From the Book I’ll Never Write

You Can Be the Moon and Still Be Jealous of the Stars

Excerpt from a story I may never write.

“Because I’m “fat, and nobody likes fat and ugly.”” She whispered, eyes focused on the wooden floors at her feet.

He could see the glimmer of glossiness in her eyes. The shiny quality that had. Her hands were balled into fists, nails digging into soft skin. Her body shook ever so slightly, restraint a thread of bad patchwork on a tattered shirt. He could see the everlasting impact of words said in fury. Words said in hate and haste.

It’s funny how a short sentence uttered in anger can destroy a heart. How it can cause the fragility of one’s growing trust to become pulverized. To turn to ash.

“My god, what have I done?” He whispered, hand reaching out to touch her. Perhaps to feel the grains of her broken soul.

She glanced up, the agony in her brown eyes a knife in his gut. The heartbroken tinges of vulnerability in her shiny eyes crushed his heart like a vice. A part of her wanted him to reach out, touch her. Tell her how beautiful she was. How sexy he thought her curves where.

But how could she do that? Put him in the highest form of power known to human beings? How could she do it again? Give him her heart, her trust, or… what’s left of it?

“Little on-”

She flinched. “Please don’t call me that…” her uncertainty echoed in the wavering of her voice. “If you call me that, I’m going to crumble, and… I can’t let my walls crumble around you. Not again.” Her hand rose to swipe away a fallen tear.

He paused, lips parted. “I’m sorry.”

What more was there to say? What more could he say?

“Sorry’s a short word in a big dictionary. ‘Sorry’ can’t fix this. Can’t fix me.” She said from behind clenched teeth.

He closed his eyes. “I’m so, so, so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking str-”

“You can’t try to justify you words, James. You did what you did because you were scared.  You were a coward, running from what you couldn’t bare facing. And… I need to move on. I need to heal.”

“Of course.” His voice was thick with suppressed emotions. He didn’t want to let her go. A part of him will always remain vacant. Lost and unfulfilled.

“Goodbye James,” she took wobbly steps towards him, pressing soft, warm lips against the corner of his lips.

© 2016, withlovesaraa

What its Like to be a Wannabe Sub

Navigating the shore of the BDSM lifestyle is tricky business- especially for people new to it. Like me.

You don’t know where you stand when you talk to Dom’s out there. You don’t know if you should address them by name, or title. Sir. Mister. John. Whatever. you don’t know if you should be ‘yourself’ or… your other, kinky self

You feel sorta like an ex crashing another ex’s wedding. There’s still this awkward anxiety about, because you. don’t. fit. in.

Everyone knows you- but you don’t know anyone.

Although you’re a (wannabe) sub yourself, you find other subs sorta.. daunting. They seem to know E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. They know how to act around dom’s, they know what it’s like to submit, how to address them… and.. you just don’t know a thing.

The only thing you know, is… what you want.

You want to submit.

You want to be spanked.

You have all these fantasies, and finally you can begin to make head or tail of them.

And then… you see these established couples, and you want that so badly, and… a part of you is doubtful you can ever get that. You try to be realistic.

But… imagination, hope and longing can only be tamed for so long.

Eventually, you reach the stage where you can envision yourself in a relationship (Or this is just my wild imagination getting the better of me, and no one else does this… but yeah. I do).

You… create a fantasy guy/girl (guy for me), and you can see it so vividly.. you can feel what they’re like.

Strict,  lenient, strong, tender, comforting, playful, no-nonsense type dom/domme… all that and so much more.

And… you get people out there who are so untrusting and suspicious of outsiders (for due reason, of course) that they tell it to your face that they think you’re just a ‘vanilla experimentalist’ who ‘knows nothing.’ Fair enough. But…

Weren’t you vanilla once, too? At one stage of your life, you didn’t know the meaning of sex. Let alone kink.

But whatever.

You KNOW differently. You know deep down this is what you want. So, you push the negative aside, and focus. You do your research. You get to know the types of kink out there.

And…

Here I am. I’ve investigated, probed, thought, questioned nearly everything…

And… I still don’t know a thing. Yaay! {sarcasm}

I don’t know what it feels like to be spanked, whipped, or flogged. I don’t know what it’s like to be controlled. To follow a command. To be collared.

Hell, up until yesterday, I thought ‘black snake’ was a fetish for calling your dick a snake. Anaconda. Python. Ader. Cobra… you get my drift.

Yeah… that’s not what it is. Apparently, its a really, really painful whip.

Who woulda thought?

So, I’m gonna make rookie mistakes, pardon my naivety. I’m still gonna feel oddish when talking to dom’s, I’m still gonna be a sore thumb loser.

But you know what?

I don’t give a fuck.

This is what I want. I want to be dominated. I WANT to be submissive. I want to be treated like a pet.

And listen up yo, I’m gonna make my foolish, ignorant, naive, stupid, uneducated blunders. But I’m human. All I know.. is that I want this. Really badly. So, despite my errs.. I AM going to do this.

Capiché?

Don’t Forget the Dream

Journal Entry- 2016/November/8th

As a child, I dreamed big. I aspired for things beyond my grasp, because, deep down inside, I always knew that if I tried hard enough, if I dreamed big enough… my dreams could always come true.

When I was a child, I never knew what I wanted to be when I was older- from a caterpillar (there was this short phase when I was four.. don’t judge =P), to marine biologist, to vet, to shark cage diver (cos sharks are really cool), to being an actress. Part of the fun was thinking up new careers, because some got boring, and other things sparked my interest.

As I grew older, my dreams began fading away, ‘reality’ replacing them. I learnt that when adults ask you what you want to be when you grow up, they don’t want to hear about some fantasy dream. They don’t want to hear your  ‘foolish’, ‘childish’dream.
They want to hear about success, so instead of being a caterpillar, I said doctor, lawyer, dentist, businesswoman. Because for them, that was success- financial stability.
And… I lost track of the wonder. The wonder I saw in everything. The wonder that can only be found in a child´s eyes, heart and mind.
The way they play tag with the ocean tide- they know eventually it would catch them, but that won’t stop them from giggling with glee when it doesn’t. Reality and expectations won’t stop them from finding a place in their minds where wonder, amazement and fun grows. Reality to them.. isn’t reality. Reality for them can be improved with a hug, a kiss, a unicorn’s horn, and with love, sparkles and shiny lipgloss.
Reality isn’t permanent. And… that’s one of the things I have to re-wrap my mind around daily. No matter how hard life seems, no matter how much your heart is breaking.. time is fleeting. It. Will. Pass. You just have to be patient.
As an adult, I still find myself spinning. Not to the rhythm of fun, but to the clock as it ticks throughout the day. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Every second is a second closer to my death.
What a humbling thought. This might just be my last breath. Who knows? Not me. Not you.
Death is the ONLY certainty in life. We’re all gonna die. We all are destined to die.
I’ve forgotten how utterly vast the future is.
There are limitless possibilities in a limited life and… I just want to be able to reach for them, even if they escape my grasp. To dream the impossible. Because the impossible is possible when I close my eyes each night.
I miss the innocence of being a child. Because, despite knowing I will never, ever be a caterpillar, I still want to hold onto that dream. I still want to believe one day, my wings will come, and I’ll be a butterfly. The freedom in having no obligations to anyone but fun.
Only now… you have make to those wings.
Make them from the fiber of imagination, and the flesh of dreams. Craft them with the stars, and paint them the colors of the rainbow and earth. Breath your soul into its sails and watch them soar to the horizon.
And in all honesty… reality is just a social conception – we each define our own reality. So let me define mine (that rhymed), and you go define your own.
Ima be a caterpillar… and you can be whatever you want to be. ❤
Love you lots, I’ll buy you lipgloss 💋 <(this thing I used to say when I was small… I had a lipgloss obsession, hehe )

Boys, Tits and Muscles

I love my family. Every single inch of our dysfunctional mess, I love.

For the largest amount of time, my brothers were my everything. Of course, we eventually drifted from the tight knit clan we once were as we hit puberty, but I’ll never forget all the memories we shared.  To give you a bit of background, I have three brothers. Two older, one younger.

Growing up an only girl was hard– a soft voice in a loud house isn’t easily heard. I had a hard time navigating who I was beyond who I wanted to be- a boy. Most of the time, I found myself rolling my eyes at everything they said and did. During my childhood, I was the most badass tomboy on the block. I could burp just as loud, if not louder, then my brothers, I could give twice the punch I received, I could climb well, and play soccer even better. I was ‘one of the guys.’ Thankfully, I outgrow my burpacious ways *snigger* 😉

Certain things about having brothers… changed me. If I said I liked pink, they’d tease me, telling me how much ‘pink stinked’ and… they took the mickey out of me in general. Poking fun at everything girly I did, be it my long hair, or whenever I wore a dress. Which wasn’t exactly often. Because of them, I learnt how to take teasing like a pro. If you laughed off the joke with them, it would take the best part of teasing away- which is getting a rise out of your victim. They had no ammo to tease me with.

You could say I grew a thick skin early.

My brothers, although very over protective (this is an UNDERSTATEMENT)… they weren’t exactly my personal guard. They took it on themselves that I knew how to defend myself when they weren’t around to do so. I remember wrestling with them, be it full on, tag team, and whatnot. I remember how they’d chase me around, tackle me to the ground, wrestle and then tickle me until I needed to pee, and threatened to let go of my bladder control. Pretty soon, I was deemed “meh” enough to handle my own around guys.

EYE ROLL.

Of course, I also remember how awkward (and hilarious) puberty was. Because the three of us hit it around the same time, my brothers went through these huge growth spurts and I grew tits. I’m laughing now, because I remember how utterly confused they were. I’d often find them staring at my chest, eyes huge, a horrified expression across their faces. It must have been confusing for them- not knowing whether or not to look away, or stare in horrified disgust. WHAT the fuc* are those, and what are they doing on my sisters chest??? It’s just not right!

EYE ROLL.

Then, my brothers started competing with each other for biggest muscles. More often than not, they weaseled and blackmailed me into feeling whose was bigger. Gah. Just imagine: 12 year old me squishing my brothers biceps, before giving the FATAL response, that would somehow deem them ‘manlier’ then the other.

EYE ROLL.

Take a pissing contest, why don’t ya.  It affected my younger brother as well. He also started competing, and I found myself having to squeeze his four-year old, scrawny arms as well.

“Look how throng I’m gething!” the four year old, Mike* (not his real name) said, puffing his chest out proudly, flexing non existent muscles in his arm. He couldn’t get the hang of sayig his ‘s’ and ‘t’s right, so every ‘s’ and ‘t’ he said was a ‘th’ sound.

“I’m stronger then you.” my younger older brother, Cody*(not his real name) said, scoffing. He ruffled Mike’s hair, “Nice try, though.”

“Shut it, pipsqueek. I’m here. My muscles are the tree trunks to your twigs,” my eldest older brother, Zack* (not his real name) dised.

“Nuh-uh,” Mike said, frowning. He shook his head violently.

“Not possible. I lifted weights today, so mine have got to be bigger than yours.” Cody challenged.

They went back and forth between themselves whist I sneaked out of the kitchen, tiptoeing into my room as quietly as possible.

4 arm wars, lots of yelling later, all three brothers were in my room, crowding me.

Joy. 

Note sarcasm. 

My eldest bro has anger management issues, and is an utter idiot. But I love him for it.

In fact, they all are idiots. My dad included.

“They’re boys, they’re supposed to be idiots,” my mom said when I asked her why they were always acting stupid.

Fair enough. It made sense.

Just to clarify, I’m not some sexist, generalizing fool. I know not all men are stupid… But the ones I know?

Yeah, they belong in a padded cell, under quarantine conditions. They are a danger to themselves and those around them. Stupidity is contagious after all.

Jokes.

Man, why do guys have such fragile egos??? I love meh boys. Idiot or not.

Anyways… hope you enjoyed this. Do YOU have annoying, stupid brothers? Comment in the section below so we can bitch about how fucking stupid they tend to be.

I changed all my brothers’ names’ to protect their identity and blah blah blah. You get the point.

With love,

Sara♥

Wet Dream

Warning: 18+ Sexy times ahead, folks 😉

Fantasy #1

The bathroom was small, consisting only of a bath, basin and toilet. No shower, no extra luxury. It wasn’t needed. Just simple practicality, the way she liked. White walls, grey tiles and chrome bath heads completed the nearly clinical look. 

Reaching underneath her t-shirt, Bella grasped the back of her bra, undoing the clasp slowly. Once the bra had fallen, she took of her shirt, soon followed by her jeans and navy polka-dot panty.

She reached down to push the plug into place, before switching the water setting to a gentle cascade, hot enough to scald her skin a gentle red.

Dipping her big toe into the water, testing, she slowly  sunk her ankles, relishing the heat as it nipped at her skin. Once she was partially submersed, Isabella began rinsing a day’s worth of grime and sweat away. Massaging  shampoo into her roots leisurely, before she leaned back, allowing the shampoo to diffuse away from her scalp.

 It was as though she could wash away all the negative vibes absorbed from stress, and only harbor the good from the day. Water has a way of absorbing every single drop of stress, causing your bones to feel like jelly and your worries to melt faster than an ice cube in the Sahara. 

Beyond the peaceful silence in her head, thoughts began swirling like white noise,  along with musings and dreams… dreams about a man with dark eyes, eatable lips and broad shoulders…. She could see him, sense him as if he were standing in front of her in his natural glory. She could feel the hard edges of his body, taut muscles and tensed abdomen. Like a lion. Fierce, mighty and proud.

Unconsciously, her hand un-tangled itself from her hair, moving down her body… roaming at a leisure pace, teasing the tip of her nipple, until it reached the slit of her cunt and began stroking and teasing.

She pressed the tip of her finger slightly deeper, taking the time to enjoy the slick gush of warm cum flowing down her thighs.

“Hmm… yeah…” she breathed through parted lips. She could see his strong hands moving over her… into her… lips bruising hers, hands squeezing, and squashing her flesh. The hardness of a strong and utterly masculine anatomy against hers. Moving, pleasing… gripping. Teasing. She pushed a finger into herself, moaning as softly as possible… Flexing it inside of her, curling. She rubbed her the hood of her clit, stoking flames of desire.

“Hmmm…yes… please…” 

She reached out, pressing down on the head of the bath hose. She wielded it like a weapon, water bursting from the head. Her hand slipped down, aiming the spouting water directly over her .

The water pressure made a loud moan slip out… Eyes shut, body taut. She pressed her finger deeper, adding a second one, curling it until her body was ready….

The bathroom door burst open, halting the movement of her fingers inside her. A voice, heady with lust cracked through the haze of pleasure. 

 “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Has someone been a naughty little girl, forgetting all about the rules…” His voice echoed from the walls, oozing with danger and a hint of warning. She opened her eyes slowly, her face the literal picture of “hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Hmm… Am I not good enough for you, that you seek pleasure elsewhere?”The gray-blue eyes enraptured her and froze her. Yet somehow it melted her.

“Tell me, Isabella, is my cock and hand not good enough for you?” He asked once more. He was taunting her. Challenging her to doubt his authority. 

She lowered her gaze, eyes focusing on his black, polished leather loafers. Something about him commanded the very air she breathed in, trapping it in her throat, drumming her heart into a fast tango. He made the already small bathroom, infinitely smaller. Too small to hide. 

“N-no…” she pulled her hand out of her body’s warm, silky embrace, face guilty.. The gush of the bath hose was halted with a slip of her thumb. Despite knowing she was in trouble, she could feel her body react to the tenseness of the air. Waiting for him to make his next move…

“No, what?” He playfully asked.

But Bella knew. There was nothing playful about him.

“N-no, sir.” A slight shudder in her voice betrayed her. Depicting her emotions to be as they were; nervous yet eager for more. 

He hummed. 

Bella couldn’t comprehend as to why he wasn’t  taking this further, just a subtle indication of what was to occur next…  Anything but the silence. It ate at her nerves, butterflies flapping around her tummy.  Her muscles tensing with expectation… He loved putting her on edge. Loved teasing her, taunting her senses until she was sweaty with excitement. 

She glanced up. 

His chest was bare, stomach and abs exposed for her to gawk at. And so she did. Watching him remove clothe after clothe until, he was standing in nothing but his boxers, body screaming of sin. Bella caught his eyes once more. His eyes were twinkling with cold amusement, lips twisted into a mocking grin. He knew she was checking him out, he knew it and all that he did was smirk. Say nothing. None of those cheesy ‘Like what you see,’ remarks most boys gave. But he wasn’t a boy. He was a man. And within his silence, he stated more.

That alone was enough for her to blush furiously and turn her head away.  Another slip and his boxers joined the clothes adorning the floor. 

He climbed into the bath, making room for himself between Bella and the cramped tub. Or rather, she made way for him.

“On your tummy, ass up.” 

She laid down in the limited space, hot water covering everything below the cheeks of her ass cheeks. Soft curves, pressing tightly against each other. Bella’s knees were bent close to her thighs, giving way to him. Her bum was cold, unused to the cool air out of the warm water. Bella’s head was supported by the rim of the tub, elbows keeping her upper body above water. She could feel the heat of the water, lapping at her budded nipples. 

From somewhere behind her, the soft echo of water being disturbed by his presence.  

 A thick arm slid under her belly, simultaneously supporting her, whilst still forcing her bum even higher up. 

“You thought I couldn’t hear you? Piccolino, I could hear you in my office, moaning and groaning like a little slut…

“You want something? You come to me.. I control your pleasure, I control your pain…” He leaned over her, nipped her ear whilst massaging her ass. He slapped her ass,  the sound resounding with a solid crack. He shoved a finger gently, yet firmly into her, filling her to the brim. She clenched around the joint, aching and needy.  A warm, wet envelope to his strong finger.

“So wet, so moist… you think you can make yourself feel this way alone?… Feel so… full?” He drove his hand deeper, gaining a breathless sigh in return.

“Little one, no man, no women, not anyone can make you feel like me. They can try… but nothing will make come close to me.” 

He thrust a second finger in, then out, slowly… tantalizingly promising what she wouldn’t get.

“P-please…”

“Beg. Beg me…”

“P-p-please.. please…. Please Master.”

“Uh, uh, uh… No.” He murmured, almost growling. His head leaned against the dimples just above her ass, mouth pressing hot kisses to trembling flesh. 

“Resist, Isabella, resist..” His voice caressing her name, dragging it out, rolling it slowly. The way she loved. The way he knew she loved.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” she chanted, wriggling back against his fingers.

He tsked. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? I do…”  His voice trailed off, pinkie finger tapping a rhythm against her clit, playing her like his favorite instrument. 

It was his favorite type punishment making her feel so good… than…. making her ache. Ache with want, with need, leaving an abyss of delicious unfulfillment caught in the depths of her aching cunt.

Resist, resist, resist…

“Please…” she whimpered, almost crying, “Please Master, please….” 

Hehehee… am I evil to cut it off here? Probably 😉 Anyway, hope you enjoyed ♥ I know most of it is… unrealistic… and…. choppy… But hey, at least I got this onto paper… err, my laptop? >.> Anyways, I need to sleep before my head bursts.

With love,

Sara ♥♥♥

So… as per usual, this work is under copyright protection by myself, withlovesaraa © 2016.

Here’s to Stereotyping Beauty.

Includes things curvy women say that just ain’t cool. 

*WARNING! Unfiltered. Sorry, not sorry.*

Why the fuck can’t the fashion industry appreciate every shape and size? Yes, I get that popularity has its raise and falls. But here’s what I think.

Fuck fashion. Here’s to us women never feeling we’re good enough to be ‘beautiful.’ Here’s to our insecurities, that no one ever seems to care about. Here’s to never feeling good enough.

But fuck that. Fuck what the rest of the world thinks.

 

‘God made me sexy, I don’t care if only I know” [Tori Kelly, Unbreakable Smile].

Amen. So, apparently, curvy is the new skinny. And I’m glad. Its about damn time that curvy women everywhere stop getting fat shamed, and its about damn time they are portrayed for being exactly what they are-  god-damn beautiful.

But there’s a line. Yes, curvy women are sexy and beautiful. No, that doesn’t give anyone the right to portray slender women as unattractive and a ‘bag of bones’.

You know the saying “Real men want real women.” This saying is often followed by an image of a stunning curvy woman. Here’s what I have to say about that:

“Real men” shouldn’t be attracted to just a person’s physical appearance. Yes, you first become attracted to a person based on whether or not you consider them physically attractive, but it isn’t just that. There’s more to attraction than appearance. There’s personality. A self absorbed, rude, obnoxious prick  is a faster turn off than whether or not he’s a physically attractive. ‘Real men’ shouldn’t find the only thing attractive about a woman to be her body or beauty. ‘Real men’ don’t have a type. Real men come in all shapes and sizes, and real men find different things to be attractive. Honest to god truth.

5 things I’ve heard that really piss me off:

  1. “‘Real’ women have curves.” 
  2. “You’re as skinny as a plank.’
  3. “You look like a boy.” 
  4. “Curvy girls are beautiful… bones are for dogs; meat is for men.” 
  5. “A woman without curves is like jeans without pockets… you don’t know where to put your hands!”

 

Yes, I get that a lot of these saying are to make curvy women less insecure about themselves. At whose expense? And yes, I get that some slender women can be plain ass nasty to curvy women. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But that doesn’t give you the license to treat anyone else badly. So kudos to you for finding ways to combat that shaming of women. Just don’t do it at someone else’s expense.

Us women on the skinny side, aren’t anorexic ‘bones’ and exercise/diet freaks, with a thigh gap. We are women. As real and as alive as the blood that runs through our veins.

Stop being close minded. Stop thinking that there’s only one definition of beauty; there are more colors than one, and there’s beauty in diversity.

I have my own insecurities of not being ‘womanly’ enough. Always have. As does my curvaceous friend, who has her own insecurities about not being as ‘sexy’ as me. And here I am, wanting to be as bootylicious as she is, while she wants to be like me. Gosh, how fucked up is this? Its some messed up circle that just never ends.

To my friend: I love ya babe. I hope one day you’ll realize how me and everyone else sees you as; a gorgeous, curvaceous woman that any man would be damn lucky to have.

What kind of a world would it be, if women everywhere valued each others differences, and cherished themselves?

I am not a bone, but I’m also not what you’d call ‘curvy.’ My boobs are marginally bigger than Courtney Kardashian’s, and that doesn’t make her any less attractive than me. That also doesn’t make me any less gorgeous than her.

My point is, kudos to the curvy girls out there that are finally getting the attention they deserve. Kudos to them for being big and beautiful. But please, for fucks sake, don’t demean other women. And vice versa for skinny women. I’m not the kind of person that’s racist, biased, or rude to others regardless of their race or their body type. We are all beautiful just so. I will never look like Courtney K., she will never look like me, and that on its own is unique and amazing.

 

To all the curvy women out there:

You are beautiful. But please don’t write us off as being less ‘womanly’ than you. Because when slender women look in the mirror and deem themself less a women because of the lack of curves on their. I am a woman. You are a woman. My body shape has nothing to do with my femininity.  Your curves are smokin’ hot. But so are my subtle, smaller ones.

To skinny women out there:

Don’t go around fat shaming people. That just ain’t cool. Love yourself, and love everyone else too.

To women in general:

Love yourself. Fuck whatever other thing fashion says. Things become fashionable and unfashionable like the tides of the bipolar seas.

So here’s to being woman. Here’s to being gorgeous. Here’s to loving each other and loving yourself. Here’s to love.

Chapter One

 

 

Linen and Lace

Chapter One

 

 

His eyes were intense. Intense as in a smoldering gaze that set my panties on fire. Intense as in downright frightening and I was terrified.

Heh, horny and terrified at first glance. Only you, Emilia , only you.

I shook my head at myself, breaking eye contact to inspect the suddenly interesting gray wall behind him. It was a battle of will. The first to speak, the first to lose.

“Why are you here?” His voice was neither obnoxiously loud, nor obnoxiously soft. It got his message across in a flat, yet calm tone. My eyes jumped from the wall back onto his. Whoops. His features, although expressionless, were stern and closed. The man respected his privacy, if the clasped hands in-front of him were anything to go by. Strong hands. Withered and hardworking.

“I, uh, I’m here to pick up someone, my father. Kent Clarke. With an ‘e’ at the end.” I said confident/ish, yet not cocky. For those of you wondering, yes, my grandmother had a crush on Superman. Kinda ironic that that’s everything my dad isn’t. A hero.

“Contrary to popular belief, I was planning on chilling in bed, but hey, duty calls and all,” I looked at him expectantly.

Despite my attempted humor, neither his posture nor his face showed a creak of acknowledgement or emotion. He had firm lips, a defined cupid’s bow and a slightly upturned bottom lip that cast a slight shadow on a strong chin. Strong everything really. Jaw, shoulders… you name it. His features were balanced, thick eyebrows, hooded brown eyes the color of black coffee and cinnamon. A darkened jawline completed the rough persona of a cop. If auras were real, his would be red and blue. Red to represent passion most likely hidden behind a stony exterior and blue to represent calm. The world could end and this man wouldn’t even break a sweat. Two conflicting emotions to represent a complex man with a flair for simplicity.

“Kent Clarke, arrested for DUI and possession of marijuana,” He stated, thumbing through a folder in front of him, before tossing it onto his desk. He stared at me, assessing. He looked bored, almost as if this were normal.

Which it probably is, Emilia, its his job for crying out loud. 

I winced in embarrassment. Both at his matter-of-fact tone and my own stupidity.

“Yeah, that sounds about right…” I nodded my head dumbly, shuffling my feet. I frowned slightly at my scuffed sneakers.

“Name.” Despite it being a question, it sounded as if he were demanding it from me.

I looked up, confused. “Huh?”

He sighed. “You have to sign in before you can see him.” He gestured to a clipboard facing me on the front of the desk.

Oh. “Oh.” I gingerly pulled two pens from my hair, which fall past my shoulders. Setting the one on the table before using the other to pin my hair back into a bun, I began scrawling my name, signature, cell number and date of entry in flamboyant purple  ink. Once I was done, I glanced at the Dude, unsure.

“Cash or credit?” He lifted the clipboard and scanned my writing, as if to scrutinize for errors.

“Sorry?” For the second time in 3 minutes, I found myself confused.

He looked up from the clipboard. “I assume you’ve come to bail him out. Cash, or credit?” He asked again, enunciating the question as if I were slow.

Oh. “Credit.” I nodded my head. For some reason, the guy scared the sh*t out of me. Not in the creepy I’m-going-to-have-s*x-with-you-in-a-dark-motel-room way, but a more… intimidating way. The you’ll-never-meet-my-standards kinda way. Needless to say, it was hot. Which isn’t exactly what I should be thinking at this point of time. Priorities, Em, get your ducks in order than your, ahem, kitty.

“Emilia, did yoou see Shannon? She’s a preeety lay-day. Such nice eyes. Where am I going, I want to go to Shannon…” My dad slurred  squinting as his eyes tried to adjust to the feeble light of streetlamps against a pitch-black sky.

“Home.” I kept my answer short and to the point. This wasn’t the first time I had to drag my drunk, and high father home. No, this was his second strike. Any step out of line and my dad would have to show his face in-front of a court of law. The only thing that stopped him from being convicted last time for drunk driving, and trying to light a tree on fire, was that he was white. The prejudice of a biased law system. I hated it. He deserved to get at least half a year in prison. I deserved that half a year. 6 months of not having to clean up his mess, pick him up every second night with him being stoned drunk and flying high. My, didn’t I look forward to that.

“Ooh, look at the sky. Its flying…” He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the midnight sky in wonderment.

Must be nice to be high. 

I glanced around embarrassed, but fortunately not a soul could be seen was but me and my dad. “Dad, let’s go, now.”  I snapped. The lump in my throat was small, but present. I hated that he could do this to me. I hated that I allowed him to bulldoze me like this.

Unfocused, dilated eyes fixed themself onto me. “You don’t,” he paused for emphasis, “get to tell me what to do. I m-made you. And you destroyyed my life.” He dragged out the ‘I’ in life.

I closed my eyes. I just couldn’t deal with this right now. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

In. Out. In. Out. In, and out. I opened my eyes and stared at my father.

It was going to be a long night.

_______

So, I know its a bit short, but hey. At least I got round to writing it. Hopefully, I’ll be updating a minimum of one chapter per month, and a maximum of.. I don’t really know. I’m just taking this one chapter at a time.  Baby steps and all. Hopefully, the length of each will increase as I build up a bit more of a plot and whatnot.  I’m not going to dive straight into the sexual aspect of the story yet- yes it will erotic, but not yet. I just want to build my characters a bit, and then, well, hallelujah. Get the holy water ready. 

Copyright © 2016 withlovesaraa

 

Let’s Talk Fantasy

Given the right circumstances , the right Dom, I think I would like to explore the painful side of pleasure.  Rough sex, the burning  in my ass from a good spanking… yeah. That is definitely a fantasy.

But… I want more then a physical relationship. In a world where everyone has one night stands, where everyone seems to crave a physical connection more then a emotional one. I don’t just want the physical… That just ain’t me. I want someone to know my body, to caress it like he knows every edge and dip… to know me better than I know myself. To be a woman to someone else’s man. To have a connection beyond the physical.

Who is missing out more; a girl who has endless one night stands, or a girl reserving her promiscuous side for something… more- me?

To those I don’t trust with… me, I’m just a stereotypical good girl. White cotton panties and the whole deal. But, believe me when I say, I can pop out of this shell. Red see-through lingerie? Yes, please. But not for you. Not for you, I don’t know you, I don’t trust you.

For someone who’ll treasure my naughty side… and the other part of me.

The side of me that longs for intellectual, deep conversations, romantic dinners and.. the whole, cliched dream. Someone to touch me when we’re doing something simple- watching a movie, not because you ‘want some’ but… just because. The intimate aspect of being connected with another, being in tune to someone else’s needs as if they were your own.

And the side of me that longs to be tied up and fucked. Oh, and did I mention spanked?

I like the idea of my (future) man picking out my outfit for the day, telling me what he wants to eat. Not just because it’ll make my life easier (choosing an outfit can not only be painfully hard, but it takes a loooong time. Like, 10 minutes, but loooong minutes), but because I like knowing that he’s going to be pleased merely by me doing as he asked.

I am not a high maintenance person in any way. You don’t have to notice if I’ve done my hair a different way, or whether or not my lipstick is a different shade, and you don’t have to keep my purse happy for me to  be happy… All those things, I don’t really care for.  But, I’d really like it if you notice when I put 10% more effort into doing something, just to please you. I just want you to be happy with me.

Make me scream for you. Make me yell your name as if it were a manta inside my head, because trust me, it will be. Treasure the side of me that is solely for you, and love the side of me that I give to everyone else. Because it’s all me.

___

P.S I realise how blunt and crude some of this may be. But hey, honesty is key 😉

With love,

Saraa♥

Story Untold

I have a story inside my head.

It doesn’t yet have a beginning, it doesn’t yet have an ending… but it’s a story nonetheless.

Without a plot, it’s a ghost. Nothing more then a mere phantom that haunts me when I lie in bed. I can’t sleep, because I’m already dreaming of the clash of swords, the loss of love…

I don’t think I could give it a tragic ending, but then, the ending will only be the beginning. When people say ‘the End’, I ask ‘What next?”

Maybe the ending will be smeared in red-hot tears, in agony and anguish. Maybe it will be sweet, gentle and soft… like a fairytale.

I don’t know quite how to put words to the voices in my head. But I swear to never stop trying. I don’t know how to… voice a thought with ease. But I do know how to get back up after scrapping my knees and… bruising my ribs. I’m good that way.

I know a lot about my characters though- I breath their lifestory everyday. I know how what they see when they look in the mirror, I’m in tune with their biggest fears. I’ve adopted their strengths, and acknowledged their weaknesses. I doubt they’ll ever be perfect.

But than, neither am I.