At first I watched her slowly.
Wordlessly, she taught me how to talk.
At last I sculpted, tasted, touched
her body in the dark.
I know I’m bad like the apple.
Tainted, bad.
I thought her Galahad.
How sad, how sad.
I cut my hair, green hair
pretend she’s there
and now, for comfort, kiss the air.

Beyond the smoke I felt those lovely eyes
darken with the secret of surprise.
The truest thing I’ve ever done
the ease with which I told your easy lies.

For years I watched her arching neck
(perhaps you think it wrong of me to tell),
nourished her, suckled her, watched her break.
With ash upon my lips I go to hell.

I supped the coolest dark, so deep and long,
longed to taste her with a traitor’s tongue.

I waken to the ringing of a distant bell.
Wrong, you think, to tell?
I might as well.
I might as well.

Adultery is murder of a kind.
I’ve spent my adulthood half mad, half blind.
I long to see her waiting at my door.
This is not the way to be.
It really isn’t me.
I used to run my busy life
so effortlessly.

Here I sit and watch the light,
feel the noise of breath,
dream the life that I must reach.

I have heard the whispering of husbands
each to each.

Pauline Rowe

(Pauline Rowe’s bio may be found Here, and her blog HERE.)


master wear a mask when you break out the leather
the whip’s encounter loosens the back to plumage

how strange whip’s sibilance moving
through ears like a wet ribbon harmonium

harpsichord its lisp then nothingness

it once lived past the pecan orchard past the barn
where a young girl hung herself in summer

with the reins of her horse past the river and its stash
of leaves small animals’ waterlogged bodies

master the whip is whispering birds gather
around her handle the night thick with red feathers

I am encumbered by the whip’s lasciviousness
by the monarchy of your posture by breath and braid

master you are a totem pole with zapata moustache while my back
is the z-coordinate pattern on vellum satsuma plum

the room grows thick with incisions weather me better master
white votives and odour of cascarilla float to the river

stutter startle wind can carry a whip but how
can a dead girl swerve into flight and miss the sky altogether

Simone Muench

(Simone Muench is a fan of horror, she’s a professor of creative writing and film studies and a vegetarian. You may find her website HERE)

vengeance begins

November 26, 2015


We watch from the shadows, we dance in the dark, you cannot hide, for you have been marked. We curse your souls to pay for your sins, and with our words, our vengeance begins.

The Witches Curse Book


My moment was taking a risk whilst massaging a male client, I am a, or should I say was, a very professional aromatherapist. But this day a hottie turned up for a treatment and as I massaged him I became very aroused, as I massaged his buttocks I very cheekily slid my lubricated middle finger up his anus, and to my delight he let me. I just let it wander up his ass and he loved it. I then opened my dress and asked him to turn over, we ended up in a very erotic 69 position, eating and licking each other until we both had the most amazing climax. I simply then dressed, told him to come to reception when he was ready, which he did, and his wife was waiting in the reception area waiting to pick him up. I felt very powerful knowing what had just happened just yards from his wife and my boss. I was slightly embarrassed when my next client walked into the treatment room and starting sniffing as if he was smelling something strange, little did he know he was inhaling 2 very powerful orgasms.

Source HERE


November 26, 2015


The longing. The breathless hold. Finally-the touch. The pleasure comes in waves. Pushing out my thoughts of doubts and clutter. Concentrating on the moment, the touch. The littlest moan escapes as all focus is centered on – the touch.

Master, Thank you.

I adore your touch. I long for your touch. The feeling of being found in a sea of chaos. The feeling of total submission. The totality of my desires aligned with yours. Taken, without a doubt of being Yours. Continually and always.

The reassurance through- the touch.


always been my dream

November 26, 2015


I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when it’s hollow, when ceilings are harder and farther away. Then I can breathe, and can think while others are sleeping, in a way can stop time, can have it so – this has always been my dream – so that while everyone else is frozen, I can work busily about them, doing whatever it is that needs to be done, like the elves who make the shoes while children sleep.

Dave Eggers
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

It hurts your mouth

November 26, 2015


Yes, this says it all…

November 26, 2015


heavenly high jubilation

November 26, 2015


What if pleasure and pain are so closely connected that he who wants the greatest possible amount of the one must also have the greatest possible amount of the other, that he who wants to experience the “heavenly high jubilation” must also be ready to be “sorrowful unto death”?

Friedrich Nietzsche
The Gay Science

That final parting kiss…

November 26, 2015