Posted by Lilly | 17 Comments

Yours, Sir

Before his lips ever touched mine, our first sexual contact was his hand firmly wrapped around my throat. Followed by his pelvis pressing to mine, trapping me against the wall. He stared me down until I broke eye contact; slowly but quickly his free hand snaked around behind my head, grabbed a fistful of hair, and forcefully pulled. My head went back just by a bit, as much as the wall allowed; it forced me to look at him again.

My heart was racing, my breathing was labored and my cunt undoubtedly wet. All this and the man hadn’t even kissed me!

But oh, that changed in short order. It was a kiss that claimed me. Consumed me. Owned me. His hand, still around my neck, gripped a little more. His fingers, still tangled in my hair, gripped a little more.

He pulled his lips away and I quietly protested; a whimper, a sigh, a flutter of eyelids closing. If I were not pinned to the wall I would not have been able to remain standing. He yanked my hair yet again and my eyes snapped open. I could now see the change in him; his jaw was tense, his eyes narrowed in lust and power.

He released me from his grip and took a step back. His palm cupped the side of my face and his thumb roughly traced my lips. One word, as a question:

“Whose?”

“Yours, Sir.”

A small half-smile turned up the corner of his lips.

His hand continued down to my breast and he sharply pulled my nipple. He held it there, wordlessly waiting for my answer, before he would let go. A wince and a sharp intake of breathe before I could say, with a tremor in my voice:

“Yours, Sir.”

His hand cupped my cunt, and I repeated. He grabbed my hips, hard, and spun me around to face the wall. To catch my balance I put both hands up, palms pressed against the cool plaster. One cheek against the wall, meaning one ear turned towards him. His hand smacked my ass hard and then slid down the center and under the curve of my cheeks. He pressed into me and growled the question again in my ear; I faltered with my answer but still told him:

“Yours….Sir.”

I felt and then heard a low rumble of a slightly sadistic chuckle from him. He smoothed my hair to the opposite side of my neck, deceptively gentle for all of 5 seconds before he grabbed a handful again at the nape of my neck. His lips assaulted the side of my neck where it meets my collarbone, the spot that makes my knees weak. He turned my head towards him a little more and his lips claimed mine yet again.

Consumed.

Breathless.

All this and we were still fully clothed…

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Posted by Lilly | 5 Comments

Submission: Give and Take

You can’t really deconstruct any sort of relationship. You cannot break it down and truly ever determine the whys and hows. R and I had a conversation last week and he pointed out something that had never really occurred to me, that is to say I never thought about it that way. I suppose I knew that in the beginning of a D/s relationship, i.e. a true “relationship” and not a play arrangement with a pro, the submission is given. It is the submissive’s choice to give his/her submission to their dominant. However, once the bounds and roles are in place, I think I stopped seeing it as an ever-evolving choice. That the submission was no longer really a choice but simply the way things are now.

The truly genuine dominant in relationships realizes, each and every time, that the submission given to them is a gift. It may appear on the surface to be “taken” and demanded, but unless an actual slave contract has been drawn up the submissive is continually choosing to be submissive.

R:You know what I like best about you?

me: when you have me in the flesh, that’s when you’ll get my complete submission

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All text and images on this site require permission before they can be used anywhere. To obtain permission click here to contact me