… 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

Bleeding out.

Strange how I’d like to devour your soul, tear it open and watch as the mechanical hands tick and fucking tock.
Devour it not with my fingers that ache to stretch across your skin or my lips curiously searching for your taste. I want to devour you not with my naked body or eager eyes. Strange how my soul wants to tear open your soul and watch as passion bleeds into you, as desire sweeps across our bodies an explosion of forgotten inhibitions. To let instinct replace knowing as our bodies entwine, expelling darkness creating a dark mass a void of time that stands still. Stillness as our spirit escapes the self imposed cages. Chaos confined to the outer universe, chaos spilling through us, chaos becoming us. A moment created in time  that cannot be defined, cannot be tamed, cannot be placed on a page alongside a tick box of descriptions. I’d like to devour you, create something pure and instinctual untainted by the cages of society.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Release.

The finger tapping sound of frustration constantly drumming in my blood.

My body stings for the release of these non negotiable feelings that

hinder me so.

Locked inside a cage, flaming red spilling down the bars as they vibrate on a personal frequency.

Let me out of these restraints. Come closer let me feel you there.

This need just keeps on growing a distraction of the mind.

To make up to feel to touch to see to have us be.

To utter nothing but the screams of passion. To feel nothing

but the pounding throb of satisfaction. Empty me, empty my

thoughts and replace them with your touch. Peel away my tiredness

and replace it with your sensual energy. Take away this need that

I have to devour you, give yourself to me. Lay naked with me beneath

the dying stars. Trail the moons loving light across my skin with

with your soft and tender lips. For a moment, a moment in time

that cannot be taken, a pause between the worlds. Gently guide

my thoughts through this mind field of destruction. Take me, take

me there to that place where I can scream as waves of pleasure

release me from these chains of life. Take me, take away what I

cannot do and replace it with what I can.

 

Karen Hayward ©2015.

 

 

 

 

Strip Away Those Clothes. (A Hedonistic world)

If only they would stop searching the endless paths of

hopeless fools that dominate the green green grass

of earth. If they could just stop looking to appease the

lost souls of the blind clones and their followers, they

could be free. They could strip away the insecurities

of an unstable society and walk the balance beam of chaos,

one foot in front of the other as their soul flies on ahead

to clear the way. If for a moment they could shake away

their prudish thoughts, let passion enter their minds, brush

away the dirt of a gentleman’s rule, they could know ecstasy.

The creeping wave that floods through the perfectly tuned body;

inhibitions left at the door, clothes strewn across the floor,

desire in the fingertips of fire, passion no longer

denied as the flames burn inside.

If only they could walk this path, leave behind the sins of

the clueless few who fear the strong. So much fear for the other side,

for those that walk bare skinned without sin beneath a veil

of devilish fun with tantalizing tales of lust, stories of trust

and moments in time of naked bodies never meant to

be mine. Alas, the path is their choosing all mottled in grey

always concerned for the place where they lay.

Desire burns.

Like a whisper on the wind,
a delicate fantasy of sexual desire
that burns constantly in the distance.
The heated flames never far from mind,
the discovery of new erotic finds.
The desire tantalises the curious mind
with its broken edges
and shadows
left behind.