Robin Michelle Writes

{18 April 2011}   Leaden

Half-life, decaying
Potential bleeding away
Deathful weight remains

Base basic debased
Devoid, empty of life force
Leaden form descends

Sinks ever lower
Deeper in the dark abyss



{23 March 2011}   #WankWednesday ~~ #Spare

Written in response to Ruby Kiddell’s #WankWednesday challenge. Visit her blog, The Erotic Notebook, for more.


Right now, at this point in time, I have nothing left of me to spare to anyone else. For any reason. So when I say yes to fucking you, you need to understand that fucking is all it is.

It is not about romance, or love, or even friendship. I don’t want to know your name, what you do, or anything else about you. Your intelligence and education are important only as they apply to your ability to give me what I need. Only that you’ll fuck me until I’ve had enough. It is not about me wanting to please you, to be what you want, to make you come hard. It is purely for the physical release that I need.

The only reason I’ve said yes is because I need your body, your mouth, your hands, your cock to bring me the release I crave. No fantasy, no toy can satiate my lust as another body can.

I will use you, as long as I need to. I will tell you what I need you to do. How to start at my neck, licking and nibbling, and then work your way down, making sure to spend adequate time on my breasts, teasing my nipples to rock-hardness with both your mouth and your hands. If you’re doing it right, my heart rate will accelerate, my breathing will become audible and rapid, and I will feel each tug and twist and pinch of a nipple not only there but also as an increasing tingling in my clit. I will start to gasp and moan, softly at first, as my arousal heightens and my cunt swells and moistens.

Placing my hands on first your shoulders, and then your head, I’ll guide you down further, until your heated body rests between my legs. There should be no hesitation as you spread me open and lower your mouth to me. You’ll use your tongue to lick along my slit, from bottom to top and back again, pausing now and again to circle and press on my clit, to suckle my labia, to probe and fuck.

As my moaning increases and my body moves in reaction to your touch, you’ll slide one, then two fingers inside, curving them just right to find my swollen and sensitive g-spot, then stroking and pressing while your mouth and tongue continue to work my clit. I can feel the pressure building, my legs are shaking, my breathing ragged as each moment you bring me closer to the edge. Rational thought has fled, replaced by increasing tension and sensitivity until with one overwhelming burst of energy, I come, flooding you and the bed with my juices.

You barely give me time to catch my breath before you flip me over and pull me up to my knees. I hear the sound of the condom wrapper tearing and feel your body shifting on the bed as your roll it onto your cock. Without a word, you place your hands on my hips, gripping fiercely, fingers digging into my flesh. For a brief moment, I feel the head of you cock pressing against my slick swollen labia, then with one hard thrust  you are fully inside. I gasp as you stretch and fill me and push back against you, feeling your belly press against my ass. I try to rise to my hands, but you remove a hand from my hips and leaning forward,  you press it into my head, forcing me to stay down. Your roughness serves only to make me orgasm again, a scream bursting out.

But it’s not enough, yet, and you know it. So you keep thrusting, sometimes fast and hard, sometimes slower and easier, but never stopping your movement. And I come and come and come again, until my breath is raspy, my hair is matted with sweat, my skin flushed. Behind my closed eyes, I see flashes of light, starbursts with each deep thrust. My legs are shaking, barely able to support me. So you go back to gripping my hips, forcing me to stay up, forcing me to take each of your thrusts, until finally, finally, I hear your breathing change, I feel your cock become harder, hotter and larger, stretching my sore cunt just enough more so that as you shake and pound me with your orgasm, I also come one last long screaming time.

We both collapse, but not together. There is no cuddling. No snuggling. No basking in the afterglow. I don’t even turn to look at you. To do so would somehow make this more real, more meaningful than what it was — a fuck just for fucking’s sake. So, once my breathing slows, I rise, I dress, fix my hair and makeup, and leave, sparing no more time on you.

{4 March 2011}   Inscribe #FuckMeFriday


Mark me with your lust

Engrave your desire into my skin

Each slap, each blow

Elicits moans and writhing

Nipples harden

Skin flushes

Cunt spasms and floods


I cry

I gasp

I yearn

I wait

I reach


Only when you are satisfied

With your handiwork of

Welts and bruises

When they have become

Braille for your fingers

As you stroke and caress

Then will your lust

Demand satiation

And  you will fill me

And inscribe me on the inside as well





{17 January 2011}   Dirty Talk

“Tits,” he smiled as he slid his hands over and under them, flicking her nipples with his thumbs.

“Ass,” she countered, grabbing and squeezing his as she pulled him against her.

“Cunt,” he breathed, releasing a tit and slipping his free hand between their bodies and into her slick heat.

“Cock,” she moaned, stroking and guiding his towards her yearning cunt.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he thrust forward and in, feeling her heated cunt contract around his hard cock as her hips rose to meet him.

“Oh, yes, fuck! Fuuuuck!” she echoed, ’til her breath was taken by orgasm and his faded with his own coming.

In post-coital bliss, she curled up against him, “I told you talking dirty could be fun.”

His only response a soft laugh, a kiss to her head, and a smart pat on her ass. She grinned, sighed happily, and snuggled in closer.

{3 January 2011}   September 2010 12 Poems

While I eventually failed quite miserably at doing a 365 Poetry project, I did get several poems written in September, and many of those did make it onto Twitter… Here are a few I’ve managed to get typed up for posting.


Day1 01Sep2010

Fingers fly
Creating rhythm
Body sways to mark the beat
Feel the heat

Day 2 02Sep2010

A weighted silence
Words held back that should be freed
Elephant in room

Day 3 03Sept2010

Empty echoing chamber
Furnishings knick knacks memories
Walls floor ceiling
Scoured clean
All traces of you, of us
My heart now an empty room
Ready waiting to be refilled

Day 4 04Sep2010

Bowed beneath the weight
Of unfulfilled expectations
Broken dreams
Lost hopes
As a backpack stuffed with rocks
Deforms a spine
So the weight of theses failure
Crushes  my soul

Day 5 05Sep2010

In the library of my life
There are volumes and volumes
Written as I’ve lived them
Dreamed them
Wanted and feared them
Romances, westerns, fantasies
Sci-fi, psychology, history, and more
Titled and untitled
Easily read and hidden
All mixed together into the
Autobiography that is me

Day6 06Sep2010

I’ve travelled to many nations
My passport is well stamped
Yet I’ve still to fully explore
The country that is me

Day 7 07Sep2010

Cracked and worn
Pinching and chafing
My life
Like a pair of old shoes
No longer fits comfortably

Day 8 08Sep2010

More than furniture
And a place to pay the bills
A blank space to fill
It’s where worlds are created
And lives are changed
Where I find myself
Lose myself
Share myself

Day 9 09Sep2010

Tangled in your web
Each silken strand
A word
A phrase
An action
Of love
Of hate
Of laughter
Of anger
Truth and lies
Ensnared by shared memories
To break free

Day 10 10Sep2010

With myriad colors
Endless carving and stamping
Stress and heat
You have been embossed upon
My heart
My soul
My life
Touch me
Feel the traceries forever on my skin

Day 11 11Sep2010

Amps volts watts
Electric potential
Current alternating direct

Of you

Lightning coursing


Electromagnetic pull and push
Electric field
Powering us

Current pulses
From one to the other
Back again
Pulling close
Ripping apart


Day 12 12Sep2010

Eyes closed
I trace you with fingertips
Feeling hairs tickle
Contours of muscle & bone
Noting each quick & held breath

Fingers replaced by lips & tongue
Following paths already traced
And branching out
Kissing, licking, nibbling
All of you
Each rib
Graceful sweep of neck
Undercurve of perfect breast
Hardened nipple
Trembling belly
Swollen moist lips

Teasing and toying
As I map out the passions of you




{2 January 2011}   Alrighty, Then…

So, 2010 is done, 2011 has begun ~wiping the dust off hands~.

Contrary to evidence on this blog, I did not just stop with writing, taking pictures, etc. in 2010… I just didn’t get things posted. Plenty of excuses reasons — computer was dead and didn’t get ‘fixed’ (I use this term loosely) until October; crazy work commute left me exhausted at the end of each day and week; NaNoWriMo — all the prep leading up to the actual month of writing (I won, by the way, just barely squeaking in with word count and time); and then recovery from NaNo in December.

But now, I’m feeling the itch to write again, take pictures, maybe do some drawing… At least some of which will get posted here.


So, please, stay tuned and I promise you will see much more regular posting here and on Twitter.



{27 September 2010}   Day 9 #write365

Day 9 #write365

“Holy hell! What is that stench?!” It was all Ronni could do to continue into the car.

When there was no immediate answer, she took a closer look at Melanie, the driver, who was staring unwaveringly forward. “What on earth is that? Are you wearing a necklace made of onions? What- why-,” Ronni took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. Lowering and calming her voice, she continued, “Mel, sweetie, why are you wearing an onion necklace?”

Slowly, with tears in her eyes, Mel turned to her, “I couldn’t find any garlic…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, honey, that’s just an old wives tale. Nothing can keep me away from you.” With a flash of fangs, Ronni moved in.


Robin Michelle

{27 September 2010}   Day 8 #write365

Day 8 #write365

The shower flowed over her, blinding, deafening, cutting her off from all senses except the feel of the water on her skin. And she lost herself in the sensations.

He watched her, then slowly, silently he eased the door open and slipped in behind her. Taking care not to touch, he reached past her for the bottle of shampoo.

Shifting forward, he pressed himself against her back. She moaned and wriggled back, pressing her ass against his hard cock until it was hugged by her cheeks.

Leaning forward, he nibbled on her earlobe before whispering huskily into her ear, “Let me wash your hair.”

She tilted her head back, waiting.


Robin Michelle

{27 September 2010}   Day 7 #write365

Day 7 #write365

In a rundown motel on the far side of town, he lay fully clothed on the dingy bed and stared at the ceiling. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he appeared dead. He felt dead. Dead inside. Dead to the world.

He’d dug the bible out of the bedside table and had tried to read it, hoping to find words of comfort. But after using it to smash a blood-filled mosquito (his blood), he no longer desired to even touch it.

The remains of a sandwich were drying and crumbling on the wobbly card table set in front of the window. He’d bought it not out of hunger but because of the vague awareness that he hadn’t eaten in almost a full day. Not that eating mattered anymore anyway.

His thoughts turned again and again to his last view of them, his children and wife — EX-wife — as they’d driven off following the moving truck. Moving thousands of miles away…

And it was his own fucking fault. He’d destroyed his life, all of it. All for the fleeting pleasure of a few stolen moments here and there. All that was left for him now was to finish it, end it.

Tears seeped from beneath closed lids as he lifted the gun to his head.


Robin Michelle

{19 September 2010}   Day 6 #write365

Day 6 #write365
Baby drum tiger

“Hey, tiger, lookin’ for some fun tonight?”

Sara sashayed through the office doorway, pirouetting to make sure Sam caught the full effect of her outfit — too tight top tied up under her braless breasts exposing her midriff; too short schoolgirl skirt with no panties underneath.Treating the doorjamb like a pole, she stood on one leg and bent her body back, making sure she had a tight grip.

Sam closed his laptop and swiveled to face her, looking her up and down. “Oh, baby, you have no idea what fun I have in store for you. Come stand in front of me.”

Standing up straight, Sara sauntered over, trying to look as sassy and insouciant as possible. Sam wasn’t fooled.

“Any woman who dresses like this is just begging to have her ass beat like a drum. Bend over my desk. Now.”

Knowing better than to argue, Sara quickly assumed the proper position.
And although she knew she was supposed to stay still, Sara couldn’t help a happy butt wiggle.

“If you continue to be a good bad girl, not only will I beat your ass hot and red, I will then fuck you senseless. Now stay still, in position, and quiet…”



Robin Michelle

et cetera