… 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


Everytime I tumble you’re there 

with hands out reached, fingers eager to explore, 

lips begging for more, 

as you mentally strip me 

naked there upon the floor. 

With lust filled promises, screams 

of delight 

and guarantees I’ll lose my mind. 

Caressing my vulnerability, 

devouring my sensuality. 

In your fantasy…am I down upon 

knees eager to please? 

Am I bound, captive, 

a blank canvas you can tease? 

Will you touch me and tickle 

and stroke till I wiggle, 

will you take and demand 

barking sexual commands? 

And when I’m spent upon the floor,

Will I be yours…
Karen Hayward ©2016

Pull the air…

ease, draw air from my lungs 

with the tantalisingly whispers 

of promises if kisses on skin so

very…porcelain. Oh please, awaken 

long sleeping senses, subtle moans

and screams of pleasure, caress 

then as though they were long lost

treasures. Oh please, please, bring 

Mr down upon my knees with 

precious fingers, let them tease. 

Please, draw the ait from my lungs

become my very own sun, rays dancing

having fun….please pull the air from out my lungs. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

In dreams of sleep you fill me deep.

In dreams of sleep

you enter me,

so very deep.

I feel your lips as they

dance across my skin,

primal need pleading

that we commit the devils sin.

I feel your eyes gaze

across your desired need

Free roaming wolves

we exist to feed.

I feel the gentle tease of your fingers

tracing the lines of lips

where your kiss still lingers.

I hear the call of desire

I feel the flaming fires

Oh, be my Sire,

be my Sire.

Release me of this energy

it’s ours, can you see?

Need that fuels life

be my Sire,

and i’ll be your wife.

Be my Sire,

let us live life.


Karen Hayward ©2016





The devils claw.

The devil came upon my bed

I don’t recall the words he said.

He bent me over with a gentle smack

with scarlet skin and eyes so black.

I screamed for God I screamed for hope

as the devil reached for the flaming rope.

He tied my arms he tied my legs

with pleading eyes I didn’t beg.


Karen Hayward ©201 (edited)