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







Saturday, January 20, 2007
Going Postal

“Going postal is an American English slang term, used as a verb meaning to become extremely angry, possibly to the point of violence. The term derives from a series of incidents from 1986 onward in which United States Postal Service (USPS) workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or general public. Between 1986 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed in at least 20 incidents of workplace rage. Following this series of events, the idiom entered common parlance and has been applied to murders committed by employees in acts of workplace rage, irrespective of the employer; and generally to describe fits of rage in or outside the workplace.” From Wikipedia


“If we could get postal workers to throw off their clothes and run about screaming instead of opening fire with an assault rifle, that would be real progress," said a New York psychologist, who asked not to be identified because he advises Mayor Michael Bloomberg on anti-terror matters.

The goal of anger management is to reduce both your emotional feelings and the physiological arousal that anger causes. You can't get rid of, or avoid, the things or the people that enrage you, nor can you change them, but you can learn to control your reactions.

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Rose joined the post office as a part time job during the holidays. It paid good money and walking her route was good exercise; it kept her tight body tight. She was a college student, so the extra money was a God send at that time of the year and the occasional gift from a person on her route helped too. At the end of the season the office manager asked if she’d like to work during the summer and she said, “Sure”. She was graduating that June with a Liberal Arts Degree and hadn’t really decided what she wanted to do, so a government job was great.

That summer she had a route that most carriers would die for; a beach community that was inhabited by a great deal of rich and famous people. It wasn’t drudgery, but something to look forward to when the alarm went off at 5AM. She’d crawl out of bed, turn on the coffee maker (always prepared the night before) and jump in the shower. She was 23 and what every guy at school referred to as a “total hottie” and she had a brain. The shower was a chance to be alone, relax and if desired; excited. She normally would place her index finger over her clit and just inside her pussy in order to shave around it, but on occasion she would take the experience further and play with herself; just to relieve the frustration that came from not having an intimate relationship.

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At the end of the summer the Postmaster asked her if she’d like to stay on full time. She thought about her route, the money and the freedom it gave her at night to do what she wanted and agreed. Her work was excellent and she was pretty so the Postmaster nominated her to be a “poster girl” for the post office. Apparently someone in Washington thought it was a good idea, because she was asked to pose and was paid for her celebrity status.

Rose was content to work at the post office and everything seemed to be fine, until she was taken off her route and given a promotion. Sure the money was better, but now she found herself at a sorting center working under shop lights instead of the sun. She supervised 10 people who were all older than her, and had to endure leers from men whose own wives didn’t want them. She was now 30 and no longer went to work relaxed after her shower, but instead began to feel the stress mounting before she parked her car or entered the building. She was aware that she was becoming short tempered and yet she couldn’t control the situation. It was that knowledge of her anger and depression that made her seek professional help. She made an appointment and went to see a psychologist who specialized in anger management.


The psychologist was a woman who was about 10 years older than Rose, but appeared to be in good shape with a pleasant disposition. Rose entered her office, sat and fidgeted as the therapist tried to acquire some background information. “Are you uncomfortable Rose? Would you rather lie on the couch?

“No I’m fine; it’s just that I’ve never thought I was crazy enough to see a therapist”

“And what makes you think you’re crazy now?”

“It’s like I’m a bundle of nerves and the job is making me crazy. I took this job as a temp in college and it seemed great; 10 years later I’m seeing a shrink. I used to be out in the sun and get some exercise; now I supervise 10 slackers and never see the sun. Sometimes I feel like crying and at other times grabbing a gun and mowing everyone down. I’ve never had violent thoughts before, but there doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, just a series of trains.”

“Do you own a gun?”

“No, of course not; it’s just the way I feel”

“Good, let’s not buy one OK.!”

“Don’t worry, I’m afraid I might hurt myself before I’d hurt anyone else and I don’t want to be tempted”

“How’s your love life; do you have anyone special?”

“What love life? I work 8-10 hours a day, go home have dinner and watch TV. Hell I don’t even get off in the shower anymore”

“That’s not good. Everybody needs somebody, or at least some form of sexual release; without it you have no release.”

“Well I guess that’s the problem then, because I do not have any releases anymore; just a job”


“Most of the time I have patients take a time-out during work; I tell them to go someplace and meditate, even if it’s in a bathroom stall. I think you need something else. You do need to have some social interaction apart from work, and probably a change in environment”


Rose was on the edge of her chair; not because she was fascinated, but because she wanted to lunge at the therapist and scream. Rose knew what she needed and this person was getting $110 an hour to state the obvious. Instead of screaming she looked the therapist in the eye and said, “Can you prescribe a good fuck”

“Not exactly, but under the guise of physical therapy I can authorize an hour a day away from the job. It will be called stress management rather than anger management, because you haven’t actually attacked anyone yet” The therapist hadn’t a clue as to how close she had come to being Rose’s first victim. “I suggest you take the hour close to your lunch which should give you a couple of hours to unwind in the middle of your day. I also want you to masturbate at least once daily and to get out of the house at least once a week. I will give you a letter excusing you from work for an hour a day that you can have put in your personnel file. Make an appointment to see me in two weeks so that I can evaluate the treatment.” The therapist ended the session, gave Rose the letter and smiled. “You’ll be OK”, she said as she showed Rose to the door.

“Well I guess an hour off is better than nothing” Rose thought. She gave the letter to her Postmaster who wasn’t happy, but compliant and then went into the restroom. There were two stalls and both were empty. She stepped into the second stall, dropped her shorts and lowered her panties, “No time like the present to practice eye-clit coordination” she mused, knowing her eyes would be shut and weren’t required to play with herself. She sat back with her legs spread in the silence of the bathroom and tried to remember a sexual fantasy as she rubbed her clit with her index finger. She imagined herself on her old route; walking down the strand that separated the beach from the condo’s along it. She walked up to the door of one of the units and rang the bell. A tall, attractive man answers the door, wearing an open robe and boxers; his body is hard and tan. “Special Delivery” she says, as she walks through the door. The door shuts and she imagines the man taking her in his arms. He opens her shirt and unclasps her bra; there is no hesitation as he begins to lick, kiss and suck at her erect nipples. He slowly slides down her body, pulling her shorts and panties to the floor. There are no words as his tongue begins to slide between her labial lips and touch her clit. He licks harder and deeper; she feels an orgasm swell inside of her like a wave about to break. His tongue strikes at her clit one more time as her orgasm washes against it like the surf on the shore.

“I’ve been waiting for this” she hears him say, as she continues to play with her wet pussy. She is far away, but drawn back to the here and now when she hears the door to the restroom open, “Rose are you in here? We have a problem with the sorter.” Rose answers and tells the intruder that she’ll be there in a second. She dries her wet pussy and walks out of the door, back into the real world.

“That was nice” she thought, and realized that she did feel much more relaxed. Throughout the rest of the day she carried the vision of the encounter in her head; it was a pleasant distraction, but also made her yearn for the reality. After work she went home and showered, but instead of settling in for the night; she put on a little make up and dressed in a casual outfit. “I can do this” she thought as she left her home and headed for a small club she had seen on her old route.

The parking lot of the club was half full when she arrived. Happy hour was over and patrons were eating or continuing to drink. Rose ordered a light dinner and a glass of wine and as she sat there, realized how conspicuous she was. “Oh my God, I used to pity women who sat alone and ate.” she thought as she tried to make herself small or even better disappear. When the meal came, she asked to have it put in a “to go” container, finished her wine, paid and almost ran to her car. “I am losing it” she thought.

The following day, she returned to work and spent the morning waiting for noon and her two hour respite. Unfortunately, people kept bothering her; even in the restroom, so her mid-day break just frustrated her more. It was on the third day after she had seen the therapist that she decided to take her break away from the office. She headed down to the beach and ate her lunch while sitting on the wall that abutted the strand. She faced the beach and ate as the gulls talked in the wind and the sun bathed her in its warmth. When she was done with lunch she drove to a quiet corner of the large parking lot, closed her eyes and began to masturbate with the same fantasy in mind. Once satisfied she drove back to work. She was once again relaxed and able to face the remainder of the day.

Everyday for a week, she trekked down to the beach and had her lunch in the same spot and then had her dessert in the parking lot. Her appointment with the therapist was two days away, when she saw “him”. She had spun to dismount from the wall to the strand, when she almost fell into the passerby. “Whoa, are you OK” he said, as he helped her steady herself. It was the same face and the same guy she had been fantasizing about. She realized he must have been on her old route and that she must have seen him and made a mental note.

“Thanks, I’m good” she said, as he steadied her with his hands on her hips.

“OK then, I guess I can let go of you”

“Yeah, I guess, but thanks it was nice bumping into you” The words left her mouth and sounded in her ear. He smiled and she blushed. “That was so cliché, I am ashamed of myself” she said

“Don’t be, it was worth it to see you smile” His words made her realize that she was smiling. “Well I’ll let you get going; I wouldn’t want to do what rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of night can’t do and keep you from your daily rounds” She was looking into his eyes and the words didn’t register immediately, but when they did she realized he was referring to her postal uniform; it was the postman’s motto.

“I don’t deliver” she said and hesitated.

“That’s too bad, I had hoped to find you on my stoop one day” He had jumped in when the opportunity presented itself and she realized he was flirting with her. She smiled and blushed again.

“Well you never know; we at the post office do like to leave our customers satisfied that their packages are in good hands” He grinned; this girl was fast, pretty and witty. She was a far cry from the women who drank at the local club.


“I’d love to have her handle my “package”” he thought, but decided to stay mute, rather than state the obvious.

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other again” she said as she headed for her car. He stood there dumbfounded as she drove off. He hadn’t gotten her name, number or anything else and she was definitely someone that he would like to know. In the mean time Rose realized that she didn’t have time to “relieve” herself and headed back to the office. It was funny; she hadn’t had her “nooner”, but the interlude with her dream man had taken her mind off of her self induced pleasure. She returned to the scene of their encounter the next day, but he wasn’t there. She had her lunch and thought about him in the parking lot, while bringing herself to not one, but multiple orgasms.

When she next saw the therapist, there was a noted change in her demeanor and the ambiance of the session was much lighter. Rose couldn’t wait to tell the therapist about her transition, the masturbatory sessions and her chance encounter. The therapist was delighted and encouraged her to continue the therapy and return in another two weeks.


It was Friday afternoon when the Postmaster asked if Rose would mind working on Saturday. She was a bit put off until he told her, it would not be in the office, but rather delivering on her old route. Saturday morning, she dressed in her delivery uniform wearing a starched blue shirt, tie and short skirt over her black lace garter belt and stockings. “My little secret” she thought. She went to the office, gathered a bag, the presorted mail and packages and loaded them into her delivery van.

She got to the beach at about 9AM and delivered the regular mail first and then started delivering the priority and “insured requires signature” mail and packages. It was about noon when she rang the bell to deliver her last package. A mans voice let her know he was coming. “Special delivery” she said. She was hit with a wave of déjà vu and fully expected to see “him” on the other side of the door. When the door opened there was a tall man there, but he was at least 30 years older and wearing tennis togs. “Special delivery” she repeated.

The man brushed by her, “It’s not for me, he’ll get it” he said, motioning towards the second figure emerging from the back of the room.

“Special…..” she started to say “delivery” but stopped short when she saw “him” in the light. He took the package and tossed it onto a table while pulling her into the room. He kicked the door shut as she stood there motionless. He stood in front of her with his robe open, wearing white boxer shorts.

“I’ve been waiting for that and for this” he said, as she looked up at him. He took her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers; there was no resistance. He kissed her and she kissed him back. His mouth moved to her neck, just beneath and behind her ear where he again touched her with his lips. Her mind swam as his hands explored her and held her. He loosened the tie and unbuttoned the shirt as she pushed off her shoes and undid the button on her skirt. While he undid the hook on her bra; she dropped the skirt to the floor. His mouth found her breasts and nipples as he slowly worked his way down to her waiting pussy.

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“I’ve been waiting for this” she said, at the onset of her first orgasm. The encounter lasted into the evening and she finally said, “I have to take the van back”

“Will you return or will I have to mail myself another package?”

“Not tonight, I need to think about this, but I’ll be on the wall Monday at noon” She grabbed her tie and darted out the door, leaving her lover in his bed. She spent that night and all day Sunday thinking about the events of Saturday and anticipating going back to work on Monday.

Monday came, and the morning seemed to drag as she watched the clock; waiting for her lunch break. She arrived at the beach and mounted the wall; aware that her pussy was wet and hungry. She was looking down the strand trying to see him, when she heard “I have a package for you” She spun around and almost fell off the wall, but he caught her and led her off to his apartment. It was obvious that it was a large “package” from the bulge in his pants.

When she next saw the therapist, she was a new woman. “Well” the therapist said, ”Is the therapy working?”

“Oh yes, I think I am getting a handle on my frustration and have no desire to hurt anyone”

“Good, you can visit me in a month” the therapist said as the session ended.

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When Rose returned to the Post Office, there was a commotion in the lobby. One of her female co-workers had flipped out, stripped down and was standing naked at the counter. Rose went out to the woman, calmed her down and got her dressed. The Postmaster was upset and demanded an explanation from the woman, but Rose intervened. Rose gave her co-worker the therapist card and took her home.

Rose is still with the post office and happy. Every day at noon she takes a special delivery to her lover and delivers it in pigtails and black lace.

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Posted at 12:29 pm 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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"For women the best aphrodisiacs are words,
The G-spot is in the ears"~Isabel Allende



Things I Had To Hide
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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
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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


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