|
|
|  | |  | |  | |  | |  | | |  | |  | |  | |  | |
|
|
|
cumdrink
|
|
|
|
banalor
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Let me begin by saying that I do not demand tribute, but a small gift does help to secure my favor. If you want to, visi my amazon wish list for some ideas:
http://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/2BV7MMJH9ZU9M
I'm 21 years old but I feel like I have a wealth of insight that some people twice, or even three times my age lack. I can seen quiet, but usually I'm just lost in thought. I like to try to understand people. I consider myself to be an amateur psychologist, but instead of using my insight to weasel my way into your pocket, I use it to figure out how to best relate to you and what you need from me.
I love to constantly be in motion, in the act of creating. Cooking, writing poems, making zines, and listening to music are some of my favorite things to do. I value my friends and loved ones. I consider everyone to be among my friends and loved ones until they cross me.
I would consider myself to be a switch. My dominance and my submission are both different sides of the same coin and both stem from my desire to be sexually uninhibited.
If you are my sub, prepare to be put in contact with a part of your sexuality that you have never met before, because I require My slut to be an utterly sexual being, utterly sexual for me. Your size or race does not matter. Your level of experience does not matter. The only thing that matters is that you be willing to give yourself over to me, to give your body, your thoughts, your devotion, your free agency, and every iota of arousal that you are capable of to me.
When I submit, it is only to a very special woman, one who earns my trust and my devotion, neither of which are given freely or easily. However, once those barriers are broken down, I an an affectionate and loyal submissive. However, because submission is an incredibly emotional act for me, one tied in not just with sex but with love, I am not actively seeking a domme at this time.
Female submissives, FTM submissives, sissy submissives, and MTF submissives: Don't be shy to contact me. Even if we don't hit it off sexually, we would have both made a new friend.
|
|
|
|
|
I started a blog devoted to lesbian femdom. It has vintage photos, quotes, and I post videos for songs that appeal to my submissive side. Here's the link to it: http://aheartinchains.tumblr.com/ |
|
|
|
|
What is my obsession with pain? It makes my body feel alive in a way that so-called normal caresses never have. I think my main problem with women is that when I’m with them, intimately, I can never really become aroused. I want to; after all, I’m no cold fish, but I just can’t seem to manage to get into things. Most of the time, I feel my mind, and not my body, so when I’m in a situation where all of a sudden, my body is the main focus, I find it impossible to lose myself in the feeling of things. Part of me always holds back. I think it’s also, largely, because of the women I sleep with. But even with the girls I was close to, the ones who were good at it like Julie or Maria, it was that way. The most I could accomplish as to just try to somewhat block things out, not really be somewhat dissolved by the moment. Most of the time, to be honest, I feel like I’m the victim of my body and it’s mysterious urges, and I’ve always felt that way. When I was younger (fifteen or so) I would always fantasize about that pleasure which I refer to as brutal love. I would always imagine myself being ravaged by a lover so consumed by passionate fervor that the conventions of gentle love would be completely forgotten. Violent love, love that snarls. I wanted to be wanted that much. But it was so strange, because all of the girls I liked at the time, I could never really imagine myself doing anything like that with them, and just the thought of them having an inkling of a clue that I might want….anything, really, would have mortified me I’m sure. But, that was in the past. I adore being bitten, or scratched, being spanked, having my breasts roughly squeezed, or my nipples pinched and pulled. It doesn’t feel like pain at all to me, even after a long time. It feels…the only word that I could use to describe it would be “exquisite.” It puts me into a trance. I can feel myself sort of floating. And, as I said before, it makes my body feel alive. Rough play makes my breasts and my nipples feel so sensitive that just thinking about it takes my breath away. Exquisite pleasure. There are a million other things that I wan to try and think I might like, but I just haven’t tried them yet. I haven’t really delved very far into my masochistic desires, especially not with women (which sucks, because I definitely wouldn’t want to delve into them with a man, who might confuse what is simply a pleasurable fixation with the true reality of things.) Being such a bottom, I think, puts me at a disadvantage with women. I’ve come to realize that all the times where I’ve failed sexually with women, more likely than not would have gone right had I been more aggressive. What can I say? I want to feel like the willingly vanquished one, the not-so-reluctant victim, while they prefer to play that role. There was an exception. I met a girl named Mona, she was Asian and one of those girls who give off an inexplicable masculine vibe, even though they’re dressed pretty femininely. She fucked me on the beach. It was the most amazing, the most intense, the most unforgettable thing. Melting into her arms as she bit my breasts, as she fucked me with the dildo I happened to bring along in my purse. Violent love. I came so hard, more from excitement than from her skills as a lover, really. I think being in a public place only made it more enjoyable. I want to go further with it. As I mentioned, I love to feel like the willingly vanquished one. I adore pain, and brutal love, and after I’ve had my fill of it, I’m high on sex and licking my lips with satisfaction, while at the same time, my pride and delicate sensibilities feel a bit pricked by the things that have been done to me, and the way I responded to them. Bashfulness and excitement. Those are the feelings I feel when I feel like the not-so-reluctant victim. I want more, but question that wanting. I hate that insecurity, but my desires are so immense that it’s impossible for me not to feel a little abashed. So, naturally, I want someone to brutalize me a bit, to add to my pleasure, and to shock me. Oh, I love to be shocked. When someone says something to shock me a little; something dirty, but not too disgusting, I struggle for a moment between a feeling of distaste (mixed with embarrassment) and of growing arousal. I love being forced o say exactly what I want. “Well…um…I want you to…um…” It can go on forever. And better than shocking phrases are shocking actions. To be honest, I haven’t been shocked by things people have done very often, but I’d certainly like to be. I daydream that I’m the captive of this charming, brooding, solitary recluse who vents his frustrations on me in a series of increasingly erotic adventures. It’s not an incredibly detailed daydream though. I crave brutal love and unrestrained passion, dirty words and violent caresses. I wish, often and honestly, with every fibre of my being, that you would release your every passion and really wish, often and honestly, with every fibre of my being, that you would release your every passion and really feel uninhibited with me. Aaron’s not afraid to be a bit rough with me, but I’m only willing to go so far with it with him. Really, my body is crying out to be possessed by you. I wish that you would be a bit brutal, a bit violent with me. I always sense that you’re holding back. I wish you wouldn’t. You can do anything, say anything to me. I really feel that I’m your possession. Love has made it that way, and now I want to be claimed entirely by you, body and soul/ |
|
|
|
|
A Mistress's Passion
"My little one,
I cannot wait for your body to yield its secrets to Me.
I cannot wait for the sweet narcotic of your touch to act on you,
For the voluptuous languor of surrender to leave you with closed eyes and breathless lips,
For your thighs to open to my entreating caress.
Show me, my slut, all that you've had, henceforth, to hide.
Show me all the secret places of your body;
Show me that which is Mine to claim;
Your soft breast with its ardent nipple
And the warm, rich delta of your wet cunt.
How expressive are your eyes
As they beg Me to go on,
As they flash, like thunder with hotblooded desire.
Do not take them off Me.
I want to see them flash and melt
With the quickening of your blood,
I want to see my little one's fierceness,
Her hunger for Me.
I touch you and it ignites me
As though I were being touched myself.
Your little sighs lend me so much vicarious pleasure,
Your little whimpers so poignant
As I offer up, with the thrill of My touch,
Exquisite pain.
With what eagerness, what ecstasy do you accept me,
Spread out before me like a libidinous feast,
Your eyes and the sea-like stirring of your limbs
A testament to your restless passion.
You want Me.
You want Me every bit as much as I want you.
As it is My joy to give you My touch,
It is yours to recieve it.
It sets my blood afire to rule over you with my sadist's hand
As it sets your own afire to be ruled,
To be brutalized, to be degraded.
What a picture you make right now, in the throes
Of ther last fervant convulsions.
How vehement your cries,
How lascivious your movements,
As you try, with your last strength, to
Force My hand still deeper in your cunt.
What a debauched tableau My little one forms.
You need Me as I need you.
So, relinquish your lips to Mine
And say 'Thank you, Mistress'
And give yourself to Me once more."
|
|
|
|
|
The Bully
I remember Ashley Wade,
The bully that tyranized all the fifth grade girls.
Red hair, freckled, bigger than the rest,
She towered over us and tormented us with impunity.
She teased one of us, Angel, about her bushy black eyebrows and befurred legs,
Making her cry and retreat in shame.
Preeti she needled about her accent,
Imitating her way of speech and indulging in the most hackneyed stereotypes,
But for me, ah for me, she saved her worst tortures.
She stabbed me in the face, just beneath the eye,
With a freshly sharpened pencil.
She would tackle me, hold me too tightly for me to ever escape.
In her one-year-held-back arms, I was helpless
And then she would force me to do the most humiliating things;
Kiss a teddy bear, reveal my secret crush,
Even show to her, fleetingly, fleetingly,
The expanse of my burgeoning breasts.
I remember during Field Day,
When all the school was distracted by footraces and Gatorade,
She dragged me across the field by my hair,
Over rocks and sticks and abandoned toys,
Scraping my back and ripping my blouse.
How I struggled and screamed that day
As she dragged me effortlessly,
As easily as she would drag a five pound sack.
But how it thrilled me all the same
To be tossed about by this tomboy
Who took such delight in abusing me.
Every day I would tease her to rile up her blood,
Parodying her name and exaggerating her height, her bulk
Until enraged, she would stomp over to me;
She would grab my arm roughly, would thrust her face into mine.
And then, once more, I'd be brutalized deliciously
Succoming to the violent charms of the redhaired bully. |
|
|
|
|
WAITING IN THE GARDEN
I dreamed of Mourette last night.
In my dream I was waiting for her;
Waiting for her as a woman awaits her lover.
She was coming to devour me, to dominate me, even to brutalize me a little.
I wanted to be her victim.
I wanted her to slay me with voluptuous pleasure.
I wanted to feel the sting of her hand.
When I woke up, I was unhappy
Because the contrast between the world of that sensual dream
And my own bleak existance is night and day.
I envy him.
With a touch, with a word, with just my presence, I can satisfy him completely,
But to me, our lovemaking is like saltwater to a parched throat;
It does not satiate me.
I know I'm no monstress, no insatiable woman.
I've known satisfaction before; never did my eye wonder,
Even though my heart was free;
No, the chains that bound my love were of my own making,
Forged out of a desire to be Hers and Hers alone.
When will I once more be as a supplicant at the foot of her Queen's throne,
Forevermore a slave to love,
Trapped for all eternity in passion's web? |
|
|
|
|
Where does my dominance stem from?
I suppose it stems from my vulnerability, my shyness. Because of these aspects of my personality, I need to be in control. Only then am I free to express my true desires without being impaired by insecurities or doubts. When I am dominant, my passion is distilled to its most pure essence.
Why else am I dominant?
Because I like to be needed. I like devotion. I want someone who thinks that the sun rises and sets with me; someone who calls me every morning when they wake and every night before they go to bed. Given the chance, I would dictate my slut's clothing choices, what books she read (yes, I would seek to expand her mind) and when she woke and went to bed. I desire this control because to me (fucked up as it may seem) that is what love is. Having someone need me, be utterly devoted to me; giving her the protection of my domination, the security of knowing she is Mine.
|
|
|
|
|
Something that's interesting to me is how many people mistake multiplicity for indecision. Because I desire both sexes, people dismiss my bisexuality as confusion. ambiguity frightens people. They would rather that you simplify your emotions and experiences to the detriment of your happiness, and all so that the multiplicity that so threatens them will no longer exist. Why does multiplicity frighten people/ Because they've been fooled into conflating simplicity or singularity with safety and order. also, in the queer community because shared queerness is the basis of solidarity, anyone who deviates from that (by being bisexual rather than merely homosexual, for example) is seen as a threat to the group identity.) But, by behaving that way they are accepting definitions of sexuality that were first thought of to oppress them. Now, similarly in the BDSM community i see that being a switch is thought of similarly as many people think of bisexuals. If you are a switch, you are not thought of as someone who is capable of many different kinds of play, someone multifaceted in their desires, but rather someone who is confused, indecisive, even undesirable. Food for thought.
and also, while I'm writing this journal, an important note to all viewing my profile. My profile clearly says that i am only looking for women, so men who approach me sexually, be prepared to be blocked because you have not chosen to respect my identity or my wishes.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
| Age: 18 |
| Middleburg,
Pennsylvania |
|
|
|
| | |
