Tag Archives: sexuality

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.


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.


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.


Primal

Photo by: FervidM

Photo by: FervidM

I thrive off of a dark soul.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy happiness, or those who express an elevated state of joy on a regular basis.  As I often say…I don’t think defining a complex mind is that easy.  I am not referencing a depressed person, or someone who has deep seeded pain and suffering which manifests itself in inflicting pain upon others; unfortunately, I see too many of those kinds of people in the world, the kinds of people who bring pain upon others to alleviate what resonates within them.  I’m talking about the obscure soul that clings to the darkness for its beauty, holding tightly though a metamorphosis into something beautiful. The caterpillar to a butterfly.  I understand how deliriously cliché the metaphor, but allow me to explain:  I don’t think butterflies are more beautiful after they have gone through a metamorphosis, rather they are simply more colorful with broader wings.  They still cling to their previous physique, looking rather wormy and unappealing.  They clung to their ugly and became something more beautiful, towing their darkness along with them.  That’s the kind of soul I find nourishing in this vast land of superficial happiness.

I believe the most elevated, mind-blowing, and euphoric sexual experiences exist within the darkness of our psyche.  We hold these beautiful images in our elevated storage, locked away behind the bars of societal acceptance.  These images hide behind the cloak of assimilation.  They are fearful sorts, bashfully crouching in the corner whilst our more “pleasant” visions step forward in the light of acceptance.  If you ask me, it’s those visions I find wormy, unappealing, and void of beauty.  They are shallow, stem from minimal creativity; these visions transform themselves and show their faces proudly in open, observable world.  I fail to find sexual nirvana in a field of yellow daisies, slightly bowing their heads to a gentle breeze.  I find sexual euphoria in a perfect storm; powerful, dark, omniscient and destructive.  I want not a wall to remain, a brick to lie there, or a cobblestone of stoic composure to exist after a sexual experience.  Gives a whole new meaning to making it rain…

I thrive on his animalism.  I drink up his power as if thirsting and stumbling upon a stream.  His desires should radiate from his fingertips upon the collection of my skin, with a purpose so strong it leaves bruises upon my delicate flesh.  He shall paint the canvas of my body with his fingers, bent strongly at the knuckles, leaving red paint strokes of fervor upon my skin.  Ripples of plush breast escape through the separation of those fingers, groping with unrepressed craving.  Five finger pads dive deliriously into the lining of my sensual hips, so deep as if intended to touch finger to bone.  Capillaries merrily collapse under the force. The caterpillar to a butterfly, a mere blood vessel giving itself to the light, revealing the beauty of sensual release.  Wings to new heights.

I ask you to lose yourself in the depths so repressed, not a shred of light exists that we don’t create with the radiance of our own shared desires.  I ask that you go to the place where your “demons” lie, and allow them to find solace in my open arms.  I can taste your desire to overpower me, and I can smell your seething for release.  I know your darkness grasps upon the bars of restraint begging to reveal themselves.  I, lying there, spread myself wide in acceptance.  I will hold them close, bringing warmth upon their chilled negligence.  I will ignite them, invite them, and allow them to permeate my soul to a place of approval.  We only truly exist here; bare, stripped of the collage of expectation that becomes our face, the mask that conceals the true animal.

I will have you so removed from your evolved brain, you render yourself inhuman.  I will have you so primal that you only seek to remove your teeth from my flesh as you notice my body buckle under the pain.  I will have you utter sounds undistinguishable to those civilized.  I permit you to release the power you’ve been told to curb.  I will have your testosterone coursing so gloriously through your veins, you find yourself void of all rationale.  There is no room for thought between our compressed bodies, animal.  No accommodations for manners amongst our seeping bodily fluids, animal.  No space for judgment between the depth of your cock and my stressed vessel, animal.  No acceptance for masked sexuality in this sphere, animal.  I will have you rare, exposed.  I will have you reacquainted with the spirit you shelved.  The spirit that was pointed at, ridiculed, and accused of being dirty, ugly, sinister, strange.  I will erase the memories of desertion upon your animal within the baptismal fluids of my sex.  You will be reborn primal; your darkness turning to light, “demons” dance amongst us, acceptance encapsulates us, “strange” is welcomed here, bizarre is amongst company.

We, the dark ones, have no interest in you beautiful people.  You delicately dance atop the sheets covered with boundaries delightfully freshened with Downy.  We writhe, hand in hand with our demons and celebrating the dark recesses with sexual decadence.   You do what you believe is beautiful, afraid to release yourself into the depths of your sexuality, a foot firmly anchored to expectation.  We approach the cliff, fling ourselves off and fall freely into the fire.  You enjoy the safety of delicate hands controlled by a manipulated being, a diluted prowess, a whipped rebel.  We enjoy restraining the body, while freeing the mind, emancipating the soul.  You enjoy your human.  We plea for the animal.  You need the light to see color, and we cannot see color until we’re plunged deeply into the darkness.

Free yourselves,

Fervid M