the beauty of darkness
is the absence
of shame
and the possibility
of
everything else.

“No, don’t turn on the light. Stand there.”

You are silhouette in my door.

I am a voice in the room.

“Strip.”

You do. Of course you do.

“Turn around.”

I watch you make a slow, almost timid, turn in place. There is just enough light for me to take in your naked curves.

“Good girl.”

“Now come in.”

“And close the door.”

you like to hold
your cup
like it might
shatter
if I speak.

I noticed today
that you put
all the glassware
behind the cereal

so I’m waiting
to see
if you ask me
for milk.

“No, don’t move.”

My words rest precariously upon your skin.

You sway. Teeter.

It is hard to stand with your ankles bound tightly together.

And my fingers curled deep inside you from behind.

And my teeth nipping the edge of your ear.

And my cock pressing rigid and hot against your thigh.

But I expect you to do it anyway.

choked

on my words
placed
so delicately
upon your tongue

you are taught
to respect
prohibitions
by force

“what will you do
when my reach is so long
I can pluck your sins
like over-ripe cherries?”

your answer
is no answer at all
because you cannot speak
with my words
filling
and burning
your mouth

you
are placed.

for you, I create
sanctuary

a sacred
space

with dark corners
    to hide in

a pedestal
    to stand
bared
    (exposed)
upon

light
    to dance
within

stained-glass windows
    to shatter

my hands
    to hold
care
  and
ply
  you

you
are placed.

to know
your place

It is always so kind of you to be waiting for me when I get home.

But…why are you out of your cage?

And where is your collar?

Ah. So, you had to go to the store to get what you needed for dinner.

I’m quite pleased to know you’re keeping my comforts in mind.

But I’m still going to have to remind you of your place. I can’t have you thinking my pet has free reign to do anything she likes.

Strip.

Yes, all the way.

That’s my girl-pet.

Now kneel.

I want to look down into your eyes while I put your collar back on. It looks so good around your neck, a reminder of place.

This?

You know what this is.

This is your leash.

Stay still while I attach it.

Good girl.

Now, on all fours like the bitch you are for me.

Mmmm. There is something most divine about seeing you like this.

Ass raised. Like you are in heat.

And you are, aren’t you? You started getting wet the moment I put your collar back on.

You don’t believe me? … mmm, there, feel my fingers curled inside of you? Oh yes. You are wet. So very fucking wet. Do you want a taste?

(chuckle) no. You are too…primed. Too ready.

I’m going to have to take advantage of that.

Let my hands grip your hips…just like that…drag you back…oh yes. I love the way you quiver when you feel me opening you, a slow tease with the head of my cock.

But I’m too impatient to tease you today.

Today I am going to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked.

MMMMM…fuck. Yes, One thrust to be deep inside of you.

Another to remind you that you are meant for this.

Again. And again. Feeling your heat around me.

(growl)

Yes.

Good. Fucking. Girl.

(breathe)

mmm…what’s that pet?

You want to make dinner?

No. Not yet.

I’m still much too hungry for dinner.

what if kindness
was a color

you could wear it all the time
in it’s bright and amazing glory
and know it would put a skip into the step
of all who saw you

you could draw a picture with it
put it into a flower
under a smiling sun
and W shaped birds
and those passing the fridge
would be happier
it existed

if only kindness
was as easy to share
as a color

if only.

“I am watching,” said the Wolf.

The low rumble of a growl can never be mistaken for a purr, but the sound of a content wolf and a hungry one can be too close for comfort.

Your heat is a sinful garden, filled with dark scents from a blood winter. I want to harvest you, reap the dew of a long hibernation from your fevered skin.

It is Spring and you rise on unsteady legs. You ache from being in one place for too long.

Abstinence has left you empty of everything but cruel memories.

Your limbs tremble with the need to run.

It is too early for a hunt.

But dawn is not so far away.

A locket the size of a heart, if the heart was made to be kept close.

She held it in her hand, small fingers curled to nestle it against her soft cheek; indeed, she was a small girl, but her heart wasn’t small.

The locket held a secret – but then, that is the nature of a locket, so it is no surprise.

What the secret is, isn’t what is important. What she did with it is.

Because small girls, little girls, are not meant for secrets. They are meant for sunshine, and curiosity, and spinning in circles until they fall down.

So she did what any sensible little girl would with a secret.

She put it in her heart.

And because her heart was so much larger then her fear or her hope or her world, the secret became just another piece of her heart, neither defining it nor becoming lost.

what if all the blank spaces
are just hiding places
for my devils?

and I fill this page with words
to overturn their homes
pluck them by their wings
and make them mine again