you could just picture her lover, the Dominant , with a remote in His hand pushing
her to the edge, absolutely lost in His power over her.
Her mind body & soul spiraling into the deepest depths of her submission to Him.
He’ll take her when he can take no more, when His body is aching and throbbing to be lost in her.
And afterwards, He’ll gently untie her, rubbing her wrists and ankles reassuringly.
And they’ll curl into one another not quite knowing where one begins and the other ends.
and it’s all very seamless, their need for one another.
How he completes her, as she does Him.
A Warm Smile
“A very warm smile.”
That was his intro. Not the most overtly seductive of come ons. Just quietly to the point and gently flattering. So much him.
Then the charming interplay. Words poured from one restless mind to the other. A forgotten dance they both knew how to play. But somehow only with each other.
There was fear at first. The consternation of the lightening strike that spoils the picnic. He was everything she wanted and nothing she knew.
There was resistance too. So much tug and pull. Almost too much for a mind to bear. The demands of every learned behaviour against the deepest urges of the soul. In a fight to the death. He knew she could win. More decidedly than she knew it herself.
Through the dungeons of endless conversation and purged regrets. Through seedy encounters in strange places with countless strange men. All for him. And all for herself.
Trust the unknown. Trust the dark. Trust the command to forsake every stricture the world had ever used to fence you in. Trust him. Even when all logic urged retreat.
Was it obedience to him? Or obedience to the cravings of her own wilful heart. Did it matter? He came to feed on the delights of her surrender just as much as she fed so greedily from the well of his relentless authority. The caring firmness she had never known. In return for the innocent gentle love she offered so eagerly in return. A sound bargain. A perfect joy.
And so she changed as a season changes. From winter with its blanket of protection and mask of ice. To glorious spring playing out the passions of a life delayed. To summer’s warmth. Talents found and feelings shared.
At last to gentle autumn. With the vulnerability of flowers long in bloom and leaves alive with colour. His harvest of life. Never meant for winter’s chill again.
It was a simple hello. Then he led her through the fire. To find it burning in her soul at the end. A reflected glow. And an ever fresh beginning.
At last there was a plane ride. New hellos and the final barriers of distance to be overcome. A new kind of dance crafted from the old. Awkward steps grown easier each day.
There was calm then. The peace of the known. True acceptance. Perfect understanding in perfect silence. Wind racing through their hair in the warm night air.
And then she finally saw it. Reflected back.
A very warm smile.
image: Juergen Kampa
What more do i need
while i wait and wonder
what more do i need
but your breath in my ear
your warmth near my skin
and soon your possession
taking hold of
every part of me.
Have i been of use
so i have served my purpose.
This is what i need.
© words: cat / be-pleasing-always
image: Gabriel-theArchangel [please leave at least the image credit intact]
Sometimes after you’ve left me, I’ll try to relive our moments of passion, holding myself as you held me just minutes earlier. Sometimes I’ll imagine I can smell your scent on my skin, a lingering trace of you that I don’t ever want to wash away. But even when I can’t actually smell you, I can feel you, because your touch stays with me long after you’ve gone, imprinted on my skin, my flesh, my bones. Because when you touch me, you touch all of me, unmistakably, indelibly.
They say that when one of the five senses is incapacitated, the other four step up to compensate. She certainly believed it as she lay on the hard mattress where he’d directed her, her eyes covered by the lacy blindfold he’d tied over them just minutes earlier. Although she’d been robbed of her sight, she was intensely aware of her surroundings – the warm afternoon light that was bathing her, the dust motes that were dancing a slow minuet around her before settling on her skin, the lace that was pressing down on her eyelids. She was aware of her own breathing, too, the slow, deep inhalations that went all the way down to her belly before travelling upwards again and being exhaled through her parted lips. Mostly, though, she was aware of him. She knew without turning her head and peeking through the holes in the lace that he was watching her, following each rise and fall of her stomach with the eager fascination of a cat who’s within jumping distance of a bird and is about to pounce. She could feel his gaze in the goose bumps that were erupting all over her skin and in the throbbing in her hard nipples, and although she tried to remain calm, it made her breathe a little faster, a little more shallowly.
Minutes passed without anything happening. This was nothing new; he liked to keep her waiting, to keep her guessing what sensual torments lay ahead. He’d told her once that he wanted her entire being focused on him, her every breath a sacrifice on his altar. Well, it was working, she thought. As she lay waiting for what was to come, her every nerve was ablaze, anticipation coursing through her veins like liquid fire. Despite the silence and her own stillness, she’d never felt more alive.
At last he made his move. ‘Don’t peek,’ he warned as he bent over her, but she didn’t have to. She could feel the bed shake as he moved, felt a shadow pass over her as he got between her and the light. The very air around her seemed to shift as he leant down. Then his lips closed over her nipple, and for a second it was as if time stood still, as if he’d frozen them in the moment. Then his mouth took possession of her breast, and she whimpered softly, letting out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. As his teeth sank into her nipple, imprinting themselves on her puckered flesh, she felt an urge to put her hands on his head and pull him closer to her, but she knew better than to give in to it. He’d asked her to be his doll this afternoon, and she’d remain just that — a motionless doll — until he told her to move.
With a slowness that bordered on torture, he made his way down her body, trailing his tongue across her skin until she feared she was about to dissolve into a puddle. Then, as suddenly as he’d begun, he stopped. Her body tensed in disappointment as he lifted his mouth from her body, but he kept it close enough to her pussy that she could feel his breath against her clit, a hot wind caressing her tenderest flesh.
Finally his voice broke the silence. ‘Spread your legs for me, doll. I’m going to play with your doll bits.’
With a smile she complied. She wasn’t sure what to expect as he clambered from the bed and pulled her hips towards the edge – predictability wasn’t one of his vices – but she trusted him to make it good.
(Photo: Paul de Luna, Heat Of Her Skin)