withinthebrain

[withinthebrain]

His Stage

The leather chair sat at the head of the room like a throne, and in it, Drake lounged. He rolled his glass of bourbon slowly between his fingers. His gaze burning against Kiana's skin.

Four men stood in a loose half-circle around her, like a pack of wolves ready to pounce. And yet, it was Drake’s attention for which Kiana ached. The man in the chair, the orchestrator of bodies and minds; The Director, she called him.

"Get on your knees," Drake directed her as her eyes glanced at the men standing around her.

They moved then, like they had rehearsed how to take her apart. Hands and mouths and cocks closing in like she was prey.

Kiana's lips parted for the cock in front of her, slick tongue sliding along the underside before she took him deep in her mouth. She moved slowly to start, tasting him. She moaned around him as a hand drifted between her legs, Beckett, the broad-shouldered man, kneeling just behind her.

The man at her front was mesmerized by the moment as if Kiana was the only person in the room with him. Blake’s bright eyes glinted and his lips parted slightly as she took him in, her mouth moving over his shaft, her hands teasing at his thighs. His fingers tangled in her hair, but only gently and without command.

Another mouth replaced the hand between her legs. A hot tongue lapping at her while she choked gently on the cock in her throat. This was Silas, the shaggy-haired fella who had clambered under her; his loose curls tickled at her thighs as his hot tongue made her drip.

Still, Drake sat. Bourbon untouched. Jaw tight. His eyes tracked every breath Kiana took, every tremble of her body, every tear that slipped from the corner of her eye as she gagged around the length in her mouth.

Drake was hard, his hand stroking his cock, his eyes yet to leave her. She looked at him as she sucked the man before her. Her eyes never left Drake.

The flames in Drake’s dark brown eyes burst as he slid from his seat, joining her on his knees.

He kissed Kiana like he was starving. Their eyes locked, tongues tangling together. Then he tilted his head with hers, and together they dragged hungry mouths down the shaft of the man she’d been enjoying.

Behind her, Beckett, pulled her hips to him. He bent her forward, pressing her down onto the cock buried deep in her throat. His weight was pleasing as he held her in place. His tip dragged teasingly along her slick folds before he slowly plunged inside, stretching her open.

Drake stood before Kiana, fingers curling gently around her chin, tilting her face up to meet his dark, burning eyes.

“You are mine,” he reminded her in a low, claiming tone. It was less about the words he said, and more about the way he looked at her, the way his hands knew her and owned her.

Kiana smirked against the cock still sliding between her lips, eyes locked on his. The smirk deepened when he shoved his hard shaft forward, pressing between her parted lips, demanding entrance.

For a moment, both cocks filled her mouth while Beckett thrust into her pussy. Blake sat back on his haunches, slowly stroking himself as Silas shifted beneath her. Kiana straddled his hips making room for him beneath her.

Beckett pressed just his tip inside her, leaving space for Silas to slide into her pussy alongside his dick, and she was overwhelmed. She was glad to have someone holding her body at every angle or she might have collapsed.

Kiana still held Drake in her hand, groping his balls and teasing at his cock with her tongue, when Griffin, his beard streaked with silver glints, stepped toward her. He had watched long enough and he was sure of himself. He pulled her face toward him and sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. At the same time, he trailed his hand from her shoulder down the length of her arm and curling his fingers around hers, he placed her hand around his cock and stroked himself with her soft fingers pressed against his skin.

Blake knelt nearby watching Kiana carefully. He watched as Silas, still nestled beneath her, had her breasts on either side of his face and softly nipped at her nipples. His view was obscene perfection: her tits bouncing against his cheeks, her belly taut and glistening with sweat, and just below that, the relentless, delicious stretch of two cocks sharing her hole.

Drake loomed in front of Kiana; his cock bobbed against her lips, slick with her spit, her hand still wrapped around his base, fingers grazing his balls. He watched her with a first-person lens to this beautiful, debauched movie, memorizing each movement as if taking perfect photos.

Blake and Griffin flanked him now. They were close enough Kiana could taste them all, alternating her lips from one to the next. She gazed up at the trio, her eyes glassy with pleasure and submission, her mouth moaning around one cock while her hand stroked another. Her tongue flicked and curled, lips sucking greedily.

Behind her, Beckett and Silas found a rhythm, their cocks dragging against one another inside her slick, stretched pussy. Each thrust filled her, the sensation almost unbearable, her whole body trembling as they fucked her.

Then Beckett slipped out with a wet sound, his breath ragged. He stepped back, hand sliding down his cock as he watched her.

Beckett grunted, like his body audibly stuttered. He groaned as he pulled out of her, wet strings of arousal stretched between them. He stepped back, chest heaving. His hand slid over his length as he eyed her body, Silas still deep inside her and mouth still ravishing three cocks.

Drake leaned in, his fingers slipping beneath Kiana's arms as he rolled her gently onto her back. Her skin was ruddy and she had marks of fingerprints and light scratches painted across her body. Drake kissed her thoroughly. He was warm against her, shivers running through her as the body heat of the others dissipated.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Drake murmured against her lips.

Kiana nodded without words, but he didn't need her words to know she was loving every second of being the center of attention. Drake smiled and continued claiming her mouth, telling her how beautiful she was when he shared her.

Blake moved closer and knelt between Kiana's thighs. His mouth met her dripping pussy, tongue flicking against her bud. He moaned as he tasted her, his hands roaming over her body. His fingers stopped to tug at her nipples as he devoured her.

Then, Griffin stepped in with the certainty he seemed to exude. He lifted her with ease, guiding her onto his lap as he settled onto the floor, her back resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around her middle holding her in place. One hand slid over her thigh, the other braced her hip as he let her feel the pressure of his thick cock nudge against her tight ass.

He was slow. He was gentle. He was cautious. His tip pressed, then paused, allowing her body to adjust. He held her tight against his body. Drake stayed close, mouth still peppering kisses from her lips, down her neck, over her ear, while he reminded her of her power.

Below her, Blake was a distraction as well, his tongue working her clit sending a flutter through her entire body. Silas and Beckett had paused to watch and they were captivated.

Griffin’s cock pushed steadily. She gasped, relaxing and opening, adjusting to slide around his girth.

“You can take him,” Drake breathed, teeth grazing her ear. “You were meant to take every bit of him.”

When Griffin sank deeper inside her, Drake smiled. He shifted himself between her thighs, Blake moving out of the way. Drake knelt before her, spreading her legs and pressing the head of his dick to her slick entrance. She clenched around his cock the second he slid inside her.

"Fuck," she hissed as she arched against both cocks.

With Griffin in her ass and Drake in her pussy, Kiana melted against Griffin’s hairy chest, his beard grazing the nape of her neck. She took deep breaths adjusting to the fullness, enjoying the feeling of being consumed.

Even in her haze, Kiana reached out, catching Silas’s cock in one palm, Beckett’s in the other. She pumped them both, stroking in tandem like she was skiing over beautiful countrysides.

Drake’s thrusts didn’t falter as he reached for Blake, guiding him forward until he stood over Kiana, his cock facing away from her. Kiana watched, eyes wide and dazed, as Drake, still buried inside her, leaned forward and took Blake into his mouth.

Blake sighed, his fists clenching at his sides. His head lolled back and the muscles in his thighs flexed as he tried to keep his composure.

Kiana turned her head just enough to find meet her hand, trailing her tongue along the swollen head of Silas’s cock before taking him into her mouth as her other hand continued to stroke Beckett. Her lips moved effortlessly between their shafts, savoring their saltiness, but her eyes drifted back to Drake.

Drake never looked away from her. He stared into her eyes as he sucked Blake, his hips still pounding against her, fucking her in perfect rhythm with the cock still buried deep in her ass.

The sight had Kiana twisting with pleasure and ready to come. Drake knew it too. With both eyes locked on her, he growled, “Come for me. Come on my dick.”

Kiana looked up into his eyes; she was glassy-eyed, with swollen lips, sweat and saliva coating her face. And they all watched as she came apart.

Then, slowly, the five men shifted around her, again reminiscent of a wolf pack circling prey. Her limbs trembled and her breath caught as they moved, positioning her on her knees between them.

One by one, they fisted themselves, cocks heavy and gleaming. Drake stood closest, directing the ensemble. His gaze was sultry, still locked on Kiana, claiming her without question.

And then, they came. Thick, hot, stringy ropes painted her chest, her tits, her throat. Their come slid and dripped from her tongue as she held her mouth open for more, waiting for every last drop from their pulsing, satisfied cocks.

She stayed still, breathing hard, letting them mark her.

She was artwork. She was his masterpiece, sat upon The Director's stage.

[withinthebrain]

Some Closenesses

we don’t meet for coffee or sidewalk talks, but we’re good at this, this kind of long distance hang-out.

we don't sit thigh to thigh on the couch for a movie but still we play in jovial discourse in distant video game sessions.

we don't drive down country roads at midnight for no reason but we still breathe in the freshness and marvel at the beauty of the same moon.

we don't eye each other across the bar above clinking glasses and karaoke, but we write in words that touch. in a language that seems to see.

we do not dance the night away in crowded halls of strobe lights but we sway together in shared playlists of late-night tunes.

we don’t do all the usual things, our nondigital worlds far apart, yet still our souls converse in a universe, where some closenesses, just needeth log in.

[withinthebrain]

Seven Minutes

Truth or dare… Your silly grin, the bottle spins. Soon we're in the closet.

The party’s loud, the music blares, our silly stares, a quirky pair of goofs.

We could hold back and sit a while, in a cozy style under gentle smile, reserved.

But your breath is near, I feel your skin like molten sin pressing in to kiss me.

I look away, afraid you'll read, the pulsing need, the quiet plead, for more.

Seven minutes, we shred the rules, two reckless fools, like wild propagules: forget discretion.

[withinthebrain]

intangible touch

You are a shadow of sin, without shape or breath or name, damning with every word, present in every darkness. Your intent drinks the silence, always on the cusp of intangible touch, utterly consuming in persistence, known in the long ache of stillness.

[withinthebrain]

Soliloquy in White

Insanity has come to visit in my cozy white-walled room, and you are here with me, in all your fragile beauty. Your sun tanned skin freckled like the night sky, twinkling eyes that pull me along the edge of madness.

You keep me hooked, holding me taut on a fishing line, your distant laughter is my favorite calming technique, and I listen to you hum our song through the static. Your presence is the bobber which keeps me from sinking.

And you are naked, aside from your straight jacket, And I am naked beneath the weight of my own attire bare skin prickling, tingling, screaming out loud, like radios left on as background noise amongst the chaos.

I lean into you to rest my head upon your shoulder, but you are far away now and I am caught by the padded wall hugged tight by the confinement of my straight jacket, safe in the tranquil soliloquy of my cozy, white-walled room.

[withinthebrain]

Favorite Poet

I've read the classics, and searched for my favorites I've analyzed the 'best' and compared all the greats.

but the answer isn't simple: "Who is your favorite poet?" The answer is convoluted, twisted in the nuances of verse.

but at the end of the day, every time they ask the question, my answer always must be: you are my favorite poet.

[withinthebrain]

I Wear the Wild

I will wear the morning dew as glitz and glam, The mud after a rain paints a full face of makeup. No rouge but the flush of sun-kissed skin, And freckles like chaos gardened wildflowers.

I don't wear diamonds, but rather the midnight stars, The sweet sap of pine trees the best perfume. My naked feet know the earth like a wild lover, And my bare skin revels in breeze or pond.

No mirror can untruth my wild face; I trust the river to unhide my reflection. The earth's wardrobe costs nothing, Even a fancy buzzing bee my only jewelry.

I wear plaids and hoodies like second skin, Dress up in overalls or waders on special occasions. I don’t need expensive, garish eccentricities, For I wear the wild like a crown of weeds and flowers.

Undressed-up, in my own kind of style, Raised wild in spirit and deep in root, Undoubtedly, by Mother Nature.

[withinthebrain]

Earworm

Let your voice play on loop, an earworm hooked deep, a slick song to saturate my mind on continuous repeat, like a syncopated heartbeat.

[withinthebrain]

Different Pages

I was writing in verse, Poetic in cadence, planning feeling into line breaks and breathing between stanzas.

You were too, at first. Then mid-moment, you switched to prose.

You wrote in long paragraphs of over thinking, long descriptions of thoughts that rambled and circled back like a coiling constrictor snake that wouldn’t back down to let you breathe, just another comma that kept droning on in monotone.

You kept going, talking in your long lines while I scrambled to transition, tripping on metaphors.

I don’t mind prose. Truly, I don’t. But shifting style on the page takes time and brainstorming And drafts, many drafts… especially when the poem wasn’t finished yet.

So if I seem quiet, or unrhymed, or far away I’m just trying to translate fast enough to still meet your need for prose without dismantling my own poetry.

[withinthebrain]

Let Go

Wetness pools in the wake of your smoldering gaze, the tendrils of your words cling on my skin.

Heat stampedes through my veins like the ghostly touch of your fingertips.

Your words coil one syllable at a time around my spine as if you spoke my name alone, in a heated breath against my ear.

I close my eyes, and you’re more real than the touch in a dream. Your imagery owns the corners of my mind, coaxing desires from a secret garden.

I let go of logic, let it slip… let you slip, down my thighs,

and I obey.

I hit my knees, part my lips,

my mind bows to your devotion; my body aches, begging for the sacrament of you.

[withinthebrain]

Like Rain

It came like rain, a slow, warm drizzle, spreading through me.

My body softened, suspended in the gentle weight of this sensation.

No sudden rush, just the hush of a secret thought unfolding in my mind.

It stayed for a moment that felt like forever.

Then it slipped away, as poetic as a poem leaving my lips.

I came like rain against your words.

[withinthebrain]

Drunk on Dreams

Elena’s legs fold beneath her, the mulberry pink straps of her pajamas barely holding onto her shoulders. She sits curled up on the patio swing, watching the dogs meander lazily in the grass beneath the morning sun. An enormous mug nestled in her hands sends steam curling dreamily toward her nose.

She brings the warm mug to her lips and closes her eyes. The world is quiet this morning, but her mind wanders.

Behind her eyelids, he kisses down her neck. Soft hands push hair from her face, lips brushing her sun-warmed cheek. She can feel his weight beside her on the swing, his arms wrapped around her bare shoulders.

She realizes she is holding her breath as her daydream becomes a flood of desire. Elena inhales, the scent of morning dew and budding flowers mingling with the dizzying woodsy spice aroma of his skin in her mind.

Now the thought of his smell has her dreaming of his large hands pinning her wrists above her head. He folds her in half and drags his cock over her panties. His soft, quick words brush against her skin, praising her wetness, and she trembles.

Her mind is racing and a rough hand fists her hair, dragging her head back, guiding her mouth mere inches from his throbbing cock. “You know you want it,” he murmurs within her brain, and oh how she does. “Don’t pretend you don’t dream of choking on it.”

And yet his voice is darker still and it coils around her throat: “Open your mouth and hold still. Let me paint your tongue with the taste of me.”

Then her mind shuffles, distracted by the thought of fingers pinching her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. His hands slip beneath her tank top, a rough grasp on her breast, rolling her nipple beneath his thumb.

The breeze sends a shiver through her body, and Elena sips at the bitter liquid in her cup. The dogs are sprawled in patches of shade, their eyes still watching for a phantom rabbit.

In her mind, he’s everywhere; his mouth is on her throat, hands spreading her open, cock grinding into her from behind while another presses to her lips. She’s drowning in him. Everywhere she turns, he’s there. Thrusting. Teasing. Directing.

“Not yet,” he growls dragging her back into the depths of fantasy. With one hand around her throat, the other shoves her legs wider. She’s cock-drunk and teary-eyed and yet he persists.

"You can't run from me," his voice calls. "I'm already inside you."

Shifting slightly in the swing, it creaks beneath her. Her shorts cling tighter to her thighs, and suddenly, he kneels between her legs, mouthing at the damp spot on her panties, his teeth teasingly pulling at the fabric. His hands are greedy, pushing aside the soft cotton, his fingers pressing teasingly against her wetness.

Reality tugs her back; the squeak of the swing startles the dogs and they run a lap around the yard, barking just to prove to the wild critters how scary they can be.

And Elena's mind drifts deeper. Now she’s on her knees, wrists tied behind her back. He towers over her, cock heavy in his fist. Glass-eyed, lips parted, spit trailing down her chin. He holds her jaw, his thumb digging into her cheek as he thrusts between her lips. Her throat aches as he stretches her and she chokes on his girth.

With a satisfied snarl curling his lips, he says, "look at you, on your knees like you were made for it."

She gags again, tears dribbling down her cheeks. He pulls out just enough for her to breathe. “Take it. You can take more.” And she does.

The dogs bark at a chittering squirrel pulling her back from the edge of her dark daydream. The soft sway of the swing beneath her grounds her once more.

The images of him, his hands and his cock, fulfilling every imagined daydream like a compilation of desire, reluctantly slip. Yet his presence is intoxicatingly tangled in her imagination, his voice certain to continue haunting her thoughts.

Elena swallows the last swig of coffee and smiles, drunk on dreams.

[withinthebrain]

Hostage

(A series of mini poems?)

Devour my dreams… sip the sweetness of stolen secrets, taste the quiet craving melting upon your tongue, drink me in.

Fall into my fantasies… Dive headlong into tangled desire, the siren’s enchantment pulling you deeper, nestled deep within the brain.

Sink beneath my sighs… trace the tremble in my timbre breathless whispers sending shivers down my spine.

Tease my temptations… Fingertips coaxing right on the cusp, ‘til wetness pools in velvet folds, tender, flushed, pained, aglow.

Whisper to my want… soft-spoken secrets succumb to surrender, wrapping warmth around wonderment, welcoming whimpers.

Play with my passions… wrap your hands around their wrists bind them beneath the silver moon in silken ropes.

Mark me with madness… Etch delirious rebellion deep in my veins, tattoo my flesh with untamed ink, a burning sigil of sin.

Drown me in desires… submerged in a ravenous rush of lust, swallowed by waves of wicked hunger, gasping on merciless moans.

Feast on my fear… taste the tremble laced with trust, lead me past where my body dares beg, nibble gently at my limits.

Bruise my beauty… skin of fragile petals blooming ruby roses at your touch, kissed by blistered ache.

Snare my soul… take hostage the heat that lurks deep, claim my mind, my body, my soul make me yours.

[withinthebrain]

Exposure: Beautiful Tease

Take the photo freeze the arch of my back, the silk slipping from my shoulder daring to show just enough yet asking to reveal more flesh

You say you want a shot that would make another jealous.

Take the photo like it’s an invitation, or an undeniable tease, the curl of a calling finger, beckoning a hunger for touch. leaving desire just out of frame, hiding secrets in the placement of hands, Angles flirt with glimpses, just enough to tempt.

Let the lens catch what words can’t say: the swell and sheen of skin, the soft embrace of sheets or clothing, the way the light cups her face, that expression of mystery, want, and power. Freeze frame, Beautiful Tease.

[withinthebrain]

In Connection: Snare

Snare my soul… take hostage the heat that lurks deep, claim my mind, my body, my soul make me yours.

[withinthebrain]

In Connection: Bruise

Bruise my beauty… skin of fragile petals blooming ruby roses at your touch, kissed by blistered ache.

[withinthebrain]

In Connection: Drown

Drown me in desires… submerged in a ravenous rush of lust, swallowed by waves of wicked hunger, gasping on merciless moans.