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Having no idea how to begin, end, or even figure out what's in the middle, I'll just tell you what I'm into. I love BDSM, can't get enough of it. My favourites are rape scenarios, bondage, knife play, and true aggression from a male Dom. I'm extremely masochistic, and revel in the pain a good Dom can lovingly inflict. I like to be blindfolded so I can't anticipate His next move. I'm very sex-oriented, not like some women who have more "down" time than is healthy. I like sex, and I like pain. I want and need to be dominated, especially in the bedroom.
Just so you know, I am a mother, and my number one priority is my nine year old daughter. I don't have a place of my own right now.
So if all that sounds like something you can handle, get in touch with me. Who knows? Very soon I might just be yours.
My Ideal Person:
I want a sweet, caring romantic who is into inflicting unbearable amounts of pain.
In short, I'd like to participate in this lifestyle with a worthy and caring Dom. No scat, urine, etc. Let's keep it clean.
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On Relocation:
I've got a great support system here. My family helps me with my daughter to just about an awesome degree; picking her up or baby-sitting when I have to work, keeping her overnight if I plan on being out late, making sure neither of us burns down the house on purpose (they know we'd never do it on accident, they just have to watch out for the occasional intention).
I'd rather not consider moving at this point in time. Of course, if you're just that amazing, maybe we can get to know each other and go from there!
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He comes up behind me, walking so quietly and breathing so lightly that I almost don't notice him. He watches me-watches me write, watches me read, watches me search. It's just the computer, and I'm not one of those that are bothered by people looking over their shoulder. I don't value my privacy-hell, I don't have any.
Out of the corner of my eye I see his arm move towards me. I continue what I'm doing, half turning as his hand cups my breast. I want him to bend over and kiss my neck. Or maybe pull my hair back and bite it. But he just stands there, lazily holding my breast, standing behind me, watching me play some stupid online game. I'm stubborn. I don't quit. I pay him no attention at all, or as little attention as you CAN pay someone with his fingers pinching your tit and his groin two centimeters from your back. I'm feeling belligerent tonight, I guess. The play of shadows and light on my profile reveal my smirk to him. We can't have THAT, now, can we?
Ya know, it's not so much that I like the discipline scenarios as I do the idea of a guy losing control over me. The threat of real violence, the sense of imminent danger, that's what turns me on. The idea that it will go too far. Not that I necessarily WANT it to, I just want to know that someone who has that much control OVER me can lose control BECAUSE of me. |
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I'm sitting in the middle of a darkened room, legs spread apart so I can sit backwards on the chair. The room is far from crowded, but there are a couple of people here. I came for the band.
I detect a subtle odor in the air around me and realize that it is the salty sweet scent of my arousal. I smile a little to myself, amused, and I wonder if anyone around me can smell it - and if they can if they know what it is. There's no one close, though, so I doubt it.
A voice breathing words in my ear and a hand on my neck startle me. The words are low, gentle and comforting, but beneath the niceties I detect an edge to them, reflecting a hardness and air of command that takes my breath away. I dare not look around, as the hand is applying a pressure to my neck that suggests its owner wants me as I am - looking forward, paying attention to the band. My mind reels; there's a band?!?
Yes, there's a band. My eyes see them and my ears cannot escape noticing their beat. But my body and mind are focused on that hand and on that voice. Deep and seductive and penetrating, I'm hypnotized. What are the words, what is that voice telling me? Whatever it is skips completely over conscious thought, burying itself somewhere in my chaotic psyche.
The hand withdraws and my body leans after it, longing for its touch again. The voice is growling in my ear, and this does reach my awareness: "No! Don't turn around."
Twenty minutes later I dare to look behind me. Of all the faces, which is my intimate stranger? |
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My God
The silence echoes; this is a holy place. I kneel at your feet, the salt of my tears stinging my open wounds. I worship at the alter of your body, freely offering blood and tears for your palette. It is time to start the service: my whimpers are your humble prayers, my screams your reverent hymns. The drum of the whip, the chain, the knife, the paddle, and your hand-oh, GOD your hand!-against my skin are the sermons, and my skin memorizes every one. Soft rustle of denim and I'm fed my blessed sacrament. Take me down to your temple; I'll go as low as you desire. My body is my sacrifice; hurt me as you wish. My Lord, my God. It's been a long time since I've been to church. |
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There's just a hint, more like something nearly almost heard. She's sobbing too loud, though, huddled there in the corner. She can't hear the soft melody spinning through the air around her. Even so, her whimpers create an exquisite harmony, the obvious pain fueling her tears enhance the notes of the simple song. Even as I dance to the music, my heart goes out to her. I'd do nearly anything to comfort her, to soothe her hurting soul. Ah, but the music...
Her suffering makes her beautiful. |
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Meeting the Internet Crush
First I went to the opening of the new Hustler store downtown. Larry Flint and Ron Jeremy and Jenna Jameson and Veronica Raquet were there. I got them all to sign a shirt hat says "Hustler: Barely Legal" for Amethyst. I LOVE the irony, the humour there. Giving a six year old a shirt signed by a porn guru and a bunch of porn stars...anyway, I also got Ron Jeremy to sign my copy of Orgasmo. God, I was so THRILLED by it all, I was giddy even. Giggling and happy and bouncy and all. So I drop my friend off and go home to grab some clothes and give Amethyst her present. Then I'm out the door and on the road. Fuck, what a shit drive in the rain. But it's only three hours or so, not even the distance I'm used to travelling by car. I'm about an hour out, and he calls. His voice is mesmerizing, the first time I've heard it. I'm still high from the porn store opening, so I probably sound like a crazed crack addict to him, but he's stuttering almost, maybe like he just doesn't know what to say. "I'm just about there," I say, verifying that I'm still coming, hopefully easing his mind. He doesn't say much, but I can tell he's at the club, probably getting a lap dance or even a blow job by some big breasted, skinny little dancer. I hope he's having a good time, but jealousy starts to creep in and I start driving faster. Tonight is MY night, goddammit. And fuck if he's going to have TOO much fun without me.My directions are clear, and I've never had a problem with maps so once I get in town, finding the place is a piece of cake. It looks just as is should, garish neon and all. Stupid cover charge with a condescending "you could get in free with a guy" bullshit from the asshole at the door. Like I'm just a silly girl for not having accessible cock. Fuck him, I'm going IN to get the cock I want. The cock I've wanted for months now.
I'm wandering around, looking at all the pretty naked girls, trying to decide whether to sit or go to the bar or what. I'm nervous as hell knowing that anyone in this crowded place could be the guy I'm looking for. And even more nervous that I'll miss him. Shit, I was there half an hour before I decided I needed to draw attention to myself. Maybe he's just missed me. Great timing, this decision, because this cute as hell brunette comes up and starts chatting. She's wearing next to nothing, of course, sparkling/sequined pink halter and nearly nonexistent skirt of the same hue. She offers me a private lap dance, thinking, as I'm sure everyone here does, that I'm a lesbian. I tell her I'm more into a little exhibitionism and she grins hugely, leading me by the hand, telling me she's got just the thing. Hell, I just wanted to be seen for a few minutes, to know for sure he knows I'm here. It's not until my shirt is up over my breasts and the brunette is rubbing her nose in my crotch that I realize I'm on the main stage. I think I turned twelve shades of red and purple then, and all but ran off to find a seat in some dark area, wishing to just cease to exist. Apparently I got some tips, though, because the brunette-was her name Anastasia?-came and shoved a bunch of ones at me before heading off to the satelite area. God, she was hot, tall and curly haired and just my type-if I was into girls, that is. Just chunky enough to be perfect, not chunky enough to be gross. Like I am gross. I'm thinking about how cute she is and how yuck I am when a hand touches the side of my face firmly. I try to turn to the other side, but there's a hand there, too. "Don't turn around!" comes the sharp whisper, and I wonder if I'm dreaming. I haven't even made it to my seat yet, much less a dark corner where I can disappear. Immediately, I'm wet, fascinated, scared as hell. But it's GOT to be him...right?
Kisses on my neck, turning to nibbles, turning to full on bites. It almost hurts, it feels so good. I close my eyes and lean back into him, because at this point, even if it's not Clip, I'm enjoying myself. He takes his left hand from my face and reaches for my right, pulling it up between us, behind my back, his cheek against mine, his right hand still holding my head in place so I can't see him. He leads me outside, and god, I want to look, try to turn my head and receive a tight squeeze on my chin, his hard hand digging into my flesh, not letting me see. Here's my dark corner, finally. In the parking lot...so what now? Fuck, fuck, fuck, what have I gotten myself into?
SHIT! That hurt. He threw me over the hood of a car, his left hand now in my hair, pushing my face towards the windshield, so I STILL can't see him. I'm SO scared, so TERRIFIED, what if this isn't him? Was this what I wanted? WHY IN THE HELL DID I WANT THIS? And who the FUCK is this behind me? My pants are around my ankles, and the two thoughts in my head are "oh, god, we're in public" and "why didn't I wear a skirt?" Do I WANT to make myself more accessible? Did I want this?
But you don't care, do you? About my thoughts, You, my dear audience, just want to know what happened. I'll tell you:
He fucked me. There in the parking lot, his hand in my hair, grabbing it so tightly, almost pulling it out, still pushing my head into this car, still having me face the windshield. His cock is HUGE, I swear, the biggest I think I've ever felt, or is that just the force with which he's ramming into me? He hasn't said a word since that initial warning to be still. Is this even his car? His finger in my ass, moving around as if to test if I'm big enough to take him, his cock still ramming into me, slower now, almost liesurely as his finger explores my ass hole. I finally open my eyes, look into the windshield and see a vague reflection. It's so dim, but it's him. A blur, an outline, is that a blue shirt? It's too dark, goddammit!! I want to SEE! His hand in my hair is looser, I think he's just playing now, fucking me while he explores my body with his eyes. So I try to jerk up, suddenly, hoping to catch a glimpse of him finally. The fingers in my hair respond instantly, grabbing tightly, and the hand opening my anus withdraws, and I'm rewarded with nothing but a hard slap across my face. Still not a word. Is he getting a KICK out of this? He runs his fingers over the line of my jaw, and EEEEWWWW! They're the fingers that were just in my ass. OMG, gross!
Harder and harder now, he's increased his speed, he's fucking me with purpose, driven perhaps by my willingness to disobey him, harder and harder and it's hurting, and it's feeling so good, and it's hurting, hurting so so GOOD, and I'm sore and I'm screaming, coming so hard, have I EVER had an orgasm like this? And my screams seem to effect him, too, because he's in me so deep, groaning, leaning on me, kissing my neck. His orgasm shakes me, my legs can't even support me and I'm held up only by his hand in my hair and his dick in my cunt. And suddenly I'm not held up by those anymore and I fall, hard, into the wet gravel beneath me. He bends down, puts his hand over my eyes and kisses me full on the lips. His tongue goes in my mouth and I'm kissing him back, I want him to FEEL my passion, how much I love him right now. I'm kissing him with a fervor I've never shown anyone, not that I can remember. "Stay put," he says in that same whisper, the hiss of air forced between what I imagine are clenched teeth. His lips withdraw, his hand, too. I hear the rustle of fabric, the zip of a zipper, and then nothing. I'm sure he's standing over me, watching me, making sure I don't move. After about ten minutes I look up, wanting to see him. It was probably ten, I THINK it was ten. It felt like ten? Hell it could have been two or twenty. I look up and he's not there. Nothing's there but cars and empty parking lot and just about five yards away a couple walking to their car or wherever, giving me sideways glances as if they want to see if I'm okay but don't want to get involved if I'm not. My pants are still around my ankles, my phone on the only dry piece of ground in the vicinity. I'd forgotten about my phone. I pick up my pants and my phone, compose myself. I walk to my car, brush my hair, use my face wipes to clean up a bit and walk back into the club. Where I just sit by the bar for two hours and...nothing. Nothing else happened, and no one introduced himself. It MUST have been Clip...right? Fucked if I know. Fucked if I care. I get one last drink and down it; I've never liked beer, but I'm too...something to care. I don't even go to the hotel.
I drove back home and showered and went to bed. |
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To Serve Man
Sex and submission.
The two are the same for me, one necessarily leading to the other; a journey with a set destination. Submission is erotic, intoxicating. The thrill of being bound, or demurely on my knees, excites me in the most primal of ways. My favourite is the act of rape, in all aspects but my acquiescence. And the blade. I cannot forget the blade - at my throat, on my breasts, my back, between my legs…the blade excites me more. Especially with those who care, somewhat, about my safety; the aftermath of the cutting and the sting of the alcohol as it cleans. Then, even later, the burn of the water hitting the new wounds, a glorious reminder of that cool touch of steel on my soft skin. These are the things I desire, the things about which I fantasize. Violence, injury, aggression; these are the behaviors I require in bed. Never for me the passivity, the genteelness, of what some refer to as “making love”.
But the boundary is the bedroom door (figuratively speaking). I am neither a slave nor a servant. I don’t have the time or the inclination to let someone else make all the decisions, to have me at his beck and call. Nor do I have the freedom. I have responsibilities. First and foremost to my darling girl, Amethyst. I have, also, pleasures of my own that extend beyond the bedroom. Books and movies, music. Dancing, drinking, the company of friends. All of which my partner in the crimes of passion would be welcome to join, but not control.
Outside of the bedroom, I tend to dominate. Not always, and not necessarily on purpose, but it happens. I offer no apologies for it, either; nothing can prevent me being who and what I am. Even if no one is quite sure who or what that is…
Anyway, that’s what I’m thinking on this stormy morning. I love to serve, to obey, to submit in the erotic sense, but not in any other.
It is, after all, only a cookbook. |
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