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Friday, July 30, 2010

Ekphrassis 2 (Alby)

Nicely done, my sweet. You've hooked your prey. The little fish now dangles from your line. Such a simple creature. So easily ensnared. Lured by irresistible bait, he thought himself a hunter. Now he helplessly awaits your grasp.

Ironic, isn't it, my love? A submissive in control. You wield that rod with such grace and confidence that one would cast you as a domme. But the world doesn't know you like I do. The world never hears you pleading for surrender.

Just a few more catches and we'll have ourselves a meal. You'll crawl out of those hip boots as I gather wood. I'll build a fire and grill our prize. Afterward, you'll crawl across my lap, and I'll stoke a second fire, and then a third.

I'm glad that I agreed to take you fishing today. I really did want to play golf instead. But when you appeared in that outfit, parading that pert bottom in front of me, I just couldn't say no.

Photo by Andrew Lucas, via Tush.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Ripple in puddle...

Ripple in puddle...
In time as hummingbird sees,
Leather blesses flesh.

In other words, check out Ruth Hogben's "Buttocks".

Linked video courtesy of The Fashion Body, via Mitch at All Things Spanking.

Ekphrassis 1 (Rose)

Tonight I had planned to celebrate. Alas, you've spoiled my best intentions. You could not leave behind your work. You brought your troubles home. You would not give me your attention. You spoke to me unkind. You pouted, you fussed, you yelled. I treated you to dinner, you treated me with scorn. I brought you roses, you brought me thorns.

Those roses, so odorous and pink, I gave in tribute to your skin. In hindsight, a bouquet of deeper red would better couple with what's to come. For some couples, the causticity would fester and the flowers wilt. Not us. Within the hour, your bouquet will stand, sated and nourished, given what it needs.

You know what this hour brings. You've prepared your body. You now prepare your mind. Yes, think about what's to occur. Think through your remorse. Think about your pettiness, your impertinence. You know what you deserve. You don't doubt my authority, no more than you doubt my love. You will ask, and I will give again.

You've been here many times before. Yet once again. Here. Bare. Rueful. Anxious. You want it to be over, but not to start. I understand why you hesitate. You know what that drawer contains. You could have had roses, instead you get all that lies beneath.

Yes, my love, all of them.

Image courtesy of ResonateWithin at deviantART, via Tush

Ecce Spanko -- Canto I

My ear perceives the whirring fan above.
The hours few, the darkness still. The sun
Remains below the lake in rest, in sleep.
Yet I again against my will awake.

What dream had I that sets my heart apace?
Which trouble takes my slumber, gives me fright?
A flutt'ring pulse, belabored breath. In sweat
I lay, my eyes agape, my soul unnerved.

I bend to rise, look to the hum, and feel
The air caress my hair invisibly.
Away from emptiness I turn, to her,
My sleeping belle, my warm and gentle love.

The dim and creeping light illumes her arm
As does the moon rebound along the dunes.
My fingers trace the lightened path to reach
A slowly sloping beach and woven sea.

My palm is taken by the swell and floats
To fall between the waves and comes to rest.
Caressed by calefaction from a spring.
My mind is lulled, in rapture I am calmed.

The waves now shine in locks astride her pout.
They throw the light across to seated me.
My eyes are locked on her, a marble glare.
My breath relaxed, my arms in comfort wait.

She stands afront my knees, her hands adjoined.
Her fingers fidget as she bites her lip.
The lip does quiver, trembling with her knees.
To these her eyes remain affixed in shame.

I take her hand and lift, my touch controls
Her moistened eyes, contriteness screams in stare.
A gentle tug extracts a whine and tear
As she succumbs and falls across my lap.

Her heavy breath, the sound of breaking waves.
The sea I see below, the tide at peak.
I am the moon, for whom the tide retreats
And splendidly reveals what lies beneath.

Appeased, I lay my hand upon the sand.
The stirring beach becomes serene, so soothed
By gentle touch, by strong and shading palm.
The windless air, the calm before the storm.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

An ant lifts a crumb...

An ant lifts a crumb...
Yet another spanko blog.
I hope you enjoy.