Sunday 22 May 2016

The Roots of Rough




Sometimes she liked it rough though
never exactly knew why his
demanding hand in her hair, sometimes
choking her with his length, sometimes
using it as reins to
slap his thighs against her
arched haunches before
painting her face with his
effusions, made her so very
wet and she wondered whether
any of her underlings at work
would ever understand.
 



(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Saturday 7 May 2016

A New Touch







Shackled by her shirt she
knelt waiting, her eyes
tight shut to sharpen her
sense of someone else
entering her space, a
different footfall, a new
breath, the prickle of a
strange scent, a sense of
the tension that awaits a
new touch.


 
(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)