Th**** Posted January 18 Create a limerick using only words associated with alternative lifestyles! There once was a voice in the night, That softened with steel when it might, One whisper of stay, Made resolve slip away, Desire drawn slow, dark, and tight.
In**** Posted January 18 I dated a boy from Omaha. He couldn’t wait to remove my bra. Lingerie? No, He didn’t want a show. He only wanted to do me raw… … ng.
se**** Posted January 19 There once was a spark after dark, With consent as the core of the arc. A whisper, a leash, Soft power, slow tease, Where trust leaves its mark on the mar
wo**** Posted January 19 There once was a thrill on display, With glances that lingered and stayed, Oh, what a sight, Onlookers held tight, Aunt Agnus; in leather—at play!
wo**** Posted January 19 A collar lay warm at the throat, Bound tight by a promise they wrote, Through ritual and trust, her obedience a must, Only high heels, her leash, and a coat.
Th**** Posted January 21 Author In candle-smoke and whispered vows, Your shadow teaches mine how to bow. Leather sighs, the room holds still, Every breath an offered will. A silk command, a quiet plea, Power passed like sacred key. Knuckles graze, then linger there, Promise humming in the air. Knees learn truths the mouth won’t say, Eyes confess, then look away. Time bends soft beneath your gaze, A measured burn, a patient blaze. Not ***, but pressure, finely spun, The art of stopping just before done. A tethered heart, a chosen chain, Trust blooming bright inside the strain. When darkness finally loosens grip, And night releases from our skin, We rise marked not by bruise or scar, But by who we dared to be in the dark.
Th**** Posted January 22 Author 2 hours ago, InverseReality said: Now you’re breaking the rules. Is there a rule I overlooked? My apologies if so.
In**** Posted January 22 I guess you’re making the rules, so you’re probably not breaking them after all.
Th**** Posted January 22 Author I do not ask the night for permission. I measure your silence, the way your pulse kneels before my hand. Leather waits. Not as an ornament, but as a promise with weight. I lower it like a verdict, close enough for you to feel the click before it ever sounds. This is not possession. This is alignment. Your chaos finding my gravity. When the collar settles, the world narrows to intention. My will. Your surrender. And in that quiet, you are not taken. You are claimed.
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