Devilry


DevilishSub Male Submissive, 21, Kitchener	Devilinblu Male Switch, 45, Grundy, Virginia	devilindurham Male Submissive, 27, Durham, North Carolina

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	About Devilry Profiles are just one of those things. Either you're exceptional at writing them and manage to throw yourself off the page and into the proverbial lap of the reader, or you're not. Personally I fall firmly into the latter catagory, posessing all the literary skill of a slightly arthritic gerbil. I'm not everyone's cup of tea. I sometimes feel like the missing link between modern man and their club waving, fire starting, 'bash them over the head and drag them back to the cave' ancestors. If I hug another man I cannot do so without pounding his back, and handshakes are simply a means to test how fragile the other person's finger bones are. I love meat, and beer, and violent sport and heavy metal and cigars and I hate David Bowie (talentless cretin). I also consider Bruce Springsteen to be a far greater musical talent than Bob Dylan ever was. This is not to say I am not capable of life's softer emotions (I have been known to occasionally listen to Aerosmith for example), it just means I tend to go about them like someone that read the manual but didn't quite grasp the subtelties. I do however remember birthdays and occasionally Christmas. I'm a sadist. That doesn't mean that I enjoy administering the occasional light spanking, it means that I take genuine pleasure in suffering, both physical and pyschological. I won't list every single facet of My BDSM interest as it would be about as exciting as a shopping list, if you're interested in what I'm into then please just feel free to ask. Always looking to meet new folks, unless you're part of the "U gifv mee yur slayv to fuk" brigade, in which case please don't bother, because being told to fuck off may cause offence (hopefully).

Seems more and more of the journals on this site are becoming dedicated to the fakes, spammers, scammers etc. and I admit I've been guilty of it at times Myself.

It's a real shame when those people obviously capable of writing excellent journals are reduced to 'generic rant number 4' and if anything, the way these fakes have tainted the attitudes of genuine people is the most damage that they could do.

I never really understood fakes myself. The intrawebs has point and click porn to suit the most diverse needs, so why go to the effort to create a fake personality in the hope of getting a few pictures, or a few messages which have no bearing on who you are and relate only to a fragmented fantasy? Surely these people can get everything they need in far easier ways. If we have any psychologists out there that have any insight into the genuine reason behind fakes (forget scammers, the motives there are obvious) then I'd actually be intrigued to hear it. Maybe we could set up some form of rehabilitation clinic "Hi, my names Bob and I've been pretending to be a 17 year old submissive woman for 5 years" etc.

Right, moving onwards and upwards. I'm very lucky in the fact I met both My girls away from the intrawebs and in the world of flesh and blood and beer and music. Yet increasingly I'm forced to defend My position against the cries of 'fake' and 'you're really a man' (which I find hilarious considering the foot long goatee in the pictures is probably a dead giveaway!). Apparently ther thought of a Dom living with 2 young and attractive women is just a little bit too much for some to believe.

Some believe the girls are fake because as one logs off so the other logs on. The simple fact we all live in 1 house and therefore share computers (damned if they're using Mine!) is obviously just too complex for some to understand.

Have we really reached the stage as a community where everyone is attacked as a fake on sight simply because a few sad men choose to spend their time masquerading as a 17 year old girl called 'Ilovelotsofcockpleasefeedittome'. Have we reached the state which I believed only existing in the 'European Habitats Directive' of 'guilty until proven innocent'?

How about, if you're unsure of whether someone is fake or not, you test the water a little before dragging out the burning torches and pitchforks and rallying the mob of peasants. Asking for verification is never a bad thing if it's done politely and very few genuine folk will object to verifying if the request is phrased in the right way. Do I mind sending photos of the girls, fully clothed mind you, holding the days paper? not at all. Do I mind people that think verification means a 90min feature length DVD of the girls and a goat? erm, yes I do, I live on a horse farm and we don't have goats...You get the picture.

I think the method is simple, if in doubt about a profile try this;

1. Doubt

2. Ask politely for verification in a non pornographic way stating why you want verification (i.e I find your profile pretty damned interesting and I'd really like to have a natter, but I'm afraid to admit that all the fakes and scams out there have me a little nervous and I was wondering whether you'd mind popping over a verification pic, I am of course happy to send mine)

3. Conclude

Instead of;

1. Doubt
2. Scream abuse and insults
3. Scream more abuse
4. Wonder why you got blocked
5. Complain about being blocked

Some days you encounter people on this site that go beyond the usual fakes and losers and manage to define their very own little catagory of stupidity.

Recently, a male slave got an answer he didn't like from Me via My slave's mail. His response was as follows;

"well guess what, i hope your financially safe because the things i can do with an ip addresse, oppps"

Personally I suggest the first thing you do is use an IP address to find a damned dictionary. If you're going to make clumsy and immature attempts at threatening behaviour then spelling like a 4 year old isn't going to do much for your sinister facade. It's hard to feel threatened when you're laughing your head off.

So, I expect I'll be off this site tomorrow when I'm financially ruined by a 12 year old with the IP address for the CM site....

Seriously, I was closer to falling for the 'I slave you paye bringe mee howm from nigeeryia'.

Rant over, I just wanted to share My sheer disbelief at the immaturity of some. Of course I'd never name and shame slut4malemaster

My slave recieved a wonderfully cutting message from a gentlemen a few moments ago, which included the phrase;

So at 20 you think you've seen more of life and death than I have at 56.

I find it amusing when people use age to justify experience. Whilst the 2 may be considered to be intrinsically linked, this is a common misconception.

If someone approaches Me tomorrow and says they can do My job simply because they're older, everyone would of course entirely accept that whilst they may have lived longer, that is no gaurantee that they have the 'right' experience. You could live to be 1000 and yet not spend a second of your life doing anything which I do daily. In that case I could be 970 years younger than you and yet still posses more experience in a given field.

Slavery and submission like anything are subjective in their experience. Some submissives get through their whole life without experiencing a facet of the lifestyle that others indulge in daily,and the same for Doms.

So, who is the ultimate authority on experience? What gives one person the right to call into question the experiences of another? Is it purely age? education? social mobility? stamps in a passport? or is it the common sense to understand that experience is experience and will be different for almost everyone.

I believe this gentleman is living in the wrong era. Slavery contracts no longer carry legal weight, and cutting off a slaves feet is now highly frowned upon. I made a post about it some time ago. Slavery within BDSM has evolved and adapted until it has become the facet of a chosen lifestyle. Do you think White American Slavers sat down and said 'these aren't real slaves, real slaves are chained to the oars of a galley or forced to fight to the death in gladitorial combat'? I expect not. Slavery is what slavery is and the world is a far better place for the removal of the type of historical slavery which will forever remain a blot on mankind.

Modern slavery may indeed be about choice. It may well involve a woman,or man, making an informed choice to adopt a particular lifestyle and they may take satisfaction from that. My slave takes satisfaction when she is chained up, beaten, ignored, taken advantage of, spat on, insulted, tattoo'd and a whole plethora of other activities. So one could say that she is self serving in all of her desires.

However, I see the look in her eyes when she fails to meet My standards. I see the effort that goes into the smallest of detail to ensure My happiness. Most of all, I see total obedience to My every whim with never a protest or doubt. That may not be slavery in your book, I honestly couldn't care if we labelled it 'comumarxcuddlylovery' in honesty. A label is a label, I'd rather judge My life on the substance found behind the label rather than arguing round in circles about what the label means.

Congratulations on being 56, I pray to God I don't descend to the same level of bitter cynicism over the next 26 years, but then again I guess I'm just lacking experience ;)

Ok, time for a small rant. If you don't like rants then I suggest you pop down to the next post which is inevitably less 'rantish' and may be about something nice and fluffy, like rabbits. However, if you don't mind a good rant then please feel free to take a biscuit and have a seat.

I'm getting more and more annoyed by the chemical reaction caused when you combine people who think subs/slaves should submit instantly to anyone that labels themselves Dom/mme, and people that don't understand how to read profiles. Bring these 2 things together and you get a new chemical element, which I have decided to label 'fucktardium'.

My girls have My full permission to chew chunks off anyone that thinks they should bend the knee and play puppy simply because some jumped up little fool has learned to type 'I am yur mazter now bich!'. Seriously, I almost find Myself longing for the pre-intrawebs days where I watched idiots like that thrown out of clubs to rounds of applause.

We all know the drawbacks of the intrawebs. We all know that it attracts the dregs, the idiots, the wannabes, the sad picture collectors and the wank-hunters. Anyone genuine will appreciate the shit that real people trawl through to find a like minded soul. If you cannot take time to get to know someone a little, and instead expect submission the instant they open your message then chances are you're one of the very people that everyone is seeking to avoid.

Ok, rant over, I hope the next journal on here is about rabbits or My first paragraph just made Me a liar!!

I'm pondering why some people insist on making ridiculous assumptions about slavery, and slaves.

What is the point of a slave with no desire of it's own? If a slave desires nothing then what is there to deny them?

My slave desires Me. Sadly, My slave also desires Me on My knees.......in a suit, the hint of blood running from a split lip, dishevelled, shirt torn open, tie hanging limp and inevitably a large ball gag in place.......it's a nasty little bitch sometimes.

This makes it no less a slave. Hell, I enjoy the look on it's face when it thinks about the unattainable. It's like the look it gets when it's playing with itself and it dares to hope I may let it cum this time.....

In the same way bravery is not the abscence of fear, rather it is action made in the face of fear. So slavery is not the abscence of desire, or emotion, or feeling, it is the selfless nature of the actions taken by the slave in the face of these emotions.

Personally I think I'd enjoy the fight to put Me in that position. it has all the fighting grace of a Moose on stilts and the liklihood of it beating Me into submission ranks right up there with the liklihood of Me giving Jason Statham a slap and walking away unbloodied.

But it isn't about the reality. It's about it's imagination putting Me in that position, in very much the same way My imagination puts it between Bonnie McKee's thighs.

It is simple desire. The wonderful thing about simple desire is that it is equally simple to deny.

So, baby girl. Let's see you try...... ;)

it is still it. I gave it the chance to take it's name back at the weekend following a couple of weeks of excellent behaviour on it's part. it never waivered, from ordering drinks to talking in train carriages, it remained it. There was an unforturnate incident when it's mum asked why it was talking that way when it forgot, but otherwise it was outstanding.

Sadly, it seems so attached to being a mere object that when offered the return of it's name, it continued to refer to itself as it, and thus it, it remains. Dammit that's hard work typing!

If you read it's journal you'll know that it is now locked in a rolled steel collar fresh from the states. I'd highly recommend 'House of Collars' to anyone. Excellent service, speedy delivery (well, as speedy as transatlantic gets) and a marvellously well built product. The thing I like most about it is the lack of a padlock. It locks by means of a small allen screw, the key for which is hanging next to My car keys, may as well keep both My rides together (oh dear God that was appalling!! please accept My deepest apologies dear reader).

The collar comes with a D ring that can be slipped on in private, is large enough to notice and yet subtle enough for everyday wear and I'm assured it's comfortable enough to sleep in (like it has a choice).

For Me, it's a marvellous piece of craftsmanship; A functional object designed to secure another object. Indefinately. It defines Ownership as it defines that which is Owned. It will go really well with a length of chain and a couple of padlocks, there is something primal about bondage in steel and iron, not as forgiving as leather or rope (or in the case of some people, fluffy pink...*shudder*...).

I know how proud it is to wear it. I watch it's hand stray to rub the steel and the little shimmer in it's eye when it gives it a tug to remind itself of the inevitability that it's just not coming off.

It won't come off.

Marcus Aurelius?once said "Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one."

If I remove the 'good' from that statement I think it pretty much sums up where I am at the moment.

I'm guilty of over analysing things. I'm a conglomerate product of My experiences and My unusual little habits. I'm slightly OCD, slightly Asby and very grumpy. I'm a sadist with an overactive dependance on the opinion of others........and that makes life damned fucking hard sometimes!

I'm guilty of what I will call 'emotional hermitization' (patent pending). Some days I take Myself off in My head and I lock empathy, sympathy and understanding in a cupboard and ignore their incessant banging. Instead I do whatever it is I need to do to be happy and sod the consequences. I am lucky in having people around Me that understand this process and support Me.

On the flip side I'm guilty of what I will call 'emotional oh-my-fucking-god-I'm-the-antichrist' (didn't think it was worth a patent). This is where all those emotions I sometimes ignore, come crashing through My head waving burning brands and pitchforks and I'm suddenly struck by an almost bottomless feeling of self loathing. Where I look at the faces of those around Me and convince Myself I'm responsible for every fraction of hurt in their lives, where I apologise on an endless loop for things I don't even know if I've done and where nothing and noone can make Me feel good about who I am.

This isn't depression. The feelings aren't sorrowful and black, they're angry and red. It's an anger directed at Myself for not being able to just snap the fuck out of it and function.

I have long discussions about My moods. I analyse them, I lay them bare and disect them for study. Some evenings I sit and go hunting for them to see if I can induce them at will to help Me better understand, and sometimes they jump up and mug Me in the street when I least expect it. The thing is, I have control of these moods if I could just take it. I know what is required to lift them, to banish them back into their little hovels. The issue is taking decisive action like that when you feel like every decision you make will somehow hurt someone close to you.

Dear readers, by now you're likely convinced I'm a fruit cake that needs locking in a nice padded room with subtle pink pastle shades and a warm knitted straight jacket with a reindeer on the front, and maybe you're right. God knows it would be nice to be away from My current workload for a few days!

So why am I saying all this? Have I succumed to the subtle draw of the intrawebs and the art of 'getting all emo for attention?'....Have I bollox. I'm not expecting a mass of sympathy mail saying 'poor baby, let the nice lady look in your head and make it all argh help they're trying to kill me argh make them stop!'

I'm saying this because I want people to understand what those close to Me go through. Sometimes, when the mood comes down on Me I cannot function as I normally do. I cannot bring down righteous fury upon a disobedient slave because the silly little munchkins in My head are obsessing about 'not upsetting people'. It must be very very hard to be a slave when 'Sir' is suddenly apologising for asking you to go make coffee, or iron His shirt, or ignoring your desperate attempts to get yourself punished. And yet when the mood lifts, when the gremlins are back in their little gremlin houses and normal service is resumed the slave is still there on her knees with a smile that says 'welcome back'.

I am truly grateful.

I finally figured out why the whole tribute culture started. I can't believe that male subs are being mercilessly exploited over a simple case of illiteracy...It should read;

Domination is all about presence....

Ok, It's kinda early and I'm not full of caffeine yet, but I'm doing My best here!

8 years ago today I was sat in a project office at Gatwick Airport. By 'project office' I mean fairly luxurious portacabins (as portacabins go) and by 'Gatwick Airport' I mean right at the end of taxiway 4. Parked at the end of the taxiway that day was a Boing 767, I really don't remember which airline. The thing loomed above the office and yet none of us paid any real attention (when you're based on an airport, planes quickly lose their level of interest).

When the news first arrived we thought it was an accident, that some small plane had clipped the tower. It was only as more information came through that we understood what was happening, and everyone was staring out the window at this huge plane, which suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more intimidating.

The airport that day was like nothing I've experienced. We had more armed police running around than I've ever seen, and policemen I'd sat and had coffee with days earlier had a look on their faces almost terrifying in it's intensity as their eyes constantly scanned for anything that didn't look right.

Pilots sat in the canteine openly in tears (in the days to come they'd talk about hijack procedure and how you always expected your plane to be flown somewhere and landed whilst negotiations took place, none of them could comprehend what the pilots went through that day when they realised that wasn't the intention, probably at the very last minute).

I lost 7 aquaintances in the towers. No close friends, but people I had dealings with regularly, people who talked about music, their families, their pet dog. Looking out the window at the 767 on taxiway 4 I wondered if their view had been morbidly similar in that split second before impact, and I cried. I stood in the middle of the office and I wept like a baby, and around me people did the same.

I pray to every deity there is that we will never witness its like again, and that people will not forget.

First week of the diet and Yours truly has managed to lose, wait a moment, let Me grab a calculator, 12 lbs in a stone, so if I take that from that and hit the green button then, yup, nothing. Nada. Zilch. I weight exactly what I weighed at the beginning of the week despite replacing My sugar with sweetner and cutting out all the uber-chocolate-deserts-of-doom.

Conversly, it has managed to lose 4lbs in it's very first week. *cue applause*

You should never discuss a womans weight in public (or in private if you value your life), but in this case I think a good dose of public recognition is justified. I'm very proud of it.

Please would people remember I'm a deaf, mute, Lesbian who lost their parents to the well documented alien invasion of 2002 (Evidence is provided in the popular documentary: Independance Day, narrated by Dr William Smith) and I am only looking for women to talk to.

I don't have a cam, or a phone, in fact come to think of it I have no arms and legs following a horrific accident involving a blender and a banana skin, but I expect you to send me long an involved emails about what you want to do to me, in response to which I will send you a random emote which I will select by mashing my nose on the keyboard. This random emote will then motivate you into sending yet another long and in depth email about what you want to do to me, at least 14 pictures of you naked, and a DVD of you having sex with 3 men, a clown and a dwarf (Gimli if you can get him).

Despite being involved in the scene since the age of 6, having a fully stocked dungeon of expensive equipment and 14 live in slaves, my pictures are taken from facebook with me wearing the cute jumper I got at Christmas because I considered it more appropriate. My goatee beard is of course stick on and I'm actually an 18 year old national cheerleading champion with a degree in socio-economics and my very own pink ferrari. Despite this I would like you to send me a 5 pound mobile phone voucher as a tribute so I can 'txt mi frendz'.

Phew, I feel a little better for that. Sometimes it just really winds me up, what I wouldn't pay for 5 minutes alone in a room with these people! And 6 minutes alone in a room for people that fall for it and therefore perpetuate the ongoing deluge.

Away from grumbling about idiots, life is rather good. Further experimentation with chili has been pencilled in for this weekend and we have a lovely young woman coming up next weekend for a theraputic break (although exactly who requires therapy is a topic of some contention).

it is doing an excellent job of remembering to call itself it, although I tend to forget on occasion and I have the girls correcting Me rather than vice versa. This was not the way it was planned dammit! should be a whole lot of fun out clubbing tonight though, hearing it order a round will be worth going for!

A certain little cardboard box is now somewhere in the high altitude jetstream (in an aeroplane, it didn't just jump or anything) inoxerably making it's way towards My mail box. I'm very much looking forward to it's arrival and documenting it.

Well, I've come to the conclusion that if every Domme on this site is going to demand a tribute (to those that don't please accept cuddles as compensation for My sweeping statement) then I'm damned well demanding one too!

The tribute should be staged in a venue no smaller than The Hammersmith Apollo and must feature covers of all of My original songs. It should preferably include a duet between Trent Reznor and Willie Nelson and a cameo appearance as a backing singer by Eddie Vedder. Offshoot merchandising should be correctly copyrighted and manufactured in the UK.

I am happy to Cam, but won't do so until the tribute has been funded, produced and staged, and only if crowds exceed 13 people and a dog.

I can verify over the phone, but will require the formation of a ltd company to manage the tribute and confirmation letters from Trent and Willie as proof of your 'willingness to submit' first.

Recently a friend of Mine began discussing chili as a possible source of fun. Now, contextually I should clarify that this was not a discussion about spicy food, nor was it an in depth analysis into possible holiday destinations in South America (although women with latin accents are pretty hot, I hold up Salma Hayek as an example, or Shakira, either will do for Me).

Chili was one of those substances that I'd heard a lot about and yet never experimented with (yes, yes I know, I'm way behind the times with that one!). So, last week I tried the first attempt with purple as it (see shortcake's journal for the reason behind the moniker) was away getting rained on and walking up ridiculous hills in remote scotland (and it never did get the donkey in a straw hat I demanded as a present!).

Whilst trying it on purple I forgot that chili takes a little while to go to work, and thus I was a little, erm, bullish? in My application of it. I started around her pussy lips and when there was no real reaction I immediately moved to her clit, inserting pieces into both pussy and ass as well just to be sure I was covering the bases. (Lesson in Dom 101. If you're an impatient bugger, don't try chili. seriously I completely fucked up with this one and whilst the effects were thoroughly enjoyeable, it's one of the shortest scenes I've ever conducted and was getting pretty close to 'I'll get the goat' in terms of subtlety and execution).

2 minutes later I had her screaming and crying and thrashing around in a way that made Me assume I'd accidently plugged her into the mains. It was very pleasant to hear the screams and watch the tears fall, and pretty amusing watching her squatting in a cold bath desperately trying to cool off.

Now, most sensible people would learn a lesson from this, and I thought I had, but that damned chili just doesn't like Me and has hatched an evil plan to undermine My creativity!!

So, last night I tied both girls up, ankles to wrists so they were nicely spread, and then it's left ankle to purple's right so I had a lovely pair of opportunities before Me.

it is renowned for her pain threshold. I have broken canes across her ass, nearly suffered coronary failure whilst trying to induce tears with a crop and had her achieve orgasm whilst having her clit rubbed directly with nettles. I went into last night ready for a wonderful comparison between her and purple. Expecting it to lie there with that smug little grin on her face whilst she watched purple squeal beside her. purple expected exactly the same thing and voiced as much.

So, I took said chili and performed a couple of quick strokes on each exposed clit and then sat back to wait. After a few moments purple had her face screwed up in pain and shortcake looked like she was trying to decide what colour the ceiling could be repainted, so I applied another few quick rubs to it's clit to try and even the balance.

At this point those evil little chili buggers decided to play a trick on Me and assume the potency of an ascetaline welding torch. I had to do some very quick knot untying and both girls respectively legged it for sources of cold water. shortcake at no point looked in pain, except if you looked in her eyes, which were blazing like something poetic and clever, small blue supernovas maybe? or bluebells lit up by the light of napalm?

For those of you currently having the thought process of 'but aren't You a sadist, surely You don't go untying girls at the first sign of a little bit of pain' I shall address your concern. I adore inflicting pain, I adore reducing the girls to squeals and screams and tears. However, there are times when You have to be a realist. I'm used to seeing pain on both girl's faces. I know exactly how far I can push them and at what point to go from 'stop crying you whiny little bitch' to 'good girl, you were so very brave'. The pain in it's eyes last night, and the pain written all over purple's face were indicators enough that I'd gone too far too fast and that I had to write this attempt off.

So, 2 attempts and 2 failures, largely due to lack of practice and too small an understanding of how these little red vegetables (chili is a vegetable right?) work.

I suppose I'm posting this as a form of warning. If you're going to play with chili then for the love of God (and gods, and spirits, and djinn, and nymphs, I'd hate to get sued for religious inequality) don't go about it the way I just have!!

Next time (yes girls, next time!) I intend to go about it differently, slower, working on less sensitive areas first. We'll see how it works under those circumstances. (apart from anything, I owe a certain evil genius a DVD).

Best typo in a profile this year to date;

'am looking for a master to sever'

shame it's on an obviously fake profile really and therefore any witty reply will be entirely wasted but may rather end up with Me being offered the chance to pay a small fortune to relocate some form of poultry from the wilds of ex soviet Russia to Skegness.

Lifetime, unconditional slavery. Doesn't it sound wonderful?

The thing is, in this modern age of equal rights and libetarianism just how serious can anyone be about 'unconditional' slavery. I know people can mean it when they say it, heart and soul. In the moment it's promised it means everything. But what if, years down the line the slave in question has a change of heart? what can actually be done to prevent them simply packing their bags, stealing your favorite CD's and climbing down the drainpipe in the middle of the night leaving you with nothing other than a pile of unironed shirts and some sandwiches in the fridge (c'mon, we all know good slaves will at least ensure Sir has lunch prepared before fleeing!)?

Slave contracts aren't legally binding, and the RSPCA don't take too kindly to 'My slave has escaped, the bitch, so I'd like you to go cage her up and bring her back please'.

There are ways of making it very difficult for them to leave, threats, blackmail, kidnapping? and you can always just tie them up in the shed and feed them now and again, but it's not really practical.

I'd be genuinely interested in hearing from anyone that has found a failsafe way. There is just something glorious about knowing that power has shifted from 'I want to be your slave' to 'I have no choice but to be your slave'. Of course it's preferential that the slave in question wants to be there, makes things far less complicated, but entering into a state of submission where you really do effectively give away any chance of freedom seems like the right way forward, surely anything else is just a compromise? Dammit, that's going to get Me set upon again by the 'I can be any sort of slave I damned well choose' brigade. slavery is only about one choice, the choice to enter into it or not, and that's infinetly more choice than slaves were historically given.

I do have ideas, I know there are things that can be done, but they seem a little extreme. On reflection that's a really stupid statement from someone talking about the removal of basic human rights.

So, we'll see if anyone can provide inspiration, and if not then I'll just have to go with plan A, as fucked up as that is.

Wasps are surprising little buggers. I see people running around beer gardens waving their arms round their heads and shrieking at the sight of them, I've personally stopped My car on a roundabout and climbed out because one came and sat on the dash in front of Me.

And yet, if you actually want the buggers to sting, it's like trying to get Ghandi to instigate a drive by shooting!

I thought I was onto a winner. Wasps duly caught in a pint glass and purple tied up on the floor. Apply pint glass over breast, watch the horror on her face, grin in a stereotypically evil fashion and wait for them to go to work, and wait, and wait, and wait, and you get the idea.

In the end it turns out you have to shake the glass very vigorously, and even then you only get the occasional sting. Even the sting was a let down, causing far less pain than general public reaction would have Me believe.

There is a lesson here, but sadly it isn't a BDSM lesson. Next time a wasp divebombs you in a beer garden, show no fear, if they're like the ones here then you have more chance of being hit by a piece of falling Russian sattelite than being stung!

Getting tempted to take in a male sub on a short term basis. I'm not Bi, or even Bi curious, but sadism is rewarding on it's own level and doesn't require a sexual attraction (and I find men are far easier to illicit agony from).

The reason I'm thinking about it is because shortcake's little domme side has been popping up recently, which is all good fun when I let her loose on purple, but it's making her a little more bratty than usual.

So, I think it would be fairly amusing to bind her up, gag her, blinfold her and then leave her standing there whilst I inflict all of the suffering on some poor chap that she'd so like to. I'll be kind and leave out ear plugs so she can hear what's going on....

she won't see him turn up, she won't see him during, she won't see him after. she'll just be aware that her own fantasy was enacted within a few feet of her and she was powerless to indulge it.

Quietly contemplating torture.

It is possible of course that starting anything on the intrawebs with those words will have Me bundled into the boot of a car by MI6, flown to Peru and waterboarded. That may well be a regular fantasy for some, but I can think of far better places to visit than Peru.

Anyway, I digress. Innovative torture has become something of an intellectual obsession for Me of late and I think it's time to start trying out the methods I've been considering. I'll throw up some more journal entries as I indulge them and we'll see if anything is successful.

Of course good old fashioned techniques (canes, crops, clamps, heat, cold, spikey etc) will always have their place, but the results are becoming a little predictable. I know exactly how both girls respond to these techniques, and whilst that doesn't diminish the enjoyement of squeals and tears, it no longer requires any intricate planning, and planning torments, seeing them come together in Your mind is a rewarding and enjoyeable process.

I want to start working a little more outside the box, not just because it's incredibly good fun to conceptualise, research and develop new ideas, but also because it throws up the element of uncertainty. Whilst shortcake may still thrash and squirm and squeal under hot wax, there is no uncertainty there. she knows what is going to happen and she knows what her reaction will be. she may not enjoy it, but she's secure in the knowledge that she has been through it before and will go through it again.

What I need are curve balls, the look on their face when confronted with something entirely new with no previous experience of what the pain will be like. When you're uncertain of how much something hurts, the moments of anticipation can be as rewarding as the act itself.

Of course, this journal entry is deliberate. I know they both read it, I'll just leave it hanging unspoken at home and enjoy the memory of this entry washing across their face when next they find themselves bound and vulnerable.

P.S; It has been noted that I use too many commas. That occasionally reading anything I write can be akin to trying to start a 1980's Ford Fiesta at 2am on a cold morning. I would therefore like to apologise for anyone that has developed a stutter by reading this aloud.

It would seem a few people read My last journal post and took it a little too seriously.....*holds proverbial head in equally proverbial hands*

If you read My slave's journal (Pinkshortcake on CM and well worth a read, certainly more so than My rambling nonsensical mutterings) then you will understand where it came from.

I DO NOT (yet) walk around the house in a Darth Vader costume with added Halo and Papal seals...

I've decided that at home I will now have the girls address Me solely as; 'His Lord and Holiness on High, Master and Infallible Sir Vader'

shortcake gave Me the idea, let's see how that works out....

Edit: 15 minutes in and they're both wracking up the punishments for failing to address Me properly (I'm ignoring excuses about memory and stupid names and unfairness). I think I'm going to enjoy this, should be fun in the que for the cinema this evening.

Sometimes I find sadism fighting against compassion. It's not so much having a cute little blonde angel on one shoulder and a coca-cola red, pitchfork waving devil on the other, it's more a brief flickering in my head, like a gas lamp that won't quite catch. It interupts the pleasure and for a fleeting second I think 'is it right that I'm enjoying this?'.

purple is currently being punished, severly, for recent indiscretions. It isn't a short, brutal explosion of indulgence. It's a considered, drawn out experience which is already leaving her drained, whimpering and exhausted, and which still has until tomorrow morning to run. She'll be posting details in her journal for any interested (purplefaerie on CM).

Last night the punishment began with both shotcake and Myself working without remorse on purple. shortcake had to be involved, said indiscretion effected her as well as Me, and I'm a firm believer in a certain form of poetic justice. You'll read from shortcake's journal that she has a sadistic side, and the wicked grin which spread across her face? constrasted delighfully with the rictus of tear stained agony on purple's.

I enjoy watching others inflict pain almost as much as inflicting it Myself...almost.

But purple has endured admirably. She isn't the pain hungry slut that shortcake is, and yet through the tears and the whimpers and the sharp intakes of breath the words 'please don't stop, I deserve this' were clear. And when, on Saturday morning the pain stops and she can finally sleep, I know she will feel better for it.

I am sometimes guilty of losing control. I don't mean I turn into a manic frothing ball of violence, rather I mean that sometimes I feel about as Dom as a fluffy pink kitten, dressed in pink and with a pink bow tied around it's neck (although watch out for those, they look cute but they go straight for the eyes!!)

This isn't easy to say, afterall I'm a Dom right? that means I'm big and scary and commanding all of the time surely? erm, nope. I suffer from all the usual human conditions, the most pressing of which is chronic toothache which in turn has left me with a face the size of the goodyear blimp. Seriously, It's so big I'm thinking of selling advertising space!! (message me for details, shaving to provide a flat canvas will cost extra)

This excrutiating and ongoing pain (I'm on the cancellation list for emergency surgery, which apparently means up to 6 weeks....thank god it isn't a gunshot wound) has left me pretty drained and wanting to curl up in a small feral ball, make a nest on the sofa and live in front of bad martial arts films.

The wonderful thing is that you don't always need to feel in control to be in control. Yes shortcake tends to act up a little more, she hates seeing me in pain and I think she tries to provoke me to take my mind off it, then gets a little stroppy when rewarded with a grunt from somewhere under the pile of blankets. Personally I just think she likes laughing at my giant hamster face, bitch!..... :)

But, even with me in this state she's still there, kneeling at my feet and elbowing purple out of the way! ;)

You may notice I only tend to type when I'm feeling less than ideal, I use this whole journal thing as a cathartic form of release for all the non-Dom feelings. I used to feel guilty for having them in my younger years, now I welcome being able to throw them out here because I'm hoping it means I've realised you can be Dom and human at the same time. Although of course it could just mean I'm a big girly wuss, but I'm trying not to consider that!!

What is it with the total lack of common human decency. I have no issue with My girls making new friends. I don't care if it's a Dom, Domme, sub, subette, slave, switch or racoon; I'm always happy for the girls to talk to new people.

So why is it that certain people, knowing full well the situation, still feel the need after a few days of 'normal' conversation to ruin the whole thing by trying to 'steal' My girls. Who in their right mind thinks they'll pack their bags, hand over the house keys and ask for a lift to the station so they can run off with someone they're chatting to on the intrawebs? And who on earth would want a slave that fickle and duplicitous anyways?

shortcake has actually started getting quite upset about it. The last couple of people that have professed they only want to be friends have both ended up blocked and disgarded for not keeping their virtual cock in their pants. It's hard not to let it prejudice anyone that may genuinely just be looking for friends.

Rant over.

Profile updated, finally. I find writing about Myself about as enjoyable as tea and cake (or death!) with the Spanish Inquisition.

Been a topsy turvy (I almost want to shoot Myself for using that phrase) few weeks.

purplefaerie has been coming along nicely, despite a few wobbles. Bringing her out of herself and expanding her sexual confidence has happened quicker than expected. Thanks at this point should go to the several Gentlemen that took time out to sit on MSN with her helping expand her vocabulary. her trip onto phone lines proved interesting but didn't have the effect I'd anticipated, largely due to the men in question being more of a 'no idea what to do with you' type. I think I'll have to start roping some of the better MSN contributors onto phone lines if that little experiment is going to work out.

Webcamming has been even less successful, due mainly to simple logistics. A webcam by nature is fixed, and in order to perform as directed it has been necessary for shortcake to act as 'camera woman'. This tends to undermine the seriousness of the undertaking with Me sat watching whilst shortcake pans the camera around and purple tries to look interested whilst undergoing what can only be described as gynaecology on cam. Really do need to get her chatting to some more creative individuals, "fuck yourself with a dildo" gets really boring when it's all anyone ever thinks of. I think I may try and get a good Domme or two involved, women are often so much better at knowing which buttons to press to achieve a genuine response.

shortcake is causing Me real problems, although they're delightful problems to have. You see her limits are exceptionally high and it's quite disconcerting as a sadist when Your subject is constantly grinning and bouncing at You despite Your efforts to achieve exactly the opposite. Beat her, debase her, humiliate her; the grin remains fixed. In fact the grin says 'thanks for the starter, what's the main course!'. Learning how to move beyond that is proving extremely good fun, just requires a little empathy and a dash of creative thinking. A full length mirror has a far better impact than a rattan cane in this case.

I should finish by saying that watching shortcake clean my kitchen floor, on her hands and knees in black and pink underwear and matching rubber gloves has left Me with the desire to ensure I walk through at least one muddy field each evening before I get home. Amazing how dirty a floor can get if you put Your mind to it...

Weeks away with work are not new. I'm used to spending time away from home, eating alone in hotel restaurants and nursing a pint with whatever book I happen to be reading at the time.

Having a slave with me however is new.

Hotel was decent enough as hotels go. Too far from anything interesting to walk, no busses and My slave doesn't drive. So having her waiting there patiently during meetings became an unplanned form of comfortable bondage. No ropes, no cuffs, but nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait for My return. In My mind I would have loved to leave her bound across the coffee table, or on the floor in the wetroom, but with six hour abscences I deemed it unsuitable. I mean who wants to lose Their slave to a hotel fire right?

The week drained Me, slowly at first but with increasing urgency as it went on. Eleven hours of meetings, more meetings and exhibitions each day take their tole. What I had planned as a week of debauchery transcended quickly into a week of collapsing through the door. Not as fit as I used to be I guess, that'll be middle age catching up with Me!

Of course having her there to massage My feet and back, to listen to Me grumble and curse about the latest project delay, to deliver a constant supply of coffee (and forage for sugar in Starbucks next door) and to simply kneel beside Me as I wound down each evening was a blessing.

It wasn't about sex, it was about humility and a desire to provide whatever I needed at any given moment. I may not have bound her upside down from the light fitting, but as she kneeled at my feet in the wetroom holding the soap, the spray from My body slowly soaking her, looking up at Me with those eyes, it was impossible to be anything but content.

I was a grumpy bugger for most of the week, and she was masturbating on the hour every hour all week without a single orgasm (see her journal for the reasoning). The absolute composure she retained all week under those circumstances deserves this recognition.

Thank you shortcake, for a present that was both thoughtful and personal.

There was something entirely satisfying in lying in bed, legs rested across your ass while meeting Petruchio, and the red lines that appeared so quickly when you couldn't stay still. It's how literature should be enjoyed.

On a side note, I've never enjoyed reading plays, I don't like the way they translate onto a written page. Could be something to do with horrible memories of a terrible English teacher flogging us through A Midsummer Night's Dream. However, I'm currently enjoying the read, maybe because it's nice to investigate other people's passion.

If Any Pirates happen to use this site. And I mean real pirates, then please could you get in touch. Requirments;

Must have own galleon (preferably black)
Must be 'wanted in at least 3 of the 7 seas'
Must know how to tie someone to a mast
Must be fully conversant in the use of a Cat'O'Nines
Must actually say 'yarrr' and mean it
Must have a parrot which says 'Pieces of eight'
Must talk like Jack Sparrow

If you can meet these requirements then I am interested in selling shortcake to you, and I mean the sub as opposed to the delicious biscuits. Bidding will start at '1 Elizabeth Swann'.

Frank conversation can truly be a double edged sword. I suppose the problem comes when you realise you're stabbing yourself in the foot with it for no reason other than intensifying feelings that any other person would run and hide from.

I've always been secure and confident in who I am, indeed it was commonly taken for arrogance in my youth. I have always endeavoured to control situations with a calm authority rather than a raging angry tirade and for the most part I'd like to think I've been successful.

Now I find myself in a situation with someone that brings me into conflict for the first time. I find myself dwelling on the past in an entirely unhelpful way and holding myself up for show alongside people I have never met, will never meet and who have no relevence to who I am.
Is it wrong to feel hurt by actions taken in another time, another place and with no understanding of the context? Is it wrong that for the first time I feel the primal desire that I should have been her first? I mean come on, I'm no school boy, and virgins are pretty rare in my circles!

In fact it's not about virginity, it's not about sex. It's about the look in her eyes in that instant after the pain, before the self control returns, or the look I get from her when she's sat at my feet with the contented smile. It's the look that says she's mine.

Is it wrong that it hurts to think that anyone else provoked that look? Is it wrong to think of those shining blue eyes locked on another?

Doubt isn't a bedfellow I know very well, and maybe that's why it feels so intense. I felt somehow guilty at first, like I was above doubt, like my confidence could never be called into question.

I'm learning now that sometimes it's good to doubt yourself, because in doubting you learn a little more about who you are.

she is mine entirely, but I'd be fooling myself not to think that I was equally hers.

Last night I got rugby tackled in bed......new experience.....

I really should get a picture up....

The more I read messages sent to My girls from so called male 'doms' the more I lament just what these people are doing to the stereotype of Dominant Men as a whole. Almost every profile and journal now seems to highlight the same concern, subs fed up of the spam and Doms fed up of having to start any conversation with 15 minutes of in depth character affirmation to establish that They are in fact 'real'......

Currently contemplating language. I really do enjoy bad language, and I think I'd very much like to explore what it is like to talk someone down and abuse them verbally over a prolonged period. Not simple name calling or stereotypically abuse, but to forget boundaries and talk to someone like dirt consistently and without exception. Also considering what sort of prolonged scenario would best facilitate that, if I'm honest I'd find it pretty hard to do if the backdrop was 'sitting in the living room catching a movie', unless it was a movie with Tom Cruise in it, then I think I could be systematically abusive to almost anyone!

Have a few language experiments to work on with the girls, there is just something about 2 women encouraging each other bluntly and openly to greater acts of wantoness. Let's call it cock-fighting, 2 girls, 1 cock, winner takes all.......ok, that's pretty bad really, but what the hell.

devinlupus Female Submissive, 24, Raleigh, North Carolina	devotestud Male Submissive, 28, j, California	devineMissM4u Female Switch, 49, springfield, Illinois	deviant7 Male Dominant, 40, Reading, Pennsylvania
devigurl Female Submissive, 33	Devlish2004 Male Switch, 42	dev10u6 Male Dominant, 33, Oakland, California	Deviant50 Male Submissive, 55, MassCtLine, Connecticut
DevineEmpress Female Dominant, 52, Tri-Cities, Washington	DeviousLilImp Female Submissive, 46, Bergen County, New Jersey	deva Female Switch, 43	devlishsub Female Submissive, 50, Gonzales, Louisiana

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