Leather!

I love the smell of leather. I love the feel of leather. I love the look of leather. I love the bite of a leather toy on my flesh.
I am a big fan of leather!

I've always loved the smell of it. I remember telling my friends "there is just something about it!" back when I was a teenager and got my first leather jacket. References to leather even crept into my emo poetry. I believe Hazy Eyes and Leather was a title I came up with. To me, leather always represented something sexual and exciting. Perhaps because I felt so sexy wearing it?

In my relationship with Master, leather has made an appearance many times. There's the sexy leather harness he picked out for me....

There's the leather corset (my very first corset!)...

There are leather cuffs, to go with that corset....

There is my collar, my prized and treasured collar....

Oh, and let us not forget the implements! Leather floggers and paddles can leave quite the delicious mark!

Leather is always going to be one of those scents that I associate with hot sex (or at least with looking hot!). For me, it shall forever be in style!

 

Kink of the Week

On Writing... About Sex

I've heard that writing about what you know and love is the key to writing well. I am not sure if that is entirely true - at least for me!

I love to write, and yet I feel I perfected my craft on emo poetry in my teenage years. So now, when I try to write about things that make me happy, the absence of blood-drops and icy tears tends to throw me off. My attempts at happy poetry (almost!) always feel so clumsy and cloying.

Yet... despite all that, my exhibitionist's heart can't resist the opportunity to share my sexcapades with the world. So into happy territory I plunge.

Thank you for coming along for the ride!

Captivity

Frantically fighting the ominous darkness,
Watching the tiny sun steadily flee...
Demons are hiding - some of them mine -
Behind the darkening shadows.
Trying to hide behind pillars, myself,
I am always unwittingly on display
In a cage of mesh and metal,
Unable to see who is watching.
Longing to once again sink into plush,
And leather, and metal, and warm white wax.
To gratefully beg on my knees -
Bring it all back - insouciant summer,
Sweat dripping determined down my back,
Arms held outstretched for I know I now can fly.
And fly, little dove, I do.
But in those chilly winter gusts I have no choice but captivity.
Draw tightly the shades and resign myself
To a tiny snowglobe world- "Cell two hundred and ten"
Walking outside, an invisible leash -
The most delicate ropework of fear -
Keeps me unable to stray and unwilling to try.
Inside, sometimes those walls
Posses a sense of dread.
They feel like they are closing in -
Suffocating in low light.
Grip around my throat so tightly
If I move I might just black out
And then come back to, in a flurry of hysterical tears.
Dreams of reading "Heathcliff" and "Earnshaw"
Scrawled in morning dew on the walls...
The beautiful siren I await
Arrives in a vision of repression turned to evil.
A hideous sight - and I tremble awake.
Mummified in Egyptian cotton,
The grip of flesh keeps me grounded,
He holds me down where I know I am safe.
I hate the reasons to live hidden away
As I hate to dream of walking in hallways alone,
Yet once I am in it, sufficiently barricaded,
I can breathe a little more.
Freedom can live within my cell walls,
As long as I remain obedient
To the rules of this delicate game.
I am the prey, this is understood.
But in this particular captivity
I am kept safe from the evil snakes
That quietly pass us by each day,
Whispering in hisses that this game is not over yet.
Caress my bound hands and tell me "It all was only a dream"
And in this calming room I could
Relax enough that my wrists
Are at one with the fear and desire for safety
That marked my skin so red.
And it could become a part of me
Enough that still I could find
Some content in captivity.