I remember where I think you found these but I don’t know who wrote them or if they were reblogged. I wish that I could give credit to the author. These were the words that aroused me, not because they are sexual but because they were from you.
Until We Meet Again
Desire is in her sighs our fantasies intensify
Every time she exhales I can barely breathe.
With Every breath increases my need
To help me understand the depths of her
Of sexual distress I feel I need
To explore the depths of her ecstasy
Within her forbidden walls.
My lust for her tests my sanity
I tease her with her my own.
I make it impossible for her to reach me .
Just like I am now. She is my distant lover,
Releasing the passions of my heart.
Beyond my rage, yet still nowhere within sight
She makes me yearn for her
And I long to give her my internal massage
As Her absence makes my carnal passions stronger
When she or I can bear it no longer bear it
I want to take matter into my hands.
I will tie the ropes that will restrict her
Screaming, writhing not knowing.
Whether she needs to be released,
Or restrained even tighter,
further pushing my pleasure
To her pain even past her previous limits.
If there is freedom in bondage, she will open up
As I restrain her she becomes a slave
To her own arousal. She releases
The evidence is in her quivers.
Torture is pain and pain is love.
She knows that I loves it. and that I love her too
Because only my love can make her feel this way
If she can only bear it,
Until one more time when we meet again.
In all this quiet peaceful waiting designed to please you, nothing more, there’s no denying that this body speaks often louder than my words.
Never enough. Always wanting. Deeply craving. Incapable of being satisfied.
When we are together we cannot stop. We cannot keep our hands to ourselves. We are addicts of our own desire. Of you.
There are moments when none of this seems real. I was going to liken them to when you surface between waves before the next pulls you down, one moment of salient breath before being dragged under the heady ocean of kink and D/s. I was going to liken it to waking up from a wonderful dream. But even then, even when I’m framing it as a fantasy rather than some psychotic body of water, it’s still wrong.
Because those moments, where you question what you’re doing, whether it’s right, whether you’re just a little too fucked up and a little too far gone, they’re not the lucid moments. They’re not when you’ve finally emerged from madness to the person you used to be, the person that your family members recognize you as, rather than the weird deviant they never knew. Those moments are when the self-doubt has gnawed through your usually impervious armour of self-affirmation. Because that’s all those moments are; they’re a shadow of the life before you were courageous, before you took that step that has you happier than any other step you’ve ever made, before or since.
That’s the shade of your former self petulantly kicking at the back of your mind, and finally finding a nerve. It rattles you for a moment, maybe even forces you to question your motives, and it shouldn’t take long to muffle it all over again, shove its panties in its mouth and hog tie it before shoving it right back into the dark recesses of your memory. It probably likes all that, because it’d be far too tragic to think that it took that much of a beating without liking it at least a little.
A tender gentle caring Man
that wishes to control, to Dominate. Submitting to His wishes, she gives, and pleases Him, smiles at His praise
Thoughts of Him are constant in her mind, for her only desire is to serve Him in all ways. He is her final true Friend, she is His listener. He is her father figure, she is daddy’s little girl.
He directs her, guides her, she strives to change, to better herself, to reach those goals He sets for her.
He is her Teacher, she is an apt and eager and intelligent pupil, wanting to learn of His ways, of His likes, wanting to learn and understand her emergent and rampant sexuality.
He is the One that praises her, listens to her, molds her, cherishes and protects. He treasures her, loving her, pushing her to do more, to take more. She is the one that blossoms in His care, that shines with love for Him, radiating grace and a passion of the mind, body, heart, and soul.
He leads, she follows. He wants her to be like so for Him – slut, whore, cum addict, wanton, possession, woman; His toy She strives to be those things for Him, finding out more about her desires as she does so.
He is Master, she is slave. He says; she does.
Yet as she gives to Him, He gives more of Himself to her, showing her worth and value to Him.
In His eyes, she is everything, finding a strength not known to her before, finding peace within His hold of her.
His chains bind her, yet she is free. Free of worrying all the time. Free of being stuck in her growth always evolving
In His chains, she is free, because she knows He will cherish her, every part if her being.
She knows He will cherish her, every part of her. She is His; She is slave….
She is free to fly…as high as she was born to be