"aftercare" poems
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?
will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?
will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?
are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?
do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?
my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise
and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
Her master towers over her with his hefty might.
His eyes pierce through the shadows.
Commanding and bold, he startles her.
However, she capitulates to his aura.
She succumbs to his will, a willing slave.
Confined by his power, she cannot behave.
His words are tender, his touch like a feather,
she pines for his control, her soul in his hand.
In the dungeon of rapture, they explore their appetite.
Her master, like a bat, hovers over the dim light.
Sweeps her with his wings to a waltz of submission.
And takes her to the ride of darkness and delight.
A coating of fear decorates her face.
He surprises her with acts that leave her afraid.
She is hesitant to continue her master’s calling.
But her body is dissimilar, peachy, and pulsating.
Her master takes her on a trip of ****** events.
Where she gasps with fright, moans with pain,
and pleasures herself to the sound of the rain.
He takes what he wants; she surrenders it all.
He puts her in her place with words of degradation.
Then showers her with warmth and affection.
Her master kisses her, just like aftercare.
In each other’s arms they find solace in times of despair.
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 3:56 PM UTC
Dripping down the insides of her thighs;
Tied up, on her are all the eyes.
The need to be tamed
she cannot control,
it's sick but the pleasure
screams: "just once more".
She craves it with every cell
but from her looks you could never tell.
Rough hands grabbing her tight,
controlling her as if she was a puppet,
mouth wide open gasping for air,
he keeps on slapping her until she says she loves it.
Black leather and cold chains,
purple and blue lights blow her brain.
It's all about being raw.
She's forced up off her knees
pulled hard by the hair,
as she keeps on saying please.
Ropes tied too tight leave their marks,
hot wet tongue licks all the bruised parts.
So many things to use,
but she's still the favorite toy.
Pointing fingers, narrow minds
but she's only there to enjoy.
No love, no sadness.
Just moans and madness.
You may think she needs affection,
the aftercare is cute,
but she has another type of hunger;
from this world to become a recruit.
Whatever it takes to feel good,
she's willing to do anything she's asked to.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
My child bearing years, you see
But nothing can replace the intoxication
Of a new pair of lips and limbs when the clock strikes midnight
Forever at my lips, bidding adieu to sobriety
I can follow and fall into the arms of a new sincerity
Unburdened by half-baked promises, letters of stress and civil warfare
I can be your wife, I can be your life
But only for a night
Forever at my lips bidding adieu,
This is a dance I love to do
My nature proclaims a livelihood of attraction
A constant hunger and desire for justification
My dance I continue
I waver into the night
A flimsy frolic in the daze of whiskey
Lips and limbs anew
A dance of forgiven sins and Spanish limbs
A dance of forgiven sins and German fingertips
A dance of forty five minutes and millions of pelvic on my hips
This is my dance, not his.
The partners come and go
But the dance is me.
I am the ringmaster
My name belongs to me.
Forever alight with song and dance
A chance of meeting a new thrill
The intoxication of one night spill
A class of movies and sin
A dance that begs for gin.
This is my dance, my dance is me
You can join, but not in sobriety.
A cuddle or two is nice aftercare,
But the idea of true love is a story hard to bear
A few limbs, millions of genitals makes my fix
For my dance is me, my dance is I
Burning ablaze in the wake of the night
I am me, you are not
My dance is me, My dance is I
Forever forever engraved in my soul
A dance of my own
A life made for me, made for the rich lining that resides in my whole.
I am whole. I am me. I am the dance with or without sobriety.
Come hither, jealousy.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
Paddles, aftercare
Classical conditioning
Making this one mine
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
I hear nothing,
I see everything,
and yet,
all I feel is static.
Nothing,
absolutely nothing, makes sense
or has the same meaning
from one moment to another.
Fear,
Anger,
Mock,
is around every corner it seems.
Confusion,
Greif,
Ache,
eventually numbness sets in
and the blood begins to seep.
People fill the room and
soon your eyes feel heavy.
The voices stop,
all but one.
The declaration has been made.
The label has been made.
Sedative begins to set and your body goes still.
The feeling still there,
every molecule every atom.
every slice and every stitch.
The label placed,
and perfectly stitched,
Aftercare is key love, it must not rip.
The nurse stagers over and hands you a mirror.
The restraints released.
Perfectly, permanently placed,
The label you will forever see.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
…The Laugh Aftermath…
Was tough to master Math,
enough to answer last, rather than rebuffed
for being half a Man. Aftercare reformed through
corporal, master’s lash…no wonder we kept our breath,
even when others didn’t care for tomorrow’s Masters’ wrath.
Ironically, we died to shed the stain of fear from our skin,
which chronically defies the bred brain of the heir, our King.
Now, we’re reborn astonishment where our questions
are quenched by demystified witches and purpose…
we can and able…we bow in recourse to the accomplishments
mentioned and drenched in multiplied wishes
to purport Cain and Abel…
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 6:10 AM UTC
"To have someone give you control of their bodies and minds,
to be entrusted with the responsibility to take care of them,
to have someone willing to suffer for you,
to forsake pride and dignity to please you...
what can other gifts in this world possibly equate to that?
And more importantly, what makes you worthy to receive it?"
~ Anonymous
The Feminine Paradox
while i live for anonymous
do you think she is a freak?
does she not own her master
with the rarest of adorations
more
then those in the temple of thinning lust
with mouths like twisted placards
screaming
"know your value"
and
"just say no"?
told by
Victorian prudes
what is permitted
full of pride
in shapeless days
yet counting the insults of puerile lovers
one moody scar at a time
a ****** off
Eve
could take a lesson
from
bruised titillated Lilith
*******
with the sadist, the cards are on the table
fingers like
gleaming swords scented with ***** perfume
that drool for her quivers.
he melts with feral abandon from her cries
as she thrills exhilarated
to pains promise of pleasure
crucified and pitted
like spiced guacamole
on hot fire-tongues
his, bruising buttery shaft
her God
drooling yoni his salvation
her form a jeweled flame
a swirling constellation of blood and sweat diamonds
writhing undulations and ****** mouth
all chattering castanets
better than most
they give each other their truth
to take and to be taken
like pierced sparrows fluttering in paradise
then
with tender kisses and aftercare
quite like the watering garden
they are rinsed guileless
drenched flowers sweltering
in asylums
moonlight
and made smooth
by the hand of God
...........
"oh baby
i like it when
you do that dance
gonna stick my ****
through your underpants"
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
Or maybe I'm a dancer
Just for you and me
My pirouette
Might well be poisonous
But I'm sure you'll
Fall for it anyways
I'm an art to your
Lovely bones and parasols
When I strike water
I really strike blood
And my self harm tattletale
Will never be enough
My chemical heart
Is just one nick I'll sew
Into your patchwork of scars
Don't worry about the
Aftercare
I heal wrong no matter the day
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC