What Good Luck

CONTENT WARNING: Sexually explicit content. BDSM and bondage, may be unsuitable to some readers. 18+ only.

He leans, resting his forehead 
into mine. He is unable 
to slap me; force abandons 
his hand until he’s cradling 
my face in one palm. 
His calculating look 
softens into feeling
and his words 
grow simple– 
“You’re a good girl,” and 
“I’m lucky.”

I drop under. 
In the third hotel 
I hit a threshold dose. 
It isn’t sex 
that does it, not exactly, 
but once I cum for him, 
hog-tied with his cock 
soft in my mouth 
he lifts my chin, 
he takes my gaze, 
he asks me what 
just happened. He tells me, 
in an instant, I have changed. 

Thank you to Wayne Crest for the photo and the inspiration. ❤️ 

Love Notes

Sharing the Wand

At first she is intimidated at the thought of trying it. But she sees my face when it touches me and she rises, ready for it. Daddy with the brand-new power tool. 

I start her out by straddling her, both of us with panties on, mounds together in an almost-kiss. I nest the head of it between us. Use my bone to push the vibrations against her. 

But soon I am taking all of the pleasure for myself. She sees that, and she takes over command.

She wants me naked. I protest. I need my panties to dull and spread the rapid-fire shaking of the strong new thing. 

Just this once, she chooses to allow it, but I’d better not question her again. 

I swear, I promise. Anything you say… not a question… right away…

Cameron, to my left, wants to hold a gaze with me. He only wants a little but I give him nothing. I keep my face open to her. To only her. I choose. 

And he is waiting, wingside. He is on his mark, hard and ready by the time I let him enter. 

They flip me on my belly. Press me down onto the bulb of the wand.

He shoves his hips between my shaking, locking legs…

Thank you for reading this little page of my diary. If you enjoyed, remember to let me know in the comments, like and subscribe 🥰

Photo by Anna Shvetsfrom Pexels


Weather Balloon

Over and over 
he brings me 
to the edge 
of the bed, 

those penetrating eyes, 
that penetrating hand 
drills into me until 
the pressure mounts 
and builds. I ask,
“Are you into squirting?” 
and his eyes spin wild, 
“Only one way to find out.”
His answer holds
a supplication 
and an offer. 
They tumble 
from his mouth. 
I catch them both,

and I deny them,

holding water back. 
I will not test him.
Better to let him wonder 
in the winter morning slush, 
still a stranger to the rush 
of springmelt flood. 
I am not his lab. I won’t 
be an experiment that fails.