Doing it Rite

Our annual date of stolen kisses – furtive, flirtive brushes beard against my cheek. His moans as I coax Priapus manifest with lips and tongue.

I swallow slowly, caressing shaft to tip – tongue, hips, toes engaged in pure focus of worshiping this Cock, this man – Lord Priapus – Thou art god.

On my back She peers through my eyes, He calls my name as our kundalini serpents spiral together – a moment in time suspended – gently energy fades to ground and gradually we separate to sleep entwined.

This Passion is Her gift to Him through me – I am blessed equally.

I am Priestess to Aphrodite and Priapus – this is my Work

10/22/10

He comes to visit.

I met him, naked, save my sacred jewelry which binds me to Master – his kiss hot and hard, he pulls me demanding into his arms, “Hold on tight,” hot breath against my ear – he begins to spank me hard and harder, right and left. I squirm, squeal, dance against him – he orders me to beg, “Spank me harder, Sir, Please.” Through my tears I'm able to whisper once, twice – then Master stops.

 Master has trained me to respond to specific ques and the strongest of these is his first hard spank.

 I am immersed in that state of consciousness that is my Submissive Self – a profoundly different state than my usual submissive adult. Cap “S” encapsulates a complete surrender of Will within a consensual environment of Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.

 He has my cane and crop in his hand, me on all fours on the couch, head down – ass up. The first stroke of the crop brings me to tears, hot, stinging, sharp over and over, the flap of the crop slaps my labia, fire engulfs me, I scream and the fire changes.

 He brings the cane down across my ass, I can feel the texture of the cane, each fiber as it resonates with my burning skin – yet this is different from all the times before – Master has used this cane from the very beginning, but never has He stroked me this hard. The pain is horrible, exciting, I am wailing, my cunt dripping, I kick and struggle over and over, hard and fast, until He stops.

 “I will give you three more really hard strokes, then we will stop.”

 As these last strokes fall I scream into a terrifying orgasm, unable to breath, then sobbing. I crawl to the only safe place for this Slave to run to – into the arms of Master. He sees the fear through my tears – gentles me in his arms.

 Later, holding me, he strokes my hair, “You're a very good girl, that was a very hard caning.”

 Thank you, Sir.

###

10/22/10

Initiation with The Spark

 Even now I can feel the heat – begin to get wet.

 A small globe, lightning flashes, I dare to watch as he runs the ball over my breasts, twitchy fire, then it hovers just above my nipple, tiny blue kisses that arch my back, tears, ozone, orgasm – the electric sensation now circles my naval, I whimper and spread my legs to His command – sensation overwhelms me – Sir quiets me a bit, changes the Violet Wand.

 Now the spark comes through his fingertips – he secures my wrists to headboard, he teases me along my arm to my breast – his touch to my nipple sends me to a rolling orgasmic trance.

 I lose time and space – I am engulfed, consumed by Shiva's Kundalini spiral, Priapus controls me in the deepest Surrender I have ever experienced. He spreads my legs then strokes my mound, teasing my labia with His blue fire. I want more and more while it terrifies me – I am moaning, weeping – my cunt on fire, twitching and He spreads my labia as the fire kisses my clit I leave this reality – I am Goddess.

 I am Goddess birthing the Universe – a star field surround me, supporting me, I am fucking the spark as He slides a narrow tube into my vagina – stars pour out of me. I come over and over – weeping, laughing, worshiping my Lord Priapus, I am Spark – fade to black.

###

I am a Trance Slut

Long before I was introduced to bdsm I learned and perfected my techniques merging hypnotic trance methods, tantra, and spirit possession to augment the ecstatic experience of sex for myself and my partner. I have a “natural” ability to slip into a hypnotic state easily using a memorized pattern, working with a partner who gives me instructions, or through ecstatic dance.

I'm so very lucky to have a Master who not only understands and embraces this element of my sexuality, he is a highly trained hypnotherapist who shares my spiritual path and recognizes these energies.

He calls me “Beauty” and paddles me hard and makes me beg for more – so I beg, again and again. My riding crop slashes my butt and I hold perfectly still, he whips me again and I feel Her power rise up through me from my ass to my shoulders – I lift my head, stretch my neck – the whip again over and over and I am galloping on green meadows above chalk cliffs, ocean waves crashing with each sting of his crop – he rides me this way, then penetrates me hard, fingers and cock, until I have quieted somewhat.

I smell my dripping pussy and rub my face against his chest hair. He moves, gently, to allow me to suck his organ while he brings me to orgasm again and again with his mouth on my cunt. Exploring with our tongues, sucking, we each penetrate the other moaning and fucking.

At some point we fade into dream.

So – what is different between this experience and those before?

There are some very specific differences in my experience when Master puts me in a trance before beginning a spanking – the first is that the Monkey Mind shuts up!

I don’t think about dinner, nor whether or not the dishes are done, nor some analysis of the moment, nor what he will do next – I am quiet and relaxed in complete surrender to him, to this moment, and from his first stroke the fire is intensified. My tears come more easily, I struggle and yet what I crave is more.

The intensity also changes – as though the colors of my awareness of scent, texture, and sensation are all a more saturated Kodachrome. The bdsm “gain control” is turned up. It takes less strokes to get me to the “next level” – what ever that is. My Master isn’t interested in having me compete in the “sub Olympics,” only to orchestrate experiences that bring us both to ecstasy. Less is more and more is more and I want it more and more and evermore. Trance amplifies even that.

In addition, the experience somehow seems to last longer.

My ability to recall a trancy bdsm event is clearly stronger – however, I've found that sometimes memories of Trance work seem like dreams.

For me, craving my Master’s trance work is part and parcel of having become his submissive. It amplifies my submission and improves the quality of our erotic times.

Initiation to Slavery

hands clench, feel of the rope tight around my wrists, kneeling on the white pillow at my feet, Sir's cock in my mouth, warm piss running down my throat – sweet, buttery, slippery, something inside breaks open, hot tears on my cheeks

His hands in my hair, holding me tight against his body, “You are my Slave.” His voice filled with emotion and power.

Where am I compared to where I was before? I stand – changed. I am a Submissive being, I take the supportive role, as a Priestess of Aphrodite and Priapus, I offer pleasure – as Priestess to my Dom His Pleasure is My highest desire. Still, taking the leap from being a submissive lover to coming into bdsm and agreeing to be spanked, whipped and paddled was huge, and so simple.

My choice to say “yes” to becoming Master's Slave was equally deep, complicated, with only one answer. I feel adored, cherished, safe, secure, protected, desired, humiliated – in that humiliation I have found redemption – as Slave I can serve Master more fully, although he is 1,000 miles away. I live focused on obedience to him, as Slave to my Master, I know that my adoration is clearly present as we walk in public, that my subservience is graceful yet undeniable.

My desire as his Slave is to become his perfect, erotic dream. To only be told once, and to execute that task with grace and utmost respect, regardless if it is to suck his cock or fold his socks; that these two tasks are of equal erotic value by virtue that Master has expressed his desire to have this done.

As Slave to this Master, my life becomes an erotic adventure as obedience to Him permeates each day. Shaved I have a constant tactile reminder of my commitment, each meal is an act of “melting” and relieving myself is no longer a private act.

I belong to Master.

Water Sports

Looking back I can see that Master trained me slowly, deliberately to become what I am today.

First, I learned to straddle the toilet, to release my bladder while I stood, hands laced behind my neck as he caned me. Weeping, peeing, squealing as the nasty cane burns, feeling my own piss run down my legs – humiliated, the little girl being punished for being so dirty – and He tells me I'm beautiful with each stroke.

Later, in the shower, he spreads my legs, presses his thigh hard against my pussy – my bladder is full, but muscles will not respond – crying – I cannot feel what to tell my body to do – Master pisses down my leg.

I relax, let go – I bury my face in his chest wailing, peeing, rubbing my face against his chest hair, crying, smelling our urine in the shower steam, aware that each was different, kneeling at his feet, cleaning his penis with my tongue, tasting the last few drops, I swallow for the first time and collapse at his feet, kissing his feet and feeling the profound humiliation – all my preconceived notions around urine laid bare and the most basic human bodily function begun to be eroticized.

I continue to pee standing, Master caning me. The next time he stood me in the shower he had me kneel immediately, take his cock into my mouth – His piss filled my mouth, I swallowed, again, I gag, swallow – do not pull away – I quickly learn to relax, surrender, allow Master to simply pour down my throat and tears flow over my cheeks, I sob into his organ and allow our Dark Communion to pour through me – I pee kneeling before my Master.

I surprise him at the airport in my mini-skirt and spike heels, garter belt and black hose. But, now, at the motel, newly shaved and naked I have to pee. I'm a good girl, I always ask permission, first I must hand him my crop then he follows me to the toilet. I face a mirror, the whip stings, I begin to pee, his second stroke is harder and I begin to giggle.

“What is This!” Master is using his Shakespearean theater Barrymoresque voice, in the mirror I see him, one eye-brow raised, he whips me harder, I can't stop giggling, peeing - “ouch!” with each squeal I am whipped again until Master is laughing, too. What is this reaction? I don't know, but my ass is on fire and I've peed on my feet.

We lie in bed, quietly, me stretched out between his legs, my head resting on his inner thigh, gazing into his eyes, his cock warm, responsive in my mouth. I open my throat and enable him to deep throat piss into me – in complete adoration and respect, I surrender – he places his hands on my head, gently pulling me tighter against him, “You are now, truly, my Slave.”

I laid there in communion for minutes or hours, perhaps it was days or weeks, forever – It doesn't matter, I was changed, forever – this debase act reserved for infants, the elderly and demented this foul act of the drunk and insane – peeing in public, inappropriate, taboo, perverted act set me free.

In Slavery comes the delicious freedom of being cared for – In eroticizing the debase comes the Mystery of sensualizing the mere act of living – expanding our sexuality beyond the bed. Now, the act of deciding, do I stand or sit? Is an act of erotic obedience, whether or not he is with me.

I am a Piss Slut.

I have lived these edicts, have learned to swallow my tears, lock away my emotions. Now, in my 50s I am learning to trust that my emotions will not harm me nor will they frighten away my Master. He gives me permission to let go – no matter what happens, where I go emotionally or how intense my expression may become, he will stand by me, hold me, keep me safe.

I am not allowed to hide my tears. Master takes them, cherishes them – He craves my tears as I crave his lash.

I lie across his lap, as he sits, back against the headboard of the king size bed. He slowly and gently strokes my back, buttocks and thighs. He smooths my long mane and bids me to turn my head so that he may see my face. I have come here to surrender, to experience again the exquisite ecstasy that only he gives to me.

Pain, humiliation, fire – I cry so much more easily now, surrendering more fully each time we are together.

As Sir paddles, spanks or whips me, I no longer try to hold my tears, to be strong, stoic – I surrender. From the moment he arrives, I surrender.

The pain is now more intense and I want it more. I want and crave his hand slapping my butt, the canes and crop, even the white-lightning whip I crave as much as I fear its pain. I want to buy a “MF” hairbrush so that Sir can brush my long hair and paddle me as well.

The feel of his whip against my newly naked pussy brought new tears – a new fire.

He has set my tears free, teaching me to surrender quickly, but with it brings increased pain, as though the lubrication of my emotion has given me a hyper-sensitivity. I surrender more, my sobs change somehow, coming from a different place – he holds me tighter, growls something in my ear, fingers penetrating my too tight ass – I wail, he pushes again, again – I scream, clutching, clawing a pillow? The mattress? I brace myself against the headboard, still crying, wailing, and I push against him, meeting his stroke, pushing deeper – crying, cumming, ecstatic pain.

Later, it's quiet, he holds me, spooning, his arms and legs wrapped around me. I feel utterly adored and completely safe, more at peace than I have ever felt. Safe, in his arms I feel a ball of emotion manifest at the base of my spine. It's hot, a small fire ball that begins to travel up my spine, growing like a snowball – reaching my solar plexus I start to tremble. Sir pulls me a little closer. The emotion builds and moves to my heart – why is this happening? There is no “why.”

I have trouble breathing, my throat is on fire. I pull tighter into myself, I open my throat – a vision of toads spewing forth – I am sobbing, deep, soul-wrenching sobs. He strokes me, helps me to crawl into his arms – I cry myself out as he strokes my hair.

“You are safe, let it all out.” He doesn't shush or 'there, there' He is not afraid of my tears – I let go. Flowing, tears beyond reason – I cry because he craves that I cry.

“Look at me.”

I see Sir's green eyes, eyes that look beyond my masks and have found my Soul. In his eyes I see God.

My purpose is to please my Dom, in whatever means he chooses.

Deeply afraid I surrender, take me, no stopping, no safeword. Still my body tries to crawl away, until head against headboard, no where to go, he enters.

I surrender, crying, burning, explosive, unending pain tearing me, tearing through me. This is not a euphoric rise of Kundalini fire. He is driving me down, filling me with musky, dark, animal lust. This tantric dance sends me deep into the Earth. I’m screaming, I’m dieing, I cannot take the pain a moment longer.

The Earth opens, I crack, energy shifts – I want more. I push to meet his thrusts, again, harder, screaming more and harder.

I have a vision: the NightMare tearing a hole in the Universe, black pours through, is pouring out of me.

I fall into a thundering dark orgasm – out of body, out of mind – shuddering, weeping. Sir stops. I crawl from somewhere deep down, up, into myself. He gently strokes me and calls me, “Beauty.”

He is “dazzled.”

I want more.