Out of Studio Message

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I depart for my island vacation tomorrow at 5 am.  I am bringing Ernest Hemingway’s Man and the Sea,  my journal, my sketch pad and pencils and, as you can see, the skeleton key on leather.

This is an undeveloped island and I will have no access to any digital service.  When I arrive at the harbor, I will turn on the Moderate feature of WordPress for all comments so that they are held in queue until I return.

Also, I wrote a very good piece, called The Salvation of Ishtar, that didn’t really receive much attention.  It is an important piece to me and tied to my very own history.  I would encourage you to read it. Thank you.  I will be interacting on this blog yet tonight and possibly up until about 2 pm tomorrow.

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged | 35 Comments

The Salvation of Ishtar

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There was a beautiful young woman named Ishtar from Pomerania, in the north of Poland, who lived alone with her father near an ancient monastery in the village of Kartuzy.  She was a wild girl who looked nothing like the other Polish girls.  With her dark hair, exotic looks and fierce eyes, some mistakenly thought that perhaps her mother was a gypsy.

But others in the village whispered that her mother was Assyrian and had descended from a long line of Babylonian princesses.  They said that she had been a courtesan or a prostitute.  Others thought she had also been a spy or an agent for Russian or American interests.

Ishtar was always curious though and drawn to her dark fears.  “Father, who is my mother?  Why did she name me Ishtar?  What is the meaning?”  Her father would just look at her and say, “Your mother knew she could not stay with you.  She knew that you would struggle to understand your true spirit.  You will learn the meaning of your name as you grow older”

ISH87-2Her mother had also left Ishtar a necklace with an eight point jeweled star that she was required to wear every day.  What was the meaning of this star?  It was such a mysterious, ancient piece and why had her equally mysterious mother insisted that she wear it?

The village of Kartuzy is particularly known for an ancient order of hooded Carthusian monks.  These monks are known for emphasizing the inevitability of death in their monastic teachings.  They are solitary, celibate and speak only their religious incantations for most of the year.  Because of these practices, their history as warriors and their long dark robes and hoods, they are often feared by visitors of the village.

Once when Ishtar was walking by the monastery, one of the monks noticed Ishtar’s necklace and her wild eyes and said, “You are the daughter of Anu from Nineveh.  I see it in your eyes and you wear her cross.”  The monk was frightened and ran away.  So Ishtar, now a young woman researched her mother.  She researched the symbol that hung between her breasts and discovered that she was descended from an ancient line of sacred prostitutes.  In fact, her very name meant the goddess of love, war, fertility and sexuality.

Ishtar felt deep drawn to the monastery in Kartuzy.  There was something about it.  The symbolism, the secrecy of the monks and their incantations.  What were they like as men? Her fascination haunted her and at night she dreamt of the monks disrobing, revealing their strength of their bodies and taking her sexually.

One night as she was looking through her father’s closet, she discovered a monk’s robe.  He too had been a Carthusian monk long ago, but had never told his daughter.  Suddenly inspired, Ishtar pulled back her hair, put on the hooded robe and slipped out of the house to make her way to the monastery.

Quietly opening the heavy wooden door, she entered the old church.  Candles dimly lit the sanctuary while the monks slowly circled singing their chants in ancient Gregorian style.  Ishtar tried to blend in with them, but her hair fell out of her robe and another monk quickly realized that they had been invaded by an impostor.

A group of monks surrounded her as her hood was pulled back revealing her beautiful, yet wild feminine face.  A small group of monks brought her to the center of the sanctuary and began circling around her, holding hands and singing.  A larger group of monks also formed a circle and began circling around Ishtar in the other direction, singing their chants in a perfect, dark, yet beautiful chorus.

One of the monks stepped forward and disrobed Ishtar, leaving her naked and exposed.  Grabbing her hair, he forced her to her knees and placed a heavy metal collar on her neck. Four chains were secured to the collar and screwed to the floor and the monks continued their circling and singing.

Ishtar closed her eyes and listened to the heavenly, masculine voices.  It were as though a thousand Gabriels were singing just to her.  She smelled the scent of men as they circled and as she remembered the fantasies of her dreams, she reached down and began touching herself, getting lost in the music and the delicate touch on her own wetness.

As she did this, one of the monks stepped forward and opened his robe, bringing it near to left side of her face.  Then another monk did the same on the other side of her, while a third presented his cock directly in front of her.  Instinctively, she took his cock deep in her mouth while she used her left and right to stroke the shaft of the two other monks.  Three other monks from the inner circle opened their robes and started stroking themselves, aiming their cocks at her and spraying her back and breasts with cum, while the outer ring of monks continued to circle and sing.

And, in this moment, when many would be fearful and ashamed, Ishtar found within herself the greatest peace that transcended all understanding.  Suddenly she understood the message of her mother, the symbolism between her breasts and what she was meant to be.  She was strong and proud.  No longer ashamed, she finally understood that she was to serve with strength, with beauty and with the deepest submission. She had found the salvation of Ishtar.

Please listen to the musical selection from the German group Enigma.

 

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Colors of My Choosing

tumblr_nlmvnevi401s37q7mo1_500There are many ways to paint a woman.  I prefer mine quite pretty, chained and in a beautiful mask, before she is adorned in the colors of my choosing.

–M

 

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The Real Work of an Artist

 

IMG_0762a friend recently said something… almost unnoticeable….but for me it is what I have been waiting to hear… and the next light in sequence turned on…. illuminating my path… because though I do not know the path forward… i do know that I am on one… and my greatest source of pain has not been what i have endured from others… it has been my own willingness to see within myself first… and be honest with myself…. always blaming another…. carrying my pain like a mantra to justify my misery …and my choices….  i have written poetry… i have painted…i have drawn… some say with beauty…and pain…i have let my rage and ferocity flow like a red river… i have gained lovers and lost friends that i cared deeply for… and yet i tell myself the same story over and over…my own mantra… you know me as an artist…as a poet… as a fierce lover…i have painted both the beauty and pain in my life…painted with blood, semen and tears…a brush in one hand….a knife in the other….and yet have i really put in the effort to create my own real life… in the same way i paint?…or is it simply a facade needing constant mortar ….via my own justifications… like an ancient fresco masterpiece on a decaying wall….i am capable… i am strong… and i have to power and the will to do so…and i am starting to put in the real work of an artist….

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Your Strength Revealed

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The gift of
Your beautiful curves
And your submission
To my fierce demands
Is not a sign of your weakness
It is instead your strength
Revealed and used
Beautifully

Original art in mixed media (watercolor, colored pencil and ink) by Mr Modigliani
Words by the Beast himself
Posted in My Artwork, Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , | 26 Comments

The Skeleton Key – Part 2

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continued from The Skeleton Key Part 1

Once inside the upper suite of the old bed ‘n breakfast, she knows that she is not permitted to speak.  Her role is to follow my command quietly and submissively until the scene is complete.  I instruct her to untie and let her simple dress fall to the floor.  She was told not to wear any panties or a bra and her simple jewelry is placed on the nightstand.

Putting a pillow against the nightstand for her comfort, I set her on the bed, resting her back against the pillow.  Immediately a leather mask is placed on her face and a ball gag placed in her mouth.  Her wrists are roped tightly to the headboard and her legs are spread, leaving her completely exposed, while I tie her ankles with longer sections of rope to the bed’s legs below.

The crop. Taking the crop, I gently tease her cheeks with it, then run it down her neck to her breasts.  I give the sides of her breasts a light tap with the leather tip.  Then I flick her left nipple, then the right.  I do it again. And again as each one grows harder, standing to attention.

Running the crop a little further south, I tease her tummy and then tap on the insides of her thighs. I lightly tap her right on her labia, then a light tap right on her clit, as she convulses.  I tap again a bit harder.  Then snap it harder, right on the hood of her clit, as she struggles helplessly against her ropes.

The wax. Walking over to the nightstand, I whisper in her ear, “Prepare yourself my love… This will not be easy.” I unplug the wax warmer and hold it directly above one of her breasts, letting one drop drip on the side, then on the other side, then on top and the bottom of each breast.  Her whole body is shaking.  Then letting the wax cool just a bit, I let one drop carefully drip right on her nipple as her arms flail against the rope restraints.. As she flails, I drip wax on her other nipple…

Slowly I drop small amounts of wax between her breasts, then start heading south, circling her belly button, dripping on her pelvic area and then on her inner thighs.  A small amount of wax is dripped on either side of her labia.  Spreading the labia with my fingers, I head just a bit north and drip just to the left and the right of her clit.  Now her legs are just shaking and I can hear her deep moans as I let a drip fall right on her clit, then another. Her legs shake wildly as I firmly remind her that she is not allowed to cum.

The ice. Taking a piece of ice, I run it along her neckline and let it drip between her breasts.  Holding it above her, cold water drips ever so silently and fiercely on each breast before I circle the ice directly around each nipple, making each one hard and erect.  A second piece of ice is put between her labia, then briefly inside of her, before moving north and teasing her clit until completely melted.  I watch with a bit of glee as her back just arches helplessly to fight her restraints.

The vibe.  She is still quivering a bit as I wrap some rope a couple time around the wand and then around the tops of her thighs.  The head of the wand is placed between her labia while I pull the ropes tighter, holding it firmly in place.  I turn it on low, just letting it hum gently between the lips of her wet mess.

The poem.  After placing the wand between her labia, I pull over a wooden chair and just watch as she quivers and shakes, sweat now rolling off her breasts…  I remind her that she will not cum and then open a small hardbound book.  Before beginning to read, I turn the vibe on a medium pulse… on and off, on and off, on and off…  As I begin the reading.

Come slowly — Eden!
Lips unused to Thee –
Bashful – sip thy Jasmines -
As the fainting Bee -

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums -
Counting his nectars -
Enters – and is lost in Balms.

The Denouement.  Turning the vibe on high, I stand up and slowly put the chair in its original location.  Returning back to the bed, I remove her mask and take the gag out of her mouth.  Commanding her jaw, I force her to look at me.  Her eyes are off in another world while she struggles to focus on me.  Speaking softly, I look deep into her eyes and simply say “Cum for me”…..

Poem is original work by Emily Dickinson
Animated image from Tumblr
All other work is, of course, my own

 

 

Posted in Erotic Stories, My Dominance | Tagged , , | 25 Comments

Love on the St. Charles Bridge – A Duet

Some time ago, I asked Bruised Belly at The Migraine Chronicles to write a duet with me.  BB has written a number of these with other writers and so I am pleased that she accepted the offer.  Please visit her blog to see more of her poetry.  She writes with a poetic intelligence and deep sensuality.

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He met her in Prague, and his desire for her burned
She was a Bohemian beauty and he a man of the world
And his heart, his soul, his very flesh yearned to make her his own
So he held her and whispered, “My love, my dear,
If you desire me, I will come back for you in one year
Meet me on the St Charles Bridge

A year of waiting, of yearning and wondering
Would he remember her, want her, still call her name
He promised his love, yet a year is long to carry a flame
She pretties herself as she looks in the mirror
Today is the day, it’s been exactly one year
She steps to the Bridge, gripped with fear

He worried, for it had been so very long
Would she be there for him, would she still care?
He longed for her eyes, her beauty so fair
Surely she was now taken, in love with a gent
He thought he had lost her, much to his lament
As he rushed to meet her on the St Charles Bridge

She sees him approach with a sad look on his face
She wonders why, as she runs to his embrace
With his arms wrapped around her all doubt erased
A smile, a tear, a promised kiss
That face of his that she has so missed
All worth the wait to meet on St. Charles Bridge

He gently wipes away her tears
Brushes back her hair and calmed her fears
Just off the bridge, a cellist strums an ancient song
While its melody wafts through the tall towers of old Prague
He looks in her eyes and drops on one knee
Dear love, he says, please spend your life with me

And so it was that day, that these two lovers
A pretty Bohemian and a strapping young Brit
Gave themselves to each other
On the St Charles Bridge

 

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Captured Angel

I’ve captured an angel and bound her with ropes and chain.  Her eyes have been wrapped in cotton raiment, her breasts bound tightly and anointed with oil.  A heavy steel collar is secured on her neck and I love to watch as her wings flap and flail.  Looking at her, I speak softly  “Go ahead.  Struggle my dear.  But you will sing and you will cum for me as I whisper in your ear.”

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

My Eyes Can See

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Look at me
While I hold your jaw
And still your frenzied mind
Look into my eyes
While I peer deeply into yours
So that I may know your thoughts
Your fears and insecurities
Desires you will not admit
Cravings unfulfilled
Never expressed
But my mind hears them
All of them
And my eyes
Can see

Picture is of my eyes

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , | 15 Comments

Do You See What I See?

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Do you see what I see?  Do you love her beauty reflected in such austere simplicity?  Do you gaze at the subtle nuance of her lines and curves, the light and the shadows?  Do you lust for her form and gaze at the curve of her ass as it slopes into the arc of her back? Does your hand wish to run gently, then roughly over each slope and undulation?  Do you sense her submission in the averted turn of her head?  I do.  I always have.

Posted in Sensual Writing | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

The Hills of Paris

Truth be told I did not paint for years
As though a part of me had died
And even in a beautiful Paris spring
All I saw was gray

And so I sat in my studio
With my cheap Bulgarian wine
Watching the spiders crawl across
My old wooden floor

When you came through my door
Something changed
A perfect light filled the room
And I awoke from my self inflicted tragedy

As you posed so graciously
Your radiant form on my chaise lounge
My mind suddenly remembered color
Layers, textures and hue
And the beauty of a woman’s body

Now once again I can see
Vivid colors in my mind and
The beautiful hills of Paris

I saw this photograph from the amazing Carl Warner and decided it fit one of my poems really well.  You can visit Carl’s work at http://www.carlwarner.com

Posted in Romantic Poetry, Spoken Word | Tagged , , , | 18 Comments

Chain Her

If I am drawn to her
And feel the depth of our connection
Fed by her joy and devotion
If my body lusts for her
And I desire her to be mine

Then I will chain her
Beautifully and reverently
And use every part of her fiercely
Marking her with passion
And my love

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 28 Comments

The Gift of Her Spirit

Forest_Magic_by_Pygar

I heard my name
Being whispered in the wind
So I set out and happened upon a fairy
With the face of an angel
And the wings of a dragonfly
“Sir, I have waited for you”
She sang as she fluttered about
“Take me Sir”, she implored.
“I will give you all that you wish for
You may tie me, chain me, fuck me
Take me wherever you wish
My body is yours
For your pleasure”

My dear fairy
This is a beautiful gift
But is not all that I need
I wish for the gift of your spirit
Given joyfully, without reserve
I wish to hear your voice
Singing for me
I wish to feel your love
In a poem for me
I want the gift of you
My beautiful fairy
Then I will tie you
Mark you
And devour you
Fiercely 

The fairy listened to my words
While flitting and fluttering
Finally she said,
“Sir I just can’t,
My spirit is for no man”
I felt the drop of her tears
Land softly on my cheek
While she turned
And flew away

Picture entitled Forest Magic by Pygar, from DeviantArt.com

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 28 Comments

Compassion for a Man’s Inner Life

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When Hasty Words invited me to write for her, I told her that I wanted to write about the challenges that men face with compassion.  There are so many female bloggers on WordPress that share every joy and sorrow, but the men are so very few.

Men here that express themselves with vulnerability, honesty and humor become like charismatics at a revival.  Female bloggers flock to them because, I believe, there is such a need and desire for women to understand the inner lives of men.  They are drawn to a man who is willing to reveal himself, whether he does that with humor, vulnerability or simply raw unfiltered expression.

As men, we simply don’t communicate like women do.  Men and women seem to inhabit the same planet but lead completely different lives as though we are closely related species that diverged 10,000 years ago.  Breeding is still possible but the communication capabilities of women have raced ahead of men’s evolution.

At 52 years old, I never had a full appreciation for this until this last year.  Sure, there have been numerous studies and I have read related articles in The New York Times or The Atlantic (or wherever), but it didn’t really sink in.  What happened then is that some women befriended, trusted and allowed me to simply listen and participate in their conversations as women. In all of my lifetime, I have never really had this opportunity.

My observation is that women are so much better than men at being friends.  They wake in the morning and greet each other with love and warmth.  They share both the small and large details of their lives.  They mentor each other to better navigate difficult problems and make wiser choices in their lives.  They send each other small gifts to demonstrate their love and friendship for each other and they are the first people to rush in during a crisis.  Women constantly express love, compassion and support for each other.

Women, you can’t possibly imagine how different a man’s life is.  Everything I will say is a generalization, but we are lone wolves.  We carry all of our emotions bottled up inside and, for the most part, those emotions stay there, never to be expressed.  In the last 30 years, I think I have cried twice and I suspect that is not uncommon for many men.

As men, our lives are like we exist in a hierarchy of wolves, competing for our position and its rewards.  Even the other wolves we consider as our friends feel a bit like competitors and so we never really share and never, ever make ourselves vulnerable.  So instead, we bury our emotions deep under many layers of protection and focus on building, creating and solving problems.

And, to be honest, our women are not always so good and helping us with our inner emotional lives.  My own experience is that the women in my life have always wanted me for the needs that I fulfill for them.  And so I have spent decades absorbing various complaints and worries, trying to support and then solve practical problems while trying to provide leadership in all the aspects of my own life.

Expressing and communicating our inner life is ultimately is each man’s responsibility.  We must acknowledge that we have an inner life and that we have a journey that is uniquely our own.  We need to reach out and share ourselves more openly with other male friends that we can confide in.  We must also have the courage to peel away the layers of our protection so we may experience compassionate love from the women we cherish and love in our lives.

Permission to use this photo, “She Tamed the Wolf”, is graciously granted by the photographer, Raphaelle Monvoisin.  Raphaelle is a very talented graphic and web designer in Paris, France.  You may see more of her work at http://www.raphaellem.com.  

Posted in Duets and Guest Authors, Other Musings | Tagged , , , , , | 40 Comments

Never My Spirit

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Neither a faery
Nor a sprite
She said to the Beast
“I am curious of your ways”
Still she said,
“Beast, you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

So he commanded her jaw
And kissed her deeply
While her eyes adored him
Still she said,
“Beast, you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

So Beast wrote for her
And shared his inner secrets
While she came for him
Still she said,
“Beast you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

Challenged further
Beast chained her and lashed her
And adorned her face with his seed
Still she said
“Beast you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

Meanwhile Beast listened
while faeries and sprites
sang and wrote for him
Now enraged,
He asked himself,
Why did she deny him?

And it was only
When Beast took
What had never been offered before
He felt the fullness of her gift
Still she said
“Beast you may have my body
though never my spirit”

Then Beast stumbled up on her
Not with another Beast, but with a man
Singing for him and writing joyfully
Giving freely what she would not offer
Never to him, never to Beast
He finally knew

Beast mourned and wailed
For he remembered the trust in her eye
He felt the gift she could not admit
Even while her words rang in his ears
And her knife stabbed his soul
“Beast, you may have my body
though never my spirit”

Picture of Holly by Natalie J Watts for Vecu Spring 2011.  Please google for more information.

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Toxic

SmashedHeartAwake at 2, 3, 4 and 5
My mind adrift
Filled with images
Of her naked body
Entwined with another
And paraded rudely
In front of me
My feelings are awash
Like the black, icy sludge
On my garage floor
Constantly swept
Only to return
Completely
Toxic

Posted in My Pain | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

Mr M Meets the Spirit of His Wife

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As I lay on the tarmac with Djanira weeping above me, I felt my spirit starting to move to a different place and though I was being transported through a dark tunnel. Toward the end of that tunnel, I saw a light and from that light, a vaguely shaped spirit emerged.

I drew closer to this spirit and immediately felt its love and care. Was this the destination that some people spoke about when they die? It didn’t feel like it. As I drew closer to the spirit, I was shocked to hear the voice and once again see the beauty of my first wife and beautiful muse, Jeanne.

“My dearest Amedeo, my love, I have come to speak with you. There is much in your soul that wishes to die and I know that much of that pain comes from me. Amedeo, you must let go of that pain and choose to live. Since my death, I have watched you grow so much as a man and an artist. An when you were suffering, when you were blaming yourself, while tears rolled down your cheeks, even while you stood strong for others, I was always there for you Amedeo. Even as a spirit, I wiped your tears and wrapped my arms around you.

I know that you blame yourself for what happened between us. But, know this my dear love, as much as you loved me, I was not the right woman for you. I was insecure. I was deeply afraid that I was not enough for you. I tried to control you too much and did not love you fully with my words and my actions. I never loved your body the way it needed to be loved and I never let you take mine the way you so fiercely desired.

Amedeo, I suffered with you when you sank into depression after my death. But I have watched you grow and become the man that I always knew you were. I have seen your strength and your command. I have witnessed your deep artistry, not only in your art, but in your life. I have seen your inner Beast take and make love to the women you care for so deeply. And, dear Amedeo, the one you care for…, I know her spirit. She does love you. Her spirit is good and wise and she mourns every day for your loss, even as she projects her strength and holds back her words.

My dear love. It is time for you to live. It is time for you to let go of the pain that you have held onto for so many years. There is joy in the living and the loving that you will still do. I will always be here for you. I am proud of you. I love you. But for now you must LIVE!”

As soon as those last words were spoken, I felt my spirit suddenly return back to my body. My eyes opened as I saw the blue sky above me. I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin and saw Djanira’s big smile and the happiness on her face. I was alive and it was time to start living again…

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , | 38 Comments

Life Lessons of the Painter

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I have been painting in this lonely studio in Montmartre for over thirty years now.  My studio is open four days a week and my clients are almost all women.  I used to believe that they simply hired me to paint, but along the way I have learned to listen to their story and capture their essence.

There is something about painting a muse that allows a woman to shed her inhibitions.  Not only does her dress fall to my studio floor, but so also does her pretense and her protections.  As I mix paint on my palette, my clients tell me about their husbands, boyfriends and lovers.  They reveal to me their hopes and fears, even their darkest, most secretive desires, for I have earned a reputation for being discreet with the women on this Parisian hill.

What have I learned?  I’ve learned the tender beauty of a woman’s spirit must be tended and nurtured each day.  I’ve learned the intense generosity that most women have toward their children, their family and friends and the men in their life.  And I’ve learned that long-term relationships are very difficult.  There are so many grievances, so many old stories that are like permanent markers on the path of a relationship.  These stories are never forgotten.  I’ve been told a million times how needy, small-minded and self-centered so many men are in their relationships with their women.  I’ve learned that a woman’s spirit, including her body and her loyalty, are gifts that should never be neglected or taken for granted.

And, finally, I’ve learned that I, as a man and an artist, will continue to learn these lessons, through my own successes and failures, until the air no longer passes through my lungs and I can no longer apply paint to my canvases.

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , , , | 27 Comments

Love, Grace and Countenance

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I have thought long and hard
About the extraordinary gift
Of a woman’s submission
It is not just her body
Tied to my bed
And bending to my will
But it is the generous gift
Of her very spirit
How can I honor such divinity?
Am I wise enough?
Can my empathy and intuition
Guide me to the right course?
I have failed often
Yet grown each time
Can I trust another
And give of myself
Without vanity?
Can I reveal
What I have kept hidden
For a lifetime?
Why should I trust
When I have so little faith?
I have observed
So many men take for granted
A woman’s service
When her spirit
Is not truly theirs
And so the gift that I offer
Is one that no man would choose
And few women would expect
It is her freedom
Offered unconditionally
With the highest respect
And my deepest
Love, grace
And countenance

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 20 Comments

My Aurora

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My Aurora
Goddess of the dawn
Brings the light of each day
Wings carry her across
Oceans and mountaintops
To join me in sanctuary
Bringing the sun
The joy of her spirit
And the deep, wet quake
Of her submission

Painting is “The Gates of Dawn” by Herbert James Draper in 1900

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 11 Comments

She Has Curves

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She has curves
And a killer smile
She prances and dances
Struts and throws glances
Enchanting all the while
Oh you men…
Don’t be weak, don’t be soft
Don’t dawdle and don’t dote
Just command her
And drop her
Then fuck her throat

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , | 35 Comments

There Is A Tenderness

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We talk gently and respectfully
Like mature lovers with lives and responsibilities
Speaking of burdens that we carry
But also the joyous play
That reminds us
To breathe
And feel
Like living
But when we fuck
We’re like a human tornado
A spinning melee’ of wet limbs and mouths
Reaching a fury beyond comprehension
Destroying everything in our path
Pounding the earth
Into oblivion and
Exceeding all the limitations
Of our imagination
And our bodies
Yet in the middle
There is a tenderness
In this storm
That calms
The spirit
Leaving behind
Peace
Contentment
Bright blue skies
And the promise
Of another
Beautiful day

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 26 Comments

Taken Reverently

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I will seduce you
Slowly and artfully
In an old mansion
With a cast iron bed
And an oval mirror
You will wear
A string of pearls
Your garters
Cuban stockings
The black brimmed hat
A hint of perfume
And nothing else
Except soft ropes
On your
Wrists and ankles
My cock
In your mouth
My seed on
Your breasts
You will be kissed
Worshipped
And taken reverently
Like a Victorian muse
Being painted by a Master
Transported in
Time
Place
And Spirit

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 24 Comments

You Are My Art, My Canvas

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I will silently watch by the glow of candlelight, while hot wax drips from your peaks and pools in your valleys. You will hold my hand and gaze into my eyes until I give further instructions. You are my art, my passion and I choose to use your body as my canvas.

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 28 Comments

The Power of a Man

love

How should a man use power?
To accumulate wealth?
Conquer other lands?
Rule a populace?
Manipulate a democracy?
Revel in the adulation of fans?
Acquire a harem of beauties
For his own pleasure and service?
How does he then soothe
The deep pain of his spirit?
For the ego of power
Only seeks greater conquest
And never experiences
The true bliss of
Metaphysical union
With a loving, trusting woman
For she is not a conquest
Her love and body are gifts
Offered with joy
And vulnerability
I always knew
Submission was a gift
What I hadn’t yet mastered
Was how to offer myself
Not just my body
And my mind
But my inner spirit
Wisely and maturely
Without reserve
But still wield
The power of a man

Words by Mr Modigliani, image by Kahlil Gibran

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

This Is the Hand

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This is the hand
That will clutch your jaw
Back you to the wall
So I can check
Your folds

This is the hand
That will bend you over
Strip down your panties
So I can mark
Your ass

This is the hand
That will smother your mouth
Sinking fingers inside
So I can finger
Your hole

This is the hand
That will stroke your hair
And lift your chin
So I can kiss
Your tears

This is the hand
That will write you poems
Caress your pain
So I can cure
Your fears

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 38 Comments

On Pain

pain

And a woman spoke, saying,
Tell us of Pain.

And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break,
That its heart may stand in the sun,
So must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in
wonder at the daily miracles of your life,
Your pain would not seem less
wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the
seasons of your heart,
Even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which
the physician within you
heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician,
and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquility:

For his hand,
though heavy and hard,
is guided by the tender hand
of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings,
though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned by the clay
which the Potter has moistened
with His own sacred tears.

Poetry and art by Kahlil Gibran

Posted in My Pain | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

Strapped

FX Photo Studio_image

Spring is in the air
I smell the musk
Of the forest again
And of a woman’s scent
My insides stir
The beast growls
Come with me
I’ll strap you to a tree
Kiss you deeply
Lift your skirt
And belt your
Pretty little ass

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , | 38 Comments

Live Once Again

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You have suffered so deeply. Do you know how beautiful you are? Roll the stone away from your pain and come to me. Take off your crown of thorns. I will brush away your tears, kiss you deeply and make you remember what it means to live once again.

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 26 Comments

Tears of Submission

Crying

She has endured
More transgression
Than any woman
Should suffer
But through it all
Remained strong

Even in the face
Of the darkest storm
She offered her all
Her body
Her life
Her loyalty

And yet
Her sweet heart
Still cries
With vulnerability
And the tender
Tears of submission

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged , , | 33 Comments

It’s What She Needs

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She is not a sub
And may never be
Her inner voice
Convinces her of
A different choice

But her spirit wails
And her body lusts
For hard physical passion
Power exchange
Seed and submission

If you play with her
Deliver strength
Back her to a wall
Kiss her hard
Command her jaw

Use her
Discipline her
Drop her to her knees
It’s what she needs, and
She loves to please

Picture taken from Tumblr

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 48 Comments

On Spanking

As I sit here by the fire, I found this draft on my iPad. I don’t think I ever published. This piece is aimed more at women who are exploring submissiveness, not the many of you that have every wood and leather implement ready for use in your night stand.

I had a great conversation about spanking with a blogger the other day. Spanking doesn’t really seem like the right term in that she really wanted her ass beaten pretty hard before she was fucked and used (using her words here). Her man just wasn’t getting it.

Most of the readers that I’m connected to on this blog are bright, very sexual women in their 30’s to lower 50’s. There are so few men that comment, especially on this subject area, that I feel compelled to say something to give a male perspective. Guys, you could help here.

Before I comment, let me say that this has been an area of progression for me for the last three years. I’m not going to have the same point of view as a long term, very experienced Doms and I have a much more aggressive view than any vanilla man. Any woman who has experienced me knows that I am different from most men on many different levels (and you already know that from my writing).

Women, let me tell you that 90% of men have no clue how many of you want this, how many of you need this for the deep satisfaction of your sexual needs and your very spirit. For very good reasons, us men are taught just the opposite at an early age. We are taught to date and to court and to be gentlemen. We are to woo you with our charm, our athletic skill, our intellect and our success (whatever advantages we offer). Just to be direct about it, we are taught never to hit or lay hands on a woman and most young men would be shocked to learn that a woman might actually want this.

This is the genteel societal approach to courtship. And, frankly, it is terribly dissatisfying. It ignores the fierce, primal sexual and spiritual being that is within us and does not satisfy what many women want and what almost every man needs.

Our inner sexual spirit is at our core. On top of that are many layers of protections, perceptions, societal expectations, fears, insecurities and motivations. My own experience is that women are closer to their core sexual being than most men, especially after the children get a little older. Many of us men are so wrapped up in the throes of economic competition that it seems we have many more layers to remove to get to that sexual spiritual core.

It takes a special woman to help us remove those layers and allow that inner beast to come out and play. Men are direct and don’t take hints well, so my thought is that, for those of you that are exploring your submissiveness, tell your man how important for your spirit to be spanked. Tell him that you want his beast in all his ferocity. Just say it. It will be fine and certainly start a lively conversation.

Finally, I want to be be very clear that I very much enjoy a charming, engaging date with a beautiful woman.

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , , , , , | 33 Comments

The Shackles of My Mind

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I was shackled
To her small mind
Her conventional priorities
Insecurities and angry tirades
But the most important shackles I wore
Were the ones I put on me
And yet I contrast that
With the soaring joy
Of having you here
Naked in my studio
Tied and bound
Not because I demand
Your submission
(Though you offer)
But because I crave
Your love

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Development, My Dominance, My Pain | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Your Eyes

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I see you
I can see into you
And even with your weak defense
Your eyes take me
To your beautiful depths
And one by one
I will open each little door
And enter every room
To consume your thoughts
Your dreams
And whatever else I choose
You will feign resistance
Like you always do
But I am three steps ahead
And it is much too late, my dear
For I already have you
And see it in
Your Eyes

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry, Spoken Word | Tagged , , , , , , | 37 Comments

My Muse

Reclining Nude by Amedeo Modigliani

Reclining Nude by Amedeo Modigliani

You.
So deeply beautiful
Moving really
As a woman
A spirit
A passionate lover
And my muse
Wild and fierce
Known
But partially hidden
Your perfect lines
And gorgeous eyes
Inspire the artists hand
Your verse
With such sensual honesty
Moves the poet’s soul
And you
As a woman
Stir my
Most basic and intense desire

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Beer With a Dom

As many of you know, I have several good female friends that I trust, but not many friendships with fellow Doms. I have a couple close friendships with trusted vanilla men. I value those relationships greatly, but I need a few male friends that understand the D/s side of my life.

In the last few months, I’ve been fortunate to build a couple of these relationships.  One is with Freedom Hunter (who is Cinnamon’s Sir) and the other is with darkgemdom (I call him GemDom). Both have been very supportive and have given me some valuable input from an experienced Dom’s perspective.

Exactly a week ago, GemDom was in town and we decided to get together for a quick beer. We met at a popular western bar (not exactly my style) and, I believe, we hit it off right away. It was so great to meet a guy who understands my Dom side, supports and empathizes, and has many more years experience than I.  It was wonderful to hear him say to me, “You get it.”  Most of our discussion was not about kinks or desires, but was really about each of our life stories and our individual paths forward. And that is exactly the way it should be.  I found him to be a very kind and honest man.

What I would say is that we both share an interest in steel and chain. So I’ve attached two pictures, the first being his and the second is mine. The chain in mine is a little obscured because it is under the mattress. We’ve been in touch most days since and I look forward to the continued friendship.

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , , | 25 Comments

Symmetry

 

One of the first concepts I learned in art class was “symmetry”.  This was discussed in the overall context of composition. I rarely use symmetry as it is rather unnatural, but there are exceptions of course and I particularly love this one. I would mention these breasts remind me of a good friend of mine. 

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged , | 15 Comments

Bound and Disciplined

I lead a global business that combines art, construction, historic preservation and finance.  Important clients, including architects, interior designers, museum owners and financiers visit me from around the world to discuss their projects.

My office is in a historic building in the arts district.  As you enter, the board room / conference room is immediately on the right.  Just past the conference room and adjoining its outer wall are rows of shelves with books related to past projects and historic art buildings around the world.  Each row of book shelves creates an aisle and past the last row is an alcove with  a shelf of books on one side and a large window on the other.  There are no shades or blinds on this window and anyone walking by can look inside.  Within this alcove is a single chair.  It is an antique with an embroidered seat and back and wooden arm rests.

Past this alcove and the window are more offices.  My executive assistant sits in this area, as do my consultants and project planners.  On an upper level of this building, I have my art studio, which has a commanding view of the city.

This is where you have disappointed me  On three separate occasions this week, you have come bounding into my office unannounced.  The first two times you did this, it caused only minor disruption, but I was very clear with you last night that I had important clients in from Europe today and that we would be discussing a major project.  The only gap in my schedule was at 2:30.

So what do you do?  Rather than show up at 2:30 when I instructed, you show up at 2:10 and disrupt my meeting.  My executive assistant had to come into the board room to announce you were here and needed to see me.  I was in the midst of negotiations and when she walked in, I stopped, told my clients I would rejoin them in a minute, then went to my office to gather a few items out of my locked drawer.

Meeting you in the reception area, you leap up to meet me with joy and love on your face.  But then you see the very stern look in my eyes and you know that you will be disciplined shortly.   I grab your hand firmly and lead you to the chair in the alcove.   The alcove is only semi-private and anyone walking by can peer in.  With a fierce look on the my face, I command “Face the chair, put your hands on the armrests, your head down and your ass in the air“.  With a look of panic, you do exactly as I command.

imageLifting your skirt, I strip down your panties and deliver a hard blow to your ass, Smack!.  Then another, Smack!, then another Smack! and finally one more hard one, Smack!  The sound echoes through the office.  Your ass is now a bright shade of pink with the clear prints of my hand on it.  I can tell already that your cunt is wet and starting to drip.

Now sit in the chair and put your wrists on the armrests.” Being the smart woman that you are, you sit down immediately.  Taking a roll of electrical tape from my pocket, I bind your left wrist and then your right wrist to the arm rests of the chair.  Then I bind your ankles to the foot of the chair.  Looking you right in the eye, I growl “Didn’t I tell you last night not to interrupt this meeting? ”  “Yes Sir, you did,”  is your weak reply.  I unbutton the top button of your blouse slowly and then the next four buttons so that your blouse falls off your shoulders.  Then I pull down your bra so that your ample breasts are bare and your nipples are hard and erect. My hands going down further, I lift your skirt and tape it to your waist to give me easy access to whatever I want.

Removing a pink bullet vibrator from my pocket, I grab your jaw and growl, “Do you remember this slut?  Do you remember how powerful it is?  Do you remember having it in your ass and on your clit?  I am going to put this deep in your cunt slut and you will wait right here until I am done with my meeting.  And you will not cum or there will be even more severe discipline tonight.  This is a professional office and I expect you to be quiet and respect my employees.  Do you understand?”  You can barely talk but I hear a very weak “Yes Sir“.  Turning the vibe on high, I slide it deep into your wet cavern while you gasp for breath.  Then seeing your pink, ripped panties on the floor, I gather them up, wad them into a little ball and shove them in your mouth.  “Now my dear slut, I have a meeting to attend to.  I will be with you shortly.

My negotiations with the Europeans went very well…..

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , , | 42 Comments

I lie like a rug

M's Journey:

So the thing about my good friend Angel is that she always speaks her truth, no matter how tender or difficult it may be. I do think she’s under a lot of stress right now, so please give her lots of love and support.

Originally posted on wildwestangel:

One of the most difficult things for me on this journey, has been being honest. Now, I’m not a chronic liar. In fact, at work, I have a reputation of speaking the truth to others even if it is hard. I get criticized by male bosses because I’m too “direct.” I’m one of those friends who will tell you that outfit you are wearing looks like crap on you if you ask. Being my friend requires you to carefully consider your questions, because I’m not one to sugarcoat. So it’s been a revelation to discover that I’m not honest with those I love about matters of the heart.

I have painfully realized in the last two years that I hide and lie to protect my heart. In fact, I have rarely been completely truthful if I think I could be hurt. That has been a destructive pattern of behavior for…

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Destined To Repeat . . .

M's Journey:

Very intelligent and thoughtful. Written by a wise, caring woman with great perspective.

Originally posted on Surrendering My Shield:

HistoryBookHistoryI was always a curious child.  I just had to know.  I was curious about people, life and the world I lived in.  So I watched and read every historical book, documentary or movie that was available to me because I found the human experience terribly fascinating.

I made it a point to spend time with folks decades older than myself in addition to kids my age.  To this day, I spend at least a couple of hours a week reading a history text or watching a documentary of some sort because it‘s one of my passions.  My life has been a journey influenced by four generations of family, friends, acquaintances and over five decades of world events.  The only thing I’ve come to understand is that there is truly “nothing new under the sun.”

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