I'm not like other girls. I have more curves, more of me to love and
deal with. I don't fit everyone's idea of beauty, sexy, or appealing
even. I know that. I've been told I can seem intimidating, domineering
and, well, a bitch.
Not everyone seems to stick around to see how loving, devoted and
passionate I am about those near me. Not everyone gets to see how I can
be insecure, unhinged and in need of my friends. For those that do you
mean more then words will ever say.
But I want.
I want friends I can flirt with shamelessly with. I want to have
those I can trust with my body in heated moments verging on sexual
tension and rising frustration. Or even in heated sexual moments of
steamy make out seasons that leave parts of me shaking, my panties
soaked and my body begging.
I want someone who will take me down even if I'm fighting my
submission and enjoy the fight as much as I do. I want to be left on the
floor in a puddle, panting and still trying to beg for more. I want
driven to the edges of my limits and pushed against then. To be left raw
from screaming in pleasure and pain and to know I did everything you
wanted of me.
I want you to want me because you find me appealing, not because I'm
just some available piece of flesh. I want to be attracted to you too. I
want to crave your touch, to be near you, to feel you. I want to be
friends with something more. I want you to want me in the same ways I
crave you.
I want to be like any other girl. Only I want to be me too.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
I like the days after more...
(Originally posted to my fetlife account as erotica)
I like it when we scene. I like the abuse you put me through, the cuts and bruises promising to bloom.
But I like the days after more.
I like it when we play. When you come after me like hells fury and I laugh in response or growl in warning as we tumble across the floor. But I like the days after more.
I like it when you beat me. The strike of the paddle across my bottom as I strain against the cuffs, each blow in quick succession a reminder of your location. But I like the days after more.
I like the days after more for the ache. The ache in my muscles as I move about my day, the movement restriction I may be under because of how hard we went. The way the cuts and burns tug at the flesh around those carefully, lovingly made marks threatening to open up.
I like the days after more because every time I move I think of you. I'm reminded of our scene with every breath, seat adjustment and from the friction of my clothing on my skin. The ever aware pressure and pleasure I get from that restraint I have to keep.
I like the days after more because I spend them thinking about next time. The next time, the chance, the moment when we get to do it all over again.
I like it when we scene. I like the abuse you put me through, the cuts and bruises promising to bloom.
But I like the days after more.
I like it when we play. When you come after me like hells fury and I laugh in response or growl in warning as we tumble across the floor. But I like the days after more.
I like it when you beat me. The strike of the paddle across my bottom as I strain against the cuffs, each blow in quick succession a reminder of your location. But I like the days after more.
I like the days after more for the ache. The ache in my muscles as I move about my day, the movement restriction I may be under because of how hard we went. The way the cuts and burns tug at the flesh around those carefully, lovingly made marks threatening to open up.
I like the days after more because every time I move I think of you. I'm reminded of our scene with every breath, seat adjustment and from the friction of my clothing on my skin. The ever aware pressure and pleasure I get from that restraint I have to keep.
I like the days after more because I spend them thinking about next time. The next time, the chance, the moment when we get to do it all over again.
Rustling in the Grass
( Originally posted to my fetlife account, this was a bit of implied erotica)
There is a lot to be said for identifying as a tiger.. especially a Cheshire. It pushes the line of toying with your food. The games take a new complexity as I keep the pace, changing the path to confuse the prey as we make our way through the field of play. The game begins easily enough - just talking to me kicks it off.
I'm known for my bite, the marks and cries I leave behind me in the night. Moving fast in the grass towards the next unsuspecting target, wasn't the thunder of my paws on the ground a give away? Down they go, struck down as though hit by a truck. Claws leave gashes, moans as lips brush flesh before teeth sink in. Leaving behind a trail of "I win I win I win.."
Not everyone is created equal, sometimes I find my self circling bigger prey then I should really take. Sizing up the risk, the challenge of the chance is thrilling. My blood sings as the motions become more calculated - the dance more carefully paced. If I'm going down, I'm going fighting and enjoying it the entire way.
Rarely am I ever surprised, but those moments excite me more. A chance to think on my feet, to turn the tables or adjust the game for me. Scrambling to my feet or writhing below who ever has managed to capture me. Its my turn to cry softly with the pressure against my skin, yet even in this moment those cries mean " I win I win I win..."
In every game played, the risks taken, the thrill of the hunt - being predator or prey. How can I loose? Even when I'm the one pinned below, teeth bared and claws raking the body above.. I've still won the game I set out to play. Because that's what a Cheshire does, we love our games, the tricks we play and the teasing we leave in our wake.
I want to play a game... Who's in?
There is a lot to be said for identifying as a tiger.. especially a Cheshire. It pushes the line of toying with your food. The games take a new complexity as I keep the pace, changing the path to confuse the prey as we make our way through the field of play. The game begins easily enough - just talking to me kicks it off.
I'm known for my bite, the marks and cries I leave behind me in the night. Moving fast in the grass towards the next unsuspecting target, wasn't the thunder of my paws on the ground a give away? Down they go, struck down as though hit by a truck. Claws leave gashes, moans as lips brush flesh before teeth sink in. Leaving behind a trail of "I win I win I win.."
Not everyone is created equal, sometimes I find my self circling bigger prey then I should really take. Sizing up the risk, the challenge of the chance is thrilling. My blood sings as the motions become more calculated - the dance more carefully paced. If I'm going down, I'm going fighting and enjoying it the entire way.
Rarely am I ever surprised, but those moments excite me more. A chance to think on my feet, to turn the tables or adjust the game for me. Scrambling to my feet or writhing below who ever has managed to capture me. Its my turn to cry softly with the pressure against my skin, yet even in this moment those cries mean " I win I win I win..."
In every game played, the risks taken, the thrill of the hunt - being predator or prey. How can I loose? Even when I'm the one pinned below, teeth bared and claws raking the body above.. I've still won the game I set out to play. Because that's what a Cheshire does, we love our games, the tricks we play and the teasing we leave in our wake.
I want to play a game... Who's in?
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