willing to drown
I love a poet who lets me sink deep…jump in here
Snippet
“Hold onto the door frame, spread your legs and eyes on the mirror.”
I do as I’m told. I am standing naked in the middle of the doorway to Vincent’s playroom as I place my palms on the wall next to the door and slide my feet until they push against the frame.
The wall at the end of the hallway is a huge mirror and I can see myself clearly. Instead of watching me, I stare into the spaces behind me, searching for glimpses of him.
I watch his hands slip around my waist and feel him step against my back. He has taken off his shirt and I moan as I feel his skin make contact with mine. Both hands slide up to cup my breasts. They swell and ripen under his touch.
My hands twitch against the wall with the need to touch him.
FACT NOT FICTION: The Dom Files is a collection written by dominant men who share their perspectives, experiences and desires…
Pleasure and Pain
I am not a sadist, in the darkest sense of the term and I do not get pleasure from simply administering pain. Pain is just one element I have available to me in the collection of physical and mental sensations I offer you. Yes, pain demonstrates my power over you and control of what you experience and it is a component of discipline, reminding you of your chosen place. Mixed with pleasure, pain is just an ingredient in a cocktail of words and sensations that merge to form a state of blissful comfort and a true sense of powerful ownership. A whip can temporarily tarnish your body, but words and suggestion mark your imagination with much greater depth.
So why do I expose you to pain? – Why not simply smother you with pleasure?
Sometimes a suggestion or perception of torment is much stronger than the action itself, but this is doubly true when you have lived and felt the experience before and the images of doubt, fear and trepidation are still wrapped in the memories of contact, discomfort and torment. Pain, torment and degrading acts – wrapped in a context of control with an overwhelming sense of trust and a depth of care so immense – are pleasures of the mind and sensations of the body not found in traditional acts of attention or love. I use your body, I torment your mind and torture your flesh because it makes you drip with lust and your animal needs are given freedom, which drive me to fulfil them with the darkest of actions.
It is certainly true that ALL contact with your flesh offers stimulating pleasure, even when the act is shrouded in torment. However, I believe it is important that I do not get lost in lustful thoughts and desires for the act of causing pain, because it is my place to maintain absolute control at all times. I must be constantly aware of your mind and body and the boundaries and limits they are currently capable of enduring, so unguarded sadistic pleasures could distract me from my responsibilities.
So, do I need to give you pain to arouse me…? No.
Do I get pleasure from your reaction to such acts and your need for this treatment…? – I think the answer is clear and I will always use you in the darkest of ways, whether touched by my hand or addressed by my words.
Note: The above article has been re-blogged with permission from the author
You can find more of Lucia’s Master here
Exhibitionists
Snippet
#8sunday #SEXYSNIPPETS
The Weekend Writing Warriors and The Nuthouse Scribblers blog and share a weekend snippet from a work in progress.
Here is mine (unedited) from Exhibition…
She climbed on top of him and moulded herself against him, her breasts crushed against his back and her toes lay on the top of his calves.
Her head rested on Jason’s shoulder as she looked out at the twisted rows of bare vines under the moon. The barren fields created a hollow ache. A stark nothingness against the rich fullness of the evening they had shared. Every time Grace told Jason they only had three weeks, it wasn’t about reminding him, it was a note to self – this ends, don’t get comfortable.
She nuzzled into the warmth of his neck and inhaled his musky scent.
“What’s up Kiki?”
“Nothing.”
Everything.
© Nicolette Hugo
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