Archive for February, 2006

your mouth

i remember your mouth
its full swell of lip
almost a girl’s

and oh those kisses
those whole grain kisses
my blue, blue ruin.

and oh the rythms
the casual rhythms of your tongue
sharpening, sharpening my body

and later the white whispers
a brittle, brittle silence

i remember your mouth
pressed soft
pressed cool
pressed mute
against my neck
when the poetry was gone

Marie Knows

You know she knows.

She’s been winking at you, licking her lips, eyeing your crotch, leering wickedly. You think she can smell your guilt, smell it on you, smell it oozing from your pores. You look out the window, feigning calmness. She can’t know. This is crazy thinking. It’s impossible. You think this to yourself, yet you don’t believe it.

The door opens. Kelly is back from her break. Watching her walk to her desk in those killer heels, you see her catch Marie’s eye. Are they both smirking? Do they both know? You need to get out of this office, take a walk, get some fresh air to clear your head. With a sigh of what you hope comes across as casual indifference, you push your chair back. You clear your throat.

“I guess I’m going to go out and grab some lunch,” you say, starting to rise.

“Not so fast, buster boy.”

You feel yourself turning red even as you sit back down. Flustered, embarrassed, you hear Kelly giggle at—what? What Marie said? What they know? The way you sat down so fast, like a well-trained puppy?

“Now that we’re all three alone…”

Marie is walking toward you, arms behind her back. She’s wearing black silk stockings again. You try not to look at her legs, try to think of something clever to say, try to tell yourself that nothing is wrong.

“I have something of yours, or I should say Kelly’s.”

Kelly giggles again, that beautiful girlish music, now a torment. You can’t even look at her. Worse, behind your desk you feel yourself becoming hard. Oh God, they found them. Fuck! What do I do now? How do I get out of this? I need to get out of here.

But it’s too late. Marie has brought her arms out in front of her. You don’t want to look at her outstretched hands, what she’s showing you. You try to look past the clutch of white satiny fabric to her face. You watch the cruel snarl of her red lips, moving as if in slow motion.

“You’re a fucking pervert, a dirty little dog, a crotch-sniffing panty thief.”

Kelly is crossing the carpet, one hand tugging at the hem of her skirt, the other dangling a key. Glimpsing a pink garter, you realize the key looks familiar. Your eyes darting back and forth, you start fumbling around your desk. Surely they are here somewhere.

“Looking for these?”

You hear the metallic clattering, even as Marie is pulling them from her ample cleavage. She smiles, leaning in close and jingling them in front of your face.

“What’s that,” Kelly says, sliding onto the corner of the desk, looking pointedly at your crotch, “a stiffy?” Her skirt is all the way up now. Seeing the pink lace of her panties, you feel your cock flex. You can’t help it. A moan escapes your constricted throat. Marie laughs as Kelly presses the key into your sweaty palm.

“Now let’s unlock that bottom drawer and see how many pairs you have in there,” Marie says.

And you know Marie knows and you know that you are fucked.

Beautiful Bruise

“Would you like to come out of your cage for a while, pet?”

Hearing his Mistress’s voice at the top of the stairs, Matthew’s cock began to twitch. With each steady, slow click of her heels as she descended the steps, it grew and the restraining ring around his balls tightened, causing the attached butt plug to automatically begin vibrating. Hurriedly, he dropped off the cot and onto his knees, pressing his face to the floor of the cage in supplication, as he’d been trained.


Keeping his eyelids lowered, he unbent from the waist to an upright position, bringing his arms down to his sides. Eyes focused on her black leather boots and remaining still despite the rippling sensation of the butt plug, Matthew listened to the key rattling in the lock of his cage.


“Yes, Mistress Diana, I would like to come out of my cage.”

“You do know I am going to beat you, Matthew,” she said, swinging the cage door open. If it weren’t for the constraining ring, he would have lost control, orgasming without permission, just hearing those words from her lips.


Matthew is again lying in his cot, Mistress Diana sitting beside him. She tenderly runs her fingertips over the welts along his neck and shoulder. Though he tries his best to suppress his tears, they escape, sliding down the sides of his face. “We will have to put some Betadine on these and the ones on your backside later,” she tells him. “I was rather rambunctious with my whip tonight.” Although his body is aching and tender, he answers her respectfully, “Yes, Mistress, if it is your wish.”

Reaching to undo his restraining ring, she continues, “Once you’ve healed, I have a delightful new metal and barbed wire baton we are going to try out.” He shudders–both at the thought of future torture and the sudden grasp of her hand around his cock.

She begins slowly stroking him.

“Would you like to orgasm for Mistress, Matthew?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please, Mistress, permit me to serve you with my orgasm.”

The rhythm of the stroking becomes more urgent, and Matthew feels his orgasm building. Now he is sobbing. The pain, her touch, his need, it is all too much. He feels her breath at his ear, her hair on his chest, can smell the sweetness of her shampoo. She whispers, “Then tell me who you are, Matthew. Tell me who you are, and I will let you orgasm.”

“I am your beautiful bruise.”


Dear Fiance

Thus we’ve moved to this.

All those moments we dared to test our chaste vows: You knowing my hunger by the quickening of my breath, the beating of my heart against your chest, the fire of my cunt against the thigh you shoved into the folds of my skirt. Desperate to keep your secret, even in those heated moments, you never dared press full against me.

A twofold agony for you: Wanting me just as much. Needing to fuck me the way a real man fucks a real woman. Aching for the tight clench of hot cunt around a fully formed cock. Yet always knowing that this would be experience forever denied you. And thus….me. Always knowing you could never fuck the woman you love, lying wantonly and wickedly beneath you.

Dreading—even as you respond in your very small way to the feminine scent of my arousal that is so upon you, filling your nostrils, inflaming your need—that I might in frenzied abandon forcefully shove against you. Skirt to trousers, pelvis to pelvis, crotch to crotch. Hastening the disaster that looms in our future: My pending discovery of your own sad inadequacy.

And here we are in this encapsulated instant.

You watch my face: Idolizing the hunger, the desire you see there, as your fumble with the zipper of your fly. No backward movement here……no escape. And you know it.

You watch my face. Cherishing my ignorance of that forever-held breath, that angel of disappointment that hovers about us ready to pounce. You see her. Your first love. She who can only be your true love. And you know it.

The dark angel who has taunted you in the lone dark as you cupped your incompleteness. After all, only a few brief strokes needed for such paucity. Did you hear her laughter? . Did you hear her whispered taunts as you squirted your scant bit of goo in a brief spasm of nasty relief?

Did she warn you? Did she tell you what you already knew? That revelation would steal away this countenance of desire before you.

I lick my lips. You see the brush of perspiration above them, knowing the hunger that causes it is about to be replaced with disgust, perhaps pity.

Your clammy fingers, slipping, sliding.

I blink my eyes.

Impatiently I whisper, “Hurry. Show me, darling.”

“Show me!”

Exasperated, I reach out to help.

“Now, darling. Now!”

I hurriedly pull down the zipper and grab inside.

I look up at you.


You hear the dark angel snicker.

she is your flower child

she is your flower child

your woman-girl

an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place

the melodia always at the back of your throat

a slip of memory

tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart

there to unfold

again and again and again.

and you will remember this vixen-child:

her flowing hair, her open flesh

the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples

the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt

you will remember:

her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame

all of this offered to you

all of this gathered for you

from the chagrined pleats

of your mothers’ ferrous skirts

of your fathers’ flannel suits.

before too long the years will shift

clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them

you don’t even know it

you shouldn’t even know it

she won’t let you know it, at least not yet

so be with her now, in this moment of this night

in this moment of this night that will last forever

because it is all that matters

because it will always matter

mount her, take her, fuck her, love her

forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning

remember yourself in her wide-open giving

save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts

she is your flower child

and you will remember

because she is writing herself onto your heart