrolling pages and pages
of erotically pictorial prose
And the hurts the pains the wails
of souls as lost and broken as mine

We bled

My thesaurus has never squealed
quite like she does when I tweet
Excitedly bouncing off the shelf
spreading in an arched spine relief
Glowing as she reveals her secrets
to this awed unknowing word thief

We played

Until one day
This one actually
I noticed a change in how I wrote
A choking notion provoking this note
Once there was you as a muse
Now all I see are words I can’t use

Let me show you

(If you see yourself in this passage, please know, you’ve touched me)

Just in case the darker sins I embrace
with a brave ethereal light does fright
I dance with a dandelion love
for moons miss adventures
immortality sighing scarlet velvet hues
to break the poetic downfall of snow
The carnal howl as a coyotes eye
bores into one of jaded beauty
has words escape me as they pour
into firm handed love of a distant rain
Unashamedly I read as a voyeur
more so than venetians could hide
So I dreamed in magenta tones
of lost moments cast like voodoo
Pearls of perfection left shadows
on georgian walls of silent whispers
letters hidden behind bold rocks
vying to be inked upon midnight stars

All in the need to be freed

Eye would read….
Uncontrollably…

And that, is merely your @
Not a whisper
of the continuous content
you constantly infuse
between each line
with your musings
of syntactical sublime

Perhaps that influx can wait
for another day, some other time

My point here is this
my voice seems to be amiss
My pen stutters in bound binary
songs that no longer resound me
So, I bid thee
a little silent reprieve

Thank you for bearing your souls
upon a heart that will never forget

It’s just time…
to step away…
and breathe…

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