Sunday afternoon, after things settled down a bit, He and I found some time to play again with the new spanking bench.  It works.  The kneeler makes the geometry of the thing function as I imagine it is supposed to.  It isn't uncomfortable.  It is wide enough to comfortably support my shoulders, arms, and hips.  It is long enough that my head rests on the padded top and does not hang out in space.  We have a set of macrame restraints, made for us by a friend many years ago, and they work well to fasten me down to the thing.  The restraints make it impossible for me to take off in the middle of the session, and that increases the vulnerability level some, but it also gives me a sense of security.  With the ...

I cunt understand...
I want to hear you say it. Spit those sinful notions down my neck. Breathe them into me.
Tell me how that tongue will slither as a snake upon my slippery slit. How those teeth will sink. How those ropes will burn...if I get too rowdy, of course. How that palm will sting.
Say you will eat til you're full; drink til you're drunk; and fuck til you're raw...
...and when you will be here. ;)

Today it felt like I was in some other dimension. When I left for work the fog was extremely thick. It took us a bit longer to get to work than any of us had anticipated, but thankfully we weren’t late. But thanks to the fog, the entire day just seemed gray. The sky was gray, the snow is melting rather quickly, and everyone just seemed really blah. And as such the day went by really, really slowly. I was cranking out work left and right, but that didn’t seem to help time speed up. In fact it felt like it was going slower. You know how when you’re doing a lot and then you glance at the clock figuring it must have been say, at least 30 minutes and it’s only been 10? Yeah. That. But as soon as I got out of work time sped back up ...

He said:
Give that ache to me, my pet.
And I obeyed.
You're making me cry again, my Master.
You do know that this is beyond erotic, my Master. Even if I were allowed to masturbate, that wouldn't help. It's the nearness, the intimacy...
To just lie with you like that, my Lord... to feel with our bodies the intimacy we've created with our words... to have the luxury of time... to lie there, to smell you, to feel you...
You're hurting me, my Lord, making me feel all this...
I love you, my Master - though in a way that I can't define and that doesn't seem to connect with any definition of the word that I can imagine. I am confused and in pain and I am yours.
I'm going to take a shower now.
I am going to ...

Good attention, bad attention, positive, negative... its all energy for me.
I'd like to pretend that I am a good girl and don't do anything to be displeasing, but who am I kidding?
The reality is, I am an unglued cunt on occasion, I am a twatwaffle that he needs to smack upside the back of the head, break down to a teary mess, then baby me even when I hate the tenderness.
And, don't I hate all of it. LOL
I can't tell the difference between good attention, bad attention and there are times when I actually really need BAD attention, far more than I would ever need or want good attention.
It doesn't even have to be pain infliction. I just need to see him mad, I need to see human emotion out of him, and I need to see him make me ...

My middle finger was in the cleft of her ass, resting conspicuously against her anus. The tiny orifice puckered as though for a kiss while the pad of my finger caressed it. She looked back and up at me while I held her like this against the hotel room door as she fumbled to get the magnetic card into the electronic door lock. A maid was peering at us from down the hall.
I pushed her roughly against the yellow tinged wall by the throat and grinned a feral grin at her. She put her teeth together behind her parted lips and shot me a look of lascivious intent and want. I lightly cuffed her cheek, a splotch of red blossoming against her creamy caramel colored skin.
"Let me taste you. Please..." she began.
Instead, I swing her around ...

I had some insomnia last night and got up to check e-mails and sent a few text messages to A who was also up and having a hard time sleeping. I tried to go back to bed but was having a difficult time of it. I watched Master Anakin sleeping and started to feel needy. I had missed him and felt a deep need in me to be with him in the darkness of the night.
He was asleep when I put my hand down the comforter and sheets and felt his cock. I started to stroke it and waited for a reaction. "What are you doing, bitch" he mumbled half asleep. "I need you Master" I told him as I started to take down his boxers and stroke his cock. "Master is tired. Not now" he told me and tried to roll over. I wasn't going to give up though. I needed him inside ...

I have to say that getting an email titled, “Nose ring” from Master has been one of my most heart-stopping moments to date. I received it at 9:30am to my work email address and before I even opened it, I had that gut-churning-omg feeling that only comes with announcements spelling out impending doom. Yeah, unfortunately the man is still enamoured with the idea of putting a big bull ring through my nose and he is planning on doing it once he gets a job offer. And guess what? This morning he got a job offer. *does a little happy dance* On one hand, it’s been a really good day. After six months of repeated interviews and teasers and a whole lot of rejection, Master received a job offer. It’s been tough on him. He’s a ...

“Come here.” “Why?” ” Because I want to fuck you until I feel something break.” “Really?” “Yes.” “Is that all?” “Yes.  For now.” Filed under: Agapē

This blog will be deleted due to security concerns. If you're a friend on fetlife, you will receive the new link and I'd really appreciate it if you could update your subscripions and links accordingly and spread the word. I will not have an auto direct on this site, and it will be deleted in short order. Please spread the word...thanks!

Sorry I've been absent lately. Probably no one much noticed, but I just havn't had the urge to write lately. There's been a lot of play recently, with M and my friend Renee.
M has become very adept at turning on the "topping", and he enjoys making me feel "small". He changes the inflection of his voice and I find myself unable (unwilling) to deny his instructions. He seems to enjoy objectification the most. I'm not sure if that's him feeding off of my desire for it, or if it's the natural male desire for voyuerism, but I'm not complaining. ;)
My friend Renee and I have been playing also. We have an agreement for a month of her "owning" me. It's a relaxed sort of ownership, but she likes playing with me. She's a Pro Domme also, and she's ...

I’m having a shocking run of outs. The die-hard dominant mentioned a couple of posts ago started playing games: we had agreed to meet next week on a night I was free and he left my following message unanswered for a few days. He was on my favourites list and I could see he had logged in each day — I assumed he was starting a dom/sub game of control or anticipation and I left him to it. The day before we were due to meet he sent a message asking if I’d like to meet him on the only night I wasn’t available. Either he’s filled the nights I’m free with more desirable options and I was a back-up plan, or he didn’t want to meet and wanted me to do the dirty work. I did the dirty work and deleted him. I gave my ...

According to Slate, NBM's Eurotica line just re-released Guido Crepax's graphic novel adaptation of Pauline Reage's The Story of O. The article gives a quick overview of the books semi-mythological history, and looks at it from a feminist point of view, as an expression of woman's need for passion and transcendance; in effect, vindicating masochism as a spiritual or mystical experience. In describing the place where violence and tenderness, pleasure and pain, love and brutality all meet, she's not describing an eccentric fetish culture, but a universal desire. I'm slightly annoyed that in praising O, the author is taking it away from the people who loved it first and best. I believe that kinky people are not just an "eccentric fetish ...

I’ve already admitted, a little earlier today, that I play Final Fantasy. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I can show you. Happy HNT! Want to join in the HNT sexy fun? Check out the guidelines at Osbasso’s place!

“I’m going to the deli, you want anything?” She rolled her tongue around in her mouth, scrunched her forehead and thought. “Nope, I’m good. Wait!” He made an exaggerated pirouette and turned back to face her. “Yeah?” “Leave your jacket.” “Huh? It’s fucking cold out there.” “I know.” She licked her lips and nodded. “And take a pedometer. I got a free one, it’s in the junk drawer. Every step will be… something. Maybe a clothespin, or a smack with the crop, or maybe even a second licking my boots while you’re still shivering and cold. I’ll tell you when you get back.” A slow nod. “Okay. We haven’t played ...

Before I write about that other side I will talk about this side, the one that is here, on the blog, the one I usually write about. In many ways I came to this kind of fantasies as an observer. There are so many damsels in distress out there, in stories and films, and I couldn't help being fascinated by it. Films sometimes depict scenes of abuse, even rape. There are book covers with muscular

The first scar is faint, discreet. It sits atop the shoulder on the curve down to my arm, the oldest but the smallest. I admit, it’s not entirely your doing. We liked to scratch, back then. Naked bodies, nails flashing, skin reddening. I’m not sure why. Animal passions? A pretence of competition? A distraction from the lack of flesh inside flesh? Our backs and sides and arms and chests would be covered in the traces of scores of tiny scuffles. You left a shallow scratch on my arm during one session of sweat and lust.It scabbed over quickly, but I wanted to keep it. I wanted to keep you. Who knows? It might well have scarred anyway given I’m a picker anyway. Either way, our time as lovers was over and I wanted something physical to ...

Just a couple of days ago, I got the news that the husband of a woman I know was killed in an accident. I’ve been having really mixed feelings about the whole thing because, well, he wasn’t a nice guy. In fact I didn’t much like him at all. Would I ever have wished him dead? No, not by a long shot, but I certainly didn’t want to spend any time around the guy, and I must say I was extremely relieved when I heard that, a few months ago, the pair had split up. He’d cheated on her. I don’t know why it took a cheat to finally spur her to call it quits, but I almost wanted to thank him for having done it. If that was the impetus she needed to boot him out, I wish he’d cheated on her years ago. But what brings me ...

So, I guess it’s clear I’m not really updating anymore. There’s no big reason why… except, well, I’ve said it. I said it all, and then I kept talking quite a while after that. In fact, I often think, I said it all within the first six months. And although I could go on reiterating the same things because it’s not like this stuff is *fixed* now, or anything. (Apparently kink dot com have changed the name of Men in Pain to Divine Bitches, but we all knew that was coming. It was some kind of anomaly all along that a perversion porn site was called the name of what I like rather than what he likes. And the what he likes being a kind of she that is not me but in fact some kind of unreal dehumanised… see, I could ...

The other night in a drunken frenzy of lust and a full lack of inhibition I begged… and I got EXACTLY what I begged for. Now as I forgetfully graze across the mark I get shivers. I missed Him. I forgot not how good the pain felt, but rather how good HE feels when He [...]