Daddy looking for his little muse

I’m open to any pyl (pick your label) submissive, slave, primal prey, little, most anyone on that side of the bell curve. There seems to be confusion there. No point in starting a new thread though.

carry on

I crack through
Nesting Doll shells
One by one
They fall away

Some red with pain
Some blue with sadness
Some take days
Some weeks

Chiseling away
Hoping one day
To get to that diamond
At the core

Knowing you resist
Out of fear
Fear of letting go
Fear of being judged
Fear that if I hear all
I might leave you broken
With no one left
To pick up the shattered pieces

Yet, here I am
Undeterred, patiently
Kissing away those salty tears
With the hope
One day
You will surrender completely

Becoming whole

Hog-tied in the trunk
Curves upon curves
Winding up a lonely mountain
Should she have signed
That damned contract?
In her own blood?
No limits, no safe calls
No rights, nothing but
Swift obedience
He promised to never lie
Said the trip would take
Less than an hour
But time crawls
In 14.3 cu ft of pitch black boot
Naked, but thankful
Winter was months off
Slowing ... Stopping
Slam of the door
Creak of a large rusty gate, perhaps?
Forward again, gravel road
But long, a mile or so
Stopping, engine off
Door slamming
Rush of cool air as the trunk opens
Lifting her like a rag-doll
Up steps
Keys jingling
A door opens
Turning sideways then up
Wooden stairs, each heavy step
Echoing in her ears
Down a hall, sideways through door
And gently placed on a bed

My little doll. I think of her all day long. I know that once I get home, she’ll be in her spot. On her knees, exactly as I taught her. Her body exactly positioned like a Olympic gymnast. Her pretty eyes shut until I give her permission to open.

She feels the heat of my glans against her painted lips and opens them like a hungry little bird. My hands wrap tightly in her perfect hair as I tease her with just little tastes. Knowing that she wants nothing more to ram it home to the gagging point, but I go slow.

she:
He calls me about 10 minutes out and gives me the dressing orders. Usually a pair of panties he has picked out. He has committed dozens to memory. The rest of the clothing changes with his mood. Sometimes nothing but panties but I never know. I make sure every thing is perfect. That the coffee is finishing brewing as he steps in. I get on my knees and already the thin fabric separating what is his from the rest of the world is wet. The closer the time, the more excited I get. It’s like I have a G spot in my mouth for him. It makes me ache to feel him everywhere. And nothing in the world tastes better.

Her breathing is erratic as I feed her more of her reward. Soft moans are filtering through her wet warm mouth. I see that pouty frown when I withdraw but she doesn’t whimper or complain. Again I torture her like a house cat toying with a mouse. Watching more and more of the hardness filling her mouth. There are days when I take her fully there. Letting her feel the almost never ending squirts deep in her throat. Other days it’s just foreplay for what comes later. But she is my addiction. I must have her every day.

The Table

I woke up early as usual and just held Emily as she slept. She took comfort in being held and it seemed to keep the bad dreams away. I was horny. No surprise there. I’ve always been a morning person. But hearing the rain outside make me drift off again.

When I woke up again it was getting lighter outside. It was time to wake up. I started kissing her neck and shoulders. When I got to her breasts she sighed and rolled over on her back. My hardness now ached as I sucked her cherry hard pink nipples. I felt her small doll-like hand in my hair. I got on top of her just to feel her warmth.

“Good morning, my little doll.”

“Good morning, Sir. Should I start the coffee?”

“No, coffee can wait. Breakfast can wait. The whole big can wait. How is your heart this morning? Is it full and not weighted down with confessions?”

“Confessions, no,” Emily said blinking, wondering if there was some task she forgot.

“Good, my heart is full with no confessions. That’s two legs of the table. Do you trust me my Love?”

“Yes, Sir, with my life. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, my little doll. That’s another leg of the table.”

I bit a nipple until she whimpered. I felt her little legs wrap around my muscular thighs. I didn’t have to check to see if she was wet. She was always wet on mornings like this.

“Do you want me inside you, Emily? That’s the last leg of my table this morning.”

“Oh yes Sir, I would like that very much.”

I guided the fat mushroom like head to her tiny wet slit. Pushing against her tender pink flower-like lips.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“It’s your pussy, Sir.”

“And you want me there? How badly?”

“Very badly, Sir. I want it all, please Sir?”

“Inside you, where it belongs.”

“Oh yes, please. Stretch me, fill me, take what is Yours.”

My hands grabbed her by the wrists and pinned them to the lavender sheets. I pushed it in slowly feeling her muscles trying to suck it in all the way. Knowing the same muscles would try to expel me when she came.

“More?”

“Oh yes, fuck me Sir. Take your pleasure there.”

Screw the flowers
Send her the thorns
She not made, but born
Feeding off His powers

Just a look brings shivers
A grasp makes her faint
Romantic she ain’t
Pink silk in rivers

She has no worry
Of what others think
Living for His wink
Before is all blurry

Service is her pride
Pleasing is the one goal
Loving to her soul
Like a chaste bride

Happy New Year

Hi Daddy
I hope you had a nice new year

Shyly, she slides sensually
Out of the sun-dress
Her knees almost knocking
Her breath quick
Heartbeat like a scared fawn
Too late to run or hide
Like a vestal sacrifice
She gives herself away
Floating above her own
Shaking body, her essence
Rising, looking down
Not recognizing herself
In needy nakedness
Pining to be held
For the shock of strong hand
Slapping like simmering coals
Against her needy ass

I love the way you write!

Satisfyme21 said:

I love the way you write!

Click to expand...

The writing is nice, but that is not how you treat your angel.

It builds as water against the dam
She wishes she could open the gates
Be free of inhibitions holding her
But she is fragile and scarred
By deceit and dark secrets

Yet drawn to Him, thinking he’s different
But every step forward reverses in shame
Leaving her in submissive limbo
Hoping beyond hope that this is not the day
He packs in and disappears

Very inspirational Sir, I enjoy reading your work

thank you for sharing, melanie

Poet to poet
Heart to heart
It’s a mystery
This connection

How words wrap
Around us, Connect us
Twist and seduce us
Breeching the distance

Giving us substance
On the darkest night
A cold lifeless
Icy cutting wind

But seasons turn
Drab grey goes color
Birds celebrate dawn
Hope again reigns