Siren Whispers

Siren Song

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Our darkest desires


It is in the inky darkness

Velvety soft and sensuous

That we give in

That we allow ourselves this freedom

This pleasure

Words that have caressed us

Through the day

That have fired our imaginings

That have made our pulses race

They feed our darkest desires

We lie


Tangled in sheets

Naked skin burning

The throb and ache of arousal


Hands and fingers

Proxy for the other

As dreams become real

In the silence of the night

I feel you

And your need overtakes me



Photograph taken from Pinterest


Cette petite mort


His fingers



skin like silk.

His lips

placing a kiss



and everywhere.

His breath

upon her

causing her to shudder

as she arches toward his touch.

His tongue

dancing upon


and pink



unremitting in its quest

for her pleasure.

Hungry for her.

For how she feels

under his hands.

For the taste of her

upon his tongue.

To know

to feel

his enjoyment

of this

of what he can give her

of what he wants to give her

again and again…

cette petite mort…

pushes her over the edge

has her passion raging

like a wildfire

and makes her ravenous

for him

in turn.


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2016

Photograph taken from Pinterest


Spilling devotion


A playground for your pleasure

replete with velvety hollows

and silken niches

a wonderland of hills, valleys

and dangerous curves

that you navigate with the hands

of an explorer


My mind aflame with suggestion

as you whisper every dirty thing

you have wanted to do

since you first saw me

everything you will do

now that you have me


Burning with desire

minds swollen with fantasy

imagination at full throttle

spilling devotion across my pale skin

with pain and pleasure


You worship me hard

leaving me raw

as we become more and more

tangled with lust



Photograph taken by Eugene Reno


Darken my dreams

Darken my dreams

With thoughts that belie my innocence

Which leave me twisted

And tangled

Amid dawn’s heated sheets

Shipwrecked upon the rocks

Of desire

Shuddering with unspeakable pleasure

As I relive each dark and dangerous delight

My imagination and your touch

Has created

Within the night’s dance

With the moon



Photograph taken from the internet, original provenance unknown.




She can hardly breathe. 

With the flutter of nerves

And excitement

She is blind to all but her own thoughts.

The room is silent

But for the scratching sound of the match

Her senses are heightened

Sight and movement taken

The rich smell of leather permeates the air

She feels the comforting weight

Around her neck

Around her wrists and ankles

She knows what is to come

Yet not when.

He is a quiet presence

Watching her

Waiting for the right moment

Pleased with the sight of her

Cuffed and roped

Here for his pleasure

And hers


The first drops hit her bare skin

The burning pain

Melding into an ache

She feels down into her core

Drop after drop falls

Without end

The wax drips down her breasts

Beading upon her nipples

Dripping further upon her belly

Upon her thighs

Upon her sex

She is twisting her body to evade the wax

But without sight

Without the ability to move fully

She is powerless

The pain makes her whimper, despite herself

Tears well in her eyes

Pain and pleasure

Creating an unfamiliar feeling within her.

Knowing it arouses him

This suffering she endures

Knowing she’s pleased him

This excites her

Makes her hungry for him.

The drops continue to fall

Faster now

Each drop hotter

More painful than the last

She lets go

Stops thinking

As she falls into the pain

As drop after drop falls

All she can think of is him.


The wax no longer drips

Her pain starts to recede

The blindfold is removed

She feels the ghost of his touch

Lightly over the wax

Thumbing the encased nipple

And further down to spread her thighs

She watches as he looks at his handiwork

The wax itself is like a work of art

He kneels between her thighs

His fingers

His tongue

Dancing upon fevered flesh

Soothing and stimulating

And just as she slips over the edge

Into the abyss

He thrusts into her

Their pleasure delicious

The moment transcendent


*This is not a new post. Blogged first two years ago and again last year it is one of my favourites so I beg your indulgence once again.


Photograph taken from Pinterest



Her scent lingers


She’s not there but her scent lingers.

He idly touches her things

the silk robe, the soft chemise she wears to bed

the lace top stockings she wore to dinner the evening before.

He lifts them to his face, inhaling her scent

remembering how she looked fresh from her bath

her countenance rosy as she smoothed the lotion over calves and thighs

his eyes tracking the movements of her fingers

enjoying the way her skin looked

the muscles underneath moving with every new motion.

He rubs the silk against his cheek

remembering how it felt under his hands as he stroked her thigh under the table.

His fingers moving ever inward and upward.

Her dress no barrier to his questing hands

finding the edge of her lace knickers and slipping underneath.

Touching her heat, her wetness.

Knowing she would not betray his actions

delighting in their game.

He remembers how quickly their clothes were discarded

once they were alone.

How he had her keep her stockings and heels on as he bent her over the hall table

her bare breasts flat against the cool and shiny surface

their reflection in the hall mirror

an erotic capture

showing how he slowly

and deliciously 

entered her from behind.

Feeling himself harden with the memory

he smiles in pleasure

as he hears her key in the door…


* This is not new but I like it and it is true a scent, a taste…it can be the simplest of things that brings a flood of memories back.


Photograph taken from Pinterest


You are a poem


You are a poem

a delightful verse

lilting through my days

like a melody.

You are a puzzle

who’s edges fit mine so perfectly

it’s as though we were made

for each other. 

You are an enigma

one that I find intriguing

and enthralling.

Poem, puzzle, enigma.

I may never decipher you

but I will find pleasure

in the endeavouring.



Artwork by Vladimir Volegov