Tag Archives: sex

Turkey and Misogyny

blissfullyinequal

I woke up this Thanksgiving morning to a hard cock parting my plush rounded ass cheeks.  As the length of him submerged between them, he trailed the head of his cock through my velvet flesh, parting my pink pussy lips with the thickness of him.  His cock immediately slicked with his cum trickling from inside of me where he released hours before.  Reaching around my body, he took his thick, calloused hand and wrapped it around my neck, squeezing.  His vascular forearm nestled between my ample breasts, pulling my body into his as he thrusts his solid cock inside of me.  His thrust forces the concoction of our cum to trail down his length and pool around the base of his shaft.  I feel his coarse body hair against my back and his thick beard brushing the back of my neck. His breath is heavy, and his moans are deliciously low, a primal rumble from deep inside his chest. I could swear I absorb every drop of his masculinity through all of my senses, permeating the very pores of my skin.

I get high off of his masculinity, the opposite that makes me whole.  In nearly every moment of the day, I am reminded about how grateful I am to have a man who fearlessly embraces his masculinity, and not in a way that mainstream society would find acceptable.  My man is a devout believer in patriarchy and as ironic as it sounds, a loving misogynist.  Although this may not work for many women in today’s society, I thrive off of his belief in being superior to me in most ways.  I am not his equal, a belief we both share, and that belief is in no way a threat to me or my sense of self.  Conversely, his embracing his masculinity apart and separate from the feminine is exactly what heightens my sense of femininity in myself.  You see, my personal belief is that a man that embraces feminism, or routinely touts gender equality, is simultaneously diminishing his own masculinity.  I appreciate the more traditional aspects of how relationships and marriage used to be.  Men are being demonized daily; meanwhile, many women are sitting back, spectating or even supporting such movements whilst chanting, “We don’t need a man!”

Well, I do.

I don’t just want my man. I mentally, physically, emotionally, psychologically and in every way imaginable NEED my man.  He is the counterpart to my greatest attributes, ones in which he cannot embody nor desires to embody.  I am the perfect counterpart to his greatest attributes, ones in which I cannot and do not wish to embody.  By embracing our inequality we cultivate a organic equilibrium within our bond.  Power struggles do not find life in our home.  My husband and I do not fight over who gets to wear the pants.  He does.  Give me the dress and heels.  I want absolutely nothing to do with those pants; I couldn’t possibly fill them as perfectly as he does, and thus, suit him so much better than they ever could me.

I feel the modern day woman is doing a disservice to both themselves and men that women will soon (if they are not already) live to regret.  For every time a woman chants, “I don’t need a man”, are they not also acknowledging that men don’t need THEM?  As women preoccupy themselves with raising fists in opposition of the patriarchy, how could men not begin to disassociate themselves from women?  Why would a man choose the limp embrace of a woman who (admittedly) doesn’t need him, when he could find comfort in the arms of a woman who does?  Why would a man appreciate and value a woman for her femininity if he is not validated, acknowledged, and respected for what makes him naturally different?  In modern day, heterosexual relationships*, our quests for equality is perpetuating a divide between the couple and dissolves intimacy.  Viewing themselves as “equal” does not guarantee a more fair, loving, and nurturing relationship; On the contrary, by not embracing what makes us so beautifully different and complementary, we are neglecting the validation of such admirable qualities in our partner.  Sameness is boring.  While equality may be seen as more “fair”, it certainly is not more balanced.  The balance exists when two people can accept where their partner far surpasses their capabilities, is acknowledged for those gifts, and by association, acknowledges the converse of such gifts in their partner.

This morning, as my glorious husband pushed his thick cock inside of my tight pussy, two uniquely different bodies were made whole.  His strong, masculine body pressed against the smooth, healthy, feminine shape of mine leaves me in revere of our differences.  His grasp leaves me feeling secure and safe.  He would risk his life for me and I dedicate mine to his.  I admire him, and in such admiration, I find him to be my BETTER half.  I do not see him as my equal and I am grateful for my position.  In my position I am treasured, taken care of, and admired in a way that no “strong, independent” woman could be.  Yes, I absolutely need my man.

Now, I’m going to go bake a cake in all my domestic goddess femininity and enjoy him devouring my “cake” later.

*I emphasize this because I have no knowledge or personal experience to reflect upon any other kind of relationship; thus, have no business making assumptions about them.


Feminist Facade


Feminist? Not me.

I don’t want equality.

I don’t want you to feel like you must fight me for a position of authority in our relationship.  That you must assert yourself in the face of my emotional whims.  I don’t want you to feel like we both have something to prove, and your assertion of such points must trump mine.  I desire not to corner you, belligerently belittling your spirit for my personal validation.  To feel power over a threat, merely a phantom.  To place you ahead does not render me last.

There are no wars for power here.

I view myself not as beneath you, but beside you. Albeit, preferring a view from slightly behind the curve of your muscular shoulder, the force of your strength leading me forward with each step.  You guide me.  You lead me.  I have no desire to be directly beside you.  I love you in the lead.  Forever keeping in step with you, with eyes alert to awaiting obstacles.  We will traverse them with relative ease made of a balance found between two uniquely different, naturally complementary, forces.

When I’m on my knees before you, I don’t feel devalued; rather, I feel elevated beyond the physical position of my body.  I feel larger than life and greater than the sum of my parts.  With the downward caress of your strong hand through my hair, I am elevated in my service to you.  Your eyes cast downward, connecting with mine, render me gracious for your presence.  Gracious for your presence that is not only physical, but emotional; not simply loving, but loyal to the conservancy of my being.  For your downcast gaze is hardly one of degradation, but admiration.

A very strong and capable woman, indeed.  But, I need not prove to you my independence by forgoing my desire to serve you well.  I need not persistently deny your request to provide aid, to sooth my upsets, or to supportively criticize, in order to reason with my facility.  My strength unveiled with my submission.  The fortitude necessary to forge the iron, strong enough to withstand a blow, however vulnerable to the fire.  You, my weakness.  You, my fire.  I burn in your presence. I melt for your power.

I need not do what you can do to feel equal.  I need not do it better.  I need only to provide to you the soul of a woman who has devoted her life to complementing you.  Where you are right, I will make up the left; whenever you grow far, I will pull you near.  If you shall find yourself sinking, I shall elevate you.  A dance of mutual attendance.  A dance of complementary forces, neither one in need of convincing the other of our position.  Neither one in need of demanding their value as greater.  No need to rehearse for the sake of a convincing performance.  Not a single toe stepped upon.  Complementary.

The fantasies that lurk behind the fortress you’ve built to preserve yourself from the fray, you offer them to me.  The darkest corners where monsters are rumored to thrive; I see beautiful beasts of burden, grown angry carrying the load of societal pressures.  I offer comfort, lure them from the recessed corners and hold them securely.  The beast is aggressive, but I feel no fear of harm.  The beast is physical, but I fear no attack. The beast is rough, but softens at my caress.  I feel the beast tremor as I caress over the scars that form trails along his hide.  I remove his burden.  The beast has no need to conceal any longer.  The beast is in no need of taming, nor training; in no need of demasculinization.

I envelop him in my feminine embrace.  Press upon his flesh the breasts of a woman for pleasure not purpose.  Caress with the touch of delicacy instead of efficiency.  A body with the curves composed of sensuality, not simply capability.  A beautiful cunt to converse the most intimate of conversations, not an agenda.  A woman.  His woman.  His needs are my needs, and my needs are his. In this, we are freed.


Roots

 

005

Wolfman by Boris Vallejo

Human (adj): Having or showing those positive aspects of nature and character regarded as distinguishing humans from other animals.

I don’t need love to be delicate touches from the tips of your fingers.  Barely grazing the skin, careful not to bruise.  I don’t need palms upon my breast to cup delicately and massage tenderly.  I don’t need soft lips to lightly kiss my flesh; pressing down onto my skin and departing swiftly without a trace.  I don’t need love to physically manifest itself as society sees it – soft sheets and similar thrusts between the parted legs of a lover.  Whispers of “I love you” waltz though the temperate air.  I don’t need love to be lax stroking of hair and fingers tracing the outline of my face.  I don’t want a mindful body atop, aside, behind or below mine.  Instead, I want you to be inside of and connected to your nature, your true identity; your primal animal.

I want love to manifest itself physically the way I understand it; you and me, dedicated to one another through a mutual understanding of our animal natures.  You are my alpha, the dominant leader of which I obey and allow limitless access to my body.  I am your beta, the one you own, protect and cherish vehemently.  I feel your love through your ownership.  I feel your love through you taking what is yours, and in doing so, love takes a different approach.

I’ve always been drawn to the way you sniff my hair and skin.  The way you’d breathe me in.  You’ve always noticed the slightest different between smells from one day to the next; a change in perfume, a change in body chemistry.  I feel literal heat inside me as you bury your face aggressively into my neck without a care for how your rough whiskers left behind red irritation.  Your lack of delicateness, to me, is a direct translation of your need for me.  Love looks different between us, King, doesn’t it?  Love is the bite to the back of my neck or shoulders sending a fiery streak through my able body.  You sink your teeth deeper into my flesh as your cock sinks deeper within my cunt.  The pressure from your heavy sac against the delicate skin of my sex makes me feel at the mercy of your masculinity.  Your purposeful thrusts indicate a deep need for penetration.  Each thrust into me is another symbol of your power and control over my body.  The harder the thrust, the more I feel your need.  The more you restrict my body movements with your hands or under the weight of your mass, the more I feel loved.  I’ve given you permission to take, at will, and you do.  You take with your hands as the pads of your fingers leave bruising upon my hips.  You take with your lips as they wrap around my hardened nipples.  You take with your tongue as you lick my flesh, leaving the mark of your saliva upon my skin.  You take as you allow your body to manipulate mine, with little regard for my comfort. You take as you don’t allow my choice.

I feel love more passionately as your words transform into unintelligible guttural moans or throaty growls.  I feel love the more you fill me up with your cum.  You push yourself inside of me, causing what you’ve previously left behind to seep beyond the seam of where you and I meet.  I feel love the more I am used; I feel love the more I am marked by you. I feel your love as I lay upon the puddle of our fluids that spilled out of me and collected itself upon the sheets.  I feel our love as some of my hair breaks way from the pull of being interlaced between your fingers for leverage.  I feel love as you press my upper body and face down into the ground or upon the bitter frigid wall.  I feel love as I’m bent to the lengths my flexibility can handle.  Feel love as I ache from your repeated entries.   Feel love as you release yourself inside of me, feeling each kick of your cock against the sides of my plush inner flesh.  I feel love the more my sent transforms into the smell of you.  I feel your love as you stay inside of me, allowing the weight of your body to be supported by mine.  You don’t remove yourself from me, instead allowing your body to decide when your cock departs from within me.  As the heaviness of your now flaccid cock falls from my pussy, a stream of our love trickles out from within.  I feel love the more you make a mess of me.  I feel your love the more you are selfish with me, possess me.

I feel your love with the loss of your human.


Distracted. 

I often feel this way when the inside of me is at total odds with my professional exterior. I feel bright red and orange; at the center of a massive nebulae attached to my body like albumen to the yolk. I’m quite certain anyone in the near vicinity can feel my heat. I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – I’m teeth smeared in drool, grey fur on end and claws a carving half-moons into the sand. Outwardly I’m assimilating. I’m merely a sheep standing next to my neighbor, fleece blending into one another, alike to a lesser eye. Instinct paws as I have to rein back my tendency to take teeth to the throat, refrain from gloat, and modestly blend into my wooly counterparts. In this moment, I’m desperate to run with the wolves whose creativity claws from within them, ripping a hole through flesh of which their insides spill out. Wolves who play in the darkest of nights, finding solace in shadows over the light.

I am sitting at my desk at work feeling like it might be someone else sitting here, she just looks exactly like me. She’s no imposter though, she’s the real deal. She’s all impulse and passion, flaws and forgoing obligations. I’m feeling depressed and of little motivation. I want less verbal and need more physical expression…  

I am supposed to be working, seeing cases, and instead I’m seeing cages. I’m craving cages. I want to peer from behind the steely bars feeling completely at peace within. Instead of the cage of my body, I want to find my body within a cage. As if being within the cage allows me to free my inner mind, my inner nature, my inner animal.

I should be seeing cases, but I keep seeing laces. Silken Japanese rope laced up the back of my arms or thighs, making misshapen soft mounds of flesh, causing pride over blush. Laced handles of floggers that seduce my nose with the aroma of leather. The slap to my rounded ass from the hands of my Man. I want my thick leather collar fur lined at the neck, cinched tightly to leave room for escaping breath. Lace panties. Lace bralette over full, perky breasts while I press them into your whiskery face. Your pet donning black lace. Interlaced fingers tightening to the crescendo of my orgasm…

I need to be working like the other sheep. Mindlessly reviewing and submitting, checking and proofreading. But, my mind is flooded with imagery. I’m seeing his whiskered jaw line, a briar patch to plush lips. Deep red painted toes wrapped around his inner calves. Deep reddened ass cheeks, beneath a calloused hand. Vascular forearms, digits plunged into tousled hair. The cold metal of his piercing at my flushed, swollen opening. The salty taste of his skin upon my tongue as I lap at his taught testicles.

I should be seeing cases…  

 


Not you, boy…

I could not be tamed. I loped with wild horses and dined with lionesses. I made beautiful work of faux feminism, teeth into the flesh of lesser men. Dinner for a hungry soul in search of the sustenance of a Dominant man. Flip of the hair, curve of my hips; all the while knowing they couldn’t handle this.

They would seep weakness, and I couldn’t be bothered to clean up messes, not for long, not for very long. They tried, they cried, and I thought of nothing but You. 

They said, “I thought I could change you” while smelling Your cologne on my breast. They said, “I can love you better”, while Your love was slipping out of me.

I was told to feel bad about my sins, taught to atone; but, my religion is Him and my God had anointed me. I’d been baptized in His water. I’ve knelt at His feet to receive my confirmation. 

Oh, and they’d seethe because they knew I only worshipped One. I’d only kneel for One. Only submit to One. Only to be tamed by One. You’d have me a tigress on a leash, never having to pull tight. Never having to tug me in, and never having to cry “heal!”  But, they tried; a boisterous laugh escaped my mouth with each attempt to rein. You? Better off someone new; go find someone new, boy…

I cannot settle for a cub whilst craving a lion. I cannot mount a pony when I’ve been atop a stallion. Go ahead and wear any mask you choose, any cloak you deem comfortable; all of your disguises transparent, boy. You have proved entertaining, a jester for a time…

Only one Lord, you see, and He is mine. 


Interlude 2


My ample chest is flattened to the mattress, as my ass is perched high in the air. Legs form an “A” frame below me, with my sex facing the mirror. Your fingers press upon the keys of my skin, composing music of nothing more than a bundle of nerves. Your grey gaze watches as you play, while I make liquid trails over your rigid terrain. 


Empowerment Through Punishment

Mistress M 234 (2)

I find myself here as a blanket of darkness surrounds me.  My arms are bent to form perfect right angles against my back.  The soft Japanese rope silken to my skin as small plumes of flesh escape at either side of the bind.  My wrists are one atop the other, partners in the challenge of maintaining the required position.  From the ladder laced between my parallel arms spawns a woven road to an anchor point in the ceiling.  A slight ache emerges from the inflexibility of my muscles; an ache transforms into pleasure as I breathe into the binds, allowing them to become one with my own flesh.  My sight removed from me.  I now stare into a darkness that is as endless as my determination to withstand what may.  In the end, You will be proud of my will, King.  I will make You proud.

“Challenge me”, I whisper to You as You place five heavy, beautiful beads of stainless steel inside of my sex.  You seal my fate with a kiss before commanding me to spread my legs wider, marking two areas on the floor with a material I can feel on the pads of my toes.  I imagine a thick glue holds my place, unable to slip, unable to budge.  As the space between my thighs expands, I become a vice around the spheres internal.  The metal seeming to surpass my body heat, feeling like small orbs of pure sexual energy within me.  Steely, my determination to impress You.  Tight for You.  Watch what Your treasured cunt can do for You…

My walls dripping of sweet glaze.  My focus intermittently interrupted with the thud of my favorite flogger.  The scent of deer hide leather fills the room – intoxicating.  I find myself in a crux of ecstasy.  Each thud upon my athletic thighs and my thick ass transports me higher.  A drunken relaxation veils over my body as the autumn breeze.  I’m both equally vexed and utterly seduced.

My stubbornness exhaled with every breath as the air smells of my obedient defiance.  You have transitioned to a device for punishment.  Oh, and You know me so well, so fluent in the language of me and my capable vessel.  You lay the gauntlet before me, my King.  With each calculated strike, my mind becomes a fogged street.  An intoxicated haze fills the space surrounding a deliberate focus, as a single beam of light through a heavy mist.  Thoughts break themselves from the ray, slightly fractionated, but the focus remains.  My head begins to bow as my body gives way onto the binds for support, my fortitude gives way to frustration as I teeter a pencil thin line – one side of temerity and the other surrender.  My head falls in acquiescence, my hair a waterfall of my succumbing pride flowing before me.  Your strong hand grips my chin as if Your hands cupped together to catch the spill, offering the liquid back to my lips.  I feel Your breath as You slowly and purposefully move your lips over my neck and to my ear.  Your words, a deep and calm whisper, grab my attention like a thunder clap that rattles through the quietest of nights:

“Beloved, you will keep your chin up.  You are my warrior, my valkyrie.  You will hold your head with pride because I am proud to have you as Mine.  Proud to have you by My side, fighting any battle life may put before us.  I’m proud to have you on My arm, to show you off to the world.  Proud to leave My mark on you, My claim inside of you.  Mine.  The punishment I give you is not to belittle or break you; My punishment is to build you up and make you stronger.  I will correct your behavior when I need to, and I will help you be better.  You are My wife, My beloved whore, My warrior and greatest ally.  Show Me how strong and capable you are, My valkyrie.  Do not let Me see you drop your chin again.”

I immediately correct, the fog lifts, and I’m standing in a meadow of absolute mental clarity.  I am Your valkyrie!  We have many conquered battles behind us and we have some wars before us.  This ax of insolence I wield at the world – this ax is not for You.  The shield I adorn keeping a true “me” from view – this shield is not for You.  Ego, the steed that carries me and rides me on high – he is not for You.  The many wounded in my wake, in the name of You and my love for You – You will never find yourself among them.  Casualties, they were far too weak for me.  I have always been strong enough for You.

Lifting my head, I note a heightened awareness of my value, my preciousness.  The heart that smolders within my chest – this heart is for You.  My flesh before You; full breasts, wide hips, physical feminine wiles, tethered and tied – My flesh for You.  The strength inside resides – Empowered by You.  I rise because I’m me.  I hold my head higher due to You.

As You continue to correct me, to build me, I will show You.  My King, look at my strength, see my devotion.  Look at what I can do for You.


Elemental

Mistress M 158 (2)

We Rest.  Our love, strewn about the bed as a decadent mess.  Legs, arms and panting bodies lie deliriously twisted among fabric rubble.  Life altering madness.  Rounded muscles and crystal blue eyes. Your beauty erases hurt and makes laughter of sighs. You are my heart’s demise. Your five o’clock shadow pressed to my supple breast.  Hands trail, fall and rise, until they tangle in tendrils spread like tentacles atop a sea of bamboo sheets.  High on emotion, my body reels.  The dew upon our bodies glisten in the faint moon light permeating the window. A liquid bead upon breast, a bead upon thigh.  Your nature runs from within me, between my folds, making small hurdles of taught skin below.  A tiny pool forms beneath the crevasse of my ass.  You and I, as much here as anywhere.  Euphoria rises from our bodies, twists and turns high above our post orgasmic coma.  Like smoke and air, we entangle, we drift into a weightless bliss.  Our smell, small particles waltzing partnered in the air.  The sweet aroma of You and me, dispersed into the room as pollen from the bloom.   In this moment You and I are three physical states of matter; we are solid, we are liquid, we are air.


Children, Not The First Priority

king_black_crown_wall_clock

In celebration of the New Year, I’d like to wish you all a happy and prosperous 2015!  I thought I would throw that little “feel good” energy before I go on about my regular writing.

As I’ve indicated before, I don’t really concern myself much with marriage or the condition of the institution within society.  I believe marriage should be a beautiful expression of love; but, as love has many layers of intensity and can be fleeting in nature, I am left untroubled by the crumbling of unions.  I do feel there is a significant contributor to the disintegration of marital bliss, despite the numerous messages culturally programmed into us suggesting the contrary…

Putting the kids first.

I know many dedicated parents who subscribe to the cultural kid-centric groupthink, and I can hear them shaming me in my head for the words I previously typed.  I could not care less.  I feel with great passion that we have deviated far from lifestyles that encourage lasting monogamy, a difficult practice to maintain to begin with.  I also speak often of how marriage and monogamy is particularly juxtaposed against male evolutionary development.  Worse, we have relatively abolished adult right and welcomed children to participate in an authoritative position within the household.  We wonder why society suffers from an unruly and dysfunctional family life.  We wonder why the majority of the populace suffers gravely from a false sense of entitlement.  But, we keep treating little Johnny and baby Janie like they should be the center of our universe, the sole reason for living, and our only source of enjoyment as adults.  I feel the sex most slighted from this misappropriation of importance are men.

A mother will often care for her boys with tenderness, providing a feminine love much different than the love a boy experiences from their father.  Boys learn that they are to be valued as a contributor, a provider and the “head of household”.  Society sends a similar message to boys, encouraging strength, competitiveness, emotional hardiness, power, and success.  These messages cultivate a mission within boys to behave a certain way, and by the time they become men, they associate an expectation upon those they are romantically involved with:  They assume they will be valued for their contributions to the home and to the relationship.  But, conversely, we are teaching women quite the opposite.  An emphasis on importance is being directed away from the wife, and pointing toward the “mother”.  At one time, it appeared that “wife” and “mother” were in agreement.  Now, it appears that it’s all “mother” and a big middle finger is being given toward men and being a good “wife” – Unless we need the men to contribute their sperm, of course.

I have seen women quickly neglect men from the moment their eyes gaze upon their child.  Sure, a woman can say that it’s because a baby requires more, a man is self-sufficient, and he should not need to be cared for.  A woman could argue because of the baby time is scarce, and because of this, there is little time left for the husband.  A woman could uphold that both she and her husband agree that the children should always come first.  I am just going to step out there and call bullshit:  You got the greatest contribution from the man – his seed and his money – Therefore, you hold little regard for him after.  He becomes a side note, a hindrance, and a nuisance.  Women cluck among each other, “I have three babies; two children and a husband.” I have heard women say, “My biggest child is my husband.”  I have never heard a woman say among female gatherings how much they value their husband as a man, as an individual, apart from what he does for her and the children.  To most women, men are a vessel of production; their value does not extend beyond what they can provide.  Sadly, they often won’t complain and suffer in silence, because they were taught not to be needy.  This is a disgrace.  Men need tenderness, appreciation and love for their contributions.  They need to be acknowledged.  But, women are often too busy bitching or making bracelets on their daughter’s rainbow loom to care.  No wonder porn is more comforting…

Children should not understand their place of value is greater than that of the parents.  Children should understand that they do not have the power to dictate every day decisions made in the household.  Children should not be requested to be more adult than they are by allowing them to make decisions that affect the well-being of the entire household.  I will go on further to state that I appreciate that my household is headed by a man who assumes all of the decision making.  Certainly, we take things to an added extreme while operating within our 24/7 Master/slave relationship; but, that dynamic only encourages a power hierarchy that enables the children to understand their place.  They do not get to make decisions that impact the adults, especially my Husband.  My husband places the greatest of priority upon the health and well-being of his wife.  We both understand that the children are our first responsibility; however, they do not get to occupy the place of household priority. They are valued above the relationship maintained by the adults.  They have consequences for their actions and how they impact the household.  They have expectations that are akin to those reasonable for a child.  Everyone has their place.

You cannot show your appreciation for your man in the same ways you wish to be appreciated.  Men need to be shown appreciation in ways more tangible.  They need to be fucked.  They need to be loved.  They need to feel appreciated by drawing their dick into your mouth and selflessly pleasuring them.  I realize I sound exceedingly cliché, but I believe men should be provided delicious meals and a loving touch along with kind words.  Men need you to remember they are visual, and present yourself in a way that show you value yourself for your own feminine allure.  He needs you and your love as desperately as your child, he just won’t scream and cry until he gets it.  His lack of vocal outcry does not make his needs less important; on the contrary, his reluctance to ask for doting affection and attention shall serve as a warning sign that he is growing despondent.

I am merely arguing that women need to acknowledge that children are the first responsibility, not the first priority.  A distinct differences lies between responsibility and priority.  You can tend to something else, such as a child; meanwhile, you can acknowledge that your husband is the priority.  I believe that the adults in the household need to maintain that the two of them, and the health of their relationship, should be the first priority.  As children are deliriously needy, allow them to be your number one responsibility – understand the difference.  Hopefully you will raise your children to be self-sufficient, well rounded, and independent adults.  You will not achieve this by allowing them constant priority and attention.  They will grow up and build homes of their own.  Once the dust settles on raising your little family, you may see the only person left to stand beside you is that man you devalued – if you are lucky.  Make him your first priority, and your children your first responsibility, and you may just be holding hands to watch the dust settle together.


His

wpid-images-2.jpg.jpeg

His version of a love letter; a written gift from my King.

In your acceptance I find myself.  My hidden truth.  You, who sees me for who and what I really am; you love and nurture me.  You encourage me and permit me to live and love you as I desire to.  A true love that has been felt by no one else; a pure love I’ve shared with only you.  You claw and pull out the side of me that I have been taught to abolish.  I have been socially trained to fight the spirit within me that beckons to something deep inside of you.  You release me with your own selfless desire to know my truest love.  We relish in the beauty that is our life, the often deemed “unacceptable” displays of intimacy shared between us two.  I will impose my will and consume you.  I will love, protect, and cherish you, my beloved.  I will nurture your desires as you satisfy mine.  We will push the boundaries to explore the love and intimacy shared between us, unlike any other.  I will command of you, and you will obey.  My rule comes from a place of the greatest respect, for you are my Goddess, my beloved Queen.  You will be worshipped and loved as such, by me.  You are, have always been, my greatest desire; I will be completely fulfilled.  I will indulge in your gifts like a gluttonous beast.  I have savored my meal and become starved in your absence.  I no longer hold myself back.  I tear away the shields before my desires, grasp tightly of my wants, and bestow every manifestation of my passion upon you.

Take a moment and think about what is to come.  Think about the feeling of completeness as I enter you.  The rush as I claim and mark you, mine.  The warmth of my cum filling you, overflowing, leaving you marked with my scent.  Owning you; your heart, body, mind in its entirety is what I desire.  To protect and cherish the beloved gift you are.  A gift that belongs to me, of which I refuse to share or surrender.  As I own you, you have taken my heart, my love.  Without you, I am incomplete.  I give you my love and bid yours.  I possess you with care and respect.  With the greatest of love, I mark you, I indulge in you.  We fulfill fantasies, bring to life repressed thoughts, bathe in the dark rivers of our hearts.  I give you all of me, and take all that you have to give.  I never just fuck you, never simply love you; I consume you.  You are and will always be mine, endlessly.  My wife, my Queen, my love, my desire, my toy.  MY everything.