Archives for posts with tag: Forbidden Poet

I was painting. Red on black, dashes of colbalt, melding strangely.
He called me at the studio asking I come back to the main house
Right in the middle of a sweep of colbalt I lift the brush and leave
Wiping my hands on my smock and smoothing my hair as I jog

he never interrupts my painting, odd

I knew he would be there, that library of his, so male, so austere
Throwing my smock on the side table I came up behind him and purred
Chin on his shoulder massaging his neck, my hair tumbled down his chest
All of it off, NOW I stripped flustered and with shaky fingers obeyed

what did I do or not do? How can I make it right? please don’t hurt me

The last piece off and he wrapped his hand and forearm around my hair
He pulled me backward, my hair holding most of the weight of my body
Yelping I grabbed at the hand wrapped like a glove in my hair and he yanked
He lead me to the dining area and as he pulled me to the table I leapt a bit

If I hadnt leapt, the edge would have hit my spine, what is wrong?

He slid me across the mahogany as my head and his hand cleared the table
Seats twelve, this table, he stopped my shoulders at the edge throat exposed

My stemware, what am I going to serve the wine in at dinner?

My head back and my hair playing soft games with the hardwood floors
I dare not move. It has always been hard for me to breath in this position
He knows it and he has chosen to place me this way and then I hear a zipper

He is going to take me right on this table, he is going…

Putting his fingers in my mouth I open to take them in and then his cock
He holds to my breast like handles to keep me in place in my lack of air
Hitting the back of my throat and pressing down my tongue, shoving
Slamming the back of my head into the ornate carving of the table
I grab onto his clothed ass and walk my hips up high towards the chandelier

He is going to fuck me to death I can’t breathe

He knows when my hips rise I am ready to cum but waiting for him to allow
Letting go of my breasts he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me
Wrapping my legs around his neck I concentrate on the rhythm of his cock

I can breath

As some old fashion Karma Sutra pose we walk pussy to mouth cock to throat
I can feel him breathing on my wetness, he knows I cannot concentrate
He knows his breath alone will take me over the edge and beyond
I feel like I have never lived life without the my mouth full of him, the taste
I was never alive until he fucked my mouth and I will never be alive again

His taste is driving me insane I want to swallow his skin and chew on his gristle

As he comes in my mouth his stubbley chin settles in my juices he whispers into my pussy, cum my whore, cum and I cum again

and again and again

Our guests will be coming soon, I have paint and cum all over me. I kiss his mouth
He zips and I hear his boots crunching on my stemware. I have alot to do tonight.

not sure what brought that on but beats painting in colbalt anyday

If I could go back in time
I would be a Mistress
to a rich man of note
downstairs his maid
upstairs to be laid
he would buy me jewellery
and dresses so fine
shower me with money
in this timely institute
I guess you could call me
his prostitute

If I could go back in time
I would be a dancer
in a musical theatre hall
the gentlemen kind
with the frigid wives
wrapped up in their
wool flannel nightgowns
and when they are dreaming
of flower pot plants
the husbands are
bulging in their posh pants
my skirt would be up
to my arse
no class

If I could go back in time
I would be a wench
aboard a pirate ship
buxom too
let’s have some
down below deck
what the heck
spilling out my tits
the Captain would be mine
I would feed him juicy
turkey legs
I would kick up a fuss
and perform in a beastly
like a spoilt brat
cunning like a fox
pretending to be stupid
and blank…
knowing he would
punish me
tie me to his plank

When you look at me please don’t think that all you see
Is who I am
I am so much more than a body and a face
I have a mind oh such a mind
with naughty wicked thoughts and plans
I have stories to tell of love and life
And such secrets to be revealed from within
Such as my battered heart and weary soul
I have many scars both mental and physical
Each has their own lessons I’ve learned
Along the journey that I’ve traveled so far
The path has had many twists and turns
Many plans both good and bad have gone awry
Many people have come and gone
Leaving their marks as good and bad memories
I have dreams and hopes and plans
For the future some will happen and some won’t
I have wants and needs and feelings
So when you look at me please don’t think that all you see
Is who I am

Every heartbeat a pulse between my legs,
Aching for what only You can give me.
My desires a jumbled mush –
Pulse racing, breath wheezing,
Squeezing my thighs together,
Feeling the squish of wetness,
The rush of juices
Soaking my denim inseam.
Sneaking a hand down into my shorts,
Surreptitiously rubbing that hard nubbin
While imagining Your voice in my ear,
Telling me not to cum;
“Not yet, girl –
Not until I tell you,”
Rubbing faster,
The other hand touching my nipple, lightly.
“Please, Sir.
Oh, please, I’ll be good!”
But being so very naughty,
Touching without permission.
Head thrown back now,
Mouth open,
Panting and gasping and whimpering,
Imagining Your steely glare,
Your displeasure at my wickedness.
Even more excited now,
Hearing the “strop” of the belt in Your hand
Striking Your other palm.
“Do You want to feel the kiss of leather
On your clit, girl?”
(strop… strop… strop…)
“Oh, no, Sir…”
(Fuck yes, PLEASE, Sir.)
“I promise, I’ll stop. I’ll be good!”
(I promise I’ll do whatever it takes
To have You TOUCH me…)
Oh, the rush, imagining it –
Your fist clenched in my hair,
Your lips on my lips,
Your gift of leather stroking my clit,
My pain Your pleasure.
The tide of orgasm floods in,
Breaking over me and leaving me spent.
Your murmur tickling my ear,
“Good girl. That’s Daddy’s good little slut.”
Slowing my hand movements,
Pressing my palm to swollen flesh,
Feeling the heat You generated
With Your words and Your suggestions.
Licking salt water from my fingers,
Dreaming of what the tide might bring in.

What happened
to our other world
where has realistic gone
there was a time when
love was love
when warmth was warmth
romance too
now in this world
of bdsm
things are forgotten
it’s all so clinical too
robot like..
Dom and sub
less care now
let us not forget about vanilla
they matter too

and she read me Kafka

Writhing in my bonds
Linen sheets of white
Candles burning flicker
Fever cunt sets flight
The seeping of a queen
Skin Shabari grinning night
Famous man words wing
Moan groan fits in light

she read me Kafka

He kisses her so sweetly
Red pitches in my sight
Curves sluthood to him
A growl it does ignite
Hips rise thump down
Frustration mounts for spite
Her hands massage his back
He turns to stare at me

read me Kafka

I pull against the ropes
skin peeling from my wrist
a gasping of my nerve ring
tears soaking at my blist
he’s taking it too far and long
a sobbing wetness list
as night begins to fall
he rips her clothes amist

me Kafka

sound of fucking fill me
her moan his grunt I’m done
a low and throaty scream
my monster crawling scum
he ruins all my love for him
one room one girl one cum
my body covered sweatness
a heave of sadness stung


I hear him leave her body
faucet runs gathers clothes
the door so softly closing
breath is ragged as it goes
fury burns at bubbled skin
instead of quieting it only grows
yank my legs wrists and pain
he looks at me and surely knows


gently he unties me
kisses inside palm
tells me that he loves me
pulls me to him strong
I smell her scent linger
look up at him so long
I cry into his naked flesh
and wonder if I’m wrong

Girl, listen to me
move on
it’s hard to admit
he really does not care
leave him there
you are to good for him
he is just playing
with your heart
and he will depart
with no care
it’s just another
brief affair
of no consequence
just a whim to him
he plays the same tune
to all that love
a melody
and they may dance
but the last
smooch will belong