Still Finding Some Of My Old Poems From My Tumblr Delete Sight. Thanks To All Of You Who Reposted So

After the First One

There is a point, after the first one, the line crossed, the fantasy lived, your spirit and body pushed past what you imagined you would ever do.

There is a moment, when you are in my arms in the afterward, that you realize what you have done, and that you have become that rarity, a woman who is willing to live what you want, take it, be taken, the first border breached and you realize

that the first wall is always the hardest, and the next one, and oh yes, there will be a next one, is inevitable, for you are not the same woman as you were. And never will be again.

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If you have ever been pushed past what you thought were your boundaries sexually, you know.

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

Just As...

And just as you think you have found every possible way to submit... I prove you wrong.

Formerly “The Other Poems” with 12,000+ readers and correspondents until without warning Tumblr decided I was no longer worthy of web space..

Below is my first book of poems from the original "Other Poems" blog. You can get it on Amazon on Kindle and Paperback.

If you have any of my poems from the original blog on your blog, let me know so I can repost it here. If you like a poem, please repost it so I can find my friends from the last blog. The worst thing about being Tumblr Erased is the loss of connection.

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My corset blog was also erased by Tumblr. I have rebirthed that one too. You can find it here: https://www.tumblr.com/corsetsandkinks4

I have not rebirthed my "The Other Words" blog, which had prose, memoirs and sexual topics worth a comment or two. If you are interested in that one coming back, drop me a private message and if enough people want it, I may start it up again.

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I love conversation, but I am in a wonderful relationship, so no come ons. You would not have a chance no matter who you are.

I love it when I find a poem from my deleted blog that I can repost to my new on. In this case the poem found me. A Reader from London refound me and shared two. Thank you!

As Often

Not every submission is brutal. As often, I simply desire your skin exposed for my caress, in admiration of the gift that is you.

On Your Knees

On Your Knees

On your knees, an act of worship, you take me in, your eyes meet mine, full of supplication and passion, your desire radiating like an aura.

I watch you lips as they kiss my hard passion, kiss the velvety shaft that yearns for you.

I watch you as you open your mouth, as your tongue, pink and vibrant, licks slowly, up….. down…. up…. Each touch of you like molten fire, wet, inviting, giving.

I watch your manicured nails as your hand traces slowly, teasingly down my belly, finding my balls, so swollen and tender, aching for your touch.

You smile, and your hand grasps my hardness, guiding it to your mouth, wide, generous in your love, in your submission as my hand reached down, presses you deeper, deeper around me, surrounding me, your lips full, your mouth full, flat against my belly,

I pump myself into you and you give yourself to me, your body, your mouth, no longer your own but mine,

my cock swells and you feel it.

My hands reach down and pull your breasts up, find the nipples, squeezing them, feeling you moan as your perfect lips, surround my cock, so deep in you, down, down to your throat,

then back out…. And in again, my hand now pressing lightly into your fragrant hair, my hips alive, taking your, making your mouth mine, an intimate kiss of submission, your body, your heart, your mouth, your heart, mine.

It's Always the Smile

in the end, it is always her smile. Not to disparage the rest of her, every line and curve and sway. The curls. The glint in her eye. But in the end, it is always the smile. Captivating. Always true. Sexier than a smile should be, you feel like a king, when she submits with that smile, and her subject when she devoirs you.

The Danger of Asking

Perhaps you suspected asking was dangerous, but here you are. Collared. Leashed. Blindfolded. In a strange place. Rustling outside the door. Enough to make you wonder. You hear something mechanical and I tell you. The cameras.

You are dressed beautifully. Made up beautifully. Lips perfect. That too will be captured on camera, as will what is left of you, ravaged, cum covered. So much of you taken less like a lover than an object of desire. Yes, everything captured. Start. Finish. And everything in between. Asking was dangerous.

One of my poems from my deleted blog, found on someone else’s blog.

Wait. Watch.

Lay there.  Wait.  Watch  as I lay things out.  Flogger. Crop. Plug. More.  As I anticipate which pain, and where I will punish you with tonight.  As I anticipate what tender places I will penetrate, with what and how long,  and how hard.  Watch. See my smile.  See my shaft rise,  hard as stone.  Know,  you are mine,  helpless before my desire. 

Not The First. The First

I know I am not the first to see you naked. Not the first to touch you. No, I am sure your body has been touched everywhere by others. I am sure others have pushed their way into you, filled you, gently and roughly both. I am not the first to feel your hands around my shaft. Or your lips. I am not the first to bring you to orgasm. Perhaps not even the first to bring you several of them, one after the other. My cock is not the first to feel the delicate tightness of your throat, the tight depths of your vagina, or the yielding constraint of your ass.

I never expected to be the first when we found each other. We had lives. Past. Past lovers.

But I can tell you this. No man has loved you as deeply. No man has wanted not just your body but your sexy soul. No one, and I sure of this, wanted to take you to experiences that are the first. No one more dedicated to making fantasies real and fill your soul with my sex. No one will ever believe you are magic and spend his life partaking, punishing, exalting you to everyone, but most particularly, to you.

And in time, you will never be reminded of those who came before. Only of us.

Everything

The thing is, I remember everything. Every inch. Every curve. The curl of your lip. The way your nipple rises when I go for seconds. Each little skin tag and mole. The depth and deceptive tightness. The sounds you make when we move to a new speed, a new depth, and fresh helplessness. I remember what I see when you cross the room. I remember how you feel as I lay on you. I remember everything Clothes and time and distance do nothing to blur what I know. You think we are apart now and again. But we are not. Because I remember everything.