Category: Fragments, Fiction, & Utterances

Fiction that doesn’t quite feel self-contained, other pieces that aren’t quite poems, also aphorisms, images, utterances and expletives.

Not Tonight

When did I last curl up in her lap? It’s been so long, I cannot recall. Despite numbered boxcars on the calendar and the disinterested faces of clocks, a concrete memory eludes me. Time, location, and date, they’re merely three dimensions after all.

That number, it could be a trinity – secure, owned, loved.

Instead, it feels abstract.

As a probability, It should be some comfort to expect these feelings again “someday.” I should be cheered by the likelihood of laying my head on her thigh, the gentle yet possessive finger hooked through my collar. Her lips inches from my ear reminding me what I already know: “You are owned. You are loved. You are mine.”

Three phrases I have heard, all of them as sincere, concrete, and real as the walls around me. By that logic, these dimensions I can measure, pace, curse, and strike – they should be some comfort.

They are not, tonight anyway.


Please and Thank You

Please take control until I’m free
to simply be.

Please lead, assured I’ll follow
your direction as imperatives to obey.

Please impale me with need; sink
the hooks deep, then deeper until
thrashing me over the barb. Please stay
to savor each whimper and whine
before relenting to brush your lips
across the same teared streak,
which slaked your thirst.  (more…)

Speaking Truth to a Submissive Heart

The little moments possess the most gravity. Neither the snick of metal upon first locking a collar nor the cathartic sobbing when a boy finally breaks mean as much as the sum of all the intimacy in between. Each moment a boy submits and serves his Domme provides another sliver of insight until she knows him balls to bone – just as he will come to know her through and through. Only then will he understand without words. Only then will her truths pierce any barrier he might still possess.

Look at how he sits at her feet. Gazing up into her eyes when the first smack falls. she slaps him again. And again. No words spoken, just the sound of impact as her hand rises and falls, repeatedly – relentlessly – one slap after the next. None of them delivered with more force than what’s required to turn his head. But they keep falling. They add up. Each time his streaming eyes return to find hers, the next smack falls. His cheek red from the impact, face flush with humiliation. Yet time after time, he recovers to obediently raise his chin, knowing full well what to expect when their eyes meet next. (more…)

That’s My Job

Me – I think Google’s bots are confused by subcategories, Ma’am.

Her – Well, Google can kiss my ass. I like subcategories.

Me – (Pouting)…But…That’s my job!

Her – Then they can suck my cock before trotting off to go fuck themselves.

Me – (Pout Deepens)

Her – You’re adorable. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were being a smart ass.

Me – (Lost in a fantasy where I’m still teary-eyed from sucking her off. Flushed, dripping wet, and supervised, I slowly fuck myself onto a mounted plug.)…Huh?… sorry, Ma’am…Come again?