Saturday, January 31, 2009


The flames burn inside me
scalding by day, by night
never will they cease,
for it has been too long
stoked and poked,
fanned and fueled
never to return
am I
to where I once belonged
residing in purity,
naive in my contentedness
but nonetheless uncomplaining...

Uncomplicated was life
before I learned
to embrace the fire.

Symbolism of Anal Submission

A Dominant male friend shared the following ideas with me and, in addition to finding his words extraordinarily erotic, the concept of the anal orifice having deeper meaning and symbolism with regard to D/s relationships was something I had not given much thought to.

I feel that the purest form of impalement, mentally, physically, and D/s emotionally, is embedding my cock deep in my slave's ass. Through the pain, discomfort and even in spite of any unfolding pleasure, she cannot help but feel compliant, vulnerable and caged into a place of complete surrender. Once there, the only hope is Trust. There is no other avenue of escape. She is run through and helplessly pinned by a long ramming cock, unyielding in its stretching stiffness, squirming in a pool of hot pain, cramped in her tummy by the thickened intrusion, trapped by her own embarrassment, betrayed by the rising pleasure and completely dependent during those endless minutes.

Delicious non?

The Perception of Volume

It is gray
What is?, she asks
Life is gray?
Yes, I reply
What makes gray?, she asks
Gray is composed of white and black
(I stare at her blankly)
White is clean, good, hopeful, pure, she offers
White is sterile and bleak, I counter
The glass is half full, says she
(I roll my eyes upward)
Look, she says, losing patience with me
You need opposites to survive
Good and bad
Yin and yang
Black and white
Life is bad, yes
Life is also good
Life is what you make it at any given moment
I am in no mood for this, say I
You want me to let you be miserable?, she asks
YES, yes I want to be miserable....I AM miserable!
She nods and begins to walk away
I want to call her back but....
I look down at the glass in my hand and....
It is definitely half empty.

The Amazing Mr. B.

I went flying today with the amazing Mr. B...wind in my hair, heart pumping ferociously to the beat of his engine..."deep breath baby"..."take a deep breath"..."come on now, be a good girl", as I try to relax between the strikes of his power.

Higher...take me higher Mr. B...but I am frightened, flying terrifies me; I am free-falling, mind blank, his hands all over my body...pulling, pushing, hurting.

Adrenaline head is racing; I need release..."please Mr. B., please"...oh god I am falling!...but...

I trusted the amazing Mr. B. to safely deliver me to the ground at the end of our journey.

and he did.

His Web

She notices sometimes, that when it's dark his mouth is a spider web. The sticky silky words reach out, capture her, endanger her in comfort. His fingers play itsy bitsy spider along her spine. The soft weight of his hands on her chest is warm when it shouldn't be. She feels like a rag doll, limp in his hands, dirty from years of play.

She notices, not for the first time, that the metal is cold and familiar. The clink-clank is like a friend with all her secrets in mind. She feels like a butterfly beneath glass. She'll break her wings if she strokes too hard. The spider web strains and holds and she notices a drop quivering.

It's red.

A shudder explodes in her body. He smiles like a wolf as his tongue slips serenely along his bottom lip. Even in the darkness, his eyes shine like lamplight, fixing her there with her head to the side. His body is a shroud.

She feels like she's dying.

She wishes she were.

"Tell me your dreams." His mouth moves, words like silken strands around her face. He smells like old things and musty earth. His fingers breathe against the swollen punctures, pushing, prodding, dipping. The pain is crisp.

"I don't dream anymore." She finds her voice and it's unused and unfamiliar. Her lips crackle as she moves them. She feels her top lip split with a twinge of pain. She ignores it as thin, coppery blood spreads over her tongue. The taste makes her stomach heave and her head to spin.

"I dream." He waits for her response, but she has leaned back, weak and quiet beneath him. "I dream of you."

"Do you?" She swallows and tries to make out shapes in the darkness. There are monsters in there, she knows it for sure and she wishes they'd taken her as a child. Too late.

"I dream of your mouth." He inches his face toward hers, invading her vision, sharp features in contrast to the dark monsters crouching behind him. "I dream you're reaching for me and you taste like blood."

Spider webs. She watches his mouth, dark and glistening, so near her own. He's never kissed her...all these months of losing time and peace of mind and he's never kissed her.

"I dream you've got nothing inside."


"No light, no life. Nothing but fear and death. I like that dream."

He goes quiet and the game of pretending is over. She knows his intentions and she knows she should have seen it coming. It hits her like a bullet and she feels the impact spread throughout her limbs. The parts of her body that touch his feel sunburned. She takes a breath and turns her head to the side once again.

"Do it." She says as she twists her wrists in the chains. The clank is loud in the fathomless room. He sickle-grins and his cold fingers caress her jaw.


Her heart dies.

"Soon." She echoes and watches as his mouth widens and his tongue touches her split lip. She sighs and closes her eyes, then presses her mouth to his.

She remembers, from far away, a night of magic and his mouth. The music still haunts her. It's just the same now, only there's sharpness where there shouldn't be. She doesn't care. He seems surprised, but quickly recovers, devouring her with teeth and tongue. His teeth pierce her lip and she wants to scream, wants to make it all go away.

Instead she kisses him harder, straining against the chains he put on her so long ago. The spider webs spiral down her throat and capture each lung in a dark grip. She doesn't let go, even when he moves his mouth to her neck, the veins throbbing in the scarred flesh. He's marked her many times. She's like a painting.

She tugs at the chains, but they're strong and she is not.

When he bites, she gives in and throws her head back. Pain laces through her, from his mouth to her heart.

It hurts, but she knows the pain like a good friend. It sees her through the days, more familiar than sunlight now. There is no more sunlight.

She feels something heavy and sticky flow down her collarbone. She doesn't question the reality of her situation. She stopped asking questions long before she still had them. What have you done to them? Where am I? Please?
Now there's only his mouth and the pain and the darkness and the inevitable.

He drinks. She drifts.

It's always the same.

And his mouth is always dark...

This passage is beautifully written, compelling, and, at the same time, disturbing and slightly erotic; more disturbing than erotic, however, as she is not happy, only resigned to her fate.
(author unknown)

Friday, January 30, 2009


Once we were fairies; children of pleasure, immortal butterflies racing the wind...

Our hearts were fearless flames burning passion so pure it blinded us of our nakedness; our awkwardness, our pride...

We played in the moonlight; winking at each other's enchanted minds and electric bodies. We teased the sunshine with our smiles, our kisses and embraces...

Then somewhere along the way, we must have stumbled upon the bones of our slain mortal selves. Heaped up there we found all our fears, every betrayal, and the mangled teachings of society...

Now we pretend we are fairies, hiding in shadows, behind words and gestures... How I miss the freedom of the wind; the excitement of emotion, the secrets of new love, the wonderland ...

Author Unknown

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Gone Again

You have held me
for so long you have held me
others have come and gone
but you have been always present
at the back of my mind
I don't know what you look like
nor who you are
and yet you haunt me
I think now that you are not real
you are so very good at disappearing
and now I know
you were never really here to begin with.

It Takes all Kinds

I do not particularly want to be roasted alive

nor do I care to be eaten (as in cannibalized...*smile*)

being used as a punching bag holds no appeal

nor do I wish my mouth to be used as an ashtray

I'd really rather not have my cunt sewn shut
(yes I realize I have 2 other holes, thank you)

I am fond of my nipples and tits so nailing them to the furniture or skewering them is probably not a good idea

oh and that thing about shitting in my mouth......thank you for the generous offer but.......

I am on a diet

Carnal Instincts

Because you evoke
such carnal instincts
I will kneel at your feet
and melt into your commands
because you spread me
wider than I thought possible
and expose me
until I am reduced to nothing
I am yours
malleable and permeable
I bend and bleed for you
hurt me again
so I can give you my soul
drink from me once more
until I am shriveled and spent
but I implore you
return to me
again and again
for my will belongs to you
and my body follows.

The Seduction of Words

No hands need touch my body; the power of the word or a group of words is all I have ever needed to be launched into a soaking mass of desire. Don't get me wrong, hands are lovely and after the words are spoken, the hands (and other things) are certainly welcomed. Is it not lovely, though, to be able to be sent to such wonderful places by a well chosen phrase? Indeed it is and I think, especially for myself, as I don't have the luxury of cavorting freely through the field of my deviant desires due to having a partner who does not want to cavort through the same field, that I am so very grateful to the people who have managed to find the perfect words and send me to these hallowed places.

Good Girl

A male clerk in the store the other day spoke the words "good girl" to me in response to my putting a healthy food choice item in my grocery cart. My response to this phrase was face flushed and I got wet. Why?? What is going on here? People use the term "good girl" to talk to animals (as well as children, which never ceases to annoy me) non? Well ofcourse they do and that is exactly what the D/s dynamic is all about. The D is the lion tamer and the s is the lion (ofcourse I am only speaking about myself here as I am definitely a lion and very hard to tame as well). The s could just as easily be a little pony......anyway, the point is, it is a base, primal relationship dynamic which dates way way back in time to when my caveman husband would grab me by the hair and drag me off to have his way with me. I realize that I am being a bit simplistic here but the general idea prevails.......think cages, collars, leashes, whips, etc. Societal protocol has "tamed" us all over the centuries to be courteous and respectful and bury bury bury our most basic instincts.

It is extremely hard in this day and age for me to get a man to call me graphically filthy names or talk dirt to me because they have been trained from an early age not to. And I am talking about men that I have met on BDSM sites, not just any old man off the street. It is even hard for (me to train) these men to forgo all they have been taught. Now I am certainly not suggesting we go back to our primitive ways of old in all matters great and small.......but sexually, that is why I have been called to my submissive post.....that is how I need/want/crave my life to be.......animalistic and primal.......full of base emotion and raw feeling.

Sexual submission......

is a very complicated thing. There are so many levels and possibilities....different submissive strokes for different folks. One stroke will send me to orgasm while another will send me running; and to complicate matters further, a stroke that would have sent me running 4 months ago, I am now begging for. And so, my concept of the meaning of submission has evolved over the last few months of my sexual journey.

I used to believe that the weight of the matter was physical; that it was a physical act of giving yourself to another. Now I realize that it is not; that it is, in fact, a psychological state of being. That, while I can have a very satisfying D/s encounter of a purely physical nature, it is not fulfilling to me; it does not allow me to get down to zero, to the point of pure "letting go". This realization came to me the other day when a friend sent me an email of a very disturbing nature. He had written a "stream of consciousness" that probed and tugged at me painfully and began to smash down the protective wall around my person. He was questioning my unwillingness to let him in, to be open and honest, to truly say what I felt without filtering my emotions. It had the effect of completely breaking me down and making me sob like a child. Later in the day I chatted with him and he continued his assault on my psyche. At the end of the day I was so exhausted and so fragile that I was ready, truly ready, to "give" myself totally to him. It was at that moment that I realized the meaning of submission, the way that I want and need it to be.

Certainly many males, and to a lesser extent females, have, traditionally, been quite content with purely physical sexual encounters and I, too, have had my moments of base sluttishness when all I crave is to be fucked hard. I now know, however, how my thirst will be quenched. It is in a dark place with an intelligent individual who knows me so thoroughly that a well chosen sentence from his lips will reduce me to the state of his desiring.

So what does this mean exactly? Why do I want to be torn apart, broken down, mentally and physically. The answer is quite simple, because I have never allowed anyone to do it before. Most of us have constructed walls of differing densities and materials to protect us while traveling through this life. My wall is quite sturdy, perhaps made of titanium or some other seemingly impenetrable metal. I have not been successful in dismantling this wall on my own so I have decided to employ a dominant male to do the task for me. I long to be reduced to myself, sans submit totally, give everything I be taken, forcefully if necessary, to the place of "me".

I love a man........

who knows what he wants.

The following is taken from Matthew's website, Hardcore Romance:

What I Want! More than Mere Words.

I want a woman that I can fuck, kidnap, take by force, take at will, take to dinner, take anywhere, take down, go down on, make come, come on, come in, come with, possess, protect, care for, keep safe, keep guessing, keep naked, talk with, talk to, listen to, nurture, use, spoil the girl, punish the brat, admire the woman, make squirm, make crawl, make laugh, make happy, make wet, make giggle, make drip, make whimper, make shy, make cry, be challenged by, be impressed by, be blown by, tie up, tie down, spank her ass, probe her mouth, kiss, choke, slap, bite, lick, taste, squeeze, hug, pinch, watch, embarrass, violate, masturbate, penetrate, adore, trust, like a lot, love even more and loves me in return.

I will give her what she needs and control what she wants.

How cool is that?


Life passes
all too quickly
you turn around
and it is gone.
Do you want to taste it?
Experience it?
How passionately and to what depths?
Most people don't
acknowledge all that is inside
easier to bury
painful emotions
guilty desires
life can be lived
entirely on the surface
no need to disturb
what lurks down below
they sail right through
subconsciously hoping for something to happen
some stimulation, some motivation...
to attain something different
to reach for
instead of sitting quietly
with their hands out
I will taste it today
instead of tomorrow
for tomorrow might come
without me.

The Elation of Discovering my Arcane Darkness

I am only me; I am sexually submissive. Probably have always been submissive but guilt and shame are wonderful instruments of concealment; at 46, now somewhat comfortable in my skin, it is time to come out of the closet.

Being submissive is not a choice for me, it is an orientation, an integral part of who I am. For so many years I have hungered, not knowing (or admitting) what I was hungry for. Now, I am out. I know. I realize. I want. I desire. I very intensely, as though my mind and body are trying to make up for too many years of self denial.

Good men have guided me, introduced me to my arcane darkness, aroused new ways of thinking, new concepts; have opened my eyes to a whole new world...a world that, up until 6 months ago, I knew nothing about. I feel grateful to these men as though a child on Christmas day, for giving me one present after another to open with anticipation and then squeal with the wonder and excitement on discovering the contents of the gift.

I am a lucky girl!


I saw a piece of glass; it was lying on the ground; the sun caught its' stained colors of yellow, green and red and tossed them up at me, drenching my face in a prism of gold. It had the effect of mesmerizing me; I stood transfixed on the spot, not able to move but only to stare at this beautiful sharp object at my feet......

and then, a cloud passed over the sun rendering my object of beauty only sharp and shiny, no longer magical, and so, I lost interest in the once beautiful object but instead of walking on, I bent over and picked it up. The sharp corner cut into my flesh and red blood began to flow from my finger and drop to the ground; the cloud lifted and the sun shone on my blood reflecting its' red splendor back at me; although my finger pained me, I was once again transfixed, tethered within the intensity and darkness.......of the flow.


I could smell him and taste him although we had never met. He had graciously allowed me to enter the blackness of his soul through words, and I felt comfortable there - like I belonged, like I had returned home after a long absence, not realizing I had been homesick for so many years.

The words he wrote to me were alive. They lived in our minds and stoked the passion within our bodies - a passion we could not realize by touch though it seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute, every long day.

When I saw him in my mind I could feel his hands on my body - fingers probing, finding the wetness which was always present, "His" wetness, "His" power. I was possessed, torn apart by longing - life was tortuous, unbearable. The thought of never being owned by him, made to do his bidding, filled me with a melancholy. A deep, dark sadness that surged in my soul and made everything seem gray.

The Offering

What can I offer?
my soul
will you take it from me
will you strip me bare of every defense
tear down every wall that has been constructed
to protect me
will you keep me safe
while challenging my borders
pushing me further to the edge
without letting me fall
dance with me
darkly, deeply
to music that would shock
most people who
would not, could not
go to that place
of wild abandon
that we will visit

Deep into that Darkness

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -Only this, and nothing more.'

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,'

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before........

Excerpt from "The Raven"
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

Pride and Prejudice

Somewhere inside me I still think that it's wrong to want to live that way...under someone's direction and control. I am embarrassed by it and hesitate to use the words ownership, Master, or slave, when talking about myself to others; even others that would probably understand and accept the terms.

I struggle with the thought that it makes me weaker; in some way, less intelligent. It is conditioning. I have been programmed, since young, to be tough and independent. My father always stressed this to me, that I had to be my own woman, do things my own way...take care of myself. To depend on a man for anything was wrong, wrong, wrong; ofcourse to serve a man was even more taboo and horrible.

Those were the founding principles on which I was raised; I suppose it is no surprise that I struggle so deeply with my inner passions and needs.

None of the men I have previously had relationships with have had any interest in relating to my submissive side, and so I have never been forced to address these core submissive/slave yearnings.

It was just over a year ago, whist browsing the internet, that I came across some mention of the workings of a D/s union that these feelings started emerging from the tightly-locked box inside myself .....and so began my furious yet furtive research on all matters BDSM related!

Now outed, and not likely to fit back into its neat little secret box, my blossoming authentic self debates and argues with herself everyday about which hurdles she needs to jump, paradigm adjustments she needs to make, new tools she needs to attain, in order to live a contented and fulfilled life.

The Shell

Break it,
Sink your jagged teeth into my soul;
expose my festered, ragged thoughts...
spill my emotions and my tears,
drag me down that road of darkness;
ignore my trepidant cries,
for the foreignness of this terrain,
still finds me in perpetual perturbation....
lest I lose myself by letting go
and allowing you to take from me what you desire,
what you need...
yet I do want to relinquish,
allow my essence to be apprehended...
and that is why,
the shell must break,
before the bird can fly.

Secrets and Lies

Who could have predicted that I would need more than you were able to give?
Certainly not I, although for years I have not felt satisfied, never really knowing why; telling myself that it was simply a settling into the relationship; becoming comfortable, feeling secure.

After just a few years the sex became a chore, an unwanted advance; still, that is what happens in long term relationships; many friends will attest to this fact. We laugh together, cuddle together, joke around....things are good; we enjoy many of the same types of activities....and yet....something fundamental is missing, a bonding of deep desires; there are so many secrets that I keep from you; do you hide things from me, as well? How can you love "me", there are so many parts to me that you don't even know; would never even guess at?

So I wonder, then, who it is that you really love? How much of the "me" that I present to you, is the true "me"?

This girl that you think you know.

I wonder who "she" is.

Monday, January 26, 2009

I Will Know

When the act of him inserting his fingers far back into my throat,
makes me quiver with delight...
when the mere act of sucking on his fingers,
makes me drip profusely....
when feeling his hands tighten around my neck,
makes me tremble and quake...
when "good girl" dripping from his lips,
makes my eyes tear with gratitude and joy...
when feeling his hands holding my head while his cock is buried in my throat,
makes me inexplicably happy...
when staring up into his eyes; intuiting what nasty things are on his mind,
makes my heart flutter with trepidant excitement...
when the sound of his voice, giving direction or praise,
makes me calm and relaxed...
when just a glance from him,
makes me drop to my knees, in a submissive heap...

then...I will know...


It will be soon before long...
the lava is agitated and churning,
spewing shards of deadly projectiles into the air at random;
the fallout can be seen everywhere, no surface left unscathed,
poisonous vitriol hurtling continuously through the atmosphere...
head and body ache,
as on the verge of some expectation,
which will effectuate catastrophic results...
thinking is altered and skewed;
reality becomes a guessing game of supposed facts...
the "truth" that is spoken, is questionable at best,
truth? what is that?
the intense,
the urgent question should be....whose truth?
because, after all...each of us covets a different one,
it is a fact.

On my reluctance to give up control.....

I don't want to be allowed to get my own way.

I don't want to be allowed to manipulate situations to my own benefit.

And yet....when it "does" happen, when He fights back, when He sees through my carefully disguised veil of deceit, I rebel...I kick, I scream, I become embarrassingly childlike and downright unlikeable. It infuriates me that someone has the nerve, the power, the strength, to fight me and NOT give in to my efforts to control the situation.

I fight against the very thing that I so badly need and want because it is very hard for me to let go....when will it not be, I wonder? How long will it take; how many rebellions must we go through until I am ready to surrender?

In the meantime, I am filled with anger; most everything He does (or does not do) makes me seethe with fury; I am aware of what is happening, least today I am...tomorrow I might not be. I am cognizant of the fact that I am fighting against myself; that He is in the unfortunate position of being the "key" to my door, as well as my "freedom", on the other side.