Dirge

i am not resigned to the contorted fingers of a throttling history squeezing my heart till it busts with distrust and grief and black cloying despair. in one nova of a moment , the loss of self, and the shattering of a universe.

the touch of the cold claws of time and the unforgiving world that rakes me that scar and rend this frail feeble flesh , nor the cold fangs of disillusionment that have sunk deep into the tender pulsing flesh of my neck, as acidic tears of betrayal burn there course down my cheeks.

the ebony claws that tattered a gossamer will from my body and in the torment of time shredded it till the bitter winds of hopelessness dispersed each reminisce into the pit of my anger.

i am not resigned to your fortress of flesh , to the turning of stone of your smooth shoulders, or the deadening of your small firm breasts.
nor the stemming of the flow of the warm stream of your loins.

for as long as there is a tug of a silver moon there will be the push and pull of tides. for as long as there is the caress of waves and foam, and the tang of salt in the embrace of the sea, i will not be resigned to the bitter taste of brine.

i am not resigned to the cold distance of your silver lunar desire ,that forlorn distance between light and dark and longing and despair.

i am not resigned to the finality of a heart of a fist of pain and loneliness. to this crusting over, the calcifying, the slipping into hibernation in a winter without end, of endless blizzards and bone cracking frost that coats and snaps, and lays barren a once fertile land.

i am not resigned to the opening of barren ground and interning the looks and touches that once lingered on my face and traveled gently the curve of your neck.

nor the internment in the rings of fires of purgatory, the lingering torment of the soulless and deathless, who have lost trust, and belief, and who have fallen into the darkness of the eternal pause neither alive nor dead.

nor am i resigned to the curling of fingers into a hand that knots into a fist that has lost the ability to unwind, and tenderly travel the infinite distance between my eyes and your heart.

the darkness that has cloaked this possibility of thaw, denied the spring of my body to unfurl its new green shoots to struggle up through the frozen crust of smothering snow to gasp in frail tendrils of warming sun. that deep in its warmth holds the seed of promise that longs to surrender to the gentle green of my push.

i am not resigned to the shattering of frail alabaster, the braking of porcelain into shards and chips that defies infinite touches and deep struggling urges.
nor the spilling of light into murky pools that gobble and suck each golden ray of effort to penetrate the consuming darkness of there depth.

nor the loss that has diminished me that has leaked into the swallowing beyond , the washing out of color to the dull gray of storm clouds hazing in the flat circle of my vision.

i am not resigned.

Flogging

this past Saturday, i attended a class on flogging. four hours of nothing but flogging with instruction from a master who has been flogging for more than 25 years.

for the first time in a very long time i felt at peace with my self. It felt so right wielding the flogger. for the first time in a long long time i felt my deep seated feelings of dominance, and sadism bubble up to the surface, and I felt cleansed and refreshed giving expression to those feelings.

the instruction was illuminating and invigorating. in 4 hours i improved and learned so much, but more importantly i was completely enthralled again with flogging, i rediscovered my love of the activity. there is something so intimate, something so spiritual about flogging, its not just pounding on someone with strips of suede or leather. its a means of intimately connecting on the most fundamental of level with another person.

flogging for me is more than the mare swinging a stick with leather attached to it, making contact with some anonymous back.

The activity of flogging its not just inflicting pain upon another person. In its purist essence it is a tool of enlightenment, its a means of guiding the person being flogged inward into them selves, opening them up to themselves, to their most basic of experiences, and then taking them beyond, to somewhere where there is no time, no space, no world, only the path created with each lash of the flogger, leading them on their spiritual voyage of discovery. it is enabling them to release the moment and to travel deep into them selves and discovery of who they are, and releasing them from the material world to explore that place within them selves, and their relationship with the one that wields the whip.

for me, not only is flogging a spiritual act, it is also a deeply sexual act. Flogging for me is also about the arousal, the physical arousal, that grows from need and blooms into overwhelming lust and desire, the need to posses, the need to totally swallow that person, to consume them in the flames of my want.

but also there is the tenderness of connections, it is the all-consuming symbiotic relationship that envelops the flogger and the one receiving the beating.

as i continual to beat, and inflict pain on this willing open submissive, the flogging becomes a binding together of the two of us. each stroke of the floggers stitches us together tighter and tighter as the two of us voyage inward together to find our dharma.

fore me flogging is so much more that just beating some stranger with a bit of leather, it is a soul cleansing, spiritual bonding of two bodies fused for a brief moment of time, that together rise above the mundane, a transcending beyond the gray everyday drudgery that we spend so much of our lives trying to escape, a fleeting grasp of a moment of illumination and enlightenment.

for me there has to be a connection. first a connection to the flogger, each has a different feel, a different character, and a different purpose. then there has to be a connection of the moment, the time must be right, the moment needs to flow into me, and i need to flow into the moment, only then when there is reciprocal energy am i moved to flog. as i said its not just simple act of beating some one, nor is it a game I am playing, for me it is deeper than the act itself, it is one of the most deeply personal and intimate acts that two people can participate in.

Finally i need to be connected to the person that i am flogging. i need to feel their energy, their arousal, and their willingness, most of all their trusting submission. without that, for me there is no flogging. there is no connection, no intimacy.

i need to feel connected, need to feel that flow of energy between me and the person that i have bound and hold captive.

i need that person, o how i long for that one person to bare their back, to reach out there wrists for me to cuff, to bend over the bench and expos their sweet white ass.

o how i long to run my hand along the ass and back of that submissive, and then to slap them across the ass cheeks then their back, until there skin turns light pink and i can see that the flesh is beginning to tenderize, and warm up to a inviting glow.

then to start off flogging slowly, alternating lightly, as suede falls lick and kiss tender skin. Then, when heated and glowing to a soft rosy sheen, slowly run my hands across ass cheeks and steaming back, then to a wet cunt. as my fingers penetrate i can hear a grunt and feel the muscles of your cunt closing on my fingers as if your cunt was sucking on them.

then move to a heaver, stingier leather flogger, and start increasing the frequency and weight of the strikes, knowing that in a day or two deep bruising will well up on that ass and back, but the harder i flog the more aroused i become. with my cock rock hard, i pause again to run my hands along back and ass and to penetrate that sopping wet cunt, so slick with drool, that thin rivulets run down the inside thigh.

pulling out my cock i quickly drive it into the exposed cunt. There is a gasp and grown then frantic pushing back longing for me to fuck fast and as hard as possible, i oblige but only for a moment then withdrew, to continue with the flogging.

i use my bare hands to feel the heat, and to slap hard enough to leave handprints on each cheek. i flog even harder until the ass and back are aflame, and then start flogging tits and cunt.

a mone and squirm raising an flaming cunt to each blow of the flogger, then on the precipice, i enter and pound until i almost come, but stop to ensure that you come first and squirt. so with finger up your ass, and vibrator on your cunt, you thrash then shout as you reach orgasm, and i keep finger fucking your ass until you squirt a stream of clear liquid from your throbbing cunt.

as you lay spent, i ram my cock into your mouth for you to finish me off.

o i long to have that one person to flog, to bind and abuse.

o i long for that one submissive that can create the right conditions, that one submissive that i can dominate, have her on her knees, groveling before her master.

that one bitch submissive who knows that the only purpose she has is to please me.

who knows that i will be harsh and demanding. that she will spend her time on her knee with my cock in her mouth serving me.

that she will knee and kiss my feet, and be a slave to my needs and desire.

o how i long, and ache .

how i long and ache,

and wait……….

and wait ………..

and wait……….

This Darkness

this darkness wraps me in its ribbons of regret and cloying strangling tendrils of forgetfulness.
its arms and lips promise me the loss of a world, a loss of the ache of my misspent life, a reprieve from the trundle of my days.

beside me, smooth worm flesh, a warmth succulent and enrapturing.

you rhythm in sleep, breathing but not in peace, its not rest, just a dark continuation of the sting and scrape of your toil.
you grind teeth, legs and torso twitch and from you, groans of loss and defeat.

i watch as your jerking spasming body pantomimes your sorrows,and i mummified in my powerlessness am helpless to alleviate them, yet,
i lay crushed to powder under the weight of the guilt of you life.

i listen to each exhale and inhale, the inevitable tide of your desperation,
and in those weasing curls of air i hear the refrain whispered beneath your breath, beneath the dark,"if not for you"
and i ache.

and i ache, and i feel the pull of regret, of opportunity lost, of possibility
denied, and of the sting of despair, that the spool of time we each carry encoded deep in our being is unraveling, spooling away and
the end is quickly looming on the rim of tomorrow.

the clinging tendrils of your warmth entangle me, and i move closer to the curves
and hips that my hands have read and played and fondled and grabbed for years beyond count, from the fern green beginning, to now, this darkness, this promise of reprieve.

this night, this darkness that has grown deep inside, and spills out as i flutter deeper into the layers of sleep, and i still wonder, what if, what if,
and try to trace this tortuous path that has led us hear, to this place to this time.

unplanned for, unlooked for, unanticipated. being lost knowing where you are.
i have led you astray, led you into my labyrinth without a trail of string to trace your way back out.

no trail of bread crumbs, no sign posts, just twisted turns, and contorted paths,.

all leading no where, all without purpose, without thought.

knowing where we are , lost.
without hope of rescue, with out promise of redemption.
just the end glaring back from the darkness.

and you twitch, and grind, and i lay suspended in the dark aching,
sorrowing that i have led you to nowhere, led you to now, to this sleep,
that for you is not even a reprieve from the chore that your life has become.

i shake the darkness and the the dust of despair billows then melts into the swallowing dark.

in the silents i reach and with knowing hands, travel the flesh of your warmth,
hoping to capture a spark, a flame, a dieing ember, something to help me decode the darkness, but nothing happens.
you rhythm deeper into your own darkness,

and i ,

i withdrew and lay swaddled in your warmth, but i wonder if it will sustain me through this directionless slumber, through this darkness of my soul, through this meaningless purposeless labyrinth.

and i beyond hope and belief, hope and believe.

The Hunger

The hunger grabs me, holds me, strangles the hot breath from my throat. deep inside it grows and throbs and pulsates to an ache that encompasses sight and sound and taste. It splits my skin, roughly tearing it, rending it into jagged bloody strips, and i convulse and twist and jerk in my need to shake off the old flesh .

the hunger shakes off the facade of civilisation, shakes off the pretence of civility, shakes off my dark history, shakes off my timid life, and grow fangs and claws that will tare and rend..claws that ill tare and bloody tits and ass, claws that will rake red welts down your white pristine back.

The hunger splits me, and in the ache of emergence i renew myself. It takes my body, my will, my spirit, my awareness. it take sight and thought, and in its place there is an ache, a pain of wanting, large deep pools of swallowing red need. a river of want that will sweep me away in its clutches of ravenous hunger.

a desire, a longing, a need to be fulfilled. A need for release, a need for A body to take, a body to posses, a body to ravage, a body to bind, to own, to consume, a body to fuck and flog, and hurt and cut. a body to lose myself in, a body to transcend my body. a body that would bring me release, bring me an epiphany, bring me beyond flesh and blood and the world, to return me to my rightful place, a place of transcendence that only lust and sex and dominance can give.

The hunger is upon me.

I hunger for a mouth, for arms , for legs and a tongue, for a wet tight cunt. i hunger for a body. i hunger for tits. Small tasty tits, large succulent tits, firm new tits longing to be used and grabbed and fucked. For soft knowledgeable tits that long to be sucked and kissed and devoured. Round strong tits that long to be bounced, and twisted and pulled and whipped and covered in cum. for small firm perky tits that need to be fucked and slapped and bathed in warm cum.

I hunger for hips and legs, smooth and long and sharp and curved. Hips that hold and rock, hips that welcome, hips that will cradle me, for legs long and smooth and supple, and strong. Legs to grab me, legs to open and hold me, legs to snake around me and pin me till i am drained, and then still hold me in their vice grip till I grow again, legs that can speak my name, and open when i just look, legs that long for only me.

I hunger for a cunt. A cunt shaved smooth and warm and moist. a cunt pink and open and leaking cum. A cunt so hot I singe my fingers and cock. A cunt that is alive and will grab me and devour every hard inch of me, and suck every last drip of cum from me.

The hunger fills my balls and tightens my scrotum. They ache for release. They throb to be emptied . They are heavy with cum, laden with desire, full of a burning need.

and the hunger continues.

The hunger is turning me. I am craving flesh, skin, blood and cum. the stink of desire clings to me as i hunt for release, hunt for an end to the hunger.

My body throbs with want, the want to spew cum in a face, to shoot a string of pearls across large pail breasts, and tender succulent necks. to see my cum resting on pink lips and drizzle from outstretched panting tongues.

The hunger blinds me and turns my body feral. The hunger hunts the tense dark of my life for food, for release. Hunting for a tender body, delectable breasts, an excepting mouth and a cunt slick with wet desire.

The hunger moves me through my days and haunts my nights. Drives me into the cold and dark and loneliness of the deepest solitude. Drives me to find a release, a body humming with sparks and lighting bolts with flames of lust and unbridled need.

To find a woman who the hunger has a hold of.

The hunger bursts out of me. splitting my skin, and plunges me into instinct. I move from man to just need, to find another in life consuming need, to plunge into a animistic frenzy with.

A frenzy of rending, and tearing, and biting, a frenzy of clawing, and pinching and hair pulling, in a fury of fucking till the hunger abates.

Then When the hunger subsides, a body to wait, lay beside me till again the stink of desire and need fills the air, and the hunger splits our bodies, and the clawing snarling animals that we are fall into a sexual frenzy of feeding, till our hunger is satiated.

The Watcher

the fading breath of winter still lingered on the dark march night. the corner of the parking lot was secluded and layered in dark overlapping shadows.

the few people coming and going to the ice rink were unable to see the dark car nestled alone in the layers of night.

my heart was racing, every sense was heightened and humming. this was a new one, which just added to heightening the intense arousal i was feeling. my cock strained stiff and throbbing in my jeans, i was able to even feel the clear pre come oozing from its tip,as i watched you lean back against the car door, lift one leg onto the seat, leaving the other on the floor.

you opened your long slender legs slowly revealing your smooth shaved cunt, something i had not seen in months. you knew this was a requirement and followed directions obediently.

you held open your red inflamed lip for me to inspect your dampening cunt and clit. again as instructed you switched on the sleek silver bullet, and as the soft electric humm filled the car, your eyes half hooded with lust, then closed completely as you focused on the worm lighting bolts of pleasure that was running through your body, and your hips gently swayed and rocked to the rhythm of the vibrator.

your breath became shorter, and shallow, as you fumbled out a breast, and grasped the red erect nipple between two pinching and pulling fingers. your fingers would circle then pinch then pull your nipple then you would repeat the process, becoming rougher and rougher as you became more aroused.

i sat and watched as you lost your self in the pleasure of your body, in the pleasure of being watched, in the pleasure of being controlled, in the all consuming pleasure of being helpless to resist my wishes.

i watched as your fell deeper, into the sensation, closer to your orgasm.
i watched as your hips rocked faster with more purpose, rocked uncontrollable, and your legs stretched wider as you hips swayed and rocked, as clear glissining arousal leaked from your inflamed cunt.

i reached over and coated my middle finger with your clear lubricant, knowing it was time that you were on the edge, i slid my finger into your ass. you gasped once then went stiff for an instance as you orgasm. i felt the twitching of your muscles and the spasming as you ground your ass onto my finger relishing every wave and spasm of your orgasm.

you sat for several minutes vibrator off, gently fucking my finger before much to your disappointment i pulled it out.

later before you left and i went to my game, you told me that it was the first time you had masturbated for someone, that you never thought that you would have felt so overwhelmed, so devoured by lust and raw need. and you added that it was the first time in your life that someone had inserted anything into your ass. shyly, demurely you admitted that the first moment felt odd, but then as your orgasm heightened you found it wonderful, and had tried to sink deeper onto my finger, that you liked it, liked it a lot.!!

after you had left and i was changing for my monday night game, i smiled to my self, in the knowledge that conditioning and linkage works.

MY ROPE

my warm tender rope slithers through my hands and twists and tugs to squirm away. it moves, slips, slithers and undulates dreaming of limbs and wrists to surround and hold. dreaming of flesh, warm tender limbs to swallow, to lick, to caress, to capture and devour.

Dreaming of hard nipples, engorged and flush with heat and lust, dreaming of drinking in the rhythmic rocking of hips that hunger for the tight grip of rope, and the drooling release of knots and bonds.

my rope grows taut in my hands, firm and full, it aches and pulses and throbs with need and urgency. A throbbing that needs to be devoured by stretched arms, open wet lips, and slippery creases of welcoming passion. My rope pulsates with lust, throbs and pounds longing for delicate alabaster skin, skin as soft and smooth as desire.

it dreams of fragile wrists , wisps of wrists, warm and surrendering. Wrists that pull and struggle and flex with defiance, then surrenders to the dripping passion of being bound and held. wrists with veins as blue as a sky that flow under the whispers of skin that beats and pulsates with hidden need.

it twists and coils arching its back, and throbs with its aching hunger. It snaps and slaps at tender heaving breasts and hips that whisper of the dark desires of coils of iron rope, and the twisted secrets of raw hemp. of legs spread and held open to the creeping and tender burn of tight running rope holding open the nether lips of desire.

My rope coiled in need, murmurs to my fingers, as it unravels and pulls tight around imaginary limbs. Capturing hips of ghosts, and in dreams capturing the thin mist of remembered Celtic flesh, green eyed and red-haired. My rope spins webs to capture the delicate sent of your nightly incubus and the stories of amnesiac skin.

it breaths its longing for long sleek arms, for firm smooth legs to bind, and full succulent breasts to cinch and caress with engorged nipples to irritate and rub rough. For long smooth necks, to cinch and strangle until heaven is infused into Irish eyes, and then released to gasp the flood of lust that gushes in final release.



my rope mouths its desire for flesh, mouths its longing to hold swollen bodies suspended in desire, for breasts to wrap and hold and pinch till nipples swell and engorge. The mouth of my rope opens for a warm torso to hold and wrap in a webbing of lust. To bind in passion and need.

it cries for the warmth that only aroused flesh can have, howls for the heat of flames and the dark need of the inferno that captures flesh and steals souls.

My rope sings of bound bodies in flight, imprisoned in a dream of knots. Of the flight of submission into the crisp October sky.

it growls its rage when holding wrists and ankles, as it contains the frantic strain of muscle and sinew, it hypnotizes with its tender warmth as it enslaves and imprisons.

My ropes in its blind lust hold its willing victim in a Mandela of braids and knots. Holds the aching slave suspended in clouds of passion, and streams of deep soul nourishing need.

the bite of my rope nips alabaster skin, and promises wind and sky and the liberation of captivity, promises endless air and the nurturing love of rope and captivity.

the rough hands of rope fondles breasts and thighs and slithers into your wet crease, brushes and irritates your erect nub, as
the slither of my rope holds you, lovingly and secure, as you reach beyond your crest, and you gush and squirting your final release.

my rope grips you and twists you in its binding hands, and holds you safe and free in my captivity.

I Remember

a delicate sadness fell on me, as light and gentle as a single flake of downy snow, a sadness that chilled through me like this February night, as i stand on this porch, watching the fat slow snow flakes drift out of a dark and endless sky.

a sky as dark as my hidden desires, as black as my unspoken need i have to take your flesh to bite and tare and rend and to devour you.

i stand subdued in this storm, watching the sky and swirling snow for a sign, some portent that will make all clear to me. im waiting for the sky to open up, and a light to shine down amidst the singing of the holy host, and all will be revealed to me. i stand in this storm watching the black consuming sky and i wait, and wait and wait.

i am waiting for the call i know will come, and then i will be in the car slicing through snow and dark and time and space, to the subway to gather a part of my life, and return her to the safety of the home that i have made for her and her siblings.

the chill of the night rubs its palms of ice against my cheekbones then slides its fingers down my neck pulling from me a shiver. i raise my collar and try to pull as deep into my fortress of warmth as possible.

the cold of the storm balances the cold i feel , the cold of the loss of what i once had. once i possessed the heat that would sear the skin from ones hands. but the embers that i once juggled and handled at will have dimmed,and have grown cold and crumpled to ash.

that was a time of intensity of longing and desire. a time of a ravenous hunger that was insatiable, a hunger to the bone. a hunger for irish flesh, for celtic eyes, and hands that knew the language of my soul.

with the storm swirling about me, with downy flake landing and dissolving on my cheek i stair unseeing into the swirl and dark. and in that darkness time peels away and i fall back into the pools of my history and i willingly let myself sink into the the past. into a time when our bodies exploded again and again, and moments stretched into eternity and we were possessed and our bodies were held enthralled. a time when we drifted beyond the thin skin of this life, into the infinite.

and i remember the hunger for you.

the hunger for your delicate ankles to be spread and cinched to the posts of my bed. for your smooth legs to be held open and waiting for me. the hunger for your Ivory flesh and emerald eyes to fill me as i reach into you and take your body, and with my punishing hands and fingers that drew whimpers from your gasping mouth.

and i remember the thirst for you.

to liquefy your soul, to spill the essences of you into my hands and gaping mouth. to gulp you down, trap you in the bowl of my hands and squeeze your plump breasts,and to drew from you the wet flames from the sea of your hips.

i remember the yearning for you.

to capture your body with the ropes of my eyes and to bind you tight, wrapped in the web of my yearning. to peel your throbbing flesh from your submissive core, branding your body and stripping your flesh of its loneliness, and to stitch you whole with the cruelty of my mouth.

i remember the ache for you.

my palms and fingers throb and seek the heat and lust of your rocking hips and heaving breasts. my hands travel the ocean of your surrender and lose themselves in exquisite ache that my punishing hands give to you. my hands ache to redden and bruise the alabaster cheeks of your ass.

i remember the longing for you.

in the darkness of my despair i reach into the deep wells of your submission and capture the pain and longing of your need for the cruelty of my heart. i long to capture the torment of your flesh and to pull the treasured tears from your pleading eyes.

i remember the craving for you.

to punish your flesh and spirit with the whips and blades of my tainted love, to reduce the will of you to dripping begging need, and to drew from you the pools of flame from your loins, and to imprint my hand on each of your ass cheeks and watch with erect prick as you sway your burning ass looking for a deeper more soul satisfying spanking.

i remember the desire

i fall into the deepest pit of desire for you as the ropes i use to capture your limbs and hold you suspended in the air. and i bite and mouth and tongue the dripping parts of you till in your final release you scream and whine, clench and squirt your surrender to me .

i remember the starvation

i see in your eyes the starvation, i see your emaciated will starving for the pain for the loving hurt. starving for the bruises of love . i see in your eyes the starvation that drives you to me, the starvation for only my cruelty, the starvation for tears and ache that only my whips and floggers can satiate.

i remember the appetite.

in your darkest need, in your deepest despair i see the twisted hunger of your soul, i see your bottomless appetite. your appetite for loving abuse, for rough love that draws tears and blood, your endless appetite for rope and bondage, your appetite for my hurting hand, your endless need to be hurt, to swallow the pain, to weep the joy of your submission, and your appetite to be on your knees for me.

i remember, i remember.



i remember and im on the porch hypnotized by the swirling snow, by the darkness of the sky and the bleakness of my future. i am pulled from my trance by the buzz of my phone and i am back in the moment, empty and aching but in the moment.