Category Archives: original writing

Announcement – “Comfortable” available on Amazon!

My novella “Comfortable” is now available for purchase as an e-book on the Amazon Kindle store. At just $1.99 it’s a great deal for a summer read. Don’t have a Kindle? Never fear! You don’t need a Kindle to read the book. Simply download a free Kindle reading app on your Android device, iPhone, iPad, or computer. With free wireless delivery to any of those devices, you’ll be reading in no time.

Summary:

 Stephanie and David are stuck in a dead end relationship, simply going about their daily motions instead of living their lives to the fullest. When Stephanie begins a new past time, she finds something she never thought she’d find – a woman she’s attracted to who brings a new spark to her life that is otherwise cold. When her betrayal comes out, relationships change and evolve into something totally different and unexpected. When love and honor is on the line, you’ll do things you never thought you’d do. 

Make sure to check it out if you’re  in the market for a hot summer read (it’s erotica!) or a romance novel that brings things to a new and different level.

“Comfortable” is now available for purchase at Amazon.com.

I’m Tired

I’m tired of shitty things happening in my life.

I’m tired of being treated like crap.

I’m tired of allowing myself to be treated like crap.

I’m tired of passing off bad behavior of people as “oh that’s just them.”

I’m tired of making excuses for why people act like assholes.

I’m tired of being labled as “clingy” or “needy” because I have this novel notion that someone actually pay attention to me.

I’m tired of always being the one that tries.

I’m tired of being the only one that tries.

I’m tired of my shitty ass, tiny, ridiculous apartment.

I’m tired of walking through my building and getting a contact high from everybody smoking pot.

I’m tired of living in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

I’m tired of Walmart at 8am being my only excitement in my life.

I’m tired of photographers using the “Hey I have a camera and you’re really beautiful” pick up line only to never again suggest a photoshoot.

I’m tired of applying for literally hundreds of jobs and not getting a single one.

I’m tired of making $27,000 a year and yet having a law degree and law license.

I’m tired of answering phone calls about people’s hairy shower drains, clogged toilets, and dead lightbulbs.

I’m tired of being under appreciated, under paid and under utilized at my job.

I’m tired of people not taking me seriously as a person because I’m 4’9″.

I’m tired of people calling me “thick” and “fat” because my thighs are not rail skinny.

I’m tired of not being able to walk into a goddamn shoe store and finding a shoe to fit me.

I’m tired of feeling guilty because I’m splurging on a $9 lunch or a $20 rope order.

I’m tired of having to sleep with earplugs and a sound machine on high because I have loud neighbors who don’t care that it’s 4am and I have to work.

I’m tired of feeling like I have no idea what is going on in my life.

I’m tired of saying “it is what it is” and “things will happen eventually.”

I’m tired of hiding my tattoos from my parents.

I’m tired of feeling like I constantly have to please someone else only to please myself.

I’m tired of living so far away from my boyfriend.

I’m tired of living so far away from my Daddy.

I’m tired of having to tapdance around specific topics with specific people because they’re not strong enough to actully face things head on.

I’m tired of having to censor myself.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m the karmic joke of the universe.

I’m tired of not being able to afford the things I want.

I’m tired of being the afterthought.

I’m tired of my shitty ass shower that never drains properly.

I’m tired of losing my hair at 26.

I’m tired of being gluten intolerant and not being able to eat 95% of the things I love and crave.

I’m tired of spending $4.95 on Nerf football-sized loafs of bread.

I’m tired of having to hide my kink activities from my parents.

I’m tired of people saying goodbye to me by just ceasing to talk to me.

I’m tired of being the butt of people’s jokes.

I’m tired of having little children scream “Mommy, she’s little!” when I’m out at stores.

I’m tired of being dragged to church on holidays and told how I’m going to burn in hell if I don’t believe in the Catholic church.

I’m tired of listening to Fox News and Rush Limbaugh constantly when I’m at home with my mother.

I’m tired of not having room in my tiny apartment to put all my shoes.

I’m tired of people not appreciating me for the damn good person I am.

I’m tired of constantly striving to do the right thing and have it flung back in my face.

I’m tired of having anxiety attacks over every little thing.

I’m tired of being the only one at work for 3 hours because my stupid coworker can’t haul her lazy ass out of bed to be there when our office opens.

I’m tired of being “good old dependable Isabel.”

I’m tired of being told I’m too this and too that.

I’m tired of expressing interest in someone and having them run away in abject fear.

I’m tired of always being told that I have to be good.

I’m tired of letting fear hold me back.

I’m tired of being frustrated and stymied about the lack of progress in my life.

I’m tired of being left out.

I’m tired of assholes being assholes.

I’m tired of emotions fucking over my life.

I’m tired of my head fucking over my life.

I’m tired of not getting what I want.

I’m tired of being tired of all of these things

Original Fiction: “Beat”

“Beat” 
The intense bass line of the music pounded into her skull. She could feel it deep inside her, pulsing and pushing her blood through her veins at a rate usually reserved for other activities. She had come here because she knew she could find him there, stalking the club for his next prey.
She had first been lured here by friends, and she had come completely unsure of what she’d find. She preferred quiet evenings in her apartment to social events where she’d have to talk and meet new people. That evening she’d caught glimpses of him and every time he’d entered her line of sight, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was like.
At the time he had seemed tame enough, but she could tell there was an undercurrent of ferocity laying dormant. The lithe moves, the sharp eyes and the strong, capable hands. She was a student of male anatomy in general, and a student of male hands in particular. She had a theory that you could tell a lot about a person by the way their hands looked. His hands told her that he enjoyed his work, whatever it was, and that those hands could bring about destruction and happiness at the same time.
A couple of times she’d caught him looking at her with a curious look in his eye, but she brushed it off, not yet ready to admit to herself that she wanted something. Denial had always been her strong suit.
Her friend had given her knowing looks that whole evening, but she’d brushed them off like everything else in her life. Not now. Not yet.
Months rolled by and she almost forgot about him. Almost. Happenstance pulled her back into his world and she once again found herself in his territory. This time though, things had changed. She’d changed. She wasn’t the shaky, scared little girl she was before. Or at least that’s what she thought.
It was a cold night, but she’d picked a short skirt and very tall shoes. She knew every man in there had his eyes on her ass and she made sure to shake it just enough to titillate them. Eat your heart out, she almost was saying.
He was there again that night, lurking in the shadows and coyly enjoying the sport of the whole thing. His manicured nails tapped on the table rhythmically, polished in a deep mahogany shade. Most men would call it a bold choice, but for him it was second nature. That ass of hers called to him, a siren song amidst a sea of other sirens.
She didn’t dance like most girls, instead choosing to enjoy the scene more in a social setting. In many ways she was still unsure of her own body and how it worked, mostly because it often betrayed her. It tended to give away her secrets when she wanted to keep them secret, but as it so often happens, her body always had a way of knowing what it wanted even when her mind didn’t.
The bathroom was calling her name, and her kidneys were in desperate need of relief. On her way in she caught him looking at her and she bit her lip, ducking into the crowded room and she sucked in a deep breath at the thought of him.
Her panties were damp when she came out, as if the scrap of fabric could be called panties in the first place. She looked down for moment and ran into what felt like a brick wall. Only this wall had arms and she quickly looked up, seeing him right there in front of her. The pit of her stomach dropped out and once again her body started betraying her.
His eyes were dark and bored a hole right through her soul. He didn’t even say anything, just smiled coyly and wound his long, slender fingers around her neck. He could feel her pulse there, beating uncontrollably. It made him excited to feel the blood coursing through her veins. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and while the flight or fight instinct should have been kicking in, once again her body decided differently.
Those strong fingers curled around the base of her neck and grabbed at the hair there. The height difference between them became readily apparently when he pulled and her head fell back with little resistance. Her breath was coming quickly now and she was embarrassed at her reactions to all of this. Normally she’d be fighting and protesting, but there was something about him that made her want to give in. To submit to him.
With his fingers still wrapped through her hair, he led them through the space, through the people, to a little door just off the main floor. Ever gangly on her feet, she stumbled and bumbled, knowing she should be screaming but instead wondering what he was doing. This felt dangerous. This felt different. This wasn’t her safety zone. And the surprising thing was that she liked it.
The air was cold outside, much colder than when she’d entered the building. Immediately her soft little nipples pebbled up under the thin top she wore and he roughly grabbed them, twisting and enjoying the gasps she was making. Out here in the cold, the beat of the music could still be felt from inside the building. The whole time, he kept his eyes on hers. Speaking without speaking and telling her that she was his, even if just for this short time.
With his hand still at the nape of her neck, he pushed her into the cold brick wall of the building and she turned her head just enough so that he could still see one green eye from the side. The look of abject terror was overlaid with curiosity and intrigue in that eye. That was the look he dared to bring out in her. That was the look he was hoping to see and the look he had risked claiming her for.
The tiny skirt of hers was first to go, pulled up over the round, plump ass he had long admired. Each ass cheek was pale, too pale for his liking. Her skin was ivory white compared to his mocha tan and he spread his large hands out on each round globe. He pulled and kneaded them, his nails raking each time and leaving bright red streaks. The contrast of red to white was lovely and he knew that her ass looked better with his marks. She’d have more before he was done and probably would carry them with her for days after, a reminder of where she’d been and what he’d done.
He leaned into her, pressing his hard cock still securely behind a straining zipper into her ass and she gasped. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d feared this but also wanted it. Yes, she’d wanted it for a long time. It was something she’d denied many times. She craved the violence. The brutality. The taking.
He traced his fingers along the string between her ass cheeks, and he saw her puckered little hole clench and relax. It knew what was coming and while he knew he’d have to work for it, the end result would be more than worth it.
With deft fingers he pulled the little fabric aside and traced her lips, noting that she wasn’t protesting the invasion. In fact, her breath was becoming shallower and that look of terror was being replaced with one of pleasure. Pleasure mixed with pain and desire. That was ultimately the goal of this whole thing. There was a innate beauty when those things came together, a feral beauty springing forth from deep inside a person’s soul.
She felt his finger press into her and her nipples grated against the hard, cold building through her top. A plea escaped her lips and he growled at her, his other hand again wrapping around her neck and tightening ever so slightly. She felt like a common whore, in the alley behind a club with his fingers inside her ass and her skirt around her waist. A beautiful, used whore. This was what she was searching for all along. To be used for another’s pleasure was pleasure for her too.
He released her neck and she gasped, her vision clearing. Something cold and slithery dripped on her asshole and those lithe fingers worked it in with skill. She knew what was coming and she shook her head almost to say no. But for the third time that night, her body betrayed her and her found herself saying yes.
Firm hands grabbed her hips and strong thumbs pulled the round cheeks of her ass apart, giving him room to slide the head of his hard cock between warm skin and flesh. She groaned as he pressed into her, her body resisting at first and them ever so gradually giving into him.
A slow entry with a fast withdrawal followed by a slam, slam, slam over and over again. She moaned and cried, her hips arching back into him as his fingernails dug into her hips. She cried not because she disliked it, but instead because something inside of her was breaking. The long held belief that she was always to be strong, always to be independent, always to be the one in control. Here in this alley way with her ass being invaded, she felt herself changing.
His marks would litter her body the next day, the day after that and the day after that. He had made sure of that. He wanted her to be reminded of his will and how it was stronger than hers. How while there were no winners and losers, there certainly were more powerful and less powerful. Her tiny body would bear the result of his power.
His fingernails dug sharply into her hips as he came and his larger body fell into hers. He molded himself to her, kissing the back of her neck and brushing the sweaty hair from her forehead. Her eyes sparkled and spoke volumes to him. He whispered his thanks and kissed her temple. She smiled and giggled at his now sweet actions compared to the animalistic actions of only a few minutes previous.
When respective clothing was back in place he took her hand, his larger hand swallowing up her smaller hand. He led her back inside the club and checked to make sure she had enjoyed herself. The light he saw from inside her told him she had and that something had changed inside her. It had been an experience filled with growth.
They parted with a hug and whispered promises of next time. They were both sure there would be a next time, even if when that next time would happen was in doubt. It was a only a matter of time, you see. Planets take time to rotate. Bodies inevitably come back together. Flesh always seeks out flesh. It was a truth of the universe, one they both acknowledged.

Original Fiction: Longing

I don’t like to admit I still think about him. That I still think about him touching me. That I still think about his smile, his laugh, his back, his hands, his funny sense of humor. It’s one of my dirty little secrets. I thought if I push the memories as deep down inside of me as I could, I could deny they had ever happened. I could ignore the moments we spent together and the touches we shared.

My mind plays tricks on me sometimes. I’ll be out somewhere and think I see him. It stops me dead in my tracks when I do. Part of me wants to run away in fear and part of me wants to run towards him. It always tears me in two when I catch glimpses of his doppelgangers.

There are moments it feels like yesterday and there are moments it feels like a lifetime ago. I have grown and changed so much since then and people who knew me then tell me I’m a different person now. I have mixed emotions about that possibility. A part of me wishes I could still be that person, wild and fancy free. Taking risks much bigger than myself and playing with fire. The problem with that is I have more to lose now. I worry about losing all that I’ve built for myself since him, the least of which is the walls I’ve built around myself and my heart.

I still feel his hands on me sometimes. Large, warm, male hands. He had lovely hands. I still feel the thud, thud, thud of his hands and his tools. I still feel his breath on my skin, hot and heavy.

I still feel the tears I shed for him, fresh as if they were just spilling forth. I told myself long ago I wouldn’t shed any more tears for him. Only time will tell if I stick to that promise.

I long for him … even now.

“Rumors” – Original Fiction by Isabel

“Rumors”
The music pounded and the bass line beat deep within my chest. The smell of musky perfume, sweat, desperation and excitement swam in my nose. Despite having nothing to drink for days, I felt drunk off my surroundings and my thoughts bubbled with the best kind of pleasure for me.
The club was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night and all around me the mating dances the local women were playing out. A flirt here; a grind there. A kiss on the neck; a kiss on the pussy. There wasn’t much in the way of romance out in the concrete jungle and quite frankly most of us liked it that way. We were the fast talking, fast running, fast moving of lesbian society. We had little time for finding dogs instead of kids and looking at china patterns for our commitment ceremonies.
Hell, most of us had never been to or been involved in a commitment ceremony. There were quiet whispers of disappointment when the cream colored envelopes arrived in anybody’s mailbox, announcing that one had dropped from our ranks and was off the market.
In a world where everybody was looking for something, I was looking for my next score. My next hit. My next fix that would tide me over until I had time once again for the trek to uptown where I could find the only good lesbian bar in my opinion. It had a nice mix of thick, thin, short haired and long haired. We all had our look and we stuck to them.
Just like we all had our vices. Ask anybody in the place and they could probably name off each woman’s poison. That one over there liked blow. The blond by the bar had a thing for high end shoes and pedicured toenails. The one grinding her fine ass on the brunette in jeans so tight I think they were airbrushed on shot tequila like athletes downed water.
My vice? I was in search of the high I could only get from watching others. Some liked feet, some liked rope, and some liked pain. But me, well I liked to watch. I was a voyeur. And a damn prolific one at that. Every spare minute I could I was sneaking away from the corporate grind to find myself in this place, stretched back in my private booth and getting a hard on for the action in front of me. It was an addiction I couldn’t break.
           
I came to search out the one woman none of us could put our proverbial finger on. Her moods were like the wind. One night she was blond with a bo-ho chic look, and the next she had jet black hair and leather pants. Rumors spread like wildfire about her. Some said she was a day trader, some a heroin dealer and some said she was a stock room girl at a big box store. Some swore they’d heard she’d fucked several Hollywood actresses and a US senator or two. Fuck, I didn’t care.
           
The game for me was simple – watch her like a hawk, get turned on to the point that my lingerie of choice for the evening was practically dripping and go home so I could fuck myself into a frenzy. I spent hours at home in the solace of my thoughts, pounding myself while remembering with crystal clarity every move she made.
           
We all wanted her, but none of the women I knew could ever testify they’d been with her. She was the ultimate enigma for me. The more I searched; the less I found. The more I watched; the less I observed.
           
Tonight though, she wasn’t showing. Figured. The one night I was really needing my fix and she wasn’t anywhere in sight. God, I fucking wanted her.
Two hours of waiting and watching combined with too many look-a-like drinks was quickly sending me to the restroom and I hoped it wasn’t busy. Round up enough women in one spot and you had a never ending line to pee.
           
Luck was on my side and the omnipresent line had somehow disappeared. I did my business and washed my hands dutifully, but then I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I glanced up and staring at me in the mirror like some kind of illusion in the Sahara was the ghost herself – the girl I was looking for.
           
My heart leapt in my throat and the pit of my stomach dropped out. For all the time I’d spent watching her, I hadn’t actually planned for meeting her.
           
She grinned at me, noir red lips set against brilliant white teeth. The glint in her eye was a mixture between evil and angel and made me pussy drip like never before. Dammit, she was hotter up close than from afar.
           
With a move so lithe ballerinas would be jealous, she leaned in and put her palms on the bathroom counter, surrounding me in her essence and smell. Whiffs of dark vanilla mixed with cinnamon crossed my nose and I craved to taste her like a fine dessert.
           
I stood there, frozen in the moment and unable to form words to say half of the things I’d always dreamed of saying to her. The problem with being a voyeur was you always pictured yourself outside of the situations you watched, not actively involved in them. When the moment actually happened, you couldn’t comprehend them.
           
The rosy tip of her tongue peaked out from between those pouty red lips and my heart altogether stopped when I felt it touch my skin at the middle of my neck, trailing its way up and over my jaw line. It left ice in its wake and set my body ablaze.
My eyes were glued to hers. Promises and unspoken desires rang through me, making me wish I could pull something out of my brain and out of my mouth.
Nothing came.
           
Her tongue flicked my fleshy earlobe and she bit it roughly between her perfect white teeth.
           
“Looking for me?” she whispered in my ear and I wondered where the pounding music of the club was. It was surprisingly quiet enough to hear the low dulcet sound of her voice.
           
I nodded meekly, still unable to find words or form anything other than what would likely be a very unlady-like and undignified grunt.
           
Suddenly though, my vision was extinguished. Light became dark and inside turned outside. The prized view disappeared from my sight.
           
“I know you watch me,” she whispered in my ear again. “I can feel your eyes on me every time I set foot in here. Do you like what you see? Do you bank it all in that pretty little head of yours? Do you go home and fuck yourself silly to the thought of me? I can see it now, your legs spread and you pumping yourself with some big black dildo. You probably have the biggest one that’s made, you dirty little slut.”
           
My knees buckled and I wondered how she knew all that. For as much as us lesbians gossiped, nobody knew about my favorite toy. It sat at the bottom of my bedside drawer, ready for use whenever I got home from watching her gyrate and grind her hips onto a different unsuspecting woman.
           
My mind was so focused on her words that I didn’t feel my arms being moved. Hell, I almost didn’t feel the cold steel wrapping around my wrist and certainly almost didn’t hear the click of the handcuffs as they locked my arms behind me.
           
She bent me over the sink and for a brief second I wondered why the damn bathroom was so deserted for a busy night.
           
I could feel the heat from her pussy through my pants and I wondered what she was wearing.
           
“Do you like that, little girl? I can tell you do. I can smell you through your pants. You like this. Bent over a dirty sink in a crowded club for everybody to see. Blindfolded and handcuffed. The voyeur likes being watched,” she said and I moaned a little at her words. This had never happened before and yet I was turned on beyond description already.
           
“I thought so,” she replied.
           
She grabbed my hips and pulled me back onto her pussy. Her heat made me positive that I would need to throw out the horribly expensive pants I was wearing. There’d simply be too much girl goo on them to clean.
           
Suddenly, she pulled my hair back and the pain I felt caused me to moan out again. To my shock though, it didn’t sound like the sound of pain I was used to hearing from myself. No, this felt good. I liked this pain.
           
Cold steel lifted off my wrists and my arms fell limply forward onto the cool granite countertop. My skin blazed and I was breathing roughly.
           
“When you’re ready for more, you’ll know how to find me. You always do.”
           
With that, she was gone. She’d left me blindfolded and bent over in a restroom. The door groaned shut and I realized my lacy thong was completely soaked through.
           
I never thought I’d actually meet her and now I’d done more than that. Another 60 seconds and I’m pretty sure she would have had me with a gooey mess running down my legs. Turning the tables turned out to be my biggest turn on.
           
I rushed home, throwing pieces of clothing off frantically as soon as I was inside the door to my apartment on my way to that very same big black dildo she’d mentioned. I fucked myself for hours, remembering the smell of her skin, the feel of her tongue, the heat of her pussy and everything in between. I went so hard for so long I actually fell asleep with my toy still in me.
           
My pants showed up next morning, now ruined from the set-in stain of my arousal, showed up behind my couch. Poking out from the left side back pocket was a little white business card, and there was only one person who could have put it there.
           
There was a phone number and a simple phrase printed in black text.
           
“Don’t believe the rumors.”

A Fantasy of My Fantasies

My love of submission is no secret around here. I’ve made that plainly obvious. My love of the Daddy figure head is also something I’m not secret about, though maybe a little less here than other mediums online I frequent. I am a Daddy’s girl. I’m also a dominant woman in my own right. Lately, I have been entertaining a specific fantasy in my head that I have masturbated to several times now. It creeps in my head and I feel the need to share it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Sweet Innocent Pet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My pretty little pet and I have been playing for some time now. She’s younger than me, but not by much. I think of her as my little sister, perhaps my little girl herself. I like to think I own her. She’s sexy, beautiful, silk, sensual. Her skin glows in the low light of my bedroom, lit only by one small lamp in the corner of the room. We’ve been playing like sisters. We’re giggling and turned on. For some reason I picture us in our panties, boyshorts or bikinis.

As kinky (of age) little girls put together are apt to do, we explore each other. But there is always that dominant/submissive edge to it. She knows I control her and that I enjoy doing with her what I want. She finds her own pleasure in such a thing.

Daddy is coming home soon and I know this. She doesn’t necessarily know this. There’s a glint in my eye as I know Daddy will be pleased to see I have a pet to play with, one we can both play with. We like pretty things and the girl I’m playing with is the prettiest of things.

I hear the soft click of the front door and I know Daddy’s home. The giggling almost naked girl in my bed doesn’t hear it. This is going to be fun when she finds out what I have planned for her tonight.

“Babygirl, Daddy’s home!” Daddy says from the front door.

I watch her eyes get wide and for a second fear flashes across those deep, beautiful eyes of hers. I feed on that fear. It’s a guttural and visceral emotion that propels me forward in life, never backward. I love to see a girl’s fear hit the breaking point and then flutter away into the wind like a butterfly. Fear has its place in my world, but it has no place in my bed. She looks at me and I smile, comforting her and squeezing her asscheek that my hand is on.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. Daddy will like you,” I say to put her at ease.

She smiles at me and I lean in to kiss her neck and smell her wonderful girly smell. She smells sweet and innocent, like a puppy dog playing in freshly fallen snow with sugar cookies baking inside the warm winter house. She giggles and puts her hand to her mouth to muffle it as Daddy walks into the bedroom. It’s clear right away what we’ve been doing all afternoon. The huge white down comforter on our king size bed is rumpled and our hair is in disarray.

Daddy sets his briefcase down on the carpeted floor and just stands there. He glances between my little girl and me, a knowing smile creeping onto his handsome face. I peek a look at my girl and her eyes are shining. I know that hungry look. It’s the same look I get every time I see Daddy for the first time every day. Oh yes, I think she’ll like this very much.

“My my … what do we have here? Babygirl, have you been playing?” Daddy says to me.

I grin at him and nod my head like the little girl I am. I get into hijinks sometimes when he’s not around but always following his rules. I have an idea though that he knows what my plan is. I’ve dropped hints for a week about having my little submissive girlpet over to play while he was at work. It was something that he definitely approved of. He knows how lonely I get sometimes when he’s not around during the day.

He loosens his tie and my heart and cunt swoon. Yes, we’re going to have fun. He slowly walks toward the bed and I hear my girl’s breathing picking up beside me. I’m sure mine is no different. He has that effect on me as well.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Babygirl?” he asks me gently.

My grip on her ass tightens and I slowly slide my other hand to caress her hard nipple I grew so fond of earlier when I was sucking on it teasing her.

“This is my girl, Daddy. We’re going to play today,” I happily say, the perk in my voice clear.

My pet sucks in air sharply and at first I’m worried but she lets it out quickly and smiles even wider. Perfect. She likes my idea very much.

“Oh yeah?” he says, starting to undo the buttons on his crisp shirt. God, I fucking love when he wears those shirts. It gets me so wet just thinking about them I can already feel myself getting wet again, despite the multiple times I’ve already cum today thanks to my pretty little girlpet.

My hands go around her waist and I push her forward in bed a little bit.

“Daddy, I brought you a present. Would you like to play with her?”

To be continued … if you’re good.

Reflections on Times Past

I mourn for the relationships that went bad.

I mourn for the times we shared and the times we didn’t get to share.

I mourn for those I considered friends and now consider nothing.

I mourn for feelings I thought I had, feelings I did have and feelings I wish I hadn’t had.

I mourn for the loss of those who were once special.

I mourn for their arms around me, making me feel safe and needed.

I mourn for experiences we talked about but never got to.

I mourn for long conversations we had in the dark of night that I wish we could return to, if just to talk through the things we didn’t.

I mourn for the moments that we were silent when we should have been talking.

I mourn for wanting you back and yet never wanting to talk to you.

I mourn for the memories I still have and the memories I was denied.

I mourn for your affection, your love, your attention I will never have.

I mourn for no longer being special to you even though you will always be special to me.

I mourn for the hateful words we directed at each other in the heat of battle.

I mourn for the pain I inflicted and received.

I mourn for the part of my heart you took with you when you left, whether because of you or because of me.

I mourn for dreams of the future I had and will never see realized.

I mourn for the happy moments I wished for and won’t get.

I mourn for your absence from my life, however long you were in it.

I mourn for what might have been and instead never will be.

I mourn for those special to me that I have lost.

I mourn for you.

Fiction: Growth

I wish I could say I had more willpower when it came to things in life, but sadly I cannot say that. Willpower has never been one of my strong traits and with him it was no different.

He had a way of just looking at me and breaking through all my defenses I put up to keep the world out. His soft breath on my neck turned me into a quivery, wet mess and before long I’d do anything just to have him touch me. On more than one occasion I found myself embarrassingly pleading with him to touch me, tease me, torture me into that delicious place inside myself that I found most enjoyable.

It was a place I hadn’t gone to many times before and only he had taken me. The place where I felt like I was flying and yet grounded at the same time. It was a euphoric high that was better than any synthetic drug could dream of inducing. Sometimes it lasted for mere moments; other times it lasted for days. When I thought I couldn’t bring myself there and release my mental restraints, he brought me there.

The nights he physically restrained me I felt the best. There was something about the feel of rope or nylon cutting into my skin and limbs that made me feel safe and comforted. I knew I could trust him to keep me safe physically and mentally, but actually feeling it was something entirely different. To look in his eyes and see the emotion he felt for me. To know that I was giving this gift to him and he treasured it completely.

Because that’s what my submission was for him and me – a gift. I willingly gave him my power and he took good care of it. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody and he knew it. He had earned this right and I entrusted it to him very carefully. It took a lot of time to get us to the point where I could allow him to restrain all four of my limbs and I wouldn’t have a panic attack.

The first time I had been completely restrained I truly flew. That’s when my mind finally let go and allowed me freedom. It was intense and it was amazing. When we were done I broke down and cried in his arms and he stroked my hair comforting me for hours.

That’s when he said he knew I was truly his. I had allowed him to cross my barriers and break me down, only to build me back up again. Where I was lacking before, I was bursting now. I had confidence I’d never experienced before him and while I knew he contributed to it, it had come from me too. I had grown and I had seen the light, so to speak. While we had grown as a couple, I had grown as an individual. I had grown as a woman and in particular as a submissive woman. He told me often how proud he was of me, how much he could see I had grown and changed and been made into a better version of myself. He said I didn’t need changing before but that the changes that had occurred were spectacular. I couldn’t agree with him more.

Every time his fingers ghosted over my skin I felt myself swelling inside, the person I was always meant to be coming out more and more. Maybe without him I would have reached this place inside me at some point in my life, but I don’t think it would have been quite so soon. Life as a whole is a journey, a process and growing up and growing older is no different.

“Kitten, I have something for you,” he whispered in my ear as I lay bound to our metal frame bed, naked and exposed for his use and enjoyment.

“Thank you so much, Daddy,” I said as my voice quivered. I could feel his love for me in his words and all throughout my body.

“Do you want me to put it on you or do you want to see it first?” he quietly asked.

It was a sly way of asking me if I trusted him, which of course I did wholly and completely.

“You can put it on, Daddy. I don’t need to see it first.”

I watched him move around the bed to a side drawer that I was not allowed in and he pulled out something. I saw the quick glint of metal and my heart leaped. We had talked about a bracelet or some other type of jewelry I could wear on a daily basis given that a full fledged collar was just practical nor was it our style.

The cool metal hit my skin and I practically signed when I heard it click shut around my wrist. I looked down and out of the edge of my line of sight I saw it. It was a beautiful silver heavy link chain with a heartshaped padlock holding it shut.

“I have the only key,” he said and I looked up to see him grinning and spinning a little key around in his fingers.

I smiled back, unable to contain my happiness and excitement about the whole thing. It was perfect in every way and I couldn’t ask for a better physical representation of our relationship.

He held the only key to my bracelet and he held the only key to my submission. He knew how to get inside my head, my heart and my soul and that’s how I liked it. There was no other who knew me like he did and no other who ever would know me like he did.

“Do you like it, Kitten?” he asked though I’m sure he already knew the answer.

I answered from the depths of my being.

“I love it, Daddy. It’s perfect,” I said with emotion.

He came around close to my head and leaned down, his lips brushing over mine. As I looked in his eyes, I saw everything I had been and everything I would be. So much growth since I had met him, but something told me there was so much more growth to come.