Waxed and Ready


“I am ready,” and I press my face into the sheets.  “Sit up for me, let me run my hands over your arms, your breasts.”

I obey, silently lifting myself from the pillow.  “Take me,” I whisper.

She cups my breasts, still raw after being waxed, “So smooth,” she says.  “Thank you,” she adds.

Gently, now, ever so gently, she pushes me back down onto the bed.  She knew my body better than I knew it myself.  I feel a finger inside me, probing, ever so slowly, and as I relax she tugs up on the inside of me.  “Am I big enough for you?” she asks.  But that does not matter to me at all.

She is behind me now, as I press my face into the pillow once more, this soft, blissful pillow.  She masturbates her cock.  As if it were not hard enough, or large enough.  Yes, she is slowly masturbating her cock.  See, I know this, even though I cannot see her doing it.  And then, as I wait, as I relax even more, she enters me.

I sigh so quietly that even she cannot hear it.  “Hold me,” I say.

Slightly put off her rhythm, by my talking, she says, “What?”

“Hold me.  Love me!”

My entire body hungers for her.  Love me, hold me, protect me.  Let this embrace last forever!

Urgently now, I whisper just that little bit more loudly, “Own me, take me, and take me completely!”

For I am yours!



Scented unsteadiness tears the air

While the thunder waits

And waits for us to notice.  It waits

As we bait each other with talk

Talk, talk, talk!  Mere words instead

Of feelings.  We use our head to clear

The air.  But we hear still that other sound

That dull hum beneath the street

We walk, silent, dark, arms swinging

Quiet, alongside. Each alone.


Lost, we walk the drift of strangers

Are those your hands which hold papers,

Lighters, promises, lies?  Or mine?

The hands pass one to another,

Mine, yours, someone, anyone:

Father to friend, and each to each,

They could never know.  Where are they going,

Where would they?  They are done

Each and every one.


Human Punching Bag

I love being punched.  Bullied at school, they used to punch me sometimes. I was afraid in those days.  But later, as I grew stronger, I was able to be punched in more places, not just my arms, my legs.  No, eventually, I was able to be punched in my chest, my stomach.  Until I was black with bruises.  How I loved my bruises!  I am the human punching bag. And you can beat me as much as you like!

I felt her enter me, warm and hot….

I felt her enter me, warm and hot.  “Is that ok for you,” she asked as she tentatively began her journey to my deep and warmest interior.

“Yes, O, yes!” I whispered.  Gently, then, ever so gently, she pushed further and further into me.  Not pulling back, just gently widening me, opening me to her.

I pressed my face into the pillow.  I relaxed.  And slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed in further and further.  I imagined her cock just then.  I had kissed her toes, her feet, wet and warm, I had brushed my lips against her skin, her legs, then her inner thighs.  I watched her cock growing, almost by a law of its own.  Soft and beautiful penis.  I took her shaven balls in my mouth.  She had washed herself, so there was a faint scent of soap.  I had run my tongue up along the shaft of her enormous penis, so swollen now with desire, power, heat.  And this was what was now driving slowly down into the deepest depths of me.

“Is it still ok for you”she asked again, less tentatively this time.

“Just beautiful,” I murmured.  And as if reassured then, she drove suddenly into me, and I felt her fill the entire inside of me.  Would I burst apart, I wondered as she drove deep and deep.  I felt the heat, the pain, ever so slight.  And I relaxed again.

And she drove on and on.

I was almost delirious, dreaming.  “I want to look into your face,” she said.  “I want to look into your eyes as I fuck you.”

I turned over.  I felt her enter me again.  My legs were in the air, and she held them like the handle bars of some large machine that needed steering.  She pushed them back so that my knees rested gently on the sides of my stomach.  She looked down at me then, and at that moment, I looked up at her.  I felt as though she suddenly owned me, and that I now could submit my very soul to her.  My eyes moistened slightly, and she smiled then.  A gift to me.  I gave myself to her in my turn.  My gift to her.

“Do you want me to cum?” she asked, smiling even more broadly..

Yes, I said.  O, my goodness, yes I do.

The best part of a beating….

Anticipation is a strange thing.  Ahead of any kind of session, I feel a kind of fear, longing, and desire all mixed up.

But the strangest thing is that the thing I like best is explaining my desires.  Then it depends on who I am talking to.  Is this a person who will beat me?  Is it someone who will humiliate me?  One who will punch my body until it turns so red that I know black bruises will appear in two days time (I do not know why heavy bruising takes an extra day – I will never understand that).  Is it someone who will want to bend me over and bang my glory hole?  Someone who wants to spit into my eyes?  I am never sure until we speak….and if I ever get hard, it is just then.  Once the session starts, my flaccid cock just dribbles away….and I am in a strange kind of delirium.

Afterwards, I just feel like I float away….I feel utterly invincible.

The Silent Sea

The sea rolls me, foaming over and over.  A body, my body, sluicing dripping, oozing salt water spluttering, nose running, choking, gasping, body pounded, pounded over and over.  And I feel it fall and fall.

The sea turns me this way and that….and I let it, I let it run over me.  Clothes tearing, pulling away, heavy, holding me back.  Life into death, death back into life…I taste salt, salt.  The iron of blood, mixes with salt.

The sound roars, crashes over me, crashes into me.  The sea withdraws, and I let myself drift out with it.  Drift, drift.

My face under water now, suddenly I hear it.  The silence.  Sweetest of sounds, blood in my ears.  No sound, not really sound, just thundering in my ears.  A silence that roars.

The silence of the sea.

Why, O why, am I so filled with slutty desires?

Sometimes I just want to be beaten, not for any sexual reason but because I feel I deserve it…to be beaten for just being and feeling all wrong.  It is as well that I feel the need for punishment because, in truth, I really do deserve it.  Who could trust in someone like me?  Am I even a person at all?  I do not do these things as much any more….and I am not even sure why that is so…

My desires run to rooms full of men, women, transexuals, all wanting to fill me, to beat me, to humiliate me….to just have one cock after another entering me, ejaculating into me….my body just a thing.

I am become object


I am become object,

Anyone’s, yours perhaps

For the taking.


I am become object

Love without being

Body without form

Life without life

Writhing thing on another’s floor

Whore-form boy

Yours, perhaps

For the taking.