May I?

Flip me over, force me face down on the bed. Yank my jeans down and imprison my legs.
I'm not ready for you yet, but push my panties aside and shove your fingers inside me. You'll fit tightly, driving a rush of passion through me, driving a gasp from my throat. Whisper dirty things in my ear; make me blush.
Fuck me, from behind, one hand around my throat. It will be exquisite torture to have you so close, but so inaccessible. Impale me with your fingers, press into me, fuck me until you drip sweat and gasp for breath. Leave me sore and bruised; a pleasant reminder the next day of how deliciously we came together.

Make me beg you for release. I won't come this way, so you can prolong my begging for as long as you'd like. Leave me unsatisfied and demand that I please you. Require me to ask permission for every move I make. In a soft, pleading whisper - may I run my hands through your hair? May I kiss your earlobe? May I bite a trail from your jaw to your breast? May I unbutton your pants? Spread your legs for me, may I lay between them? May I fuck you, fingers gliding inside you, mouth devouring you? May I moan my pleasure at your permission for this privilege? Know that any denied request would break my heart. Know that your taste, your noises, your movements whip me into a frenzy, and a single touch could spill me over. Come for me. May I watch you redden, writhe, tense? May I lose myself in your noises? May I?

Lessons

Sometimes I wonder if you're aware of how your words affect me, but coming from you I have no doubt your words are intentional. You stood there, holding those tweezers, and told me you like inflicting pain. I thought about the possibilities for hours.

That second picture I took and never sent was missing something. I think it would have been much improved had my hands been bound behind my back. Coarse, prickly rope is a perfect contrast to soft skin. You do remember that picture, don't you? You don't need another?

I have written too many times begging for you and imploring you to take me. Forget "let me."

Make me. Teach me those lessons I so yearn to be taught.

I know you want me on my knees. Run your hands through my hair gently before you snap my head back. I swoon at the mixture of tenderness and dominance in you. Grasp tightly and expose my throat, command me. Inflict the pain you want to inflict. Play with me. Guide my mouth where you want it. Kneeling, head back, what else can I do but submit to you? Force my mouth against you, grind against me until I am gasping for air. Be rough. I am an enthusiastic lover, you won't hurt me. Or maybe you want to hurt me, just a little. Do it.

Yes, I am going to be just a little bit rebellious. Wrap your fingers around my throat, slam me against the wall, tell me just how you're going to punish me for my disobedience. Do you want me on all fours? Kneeling? Bent and exposed? Bound and gagged? Force me to do your bidding darling. I'm new to this game, but I know you'll instruct well.

"Lessons in control, lessons in pain and pleasure."

Plea

Some weeks I feel positively crippled by longing, by lust. I wish I could turn off this desire. It hampers my life. I want to shut it down.

I'm not fool enough to believe anything would change after our last big step. Not that I am counting, but how long has it been? Supposedly, a woman peaks sexually in her 30's. Dear god, I am not prepared for that.

This morning is painful after last night's particularly delicious dream. Tell me how to turn off the live wire electricity beneath my skin. Tell me how to cool the warmth between my thighs and halt the images in my head. I can't stop.

So, like a dutiful housewife, I clean. I bake, I read, I get myself out of the house as much as possible. When my mind sees nothing but fantasy, I write.
I suppress these urges. It won't work. The body rebels. The body gets what it needs. Suppression leads to explosion, to mutiny. I work so hard to channel this energy into other things, and I fail miserably.

Please make it stop is my plaintive plea to a higher power that doesn't exist. Let me be asexual. Turn it off. I am tired of suffering.

Offering

I swam out of my gentle, murky dream state this morning to find my hand already loitering between my thighs. My thoughts were of you, beautiful, as always. I succumbed to the temptation to continue my play, and let one exquisite, lonely orgasm rip through my body, leaving me wasted and fully awake.

I go back through and read old writings periodically. I like to let my words provoke those old creaky feelings. I read back through "Yielding," and instead of feeling the echo of the passion I felt when I wrote it, I felt the torturous burn of you reading my blog back to me. The afternotes of your perfume fill my senses, and I hear the lilt of your tongue reading those words. I hear your enunciation, your emphasis. "I'll try so hard to be strong." You liked that, I could tell. "Anything you wish." Just fuck me already, baby. Stop letting me twist and dangle. Stop making me squirm. I can still see the smirk gracing your lips. You asked, "What are you offering, exactly?" I never responded, because you know what I am offering.

Letter to a playground bully...

Some days more than others I am overwhelmed by awareness. I am overwhelmed by a sense of shame to belong to a human race so full of anger, betrayal, lies and ego. I joined a local church to seek those full of humility, kindness and empathy. I found several people I am happy today to call friends, people full of joy for life. I treasure their company.

I also found people seething with anger. I found people wallowing in hate. I found people guided by that self-same ego. I cannot live buried beneath those who live, breath and eat anger as they do. I do not understand the games being played around me.

Why tell me a horrid story, supposed friend of mine? Why tell me a story designed to provoke jealousy, designed to provoke a measurable response? You made a mistake to assume I would be as easily played as so many others. Yes, I am an emotional woman. Yes, I experienced an emotional reaction as you spouted your deception...but then I let it go. Jealousy solves no problems. I have an active mind, above all else, and my mind is telling me that there is something wrong with your story. You are much too eager to press these details upon me. You are much too eager to gauge my reaction.

I refuse to believe the person I have been getting to know all this time is creating a nonsense persona for me to absorb. It defies logic. What I see in this woman is pure and true. It is not manipulative.
Yes, your tale stopped me in my tracks. It made me stop and think. It made me second guess myself, it made me mistrust other people. What are you gaining from my mistrust? What are you gleaning from my reaction? How does this scenario advance your ends?

As eager as I am to accept new people into my life, as eager as I am to see all that is good and true, do not think I am fool enough to allow people to remain in my life when they have proved themselves destructive. I have no need for that sort of unpleasantness, and no hang up about severing ties.

For you, my one regular reader...this was not intended for you. This is just one letter that will not be sent.

Give it up

I once wrote in another blog, at another time, that I want my sex to be all consuming, my reading to be all consuming, but never my love. I do not want an all consuming love. I feel a love like that eats your life. I want someone I can share life with, not someone that swallows it for me.

They were words from another time, words I was hurting to feel. I lost that all consuming love and in due time found what I was seeking. I found a love that does not swallow me. Later, I again found what I was seeking: an all consuming passion. That the love and the passion belong to two separate people puzzles me. Perhaps it is impossible not to be depleted by a person that embodies both an all consuming love and an all consuming passion.

I'm left with quite a quandary. Or maybe not. I have resolved my issue. I have made my choice. I cannot kill off a portion of me. My sexuality is an intrinsic part of who I am, so woven into my fabric that to suppress it would be self-destruction. I cannot stifle it. As much of a nuisance it can be, squashing it would only make the problem worse. So here I am, naked for all the world to see.

Yielding

I know the music is perfect for writing when the strains of guitar make my belly clench low. I need that deep physical response.

I am still awaiting your punishment, darling. Do I show too much eagerness, reminding you of your duty? It doesn't do to have a willful slave, does it? Willfulness, and enthusiasm. You'd want to break one and encourage the other, yes? You know I am so eager to please you.

What would you choose? I'm already on my knees, bent to your will. Would you prefer using those hands you are so good with? Isn't there something so sweet about flesh to flesh, the echo of the sting you dealt reverberating in your palm? Isn't there something so satisfying about the defined red hand prints left behind as evidence of your fire? Isn't there something so tempting about pausing to grab and pinch already heated, tender flesh? I am sure you have a sadistic strain; I am sure you wouldn't hesitate to make the pain just that little bit more exquisite, more piercing.

Maybe you crave more than palm slapping flesh. Maybe you want more spilled forth from me than just sharp breaths, and choose the leather of your belt. That would better achieve the color you are seeking, better force noises from my throat. Forget sharp breathes; instead, you'll hear my gasps, my little cries. Don't be too gentle. My body tenses, preparing for each blow, my breath torn from me when your lashes connect. I'll try so hard to be strong. I won't ask you for mercy, even moaning between clenched teeth. I yearn to yield to you, my body quivering from stinging pleasure pain. Anything you wish.

Will you kiss away my tears when my body is overcome? Will you recharge me with your fingers and tongue when all I have to give has been drained away?

Overflow

Don't think for a second that a few days without writing means I have any less sensation roiling beneath my skin. A few days of absence just allows this fervor to build. These wishes and desires bind me so completely; only a short wait hinders my inevitable spill across these pages.

Yes, I will again make my craving for you visible and plain. Yes, I will again tell you pretty stories, again create images for you to return to when you need them. Please keep reading.

...but spilling here brings no relief. I still miss your smile, your energy. I still miss your lips. I still have visions of your naked skin dancing in my head. I still run my fingertips over my lips and remember you biting, teasing. Damn, I just want to kiss you.

Rebellion

Tonight's class was exhilarating. I pushed myself harder than I have in a long time; instead of hurting, I feel so much more alive. The problem with getting the blood pumping through every molecule of your being is the inevitable increase in blood rushing through every molecule of your being. I am so much more aware of each curve, muscle, sinew of my body. I am intimately conscious of my heart beating wildly, my breath quickened, my capillaries filled with life. Libido soars after a workout like I just had.

...and every ounce of that lust and fire and life has remained contained. The only time I should be this tied is bound before you, submitting like you so want me to submit.

I am so fucking tired of shutting myself down. Why live in a world of "no" and "can't" and "don't"? I have so much to offer, so very much to give, and it just remains contained. When do I get to be let out?

Yes, I desperately want. I want hot, sweaty, fucking on the floor because making it to the bed doesn't matter sex. I want something physical, passionate, and earth shattering; I know it is there, I want it.

Do you know why people are attracted to me? I have a theory. Sure, maybe I have something physical people are attracted to, and yes I can be good and sweet and kind and nice. I can be nurturing. More than anything though, I have a fire for life. I see what life has to offer, and I indulge in every minute of it. I'm not letting go, I'm not giving up.

So yes, when I am in a deep hip opening pose, my knees and hips and legs spread as far as they will open, my torso flat on the ground, my arms stretched as far as they can reach ahead of me, letting all that tension go...know that I think of you. Know that I think of laying prostrate before you in such a manner. Know that I think of being hopelessly exposed, and perhaps a little embarrassed for it. Know that I would willingly do just about anything to thrill you.