I know that look in your eyes. That look, as your eyes lock on mine. The stare is intense, almost angry. I want to avert my gaze, but I cannot. I fix my eyes on you, on your face, on the lines of your jawbone.

You reach behind me. I stay still, anticipation building in my body. "Take your top off," you tell me in a growl. As I slowly pull my shirt over my head, you take it from me and rip it off my arms. You grab for my hair, twisting it into a knot to hold me still.

Your mouth meets mine. This is where I can feel the tension in your body, your need for me, building in your lips and moving into me. Kisses and kisses and more kisses, your tongue in my mouth, pulling me closer to you with each movement. My face is smashed underneath yours. I cannot move. You keep kissing me, increasing the intensity and my desire. Your other hand reaches me, grabbing my breast. I can feel myself begin to sag, my legs weakening as you touch me.

You pull away, just enough to murmur into my mouth, "Do you want me?" "Yes," I reply, barely audible. "Do you love me?" "Yes."

"Good," you tell me, as you walk away.

No is one of the most loaded words I can think of. No is power. No is a sentence unto itself.

Last night I gave away my power to say no. I did it of my own volition; I did it because I wanted to; I did it because I trust my Him.

Giving away that power makes me feel even more vulnerable. Yes, of my own accord, yes, I wanted to, yes, I trust my Him. But I'm afraid of the result. I could now learn some of the best parts of myself, the parts I'm generally afraid to explore. I may find that I'm capable of so much more than I've known.

I may also learn what real power means. Does giving away my "no" mean that I am becoming, finally, an absolute possession? Will I become O? Would I rather die than be without my Him?

The answers can only depend on experience. I'm afraid. But I'm also relieved and happy. If it turns out that my Him does reject me, well, I'll find out what happens from there. I think it's more likely that I will suffer from His disappointment in me than in a real rejection.

Still, this scares me somewhat.

(One tiny little plus - today was the first time we had phone sex while my Him was safely ensconced away and I had to work myself over in public. I found it liberating and strange. I'm still replaying it in my head, and I'm still getting off from it.)

I'll meme until I just can't meme no more

I did this on naughtyeliot's site. I just finished posting my responses as a comment on her blog. And that's how it goes--post your answers in a comment here and then post the questions on your blog for you readers.

1. Can you cook?
2. What was your dream growing up?
3. What talent do you wish you had?
4. Favorite place?
5. Favorite vegetable?
6. What was the last book you read?
7. What zodiac sign are you ?
8. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?
9. Worst Habit?
10. Do we know each other outside of blogging?
11. What is your favorite sport?
12. Negative or Optimistic attitude?
13. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
14. Worst thing to ever happen to you?
15. Tell me one weird fact about you:
16. Do you have any pets?
17. Do you know how to do the macarena?
18. What time is it where you are now?
19. Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
20. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?
21. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
22. What color eyes do you have?
23. Ever been arrested?
24. Favorite fictional character of all time?
25. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it?
26. If you could have one superpower, what would it be?
27. What’s your favorite hangout?
28. Do you believe in ghosts?
29. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
30. Do you swear a lot?
31. Biggest pet peeve?
32. In one word, how would you describe yourself?
33. Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you?

You Will

You will smile at me between courses at dinner
You will stroke your ankle against mine while I'm discussing politics with the family
You will lick away the last traces of dessert from your mouth and never take your eyes off me
You will ask if I know what you're thinking and I will just breathe silently

You will caress my wrists in the kitchen as I rinse the glasses in warm water
You will stand behind me, your breath warm on my neck, my ears
You will slip out when the others go into the living room for coffee
And I will follow you

You will clasp me in the yard underneath the tree with fall air falling on us
You will sweep in my trembles and brush in my heartbeat
You will sniff hungrily at me and slide your hands under my sweater, blouse, bra, to skin, and me

You will gather me into you and your mouth will wet and bite me like fruit
You will murmur and moan and pull me, pull me, pull me to you under the night sky
You will shift me down to the cold grass and I will never once think that this is wrong, that I am your sister, and you cannot have me this way

You will not utter a word, and when you're done, you will lie beside me, and wrap me, in a deep blanket of stars

- Nicole Blackman

Our girl

He hits me. He smacks my ass when I'm too saucy.

He's figuring out a new date for us, which includes his girl. She told him how she wants us. She wants him on his back, she wants him in my cunt, and then she wants to fuck my clit while he uses me.

I think I'm going to love this girl.

She's a sub; she loves to be whipped. She's not afraid of me, not yet. She quite well might be. Oh, the chance to whip her while she's on all fours. I want her to look back at me and beg me to stop. No. Not yet, I will not stop whipping her ass and her back. I want to bring her to tears, full tears, and then lead her face back to my cunt, so she can make me come while she cries. I will fuck her mouth; she will cry and take me in. Once I come in her mouth, and oh, I will, my Him and I will push her aside so we can fuck, and fuck, and fuck.

She is our possession. She will watch us.

Bass guitar

This is another memory of a boy from my past.

J. was hard to get to know. He was an even better flirt than I at that point in my life. Still, I managed to get his attention, and even better, I got him to want me. This was a messy relationship; we alternated between power.

Once day, I wanted to see a movie I knew none of my friends would see with me. So I went, and did one of the first activities I ever did on my own. It was a version of a romantic comedy, so by the end of it, all I thought about was J. J. and I in that movie, living out the happy ending. I drove to his house.

I was allowed down to his basement bedroom. I was giddy; full of girlhood excitement about the possibitilies of relationships, and about him. He was still in bed. He pulled me to him as I chattered about the movie. He silenced me with his mouth. Oh, his kisses; I have known none better. J. knew exactly where to place his lips (exactly over mine) and where to run his tongue into mine.

J. ran his hand down my left side, with touches alternating between soft and tight, depending on which part of my body he wanted nearest to him. He picked randomly, so the places I expected were ignored. He did this as he ran his left hand over my breast, over, and over, as I love. I unbuttoned my jeans before he got anywhere near my hips. With a few moves, I had the jeans near my knees, and I took his right hand from my side and started pulling his hand toward my clit. Oh, god, I already was so ready from him, from his kisses, from his touches.

He pulled his hand away and made a gesture which I knew meant for me to complete take off my jeans. As I did this for him, he removed my shirt and bra. He was still clothed. He looked down, observing my body, and pulled me over him. I lie at a angle over him.

He took his right hand and put it over the top of my thigh. His left hand went to my ribcage. From there, in that position, he began to play me. J. was a bass guitarist, and he wanted to show me. He played slap bass.

He played the top of my thigh. As he changed strings, he moved closer to the inside of my thigh. As he changed chords, his left hand moved closer, again, to my nipple.

J. was a consumate player. And because of him, I can play as well.

I Want To Write

I've been hinting, well, more than hinting, about this, on my Twitter, about something that happened over the weekend. I really want to write out this fantasy. But even thinking it disturbs me. It crosses a line of which I've never had to consider. I feel so guilty for the thoughts and the feelings I have. Yet, I know that if I write it out, it would be out of my mind and onto this virtual paper.

I degrade myself as I make myself come with this fantasy. I think of the names I'll be called, and the names I call myself as I imagine this person with me.

While I consider the pros, cons, and (considerable) repercussions of writing about what's on my mind, know this: I have fucked myself over and over again with these thoughts. It's so wrong, but it makes me feel so good.