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”.

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.

Time in her Clinic.


When alone with a man; him standing before her, she paused and waited. In no hurry she watched and waited. He is all alone, vulnerable and frozen to the spot under her gaze.

She watched and waited for the chinks to appear. Little teeny tiny holes at first. Some continue to expand, growing into fist sized tears, other holes remain small. Like bullet holes of vulnerability in his suit of armour.

She walked towards him looking into his eyes; they are sad, scared, full of shame and confusion. Circling each wound with her finger, tracing the raw edges and feeling the soreness under her gentle touch. She dipped in a finger, touching the delicate person inside; pulling out and tasting the essence of the human that is waiting for her to heal. He flinches and braces himself as she pushed her whole hand in through a large raw wound.

Here together in this room she strokes his pain. She made him feel whole, clean and normal….for a while.
Here in this room there are only her rules, she set the limits, he submits and becomes free. He can be honest and find release. Here in this room there are no secrets, there are no lies, there are no hidden boxes. They are base,  only animals…their true selves.

She dried his eyes and mopped his brow as the exertion of being honest is nearly too much to bear. On opening his eyes he feels everything will be alright, he can function; he can continue…he is at peace for the first time since he last stood before me.
It is time for him to go, she kisses his sweet lying mouth, bending down to lick the edge of each and every wound, pinching the skin together; the wound seals. He is ready to go back and into the world, his friends, his life; knowing that she, the only one who knows all of him and loves him as her own damaged boy.

Come with Me.

You kneel before me. Her marks on your body; dribbling the liquid paint that signposted her being there. But, she has gone now, and all that you have left is me and I you. She filled the air, the space, the room. Her suffocating presence enclosed and enveloped us both. But now she is gone.

I sit back and gaze upon you. Your breathing returning to normal, the feeling coming back into your body, you are coming back to reality. The floor now hard under your knees and her tear marks are beginning to become sore as the body fights to heal itself.

Her job is done and you are now healing ; outside-in. My job, however is to take you further, take you to the places that you do not wish to go. In my reality there is no subspace surrender for you; only real life pain, no acceptance, no zone, no atonement for crimes once committed. Just you and I. You, are nearly spent, exhausted and broken whereas for me; my working day is just starting. I am refreshed, energised and aroused.

I sit and watch you uncoil and then recoil, as you realise it has only just begun. Your eyes blinking in the light that shines in from the now open window shutters. You have been safe in your dark world. Your dark world; eyes jammed shut. Your dark world, where you could cope with and expect dark things.

Now, it is time for the light, the reprieve, the rapture of the sun on your back, the rivulets of sweat drying and crisping in her gouges. Together my love, we will walk in the light, I will take you, you will be safe with me…I promise. Or maybe not safe, but safe in the knowledge that now is the time for you to take off your heavy armour, free yourself and then you will fly…fly into the light….Come with me.

“Come with me…Come with me…Now!” Pulling on your chain; you lurch forward from the wrists, the metal bracelets, heavy, bruising but so lovely on you. That blissful feeling of being yanked. “Come with me…come with me now!” I am standing, pulling your chain, your arms out-stretched in front, you clamber to your feet, falling forward and stumbling. That blissful feeling of being yanked into life. I see your erection and know that I am on task.

“Come with me now!” I am walking to the door, only one pair of footsteps on the stone floor; my boots, your naked feet make no sound. On opening the door, turning to smile I see your angelic face. Pale and ghostly, your eyes hollow and sunken; yet you manage to give me the most beautiful smile…you always do and it makes me happy.

“Come with me now!” I pull on the chain, tripping down the stairs you are out onto the gravel. I pull you up and we walk in silence; listening to the birds chattering about their day and the bees gossiping about the Queen. I am kind, I know that I am kind…it feels ok. It is nice to be nice, so I allow you to walk on the grass, I see the relief in your eyes as you step onto the cool wetness.

“Come with me my love” At the top of the cliff we make love, “Come to me my love” The warm sun upon your back, your sticky blood under my nails. “Cum with me my love, before she comes back for you”.

Scent Marking.


When she has finished with you, you are kneeling in the centre of the room. Back marked with her whip, cane and cat, meek and near broken.

Standing behind you, I run my hands over your head, down your neck, onto your shoulders and back, feeling the raised skin, the heat of the welts. Stroking you with the faintest of touches, my icy cold finger tips on your silken skin.

My hands pushing down onto your shoulders, my touch becoming deeper, smooth yet pushing into you, onto you. The heal of my hand into the back of your shoulder my fingers bent, my nails hold you at the front, firm. A massage like no other. The mix of dull ache and sharpness, chronic and acute. Bending my knees, your warmth against my shins, my knee caps pressed firmly either side of your spine, the toes of my shoes at your coccyx.

Putting a hand down under your chin, I lift your head, pulling your face up to meet my gaze, like a beautiful flower turning to the sun. Back bent, curved around my knees, your chest stretched open, your neck; compression at the back, expansion at the front you find it difficult to swallow. I look at your lovely face, your pouty mouth, I bend forward to kiss your lips upside down. Licking the inside of your open mouth, I taste you. You shake as the contorted body fatigues. I release you and you spring forward then upright. The relief is visible on your face and you pant.

Stepping round you, lifting my skirt, I tell you to straighten your legs to the front. Lowering myself on to your cock. My open blouse allows us to be chest to chest, my legs bent around your waist, the heels of my shoes catching the downy skin on your buttocks. Grabbing hold of your scorched back, clinging onto you for dear life, my nails clawing at you as I buck hard from the waist, pulling you into me, harder, I fuck you, I take you, you are mine.

After I am done, I stand and send you back to her, so that she can see what she inspired me to do, my nail marks over hers. Like scent marking, a shot across her bows? Maybe.