At the End of it All

I was sure I'd be in this lifestyle forever. I remember having arguments with friends that would say they just wanted to go back to a vanilla life. How do you do that....go back? Can you ever really leave it behind you?

I remember having a hard time concentrating on anything beyond the next party, or encounter...constantly thinking about reading message boards, and conversation threads. I used to be so adamant that it's like an intrinsic part of you that can't just be switched off. That it represented a piece of your soul...something that made you...you. And yet.

When we started in this lifestyle, more than a decade ago now, we seized it by the horns. We were active partners swinging, and we pursued our private game of D/s. It was delicious. Over the years we met more and more bullshitters, people who would talk you to death about how fantastic they were. How seriously they were going to blow your mind. And the encounters would leave me thinking...really? Is that IT, that's what you got? How is it so.....less than mediocre, and why am I doing this? And here I am today, bored beyond belief with a constant need to roll my eyes and think, GTFOH. All these damaged people with their delicate souls, all the people needing to regale me with tales of how amazing they are, how kinky they are, and how they will rock my world like no other before or after them. All these people with their need to create and extend drama so that the shit storm of attention continues to focus around them. And what? I am just....nope. This thing I loved, this lifestyle that I fought for and literally put blood, sweat, money, and tears in; the years of hosting, of building something up from nothing over and over again.... I am so empty inside for it. It has come to mean nothing. It has come to be annoying in it's shallowness. And so I wonder, how did I end up in this ennuie? I feel scorn for it, when I don't remember a reason for being angry. The world I built up seems trite, it's inhabitants, some but not all, seem fake and ridiculous. Opportunistic. I am Jaded. Returned to my lair to be alone and shun the thing that meant the world to me. How did this come to be?

So.....What the Hell is Primal, Anyways.....

For years, I've identified as Primal and felt fully confident that I knew what I was about. As many know, both Satan and I carry succubus/incubus, and identify with our demon as the beast it is. The demon within has a very animalistic quality. It identifies fear, pleasure, hunger/need, and power. For a long time now, I have battled to live side by side with this thing inside. This thing that knows nothing of remorse, or empathy. That lives by it's base instincts, and enjoys toying with it's prey. Sometimes I'm in control of it, sometimes...not so much.

Years ago when I saw the listing of "Primal", I knew that it referred to us. I was sure that it meant people like us who harbored the beast inside, and ran wild, preferred a pack mentality etc. That in a Primal mentality you were either Prey or Predator. And hey! We'd found our niche! Easy peasy, right?

I recently attended an event billed as a "Primal" event, and once there realized it had absofuckinglutely nothing to do with our vision of Primal. It was native, it was quasi-spiritual, there was even a smattering of Celtic and Druid Tribalism. But Primal?? I just didn't see it at all. Folks there insisted it was. Insisted that primal was returning to your roots as a human, was pulling in energy, dancing with the flames, communing with your fellow tribe-mates. And I was left with the confused impression that someone was fearfully wrong.

Today I wonder if the person who is wrong is me. I looked up Primal as i've followed some threads post event where the group has been seeking it's own kind of definition. So I went to trusty Google, and I Googled "Primal". This is what I got:

pri·mal

ˈprīməl/

adjective

essential; fundamental.

"for me, writing is a primal urge"

synonyms: basic, fundamental, essential, elemental, vital, central, intrinsic, inherent

"primal masculine instincts"

relating to an early stage in evolutionary development; primeval.

"primal hunting societies"

synonyms: original, initial, earliest, first, primitive, primeval

"the primal source of living things"

PSYCHOLOGY

of, relating to, or denoting the needs, fears, or behavior that are postulated (especially in Freudian theory) to form the origins of emotional life.

"he preys on people's primal fears"

Based on this definition, we are not primal at all. Based on this definition, Primal has nothing to do with beasts, or demons, or pack living, or or or.....

So where does that leave us?

I suppose I will begin anew my search for who and what we are. But for now, I am removing my label of "Primal", and will simply self identify as what I can only conceive that I am....a Beast. Not that labeling is something we require, but for a moment it helped us make sense of something that often feels non-sensical. We are human, and we are other. That's true of all people. However, in us, the "other" has it's own identity. Perhaps we're just schizophrenic :)

Lessons Learned

I feel my heart beating inside my chest. It follows a definite steady rhythm. It has value, and purpose, and it understands it's function.  This has been my journey since last summer.  I always seem to run from him, yet I can't outrun the beat of my own heart.  And that is what he is, my Satan. He is my beating heart, no matter the times I've tried to deny him.  He is my life's rhythm, though I run far and long from him.  He is the insistent thumping in my chest when I attempt to drown out the idea of him in my head. "Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine......"

Last summer I was angry at him.  He left me out on my own for any number of reasons he felt were valid.  They weren't, he knows it, I knew it then.  So I do what I do, and retaliated with other men.  I want to take his claim and shove it up his ass when I'm mad.  I want to forget why I need him, why he is perfect for me in every way, and just flip him the bird and fuck any number of men in his stead. It amuses him because he knows damn well not one of them will satisfy me.  Not one of them will give me the effort that is required, none will give out the effort that he gives me.  But occasionally I will meet someone engaging, and for a little bit my attention will wander.  I generally don't try to give out my affections blindly because I am careful who I decide to care for.  People can be so fickle, in the end.

This summer, though....I met not one, but TWO men who engaged my fancy.  One even captured a piece of my heart.  And to sever and crack the bond with my Satan....it's painful.  So to do it requires a commitment to change on my part and a willingness to put myself in pain.  And not just myself, but Satan as well.  He doesn't care when my body wanders from him, he knows he can have that any time.  However, when my MIND begins to stray from him....when the tether he's placed on my soul suddenly feels invisible to him, he knows things have gone too far and he is beginning to lose me for real.  And THAT he cannot abide.

I loved Rhavin. I had faith in him, and I trusted him.  I thought...well, I supposed it doesn't matter what I thought or hoped or wished for.  Because it was all in vain.  My hope and faith were misplaced in a man who's affections change with the wind.  And I grieved for a long time.  I still do to some small extent.  As for Atlas, well, time showed me the true nature of him.  Not good or bad, really.  Just cold.

Satan raged through all of this, as he of course found out not just from me, but from people who find it wonderful to report on my doings to him, whether out of concern or jealousy. He raged, and he was sad.  He wanted the truth, or maybe he wanted a lie over what my reality was in the moment.  I know he didn't want to hear I wasn't happy and wanted to move on. But he decided to give me space and let me do whatever was in my fluffy little head to do to purge whatever demons were currently haunting me. As the dust settled over the carnage I had wreaked over the summer time, I felt him tugging on the tether, reeling me back to him slowly, and I raged, and cried, and picked my way resentfully over the rubble.  Always coming home to him, to my Satan.

I told him he was the worst kind of cruel.  And make no mistake of any kind, Satan is a cruel man.  He would take the knife himself and cut me if he thought it would teach me the lesson deeper and faster.  He would do whatever evil is in his repertoire in order to get what he wanted.  And what he wants is me.  I am his heroin. His cruelty, however, is giving me all the slack I need on my tether to hang myself with, letting me gasp in my last breaths, and then drawing me back in the moments before I would die, only to do it all again. He is the ultimate manipulator.  He is the master spider in his web.

Here's the thing about My Satan.  I cannot imagine a time without him.  I can't imagine a time before him, nor can I imagine a future that he isn't a part of.  He is integral to me, as necessary as breathing in order for me to fully live as opposed to wandering around in a half life, severed from the very essence that animates me.  In the now 7 years that we've done this dance, there has never been a day that I haven't been excited to hear his voice, or email, or text.  Not one.  And seeing him....HE is my smile incarnate. We've both aged, that gentle last bloom of youth leaving both of us.  Yet he is still the most beautiful man I will ever see.

I have lived without him.  In fact, we just spent the last year without any physical contact.  A year without the sight or the feel of him and his "devil magic penis", or his silky velvet skin, or the hardness of his biceps, and the ripples of muscle in his back.  A year without the scent of him in my nostrils, without the taste of him setting my mouth to water. A year....with only the sound of his voice, of his anger, his displeasure, his sadness, his resignation, and eventually....his hope. A year of listening to his longing. I told myself I was moving on.  But really there wasn't ever a day that went by that didn't contain thoughts of him.  I thought of his wit, of how he would react to any given situation.  I thought of his warmth, especially on cold nights when the chill seemed to reach through the layers of quilts on the bed.  I thought of his disdain for stupidity. And of course, through it all, I thought endlessly about our bedsport.

I think by this point it goes without saying that I love Satan.  I love him beyond measure, and I am not happy living without him. I need him, because I am simply a better person when I am with him. I am stronger, I am beautiful, I am sensual, I am everything I dream of in a woman.  And while I understand that I should be these things without him, and I'm sure on some level I still am to others.....He makes it real for ME.  And he makes it so damn real, because it IS his reality.  He. Loves. Me.

I love that he loves me both as a woman and as an animal.  He understands, accepts, and nurtures my demon.  He feeds all of my needs and desires, without judgement, and no matter what they are.  He's not rich, it's not about money.  He is beautiful, but I got over that as his attraction long ago.  It's his inner workings, his intensity, his...WAY.  I believe that we are all made for someone, and he fits me like a silk glove.  He's not an easy man, and we fight.  But somehow we're able to come to agreement more often than not. So why do I run away from him so much?  Time.

Sometimes, he just has no time for me because of all of his other commitments, and I feel abandoned. And sometimes I just want to be the woman he takes care of.  I am tired of having to be strong all on my own all of the time, waiting for the time when it will be our time together.  I want to be his flower all of the time, not just once in a blue moon.  Sometimes his words and his voice seem inadequate.

That is my intellect protesting.  My beating heart knows better.

After being apart from him for a year, my first reunion with him was at a very small hotel party I hosted. My best girlfriends were there, and they were all eager to meet him, and not necessarily in a good way.  Girlfriends are protective of each other, and they have seen me over the last year.  They place much blame with him for any unhappiness I've experienced, same as I would for them if someone upset their world. I saw him, live and in living color for the first time in so, so long, and my face just crumpled into a smile.  He enveloped me in his hug and he smelled of leather jacket, warm, virile man, and some vague cologne. He kissed me, softly, the pillows of his lips only barely teasing mine while we were in public. We went back to the hotel from the bus depot, and then scooted to the grocery store for some Tequila.  It was going to be THAT kind of night. Back to the hotel, and we found ourselves doing shots, with my girl Kay pouring.  It was a silly thing, and Satan cut me off after the 3rd shot, as I wouldn't be the one to bow out.  He didn't want me trashed and unable to play.  Ironically the shots got to him because he hadn't eaten.  And he sat down, defeated.  I knelt between his legs and just held him, and he drunkenly babbled "I just don't want to share you with anyone tonight, I just want you to myself.  Is that wrong?"  My answer? "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, ever."  But we would both take care of our guests that night, and still manage to take unbelievable care of each other as well.

I used to think that when he and I were together people watched him.  He's just so pretty, and, well, I'm just so plain.  Apparently I was wrong, and Kay let me know it.  After all her blustering about him, and her counsel to continue to try to move on from him, she simply said to me the next day..."I was wrong, and I get it now.  I saw you with him, I saw him with you, and then I saw you two together, and it was a most beautiful thing.  You became someone I hadn't seen in years.  You were radiant, you glowed, and you had come into who you were...just that easily.  You were truly happy.".

I have spent blog after blog chronicling our sexual escapades in minute detail, and I'm sure I will again.  The feel of his beautiful cock leaving absolutely no part of my body untouched.  Mating with him, feeling him enter me, fill me, claim me, devour me.  I have skimmed over our issues, opting to focus on the sex.  Him, my human dildo of a boyfriend as Jachin calls him.  I don't know if I can ever adequately convey how powerfully he's claimed me, at the end of it all.  I love him so much that some days I choke on it.  He moves me, heart, body and soul. I told him today that I was bonded to him for this life and beyond, and he acknowledged that he understood that and agreed.  This soul bond, it's inescapable.  I can run, but I'll never leave him.  Never.  He is everything to me. Our issues remain, but he's changed over the years.  He is not as intractable about solutions as he once was.  He's willing to discuss our future, whenever that may be.  What we both know is that we are addicted to each other, and there isn't a cure for what we are.    

To Train or Not to Train?

So a couple of the girls and I were sitting around chatting. You know, like we do. And we talked about having sex with partners who were.....awful... in bed.
What categorizes as awful?

My list consisted of partners who were very one-dimensional, didn't have any skills, lacked a knowledge of basic anatomy, and weren't willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Partners who were unable to get into my head, or who lack imagination in the bedroom. Partners who are unwilling to take the time to learn anything on their own and up their game.

I realize, off the bat, that I'm a high needs woman. I think that the men in my past who have been phenomenal lovers have qualified as such to me because they were creative, and they paid attention. They knew and understood the cadence of my sounds, my movements and such. They weren't squeamish men who are put off by body fluid, and they had a good deal of experience and many skills. They handled their own body well, and didn't need a bucketload of toys to rescue them.

In many other forums, women and men (because I absolutely recognize that there are women out there that are not the best lovers too) bemoan the fact that their partners don't satisfy them. And inevitably the topic of "Just show them what you like, teach them" comes up. I could accept that premise if the lover in question were 20. However, with the advent of porn being readily available on the internet, with erotica and such...how can any person in this day and age NOT be the worlds best lover?

At my age, I've decided that while I may train someone occasionally in D/s, I'm not up to training people in the basics of having sex. I feel that if you are going to approach someone, and especially approach them in a lifestyle capacity, that you had better make sure that you dot your i's and cross your t's before you initiate the encounter. I want to hit the ground running with a partner, not start at 0.

Here are my issues with men I see (and women!!) in my journey....

1.) Oral sex is not optional - It's a necessary part of foreplay. Men expect it. Women, in this day and age, expect it as well, and rightly so.

2.)Know your basic anatomy - If you don't know all the parts of the female genitalia, look it up. Get to know it, and get to know everything every part does. Get to know what NOT to touch, and how to keep a woman healthy. Women, take a moment to study every pleasure center on a man. They really are more complex than just yanking on a stick.

3.)Be creative - Try new things! Watch porn that relates to the kind of encounter you're interested in and learn some new techniques.

4.)Pay Attention!! - Is your partner excited, or laying quietly? Is he or she responding to a particular thing you did? Did he or she express in the past a like or a dislike to something you tried? Remember those things!

5.)Toys are fun enhancers, but they are not the solution.

6.)Don't talk alot of shit before an encounter! Those that can, do. Those that can't? Talk shit.

7.)Have a humongous dick? Great! What else can you do? Don't count on your mammoth member being enough, it most likely won't be.

8.)Love Anal Sex? If you (guys) are going to want to explore back roads terrain, then you best be prepared to get dirty. As they say, sometimes shit happens.

9.)Since Sex happens between two people, it's not all about you. Make sure you're thinking about how your partner is doing, don't be a selfish lover.

10.)Grooming, grooming, grooming. Are your hairs trimmed, and fingernails trimmed? While some people have a fetish for a bush, most women find it offensive to get poked in the eye with a pubic hair when they are giving a blow job. Likewise, most men don't want to pull a 12 foot hair out of their mouth when they give oral. Groom yourself for what you expect. There is no shame in manscaping, and for ladies, it's important to make sure you are fresh. Nobody wants to stick their face in a trout farm.

I invite others to blog about their experiences. I'm interested to know how others have been faring out there.

Memory

His hand.  My mind swirls around the memory of everything that his hand is...and was to my body.  It's shape and strength, color and texture. The length of his fingers, the dusting of hair on the back.  His smooth, round nails never long enough to be sharp or to cut me, but strong...not weak.  Nothing weak in him. Not in his hand.

I remember the first time his hand smoothed over my skin.  His skin is so lush, being touched by him is like be rubbed with velvet.  His hand touched my arms, and my back....smoothed over my silky hair and wrapped around my ponytail while his mouth descended on mine.  His hand would run back down my back, and down to my ass where he would grab and lift me closer to his body.  His hand would revel in grabbing my ass cheek and working it hard between his fingers.

The first time he stung my ass with his hand...I remember that too.  I remember him taking joy in the yelps and whimpers that I made while he slapped my cheek, liking the way my skin pinkened for him.  He liked how my skin would heat up, and how he could feel the residual heat even minutes after he'd stopped spanking me.  I remember his hand grabbing my head to bring my ear to his mouth. "Now do you remember the feel of my hand?", he'd growl to me already ready to bring another stinging blow to mark me with, always looking forward to feeling the heat bloom in my skin.

His hand had the right to my body.  Given to him both by me and some higher authority, he had the right to any touch he wanted to give.  His hand could spank, could leave it's print upon my ass, or snake two long thick fingers into my pussy and demand I rain my wetness upon his floor, the bed, my legs....wherever he decides he would like it to go.  His hand might curl itself in my hair, pulling the strands as he pleasures himself upon my body, thrusting his big beautiful cock inside of me and hitting every spot that makes me cum.  His hand might push me down upon my knees to receive his cock inside of my throat.  It might hold my chin as he fucks my mouth and feels himself slip past my uvula and go deep into my throat, gagging on him.  He might wrap his hand around my neck to feel the pulse flutter under his fingers, knowing that a squeeze or a pull means life or death for me.  He might control the air I breath with his hand.  He may cherish me as beloved with his hand.

I need his hand, the visceral memory of it making my skin warm even as I type this short note.  I need his hand on me and in me.  I need his hand staking it's claim to the body and the woman that already belongs to it.  Ownership is a claim deeper than words.  It was a claim that was imprinted in me on a cellular level the first time that hand ever left it's mark on me.  It is a claim that is renewed every time his hand holds me close to him.  It is a claim that vibrates between us every time his hand brushes over the spot it desires to spank again.

Please Sir, I need.  Please Sir, I need your hand.

The Claiming of Lilith, pt 2

Oh.....the things he does with his hands.  All the delicious ways he plays my body with them.  A thumb in the mouth to suck on, but never getting too deep.  Playing with my tongue, encouraging me to discover new ways to swirl it and tantalize him.  Opening his hand wide to connect the palm with an ass cheek and leave a print behind.  Smoothing over the bloom of red, feeling the heat my skin gives off and then pulling back to continue his discipline.  Massaging his hands over my ass to my slit, rubbing my clit and discovering all the wetness pooling there, then inserting 2 fingers into my soaking wet cunt and fingering me until I squirt for him, inevitably.  But I digress...

After the flogger incident, things seemed to intensify....a lot.  On the heels of that afternoon, we had another party, Tiki Night.  Rhavin wanted to go public with his Dom-ness, and I was looking forward to it.  We spent quite a bit of time socializing with our guests, Rhavin being cordial, but hanging back and observing in that quiet way he has.  I stayed with him, feeling the need to have his touch that night.  We met a few new couples that evening, and watched them enjoy themselves immensely.  Finally, it was his time.

I stripped down, and had him choose the structure he wanted to create the scene on.  He chose the St. Andrews Cross.  He also chose a new flogger to work with, one provided by one of our guests that has a dreamy toy chest.  It was leather, and it was very thick, with more weight and heft than any of mine.  He loved it.  He started tentatively, and escalated quickly.  The feel of it was incredible, and I was transported to sub space.  The intensity increased, until I was moaning for him, and I briefly considered that we'd never discussed a safe word before.  He seemed to know that I was at a crossroads about the pain, because he stopped, stepped up until his body was pressed against my back, wrapped his hand around my neck and chin and turned my ear to his mouth "Are you still ok?".  "Yes", was my simple answer.  And so he continued, switching up the blows so that they were soft, hard, and somewhere in-between.  When he saw me starting to fail, he again stepped in close to me, and closed his session with a resounding slap to each ass cheek, making me scream for him at last.  I heard someone behind us whisper "Now that's a REAL Dom!", and I was so proud of him, of us.  He had done it, and done it like a boss.

I lay with him after, he rubbing my skin delicately, my head upon his thigh.  Someone else rubbed my behind for me, loving the heat emanating from the pinkness.  I looked up at him, thoroughly conquered, and asked if I may serve him, and he nodded his head, letting me unbuckle him, and slip his shorts down so that I could get to his big beautiful cock. I sucked him with enthusiasm, taking him down my throat until I could swallow on him, hearing him sigh and moan with pleasure.  He doesn't really cum that way, and he had me stop after a time, as he found some of the chatter in the room distracting.  We got dressed, or at least made ourselves semi decent, and we made our way outside to the backyard where the pool was.

On our way to the pool, we passed my car and he stopped and yanked me back towards him.  He bent me over the hood of the car and he fingered me until I squirted in my sandals....repeatedly.  He loves to feel me squirt, loves to see it drip down my legs, LOVED that it had pooled in my Birkenstocks.  As he held my head to the hood, he took to opportunity to deliver a couple more spanks for some impertinent words I'd had for him.  Releasing me slowly, he had me lick his fingers clean, and kissed me at his leisure.  Then he took my hand and led me to the pool where we had dared each other to get in.

Though the day had been hot, 1:00 am was not.  The air was chilled, and the water had not held any heat of the day.  Rhavin had changed into his swim trunks, while I opted to simply get naked. We each got in, me slowly, and only up to my waist when the shivers struck.  Rhavin allowed himself to fall in so that he was submerged.  We both got out quickly, laughing and toweling off.  I took the opportunity to use some pool water to rinse out my Birkenstocks, and we headed back to the house with just towels wrapped around us.

We ended the party that night by wishing everyone a great night, seeing them all off, and then driving back to my house.  We took time to talk, snuggle, and just relax for a moment in the candle lit room, two people...just Lilith and Rhavin.  No duties, no expectations.  We played with each other softly, working up to an exquisite fucking.  He, as always, made me squirt like a fiend, and completely soak the sheet.  Proud of himself, he helped me clean up the bed, and we took showers and went to lay back down.  I couldn't quite sleep though, I had one more orgasm stuck inside that had to come out.  So I tried to slide away from him and take care of it...but he would have nothing of the sort.  He pulled my leg over his hip as he lay behind me, and he placed his fingers on my clit, I felt it build, and I wanted his fingers inside me, so I begged for it "Please Rhavin....please please!"  He got up, pulled me to the side of the bed, put his fingers inside me and ate my pussy until I exploded for him,wetting my side of the bed all over again.  Undaunted, he chuckled and spanked my ass, and left me in a pool of my own fluid.

Our escapades during the week escalated as well, becoming a nearly every day thing.  Him coming to me or me going to him, it didn't much matter...the point was that the need to see each other was overwhelming.  The following weekend from our party was a party hosted by a friend in Southern Maine.  Rhavin had a prior engagement that evening and couldn't attend with me.  As an alternative, I asked Baby J to come with, as it was his birthday that weekend anyways.  We had a great time relaxing with friends, and Baby J was really really popular, as he's beautiful, young, and nicely hung.  I was happy for him, and wanted him to go off and enjoy himself.  A couple that had been at my party the previous weekend was attending though, and they commented on my choice of a date, noting that it wasn't Rhavin.  I suddenly realized that we had set the expectation, though in private no words of commitment had been spoken. And in public, nobody cares about anything except what it SEEMS.  I had never had anyone question my choice of date before, not even when I belonged to Satan.  It was always implied that I had permission to be with who I was with.  The need to explain myself lodged in my throat like a lump of clay.  I didn't like it, and I realized that Rhavin needed to decide.  He either wanted me as his sub or he didn't.  We couldn't just play at it, not in the role that I occupy, and not in the role that he was shadowing.

I did let him know that someone had spoken up about the situation, and it seemed to make him pause.  I said "It's time we decide if you claim me or not".  Ironically, I already belonged to him and I'm sure he knew it.  But the ritual of it, somehow....it makes it real.

It happened after dinner one night.  We retired to my room, shut the door and all the kiddos out, and he pulled me up onto the bed so that my face was servicing him, and his hand was buried in my cooch.  I can take him deeper than I've ever taken a man in my throat before.  I'm not sure what it is about his cock, but he goes right down.  He sighs, and I love knowing that nobody has ever done that to him besides me.  He was insistent that night, really pushing me down with his free hand, encouraging me to gag on him repeatedly while he fingered me to distraction.  When he was ready, he came behind me, and spanked my ass till it was hot for him.  He likes to put just the head of his cock in my cunt, and he'll leave it there, just making small motions barely in and out.  It drives me CRAZY.  He knows it'll make me slam my hips back to take all of him, and it gives him incentive to spank me more, which he loves.

He worked up a good rhythm, slamming into my spot, making everything tighten and clench hard every time he rubbed over it.  He is large, and thick, and he touches everything inside of me so beautifully.  He reached up to grab my pony tail, yanked my head up and I growled at him "Say it you Bastard!!!" He spanked me soundly while he continued his punishing rhythm, slamming his cock into my cervix a couple of times for good measure. "Please? Please please please Rhavin?"  And there it was, just as he catapulted over the edge, the scream erupted from him like it was ripped out of his guts "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU BELONG TO?"  "You, I belong to you, and only to you".  His orgasm poured from him and filled me up.  His hand print on my ass, his seed in my cunt dripping down my legs, and as i stood with shaky legs before him, moved my hair away from my neck and bent my head to the side in submission, he placed his mark on me.  Mated, marked, scented, and owned.  We were both...content.

The Claiming of Lilith, pt 1

After the Pirate Party, my conversations with Rhavin escalated.  It was an every morning, most of the day, and every night thing.  I told him I was like a junkie for him, and he laughed at my comparison, but the craving for what he offered was unrelenting.

One night, not too long after the party, we were talking and he invited me to come and see him.  I took him up on it though it was questionable if I was spotting or not.  Unusually rough or deep penetrative sex has the ability to get me spotting for a few days, and I had been after the party.  Testament enough to what he is working with for a package, no?

I got there, and we were supposed to watch a movie, or tv, or chat, or something mundane.  I absolutely couldn't do it.  His smell alone drove me insane, and his touch roaming my body.....his mouth claiming mine while his fingers twisted in my hair and held me still for his oral exploration.
I. Wanted. Him.

He did something new that night.  He got behind me and spanked me.  I have never felt a touch like his before.  Forceful, enough to make me whimper and gasp, enough to leave a handprint......I think at some point in the future that I might be able to cum just by being spanked by him, and I let him know it.  The idea of trying excited him.  His hand connecting and impacting my flesh made my pussy wet, made everything flutter and contract.  I needed and wanted him inside me, and I begged him not to care that I was spotting.  He did not.  Though some may find it gross, I find it highly erotic that a man can want a woman so much, that there is no circumstance that will stop him from penetrating her core.

It turned out that my body had decided that it was done spotting when it smelled his hormone again.  He became Dom that night though, commanded me onto the floor to be on hands and knees.  He placed his hand on the back of my neck and pushed my head down to the floor.  He fucked me long, hard, and deep then, and almost done, he pulled out and pushed his wet cock into my mouth and commanded me to clean him.  Of course I would clean his cock after he fucks me, it is my pleasure to lick every part of his body, and especially so when it is coated with my cream.  Our taste together is the finest aphrodisiac.

He withheld his orgasm from me that night, and it was devastating in it's effect.  Never, in my entire life, have I left a man unsatisfied.  I begged him to let me try again, but he was firm in not wanting to cum.  He wanted to keep it from me and leave me wanting.  We had a future date of the following Friday, over a week away, and he said he wanted to wait for that day. I went home, a bit sad, but chatted with him every day waiting for Friday.  I became a ravening beast, mindful of only one thing.....that he would claim me on Friday.  It pulsed in my core like a heartbeat, and no amount of masturbating would quench the need, it would only escalate it to the next level of craving.

Friday finally arrived, and I went to him again.  I was so nervous, and so ready, and so intensely wanting him in every way imaginable.  He spread down a liner for me to kneel on, fed me his cock to suck, and hissed out his pleasure when it went down my throat.  He set his hands on my face and throat so that he could feel the deepness of the penetration in my throat, and groaned when I gagged on the head of him.  All those muscles contracting at once around him made him wild, made him want to fuck my mouth.  He held me still for him, and fucked my mouth deeply, making me gag repeatedly.  It wasn't enough though, wasn't what he wanted.  So he took ahold of my shoulder and told me to turn around and kneel over on my pad.

Ass up in the air, head laying on the floor, I gave him my ultimate submission.  He wanted me to keep still, to not move, to not shove my ass back on his huge cock and fuck him at my own pace.  He held my hips hard, digging his fingers into my waist, and fucked me slowly, maddeningly.  One errant shove from me, however, and he was buried and slamming into my cervix.  It earned me a spank, but he lost his mind and fucked me full throttle until he exploded inside me.  Both of us winded, we collapsed for a minute, and I heard him say "Wow, I guess I needed that more than I knew".  Me too baby, me too.

He grabbed my ponytail, and yanked my head up and back, looking for my mouth to kiss.  He is fascinated with my long hair, enjoys fisting his hands into it and using it as a lever to hold me still for him.  I enjoy it immensely when he plays with my hair...his tugging and pulling a direct highway to my sexual energy.  I love kissing him.  His mouth is made for hours of kissing and licking. Of biting his lower lip in my teeth and sucking the small pain away.  Of sucking his tongue into my mouth the way I love to suck his cock.  Of raining kisses on the corners of his mouth, and then licking my way to his neck where he lets me fasten my teeth around the meat of him, right over his jugular.  He is a wet dream for me; he is beautiful, and alluring, so sexual and commanding.

We took a break, snuggled on the futon, watched some anime together. Earlier he'd asked me about the floggers, and suggested that he wanted to learn them.  So I'd brought them, and he was ready for the first part of the lesson:  feeling them on his own skin.  I started with my smallest flogger, showed him techniques, outlined good and bad zones to aim for.  I showed him how to keep the most control over the weapon, and we moved on to something larger.  We went through each flogger, him stoic and unflinching...me apologetic and clinical.  He suffered each blow without reserve, and when I was done, held out his hand and waited for me to place the flogger in his possession.

My turn.

He was tentative at first, and I was a bit apprehensive about how it was all going to turn out.  But he warmed up my back with my smallest flogger, quickly tiring of it's limitations, and moving on the the long leather flogger.  He likes this one, likes the length, the heft, and the grip.  He continued to warm me up, and then had me attempt, in my shortness, to hold on to his lintel.  Though I wasn't able to grab it firm, I kept my arms raised, understanding that he needed my quiescence.  He began in earnest then, the blows landing on my back and ass, and I understood in that moment that he was born to be Dom.  The flogger was a natural extension of his arm, and my little crazy laugh emerged, Lilith entirely took over my person and she was THRILLED!  She laughed, she taunted ("you hit like a girl"), she goaded, ("is that all you got, bitch?"), and she was satisfied for the first time in a very very long time.  She laughed triumphantly as the lash bit into my flesh, left his mark for all the world to see.  He came up behind me then and connected his hand with my ass making me scream for him.  It burned, and I knew an imprint of his hand would be with me for the week.  He let me down, and I fell to my knees then, drunk on pleasure, and incapable of standing anymore.  He fucked me hard and long, making me squirt on his hard wood floor.  I knew then, and I'm sure he knew as well.....he was meant to be my Dom.

Rhavin

A young man started chatting with me a few weeks ago.  Referred to me by my girlfriend, he was interested in erotic photography, and was hoping I may be able to find him a venue to practice his craft.  He shared a link with me of some of his art work, and I found out he was good....he had a great eye for light, for composition, could "feel" the rightness of what he was looking at through the viewfinder.  It's a sign of raw talent when someone can do that without any training.  I offered to accompany him on a photo shoot sometime.  I love photography, and haven't been able to indulge in a long time.  And he seemed very nice.

We continued to chat via Yahoo Messenger, mostly daily.  I was up nights, watching Netflix, and unable to sleep, and he was up, not sleeping and watching Netflix.  We seemed two peas in a pod.  He was well mannered, well spoken, cute as a button, and very engaging.  I enjoyed my chats with him, looking forward to him popping up on my screen.  He kept me company at night, and I could talk with him about everything.  We didn't honestly talk about sex too much in those early chats, just about everything else.  He knew who and what I was, and accepted it without question.  I even chatted to him about my date with Atlas.

My party for Pirate Fetish Night happened and he attended.  I was upset because, like clockwork, Satan had an excuse for why he couldn't make it that night.  Poison Ivy...on his shaft.  Really?  I instant messaged Rhavin making sure he was still coming, hoping that at least I'd have someone to talk to.  He did come, and I gave him a huge hug.  We went out to the backyard, and sat and chatted in the pavilion tent.  He was obviously nervous, but we had that prior connection, and we laughed, and joked, and talked about everything and nothing.  Rhavin was going through some things in his personal life, and it seemed like every time he and I got into a good conversation about it, something in my hostess duties would take me away from him.  I felt really bad, but unfortunately, as the hostess, duty called.

One of my regular guests made a request for me to go flog her.  I was already feeling antsy that night, beast barely in check, and my anger at Satan making her wake up, shake her mane, and get ready to do some damage.  Flogging someone wasn't what I should have been doing, not at all.  But the lure of having it in my hand, and feeling it descend on flesh called to her, and I couldn't resist.  Rhavin followed me, and stood back in a corner to watch.

I started slowly, warming up my victims flesh with my smallest leather flogger.  Around and around, lightly scoring, just enough to turn it pink, and land a couple of heavier descents, nothing too serious as the flogger was just too small to inflict any real pain.  My breasts moved with my arms, and still Rhavin watched me.  I switched to my longer leather flogger.  It's beautiful, hand made for me by Passionate One.  More warming up, and a series of light hits, culminating in some much heavier landings.  It was time to switch to the Duct Tape flogger.

I made this one myself.  It is pink, blacklight reactive duct tape.  The handle is the trunk of a very small tree cut down in my yard.  It snaps, it stings, it makes lots of noise, and it delivers.  I love this one, and so does my beast.  After 5 minutes, I could feel myself choking on her, and I stopped to breathe.  Rhavin asked me if I was ok, and I let him know I was simply trying to make her settle.  More work with the flogger, and my eyes started to anticipate seeing red.  Beautiful red welts, red cuts, and red blood dripping down my willing victim.  None of this occurred, mind you, but my beast, the bitch, wanted it so bad I could taste it.  Rhavin had seen the change come over me, and I was sure I'd scared him.  He had left us there, and with him leaving I realized I was perched on a precipice.  If I continued, I was going to seriously and intentionally hurt the person laying so submissive beneath my lash.  Hurt her irrevocably.  So I sat down defeated, and told her I had to stop.

I spent the rest of the party out by the fire pit, listening to people chatting, and having Rhavin by my side.  We chatted again, not about much, since so many others were also relaxing by the fire.  People started to leave for the night, and when the last person left, but Rhavin was still there....I asked him if he wanted to have that chat finally.  He said yes, and I asked him to help me bring my sleeping things to the tent I'd be using that night, and come in and warm up under the blanket.  I was cold, and so was he.  I had no ulterior motive.....honest.  :)

I was attracted to him, I enjoyed his hesitant but honest communication. The other ladies had dismissed him as a submissive man, too non aggressive, too quiet and shy.  We snuggled under the blankets, and after simply laying under the blankets side by side and chatting, he pulled me over to him and he held me.  He's large....over 6 feet tall, and he made me feel.....safe.  He made me feel smallish, and surrounded.  He was wonderful, until he decided to go with the tickling.

Tickling is my downfall.  My mother used to often say that tickling someone was a form of torture, and she was not incorrect.  He knew just where to get me, and I was very soon on my back begging quarter.....utterly submissive.  I had gleaned from bits of our conversation, that he was not a submissive man, had even made the statement to him that he was a Top.  He had confirmed my suspicion, and he was ready to show me a preview of what he was.

We kissed, he touched me, he fingered me, and he made me squirt.  His mastery over my body was relatively quick, and as he made me cum for him over and over again, I realized that I had also made a crucial misjudgement in how I had sensed him.  He was not merely a Top.  He was a Master....though not experienced enough to quite own it.  I have sworn many times that I will not train someone, but I realized at some point that he called to my beast, and he was something I had to have or die.  I saw him in my mind, I saw what he could become with guidance and experience.  I saw what he could be to all of us and I decided to see what would happen.

I wanted to devour him, really.  I wrapped my teeth around the pulse in his neck.  My tongue could feel the flutter, just under the surface, and I started to bear down with my teeth, to lick and suck his neck like I was just waiting for the warm wash of coppery liquid over my mouth.  As the thought of puncturing him became more and more clear in my mind, and I realized Lilith was taking over again, I shook myself out of it, apologizing profusely, and I realized that not once had he feared, not once had he expressed hurt or discomfort.  He enjoyed my beast and the small pains she needed to give.  He was getting off on it.

He turned me onto my hands and knees, climbed behind me and rubbed his beautiful thickness all over my thighs and ass.  I begged then, no better than a bitch in heat, needing him to fill up the emptiness inside with his cock.  He positioned himself behind me and placed just the tip inside, maddeningly there, but not.....and I decided to take matters into my own hands and slam my hips onto the delicious length of him.  He gasped in his own right, but then dug his fingers into my hips and roughly positioned me where he wanted me, saying without saying "You don't move, I move. You don't do this, I do this.".  My beast knew, as I know now, that he was not fucking me, he was mating me. Claimed. Marked, Scented.

His cock filled me entirely.  There was no small inch that wasn't touched by him either inside or out of me.  He stayed till morning with me, despite his protests that he wouldn't.  He held me all night, maintained his contact on my body at all times regardless of the level of sleep we were at.  When morning came, I realized that being with him was an addiction of a particularly virulent nature.  He texted hourly, and I was interested in what he had to say.  And he was so close....just 20 minutes away.  My beast found it offensive that he wasn't even closer.  We wanted him on a primal level to do those things that no one else but a Master could do.  He was strong, he was capable, and he was willing.  God love him.  Rhavin....even his name is like a wash of warm breath playing across my skin, branding me with his mark.

There is so much more to the story now.  But this particular chapter of the story ended when we went home for that day.  It continues, however.  Good and bad, I am changing, and so is my beast.  We are so much more closely integrated.  We are becoming happy.

The Evil Queen

People talk about me a lot.  Some people say I'm crazy.  Some people think I'm genius.  Some people hate me, others love me.  I suppose I'm blessed to make people feel SOMETHING, as opposed to nothing.  This week I got a message from a woman I used to think was my friend.  The friendship itself has been in a slow, steady decline for some years now, based mostly on the fact that this woman introduced me to Satan, but never wanted me to fall for him, nor him for me.  

She has been furious for years that I "took him away from her".  However, the truth is Satan went where he wanted and when he wanted to go.  He isn't the type of man anyone can take.  He is only to be accepted for who he is, when he is there in front of you.  Loving him is an entirely different issue.  Loving Satan means accepting him for who he is....baby mama llama drama, freakish tendencies, polyamory, and all.  Not some, ALL.  

This week I got a message delivered to me via a 3rd party from this woman.  I'm not sure when she lost the ability to speak for herself and deliver her own words?  When did she become so frightened of me that she found it impossible to approach me?  What exactly have I done to inspire such abject and utter hatred?

The message was something to the effect that "Lilith's evil reign will end when people find out who she really is.  Then her lies and games, and her fantasy world will all finally end."  Before, the string of adjectives people used on me were usually "Cold and uncaring, harsh and unforgiving, a maneating, emasculating she-devil from hell who stabs all her men in the back with a knife and then licks the blade clean."  All that and then some.

I'm really a simple girl, not much artifice for those that know me.  I am loyal to my friends, I love deeply, I hate conflict and prefer to walk away from toxic people.  I don't really care for drama.  At the end of it all I am not affected by these words because they are only issued for the purpose of creating useless drama.  The men and women that I love, and who love me in return have the opinion that this woman has finally gone over the deepest of the deep ends.  It has provided us with much amusement concerning the vitriol of the sentiment.  It also makes me a bit sad though.

To this woman, here is my sentiment back to you:  I wish you nothing but the best in your life.  I wish you to find love, loyalty, caring, and happiness in the people you surround yourself with.  I wish you fun, humor, and imagination in all of your days.  I wish you companionship.  I wish you success in all of your ventures, and I wish you security in your future.

That is my fantasy world.  I very much enjoy living there, and so do many many others.  I hope you can build your own and be happy there too.

One Love,

Lilith

The New Guy, part 2

Now what, indeed?

Atlas and I had a conversation about our expectations.  We both admitted to knowing the rules, not exceeding or breaking them.  We both knew how the game was played.  We weren't going to get caught up.  I didn't want to fall in love, he wasn't available. My world was too precariously balanced to have someone akin to Loki wreaking havoc.  He leaves for Asia in the fall.  It seemed that we understood each other perfectly.  We would have no strings attached fun with each other, that seemed reasonable.

When adding a new lover to the roster, I'm usually very open and honest with Satan.  I know he doesn't like talking about it, doesn't particularly like knowing that I've taken pleasure with another man besides him.  But he is practical enough to understand that waiting on him to be available these days is like waiting for a tax refund.  Agonizing.  My going catch-phrase; "What's good for the goose is good for the gander", are words that make him roll his eyes and say "Whateva".  But the truth remains that after our reunion last year, I made it clear that I was not going to sit on a shelf and wait for him.  I'd see him when I see him, but not let anyone touch my heart.  Somehow, I knew Atlas was different.  I haven't told Satan about him.  I don't want to have that discussion until I have to.  Satan senses it, he's just that intuitive.  He senses my distraction, and I find him calling and texting me to ask where I am, what am I doing.

So where am I and what am I doing?  The answer is I have no idea. 

Atlas and I made plans to meet for a day to have relaxed time together.  Time to ask silly questions to get to know each other.  Time to play with each other without interruption or an audience.  Time to just.....chill.  I found myself extremely nervous the day before, fussing over my clothes and my choice of toenail color.  I was taking extra care with my grooming, even working on my legendary crusty feet to tame them down to simply dry instead of lethal.  Texting him during this furor, I told him it was way easier when I didn't give a shit what he thought.  Yet somehow, I did care what he thought.  I needed to make a good impression so that he liked what he saw.  I felt shy, and a bit discombobulated, and all I knew was that I had to be.....amazing. It was incredibly girly, and as anyone who knows me will say, I hate girly moments with a passion.

After seeing to my errands and finally getting on the road, I received a call from Jachin.  He wanted to know where I was going, who I was seeing, and how long I expected to be out.  I told him I wasn't worried, and he commented "Of course you're not, that's my job".  He was unhappy I was meeting "strange men" and told me I should never go out without telling someone where to find me.  I met him at the rest stop, he gave me money for tolls, I told him where I'd be, and I was off again.  Another conundrum for a different day.

The rain slowed my progress, and I arrived after Atlas did.  I had been so nervous in the morning that I wasn't feeling good, and my stomach was in a knot for most of the drive.  I was concerned that my stomach ache might translate into some unpleasantness, so I didn't eat, I just drank some Crystal Light.  He texted me the room number, and I parked next to him.  I took a moment to just breathe.......

I knocked, he answered...and promptly slammed the door on me.  LOL, ahh it was going to be that kind of day. With his humor, he disarmed me and put me at instant ease.  I brought my bags in, and as I watched him work on his laptop, knowing he had a business call in a few, I took out my laptop and prepared to amuse myself while he worked.  We chatted a bit, and we laughed.  Of all the memories I will carry about him in my life, it will be how much we laughed.  I slyly looked at him over my computer screen.  I find him so beautiful.  His body is in amazing shape, and he has eyes that really look at you when you talk to him.  I can't imagine any woman NOT finding him crazy hot.  I have also found that he is a man that does not say things he doesn't mean.  So far, I find that he says what he means, and means what he says.  He doesn't grandstand, doesn't need to talk endlessly just to hear himself.  He is a careful listener, and he is even more careful at replying, knowing his feedback may not always be rosebuds and unicorns, as he is at heart, a realist.

He climbed onto the bed with me, in a side 69 position, my back to his front, and he stroked his hands up my legs, under my dress, to a pantyless me, which he had requested. His hands, gentle and soft, finding spots front and back that had me panting.  He got to stroking me in earnest and I came for him, almost as though his quiet confidence had simply commanded it without words, and it came into being.  I came and squirted, and he got naked too.  He just stopped playing, it was time for his business call.  I lay at the end of the bed crosswise, while he lounged against the pillows, naked.  As he entered his conference call, I looked at him, looked at his cock, and did the chin up inquiry move. He silently shrugged as if to say, why not?  So I promptly moved between his legs and sucked his cock.

His skin is so velvety smooth, we joke that he feels like kitten paws.  I so love feeling him grow in my mouth, and feeling his gentle yet insistent hand on my head encouraging me to press my lips against his body while his cock goes down my throat and I swallow him.  It excited me to do these things to him while he was conducting business.  And my beast rose with every intention of shattering his self control, except we failed, as he is an incredible challenge to ruffle.  Earpiece intact, he swung himself behind me and fucked me until I squirted on his cock.  Not being able to be vocal during sex is challenging for me, and it heightened the pleasure to an almost painful degree.    He must have sat back and watched me trying to stifle my noise, chuckling, and I heard him say, "Oh, I hung up my call a bit ago, you can make noise now."  BASTARD!!!

Going into detail about the rest of the afternoon seems redundant.  It was a beautiful dream, laced with passionate kisses, ecstasy, and lots and lots of my body fluid.  I lost track of the number of times that I came, just enjoying each small eruption of pleasure as it's own fantastic gift.  I realized that i couldn't do this with him on a regular basis and remain casual. I told him so in an effort to be honest.  He inspired an intensity in me that was difficult to ignore.  It felt like it welled up in my core, and wanted to spew out of my mouth in the form of pretty words and promises. I would not be the conqueror, as I had insinuated in emails to him...I would be the conquered.

He moves me in ways I haven't thought about in a long time.  He makes me feel a little less lonely inside. He makes me want to see what he does during his days, how he walks through the door, how he organizes his kitchen.  He makes me think of long lazy days off spent lounging in bed. He makes me think about walks along the shore talking about everything.  He reeks of the word companion, not simply fuck buddy.  He makes me realize, in the grand scheme of things that I have something I hadn't believed in for a long time....options.

It's been a few days now.  The intensity has started to dissipate, and life in it's routine has re-intruded on my fantasy.  I still text him daily, and am still wondering what the hell happened.  He's made some statements to me that make me wonder what he's about and what it is that he actually wants, and I realize I've spent so much time listening to the double speak of Satan and Jachin that I no longer know how to take someone at their word without copious positive reinforcement about said statements.  I wonder about the men in my life, how I love them, what their role in my life really is. I've been thinking about what I really want, from everyone.

I treasure and value being excited by a man like this again.  It has ignited a fire in me that has been dormant for a long time.  Though I love all the men that play a role in my life, I have worked diligently to kill the penchant for expectation.  If I don't expect anything, ever, I will never be disappointed.  Ergo, I gave up the fire to wish for more.  Perhaps the biggest turn on this man presents to me is that I don't merely look upon him as a tool.  He is more in the great grand scheme than just a guy looking to get his rocks off with little regard to how he does it.  He's discerning, he's picky, he's artful.  And here's the clincher...I'll say it.  He makes me feel like I'm enough to satisfy him.  True or not, I'll think of him fondly for a long time for making me feel that again.  Sharing is fine, but once in a while, it just feels good to be enough for someone.  And I thank him for reminding me that I have the right to expect it, should I choose to.

Where am I and what am I doing?

I still haven't figured it out, and I'm not going to try right now.  I prefer to take the ride and see how the road goes.  Hopefully I'll enjoy the journey, and remember a few more things about who I am and what I have a right to want.