The poems offered here where not of my writting but among my favorites..I hope you enjoy them as much as I..

Won

Gazing down at your face, your eyes,
your joyously sweet submission
touching me, devilish surprise,
teasing, igniting my passion,
your wonderful abiding trust,
capturing me, I see your need.
Feel your desire to be touched
in ways no man has touched you. Freed
from conventional desire,
to a dark, burning obsession:
of chilling ice, of searing fire,
shadowed joy, guarded possession.
The joining of pleasure and pain,
the sweet ecstasy of the whip,
sharp pain of denial, again
and again, as closer you slip
into my grasp, my deep control,
your shining gift, touching my soul.

Subserrate 10/97

Whispers..

Kneeling at your feet
In a paradise of sin
In a flower of seduction

The rose..
How it's petals caress me
How it's thorns tear me
Reveling within the abyss
Of pleasure and pain

Chained to your side
Bound by love
Tied within the silken ropes
of my heart

Hear my whisper
Hear my cries
Hear the echo of my soul
When I call out your name
Master...

Rope Song

Biting into my skin, the ropes hold me open to your view, no mercy there,
All of me on display for your hungry eyes which burn me in their intensity,
Almost, but not quite, hiding the thoughts that dance through their depths.
Masking the desire I see pushing forward, they caress my helplessness,
Quietly reveling in the control you have over the direction this will take.
"She is yours" the ropes sing.
Passion blooms in my belly at the sight of your eyes gazing upon my skin,
Spreading its warmth throughout my veins, and then lying silent like a trap
Waiting to be sprung by your nimble fingers as they drive all thoughts of
Anything but them from my mind, all reality but what you give me
Escaping my grasp, until finally, there is only you within my view. You.
"She is yours" the ropes descant.
Straining against the bonds you placed upon them, my arms long to hold you,
My lips, crying out to taste the salty tang of your skin against them,
Release only a moan in the form of your name, whispered raggedly,
A tortured sigh, brought forth by the extascy of your teeth dragging across a
nipple
And nibbling on the soft underside of my breast while you chuckle at my
response.
"She is yours" the ropes serenade.
My mind races, my pulse leads the way, my breath comes in shallow gasps
As you play me like a finely tuned intrument, in a symphony to which
Only you know the score, orchestrating each nuance of the melody rendered
Out upon my flesh, and sending me tumbling in a myriad of emotion and desire,
Banishing all thoughts of anything but you. There is only you.
"She is yours" the ropes croon to you.
"I am His" I answer in the duet.
Each nerve in my body is electrified by the touch of your hands, your lips
Grazing softly in the in the curves of my bareness, leaving no place
untouched,
No secret left uncovered from your questing tongue as you lay bare my soul.
Struggling against my ties, I ache to pull you into me, to bring release from
this,
But you have other ideas, other areas you wish to explore with your expertise.
"She is yours" the ropes purr out.
" I am His" I moan in reply.
There is no more reason, no thoughts left inside me, only the raw intensity
Of feelings overwhelming me, swallowing my ability to withold anything from
you.
No longer just my body splayed before you, but all of me open to your sight,
Completely yeilding to your touch, surrendering everything to your desire,
As you take me, filling me with the essence of you. There is only You.
" I am His" comes the song from my throat.
The ropes make no reply.

G.E. Mar 98

She Waits

She waits, each fiber of her being trembling, knowing His touch will come,
And knowing that when it does, it will send her reeling with the desire
That is coiled inside her, like a whip singing through the air
To place its kiss upon the tender recesses of her mind and soul.
In the darkness, behind the silk that covers her eyes and sheilds her sight,
She can hear so well the rustling of His movements, a lover's stealth
While planning steps to the dance of eroticism that awaits His pleasure.
Her breath quickens, her heartbeat pulses so strongly she can feel it,
Every nerve is screaming for just the hint that He is near to ending
The torture of wanting relief by His skillful touch upon her fevered skin.
How well He knows her, giving her just enough to leave her wanting more,
Touching, kissing, sometimes giving her no more than the caress
Of His hot breath, fanning high the fires within as He toys with her,
Seducing her slowly, in complete domination of her passion.
She waits, twisting her hands ever so slightly in the soft cord
He used while binding them behind her, His gentle laughter in her ear
Breathing promises of the intoxicating tempest of enravishment yet to come.
Her muscles begin to quiver, taut with the need to move, while she kneels
As He left her,awaiting the pleasure of the man who so masterfully plays
With her emotions, sending her reaching for impossible heights,
Unobtainable by other than His touch, by His gift of dominance over her.
She waits.


G.E. 1/17/97

Suspense

Here I lay
Splayed open to your perusal
My eyes search yours
for that nod
that gleam of eye
that says
"you please me".

passion entangled
in every twisting fiber
of the ropes
that bind
my wrists
my ankles
my heart

This tangible gift
that lies before you
unwrapped
exposed
is only temporary
a moment
suspended

Consider that suspended also
is my heart
my soul
my mind
filled with You
devotion unending
knowing no limit

Suspended
in passion
in servitude
every fiber
of my being
Every thread that is me
Yours

Freedom

It is a gift that one person can give to another,
It's a gift that one can accept from another,
It is something that another outside of the two
involved can be witness to and not know the
depth of the meaning of or the sacrifice involved.
It is not until you personally are involved in
an exchange of power, the gift of freedom,
that you can really understand the meaning
and the utter beauty of the gift itself.
To some this may be a foreign concept,
and one that is difficult to embrace.
The thought that one may only truly,
be free, by giving up their own freedom,
by trusting totally in anothers beliefs,
actions, and take comfort in the idea,
that for the first time in their life ,
they have no pressure to perform,
to achieve, to outwhit their lover.
only to submit to his pleasure with,
complete and utter abandon.
Only then will one feel the power of the gift,
the "Freedom" they have relinquished,
to feel all that life and love has to offer them.
I have been blessed,
I have been given that gift,
by the one true love of my life,
With that gift, I have finally been able,
to reach to the heights that I have always know,
from deep within my soul , that I was capable of.
I owe her all of my success, all of my accomplishments,
for without her gift, I would be only a mere man.
I am not a mere man, I am a Master,
not just any Master, I am her Master.
I am as strong as any other with the same title,
but I have a distinct advantage over the rest,
I am her Master,
I am because she trusted enough in me,
to give me the greatest gift of all time,
she gave me herself,
completely, totally, and unequivocally,
without reservation,
for all eternity.
She gave me her freedom,
no finer gift has a woman ever given,
to any man, anywhere, anytime.

Composed by Master John
with much love
11/11/97

The Entrance

Walking into our room, I see lit candles and smell incense
You are there and tell me to get undressed
I do so quickly hearing the tone in your voice
Strong, powerful, comforting, safe.
You call me your treasure, your breath of life
I feel the blindfold go on from behind
The smell of leather as you buckle the cuffs
Lift my throat as you place the collar on
Heart pounding with anticipation, excitement
You pull me into you with a passionate kiss
Twisting your fist into the back of my hair
A fine line between pleasure and pain
I cross the two at the same time.

FLIGHT IN BONDAGE
By maia

a girl wandering in the darkness alone
in silks black and tattered, her feet bare
her golden hair tangled and wind blown
a lost soul whispering a lonely prayer

she seeks Him restlessly in the moonlight
and searches for Him into the morning sun
she aches for Him while resting in the starlight
and cries - knowing that He can be the only One

at last He comes to her, her Falcon of black light
and wraps her softly in the comfort of His wing
He takes her mind and soul soaring in His flight
her senses depart and her heart begins to sing

She becomes His falconess, often free to fly
but her spirit knows something she will learn
though beautiful and open may be the bluest sky
and though far she soars, she will always return.

SOUNDS OF SLAVERY
By maia

the weeping of a girl who is lost
then the weeping of a girl found
the snap of His fingers calling her
and the snap of a collar around her neck

the moans of pain crying out in light
then the moans of passion in the darkness
the whisper of a promise in words of song
and the whisper of pleasure in white silk

the tears of torment falling down her cheek
then the tears of gratitude kissed away
the surrender of her body for Him alone
and the surrender of her dying fantasies

the kiss of the whip against her back
then the kiss of her Master upon her lips
a spirit tangled in the web of desire
and a spirit released in her slavery

Exchange
By maia

He wraps me in silk and chain
He caresses me with leather and lace
He brings me pleasure and pain
He teaches me shame and grace

i offer Him myself completely
i give to Him all he could desire
i pledge to Him my love so sweetly
i present Him with flames of my fire

His eyes are loving but often cold
His hands are soft but sometimes unkind
His words are sweet but often scold
His arms are comfort but sometimes bind

My eyes see only His face
my hands hold for Him the moonlight
My words are only His grace
my arms are His comfort in the night

I am His . . .

THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me"
"A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two?
"Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three..." But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
The wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master's hand."

There is a legend.....


There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life,
more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.
From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree,
and does not rest until it has found one.


Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the
longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above
its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale.
One superlative song, existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and the gods in their heaven smile.
For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain...


Or so says the legend...