I understand.

Want to know the secret?

Pay attention to the person. See them for who they really are – not just the surface, the clothes, the smile, and the pleasantries of small talk; see past their civilized veneer and social masks; see the insecurities and the human frailty. See and accept. Listen to what they have to say. Notice the details. Understand their desires and fears. If you can do all of this, they are yours.

It is that simple.

I understand that when you bite the inside of my thigh, you are telling me where you want my teeth.

I understand the effect whispered words can have while you are being held utterly still.

I understand that crossing lines is dangerous because it is addicting; being bad feels good; being very bad feels even better.

I understand the hunger for anonymity; a stranger’??s seductive voice telling you what to do.

I understand the cutting edge stark reality can bring, driving feelings both harder and deeper as more is revealed.

I understand where the true danger lies, in the addiction of hunger – in the moments of indecision that lead to places you hadn’t realized you wanted so badly to experience.

I understand that some scenes need weeks or months to build to, while others have to be satisfied after a few frenzied verbal or written meetings.

I understand that sexual boundaries can be driven and enjoyed in e-mail and on the phone, but nothing beats real fingers wrapped around your wrists while being kissed until you a??re breathless.

I understand what you need and am not afraid to use it against you.


Is there anything as simple and cutting as hunger? It sharpens the senses, it drives you to act. The trigger may be reading a story where the author has managed to capture the essence of submission; it may be the flash of a thigh, or the curve of a neck. It may be simple denial of something you want that shifts desire into need. For me, this hunger is to take. To hold in my hands the fragile innocence of unmarred skin or see the naked truth of her when she gives everything to me. For others, the hunger may push them to their knees, create a craving to be utterly consumed by another’s will, words, and whip. One hunger can awaken another. That is part of my gift.

A simple hunger, Cutting inward with desperate heat. I seldom know the truth in fingers where hands might take the place of words but I can’t quite figure the path from here to there and there to wherever it is I think I desire to go. But hey – why let something so simple as not understanding, not knowing, not existing in any real fashion stop me from doing precisely whatever it is I that I want. I want people to read my words on my lips. I want my thoughts to be painted on my skin, so you can know just how good I am with them. My words are like blades, like tempo setting drums that can pace you to the end in a soft tempor of sweet lingering pain. I want people to know that I know I know I don’t think you know what I can do with my lips. Yes, I said I can do with my lips what silk can do to your skin. Maybe I just need to tie you up, wrap my fingers around your wrists and throat like a reminder, a warm steady reminder of how it feels to be secure in a way that money, love and even friends can’t give you. I strip you bare of your everything; every face you wear during the day comes off with the snap of my fingers or the whisper of my name for you. Our secret language shared in a look when I have you on your knees. This is the moment of surrender, of complete replacement of all those things that hold you back. I tie you up to free you from your inhibitions. I hold you down that you finally struggle for life. I rip you open so that you can feel all the way to your core what it is to breath in synchronicity and breath out the remainder of your self in perfect rhythm to my fingers. I pretend to know you. But all those secrets I know about you I learned from myself. I touch you like I want to be touched; I push you where I want to go.

Seed or Egg

Of the two, seed and egg, I would rather the egg.

The planting of a seed within the mind will quickly lead
To roots that bury deep
In memories
Bear fruits of new quandries
And other plausible metaphors

But an egg will hatch a serpentine, sensual succubus
Insidious in form
That will slither, slip, silent
Never content to rest
Rummaging through forgotten questions
And astounding observations
Down the spine
Taking shivering form
Ceaselessly hungry
Within the belly
Carelessly pressing
In knocking lose old morality
Cautiously expiring
Only when still

Of the two, sturdy tree and ghostly conniver, I’d rather the one that admits no false stability.

All Tied Up, Part II

Finally. He draws away. You open your eyes to see him sitting up; he holds your gaze before reaching down to draw his shirt up and over his head. He leans over, skin to skin, kissing you hard.

Hands shift along your sides, down to your hips and over the top of your thighs. You can feel his knees resting against your inner thighs – leaning closer, he kisses you deeper. When he draws back, you are left panting and gasping softly.

You notice how helpless you are against him. You can’t stop him from running his hands down between your thighs, or over your breasts. You can’t stop him from drawing each breath out of you until your breathing is shallow as you watch him move. His hair brushes your stomach and then your waist, head lowering slowly until his mouth finds that moist place between your thighs.

You arch up against him, unable to control yourself as you feel his hands move underneath to grasp your buttocks, pressing you to his face.

You can feel his lips part and his tongue pressing along your inner lips, back and forth as he tastes you, tongue barely slipping inside. His face presses deeper into your thighs, tongue moving faster – faster – faster, until it runs over your clit, his mouth hungrily drawing it into his mouth to nibble.

Hands move back down over your thighs as he runs his tongue against your clit a little harder as he sucks…. applying ever more pressure. You arch again, feeling his mouth pulling on your clit, then rubbing…until he finally stops. You lay back upon the bed, gasping.

His face, wet from your thighs, peers up at you and he moves up along your body.

Frustrated, you ask him to untie you. He looks down into your eyes and laughs – a not-quite-cruel laugh, but one that shares with you the intimate knowledge that he knows just how much the both of you are enjoying the torment. Unable to stop him, you lay there, waiting to see what he does next.

He takes a few moments to stroke your heated body, hands roaming slowly, taking their time to explore your inner thighs, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin. His hands are warm and teasing; you shiver.

You feel your body respond, your hips moving with his rhythm, back and forth.

Abruptly he stops.

You look at him, eyes pleading. He smiles and moves to his feet, standing between your thighs. Holding your attention, he slowly moves his hands to the top of his jeans and undoes the top button. His fingers tug on the zipper, drawing it down. His jeans slide off and down to his feet. Using his foot, he kicks it off the bed.

He sinks to his knees again and moves up till you feel him through his underwear. His voice soft as he whispers, “Want to feel it?”

You moan and nod. He rubs against you a bit more, letting you feel how hot and hard it is through the fabric. Desperate, you wiggle on the bed but fail to escape. Helpless, you watch as he teases you, his hands moving down and tugging the edge of his underwear down.

His hands part your thighs further as you feel him move, hard cock rubbing along your inner lips. His body, hot against your skin, presses down and you feel him slowly slide inside, filling you


…an inch at a time…

…until he is all the way inside.

You moan louder, moving your hips with his as he moves back out, agonizingly slow.

Then he presses down again, filling you once more, deeper.

Over and over again. You can feel every inch of him, every movement. His hand moves between your bodies to brush your clit, quick and hard.

You can tell by his breathing that he is getting close.

He gasps, his chest pressing into yours as you arch up against him as he goes over. You lose what little control you have left and follow him into the maelstorm, gasping.

For a long moment he lies there against you. Finally he stirs and sits up. You open your eyes as he leans down, expecting him to untie you…but he only kisses you lightly and sits back up. He looks down at you, the hint of a smile on his face. He leaves and returns a minute later with a warm washcloth to clean you. But somewhere between cloth finding skin, and fingers finding moist flesh, the notion of being cleaned up becomes forgotten.

Eventually…several hours later…he unties you.

All Tied Up, Part I

Written six years ago, at college. Was trying to get a girl hooked on my stories so that I could use them as leverage in convincing her to re-enact them in real life. Alas, it didn’t quite work out the way I planned; oh, she became quite attached to the stories. I just wasn’t able to parlay that into something more tangible then furtive phone calls and innuendo-laced conversations betwen her, her roommate, and I. Fortuntely for me, my writing got better and future endeavors were more successful.

Within the darkness of the room could be felt the subtle presence of anticipation – an almost tangible aspect that filled the room with tension. Wonderful tension. The otherwise ordinary room was transformed into a place with the potential – potential….for what?

You stand alone in the room. Dressed comfortably in blue-jeans and a flannel shirt over a T-shirt, you cannot help but shiver from the open window. You glance again through the room, taking inventory of the rooms contents: comfortable queen-sized four-poster bed, mahogany dresser, TV, telephone, a window on the right wall, and a few painting so non-descprit as to fade from your memory even as you look away.

You jump as the door opens behind you. A grateful smile crosses your face as you see him. He returns the smile but his face turns serious quickly as he walks past you to the bed, studying it intently, testing the sturdiness of the frame.

Too happy that he finally showed up, you don’t even inquire why he was late. Or what is in the bag he brought with him. You wait till he turns away from the bed.

He smiles again, almost sheepishly, but there is something in his eyes that is devious – surprisingly so. Your still trying to decide if this is a good or bad thing when he presses up against you, his mouth meeting yours, cutting off all thoughts. You return the kiss, lips parting as you feel his tongue meet your own, rubbing and teasing.

He draws back from a moment, still smiling. Flushed, you return the smile. You notice he is looking behind you. Following his gaze, you see the bed. Thinking you know what he wants, you smile and move to the bed, sitting on the edge.

Expecting him to join you, your disappointed as he just stands there watching. To encourage him, you remove your flannel shirt and then reach down and slide out of your shirt.

But he continues to stand and watch you. Feeling uneasy, but getting anxious, you unsnap your jeans and wiggle out of them before leaning back on the bed.

He smiles again, slowly. You feel relief as he approaches the foot of the bed then crawls over the edge, moving up. His body, even through his clothes, is warm against your skin. You moan very softly as you feel him move down against you. His lips meet yours for the second time that day, hungry and urgent.

Only when he draws back do you realize that he’s grasping your wrist gently yet firmly. You are too startled to protest when he reaches into the bag next to the bed and takes out a silk scarf, winds it around your wrist tightly and ties it to the poster at the corner of the bed.

Realizing his intent, you consider stopping him, but the thought fades as he kisses you again, quickly, before moving down to nuzzle your neck. His breath is warm against your bare skin as he caresses your skin with his lips.

He ties your other wrist down. You moan again at the feel of his lips against your skin, his mouth sending slivers of pleasure through you. His lips part and the tip of his tongue ever so lightly touches your skin, moving lower as he leaves a trail of kisses along your shoulder and the top of your breasts.

His body shifts as he kneels between your thighs. He traces the top of your bra, running it along your bare skin, and then over it – brushing your nipples through the fabric, lingering but a moment before moving lower.

And then you feel his fingertips at the edge of your panties, slowly sliding along the edge before moving underneath. His lips brush your stomache. He draws the edge of your panties downward, his tongue following – along the top of your innerlips, caressing as you feel his hands tugging it lower – an inch at a time.

With a slow deliberate movement he slides your panties off and moves your left ankle to the edge of the bed, tying it there securely. He repeats the same quickly to your other ankle and turns back to you.

He kneels again, this time between bare thighs, sitting back on his heels as he looks down on you. Only then does the realization come over you of just how little control you have. You test the bonds at your wrists and ankles but they were tied carefully and don’t budge.

His eyes move over your body, starting from your face and moving down across your breasts and thighs. You can feel his gaze like a caress against your skin. After enjoying it for a moment, his hands, warm against you, begin sliding up over your stomach to your breasts. His hands hesitate as his eyes find yours. Holding your gaze, his hands run over your breasts, palms pressing down into nipples, lightly moving back and forth.

You struggle against the bonds at each wrist, wanting to reach out and touch him. His fingers spread and catch your nipples between them, bringing them to hard points. He rolls each one between his fingers, tugging gently yet insistently.

You close your eyes as he bends over slowly and feel the warmth of his breath caress the top of your breasts and then the touch of moist lips against your bare skin. Shivering, you moan softly as his lips part and move over your right nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. You can feel the warmth of his mouth surrounding the hard tip as he pulls it deeper.


Show me what darkness lies behind your eyes
And I will show that behind it, there are no lies.

If you curse me with your love
I will love the naked hunger
And hunger for the innocence.


Are you afraid of how it would feel to have your hands drawn behind your back while being pressed against the wall – but you can’t stop thinking about it when you close your eyes?

Are you afraid of words that can slip inside and strip away everything, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, naked inside and out – and yet the mere thought makes you tighten inside?

Are you afraid of being drawn across lines that you’ve thought about but never crossed? Afraid the lines might cease to exist in the submission of thought into deed at the hands and voice of someone who understands those parts of you better then you do yourself? Of someone who knows just how to touch you on your neck to make you weak in the knees, knows how to tell you where to place your hands, knows how to hold you still so that that only thing that exists is the feel of his body against your own?

Does the edge of fear just make it worse, make you want it more? Afraid that what you desire most is someone who will take it all?

Night Silk, Part II

She awoke in the room at dusk; rather, the lighting gave the impression of neither night or day but some indeterminable time between the two. Her eyes felt heavy as she struggled to hold them open and glimpse her surroundings.

On her back, the room was somewhat difficult to absorb. When she tried to sit up she found she lacked the strength to do so. She noticed a door on the dark side of the room and a window on the opposite wall which was carefully opened a few inches to allow a soft breeze into the room. Then her eyes closed again as she let herself slide downward once more.

The soft touch of a warm hand against her right ankle startled her into opening her eyes once again. He stood at the edge of the bed, solid and as real to her senses as herself…yet he still seemed to be surreal in a way that she couldn’t describe. Despite her best efforts she couldn’t keep her eyes open and they fluttered close again.

The hand on her ankle moved slowly up over her skin, fingertips just barely touching as they slid over the slow curve of her calf. Her skin warmed under his touch and he continued his caress upward to her knee, fingertips brushing slowly underneath to stroke gently. She stirred slightly on the bed as the heat of his caressing moved through her body; the slowly building heat turned firey blood-like poison. The hands continued to tease, first at the edge of her thigh, slow strokes down between her legs; her skirt slid away to expose her naked skin and his fingers found the silken expanse of her inner thighs, tracing delicate patterns.

His soft strong voice whispered next to her ear, warm breath teasing her neck, “You are mine. Let go…” and his words were followed by the daring touch of his hand sliding deeper, drawing his fingertips along the skin of her inner thighs. Drowned amongst the sensations and his will, she struggled, as if fighting for breath; but each time she approached the surface, his fingers would find new trick to distract her, fingernails against sensitive skin.

Finally his fingers moved back down along her legs and seemed to fade out when they reached her ankles. Curiosity cut through the sleepy laziness that held her and she opened her eyes once more. And she saw him. Really saw him.

His pale skin in the dark. His soulful eyes. Sharp canines between crimson lips. Deep within her, fighting the turmoil of emotions, her soul cried out in fear and ecstasy.

Too late, his hands restrained her as she fought to sit up. His strength was solid though not violent. Tears slid out her eyes, smearing her makeup and the paleness of her skin.

“Not yet…” he whispered as he gathered her into his arms. She could feel the indomitable strength and impossible quickness in his arms as the world spun around her. Out the window…

The night sky danced for a moment before she could closed her eyes and felt the cool night air teasing her skin. She felt him leap form the window to the roof, and for a moment she was free, flying…

“Open your eyes…” his voice was lost in the night and when she opened her eyes, it was to look out over the city, stars above and below in the headlights of cars, neon signs and store windows. He stood just behind her, his hands on her waist.

“You want to fly…” Her feet slid slightly on the edge of the roof and his hands steadied her. “Feel the night! The cool breeze, the darkness engulfing you…the freedom!” And then he was laughing.

Her lips parted as if to taste it, the night. He spun her around and his hands gripped her blouse, ripping the silk in half to expose her black bra. The night air brought her nipples to attention as his lips met the soft skin of her neck as the night surrounded her, his burning lips now on the side of her neck, tongue ever so slowly sliding just behind her ear as if tasting an appetizer, savoring it. One hand cradling the back of her head, fingers sliding along the nape of her neck, his teeth slowly brushed over the soft skin of her neck, the touch of his fangs sending shivers straight down he body, leaving her skin tingling. But he paused, as if struggling within, “No…not yet…”

His hands, once warm, were now as cool as the night. Their touch was the caress of the night as they moved over her sides and down the length of her skirts. Yet his touch made he body burn; his hands sliding her skirt up along her thighs, gathering it about her waist.

She moaned softly. Standing at the edge of the building, clothed only in her bra and her skirt about her waist, this moment brought her body to the edge…and his hands drew her over. His palm slid up along her silken thighs and against the burning moist heat. His fingers slowly spread as they teased her.

“Oh…oh…please…” her voice seemed foreign to her as she gave herself over to it, the heat between her thighs almost unbearable and the night daring to envelop her.


His teeth nibbled for a moment and then breached the skin, and the heat exploded into an intense fire, her blood burning in her veins as he leaned her backwards over the city, her chest heaving as she struggled to breath.

She wasn’t sure if what she was experiencing was sexual, but it felt like an on-going rush. Each moment brought her higher, the heat turning into a sensation unlike anything she had felt before. The source of these sensations came from her neck, but she was too lost to understand what was happening. She craved only for it not to stop.

And it didn’t…even as she felt herself weakening, she felt into the abyss of pleasure, lost utterly.

The morning brought sunlight through the shades. Her eyes opened to an empty room.

Night Silk, Part I

Wrote this quite a long time ago (nineteen maybe?). One of the first short stories I actually managed to finish. Slightly editted, but mostly in it’s rough state.

Within the dark came the whisper of silk on silk and the jingle of tiny bells. A patch of light exposed the thrash-strewn ground of the alleyway as the door to the club opened and she stepped inside. Across the room, through various tables scrawled about, she made her way to the bar. The seat she took was between two hazy men, each with dark drinks sitting before them. She shrugged off her purse and placed it on top of the bar.

Her eyes met the mirror behind the bar as she opened the top of her purse. Her hair was bound with a crimson band, forcing her dirty gold hair to remain immobile as her head moved slowly from side to side strangely as if mesmerized by her own image; no vanity by the white pale glimmer of her skin, just a curious fascination. her green eyes seemed to throw off the pale image before her in the mirror, not distorting the appearance so much as accentuating her skin.

Her dark violet silk blouse shimmered slightly in the light of the bar, leading down to her swishing black skirt and long legs, and the source of the jingle: a band of small bells around her ankle.

“Would ya care for a drink lady?” Startled out of her reverie, she looked up into the burly face of the bartender.

“Jack Daniels please.”

The large bartender poured the drink and set it before her. Without looking, she reached into her purse and placed a few bills next to the drink. The bartender picked them up and moved along the bar to speak to another customer.

She idly stirred the dark liquid, brought a finger to her lips, let her tongue slide along the sides. She closed her eyes to enjoy the taste; she opened her eyes a moment later to find herself gazing at the mirror again. Except this time there was a man standing behind her.

His eyes were an odd color of brown, almost magenta. She slowly closed her eyes, and opened them again, curious to see where he would be next. He was now standing right behind her.

Long black hair framed his face; pale in the candlelight, pale in the mirror, pale even against her skin. He was dressed comfortably in a black cotton jerkin and black slacks. The collar of his shirt opened to expose a silver chain that held a miniature sterling rose with petals of onyx.

The black rose held her attention for a long moment before she slowly turned her head to the side, seeing him out of the corner of her eye, as if verifying his existence. She returned to her drink, lifting the glass to sip slowly, her eyes on the mirror. His eyes met hers.

Her lips parted and she took another sip; eyes closed once more to focus on feel of the liquid burning a path down her throat. Slowly opening her eyes, she placed the empty glass on the counter and looked into the mirror again but the man was no longer there. Turning her head to the side, she scanned the room, failing to find him.

Frowning slightly, she stared at the empty glass for a moment before shrugging slightly. Picking up her purse she stood and turned from the bar. Her eyes continued to scan the bar, but he was no longer within the room. Her slow steps brought her to the door and she left quietly.

The darkness encompassed her again as the door to the bar closed and left her alone in the alleyway. Shivering slightly she took a few steps down the alleyway before coming to an abrupt stop. Her eyes widened briefly when she saw the man leaning against the wall at the end of the alleyway.

She almost stumbled to a stop. His eyes were easily discernible within the darkness of the alley, illuminating the rest of his face; his dark clothes lent themselves to the shadows, keeping the attention on his face.

She stood in the middle of the alley for a long moment as he watched her. She shivered, unsure if it was the cold of his eyes that affected her so. An irresistible urge to approach him washed over her like a wave. She struggled for a moment before giving in. After the first step, the rest were easy.

Blurred images of his eyes on hers as he stood within inches of her, his voice like a soft harsh whisper, “I thought you were one mine with your pretty pale skin…it is dangerous to attract such attention.” Like a caress, his voice and warm breath teased her skin. Reality seemed to fade against the background of his eyes.

Arrived, Framed, Caught

Arriving at the door to my apartment, you knock once. Silence. You reach to knock again only to find the door opening. A smile, and I invite you in.

You’re dressed casually – black jeans shorts, light-colored shirt. Escorted into my living room, I stand you in the center and turn to draw the drapes closed. There are hints of light where the drapes don’t quite meet each other, but the main source of light within the room comes from the lamps.

Silently, I gesture for you to stand in the center of the room. Picking my camera up from the table, I slip behind you, body warm against yours. From behind, I reach around – fingers slide into your hair, musing it, and then down, over your eyes, closing them.

The only sound here, for minutes, is the soft clicking of the camera. Blind, you are not quite ready for myhands as they draw your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the ground. Fingers slip along the edge of your jean shorts, undoing the buttons and letting those too pool at your feet. I tug you forward, and you stand naked except for your panties. Click. Click. And your eyes remain closed.

Fingers draw your hair back over your shoulder, and tilt your head back. Click.

Hands press you down to your knees, hair spilling now over your face. Click.

Your hands held against your back, head lowered…and a light touch, and then harsh twist, your nipples hard – Click.

“Open your eyes.” And you do. “Go into the bedroom and put on the outfit on the bed..”

Doing as bid, you enter the bedroom and take off your panties. Turning to the bed, you see a soft blue satin nightgown. Lifting it up, you let it settle against you, fabric slipping over skin, ending just at the top of your thighs. Too short, you think. But you move back into the other room where I wait.

A smile that almost reaches my eyes and you know I am pleased; a gaze that touches the skin like soft fingertips, draws down along your shoulders, following the contours of your shoulders, breasts, hips, and then the bare skin of your thighs and the soft shadows the nightgown creates. Gesturing to the couch, you follow my direction and lay along it, right knee bent atop your other leg as you look up at me.

“Eyes on me.” With your gaze on me – Click. Click.

“Now stand – and take it off. Slowly.” It takes a moment for the words to register and you find your feet reluctantly. Yet you already can feel that tightening just below your stomach, that slow ember of heat that awakes with a sudden burning hunger, stirred by fear and excitement. You slowly draw the nightgown up along your skin, feeling the cool air against exposed flesh as it slips up and off, leaving you standing naked – all the while, the soft click-click of the camera, taking in each inch of revealed flesh.

“Turn around and lean against the chair.” Your hands come down on the sides of your chair and your skin heats as you find yourself revealing everything to me. With your ass in the air, you wait.

“Higher.” You can actually feel my words, and the soft bite of my hunger with each word, “Higher. I want to see your pussy.” You move to obey, but not quickly enough – a sting, the heated caresses of my hand as it slaps your ass. Click. Click.

Your breath catches in your throat – so lost in awaiting the sound of each click, each picture – when my fingers slide down against your moist heat from behind, it is entirely unexpected. Fingers curl as they slide inside, pressing in, two fingers pressed tight within you.

Breathe. Each breath is ragged, and your skin flushes a soft red, unable to hide the effect his fingers have as they move in an agonizingly slow press – in and out. Instinctively, you press yourself back against my hand. Thumb drawing down along the edge of your ass, between your cheeks, fingers drive in hard, once,reminding you of how cruel my touch can be – how harsh my teasing is…when not so carefully drawing you to the edge, time and time again.

A moan escapes, an inarticulate cry for more. Wet fingers draw out and up over your ass, leaving a moist trail. Warm lips follow the trail, tasting you against your skin and teeth nip lightly before you feel my tongue so close…

“We are done.” You glance up and see me standing a few feet away, near the door, the slight catch in my breathing the only hint of the effect you’ve had on me.

I smile. Yes, I always have been good at being cruel.