Saturday, September 25, 2010

Sweet Ravenous Unrest - Lady Ravansys

Sweet Ravenous Unrest; What a Lady Wants

written thinking of Lady Ravanys’ words about begging

I know you might cringe at my title. This is a difficult subject and I really don’t have adequate experience to speak with any credibility in this regard. So know up front that if you find yourself shooting holes in my words that I am nodding along with you.

The poet John Keats came to adore his lady, Fanny Brawne. yet she both confused and exasperated him. He wrote a lovely poem for her called “Bright Star” In the poem he wrote of their love being eternal, imagining himself…”awake forever in sweet unrest,.” A state of steadfast splendor “hung aloft” in the stars but a state, nevertheless, of unrest.

Their love was never burdened by wedding bells, gray hairs, or intercourse. Though they quivered with desire for one another, they kept a distance and never consummated their relationship. He was too much a servant of love and she a proper Lady. Just a few years after they met he died (at age 25) and she walked the moors alone her heart torn with grief.

So I want to tell you, as much as I struggle to, resolve to embrace unrest. This great poet did. He knew it was love’s requirement, the essence of it’s duration. Your perfect and necessary comportment are what you must offer a lady. She absolutely expects it. But don’t error in thinking these perfect offerings will ever win her heart. If you serve and address her properly she will respect and appreciate you but she will not cry for you, and she will never be moved to call you hers.

You must show her the flaw in your symmetry, the crack in your heart, your pained yearnings, your generous confusion, and unguarded words. She will listen for those. If you are lucky she might take the time to beat them out of you. Or take you to the edge of release only to stifle your pleasure. She might turn her back to you. ignore you, or shoo your greedy hands away from her delicate skin (just when you thought she was opening herself). But she will be listening closely for your response.

When you see a Lady standing righteous guard over a boy, you can be sure he opened his chest and gave her the reins to his most ravenous desires. She knows his hunger. And he has said to her, in one way or another, “I will take my nourishment from you, my Lady.” And what he says is true, he does.

So should you hear a Lady criticize you directly, then count your blessings. That’s when you know that she’s heard something in you, that fortune has smiled upon you, at least for the day and that she is on the side of your desire, your fondest hopes. So take her sharp words as a small gift. Think of her saying to you, “I might choose you, let’s see how you do with this unrest.”

Confessions of a Voyeur 1 - Behind the eyes - Miss Rinay

When I originally heard about this event 'Confessions' I thought to myself it would be fun to listen and read. Since then I have in fact attended a couple of the events and did just that. However, when I was approached by Zarita and asked to write, I couldn't seem to think of anything. As always I want to help out Dominion in any way I can. I knew I was more than capable of coming up with something, just couldn't think of what. Then it finally hit me.... the one part of my life I don't usually talk about openly, is my voyeuristic thoughts, tendencies and fantasies. So... I will be starting a "series" of confessions based around my thoughts, mindset, experiences and fantasies as a Voyeur. I am about to read my first 'episode' which I have titled "Behind The Eyes".

Confessions of a Voyeur
"Ep. 1 - Behind the eyes"
By Miss Rinay

Starting as early as childhood I have always been fascinated watching people. Observing. Analyzing. Learning. I would become completely engrossed just watching normal every day activity for hours on end. Having been appropriately diagnosed with A.D.D. at the age of 5, this was quite abnormal behavior. However, knowing how much activity was going on in my mind, explains how it is in fact able to keep my focus for such long periods of time. Watching people talking to eachother, observing their body language. Trying to figure out what their life may be like, their personality, what their reasons are for being wherever they are, and what it is they are in fact doing and why. Curious what the person is thinking, the relationship between them and whomever they are with.

While out in public those with me, friends or family have made comment to me to "stop staring". I would always retort with some comment about how I wasn't staring and then I would make an effort stop, but it was very hard for me. The "curiousity" as I called it then was just too great, I was drawn to watch. I began teaching myself how to watch people discreetly without being noticably so.

Sitting and analyzing people, has always been something I do enjoy... so many questions, plausable possibilities, but no definate answers. A common scenario of me watching is in a vanilla setting is at a restaurant. A man and a woman there, sitting opposite sides of the table. The woman is mature, possibly in her mid to late 40's definately keeps after herself. Her hair and makeup clearly took some time to make it just so. Her outfit quite sexy, showing cleavage and complimenting her every curve but still classy. The man, sitting there across from her, looks much younger. Possibly early to mid 30's. His hair is neatly trimmed, a bit of what looks like gel in his hair, clean shaven. He is wearing a button up collared shirt that seems to be made of satin. Many questions run thru my mind. Are they married? she's wearing a ring on her wedding finger and he isn't. Are they having an affair? I wonder if she is a working woman, or if she is a stay at home wife. The man looks to be successful, but a bit young to be an executive. Analyzing their body language.... I notice they are smiling quite a bit, the woman seems a bit flirty. The man is very hard to read, but he does seem nervous. Are they maybe related? I start to look at them more closely, to see if there are any similiar facial features. I notice that yes, they both seem have the same eye color, and seem to share the some facial features. They could very easily be siblings. The woman being the older sister. But I would never know thetruth, always wonder. My attention would then move to another table, analyzing the people sitting there, and asking myself certain questions, possibly answering them myself by different observations. This type of voyeurism is always active in me... whenever I spend time in public.

There is also another side to my voyeurism that is not nearly as vanilla and although my experiences with such are much lower in number, they do in fact feed a more intense side of my voyeurism to the point where it is a fetish. This fetish side grew when I was a bit older, starting in my early years of high school. On more than one occasion I found myself watching friends having sex . One scenario in particular.... I was staying the night at a friends house and her boyfriend sneaks into the bedroom thru the window. They both make attempts to stay quiet as I am "sleeping" across the room... or so they think. My eyes stay closed for the most part, just listening not moving. They make very quiet noises, as to not distrupt my slumber but even then I am able to hear their excited breathing, softly whispering things to eachother, the bed creeking as they move around. After a bit of shuffling and soft giggling the bed begins to creek methodically and soft "slapping" sounds being to erupt from that side off the room. It does excite me as there is no mistaking the fact that they are are in fact having sex now. The fact that I am witnessing this moment in secret while thought to be sleeping makes it all the more arrousing. Still listening intently, I become brave as it seems they are quite distracted with their own actions I open my eyes just a bit, and look across the room. My eyes begin to adjust as there is a slight glow in of light cast in the room from the moonlight coming in thru the window. Just enough light for me to make out their bodies. I can't see much other than a moving mass under blankets. My clit begins to tingle as I can see this now. Their actions themselves are very basic sex, but the fact of watching them, excited me.... The blanket begins to slide down to reveal his back, and his bare ass as he is pumping in and out of the girl, her legs wrapped around his thighs. My clit tingling again as I know they havent a clue that I am in fact very awake and watching this sexy display. Once they finish, they collaps for a short cuddle and I close my eyes once again. Still listening as they say sweet nothings to eachother, then he dresses and leaves out the window from whence he came. Letting out a deep sigh, I begin to recount the images and sounds in my mind, catalogging them as I fall to sleep.

Even though I do become sexually arroused during my voyeuristic fetish experiences, I have never pleasured myself physically during one. In my mind I recieve a much more intense and very different stimulation, something a physical climax itself could never give me. Watching in itself is exciting, but the thought of watching secretly is all the more intense.

This concludes my "Behind the eyes" confession. Hoping to bring an in depth journey to those who have been listening, to learn a bit of what it is like to be a Voyeur. My next confession episodes will include fantasies as well as realities, that I have as a Voyeur. I will also bring about how my Second Life attributes to Voyeurism.

Poem for Confessions - Alister

When she sees me, she calls me a prick
And laughs at the size of my teeny dick
Which she insists she would never ever lick

Miss Violet, she's the meanest
Always mocking my three-inch penis

I disappoint with my sad little winkie
It's barely the size of my right-hand pinkie
It stays as hard as a pink plastic slinkie

So, there's little love lost between us
I can't do much with my three-inch penis

And though I long to be a filthy whore
I can't do it without having a little more
But before I could head to the penis store

She told her friends, "You have to see this!"
And made me whip out my three-inch penis

Mistress Ariana - Robb

i remember the first time i saw Her. The woman who would become my first Mistress.

It was my freshman year in college and i was casually waiting on a street corner waiting for the bus to take me to campus, and i saw this woman in a nearby furniture store. i was instantly struck by her features: dark black hair, smoldering brown eyes, porcelain white skin that looked amazingly soft, and a curvaceous body, (imagine Monica Bellucci). If i had to guess i would have thought she was upper 20's / low 30's in age. She was the complete package for me.

i took a chance, and went inside the store to browse as well. i am not sure what i was hoping for, just taking a chance i suppose to see if we would chat.

We exchanged some glances, and She caught my lingering eyes at Her more then once, She gave me a small smile when She did. i was encouraged so i stayed, and saw my bus drive pass the store window.

i had ran out of merchandise to browse in the store and it was becoming very obvious i was lingering about, when She marched up to me and asked if i wanted a job.

"a job?" i asked, somewhat flustered that She came over to speak to me.

"yes, I purchased some things, and it would be big help if you would help me bring some things home. Would you be a darling and help me? I can give you a ride home after." She said

Without hesitating i said...


The store loaded up her things and we drove to her home and we talked on the way home. Her name was Ariana, she was 39, 20 years my elder (raaaawwwr) She had her own business and worked out of her own home. She had already completed her MBA, and she took quite an interest in talking about my education.

After we had set up her things she invited me to stay for lunch, and we talked about a great many things and it was a real easy back and forth and it felt like we had great chemistry. After lunch we talked for a long time into the evening. She had some things to do so she sent me on my way, but not before she insisted on me coming back the next day, and kissed me goodbye, leaving me...speechless (and if you know me..that’s rare.)

Her kiss and her voice lingered in my mind and i couldn't wait to see her again.

We would continue to meet, everday after classes and talk as our relationship grew. It wasn't in a D/s way, but as partners. I wasn't even familiar with D/s and bdsm at this point.

To give you some background before i go much further, up to this point i was still a virgin and was planning on saving myself for marriage, as a gift to my future wife. i had done other sexual things, but not that.

As our relationship grew, there were a number of things She did to slowly dig her nails into my mind.

She quickly discovered i loved my hair being rubbed, so She would have me sit on the floor, at her feet as She rubbed my hair, and we chatted.

My name was replaced with "pet", and over time that became Her name for me.

She bought me a necklace with a raven pendant on it, and asked me to always wear it, and think of Her. Which i was glad to do.

Then one day, a stormy rainy day, when we had spent the day in bed, pleasing each other, She asked me to do something for Her...she asked me to masterbate for Her...and this was when i was introduced to edging. She would have me build up, and then stop..only to do it again, and again. She said, "alright pet, i am going to let you cum, but when you do, you will say the word Raven, over and over as you do." So i did as She asked...and edged again, till She said i could cum, and repeated, what i would find out later, was my cumword, moaning it out over and over, “raven, raven, raven, raven, raven….”

About a week later, I came over and She was there with a friend of Hers, an amazing looking redheaded woman, with both of them sitting quietly in the living room, an odd hush coming over the room as I walked in. I took my place by Ariana and She kissed me and rubbed my hair softly as She introduced me to Her friend, Katherine.

Ariana said, “Pet, I would like you to do something for us.”

“yes Ariana?” I answered…feeling a strange vibe in the room.

“I would like you to do for us, what you did for me last week” She smiled.

“last week?” I wasn’t sure…She couldn’t mean…

She whispered in my ear, “Raven.”

Again..speechless, I sat there..not sure what to do, but She had me stand, and helped me disrobe, in front of them both, and I sat back down on the floor, and She joined Katherine on the couch before me, as Ariana gave me instructions, I started…shyly at first, so I focused on Ariana’s eyes and did as She asked, letting my defenses fall to the wayside.
She waited till I got to my fourth edge, and I told Ariana I had to cum, and She said, “call me Mistress, pet.” My mind spun as she told me to cum and repeat over and over, “raven, raven, raven..” My heart and my mind was racing, spinning.

She had me come over to sit by her side, kissed me, and said how very proud She was of me, receiving a kiss from Miss Katherine as well, (whom I found out later was a Domme too.)

After Katherine had left, Ariana…Mistress now, explained D/s to me, and the nature of our relationship, and traced Her finger along my necklace, and told me I was already collared. I shivered, and felt very small, I felt like property, I felt like Hers.

She brought me back to the bedroom, and cuddled me for the longest time, and She told me She wanted a gift from me, when I was ready.

I sat puzzled, then asked, “gift Mistress?”

“Yes pet,” She paused, “Your virginity.” As She stroked her hand down between my legs.

I felt myself drop down deep, quietly, whispering, “it is Yours Mistress.”

Then Mistress took my gift…

…and I gave myself over to Her for the next six years of my life.

Confession - Anon

When I see him, my mouth goes dry. The lioness in my belly rises up, clawing, and she begins growling, searching for him, demanding. I reach up, wiping my lower lip with my fingers, glancing away and believing that I've hidden this intensity yet again.

It was as if he planned to look this gorgeous, bathed in the afternoon sun and sitting in my living room. He taunts me with his muscled chest. As his submissive eyes lower, I reach down, cupping his chin and pulling it up directly, commanding his attention to my face.

It's all I can do not to shove my heeled boot into his chest, knocking him backward, stripping his clothing off and taking him right there. In my mind, that's what I'm doing. I'm raping him. I'm ripping his shirt, raising my hand and pummeling that broad expanse of a chest with the back of my hand and unleashing this beast of a dominant woman that must possess him. But on the exterior, my controlled, practice voice only replies, "I see you're here again. Something you wanted? I have little time for you today..." And I release his chin, my palm itching with the need to slap his square jaw, leaving a pulsing, reddened handprint upon it.

The vein on his neck pulses, and he glances away. "I wanted to see you, Miss. I can't stop thinking about you." His voice slightly falters as I drink in his delicious unease. Through the light fabric of his shorts, I can see just a small bit of bulging beginning to appear. The outline of his cock through his shorts. The whole time I turn to walk away, my knees slightly trembling from the effort of restraint, I know his eyes are feasting on the back of my thighs. It is all I can do not to turn around, grab a fistful of his hair and smother his nostrils with the muscles of my inner thighs, so tightly that he cannot breathe while I bring the toe of my boot down and step on his erection.

I pour myself a glass of tea, "I hope you aren't actually admitting to using self-gratuitous thoughts of me to pleasure yourself." Cupping my fingers around the glass, I turn to observe him. His jaw is working with considerable thought on how to answer my question as I lean casually against the counter, idly sipping my drink. I swallow back desire, an ocean of it, crashing over me. With each movement of my arm, bringing the cool tea glass up to my lips, I press it against my hardened, turgid nipples that threaten to reveal the lust that simply will not go away. I add, "Harboring such erotic thoughts about another person without their knowing about it is shameful." The last words leaving my lips that crave his sweet mouth, to drink in his woeful cries as my lash begins to make love to his flesh, extracting from him the dark gasps of euphoria and sacrifice that I alone can inspire.

"It's true, isn't it, boy? You lust for me. And you've been stroking your cock and thinking about me." I level my gaze at him over the clear rim of the glass. I calmly set it down, expelling a warm, calm breath and standing back up, arching my brow at him. His face reddens, and he stumbles over his words. He chuckles, and then his smile fades. In a moment of rare bravery, he looks up, "I want you so badly, Miss. I cannot help my thoughts." At his confession, my own sex responds, a deep bass drum once, pounding, in my belly and making me swell, the fabric of my panties wet as my throat constricts. I could, right now, walk to him, lay hands upon him, press my thumbs into his windpipe and begin to take his very air away... it's how badly I must dominate him. I need to lay upon him, torture his cock, completely envelop him with my body until he drowns, so desperately immersed in my presence that he can no long live apart from me.

I glance at the door.

"Get out of my sight. I said I had no time for you. You may try again... in a few days" His stomach muscles tense, and he rises, pain flashing in his eyes as he meets mine one more time. Sweet, violent pain screams in the back of my head at my own denial, and as he drives away, I watch his car through the window. Turning, I pick up a very expensive glass vase, hoisting it through the air as it shatters in the direction he last walked, dispensing its brokenness across my marbled floor.

"Soon," I say, speaking only that word. Yes. It's not quite time.

But it's coming.

The Crop - Callieanne

She opened the curtains letting light flood the small bedroom, he whimpered in his sleep as the bright light disturbed him, the sheets tumbled off his body exposing the marks she'd laid there with her crop the evening before. She stepped closer, admiring his sleeping form, the dark hair against the pillow, his breaths even as he slept, closer still, she laid her head near his chest listening to his heart beat. As her hair brushed his bare skin, he stirred, waking up from his slumbers, he greeted her as she taught him, his voice softened with sleepiness "good morning, my Mistress". With this she laughed, knowing she'd left him to sleep late and his greeting was wrong by 1 minute. She pointed at the clock and told him "try again, mine", he was startled to see the time, expecting to have been woken earlier, most mornings he was awake long before now to bring his Mistress her fresh coffee and sometimes requested breakfast in bed but today was different, his body displaying the evidence of the evening before that allowed him the luxury of laying sleeping in her bed till such a late hour.

Her memory drifted, she'd tied him, first his wrists, the rope soft and pliable against his willing limbs, the wood of the cross gleaming in the candle light, then, his ankles, making sure he was supported by the lean of the cross. She'd circled him first, inspecting every inch of him, her fingers lightly running over his skin. Her delight in her possession evident in gleaming eyes as she surveyed it. He'd been tied with his back on display, his head turned to one side against the velvet cushion. She'd seen the brief look of fear in his eyes as he realised how she'd immobilised him for her pleasure, then the slipping away from her to his special place as her voice, kept soft and low helped him drift with her reassurances. She'd fondled him, her fingers caressing the plump round orbs of his ass, she'd lubed it well and then the anal plug too before inserting it, his protests slight before turning to moans as she'd wriggled it, her other hand between his thighs caressing his length, feeling the ropes as he tried to move. Each sound he made sending her higher, her palms itching to spank that beautiful ass knowing the plug would only intensify the feeling, she slipped out of her stilettos, the ones he'd carefully placed on her feet as he'd dressed her for this evening, his face looking up to her with adoration as he'd fastened the delicate straps at her ankles. Standing behind him she took a breath, inhaling the scent of him, the frisson of arousal mixed with his usual freshly washed smell, time seemed to stand absolutely still for that moment. The soft music she'd had playing in the background changing it's tempo now, the beat a sultry one that rocked you from the inside. She brought her hand down against his skin, laying the first of many strokes that evening, he gasped, and she just let out a soft moan as his buttocks moved beneath her hand. She made him count, wondering how well he would keep track as the slaps against his skin got harder. She lost herself in his body, listening to his voice as he counted her spanks, light at first, warming his skin, he'd made it to 20 without skipping a beat, she rubbed her hands over the reddened flesh, feeling what she'd done to him, allowing him the gentle soothing before starting again, this time harder, his voice a little shaky now as the sounds echoed around the room, the music faster, stirring her emotions almost as much as her squirming boy did, his voice softening in timbre, almost begging for the next and then the next, she varied the speed, the motion, her target, each touch to be a surprise him. 35 then 50, he was barely keeping up with her. Deciding the time was right to tease him, she went to the wooden table, grazing her fingers over the implements laid out there, lifting one then another to within his view, watching his reaction as each became visible to him. The one that seemed to make him shiver the most chosen, her crop, the thing she'd only ever dragged lightly over his skin before now, or swatted him cheekily when a finished chore hadn't been done quite to her satisfaction but tonight he knew her mood and this wasn't going to be the playful swats he'd had in the past. She was unused to the desire to hurt and cause pain and had almost shocked herself, but now she wanted, needed even to see what he could take for her. Her head almost spinning with desire as she held the leather crop, lifting it to her nose and filling her lungs with the scent of it. She stepped towards him in her stocking feet, barely a sound on the wood floor, swishing the crop through the air to startle him, make him aware of her return. He uttered two words, the voice giving him away, the slight hint of begging mingled with the question she knew at another time he would ask if permitted "my Mistress?". He wanted this as much as he feared it, to feel the sting of her crop, the gift of pain she could give him, pain to take him out of himself, to free his mind from the mundane, to take what she could mete out to him. She began, letting the crop fall lightly against him to start with, building up slowly, not only for his sake, but for hers, she watched and listened carefully to him, the all important trust in each other evident. He writhed against the ropes as each stinging blow landed, but purred at her the count, the begging for the next, " one, my Mistress, may I have another". Her focus turned inward on them, the boy and his Mistress in the middle of the room, the rest a blur, only his body, his voice affecting her, the whoosh of the crop "two, my Mistress, may I have another" and so it went on.. finally she laid the crop down, her breaths rapid, her body aching with lust for him. She pressed her mouth to hot skin, kissing the marks she'd metered out to him, her hands delving between hot thighs, taking hold of his erect cock in one, the other buried between her own, she uttered one command to him "beg, mine". His answer came fast, the long drawn out "Pleeeaasee, my Mistress" that she'd grown to love, she shivered hearing him, knowing each would tip over the edge fast. She worked one hand over his cock, feeling the rumbles in his belly that told her he was close, pressing her body against his as her other fingers found her clit, massaging it deeply, again, she told him "beg, mine" this time the words "please may I cum for you" dripped from his mouth, his voice shaky, needy, she felt him conquered by her power over him. She answered him quickly "now, mine". She felt him cum hard, her fingers bathed in his sticky fluids, spurring her own orgasm, it hit her in waves, her cries filling the room, her thighs damp from her own moisture. She lifted her fingers to his mouth, making him lick each hand clean. They were both sheened in sweat from their exertions, his body marked, the prints of the crop decorating his cheeks, his thighs. She moved quickly, untying the ropes from his wrists first, letting him lean against her for support as she untied his ankles, holding him close as they made it to the soft fur rug, piling a few cushions beneath his head, making herself comfortable, pulling a blanket over them to warm rapidly cooling bodies, she held him as he shivered, the tears falling silently from his eyes, she dipped a finger into the liquid, licking with her tongue. She whispered to him gently "I never felt that you were so MINE before tonight"

They'd lain there till the candles flickered out, cradling each other in the low light till finally even the rug didn't camouflage the hardness of the floor, she'd risen, holding his hand, leading him to her bed. As ever he'd managed to kneel beside it as she ascended into it, he asking permission to join her before laying beside her draping the covers over them, spending the rest of the night wrapped in each other in sweet slumber.

Unexpected Water Play - Marcus

I’ve been wearing my CB 3000 chastity device for my Mistress for a while now and it’s slowly started to shape my mind into what and who I am, my pleasure is now for my Mistress’s pleasure, I find myself unlocked only for my Mistress's and also for my girlfriends use, and it’s a wonderful feeling.

These feelings were expected, but recently I’ve come across some rather unexpected side effects from being locked up, one of which is using the toilet.
I can no longer stand up to pee, in the fear of the CB causing a slight sprinkle effect.

Just recently my visiting the toilet has given me a new surprise. Not too long ago I had to make a sudden dash to the toilet - I was busting to go. Knowing that the CB can cause issues with a little spray I sat down as usual and released my urge to pee. It only took a fraction of a second to realize not all was right, as my piss jetted upwards towards my own face! And once you start it’s not easy to stop.

I tried to stop my sudden water feature from splashing my own face, but all I managed to do was to convert its arc into more of a garden sprinkler system. My own urine now not only spraying upwards but also outwards and everyway it possibly could. I soaked my hands, the lock the floor, part of the walls and between my - it went everywhere!
My poor old cock had somehow moved itself so the tip was pointing up at the top air vent of the cb3000 and once I started it was very hard to stop as I just totally pissed myself.

I eventually stopped and cleaned myself down as best I could, as I had no key to release myself and the really bad aspect of finding out about this sudden dreadful minefield was not within the safety of my house but a customer’s house I was visiting to repair their computer.
Was that an experience!

Later on that week I had a similar episode within my own home this time but the trajectory was almost perfect and I missed pissing into my own mouth by inches and I realized then that my life had changed to the possibility of this dangerous game of my unexpected water play.

This time I took it off cleaned the cb and myself down and realized where I was going wrong, I've not been using enough oil to allow my cock to slip into the cage fully but I have new found respect for this nasty device of obedience and chastity, and I now have a new dread of uncertainty of relieving myself, a new found respect for chastity, I've encountered this new threat and I’ve overcome it and will move on.

But one thing I’m sure of, it's no longer a novelty but something I need to accept and live with for this is the path I'm now on, I wear this not because I want too, I wear this because my Mistress requires me to wear it.

by Marcus Huxxely

You're Small - Anon

"You're small," you say in your most teasing voice. You are rolled onto your side in bed, head propped up in one hand, looking down at my body.

"I'm really not," I reply. I'm lying on my back beside you and I feel enormous compared to you. I am impossibly heavy, soft in the middle, broad in shoulder, clunky. You wouldn't be able to do a thing to me even if I was unresisting, because of my sheer bulk. My eyes lift to look up into yours and I shake my head. "I'm not small."

You rest a hand on my chest and smooth your palm in circles. So I take your hand and hold it there against my heartbeat, pressing. I feel a pause in your breathing and you say, quietly, "David." I glance up into your face again. Your eyes leave mine, and look at my hands, then look at the space above my head. I feel my cheeks flush with faint heat and I remove my hands from yours and cross my wrists above my head.

"Good," you say. Then, "You are small."

My brow furrows slightly as I catch the second meaning drifting into the word. I shake my head again, but I don't look at you this time. Your hand takes its time, exploring the expanse of my chest, the skin smooth and bare, nipples pale and surprisingly responsive to even light touches and changes in temperature. A flick of a fingernail and my nipple tightens. I shift slightly beneath the touches, physical tension creeping across my shoulders and then setting itself in the rest of my body. The passivity does this, whether I'm made to kneel or I'm relaxed in bed like this while you talk to or touch me. Almost every time I am rendered motionless by your control this tension mounts, and even at my best it is very faintly colored with anger or irritation. Sometimes the dangerous kind, often just petulance at not being able to have, hold, grasp, take what I want.

"David," you say quietly, having seen that tension finally express itself on my face. You were probably waiting for it. You know patterns. You must by now see that my way down involves whatever this is, this resentment of my own obedience. You know that it doesn't compromise the obedience.

"Mistress," I whisper.

You don't say anything. You tease my nipple, catch it with your fingers, squeeze it hard, compressing the nub of flesh until it whitens. The pain bites and then burns, and when you do not let up, when you twist, it deepens to a searing hurt that makes my breathing change and my face collapse into a grimace. My arms shift above my head as the impulse to stop you shudders into my muscles and stops, arrested, becoming tension.

"You can be small," you say quietly.

"Mis-tress," I hiss through my teeth. And then your fingers are gone and my nipple throbs, the burn persisting. I breathe hard, no longer even wanting to look at your face, unwilling to see whatever expression might be there. When your hand smooths across to my other nipple I turn my head slightly away from you in a flinch of anticipation.

You pinch, you twist, my nipple slipping out from your fingers, making you start again and again, hard, until I am gasping from the pulsing, searing pain of it. This is not subspace you are putting me in, not quite, but some cousin feeling, related to the self-control and obedience that creates these long minutes of suffering. You are coming at me from an angle, breaking me down this way, knowing that enough pain (and for me, very little is often enough) will create a detached pliability, will touch the part of me that will respond to you out of a naked desire for mercy.

I feel two small things placed on my chest, two things of some kind, cool and light. I look down at what you have placed there. Oh. Oh no.

You pick up the first clothespin and show it to me, pinching it open, letting it close again, so I am sure to note the metal spring has been distended to keep it from snapping shut. There's no snap to it at all, there's a softness to the way the pin opens and shuts, and the jaws of the clothespin do not touch together. But no matter how gentle it looks, I know better. I shake my head at you, my eyes directly on yours, communicating with my gaze that I am not prepared.

You reach across my line of vision, grab a corner of the blanket, and pull it up and over my head and shoulders. I am in sudden darkness. I feel your fingers tucking the blanket in around my neck, and I am breathing against the fabric, panting softly as the pocket of air in front of my mouth and nose becomes humid and claustrophobic. My eyes are open and looking at the blank, slightly orange colored cave of darkness made by the blanket. I can feel your fingers plucking at my already sore and swollen nipple, teasing it.

Beneath the blanket my breath comes quickly, my oxygen feels like it might be going, but I know in the corner of my mind that it's an illusion, that being blindfolded produces panic, but eventually, if I'm lucky, I will hit that sleepy feeling that will cradle me through the pain. In the meantime my throat is tight and small noises are jerked from between my parted lips as your fingers pluck at first one nipple, then the other, surely engorging them enough to... there's the mouth of the clothespin, brushing across my skin, and when it bites down there is a moment of no pain before it blossoms fiercely, white hot and aching, somehow tracing a zigzag of pain down my chest and into my abdomen. I'm sure I make a sound because my throat hurts, but whether you respond I can not see or hear. I am spinning in the pain, because it doesn't stop. At most the searing starts to settle into a throb which must be my racing heartbeat.

I'm aware of your hand, now to me as cool and as smooth as silk, caressing over the flushed skin of my chest. I can feel the hard thud of my heart against your palm. I can feel how the L-shape of your thumb and fingers frame my other nipple. Now you brush the blunt mouth of the clothespin back and forth over the nub, and with every pass I shudder, distracted from the anticipation only from the low throbbing pain of the other nipple. Almost mercifully you finally let the clothespin bite, and I cry out softly against the thickness of the blanket, my spine arching so much I can feel the cool wash of air against my lower back as I lift off the mattress. I'm sure I can't deal with this pain, but even through it I feel something like irritation at my lack of machismo, and I grapple for that anger, wanting it badly, wanting to retreat from the worming pain into that tough detachment. Maybe you can hear the tightness in my groan, maybe you just guess, but you somehow know that my next step is to power through it, to soldier through it. So you flick the clothespins, one after the other, left, right, left, right, disturbing the steadiness of the sensation until I am almost dazed by its irregularity.

"You can be small," you whisper again. "If I can break you of feeling so big. And I have to break you, every time." You seem to be musing over the idea, or amused by it. "Why do you make me break you every time, David? Is that something you *like*?"

You know that's not true. The implication infuriates me, I feel my face burning with a flush, my jaw setting, my teeth clenched. The pain is so fucking unbearable, I'm not getting my sleepiness, I'm not detaching, and now you're making me angry. I stop reacting, I stop, and this makes you laugh a little because of how transparent it is. And your hand drifs between the trembling clothespins and down my belly, and you pet my soft cock and my balls with an open hand, an open palm, just stroking me between the legs like I'm an animal. I can barely focus on your gentle hand with the searing burn from the clothespins, but apparently my ability to focus has nothing to do with my physical response, because you are wrapping your hand around my erection and I am not feeling 'turned on' at all. Not now.

Your laughter makes me shake my head beneath the blanket, denying what, I don't know, why I don't speak, I don't know, why I don't move my hands and remove the fucking clothespins, I don't know, I stay where I am put, I become erect because you touch me, I am angry, I am in pain and the pain isn't stopping, isn't stopping at all, and then your mouth is around my cock and in the startled moment of that drawing heat I release a low moan and buck my hips, arousal insinuating itself. I want to reject it, I want to deny you this, I see it as your victory. I am not feeling small. No, I will not. And as your head bobs and your hair spills across my stomach, I groan through the throbbing searing pain and pant into the humid cavern beneath the blanket.

You're done in just a minute and a half, done making me hard, done wetting down my cock so that it gleams with your saliva and juts swollen and flushed into the air. Your hands are flat against my chest as you swing your leg over my body and straddle my stomach. I feel the heat of you as you settle, I feel my body jerk as I take the weight of you, my breath heaving, my chest rising and falling, the clothespins wagging. You must be pinching the clothespins with your fingers because I can feel the jaws shift, and a flood of prickling heat bursts into those tortured nubs, knocking the breath out of me. The clothespins bite again, at a slightly different angle, and I am delirious from the pain. You must be twisting the clothespins because I can not breathe from the pain, the blossoming searing heat that makes my chest muscles ache. I barely register that you are positioning yourself against the head of my cock.

"Oh jesus, Mistress," I whisper against the heavy blanket, "Please stop. Please stop." And your small noise of pleasure is the indication I have that you are rocking back on my rigid cock, rocking until I am sliding in and out of you an inch, two inches, three inches. I can feel it but I can't feel it because I am delirious from the pain.

"Stop?" you ask me, coyly, and you rock forward onto your hands and my cock is jutting into midair again, abandoned.

"No," I whisper, acutely feeling the absence of the pleasure that a moment before I wasn't able to register completely. "No, don't stop."

"Don't stop?" you ask, and you flick the clothespins. The insides of my eyes flash white with the pain.

"Oh god, Mistress," I whisper, "Please..."

"Why don't you stop trying to tell me what you want, David," you whisper, cold. "Because I don't fucking care."

My eyes squeezed shut, I am brought to the verge of hysteria by this line delivered while the clothespins rip more pain from my nipples, my whole chest on fire, some sort of deep and throbbing fire. You are handling my cock again, jerking it off just enough to get it harder, to get it at the right angle. And you rock yourself back onto it, and push yourself to a sitting position above me. By the sounds filtering down from above me I imagine your hand between your legs, your fingers busy, a slow masturbation as you move lazily on my erection.

I am not angry anymore. I am not anything. The pain has gone on for so long, been refreshed and reconfigured to make sure I can not become accustomed to it. I am motionless, empty-headed, completely abstract. Your last line cut me open and drained me. I know that I am erect and inside you, I can hear your panting, your little mewls of pleasure as you rock, and fuck my cock, and get yourself off as often as you like. I can hear it, but I am breathing my own breath, I have tears on my cheeks, I am inside my own silence.

I feel your hands crawl almost blindly over my chest, and I feel the tremble of the clothespins beneath your shaking fingers. You are bouncing on my cock, fucking yourself deeply, your voice dipping lower as you breathlessly bring yourself off again. At a certain point you groan, softly, "Oh... god..." And you remove the clothespins simultaneously. I can feel them tumbling loose against the skin of my chest. The moment of relief is barely a heartbeat, because the whitened nubs roar to life as the blood floods back into them, engorging my nipples, making me choke on my own noises, making my body jerk, half a sit-up followed by half an arch, my body bucking beneath you.

Your hand lands across the blanket, across my face, and the heel of your hand presses against my mouth. I am sucking hot, humid air through my nose, silenced by the pressure of your hand, whimpering softly at the throbbing pain. "Hush," you whisper as you lean against your own hand across my mouth and ride my cock, cumming again, your face must be an inch above mine as you groan, pant, your voice shuddering as you climax. I am tiny. I am broken and tiny beneath you, endorphins and sweat and muscular exhaustion and pain and my own orgasm building fruitlessly as you ride me.

When your hand leaves the blanket, I breathe in through my mouth, filling my chest deeply. I have not even thought to cum. I have not thought to speak. I have not thought.

I am your pleasure. I feel quiet. I feel like I barely exist. "How do you feel, David?" I know the answer you want to hear. I can tell you are still touching yourself, enjoying yourself absently, your knees dug into the mattress as you roll your hips and fuck just the tip of my cock in and out, teasing yourself as you continue to play with your clit. "How do you feel?" you ask again, your voice soft, but that edge to it makes me flinch slightly beneath the mask of the blanket.

"...small," I whisper, my voice cracked, hoarse. "I feel small, Mistress."

"Good boy."

Confession of a Lonely Heart - Anonymous

I am Caring and loving
understanding and tolerant
firm but fair
an open book
a teacher and a guide
a friend and a lover

You have a sweet smile and caring eyes
a warm touch and a voice that heals
intellectual conversation and endless laughter
active debate and romantic dancing
Tall, dark and handsome
honest and giving

I am here - you're late!

The Domina Zaritala Part 2: ThrustVanquisher's Doom - Alexith

Master DarkLord ThrustVanquisher yawned arrogantly, scratching his chin. Third Keeper of the Mighty Helmet of Potency and High Overlord of the People of Threek, Master DarkLord was a Gorean Master of great acclaim. He lived in a giant castle made of finest Gorean Granite, (mined from the Quarries of Ghecchnarrrrrrra), that sat atop a hill, which gave him a view of the vast lands he claimed as his own.

Master DarkLord pushed aside the reports he had been reading, sliding them further across the back of the girl he kept locked in position as his reading table, and placed his boots over her back. All was well. His Generals reported of great victories against his sworn enemies, and a steady stream of young nubile slaves were being acquired by the war engine that had become his conquering empire.

And yet…. Somehow tonight for all his victories, wealth and vast harem of slavegirls he could find no peace. Slipping out of his Codpiece of Justice, Master ThrustVanquisher decided to log on to Xstreets, perhaps to find some peace of mind perusing the market of strange and exotic Gorean goods his vast wealth could easily afford him. He sighed… All that could be owned he already had three of. Every sex position or tool of sexual dominion lay neatly rezzed in his vast subterranean sex dungeon. Ever weapon of mass banning, every gleaming penetrative potent sword of fine Gorean Crafsmanship already existed in his capacious inventory. He sighed again… he had conquered the known Gorean World, and yet he felt…. Empty.

Suddenly, Master ThrustVanquisher drew in his breath. He leaned forward, the slave girl on all fours who had been his chair for the last half an hour whimpered as his excessively muscled ass shifted on her finely toned back.

“Quiet girl”, he muttered, as he leant forward to get a better look at the strange object that had suddenly appeared on his screen. Oh it was a beautiful piece. A dark imposing statue of a grieving angel. It was beautiful and yet… it sent a chill down his spine. Nothing he owned could rival its exquisite sculpty detailing, and the complex particle scripts which seemed to surround the object with a shadow, even in the full bright of day. Enigmatically all the description of this amazing high-prim piece said was “The Domina Zaritala”.

Hands shaking with excitement, he purchased it, and seconds later it arrived in his inventory.

It took three of his most hugely muscled slave girls a week of hard work to shift the huge statue into place in his main greeting hall. The girls frequently uneasily gazed up into the dark baleful eyes of the statue as they set about their arduous task, and yet…. each time they looked up into The Domina Zaritala’s stern countenance their fear abated. They felt comforted, almost. The girls whispered and IMd amongst themselves when Master Thrustvanquisher was afk about the strange powerful energy this Dark Angel seemed to possess.

Weeks passed, and turned into months. Master ThrustVanquisher’s wealth and influence grew and grew and he triumphantly continued to wield complete sexual supremacy over his harem of shaking girls, and yet……. and yet….. as each day passed his unease grew. His home seemed no longer to be a sanctuary. At times he felt sure that malevolent eyes were upon him. At night he would turn around quickly expecting to see an Assassin of the Lands of Szxchhx standing poised to strike and yet, no one was ever there…. All was quiet. Except for the first time in his avatar’s auspicious gorean career, he felt true disquiet in his manly heart.

And then…. It happened.

One dark clouded night, Master ThrustVanquisher stood alone in his hall. His harem had all logged for the night and his vast castle was empty but for him. His boots wrought of finest Gorean Steel clanked hollowly in the stone halls, and then his steps faltered. He stood facing the giant statue of the Domina Zaritala, its wings outstretched, its dark stone made all the more impenetrable to the gaze by the stygian black particle shadow effects swirling about it.
A strange sensation crept over him, like a cold mist. At first he couldn’t identify what it was, until he realized with such a shock that he croaked the word out into the dry empty room, his own voice echoing back at him … “Dread”.

He lifted his gaze from the Domina Zaritala’s feet slowly upward, until finally his eyes were at Her face. At first he saw nothing, but then, penetrating through the gloom….. Her eyes…. Her eyes… Her eyes…. “oh god” Master ThrustVanquisher, Majestic Lord of the Plains of Vilmar groannnned in abject terror as he finally for the first time truly gazed into the malevolent, knowing, conquering eyes of the Domina Zaritala.

As swiftly as sharpest gorean steel through gorean butter, he was undone… by the power, the darkness, the depth in those eyes. He only vaguely was aware that he had sunk to his knees, and as his consciousness slipped away like fireflies in the night he heard a deep, potent, female voice in his head, cold and oozing with malice, utter these words:

“14 inches, gor boy.”

He only had a second to ponder what these words could possibly mean before all went dark.


Birds were singing on a fine morning in Dominion. Honeyed sun radiated through the branches of the trees overhead, shining on the porcelain pampered skin of resplendant ladies who reclined talking and laughing happily. Devoted loving boys knelt at their feet, eager to serve, eager to please.
There was a sudden flash, similar to a teleport but with a more ominous tone, and there lying in the courtyard was … a boy. A truly ridiculous boy. His hair had been primped up into a glamorous do. His hairless body, muscled but not excessively so, gleamed and shimmered with powders and lotions. Ladies giggled as they saw his pink leather thong, with caged sissy cock just peaking out. He groaned, and his voice was a light sound, almost feminine. Again the Ladies laughed as the delicate little thing whimpered, clearly slowly waking from a deep sleep. Floating above his head in magical letters were the words “Gorean Master”. Several Ladies smirked.

There in the grass next to this strange creature lay a long cylindrical silver box.. it must have been 14 inches long in fact. Neatly engraved on the top of the box were the words “ThrustVanquisher”. The boy finally opened his eyes just as the majestic Ladies opened the box and marveled at its contents… a thick, ribbed, evil fourteen inch Gorean War Dildo made of the finest Gorean Rubber, harvested from the Stately Trees of Garnk. The finest money could buy. As one, the Ladies gazed down at the boy wickedly, smiling.

Master DarkLord ThrustVanquisher, Third Keeper of the Mighty Helmet of Potency and High Overlord of the People of Threek, screamed like a baby as the Ladies closed in.

All systems Go - Lethal

To fully grasp this You really have to be someone who believes that things happen in this world for a reason.

Last Sunday, due to circumstances beyond my control, i found myself stuck in a truck stop in Lima Ohio without having anywhere to go until late that night or early the next morning. It wasnt supposed to be that way but the place i went to go to pick up my load that Sunday Morning, a place with a 99.3% ontime loading schedule, did not have me ready so it was to the truck stop i went to wait. I was happy in a way as it meant i got to spend time online with my Mistress but i was frustrated as this would effect my miles for the week meaning my pay would be lower.

I walked into the truck stop and pulled 100 dollars out of the atm for my weekly expenses. I noticed they were reloading a lottery scratch off machine and i saw the tickets that were being put in. Its been my experience that the first ticket in a stack generally wins more than the others (i know the lottery claims otherwise but i think it does based on expereince) and i just had a gut feeling that i needed to go to that machine and buy a ticket. Now...Mistress had forbiden me from Gambling and is keeping a tab on my daily expenditures. I thought of that but it just...I really had a strong feeling about getting that ticket. I put my 20 in and pressed the button. I instantly had a bad feeling and was wondering how i was going to explain 32 dollars in expenditures instead of 12. I sat down and scratched the top corner and there it was. First a double sign then an amount of 500 dollars. For a winning amount of 1000.

My first and really only thought was that Mistress was definitely coming over. i knew that through regular savings there would be enough for her to buy her ticket in November. But now...I knew right away i had to tell her of this. I knew that the money, though nice and something i could certainly use, belonged to Her. i also had the thought that maybe this was timed so that Mistress may take a step forward as far as controling a few of the last areas in my life that she doesn't now. Mainly my money. See...Mistress Destiny has decided that she is going to totally enslave me in RL and it is something that i desperately want from her. We have been an awesome match and in the past 3 plus months have zoomed forward.

However, She has grabbed the reins and made sure everything is going at her pace. The full control of my accounts is not something that she would allow us to jump into. It still hasnt happened yet. But by making (or allowing) me to buy her ticket to come over here we have taken one more step to that very happy place we both want to be. Mistress Destiny is loved and revered throughout the Dominion. The exposure she has given me, as her puppet, has propelled me into deeper submission than i have ever known and has me looking forward to a future that i only dreamed of.

I knew Mistress Destiny was out there somewhere during all of those years of searching. Patience has seemingly paid off and the process of her ensnarement is just about complete, save for the actual week she will spend here in Febuary. She wrote a blog the other day called 'all systems go'...and indeed they are. Courtesy of the Ohio Lottery department they are going along a little bit faster now. I love, fear, adore, and worship Mistress more than i ever can say. It was meant to be and it is, indeed, All Systems Go.

Tea Time - Miss Destiny Teardrop

TEA TIME by Destiny Teardrop

It had been a long day. She was tired and her head was starting to pound. She was irritated and not in a great mood. The sooner she got home, the better. She wanted nothing more than to relax and unwind with a nice cup of tea.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway and sighed contentedly as she turned off the engine. Home at last. She eased herself out of the car and was in the hallway in less than a minute. Kicking off her shoes she yelled, ‘Boy!’. The naked man crawled quickly to her feet, assumed his familiar position and spoke, ‘Welcome home, Mistress’. She looked down at him, a slight smile on her face as she observed his posture, his bent back and lowered head offered to her in submission. “Tea. Now!” she demanded and walked away from him into the living room, sinking down into the large comfortable sofa.

A few minutes later he returned and proffered a steaming hot mug of tea in her direction “your tea, my Mistress” he said, as he dropped to his knees, smiling, his outstretched arm steadily holding the mug. She grinned and held his gaze, deciding to make him wait and hold the mug in that pose for just a little bit longer, long enough for his arm to ache and for him to wonder and wait. Long enough for him to remember who and what he was, as if there was any doubt.

After a minute, she saw the quizzical look in his eyes and chuckled, “It’s been a long day, my boy. I need to relax and unwind and you will make sure that I do”. She took the tea from his hand and lifted the mug to her lips, her eyes on him, watching as he lowered his gaze and relaxed a little, “yes Mistress, of course, whatever you desire”, he replied.

The woman rested her head on the back of the sofa, cradling the hot mug of tea in her hands. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. It was good to be home. She had already begun to feel a lot better.

She drained the last dregs of tea from the mug, then stood up, abruptly and unzipped her trousers, stepping out of them and throwing them at the slave. He blinked once, caught the trousers and gasped at the sight of his beloved Mistress’s bare legs. He knew that she was unpredictable, it was one of the things he loved about her. It was never boring to serve her, one could never know just what would happen next.

Next, she stepped out of her panties and threw them at him. “Stuff those in your mouth” she demanded. He complied, willingly, taking a deep breath to inhale the musky feminine scent of his owner, the smell that he loved so much and which drove him crazy with longing. His cock twitched within its cage, straining a little against the restraint.

She walked towards him, pushed his head back so that he was looking up at her, his mouth stiffed full of her white cotton panties. “That tea tasted like piss!” she declared as she yanked the panties out of his mouth and threw them onto the floor. He looked up at her, his eyes watering, fear evident on his face. Oh how he hated to displease her. "Mistress, I am sorry, I don't know why. I made it just how you like it" he stammered. She let go of his head and lifted her right hand, bringing it down hard across his left cheek. "You did NOT make it how I like it, because it tasted like PISS!" she insisted. He spluttered, confusion on his face, he knew he could never win, nor did he want to, but how best to escape her wrath? His mind whirred quickly as he tried to think of what to say to appease her.

Too late, she was already on a roll..."See? You have no defence, none at all! However, as I am fair, I will let you see for yourself that I am right" she grinned devilishly as she once again pushed his head backward then spread her legs either side of his head and proceeded to urinate all over his face, “See? It tastes like piss. Don’t you agree?” she laughed, as her hot pee hit his nose and mouth, causing him to splutter, “y..y..yes, Mistress”.

She emptied her bladder fully all over his face and chest. Finally, her flow stopped. She pulled his head up firmly, then towards her crotch. “Clean me, then clean up this mess you've made” she declared, pointing to the urine splattered flooring, not giving him the chance to reply as she smothered his face in her sweaty, piss covered cunt, and ground down onto him.

This was turning out to be not such a bad day after all, she thought.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Ring - orestes

It was an act of initiative, but not wholly so. Up until only a few days prior my interaction with women on Second Life had been in the position of a dominant. I loved it. I loved power and I loved the trust. I was used to it. It was old leather to me and so much so that I wanted to better understand what it was the women I would dominate so enjoyed. I felt I owed them that much and that, perhaps, to better understand the thing they loved would be to better dominate them. I began to explore.

I had found myself a Miss who graciously took me into her training collar. She had a full submissive whom she had told me wore something called a “cock ring” daily as a sort of tribute to her. Now you must understand that though both male and heterosexual and as obsessed with my own bit of anatomy and its functions as most other men, I'd had little exposure such things—perhaps judging them to be on par with Viagra for performance enhancement and thus beneath the notice of young, virile man. Nonetheless it was clear from the way Miss spoke of it and of her submissive that she deeply enjoyed this act of devotion and here I discovered something that caught me a little off guard—I wanted her as pleased with me.

She had instructed that I should get such a device for myself and, woefully ignorant as I was, I proceeded to a local shop and purchased a mid-sized steel ring. What I did not know at the time was that the ring worn by her submissive was latex and that she had intended that I get something similar. This would turn out to be painful lesson in making sure I understood the orders given to me -before- executing them...but more on that later.

I was both excited and fearful as I drove back to my apartment that night. My imagination was abuzz with activity. Fear fed excitement and excitement fed fear as I lay awake in bed a bit longer than usual. Something in me was revolting against this—something of my inner dominant. The idea wrapping that bit of metal around my cock upon the instruction of a woman was, in itself, a blow to his pride. What was worse, however, was the admission that had to be made—I was enjoying this. I liked the idea and, in liking it, I had to hate it and, in hating it, I had to like it all the more. I was confused and it made matters worse once I understood. To like what was hated—to enjoy the wholesale destruction of pride—this was humiliation...and I enjoyed it...and the enjoyment humiliated me all the more.

I began the next day on campus at the university where I presently study. The ring still held its fascination. I had brought it with me and, all through my first two classes, I could not for the life of me concentrate on the lectures and it helped not at all that one of the debates that sprang up between classmates in my Literary Theory course hinged itself upon whether or not Jacques Derrida was, academically speaking, a prick. The word itself was enough to make me reach down to the small pocket of my backpack and feel the circumference of the ring tucked away inside.
And -this- was the act of initiative: I determined that, after class, I would slip into a stall in one of the bathrooms and wear the ring. There would be a couple hours before my next class for me to accustom myself to the feeling. I would feel it, I would understand it, and when class was ready to start, I'd slip it off again and finally be able to concentrate. That was the theory.

Now, having never had a cock ring before proved to have its drawbacks. Que “Flight of the Bumblebee” and fast-forward to a downward camera-angle of a young man in a public toilet stall with his pants midway down his legs, swearing like a sailor under his breath and dancing about whilst trying to work out a four-piece rubix cube: two testicals, one shaft and a steel ring. Thank God the computer lab was just down the way—I ended up having to google it and come back.
The ring was in place. It was cold at first...that faded. It was tight and it was heavy and it was it was hard. These sensations alone, to my shock, caused a small surge in my blood. I watched in fascination as I began to swell slightly. The steel grew tighter...I swelled more...I grew nervous—claustrophobic. I forced myself to relax and took the ring back off...for all of 3 minutes. I was too fascinated. Remembering the experience of 3 minutes earlier I remembered, beneath the fear, a deep and sweet urgency that now took hold of me again. I put the ring back on.

I went to the computer lab and logged on to Second Life where I found my Miss. I wanted to tell her. She hadn't instructed that I should wear it yet and wondered if what I had done was acceptable...fear intensified. Other thoughts amplified the ever-present sensation of unyielding steel entrapping me—entrapping the blood within me—forcing me to remain hard. I could practically feel the purple veins straining against the thin skin of the imprisoned shaft in my cargos. I looked around the lab, face flushed. What if someone knew? It was completely irrational to think that they might but fear doesn't follow rationality. What would they think if they saw this proud young academic hopelessly trapped in a perpetual state of arousal. The humiliation was...delicious. I desperately wanted to feel that involuntary hardness that I could not dispel. How could I, though, being in the computer lab? All this only made the blood pulse harder. I could feel my heartbeat in my cock now—it hurt. The tightness of the ring had become a deep, burning pain.

Humiliated again—I was a masochist.

I had to tell her. I needed to feel how real this was. I needed -someone- else to validate the feelings of helplessness...pain...arousal. When I told her, she simply smiled and, like the true Miss she is, gave me all those things—talked me through them all without diminishing them in the slightest...only helping me to understand and accept a simple, terrifying fact:

There is a submissive in me.

Bikini Wax - michme

Miss’s Bikini Wax

Miss is so beautiful, sometimes I forget just how much care goes into maintaining her beauty. She does tell me to do little things to help, like assisting her in the bath, dressing, brushing her hair and applying her make-up. I do enjoy helping Miss with every thing. She does many other things that I am not allowed to watch as she does them. She will ban me from the exercise room when she uses it. She has not said why, but it may be because so many exercises are not flattering to her. I do have to clean the room after she finishes. She also goes to the spa for things like mud baths, hair styling, and things she want pampered with that we are not equipped for here.

This was a bright sunny day that when Miss asked me “Pet, I feel generous to you today. Would you like to accompany me to get a bikini wax? I will even let you watch this time.”

The joy of seeing such a thing brings a tear to my eyes. “Why yes Miss, it would be my honor to accompany you. Does my dress suit you Miss for such and outing?”

Looking over her boy carefully she thinks on this for a bit then. “Pet, would you be so good as to go up to your room and put on the black lace panties, the white linen shirt, blue jeans and the shoes on your bed?”

“Yes Miss” I say to her as I scramble for the door. All is as she said and ready for me when I enter the room. The panties are very sexy black lace with a red butterfly lacing up the rear. Except these shoes are female black high heels in my size. I know Miss likes to keep me on the edge so I think nothing more of it and dress. With heels clicking I return to Miss, with a large smile she looks approvingly at me.

“Come Pet it is getting late.” She tells me as we go to the car and head to town. She is a good driver and we make good time getting to her spa. I help Miss from the car and we go inside. This facility is full of very beautiful ladies both the customers and the staff. Most of the staff seems very young and energetic running all over the place. She gives the receptionist her name and we sit and wait to be called.

A very cute young lady in a white smock, white high heels and hair pulled up comes to us and asks Miss to follow her. Miss asks if she is the one to do the waxing and the girl confirms that it is her. She wiggles her butt a little as we follow her to the room. It is hard not to watch this and I know it will excite me if I watch much more. When we enter the girl lets up pass and says she will leave us in private while Miss gets ready.

“Susan is it not?” Miss asked “if you are not embarrassed by this you may stay. I have no problem with nudity if you do not?’

“Thank you Miss I will stay then” Susan replied sweetly.

Miss turns to me, smiles very wickedly, looking at me from head to toe she pauses and then says “Pet…. Get undress now.”

“Miss….” Scrambling for the words that were not there and a hot blush rising over me, I heard her but did she mean what I think she is saying “I thought you said this was for you to get a wax?”

“I said accompany me, I did not say who was getting wax. And pet it is you” she said firmly.

I looked at Miss with her wicked grin, then the girl as she was turning red with her mouth open. I am blushing red to a level I have not felt in a long while. I knew it was not use other than to whimper “Yes Mistress” and comply.

The girl watched me with interest as if this is to be the first man she will see naked. First I unbuttoned and removed my shirt, neatly folded placed in a chair, then the high heel shoes. I looked at both ladies, gulped with the button on the jeans between my fingers. Slowly I unbutton knowing this is the time to make a show of me undressing. The zipper is slowly lowered, parting the jeans to reveal the black lace. I can hear the girls breathing change, a slight race to it as I peal down the jeans. The reveals the panties Miss requested, with my so very hard cock pushing against them. Stepping out of the jeans and placing them on the chair also. As I reach for the panties top Miss raises a finger.

“Not yet pet. Now hop up on the table face down.”

Relieved I quickly comply and wait as both ladies come near me. They do not speak for a bit they just look at my back, butt and the red lacing my panties. I feel someone run a finger up and down my back and across the lace panties.

“Susan, wax my pet from his neck to his toes. I do not wish to see a hair on pet below his neck. All are to be removed” she says with a snicker.

Laughing Susan questions her at the waxing of my balls. She tells Mistress that the skin on them is to thin for this heavy waxing. She does suggest that it might be better to shave them, unless you wanted me neutered. Mistress agreed to this and with that said she applies the wax then pats in the stripping sheet. It does not burn as much as I would have thought but it is still very hot. With a quick pull it starts. Biting my lips the tears come to me quickly. She starts at my neck and continues down. I am ever so thankful that I am not a hairy person but this still hurts a lot. It doesn’t take long till she is at the panties. Then she is down my legs to my ankles. My tears keep flowing as the pain hits me.

All that is left is my butt, pondering she turns to Miss “These are in the way can you have him remove them?”

“No he can not remove them Susan, but if you wish them gone then you can remove them. You have a choice to make; you can cut them away or pull them off him. It maters not to me as he will not be wearing them home when we are done here. They are yours to do with as you wish.”

Susan smiles, laughing, she thinks for a second. “I would like to keep them as a reminder of this day. To cut or pull, that is the question… I think since I am keeping them I want them intact.” With that she starts pulling them down. She smacks my butt “raise your ass Pet so I can get these off you. They are much too nice for you to have on.”

I rising a bit and they are gone from me and in this girl’s pocket. Laughing at me she continues to wax my butt. If I was not red from the blush I now am from the waxing.

“I think the back is done now, except for the tweezers look Miss” Susan tells my Miss.

“No, Susan, you did not do between his but cheeks. Spread your legs pet.”

“I do not normally get that close, but if you want this ok.”

With that said I feel the hot wax cover up to the edges of my ass hole and balls. She pats the pealing cloth in place. That hot wax in such a place makes me wince, taking in air and biting my lip I prepare for the peal. I can see stars in my eye as he removes the strips. With my back side done she starts to inspect every inch of skin with a light and her tweezers. She will pluck a few here and there that she sees. I have never felt this way with someone looking at me so closely. It is extremely embarrassing to have this done by her.

“Ok, pet roll over, Please”

A new rush of embarrassment is portrayed to this girl by me. Slowly I roll over revealing my average cock hard as a rock with… the pink bow Miss tied on it this morning. Miss told me much later that the girl’s eyes were so wide when she saw the bow and my cock. Resting on my raw back was any thing but pleasant. That pain was soon replaced with the hot wax and pull from this girl at my neck. Little by little she completed her task. Waxing and ripping my skin and hair from my body. When she got to the bow she stopped, moved my cock to the side and continued. My eyes are so red from crying now, but my cock is hard. She waxes all around me cock, moving it from side to side till I am void of hair. When done she move to my legs and feet. Then again with the light and tweezers she looks so close for hairs. She traces every inch of skin with them and stops to pluck a hair now and then. She knows my body better than I do. The embarrassment is very exciting as she looks at me.

When she is complete, even with the area around my cock she turns to Mistress and says “I guess all I have left is to shave his balls.” She spreads my legs wide and gets the shaving cream. I am about to panic as no one has had anything this sharp this close to my balls before. But she smiles sweetly to calm my fears. She pats the cream on my balls and waits a bit before pulling the skin and shaving. I do not know if she has done this before but she doesn’t cut me in this process. Even without all this my cock is still aching to cum and now with her playing with me balls. The urge is great to cum.

“Miss I have finished with the waxing now.” Susan tells Mistress “do you require anything more of me?”

Mistress looks me over, tapping her finger on the tip of my cock. “Hum this looks like it could use a bit of milking.”

“Can I remove the bow?” With that the bow was in this girls pocket along with my panties..

Miss laughs at this “Go ahead girl, touch it, play with it, suck it or sit on it, you earned it for a tip.”

Susan smiles and knows she will get a reward that is making her so very wet since we started. This has been exciting me so much that you would see pre cum on the head of my cock. She sees it also and leans down and licks it off me. That was the first nice thing this girl did to me since I entered this room. She then took all of me deep in her mouth. I could have cum in just that. She sucked me to near the edge. I have been hard so long now and it was very painful when she now touches my cock. Even with her warm mouth. “Miss I beg you can I cum?” I ask.

“Yes pet you may cum if she wishes you to.”

With that said I see and evil grin on her face and she tells Miss “I have had my fill of him.” And she drops my cock.

With that she bid good bye to Miss and me. Miss ordered me to dress and I was thankful the under wear was not here. When we got to the car Miss had me ride all the way home with my shirt open in the front wide, pants to my ankles and legs wide. She was smiling at my now very nude red skin.

This was a most exciting day. But one I do not wish to repeat in the near future. Miss said next time it may be an old ugly lady, or maybe a gay man. She laughs at these thoughts and my cock is still so hard.

The End… well for two to three weeks.

Scandalous Confessions - Anon Domme

I am a twenty-seven-year-old female. I recently went out one night to an Sl club to dance. I go to this club quite often, so hit the dance floor. Out of nowhere, this girl, which happened to be very attractive, started im-ing me and trying to turn as she was telling me how hot I was. I was a little surprised by it, but I went with it just to at least give the club some fun for the night. Then, suddenly, there was a guy behind me that, at this point, I realize is her boyfriend. She shoved me up against him and got a hot voice chat going. So, I instantly knew they wanted to take me home. I have a boyfriend, and I have never had a threesome or been with a girl. They ended up being lost in the crowd after my bloody Sl crashed at one point. It just seems that after that night, I am more interested in being with a girl at least once. My boyfriend has no idea that I was hit on like that or that I am even curious about being with another female. For some reason, though, it really turns me on when I think about it!

Forgiveness - alex

The feeling of frustration when things start to go wrong as a submissive, can be horrible. For me it feels like a tight ball of black energy at the base of my neck which i just can’t get rid of. It stays there; clouds my vision. When my frustration is at its worst, I almost feel as though I’m floating above myself watching myself react childishly, and yet powerless to stop. Justifications and indignation spurt out of my mouth before I have the presence of mind to bite my tongue. So swiftly what was a small issue becomes a giant one.
This is exactly what happened to me earlier this week. I was so foolish. It started as a small issue, as it always does. I had a moment of insecurity which I thought was well hidden. And it probably would have been well hidden to anyone else. But Mistress saw, immediately. I’m still shocked by how easily she saw what i thought was a hidden moment, of withdrawing into myself, of taking my eyes away from Her. It was just a brief silence but Mistress saw it and knew what was in my heart, lurking inside me. In my day to day life, all of those little frustrations seem easier to deal with somehow, at least on the surface. Well that’s the thing though. They aren’t dealt with so much as ... buried. They are tucked away into a private corner of the mind, most likely to fester or turn into deeper dishonesties and disconnections over time.

As Mistress questioned me, i realised that She would tolerate no such burying from me. i struggled to say all the things i thought i was supposed to say to dispel the situation: “i am tired”; “i’m just distracted” and i even believed it of myself. But I wasn’t .. i was upset and indignant. I felt entitled to better treatment. I wanted to argue and justify, and at the same time I wanted to steal away and hide my feelings of indignation. I desperately wanted to bury them so that i could come back tomorrow with my dignity intact, but with those emotions secretly stacked one on top of the other in a small locked box inside me. The last thing I wanted to do was actually accept my place. The last thing i wanted was for the truth to out.

I could feel Mistress taking my chin, lifting my face and staring deep inside me. As her demands grew in intensity she actually seemed to grow in stature, filling the room. I felt surrounded. Cornered. I felt those feelings i wanted to hide lit under the hot spotlight of her intensity and perception. As the frustration welled up inside me so did her strength and will. It matched and eclipsed me as she stared into my soul, seeing that splinter of indignation and defiance in me, demanding that it be brought to the surface. Resolved.

I put up a fight. I didn’t simply cave in. My frustration and defiance had grown to the point that it had its own life. Mistress forcefully stripped me bare, ripping away the layers i threw up until i lay prone beneath her gaze. I expected concessions from Mistress, and i got none. I expected compromise and negotiation and some acknowledgement that my emotions had been justified. None came. In the end all i had done was dig myself into a prison of my own making.

For the next two days I was isolated, and i had to painfully dig my way out. My power to make things in SL was taken from me which is an excruciating punishment. Fellow designers who knew nothing of bdsm saw clearly that i could be completely locked down, which filled me with hot embarassment.

I was in a room, isolated from my Mistress, left to deal with the remnants of my resistance. Over two days I spent hours kneeling on dried rice writing “I am a fucking wilful, disobedient slut” over and over and over. The pain was excruciating but my remorse was worse. I knew my Mistress was waiting for me on the other side of my punishment, so I took it. Finally Mistress appeared in my cell, and had me fetch my belt. As I strapped my ass red raw for Mistress, She allowed her other boy to cum.

So what did i get for my resistance? My knees were aching and bruised, my ass was hot and unbearably itching and stinging from the strap. More than that though my pride and resistance were in tatters. I had been broken down and stripped bare. I went to bed that night in a daze, squirming as even the touch of the mattress against my skin caused me pain. When i awoke the next morning, the storm had passed. I smiled as i realised that the defiance and walls of dishonesty i had built around my insecurity had been blasted to dust.

Most of all this confession is a thank You to my amazing Mistress. Mistress, thank You for knowing me so well that You can read one silence from another. Thank You for caring so much that You lift my chin, gaze deeper into me than anyone else possibly can, and strip away those small dishonesties that amount to large ones. Thank You for trusting in my strength to force me to recognise my own failings, take my punishment and grow for You. Thank You for Your discipline Mistress.

Gor Confession - silk

Miss Zarita. here are two efforts, i hope that at least one pleases You.

The Gorean one might be a bit too bloody so i wrote a second one.
It is not my intent that both would be read tonight. One is a replacement

for the other.. as needed or wanted.

NOTE : Enlarge the NC slighly to better read Miss

Side Note. Mistress and i continue , happily on Gor to this day.

2 of 2


My Love Is Gorean

by annon

My love came to me on Gor. I met Her one rainy night in the far and
cold North. I served Her and by the end of the serve I was at Her
booted feet, begging like the wind for Her not to dismiss me and let
me stay there the rest of the night.

She allowed it and within a fortnight put me in Her collar of unyielding

The restless tides of Gorean life, of Mistress and slave washed U/us
back and forth over the years. Sometimes W/we sailed them,the fresh
salt breeze in O/our faces. Sometimes W/we were at their mercy but
always O/our love grew and flourished, as my submission deepened.

She was never harsh to me but always i knew that i was Her slave and
that would never change.My fantasy of being stripped naked and sold
in on a public auction block, dissolved, quicker than the morning dew. ?
I knew that She would never sell me.. or even gift me to Another ... nor
did i ever wish it .

W/we, that is to say ,The Players, came to an accord. As Gor is harsh
and unfair it might be possible that i would be taken from Her collar.
If that ever looked likely to happen, She would kill me first..

Role play Gor is full if plots and petty scheming . I knew that envious
eyes were cast upon my stalwart form . i never realized how devious
the plans were .... how strong thwarted Passions are.

One night, it seemed that the Ubar was ready to do something to me.
On Messenger i begged Mistress to end my life. That i did not want to
live a life without being Her slave. She did not want to, saying that i
would hate Her for it.. nor.. fool that i was.. did i realize what i was
asking of Her her to do.. and the emotional toll on Her...

She stood up to the Ubar.. no small thing for a Free Woman on Gor..

She slit my throat .

Stood over me as i bleed out.

Wiped the bloody blade on my curly black hair. Sheathed Her knife
and strode away.. with never a back wards glance ...The greatest of
Gorean Women that i have ever seen.

God i Love Her

Peg Task - Anon Domme

I was alone sitting in the courtyard, waiting for something to happen or for a familiar face to arrive. Then out of the shadows of the tree a familiar voice “Hello Miss, long time no see” A big smile across his face and a cheeky glint in his eye. This boy I knew well, he and I were frequent play mates a while back.

I beckoned him to join me at my feet and asked him if he was free to indulge me, he nodded and said he was without a Mistress currently and he would be honoured to indulge any of my desires”

It pleased me that this was the case, while I did not want for a boy of my own at the moment I did want to play. “Ok boy you will need 5 clothespins, a timer”… “oh and a gag to hide the screams” I laughed.

“Yes I have pegs right here with me Miss”

I smiled, “Ok Boy then let us begin” knowing this boy well, I knew that he was able to apply the first peg upon the tip, it was held in place attached to his foreskin, which at this point was loose as he was not fully erect.

“It is secure Miss, should I start the timer?”
“Yes boy of course – 20 minutes on the timer, place all four pegs upon your scrotum, just the skin we don’t want permanent damage now do we”

He winced as he applied the pegs neatly and nodded in agreement.
I instructed him to take a hold of himself and to stroke slowly for exactly one minute. I then continued to talk of his reward if he made it through the task. He groaned occasionally a delightful sound for me, one that I had missed greatly.

“One minute Miss” he blurted out.
“Ok Boy stop stroking and flick each of the pegs in turn starting with the tip” I could hear him flicking the pegs but he made no sound, “BOY! You are not doing it hard enough I said sternly do it again, if you are not in pain then you are not doing it correctly”
“yes Miss, thank you Miss”
Once he was complete I instructed him to begin stroking again, I could hear in his moans that it was getting to him, the tight peg on his tip and the clamped pegs in his sack, oh how I had missed the grimacing sounds that now escaped the boys lips.

“One minute Miss” he yelped
“Already!” I sighed, “ok flick the pegs this time twice each peg.”
He looked so angelic on his knees, and his face getting more crimson as the time passed, we continued this alternating of stroking and flicking for 10 minutes, then as the next rotation was about to begin the boy made a mistake, he forgot to address me as Miss. Well this of course can not be tolerated.
“on your feet boy, and turn around and present your buttocks to me,” he stood gingerly and bent over slightly exposing his fleshy behind, I stood and reminded him again that at all times I was to be addressed as Miss, and he was not to forget this, I swung my arm back and firmly and with a loud crack brought it forward and made contact with his arse, once, twice, three times a charm, then to the other cheek, Once, twice, three times a charm, “and what do you say now boy?”
“Thank you Miss, this boy does not deserve your mercy”

I cackled and told him to get on his knees, he continued with stoking and flicking for a further 10 minutes, I could tell by his voice and the breaths he was very close to the edge, I was surprised that the peg placed upon his tip had not been forced off by his erectness, I ordered him to remove it, the sounds I heard were a delight, as the blood rushed back to his skin, he was rock solid and the peg was slick with precum on the edges, I told him to clean the peg before discarding it, he took it into his mouth and sucked it clean, “Good Boy” I smiled back.
“You will slowly remove the pegs from your sack, and keep stroking, when the last peg is removed you will have less than a minute to cum, if you do not cum then you will be denied. Do you understand?”
Panting heavily obviously excited at the prospect of cuming he nodded and said Yes Miss, Yes I understand”
I sat back and watched him, pumping his stiffness as he pulled the pegs off one by one, the moans getting louder, his face turning all shades of red as the last peg was removed, he looked up at me, his grip tightening even more, I smiled, and within the minute he had been gained released, he was a sweaty heap on the floor, his head hanging low he whispered “thank you Miss”
I stood up and with a click of my heels I was gone. I assume he was in a better state by the time the next person who arrived in the courtyard. Good boys are hard to find, even harder to keep.

My beloved Lady - zeidel

My beloved Lady

Been such a long time i have not been in sl. i returned because i was wishing to explore my sub feelings again. Lets just say im not a total newbie to this scene, and wanted to go back and further in this time.
The day i first met My Mistress, i was wandering around wishing to meet people with similar affinities. i was not looking for a Mistress.

That day i decided to go to The Dominion Femdom, the people there usually show a very friendly attitude, and i was looking for a nice chat. I chatted with one Domme there, a Lady of the States, dont remember the name....... but then SHE appeared. i saw Her come and i politely greet Her, then we began to chat in local nothing really important. Then she IM'd me asking, "what was i doing with my back turned to the Ladies?" i deeply blushed and as i tried to explain, she smiled and we began to talk.

She took my full attention, then sl decided to crash her and i had to leave for a meeting. When i left for RL i couldnt get her out of my mind. She was a special woman with a kind soul, and loving heart. i never questioned if she was a Domme, i felt it. i longed to get back home and to log into sl and see Her again.

I returned to SL after my meeting and she sent me a IM saying, "Im sorry hun , I crashed." I returned to the Dominion and she was still there sitting on a couch with a boy infront of her, i sent her an IM anyways. i figured it was ok since She seem to have taken an intrest in me. She told me to wait by the couch, i did nervously. i waited a few minutes while she said goodbye to the boy and walked towards me, seeing her made me nervous, exited, and i had goose bumps all over me. i was very exited She had taken intrest in me and seemed to enjoy my company. We talked for hours, covered many subjets, i remember how she asked about me, my feelings, what i expect from a Mistress, limits, and always used a kind tone towards me.

She told me about what She enjoys in a boy, how she sees life, a little about Her rl, what she wanted from a boy and a lot more.... i dont remember it all, after all i was stunned by her grace and beauty. Suddenly, i realized time had flown by and i had to meet with the power company. i wanted to stay with her but i had to go. She nodded and said, "bye boy", i told her i would look her up when i returned she replied, "you better boy". I left with a smile, so anxiuos to get back and talk more to this lovely lady. It suprised me how much i wanted to get to her.

Finally, when i came back she told me to get closer and i moved closer with butterflies in my stomach. After chatting some more she told me i awoken her intrest, i blushed. Her silence as another Mistress was demonstrating a new hud. Then she said to me, "i want to buy that hud but need a pet" i sat silently. She said alot of boys could help her but that she were going to wait till i offered. So in 2 seconds i offered to be her pet to try it on. We continued to talk and then she asked if i like to dance, I enjoyed that moment, and felt like an horde butterflies awake in my stomach. I appologized in advance for stepping on her toes, she laughed and said, "well you can give me footrub during trials later". i could only reply, "as you wish".

We returned to Dominion a few hours later. I wanted to see the trials event that day. I arrived first and then the disaster struck. Miss Eva grabs me, "sorry your on trial today" , i was shocked but appologized for not being able to fullfill my duty and give her a footrub.

Unfortunately or perhaps fortune, my mic was broken i could not make a good roleplayer. But all i could think about was having to get to her, to sit by her feet again, pretty soon the judge gets tires of me and nothing happened. I was sentenced to get some things. i asked her if i may sit with her. She replied, "get over here and sit". She smiled and said, "where is my footrub boy," i started to rub her feet, it got me very exited and at that moment my trust in Her grew. She was very caring, about how i felt and very kind, taking interestest in helping me, and protecting me. I logged off, going to bed thinking of her and i craved to see her again. My feelings for Her were born. When i woke up the next day the first thing on my mind were her. i knew i wanted to be hers, to wear her collar, and to hear the lock snap as she made me hers.

Who are you? - Anonymous Domme

"I'm releasing you", I say.

"Very well" you reply.

My stomach is in knots, my mouth is dry. You don't even beg forgiveness. You are cold, detached.
Hot, salty tears stream down my face and all you can say is "Very well". Your stupid fucking pride again.

I log on to SL and eject you from my family group. I remove you from my profile...taking one last look at the words I wrote about you before I click 'delete'. I am crying.

You log on later and the message, "....XX..has runaway" is sent to my IM. You obviously put on another, older collar of mine because I get the message, "You are no longer owner of ..XX ". I am still crying.

I'm so angry with you. I miss you. I want you. I never want to see you again. I hate you. I love you. I'm out of control.
Where is the boy who I loved and who worshipped the virtual ground I walked on? Did he ever really exist? Perhaps only in my head.

A week later, we try to talk. You play with words, denying what I say, telling me i am wrong and it's not what it seems. You are hurting too, but I am the victim here. How dare you want my sympathy?! How dare you share my pain? You betrayed me. You hurt me just as if you stabbed me with a knife. My avatar doesn't bleed. My avatar doesn't cry but I do.

Even after the initial anger, even a week later when things should be calmer, we still can't talk, it just becomes a battleground again.

I'm crying.

It's over. It's really over. You are gone.

Who are you anyway?

The Ghostly Tale of Domina Zaritala - Miss Hanna Gossamer

When Alexith Destiny rezzed a life-sized shrouded granite statue of a grieving angel, standing on a pedestal, in the Destiny family plot in the Dominion Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was an eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if her arms could really reach out and grab you if you weren't careful.

It didn't take long for rumors to sweep through the sim and surrounding grid. They said that the statue - nicknamed Domina Zaritala - was haunted by the spirit of the mistreated domme who lay buried in the cold earth beneath the statue's feet. The statue's eyes would glow red at the stroke of midnight, and any living person who returned the statue's gaze would instantly be struck impotent, cock shriveling to a frightened thumb-sized nub. Any submissive who passed through her shadow would feel compelled to stay on his knees. And oh, there was also this tale: if you knelt at her stone feet at night, the statue would come to life and smother you in a dark embrace of cool stone thighs, your last breath gasping against the sweetly carved shape of sandstone labia.

If you spoke Domina Zaritala's name three times at midnight in front of a dark mirror, she would appear and pull you down to your knees, her stone hand resting forever on the back of your head, until your tears pooled on the earth at her feet. They also said that the spirits of wronged women everywhere would rise from their graves on stormy nights to gather around the statue as if part of some ritual bred of righteous indignation.

Around October, when the need for themed activities became apparent, people began visiting the cemetery just to see the statue. A greater mistake they could not have made. It was then that the local BDSM community decided to make the statue of the Grieving Domina Zaritala part of their initiation rites. In addition, of course, to the $250L needed to join the group. That October, candidates for membership had to spend the night kneeling beneath the statue with their backs to her dangerous shadow.

One dark night, two community members accompanied a new submissive hopeful to the cemetery and watched while he took his place underneath the creepy statue. The clouds had obscured the moon that night and the whole area surrounding the dark statue was filled with a sense of anger and malice. It felt as if a storm were brewing. Indeed, the two community members noticed that boiling black shadows seemed to be clustering around the body of the frightened candidate as he knelt there in bracelets.

What had been a fun initiation rite suddenly took on an air of danger. One of the BDSM community members lagged forward in alarm, intending to call out to the kneeling boy on voice, but he couldn't toggle on. As he drifted forward as if by no will of his own, the statue above the kneeling boy stirred ominously. The two onlookers froze in shock, frame rate plummeting, as the shrouded head lifted minutely, and seemed to take in the kneeling figure at her feet. They saw the gleam of glowing red eyes beneath the concealing hood as her sleek stone arms reached out toward the now cowering and paralyzed boy.

Voice toggled on! Shouts of alarm! The two community members teleported forward to rescue the new boy! But it was too late. The new boy gave one horrified yell of his safeword, and then his body disappeared into the embrace of the dark angel, Domina Zaritala. The two community members skidded to a halt as the statue thoughtfully rested her glowing eyes upon them, next. With gasps of terror, they fled from the cemetery before the statue could grab them too.

Hearing the screams on voice, a staff member hurried over to the Dominion Ridge Cemetery, sim crossing be damned. She discovered the avatar of a young male newbie lying at the foot of the statue.

He had evidently... out of PURE FRIGHT... disconnected.

The disruption caused by the statue grew so acute that Alexith finally donated it to the Second Life Smithsonian Museum at the IBM Sandbox, elsewhere on the grid. There, the grieving domina stayed for many months in storage, never again to plague those visiting the Dominion Ridge Cemetery. But I've heard the statue is up on XStreet now. And October comes rolling in.