Home > love, memories, submission, writing > Not about

Not about

It’s not about sex, he said.  His body pinned mine close,
my hair curled around his fists like so many coils of rope.

It’s about possession.  Ownership.

Fists tightened with each statement.  My scalp burned.

It’s not about sex, he repeated.

No.  I agreed weakly.  Weak with relief.  I stared back,
saw myself reflected within the depths of his eyes.
Saw myself embedded there, as deeply as he was embedded inside me.
Fingers stretching around my heart, around my lungs, my ribcage.

In his eyes, I saw kindness, and a fierce joy, and exultation.

They only deepened in fullness with each welt,
his pleasure fueled with each guttural scream torn from my throat.

Not. About. Sex.

Categories: love, memories, submission, writing
  1. uber master dragon breath
    June 8, 2010 at 7:54 am

    …and sometimes sex and possession are the same thing. 😉

    Best to you and yours…

    • June 8, 2010 at 2:01 pm

      Very true. I would expect nothing but the highest wisdom from the domliest of doms, O mighty one.

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