Sunday, September 9, 2018

Good in Rope

“You look good in rope,” Nicholas all but purred as he admired his handiwork.

“Is that some kind of colonizing bullshit?” Mayank teased, the sly slant of his dark eyes and his wide grin giving him away. “White man power tripping over my brown skin in ropes?”

Nicholas raised his brows at Mayank and put his head on to one side.

“Don’t think I hadn’t considered it before,” Nicholas replied in measured tones. “I do try to avoid fetishizing people, but I think we’re safe in any case. You came to me, after all, and you asked me to tie you up.” He leaned close, his breath tickling at Mayank’s ear. “I could untie you if you like. A few little pulls and that harness will be so unraveled it wouldn’t hold a kitten.”

Wednesday, August 22, 2018


The first thing that Devon was aware of as he regained consciousness, was the cold air sliding across the back of his leg. The second thing was the pressure of his bladder. His eyes had crusted shut the way they always did this time of year, and moving to Florida hadn’t helped that any. He rolled to his back, knuckling at one despite the fact that it tore at his lashes and irritated his lids, and forced the other to open on its own. He’d pay for that later, but he had to see the body that belonged to the weight in the bed next to him.

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

inconvenient delusions

I think of you in the dark and the quiet, of your sly smile and cunning words. I think of the things you would say to me in the stillness of the morning, when all the world was asleep save for us and the stars. I dream of the trust that was born in those moments. Trust without pretext, or preamble, or.  pre anything. A spontaneous and consuming notion that birthed itself undeservedly between us.

It was so certain, that trust-- that trust. That trust that let you tie me face down on your scratchy wool rug the first time... the thousand times that followed. I can remember the smell and the feel of it on my cock as well as I can the smell of your aftershave and the way it felt when you tickled my slit with the corner of your nail. I knew, with absolute certainty, that you would always untie me. I knew that you would hold me, and kiss me, and let me stay outside of my head just as long as I needed.

What does that make me now? Alone, longing for that knowing again, unable to trust myself enough to even consider judging the feasibility of a chance encounter, let alone anything of longer duration? If I cannot trust myself to know just whom I can trust, is there anything at all left for me in the here and now?

But more importantly, how do I stop thinking of you every time I pull at myself in the shower? I can't even trust myself not to cum at the slightest scrap of memory- your cock cleaving me in two, your hips trying to hammer me through the wall, ugly yellow tile and all.

I think of you all the time, even in the light and the noise, but it's these quiet hours that undo me. It's these quiet hours that leave me bereft, aching and yearning.. for trust.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

What are we but our vulnerable places? The places neither of us can see?
But i would tickle Your secrets with my fingertips,
and breathe life between whispered words.

i would caress the undersides of Your breasts
where the skin is tender and folds,
and lift the weight of Your belly
to nibble at each hidden hip.

What are we but these things we do
between the promises of what will come next?
And though i have oft held my lips to Yours,
anticipation sends me groveling for more.

i would drag my mouth trembling -
sighing, soft, and warm -
along the dark dusky curves of Your thighs
(the ones that You claim to hate).

What am i but kneeling before You? Lost in a sea of skirts?
But i would worship You with my palms,
pray hard with lips and tongue,
until Your breath cried Truth at last,
and Your toes touched again to the ground.