Postmodern expression – love song (Tyler Kent White)

Love_by_chrysbbb

“I can’t say I know
the burdens you bear
the struggles you face
or the fights you have fought
in learning to love yourself

I do not have the answers
the solutions
or remedies
you may be searching for

but I do have something
and though it’s just one thing
I will give you all that I can

and through my kindness
I hope you will start to see
that you alone have always been
and you alone will always be
just that,
enough.
for everyone.
for everything.”
― Tyler Kent White

 

Words Tyler Kent White

image courtesy of chrysbbb on deviantART

Musical offering Max Richter ‘Embers’

Shodo

Traditional_Calligraphy_by_TattooTemple

My body your canvas

Living words of ecstasy

Passion between souls

words errant satiety image courtesy of TattooTemple on deviantART

Learning to Kneel (part one, erotic fiction)

I would like to announce that this story has been written from an idea suggested and gifted to me by Mr. Xajow. He is a talented writer, a well-articulated, thoughtful man and Dominant. His blog contains a variety of topics, if you haven’t already please visit him at Liberate One. On a personal note I would like to sincerely thank Mr. Xajow for his ongoing support, mentorship and for being the one that initially drew my interest to wordpress and blogging.

Please note that this post contains Dominant and submissive themes that may be offensive to some readers and pleasurable for others. This piece is not particularly unsafe for work… yet…

Now, to the story…

 

The first time he asked me to kneel before him I thought it would be easy. After all, how often had a single look from him brought me to my knees? I remember the first time I felt this desire, before he began training me. Even then he probably saw my desire to submit, saw in my eyes the need to kneel. Since we had just met, it was too soon for me to openly submit to him, and yet, in a way, I did.

After all, these first times were meetings in public places. At the time we met I wasn’t anyone’s submissive. I was too shy for the clubs but I also knew that I didn’t want to just ‘scene’. I wanted to fully submit to a single Dominant. I wanted, needed to serve 24/7. I had tried lesser arrangements and the torture it stirred within me taught me that it was not my way. Nothing less than full commitment was enough to sate the need to serve that burned deep in my soul.

I met him by chance, or perhaps you might call it fate, at an art exhibition entitled ‘Fear and Beauty’. I was lost in an image, a black and white photograph, a nude of a woman in utter uninhibited submission.

She was posed as though she had been ordered to kneel knees spread shoulder width apart and ass resting on her ankles. Then however she had been asked to lean backwards so her upper body was exposed, her head resting lightly on the ground and her arms above her head. Her face was turned toward a low mirror. In the mirrors reflection her face was visible. Her eyes were filled with respect, love and awe as she looks up at her Dominant. Her only adornment is what I would describe as a day collar, a chunky metal chain of heavy links around her delicate neck.

erotic-pose-gillian-charters-barnes

Everything about her pose and facial expression spoke of her absolute, unrestrained submission, the freedom she felt and the sense that her Dominant was a man of integrity because of the deep trust and reverence reflected in her eyes.

I could not look away although I knew I had been blatantly staring at the piece for nearly an hour. Instinctively, I became aware that a man was slowly approaching me. He came to stand near enough behind me that his earthy masculine cologne entered my sensory awareness yet I still couldn’t tear my eyes from the image before me.

His presence made me acutely aware of the awkward way my feet were placed, that my lips were parted and my breath was erratic. Moistening my lips I subtly closed them, adjusting my weight I placed my high-heeled feet more elegantly and let out a sigh that I hoped was not audible.

When he spoke his voice was deep and strong, I felt it vibrate through me as he asked; “what is it about her that captivates you so?” My eyes closed and hands clenched at my side. The answer pounded in my mind but fear gripped me. I felt that my answer was the key that would unlock my deepest desires leaving me unbound, naked and terrified. I couldn’t answer because he was a stranger yet I wanted so desperately to speak the truth not a shallow lie.

He stepped a little closer towards me and spoke again in a deeper more private tone. “Breathe little one, then tell me what it is that captivates you so.”

This command weakened my knees and forced my lips to form the words I both longed and dreaded to utter: “Her submission is perfect, I wish to offer such a gift to one deserving.” The silence although momentary, roared in my ears. I had opened my eyes again and sucked in my breath feeling I had exposed myself in public to a stranger.

Again his deep commanding voice entered my body, “Such a beautiful gift little one, why does it frighten you so?”

I let his words rattle within my mind, he said ‘beautiful gift’. This statement gave me strength. “I fear that what I long for most will never be.” I heard him sigh, like speech and punctuation his breath spoke to me of a similar longing followed by a pause, a semi colon of waiting. I held completely still nearly forgetting to breathe waiting for the rest of his sentence.

“Turn and look at me little one before I ask you to join me for coffee.” He was giving me the indication that it was time to choose whether I was interested in his invitation to speak with him further. I tried to calm the butterfly flurry in my stomach as I turned to meet his gaze. He was taller than I, comfortably so, older than I, comfortably so, his eyes a rich hazel holding wisdom, strength, kindness, intrigue, and distinct, unquestionable Dominance. I bit my lip as I held his gaze, “Well little one, would you care to join me?”

This was the first time I felt the overwhelming urge to kneel before him.

Words errant satiety image Gillian Charters-Barnes Fine Art America

Part two

Keepsakes

Raven and Lockets

Mementos tucked safe within the locket of my mind. Words whispered, voice hushed and raw with emotion. Hearts thunder when reciprocated love revealed. A shooting star that blazed in earnest while in silent embrace we watched enthralled. Scent from the base of your earlobe. A pressed flower from the field of our love. The sound of your approach. Tears shed in shared grief. The hum of satiated carnal delight. Sensations and images varied, sharing only the thread of our narrative, one I pray will never end.

 

Image courtesy of Phedre1985 on deviantART

Chimera

Iurie Belegurschi

Night upon night I silently dream of the gods in their heavenly home. This night, song of wonder, laden with aching sublime beauty finally tore sound of awe from throat capturing attention of he, glory of glory, unfathomable majesty, his eyes turned to mine. Irises opened to see beyond time, gift of sight blessing of his omnipotent gaze. Seeing my eyes, open, unwavering as I fearlessly accept his gift, knowing that I hear the music of the spheres, he calls for me to join their feast. Gracefully accepting I am drawn effortlessly toward sky. Hair cascades around me adorned with stars, nightgown woven to threaded gown of gold, my skin illuminated from within, I become a jewel of the night. He asks me to dance a celestial turn with he, comet birthed at the joining of our hands, he sets crown wrought from Northern lights atop my glittering head and laughing dances me through the many worlds. My hearts master, my love, cannot from task stray too long and at comets return I with earth reunited yet sacred, rainbow eyed son of mine carries knowledge in his heart gifted from distant father, as I still see across worlds to kiss beloved Rígr and whisper wish to him of steadfast love and task.

Northern-lights-moon

Inspired by myths and the poem Rígsþula or Rígsmál (“Lay of Ríg”) about the Norse god Heimdallr, known as Rígr when walking the lands. Both images of the Northern lights: Image one Iurie Belegurschi and image two Miriadna.

 

If not now…

__freyja_by_cerine-d4roucs

Barely old enough I am obscurely allowed to take part in the evening’s festivities. Tomorrow our men go across the sea. Many will not return. I suspect this is the only reason I am welcome though nothing could keep me from this night. I know, the one whose eyes I hunger for leaves on the morrow and I know not if I will ever find those haunting hazel eyes on mine again. I serve all the warriors and shield maidens, meat and mead with a smile regardless of errant hand, easily scolded. It is clearly known among us who has eyes for whom and although this knowledge has me flushed with embarrassment tonight is not a night for such qualms. If not now, perhaps never and this is not our way.

I catch his eye; he is a little older than me yet his bravado out weighs his knowledge in war and in love but he, as I, knows this is the moment. As I fill his mead horn his eyes drink my all and I welcome it. I would welcome his errant hand but he is content to wait and the fiery smoulder between us grows. I feel the flush of passion fill my body in a way I have never felt before. I remember the first flicker of this flame, it was a few moons ago; I knew it was because I had found my kindred soul and that it meant I was becoming a woman leaving my childhood behind. How I wanted him to be mine. I wanted him to be the one to explore this feeling with me, to take me away from prying eyes and taste my lips to drink of me for this first, and perhaps last, time. As I watched him I poured this intent into my eyes and offered soft prayer to the goddesses and gods that it would be so.

Finally he moves toward me taking the mead jug and platter from my hands he placed them on the table then lifts me effortlessly into his arms. We leave the hall to a cacophony of jubilant cheering and blessings. Once outside in the cold air he looks deeply into my eyes and smiles. Lowering me to the frozen earth he brushes stray hair from my face, kisses each of my eyelids and then eyes locked to mine brings his lips to taste of me. The flame that scorched through us leaves me flushing with heat. The steam of our breath in the frigid air mingles as we gaze at each other with naked want and mutual understanding. He gathers me into his strong arms again and carries me toward his home voice raised loudly in song of gratitude to the beautiful Freyja for bringing him such a fine woman, such a fine wife.

Image courtesy of Cerine from deviantART