Enough romance! Back to raw proceedings...

Its morning and the curtains are drawn and the light is smog. I start to lick the meat of him, dabbing with my tongue. I suck him into my mouth and he gets all whet up. He gets all hard for me and he starts to buck his hips.

Im thinking he's hurting my throat. Im thinking he doesn't care. I glide my lips down and Im sucking. Gobbing and tasting. Tastes good to me. Tastes like its getting me wet. I think about sitting on his lap (greedy juicy thoughts) and I cover him with my phlegmy spit.

I drag my head back and pull it away in strings. He puts his hand on the back of my skull and pushes me down so he can gag me with his cock. I gasp and suck and rearrange my teeth and my eyes feel like their rattling in my head when the air stops coming 'cause I'm choking so hard.

I love it. I taste it all. His flesh and his muscle and the drip drip drip of sweet fluid, like a leaking tap. I feel every buck and twitch and watch him thrash around, I want to drain all the life. He pushes his hips up, fucks my head, my drooling open mouth, gasps a last and feeds me.

Together

We come together with such intensity.

The rhythm is slow and ebbs between

Feeling pleasantly lost (and physical climax).

He talks to me and strokes my cheek.

His fingers are like soothing beams

(of light) and mental comfort

I am the reflection in the eyes of the man that I love.

Pins and Needles

The plastic rips on the packet and he holds the capped pin in his fingertips. I scramble to the bottom of the bed and I duck there watching him.

"Come back".

Im spitting out nervous giggles and I'm looking at him and I'm thinking you know you know this pain, don't be silly. Be a good girl.

"Come back".

I straighten up, slide on to the bed, roll onto my back and look at him. He smiles at me, he's pleased. He kisses my chest, strokes my ribs and my collar, pinches and rolls a nipple between his finger tips and he slides a needle through the areola.

He copies on the other side of the rise. He looks at me.

My brain swarms empty, air fills my lungs as I inhale endorphins and pleasure.

He pushes a needle through the centre of my nipple, deep and tapping the nerves. I gasp and make noise in discomfort and pain. He runs his finger along the plastic bases of the needles like he's playing an instrument. I go from mute to moaning song. He mirrors this delivery upon my other breast. It hurts so much more the second time. It always does, because you know, exactly what, that pain is going to feel like.

He smiles at me, he talks to me, whispers threats and fantasies, creeps his fingers between my lips and wets them and eats me and promises he will push pins into my labial flesh. I take them cap from him and rest it between my teeth and bite and he pushes in the metal. The pain is encompassing. It sits under me, like I can almost ride on it. Twice. He flicks his tongue and makes the pins wiggle. My head swarms. It goes on.

He is dabbing feverish words into my ears, about being in a powerful place.

When he pulls the pins from me they mark against my lips and the darkest blood oozes from my breasts. He laps at it, he mixes it with spit and kisses me. Droplets for into a steady trickle until it clots.

Cwtch

When we lie still in bed the safety and warmth of his arms cocoon me.

His chest rests against my back and his knees lift my legs tucked, as if sitting on a chair.

There is so much comfort and warmth an safety in his arms.

The muscles in him keep me there, his hand sits in my waist's dip. He rests his head on the back of my neck.

I am safe. I am warm. I am a little bug.

Cruel

He clover clamps my nipples and the inner lips of my labia, threads one chain through another, tying me together and puts me to sit on vibrations. Every judder sends a spine tingling pain through the ropes of metal. Every contracting pulse tugs and smarts. Release is held just out of my reach. He puts his fingers inside me and watches me suffer.

Caution

Sometimes he pushes me too far. Sometimes he makes me forget who I am. Which I don't like. I have worked very hard to be who I am. He will not take that away from me.

Domesticated Sundays

I kneel and stack books onto shelves and brush up the rug. He walks behind me and pulls down my clothes. He begins to play with me and force his fingers over me. He kneels behind me and slides himself in. I am on all fours, hands on the wool, balancing and getting fucked.

He chases pleasure and pushes his fingers into more holes. He stretches me and slides into my arse. He tells me. "Im going to fuck you like this, so that I can come inside you". I whimper and fantasize about his release. I beg, please and he does as he said he would.

Later he urges me over the arm of a chair and takes me again. Later still I sit across his lap and ride until my body melts. I pleasure him with my mouth. I do it perfectly. He tells me so. I gag and snivel and suck. He coats the back of my throat and I breath hard and happy.

Emotional Panic

Do I love him because he controls me or do I let him control me because I love him?

I am happy to be dragged around by my lips, but to be yanked around by the heart is terrifying.

Am I having a crisis of faith or a lonely panic or is this natural? When you forget what it feels like to feel strongly for someone the fear kicks in.

Shall I take a few crumbs of me back? Or shall I let him eat cake?

The Party

We wander around the party, watching people, smoking and chatting. We go upstairs later and lay close to each other stroking skin and talking. I suck him and he eats me and people watch us. I lay on my back as my sir devours my flesh, completely lost in his world of control, gnawing at my meat. A man stands close to me watching my face contort in pleasure. He's jerking his firm, hard flesh close to my face. I look at him and take him gently in my mouth and suck him for a while. I let my sir pleasure me. I feel watched and adored. I feel powerful.