“Sway your ass for me, push it out!” he demands.
I cry, “I can’t.” But he snaps the leather against the side of my thighs—sometimes equally as painful—and demands again.
When I comply, I shriek once the leather lands whether the blow is painful or not. I can’t help myself.
We’re not a pretty sight as lovers; there is a certain treachery about this kind of affection. Most would not call it affection at all. And yet I know that this gift he gives me is a far greater love than the tenderness of his kisses when it’s not kisses that I need.
Because I’m jealous of you he punished me. At least that’s what he said. He chided me for being hard on you for loving him, for how I’m envious of the way you fill his mind with thoughts of you. He punished me because I fear you. He feigns anger, wields the strap and tortures me with it, because he says I don’t have enough faith in him. He acts as though I’ve offended him. I play along.
What’s true is that all this talk of jealousy and punishment is just a game he plays. Perhaps my jealousy is real, and perhaps there’s really a piece of me that does fear you and the power you have to excite him with your submissive attitude. And yet, while my jealously may have a hint of truth, his anger does not. Why he whips me is not so much for him, as it is for me.
He knows that I need reasons for such treatment. He knows that if he tricks my mind with the necessity of this chastisement, he will take my body deeper and meet its need. He’ll drive me down to the core of myself where the need for such abuse is great.
After he flailed on my flesh from behind, blistering my ass so that I could take no more, he ordered me to turn over and raise my hands above my head and part my thighs again—this time leaving my pussy even more vulnerable to his blows. Taking a small leather whip instead of the strap, he began to work my body from breasts to thighs, laying on that stinging thing so it snapped and jolted and made my body writhe to try and get away. When I screamed too loudly, demanding him to stop with such a voice as to raise the dead, he paused.
“You want me to stop?” he asked
With the immediate pain dying off, I thought about the question, about the way my body felt. I let the stimulation, that tingling feeling everywhere speak to me. “No,” I replied to him and so he continued on.
Such starts and stops came regularly for an hour. My only reprieve from the agony were those moments when he ordered me to service his hungry prick. And I did so eagerly, thinking the longer I worked his cock and balls, the longer the peace I’d have from the pain. I was hoping that if I were good enough with my mouth, perhaps I’d take him to the limit of his sexual peak, and going over he’d shoot his cum unto my mouth. Perhaps then, he’d stop the savage attack, perhaps then.
The truth was however, I didn’t really hope for this. What I hoped for was more abuse. To find that point where the sensations begin to wash over me in waves, where I feel as if I’m floating on choppy water, battered and buffeted by the ocean, but still caressed by the water lapping over my limbs. Then, that state of contentment achieved, I’d feel the leather and the strap, not as tormentors, but as the powerful lovers that they are. And I’d feel my master next to me the implementer of a state of body grace. The more he continued on, the closer I got to that dear place.
When we play this crude game of love, my master becomes a servant to my body’s need. Without restraint, without compromise, without listening to my outer torment, he takes me beyond myself to a place I could never go alone. And when our love-making finishes, when at each other’s hands the orgasmic wave is at last complete, I feel serenity, as if I’m in the middle of myself and I have no where else to go.
Because I was jealous of you, he punished me last night.
He tormented me with pain, refusing to hear my pleas. He gave me all that I asked and then much more. He punished me last night because he knows that the savagery and the pleasure, all ride the same ocean wave to the gates of paradise, where I find my place of peace.
I Know It’s Dangerous Needing You …
My body is haunted by the softness of your eyes and your caresses, and the way your skin feels almost too delicate to touch. For a woman who has known men and their staunch flesh, unyielding and firm to my touch, I relish the thought of your skin, of its rounded lines, the plump places and the lean, the way my hands will float over its surface. I think of its bouquet, the smell of apricots and musk. How I’ll drink from it with my nostrils and mouth, tasting fragrances that only exude from the sweetness of a woman’s gentle shape. Your hair about my face, caught in my eyes and mouth, its dark locks brushing across my skin, will make me laugh. I can feel that bubbling up in me. Such subtlety your femininity brings to me. Such careful and precarious passion.
I long for those long walks you speak of, where we hold hands in the woods or on the beach, or when we laugh and giggle like school girls long into the night. And then in the wee hours of the morning fall asleep dreaming of each other until noon. I think of slumbering side by side with you, our hips touching so we feel each other’s body heat and remember sex and sensuality all night long.
I long for baths where we blow bubbles in each other’s faces and kiss lips to eyes tenderly when they sting: baths where our slick bodies join, slide together and then slide apart, where we feel between each other’s legs, our tentative fingers becoming bold as we explore the deepest reaches of our femininity; baths where we bathe each other as if we’re preparing one another for a feast to follow.
Once out of the bath, I long to dress sexy with you, in short skirts and low-cut clinging blouses, going out on the town like whores in heat. I long for hot sweaty nights where our hips move seductively, challenging men to look our way and lick their lips. In a smoky bar, your body close to mine, I’d kiss your lips and run my hands along your thighs up your skirt, see what eyes we attract, what devilish fantasies we can arouse with the guys in some seedy joint where nice girls never go. If I could have my way, we’d get passionate right there in public, flaunt the mystery of women before the appetites of men. They would wonder what we share, but only we would know.
As I’d run my hand over your bottom cheeks, I’d raise your skirt enough for them to see your cleft. And if you bent over even just a little bit, they’d see all they’d need to see, your wet cunt pink and ready for penetration. I’d stroke you there and let them hunger. And later, when I’d lean down to kiss your breasts, I’d unbutton your blouse so the men could see still more of your chest and the globes of softness contained there. Oh, but we’d leave them longing. Hips sashaying side to side, we’d exit the bar arm in arm, winking as we passed the ones that lust and rub their groins because they ache.
I long for moments that we revel in semi-public places carrying our sensuality with us like a cloak of protection, where because we are two, carrying on as one, we are more daring with our desires, exposing them. It doesn’t matter to me who watches, I’d revel only in the reality of who we are and who I become with you.
I want to know you, to wrestle with your nakedness, to tear your mind apart while you climb inside of mine. I want to kiss you, hold you, bring you to tears, as you watch me shed mine. I want to walk where you walk, our thoughts joined, to skinny dip in the pools of sex where you take your satisfaction. I want to follow your mind along as you masturbate, tiptoe through your fondest fantasies. You’ve seen all mine or perhaps most of them. If only I could dwell in yours for awhile, the ones that scare you, the ones that make you buck against your invading hands, and the ones that bring you peace. I long to know you, my love, to be privy to all your secrets as they are revealed to you.
I fear I long for more than you can give me; but I cannot deny what’s in my heart, what I think of most dearly when you come to mind and I say your name aloud or silently.
Because I need you, because the desire is great, I fear losing you in the same breath. I fear you falling away from me, your desire carrying you elsewhere. I know that you can only be half mine, that you also belong to the w
orld of men, to our master—that, like me, you’re divided, loving that hard form of masculinity with loins that long to be passionately taken and defiled in crude ways. I know that it’s dangerous needing you, that I tread carefully into your shadowy territories, afraid that with our love and lust, we’ll share hurt and heartache too.
I know it’s dangerous, but I cannot stop the need. It burns in me, and arises from out of nowhere as a hungry beast needing to be fed. It makes me do rash things, think rash thoughts. It makes me crazed, a little demented, as if I’ve drunk too much wine and no longer have the power to reason clearly. It takes the woman of power that I am, and reduces me to little girl—vulnerable.
I know it’s dangerous needing you, but I cannot stop the need. And for all the fear it brings to my soul, it will remain with me, my second cherished companion of desire.
Take Me
When I churn with anxious, noxious rhythms,
when tranquillity evades me
when my agitated nerve endings split with
discontented madness … take me.
Primitive savage come to me,
scour me with full throbs, feelings of tightness,
of well planted rhythms, life giving,
life absorbing.
Give me more then without hurry, in steady streams
flow into me, with vigorous pulses
Send me to beyond places
where I cannot think, and I do not exist
and there is nothing but blessed nothingness,
cascading around my spirit to fill me.
And when you lift me up, and thrust me to my beyond,
beyond heaven’s bliss and earth’s fragrance,
gentle me then and caress me back into the world of touch and sight,
set me down softly on pillowy cushions
that I may breathe in the peaceful remnant.
LD
Spent Bodies
The first casual glances
now linger in spasms of ever rising tension
as moments grow to minutes,
and the once furtive exchanges, of eyes catching eyes,
now stare with open and growing appetites.
Pulses once calm
now race to keep up with the lungs
and their rapid but shallow breathing,
the skin once cool,
as it slept nestled against the body’s flesh and bone,
now glistens with the first dew of heat and sensual arousal.
Movements once limited to the eyes and their gentle probing
are captured by hands bent on the exploration
of the skin’s scenic and carnal paths
that wind through erogeny’s extreme landscape.
Mouths locked in explosions of sensation
are silent except for the muted whimpers and groans
that escape to fill the air with verbal heat.
Tongues trace nerves that lead to overloads
of lewd pleasure as their gentle lapping is mixed
with the teeth’s sharp and wanton retorts.
Poised emotions ride the pounding embrace
of bodies lost in their final search
of earth’s version of heaven,
for God’s gift of physical completion.
While visions and dreams tear free
filling the mind with these pictures hand drawn by the soul.
Drifting peace and the cool of emptied feelings
entwine in this last ritual of surrender,
as God and the souls kiss
and gently whisper poems of love and peace
to the spent bodies’ resting ears
and hope they will be remembered.
KH
My gratitude to my lover, husband and partner in life for contributing his poetry to this collection. Lizbeth
More Erotic Fiction by Lizbeth Dusseau
Little Savage
Naughty Baby
In The Garden of Lust
Seven Days in Cell Block 7
Memoirs of a Sex Toy
Innocence Defiled
Honeymoon In Bondage
Labyrinth
Carly On Her Knees
Taken Before Dawn
Punishable Offenses
Betrayal of the Virgin Bride
Sexual Mischief
Bounty Hunter
The War of the Remingtons
The Truth About Marianne
Master For A Desperate Slave
Poor Little Rich Slut
The Humiliation of Hannah
The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake
The Secret Sins of Lizzy Barton
Pagan Dreams, Lesbian
Outer Island
Into the Dark Wilds
Force Me To Obey
These titles and many more!
For a complete catalogue
Of Lizbeth Dusseau’s Erotic & Spanking Fiction…
Pink Flamingo Publications
P.O. Box 632, Richland, MI 49083, 887-629-0051
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: http://www.pinkflamingo.com
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