doors open, mouth shut

it was a lovely day

hot and sunny

The balcony doors open, breeze blowing the voile, the gardener and house keeper milling about outside whilst they were like teenagers upstairs playing.

She liked to keep quiet and discrete – his arousal heightened by the exhibitionism of people knowing/thinking they know what they were up to.

She is training him now to absorb the feelings rather than let them escape. A thwack is now not followed up by a cry out…rather a low animal moan. The rhythm of being fucked and taken, not followed up by panting and loud positive exclaimations for God. Rather a near silent outpouring of built up pleasure, pain and power. She prefered it like that – it wouldn’t burst their bubble, it kept it all for themselves, their secret, their history been made, the eternal she and he, the universal us.

Them together, safe in a teeny tiny tent

she realised something about herself; she did like restriction, enclosure, bondage.

When she was with him, it was like they were both in a beautiful velvet and fur lined tent. A teeny tiny tent.

They breathed each other’s air. Warming themselves with each other’s passions. Invisible chains bound them together for eternity.

In that tent they learnt the language of each others moods & bodies. Decipher the clues & cues of their yearnings.  They transposed signs & signals to become drunk on their heady “D/s, S/m and IloveU”.

I heard her shout…

I have a real life.  I am real. Living breathing feeling thinking.

You fill my mind and my time.

I wonder what you do and what you want.

A furrowed brow and twisted mouth betray your concentration and thoughts of others.

The previous, the ones before, the ones who got away, the ones who fell away, the ones who wouldn’t stay.

This one was pretty, this one was hot, this one was crazy; now you are all I have got.

I share you around,

my toy in which to play.

A place where rules are non rules, limits are limitless and greed is good.

Politeness, coyness and togetherness are weak, boring and human…mere human.

You want more, demand more, expect more and why the hell not.

It is what you have always done, always will, nothing will never ever be enough.

I love your hunger, I love your pain, I love your craving and we go round again.

Too much too soon, not enough too little.

Rubbing hard, scrubbing away until we become brittle.

Then back to the softness, the weak, the innocent.

The fluff and the fancy, vulnerable magnificent.

I hate you, I love you, I forget sometimes

That you, are where darkness lies

Your heart is black, your soul scratched

A devil you are, but what a catch

You play at submission, you play at being nice

I beat you, your feigned compliance is to entice

I see what you do, I know you too well

We pretend that we are both under the spell

Sometimes you nearly crack and I see the real man

The little boy, lost and all alone

A spoilt brat maybe, not enough love shown

Or maybe you are, what I always expected you to be

Nothing more than a filthy pervert, like me

A dance of words at the silent disco…


Him –

I imagine us dancing, me having seen how beautifully you are dressed, but now blindfolded and naked, my cock trussed tight and hard, you holding taut a light lead to my testicles as you lead the dance. I know that you are directing me, and with every circle you dance me closer to something that was behind me when I entered, and I don’t know what it is.

Her –

What is behind you…is the part of you, that I told you to leave when you entered the game with me. That part is gone now, but we spin past it so that you can say Goodbye and see it float off as I cut the cord that held you together. You are free now, you are mine.

Him –


It’s not my history that floats off, but me. I am now un-tethered to it, and tied instead to you, my future.

I am freed from all my inhibitions and all my desires. I am only limited by you. I only have your desires. I want only to go where you lead me. I am only sad when you are not happy, only bored when I don’t know what you wish for.

I await your tug

Her –

A tiny part of me craves the light, I spy it through my telescope, a far off place where people dine on vanilla ice cream the greedy ones have two scoops!

Alone in my observatory, alone that is except for you at my feet, asleep or maybe dead I do not know which. I think that your lead may have got caught up in the mechanism of my chair as I was spinning fast looking out to the far reaches of the universe, for where the people of the light dwell.

They eat their vanilla ice-cream and lick their lips happy. I kick you with my foot to see if you are living or have passed…alive, you and I sit down to eat our ice-cream sundaes with sparklers, sauce, cream and sprinkles. They may have the Light but we have the all the flavours we could ever wish for….but then why are we still hungry?

Him –

I am hungry because you only let me eat when the whim takes you, as you spoon a lickful onto the toe of your shoe. Vanilla makes you smile, strawberry is your way of being kind, chocolate on your shoe for me to clean makes you laugh out loud.

You are hungry because … but it is not for me to say. But I think, because ice-cream is less than a trifle. You control your indulgence, you prefer to observe others’ indulgences sometimes, and this mere ice-cream is not exotic enough. You want ever more imaginative ice-cream, that no-one has had before, you want stardust ice-cream with sunspot berries, mercury ripple and nebula sauce, set in the rings of Saturn. You want it fed to you on a small asteroid.

Here I kneel, thinking how if E=mc2 I can create a cosmic sundae for you, to make you smile all the way through to Fridae

Her –

I give you a desk, an angle poise lamp, paper and a fountain pen…but only limited ink. You can have access to all the books in the world and you have to find what makes me happy. I whizz around the library on movable steps and sometimes fly up to the chandelier and swing whilst I wait your answers. A little bird is trapped in the room and we sit together up high watching you below us.
A Grandfather clock ticks away our day and an hour glass shows time sliding…I am getting tired, bored and cross as I await your equations and formula so that my eternal bliss can start.

I tug your ear and flick you with my ruler, I spit chewed up paper balls at you whilst you work for my amusement…maybe even a chinese burn. Then I sit on your knee, so that you can smell me hot and perfumed, I rock back and forth and knock over the ink. We look at the ink blots and see if an answer can be found there.

Him –

I sniff the air for clues, I watch heat trail as you move, I borrow the telescope to check the titles of the books you gravitate to. I try to learn from Einstein, but all I get is Heisenberg.

My calculations go nowhere. I look at you. I bare my breast for you to target me. Actions speak louder than formulae. I put the paper on the ground, spatter ink like Pollock and roll in it.

I kneel and watch your reactions as you inspect.

It looks like the cosmos to me, but my interpretation is insignificant.

I now I was always bound to fail this test, but somewhere there’s a spark of hope that one drop will have fallen in a way that pleases you

Her –

Come with me, through the top of the world. Our world, through the top of the observatory, it sits on the mountainside like a giant cock, the slit not for cum but for go. The slit, opens, we slide past the old cold brass telescope out out towards the stars…..I want to carry moonbeams home in a jar!

Come with me, lets escape together…I will drag you by the hair kicking and screaming…lets escape where the only cage is the one around your cock to stop unsanctioned fiddling.

Let’s cook. Bitch.

The ink…I peer down with my monocle…I see a teeny tiny love heart. I pick up the paper and kiss the heart, red lipstick obscures it now, an eclipse of kisses that hide the dark love.

To celebrate this tiny moment of happiness – I have you kiss my feet whilst dressed only in your socks and pants.

Come fly with me, I am the pilot and you my trolley dolly – your cart laden with perfume, toys and alcohol in tiny bottles. The plane on autopilot, you are scared as you watch me sleep snuggled up in First Class. Surely, she cannot sleep whilst she is supposed to be at the helm. I read your mind and say “Don’t call me Shirley!”.

Him –

There is only one worse humiliation than being in socks and pants only, and that is being in socks and sandals only. But for you I will do this, and in public, and if I do then the cage around me or my cock will be occupied with pride.

You release me and stand me like a soldier on parade, alongside other soldiers, all taller. You tell us to dance around each other and clash our cocks like swords. I move gracefully, arms outstretched because I understand you. I dance in spirals, my cock gravitating to the others in turn. You know I’m not gay or even bi, but I trust that for you the spectacle or just the power to create it, is erotic and I do my best, ugly as I am. But the others, while they try, do not understand, so I must dance alone, and you anoint me.

I am the boy in Walkabout. You rub sand on my body, sand and syrup, and you write symbols with your finger, lines in the sand, signals that witches know the meaning of, and witches are there to read them and they laugh at their meaning.

Feeling your warmth and your hardness.



I never want to let you go, never ever ever for I am selfish and greedy and want you all to myself. To sit the shadows of my gold box, hidden in the creases of the folded satin that has been laid out to protect me, and cosset me from the harsh realities of the world. I want you to have to hold your breath, my finger pushed to your lips, telling you not to move a muscle as you hide beneath the folded fabric.

A nice person would open the box and kiss your hand as you clamber out, wave good bye as you run for freedom. But I am not nice, I am greedy and wanton, I want to cut off your wings so that you cannot flutter out, I want to blindfold you so that you do not know if the box is open or closed. I want to snuggle up against your warmth and feel your hardness, tasting you and making you hunger for me, for eternity.

The one who got away but actually worse for I never left, I was there lurking within you, holding you back, tainting all relationships and hopes for happiness all dashed as my toxic love for you, malforms and misshapes all that is good.

Yes, I want you in my gold box with me and me in my gold box in your heart for all eternity – an unrequited love but worse for there is no poetry or romance in the longing and yearning and hunger only pain and suffering.

My love, my beautiful beautiful hearted soul – I want to ensnare you with my love, pour my sticky, sweet, nectar onto you and then protect you from the flies and wasps that will be drawn to you. Of course it is not protection really it is control, entrapment, selfish, greedy, suffocating, damaging love that I wish to suffocate you with.

I want my cake, I want your heart.



I want my cake and to eat it, then I want to eat your cake and also save some of your cake for later.

I would also like to have a rummage in your pantry to see if you are saving any other cakes, maybe I shall even buy you the ingredients to make me more cakes – and I want to taste the love in them!

I want your heart on a plate – I will take it and nail it to my own. Using the nails that hung Christ on the cross – these are the nails that I will use. Nails used by mere humans to hammer home the eternal human fear of loss and pain. These are the only nails that I can use, that are worthy of using.

In return for this I can offer you longing, I can offer you want, I can offer you craving, I can offer you eternal hunger and yearning. I can offer you unrequited love without the poetic, romantic softening just the harsh reality of “it’s not fair!”

How I do intimacy.

I want you kneeling facing away from the door. I come in and kneel behind you, my blouse undone, I bite your neck, my arm around your chest, I hold you closer to me. Feeling round the front of your body I start to touch your tummy and genitals, I stroke you. Like a cold vampire I want to steal warmth and love from your soft skin.

Making you lay on the bed, I stroke you, massage you; pushing and pulling your skin deeply to get to your muscles, to the blood in your muscles. I slide my arm under your waist and pull you backwards with a jolt. I cane your bottom and backs of legs. Your face buried into a pillow, I hear you whimper and moan and it makes me happy, so so happy.

I kiss the cane marks and plant a 1000 tiny kisses on your legs, bottom and lower back. Taking your penis into my mouth, you feel the heat of my mouth, my hard painful suck; it feels as if I will consume you. Then pulling your penis backwards, I squeeze your legs shut firmly, I rub you and grip you hard….really hard.

Laying you back down on your front, I run my hands over your bottom, feeling your goose bumps under my fingers. I leave you. The sound of the thwack of me putting on my gloves, me spitting onto my hand, then gentle encouragement you will know that I have not really left you. I will never leave you. I push a finger into your bottom and search for your prostate.

This is my way of being intimate…true heart felt, gut wrenching intimacy.