Friday, October 11, 2013

Combustible Matter, BDSM short

And here's another short piece from a slave to her new Master. If last week was "lesbian week", this week it's "Master and slave", the real world kind of Master/slave that arises when Doms and subs get brutally honest about what's really been lurking on the fringes of their lives forever, the kink that's never had a chance to fully flower ... until now. When the right masterful man comes along and recognizes a slave for who she is, this submissive female discovers the place where she's always belonged. Her excitement is beyond her expectations. Both yesterday's short story and this prose poem center on the submissive act of preparing for a visit from her Master.


Combustible Matter

I gotta write about this now because it’s all cluttered inside my head…
About how I shaved myself for him last night,
one side of my crotch to the other
And when I touched my asshole,
I thought of his erection sliding inside
When I touched my virginal cunt
My entire body spasmed

And when in the morning I announce to him the fact that my pussy is smoothly shaved
And pleased with my announcement
he tells me not to touch myself,
not until he sees me,
not until his fingers and his cock and his mouth
let loose the sexual harlot pent up inside this hungry crotch

Living with his orders now
my inner muscles tighten on air
feeling emptiness
and longing
desire, leaping on desire

I’m wet, wet against everything now
the chair
the sheets
the edge of the table
the fender of my car
hell, I’d fuck a lamppost if there was one in front of me
but that would be verboten too
I suppose

Not touch myself?
That seems impossible for a randy slut like me.
Does he know that every time I stop myself from doing
what’s been naturally mine to do forever and always,
that every time I reach for that wet place between my thighs
and stop myself from going further—
because he’s laid this order on me—
that I think of him?
Remember him?
And recall the simple fact that he’s claimed my body as his

It’ll be twenty-five hours of torture until I see him
til I greet him at the door
and lay myself wide open
for this hands,
his cock
his mouth

I can do nothing right now to satisfy this urgent, pressing need in me
Except write
Except pour myself into something useful
and smile as my pussy spasms on the empty air
Remembering him.


July 2013
Copyright, © 2013 by Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved. Unpublished

2 comments:

  1. i am gulping because to be honest all the sensuality in your "voice" the eagerness and raw uninhibited composed yet there was a raw natural wonder that you painted a deliciously vivid image of what is yearning....the feeling of your "bound" sex as his command made you handcuff to his order...wow...that was super, my skin felt it....brava!
    love everything from the word choice...my own personal favorite was when you say "but that would be verboten too"...oh that was soo super elegant and totally growl for marvelously penned! xoxox

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  2. Wow, Rafael. Not sure how to respond but to say thank you for sharing your thoughts/reaction on this piece. As a writer, it's always gratifying to know that your words provoked a response... that is the intention, isn't it?

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