Scorched remains of lust…

I am the scorched
remains of his lust,
desire eternally touched,
perfectly balanced,
need masterfully taught
sin purposefully sought,
I am the scarlet hue,
delicately scented rose
I am the deadly thorns
I am the gentle
ebbing oceans calm
I am his raging storm.
I am the craving,
he is my fix
fueling our fires
In lustrous desire.

Indeed I am the
salted mist of
the sea
The vengeful sting
of the worker bee.
Pretorian-esque when
I buzz about,
A sensual approach
as I mount.
Like a mouse in
a sticky trap,
she squirms to escape
my lustful wrath.
Covering her in
my adore,
Cursing her with
bliss forevermore

We are the
scorched remains
of lust, fires
burning
souls yearning
naked abandonement
imprinting upon
primal senses

Love cries when
desires’ applied like
masculine fingers
around a supple neck.
Like fingers in
so much hair. . .like
us taking lusts’
dare.

Karen Hayward & Loc Thiese ©2018

Image ©Karen Hayward 2018

… His words taste like the outer corners of lust, coveted by dark shadows. A curse of black mist rising in me. If I am the succubus then he is my master, puppeteering my desire, fingering my needs to his command. His touch is the black leather choker at my slender neck. His voice the liberating echo of passion that lubricates my strings….and in his eyes is the promise of a million kisses, each one new, deep, purposeful. Each kiss overflowing with lust, each kiss a binding promise of trust, each kiss an exchange of power… And if I am his succubus, a vessel of need then he is my master and from him alone I feed, for there in his kisses, his touch and his eyes, is an abundance of love filling my skies.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Crimson silk ties…

Bound from the start 

Open legged 

naked 
words teasing lips

voice calling forth need

fingers tracing rise 

and 

fall

such power wielded. 

Dear master

Such power. 

KH©2017
Image and words

Cover them in Satan’s cream.

Once upon a day gone by beneath a deafening
thunderous sky. I waged a war on life
itself, gave my all with love and grace and
then just simply let it fall. I walked on sullen tippy toes
followed life’s incessant flow. Stopped for neither man nor beast
upon this life i’d lovingly feast. Once upon a day far gone
I danced to another song, with hidden lyrics and a tasty beat
constantly moving my naked feet.
I devoured hearts and stole away dreams
covered them in Satan’s cream. I never looked back,
never questioned my track, never cared for the consequences
my fear to attach was relentless.
Once upon a night long gone I sold my soul in the devils song.
I’ve since begged and pleaded to have it back
he only laughs and says ‘you’ll have only a crack.
You’ll see out, but they’ll not look back.’

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

If life were at my mercy a gun about her head. . .

If life were at my mercy with a gun about her head,
I’d ask she bring you to myself, to lay upon the bed.
Safety off I’d tell her so, that you are mine to have,
And life would know right there and then, she’s at the mercy of my wrath.
And for my mercy she would plead
whilst begging I tell her of my needs.
I would say, in a gentle whisper,
His touch upon my skin to linger.
The gracious feel of his wandering tongue,
and the pleasurable feel of his caressing thumb.
And life, with a gun about her head,
would say, ‘You want him here inside your bed?
To feel the devils touch of sin
lingering on your precious skin?’.
And I would smile and pity her,
and ponder who she once were.
Yes. I want his touch upon my skin,
Yes. I want the devil’s sin.
Oh life, surely even you can see,
what his touch could do to me.
And for a moment, gun about her head, she smiles,
then opens up my battered old file…
Sorry dearest, she does say,
Ive checked it out against his name…
and you have nothing past today,
for it seems your futures are still…being made.
So, I look her in her eyes and shoot her in the head,
then call out to the devil as she whimpers whilst she bled,
and the devil comes a crawling,
for he’s heard all that I have said,
he smiles, winks and says,
‘let’s get him in your bed’!

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image found on Pinterest

Sensuality of a blank canvas.

There’s no space on the page where my words can settle without burning
the sheet to ash. Speckles of ash that are lifted into the breeze, thoughts
carried away into the universe.
There’s no way to spill the calm of chaos into a logical sentence that can
be read and understood, rarely can the light walkers understand the dark.
There’s no way to create form with a desire that walks on the edge of
nothingness, no perfect Haiku to whisper in code, or sonnet to bumpily
rhyme away sinful thoughts.
Perhaps if I had an invisible pen i could write of the desires, I could tell of
the thoughts that would make even the devil blush.
I could explore the page with a fresh energy, words trailing, thoughts
wandering as do fingers or eye’s or the passion that sits on the
lips of a lover.
Or perhaps, I can write in rhyme safe in the knowledge that the beat will
hide from sight my continual need for you.
Trivialization of such thoughts feels like a form of infedelity to myself, to
the empty space in front of me, to the blank page that can become so
much, yet begs me to not make a liar of it.
Perhaps the emptiness is better than being compliant and trying to force
delicious chaos into some form of normality.

Karen Hayward ©2015

The glint of golden joy.

Showers of humiliation?
Or pleasure perhaps. . .
the warm trickle
the smirk,
the resulting slap as
leather hits skin.

KH©2017

Perhaps as you sleep . . .

Perhaps, whilst you sleep
My fingers could trace along
Your skin, my lips could taste
Your neck, my hands could
Know your chest, my mouth
Could find your nipples…
Perhaps, whilst you sleep,
My hair could tickle gently
At your face, as i trace my
tongue down, down, down…
Swirling across the tip
Of your dick, sucking,
Licking, ..
Perhaps, i could wake you
With the gentle rocking of
My hips, small gentle twirls
As your tip, teases the opening
Of my lips…With soft kisses
That turn to passion, with
Rocking hips that turn to need…
Your hands stirring finding
My hips…No more teasing..
Thrusting, deep, hard
Primal thrusting…Perhaps
Whilst you’re sleeping
I could wake you.
KH© 2017

Image found on pinterest

Crimson Blush.

Your essence lays deep within my core,
my mind unquenched it begs me for more,
My spirit, chaotic has never felt so sure,
Of all our choices, I’m thinking all fours.

My skin searches always your touch
cheeks yearning for your crimson blush
An intense need that roams without rush,
A slave to desire and the erotic rush.

My eyes wander other realms to need,
to ponder the evolution of master’s feed,
to secure the taste essence of seed,
To taste liberation to be free.

I find you again at the core of my mind,
dark evolution, my wrists you do bind,
Kisses so soft, touch. . .of a kind,
this here lust that does burn,
Is yours and is mine.
It is yours and it is mine.
The whispers of need as
two souls entwine.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Words and image.

Decibels of lust.

I’d wake you with kisses soft and gentle,
And by gentle I mean, greedily devouring
your skin, teeth grazing, fingers digging,
I’d pull the essence of you deep into
my lungs
leaving a trailed mess of desire in my blood.

I’d whisper to you, quiet words of love,
by quiet I mean silent screams of despair,
My lips still, my voice waking your senses,
Decibels of lust rattling through your body,
I’d pull you from sleep, drag you into my reality.

I’d be your morning beauty, your ray of Sun,
By beauty I mean unruly hair and wild eyes,
naked skin still warm too touch,
I’ll be your light of darkest sin,
A golden stream of endless need.

I’ll wake you with love, in deepest hues,
By love, I mean a selfless promise,
a heart so pure,
a forever innocence, I mean a caring caress,
An honest embrace, a knowing smile,
And a heart that does race.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words