Bonus: Dark Set-Possession

I am the Bound Queen.

The favored, cherished, desired

Possession of King and Owner.

I know no love but his.

Seek no touch but his.

Have no love but his.

I give no space save to him.

This him whom has

Taken all that I am

Making all love foreign while

Deepening his own.

Skin changing to

A deep blush at

His hands command

To remind all parts

Deepened and made whole

By his impaling weep

Openly when his touch

Is taken.

My breath tied to his heartbeat.

Indeed my beloved is mine

And feeds among the lilies

Grown lush and fresh

Betwixt my thighs.

I am his.

Thirsty for his filling.

Shudder at his power over me.

I am the Bound Queen.

The favored, cherished, desired

Possession of King and Owner.

Ever, and of my will, shall I be his.

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4. 2019.

Love & Possession: The Dark Set: (Week 4) BonusWhat Daddy Wanted

The collar on my neck always

Reminds me how far I can go.

How chosen and cherished I am.

How none are as I am to be.

He feels and fills the ripples his

Voice causes once housed

And held in all that he claims

Is, was his.

Does he know that in his taking

Of me, even in thought my mind

Races to please him from wherever

I am?

At his whisper

And then shutting off of

Water I am his warm towel

To drink and dry every drop

Of water graced to flow

Over him…

Until my tastes and senses

Are full of him.

The collar around my neck always

Reminds me how far I can go.

How hard to ride.

How wide to open.

When to clench.

When to just hold

Every inch of him hard and twitching

In my mouth

Or swallow all he contains.

It lets me know, for all my prowess…

I am still beneath him.

As I long to always be.

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

Love & Possession: The Dark Set (Week 4)-Under Lock & Key

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I touch my neck more now that I have a collar. I touch it more when there’s nothing on it, when it’s naked. Just as I was when it was given to me. When I gave myself to him.

I’d be lying to say that I was shocked or didn’t expect it. It would be a further lie to say that I didn’t want it. I did. It was a need to be his at this point. It is a funny thing that women do when we find a satisfaction in things the world around us finds devious. We are taught to be ashamed, we shouldn’t like it. We shouldn’t like it, let alone enjoy it or want it as often as possible.

I sat at my desk, my inner thighs becoming slick thinking of Baron. I thought of our past weekend together. I held my head in my hands, letting my hair spill on the nape of my neck. I had never been so grateful for a door to my office. I ran my hand through the thick dark curls. I heard his voice in my ear. “You can never belong to anyone like you belong to me.” I felt the flush come over me again. This rightness that let me know he wasn’t lying, couldn’t be lying to me.

I remembered how he had told me to sit in this chair, in this room lit only by candles. Baron was always romantic, in a gothic way. I adored that about him. There were always grand gestures of love, and acknowledgement since we started dating two years ago. As he held my hand down this hallway of his house. My pulse quickened next to his. This buzzing kismet energy passed between us.

This room off his library he had never hidden from me, but he never spoke about it. The house was a century old when he bought it with his first check. A late gift from his grandfather after graduating law school. “I hide nothing from you, Ariel.” My breath caught in my chest. “You are all I want, and a ring,” he snorted as if something bitter passed by him. “A ring can’t covey that.”

He had asked me to marry him, but then he had asked if I was open for more. Could I ‘give’ him more. Last week, this past Wednesday, he told me to leave work early. He left a note on the door, with a key. I was supposed to go in and change into the outfit on the four-poster bed. It was this simple white gown. The note on the gown specified to keep my hair down. I looked in the mirror, the late sunset spilling into the room. I’m sure that, for other women, the suspense would have been too much. But I did as the note instructed. I lay on the bed. And waited.

After waking me with a kiss, his eyes fierce and brown in his walnut colored face, he spoke. “Delicious.” he said. I smiled as he helped me up. Taking his hand, we went towards our destination.

Amongst the candles and the velvet chair I sat in with its high-back, I closed my eyes. I heard him breathing, ragged then smooth. There was rustling of a package, and I fought the instinct to open my eyes. There were footsteps around me, hands touching. The backs of my ears. My lips. Cheeks. The nape of my neck. “Of all you are, wife will be the smallest of these things.” My breathing caught, mind racing to process what he meant. “You and all this marvelous drive and fire,” he kissed my cheek. “I want to guide. To rule.” I held my breath, wondering. “I want you to be mine. Totally. Always.”

I swallowed. Was this the more? What  he wanted of me? I fluttered my eyes to the black box he held. “You can open them, Ariel.” I sat, looking at his face, before looking back at the box he held before his white starched shirt. “I want you to truly be mine, Ariel.” I looked at him, through him almost. I turned my head, tilting my chin. He stroked my chin, softly. “I want you to be mine.” he said again, definite and forceful. It was the tone he used when he was with clients or wanted me to be submissive. It always worked-in both cases.

I sat silent. Thrilled and scared. We had talked about this. We toyed with the idea of him owning me, of me being a wife and possession. Baron had talked about collaring me. I knew this because he left his iPad open once after we dated for six months. I remembered how–settled I felt. I wanted that from him. I wanted that depth, that intimacy–that assurance that I was what he wanted. I knew he loved me. But I wanted him to see what that meant.

“Ari?” he said, he held my gaze. “I want you to be mine. All mine. Bound to me.” The box opened, his eyes focused. “This is yours.” It was this thin gold collar with a lock. “It is no coincidence that I call you Kitten.” I felt my eyes water and my inner walls clench. I froze, thinking all I wanted was this around my neck. I wanted the weight. I wanted the proof. I wanted this with him. I trusted him, beyond a husband, and only slightly less than God.

I wanted this. I needed that anchor that a mere ring couldn’t give me.

This was the more.

“Answer me, Kitten. Now.” I took a deep breath, swallowed before I answered. I opened my eyes. “Yes. I can give you this. I can give you the more.” With the same icy focus, he unclasped the collar, setting the box on my lap. “When I need you to be subdued, I’ll put this on you. When I need you to be my relief and toy, you will keep this on.” He kissed me as the clasp set. His hands were in my hair, love powering the tugs he gave. “This is irrevocable.” He kissed me again. “You are mine. Heart and body. Do you understand?” My eyes opened to meet his. “Yes, sir.” He kissed the bridge of my nose. “My gorgeous kitten. You have made me so happy.”  He pulled me to my feet, turned me to the mirror he was in front of. He unzipped the dress and let it become a puddle around my feet. Kisses traced my shoulders and upper back, while his hands cupped my breasts. “I am going to have so much fun with you.” He nipped the back of my left ear before he growled into it.

The phone rang, snapping me back to the present. “Riggins Law Office.” There was silence before a voice answered. “Yeah, I gotta flower delivery here.” The voice was puzzled and irritated. “Okay, for who and of what?” I thought that perhaps my boss ordered flowers for his wife again. “Four dozen roses. For someone named,” there was paper rattling. “for Kitten.” My mouth was dry. “From Daddy.” I closed my eyes, licking my lips. “Someone will be down to get them.”

Love & Possession (Week 4)-Always More

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I had never wanted to be held.

I needed something deeper than that.

I found that in him.

 

I wanted touches

deep enough to answer aches

and quiet howls born of

lost and lust.

 

I wanted a fire.

I needed heat.

I needed what I

should not be forced

to say.

 

How does one state

that what they have been

given does not reach?

 

How can it be explained

that I thirst for waters

few have the inner valor

to find or divine?

 

Yet, they are there. I have seen and tasted.

 

In these waters,

along these shores

no place in these oceans

is shallow.

 

From the depths of

this oceans,

with eyes dark and stormy

as hurricane skies,

he has taken my hand.

 

And allowed me to swim.

 

 

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

 

More Than Words Can Say

He said I’m perfect

On my knees,

Quiet and stormy.

When he asks me

How much I love him.

“More than words can ever say…”

With a stroking of my cheek,

the grace of

All masters of kittens,

He grabs my hair and

My eyes close.

My body becomes

A lit match, smoldering

that he touched me

Again.

“Show me.”

I grin, and open my mouth.

The sweetest yes I know.

(c) Janelle Fallon, 4.2019

You Deny Me, Deny Yourself

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I had lie to him of course when I said that I had felt nothing.

When I told him the hold that he had on me was fleeting, something out of a romance novel of Harlequin or Nora Roberts. That is until, always until I tried dating again. Until I tried to forget him.

I saw him everywhere.
When I tried to date, move on from the depth that was my love for Michael. The first date I had gone on, I mustered up the will to kiss him.  The first kisses on those first few dates I had gone on were like ice on my lips. When I decided to wipe away his touch, and the fires the created with the touch of someone else, those touches were never warm enough. No penetration was deep enough, and of course, I faked it. I hated for these poor saps not to have gotten their money’s worth. I believe in being a lady about most things. This is no exception.

They used me to be a pretty toy on their arms, I knew that.  But I used them to forget him. I had to forget him. I wanted to be able to erase him. And if being under another woman could, would make a man forget–then me being on top of one should make me forget him.

Yet, there was more than one I had pinned under me, secure inside my body, yet I still saw his face. I still had to think about him to even reach anywhere near a climax. Once. Twice. Three times this happened to me. Dinner. Flirting. Cold kisses. Lukewarm lay. Uber home.

For months, I resisted calling him. I refused to give in to him. I fought it. I fought against every cell of myself that knew what he said was true. I belonged to him. I was his.

He owned me.

In the shower, right before my birthday in October, I heard his voice in my head. I felt his touch over me, insistent and hot as the water from the shower. I felt him. As real and warm and deep as the ocean he had taken me to when we first dated three years ago. I could only bare up against the shower wall, moaning. The sounds from my chest and throat more like a howl. Wounded and pained noises. All that was in me, needed him. Had to have him. Needed him with me again.

In leaving the shower, I wrapped the heavy dark blue towel around me, my newly dyed dark hair sticking to my caramel brown shoulders. I bit my lip as the tears rolled down my face. I had tried to will them back, afraid of what would happen if I unleashed them. I clutched my towel, rocking slightly on my Queen sized bed. I told myself not to call him. Gave myself the reasons not to call him.

It was so intense with him.

He wanted to much of me.

I wasn’t ready to commit.

And the scariest thing  I had to admit was. I didn’t know how to love him, because I didn’t know to accept all he had for me. In the fear of what he wanted, I didn’t have room inside me to house all that he wanted. I wasn’t ready.

Yet trying to forget him had become inhumane. The pain of not being near him was becoming abhorrent  I stared at the phone on its base, warring with my heart, logic and body. I lay there, listening to my wrist watch tick from inside the nightstand I stared at. Every second, unbearable without him. I missed him. Touching him. Tasting him. The tears rolled down the my cheeks, indistinguishable from the water still sparse on the tops of my breasts. I cried.

Naked and in the world all by myself, I cried.

It all had become too much. A year without him had become too much. I crumbled and picked up the receiver and dialed his number my reflect and memory. Once. Twice. Three times. My heart was in my chest. I was still crying. I knew then what it was like to be ripped apart. This feeling had to be it.

I had no shame. I was aching. I was prepared to cry on his answering machine. A blubbering, wounded mess on his voicemail. I closed my eyes, resigned to being without him one more day when he answered.  I heard his giggle before he answered, soothing me. “I knew you would come back to me.” I heard the smirk and cockiness in his voice. I shivered so deeply I felt in my core self. “You belong to me, Ava. Where else could you go?”