Poetry | Explicit | D/s

I peel

And steal

Panties then bite

As I hike

your thigh and you take flight

As my tongue slices

Dices

Sacrifices

Moans

Groans

Spitting hare

You no longer care

As you suck air

Tightening, crying, mother fucking

belying all you know

As you grow

mind expanding

Contracting

Impacting

Mind is gone

Until the dawn

Sweat dripping

Gripping

Slipping

Mine… all mine

You’ll be fine

Totally shine

In your prime

In my hands

Plan to expand

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Love and bites from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme

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Hello Sweetlings,

I used to spend My days and nights writing, revising, posting and connecting to the community, but now I’m taking care of a family friend and trying to find a new normal.

*

My usual morning drink is Chai, but today I needed triple the caffeine - Chai, cocoa, and Cuppa mushroom coffee.

*

Working on getting back to a regular writing practice (and connecting with community) as quickly as possible.

*

A nice benifit to staying and taking care of my friend, she has a lovely bathtub and I spent hours soaking my soar body in it last night as I teased My darling submissive with pics. This is the last one after getting out of the tub. I am encouraging self‐care and self-pleasure this month and I am starting with Myself. Say it with Me, “My body is Sacred and deserves to be loved by Me first.”

Self-care is important. It isn't narcissistic or selfish, it is necessary for you to be healthy of mind, body, and soul.

*

Wicked Love, kisses and bites,

Dragon Ezme

This is raw and unedited. Just as I am.

The first time I touched you, I knew I wanted you, even before that but definitely after we hugged that first time. I felt it, warmth, a need, your need calling to me.

Talking to you on the phone, chatting through texts, I felt things building between us, I knew we were growing something special.

The party, you held on so tight, head to my shoulder and I wanted to hold you forever.

Then in the house, I sat on the chair and you got down on the floor in front of me, nothing formal, just chatting, showing me your cards. Then as I had you sit with your back to me, to give you Reiki, my hands wanted to explore immediately. I stroked your arms, your hair, held you tight against me and I felt you sink into it, into me, wanting more. But it wasn’t time yet.

I had to have a session with my play partner first. All I wanted to do was to continue to touch you, hold you, and explore you. I craved your total submission.

But I set thoughts of you aside for a time.. I was able to stay in the moment, focused on my partner, as it should be.

After, when it was finally time. Your shyness was so adorable. but then you were on the spanking bench. I had you, you were mine for that moment in time.

My hands roamed over your body and I felt the heat between us. I felt your surrender, I felt your need and want.

Stroking I gradually began scraping my fingernails over your body and I could feel you going deeper. My mouth went to your skin on your back and my tongue licked out. I heard a small moan as I continued and the flames within me, burned…

Scratches,

strokes,

nibbles,

pulling your hair,

breathing on your neck,

biting into your shoulder.

I wanted to leave my marks. But it was our first time, not our hundredth.

If it had been our hundredth...

I would have bit down, hard, not breaking skin, but i would have left a mark, bruises would have bloomed which I know you enjoy. But trust has to be built first, so much trust to take you that deep. But I wanted to leave my marks all over your body, slowly, methodically. Reveling in every sound you make, reveling in how much you would endure… for Me.

Then the paddles, the flogger, the slapper, my own hands drumming on your beautiful ass as it got pinker and pinker.

I am a sadist, I love to hear the sounds of one enduring pain, it feeds my soul, but... it was our first time, not our hundredth. I had to hold back, even though you had said you could take a lot. If it had been the hundredth... I would have continued, I would have smiled and chuckled every time you cried out, I would have hit harder, so much harder, as I took you to that place. But trust needs to be built, time needs to be spent building that trust.

My hands wanted to go places they weren’t allowed, But I fiercely respect boundaries, will always respect boundaries. But if this had been our hundredth, not our first, I would have pushed just a little or maybe you would have even said, I’m ready now, I trust you now, go where your hands lead you. And I would have slid right down and into your center, slowly exploring, slowly easing you into pleasure you have waited to be discovered. Waited for someone to open you, send you deep, and open you some more. But it was our first... not our hundredth. Trust needs to be built, trust needs to be earned.

I am going to enjoy every moment with you, every touch, every blush, every smile, every moan, every laugh, and I look forward to working our way to our hundredth.

Though I am pansexual, my first choice will usually be with women. I am Sapphic at my core. It is a place I feel more deeply, more true. Their softness and their strength, their willingness to be more vulnerable, more real, pull to me like no other. But I have come to see, all genders can have their softness with their strength, they can choose to show their vulnerable side, to embrace their submissiveness at a deep level, and when I see that, feel that, I am drawn to them.

When I look into someone, I don’t see gender, I see energy, I see light and dark, I see their intellect, and I see if their submission is pulled out further with me, if my Dominance strengthens or if it shrinks. I only move toward to whom and what strengthens me, for I will not shrink again.

Love from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme

My submissive, , in consideration’s (now my sub) response to our time together.

Haylie

Exposed

Vulnerability can be defined as being emotionally open. This, I can do. I am someone who feels everything incredibly deeply. The positives, the negatives, and everything in between. So, being emotionally open with another person comes easily to me. Do I have walls up? Well…yes, who doesn’t? But for the most part, there is a level of this vulnerability t…

Read more

18 days ago · 2 likes · Haylie

And another that I asked her to write to help others who are trying to figure out if they are submissive or not.

Haylie

What Submission Means To Me

My Domme has asked that I write about what being a sub means to me. I’d like to start off by saying that I’m certainly no professional on this. There are many, many, many other people who have much more experience in submission than myself. Up until recently, I honestly felt more like a “bottom” than a “submissive” and settled on the title of “brat.” (I…

Read more

9 days ago · 4 likes · Haylie

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I know how difficult it can be for some to leave comments or even to reach out. I am here if you have questions or want to share your thoughts. I won’t bite, at least not without consent.

I can’t seem to stay focused on writing Adriana 5. I approached it several times during the day yesterday, but I couldn’t seem to get past the first couple of pages without a squirrel running by and pulling my attention away to something else. It is frustrating and disorienting when I can’t focus.

I’m not giving up, but if I don’t write on another story, my writing will stall completely. It’s why I often write short pieces: editing a longer piece bogs me down. My brain will shut down, and I’ll be sleepwalking through my days, and when I finally wake up, months will have gone by, and all the momentum I have created the last two months will be gone, and so will all of you. To keep that from happening, I have to work on something else.

I know that’s disappointing for some of you, but I have to do what works for my neurospicy brain, or I won’t be able to write for an extended period, and that won’t be good for any of us.

Some of you may have noticed I have reopened the subby boys section. I did make sure it wouldn’t send an email out to all of you unless you sign up for that specific newsletter. If that is something you want to see, head over to the link below and get signed up. You can also choose which of the newsletters/sections you want to receive and which you don’t.

Newsletters

Or you can manage your subscription in your account settings.

The stories I’m looking at to see which one I will connect with next.

The story about Cassandra, the Taste below, has been poking at me for awhile, but I have a feeling the main character is actually quite similar to the anti-heroine story I’ve been thinking about. They just use their talents differently.

Cassandra may have been around a lot longer than Obsidian, but I think they share the same skills or close to it. Who knows, maybe they are an offshoot to each other.

I’ve also been thinking about a story I wrote a few years ago, which I had named Wife’s Revenge. It’s a cuckold story. Even if I just release the first part as a short story, which it originally was, it has grown as most of my stories do. I always liked it.

These stories are what are rattling around in my head. I will go through them this evening and see which one really wants to be shared.

Hope you have a lovely weekend, and watch for Wicked Confessions 3, which will be released on Sunday. She definitely has more to say and wicked things to do to the poor Pastor. Which I just realized I have to revise now, since I’m going to a BDSM party tomorrow night, which I’m quite excited about, because I’ll get to play with a new person whom I really can’t wait to get my hands on.

My dream is to support myself through writing stories. Help me keep my focus on weaving erotically charged, lip biting, thigh clenching, core tingling stories and fantasies for you to inhale, devour, and let sink into your skin and make a donation at ko.fi, and show me how much my work means to you. Thank you!

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Any questions or something you would like to share about this post, on writing, and/or subby boys, Comment below or head over to my DMs.

Much love from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme

I was just writing a story that I had about 2000 words in and I wasn’t feeling it at all. The writing was fine, but that thing I feel when I’m connected with the characters, my whole body is alive with their story, just wasn’t there. It happens occasionally, not often, but it does. I kept trying to make it work because I really liked the concept, but it wasn’t working.

Sometimes you can have a great idea but there isn’t that connection. If you don’t feel it, your readers won’t feel it either and you might as well stop writing and move on to something else. It’s a bummer but you can’t make something work if the chemistry just isn’t there.

What do you do when this happens? Do you push through and keep writing hoping something will click? Or do you just trash it and move on?

I have quite a few of these hanging out in my Evernote. I used to think someday I would get back to them but I think I am finally in that stage of my writing, that I know it either works or it doesn’t. I hate to toss out writing, but maybe it’s time to clean up what I’ll never go back to. I certainly have enough stories that worked and just need to be polished up with revisions and edits.

Have you cleaned out your folders full of old writing? Do you even have folders of old writing or are you a one story person? I can’t imagine what that would be like, having only one story I was working on. My AuDHD has multiple stories going through me at the same time, well not in the same moment but in the same day or days together. I always have several stories going in the hopper and I just go back and forth between them until they feel finished.

I consider my AuDHD my superpower when it comes to writing. It keeps me focused, it pulls me in, and nothing else matters while I’m in the story.

Do you have a superpower that helps you write?

What helps you stick with the story, to connect with the characters?

This is part of a new series where I talk about writing, in particular my process and how I got to where I am now. It’s been a long road and I want to share it with you as I work my way to accomplishing my goal of publishing my novels. I call it Breaking Free because that’s what I’ve had to do. I’ve had to break free from all the negative voices that I allowed to stop me from doing what I love. Probably like a lot of you.

I’ve read so many books to help me get to the point where I can connect so deeply with my characters that the words often flow faster than I can type. And I can type pretty fast. I’ll be sharing those books that have helped me along the way.

The first one that made a difference to me, Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg. I read that back in the 90s. There was something about how free she was, how she did what she wanted to do. She would go to cafe’s and write. I thought that was fantastic. But I wasn’t there yet. It got me journaling, but there was no connection to characters. The negative voices kept me from connecting. You know the voices, You aren’t good enough. No one is going to want to read what you have to write. You are wasting your time. Get a real job.” And on and on and on. It kept me from the page, it kept me from connecting.

During that time, I didn’t even know how to be creative without anxiety. I always had to get everything perfect and if I couldn’t do it perfectly, I wouldn’t do it. Pretty counter productive when you are trying to be creative. I had the hunger though, the drive to create so I kept coming back to it over and over again.

To be continued.

Time to get back to my writing. I hope you find your words and connect to your characters.

Love from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme

Help me keep weaving erotically charged, lip biting, thigh clenching, core tingling stories and fantasies for you to inhale, devour, and let sink into your skin. Click here to keep the erotically charged words flowing and make your offerings to fill Dragon Ezme’s creative cup.

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I feel…

Breathing slows

Awareness of

My skin

Tightening

Moving by

increments

To

Writhing

Heat increasing

Touching

Rising

Sounds escape

Me

Head dropping

Back

Eyes close

Breathing sharper

I feel…

Yes…

I feel

…

Thighs clenching

Feet stretching

Back arching

Mouth open

Silent screams…

…

Muffled moans

…

Slowly

…

Floating

…

Down

…

Floating

…

down

…

Long breath

Out

…

I feel

~~~

It’s Masturbation May. Share your self pleasure journey.

Love from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme 🐉💜

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In high school I wasn’t one of the popular kids, but I did have a couple of friends I hung out with for lunch and sometimes after school. I was sixteen and in the tenth grade. All names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

I showed up for school and my best friend, Wendy, pulled me to the side before heading toward class and whispers, “Hey, a bunch of us are going to ditch school today, do you want to come?”

Immediately my skin begins to prickle and my stomach has boulders rolling around in it. My gut says I shouldn’t, but I really don’t want to miss out. But I pretty much want to do anything Wendy wants to do. She doesn’t know it but I have a crush on her. I think I had a crush on all my best friends but never mentioned it because it wasn’t talked about in the late seventies and early eighties. I didn’t even know any lesbians but speculated at least one of the girls on the basketball team was and they never interested me, plus I wasn’t even out to myself. I did like boys and I thought having the feelings I had about girls, well, best to keep them hidden away.

I knew it was risky to say yes to ditching school because bad things tended to happen when I ventured into questionable activities so I usually avoided them. But this was Wendy, my best friend, the girl I secretly lusted after.

“Okay, where are we going?”

“Great! Sarah has a car and we’re headed to the park, but we have to stop at her house first.”

I nodded my head but inside that voice, you know the one, is growling at me that I should just go to class and not make this bad choice. But I shoved it down, swallowed back the bile trying to rise up my throat and followed Wendy.

Sarah wasn’t someone I really knew all that well. I’d seen her around, but we weren’t actually friends. She didn’t seem pleased that I was coming along but didn’t tell Wendy I couldn’t come with them. Sarah’s friend Tammy was also there. We hopped into her old light green, with a white top Buick LeSabre.

Tammy held the passenger seat forward as Wendy climbed into the back seat. I took a deep breath and followed her in. The car had that old car smell, probably formaldehyde and old vinyl, overlayed with a green pine tree-scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. I still hate the smell of those things but on that day it was even worse as my stomach was determined to remind me I was making a bad choice.

We got to Sarah’s house and she got us all cokes to drink. We sat around chatting, gossiping is more like it, but for the life of me I don’t remember what they talked about. I, as usual sat quietly trying to tell myself it was alright. Then the phone rang. Sarah, instinctively picked it up.

We knew right away something was wrong as Sarah first was surprised then getting more and more angry and she looked directly at me. When she hung up the phone she slowly turned around and said, “That was my mom, the school called her because YOUR mom called to tell you, you got the job at the Donut shop and she’s going to pick you up after school. Only you weren’t there. Then the school decided to see who else was missing and called all of our parents. Thanks a lot! You fucking got us in trouble!”

I sat in silence, my body revolting against me, telling me it had tried to tell me but would I listen, no. “I’m sorry.”

“A lot of good that does us, we are all in trouble now!” Sarah yells.

Tammy pipes up and says, “Well, since we’re already in trouble, we might as well go to the park. At least we can try to have fun since we’re probably all going to be grounded afterward.”

Sarah frowned but then looked thoughtful. “Fine…”

I remember swinging on the swing slowly as the others were trying to have fun but everyone had giant grey clouds hanging over them. My insides were still telling me, “I told you so.”

I was grounded, had to go to the counselors office with my parents, swear I’d never do it again, which I didn’t. But I did get the job.

Next time I was caught doing something I should have known better to do or at least have listened to my inner voice, was even crazier.

It was spring vacation in the tenth grade and I was still 16. My boyfriend, who I knew from the ninth grade (was a giant failed experiment of being an all ninth grade school with kids bussed in from all over the city, not good at all. But that’s a different story) and went to a different high-school, had come over when no one else was home. We missed each other because it was rare for us to be able to get together. Now, once again, my inner voice tried to tell me to do something differently, to go hang out in my sister’s room. After all she had a TV but I wanted to go to my room. I really wished I had listened.

We were on my bed, kissing, bodies tingling, still fully clothed, but I can’t honestly say for how much longer. My bedroom door had a straight shot down the long hallway to the front door. So when a light came shooting through my door and I heard it close rather loudly, I shoved him in my closet and told him to stay there.

I quickly went out knowing it could only be my dad, which it was. He was frantically searching for something.

“Hey dad, what are you looking for?” I was trying so hard to sound calm and my insides were trembling.

“The measurement tape. I want to measure your closet for the bar and I’ll go buy it so you can hang up your clothes.”

I began to tremble all over and sweat.

“Help me find it.”

“Okay.” Trust me when I say I did not try very hard.

Then he had a great idea. “I’ll just use this.” Now when I tell you what he had in his hand you are going to say, he must have known, but he didn’t. He swore to me later he hadn’t any idea what was lurking in my closet.

He had the wrong end of my brother’s baseball bat in his hand. He headed back toward my room and I slowly went to the kitchen, sat down, and waited, barely able to breathe.

I heard like a thump and a grunt, then my dad said, “Um, Ezme…”

“Yeah Dad?” I called back in a cracked voice. I am full on shaking now. and my shirt was beginning to feel damp I was sweating so much.

“Tommy is in your closet.”

“Yeah, Dad.” What else could I say. It was the truth.

They came into the kitchen a moment later. Tommy was red in the face but none the worse for wear. Later my dad told me that he had been looking down when he opened the closet door. He saw shoes that he knew couldn’t be mine and as his eyes began to trail up, instinct had him flipping the bat to have the handle in his hand and the loud grunt had been his surprise to see the only boy I dated that my dad ever liked. I think it’s the only reason he’s still alive.

My Dad got my Mom on the phone with us both sitting there looking miserable, but also trying not to laugh because our nerves were getting the better of us.

Now you have to understand the dynamics of my family, which were pretty toxic. My dad was normally the one who flew into a rage at the slightest thing, but big things, I don’t know, he just didn’t know how to handle them so they typically vanished like nothing ever happened. My mom though, as he is telling her what has happened, is saying, “Kill them, kill them now!” Because they were fifteen, in her room, when she got pregnant with me.”

My dad’s solution, one of the very few cool things he did when I was growing up, was to start us all in Square dancing so Tommy and I could see each other more often, and under supervision of course.

Later, Tommy told me, “You know how most people see their lives flash before their eyes?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, when he was standing there with the bat, I saw the headlines, ‘Boyfriend gets beat to death by girlfriend’s father.’ I thought I was dead.” Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

So you see, those are only the two most extreme cases, not counting the time I ran away in the ninth grade and my dad kept showing up where we had just been. As I said, a story for another time.

I gave up doing things I wasn’t supposed to do, for the most part, because I ALWAYS got caught. So now as a much older woman, having fought long and hard to be myself and to speak up about my truth, I still get anxious regarding grey areas. Things that are wrong but everyone is doing it and a person might get in trouble for. My daughters used to say sarcastically as teens, “Oh, mom won’t do that because it’s wrong.” Or breaking the law, or just in the grey area.

The grey areas are popping up again and it has me stressing out. Once again I’m thrown back to times I was worried about getting caught. I am working hard to be a successful writer and at any moment, with a little bad luck, it could all come crashing down.

I have spoken with others in the erotica/smut community and they have given me good advice on how to ease my anxiety, for now. So I am going to continue writing the stories you and I love and hope for the best. Plus I’m putting most of my stories on Patreon, also behind a paywall, just in case.

Do you have any stories like this? Where your inner voice tried to tell you not to do something but you did it anyway and some strange thing happened and you were caught? Share your story with me, link it up or share the story in the comments. Thanks!

Love from the Dungeon,

Dragon Ezme

My dream is to make a living do what I love and I love weaving erotically charged, lip biting, thigh clenching, core tingling stories and fantasies for you to inhale, devour, and sink into your skin. Help me by clicking below.

Click here to keep the erotically charged words flowing and make your offerings to fill my creative cup.

Subscribe for spotlighted posts or upgrade your subscription and enjoy Dragon Ezme’s archives to read, or listen to, over and over again to bring back those tingly sensations.

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In celebration of May Masturbation Month, I am writing self pleasure poetry and now adding audio at least once per week. Take it slow, feel each word, then enjoy what your body feels.

Arching

               Moving

Stretching…

Breathing out

In

Heat

And ……. Flames

Burning

Inside

~~~

Transformation

Breathing

In

Moving

              Stretching

Hands

              clenched

Unclench

Open

~~~~

Writhing

             Moaning

Climbing

into Me

closed

              breathing

In

Sighing

Out

~~~~~~

Soul tightening

Fingers

                    grasping

Stretched

Taste of

Copper

On my

Tongue

Sighing

~~~~~~

                   Loud beats

Pounding

Surrounding

Heart racing

Don't look

                    now

Exploding in

Out

                   Screaming

Share your Masturbation poetry in the comments, and of course, tell me what you thought about the first audio I shared with you in celebration of reaching 100 subscribers! Thank you for being here, I appreciate each and every one of you!

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Darkness pervades

chill in the air

I feel you near

whisps of air move

the cold invades 

I feel you near

breathing shallow

time slips away

I feel you near

open then closed

hearts beating on

I feel you near

quietly stare

clouds moving by

I feel you near

but are you there

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I welcome you to message me if you aren’t comfortable leaving a comment.

I do have another scene that I ended up pulling out from Adriana and will likely post it behind the scenes later today. It's quite a naughty scene and Evan shows another side of himself that will be in the next chapter, his other side, not the naughty scene. Although there will be a spicy scene coming up in that chapter as well.

Another story that is percolating comes from going through my photos and finding several of these tree photos that I remember when I took them a few years ago thinking, “These could make a great prompt for a story, something magical and possibly scary.”

What do you think? Does the photo tickle your muse? Where do you find inspiration?

I always have several things I'm working on at the same time. It's why it is difficult to keep to a schedule. I know I will post 2 to 3 in a week, or more, but what will be posted exactly when… I just don't know. Probably need someone without AuDHD, or a neurospicy brain, to have a perfectly set schedule.

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Writers need support to keep their words flowing. I want nothing more than to weave magical erotic stories that keep you on the edge of your seat and make you feel things deep in your core. Buy me a Cocoa Chai and help me keep my focus on my creative magic and my words flowing to the page. The rewards are more stories for you to enjoy.

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My play partner and I use to attend events just about weekly but, unfortunately, the choices in events and parties have narrowed over the last year. This event is held monthly out on a farm that is privately owned. They have lots of play area spaces, a converted garage and a barn as well as a large party tent out back. So much fun equipment to use - spanking benches, St. Andrew crosses, massage tables, and several areas for rope tying and large loops hanging from ceilings to display their rope techniques and the interesting ways they tie up their willing participants, even a medical area with all types of fun equipment and medical table with a big round, overhead light that moves around so it can be centered on the area you are working on. There are large cages and other interesting contraptions as they are always getting new things whether specifically for BDSM or something they think would be interesting to explore in ways other than their intended use.

They also have a large pergola out front with tables and chairs and comfy outdoor seating. Their living room inside the main house has a large u-shaped couch where many come to have their aftercare after their sessions or just to hang out and chat out of the weather.

Last night we chose a spanking bench for our session and right after we began setting up, a few people came in to use the St. Andrew cross directly behind us. It’s always interesting when you have someone that close also using impact tools. Luckily, we were far enough apart that we didn’t accidentally swing back and hit each other. For the Dom/mes (not switches) who love giving impact, they typically don’t want to receive it even by accident, I certainly don’t. You also have the added sounds of moans and whimpers and the sounds of the impact tools as they are used on them. Sometimes it adds to it and sometimes it is distracting. Her whimpers were quite pleasing.

I chose paddles of various shapes and sizes, a couple of thinner, mid length floggers, two wooden spoons that I love to play with at the same time, and my new favorite, the black and purple cort from the last time we played. Of course, I always have my nails because I love scratching long, deep red lines into him.

I must say, I’ve only been playing in public for about five years. I never thought I would be comfortable playing in public. I’m not an exhibitionist, but I realized the benefits of safety and being able to meet more potential play partners because they get to see Me in action. My style is a bit different from most. I do a lot more sensual touching between impact tools. Sensual touch is actually important to Me as touch is my primary love language. I hate calling it a love language because I think people will think of love as in romance. I think of it more as what feeds our emotional wellbeing and keeps us sane. Love to Me is more about how I care about the people around Me, how I feel about them as people, their minds, their thoughts, their emotions. And how I keep my cup full so I can show up for other people.

Feel free to ask Me questions either in the comments or DM. I know when I was only in the curious stage over thirty years ago, I was dying to talk to people and ask questions but didn’t feel comfortable to do so most of the time. I’m an introvert and have Audhd so it can be more difficult to reach out, especially when I was younger. I am always open to respectful dialogue and if I don’t have the answers, I’ll point you in the right direction to find them.

Writers need support to keep their words flowing. I would love to be able to spend my days weaving magical erotic stories that keep you on the edge of your seat and make you feel things deep in your core. I may be a complex woman but I have simple needs, food to nourish me, a cozy little home, to spoil my kitty Tia as she deserves, and to be able to keep my laptop charged. Help me keep my focus on my creative magic and my words flowing to the page. The rewards are more stories and fantasies for you to enjoy.

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If we had known

we would have made time

we would have told you 

how much you meant to us 

If we had known

we would have texted 

with black hearts 

and dragons

If we had known 

that the last time we saw you 

would be the last

we would have hugged you 

longer

and said 

all

that needed 

to be said

If we had known

we would have begged 

to play another game

to hear your sarcastic laugh 

one more time

If we had known

our last words 

would have been

please know 

how much we love you

If we had known

If we had known

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I see you

kneeling on the floor

in complete supplication

your need emanates

out

tantalizing

My

senses

I stroke your back

“Follow Me.”

I command

I bend you

over the bed

I press My body

to yours

scraping my teeth over

your shoulder

I am hungry

for your pain

you moan and squirm

as I run my hands down

over your back

your bottom

your legs to your ankles

Raking My nails

working My way up

your sounds increase

and I know I must silence you

or

someone will hear

I shove my panties in your mouth

and

your moan is deep and long

but much more quiet

I bite your shoulder

deeper

fingers and nails

scraping over your arms

you squirm

knowing

it will soon be

so intense

I can feel your

anticipation

your need

your want

to endure

for

Me

I smile as my nails rake your back

again

and

again

leaving deep red marks

as you squirm

I rake my nails down over your

bottom

down your legs and back up

garbled sounds escape you

I reach for the flogger

thin

and

rubbery

I know this will hurt

but I start slow

gliding it over your thighs

bottom

back

then I glide it between your legs

over your tight sack

showing where I

really

want

to use it

you squirm

and muffled sounds escape you

you are

free to stop me

at

anytime

but you never do

I swing lightly at first

over your thighs

so

many

times

I can’t wait any longer

I swing it up

between your

legs

and you widen your legs further

I grin

you know what I want

and

you offer it to me

Fire ignites

within Me

I continue

just enough to make you feel it

I swing harder as I

hit your bottom

one cheek

then the other

your muffled cries

make me chuckle

as I continue

harder

to your inner thighs

again

and again

then I swing up

a little harder than before

your legs still wide

still offering

yourself

to me

which thrills me

to

My

marrow

I drop the flogger and stroke over your body

ankles to head

you moan deeper

my hand moves between your legs

cupping you

pulling

stroking

then I let go

and grab the wooden

paddle

smacking it against each cheek

making your bottom

so red

as you twitch

and cry out

switching

I pick up

the cort

long

black

purple

it can be quite damaging in the wrong hands

I swing

against your outer thighs and your

bottom

It strikes hard

leaving purple streaks

again

again

again

you twitch

and cry out

as I continue

leaving My marks

on you

I can feel

your energy spike

I drop it and

lean

against you,

feeling your heat

so hot

I leave you wanting

Photo by Me with permission.

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I hope you’ll keep an open mind while you’re reading. I hope you‘ll understand. But if you don’t, I’m learning that isn’t my problem. I’m learning to let that go. I’m learning that I’m only responsible for me, no one else.

I wrote this for me, I wrote this for you, and I wrote this for every person that had to make the choice whether to leave or stay.

May your journey be filled with love and heart break, that you may know both and the healing that comes from each.

Italics = Inner/higher self

Normal text = Me

No One to Blame…

No one to blame

living in shame

nothing to claim

never to be the same

this isn’t a game

Just breathe; it isn’t as bad as you think it is.

Friends and Lovers

Never to recover

Some are meant to enter your life for awhile, and then move on. There are lessons here for you to learn.

Choices made…

Your heart hurts now but it will mend.

Where I am is not where I was supposed to be,

Is it?

Trust what you feel

Trust… trust is earned and I lost that somewhere along the way.

Everyone talks about how painful it is to be left

not how painful it is to be the one leaving

how hard it is to come to the decision

to stick with your choice

to walk out the door

You will heal.

Nothing tangible

nothing to point at and say

this is why I am leaving

how to make them understand

do I understand

There isn’t always something to understand, at least not until later. You mustn’t worry about others, do what you know is right for you.

feeling like an alien in my own skin

does it ever get any better

any easier

Sometimes.

If you are always the one being left behind,

how can you know

it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest?

I know you don’t want to hear this but what you feel is normal. It will pass.

Making the choice

believing you are making the right choice when nothing feels right

It isn’t about what is right or what is wrong. It is about your truth, what you know in your heart.

But what if I’m wrong

doubting my sanity

of course if you wonder if you are sane they say

you aren’t crazy

When a person is unhappy with their life, they are the one responsible for making it better, that isn’t crazy.

I am sorry

three little words spoken softly across the room

She doesn’t believe it

my heart bleeds

In time, she will heal; you aren’t responsible for her choices.

Am I stronger or am I as impossible as some think

Living your truth is not always easy.

is not

is

not

denial rears its head

Denial is a form of protection for you when feeling overwhelmed. Breathe, take a walk, change your focus for a moment.

I am okay

yes I am

I am okay

Of course you are.

Do you know how much I have tried to convince myself to stay

how every day I tell myself

See this is fine this is good

look at all that we have

I’m dying inside

You aren’t dying, it just feels like it.

But she will do anything for me

I try not to see how much she gives up

I try not to see how much she denies

I try not to see how much she tries to be something she is not

to

please

me

Her choices are not your responsibility. You are responsible for your choices and only your choices.

No one can see my heart breaking

it is hidden inside

They think I am strong

They think it is easy for me

They think I am made of stone

I know you think this is true, but, there are those that see. They can feel your pain and are waiting for you to decide for yourself. They will be there when you come through to the other side of this.

really I am made of glass

and I am shattering into a million pieces

a billion pieces

And I will help you put all the pieces back together again.

Not wanting to make another wrong choice

where would I be if I had made all the right choices

Playing the “what if’ game will only take you deeper into the darkness. You are where you were meant to be. There is a reason for everything; it is all part of the journey.

And, it isn’t about being right.

yes it is

it is what everyone wants

to be right

to be good

to be perfect

have I made any right or good choices

You have made many wonderful choices, courageous choices, loving choices.

my heart is bleeding

slowly

painfully

It will mend.

words said

choices made

Do I have to sweat blood for you to see

how agonizing this is

Live my truth

live my truth

it is a mantra I hear again and again

but what is the truth

what is my truth

is it true that there is one true love

is it true that my life is important

is it true that I am meant to show by example

will anyone really care what I do

will anyone really care if I stand in the middle of a room

and dance alone

I feel myself trying to talk myself out of it again

why is it so hard

is it supposed to be this hard

will I make the right choice for me

will I stay or will I go

She sleeps not knowing her world could be turned upside down in a moment

I would be the one to blame

she will cry

she will scream

she will say things that break my heart

Is my heart broken already

My heart must be broken to not be able to accept her love

am I broken…

My eyes are dry from all the tears shed

quietly

silently

No one to speak to

I have done all this before

No one to trust

no one to listen with an open heart

I could talk to God/Goddess/the Source/the Universe or did He/She stop listening the first time I left someone

my husband

the father of my girls?

Will I go to Hell as the bible says

That is another discussion I think

or maybe not

No one sees me screaming inside

no one sees me torn in half

no one sees me

I see you

I look around at my things

yes they are just things but

they are my things

at least while I am here on earth they are mine

I don't want to leave them

I don't want to start over

I don't want to begin again.

so many new beginnings

so many endings

so many tears

only my soul cries now

feeling trapped within

my body tries to tell me the directions to take

what is best for me

the experiences I need in this life

how to get to where we both want to go

why is it so hard to listen

why is it so hard to take direction from my higher self to do what is best for me

Fear

of the unknown

Feel the fear and do it anyway...

easier said than done.

What difference is it really?

Am I doing her any favors by staying?

who am I to say what is better for her?

Hard enough to

know

and

do

what is best for me.

She is a grown woman

educated

smart

funny

talented

so why am I leaving

sand paper on the skin

ache in my belly

out of sorts

nothing quite right

she hides her true self to be what she thinks I want

Why do people do that?

Because they don't want someone to leave

but wouldn't it be better to be with someone that loves you

for you

loves you just the way you are

doesn't want you to be different in any way

Why do people mold themselves to suit someone else

Fear

wanting to be loved

Yes I want to be loved but I want to be loved for me the way I am no matter what

is that too much

my parents didn't love me, want me.

they tried to suppress me

make me into something I'm not

make me disappear except when they deemed appropriate

be seen not heard

spare the rod

spoil the child

only to toss us aside when someone else came along

But I am grown now

that is not supposed to matter anymore right...

but if they couldn't

wouldn't

won't

love me

how can anyone else

She loves me doesn't she?

is it love to hide truths

is it love to be something you are not

is it love to do something you don't want to do

is it love to live in fear

is it love to pretend

is it love... really

Fear

I am her world

my soul is

breaking apart

begging me to not give in

give over

to not give up my soul

to not compromise my truth

my passion

my life

Is it manipulation to give a person anything they want so they won't leave

As I walk out the door the tears fall freely

The pain tears like a knife

I keep going

I know I will heal in time

I have before

I will again

Won’t I…

Will I recover

It hurts so much

One step at a time

Breathe

Go through the motions

The next step will be better

Will it…

I try not to look over my shoulder

Don’t look back

Only look forward

Your destiny awaits

My destiny

Really

Are you sure…

Is this truly where I am meant to go

Doubt invades my body

Pulling at my skin

Making it hard to breathe

Making it hard to move

Gasping for air

Sobs breaking through

Breathing

Holding on to my sanity

one

tiny

step

at a time

Never an easy choice

To leave

To stay

I left

I walked out the door

Never to look back

No

It

Is

Not

easy

Breathing into my being

Breathing into me

Breathing

Now…

To know and love myself before I know or love anyone else. To be me or no one will know who I really am, not even me.

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She choked out, “Kat died this morning.”

I was stunned, my mouth dropped open. I wasn’t expecting that. How could she be gone?

I remember the first time I saw her, walking her pittie in our complex. I told my partner, “She looks like family.” She had a stocky build with short dark hair. Cute as could be.

Later I discovered my friend, a receptionist at our chiropractor, knew her. Their teens were dating. Then she and Kat became roommates and the rest is history and two of our closest friends.

Dinners out. Laughter. Tears. Late nights drinking and playing cards, laughing so hard we were in tears.

Kat always smiled when she saw me. She’d light up like Christmas morning. She always made me feel wanted, like I was special even when she was struggling with life. She had a dark sense of humor, some may have called her a bitch. I never thought so.

She was retired Navy and had some hearing loss so we rarely spoke on the phone, but we would text and give our Facebook posts love.

She rescued me once, when my car broke down. She said, “I’ll always come for you if you need me.” I felt that all the way into my center. Now she’s gone.

Her death has me shook. I’m older than she was. So many have died in my life and each year it seems like more leave this earth. Some I know personally, others are people I’ve watched regularly in movies and television and feel like I know them. They were part of my life even if they didn’t know me.

Death is coming. Someday I won’t be here anymore. Except for a handful of people, I probably won’t be missed. I’ve not made any major marks on the world, haven’t been successful in a traditional sense, or any sense really.

My life fell apart, again and I’m currently living in a tent in my daughter’s backyard. Her house is too small and she has two teen daughters.

I’m feeling so much. It hurts to swallow and my eyes are clouding over, but no tears spill.

Death has been a large part of my life. From the time I was five when my paternal grandmother died. We traveled cross country to pick up my grandfather. I really don’t remember her and most won’t talk about her. She was not a happy woman, in fact quite tyrannical from what little I’ve heard, my father takes after her.

My cousin was t-boned in a car accident when I was eleven. I still feel guilty about my thoughts when I found out she had passed. She was in college, probably nineteen/twenty, and all I could think, “Thank God it wasn’t her sister.” She was my favorite cousin. Funny thing, later I found out that Janet, the one who died, was a writer, wrote journals and stories that I found out were locked away in the attic and would never see the light of day and her family wouldn’t say why. It made me wonder. Was she even more like me? I came out in my thirties as a lesbian (Though I’m now pansexual). I look back at her photos and what I remember of her. She was a bit of a tomboy, she also had red hair like I did. As an adult I can’t help but wonder if we would have been friends. Her sister, the one I loved so much when I was small, never grew close with me. What did I miss, I’ll never know.

Most of my grandparents lived long lives, but all of them are gone now. Great aunts and uncles, gone. So many friends. So many pets, my furbabies, gone. All of them, it’s like they were never here. Nothing left of them, their belongings long gone. Their homes belong to others now.

My heart is broken. All of these people, and animals just not here anymore. And at some point I will be gone as well. I’m 61. So many others I know have died before that age. I’m lucky, I guess. I’m still here.

All I can do is live life on my terms. If not now when? Kat would tell me to get my stories published. I must keep moving forward. Do the things I love while I still can. It’s the simple things, my own home, a garden, my furbabies, and my writing. I’ve wanted to be a writer, to publish novels, since I was a child. I allowed so many things to get in my way. Allowed others to make me believe I wasn’t capable.

“It takes a long time to write a book.” My father said to me when a friend and I were writing a story together, wanting to write a book. We were about eleven. He said it like I couldn’t possibly be capable of something that would take a long time. I must not have it in me, is what I thought. Others said similar things over the years. But I’ve written dozens if not over a hundred stories, most novel length. It’s time to get out of my own way, because who knows how much time I have left.

I miss my friend.

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A photo of an Alter I had in the past.

My true passion is writing and how I blew the walls down after struggling for so many years and now I write 10,000 to 20,000 words in a day (I never even knew it was possible to write that much) when I’m dialed into the stream of creativity. That isn’t to say I don’t ever struggle getting my words down, I do. Especially when it comes to rewrites.

It’s the main reason I’m here on Substack.

Editing is the hardest part, I get distracted so easily while doing things I don’t feel passionate about and editing is hard work. Only the writing do I feel passion for and it flows except when I’m supposed to be editing. I have so many stories, so many novel first (second and third) drafts that I have get stalled in my writing. Which I’ve had for the past year or so.

Depression hits because I can’t seem to get to the point of publishing them and it pulls me away from the page and my stories which increases my depression the longer I stay away from the page.

Sometimes it feels impossible, like I will never accomplish my dream of getting my novels published. But I have to keep going.

My goal is to rewrite and edit a chapter every week and post the finished chapter on Fridays. Having a deadline has helped me in the past when I was posting stories a chapter at a time on another site. I have edited the first chapter quite a few times and will finish it up today. This story I’m starting with is near and dear to my heart.

Most of my stories come from a “What if…” A “What if” pops in my head and sometimes the story flows in so fast I can barely keep up and sometimes it fizzles out. Because I discovered I was having whole body orgasms while writing my stories, I had the “What if a woman was writing at a cafe and someone noticed she was having whole body orgasms even though she was having them quietly and discretely, and the story took off. When it takes off like that it is like watching a movie and I’m typing as fast as I can to get it all down.

Though there are pieces of me in the story as I’m sure there are for most writers, this isn’t about me. Her trauma isn’t my trauma. Not to say I haven’t had trauma, I’ve had plenty, just not the trauma she’s had.

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What you can expect from me.

Beyond posting chapters on Fridays, I’m not going to make any promises. I’m hoping to fine tune my niche and discover what else I want to write about besides my stories. Time will tell but here are some of the possibilities":

• Awakening The Sacred Essence - Reclaiming my Sensual Self

• The Witchy Crone - Healing through Tarot, Crystals, Reiki, and more

• Soul Conversations - Writing Prompts for the Soul to increase your connection to your higher self.

• Discovering late in life (over 60) Audhd and how it affects diabetes on my healing journey

And the constants in my life while working any of the above, music, movement/dance, art journaling, and poetry. When I choose one or more of the above possibilities, I will choose a day of the week for posting them. Or maybe it will be all of them but creating one book/story at a time. Below is a sample of how I use art journaling and poetry for processing my feelings.

poetry

the blood begins to pulse

pulse into a fever of dancing droplets

droplets of desire causing visions

visions of sunset beaches and twilight kisses

kisses that you dream will explode into your belly

belly blazing like an eternal fire

fire flickering and shooting up into the sky

sky swirling and roiling with darkened clouds

clouds magically changing shapes and colors

colors dividing and flying apart into pieces

pieces of your soul flicker into eternity

eternity of words moving and twisting the pages

pages fluttering with tattered edges

edges rounded and sharp bringing you back

back to the words you began with

poetry

If one of the topic possibilities intrigues you more than the others, let me know. I hope you stick around to see how this journey plays out as I learn to maneuver through audhd to get my stories written.

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