The Ballard Of The Boy

I know you still want to have me and hold me,

But Jamie it just don't feel right.

I don't want what you have to give me anymore.

Because I have what I want now, and it isn't you.

I don't mean to be cruel and tight,

But Jamie it just don't feel right.

But I'm tired and it feels so different to be liked

By someone who wants you and doesn't need you,

Because you will always need me in primary

To ever wanting anything.

I know you want to fuck and get up close,

But I'm to shy, to lie to you, from finger tip to toe

My flesh, is not as easy as my lips.

I will always know you in some capacity

Because you are my boy and always my friend and close to me.

But this break is like picking itching stitching, with a knife.

I love you Jamie, but it just don't feel right.

Physicality

I whisper in his ear and play with his flesh, stroking him hard, arousing him, and inhaling wisps of control. I feel my heart beat strong as his eyes begin to roll. He hooks his fingers into me and holds me still.

I take him to a certain point then sit across his lap, rock and ride and work for him and contort my body until it gets relieved. I come for him in crashing waves, with noise and sweet contractions. We break and then I ask to pleasure him. He lets me and I do so and he coats my lips.

In between we go about tasks and jobs and day to day things. He fucks me against his kitchen counter and across his table. I gush onto the floor and twist and pulse in futility. We go upstairs and continue. We fuck in bed, and across furnishings, whichever way he wishes. I come for him in waves and backwash. He covers me in fluids. He eats me, he fills me with his hand and he hurts me. Today is a day of physicality and lust and release.

I am given to and taken from in equal measures, with paired desire. I am away form my head and following him, but my lips are split in smiles and I know I have enough today to prompt his pleasures, encourage his actions and make him want me.

He licks my cunt as I lay across his table. I kneel on the stones and taste him. He hits me with a belt on my hide, he smacks me across the face.

He is precious and he is using me, and I have him in my hand, and our brains are merely echoing when our bodies come together.

The Christmas Holiday - Pleasantries

We walk through an iced and deserted beach town. Out of favour, out of season. I look out to the sea, desolate and grey, boys floating on the silt. I sit on the cold stone barrage and he puts his arm around me and kisses my forehead. It looks like the edge of the world out there. For me, It probably is.

The Christmas Holiday - Post

In a passioned display of appreciation and relieved fear, he lays his head between my legs and pleasures me. I moan and hold the back of his neck, his pulse beats at my palm. He sinks his mouth into my soft labial flesh. He sucks my lips. He bites down hard.

I feel he’s going to rip me. I taste so fresh. I feel like meat. I think in grand, stimulated delusions ‘please sink your teeth into me and bite a chunk away’. Have a piece of me in your mouth, swallow up my precious flesh, let it boil and destroy in the pit of your stomach, and riddle through your gut. Let it become protein and energy and part of you. Make us indistinguishable.

The Christmas Holiday - Pre

He fills me with blank, screaming internal dread. I try so hard to please him, but I’ve failed. Or I feel like I failed. He tells me I haven’t.

I do not want to displease him. I do not want to lose my privileges and my power. I do not want to stop submitting. I do not want to stop.

Please I am trying. I promise and I love you.

Far Away

He tastes me and touches me and makes me come in a burst of liquid. He pulls my limp and pleasured body on to his lap and slides into me. I begin to ride against his flesh. We stay connecting for a long time. I watch his mind drift away.

I want to take him to places where the water is clear and the wind is warm. Where it fits, and only we exist and we don't think on anything.

Our sex moves from afternoons to evenings to mornings to nights. I spend a long time with him in my mouth, tasting his flesh, feeling his pulse and letting him fly. I spoon into his lap and slide him in another way. We lay on our sides and backs fucking.

We drift like frost in blankets of air. Cold heat swirling in waves. We blend together and become shared blood and bugs.

When Im over his lap and he's hitting me my knuckles crack in concentration. I sit on his hips again and ride out orgasms. He copies in shattering waves. We tenderly touch and breath and kiss and he tells me I'm good and my eyes roll in ecstasy.

I want to go to places where the sand is, and the pleasure is bleached. Where collisions are white and beautiful. Where we are hot and froth together.

The Found Thing - 2#

She twists soft silk rope around it's left foot, binding the function.

She mirrors on its right.

Thing's feet lie pale and bound, slimed green-blue veins appear like streams between the rivers of rope. Thing is on its back, mewling like an animal. She bends its left leg at the boney knee, splays a knotted foot to the side and loops it with the length spare, over the wooden bow of the bed.

She mirrors on its right.

With the loose slung over ends she ties each single rope around its pairing wrist. She tightens the shackling. It is hard to move. Thing can spread and close the limbs but not shift from its back.

An awkward and difficult position.

Thing is bent half crabbed, its pale ribs curving like its spine. Its brown soft nipples point to the ceiling. She strokes her fingers down these ribs, knocking bones like instruments. Thing's groin quivers pleasantly as it squirms like a leech on the cotton skin of the bed sheet. The mound of its pelvis protrudes violently, its muscles are sunk to its bones, it's heart is pulsing. It is ready to be his. It is ready to be good. It is ready to please and be tortured.

Heavy Petting

He slides his fingers into her swirl of hair. Cut new and neat, cropped tight like fresh grass. He walks her to the table, shined flat wood on four legs. He yanks down her clothes, metal clicks on metal, he pulls his zipper and pushes inside her.

He puts his paws on her hips, the small of her back, her flanks and her nape. He rustles up the skin. He's spends time and she's breathing hard. He asks her if she's had enough. With an elegant ripple she slides him out and twists on her toes to face him. She sits up on the table. Crooks her toes like claws around the edge of the wood and widens out her thighs.

She lays there legs bent like a bullfrog, glistening and damp like water rushes. He slides back into her and pushes until dank watery white gushes from her loins. The floor gets wet, like she's dropped a glass. She coats his groin and his thighs. Her face twists in feeble disgust and pleasure and concentration. They carry on like this for some time, her intermittent spurts slickening the deal.

She arches her back, she slides him from her and sits up. He goes to shoot some rum into a glass and she chases round his feet like a dog. She slumps to the ground, exposes him again and begins to suck on him. She looks up, doe eyed and wistful, fingers in her knickers, fumbling and sucking him wet. He watches her, palms resting on the counter top, ankles shackled together by his south gone denims.

She pleasures him 'till he shakes, she holds his thighs and feels the muscles contract under her palms. She coats her throat and face with his ghostly mess. Mewling sick and satisfied and lost. She snakes up to standing, holds him in her hand and lays her head at his chest. His heart beats, her small paws reach to his face and she kisses his mouth.

As it should be

I kneel across his leg, sucking his warm flesh into my mouth, nude and shaking in the cold.

Perfection

I writhed in the bed, discorded and full of over stimulated energy. I was uncomfortable and yearning. He lay over me watching me twist and I begged "Please hit me".

There was a pause and then a repeat.

He raised his arm. I suck breath in anticipation. I close my lids. He brought his hand down firmly against my cheek. I felt each line in his palm and print stick heat onto my skin. My eyes roll, my ear rang. My sir hit me across the face. This is the most perfect thing.

I asked for more, he littered my breasts and thighs with smacks. My face softened in a wash of ecstasy. He stroked my cheek. He looks at me, watching, mostly enjoying and he says "You look so beautiful".

A Stiff Drink

My only thirst is quenched by the fluid spalshed in the palm of his hand. He drips the watered cream into my mouth and I gag it down and choke it up and drip it down my jaw. It itches and its sweet and it tastes so fucking good.