Tag Archives: kiss

Son and Consort

A crisp lavender expanse of down and fluff.

Warmed by body heat and scented like my skin.

A 54×75 sanctuary where my two worlds dream.

Side by side in unwitting repose.

They will never meet here,

Merely know the feel of resting here with me.

I bear lone witness to this strange changing of the guard.

I am the treasure they share.

They each claim a place in my lilac-colored world.

The warm void between sheets the tender turf,

Where my intimacy runs free with Son and Consort.

I am the constant.

I am the Mother-Mistress.

I am the gravity that draws them here.

I am their common ground.


You climb into my bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Your warmth seeps into me as you snuggle close.

I can feel a sense of safety fill you as you settle in next to me.

I can feel the pull of my love,

like the gravity of the sun holding my universe together.

I stroke your hair and watch as you breathe deeper, relaxing into my touch.

Remembering many nights together.

The texture of your hair is coarser now.

Not the baby fine silk you had when you were three.

But the feel of it transports me back in time.

To every moment I rocked you to sleep in my arms or held you close to me.

You are my reason, my sanity, my tether to this world.

You are the reason I fight, I strive, I grow.

You are my heart and soul, the definition of my love.

You are my son.


I leave the door unlocked for you and climb between scented sheets.

My body tingling, anticipating your touch.

I try to sleep, knowing you are on your way to me.

But I think of your caress and abandon thoughts of rest.

My hands roam my body too hungry to wait for you.

I lose myself in the sea of my own desire.

You open the door and find me in passion’s throes.

A wolfish smile upon your face as your hand replaces mine.

I am shocked back to reality by your kiss.

And delivered to passion once again.

You are the one who stokes my fires, who drives me beyond my brink.

You are my balance, my motivation, my laughter, my release.

You are the visitor that drinks from the wellspring of my heart.

You are my lover.


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Filed under Poetry

Moment of Change – Part Two

Seismic movement happens in waves.  The same can be said of us.  In the first Moment of Change, I prepared to shed you like a skin that no longer fit me.  But now, the earth beneath me has undulated once again.  Where once there was a valley, now a mountain has formed…

Moment of Change – Part Two

I talk a great game.

About living fearlessly; about living with intent.

I pride myself on facing my fears; not letting those fears hold me back.

I am lying to myself.

Your caress has awakened more than just my body.

Your smile has shined light into darkened corners.

As I feel my vulnerability rise up to meet your kiss

So too the fear rises up to meet you.

Still reddened where the wounds of last November flayed me open,

My desperate instinct was to protect my heart from another blood-letting.

And my fear nearly drove me away.


But I am not the same woman I was before.

And I am not beholden to make the same frightened choices I have made in my past.

I can own my feelings.

Voice my emotions.

Face the monster in the darkness.

Expose my vulnerability to the light.

Regardless of what you say or do after you see it.

In the end, what you do with that knowledge is your decision.

What happens next is in the future, beyond our reach.

But right now,

There is another moment whose time has come…


The moment I let you in.



Filed under Poetry

Moment of Change

When did it happen?

When did that moment occur when you stopped fucking me and started making love to me?

I didn’t see it happen, I didn’t feel the shifting of your emotional tide.  I just know at some point it changed.

You stopped spanking me.  You stopped pulling my hair.  You stopped tying me up, clamping me down.  You stopped the punishments.

You started caressing my skin.  You began stroking my hair.  You put away your tethers and devices.  You stopped trying to leash me.

When I asked you about the change, you said you didn’t need those things.  That you liked us just the way we are.

And I knew.

The shift had taken place.

The tide had changed.

You are invested.

I can see it in the subtle depth of colors in your eyes.

I can feel it in the loving way your mouth moves over mine.

Your feelings are silently present in the quiet moments lying naked with my head against your shoulder.

They are on the tip of the tongue you use to kiss me.

We laugh about it.  Joke about how it isn’t happening.  You assure me you are staying in your box.

But you are lying – and so am I.

There is a subtle depth of color in my eyes too.

There is something on the tip of the tongue I use to kiss you.

We aren’t fucking any more.

We are making love.

And now there is only one course left to take.

There is one more moment whose time has come…


The moment I let you go.


Filed under Erotica, Poetry

Memory of a Kiss


What is on my mind tonight, you ask?

I am thinking of how I miss the feel of skin against mine.  I am pondering my craving for a silky caress that is laced with salacious reverence.  I want to feel fingertips stroke my face from the curve of my cheekbone to the line of my jaw, while lips dance across mine.  I miss the heat of another body pressing closer to me, trapping me against a wall, a kitchen counter, a door jamb, preventing my retreat.

I miss being kissed in sweet slow-motion, long and purposeful.  A kiss that leaves me breathless, my eyelids fluttering as desire washes over me in salty waves and I go under. I miss long, graceful fingers threading into my hair and pulling me gently forward for the next wave.

The kiss is not just the introduction.  It is the refrain that the symphony returns to; playing it again and again as our bodies crash and weave.  The kiss is the melody that lingers in my mind the following day.  I miss the feeling of true passion being given and taken, desire and yearning, lust and love all colliding in one moment in time that will remain forever.  Long after the owner of those lips has gone.

A memory imprinted on the cells of my body, on my mind and heart.  The memory of his kiss.



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Filed under Erotica, Pussy's Jukebox

Morning Kiss – Part Two

“I want to lie down next to you.”

His words were like litmus paper.  In an instant my entire nervous system was on fire. I had a moment of gratitude that I took the time to make my bed that morning.  I stood from the couch, grabbed the glass of cold water that we were sharing, took his hand and led him to my bed.

It had been weeks since our last visit.  He had been traveling for work, our only contact the occasional carefully worded email that gave just a hint of the animal desire we were both feeling.

There was a moment of awkwardness.  The first man to set foot in my room with the intent of lying next to me in my bed.  Which side? We laughed at our nerves and quickly settled in, our mouths joining fast and exploring in that slow sensual way we had discovered on the couch.

His large hand explored the curve of my hip, running over me and down towards the length of my thigh. I knew he could feel the muscles beneath my pants, the lean strength of my legs.  I know the feel of it so well, having run my own hands over those same lines a thousand times before.  It got me hot as hell to know what he was feeling. I could feel his response pressing into me, his body’s hunger belied by the slow pace of his exploration.  I loved that.  The fact that we both held ourselves in check.  Keeping the pace slow and exploratory, without yielding to the impulses of our bodies.  Without giving in to the urge to rip clothing aside and mate like animals.

He spooned me, his hardness pressing into the curve of my ass as his mouth brushed the skin at my back.  “Your skin tastes so good,” he told me breathlessly, “I can’t get enough of it.”  His words made my pulse race and his lips all but guaranteed I’d need to change my panties before heading into the office that morning.

His hands were under my blouse and I quickly offered to remove it.  He didn’t take me up on it at first, but then changed his mind.  Off came the blouse and he pushed me gently to my stomach and straddled me carefully.  He caressed me from shoulders to ass, his finger tracing the line of my panties to the point where it disappeared between my legs.  He kissed every inch of my back, his mouth drawing patterns that left my skin singing with lust.  My need to feel that sweet caress on my breasts won out and I confessed it to him like a guilty sinner.

He removed my bra, turned me over and soon I was fighting the urge to mount him again.  His kisses were like a slow motion caress that formed an endless loop of sensation – bringing my nipples to stiff peaks that begged for his touch.

By now, I could feel the prodigious bulge in his pants brushing against me.  For the life of me, I don’t know how I resisted the urge to run my hand down the front of his jeans, to feel the outline of him and squeeze in the hopes of driving him past his breaking point.  I simultaneously loved and hated the restraint we were showing. It was the most exquisite torture.

For over an hour we lay there together, caressing and kissing.  Never removing more than our shirts.  At one point, we took a break.  It was the only thing that would keep us from fucking like starving fiends.  And we wanted to continue the torturous exploration; to keep the sweet anticipation building.

So we rested together, hands entwined, his heart thumping strong and steady beneath my ear.  How I love that sound.  As much as I love the moan a man makes when the head of his cock is nestled deep inside my throat.  Or the whimper when my tongue traces his ass.  Love the sound of a man’s heart.  Strong, steady, seemingly timeless. With my head resting against the curve of his shoulder, his arm around me and my lips against his skin, I felt safe.

It didn’t last long.  We regained our control and pushed the envelope again.  My tongue circling his nipples this time.  His sounds of pleasure in my ears spurring me on.

He held my breasts in his palms, marveling at the weight of them in his hands, reaching up with his mouth to suck at me and kiss my soft, scented skin.

We had trouble parting, deciding next time with a laugh that we would set an alarm so as not to lose track of time.

We were both late to work.  But we arrived smiling.

I am looking forward to our next visit…

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Filed under Erotica

Morning Kiss

I emailed him back almost immediately when I read his request.  A morning meeting at my place? I couldn’t think of a better way to start my day than with strong arms around me and hot lips pressed passionately to my skin.  Only a fool would say no to that kind of invitation.  And I am no fool.

I prepared carefully, shaving in the shower, running my hands over my legs, testing the silky factor of my skin and making sure it was as perfect as possible.  I wanted my skin to unhinge him.  To make him want, no, need to touch more.  I scented my body, a light floral scent that blended well with my natural smell.  As I went about my ablutions, my clit tingled like an antenna receiving a distant signal.  I watched the minutes tick by, marveling at my own chutzpah.  I barely know this guy.  By the end of our morning tryst, I will know him far better.

He arrived a bit late, having gotten lost and sending me an apologetic text.  He was chilled from the cold November air.  He took off his coat and settled himself, watching with amusement as I fumbled nervously with ice trays, trying to fix him a drink.  He laughed at me and I laughed at myself. How could I not? I was all thumbs just from the intense stare of his icy blue gaze – he hadn’t even touched me yet.

He took his drink and settled comfortably on my sofa, all long legs and confidence.  I prayed I looked cooler than I felt.  I was like a teenage girl on prom night.  And like prom night, I took a deep breath and dove right in.  I sat next to him and immediately he reached out for me.  There would be no time wasted with small talk.  He was there to press his lips against me, to taste my mouth and touch my body, and he was not going to wait for my girlish shyness to subside.  Rather than let my nerves settle on their own, he kissed me senseless instead.

When was the last time you just sat and kissed someone?  Not kissing as means toward fucking, but kissing for the sake of connecting intimately with another person? I am a big fan of the kiss.  A dying art, and something that when done skillfully, will vault a man to the top of my fuckable list.  He was skillful.  He absolutely vaulted.

I had to pull myself back more than once. Pull hard on the reins of my desire to keep myself from tearing off his clothes and mounting him like a thoroughbred about to be put through his paces.  At one point, his large hand was lingering above my breast, teasing the soft skin of my chest where it peeked out of my blouse.  I tried to hold back.  I really did.  But I broke down with a moan, grasping his hand and sliding it down lower, filling his palm with my breast.  He smiled at that.  By that point he knew enough of me to recognize the hunger I kept barely in check.

He paused, pulling away from me with a breathless whoosh of air and a mischievous grin.  He reached for his drink, eyes alight with a hunger of his own.  When he returned to my mouth his tongue was cold from the ice in his drink and I took great pleasure in warming it again.  As I licked and kissed his mouth, it was all I could do not to demand that cold mouth on my nipples.  Oh god.  I wanted to fuck him so badly it hurt.

He went down on his knees, spreading my legs and wrapping his arms around my torso, lifting me to his kiss.  I heard my pulse pounding in my ears and I pressed my breasts eagerly into his chest, my legs wrapping instinctively around his middle.  My hands roamed his back, taking in the sheer size of him, wondering what he would feel like, naked and buried balls-deep inside of me.  My pussy was drenched by this point.  He pressed his lips to the skin at the base of my throat, his hands sliding up the legs of my jeans.  He groaned into my chest as his fingers grazed the silky softness of my calves.  I smiled at the ceiling, a jolt of sensual victory that went straight to my dripping cunt.

He started pulling away at 7:30, telling me he needed to get to work.  But he kept coming back for more.  Another kiss led to another.  His hands roaming my body, still not touching the primal parts of me I knew he craved the most.  It was sweet torture and we were happy, captive participants.

As he took his last kisses, drinking in my mouth like a fine wine, he told me the next time he came over, he wanted to push me against the wall and frisk me.  His voice was husky as he told me how much it turned him on to think of touching me wherever and however he wanted.  I readily agreed.  Then he surprised me.  “Tonight when you are lying in bed,” he said thickly as he pressed kisses to my neck, “I want you to think about me frisking you, and I want you to touch yourself.”  I don’t even know if I said yes.  I think I just groaned a little and nodded.  It was enough for him.  He left for work late and smiling, adjusting his jeans as he walked out the door.

I came like a freight train on downhill track that night, shuddering and soaking the blanket beneath me as I thought of his hands on my most intimate parts.

I can’t wait until he visits me again.



Filed under Erotica