Slave Girl Part 1

You cared enough: —-
to pin me down; to tie me up; to show me pain; (and how to cope); to rape my arse; to fuck my throat; to make me sick; (and then clean up); to blame me for your fault; (and always criticise);
to chase after me; (and make me feel guilt); to show you’re weak; to show you’re strong; (and how you’re rich); to twist it round; to mess my mind; (and make me feel I’d hurt you); and favour me, a little.

How good it is: to know you care for me.

I love you so!
how much you care
how strong you are, for me
when I have dried my tears
and begged an amnesty
for all my faults.

And I remember!
how good it was
when we were new.
We’ll go back there soon,
I know, once I heal
my scars, for you.

I left. I am bereft.
I want to spend my life with you;
how can I cope without you?
I love you so. I need you so.
Take care of me!
For who am I, alone?


Relentless shifts of duty:
Team building the nearest to art,
And judgments based on evidence
But sourced from intuition;

A hard working time, lit up by flashes –
Of excursions, like searchlights
Penetrating a darkened night;
Or sunlight glancing through the windows
Of the crowded, turning, climbing plane
As it flies, southwards: headed recklessly
To play in a warmer autumn sun.

Where would you rather be?
Right here! Right now!
In a bubble all our own,
A special time, stolen from the night.

Simple words

My secret is no mystery:
I miss you and I want you,
To taste, and more, to feel you,
Firm and broad and hooded

And hardening in my mouth,
To fill that space inside me,
All concentrated nerves;
Overwhelms me with desire.

I’ll hold your body tight against me
In reciprocal delight:
If 23’s a magic number
Then 69 is best of all!

Hot and eager, wet and willing,
Intimate and tender, rough and curly,
Purest joy and purely carnal:
May be sustaining, never ends?

As I will always come for you,
Will you for me, at last?
Then overcome, restraint forgotten!!
And flooded out of mind —-

Over the Bridge

How did he take control of them?
—- Through a hand of steel? In a velvet glove?
One simple answer, or more than two?
No single line ever could contain
or harness your transforming energy.

Two complex, diverse, changeling people:
* Young and experienced.
> Not young, nor wearied.
* And body transgendered; mind unique; radical, impulsive, self-creating.
> Or character conjoined; half “Mittel”, risk-averse; half imagining, explores.
* And refugees and maybe spies; unusual families; state secret of a name.
> Or solid stock: farmers or pit deputies; NCOs or signal inspectors.
* And like sharpshooters, rapid-fire and agile, moving targets.
> Or like slow-match artillery, growling in the gun-lines.
* And a free spirit, a willing sub.
> Or systems, may take control.

Similar brilliance, differently refracted
And crucibled through experience.
Reliability and sense, skill and discipline,
Personal authority and control,
To fuel the yearning hunger of consent;
Leveraging (borrowed) stability
Through the mystery of empathy.
The prison’s in the prism, then –
The light itself, and how we see it –
Tying without tape or rope or chains,
In bonds of identity, self interest, shared;
In the fibres on the margins of our lives.

Angle on the Cam

That which was once found unsavoury, is now found bittersweet,
The things which seemed unseemly, now seem to be a treat.
A part of me that once was white has now turned to vivid red —-

I stand over you, naked and bound on the bed;
Vulnerabilities exposed; open flanks, defenceless core.
– Should I push it further? If not now, then when?
And on what grounds, and for what ends?
Consent given freely, eagerly – but to swallow it whole??
Or not yet as far as you would have me go!
I enjoy it so much, and want it still more;
– But have I always tried myself as much as I would others?
As I loose my bonds of self, applying ties,
And begin to see, a little, how it may feel to be you,
I must sometime offer to submit in turn.
– There is too a will and obligation
To protect, ensure you’re safe from harm,
Which you may both welcome and resent.
– Consent, desire; command, submit; affection, understanding, caring;
Many layered roles without acting at all.

But while the central pivot’s straight –
Respect, unbroken; Trust, undamaged –
Nothing will end up skew. Continue reading “Angle on the Cam”

Ishtar: The Look

Like a priestess of an ancient mystery:
Obscure, profound, dangerously belle,
A cult forming online, reincarnate C21 –
The moon goddess for twenty-twelve.
In super-platforms! taller than you needed –
Because it’s what you wanted –
And who would question why?
Your femininity exposed inside,
Behind, above, your tall manhood.

Beautiful pert breasts, achieved so quickly;
And the look – cosmetic sculpture?
A living breathing work of art,
Human realisation in the flesh,
Spartan generations never achieved more.
Your transformation, transcending birth-form:
Pale peerless perfect skin, so natural;
And facial, such visual perfection –
An art, a vision, beyond the reach of craft –

Fierce eyes – so pure; too blue to mix.
The shadows of your cheekbones
In intimate sharp focus, just
Millimetres from perfection –
What’s real, and which illusion, now?
A mistress to the eye – those
Who’d dare to look directly at you –
But to a few, come close enough
For adoration, you will submit!

Your squeals of pleasure, tinged with violation,
Pliant, welcoming the next act:
Being pinned, tied, bound and warming,
Reddening beneath my hands;
As I control – push towards your threshold –
Then lightly touch and kiss with tenderness;
And – last – the walk: hand in hand, aroused,
With joy we go, to wash away restraint,
Degrading, to create our exaltation.

How we live our lives

We live our lives with unintended circumstance;
Like change, growth happens on our margins.
Tendrils, intertwined, strengthen both and all of us in turn,
And further, growing deepening stretched against each other,
Twisting out along the framework that sustains us;
Inherently dependent upon the lives of others,
Half glimpsed behind the shadows of the leaves, that
Fundamental necessary support. Clematis and vine:
Sight and scent together – heady beauty for tonight –
And fleshy lustrous purpling grapes, promises of wine.

Nothing is written

Nothing is written for us.
Every encounter we perform ,
No recording, once in time;
I came alive performing with you.

So much has been done to me
Even when I thought I’d built some sense;
But it all serves: a platform, of
integrity, and discipline’s reward.

Interest and fascination
And desire for your delights;
My eyes are open to you
Although desire is blind
& I want you more!

Every time you don’t answer
It feels like a curse;
But reality is different:
Fate’s fickle hand on you, not me.

No reasons why this happened
A brief encounter chanced online.
So where’s my choice today?
Maintain control? Open up and share?
You don’t think I’d walk away?!

Free will, self control – if we use them –
And are brave enough to choose;
Then having chosen, hold it dear
In tomorrow’s adverse circumstance,

We may find: Our humanity is strong
enough to answer purpose.
Nothing is written;
In time, we make ourselves.

Can you hear me —-

It’s showtime, C-list c’lebs to see
But the screens are far away
HD? 3D? Don’t make me laugh
There’s always entertainment here
When you’re standing at the back

Choruses roll out, words mean nothing
Sweat and smells, press and sway
Last week’s washing never done
Always some tosser pushing through
It’s kind of like that at the back

We’re all in it together mate
Poles and Turks, Pathans, Urdu
It’s always been a melting pot
But you could say it’s crowded now
Where I’m standing at the back

It’s not about survive or starve
No years of hunger anymore
Just poverty, despair, no hope
With precious little sunshine here
When you’re standing at the back

Our estate can field a motley crew
My little brother comes with me
We stand at home, don’t play away
But what’s it got to do with you?
You’re not standing at the back

Sharp elbows, greed, smart suits to wear
Isle of Dogs, Canary Wharf –
How do they fit next door?
My mate works in security now
Patrolling round the back

Cold hard London but it’s mine —-
Push and shove or wait in line
With aching legs, my heavy head
No I don’t want your sympathy
I’m still standing, at the back