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Sir 2.0 Episode 4: Bathing Before Sir.


‘Now, let’s see what we can do about that, shall we?’

The hand between your legs begins to move in small, careful circles, the pad of his index finger studious and maddening in how it never quite lands on your throbbing clitoris. Around it, towards it, and each stroke is as deft and light as a breath. The fingertip grazes the tender, aching flesh and you take in deep breaths, looking up at the black ceiling, letting the light blind you with it. The sweet fury of his touch, at Sir’s behest starts to send currents of delicious, incendiary potential down your thighs, nearly fibrillating with the intensity of it. The detached, distracted motion develops before he removes his fingers from between your legs and you find yourself sopping wet. He picks up the sponge again and rinses you off, beneath a deluge of warm, scented water.

‘Would you like me to shave her?’ the guard asks.

He looks at you, the guard, and gives a gentle, almost reassuring smile.

‘Yes, I think that’s a fine idea.’

He walks away from you, his hand grazing along the inside of your thigh a moment too long before he departs. He offers a look of comfort, which is comforting in and of itself, yet has an air of rebellion and discontent to it, here in this place.

He returns with a straight razor, a bowl and a badger hair brush. He places the brush in the bowl and whisks it with a careful turn of his wrist. When he lifts it, thick clots of creamy suds drip lazily off the brush and he applies the lather in slow, careful circles to your groin. The lather is warm, almost luxurious and he ensures that you experience a heavy, damp layer of the shaving cream against your skin. He replaces the brush in the bowl and opens the razor, its edge gleaming in the light. You bite your lip, concerned of the edge against your delicate, throbbing flesh. He leans over and touches your forearm.

‘You can relax. I’ll take care of you.’

The assurance in his words, calm enough to almost be off-hand lowers your heart rate and he uses his left hand to pull the skin taut and lowers the razor to your groin. His strokes are sure and you register the edge of the blade in the abstract. He does not look from his work. He looks into your eyes only when he rinses the flecks of hair and foam from the blade or applies another layer of foam. He works in a breathy silence, and when he brings a soft sponge and wipes everything away, the delicate unshaven skin tingles where it makes contact with the air. You want to crane your head to look but the sensation tells you everything you need to know.

From the darkness, Sir’s voice rings out.

‘Impeccable work, as always.’

The guard gives a nod and wheels the table away. He leaves you a long, lingering look and then disappears into the darkness.

‘You really are quite exquisite between your legs. I almost want to come over and spank it.’

You take in a sharp breath and hear the clop of heels as he walks around.

‘But I can wait for that.’

He claps his hands together.

‘Excellent, I think we can proceed to the next stage now. I will have someone take you along and we will meet again.’

He falls silent and another pair of guards come in and wheel you away. Down a corridor, then their gloved hands loosening your restraints. No one speaks and you are helped up with the care shown an invalid and handed a white gown made from cotton, longer than the hospital johnny you wore initially. On the left breast is sewn a badge with a single number 8.

You are escorted into a larger chamber, where the women and men you were processed with, stand in loose, casual groups. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your knees are weak with adrenaline and excitement. Then you walk in.


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Sir 2.0 Episode 2: Processing (spoken word)

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Sir 2.0 Episode 1: Processing. (audiobook)

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All Your Secret Places


Come to me

Willing to be opened


All your secret places

Revealed to me

My caramel eyes

Promise to keep

All your secrets

The singing sky of you

Whether it seethes

With bloodied storm

Or serene as praying Buddha

I offer a love, a grand passion

That kisses your sins

Full on the mouth

My knowing fingers



My kitten soft tongue

Drinking the juices

Of the ripe soft fruit-treasure

Between your quivering thighs

My beauty, raw and primal

Defines yours

It can chew you


Scratch you raw

Fuck you until

You surrender

In throbbing, open bliss


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Wagering that
The wistful expression
Is, within itself
An invitation
That within you
Lies a soul
Comfortable with
In that you
Would be
Both small
Precious metals
Wrought by times
Craft into something
Quite exquisite
And teeming seething
A companionable
strength that would
Wrap itself around
Me and constriction-call
My ravishing lust
From beneath
Shirt and tie
My hands
Brutal frame
In waiting for
The portrait
of your
Inspiring essence
That looks out
Through your eyes

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Suit and tie

Your fingers
Undoing my tie
I can feel
The hunger
In your touch

From my neck
Around your
Because as the
Cloth bites
You feel
Able to breathe

I have you
Your playful struggling
Adding to the power
Of this
And my mouth
My hands
Bearing upon
You to remind
You of the authority
We give one

I’m dressed
But with you
I’m naked
To the appetite
You awake in me
With a single look

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Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere 08/04/2015

I have plunged into the thick of possibly the last sex scene in the book. There’s been a different dynamic to these in this book, more assertive than previously although I’ve balanced the tenderness with the aggression that appears on the surface to be the sum of it all.

So, with this one, there’s more dominance and slapping, although I established boundaries and safe words in the narrative and it’s a different type of scene to write for me, with a male POV and although challenging, there’s a necessary parity to the language because when you’re aroused, as a man, you tend to move into more primal states of mind and I wanted to capture that on the page.

I want to avoid that it resembles a man beating a woman, to insert as much passion into it without making it feel overly languid or trying to soften/excuse the power exchange as a way of apologising for it. So the language I use is more intense, shorter descriptions and reactions, minimal dialogue other than admissions and guttural expressions.

So, I am in the thick of stinging flesh and guttural moans, trying to make it so that you read it and feel the emotions, imagine the struggle and the sting of hand on flesh, that this is all a triumph of the imagination and the will.


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Before The Door Closes.

On you before the

Door closes

My hands, like  hounds

Drawn to your scent

Having tracked you all day

They search you out,

Rough strong hairy hands

A blue collar symphony

Played against the instrument

Of your flesh

Stroking out each note

My bass to your falsetto,

Sometimes alto

Tearing the underwear away

So aroused that you don’t even mourn

Your hands at my face

I could tear you apart

Which is part of the thrill

Isn’t it?

To see if the immovable object

Of you

Can stop the force of me

Deliciously violent

As I play with you

Until you’re slick


Able only to kick off

Your shoes

Along the carpet

Skipping like a stone

May as well make ourselves


I plan on being here awhile.


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Can You Hear Me?

Can you hear me?

Imagine my gruff voice

Telling you

How I want to punch my tongue

Inside you

Drink all that salted honey

That spills from you

Called from you

By my soft, knowing tongue

Or how my hands itch

To sink into your skin

To hold you firmly

That sometimes I can

Be a poem or a song

To you

Other times a

Firm hand

Breaking you until

You surrendered.

I hold all these


In perfect balance

And all that it takes

Is a smile

And a look to set me



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My Love Is Violent

I look at you

The moist  bow

Of your mouth

The knowing intelligent

Light in your eyes

The soft swaying of your hips

As you come back to the table

The sight of you

Something turns in my chest

Looks at you

It is me,

It’s always been me,

Furry dark

Kind eyes.

Rough, large hands

That make you bite your lip

In anticipation,

Thick thighs

Broad shoulders

But I don’t mention

The gym

Kind brown eyes

That wants to open you

I want to make

A mess of you

You want

both a door opened

And to be tested

To take,

To be taken

I see you

And as you place your panties

A soft cloth bloom

Into the palm of my hand

I tell you

Warn you

But you smile and


“Show me.”