The unity of sex

It’s about control.
My control over you,
over external stimuli,
it’s about navigating
my pleasure zones,
taking them cliff edge
and jumping, naked,
abandoned into an
angry sea of lust.
Its about power,
swinging the kinetic
pen-
du-
lum
in favour of me,
of you,
of me,
of you.
It’s nature’s force
rising within,
screaming obscenities
into the silent sky.
It’s about embracing
taboos,
painting them
across my torso,
mapping them
across my hip,
kissing them deep into my existence.
It’s about liberation,
those shackles that bind,
the ropes that burn,
the belt that reddens
The hands that restrain…
It’s about losing sight
and gaining… Sight
Being led into
temptation and
made to feed.
To gorge on sin
To devour whimsical
wishes, its about
control… My control
in your hands, my
power in your fingers
My need in your kisses
My desire in your strokes
My passion burning in your eyes
It’s all about trust
Power/ trust/ control
Yours… Mine…
They are the same
Its about unity.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

Scorched remains of lust…

Photo

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

When passion stirs 

It starts at my very core, there at my centre, deep within my sacral.
Not a gentle, subtle whispered kiss
of bliss, oh no, It’s an inferno, a blazing
storm, it takes hold, flames
through me, a moments combustion,
lubricated response to dampen the
fires of desire. A matrix of sensuality,
ancient coding mapped on the aged
parchment of my soul, the hidden
symbolism of spirit that you finger
your way through with the knowledge
of a blind man searching his memories
for lost vibrations of once known directions. A flamed insistence spreads
through my responsive cells,
blood reaching my surface needing
to caress its master as searing heat
flushes and blushes, intensity rushes.
My limbs curl, search, draw in,
crouching, anticipating the onslaught
Implosive lust, explosive need…
It all starts at my very centre,
an inferno blazing through
me, an ancient need responding
to its one true master.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Crimson Blush.

karenart

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.