THIS MATERIAL MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR THOSE UNDER 18.
So if you are under 18, a right wing republican christian or anyone else who is offended by nudity, vulgarity and/or a wanton disrespect for societal norms, consider yourself warned and leave. Oh and might I add, "If thine eyes offend thee, PLUCK THEM OUT". Just don't complain!


~The more defects a man may have, the older he is, the less lovable, the more resounding his success.~
Marquis de Sade


"Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You will not like me. The gentlemen will be envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on. Ladies, an announcement: I am up for it, all the time. That is not a boast or an opinion, it is bone hard medical fact. I put it round you know. And you will watch me putting it round and sigh for it. Don't. It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my tarse up your petticoats. Gentlemen. Do not despair, I am up for that as well. And the same warning applies. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say. But later when you shag - and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down - I wish you to shag with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder. 'Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed? Did he know something more profound? Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shining, livelong moment. That is it. That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I hope. " from The Libertine and the bottom of Nic's dark soul.

There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him.
~Antonin Artaud

I hurt myself today.....to see if i still feel......I focus on the pain......the only thing thats real......The needle tears a hole.....the old familiar sting........try to kill it all away..........but I remember everything........what have I become, my sweetest friend .........everyone i know, goes away in the end.......and you could have it all, my empire of dirt........I will let you down..........I will make you hurt..........I wear this crown of thorns.....upon my liars chair......full of broken thoughts.........I cannot repair..........beneath the stains of time........the feelings dissapear.......you are someone else..........I am still right here.........What have I become, my sweetest friend..........everyone I know, goes away in the end...........and you could have it all, my empire of dirt..........I will let you down............I will make you hurt...........if I could start again, a million miles away..........I will keep myself..........I would find a way.......NINE INCH NAILS







Thursday, January 15, 2009
#9 - A Detective Story

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Jake Burris sat at the café counter staring at his reflection in the cup of black coffee that sat in front of him. “Jesus Christ; did you read this story!” The patron next to him was a total stranger and wasn’t addressing his comment to Jake or anyone else; he was just one of those people that blurted things out in a feeble attempt to communicate. “This guy dressed up like the fucking Easter Bunny and went to his ex-wife’s Easter party and killed a dozen people, then took a bomb out of his Easter Basket and set the house on fire”. Jake wasn’t really listening; the man’s voice was part of the background noise that filtered in as he carried on a conversation with himself. “It says here that his costume caught on fire and melted onto his body before he shot himself. Can you imagine finding the Easter Bunny with a hole in his head. This guy was an usher at his church; the neighbors said he was a quiet person and pretty much kept to himself. I guess you really never know who’s going to snap” As he finished talking he turned to Jake, looked him in the eye and said, “Do ya”


Apparently enough of the conversation had filtered into Jake’s subconscious that it became part of his internal debate, which had nothing to do with crackpots in bunny suits. Jake wasn’t aware of the guy next to him, because he was battling the devils inside of him. “You’re just not a nice person”, one of the voices said.


“No, that’s not true; you are nice, it’s just that people don’t think the way you do. They think you’re a “quiet person”” The outside voice was filtering in, “Who’s about to snap” The voice’s comment was interrupted when the guy reading the newspaper tapped Jake’s forearm and asked him pass the creamer. Jake hadn’t heard the request; only his inner voice saying “You’re about to snap!” So when he was tapped on the arm his two worlds collided and he spun on his stool to confront his attacker.


“You don’t know me; in fact you don’t know shit. Leave me alone!” he screamed at the bewildered patron and ran out of the door. Everyone within ear shot turned as the encounter took place and saw Jake fly out of the door. Their waitress had watched from the end of the counter; she knew the guy with the newspaper and knew that he had a bad habit of trying to start a conversation by reading a story. Most people would have just nodded, engaged in polite conversation or just get up pay their tab and leave; this was a first. She walked up to him with a freshly brewed pot of coffee in hand as he still sat staring at the door.


“Well that was quite a scene. You ready for another cup?” she asked.
“Uh, no; I think I’ll just go. I swear I didn’t do anything, but ask for the cream.” He said shaking his head. “I think he’s one of those guys; you know like the Easter Bunny killer, one of those “quiet guys”. The waitress didn’t have a clue as to what he was referencing; she just nodded. The news guy paid for his coffee and left. As she picked up the two cups, she noticed what looked like a wallet on the floor where the quiet one had been sitting. She picked it up and found a police identification card and a badge that belonged to Lieutenant Jake Burris; the screamer was a cop.


She put the badge in her apron pocket and decided that she’d drop it off at the local station on her way home, but by the time she finished her shift had totally forgotten. It was only when she got home and was emptying her tips from the pocket that she re-discovered the badge. “Shit” . She knew she had to get the badge back to the cop, but the police station was clear across town. “Maybe he’s in the phone book” she thought as she pulled it out. She thumbed through the pages, but didn’t find “Jake Burris”; instead she found four “J. Burris’s” and none of them had addresses. She debated holding on to the badge case overnight and dropping it off on her way to work in the morning, but the debate ended when the phone rang. It was her boss; he called to let her know that a Lt. Jake Burris had called to see if he had left his ID, but they hadn’t found it in the lost and found. She explained what had happened and her boss gave her a number to call.
She dialed the number and a man’s voice answered. “Is this Lt. Burris?”

“Yes”, his voice was low.


“My name is Stella, I was your waitress at the diner and I found your badge” before she could continue, he interrupted. “Where do you live?”


Stella had an uncomfortable feeling and tried to answering his question. “I can bring it by your office in the morning; it’s on my way to work”


“I need it now, just tell me where you live and I’ll pick it up”
She hesitated; she didn’t even like giving out her phone number and now she was being pressed for an address. Finally she gave in, after all he was a cop and she did have his badge; besides if he picked it up, it meant she wouldn’t have to go out again. She gave him the address and he told her he’d be right over. All she wanted to do was get out of her uniform, pour a drink and relax; the fact that company was coming meant she would have to wait to shed her dirty uniform and relax, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a drink. She took the bottle of vodka from her freezer and poured it over several ice cubes in a low-ball glass, then returned to the living room and turned on the television.


The national news was just ending and a trailer for the local news that was about to start came on. The reporter on the screen announced a murder had taken place in a parking lot just down the street from the café where Stella worked. “The man was found dead at approximately 3 PM, from a gun shot to the back of his head. No cash had been taken so the police have ruled out robbery; anyone with information should call the police” Stella swallowed another mouthful of vodka; this was the same lot where she parked her car. She had noticed a police car in the lot when she left at 5, but hadn’t said anything or made an inquiry as to why he was there.


“It’s just not safe anywhere” she thinking when her doorbell rang and frightened her. “Damn, I hope that’s the cop and not some crazed killer” she muttered emptying the glass.
She peered through the tiny spy hole in the door and recognized the not so quiet customer she had served earlier; he was pacing impatiently on her stoop. She went to the counter, picked up the badge case and unlocked the door. “Lieutenant Burris here’s your badge”, she said extending her hand. As he took the badge he looked into her eyes making her feel like a mouse trying to stare down a very hungry cat. His gaze was so intense that she shuddered.


“What are you so nervous about?”, Burris asked in an almost demanding tone.


“Nothing; it’s just cold out there and there’s a breeze blowing in. I need to go to bed, so if there’s nothing else; I’ll say good night” The big man looked at her, searching for an acceptable answer to his question on her face. He was still holding her hand with the badge in it when she tried to pull it free.


“I know it’s cold out here; I’ve been standing out here for a while, but your eyes are screaming I’m guilty. I’m not sure what you are guilty of, but I have ways of finding out” Stella did feel guilty, but had no idea why. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but had that feeling you get when pulled over while driving; that feeling that the cop has the power to screw with you and will if given any cause at all. She forced her hand from his, while releasing the badge.


“You better go get warm, I need to get to bed; have a good night Lieutenant” she turned her head and shut the door without looking directly into his face. He stood there another minute as she peered through the tiny hole, then stuck his eye up to the opposite side. His demeanor frightened her already, but the sudden thrust of his eye to the peep hole put her over the edge and she stepped back shaking. “Fucking bastard” she muttered, “what the fuck is he trying to do?” She stepped back towards the door, but not up to the spy hole; instead she turned off the porch light and living room light plunging both sides of the door into darkness. She waited for what seemed to be forever and then peered through the spy hole; he wasn’t there.


She grabbed her glass and went back to the freezer, this time she poured the vodka three fingers high and didn’t bother to add the ice. She brought the glass to her lips with a trembling hand and threw her head back, swallowing the contents in a single gulp. “I hate people like that” she mumbled. “They just scare me, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Damn it now I’m talking to myself” She felt the warm affect of the ice cold vodka filling veins and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it impaired her thoughts. She went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and took an over the counter sleep aid; ignoring the “do not use with alcohol” advisory on the label. “Goodnight Lieutenant Motherfucker”, she slurred as she slipped beneath the sheet.


The next day she woke with her alarm, showered and got dressed without even thinking about the bully cop encounter. Her day was pretty uneventful; the news guy read his paper as people came and went and at the end of the day her apron pockets were heavy with tip change. She got in her car and drove home, but when she arrived she noticed her front door ajar. There was a large dirt smudge where a foot had kicked in the door and she was afraid the intruder might still be in her home, so she ran to her neighbor’s house and had them dial 911 emergency then waited. It took the police over thirty minutes to respond, which as she was told is good, considering the dispatcher had told her up to two hours.


The uniformed officer spoke briefly to her, advised the dispatcher as to the situation and began to approach the door. He drew his gun before entering and began sweeping the house room by room. In the living room he noted the broken molding around the door (common with forced entries), the room had been ransacked as if the violator had been searching for something. In her kitchen the refrigerator had been opened and the contents thrown on the floor. Next they peered in the bathroom where opened pill bottles were scattered on the counter and floor with their contents in the wet sink . Finally he came to the bedroom; here he found her bedding torn from the bed and the mattress had been turned, the closet door and all the dresser drawers were open and their contents piled on the floor. “The house was a mess, but the intruder(s) had left”, was the bad news/good news analogy the uniforms tried to sell her. ‘Look around and try to determine what might be missing and make a list. I’ll file a report and our detectives will be around to follow up with you.”


She could barely understand what the cop was saying as she looked at the mess in front of her. She took off her apron, pulled a cushion onto her couch, sat down and began to weep. As she wept she went through several transitions until she was just plain angry. She began moving through the house faster trying to eliminate the mess, but by the end of the night only one room had been redeemed. The woman next door brought her a plate of leftovers and she found her vodka bottle in the corner next to the trash can. The vodka was warm and there was no ice; “Fuck it”, she thought, “I just need a drink.” She finished off the food and the bottle and fell asleep on the couch.


It was 8 PM when her doorbell rang; she raised her head from the pillow on the couch, but was in an alcohol stupor. “Who is it”, she yelled


“Police, I need to talk to you about the break in.” She didn’t want to talk about it, think about it or even acknowledge it happened.


“Go away and come back tomorrow.”


“Mam, we need to get this done now, so we can catch the person who did this to you before he strikes again.”


“OK, OK, just relax; give me a minute to pull myself together!” She went to the kitchen sink and splash water on her face to wake up, but the stupor didn’t clear. She went to the door which the uniformed officer had repaired as best he could and looked out the little hole. She saw a young guy in his mid to late twenties wearing a blue suit and tie.


“I’m detective Rossi, and I’ve been assigned to your case; thanks for allowing me in.” They stepped into the mess that was the living room and he broke out a pen and pad. “It looks like he really trashed the place, as if in a state of rage. Have you any enemies or have you had any problems with anyone lately. Her mind though foggy conjured the image of Jake Burris.


“Just that lunatic Lieutenant Burris from your precinct”, she said and then described the previous night’s house call. “A real whack job” She watched him scribble in his note pad. “How the hell did he get on the force anyway”


Rossi quit writing and looked up, “Lieutenant Burris, has an unblemished record; this is the first time I’ve heard anyone complain about him. Maybe it’s stress, he’s been working a serial killer case and hasn’t been able to catch a break in it”


“What serial killer? I haven’t read or seen anything about a serial killer around here; just about some nut in an Easter Bunny suit.”


“We haven’t released any information to the press yet, because we don’t want to panic the community. We’ve has eight rape-murders since I’ve been on the force and found out there was a connection. The case is really getting to Burris. Would you mind showing me the rest of the house?” Rossi put the pad and pencil in his inside coat pocket and stood up.


“Sure, but I haven’t had time to straighten much up, I got my bed made and put away the clothes the bastard threw all over the floor.”


“OK, let’s start there; you can tell me what you saw when you came home. She was still a bit unsteady from the affects of the vodka as they began to move through the house. He followed her down a hall and past a bathroom to the bedroom. When they entered the room he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket. She watched a lot of cop shows on TV so assumed he was taking precautions.


“Hmm, I feel like I’m on CSI, so are you going to dust for prints now?”, she asked and was finally able to smile.


“No Mam, the forensic people will be here later; I just don’t want to leave additional prints that may confuse them. Now tell me what you saw when you came into this room” He stood back as Stella began to tell him about the mess in her bedroom.


“Well it looked as if he was looking for something; he tore my bed apart, emptied my drawers and ransacked my closet. I told the officer who first came out, he even took some pictures; didn’t he give them to you?”


“No Mam. So did you discover anything missing then or when you put your stuff away?”


“Well all my jewelry was there; in fact it surprised me because my mother’s wedding ring was in the jewelry box. I really didn’t notice anything gone except the tie for my robe, but it’s just a silk ribbon and I’m sure it’s just under something. I imagine doing this kind of work isn’t as exciting as a murder case."


“You’d be surprised” Rossi said as he approached Stella from behind. He reached into his coat pocket and when he brought out took the ends of the silk ribbon in both hands. Stella was still facing away staring at the closet door. “It’s the little things we tend to overlook that are sometimes the most important. Take the Lieutenant’s case; the eight women all had different backgrounds and were from different neighborhoods, they were different ages and races. There were only two things that became apparent during the investigation; each woman had been in contact with the police regarding some sort of break-in and each had been killed with the tie to her robe.”


Stella took the words in through her stupor and suddenly realized what Rossi was saying. She swung around in terror as he brought his fist down on her jaw; dropping her to the floor. He picked her up and threw her limp body onto the bed. He restrained her wrists above her head and tied her legs apart with duct tape. Then lifted her head by her hair and laid the ribbon tie across the pillow. She began to come around just as he tore her panties from her body, wadded them into a ball and shoved them into her mouth to stifle any attempt to scream.


Even though gagged she tried to scream, but the panties muffled the sound. He wanted her awake; he wanted to see the fear on her face just as he had eight times before. He took a knife from his pocket, slowly cut her uniform dress open and peeled it back. She continued to try to scream as he placed the knife between her breasts and cut her bra open, releasing her breasts. Stella was a young looking 40 year old; she had taken good care of her body over the years and her full breast had remained relatively firm. Rossi looked down at his victim; she exceeded his expectations. She watched helplessly as he undid his belt; tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. He wanted to take his time, “Haste makes waste”, he thought.


Stella struggled as he climbed on top of her and straddled her waist. His cock swelled as it rubbed against the flesh of her stomach and her terror increased. She was alone and no one could hear her cries as he pushed the knife blade against the flesh of her breast and began to drag it from nipple to nipple. Her struggle increased his arousal; he raised his body so that she could see his engorged cock and as she fought to close her restrained legs he forced it into her unwilling cunt. His thrust were hard, penetrating deeper each time he came down on her. As she struggled, her cunt became wet involuntarily lubricating his maniacal instrument. She closed her eyes hoping the nightmare would end, but it didn’t. She watched him raise his arms diagonally across her bleeding breasts and felt the ribbon move as he grasped the ends in his hands.


His violent thrusts continued as he tightened the ribbon around her neck and began to choke the life from her body. She could feel the pressure of the blood that had ceased to flow from her head trapped by the ribbon around her neck. She was losing consciousness, dying under the weight of her attacker as he came inside her. She thought she heard a door slam, before she was swallowed by darkness. “I am dead” was her last thought.


There was a thud on her chest, and then a heavy weight pressing down over and over again. Her lungs felt the pressure of air as it was pushed down her windpipe, but Stella was oblivious. Her ears heard voices, but she knew she was dead or dying so the voices could not be real. Suddenly she felt her cheek burn and then more air was forced into her lungs causing her to cough. “Breathe damn it” a voice commanded. Again air was forced into her as the thrust on her chest continued. She coughed again and tried to move though she knew her arms and legs would be useless, but tried none the less.


She couldn't comprehend what was happening, but her arms were free and flailing at her side. “That’s it breathe, you’re going to be alright” the voice said. She couldn't understand what was happening, but consciousness was returning and light appeared on the inside of her eyelids like a slow sunrise. “Try to relax and breathe; you’re pretty banged up, but alive and that’s what matters” The voice was reassuring as her senses came back, but with consciousness came the pain. Her body throbbed and the pain increased until she passed out.


Voices woke her up; men arguing, but she wasn't sure about what. Fear gripped her as she recognized one of the voices as Detective Rossi; the other voice was angry, but sounded like the one who had been comforting her before she passed out. “I told you not to get physical until I was here; you almost killed her” the angry voice yelled.


“I’m sorry, I just got carried away” Rossi said.


‘I have a special interest in this one; that’s why I chose her”, said the other man as his voice calmed. She knew that voice too; it was Lieutenant Burris. Her confusion and panic grew and she fought to open her swollen eyes. Through a slit she caught sight of the two men and gasped, it was Burris and he was arguing with Rossi, but there was also a third figure. She strained to make out the face; it was the patrol officer that had taken her initial statement who was now in street clothes standing still and staying out of the argument. “OK, enough; just don’t let it happen again”


Stella moaned and the three men turned. “She’s awake” Rossi said, “I’ll leave her to you then”


Burris approached the bed and sat on the edge, “Detective Rossi gets a little impetuous at times, he had orders to wait until Officer Jackson and I arrived. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”


Her confusion gave way to anger, “What the fuck do you mean you’re sorry I had to go through this; that fucker raped me; he cut me up and tried to kill me and you’re sorry!” She tried to raise her body and slap him, but found she had been restrained once again. “What the hell are you doing”


Burris stood, “I understand your confusion and anger, it shouldn’t have happened this way” as he talked she saw his hands move down to his buckle; the patrolman came closer to the bed holding out his hand. Burris took the object from him and continued to get undressed. “Detective Rossi was only authorized to detain and if necessary sedate and restrain you.” Burris removed his shoes and then his trousers and underwear. “You see Stella, rank has its privileges and as the ranking officer on this case, I wanted you first.” Stella started to scream, but Burris shoved the ball gag into her open mouth. “Good you still have fight left, I was afraid you were going to be too weak” As he spoke she saw the patrolman in the background removing his pants preparing to take his turn at her.


Burris was a big man, 6’ 5” and weighed 275. He was much larger than Rossi in every way including the size of his cock. Stella saw it and tried to free herself; it had swollen as he prepared his assault and resembled a small horse cock in girth if not length. Her pussy was already swollen as a result of Rossi’s attack and ached, so Burris had to push harder to penetrate her lips. “Well at least he made you tight for me. He drew back and pushed down again, as Stella tried to scream. His assault went on for almost a quarter hour, before he finally came; Stella was barely conscious. She heard him say, “You’re up rookie” as he pulled out of her.


The patrolman looked down at her abused cunt as Burris’s cum leaked out, “Lieutenant, I’d like to approach from the backdoor if it’s alright with you?”, Burris laughed.


“Yeah I guess I didn’t leave much for you to work with, did I? Rossi help him turn her.” The two men untied the restraints and turned Stella’s almost lifeless body over; the fight was gone. Stella could offer no resistance as the young patrolman shoved his cock into her ass. “You get to finish this one”, Burris said handing the patrolman the ribbon. He slid it under her throat as she lay face down and as he humped her ass pulled back. Stella felt the life leaving her, gasped and let it go. The patrolman felt her go limp and realized he had finished her before cumming, but instead of being put off by the idea of fucking a dead body; he became that much more excited. He came hard and jerked his cock from the lifeless flesh that had been Stella. The three men stood there and Burris said, “OK go clean up.”


Rossi and the patrolman walked to the bathroom leaving Burris alone with Stella’s still warm body. Burris felt his cock begin to swell as he thought about the patrolman fucking her as she died. He climbed back onto the bed and pushed his cock into her lifeless form. She was still warm and lubricated by the patrolman’s cum. Burris fucked it until he came again, “Good, but not great”, he said as he went into the bathroom.


He reached into the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of prepared douche and then emptied the contents in the sink. He then reached back down, pulled out a gallon of bleach and filled the douche bottle. “Here now go clean her up”, he said handing the patrolman the bottles. The bleach would contaminate if not destroy their semen and DNA. After the three men dressed they removed the bedding, leaving Stella’s naked corpse on the bare mattress.


“OK, call it in rookie; tell the dispatcher you returned to check on her and found her dead. We’ll take care of the rest”



Posted at 10:47 am by BondageMaster

 

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My Extended Profile


I have been both a Master and Dom in the BDSM lifestyle for 40 years. I am currently in Sin City, (Las Vegas, Nevada), but I have plied my art all over the country and yes, the giving of pain and pleasure is an art.

I started this because I thought there might be an interaction between myself and like minded individuals, but found most willing to look and not speak; for this reason I have eliminated the tag board and your ability to comment (Consider yourself gagged).

My Blog has become a reflective self analysis and has enabled Me to vent. It has reflected on my childhood, BDSM and it has been a place to share poetry, stories, and art; all erotic in their own way

Having written here for over three years, I realized that I wanted this to be the home of My impure thoughts and deeds; I decided to create another home for the menusha that comes to mind. I created Alt-Thinkining for those who have an interest in my political and social side and who might be appauled or offended by My more carnal thoughts (I love My carnal thoughts ).

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Dominant

I am a dominant man. I am just that. I am not dominant because of any superiority on my part. Not because I feel I am more intelligent,or wiser. I do not dominate because of the strength or mass of my body. I am not, nor would I want to be dominant with all women. Yet to you, I am Master.



I am your Master only after earning your trust and and embracing your submissiveness. I have looked into your heart and mind and clearly see your desires and passions. You have thrown away your fears and inhibitions. You tell me of the needs of your heart and body. You have given me total access to your soul, and I accept the responsibility and honor.



You are a woman. You are not weak and inferior because of it. You are a treasure to be cherished. We are not equal. I have the strength of body and mind, and the instinctive need to protect, possess, defend, and provide for you. You are a woman and instinctively stronger of will and heart. Your belief in me gives me courage and direction. Your strength disperses my doubt. Your needs and desires encourage and give purpose to my efforts.



We are not equal. We are halves of a whole. We compliment each other and make each other complete. My desire to dominate you is instinctive. It is not to degrade you nor is it degrading to you because you are secure in being totally feminine. We recognize and accept our worth, and our need for someone to trust and fulfill our needs.



You are sure, strong and proud in your womanhood. You do not submit as acceptance of inferiority, but from strength and passion. You expect a man to stand strong and be a man. You desire and flourish in the strength and control of a man. In return you present the control of your body, unqualified trust and honesty and the faithfulness of your heart.



You submit because I have earned your trust. Because I have opened my heart and soul to you. Because I have listened to your words with my ears and heart and have learned to anticipate your needs and emotions. And because I have proven worthy in your eyes, you have given me the only true treasure of life; You have given me dominance over you.



What you give is not abnormal, but pure, natural and the rarest gift a woman can give a man. You have given me complete and unshakable assurance of your commitment to me. Your submissiveness is a magnificent gift and sacred responsibility. I accept this from you with humility and joy. I understand the rarity and purity of this gift. I recognize it is your body and soul, your heart and mind.

I dominate only because you have allowed me too and when I see you kneel before me, in my mind and heart, you are raised above all other women, and all the treasures on the earth. What you give freely cannot in reality be bought.

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And From a Submissive Woman

I find pleasure, joy, and fulfillment from being submissive to another in a loving relationship. I am not weak, or stupid. I am a strong woman, with firm views and a clear concept of what I want out of my life. I do not serve out of shame or weakness, but out of pride and strength. I look to my loving Master for guidance and protection, for never am I more complete than when he is with me. I know that he will protect my body, my mind, and my soul with his strength and wisdom.

He is everything to me, as I am everything to him. His touch awakens me and his thoughts free me. Only in serving him do I find complete freedom and joy. His punishments are harsh, but I accept them thankfully, knowing that he has my best interests always foremost in his mind. If he desires my body for pleasure, I shall joyfully give it to him, and take pleasure myself from knowing that I have brought him happiness. However, the pleasure of the flesh is but one facet of any relationship. The love, the trust and sharing, the words spoken and felt, those are all parts of this relationship.

My body is his, and if he says I am beautiful, then I am. No matter what I look like to others, I am beautiful in his eyes, and because of that I hold my head high... .. for who can tell me that my Master is wrong in seeing the beauty in me? If he says I am his princess, then I am that...regal and graceful. And if I see laughter at me in the eyes of others, I do not recognize it, for who are they to call my Master wrong?

If he says I am his toy, his slut, his tramp, then I am that...as wanton and dirty as he wants me to be, and if others do not see this, then it is they who are blind, not my Master. My mind is his, to expand, to explore, to know as only he can. I have no secrets from him...for secrets are a thing that would keep me from being more perfectly his. Secrets would put a wall up between my Master and myself...and I do not want walls.

His lessons are not always ones I would seek on my own, but they are lessons he has decided I need, and so I learn from him. My soul is his, as bare to his touch as ever my skin could be when I kneel naked at his feet. Never a moment goes by when I do not feel his presence, be he miles away or standing over me.

I spend my days knowing that the energy and thought he puts into our relationship is as much for my benefit as for his, and look forward to each lovingly crafted scene that we do together.

His part is much harder than mine, and I know this and am grateful that he cares enough about me to spend his time and energy so freely on me. I have the easier job: to feel, to experience, to let myself go and abandon everything to him. I am his pleasure and his responsibility, and he takes both seriously. I am a submissive woman. I am proud to call myself that. My submission is a gift that I do not give lightly, and can only be given to one who can appreciate that gift and return it tenfold.

Only to he who has that strength will I give myself fully, because I am strong and proud.

I am a submissive woman.


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Worship Yoni

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"For women the best aphrodisiacs are words,
The G-spot is in the ears"~Isabel Allende



Things I Had To Hide
Click Here To Enter


Long Stories

(Series)

Shaking the Family Tree Chapter I
Shaking the Family Tree Chapter II
Shaking the Family Tree Chapter III
Shaking the Family Tree Chapter IV
Shaking the Family Tree Chapter V
Shaking the Family Tree -The Music Lover

Conjuring Adonis I
Conjuring Adonis II
Conjuring Adonis III
Conjuring Adonis IV

Dream Lover I
Dream Lover II
Dream Lover III

Vlad's Lesson Plan
Vlad's Next Semester
Vlad's Final Lesson
Vlad's Beginning
Vlad's Resurrection Part 1
Vlad's Resurrection Part II

The Libertine of Libby Part 1
The Libertine of Libby Part 2
The Libertine of Libby Part 3
The Libertine of Libby Part 4
The Tawdry Tale of Tommy Two Tongues Part 1
The Tawdry Tale of Tommy Two Tongues Part 2
The Tawdry Tale of Tommy Two Tongues Part 3
The Libertine of Libby Part 5
The Libertine of Libby Part 6
The Libertine of Libby Part 7
The Libertine of Libby Part 8
The Libertine of Libby Part 9
The Libertine of Libby Part 10 (Last Chapter)

j's Seduction
j's Objectification
Recreating j
Educating j

The Photo Shoot Part 1
The Photo Shoot Part 2

Electra's Story Part 1
Electra's Story Part 2

Sunday's Child Part 1

Short Stories
(For those seeking immediate gratification)

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The Book
Dessert
De Sade, the Orgy and the Trial
I Cum In Peace
Biting My Way Into The New Year
Her Master's Test
Off White, Six Defective Doms and One Pathetic Troll
Going Postal
StepfordSlaves
Liberation
The New Year's Party

Nocturnal Events
Nocturnal Emissions
Death
Love's Garden
Patty On A Leash/Re-written
To Confess or Not To confess
Binding of Kay
Raising Bella Donna
One Last Good-bye
Spare the Rod, Spoil the Sub
Stella In The Stacks
Red Rain
Misjudged
Breakfast With A Twist
Mon Couer's Papillon (My Heart's Butterfly)
When Daddy's Girl is Bad
The Sitter, The Voyeur and Graduation Day
Please Don't Hurt Me
Cumalot or Knights In Tarnished Armor
Her Halloween Date
His Voice
Life's Little Ironies
The Gift
My Slut ester
Beads
Playing With Toyosi
The Slave Auction
#9 - A Detective Story

Ramblings and Observations
(For those who want a piece of My mind)

Puppy Love
Cunniliguis As A Religious Rite
Players, Pretenders and Abusers
Edgeplay and the Knife
My Youth
Submission
BDSM Website Security
Pain
On Missing Play
Beads a Semi-Fictional Account
Playing With Toyosi or How To Torture A Scammer
Hospital Stories


Photo Interpretations
(As I See It)
La Image'
La Image' II
The Shower
Lips
My Toy
Waiting
Daddy's Girl
Blossom
Chocolate and Roses
Special Delivery
Waiting II
Orgasm
Edge Play
Cocktails
This Flesh
Smoke
Eve
Illusion
Disillusion
Passion
Watching
Not Watching
Intimacy
Tango 2
Inside of You
Dreamscape
Demons
Despair
Spent
Mentally bound
His Flower
Her Grief

Poetry of a sort
(very little rhymes)

Tango
Shadows
Faded Words on Yellowing Paper
I Was
submissive position

Bound
Ladies of the Night





Bedtime Stories
(Fables)
My Love Fable
Pond of Sorrow and Tears
The Journey


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Extreme Body Modification
(Warning some of these photos may offend, even people with twisted minds)


Links


(They May Spank You For Viewing)



Married Man's Fucktoy
Now Tease Me
xenouveau
Incubus Dreams
Peep Show Stories
Annie's Spanking Good Blog
Vue du dedans
Dee Reawakening
Polyfetishist Directory
The Abyss
Mostly Appropriate
Shadow Of A Soul
Cruci-fiction
Liz Vicious Fan Site
La Libertine's Salon
T of Reknin Day
Siren's Song
PV-Comics
The Ties That Bind
Mistress Matisse's Journal
3xL : Lust, Love & Latex
Poiesia
Sensual Liberation Army
News For Perverts
The Spanking Blog
Art Of Love
Spanking Art
Polyfetishist
Pillow Book



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