beauty, erotica, lust, sex, Sir, spoken word, women

Sir 2.0 To Receive (spoken word)

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beauty, erotica, lust, sex, spoken word, women

Sir 2.0 Breathe In Comfort (spoken word)

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beauty, erotica, love, lust, women

An Excerpt From Until She Sings

This scene is different in the book, but I enjoyed it enough to keep and wanted to share it with you all.

 

He reached his left arm to support himself as he eased down into the chair. I put my hands to his face, stroking his beard as I kissed his smile. I clamped my thighs over his. I dipped my hips forward, driven with a need to have him closer. He was slow and gentle and it inflamed me. I threw myself against his supple body but it didn’t yield as I took him in my hands. I slipped his bottom lip between my teeth, biting into it. His fingers went to the waist of my jeans and unbuttoned me, his fingers weaving and dancing before he tried, to tug them down my hips. His slow authority made me wild with want and having given into this, everything had the volume turned up to it.

I pulled back to catch my breath, my face burning with heat as I looked at him. His expression made me ache and without taking my gaze off his face, I unbuttoned my blouse. My fingers were shaking, which made each button a challenge. The hunger in his eyes made me work harder. He had reduced and elevated me with the focus of his attention,

The heat grew as we rubbed against one another. It drew up into my stomach and it kept moving outwards. His hands swept around to my breasts. He trailed his kisses from my mouth down to my neck and I brought my left arm around him so I could hold him as he worked his lips there, setting a fire which moved through every vein, flooding my limbs with heat. Throwing myself against the calm, primal strength of him inflamed me, had me aching for more of it with a hunger larger than everything.

I ground myself against his crotch and his smile widened. He brushed my nipples through my bra and I reached my right hand around my back and unclipped it.

I took it off and tossed it aside. I lifted myself onto my knees and put my hands against his chest. I grazed my fingers through the soft hair on his chest, its tight, dark curls tickled my fingertips. My eyes were wide with fascination at the raw, sculptured power of his body.

‘Are you ok?’

I laughed.

‘Just needed to catch my breath. I love your body.’

He glided his hands down to my stomach. He made slow circles over my skin, tracing lines of fire which fed the heat inside me. My hands slipped up onto his shoulders and pushed off him. I stood up and met his gaze.

‘What do you want to do?’

I hooked the waistband of my jeans and tugged them down over my thighs and knees until they fell in a puddle around my feet. I stepped out of them, towards him and he sat up, bringing his hands out to claim me again.  A shiver of anticipation went through me, being nude before him made me new in his eyes, humming with lustful courage as his eyes roamed over me, a playful smile made my arousal stir like ancient force, a storm on the horizon, a fierce animal awaken from hibernation and every sense driven by hunger.

His touch was a whisper against my skin, mouth playing upwards. A right hand smoothed down from the curve of my right buttock, over the back of my leg and I shuddered when it came around to rest against the inside of my thigh. He kissed up and around, nuzzling my ribs underneath the swell of my breast.. The fullness of his attention robbed me of everything and gave me

I brought my left hand against the side of his head and pulled him to my nipple. I gasped as he took me between his lips. The blood raced around my body, overwhelmed by the heat brought into being by his touch.

He withdrew my nipple from his mouth and looked up at me, grinning as he moved his right hand closer to the crotch of my panties. He grazed the meat of his palm against my pussy and I lowered myself to meet it. My lips parted, dragging the cloth of my underwear against the edge of his hand. Between his hand and mouth, every nerve in my body sparked as he held his hand still, letting me take charge of my pleasure.

His mouth worked across my chest. He combined light kisses and the rasp of his tongue against the skin of my collarbone, working with his hand. I gave myself over to his touch. He turned his wrist and his fingertips pressed upwards. I wrapped my hands around the back of his head as he sucked my left nipple at the same time. The sensations overlapped and then his fingers moved.

I tangled my fingers through his hair, gasping as the pleasure became electric in the surrounding air. We did not speak in words, only sighs and the low, smooth sound of our breathing. I moaned as his fingers worked against the wet silk of my underwear. I reached and touched his forearm. He looked at me then plucked the cloth away. The tips of his fingers tickled my pubic hair before he found my clit. I growled with the force of it as it shot up into my head.

The tip of his finger teased me in slow, small circles. My chest rose as I took deep calming breaths, the tension moving upwards through my body until every inch of me tingled with need. I could not control my expressions and when I looked, he was studying my face for cues.

He stroked me and I gasped. He slid his finger down and brushed me between my labia. The gesture drew the moisture up then with the moistened tip of his finger he rolled it around my clit smooth and soft.

I went to say something but then he applied a little pressure with his finger and all the thoughts flew out of my head. He massaged me with the same gentle pressure as he had everywhere he touched me.

The tension roared through my bones until I could take no more. I gave myself over to it. I squeezed my eyes shut and bucked my hips against his hand. His left hand came to anchor me as I leaned forward and kept my hands tangled in his hair, deaf to the noises I made. The force of it lifted me upwards, my limbs tangled around his as we remained on the chair.

There was nothing but the sound of my heartbeat.

I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder. His hands brushed my hair. I looked at him. My eyes grew damp, and I touched his face.

‘You needed that,’ he said.

He smiled and brushed my hair away from my face as I folded myself into him. The muscles in my stomach and legs were heavy with a good ache and I drew my legs up so I was on his lap. I laid my head against his chest and listened to the deep, even rhythm of his breath.

‘I’ve been holding my breath since I met you,’ I said.

The vibrations of his words went straight through me as he spoke them.

‘I know just what you mean.’

I came up and rubbed his nose with my own. He smiled then turned his head to one side and kissed me again.

‘Yes, but so far all you’ve got is a cramp and sticky fingers.’

He gave a quiet laugh.

‘I got as much out of that as you did.’

I smiled and brought myself around so I was straddling him again. I looked down at the unzipped fly of his jeans.

His cock strained against the material of his underwear. I looked into his eyes and swallowed as I slid them down and reached for his cock. I curled my fingers around it, fascinated by the heat of it in my palm.. I looked at it and I stroked him. He lifted me, slipped off his jeans and kicked them away.

His muscular legs made me gasp with lust. The skin of his cock was soft and warm, stiff and yet, when I squeezed him, the life of him throbbed against my fingers. The ease of my hunger surprised me, the uncoiling lust that made me curious to touch him, to commit each texture, each throb, hair and vein to the memory of my hands.

He smiled and rested his right hand on my wrist as I watched his face. He sighed and tilted his head back, an easy grin on his face as he brought his hand up, resting it on the back of mine. I was gentle with him, but his erection wavered, and a burst of anxiety erupted in my chest. He slid his hand over mine and looked up at me.

‘Kiss me.’

I leaned forward and smiled as we kissed again.

‘Show me how you like it.’

From the first stroke, he stiffened. Unguarded bliss flitted across his face as I touched him.

I slid my hand up to take the head of his cock in my palm. He grinned at me.

I smiled back as I reached my left hand and stroked the tight skin of his testicles. He gasped. I let my fingertips dance over the flesh and maintained a steady rhythm with my right hand until he gave another breathy sigh. He bucked against my touch as the strain in his face grew until it cracked into a grin of ecstasy. He shot in three thick spurts, one of which splashed against the backs of my fingers. I gave a small giggle as I looked into his eyes and, on a whim, licked it from my fingers. He tasted thick and sweet.

He had a loose grin on his face. I watched him until he turned his head and looked at me. I tried to avoid his gaze, but he brought his hand to my face and turned me to look at him.

I glowed as he leaned forward to kiss me again.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

I kissed him again, then pulled back to put my hand between his shoulder blades, hungry to stroke the thick play of muscle there. The scar was beneath my fingers and I jumped, gasping in shock.

‘Shit. Sorry.’

He looked at my fingers, then back up at my face. He wore a small sad smile.

‘Tonight’s been the first time I’ve not thought about them in a long time.’

I teared up and he brought his arms around me. I put my head on his shoulder, surrendered to the warm authority of his embrace.

‘Tonight’s been the first night I’ve not thought about a few things.’

He planted a chaste kiss on the top of my ear and nuzzled my hair with his nose. Then he put his lips to my ear, his voice no louder than a whisper.

‘Shower?’

 

I leaned back on my elbows as he placed light feathery kisses against my collarbone. He brought his hands to cup my breasts. He bathed them with long slow licks of his tongue, so slow I arched my back to alleviate the tension it created within me.

My warm, wet flesh there. He kissed me with the same delicacy as he kissed my mouth, brief motions which set me on fire with the pleasure of it.

There was restraint here, he teased me with his tongue and lips. He gave a satisfied grunt before he dipped his head and the soft rough flat of his tongue dragged upwards. He used the wet, wild heat of mouth and his fingers to worship me in silence.

 

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beauty, love, lust, poetry, sex, women

A Gentleman Goes To The Opera

I am certain

Of myself

A gentleman

But not always

A gentle man

Rough with need

But considered in

Instructions

Pin you to

The fucking wall

My hand between

Your thighs

Taking possession

Giving voice to the

Opera of fuck

That plays louder

Than God

When I look

At you

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beauty, erotica, sex, short fiction, Sir, women

Sir 2.0 Breathe In Comfort

The atmosphere in the communal areas changes as the days go on. There is the change in the scents of the surrounding women, the hormonal responses as each of them undergoes tailored experiences that leave them wide eyed and dazed, a softness to the limbs and a candour that you can see and hear in their voices and body language.

You nurse your feelings in private. You reserve them for him.

Not Sir.

Daddy.

When your name is called, you find that your palms are damp and your legs are hollow, fizzing with an anticipation that you can barely hide. He is an adjunct to the experience, your head tells you, but then the memory of his eyes bearing into yours or his rough, low voice surges to correct you. The thoughts are chased away by the feeling he engenders within you. How he moves from a controlled dominance to an urgency of passion and then, afterwards, a capacity for aftercare that makes your mouth water with anticipation.

You shower and there is a silk nightie that falls to just above the knee. The faintest blushes of pink and peach are caught by the lights, and when you stroke the material between your thumb and forefinger, you sigh at the luxuriousness of the material.

He has chosen this for you; you tell yourself. His intention made manifest. Another choice taken from you but hot orchids of delight flower and exude in your chest. You slip it on and the matching robe, candied with anticipation as you follow the trail of lights set into the floor to another room.

Room 26.

You open the door. A bank of warm, soft light breathes onto you and you step inside, toes sinking into thick, soft carpet as you take in the room.

Daddy has his back to you as he finishes pinning the corners of the blanket. There is no overhead light, only a pair of table lamps draped with muslin cloths, dyed cerulean blue and emerald green. The hem of his black t-shirt rides up his back, revealing a strip of taut, hirsute flesh above his belt. He turns around and smiles at you, his even, white teeth flashing where the light catches them. There are comic and colouring books, an unopened set of felt tip pens, a box of crayons. On a white china plate sit a pile of oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies, still carrying the warm fragrance of being freshly cooked. A pitcher of chilled chocolate milk stands there, beaded and trickling with chill perspiration. You were prepared for the fury, the control but this undoes you more effectively than the most brutal discipline.  There are thick, white pillows on the carpet and a plush, brown bear sits there, arms open to embrace you with shiny brown eyes and a stitched on smile.

Your eyes fill with tears as you bring your hands to your mouth. He turns around and his smile falters as he comes forward.

‘I’ve been a mean daddy the last few times. I have to show that I care that I understand about my little and what she needs. Sometimes that’s discipline, and sometimes its -‘

He gestures towards the pillows.

‘What do you want me to do?’ you say

He smiles and comes forward.

‘I would like to watch you colour.’

You kneel down, then reach for the first colouring book and snap open the case of felt pens. You flip through the pages like it’s a catalogue, find a horse stood at a fence, being fed by a young girl. The stark lines of the drawing, the spaces between all call to you.

He pours you a tall glass of chocolate milk and picks up a cookie. He hands them to you and you set the book down. His smile is gentle, the zen calm of acceptance and authority but the light in his eyes, a mercurial intelligence and strength draws you in as you take the glass and cookie from him.

‘Thank you, Daddy.’

The cookie is warm, a perfect blend of textures, the crumbling goodness of the oatmeal flakes melting on your tongue, the dark bursts of chocolate and the gooey, damp dough that clings to your teeth. You sip the milk, creamy and thick as the richness of the chocolate suffuses your taste buds and you swallow the mixture down and smile.

‘Are you going to have one Daddy?’

He tilts his head to one side and grins as he pours himself a glass and picks up a cookie as he kneels down beside you. You set the glass down and pop the rest of the cookie into your mouth as you look at the pens and decide what colour to go with first.

‘I could do a Bob Ross style commentary.’ he says.

You giggle and decide on the dark green. You uncap the pen and slot the lid onto the back then begin to brush the felt inside the lines. His hand rests on the nape of your neck and you lean your cheek against the back of his hand.

It scares you, the ease of intimacy. How real he feels, not just physically. Emotionally. He has mystery like coming close to a wild animal without knowing its name. His breathing is deep and calm. You lose yourself in the colouring, relaxing into a place within yourself. Simple comforts and joys that you spend your adulthood trying to get back or replicate.

He gives that to you.

A jolt of mischief leaps through you and you smile as you start to draw outside the lines. You hear him murmur something and his hand strokes down the between your shoulder blades. You shudder and give another giggle.

‘You should colour in the lines, little girl.’

You turn your head and poke out your tongue, feeling bright with challenge. He grins but then his face tightens into a playful mask of authority.

‘Are you sassing me, little girl?’

You smile and keep scribbling outside the lines, swift loops and scribbling hard enough to scar the paper.

‘Maybe. What are you going to do about it?’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Well, a spanking can be a punishment, but you want one, don’t you?’

You shake your head and pout. He sighs and nods, points to his lap and you put the pen down, lay yourself across his lap and giggle. He smooths the hem of your nightie over the curve of your ass, strokes across the flesh and you feel him tense underneath you as his breathing slows down.

His hand comes down firm. He pulls the blow, enough to warm the skin and send the flash of good hurt travelling through you and you push up.

‘Thank you, Daddy.’

He smacks you again, a little harder this time and you gasp with delight, letting the feeling wash over you, easing you into a warm bath of sensation, melting by degrees as heat pools and seethes within you. You feel your pussy relaxing and opening, growing damp with each blow. Your teeth find your bottom lip and you hold them there, sighing with delight.

You thank him after each time. He parts your thighs with his fingers and strokes your pussy, petting it and easing his fingers forward, parting the lips and grazing his finger against the tender, pulsating flesh of your labia. You tremble and he draws his finger back. He spanks you there, and you cry out.

You remember to thank him. Daddy appreciates good manners in you.

He moves you around to sit on his lap. Your buttocks sting where you sit, but it’s a pleasant sensation that heightens what you are already experiencing. A tenderness and a release that you have taken to, with an ease that surprises you.

It is him.

Daddy.

He draws your mouth to his with his fingers stroking along the line of your jaw. He holds himself, and you dart forward, grazing your lips over his. He tastes of chocolate and you close your eyes, slipping into the realm of pure sensation. You breathe into one another, his hands start to move all over you. The damage they can do to you is present in your thoughts, and it adds a nuance of anticipation that has the sensuality of a thunderstorm. His fingers curve around the slope of your breast through the night gown and his thumb circles around your nipple through the silk. You reach and start to undo his belt as you kiss. You want to feel him, all the tastes and textures intrigue you into boldness.

He pulls off his t-shirt and the sight of his thick, hairy chest makes you uncurl with want. You run your fingers through the hair and trace along the hard lines of his thick pectoral muscles and then up to the ridges of his shoulders. His thick neck and along the line of his jaw, petting his beard as you unbuckle his belt and undo the buttons on the fly of his jeans. You reach inside and stroke along the shaft of his uncut cock. He growls and you slide off his lap, get on your knees and pull it free of his underwear.

‘Can I kiss it, Daddy?’

He nods and you brush your hair away from your face as you slide your lips over the head of his cock. The velvety skin holds the musk of him, clean sweat and you press your tongue against it. You murmur with delight as you take him into your mouth, looking up at him with wide eyes.

‘I taste good, don’t I, little girl?’

You pull your mouth away, lips glistening with the oil of his arousal.

‘Yes, Daddy.’

His face darkens, and he touches your cheek.

‘Show me how you want it, baby.’

You lower your head and take him into your mouth, breathing through your nose, enjoying the tension that you play with like an instrument. His thighs are taut and you tug his jeans down, wanting more of his skin against you.

His heat.

His fury.

You play with him slowly until his fingers wrap around your hair and he lifts you away. His eyes are dark with lust and he tells you to lay down. He stands up, steps out of his jeans and underwear then picks up a condom packet and opens it, rolling it onto his cock before kneeling between your open thighs. He kisses you slowly as his hand strokes the hollow of your throat. You reach your hand up, close it over his thick wrist and push his hand against you.

‘Check in?’ he says.

‘Green light.’

His fingers close in on the carotid arteries on either side of your neck. He gives a gentle squeeze and your head goes light with the momentary loss of blood before he draws back. You are giddy with it and you nod before his fingers close again as with his other hand, he guides his cock inside you.

‘Thank you Daddy.’

You lift your hips and he slides inside you, filling you with slow, deep strokes as he alternates between controlled squeezes of his fingers and deep, intent thrusts.

Fuck and breathe.

Fuck and breathe.

He pulls out his cock and keeps his fingers on your throat.

He reaches down and spanks your pussy. The sting makes your eyes water with its cleansing force. You writhe and his fingers sink into the sides of your neck. Your head fills up with purple and red lights before he eases his grip. You gaze into his caramel eyes as he smiles at you. He moves back inside you and starts to thrust hard as you bring your quivering thighs up to take him further and deeper inside you.

 

‘Please, Daddy, can I come?’

 

You wonder if you slur it. You do not care.

 

He nods, face tight with his own pleasure and the need to harness it in service of yours.

 

Your first orgasm rushes through you, made fierce by the control he has over your breath. The giddiness and disorientation strips you of inhibition and you buck against him, shaking with release. You lose control of your body, lost in a storm of neural, blissful riot as he continues to work inside you.

 

He slows down and pushes against your chest as you writhe and reach for him.

 

He scoops you up into his arms, lifting you as you wrap your weakened legs around him and cling to him, impaled on the skillful heft of his cock as he kisses you. Your heart pounds like a thoroughbred running across a field, and you look into his eyes.

 

‘Are you going to come, Daddy?’

 

He kisses you and begins to pump harder. You wrap yourself around him, focusing on how hard he is inside you, like a rod of iron clothed in velvet and when finally, he draws his head back, you marvel at his face, soft and open with pleasure as he groans.

 

You collapse onto the pillows and stroke one another, speaking in kisses of different lengths and pressures, as he strokes your hair.

 

‘Thank you Daddy.’

 

He kisses your forehead. The tenderness of this does not cause you to drop as hard or as far because he keeps hold of you, looking into your eyes until your eyelids grow heavy and you drift away, awash with a soft, warm tingling of comfort and safety.

 

He pulls you close, stroking your hair and sighing.

 

The last thing that you remember is that he says your name to you. It sounds wonderful to hear him speak it.

 

What hurts is that you awaken in the dorm.

 

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love, lust, poetry, sex, spoken word

My Voice Goes With You

​https://soundcloud.com/matt-blissett/

Here is my channel of poetry, spoken word pieces and audio recordings of Sir 2.0. Please listen and offer feedback.

Thank you.

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erotic writing, erotica, love, lust, sex, Sir

Sir 2.0 Episode 4: Bathing Before Sir.

shave

‘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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