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MissAnthropic

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Hi I am a misanthrope of long standing, here on a social networking site, because no one man or woman is an island and we all need someone. I’ve been around a fairly long time (read old) and have done the local scene and the online thing, as well as many, many years of life experiences and relationship experiences of which I draw on for BDSM purposes.
I have found that BDSM is something that nearly everyone does to some extent, be it kinking on in the bedroom at home in the relative anonymity of their relationship and known to a few close friends. It's not a secret club thing where people meet at night and have to protect their identity, despite the pretentious wanker's who make out that its so terribly dangerous and hardcore. It is a normal part of human sexuality, and everybody's doing it at some point of their life. I've tried poly and alternate relationships and didn't find that I have the right personality for such intense and difficult relationships (read jealous and insecure and I can live with that).
One of the things that has kept me fairly quiet of late is that it is very easy to become fed up with the BDSM scene, the pretentious wankers, the dire warnings, the be careful of strangers because everyone could be an axe murderer and the high school gossip type nonsense that is prevalent within the scene both online and off. It is off-putting to say the least.
I am a 47 year old woman, who is confident and capable of meeting new people on my own. I have good judgement and am of sound mind. I do not need a babysitter or a cockblocker to go for a cup of coffee with someone in a public place. I am capable of making my own decisions. I am far from stupid. I do not need to put future partners through the grand inquisition before meeting them, they shall be treated with the same respect as any other human being I have met in my life.
I do not need a guideline or *128 rules* to be myself. I have been myself for 47 years and nobody does “Jessamy” as well as I do. I am a human being, not a barbie doll that can be made over in someone’s fantasy image, and that includes responsibility and accountability for my actions. I am not spam, I am a human being and I can not be moulded into an all purpose model.
What I am not is focused upon my sex life to the exclusion of all else. There is a great deal more to me than a twat on legs. I am not here to serve you, and people who are wanting that sort of relationship are welcome to them.
What I am is interesting, intelligent, passionate, caring, beautiful, charming, witty, warm etc. You would have to get to know me as a person, I am worth takign the time to get to know...
cheers
jess xxx
**Founding member of the cotton wool family, for those delicate flowers wrapped in cotton wool who don't like pain but do like tampons!** - A brand new tradition invented by Jessamy in 2011.


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7/10/2011 7:49:14 PM

"3. THE CONTROL ASSUMED EQUALS THE RESPONSIBILITY ACCEPTED.

A dominant must understand that a person in a submissive state of mind during a scene is operating in a state of diminished capacity and their ability to make decisions is severely compromised. This is the precisely the point of transferring control. This is why it is important to negotiate carefully before a scene. A submissive is entrusting hir body, mind and spirit to the dominant's care, which is my mind is a sacred covenant. If you aren't willing to accept responsibility for your actions, don't accept the power."

http://www.frugaldomme.com/dangers/dangers9.htm

The quote above by Molly Devon, one of the co-authors of Screw the Roses, seems to be to be the basis of one of the basic problems inherent in BDSM, that one is capable of abdicating responsibility. I am of the opinion that no one can abdicate self responsibility even if they want to. They can role-play it, but at the end of the day, have the right of veto, to say no or stop or in some cases use a code or safe word to stop all proceedings.

In the above quote it suggests that a submissive state is some sort of altered state, and that this absolves submissive s of responsibility for themselves. I disagree that any consensual play gives the Dominant all the responsibility in the relationship or the scene, simply because the submissive can at any time veto. I counter that responsibility is shared equally, in that the submissive can consent and does consent and can at any time withdraw that consent. That consent can be implied by simply not using a safe word or saying no.

Secondly I disagree that at any time the submissive is of a limited or diminished capacity, as per our recent discussion of subspace. Altered states do not stop you from being rational, being mentally ill can make you irrational, but sex and-or BDSM sceneing doesn't create a state where you are irrational and unable to make a decision. It can make you horny, it can make you feel good, it can make you happy or unhappy, it can be painful, but it does not make you irrational. If I hurt myself in the course of my everyday life, it do not become irrational. If I have a migraine I do not become irrational and unable to make decision. If I have cancer I do not become irrational, I just become someone who has cancer.

A person who is in a scene as a bottom can experience a great deal of sensory input, it might be possible to miss something that is going on that isn't immediately apparent, but that doesn't make them irrational that is simply an attention issue, we can only focus on so much stimuli at one time. That can not be compared to being of diminished capacity. Your individual capacity remains the same, the sensory input is greater. I would not suggest that the submissive attempt to drive a car at the same time as sceneing, not because he or she becomes irrational, but that attention needs to be paid to the car and road conditions traffic, and that isn't possible when splitting your attention elsewhere.

By the same token a Dominant who is involved in a scene is focusing upon the proceedings, he or she isn't irrational or of diminished capacity, they are focused, if they were to recite Shakespeare and hold a conversation simultaneously their focus would be distracted and they would start increasing their errors.

There is a great deal of data and studies on attention out there.

 


7/5/2011 11:29:41 PM

Yes in case you haven't read Diane Vera's 9 levels of submission before it is located here: http://www.bdsmcircle.net/dslifestyle/the9levelsofs…

While it might have been intended as a tool to help people explore their submissive side, it tends to come across as "how to be a true slave" type of thing, in some ways belittling those who do not choose to become dysfunctional and concentrate on D/s to the point of loosing control of themselves and their lives outside of D/s. In this case the introduction uses such wording as "usually _not_ very genuinely submissive" which set a tone if you will that suggests that unless you are a true slave, your in some way inferior.

Within the document it suggests that "Within the S/M world, a full time "slave" arrangement is entered into with an explicit awareness of the magnitude carefully, with more awareness of the magnitude of power that is being given up, and hence is usually entered into much more carefully, with more awareness of the possible dangers, and with much clearer and more specific agreements than usually precede the traditional marriage." I cry bullshit, as I have personally experienced people who have never met me, know me from reading my profile online which suggests that I am submissive, and beg me to accept them as a full time slave. This hasn't happened once, but on numerous occasions, and I simply can not see that there was any awareness, thought, care, etc than if i had run into someone in a nightclub and brought them home to have sex in a normal vanilla relationship. This appears to be the same argument that the collar is more significant than my wedding ring because BDSM symbolism is more valid than social symbolism. That obviously hasn't worked well in the past and again holds no weight now.

When further perusing the document there is "6.UNCOMMITTED SHORT-TERM BUT MORE THAN PLAY SEMI-SLAVE" wherein "the "slave" has the final say over when she will serve." I have to question how in any relationship both parties don't have a final say over when to stay or leave the relationship. That is the basis of consent, that either party can stop or leave at any time. Anything else is just unrequited dribble to suggest that one form of interpersonal relationship is in some way superior to another, with no actual reason behind that highlighted other than more bullshit. The allegation that there are relationships where people within the relationship do not have the power to say no or leave is suggesting that they must live in some third world country where the law doesn't give a human being personal freedom and the right to choose. This is completely invalid in my culture where ones personal rights and liberty are the basis of our culture.

"9.CONSENSUAL TOTAL SLAVE WITH NO LIMITS. A common fantasy ideal which probably doesn't exist in real life (except in authoritarian religious cults and other situations where the "consent" is induced by brainwashing and/or social or economic pressures, and hence isn't fully consensual). A few S/M purists will insist that you aren't really a slave unless you're willing to do absolutely anything for your Dom(me), with no limits at all" and she comes to her senses suggesting that fantasy and reality can not match up. I would suggest that the entire document is based upon when a person can consent and when a person can leave and how that shows one's level of submission. I would contend that in every single case, each person in a relationship can say no or stop at any time, in all levels of submissions, be they tops or bottoms and these shades of submission is at best an effort to pretend that one persons interpersonal relationship status is more valid than another's and one persons level of commitment is better or somehow superior to another's. I see no evidence except that to pretend otherwise and abdicate responsibility for oneself could be perceived as being dysfunctional from a mental health perspective.

I personally think people have different levels of commitment to a relationship and different limits, that every single person is different and this will vary, but that there are no specific levels of submission as outlined, because to suggest that no one has the rights and choices or can give up same or abdicate same is fallacy at best.

 


7/3/2011 9:00:33 AM

I am aware of three conflicting schools of thought, RACK, SSC and No limits. I have traded them all in for one word Consent, as they are superfluous.

 

**con·sent (kn-snt)
intr.v. con·sent·ed, con·sent·ing, con·sents
1. To give assent, as to the proposal of another; agree. See Synonyms at assent.
2. Archaic To be of the same mind or opinion.
n.
1. Acceptance or approval of what is planned or done by another; acquiescence. See Synonyms at permission.
2. Agreement as to opinion or a course of action: She was chosen by common consent to speak for the group.**

 

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/consent

 )

 

Consent, without it, you can not proceed. Consent is always revocable at any time, by law. There is no way to give consent if you are under-age, using intoxicants, under coercion, not informed with full disclosure, not sane, under duress, not safe.

 

1. You can not give a "no limits" or blanket consent as it is impossible to consent to something unknown. ( NO Limits)

 

2. You can not consent to something that is unsafe as to do so is to demonstrate an unsound mind. (Safe)

 

3. You can not consent to some thing unless you are of sound mind ( sane) and without the influence of intoxicants, coercion or duress. (Sane)

 

4. You can not consent if you are not informed with full disclosure. (Risk Aware)

 


7/3/2011 5:19:58 AM

The Old Guard - “Daddy how many cocks did you have to suck before you became a Master?”

 

 

If you believe Wiseman and similar writers "The Old Guard" exists within the Gay Community - and they were indoctrinated by this group into an unbroken line of BDSM/S/m that has existed since time began.

 

http://web.archive.org/web/20080908112608/http://www.iron-rose.com/IR/docs/olddays.htm

 

If I believed everything that was printed or I saw on the Internet, I would be such a gullible gussy :D But men have been sucking each others cocks for such a long time, so I am inviting any old cock suckers to please come right on up and tell us about the Old Guard....

 

 

Now if someone could come forwards and tell us of their personal experience in the 40's or earlier, and yes I know that is a ways back, but to prove an unbroken line of BDSM, and surely there is documentation and proof of same, despite wiki saying scandalously that not such lineage exists! The leather culture within the Gay scene is really an offshoot of Gay bike clubs and popularised and the release of books like Janus and the Leathermans Handbook in the 1970's.

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leather_subculture

 

Current psychological studies suggest that kink within BDSM is a part of normal sexual behaviour for human beings.

 

One of the first cinematic voyages was porn. Sex and kink has been pursued since Adam and Eve. It's not by chance that we have such a large population, sex and kink seems to have been a normal part of life for countless generations. There is erotic art, erotic poetry, erotic legends and mythology about the pagan gods who were a bawdy bunch at best. Way back then they didn't have television, and very few people were literate, so what did they do with all that time?

 

I conjecture that people kinked at home. It may come as a surprise but there is not much that we do that our parents didn't do, and our great grandparents. Much as the thought might be uncomfortable but our parents and great-great-great grandparents were very happily using anal and oral sex, with a side order of S/m and a little nipple twisting and the odd slap on the arse or switch with a peach branch. It.s not only normal human behaviour but behaviour you can see in any barnyard. Animals are not romantic, they are often brutal in their sexual behaviour with ample demonstrations of being gay etc..

 

I think kink has always been an absolutely normal part of sexual relationships. Why on earth does this generation and the last few think they invented not only sex with the sexual revolution of the 60's, but kinky sex?

 

 


5/31/2011 6:04:43 PM

Lips

 

 

I close my eyes and  its not your presence, though it is there, palpable and I can taste your sweat. It's not your voice, though  even when you whisper, the only sound I notice is you. It's not your eyes,which look at me with such desire. I feel your hands on my body, suddenly I feel warm and I know I smell good, my hair is soft and shiny, my body lean and taunt, my breasts heaving with every sharp intake of breath. I can smell you, that soft musky smell that is intrinsically you, mixed with  fresh sweat and patchouli traces from your cologne. 

 

 

You softly kiss the back of my neck and you have my undivided attention. Your lips, their soft smoothness, plump, full and soft, yet firm and seeking.  I feel their hunger. That declaration that you are MINE! I feel my knees start to quiver, my breath starts to get ragged, and I struggle to control my body and my reaction. Your lips trace an arc across my breasts, each one like a small ember of desire  that  sparks a fire storm in my heart.

 

 

Under veiled eyes, I watch your mouth, the curve of your lips, so much fuller than mine. Rich in colour  and so warm, slowly lifting in the corner with a slow smile. your big brown eyes caress my face, as if you are brushing my cheek with your fingertips. I get lost for minutes at a time and slowly you tilt my face just so and lean closer to me.

 

 

You kiss me and the world stops, and there is just you and me, flying around and around each other, sparks flying from one to the other as if they were magnetically drawn against our will. We fall to the ground and  I don’t recall when we took of our clothes, lost in that kiss, still struggling to remain in that second, terrified that I might loose this. 

 

 

You gently stroke my hair, your fingertips lingering as if you cant bear to break that  connection. Eventually, after hours pass, we fall asleep in each others arms. Never once did  you break that connection and I sleep in that moment, in that connection that is emotional, spiritual, mind and physical. I wonder how I ever survived without it. It's like  in that  single moment you give to me all your energy and your soul, as I give you mine and without it I am nothing.

 

 

Slowly I trace your lips with my cool fingers while you sleep. Somehow in your sleep you  kiss my fingers, and I smile and leave, knowing you are well and happy and  that nothing I could say or do will break this thing we have, we will forever be enthralled in that kiss. I get up and leave, this is a circle that can't be broken.


5/31/2011 5:47:40 PM

She lay silently on the suede covered bed, waiting for him to arrive. The door had been left unlocked, there was glasses ready by the bed, in case he wanted a drink. She had lit candles and incense, to make it feel as comfortable and sensual as possible. Clean fresh towels for his use were ready and warm. 

The night breeze blew through the window, moving the crushed satin chocolate drapes. It was still warm, althugh the night had long descended. Soon it would be summer and the sultry night air hung heavy with her perfume and expectation.

 

She was wearing what he told her to wear, the waiting was intense and she prayed he would like what he saw when he entered. She turned up the music so no one could hear her cry out, and she couldn't hear him arrive.

 

She looked down, her dark hair was framing her face, and she wore  a leather hat. Her breasts were bounding out of her black satin bra and spilling over. She was wearing a see through leopard print dress, something special for someone very special. Nice small neat panties, the fig leaf to be torn from her body. Her legs curved down to her long boots, that carressed her shapely calves. Her legs seemed to go on forever into the tip of the boot and the point of the eight inch heel.

 

He stood watching her for a minute. This slut who laid before him, his slut, his by right. He could reach out and take her, or he could turn and leave. It was always up to him. 

 

For a moment he wavered, was she the right woman? He was only interested in someone very very special. Could she possibly please him? Fulfill his needs. She was only a slut, what did her opinion matter.

 

Her eyes were closed. He had been silent, such was his own self control, she didn't know he was in the room. He spoke, "I am going to make you hurt you filthy little slut."

 

The thrill of anticipated pain hit her like a wall of  sound. She moaned and he slapped her. She held her face higher so he could slap her again. He didn't. He had her arms up above her head and wedged his body between her legs, never for a second loosing his vicelike grip on her arms, her body trapped beneath his weight.

 

She was breathing rapidly, short little pant like sounds. He asked her "what do you want you little slut?" a pause, "Tell me what you want?" His hand slowly moved down to her damp underwear and she tried not to wince as he tore at her newly aquired piercing. Bizzarre though it seems, the pain  heightened her pleasure.

 

After a moment of dizzyingly pleasure/pain she replied. " I want you to fuck me." "What did you say, slut?", he boomed authoritively. " I need you to fuck me", she whispered in a moan.


5/31/2011 5:44:00 PM

It wasn’t love. Love is that moment when you make love and the world stops turning, and its him and you, and you don’t want that moment to end. Love is not breathing because you want to be in that moment forever, and if you died right then and there it wouldn’t matter because you would be together forever. This was nothing like love.

 

This was lust, That raw uncontrolled passion where you wanted him to scream your name, drag you down on the ground and fuck you like a dog until you couldn’t take any more. This was sweat dripping down between your breasts and fingerprints deep into your bruised flesh and scratching his back while he thrust so deeply into you, your tonsils tingled. This was that screaming moment when you wanted to live.

 

This was carnal. The room smelling of sweat and cum, you could smell your own pussy from a mile away, and you soaked yourself to your knees, just wanting him to want you. To need him him, to need to be used and fucked and sucked and disposed of when he was done. To taste his semen and your juices afterwards, with the steam rising from your bodies and the sweat in your hair. People three blocks away can hear your screams and moans as you writhe like a wild thing, screaming to be fucked.

 

This was primordial, like a primitive beast needing to procreate to survive, and only the strongest deserve to survive in such a world. The weak are the dead. His sweat drips on your chest and you rub it into your own and raise your finger to your lips and suck it as he fucks you. You arch your back like a cat and howl at the moon and dance the wild dance, like a thing possessed.

 

Yet in our society one cant say what one means, so she crossed her legs, giving just that suggestion and that slight whiff that any man knows means I want you, I need you, I need you to fuck me. He looks at her and his eyes say, You are mine. One second is all it takes and they look at the exit and both head out the door. No small talk, he links his arm in her and as soon as a convenient doorway comes into sight he pushes her up against the door jamb and kisses her deeply, his hand going down her skirt and his groin pushing hard against her, he slips up her skirt and she tears at his fly.

 

They get to his place and she strips of her outer clothes, He tears of her underwear as if it were tissues and removes his shirt, trousers and boxers matter of factly. There is no conversation. The room smells of sweat and the strong scent of pheromones. He grabs her by the hair and they sink down onto the floor, the cold hard floor. His hands are like steel, and her talons rake his back as he rides her and pulls her hair. He has a small cruel smile as he pulls just that little bit harder and she whimpers and cums again on his hard dick. 10 inches or throbbing manhood. He bites and she bucks, He hits and she writhes. Hours of a kaleidoscope of ecstasy and agony. He holds her by the throat and her eyes open wide and slowly they close and he cums like a train.

 

When she wakes up she has a diamond bracelet on her wrist and is in a cab, dressed and on her way home. The taxi driver says “Your boyfriend said you had had a few too many drinks and for me to take you home. Have a pleasant evening ma’am. “

 

It wasn't love, it was lust. But such lust comes only once... and once is never ever enough.



1/25/2010 6:14:35 AM

Dominance

Dominance isnt a kink - it''s a personality charteristic or trait. It has developed over thousands of years and isnt a trait exclusive to Human Beings, but is clearly evidence in a great many species. A well known example in the scientific community is Beta fish that is Siamese fighting fish. They display aggression and are brightly coloured, all vieing for thier right to mate with the female. Similarily Lions have beautiful manes and the dominant Male fights for the right to control the pack and mate with the females. In wolves the domant female is the only dog that has pups, the rest rear the pups and hunt. In herd beasts such as horses, the Stallion is the dominant male and fights other stallions for the right to procreate.

Dominance isnt a kink or fetish and isnt seen just within the BDSM community, its a trait inherent in all animals. What is significant about a Dominant? Generally the most important thing is that the Dominant has strong survival charteristics, be that strength, intelligence, physical appearance, confidence, skills etc. What is the most important survival skill? Procreation, the survival of the species. It isnt a suprise that our society while modest and unconcerned in public has such saying thats almost as good as sex. Sex gives the highest reward in our brain, it released endorphins that make us feel good. Our other rewards are love, towards our partners and our children, things that likewise release endorphins are also good for the survival of the species.

A Dominant is all about survival, beign the best means continuing the survival of the species and in particular thier own line. Not having the desire to have sex and have a family is probably the least dominant thing you can do as its counter survival. Not wanting to protect and teach and share your knowledge with the people you create shows lack of Dominance imho.

I had this conversation in chat this evenign with some people who chose to ridicule my reasoning, however its something that has been scientifically validated. Dominance isnt about kink, its about the survival of the fittest, which is measured in many ways. As Men find women with broad hips and full breasts attractive, likewise women find virile men attractive. A man who takes control, who makes commitments, who protects, who keeps fit, who cares deeply, and who loves with his body, there is a Dominant man. I am fairly sure there are lots of Dominant men out there, but they arent likely to be leaving thier wives and offspring, because they take such things fairly seriously. They have an instinctive understanding that children need two parents to thrive, and ensuring that thier children do well in life, is a high priority.

It appears that people can have some dominant charteritics but not all, but imho to be Dominant one needs to ensure the survival of thier line and to give those children the tools to go on in the future as the foremost priority to be considered Dominant. To simply be intelligent or physically fit or in control is a strength but not necessarily a demonstration of Dominance in a balanced way.

cheers

jess


5/19/2008 7:23:42 AM

Once upon a Child – a tail of antidisestablishmentarianism

 

There was a little princess who was living in a big old palace discontent with her life, her friends, and her direction.  She had moved from being daddy’s little princess, to queen and mother of the heirs with supreme confidence, and everyone marvelled at the fantastic couple who had it made. The had four kids and two palaces, 2 brand new cars and a classic car, owned their own business and were the picture of contentedness.

 

For all intents and purpose this realization of the great dream for some, for her was a prison, where she was dying inside, with no ability to create, to think, or to feel. She loved her prince and princess’s, but it was not enough. She was indifferent to her husband the king who was busy dying . She was alienated from any social contact with people capable of any creativity or intellect and was surrounded by an alcohol and TV sedated society of Cretans which simply drove her to hide under her bed in horror.

 

Eventually Cinderella decided she was sick of turning into a pumpkin and locked the king out of the palace. She had given him every opportunity to share some real life with her but he was still a toad dressed up in finery and not at all interested in broadening his mind or his horizons, his one goal was to keep the status quo. The King got very angry and he huffed and he puffed and he took away the heirs, hoping to make Cinderella come back to the Palace and play dress-ups and pretend she was happy.

 

While she was alone she went out and explored the world she lived in, tried all sorts of new things. She met somepeople who invited her to a ball, kind of a alternate ball, unlike the other balls. When Cinderella saw the Ballroom, she almost left, it was not at all palatial, but she had made a commitment to go, so she attended. It was a new experience and Cinderella felt a sense of completeness.

 

She met the wild gypsy boy at the ball and was changed. It was an instant transformation, much like she had been blessed with a tranny god mother. She saw in him freedom to be who she was, and not what other people wanted her to be. She immediately gave him her soul and he promised to keep it with his forever and ever.  But the wild gypsy boy had a secret bad habit, that made him socially unacceptable, and he did unethical things to maintain his habit, lying, stealing, manipulating and cheating, and Cinderella knew and was hurt by his lies.

 

His bad habit became a bone of contention. One day Cinderella and Prince Harming ( the gypsy boy) created a magical child, it was his gift to her because he knew she missed her heirs, he tried for a while to live up to the honour of being a Daddy, and had moments of incredible inner beauty, but his bad habit gnawed at his soul until he no longer had anything left to give and his soul died.

 

One day Prince Harming did something unforgivable. He allowed someone to attempt to harm the magical child; such was his involvement with the people associated with his bad habit. Cinderella took back her soul, which had been tarnished by his lies and left, never to see Prince Harming again. She would allow no one to harm the magic child, not even him. He had pushed a hard limit.

 

For a while, Cinderella and the magic child wandered aimlessly, not knowing where she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. She went to visit the wizard, who told her to find a home out of sticks. Prince Harming found her and tried to blow her house down.  Cinderella went back to the wizard and asked why her house had fallen down, and the Wizard replied that every house needs firm foundations and without these foundations, the house would fall down like a stack of cards.

 

Cinderella smiled and dreamed of creating her own house, one with solid foundations, like respect and integrity and honesty and loyalty and trust. Slowly she built her own house and felt clean and revived; now she could protect the magic child. How would she feed her child? She sat and she pondered until she got an epiphany, she would feed her child with love, culture, communication and the gift of knowledge; and his life would be filled with music and laughter.

 

Cinderella soon realised that the child was like his father and sought the help of her tranny god mother, who consoled her and shared her concerns. The tranny godmother suggested that the child needed firm boundaries, with security, commitment, consistency, fairness and consequences and the child prospered.

 

Cinderella sat and pondered. Once upon a child she was a princess and her Daddy had given her all those things. Then while she was still a little girl, her Daddy had left. Was her need to save the magic child in reality a need to save herself? Did she need a Daddy or had she learned the skills in life she needed to survive by herself. Cinderella had made many friends along the way, some of whom wanted to share a part of them-selves with Cinderella. She now saw a need to find someone who shared her dreams and her passions, but who could give her the love and support she needed but allow her to stand up by herself. She understood that if her house had solid foundations and her boundaries were clear, concise and firm, she would thrive.

 

In addition, Cinderella felt good, probably for the first time since her Daddy had left, because she knew what she wanted and needed; and understood that eventually she would find her One who would make her soul sing again. She could not give up her soul, but perhaps they could share in the music.

 

The end is always the beginning.


4/21/2008 6:18:17 AM

I

 

I'm not here to impress you;

Just to see if I still feel,

The words aren't written to excite you;

Just to see if you are real.

 

I’m not one for pomp and ceremony;

It's just a façade;

This game of chance and uncertainty;

Tries far too hard.

 

Raise the sword of surrenity;

Learn to live with;

Come what may;

I can forgive.

 

But the hurt;

Never;

Ever;

Goes away;

 

Does the responsibility?


2/25/2008 1:30:40 AM

Ribbons

 

She stood naked, her clothes folded neatly besides the recliner sun lounge.  Her body was tiny looking, frail and breakable. She looked venerable and almost childlike, despite her rounded breasts. Gone was the secure woman of the world, the makeup, the strong clothes which projected her personality. Her hair hung loosely around her face., short and mid brown.  Her face was pale in the moonlight.

 

Beyond the etherealness of her appearance, there was a feeling of calm, of finality, of acceptance. She saw him watching her from across the pool, and she gently waded into the warm water. The stars were bright, the night was clear and the moon was full.

 

She swam silently over to his side of the pool, he looked deep into her eyes, checking for any traces of fear, any doubt, any hesitation. She held her arms together in front of him and he slashed both her wrists in one stroke. Silently and slowly she melted into the water and he sat and watched.

 

She sunk under the water, feeling the sweet pain as the salt water stung in her wounds. She stayed under as long as she could, allow that moment to linger as long as possible and then slowly rose to the surface. She lay on her back floating, enjoying the feeling of the blood flowing out of her veins, of the release of the cuts.  She gently kicked her legs, moving around the pool.

 

He watched her, watched her face, and watched her pale body in the water as she gracefully danced for him, with her beautiful red ribbons streaming out of her arms. After a while she closed her eyes and everything went dark and became far away and she escaped for one glorious moment into a world of such peace and ecstasy.

 

She awoke in the Banana lounge. Her arms throbbed in a deep satisfying way, they said your alive. She looked down and saw her wrists had been neatly stitched and bandaged. She was wrapped in his white robe, it was fluffy and warm. Beside her was a mug of warm soup, and she smiled knowing he had been there, had watched her, had dived in and picked her up before she could fall. Had laid her down and stitched her up, without fuss. He had dried her and allowed her to sleep, the sleep after subspace, had kept his eye on her all that time and when her first flutter of her eyes had ladled her the soup he had prepared.

 

And when he was sure she was through it, before her eyes could focus, he had gone.


1/6/2008 7:22:22 PM

I’ve spoken with friends in the past of my fascination with sex during thunderstorms. There is something so empowering about being at the mercy of the elements, being unable to control in any way the energy of storms, that they have absolute power over you. That you could die from a stray bolt of lightening, that you could flood, that you are powerless and helpless. I guess that for me is a huge part of what in my mind connects sex and storms and BDSM.

 

But there is more than that IMHO, there is an actual energy exchange, I often feel frustrated, on edge, there is a real and palatable energy which seems or appears to build up tension. There is nothing more releasing than sex during a storm, the bigger the storm the better. I will have a restless energy that builds up during the course of the afternoon prior to the storm, that is released in duality by sex and by the storm breaking and then the natural equilibrium and balance of the world is again established.

 

I sat with someone on his veranda the other evening, watching the storms descend over the city, feeling the wind straining through the house as if to say this is merely man made and is so easy to destroy. I watched the rain wash the streets clean.

 

We were in awe, enjoying the raw and powerful energy of the storm. It seemed to work on several levels at once. Both physically and cerebrally.

 

Afterwards, there is calm, an inner peace, a sense of being clean, renewed, revived and indeed invigorated. One would imagine the opposite, feeling spent, but it’s not been my experience thus far.


11/22/2007 5:31:44 AM

The Quiet Hour

 

I lay quietly waiting in the darkness. I do not struggle, for there is nothing to struggle against. You have complete control and will release me when  you will. I am silent, you haven’t asked me to speak. The clock ticks slowly while I wait.

 

You have tied me, firmly but gently. My fingers have moved along the silken rope, feeling their strength, testing their flexibility. I have dragged the ropes down along my naked body, feeling their texture against my smooth thighs and my soft belly. I lay my cheek next to them, inhaling your scent upon the sinews.

 

My breathing is calm after the raggedness of the last hour. I can feel small bruises upon my form, the red marks slowly deepening to purple in the darkness. I move gently allowing the pressure of the mattress and my weight create small pinpricks of pain in my consciousness. I arch my back remembering the whips caress.

 

I remember after Your arms holding me, tenderly, like a lover. The base of the buffalo hide whip against my slit, parting my lips slightly, and gently moving up my body circling my breasts. I felt them harden and swell, as if in an effort to be nearer to You.

 

I can still feel your hands in my hair, as if helping you pull yourself deeper into my body, and longing for the comfort of surrounding your swollen member within me. I can smell your sweat on my body as you rammed me hard against the bed. Gently I taste the saltiness of you upon my body  with the tip of my tongue.

 

I recall the chill, the cool breeze, as you left me. The wrench of being parted from you was agony, in a way that a thousand beatings couldn’t replicate. The ice inside me, where that initial abandonment trickled into my thoughts, yet the warmth of knowing it was only for a moment and you would be back to claim me as Yours.

 

I can still feel your hands stroking my hair afterwards as you growled good girl, you’re such a good little girl. Your body had finished its last spasm and You told me to come for You. The mutual explosion in mind body and spirit, merged with your own, overwhelms me even now, and I feel a tear in my eye.

 

You enter the room again, filling it with Your presence, and the bed which was so large with just me in it, becomes just the right size. You untie me and  kiss me gently on the lips, smile and wipe away the tear with a twinkle in your eye. There’s no need for me to explain my tears, because you share my soul and you already know of my joy.

 

You encase me in your arms and growl “sleep girl”, and I wiggle down to get more comfortable and close my eyes, satiated and fulfilled. I am loved and I am safe, I know that with every fibre that is me. Sleep always comes easy when he is here.


9/4/2007 5:17:18 AM

A Dirty Weekend

 

The plane left the ground and she watched the city laid out before her , like diamonds on a black velvet cloth. She was flying to meet Him, this was to be their first meeting. She was nervous, not the kind of nervous where you twitch and are agitated but that  butterflies in the stomach with anticipation nervous.

 

They were meeting halfway, a dirty weekend. A romantic adventure in the busy bustle of the crowded city, anonymous in that nobody knew them there.

 

He was waiting at the airport, the plane was late. He looked confident and relaxed and  she instantly felt at ease. He kissed her firmly and put his hands around her wasp waist. He steered her towards the luggage collection point and said “Wonderful to see you darling, you are exactly as beautiful as I pictured you. “ She smiled.

 

He was as handsome as she was pretty and the chemistry was instant. His dark eyes winked at her mischievously. “I’ve booked us into the Plaza Hotel, we can take a cab.”

 

The conversation was cool in the cab, but the atmosphere was sizzling. He placed his hand on her leg and slowly moved up, tracing a delicate line. A delighted smile as he discovered she wasn’t wearing underwear, this was going to be a great weekend. The cab driver peered at them in the rear view mirror and the Man just look back and nodded at him to drive on.

 

It was raining when they arrived at the hotel. The cab driver was paid, and then stood with an umbrella and He opened her door and helped her out of the cab. The very helpful and very well tipped cabbie carried the luggage, such as it was, a small overnight bag.

 

He signed them in while she perched on the edge of the lobby seats, her creamy white legs delicately crossed beneath her slim fitted black skirt. He smiled and steered her to the lift, key in hand. The cabbie dutifully followed carrying her luggage. He opened the door and turned and gave the cabbie an extra tip and closed the door firmly.

 

She disappeared into the bathroom. He heard the shower running and ordered room service to send up some champagne. He lit some candles in the room and opened the curtains to admire the city view. Sydney was magical at night and the  harbour bridge shone in the moonlight.

 

The champagne arrived just as she was blow-drying her hair. The sweet smell of her perfume wafted out under the bathroom door, making the night air intoxifying. He was almost dizzy with anticipation. He removed his tie and jacket. She came out of the bathroom in a long black satin gown. He felt breathless, her  skin glowed with the warmth of the shower, the room was filled with her presence and the sexual tension was tangible.

 

It was indeed a magical night. There’s something about two people being alone in a crowd of millions. The ability to hide from the world in a city is far easier than if one were to go to some remote location. The weekend seemed supercharged by the city and the energy of people going about their daily lives oblivious to what was going on in the upper floors of the hotel. There is a great deal more to magic than slight of hand.


8/15/2007 5:11:07 PM
It was your very typical Australian BBQ. Mum, Dad, the Kids, Grandpa, Grandma. Assorted Sister's Brothers, Nephews, Nieces. She was wearing a skirt, highheels and a nice blouse, had a glass of wine in her hand and was walking around with his sister, chatting about kids and shoes and very normal things.

He comes up to her and  says loudly "Hi Hun, you having a good time?" He leans over and whispers to her "You just want me to pick you up and bend you over the couch, and you wouldnt give a damn, would you " and turned back to his Brother in Law and continues his conversation. She smiled, raised one eyebrow and ever so slightly nodded her head in his general direction, and walk on with his Sister.

She kept an eye on him through the window while she helped in the kitchen with the other "Girls" and slipped out with a beer when he was nearly empty and he said out loud "That's so sweet Baby" and gave her a demure peck on the cheek and whispered in her ear "That's my slit ( he used the c word but this site is censorred) and it better be ready, when we get to the car", his Brother gave him the oddest look, as if he had overheard and he ignored it,naturally.

He was watching her accross the room while they ate, she had filled his plate for him and sat beside his mother, eating her meal. She looked around quickly, then knowing he was watching and no one else was, she casually crossed her legs, giving him a small glimpse, she wasn't wearing underwear. She didn't need morse code to know what was on his mind.

Bringing in the dinner plates while she was helping the "girls" clean up he kissed her in the hallway, nearly making her drop her plates. His hand went up her skirt and found what he was looking for. He withdrew his hand sucked his fingers and said "I'm looking forwards to desert" while looking into her eyes.

Half an hour later, He yawned and stretched. "Time to go Hun" he said patting her on the bottom casually, and she started saying her goodbyes. She sat close to him in the car, and they drove home.

Theres no need to delve into what happened at home. The buildup of anticipation brought an explosive reaction. That's exactly what he had planned. 


8/14/2007 2:46:58 AM
She entered the office, fitting right in in her fitted black skirt and her neat chiffon blouse over her black camisole. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun and she carried a small brown briefcase, that matched her brown leather court shoes.

He sat on his chair, unmoving, unblinking. She sat on his desk, placing one delicate leg on the left leg of his chair, and one on the right. Her skirt was pulled up to show her slit.

She reached up and pulled down her hair.  She unbottoned her blouse to show her cleavage, his eyes followed her every move. Her hands then moved down and parted her moist lips and she started to play with her clit, at first gently, then harder and rougher, all the while he looked into her eyes.

In one fluid movement he picked her up and threw her accross the desk. There was no superflous movement, just the one. He pulled her skirt up to show her bare arse, she wasn't wearing panties.

He grabbed both her arms behind her and held them up high, if she moved even a milimetre, her arms would dislocate, such was his grip on her slender frame. With his other hand he unzipped his pants and took his penis out of his pants.

He wasted no time, and thrust his erect penis into her arse. She moaned, it wasnt quite what she had expected. He moved within her body, taking it as it belong to him. It wasn't his job to please her, it was her job to please him, and he was very pleased.

He ground into her, and could feel her body attempt to move up to meet him, despite herself. and his vice like grip. He smiled, he knew her better than she knew herself. He pulled out slowly and entered her vagina, she shuddered, and was limp.

He lowered her arms, and grabbed her hair, and  pushed her to her knees, still silent, and she opened her mouth obediently as he slid his penis down her delicate whtie throat. He came.

She smiled quietly and he patted her on the arse, "Thank you Miss Smith" he said as she buttoned up her blouse and retied her hair, "We'll see you next Thursday" and he got up and open the door and she left, quietly having never said a word through the entire exchange.


8/13/2007 2:27:36 AM
Thier first date was a very public affair, she picked him up at the nasty mens hotel he resided at. It was the sort of dive that inspired fear, fear of who he really was, what his real interest were. This was a dangerous man and he lived on the wild side. He wore a black leather jacket. His black hair was combed over his face, very grungy and slightly gothic looking.

She was wearing a beige silk knitted skirt, it was soft on her skin and clung to her body like a second skin, with the side split showing her shapely legs. It covered a navy blue satin and lace pair of panties. Her shirt was a fine black silk shirt, severe, but if anything it made her look softer, more feminine. Her matching bra was almost visible if you looked down her cleavage. She wore a bellydancing scarf with coins as a belt and it rang softly as she walked in her black strappy high heels.

Her makeup was subdued, lips slightly enhanced with burnt sugar, eyes dark with khol and softly smudged dark plum eyeshaddow. Her long dark lashes framed her bright green eyes. her cheekbones highlighted with a slight hint of bronzer, that only made her skin paler.

There was an instant connection. The Rommany call it the eyes of Ibinaz, where one is hit with instant attraction. They were at a nightclub, a rather unusual alternate underground nightclub in the innercity but not the fashionable part. He walked over and put his arm around her. He pulled her close and they danced. Slowly, sensously.

His hand slid down her skirt, he carressed her back and moved down and ran his hands down over the cheeks of her arse to her leg. She moved in closer, her body fitting exactly into his, she raised her leg slightly against his leg, giving him access to her openings.

His hands slid down the front of her leg and explored her slit, eagerly probing her moist lips, which were slightly apart, such was her attraction to him, even though they had only just met. He caressed her clit, feeling it engorge beneath his hand. It was small and neat, like nearly everything about her except her wild dark hair which had a life of its own and was dancing in front of his eyes and moving with every breath he took.

His body was up against hers, his penis visibly throbbing, encased in his tight black jeans. her hands moved from his back down his cheeks, pulling him into her tightly. She leant up against a wall, not knowing how she got there, still swaying to the music, as if in a trance, her eyes locked in his, enthralled.

He kissed her and she moaned, she reached down and undid the buckle of his jeans, oblivious to the crowded dancefloor and the throngs of people around them. The music was incredibly loud, too loud to think clearly, and they both had only one thing on thier minds, a different kind of music, where only two can dance.

She unzipped his pants, and he ground into her closer than before, she tilted her head back while he bit at her neck. He lifted her skirt and moved slightly lower so he could enter her wet opening.

The band played on and the people danced, and they were locked in each others embrace. The rhythmic jingling of her belt adding to the music. She raised her other leg and locked them around his waist as he drove into her, again and again until a roaring cresendo.











8/13/2007 1:33:04 AM
Her breast were full, not the fullness of youth but the fullness of a lactating mother. When she thought of her infant son or her lover, they swelled painfully as her milk came in, and occasionally a small amount of the precious fluid leaked out onto her bra.

Tonight he was coming home, be it late in the evening, and her breasts throbbed at the thought of his touch upon them. His casual slap on the buttocks and tweak of the nipple as his hands carressed her body.

It is amazing how fundamentally different it was to have an infant suckling, provoking such beauty, such pain and such happiness, as he greedily rooted around and suckled through the night. Incredible that even though he was tiny; he knew how to find them in the darkness of the night.  Instinctively found the source of food and comfort, not with sight but by smell and by touch.

The infant moved her deeply, as small infants do to a woman. He was totally dependant and reliant upon her body for  not only protection, but nuture and comfort. He was instinctively safe and warm and loved in her arms, feeding from her bounty. There was no better place, no greater warmth, no better comfort than the warmth of her breasts and the sweetness of her milk.

She thought of the day she had told him of her pregnancy, how he had torn the earring out of her lobe and tasted her blood, saying that now thier blood was the same, joined together by the life growing within.

He had greedily sucked at her breasts, anticipating the sweetness within, tearing and biting at thier creamy smoothness. Over the coming months they swelled with her body.

After the birth came the pain as her milk rushed in to feed the ever hungry mouth, the small parted lips. His tiny hand lay gently on her breasts, total love and total trust.

Her man enjoyed the fullness of her ripe body. His work hardened hands roughly carressed and marvelled at this wonderous change in his slender lover. When he touched her, her breasts visibly swelled and occasionally a small drop glistened at the tip of the beautiful long brown nipple.

Like his infant son, he drank greedily, making satisfied noises. In turn her uterus contracted and brought not only pain , but a deep satisfying pleasure. Beyond all else they were a family.






8/11/2007 8:25:06 PM
She shivered as he held her by her throat and entered her body,roughly, there was no doubt in her mind that this was a man.  His grasp left bruises on her slender neck.  She winced momentarily, her body arched unconciously to accomadate him, arched to meet his thrusts.

He slapped her again, sending shooting waves of pleasure pain through her body. he played her body like a finely tuned violin. he picked her up and turned her over, able to toss her around like a rag doll.

She tore slightly as he sodamised her, she was a very small woman and he was a very large man. She sank under the weight of his body until she lay flat on the bed, biting her lip, trying not to call out.  "Tell me you like it, you slut". "Oh God, Yes, please" she moaned.




8/6/2007 4:26:59 AM
They had spoken earlier on the phone, he told her he wanted to come over but wasnt sure if it was that time in thier relationship. She told him that if he thought he was her master then he should come and claim his property. Take what was rightfully his. If he didnt feel that he was, then he shouldn't bother. But he would have to take it by force.

It was a huge gamble, to put her life, her hopes, her dreams, her ideals and her heart into the hands of another. To place all her faith in someone else, to give total control to someone else, to have that much trust in someone again. To risk it all on a whim.

But life is for living, and some things are worth every risk.This could be one of those things.

He pulled her hair and she cried. He remembered, it was something she had said in passing, that she enjoyed having her hair pulled. It mattered a lot, such a small act of tenderness that was unexpected. Not quite a caress from your first new childhood sweetheart, but for this type of relationship it was a touching sentiment.

He kissed her, it seems strange to begin a rape with a kiss. He pushed hard against her legs, grinding into her pelvis.  He stood and looked at her. "you're really just a filthy slut aren't you." She smiled broadly, he had come to claim her. While not quite everyone's idea of the way to start a romance, it was not an everyday romance.


8/4/2007 11:22:38 PM
She lay silently on the suede covered bed, waiting for him to arrive. The door had been left unlocked, there was glasses ready by the bed, in case he wanted a drink. She had lit candles and incense, to make it feel as comfortable and sensual as possible. Clean fresh towels for his use were ready and warm.
The night breeze blew through the window, moving the crushed satin chocolate drapes. It was still warm, althugh the night had long descended. Soon it would be summer and the sultry night air hung heavy with her perfume and expectation.

She was wearing what he told her to wear, the waiting was intense and she prayed he would like what he saw when he entered. She turned up the music so no one could hear her cry out, and she couldn't hear him arrive.

She looked down, her dark hair was framing her face, and she wore  a leather hat. Her breasts were bounding out of her black satin bra and spilling over. She was wearing a see through leopard print dress, something special for someone very special. Nice small neat panties, the fig leaf to be torn from her body. Her legs curved down to her long boots, that carressed her shapely calves. Her legs seemed to go on forever into the tip of the boot and the point of the eight inch heel.

He stood watching her for a minute. This slut who laid before him, his slut, his by right. He could reach out and take her, or he could turn and leave. It was always up to him.

For a moment he wavered, was she the right woman? He was only interested in someone very very special. Could she possibly please him? Fulfill his needs. She was only a slut, what did her opinion matter.

Her eyes were closed. He had been silent, such was his own self control, she didn't know he was in the room. He spoke, "I am going to make you hurt you filthy little slut."

The thrill of anticipated pain hit her like a wall of  sound. She moaned and he slapped her. She held her face higher so he could slap her again. He didn't. He had her arms up above her head and wedged his body between her legs, never for a second loosing his vicelike grip on her arms, her body trapped beneath his weight.

She was breathing rapidly, short little pant like sounds. He asked her "what do you want you little slut?" a pause, "Tell me what you want?" His hand slowly moved down to her damp underwear and she tried not to wince as he tore at her newly aquired piercing. Bizzarre though it seems, the pain  heightened her pleasure.

After a moment of dizzyingly pleasure/pain she replied. " I want you to fuck me." "What did you say, slut?", he boomed authoritively. " I need you to fuck me", she whispered in a moan.













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ladynettle
 
 Age: 28
 London, United Kingdom