Jan 152018
 

On Twitter, someone suggested looking at comments as a Found Poem. While I certainly didn’t use it the same context, I decided to take tidbits of phrases out of my comments and turn them into Haikus. Here you go, the most recent 21 comments (and because I didn’t write them, who gets the credit):

Aftercare – Cousin Pons

I think I need to

Towel off after intense

And full encounter.

 

Anal – May Moore and Marie Rebelle

Think anal can be

He tucked you in at the end,

All complicated!

 

Heads – Marie Rebelle, Elliott Henry, and Cara Thereon

Heads are not needed:

Fair to be ambivalent,

Be a fantasy!

 

Conceptualized – Mrs. Fever and Accidental Masturbator

Awesome disturbing

And simultaneously

Conceptualized.

 

Art – May Moore and Aurora Glory

I feel a little

Exhausted, I’m terrible

At art, so to speak.

 

Lingerie – Mixxxer, Tits and Test Tubes, and Aurora Glory

Lingerie is fine,

Different and thus intriguing,

Has me interested.

 

Photo – Cara Thereon and May Moore

Fuck that was hooot, Photo,

Inspired in my humble

Opinion, intense.

 

Slow Trust – Sweeten Dirty

I’m slowly working

Up to it with a partner

I trust, my first.

 

Creepy Rope – Jo, Little Switch Bitch, Elliott Henry

It is creepy rope,

More vulnerability,

Did not work for me.

 

New Something – Tits and Test Tubes, Indigo Bird, and Elliott Henry

Bound woman trying

faceless men, something to do,

Your new creation.

 

Don’t Know – Aurora Glory

You really don’t know

a thing, I’m so pleased, at the

idea behind it.

 

I Adore – Aurora Glory and Marie Rebelle

I can see why I

Adore the addition of

bondage fantasy.

 

Other Things – Bee and Cara Thereon

Other things are far

More pleasurable, surreal;

Creepy: a good thing?

Wicked Wednesday

Feb 042016
 

*Trigger Warning: dialogue of what consensual rope sounds like versus rape

Want to read her awesome write up of the experience? Click Here. 

Are you ready?

You asked for it

Let me know if you want me stop

Shut your mouth

I’m going to explain what’s happening

You don’t get to speak

It will be a little tight, but I can adjust it for you

If you move you will regret it

Are you okay?

Stop crying

Don’t forget to breathe

Don’t be such a bitch

Is that better?

Don’t scream

Don’t lock your knees

Don’t even think about yelling for help

It’s okay to relax; I’ll support you

If you don’t hold still, I will cut you

How does that feel?

This is going to hurt

I can adjust that for you

Shut up you whore

Now we can make it pretty

You’re disgusting

That would be uncomfortable for you

You’re not going anywhere

Would you like to try something else?

I’m not finished with you

Of course we can stop

Quit begging

Cry all you want

No one will save you

It’s good to learn you boundaries. 20151221_211218

February Photofest Badge 2016

Nov 032015
 

We had different fibers kiss my flesh and I voiced a preference. You learned how to manipulate those slim slivers of hopeful thread until they strongly twisted into rope, dipped and dyed with colors that pleased my eyes, created uniquely to support me with love, care, and concern.

You get this look into your eyes, a reverence as you look at me and see possibilities. The rope you crafted bundled between your hands and feet. As you unravel the ropes and my mind, a soft thud interrupts of uncoiled strands sweeping the floor at my feet. I close my eyes in worship as I hear your breath in my ear and the swish of the rope beginning the song of embrace. Your tone is soft and lulling – sensual kisses and caresses while simply laying the rope, then shockingly loud – swooping frenzied rope whipped about with teeth bites and finger pinches.

You are equal parts of soft and hard as you craft my muscles to your will, contrasting my body to both unyielding and flexible. You invest your time with love, patient and creative to make my dreams take flight. You pull me up and I begin to soar, the lines you create allow me to float above it all, to float in an awareness of my body that my mind often blocks with chaotic thoughts. I transcend as I am lifted, I am present in the moment and small space I inhibit within the air. There is only your will and I surrender all sense of control. I may look bound or held tightly but I have never been so open and free. Trussed up, I am vulnerable and trusting, my mind in the heavens and your offering a prayer granted.

There is nothing inanimate about rope – it reverberates through me. Rope cuts into skin, bites and pinches as your mouth did just moments before. There is tension that I relax into, movement that tests me and creates new found knowledge. I am strong, gone are feelings of insecurities and inadequacies. Loops and wraps secure me, metal clinks and rope swishes tells a story, line by line. I am receptive to hear the twists and turns of the narrative. There are no questions, only wisdom that I exist. I am not aware of limitations; I am pushed into realizations and pulled into knowing how capable I am.

As the rope grips me, I drift, transfixed. You float alongside me, carrying me on this journey; the rope changes the surface of my body as you submerge your impression in my heart. With a final tug, we land at the solid ground together, you plant your lips to my forehead like a sailor does to the shore after traveling and finally coming home. I climb into your arms, my foundation and hard point, dripping with sweat and ropes, become aware of your earthly smell and heart pounding against my face, and give thanks for the experience of being alive. I’ve come a full circle, cocooned in your embrace.

Wicked Wednesday

*Inspired by a person describing rope as spiritual. Sadly, while pondering on the writing for weeks afterwards, I cannot find the writing to give credit to the person who was such an inspiration for my thoughts.

 Posted by at 5:49 am
Jul 152015
 

I didn’t carry you for long.

In fact, I didn’t even know you were there.

While you struggled to grow and survive, a fight that you lost, I went about my merry way, doing whatever I wanted.

I couldn’t help you with that fight.

When the pain started, and the strange things happening to my body, only then did I know, when the fight was already drawing to a conclusion.

And I fell to the floor, my tears to follow, splashing the ground with heartbreaking sadness.

That is when my fight began.

I wasn’t strong.

I was lost, and helpless.

And suddenly, I was the one being carried.

In strong arms that loved me.

Arms that held me close when the pain was too much.

Arms that soothed me when the tears ran like rivers.

Arms that cocooned me from the pain and the loss.

And the words.

So many were lost to me, I could barely think.

But the one who carried me had all the right ones.

They whispered comfort and love.

About a future where we would be better prepared for the battle, able to help in the fight of survival.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you then, to see you through into the miracle you could’ve been.

I promise the next time though, you won’t just have me to carry you, with all of my mistakes and ignorance, we’ll have help. Those strong arms with help to carry me, while I carry you.

Wicked Wednesday

Because of a hormonal disorder, I’ve been told my entire life that I would never be able to get pregnant. Apparently I beat the odds, however tragically was unable to carry to term. I wrote this post while going through my miscarriage. Not knowing when, if ever, to post it, the prompt for this week seemed fitting. It’s a bit of a letting go and healing for me. XoXoX

May 272015
 

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I get soaking wet,
Just thinking of you.

While it’s corny, is the first thing that popped into mind when reading the prompt about roses. I started trying to think of a steamy scene on a bed of roses. Roses are always supposed to be the ultimate romantic symbol. Honestly though, in most of our lives, the most common use of roses is that of the poem format. Silly little jokes or love notes left between lovers. I love these. It’s simple, a bit creative, and a nice little way of saying “I’m thinking about you”…

And to me that’s better than an elaborate steamy scene in my imagination.
Wicked Wednesday

Feb 202015
 

I can’t bring myself to clean our room. Not entirely. In a weird way, seeing your discarded clothing on the floor makes it seem like you’ve just left the room, moments before. It gives the feeling of expectancy, like at any moment you’ll walk in, pull me into your arms and kiss my breath away. I look around and hope that I look presentable for when you get home, slide my clothes off to join yours, and caress goosebumps onto my skin.

Although the room is filled with the empty hollow of your absence, my heart can’t help but to preserve you there in its increased rhythm when I smell you on our sheets. The slight disorder of our room comforts me in the mirage it presents, and makes the wait and the longing a touch easier to bear.
floor

 Posted by at 9:55 am
Nov 282014
 

Kink of the Week is talking dirty.  But first, a Haiku (Senryu):

I’m on my stomach,

his hand gripped hair, finger in,

friction, no work up.

 

Rolled over, straddled,

slapped my labia, stinging,

pinched nipples, fingered.

 

“My fuck hole,” he cooed,

as he had sex with my throat,

he found a limit.

 

I’m choking; he warned:

“noise should be you cumming,”

then rolled me over.

 

His hand in my hair,

face pressed into the mattress,

he slid deep inside.

 

I take notes after an incredible experience. I took some notes and didn’t feel like making it into a 1,000 word post; I was lazy. So I turned my notes into a Haiku.

What made the experience incredible is the usage of the words “fuck hole” and being treated as such. To be perfectly honest, this idea came from my suggestion, as I share some writings that I find turn me on, and one of them was a woman being used and called such. He obviously read it (he doesn’t always), and decided to act on it.

It wasn’t the first time he has used this term, though it’s less than a handful still. But it was the first time he hit a limit with using me thus.

Talk about feeling like a fuck hole. He didn’t even apologize for choking me, he just reprimanded me for making so much noise with it and continued with the scene at the hand, rolling me over and using another hole for his pleasure.

Fortunately for me, I orgasmed instantly with his words, his actions, his taking. The words and the act were powerful because they were cemented together. It was so hot; it was so different from the day to day us.

My husband loves me, he cares for me in almost every action, and I know that I am the most important person in his life. So acts of pain or objectifying can be a challenge for him still – not dominating anymore, that comes easy to  him now. But actions or words that seem in opposition of love come rarely; however, it is because he loves me so much that he gives me these actions. We reaffirm that I am okay with it and he is okay doing it in aftercare routines. (Part of the reason I think after care is important to us is that this is the moment he reassures me that he is truly okay hurting me, as it’s been a challenge and a lot of compromising to get us to this point. Sometimes I feel like I pushed him towards it, but he tells me that he also likes it in these moments, and tells me what is beautiful about me in dealing with it.)

Being a military couple, we are certainly used to being separated, and we will occasionally talk dirty to each other – but verbally I absolutely fail at this. If we have phone sex, it’s more him talking dirty as I moan as I bring myself to climax. Sexting, now I can do that.

But in person, we never really talk dirty to each other. I feel like we’re shifting, however, and will begin to incorporate this more; after all, he is very aware of the reaction my body has to these words.

“Fuck hole” may just very well be our gateway word into more dirty words during sexual acts. And being used as such, with those words, from time to time (I don’t think I would appreciate it the same if it was regularly done) is so desirable to me. Kink of the Week

 Posted by at 9:05 am
Aug 252014
 
A friend of Cammies wrote some delicious poetry that just had to be shared:

I have no need for your chocolates
Or your bright roses, of that familiar blushing red.
I do not need hearts trimmed in frilly lace
Or abundantly fancy dinner spreads.
My only need, is you,
Right now as I'm sprawled across my bed. 
Dote on me with your sinfully tangled tongue.
And taste the sweetness that you left between my thighs.

-Envious_Twilight

Wicked Wednesday

Aug 202014
 

I find you irresistible,
even through the blur of my tears
A dark shadow of a man
whose hands bruise
whose lips heal
Dominates
my thoughts, my passion, my body
You read me
my short breaths
my long moans
clenched muscles
You provide pain and pleasure
fulfill a dream
a fantasy
whispered secrets
Touch my skin, mark me yours
with your cock
fingertips
daring tongue
Test my limits, find my walls
From the inside

 Posted by at 9:58 am
Aug 172014
 

There are no lines drawn on parchment.

No friendly waypoint to guide us.

As we explore each other’s bodies, we navigate through the lustful haze.

Through calm seas and tempest, I cling to you, my anchor.

For I require no maps or instructions, as we journey forth to discover each other’s hidden coves.

 

 
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