Yin & Yang

“What are you up to, sweetheart?”

Pretty ordinary words, yet so exceptional in the situation we are in. He is on his knees, legs spread a bit for improved poise, wrists shifting gracefully in ropes behind his back. I am sitting on a chair in front of him, all bare except for my thoughts, silently sitting from such a long time, reflecting over issues bothering me of late. They are all coming at me from all the sides at once.

On his face, there’s that little knowing smile, obviously he senses that I am staring at him yet vacantly. He can’t in fact see that through that make-shift blindfold I have created using my wide hair band. I really gaze at him then, realizing how beautiful he looks in bondage, in MY bondage. How much seeing him, right there, calms me down, gets me into that happy, peaceful place.

And he asks again. Subtly Smilingly. Almost Provoking.
I see no need to reply. I’m just stroking his tresses which ever so softly falls over his forehead. This is the kind of touch I know that maddens him with desire… To touch me back; to be touched by me further more. Even deeper.

I take a hold of his hairs, pull him close, stealing soft kisses. The kind of kiss where he wants to respond yet I move before he can actually do so.

I kiss him tenderly on his forehead, on his chin, on his left shoulder, moving a bit closer, pulling his head back, exposing his throat, gently biting him there and then turning that into a soft kiss as well.

His lips parts slightly, heavy with want. Even though he is excited by now, he looks so relaxed, content where he is. Bondage is not a burden to him. He knows that I want him there – just like that. He also knows that further I would lead him where I fancy him to be, doing what I wish him to do.

Right here in this moment, this world of mine is perfect, unlike the other one outside. And its because of him, it’s because of us.

Guiding him by the grip on his hairs, I position his head down, between my spread legs. His warm breath tickling me slightly, turning me on even more.

Tonight, I am going to let him worship me, truly. For what I am to him. And he is going to bring me serenity in my otherwise flawed world.

Me and Him. Ying and yang. Perfect harmony. Bound so intimately as one. In love and lust. In pain and pleasure.


Him & Me!


We are before each other. Kneeling quietly, looking into her eyes looking back into mine, a thousand mirrors into the soul. We know why we’re here, yet neither makes a motion or utters a word. We are as samurai facing each other in a downpour, swords drawn, knowing the first to make a move loses the critical advantage.

I can see the questions going through her mind as they go through mine. “What is this person like? Where will this lead? Am I ready to go there with this person? We know what we want, we’ve come this far, we have so much further to go.


We knelt and I watched. Looking down, the terror that was inside him was as palpable as the confidence I exuded. No matter how long we had known each other, he had never felt my touch. Not really.

Today would be his day.

Watching him there, I felt a rush wash through me. It was a good feeling; a hopeful and anticipatory high of those emotions I feel only rare.

He would feel like a virgin under my touch. It was new — I was new to him– and he was scared. As he thought and wondered and reflected and busied his mindsomewhere else, I reached down and touched his shoulder.

He shuddered throughout his entire being and his fear mired heavily in the core of his soul. He had to remind himself to breathe.

Then I began.


Her touch was nothing short of electric. The nails digging softly into the flesh helps me confirm that I am truly here and that this isn’t an illusion.

We have been here many times before, but not truly here. As the theater of the mind gives way to the theater of the body, my thoughts begin to rush ahead,trying to know where you will go and what you will want to accomplish. I know already that you seek my total surrender, to take me to places I’ve never been.

However, I have to wonder where *I* will take *you.”

I know that your style is legendary and I know that you dig deep for one’s total and absolute. But where do you wish to go? What will I teach you to feel as we journey together.

Closing my eyes and reminding myself that this is only reality, I quietly wait…


It’s the rare person who kneels and asks, “What do I do for you?” When that unique personna metamorphoses into a person who is no longer a virtualillusion, then I remember why I do what it is that I do.

My journey is an ellipse, as is yours, and at times, they will intersect. When they do, we meet and we walk together for a time. The play is temporal;the meaning eternal.

I take what I want — absolutely and clearly. But I never want to take that which is not given with the spirit that it must change me, too. It’s the relationshipthat I seek; it’s the passion that I crave.

Feeling your hot breath fill your lungs with short, almost painful gasps, my lips curl upward and my fingers take your face in a strong grip. Pulling your hair and forcing your face to point directly into my eyes, I will look

behind them and see what is in your soul.

And if I like it, I will take it.

You will feel new. Like a virgin. Untouched until I touch. Inexperienced.

Unsure. Off balance. Teetering on the edge.

Just where I want you.


Your hands across my face, my eyes intertwined with yours, souls dancing in a seemingly discoordinate unison…

As my body begins to explore and crave your touch, I can’t help but wonder what it is that I feel eminating from within. The act of surrender on the physical level is just that, physical. Anyone can do it and there’s no special trick to giving one’s body for another. The truest act of surrender comes from within, from the giving of the body, soul, and mind as one complete package. I can feel this rising from within, wanting to know your absolute hold over me, wonderingwhat it feels, smells, tastes, and sounds like.

To be totally immersed within you, yet being one with you at the same time. The fear is very real, but the calm has come sweeping in and it takes over slowly, ensuring that every part of me knows and understands what it is you want, howit is that you feel.

My eyes eventually fall from yours and close quietly with my head hanging down, but not out of shame. As is our world, my head hangs because it is heavy with pride at what it is I’m about to give.

Only when a gift is valued and cherished should it be given. Only when the results cannot be predicted should you give this gift to me.


You don’t know what it feels like because you haven’t been there with me. And I cannot predict what it will feel like because I have not been there withyou.

I do know that my experience and your trust in me will take us somewhere that perhaps neither of us has heretofore known. That place, wherever it is and whateverit holds, is one of the places where our journeys will intersect.

Your eyes will be taken from you as your body feels what it doesn’t yet know. Your hands will be likewise bound so that your heart and soul can emerge from under whatever hides them and stand — freely — between us. In the tween, we will be over / against one another and a new spirit will emerge during the momentthat our journeys cross.

What I can tell you about that miraculous moment is that in it, you will soar. I will lift your spirit and at the same time, restrain your body. You will be nowhere, but you will be within the tween between us. It’s one of my favorite places because the sounds you make while in that place will be of sheer delight.And agony. The good kind.


There is no greater sense than the freedom of restraint. To feel one’s body tied down, yet have the mine running and soaring far and wide is rarely unparalelled in the world. Part of the rush is the amount of trust that you invest in the person holding the methods to both increase and remove your bondage. To know that one person can either free you or put you deeper into bondage pushes you further and further into mental bondage, to where you are also tightening your restraints because you know that as the bonds get tighter, you go further and further out.

It is while flying high that I will watch you and move with you. I will learn to think, breathe, act, and move as you and we shall become as one. I can already feel as we reach to each other, gently stretching ourselves to see who will make that first connection, who will move forward. I can already feel as our ideas and energies begin to pace about each other, watching, looking, analyzing,wondering…

For now, the dance continues.


Freedom is elusive.
When you think you are free, you learn that you are enslaved in self-proclaimed restraint. A mind soars while reaching for the elusive gust of heart-opening freedom, but it finds that the goal has leapt to a higher and, later, even highershelf. You reach and your fingers grasp empty air.

Only a trained hand attached to a caring heart can encompass your fingers and together touch the fleeting space you seek. That is my hand. Those are yourfingers.

If you dance with me, the cord that ties you to your reality will be stretched and strained. Taxing your innermost strength, we will watch — together — as you struggle to give me what I want and what you crave. It won’t be the ropesthat bind you; rather, it will be your own mind.

I hold the key; the scissors to that cord.

Dance MY dance with me and we will visit a new place as one.

Something Good…

Normally eroticas are written by men, for men, thus most of the times an erotica takes no interest in even attempting to tick a female’s mind. Of course, none is to blame here, its abt the quantity which wants the graphical details and thats that to it. Of course once in a while, you get to see a few good erotica written with a mind, a mind that thinks how a female would like to read something that she would call erotic. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy graphical natured eroticas, its just that I’d also need same amount of what we call romance, a connection beyond the mere physical, a logical explanation for things. And thats why i’ve always loved reading Akasha and Amity, because they are female and they have this element in their eroticas. I love writing too, and will be writing as soon as I get enough time and drive to pen my fantacies and realities down. smiles. But anyhow, right now what I’ve read recently was one of the kind. I don’t know the author, it was send to me by an anonymous reader who knows what I’d like to read.

I’m putting an excerpt here, wishing to know who is the author, and if at all, he/she has written more, I’d love to read them.

here goes…

“Men are strength incarnate: they are courage bound up in muscle -the sort of muscle that bulges eternally, in any situation, tirelessly, sweating. Men are combative by nature and heroic by design. They surge with passion, commanding obedience to their will – which erupts bold ideas from the hard terrain of masculine flesh.
They are not weak. They do not give in, surrender, or yield. They defy and rebel by genetic command. Testosterone. Men are grand-scale sperm cells, swimming against the current, writhing with insuppressible force – against the odds – to the elusive egg.
Testosterone. Muscle. Power.
Ironically, Terrence would have been the scrawniest wimp to succumd to these stereotypes all his life. And, ultimately, he would have let himself down: would’ve seen himself flag and flail in the face of the Hercules myth again and again – how can a mere man be a godlike myth? – were it not for the liberation that Shari gave him. No, not gave him: forced upon him. Shari was the elusive egg-cell at the climax of his life: that goal which tells him to stop swimming.
You’ve made it, Terry. You’re here. Now shut up.
Shari effortlessly coiled the collar of dominion around his neck.
Shut up and do your job. Make me happy.
Sometimes Terry wondered if it didn’t him less of a man to be submissive. Were submissive men inherently less manly than the commanding, bullyish Man of myth and stereotype? Were all femdoms necessarily the keepers of half-men? Men with the spirit of manliness stripped from them? Men with their testicles reduced to mere ornaments to their dommes’ power? Did the societal definition of masculinity and femininity mean that submissive men were no longer “men” at all? Was the notion of female domination of men self-refuting? Or were men ultimately warriors who had to serve a woman’s pleasure? A woman’s law? The sperm cell that strives toward the egg like something bound on a leash?”