Sunday, March 23, 2014

Impromptu About Raquel Welsh by Anonymous

It's not my place to say anything judgmental. But I have to say this, Miss Eshi:

As far as I can see at the core and into people, Rachel Welch is no match for You, Miss.

Raquel Welch by Lady Eshi

Raquel Welch

It is a sunny day in March 2000, in Zagreb Croatia and I am 19 years old. I am dressed in a gray business suit, stiletto’s and my hair is short and blond. I have put on my bright red lipstick.

The purse I am carrying is cutting into my shoulder as I am stepping off of the city transit bus, heavy from the documentation I need for my affair.  I find myself several blocks away from the United States Embassy. I am rushing for the meeting with the male ambassador who will decide, based on this interview, whether I get to go to college to United States on an F1 student visa or whether I remain at home lost and resigned to my abusive family circumstances. I have a plan of what to say. This is what I have in mind: “Sir, I want to learn. I want to better myself and to return here as soon as possible so I can help my dear family in this post-war economy. I want to use my acquired knowledge to bring 'good' back home and I hope to learn to speak English much better.”

It could not be further from the truth. I keep telling myself that I cannot say the real truth to the ambassador because he will know I am a determined runner who is likely to do her best to stay there and to be yet another dreaded immigrant with all the risks of falling on the support system of his homeland. I put my chin up, breathe in deeply and I swallow.

As I am stepping towards the door of the embassy two uniformed guards with automatic weapons halt me and ask for papers to prove my business in there. It’s standard procedure.

I provide it, smile, and they let me through. The waiting room of the embassy is in dim light, the blinds are drawn to keep the heat out and I take a seat next to a woman who did not bother to put on a bra . The place is literally packed with the visual scum of Croatian society looking to get out of there and seek asylum in USA, most likely having only one thing in mind: getting rich when they get there and sending the cash to their families. I stand out. I focus my attention on the American teller lady who is calling numbers and passing clipboards to the first-time appointment seekers. She looks thin and her hair is unbelievably healthy. She looks like a decent woman, and isn’t wearing any makeup.  Her shirt is buttoned to her neck. Graceful as she is, she picks just the right papers for each person -- with a ballet-like hand motion. My dad would approve of her. She looks virginal.

I look at her and I envy her because I remember dad’s reaction to when he saw me wearing red lipstick for the first time: “Who do you think you are? Raquel Welch!?” I tighten my lips, turn my feet slightly inwards, take a firmer grasp of my bag and feel my shoulders rise up a little.

“Sir, I want to learn. I want to better myself and to return here as soon as possible so I can help my dear family in this post-war economy. I want to use my acquired knowledge to bring 'good' back home and I hope to learn to speak English much better.”  - I repeat it in my head. It doesn't help and I am starting to feel my self confidence fall apart. I am only 19. I know I am only 19. I have very little to back up my confidence and my appearance. It’s a facade. I start hearing dad’s words again: “Your place is to read Hansel and Gretel because that’s your level of intelligence, and your destiny is to become nobody, just like your mother!” Then I remember his warning that he made a wager with my brother just the other day after I submitted my application to the embassy: 50 bucks that if I get to go to USA I will come back home crying to mommy within four months. What am I doing here? I am a loser. I crumble further.

As I am on a verge of crying, my thought shifts to Aymad and I drift away into my love story that began through hand-written letters six months ago.  Aymad is a guy from Pakistan whom I’ve met through a friend who is already in college classes with him in the USA. He is a romantic and a great jokester. He tells the best stories from his exotic childhood in Pakistan.  He doesn't have to; he chooses to. He never compares me to anyone and he never asks what I look like. He just keeps writing to me that he has heard a lot about me and that he cannot wait to meet me in person.  He praises women, his sisters and his mother, and talks about giving his life for theirs if need be. I  relax with my thoughts of possibly having a chance to meet Aymad in a few months.  Knowing such a nice man for a change makes me feel safe.

I am then yanked out of the musings in my head by a male voice calling a name through the speakers . Irena Man-dick. My last name is Mandich and he misreads it the American way: Man Dick. The scum in the waiting room look at me as I get up to do my walk of shame towards the ambassador's office and I am escorted hearing ridicule and laughter at how my name is pronounced in English.

I knock at the door twice and attempt to come in. It’s locked. From within I hear a voice: “... to the window!” I see the ambassador standing at a glass pane with a hole cut into it next to the door. It makes sense. I am not important. I don’t get to come in. He takes one look at me and I feel myself sweating through my suit. He looks down at my case papers and asks me: “What is your business in the United States of America?”

“Sir, I want to learn, I want to better myself and return to Croatia as soon as possible so I can help my dear family in this post-war economy. I want to use my acquired knowledge to bring 'good' back home and I hope to learn to speak English much better.”

“You speak English just fine”, he responds. “Go back and take a seat. Have a nice day.”

I return to the crowd in the waiting room and a few of them giggle. I sit in the corner and stare at the same teller lady again. I am stupid. I am dumb. I probably appeared to this ambassador as a mail-order bride wearing this whoreish lipstick. Who the fuck do I think I am?  Raquel Welch?

"Irena?," I hear the teller lady say through the glass.  I walk up and she hands me my passport opened to the visas page. “Congratulations sweetie.  Welcome to the United States!”

The first thing I do is write a letter in the park near by the Embassy to Aymad . My hand is shaking as I pencil my most beautiful handwriting, that which I use when I write letters to him. “See you in a few months!!!” I finish. I seal it with a kiss and I drop it off at the post office right away.

Until my departure it is all a mindless wait, spent tolerating the cries of my mother who has no other option but to let me go. Several more letters from Aymad arrive and I am even more confident that he is to be my best friend and protector who will never hurt me as my brother and my dad do. He is an honorable young man.  He cares enough to write nice things to me for months.  He encourages me and he tells me the great things about myself that he has learned from the letters I have sent to him.

It is August 17th and my flight is scheduled for August 22nd.  I will be in Houston on the 23rd, and from there I will fly to Lake Charles where the university is. I am opening another letter from Aymad, titled “Have a safe trip, princess!” As I am reading it, I am building up with joy.  Nothing is to stop my life from finally unfolding the way I always dreamed of -- and what better than to have a friend with whom to celebrate? And then I come to the second part of the letter. “I am so sorry to also tell you that as I am writing this I am on my way to Houston because my brother tragically died in a motorcycle accident three days ago and by the time you get this I will already be in Pakistan to be with my mother as she grieves the loss of her eldest son: Fawad. Dear Irena, I am not sure if I will come back to the USA and when, please promise me you will do well in school, you are a smart cookie!” He also included a picture of his brother. I am not sure why.

My heart breaks for him and I decide to do well in school. I decide to keep writing letters for as long as it takes.

I am in college now. There is a computer lab. So far everyone likes me -- even though I am not Raquel Welch and my reading level is that at Hansel and Gretel.

Last night when I am at Aymad’s classmate’s house, she shows me a video of a birthday party.  In the video, the camera zooms on a guy who is looking down at a notebook….someone calls his name and I hear “Aymad!” he looks up at the camera, at me, and this is the first time I see him. He is beautiful. he looks like a prince with shiny healthy longish hair and his smile is as big and healthy as a string of whitest pearls...and his eyes….his eyes are like two lumps of charcoal and behind them is the universe itself.

I am about to write an email to Aymad .  I say to him I have tender feelings for him and that I don’t expect that he has them for me at all -- because I am not Raquel Welch and because I am kind of stupid. Aymad responds immediately.  He must have been by his computer.  He says he will be back to the USA in four months time. I nearly fall out of my chair.

The longest four months in my life. Our  correspondence entirely shifts to sessions of daydreaming of how we will meet, what we will do and what the air around us will feel like. Aymad says to me:  “It will be an oddly fresh Louisiana Sunday night. Full moon. The wolves outside will be howling and the wind will carry the smell of roses and wild flowers all over the place. You will wait for me in a lovely garden on top of a big rock, with your hair flowing in the wind and I will come from the shadows of the old oak trees and call your name.”

It is unanimously and with a lot of laughter decided that it will be just like that.

It’s the evening  Aymad is coming back. I shower, wash my hair and put on a pretty dress. The evening is stuffy. There is no fresh breeze but there is a full moon and the smell of flowers. There is no park nearby with a big rock, but my room is a great sanctuary for two destined souls to meet. I wait and I get a phone call. His flight is delayed. I am not sad because I know he will get here.  What’s a few more hours? I am not Raquel Welch. I wipe my lipstick off and I feel insecure in my dress. I change into a pair of pants and a light sweater. I am stupid, I am dumb. I take a glance over the photographs above my bed with pictures that dad sent to me: pictures of my plane departing from the airport in Zagreb. Down the runway, off the ground, up in the air. I am not there anymore and Aymad is to be here soon. I fall asleep on my stomach.  I am completely burned out from anticipation.

It is 2 AM when the door of my room creaks open and I hear his beautiful voice for the first time: “Irena?” I wake and jump up.  He looks at me and he smiles and he gives me the longest, warmest hug I'd ever received until then.  "You are beautiful," he says. And I am sort of glad for a moment that I am not Raquel Welch.

The next day he makes love to me and then -- without any warning or explanation never speaks to me again.

Impromptu by Anonymous

I sometimes wonder why I want to be hurt by a woman I adore.

Why do I light up at the thought of her joyous laughter while twisting my tender nipples? Why is it that, every time she lets me put my hands on my cock, part of me prays that she makes me ruin it? That she steals the enjoyment from me and makes it her own?

Is submission love? I'm asking because I want the answer to be yes, but I'm kind of biased, so please let me know, would you?

A Memorial For A Domme by Anonymous

March 21, 2014

I am writing this anonymously because I want you to hear "Her" and not me. You'll understand in a moment...

I know there was another death recently that may "overshadow" this one.  This is not about that.  This woman was a relative unknown. But she was important to me... and to many others whom I knew. She too touched lives.


I got the email from her father Thursday morning. It was late in coming considering she died last month -- but the fact that he sent it at all means I meant something. After all, I had only been an SL friend.  She'd left a contact list with my name on it apparently.

I brought her to the Dominion six months ago on a whim. I knew she was a fellow Domme. I had no idea then what she was facing in her real life. I only knew that she was my friend.  We came to an auction together, and on another whim she bid -- and won -- a well-liked boy.  There was just a little bit of grumbling since she was an unknown. I remember that.  He fulfilled his auction duty well and he seemed to enjoy her company. It was shortly after that when she disappeared from SL.

In fact, it was just about a week after that auction that I had received her note. It said simply: "I won't be back. I love you. Keep your chin up."

It is strange.  As I write this, I think about the people she touched.  There was one young man I know: she helped him with career advice, filling out his applications and writing his resume. He now has a job in real life that he loves. There was the SL community she was part of which to which she devoted her time tirelessly. She was my friend too, and it was at a time in my life when I was suffering from my own heartaches.  She never told me of hers. Instead she took my burdens on as if they were her own cross to bear, listening to me with an open heart and an open ear.

The email from her father said she fought valiantly. Cancer. For the last year.  She'd told none of the rest of us.  Only her family had known.  She'd born the burden alone.  She chose to bear our burdens also,  as if her own was not heavy enough. I do not tell you who she is now, because I know she was a private person. She did not want anyone to know. Her grief was hers and hers alone. She'd said her goodbyes already.

I cried when I read the email. I do not cry often.  It was not from sadness though.  My tears sprang rather from a strange joy. She had made me part of her life.

I am... so grateful.

Lost by Anonymous

Not meant to be over-dramatic, but that's how I feel

I had a chance and blew it for what I thought would be more fun, or more secure or something I thought I wanted.

Not understanding what I was passing up

And that it was a point of no return

Yes, we are friends

Friends who talk and laugh, and care

But I will never be hers

Face after face passes, and I have fun for a time.  I've learned a few things.

Then the lost feelings return.

Listless, regretful, feeling stupid and lost.

I see her all the time, and I cannot say it to Her.

How I long for what could have been if I had not been so stupid and selfish.

It wouldn't be fair since she gave me the choice and I failed Her and myself.

Lost and drifting, looking for Her in every Lady, and sooner or later drifting as they don't match up.

My perfect Lady, so close

Yet I will never be touched the way I crave again.  I play the memories of times with her over and over as it is all I have.


"Jack's Rap: The Dish and the Spoon" (Trials Punishment)

Hey diddle diddle,
The cat did a piddle,
Right in the middle of the dish,

It did so spoil,
The cod liver oil,
Which looked ever so swish,

Then along came the spoon,
From out the monsoon,
To clean poor dish in the sink,

Rub a dub dub he did scrub,
The dish clean of grub,
That the spoon did start to glow pink

And so you can see,
How it came to be,
That the dish did run away with the spoon.

Office Thoughts by Lady Panther

Office Thoughts
by Lady Panther

“Ms. Keen.  Bring me the monthly sales projections from the North Atlantic Region!” he says on the phone.

“Did you want that in hard copy or soft copy?” I reply with a smile on my voice knowing full well he’ll want
 these in hard copy given the nature of the content requested.

“Just bring them up to me, I’m in no mood to scroll through it on a screen.” He replies as I smile and nod on the other end, and then we hang up abruptly as we always do.

I gather the sales projections he requests and promptly walk out the door, and over to the elevator. Up I go.  A routine I’ve repeated several hundred times in the past; nothing out of the ordinary.  The elevator opens to his floor and I pass by several offices along the way to his at the end of the hall.  I notice these offices are closed and surmise that the rest of these executives may be off to their own meetings.

As I approach the door it opens and he greets me with his normal look that says, "I’ve got pressing matters to tend to."  I walk through the threshold and am moving toward the conference table where we normally sit when I hear the door shut and the lock turn.

I turn on my heel to see what he is doing and as my 180 is completed I see him on his knees with his head held high but his eyes diverted to the ground.  “Goddess?” he says in a low whisper -- as if unsure of himself in the moment.

My instincts kick in.  My body comes to full “FemDom” mode before my brain can catch up. A split second’s delay hits as my brain is interrupted, utterly confused by this display of submission by one so well respected by his peers and devoutly served by me as his Administrative Assistant.  There has been a complete role reversal in a matter of seconds without forewarning or speaking.  This is quite a jarring experience!

“Mr. Poole, what are you doing?” I ask evenly so as to not raise any alarms but also to keep myself calm..  He has a slight blush on his cheeks.  His hands are behind his back with his chest fully available to me.

“Goddess Keen,” he replies, “I’ve discovered some interesting things about you and thought you may be understanding of this.”

"Oh, I understand it completely, but why have you been spying on me young man?" I say looking down over him disapprovingly, in full display of my dominance.

All the while I am thinking, "Should I actually do this?"

Snow White & The Seven Slave Boys by Lady Danika

From Grimm's:  "Once upon a time in midwinter, when the snowflakes were falling like feathers from heaven, a queen sat sewing at her window, which had a frame of black ebony wood. As she sewed she looked up at the snow and pricked her finger with her needle. Three drops of blood fell into the snow. The red on the white looked so beautiful that she thought to herself, "If only I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood in this frame."

Soon afterward she had a little daughter who was as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony wood, and therefore they called her Little Snow-White. And as soon as the child was born, the queen died."


It was not long after that Snow White's father took another wife, and Snow White was cast out by the jealous, demented woman who would sit in front of her mirror each morning and say:

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?"

In the beginning, the mirror had answered truthfully that it was she, the Queen, but soon the princess surpassed the beauty of the step mother and the envious woman in her rage could not bear to be thus supplanted and sent the girl into the woods to die.

Snow White had never been in the woods and of course was not properly dressed for hunting (nor gathering either). She was in her fine gown with her hair up when the horses and their Queen's riders dumped her (rather unceremoniously) in the middle of the forest clearing.  She'd stood, brushed herself off and muttered under her breath as they rode off.

There was a little path off the clearing and she heard water rushing. A stream? Perhaps. She decided it would not hurt to follow it and, breaking off the dainty heels of her tiny shoes so they would not catch in the mire she set off toward the break in the trees.  The path itself wound down through the underbrush and she had to duck low to keep her face from being upbraided by low swinging branches.  It seemed this path was made for animals and not upright standing people -- at least not tall ones.

She followed the foot path anyway, picking her way along until it came to another clearing and a small, squat little cottage. She arched a fine black brow. A cottage in the middle of the wood?

But everything was strange and half kilter -- short.   The fence was too low at the gate and she stepped easily over it.  The door was unlocked (it's not breaking and entering if the door is unlocked is it?) and it was short, too. She had to duck to enter as it squeaked on its hinges. "Someone will have to oil that," she said aloud as she moved into the quaint little foyer.

Along the wall were seven hooks, seven coats, and seven hats.  Along the floor were seven sets of slippers. She laughed. "What manner of men live here?" she asked herself... though clearly she expected no answer. But already she could hear a low fire crackling in the other room and she moved to see a hearth, barely stoked with a large stew pot over it, simmering on the coals.  A kitchen.  And a table... with seven small chairs.  She wondered if perhaps children lived here alone... but surely not.

It was then that she heard voices at the front door and then the creaking of the hinges and a deep resounding male voice. "Someone is in our house!" said a voice. "Hush you'll alert them," said another. "Get the pick axe," said a third.  She looked around for a for a weapon and all she could see were large wooden spoons and so she picked one up to brandish it like a sword.

A bald head appeared around the frame of the door. Two eyes and the tops of two ears. Snow white stood her ground and then took a few steps forward with her wooden spoon and as soon as she saw hands... "SMACK!"

The little man fell backward, scrambling and squealing in surprise. "It's a Lady! And she hit me! Why'd she hit me?!"

"Because you were going to pick axe her?" said another voice.

"But she hit me! With a spoon!"

"But Jack, you like spoons," said a third.

"Is she cute?" said yet another.

"Bah!" said Jack. "She's bloody gorgeous!"

Snow White peered around the door frame, spoon in hand, brandishing it over her head. "Put your hands out!" she said. "Let me see them empty!"

Seven sets of chubby hands shot out.  Various things clattered to the floor.... a pick axe, a pail, two shovels, a bar of soap, and some clothespins. Snow White arched her brow at the clothespins then looked back up at the faces of the seven short little men, moving fully into the doorway now to see them all as they stood there, hands up and out in arrested motion.  Two had their mouths open, three were grinning, and the last two looked as though they were about to cry.  She couldn't help it -- a soft and lyric laughter bubbled up her throat as she looked at them.  She pointed to the one they all called Jack.  "You there. I'm hungry and I've been walking a long way...."

At that point one of the grinning ones interrupted her: "Can I touch your feet?"

She glared at him. "You can lick my shoes -- after I sit down."

"Yes, Miss."

She then grinned. "Oh dear... I need names for you all."  She moved back into the kitchen, motioning for them to follow, which they did.  She took a seat in one of the little chairs. Jack ducked his head and went to the bowl to get her dinner.... She just leaned back, pointing her spoon at one of the nearest little men. "You there, you're going to be Nipply." She nodded. He'd been holding the clothes pins. "And you," she pointed to another and then another, "you're Tootsy.... and you're Sissy."  She sighed happily. Maybe getting kicked out of the Castle wasn't such a bad thing after all.  Seven little men to scramble at her beck and call? She could get used to this...


Meanwhile: Back at the castle...

The jealous and demented queen was at her mirror again.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?"

And the mirror replied:

"My Queen, it is of course Snow White, who commands seven men as Her Slave Boys. Not you who will never even have half the number of Her Toys."

To be continued ....

Softly, Softly by Doc

He heard the chirping of birds, still buried under his quilt in his tent.  She lay beside him, radiating warmth.  He wondered if he should poke his head out and see if the sky was gradually glowing -- and if the dimmest stars were disappearing yet.  He decided not to do it yet.  He smelled her.  A familiar smell – reassuring and cozy.

She stirred.  “We’re out of water.”  He knew that.  He figured she’d tell him.  He had hoped she would have said something else first, rather than that.  He replied, “I’ll go down to the spring in a few minutes.”  She didn’t say anything.  That was not a good omen.

He decided to emerge from the warmth of the quilt.  The air on his face was cold.  The trip to the spring would not be fun. “I’ll go now,” he said.  She wriggled against him.  “Good!  I’ll be here when you get back.”  He didn’t say what he was thinking:  that she’d be cooking breakfast – and that the last thing in the world he cared about was a hot breakfast.

Since he had his wool cap on, and slept in his hiking clothes he only had to put on his damp, chilled trail runners.  (He slept with his wool socks on, too; if his feet poked out from under the quilt, the cold air wouldn’t wake him up that way….).

Lugging the empty plastic Nalgene water bags in one hand and his water purification tablets in the other he headed down the trail the quarter mile to the spring he’d discovered the day before.  It was now getting much lighter, though the sun had not yet risen over the horizon.

The water rite followed its usual script.  In half an hour he was back in camp.  She was – as expected – cooking.
The sun had just risen, casting orange and yellow rays over the mountains.

“I made eggs,” she said.  He looked at her breasts.  His eyes wandered down to her butt as she turned away from the cook stove toward the alcohol bottle.  “I’ll fry some ham next,” she added.

He thought of her naked.  He thought of her in lingerie.  He recalled her smell.  Even when she was sweaty she smelled sweet.  He really didn’t care about the eggs and ham.  “Is there coffee made?” he asked.  “If you want coffee you’ll have to make it yourself,” she said without any intonation.  Declarative.  “Yes, dear,” he said, hoping she’d give him a smile.  She didn’t.  She was immersed in the mechanics of the ham, now in the pan.

He remembered the first camping trips eons ago.  Back then they didn’t focus so much on food.  They focused on each other.  They feasted on dreams and minds and bodies.

“We have a lot of miles to cover today,” he added.  “I guess I can skip the coffee.”

She nodded.  And then she said something very sweet.  “When we get home, would you like to fuck like we used to do years ago?”  He was amazed that she remembered.  He nodded.

“You will have to please me, you know!”  He nodded again.

“You know I’m the boss, right?”  And again he nodded.

She giggled…. And then she said, “You know something?  I think you are a lot more satisfying than eggs and ham.”  He smiled.  “I try,” he said.

“I know,” she said.  “If you didn’t work out, you know I’d replace you in a snap of a finger, don’t you?”.  He wasn't sure if she was joking or not.  He decided she wasn't sure either – so he said, “You might.”

She looked at him, with a sly look in her eyes. “I don’t think we have to worry about that.  Now bring me that water!  I’m going to make myself some coffee – and if you’re good, I’ll give you some too.”

                                                        THE END

Two Poems by Mathew Cody


Laminates of every color and hue.
In hard smooth tubes that are a pleasure to bear.
Protecting flesh so soft and so true.
Succulent treasures, encased with care.
Textures coaxing, will passion ensue?
Inviting to taste, if you would dare.
Caution crumbles, willpower’s through.
Kissing her lips, she does ensnare.


Teeming from the face to floor,
Earnings for Her physical chore.
Atonement can’t be paid in cash,
Rectified with cane and lash,
Submitting to whom i do adore.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Katarza (Chatarsis) by Lady Mo

Hush, my mind, hush my heart. No need for mind, no want for heart. Silence to both, for mind speaks too loud and heart feels too much. Silence is heard. Soul speaks at loud.

Hey, my Soul! You who are Free of any pain and suffering you can breathe, you can feel, you can show, your face is clear. Always free. You are looking at me with your glarey eyes full of stars, whole Universe lays in them. Love isn't breaking you for you are love Silks under your feet, moschus in your hair, starry nights in your arms.
Hey, my soul.
Oh where are you my spirit?  And then, like winter skies lands death and only clear silence is.
Oh where are you my soul? In a dream. Asleep.  Whispering to me. Overcome. You are my ocean, my wave, You will clean shores, you will tear down these walls.
You are speaking to me. Inspire. You can, You can. You feel, you hate, kiss, you drag through darken halls with candlelight walls. These halls of redemption, seeking for forgiveness. Forgive me my soul. You have so many times. How many times I will ask you this and you always do.
I have died. I am awake. I am dead. For You, my soul.. Your eyes are clean of an island sea, your wings are free as a seagull's scream, you smile at me. I am dead. I am awake. I am free.

Breakfast by Matthew

For confessions from a friend of mine. He should be able to read for you this Saturday.

by MatthewTCody

Grinding coffee was never a toil,
The beans gave up their essential oil.
The fire turned water, to hissing steam,
That frothed the milk into clouds of cream.

The egg shells cracked, freeing the treasure,
The whisk whipped them for a certain measure.
Then pour into a pan with for a scalding kiss,
The searing heat causing them to hiss.

Some cheese shredded, will play the part,
Of the way You always melted my heart.
Jalapeño peppers always added heat,
Like when You used the spoon to beat.

The tray was set with plates and bread,
Omelets and coffee kept You fed.
Me at Your feet, where i could steal,
A glance at You during the meal.

But now Your gone, i feel half dead.
Perhaps forever is my dread.
Missing the way You taste and  feel,
With You gone the world’s oatmeal.

Longings by Samina


i long

to give myself


to another,

to let

that other person


my every mood,



i long

to know

what it is

to be owned

by a Mistress,

by a woman


will know my inner heart,

as no other

has ever known

or will ever know it.

i long

to feel

the touch of a hand,


yet gentle,

guiding me

to that place

where i

can seal myself

to Her,

to Her love,

for all eternity.

i long

to belong

to Her,

wherever She may be,

till time

shall be no more.

o wind of fate,

carry me

to Her eternal love.

The Macabre Train Part 3 by Lady Panther

The woman presses the blade harder into his base briefly and then releases it.  She nods to the sub to continue the long strokes before looking back to the Lady flogging him.  The woman with the blade drags it in an X across his chest, opening his skin as the cut now slowly seeps blood. The lady behind lands her strokes harder on his back.

“Aww, you ladies are far too nice to this poor man.” Another woman stands up and moves toward him.  She smacks his covered face with one hand while tracing the blade strokes with her fingernail, further agitating the fresh wound.  She pulls the sub off of the man and points for them to return back to their Mistress.  She turns to one of the passengers who then gives a glass of wine to her.

“Perhaps we can make this hurt more. What do you think of that?!” she states with a firm, resolute timbre to her voice. “Perhaps some acid? We need to mark you well, after all.”

The man shakes his head violently, and grunts and moans in vehement protest to the woman’s words. His panic increases as he continues to wonder what he’d done to provoke such actions from such fiendish women.  Is this a train filled with his exes?  He suddenly realizes, in his body’s greed, his other senses had betrayed him and it has seemed to recognize the voices who have spoken thus far.  He struggles to think if he’s wronged these particular women.

The woman dips a Q-tip in the glass to gather the wine.  She slowly traces the wounds with the wetness that stings him.  He feels his flesh seeming to burn away.  He recoils, his mind so convinced of the liquid being acid, trying desperately to get away from this evil woman in front of him.  He pulls his noose even tighter as he struggles.  The weakening muscles in his outstretched arms and legs begin to fail him.  He tries to summon his strength and straighten back up, but his efforts do not release the grip of the noose nor minimize the pain on his chest.

His pain, suffering, and panic so great he doesn’t even notice the strokes on his back have been replaced with soft hands rubbing him as he struggles. A new woman’s voice whispers in his ear while the wine, continuing to be traced along his knife wounds, still tricks his mind. “Easy, boy. Your suffering has its rewards. Don’t give out on us now. Surely you have more strength and will than this.” The words are encouraging and his body responds in kind.  He doubles his efforts to work through the pain.  He measures his breathing and concentrates on the soft touches and soothing voice of this new woman.

The evil acid woman moves off of her tortures of him and sits quietly while yet another lady moves in front of him.  Finding his stiffness withering, she grasps him from behind herself and slowly guides him into her supple folds.  Her sex, enwrapping only the top of his length, uses his head to massage her clitoris as she slides herself over him. Watching his increasing torture put her in such a state of wonton lust.

He moans from the pleasurable reprieve.  Feeling her heat and wetness coating him as she moves reawakens his desires to please.  He tries to move his hips to relocate himself at her entrance.  She evades teasingly.  His frustration grows in parallel to his desire to penetrate her.  To feel her so close, to hear her moans of pleasure overtakes his pain suddenly.  He feels her climax as her body stiffens over him. He feels the quivers and pulsations of her sex, yet he doesn’t dare to move, though everything in his body wants this. Satisfied, she returns to standing and facing him. “Good boy!” she says as she walks away.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, now that the appetizer had been served, time to move on to the main course,” she says with a smile. He hears the familiar sounds of the heels from earlier as they walk behind him.  He hears the “swish” of some implement and thinks ‘no, not more pain after such pleasure.’ He whimpers and hangs his head, feeling this night will never end and not knowing how much he can take of this tease and denial mixed with blood and acid.

Another lady walks behind him close while another positions herself in front of him.  The lady in the front grasps him firmly from behind herself and slides him completely into herself.  His hips move to press into her.  She presses back into him taking full control of the steady pace.  His length fills her deliciously.  Her breathing increases as her walls flutter around him.  Her moans grow louder as she continues to ride this helpless soul.

The lady behind him begins to rub his ass, feeling it flex and relax as he pleases her friend.  The lady massages his anus with her fingers, pressing, but not entering, his hole. He tenses with apprehension at a sensation of pleasure but thoughts of inexperience.  She presses her finger inside and he grunts from the thoughts swimming in his head.

His head falls back again, the pleasure of being encased into the warm depths of a woman and the pain from being penetrated. ‘Are they raping me? Not the lady in the front, of course not, but the one in the back, this is rape, I don’t want this, I’m not gay!’ his thoughts go on despite his body’s delight at every sensation.

As if reading his mind, the voice from the back of him says, “Don’t worry, you will enjoy this!” she splits his crack with thumb and forefinger of one hand while gently and slowly guiding a lubricated, vibrating dildo inside him, the vibrations turned off for now as he gets used to the sensation of it sliding further into his depths.  Slowly she lets it fill him and pulls it back out slightly then presses it back in.  Her strap on securing it to her own body allows her freedom of movement with them.

Her strokes begin to match her friend's in the front until they are all moving together.  His grunts and her moans blend so nicely with the noises of the train. The other passengers sit and watch with smiles of appreciation on their faces, their subs all wishing they were the victim at this point.

The lady in the back wraps her arms around the man, finding his wounds and rubbing them softly, recreating the pain from earlier. As he winces she moves to his nipples and, leading with her fingernails, pinches them hard, causing him to buck forward and tightening his noose even more, his breathing hard, his senses higher than he’s ever experienced before.

The lady in the front pants and rides him faster as she nears her own orgasm.  Her walls clamp down on him, quivering, pulsating, and massaging him while his prostate is being happily assaulted.  The sensations overwhelm him and drive his need to spill his seed.

Sensing this, the ladies cease suddenly, leaving him even more frustrated than before.  As they move away, one last, very patient woman walks in behind him. “You’ve had your pleasure and your pain, now you will have your death,” she threatens. His brain doesn’t even register this as it’s so drained from all he’s experienced thus far.

Task For Confessions by Aarman


It has been days since i had been feeling Her energy haunting me and that night was no different.

I could imagine myself at Her feet kneeling as always but that night was special, like She was doing something to me.

As i was laying in my bed i could feel Her looking at me and with Her energy, Her eyes guiding my hand to start touching myself, something which I was not allowed to do, unless instructed by Her.

So i thought this could be some kind of test, but it didn't matter to me. Her power felt unbearable and i was excited to be in Her presence, Her hands, Her energy, which was slowly consuming me until i started stroking my hard cock.

I could feel Her gaze grinning and smirking, knowing i was doing something that was not right and at the same time enjoying how i was falling just for Her image and Her power above me, allowing that passion and desire to consume me in ways I couldn't understand as i moaned with each desperate stroke.

I quickly reached the orgasm, feeling the cum jumping all over my chest, feeling all the time Her sight on top of me and only a second after a message came to my phone.

"You slut! You will pay for cumming without permission".

Mistress by Samina


can i find my way

to the Mistress of my dreams,

in this strange, dark land

where the horror waits

to scour the depths of my soul,

leaving me in tears?

where did this come from,

that i must hide in shadows,

trembling like a leaf

adrift in the gales

of inconsiderate fate,

suddenly cast down

to await the hand

of She, She who gives sweet pain,

binds me to Her heart.

sudden, subtle words

that send shivers down my spine

of pure ecstacy

because i am Hers.

i wish to give Her my soul,

put it in Her hands,

let Her caress me,

with such strength and dominance,

that i will cry out

to be forgiven

all those forbidden desires

that lie in my heart.

each one, She will take

when She, in Her great wisdom,

guides me to her love.

Frank & Karen: A Reoccurring Dream by Jonathan

    Frank and Karen
    Karen a dominate 5' 2" Brunette left handed woman walks in the room.  Frank a 5' 6" shy submisive man is sitting at the table.  Karen walks out of the room in a huff because Frank is in the room will not return till Frank is gone.  Frank leaves the room.  This goes on for a few weeks.  One day Frank walks thru a long small hallway into a room with tables.  Karen is sitting at the first table with some other women.  She looks up at Frank and smiles with her eyes and they make eye contact.  They never leave each others side for the rest of there lives.

A Sleepless Night...Did You Know? by Sylver

Ok. Here I sit sleepy, but can not sleep. I've tried to write
this as a poem but it would not work. I tried to write it with
flowering did not suit me...the best way to
write this is with my own word and style. From within. It is
the only way it will sound right to me...and i maybe can get
some sleep. You see I wrote another confession for today. But
as I try to sleep i am finding this will not leave me alone.
The words keep dancing in my head. I'm sitting in the dark now typing at the computer. My mind racing my heart pounding. This is something that needs to be written. I don't know why i wish to share this or if i will even give my name...or if the one it is intended for will be hearing it at this moment, i don't even know who it is for. All i do know is it will not let me
rest till I have committed it to paper so to speak.

Did you know

I dreamt about you. Your touch, that touch that could bring
pain or pleasure. That touch which I need so much. I can not
define nor explain what it does to me. It is hard to put into
words...but with that touch you take all control from me.
Making it yours to do as you desire. It is as it should be.

Your gaze which is so caring, so possessive, so loving. It
lets me know where i belong and to whom. It fills me with
encouragement and the feeling that i can do anything if for you.

Your scent so wonderful and warm. I do not wish to be far from
you. To be able to breathe such a scent and cherish every
moment. Your taste so sweet, so wonderful. To be allowed to
partake  of such a wonder would fill me with such delight.

Your voice with words that bind my mind. Words that i obey
with a simple "yes Mistress" not because it is a command, but
because it pleases you and feels so natural. So right to do so.

The fire within me that burns to serve, to please you. The depths of that fire that threatens to consume my being with madness, the sweet insanity of that desire only cooled by your calming touch and your voice letting me know it is alright. Alright to give to you. Alright to be taken. Alright to be myself. Alright to be yours.

No I know you do not know could you truly know this...we have not met...we have not laid eyes on each other.
Have not touch. Have not shared in pain and pleasure.

But I do know when the time comes, and we do meet. My eyes
fall to yours. My body moving across the distance to sink to
my knees before you, my hands trembling as you reach out to touch my cheek. Letting me know it is alright. Your gaze upon
me as my eyes lower my head bowed submissively. Tears staining my cheeks from the joy of finding you. The feeling of
belonging. The desire to please you. To feel your caress your gaze, to smell your scent to hear your voice whispering into my ear. I know then you will know i have waited so long for that moment. That moment in which i give myself to you. And you take me as yours. I know then that you will understand what power you have over me, giving all my trust, my devotion, my desire, my love to you, my submission completely.

I can not wait for this moment to come..i search for you and
hope that i shall find you my Mistress and that you in turn
search and will find me. Till that time i shall dream night
after night, day after day. Living for that moment. Living to
be yours.

Perhaps i should have kept this hidden for the day i find that
somebody..but something inside of me does not want to hide
it...but to share it. Something desires for it to be known. So
I shall share it..and hope that though it isn't flowery, isn't
a poem. Isn't a work of art..that it is accepted for what it
is..words from the depths of my heart and soul. Words I hear
echo always within my mind though rarely speak of...I think I
can finally get some sleep so I am going now...and hope that
tomorrow my message will be heard. Though my name may be kept into the shadows... Good Night I go to see my Mistress and hope that she too is visiting me within her dreams.

Even as I wake and sit here the words do not seem right. I keep thinking they do not show the depth of my feelings. And the whispers in my mind. But then i do not feel that any words would suit my feelings. Words give power they say. Give power to the idea to the thoughts to the feelings we all have. Perhaps that is the problem. I do not feel i give enough power to this desire with these words. Though I can never imagine the words to say to match my feelings and give that power to them. So in that respect this confession will be ever changing...striving to make it more clear...striving to give that power to it that is so consuming at times. Perhaps someday i will, though perhaps not until i've knelt at the Mistress' feet and she tells me so.

The Way by Lady Crissy

The Way

I often tell My boy "That's the way it should be, " when he tells Me, with such awe and devotion in his voice how much he loves Me, and how seeing Me makes his day.  I say it when he tells me how he wakes up hard, thoughts of Me the first to touch his waking consciousness.  He had told Me that I inspire him, thats he feels stronger yet more sensitive since Ive Owned him, and that he feels he can do anything with Me in his life.  And I do believe that IS the way it should be.

Im sitting quietly with My boy, his head in My lap, his body naked and exposed while My fingers are gently exploring.   I stroke his hair as we chat, gentle moans punctuating his comments as he shares his day with Me, gently stroking what is Mine under My direction.  He will keep himself hard for Me and wanting during this moment of repose.  It is My pleasure that becomes his, and the moans make Me wet in return.  Its as if he can feel the most warmth radiating from My sex and the perfect loop of tenderness, desire and power sharing are complete.

I stroke his hair, running fingers through it as we talk... about work, music, friends and family.  I can hear the changes in his breathing the need rising in the tone of his voice.  Its almost as if I can feel his hot breath on my lap.   Its difficult not to pull him by the collar, stand, pull him roughly to the bed where the toys lay on the table nearby and handy.

Its not so much discipline that holds Me back, but the oh so sweet knowledge that I Own this boy, and he is Mine. He has said that he is Mine forever, and that a sense of peace has settled in since he accepted My permanent collar.  There is a sense of peace in Me too.  A slow, passionate beating of love and desire inside that treasures the possession of this boy and all that I will train him to be for Me.  I can have him moan and squirm and beg anytime I want, and I often will want it.  Lucky him.

But now, in this quiet moment, the peace is priceless.  The part of both of our days we wait all day for, anticipate and plan to make it happen.  Even if we are tired or have had a bad day, the pull to have this contact, this exchange of energy, remains, and we find ourselves feeling renewed afterwards, able to rest satisfied and feeling loved.

I run hands over his shoulders, and the pleasure of Ownership, fills Me.  I feel the smooth and warm skin under My fingers and listen to the small but telling noises from him as the effort of holding the edge causes his skin to break out in a sweat, and his body to tremble.  In this moment of sweet but simple submission I think to Myself the same thing I tell My boy,  This is the Way it Should Be.  

The End

The Power by Anonymous

The Power

I looked at him and lifted my eyebrow

He trembled

My scent wafted past his nose

He inhaled

I smiled with a glimmer in my eyes

He reciprocated

With tilted head, I pondered him

He stilled

My finger pointed to the ground

He knelt

I ran approached and grabbed his hair

He moaned

I said one simple word to him; “Mine.”

He agreed

I never understood the power of the simplest of things


He submitted

Descent Of Man by Matt

Descent of Man

So here we are, the modern man.
We build, we kill, we plot and plan.
Achievements made, buildings rose,
A great big brain lead by the nose.

Signals abound in the atmosphere.
What they contain isn’t clear.
Messages lost as the wind blows.
We’re often guided by the nose.

Bodies close. Perfume enchants,
It's clear here who leads this dance.
Flushed skin from head to toes.
You scent enthralls me by the nose.

Adoration by Matt


Alone all day I think of you,
Dreaming what the future brings.
Obsessing over some issue,
Remembering those intense lashings.
Aching joints and black and blue,
Thinking of the cane that stings.
Intensely craving some taboo,
Of flogger thuds and a wand that sings.
Neck devices are like wedding rings.

by Deman Moonbeam/mtc

Bruise by Matt


Badge of honor earned through pain
Raw and sore though it may be
Ushered forth with Madams cane
Ice could make the swelling flee
Since they hurt much to obtain
Erasing them is not for me.


Sunday, March 9, 2014

The Macabre Train by Lady Panther

She meets the eyes of one of the passengers on the train.  They exchange smiles and nods of understanding while the others watch. Each passenger having spoken directly with Her, and in full and eager anticipation, have agreed upon their respective activities prior to this enjoyable evening.

The Lady stands, leash in hand, and guides her devoted sub directly in front of the man.  She instructs her sub to “heel” . She proceeds, to her delight, to place her soft warm hand on his shoulders and then to massage them gently. She winks and smiles down at her sub, who promptly begins to slowly lick the man’s penis with soft wet slithering strokes, awakening it.  The Lady trickles her fingertips along his back in gentle long patterns.  Up and down.  Causing his skin to react , forcing small chill bumps.  Everyone watches as his body responds with relaxed acceptance of the pleasures it is receiving.

After a few moments of relaxation, and having noted his craving, the Lady commands her sub, “Suck him, my boy!”  Having been lulled into pleasurable yearning, the man’s body suddenly recoils as he hears her describe the gender of the deliverer working his mass so effectively as "boy".  The passengers smile silently since they unlike him can see clearly that the sub is indeed a female. The Lady moves her hands to his hips, holding them there to ensure no words escape her sub’s lips.

The Lady positions herself under one of the man’s arms and holds one forearm along his lower back.  At the same time she grabs the back of her sub’s head and, guiding it, forces the sub’s mouth over his softening length.  She sets the pace of her sub’s mouth at a steady, but slightly quickened, pace.  Using her grip on his lower back she forces him into her sub’s massaging mouth. His resistance is all too brief as the pleasures delivered by the Lady’s sub is far too much to resist, regardless of that sub's gender.

He moans through his gag and begins thrusting his hips forward in an effort to match the pace the sub and Lady have set.  Feeling him seeking to take control, the Lady abruptly pulls her sub’s head back off of him and smiles. “Oh my, it seems he likes it.”  He moans in sudden frustration, wanting more.  He presses his hips forward, seeking again to find the source of his pleasure.  Their laughter taints the air, lessening his concentration and pulling him back to the reality that he is not alone, nor even just among a few people.

The Lady nods once again at her sub as she laughs and moves back, fully behind him.  Her sub takes only the head of his cock into her mouth; she massages it slowly, teasingly, not allowing him to dictate anything. Simultaneously, the Lady presses her breasts to his back and her arms reach around him.  Her hands find his nipples and she gently pinches and prods them.  His head falls back; he emits out a loud grunt.  She rakes her fingernails over his chest, moving from the heart outward.  She leaves four red streaks over his pecs. He grunts once more.

The Lady's sub begins to cup the man’s tender sack and -- suddenly -- takes his full length into her mouth.  At the same time the Lady pinches his nipples very harshly.  The suddenness, the pain, the pleasure, all cause his body to tense.  He rises to the tips of his toes then he relaxes, backing off again.  The passengers laugh once more -- but he cannot hear them. His mind is swimming, his focus only on physical sensations.

Fully satisfied with his responsiveness, she digs in her nails again and rakes them slowly, but deeply, into his pecks and around the sides to the back as her body moves away from him.  Her sub sets a slower, more concentrated pace, moving slowly along his shaft as she takes him repeatedly into her throat.  She moves one hand to grip very tightly around its base, shutting off all possibilities of orgasm. Her other hand remains, massaging his sack, pulling it, patting it, and tracing its shape as she works on him.

The Lady takes a seat as another Lady walks in behind him placing her hands flatly on his upper back, running them along his entire back, inspecting the smooth soft skin.   All the while her eyes twinkle revealing her eagerness.  She moves away from him one pace and accepts the tools her sub presents to her.  Without hesitation she begins the rhythmic wielding of dual leather floggers in Florentine style.  With each pass four blows land upon his upper back, each time in different locations.

His body winces after the initial impacts.  He is somehow enthralled by it.  He shifts his upper body backwards, seeking more.  Then he is reminded of the noose which tightens slightly around his neck.  He leans his head forward and at the same time tries to extend the broadness of his upper back for her to fully use.  His flesh changes, taking on a soft pink hue as her strokes continue to assault him.  His mind races, filled with thoughts of self-preservation, but his body betrays him utterly.  He is filled with increasing excitement and yearning.

As the train moves along the rails, the lady’s strokes match the car’s rocking and swaying. Another woman joins in on the action, working from the front.  This woman touches the cold steel of her blade flatly to his collar bone. She tilts the blade tip inward, pressing his flesh just underneath the artery on his neck.  She pauses to let this new sensation register in the man’s brain.  His body stiffens instantly.  He recognizes it to be a knife.  He struggles to steady his body and to not move, despite the pleasures delivered by the sub, from the pain delivered by the Lady behind him, and now by the threat of the woman in front of him.

This last woman smiles with evil intent as she releases pressure, but glides the sharp tip of her knife down his body to his nipple. She draws a circle around them.  She then lays the blade along the top of one nipple and, using her thumb also, pins it to the blade. “He doesn't need these, does he?” she says flippantly to the passengers.  She then slides it slightly to the side creating the feeling that his flesh being cut in the process.  His muffled whimper is undeniably pleading for her to stop. She glides the blade down the center of his abdomen just over his naval, then on to his 'happy trail'.  She rests the blade at the base of his manhood, next to the sub’s hand, and asks, “Or perhaps he doesn't need this instead,”  The sub pauses briefly, concentrating only on his tip, giving the woman room to maneuver the blade as she wishes.

His panic grows. His instincts are to flee, but there is no way to retreat.  He is bound and if he did move, the blade might dig in and do its devious work.  Pulled from his pleasurable endorphin rush, he snaps back to the serious danger in which he now finds himself . He struggles to reason, trapped within his brain. "Surely, no one would actually do that to me, would they? I’ve done nothing wrong." Suddenly 'her' words from earlier come back, haunting him. “…for your crimes.” He desperately tries to think what his crimes might have been.  Would they justify losing his manhood? Would they warrant him being hanged?  His mind races with the pace of the train, and yet his body remains excited. Beneath the hood his brows furrow in wonderment.  How and why he would still be maintaining an erection when his very existence was being threatened?

Red Heels by Anonymous

She came to my door
Full length coat hid all
Inside, dropped the cover
Only crimson heels and
Scarlett lace topped thigh highs
Rest of her uncovered

Eyes gleaming, hands behind
She waited patiently for my command
With a single finger the word
To my chamber and on her knees
Finger under her chin lifting
Eyes glisten as she watches

My robe drops, she bites a lip
Lips start with my toes
Slowly work higher
Stopped before my vulva
Patiently she waits
Fingers behind neck push her

Face first across my bed, feet on floor
Hand across her rosy cheeks
Riding crop marks those again
Fingers find her core, pinch her bud

Gasp her only reply, fingers move
Every minute a pause and SNAP
Another minute SMACK
Kept her dangling most of the hour
Finally allowed her release
Shuddering thunderous orgasm

With breath restored, up on bed
She spent the night pleasing me
Every inch as instructed
This pet does deliver devotion
Left me drained and sated by dawn
Held close as we snoozed

Petite And Curvy Part 1 by Anonymous

Dedicated to Miss Monday

I awoke early to the sound of a truck rumbling noisily down my street. I peered out my bedroom window to see a moving van parking in front of the house next door that had recently been sold. I thought to myself, "I hope it's for that cute single woman that viewed the property a few weeks ago."  She was tall, slender and more than 'easy to look at' but I thought, "Why should even be thinking that I might impress a woman as attractive as her?"

I quickly showered, put on some decent clothes, and decided to go out and work in the yard for a bit.  Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of her and maybe I could strike up a conversation with her. No sooner than I had started working around the yard than a small compact car whipped into the next door driveway.

Once parked, out stepped that same woman. I felt my heart skip a beat. She was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt. She had those "innocent girl next door" looks about her. She was dressed for comfort and for work.  I could tell that what she was wearing was not doing her body complete justice. She immediately started directing the moving men, prompting them to start unloading and taking control of the situation to get them on their way.

I was trying to look as if I were just working, but I was constantly looking her way. She looked over my way just as I looked over toward her. Our eyes locked for an instant before she let loose with a beautiful smile.  I returned a nervous smile of my own.

She confidently strode over in my direction with what appeared to be great purpose.  She introduced herself telling me that her name was Charlotte but that all of her friends called her ChaCha. She continued to say that -- since we were going to be neighbors -- we would probably be friends, and that I should call her ChaCha as well. i politely offered to help her if she needed any assistance. She said, " I don't right at the moment.  The movers have everything in hand, but why don't you come over later once the movers leave.  There are a few things I could use your assistance with."

She strode off as confidently, right back to directing the movers.  I was intrigued by this new neighbor.  I went back to working in the yard. I worked a few more hours, occasionally glancing over to look at the progress being made next door. When the movers started to pack up I took that as my cue to head in and take a shower.

I raced through my shower and I dressed just as fast, doing what I could to make sure that I would make a good second impression. I grabbed a bottle of wine on my way out slipping it it into a gift bag as I walked out the door. I had a bounce in my step as I walked across the yard to her front door.

I rang her doorbell and heard foot steps coming to the door and it swung open quickly. Much to my surprise there she stood (in some sort of god-awful frock that didn't do her body any justice at all....).   I quickly extended my arm, offering her the bottle of wine and welcoming her to the neighborhood. She invited me in, thanked me for the wine and said that, though she was just about to start painting a room, she could wait on that.  "Since you are here to help, follow me," she said.  She put the wine on the coffee table, walked by it, and headed to a room in the back of the house. I followed.  The room was empty except for some boxes and some padded and wrapped furniture. The boxes were labeled "Do not unpack!" in large letters across their tops. A drill and other tools sat on the floor alongside a step ladder.

She reached down, grabbed something from one of the boxes, and turned toward me, handing me an eye screw.  She said it needed to be installed into a ceiling joist. The eye bolt was huge and I inquired why she would need such a heavy eye bolt. "Get it installed," she said confidently and with a smile. "It is much easier to show you than tell you. Are you up for that?" she asked. Without saying anything, I put the step ladder into place and I worked  quickly to install the eye screw.  It had my curiosity going at a break-neck pace. Seeing my last question still on my face, she said, "Well, I think i have your answer to what you asked."

I climbed down the ladder and assured her that the eye hook was firmly installed. "Good," she said.  "Ready to see how it is used?" I nodded. She then said, "Then there are a few conditions you must follow.  If you balk I will stop immediately and you will be on your way." I nodded once again. She handed me a blindfold and said "Put this on!"  Without saying a word I took it and covered my eyes. I felt a sense of excitement come over me. "I need you to remove your shirt," she added.  "Oh my god!", I thought. "What i have gotten myself into?" Nonetheless I removed my shirt without hesitation. "Good boy!", she stated. "Boy?", I thought.  I was taken aback by the comment -- but aroused. "Extend your arms, boy!", she commanded with an air of authority. I was feeling a bit fearful but again I complied without hesitation. I felt something wrapping around first my right wrist and then my left wrist.  I attempted to pull them apart but they  were bound together. I was fully aroused now.  My cock was pressing against the fabric of my pants. "I see you are enjoying this little demonstration, boy", she said.  I sleeplessly muttered, "I am."  She asked, "Do you think that is the way to address a woman that has you in such a compromising position?"  I muttered, "Yes, ChaCha!"  In a disapproving voice she replied, "No.  That is completely unacceptable. Try again boy and say it like you mean it." I then said, with more volume: " Yes, Miss ChaCha". In a stern voice she then said, "That is much better, boy!"

I could only imagine what was coming next.

End of Part One

Mary's Lamb by Doc

Professor Roberts droned on, lecturing about – a nursery rhyme!  Specifically, “Mary Had a Little Lamb”.  Janice listened but didn’t take notes….Her thought was “English is boring!”

“The Redstone School (built in 1798 and located in Sudbury, Massachusetts), is believed to be the school house mentioned in the rhyme.  The song was inspired Mary Sawyer. In the town center of Mary's home in Sterling, Massachusetts there now stands a statue of Mary's lamb…..”

Mary opened her laptop as the old man went on, now reciting the variations of that song gone viral -- translating them back into English from the (truncated and distorted) variations.  She thought of Professor Roberts following her home FROM school one day (which was against the rules) to teach *him* a few things.  She grinned.

On the laptop she searched and found ….

Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go.
Now Mary found the price of meat too high
Which really didn't please her.
Tonight she is having the leg of lamb,
The rest is in the freezer.  

She sweetly smiled up at him, slightly tilting her head.  He noticed her.  She could tell.  She dreamed of leg of lamb.  And then her mind wandered.  “Hmmmmm,” she thought.  “I bet I could….”.

She looked back at her laptop, and almost laughed at loud at the next variation she found….

Mary had a little watch,
She kept it in her garter.
And when the boys asked her the time,
She knew what they were after.

Janice unbuttoned the top button of her blouse as if she were hot.  Actually, she was feeling a bit warm.  She hoped Professor Roberts was, too.  His eyes were on her; that was a start. She turned back to the laptop…

Mary had a little lamb,
She kept in her yard.
Every time she took her panties off
Its woolly dick got hard.

Janice looked down at Professor Roberts’ crotch.  She grinned even harder.

She wasn't surprised that he asked her to stay after class.  She wasn't surprised either when he said, “I got the impression you didn’t think my lecture was very interesting, Janice.”  She wasn't surprised either when she invited him to her apartment, either (though it was against the rules) and he accepted her invitation.

Soon Janice had her own ‘little lamb’ that followed her FROM school each day.  She rather enjoyed the fact that “everywhere that Janice went her lamb was sure to go.”  Or stay.  Or whatever else she told it to do.

Janice got an “A” for that course.  She rather liked having him cook for her at home, too.  She made him bake roast lamb.  He never caught on.

A Slave Girl's Torment by Leasha

This confession is the second part to one dated 22/2/14.  It follows along on the same theme.  A third part by Leasha is still to follow.

By now it is mid-day.   All this evening's guests have arrived and have been correctly checked through the systems. Check-in has been handled by the house's slaves, and each room has been specifically adjusted to match the individual needs of each of the guests. The guests pay rather a lot of money to spend time in the castle, and Mistress is always cautious in the choice of each room to ensure that it is tailored to the whims and desires of its occupant.

The house is spread over six levels: four above-ground levels and two below-ground levels. Three of the four upper levels have been set apart for the guests, but the top level is a private one -- for Mistress and hers. Each one of the guest levels follows a theme, and each of the bedrooms and suites have been exquisitely decorated to match the theme.

I sit up in bed, uncurling from a tangle of silken sheets, and I shudder against the coolness of the room, my shoulders quivering.  I shake loose the silken sheets, and the light material slips downwards across my breasts exposing my pert pink nipples, flushed with excitement.  The lower parts of my body are still enshrouded in the silken sheets. After a cat yawn and stretch, I gaze at tiny droplets of sweat  that glisten against the pale porcelain of my skin. The afternoon sun is streaming through a gap in the curtains, casting dancing shadows upon this four poster bed .

The tinkle of a bell in the distance signals the beginning of lunch.  Leaping from the four poster, scrambling to all fours, struggling to disentangle the silken sheets, I panic.  I realize that i have 'slept in'.  The erotic sweet scent of my pussy, still wet, hangs in the air.  A mixture of sweat and cum coats every inch of my skin, betraying my arousal; its glistening wetness is evident on my thighs and outer lips.  It evidences the telltale signs of a naughty masturbating slut: me. The thoughts of my encounters with Mistress earlier in the morning hang in the air.  All signs point to an unmissable tell that I have been a naughty slut.

Assuming 'the position', my legs spread wide, my back slightly arched, my breasts pressed out for Mistress's inspection, my eyes down cast to the floor, I wait, with bated breath -- knowing and anticipating the wrath to come.

Against the polished wooden floor, I hear the clip-clop of stiletto heels ,

I wait, my breath caught in my throat, mouth drying, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

I hear the sound stop, not daring to look up.  I know she has not taken enough steps.  My mind races.  Can she tell? Is my scent so strong that she can smell me down the corridor?  My breathing hastens; I hear pounding in my ears.  I know she is close now,

Even knowing that trouble awaits, I still can feel my body flushing,  teased,  aroused.   Her hand is on the door handle. She is there! I know she is teasing me, holding me in suspense. I want her, need her, and desire her with every fiber of my body.  I am craving her like an addict.  A small simple whiff of her perfume is enough to provoke a dampness between my thighs.

Goosebumps coat my already flushed skin.  I hear the click of the handle turning in its brass lock.  I shudder in anticipation, then I follow with a gasp and a sigh of relief.  There she stands: my Mistress.

Keeping in 'the position', I await her inspection,

She gives a touch to my chin and I feel her breath on my cheek.  Trembling with excitement and fear I raise my head, my eyes still locked to the ground.  There is barely an inch between our lips.  Taunting me with her exquisite beauty, I sense the wondrous fullness of her flush pink lips, so close. I can smell her.  I reach forwards, a wanton girl, seeking out the touch of my Mistress. She of course knows I would do this. Her hand locks upon my chin, squeezing my jaw, and with a flick of her wrist my head is jerked downwards.

Down I go, my face touching the floor, my ass spread in the air -- on display. The wetness of my pussy is evident to her eyes.  Shameless and brazen, despite my whimpering sobs, I plead and I beg her to use me as her slut,

Mistress laughs a cold, powerful, teasing laugh. Reaching into the cabinet she removes a gag.  I can hear her movements and sense her whereabouts in the room.   Spreading my lips apart, she forcefully inserts the gag.  Saying in a alluring whisper "Stay, my slut!" she leaves the room. I stay motionless, gagged, with my pussy bared for all to see, my face to the floor.  A soft sob of need leaves my lips -- as I wait.................

Late Night Whispers by Lark

There's nothing I love more than knowing how easily I can control a man just with the sound of my voice....

It was late at night, even later for him since he lives far on the other side of the pond. But he was working overnight that night, and he asked me to keep him company as he stocked shelves, getting ready for the Christmas shopping rush anticipated in just hours. He was the only supervisor on the floor that night, so he had to be furtive in his conversations with me.  From time to time I had to sit there quietly while I listened to him tell some person or another what they should be working on next.

When I know someone online, and I hear them speaking to people in their every day world, it is a treat to me.  I quickly began to feel myself getting just a little excited. It wasn't long before I was giggling both to myself and into his ear. I knew it threw him off.  I could hear him pause here and there as he spoke to his staff. Seconds after he dismissed whomever it was that he was talking to I heard him whisper seductively, "What are you giggling about?" -- and I knew that he knew.

We continued to talk a bit as he walked around the store checking in with one person or another. "Stack them like this." "Unload this." It wasn't long though before my giggles began to transform into soft sighs.

"You're going to get me into trouble," he said.
"I doubt it," I told him, breathily.
"It's beginning to get hard to walk," he told me. The only reply I could muster was a laugh.
The next time he stopped to speak to someone, my sighs merged with moans.  I could tell that his conversation was awkward and forced. It amused me. When I heard his conversation end he had no words for me. But I did for him.  I said, "Stroke for me."

It wasn't long before I heard his door shut; his breathing began to match my own.

"May I please cum?" I heard.  That surprised me. Ours had never a dom/sub relationship -- but at that moment I knew things had changed.

All I needed to say was: "Cum with me."

The Canvas by Lady Crissy

The Canvas   by Crissy Viper

"Are you sure?"  I said.

"Yes, Miss.  I trust you,"  he responded quickly, with a smile.

The beginning.  There was always a beginning.  A moment created out of time, space.  It was almost a type of magic. Creating an opening, an opportunity, where before there was none.  No chance of realizing this possibility until this very moment.

"Good boy,"  I acknowledged with a smile in return.

I began by stepping close and carefully looking over the canvas of his body .  Like a sculptor considering a slab of marble. He had offered this, and I had accepted.  He didn't understand how much it meant to me, but I planned to show him.  Does form follow identity, or does identity follow form?  I was hoping for a little of both.  I wanted to create what I desired most and to show him the elements within him that I had known all along.

I let my desire guide my fingers as I smoothed and molded, as I pinched and gently created definition and smoothness.  This was to be a firm and strong body, muscled, but not overly so. Arms and legs were massaged and created to be strong, to be durable, to be comforting.  I made his torso solid, with a bit more flesh over his fit form.  I formed his chest to be solid, with nipples that invited gentle biting, and a firm ass that would give just the right sound when spanked soundly to bring me to wetness.

I held his cock and balls next and I formed them to average specifications and his cock to be cut. I created his cock to be something that would be fun to play with - to stroke, to slap, to make hard over and over without mercy or release.  Smoothing my thumb over his budding erection, I brought him to fullness and gave him a squeeze approving my work before letting go, hearing his soft moan.
Looking into his eyes, I put my hands on his neck, drawing them down and over his shoulders, down his arms,  and then to his torso.  I watched the skin change hue, subtle changes in the tone following in the wake of my palms' gentle movements. I gave him light, almost pale skin, not deathly pale but with the blush of his warm blood beneath it.  Cool skin that would invite kisses or licks or bites to reach the warm wetness underneath. Running hands over his torso, over his hips. and down his legs to his feet.

Lastly placing my palms on either side of his face, I leaned in for a sweet kiss, watching as his head slowly matched the rest of him, his lips slightly red from the kiss as I withdrew. I saw it then.  The first signs of recognition.  The gravity of the situation shone in his eyes then, his lips half parted in the wake of the kiss.  Then his surprise.  The beginning had become something more in only so many moments and touches.  The shift was perceptible.  The soft acceptance on his face let me know there was no turning back now.

I touched his eyes then, and his brow, watching the short dark hair appear and thick dark lashes on his lids. I created eyes of ice blue that had a sense of alertness and intelligence, but also a bit of hunger. My fingertips continued down his jawline and hair grew there.  A line of beard hair grew in black, so that, though his skin was pale and beautiful, it would mark him as a man grown.   A short line across and above his lip gave him a very short and sparse line of hair there as well.  His lips I formed to be soft and just a bit plump, all the better to bite and to feel on my skin if I were to allow it.

I took a moment to admire him then: My creation.  My fingers moved to his scalp then, and the gentle swirls of my fingertips brought forth the soft, dark wavy hair that covered his head now and I laughed softly as I twirled strands between my fingers, enjoying the feel of it.  In the same theme, my fingers danced over his chest and stomach, and even down lower, to add soft dark hair here and there, though not very much.

I took his hands in mine then, touching, forming.  Creating fingers that were neither soft, nor rough, with fingers that were strong enough to hold my hand firmly or to give me massage for as long as I wanted.  Bending down I finished his feet, making them strong enough to stand for hours attending me or to run if I needed him to be swift and to fetch something for me.

Taking a few steps, I admired My creation.  A perfect instrument reflecting the best of what I wished from him.   Having created him perfectly for me, I felt my own desire rise.  Crooking a finger, I beckoned him to me.  "Come My creation, you have much to do."

The end of the beginning

The Gift by Anonymous

I got your gift, boy.

I wonder how long you had held that, wanting so badly to give it to Me, but unsure if it would be welcome, afraid of the repercussions.

I can tell it was chosen with so much care, with so much knowledge of me.  Only someone who knows me as well as you could have chosen so perfectly.

I returned it back to you, yes.

Not that I didn't love it.  I did.  It was beautiful, and touching.

However, nothing material can replace what I really want.  I want more. I want you.  I want you to come to me, bearing that gift to kneel at my feet and beg for me to take you.

I wonder if you are brave enough to do so.  

Truth Be Told by Anonymous

I have long since not trusted dommes. It must have been more than three years ago now that I was a guild leader in World of Warcraft. I meet a very sweet women who told me about Second Life. In truth I never thought it would be so vast. I thought it was a much simpler game than it  turned out to be.

My first day in, I made my very first avi and I followed the starters' guide. I did it without her knowledge. I did not think to learn about SL first, using videos or blogs or anything of the sort. I just dove in head first and never looked back. I did send her a message and give her a call on Skype. I had been in a starting area for maybe 15 minutes when she logged into SL and took me to her parcel. It was only a day or two later that she told me to wear her collar, telling me that if I did not wear her collar I could be taken, and that people could force a collar upon me and then take me and sell me as a sex slave.

Of course I was new. I was dumb. I knew nothing of SL and I thought this was how it was played. I was a good boy so I never left without her consent. The only time I'd ever spent off her parcel without her was to go to a sandbox where I spoke to no one.  It was weeks -- nearly a month -- before someone told me that is not how SL works. Finally I learned that SL was bigger than her parcel and more than her collar.

I ran away and became scared of a life that I actually should have enjoyed. The Truth is, I love the life of a submissive, but since then I have been frightened of ever again putting a collar around my neck for anyone.

Then.... I met her. My Queen. My Goddess. My Mistress.

She makes me feel safe and comfortable. She does not force things onto me that I am still learning about. She tells me the truth and does not manipulate me taking advantage of what I do not know. I have been hers for under a month, but already I feel close to her. I dare say I love my Mistress. My deepest desires now only consist of pleasing her. I know I still have much to learn about being a good submissive, so I learn a little more each day. I only hope one day I can be the perfect boy to serve her every need. I wear her collar. I belong to her.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

The Macabre Truth Part 1 by Lady Panther

As she enters the train car she sees the nude frame of a man wearing a heavy black burlap sack over his head -- cinched at the neck with a purple rope noose.  It rocks slightly with the rhythm as it moves along.

Her eyes follow the loose end of the rope along the middle of his back and soak in this fine specimen with his strong exposed shoulders pulled wide, extending his already naturally broad frame.  She looks over the defined muscles of his arms and forearms to discover wrists bound and tethered tightly to the poles of the overhead compartments on each of the opposite sides of the car.

Her eyes dart to the sumptuous curvatures of his buttocks. She stares at the definition of the lines at the happy spot between the bottom of his ass and the top of his thighs, moving down his strong, wide-spread legs, their ankles bound by manacles.  He is chained with very little leeway, the bars holding their seats securely to the floor.

Her body quickens in anticipation and the edges of her lips curve upward into a most devious smile of approval as she walks up close to him. Careful not to touch him, she wedges her body between the space separating his right arm and leg, continuing her visual inspection from the front. Well-defined but not overly muscular pectorals and abdomen with a man-scaped small happy trail that leads to a semi-hardened length. It rests, to the left, over clean-shaven testicles.

She licks her lips as she approvingly examines her new -- unmarred -- canvas.  "The Ladies will love this one for sure; it’s about time we had some fresh meat,’ she thinks as she turns from him, leaving this car for the next.

He hears the door open and close and then hears nothing more for a few moments. He is bound there, wondering how he got himself into such a predicament.  Unable to see, unable to speak, he thinks quietly ‘Well, you’ve done it this time, haven’t you?’  Even through the silken panties shoved into his mouth and under the duct tape securing them in place a typical knowing smirk crosses his lips.  Under that burlap sack.  He raises his eyebrows and despite his positioning he manages to shrug his shoulders thinking ‘Nothing to do but to see where this leads me!’; he feels a rush of anxiousness.

His anticipation grows as he feels the closeness of someone to his right side and a warm breath wafting gently over his ribs.  The person crosses the threshold from his back to his front. He pauses, waiting, yearning for some sort of input -- a touch, a word, anything to clue him into what may be to come.  He hears nothing but the sound of the door in front of him, opening and then closing.

Out of frustration as well as curiosity, he yanks and pulls at the bindings on his wrists and ankles but discovers that they are quite secure against his mediocre efforts to free himself. He musters another shrug as the train seems to slow and come to a halt.  Worry creeps into his mind, ‘Wait, I’m naked, and I cannot move.  The train stops; what is going on?’ The gravity of the situation hits him, knocking him out of his cavalier attitude and into a small panic mixed with a thrill.  His senses reel as he hears the doors open on the left side in front and back of him and feeling the cool air drift by him.


Passengers enter the car with light chatter and giggles as well as “oo’s and ah’s” as they see this man presented to them.  They take their seats along the side walls of the car as the doors close again and the train begins to move forward once more.  The chatter dies down as everyone settles in for the ride.  Ladies yank chains to direct their subs to kneel in properly safe distances away from the man hanging in the aisle.  Several zipper sounds and the rustling of gathering things fill the air.

Once they are well on their way the door to the front opens. A Lady enters, heels clicking as she walks straight for the man.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, on the menu tonight is this fine new specimen!  As you can see he is a blank canvas on which you can paint whatever you wish tonight.  But before we get started,” she says and then points to one of the male subs present, “You, crawl here.  Then remain on all fours for a moment.”

The sub complies, crawling to the area just before the man; he stops and assumes 'the requested position'.  She steps upon his shoulders and his lower back as she places her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.  She leans against him, her covered breasts resting to both sides of the rough burlap sack that is scratching his cheeks roughly.  His nose fits perfectly within her cleavage and he takes the brunt of the small discomfort.  Once comfortable against any possible fall, despite the rocking of the train, she reaches behind him to grabs the loose end of the noose, loops and secures it with leaving a little slack near the top ring-bolt in the ceiling of the car.

She feels the man nuzzling his face against her and she yanks on the rope, pulling it taut.  His face immediately retracts; he knows instinctively he has overstepped. Once she completes the last portion of his bindings, she steadies herself again on his shoulders.  She digs in her nails as she dismounts the boy who’d been holding her up.  She looks down at the supporting sub who now has a half-inch divot mark on the upper and lower back.  She smiles and directs him silently with a hand gesture back to his Mistress’ feet.  The sub complies as the Lady smiles and nods appreciatively toward his Mistress.

The now-dismounted Lady leans up and whispers into the suspended man’s ear, “You will hang tonight for your crimes! As your body weakens, the noose above you will tighten.  It’s just a matter of time.  You ALL break in the end. Enjoy.” Her voice is seductive, her words are threatening, their blended juxtaposition leaves the man perplexed.  Does he even attempt a noise in agreement or denial, or does he just remain silent accepting his fate?  His body adjusts, chest out,  back straightened; it is a physical response seeming to mock Her, as his mind doubles-down.

‘They will not break me, I can remain in this position all night long. Ha! Bring it on!’.  These thoughts do not and cannot escape his lips, and perhaps the better for it, but the cues his body renders are all too familiar to all those present.  They are prideful and his stance is well-read, instantly, by the Ladies.  They smile and nod with devilish grins and plotting eyes.

“And with that, Ladies and subs, enjoy your feast!” the Lady who is hosting says as she takes her seat to enjoy the show.


His body lowers slightly as the words pierce his brain.  ‘How many people are here?  Who are these people?  What will they do to me?’ As these thoughts race  through his mind he tries to muster his confidence. ‘Well, if it’s Ladies, there’s not much they can do to me in the way of hurting me.  I guess I’m safe in that regard!  How bad can this be? I can take what they dish out. Surely?’

A Day To Remember Part 2 by Steven

This is the second part of a Trials Punishment (Guilty of being on the victorious subs' "Name that Tune" team)

Last week's Confession:  Puppy had been sent to his room to await further instructions from his Mistress after she had explained to him that he will be trying something new and that this day would be a day to remember.

Part Two

He placed the apron back behind the door before he put his head in his hands. Despite his best efforts he knew that his one small mistake was going to be paid for somehow.... but how?. She said that it would be something new.  Something unknown...

The excitement and nervousness flowing through him at this point was incredible.  He began pacing slowly back and forth across his room wondering what it could be.

"Puppy, i can hear you up there.   Calm down" she shouted

He knew that his pacing would be uncontrollable and since the excitement was killing him, he knelt down in his Mistress's preferred kneeling position for him -- on the cushion close to the bedroom door.

A few moments later he heard Her begin to come up the stairs. His ears perked up and his smile grew wider...eager like a dog upon hearing its owner's car door shut as she returned home from work.

"I'm glad to hear that you have settled down, but I was actually quite enjoying the fact that you were squirming up here, Puppy.  I'm going to place you in your cage for a while and let you ponder further.  I'm nice like that, aren't I?."

He simply replied "Yes Mistress"

His cage was a custom build, put together by one of his Mistress's other pets, a skilled designer and craftsman, of wood. It was a good two meters in length and one meter in width. A thin red cushion ran its length, and it opened and locked from the top.  The only position possible whilst in this cage was on all fours.

He stepped inside and assumed 'the position', awaiting the sound of the door shutting and of the lock sliding into place. It was always a shock when he felt the initial brush of cold steel against his back, but this soon left his mind. He raised his head to see out of the cage.

"I'm going to place a few items in front of you here, Puppy. Your cage will give you some nice thinking time to ponder some possibilities."

He nodded intently before replying "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress"

She laid the following items out neatly in front of him:

One blindfold
One ball gag
One set of cuffs
Two zip-lined rows of pegs (each containing six pegs)
Two wax candles and a lighter

"I'll be back in a while.  Just remember, Puppy, that If you do good for me, I'll be inclined to reward you and perhaps also I will forget your little mishap earlier."

He didn't know how long he would be left to ponder and to wonder, The hourglass of excitement and nervousness seemed to turn in the favor of nervousness. He of course knew what each item was used for, but how would she use them -- and where would she use them?

What felt like an hour passed.  He didn't know for sure...

He heard the door unlocked above him. "Okay! Out you get, Puppy!"

He stood as instructed and stepped out of the cage, placing his hands behind his back. He stood in a complete state of vulnerability -- just as she liked him to stand.

She grinned.  Then her soft yet commanding voice said..., "Someone seems to be happy to see me, Puppy."

Her gaze was focused directly on his throbbing hard cock. It was good that he was naked because his clothes would have had a tough time attempting to keep it contained.

He had been hard the whole time he was in that cage, his perverted mind continually crawling with ideas. Any state of mind that he was in was, of course, intended by his Mistress.

She pointed at the floor without saying a single word.  He instantly took his place, kneeling in front of her. She attached the leash to his collar and the cuffs to his wrists before leading him out of the bedroom.

"Now, Puppy, you know that I have had this room locked for a good week or two whilst work has been on going. You'll be happy to know that the work is now complete."

She proceeded to pull the tape covering a sign on the door, revealing the words "Correction Room".  She entered, with her Puppy following close behind.

After entering the room, She yanked the leash upwards signaling to him that he should stand. He stood up and looked around. His jaw dropped, Every corner of the room, every single inch, was arranged cleverly -- organized but not cluttered.  It was obvious to him that this had been custom-made for her needs.

The center of the room was bare (or so it appeared).  A strong steel hoop was fixed to the ceiling. She attached both cuffs above his head through the hoop. He was nicely secure, tight and not going anywhere soon.

"You've seen enough for now, Puppy", she smiled.

As she tied the black blindfold at the back of his head his last sight was that of complete delight written all over his Mistress's face.

He then only heard her heels -- tapping against the floor as she walked around him. He tried to keep track of where she was in the room; it was no use.

She would pause nearby for a moment and then trace her nails across his chest (or back) every so often, and then grope his ass or slap his erect cock.

His moaning becoming louder and more frequent. He replied to every slap with a groaned "Thank you, Mistress."

"I've heard enough, Puppy," she said placing the trusty leather ball gag into his mouth.  She fastened it with the buckle at the back of his head, nice and tight.

"Ah, that's much much better. Now I said that I wanted to try something new with you, Puppy...."

He drooled and responded in the best possible way "mshlurp yesh Mishtresh".  Her infectious laugh pealed out, obviously caused by Her pet's predicament.

His sense of hearing had been heightened by his loss of sight.  He clearly her pick up the two zip-lined rows of pegs. He remembered every last detail of those pegs as they had been part of his only possible visual memories of the past two hours.

Each row of string contained six wooden pegs with metal springs.  The loose ends of the rope had been tied together.

She traced her nails down his chest and onto his cock for a while longer, bringing the nerves to the forefront.  She then began placing the pegs.

As she placed each peg, he shuddered as he felt the initial sting.  He then, attempting to manage the pain, replied to her with a progressively aching "Thank you, Mistress"

From what he could feel, the pegs had been placed in two vertical lines beginning at each nipple before running down towards his lower half.

Once all twelve pegs had been placed She decided to resume pacing the room, leaving him to squirm for a little while longer. His head tilted back as he embraced every last ounce of pain.  He moaned further and deeper.  He was however unable to beg because of the gag, She grabbed the tied ends of the rope and tugged softly, teasing him, between her bursts of pacing.

"I have already learned today that you are quite a pain slut, Puppy.  This pleases me."

She then yanked the zip-lines from his body with one swift, strong motion;  his body kicked back before he let out one big groan.

"Owwwww! Thank you, Mistress!"

"Oh," she said, "we're not done just yet. Gather yourself together and hang in there." She laughed.

The only other items not yet used were the two wax candles.  These were the things he had questioned the most in his thoughts.

Another few minutes passed......

He heard the click of the lighter.  He could only imagine what was happening; this was driving him crazy., A second click. Both candles were now lit.  The tapping of her heels began once again. He suspected that this time it would  be different.

She resumed teasing him in his sensory deprived state.  She drifted the candles up close to and across his body. He flinched several times as he felt the heat.

"Place your feet flat on the ground, Puppy.  Then lean back slightly, and remain that way until i tell you differently."

He did as he was told.  He arched his back slightly placing his feet at an angle in front of his body as if he were a backslash on a keyboard.

She stroked his cock a couple of times to ensure it was fully alert -- before slapping it firmly.

"Good boy." she said in a pleased tone.

The candles had been burning for quite a while at this point.  It was time for this experience -- completely new to him --  to commence. He now knew what would happen but he couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel.

She gently poured the hot wax up, down and across his firm shaft. Each drop stung before settling into blissful pain. His body was positioned in such a way that his cock acted as a shelf containing the wax.

He felt it harden, firmly encasing his shaft in its grasp. She then removed the blindfold from his eyes to allow him to see the hot mess she had created below him as well as a huge grin upon her face.

Finally she removed his ball gag.  This release was followed by a trail of drool and with relief.

"You won't forget my morning routine in the future will you?"

"No, Mistress.   I won't make the same mistake again." he promptly replied.

She let him down from the steel hoop, then  motioned for him to hug her. It was a huge reward and was extremely meaningful to him.  She did not over-use this and it signified just how special the moment was.

He knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling in close.. "Thank you for the happiest day of my life, Mistress."

She patted him on the head gently. "I told you it would be a day to remember, Puppy."

The End.


I just wanted to add a note to say that Miss Noirran has been the most influential person in my life. Many things are better for me as a result of knowing her and i will always respect and admire her. I have made positive life changes to ensure my quality of life is better than it was.  I did them as a result of having her backing me throughout.

She has always been totally open and honest with me.  That is something i can't say has been too common a theme over the years;  she will always hold a special place in my heart.

Today we spoke and she decided that it was best if we change to a friendship status. She has always had my best intentions in mind. Thinking things through logically she felt that we would be better as friends -- a decision i respect.

I'm fighting back tears as i write this but i don't want this to be viewed in a negative light. It is the opposite of that.  It's a very positive thing.  To have a life long friend such as Miss Noirran means an awfully lot to me.   I will be eternally grateful for everything she has done and I remember lots of great memories.

Thank you so much for everything.