Porphyria’s Lover
Robert Browning    

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me: surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily opened her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

(1836)

Ulysses – Alfred, Lord Tennyson    

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

(1833)

Married wenches looking to cuck their husbands - including being videoed - apply within.

Positions Available

1. The first position is for a dumb cunt, who knows it, and is looking to be used. You will make yourself available when and where I choose. This is a temporary position, with the possibility of additional use, if you are worthy of such.

2. The second position is for a girl of passion and intellect. This position is of a more permanent nature. You are of breeding age - preferrably 27 to 35 (old enough for a conversation, but young enough to carry offspring). You want be owned and used as your Master sees fit. You are happy to go anywhere in the world He chooses, as long as you can sit at His feet.

If you don't fit the requirements for either of these positions, don't contact me.

If you are going to be brave enough to contact me, know the difference between "their" and "there" and "your" and "you're", among other things. I don't suffer adults who write like children.

Few things are more beautiful than a girl modified by use. Whether it is seeing his brand on her while using her body for his pleasure, marking her with his whip, seeing her stretch marks and saggy breasts from being his breeding slave, or seeing her body covered with the tattoos of his choosing. A canvas for his use . . .

mmmmmmmmmm . . . pregnant puppy girls . . .

Had a great, great (etc) grandfather who owned slaves into the 1840s. Would love to own a little negress myself. A fertile little cunt! Pumping my property - my property not because of laws, but because of the desire of her heart and my collar on her neck -  pumping her full of my seed. Let me see those little black babies you are going to push out for Master.

Yes, sometimes I am a tender Daddy type . . . and sometimes I just want to get out a belt and beat the hell out of my little princess. The sound of her screams, the sight of her tears . . . fucking sexy. Now, little princess, let's see you crawl over to Daddy and beg him to stop beating you.

Little do you know that begging will only bring on more - to bring me pleasure, you must beg for more, through all the pain. Come on, princess, look up at Daddy with tears streaming down your cheeks and beg for more.

Holding a very stunning - and studded - dog collar in my hand at the moment. Where is that lucky little bitch who will get to wear it? ;)

If you fucking spell "for" as "4", "you" as "u" and other similar shit, then don't bother contacting me. I am not against dumb cunts per se, but I have no interest in a woman who can spell, but is too lazy to do so.

The terms "slave" and "fertile" had better apply to you, before you contact me.

Went into the pet shop the other day. Saw the big, studded collars and thought about buying one for a girl and a matching one for dog. Her with me as we go into the pet shop, looking for a puppy. Me standing over her while she kneels and pats him, strocking his fur, kissing his nose . . . she looks up at me, the pleading in her eyes for this puppy.

Imagining the two of them sleeping at my feet -feeling her fur and his against my toes.

Have no doubts that I will be using the video recorder whenever it suits me - especially when you are doing your dirtiest, kinkiest and most divine acts. Perhaps the camera will make you feel shame, perhaps it will arouse you . . . regardless, you will be saved on video for me to enjoy again. When you go back to your vanilla lifestyle and you try to forget about the intensity between us, you will know that somewhere out there are videos of what you have done. Will I keep them private? Will I share them with mates? Will I put them on the Internet? Will I call you and tell you to come over and fuck me (with you knowing that I could email the videos to your vanilla partner)? You will be mine always, no matter what else you do. If you are heavy with someone else's child, you will still come back and slide down on me. If you are a mum living blissfully in suburbia, you will still come when I call. There are so many delicious ways to control a girl.