Category Archives: Submissive female

Poetry from the Torture of Loving a Narcissist

These are from my,
RAW IN THE MIDDLE
LOVING A NARCISSIST
Poetry Collections
The Worst of It

The worst of it was his disbelief in my love
In how I truly felt about him
The conflagration of him; the intensity of my desire to be his.
How he affected me, changed who I was, and what I believe
I adored him and wanted to give him everything

He laughed at my passion and my offerings
His indifference to my flailing ruined what was left of a fragile soul
He misinterpreted, misconstrued, and misunderstood everything I was
It felt as if he did so purposely
He ignored my only talent and wouldn’t read my words

I am still a shattered mess, only aching to be understood
Something about his rejection rendered me invisible
Even to myself.
Now, he’s attempted to delete our tombstone inscription
As if a few scratches could expunge my grief at the loss

As if I could ever un-feel what I felt
As if I could reverse the affects of him on my heart
The worst of it is he banished me instantly from his
Moving along as if I were roadkill to be forgotten
Whew, that was a close one, glad he survived
as I drag my own carcass away from the crash site.

The worst of it is how my love for him, awakened me
Changed me, made me want to be more than I’ve ever been
A better me, because of him.
He didn’t feel any of that impact, not even a jostle of recognition
He irreparably wounded me to a core I didn’t know I possessed,
and the worst of it was he didn’t care a lick.

The worst of it is the weight of what I now carry
The baggage of un-spent adoration, love, lust and submission.
How can I ever give this to another?
Another will never be him.
But of course, he isn’t really him either.

Irretrievable, irrevocable, irreversible
Whatever toxin he infused, is a fatal affliction
I’ve come to decide I will not recover
I will continue as a shell of empty grief and sorrow
But who I once was, is gone, lost, destroyed

I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m still standing
The placebos I feed the world
I know the truth, but I’m the only one who cares
He doesn’t, never did, lied his way through my devotion
He didn’t care if it was a love note, or a suicide note,
it was simply something to feed on.

I thought the sex was love, and for me, it was more like worship,
But I think for him, not so much.
He loved his prowess and stamina.
He loved his power.
He adored himself as I writhed under his weight.

It’s strange how I still love him.
The façade he presented in the beginning.
The conglomeration of parts I’d always dreamt of.
He is a master of the craft, a fisher of emotions, an infantile monster of extraction and extortion.
He baited the net perfectly, and then laughed at his prey’s declaration of love.
An Oscar worthy performance as a vampire of emotions.

If my love was a lie, I’d be over him by now.
I’d have moved past this brokenness and mourning.
For me, it was so much more than lust, and chemicals.
My soul fell, and is still screaming through the abyss
My heart is obliterated and now I’m a nothing.

He interrupted my aura, and I was instantly changed. It was an irretrievable moment and I am still suffering through the sorrow. It weeps through my skin and strangles me with longing for a man who doesn’t exist. It’s like a straight jacket of locks and chains; a noose of emotional torture; this ache of grief that renders me fetal as I hold myself together.
I thought a year would at least provide a scar I could live with, but instead it rips free and bleeds on a regular basis. He laughed at my love, thought me a fraud and a liar. Of course, his disordered mind hadn’t a clue of love or it’s power.
It was naïve of me to think the firestorm I experienced, would translate to his awakening. My own metamorphoses was irrevocably enacted the moment I saw him, but for him to want me with the same passion, was a much too delusional fantasy on my part.
He set the trap well, offering me bait of my ideal. I saw his cage of writhing demons and yet still, still, I loved him with a ferociousness I will never understand.
Even still, a year past and I am swept away by the interruption of a continuous thought of him.
He tried to scratch away the inscription on our tombstone, but no matter, it is still him who haunts the halls of my heart and renders me useless to this world.

Erotica; Messed Up (Part 1)

Messed Up, (part 1)
“I want you done up to the nines. The car will be here at six.” She set her tablet on the table and blinked, holding out both her hands, palms up. He rested a black American Express card in one, and the keys to the car in the other. “I called Beth last week and set up the appointment for eleven.” He held her firmly by her chin and pressed his lips tightly to hers. 

Beth was her hairstylist and salon owner friend. She already knew this wasn’t just her hair getting styled, it was going to be an all-day deal. Waxed, polished, buffed, trimmed, colored and styled. Whole body, hair, nails and everything in between. When Sir wanted her coiffed, it meant he had plans to mess her up. The thought made her belly clench and dampness to reveal itself between her thighs. 

She returned his kiss with a moan and gentle swipe of hand up his fly. He was already hardening, probably at the thought of what he intended for their evening. He gave her a chin bump and sent her on her way, calling after, “Down do, Charity, nothing with lots of pins.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

“Oh, and there is a new dress for you upstairs when you get home.” 

She grinned, and felt like curtsying, but only blew him a kiss and was on her way. She arrived ten minutes early and found a parking place right up front. Beth greeted her with a hug and a small squeal. Besides being her esthetician, Beth was also her confidant, and knew almost all the details of her relationship with, Sir. 

They proceeded with the various spa treatments and finished with her hair. Beth even commented that there wasn’t one mark or bruise on her body, which was odd. Sir, normally left marks on a regular basis as a sign of ownership, but he’d been particularly careful the last few times they’d made love. They lived the lifestyle twenty-four-seven, but it wasn’t as pain-filled as most would imagine. Love making without pain was more often the norm between them now that they’d established a good balance. 

Sir called it, 51/49, with him of course being the fifty-one. Together they were more powerful than apart, and they balanced the other perfectly. She could absorb his overflow and mirror him like no other ever had, and in return he brought her numb body to life. Before Sir found her, courted her, and then won her over, she’d never had an orgasm, and sex had been a dull to sometimes painful experience. He however had unlocked her inner tigress and solved the riddle of her masochistic body. Granted, she took some time to warm up to the inflictions, but once he’d shown her the amount of available ecstasy he could offer, she’d jumped on board with both feet. 

Sir was a dominant sadist, but a sane one, and oddly enough, she’d call him a kind and gentle master even though he hurt her skin on a regular basis. He was never overtly cruel or uncaring and whenever he needed to feed his inner beast, she was happy to accommodate almost any of his particular craves. He always stopped the instant she said it was too much, and he’d not once betrayed that trust. And now, after five years together, they danced the dance from memory and rarely disagreed; their harmony, peace and contentment as a couple was something a Buddhist monk would envy; apart from the fact all their focus was directed at the pleasure of the other, and sexual satisfaction was their end game. 

Charity left the salon at four and rushed home. All she needed to do was change. Beth had even done her makeup, and she looked amazing. Her red hair was down and curled into big, bouncy curls that dangled between her shoulder blades with little tendrils of curls framing her face. She couldn’t wait to see the dress. Sir had amazing tastes and she knew she’d love it. He had a better eye than she did for fashion and what would look the best on her body. 

As she applied a few finishing touches, he appeared in the doorway to the master suite. A stunning pair of stilettos dangling from his right hand. “You are the most beautiful woman on the planet.” 

She blushed and padded barefoot across the plush carpet. “It’s perfect,” She breathed as she took one slow turn so he could see her bared back. The dress had an elaborate strap system around her upper chest but draped in a long, skin exposing cowl down both the front and back, exposing more than enough of her ivory skin to leave hardly anything to the imagination. 

First he handed her the shoes, and then he produced a long velvet box. “Shoes first.” He said as he took a knee to help her fasten the buckles. The ankle straps had tiny gold padlocks and he chuckled after he’d fastened both and stowed the key in his pants pocket. Now she stood taller and her nose was right at his jaw. “Okay…” he presented her with the black velvet box that was oddly heavy. 

She popped it open with an exhale of emotion. The collar that nestled inside was stunning. Black pebbled leather with little sapphires to match her blue dress. There was a large ring in the front, and a silver buckle in the back. She lifted her hair and he buckled it around her throat, checking to make sure it wasn’t too tight, but tight enough it felt like his hand on her neck. The leather was soft, and warmed immediately to her skin until it truly felt like him holding her most vulnerable place. 

“Now, bend over the bed princess.”

Her chest heaved in anticipation, but she did as asked and carefully positioned her upper body across their very tall four poster bed. He went to his cabinet, and in the far mirror she saw him produce the wide leather paddle. Undoubtedly he just wanted to redden her bottom and make it sore enough she felt him even if he didn’t touch her again the rest of the night. 

“Count. Ten each.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

Before he started, he carefully pulled her dress up and settled it under, and above her waist. As per protocol, she only wore garters for her thigh high stockings, and no underwear. She was entirely bared to him in this moment. He petted her bottom and massaged it, lightly spanking it with his hand and making it jiggle. Next he delved a finger between her legs, up through her cleft, and his sound of approval showed he found her wet and ready. 

He lingered there, petting and stroking her damp folds, and gently rubbing her clit until she moaned and arched her back. He seemed to have forgotten about the paddle and was now spreading out all her serum, as the rubbing increased. Without warning, he inserted his middle finger, his incredibly meaty, long middle finger, and she almost orgasmed. She held herself in check however, knowing she had to have permission to cum. 

One of things that always surprised, and equally aroused her, was Sir’s appetite for her body. Often he would alter his plans just to fuck her. It was always a quick, although highly satisfy dip into her puddle of acceptance, but it was obviously also something he’d thought to forestall. The thing about Sir though was simply his sexual appetite knew no bounds, and no doubt, after piercing her now, he’d again during the evening, maybe more than once. 

His suit slack zipper sounded behind her and she looked up to see him in the mirror, at her back, fondling himself, spreading out his pre-cum as he massaged the tip of his erection. He was always so hard it continually amazed her. She grew even wetter and whimpered as he spread her with two thumbs on her slick folds. He slid in just the tip, and settle there to continue petting her bottom and randomly spanking it playfully. 

His voice was full of amusement, “Slight change of plans kitten, but you know how much I love inside.” 

He rolled his hips and settled himself to the base, and then he reached around her hip and gripped her mound. His hand enveloped her entire fleshy mound and he dug in his fingers, making sure to catch her clit with his middle finger. She whimpered again and pushed her bottom into his groin, trying to get away from some of the biting pressure on her freshly waxed flesh. There was no getting away from Sir though, he was a big man and a strong man and he relished it when she tried, so she always did, but never managed to lessen the intensity even by a little. 

He held on and then he began sliding on all her lubrication. He took his time, retreating to the bulging helmet and then thrusting back to home. His balls bounced against her folds and his grip tightened on her front. She let go a small scream as her body shot into high gear. His pounding increased until there was a volley of wet slaps echoing around the room. 

“Oh god—Sir, Sir, please…Ahhhhh…please may I cum?” 

“Not yet…” He grunted, thrusting himself harder and harder into her. His thumb dexterously pressed her clit tight against her pubic bone and she almost lost it. 

“Pleeeeeessse!” She keened. 

His shaft grew hotter and his thrusts slowed, “Now kitten. Now cum for me.” He commanded just as his molten release rocketed up into her core. 
She was now his well-tuned instrument and her body obeyed with alacrity. Her pussy twitched along with her other sphincter muscles and she cried out as her sheath tightened around his still throbbing cock. 

When he popped free of her body, he pulled along their joined fluids and trailed the head of his still dripping cock up through her ass crack. He teased at that other entrance and while still hard, seated his tip just inside her body. 

“Later.” He growled, but stayed here, both of them still twitching. 

Before she stood, he pulled out his favorite jeweled butt plug from the night stand drawer. First he inserted it up into her soaked pussy, and then he slowly inserted it into her bottom. The action caused ripples of aftershocks to rattle through her and she gasped. 

“Stay put. I got distracted. You still need to be reddened. I want you feeling me all night. And leave me in you, I want to decorate your inner thighs. I want you to smell me on you at dinner.” 

He then went to work on her bottom with the paddle, and she counted. Ten on the left cheek with some muscle behind the swings so she was already feeling the sting and ache and knew there would be some significant bruises by morning. Ten more on the right cheek and tears were running down her face, ruining her makeup. She sniffed and with help, resumed an upright position, teetering on the heels, but managing to keep it together. 

He inspected her and used a thumb to swipe at some of the lingering tears. “Getting there,” He grumbled. 

She didn’t even ask to check her reflection in the mirror. This was part of the dance with Sir. He just loved messing her up. Something about her spending an entire day getting ready just so he could fuck it all up was his ideal of a perfect night out. And, if by the time they were out in public, she was already fuck/spank/bit/manhandled-worn around the edges, he was his most happy.

Her hair was still in the delicate braid across the top, but that for sure would be demolished before nights end. He put out his elbow and escorted her to the waiting limo. She knew better than to ask where they were going. It could be anywhere in the world, or nowhere at all. 

They might just spend a couple hours in the limo, doing depraved things behind the tinted glass. Sir was predictably unpredictable and it was guaranteed she would look as if caught in the perfect storm by the end of the evening.

~Too be Continued.

Payne Hawthorne

Book Excerpt; The Elysian, Chapter 37

The Elysian, (excerpt).

This is the next title I’d dearly love to produce as an audio book. The cost will be roughly $2000.00. You can help me achieve this goal by contributing here: PATREON or here: PATRONAGE

theelysiannewcover1000

Chapter THIRTY SEVEN
   It’s around dawn the next morning, and we are pretzeled together. During the night, I woke a few times and made sure some part of me was touching him, and I felt him do the same. It was as if we had to make sure the other was still there, and this whole freakish joining wasn’t just a dream. 
   I kissed his shoulder and he picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my palm. It was a tender kiss and his warm lips sent goose bumps up my arm. “You are a sensitive thing,” he says. 
   “Only to some, to others I seem as dull as a rock. It takes a certain vibration from another, and then I am so alive I can hardly stand it.” 
   “Ahhh, a catalyst?” He questions. 
   I think about it and slowly nod, “Yeah, I guess that’s as good of an explanation as any. I’ve had about twenty different mates, many more lovers. I can fuck just fine even if I’m not in love, although it leaves me feeling really cold and hollow. You know the worst of it? I often feel so dead I go out and find sex. It’s meaningless sex of course, and I do it in hopes of feeling something…”
   “Feeling anything,” he interrupts as he finishes my thought, agreeing with me, “And what started out as a need to feel, ends up in making you feel more alone and empty than when you started.”
   “Exactly! You’d think I’d learn by now, but no…”
   “It’s how you’re made Ellie –created to please. You feel alive when you’re found satisfying to another –of course that’s your – go to,” he again interrupted, then added, “I’ve done it many times –many – many – many times –life is just too hard when you go it alone for too long. For me its connection to something else living –which you know the horses really do help satisfy because they are so sentient –but for you it’s an innate need you have no control over –Elysian females are supposedly created for a specific man –you might be the only woman of your kind to be a free agent.” 
   I wrinkle my nose and wiggle it, “What are the odds?”
   He taps my chin lightly and grins, “I can tell you a few things I know –I actually used to kind of be a fan of your people.” 
   “A fan? What does that mean?” I question.
   “Well, ever since good ole dad told me about the single minded devotion of an Elysian female, I wanted one, so I kinda turned it into a bit of a hobby. Mind you, I was just a fledgling –youngster –hadn’t even learned how to fly yet –but I learned a lot about your kind.” 
   My expression was more than amused and I turned on my side with my head on my hand and winked at him, “Do tell.” 
   He flopped onto his back and spoke to the ceiling, “Let’s see what I can recall. Pointed ears –in your natural state you have small ears with pointy tips.” 
   “Like elves?” 
   He nods, “Yup, like elves. You’re a tall species, leggy,” He dashed a look at me and chomped his teeth, “Love those long legs, and that perfect ass of yours!” I giggled and he reached over and touched my hand, still talking to the ceiling, “Feathers. I knew for sure when I saw that artwork,” He motioned toward the living room and then rested his hand back on mine. “Your world is devoid of birds. Not one on the whole planet. Your people are fascinated with feathers. Consider them as rare and collectable as earthlings feel about gemstones.” His eyes took on a faraway expression and I eagerly listened.  
   Most of my memories were surrounding the mission and the experiment and very little had filtered through of my first life and the customs and rituals of my people. “Your people like a lot of pomp and circumstance, like to show off their wealth. Whenever they have banquets or parties, they decorate themselves with feathers. The women will pale out most of their faces, even pale lipstick, so all you can see are the masks they wear. Usually half face, but always made from feathers of different colors, or if they are high born they wear Hogedon feathers –that’s my race –always black or the same dark navy as my hair. Only our wing feathers, and only from a full grown adult, are tipped in that same silver as you saw on my wings.” He nodded as he recalled, “We must have limited the supply, wish I could remember –but yeah, incredibly rare indeed.”
   I make a sound of amazement and grin, “That explains a lot. I’ve always been fascinated with birds of all kinds. Is that ironic or what?”
   “You mean because I am one?” He asked. 
   “Yeah, exactly!” I confirmed. 
   “My people often traded with yours –we would offer feathers and quills from our adults and down and fluff from the fledglings. You’d be surprised what kind of commodity they can be when your planet has not one avian species.” He turned his head and caught my eye, “A feather from my adult plumage would be considered one of the greatest gifts offered. Just so you know.” He winked and resumed talking to the ceiling. I was thinking about my fascination with feathers and birds, as more puzzle pieces slid into place. “So darlin, if I ever give you one of my plumes, it means you are very special to me. Not only would I have to manifest my wings, which I don’t do very often, but I’d have to inflict a wound that would take months to regenerate.”
   “I have it in storage, but you’d be shocked to see my mask collection.” I say victoriously. Then add, “If you ever gave me one of your feathers I would cherish it beyond any other –I’d consider it one of my greatest possessions.” I declare. Then I ask, “Do your people mate outside of your race?” 
   He grinned and asked, “The masks—all feathers?” 
   I nod and lift one eyebrow, “What are the odds? Right?”
   He answers my question, “Rarely, but yeah, it happens. We’re a passionate species. Much more so than your people.” 
   “What do you mean?” 
   He chuckled, “When I first saw Star Trek, I thought they modeled Spock after Elysians’ and Kirk after Taninians’. Polar opposites –one is intellectual and all mind, the other is all heart and emotions.”
   I nibbled my lower lip in thought before answering, “I’ve changed though –I’ve grown feelings –emotions –I feel everything deeper than I remember feeling before.” 
   Iain turned again to face me and he cupped my jaw, “You darlin are the most unique entity in all the galaxies –I can’t believe we found each other.” He kisses each of my fingertips, “I could devour all of you. I haven’t felt this way about a woman ever. You and me baby, damn we’re good together.” 
   “We are each other’s catalyst maybe?” I say in a tiny voice, thinking about how odd it is to be with another stranded alien. 
   He reads my thoughts and asks, “I been meaning to ask you, are you stranded or are they extracting you at some point?” 
   I grimace, “I think I’m supposed to be here for two thousand years, so that gives me a handful over seven hundred more to go.” 
   He is silent for so long I think he has nothing more to say on the matter. When he does speak I momentarily jump at his voice. He hugs me in tighter, “Sorry darlin, I was thinking about leaving with you –I was so resigned to my fate –so certain there was no escape for me, I refused to let myself consider it.” 
   “And now?” I ask
   He bends his head down and grins at me, “Well my sweet little sex toy, seven hundred years is a long time. If you’ve not grown bored with me and we’re still together, I’ll consider it.” 
   “You know I’m not sure the mission is even on track anymore. I think both Gabriel and Doyle are either locked up in a Fae sithen or they don’t know they are, and time is speeding by out here –whatever it is, I think Doyle lost control –so I really have no clue. I’m trying to live as if this is my existence and there is no extraction –ever.” 
   
   He nods and hugs me tighter, dragging most of my body up onto his chest. My breasts push against his hard pecks and he palms my ass, jiggling me and rubbing himself against my belly, “You know what sweet cheeks?” 
   “What? My holy hardness.” 
   “Who really cares if we get to leave or not? Right now, in this moment, with you, I would trade an eternity of adventure to stay here – so fuck em all!” He announces. 
   I bite my lip and nod in thought, “You know what bird boy? I would agree one hundred percent –fuck em all!”
   We laugh and roll around in the bed, and play seduction and tease as he grows rigid and I grow wet and slick. I groan and roll away, “I can’t right now, even if my body is telling you, yes, –it’s a fucking liar! I don’t want too –not yet –you’re so big and I’m really sore. Can we just lay together? Can you be hard and me wet and nothing happen?”
   His hand reaches between my legs and he grumbles out his need, “Ahhh babe –maybe it’s your brain that’s the liar? Your sweet little cunt seems more than eager.” 
   I hear him lick his fingers after his quick, internal delve, and his sounds of pure delight momentarily give me pause. He is entirely correct, I would suffer if it meant pleasing my partner. That old familiar question rises up inside, is it good or bad that I would suffer to please him?
   “It’s neither lover, it’s you.” He says in response to my unspoken thoughts. I sigh, but say nothing. I am also completely okay with his intrusion into my private mind, that too is part of his penetration into my being, and I like it. My thoughts prompted a question from him, “You’re empathic then? No telepathy?”
   “I can feel your emotional grid, but only if you let me. You are the most powerful person I’ve been around since, Doyle, in Iceland. But yeah, I feel you baby! But no, it’s rare for me to hear words –again though, I did with Doyle. And a few times I think I’ve heard your thoughts.” I honestly reply.
   I feel him nod as he rubs my back. My hair has lifted and twined itself entirely around any part of him it can reach, which he told me he loves. He offers, “I’m both –empathic and telepathic –and! If I really work at it I can implant thoughts at a subconscious level –I’m out of practice though, I don’t work that psychic muscle too much, unless I’m with the horses, but they are so receptive it really takes nothing.” 
   I offer a sound of agreement. “I went so long I thought I’d lost even the empathic ability. I swear I’ve gone through phases where I wondered if I was entirely human –nothing special here people, move it along.” 
   “It’s a fetal race babe, and I hate how the lowest common denominator always wins. Don’t let the turkeys tell you, you are anything but an eagle –I know though –its very tuff here to feel anything but average.” 
   I giggle at the irony of his words and mumble, “And you are an eagle. A silver, raven haired, glowing alien raptor.”
 
Excerpt from THE ELYSIAN 
The adventures and loves of Faith Elysian. An immortal alien trapped on Earth for twelve hundred years. 

This is the next title I'm hoping to make into an Audio book. Please see my PATREON and PATRONAGE pages for info on helping me achieve this goal. 

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  “I noticed you still have your panties on, would you please remove them for me?”
  Gulp, how did I know that would be a request? Blink, pause. Okay fine, it’s just my fear I will get the chair wet, I swear! My body is in some kind of strange overdrive with the lubrication. I feel as if my pussy is a fan girl, screaming and jumping up and down, begging for–him–to see her and make eye contact or something. Oh, it’s also weeping tears of joy at being so near –him.
  I carefully remove said panties and wonder what to do with them. He puts his hand across the table, palm up. Yes they are quite damp, I guess you could call it, damp with my need? Sigh, now I sound like a fucking romance novel. Okay, here ya go big guy, have at it. So glad they were a good pair, actually a really nice lace pair in the palest pink. 
  Something about his big hand and the way he delicately wraps his fingers around all that lace, sends shivers up and down my spine. I want that hand to touch me, my skin, my body and I want him to put those long fingers other places.
  His thumb finds where the cotton is wet. He rubs over that spot a few more times and his eyes find mine, and they fucking sparkle and burst into flames again. Swallow. Did he just tremble? Did his composure crack just a little?   
  Why does this delight me so much? His hand is still caressing my panties and softly kneading them around in his huge fist, and I just realized how big his wrists are, like wow. Can’t wait to see his forearms, I love good forearms and I know his must be magnificent. Sigh. 
  “Dillon.” His voice is so full of need I again puddle where I sit. Fuck my body, stop-it already. 
  “Yes?” 
  “Nothing, I was just enjoying saying your name.” 
  Oh smack! That was about the most stimulating thing anyone’s ever said to me. Again with the rapid blinking, and now I can’t even think, let alone form coherent words. Blink-blink-blink. Also, there is the crimson burning in my cheeks. 
  “I would like you to sit over here.” He motioned to the seat across the aisle from him, the seat with a full view of whomever would be the occupant, not the seat where I am now, with the protection of the table between us. “And I need you to sit so I may see all of you.” 
  I nod, after more blinking, I wobble on these fucking high heels and smooth my skirt, and sort of stumble and fall into the other chair. I swivel it so my knees are facing him. My pinned together knees, which are also shaking. 
  “Touch yourself.” 
  No surprise, I knew this was coming, ahem, maybe wrong word, coming. I might be, coming any second now; the clenching and twitching in my nether regions is reaching a near orchestral frenzy. Okay, spread knees, swivel chair for better viewing pleasure, drag skirt up my thighs. God I love this fabric. Make him wait, move slowly, wait, wait. His eyes are on me, ME, my most hidden parts, and he can’t seem to stop looking. This makes me happy. I’ve been told I have a beautiful pussy.
  I am fair haired all over my body, strawberry blonde to be exact, and I keep a nice, well-manicured playground, but I do leave a strip of red-blonde curls just to show my carpet matches my drapes. Why does it give me so much satisfaction to see him swallow convulsively? 
  I can feel how swollen I already am, so much blood has been rushing down there I must be bright pink at this point, but I also know men love this. He is still staring, and from where I sit I can see the effect I have on his body as well. This makes me happy. Like fucking beside myself delighted. I love being paid that kind of compliment. 
  Something about it is a total power trip too, and honestly, even though I am a sub in most respects, I can get off in a big way just from my guy losing it, and uncontrollably needing to enter my body. If a man does that with me, I will climax the second his hands touch me and he shows he’s given in and abandoned all rational thought...

firequote in need of vapors firequoteknow him in my marrow firequote fingers other places firequote his eyes firequote how long i've waited firequote no lasting harm firequotecaught in a wave firequoteenergyofpassion firequotefemale firequotelike i know him

 

Weekly Erotica

Seventy Two Hours

   You’ve fed me. It was the best omelet I’ve ever had. I like it that you’re not afraid of bacon. I’m enthralled with you, I love looking at you. I think you’re incredibly handsome and I adore your natural masculinity. 
   You know, we weren’t wrong, it is you/us—time stood still and everything lined up the way I feared, suspected—was too afraid to admit. The funny thing is, I don’t even know if I believe in this shit anymore. It all seems much too fairy tale to be something I would ever experience. My life has not been fairy tale in the slightest. 
   But I digress. The food was perfect, the white wine crisp, and the electrical connection with the chef beyond my wildest dreams. Moments of fear stab through me; what if he isn’t feeling it like I am? What if I’ve lost it and he doesn’t even like me? What if I’m too soft, too fat? Not fat enough? 
   Your tone changes, you’re letting out Master, he wants to play, “Come sit on the countertop for me.”
   My heart picks up a lope behind my ribs. Hello Mr. Adrenaline, nice to feel you again. Go with it, go with it, you got this. “Sure.” I’m so nervous my legs are shaking. Fake it, just fake you’re strong, pretend you’re fine. Be confident, you got this. Oh shit, that smolder in his eyes. It appears he’s into me. Oh thank god. 
   You spread my knees with your hands and insinuate yourself right up between them, digging your thumbs into my upper thighs. My exhale is wordlessly expressive. The counter is an ideal height. Jerk of my hips; oh shit, I might have just peed a little. You’re so hard already, and big, god, you’re incredible. Oh shit, I’m shaking. 
   Hands on my jaw, eye smolder in full effect, you hold my face and ask my lips, “Consent?”
   A short laugh bursts from my lips, “Who talks like this in real life?” I blurt, then quickly add, “Have you been reading women’s erotic fiction again? You realize it’s not real, right? Nobody is like that in real life.”
   “I might be,” you say with a sly smile curling half your mouth. “Kiss me and shut up.” My lashes flutter, your mouth is right there. It’s been so long since anyone kissed me. I’m shaking again. “Tell me you consent. You’re mine now. Tell me you’re ready.”
   My, “Oh god yes,” is way too breathy to be anything but my raw confession of; I’m ready for you now. “Yes, yes, I consent.”
   “Yes, it’s the same for me. Yes, time stood still. We weren’t wrong.”
   “No, but were we right?” I joke.
   You chuckle, “Let’s just be in this moment and stretch it out as long as we can. Agreed?”
   “Agreed.”
   Our lips meet. You can feel my tremble as my heart stutters. Your hands travel to my back and you hold me steady. Your assuredness soaks in as your mouth insists I respond further. I do, and part my lips, inviting your tongue to travel in and meet with mine. 
   I mutter, “Is this really happening?”
   You pull back and glue your gaze to mine. Our eyes are locked, your strength is enveloping me in a blanket of belonging. Dare I say I feel as if you’re claiming me? And although very few words have been spoken, I am home. I am safe inside your embrace. You flicker in and out of my vision as my eyelids flutter without permission. 
   “I need,” You pulse your jaw once and it’s the only time your gaze wavers. You let your eyes travel to where our clothed bodies are pressed together. Your words are almost apologetic as they fall off, “I need to be inside you.”
   “Yes, please…me too,” My voice is thready, but I can already feel how wet I am. Slick, shiny, heated and ready. There is no hesitation as I spread my legs even farther and press the damp spot in my thin cotton leggings directly to the fly of your jeans. “I’m ready for you.” 
   You swallow roughly and grind against my mound. You’re cock is straining and rigid, seeking to escape the captivity of denim. I flood with wetness and gasp as my belly clenches and my insides begin a low hum. 
   “You are my ideal,” You growl at my ear and travel your lips down my long neck. “You smell of lemons and honey and…you.” You nibble your way down my jugular and then back up the other side. “I’m already addicted.” Your actions take on more urgency as you pull down my pants. The counter is cold and I utter a tiny squeal. “Inside you…more later.” Now your abbreviated words are all the foreplay I need. 
   I’m all too receptive as you drop your jeans and boxers to pool around your feet. You fist your cock and guide yourself to my very wet pussy. You trace the tip around, making it shine. We both watch the pornographic display. We both make sounds of intense arousal. I puddle in preparedness. I can’t believe how beautiful you are; your cock is impressive and I’m mesmerized as you continue to spread all my lubrication around, teasing at my entrance. I moan yet again.
   “Can’t wait,” You mutter.
   The sound I make is pleading. You respond by sliding in just the bulging crown. You seat yourself partially inside my body and we both hold our breaths. How could this feel so good? My exhale is in staccato rhythm. 

   You rumble down low in your belly and pull me to sheath over you completely. I am now your scabbard. I melt around your heat as you pierce my body. Now I can’t breathe. Your heart is inside me. Your length joining us. Time stands still. All I can hear is my pulse behind my ears, and your grunts of pleasure as you begin to slide in and out, taking your time, making sure I feel every inch of you.
 
   I hold your head and begin a continuous whimper of pleasure. You grit your jaw, your fingers dig in and you use me like a doll. What started slowly, takes on more urgency. The slapping of our bodies grows louder as you advance with a thrust that unseats me. Only your hands keep me from falling backwards. Then you slide away, retreating before another pillaging onslaught. I hold on, you grip tighter. “Oh god yes. Yes!” I scream.
   You whisper at my ear, “Cum for me.”
   I have no choice. I obey, and in a flashing moment of scorching need, my body seizes and I scream. I bury my head in your neck and I twitch through a massive climax. I do cum, and it soaks your cock. 
   You mumble, “Fuck.” Then your body lets loose. 
*****
   “I’m not done with you yet.”
   “Um, okay.”
   You lead me to the bedroom, with the enormous bed. “Naked, now.”
   I do as you wish and strip. I’m shaking again. I desperately want you to find me attractive,and I’ve lost most of my self-worth as a sexual entity. I’m sorry. Confidence is non-existent. You help me though. The appreciative perusal is a bolster. The fact I just saw your cock slightly fill and lift, an enormous boost. 
   I pause and stare at you. Even your partial is a work of art. I suck in escaping spittle as you fondle your balls and stroke your vein encased girth. I forget to hold my drool captive. You grin appreciatively. “Present yourself.”
   I lick my lips. I’m terrified, but I also know that anticipation, fear, whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s all part of this dance and the best aphrodisiac available. I tell myself, just ride it. Use it. I roll to my stomach, pull my knees under my body and press my forehead to the bed. Then I slowly slide my knees apart and roll my pelvis. Here you go, clean shaved pinkness just for you.
   I hear you swallow, then you climb up on the bed behind me. You pet my pale bottom. I hear you fist your cock again and stroke yourself. I’m soaking wet again. Glistening for you. “This is going to hurt.” You warn, but I know its all part of this dance. I smile against the comforter and drag my fingers down until I’m holding on, ready for whatever you might do. 
   The volley of spanks sounds like the rapport of a machine gun as you punish my posterior. I scream until you command, “Not a sound.” Then I gulp it back, and I try to be quiet, but I continue to cry as you bruise me with your hand. You stop long enough to run your finger up through my cleft. “You’re so wet.”
   “Mmmm-muh,” I mumble.
   “That was just the right cheek. Now they must match.” 
   I whine in resignation as you begin with the other cheek. It feels as if you poured hot wax all over my bottom and it’s burned. It aches and is on fire. When you’re finished, you again pet it, caressing it gently, cooling it with your touch. The affection rattles my insides, I moan again and arch my back, pushing my butt against your palm. I love the caresses after you’ve hurt me. 
   “I’m going to take you again, right now.”
   “Yes.”
   “Yes what?”
   “Yes Master?”
   “Good girl.”
   You mount me, guiding yourself to my entrance, but teasing me with entry. I try and push into you, to get you inside me again. You laugh and slide your hips away. I whine. 
   You flatten me to the bed with a hand between my shoulder blades and your body follows as you wrap a massive hand around my neck. Your hips pin mine as your cock skids against my folds. I roll my pelvis just right and there you are, the tip of you knocking.
   You choke me lightly. It's an incongruous violent gentleness that feels as if we startled a covey of quail. I choke on my severed breaths and those normally land bound birds take flight in a burst of fluttering wings. 
   You wait for me to cease thinking about penetration, then you stab into me, finalizing my rapture in a startling, shocking moment, "Oh...oh fuck..."
*****
   We’re both exhausted from the physical and emotional overflow. You drag me into your arms and we nap. We’re sticky and smell like sex, damp linens and wine, but we don’t care. It’s us together and its bliss. “I’ll no doubt snore, and will certainly drool,” I say. 
   You laugh and kiss the top of my head, “I’ll poke you if you snore. The drooling was a great compliment.” 
   “Not so much when I’m asleep and I feel like a wet bowling ball pinning down your arm.” 
   “I can deal.” You kiss my shoulder and use my fleshy mound to fuse our bodies together. You’re flaccid at the moment, but I can feel you instantly begin to fill again. You gutturally whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this... You.”
   I push my butt up and roll my hips, “Me either.”
   We languish in the land of skin to flesh, soaking and marinating in each other. Even in sleep, we make sure we’re touching. Night has fallen at this point, but it’s early. You mumble sleepily, “I need more of you.” 
   “We have all weekend. Use me however you see fit. I’m yours.”
   “Good girl.”
   You get up, but leave the room dark. You return with water, a glass of cold milk, and a gourmet, dark chocolate bar. We indulge without words, only sounds of satisfaction. “Round three?”
   I grin, and then wince, “I’m kinda sore.” 
   “Good.” 
   You move away the wrappers and give me a look. Without thought, a whimper escapes my lips. I lay back. You drag my hands above my head, pinning them together with one of yours. You lay on me, smashing me to the bed. 
   I gasp and moan, “God you feel good.” You kiss me. Your cock is filling again. I wonder silently, how can he again? I say to your lips, “You’re fucking amazing.”
   There is something different about you now. You’re probably a bit tired, the edge is off, you’re methodical in your movements. You kiss me again, your free hand travels to the swell of my hips and you hold me steady as you effortlessly slide inside. “Home,” you growl.
   “Heaven,” I whisper on a ragged exhale.
   You roll your hips, taking your time so I can feel the terrain of your body and your cock as you move against and into me. Deeper and deeper, insisting I take every spec of you and then more. We both break out in a sheen of perspiration, but you remain steady, almost careful. 
   I find your lips with mine and strain to stay there, with more of you inside me. Your tongue, your cock, if I didn’t know better it’s as if our souls are touching. I can’t even think it, let alone say it, but, but, are you making love to me? I don’t even have a reference for what I feel in this moment. 
   I undulate with you as you retreat and advance, and leave me only to reenter with a surging need to go deeper. You push up and away, grabbing the backs of my thighs and folding me in half. I give to you in a rubbery acquiescence.   
   You whisper, “I need to see you.” I reach for the lamp and click it on. You don’t need to say it again, but you do, “Good girl.” Then your eyes travel back to my spread pinkness, glistening in the dim light. I don’t even think you realize you say it out loud, “Perfection,” but what that one word produces in my belly is shocking. 
   You begin fondling your rigid length with one hand and manipulating my clit with your other. My thighs vibrate and I know my pussy is now a visible twitching mess of need. I plead, “Inside me...please?” 
   “Beg me.”
   I am so desperate for your penetration I do beg and begin to move so I might kneel before you. You stay me, and your expression is all I need to resume my knees at ears position. “Please let me take you inside...um,suck on you. I need you inside my body.” 
   “Beg me.” 
   “Master, please fuck me. Take me. Use my cunt and cum inside me. I will do anything to feel your cock inside me again.”
   “Anything? Any hole?” Your tone is amused. 
   “Yes, any hole. Please Master. Please!” I almost wail the last word. All this time you've been viciously vibrating my clit and petting my soaked folds. You've also been keeping yourself statue erect. My own wetness is dripping down through my taint and I’m feeling a level of unrivaled desperation. “Please fuck me. Please... inside me.” My body rattles as you increase the pressure and rotation. I gasp and clamp my eyes closed. I know I can’t orgasm until you say. I wordlessly plead with my eyes. 
   “You do not cum until I say.” 
   “Yes Master.”


Payne Hawthorne

My Newest Release, AVERY

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I just released my newest short story, (3 hr. read). Its only up for a short time and then being included in an anthology.  Get it now from me 3 months before official release.

Avery is a recent divorcee who has lived an entirely vanilla life. She has no idea men like Joshua exist in this world, but she’s soon to discover what it means to be recognized by a dominant. Joshua’s only problem is now convincing Avery she is his perfect submissive counterpart.

Get it here: Kindle US or Kindle UK

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