Saturday, February 28, 2009

Your Need For Punishment

i see in your ocean green eyes the deep soul searing ache, and desperate longing for punishment.

your being weeps, and hungers to be hurt, to be punished, to be used, to submit willingly wholeheartedly to another's hand, to submit without reservation to another's wants and desires, to find fulfillment and completion in the exquisite agony of submission.

in the deep sea of your need i see your craving, your hunger for someone to take you, to grab you roughly by your blazing hair, for strong hands and fingers to wrap around your tender throat and hold you in the noose of their lust, to make you kneel, to make you bow. to take you and to own you.

and in your willful submission is you release, your freedom, and your joy. the lust to feel needed, the overpowering eroticism of being owned and cherished. and for you that means being taken, bound and beaten, then used till you are drained of all you have .

by the flames of your hair you want to be dragged, and pulled across my knees, bare assed. hands cuffed and held out of the way, as my hand smacks down on your white celtic skin .

you squirm and wiggle, twist and turn, sometimes flinching in anticipation, sometimes in the shock of the sting and pain, but you are unable to escape or avoid each stinging wallop.

slowly erratically i smack first one cheek then the other, lightly at first then harder and harder increasing the sting and thud almost imperatively from smack to smack.

harder and harder till your ass cheeks glow, from pink to fiery red and the heat seems to shimmer from your throbbing ass.

the smacks grow louder, swifter, harder, and you twist and wiggle trying to avoid your punishment and the next slap, and you try desperately to feel the rigidity of my cock against your stomach or hip, just the knowledge of its rigidity pushes you even further into your frenzied haze of arousal.

continuously i slap and smack and paddle, then without prelude i probe two fingers into your now dripping cunt.

as my fingers enter, you gasp a breath and strain to push down on those probing fingers. after a few rapped vibrations i take them out glistening and dripping to taste.

your need for this punishment transcends the pain or arousal, it is this act of submitting that is your reason for being..

this simple loving act, this exquisite agony not only arouses and stimulates but defines and centers you, brings you back to what you are, what you have been and what you will remain for your life.

the act of being taken delineates your soul, and confirms the deep embedded patters that run through you like the lunar tides, it is a need that can not be denied nor sublimated.

it is what you are, it is the reason for your existence, to submit, to care for, and kneel to another.

the punishment of the flesh is a release to the flesh, arousing and satisfying, but the release of desire flows deeper than just the sensual titillations of the body.

your release in submission touches your fundamental needs and longings. needs and longings that can not be denied, and if denied they cannot be stemmed for long. like the raging waves of a storming sea, your submission will crash and tare at the shore until it has spent all its furrier.

but the cruelest of punishments, the soul killing agony that will destroy , the one punishment that injure and bruise deep into your soul, is the withholding of punishment.

the withholding is the cruelest of all strikes. it will make you shrivel, collapse into yourself, into the cold darkness of rejection and self doubt, and self loathing.

then you move on to self abuse, hating yourself because the one you need does not punish you. does not see you worth punishing.

you become lost, drifting , you have lost your self, you have become alienated from who and what you are.

the cruelty that you then inflict upon your flesh is far harsher than any spanking or flogging that i could administer.

and in the loss of punishment i to become lost, alienated from my self, from my needs and desires.

i to become lost in a tumultuous sea, at the mercy of wind and waves and current, and i to resort to self flagellation in the despair of being lost from ones self.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

In My Fevered Longing

something pulled me out of my tattered demon haunted dreams. those phantoms claw and tare at the thin remnants of what is left of who i thought i was. in there frenzy they bite scratch and savage my delicate sleep, leaving me each day bloodied and broken.

this time, i struggle scrabbling with broken nails and bloodied fingers dragging my savaged sense of self out of Dante's pit. chest contracting lungs labouring to swallow gulps of air. in a panic i emerge into this moment, leaving behind my moment of oblivion.

the time is neither wrong nor right. it is to late to be night, yet to early for morning. so i lay here in this razor edge moment, mummified by the dark, swaddled by the silence of the house.

suspended in this nowhere time., between night and light, this neither time of my life, neither my tormented contorted past, yet not my trembling on the brink future.

lost in this neither world, directionless in a land of no directions, drowning in the gap between what was and what i may become. stranded in the moment between what is and what may be.

i lay still between the warmth of my bed and the chill of my possibilities,
floundering between what i had and what i long for. doomed to this Limbo, doomed to this eternity of uncertainty.

i reach across to find the smooth warm curves of your body, but my longing hands grasp only the empty space of where you were, and cup only the quickly fading warmth that you have left. my hands skim along the the tender curves of your absence and soak in the stain of your warmth that lingers in shimmering sheets of promise. but even the illusion of your presents is rapidly fading.

i am tethered to the bed doomed to lay between your presents and your complete absence and my heart flutters, then sinks then flops and flutters, and i lose my body to the twitches and convolutions of uncertainty and loss.

i try to empty my mind, i try to unwind muscle, and smooth out my jagged heart beats. i lay grasping for control and mastery in this my twilight, between the anxiety of the future, and the grief of the past.

in my torment, in my personal ring of Dante's purgatory i long for more, i long for the impossible, i long for the power to reach into history and alter it, to reach into my self and quickly reversible change. i long for a cataclysm that would destroy worlds, that would destroy stars in its intense flare of molten heat, a flesh rending convulsion that delivers a death and rebirth.

in my fevered longing, in my erotic despair, i dream, i dream of you, i dream of you bound and owned. within my dark visions your flesh laid before me, pail, tender and filled with consuming desire.

in my fevered longing, you are forced to lean forward with hands on the wall and feet spread. your pants and underwear pulled down to just above the knee, and my hands skim there way around your inner thighs then your ass, and then with out prelude your ass is cropped again and again, till shining red welts swell to the surface of your delectable ass, each cheek glows, and your smooth cunt grows from damp to wet.

in my fevered longing my eager fingers find their way into you as you push back and down onto my exploring hand. with your disobedience my fingers and hand are removed and another round of swift stinging bites from the crop, burns you back into submission.

in my fevered longing, my hand flows up to the front of your top, which i pull open so your round firm tits hang out and gently sway and vibrate with each cropping your ass takes. i pinch each red hard nipple, and first tenderly, then harder, then i pinch and pull until you gasp with the electric shock of the exquisite pain.

in my fevered longing, in my erotic despair, that is as fare as i can get until the weight of my sorrows deflate me, and i lay limp in the limbo of my private grief.

i linger in this grief, and the longing which once was a young red headed maid to me, has now become a phantom that claws and bites at me, till I'm tattered and blood runs in rivulets down my flayed flesh.

so i linger in this netherworld, suspended, tormenting my self with longing, knowing that my unspent desire is waisted. it festers like as sore on my soul, which i am unable to lance and drain.

i linger in this semi dark moment and will myself the strength to embrace the altering ever changing flux of the world, i will my self the strength of to direct the changes that are upon me, to gain the strength to have some power over the moment and not to be piece flotsam in a tumultuous sea that is raging.

time ticks, and i find myself pushed into morning, pushed into my mundane day, pushed into the repetitive trundle of my life, a life that needs the strength and wisdom to master the winds and tides of the sea of fate, that need, it seems more that i may have, but i am unwilling to concede defeat, unwilling to be a victim of fate, a victim of my history, at least not yet.

the light breaks, and my day starts, and from some where i find the strength to rise to meet it.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Table Manners

from the start i knew it would lead to this.

from the start i wanted you bound. cuffed, wrists and ankles, tied and bound, helpless.

in a moment i had you bent over the dark polished dining room table. your white smooth limbs swaddled in my leather and rope. legs spread, ankles lashed to the legs of the table. your sharp hips riding the rounded edge of the table, as you lay spread across the glistening surface, white on deep red mahogany.

arms pulled in front, and a set of ropes holding you taught, as your torso and the hard red nipples of your tits pressed into the table.

your white skin, silken and stretched tight, back bare, ass naked and your smooth shaved cunt wet and exposed.

with time of the essence my supple leather flogger tenderises your back and ass.

glowing a deep red, with rising welts thatching your flesh, you mone in your delirium of need, cunt oozing urgency.

in the depth of your descent into depravity you beg, plead to your master to fuck his slut, you weep to be filled with cock and cum.

i throbbing to the point of explosion enter you with urgency and rage, digging my fingers and nails into your hips as i repeatedly pound into you.

the heat of your flogged back and ass scorches me to a spasming explosion.

finished , i withdrew, pull up a chair and watch as my cum leaks out of your cunt and trails down the tenderest part of your inner thigh.

i glance to the door, where my hockey bag and stick lay discarded. time ticks away, and the urgency is on me again and i russel through my bag for something new to torture you with.

Monday, February 2, 2009


beneath the loud music, i can just guess that the snow crunches under my tires as i pull into my snow covered driveway.

i turn off the engine, hook my finger thought the silver ring of my car keys. i just sit waiting for the cars interior light to diminish and let the darkness invade.

the dark embraces me, fills me with its cold silents. the dark and cold and silents sooths me, but are unable to loosen the talons of the hag time from my bloodied back and shoulders.

i am keenly aware that these claws sink deeper and deeper and her sharp yellow teeth sink into my tender neck and spills the life from me in a steady oozing stream.

i feel the tickle feeling of the trickle of my life leaking away, and i sigh, knowing that there is no reprieve, no amnesty, no clemency, only a continuation of the same .

i sit staring at the Christmas lights leaking there color and defiance into the strangling dark. i shift in my seat, but make no move to get out. I'm content for the moment to sit, listen to the silents and gaze at the color lights that punctuate the night.

there is no escaping, no fixing, no cure for life. its not a sentence, nor a disease, nor a mechanical beast that can stall, or break.

time, time, time, i feel its weight, i breath in its dust and open my mouth wide and drew in its taste. its salty, it tastes of brine, it taste of the sea. a taste of shorelines and gulls, of tides and waves. it tastes of storms and wind and warmth, and bone snapping cold. it tastes of brine, it tastes of death and birth, it tastes of salt.

i stair at my home, the porch that stretches across its length, the tall wooden fence that stretches from the side to the gate and the sign that has a picture of two German Shepard's, and the warning "be aware of dogs". some warm light leaks out of the front window, soft, muted and diffused, from the window on the second floor, the tinny twinkle of fairy lights almost drowned in the darkness, beckon me to come home.

still reluctant to get out of the car i squander my time, and try to shiver off the regret and sadness that has settled its fine dust on me. i could surrender to an avalanche of of regret and even bitterness, but the survivor in me knows that regrets are futile, but bitterness, i could slide into a life of bitterness, i know pain and i have had an intimate relationship with grief.

i try mightily to avoid bitterness, i struggle not to fall into that sea of no return. but i do carry a sadness with me, a sadness that may never leave, at best it will become thin and narrow, and for periods of time i will be able to fold it away into a closet.

but in that house before me, outlined in lights on this winter night, is all that i love so dearly that i could not survive with out them, i would be diminished, and be only a shell traveling to the grave.

i have reached this point of time, this moment in my life, through my choices, or non choices, which are choices whether i am to admit it or not. there is no blame to lay for how my life has turned out, there is no mouth full of bitterness to spew..

i am here because i have chosen to be. some good choices some terrible, some made with knowledge and insights some made in anger and rage, some have turned out well some horribly.

but ultimately there is no blame, only ownership. mine.

at times my life is hard, sharp and painful, but even at its most painful, those people in that house have eased me through my most bloodied of times.

i sigh, knowing that if there is not a great upheaval within my self, if there is a continuation on this contorted and numbing path, all that i hold dear, will vanish , evaporate in the salt sea of time.

there is an urgency for change, for my will to rise up within my self, and grasp my unspent desire.

before me there is a necessity for change, to not become lost in the stillness of the moment, not to lose myself to agony or grief, or despair.

but now there is an imperative to grasp my choices, to grasp my possibilities, and to move on through this darkness.

to what? at this juncture there is no certainty, its possible that all my efforts will not change an inevitable outcome, but there is a certainty that if i passively continue on this path, the inevitable will most certainly come to pass.

i finally shake off my pensive moment and get out of the car into the nipping cold, grab my hockey bag, and stick, and head into the house where all my possibilities lie.

and i remind my self, baby steps, baby steps.