Sunday, March 15, 2015

Awesomeness Taken, Awesomeness Given by Patrick

In a land far, far away called the Dominion where Ladies rule and males submit there came one day a traveler from a distant land. His name was Atrick. There was something different about Atrick right from the start. People didn't know what to make of him. Oh, he was pleasant enough and very respectful toward the Ladies. That wasn't the problem you see. (All the Ladies thought he was an awesome sub.) The issue just happened to be his style of dress. You see, Atrick liked to wear very colorful suits.  One might say awesomely colorful. Soon, throughout the land, rumors started to fly about how awesome Arick’s very favorite suit was. The stories got bigger and bigger, until, one day, someone mentioned how awesome this exact suit was and named it The Awesome Suit.  The name just happened to stick because the suit was just that awesome!

Everywhere Atrick went if he wasn't wearing The Awesome Suit Ladies and subs alike would say to Atrick, "Say Atrick where is the Awesome Suit?" And Atrick would reply "Well if I wore it every day it might lose some of its awesomeness." Word spread of just how awesome the suit was until it reached the ears of the Fashion Police. They had to see this suit for themselves.  They found Atrick one day and they asked him to wear this suit about which they've heard so much. Being the good and humble sub that Atrick was he (of course) obliged. As soon as Atrick put on the suit The Fashion Police let out a collective scream of horror and said "How dare you wear that awful thing! It is making poor Mavis' eyeballs explode, and Gertie's graphics card is storming off in protest!" There was much wailing and smashing of glasses at the crime against fashion standing before them. "We never want to see that awful suit again! It is in no way an awesome suit -- and hence is hereby banned from this land."

Atrick broke down and cried through his tears.  He said, "But why Fashion Police?  My suit has brought happiness to so many! People smile when they see it!" The Fashion Police declaimed: "That does not matter to us! As of today, all rainbow-colored clothing is banned from the Dominion!" Again being the good and humble sub that he is he bowed his head and said "Yes Ma'am." He bid his farewell to the Fashion Police and started to walk down the road sullenly.
As he was walking down the road, he came upon another Lady. She greeted him and said "Hello there! My name is Lady Akit.  Why do you look so sad?" Atrick said, “Well Ma'am I ran into The Fashion Police, who didn't think my Awesome Suit was so awesome, and they banned it from this land. Now it can no longer bring smiles to the people." Lady Akit began to cry and through her tears she said "Oh no! I can't believe it! I came here precisely to see The Awesome Suit I have heard so much about it!  I shall have to see to this at once. Do not fret boy, I shall set things right. We shall see the ruler of this land, whose name is Lady Ave.  She is a just and fair ruler and I am sure she will set things right."

So Lady and Atik and Atrick set off to see Lady Ave. It was a long journey, but they got there nonetheless. They asked for permission to see Lady Ave and they soon were granted an audience. When their time came to see Lady Ave, Miss Akit said, "Let me do all the talking, and you just be as humble and as good as you always are and we should be fine." Aitrick replied, "Yes Ma'am." As they approach Lady Ave, Miss Akit begins to speak.

"Good day, Ave so happy to see you! It has been some time since I last saw you.  I hope all is well?" Lady Ave said, "Well, hello, my dear Atik.  So good to see you, too.  It has indeed been a long time! I am doing well -- and thank you for asking. I hope you are also doing well." Lady Atik said, "I am except for one thing, Lady Ave, and for that I thought of you right away, knowing you are a fair and just ruler of this land we call Dominion." Lady Ave replied, "Oh my do tell Atik, please." Lady Atik went on and said, "Well, it that seems this submissive ran into The Fashion Police and that they didn't seem to like his legendary Awesome Suit.  They have banned it from our land, thereby robbing all our wonderful people of the joy of seeing it. They have taken joy out of the Dominion." Lady Ave was so shocked she was speechless for a moment but quickly regained her composure and said, "Oh my!  Not the Awesome Suit! I have never seen this suit but I have heard of it and its awesomeness. How can I allow such a horrible thing happen to a good and humble sub such as Atrick, especially since I have not seen this suit? So I hereby declare that the suit is unbanned from this land that we know as the Dominion!”

“Thank you, Atik for bring this to my attention! You have saved the rainbows and brought back the smiles to millions of our citizens! We shall proclaim this day Lady Atik day and on this day the Awesome Suit shall always be worn!" Lady Atik and the good and humble sub Atrick both thanked Lady Ave very much for her reversal of the ban.

Lady Ave then said, "Now that the ban has been lifted I would like to see the suit, please!" Atrick excused himself to put on his Awesome Suit. As he reentered the room Lady Ave gasped and said "Oh my! That is indeed an awesome suit! Henceforth this suit will be officially be called The Awesome Suit!" The good and humble sub Atrick bowed his head and thanked Lady Ave for her generosity. As they left the room Atrick turned and thanked Lady Atik for all her help. She had brought back rainbows and smiles to the Dominion.

Change Of Seasons by Anonymous

Darkness shrouds my world.
The endless black sea adjoins with a formless abyss of sky before my eyes.
I can sense nothing.
Not the figure of your presence nor the deviance in your smile.

Silence shrouds my world.
Neir a whisper reaches my attentive ears.
The crackle of white noise fills my head with not but static.
I can not pick up the little inflections of joy between such sweet sternness.

Numbness shrouds my world.
Neither feather nor heavy hand can breach this emptiness.
I can't feel the warmth of touch or the searing flame of crop-strike.
My sense is drowning in emptiness.

The blindfold peels from my bewildered face and bright images flood my world.
Headphones fall from my ears and the soft murmur of your voice floods my world.
Sharp nails accompany a soft caress and sensation floods my world.
Gazing, listening, straining into this change of seasons.

I feel almost reborn, spat back out into this reality.
From lack of all to overwhelming stimulation.
The tingle of realisation creeps up my spine whilst I look upon your face and hear familiar words.
I grip my bonds in remembrance of my situation, and succumb back into submission.

Happiness floods your world.

Fellow Goddesses by Anonymous

A field leaning back against the sky
Spreads open before me
Brown and forlorn from the long heavy winter
Small brave blades of green gasp for breath
She throws off the dark, wet weight of snow
And rises up to me to say a word

She points across the heavy grey blanket of the horizon
To a crimson whirling dervish of a flame
It dances for her, she boasts, on the tip of a flare stack
I think of altars and oracles and virgins pushed off precipices
And know she has recognized me

She smiles triumphantly and lays back down in the muddy leaves
I too am a goddess and understand these things
A minor one, but still
I have my minion who worships me
With offerings of clean sheets and cups of coffee
And nights filled with unspeakable things

New Beginnings by Tyrotem

“In my life as in the lives of most men there was a critical point of transformation from the universal to the particular, a place of terror and darkness, of confusion and loneliness, a day of unspeakable torpor and emptiness, whose evening brought forth new stars in the sky and new eyes within me.

Have you ever been lost at sea and seen a swimmer approaching from the land? Have you ever, recovering from deathly illness, taken a first draft of fresh garden air and felt the sweet surge of your reviving blood?

Incipit vita nova. I became a new man, still a miracle to myself, at once passive and active, receiving and giving, in possession of treasures, the most precious of which is perhaps till unknown to me. “

Incipit Vita Nova, Hermann Hesse 1899


I think back today to about 30 years ago, when I first read Incipit Vita Nova and the impact it had on me then and still has on me today. I was young, idealistic and very much in desperate need of friendship and love. I was a typical late teens male – I was shy around women, a bit of a nerd type who honestly preferred to read a book on a Saturday night than go out with other teens and get drunk. I was not naïve but had little experience with women . I had been going through a very difficult time at school back home. My girlfriend back in the US had just dumped me, after only three months, and I thought my life was over. A trip to southern Europe was in the cards for the summer, and I dreaded the thought of being away from her and being dragged away with my parents.
It was in southern Spain that long ago summer that I met Anna - a time and place forever etched in my soul.   She was older than me, almost ten years my senior and although I did not realize it at the time, possessed the trade marks of a sensual sadist. She was beautiful and sophisticated. The summer was glorious, Mediterranean and warm. The smell of olive groves, flowers and red wine cellars the scent of which still , to this day brings the memories of her washing across me like a  tidal wave crashing on the Atlantic western shores of Iberia.

It all began innocently enough with Anna. Her parents owned the “quinta” we were staying at. My father had rented the guest cottage on their property for the entire summer. The estate itself was enormous, several hectares of olive groves , with riding stables, swimming pools, and tennis courts. I soon found out that  Anna was of Basque and German ancestry, who spoke perfect but delightfully accented English, living  I was almost 19 at the time – she was 28. Despite our age difference, we became fast friends.My days were filled with swimming, horseback riding and playing tennis. Later I would spend time working in the stables grooming her horses. Most of my evenings were also spent with Anna, talking about our day. She was an accomplished equestrian, commanding and almost regal as she controlled the stallions, riding them hard, yet with a subtle grace. When she would leave in the evenings, to walk across the fields to the manor house  , the moonlight reflecting off of her ebony hair , I would gaze lovingly at her silhouette the scent of her perfume and hair would linger in my senses. Like many boys, my age,  I would lay outside, under the Spanish night skies and masturbate.  In my eyes, she was nothing short of a Goddess. She was petite (she was not much more than 5-feet 2-inches tall), large breasted and had the most exquisite bottom.  My head would fill with thoughts of her long, jet black curly hair, which when not tied back would fall down her back to well below her delightfully curved waist. I would climax under the night sky in what was to become an almost nightly adoration and fixation on the beautiful Anna.

The thing about Anna was how she had stirred feelings in me that were almost primordial. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, I was back to watching that movie on the television from long ago. Once again, I recalled, from when I was most likely not more than eight years old, a scene from a movie that had caused a powerful warmth and a stirring. It was a movie about the Roman Empire and the scene was that of a stately Roman Galleon on the high seas, slaves down below rowing as the task Master would whip them, to ensure that they maintained a satisfactory pace, their bruised ankles clearly leashed to heavy chains, thick unbreakable ankle manacles securely locked . The crack of the bullwhip, the loud cries and the welts on the naked flesh had left an indelible mark on my soul.  At that time I had no idea what the feelings were that I was experiencing, how could I , but when Anna mounted her horses and looked down at me, her voice soft but commanding, it brought back those very same feelings, repeated with increasing intensity throughout the years, leading to many hours of increasingly frantic masturbation, feelings  that are  apparently being triggered by something deep within my psyche and being.

About the end of second week together, it was early July and blistering hot in southern Spain we had been swimming in her pool when she asked me , but it was more of a command, if I would apply the sun cream to her back . We were alone on the property, except for the occasional sounds of dogs barking and the horses in the stables. She turned around on the chaise, lying flat on her belly and told me to unhook the top of her bikini so I could apply the sun cream.  I did not hesitate and began to work the scented cream into her back, observing her well-formed shoulder muscles and silky smooth skin. Her skin was quite dark, and I recalled her saying that her grandfather was originally from Sicily, and her grandmother was of Sephardic Jewish heritage. I noticed that when lying flat in that manner that her long dark curly strands fell past her waist and covered a good  deal of her bikini-covered bubble butt.

“Stephen”, she said my name in her delightful accented English, “Be a dear and tie my hair using that hair bow on the table and massage the cream into my back.”

I immediately took the dark red hair bow and began to collect the endless strands of hair, working them together and tying them , glad that she was lying face down as my penis was now hard in my speedo style swim shorts. I pulled her heavenly hair into a long ponytail and returned my focus to administering the cream into her skin. As I worked, she did not say much except words like “higher” or “harder” or “yes that’s perfect.”

“That’s enough,” she said, and without warning turned around and sat up on the chaise, her breasts naked now. I almost stopped breathing as my heart pounded in my throat. Her breasts were quite large for such a petite woman, and the areola were just enormous and a deep, dark, chocolate-like colour.

She pointed to the table and said “Steve be a dear and hand me my tank top.”

“Of course” I barely could speak as I handed her the top and watched as she slipped it on over her head, pulling the long ebony ponytail through the top, my face crimson with excitement knowing she could see my erection growing in my swim shorts.

Anna, I had noticed, seldom wore a bra around the house, and like many Southern European women would often go out in public without one as well, so I had a good idea of what to expect but seeing her heavenly naked breasts for the first time was more than I could take as my heart pounded and my face burnt red. They bounced out as if escaping the unnecessary confines of her tight tank top.

Anna’s eyes glanced at my covered erection as she began to brush her hair, a slight smile on her face but yet almost indifferent to my situation.

“I see you like my tits,” she said, her accented English and choice of words making my penis throb. She always was so proper and sophisticated.  As she spoke she put down the hairbrush and stood up ,leaning down, she  slipped off her bikini bottoms, sliding them down her shapely thighs, her hair covering her face and hiding most of her naked body from my glassy eyes.  I could, however, see that she had no pubic hair covering her pussy. She turned her back to me quickly and leaned down she picked up her dark beige tight riding trousers, given me a full view of that beautifully shaped naked ass of hers as she stepped  into her riding pants, slipping them up her thighs, wiggling and sliding them over that large bubble bottom as I realized then that she must never wear panties. Turning to face me again her next words struck me like a lightning bolt. “Show me Stephen,” she said looking at my swim shorts as she reached for her dark brown leather riding boots.

“Anna,” I blurted out. “Show you, w..what ?” I stammered.

“Your cock”, she said matter of fact, again her choice of words making my penis drip , as she pushed her small foot into the tight fitting riding boot as she continued to get dressed, slipping on her black leather riding gloves.I paused for a few seconds and noticed a sterner look on her face, and then just pulled my swim shorts down to my knees, my fully erect penis popping out as my hands trembled.

She began to smile now, looking up from her boots, her voice soft “Do you play with it Stephen?” And then not waiting for my answer she said, “Show me how you do it Stephen.”

This time without hesitation and almost like in a hypnotic trance I began to stroke my penis , my hand sliding up and down my erection as she watched,  a studied look on her face, a look of curiosity mixed with indifference, as if she was reading a magazine. Given my almost nightly masturbatory fantasies about her over the last fortnight, it did not take me long to reach orgasm and I squirted cum all over the stone patio surrounding the swimming pool , the cum squirting only a few feet from where she now stood, in her riding boots, her nipples clearly visible through her tan tank top, as she continued to brush out her hair, the strands falling across her breasts. At the moment she was nothing short of a Goddess , as the late afternoon breezes blew through her hair, causing it to cover her face, her dark ruby red lips glistening in the late afternoon Spanish sun. Looking at me again she brushed her hair back into her dark red hair bow , then walked closer , looking down at the cum on the stone, she pressed the tip of her boot into the tiny puddle. She grabbed my still erect penis with her riding glove and gave it a tug and squeeze, then kissed me softly on the lips.

“I am late Stephen for my afternoon ride on Sebastian “ she continued “Why don’t we plan on going for another swim later tonight and be a darling and rinse out my bikini for me.”

With that, she again dipped the tip of her exquisite leather riding boot into the semen splattered stone and then stepped lightly on my naked foot, the cum dripping onto my foot. She wiggled the tip of the boot, smearing the semen on my toes and pressed harder. I almost fainted as she released the pressure and  stepped away , quickly turning and heading in the direction of the riding stables.  I watched her walk away, her long dark ponytail bouncing against the exquisite bubble-butt of hers that completely filled  and stretched her riding pants.  I struggled to pull my swim shorts up from my knees and cover my still erect and dripping penis.


Incipit Vita Nova. I was reborn, deeply in love and captivated.

Sexual Healing by Lady Jericho

my frustration dies there
torn apart, torn asunder
it dies there, mourned not
in its wake there comes
ragged, tremulous, convulsing breaths
oxygen rich blood saturates my brain
and rage crawls away
while i cry out
let me die again
my anger slain, the life in it leaks out
i am slick with its dying
seeking this oblivion, this suicide
i thrust myself upon your truth
until the hilt of your honesty
plunges deeper still
into the divided self i am
and i am cleaved
one side from the other
my cloak of shame thrown aside
and with it the breaches of distrust
long imbued with disdain
my feet bare
where once malice shod them
and my tunic, criticism held so close to my heart
to the pyre added
my maille, every link forged from a thousand slights so old, so well worn
it clinks out its objections
but i can not hear it
the fire vanquishing my indignity
crackles too loudly and my soul drums
and naked i dance freedom to the flicker of flames and they burn hotter and higher
my ancient weapons consumed
smelt to purity and rarity
the strength of experience
white hot from mace to adornment made
and its purity flashes in the firelight
there on the edges of my transformation
i dance primal and holy, drenched in purpose
and there the phoenix of my laughter comes to life the ash shaken off
to wing, to flight it takes
so relentlessly driven i am
even my demons flee
hurling themselves onto the fire
exhausted and alight
there impaled
i died tonight
and i wonder at it all
how i longed for death
i contemplated every method
until upon your claymore i found my peace
how easily i pressed your weapon
inside of me
and let it suffuse me
intoxicate me
how i abandoned my defenses
to lay down and die
and take your killing thrusts
how with tender strength
and rigid determination
you cleaved me
right from left
and so held, i fell apart
shuddering, crying out
death! death!
kill me again, slay me
so i might live, so i may dance
naked in the firelight
burden free with joy and abandon
my funeral dirge, a soft cry restrained and i sing for you at pyre-side
you conduct me as a symphony
my choir, nerves, so well directed
every member in tune with aching harmony even the drumming to which in dance
my hips give sway in relentless rhythm and my hope builds
with a melody so strong, so sweet dawn long since broke
and the hour early
my anger long dead, bled dry
with all that hatred i adorned myself in
reduced to ash
and that too, with a final shuddering gasp dissipates
naked without the ashes of my fear
i stand
adorned in simple, honest strength
it's glint set out against the dark flush of my skin my hand out stretched
i bid you dance with me
in this life
until the next and there too

Ten Biscuits and A Goat Called Delboy by Delboy

To paraphrase Hartley: The future and Second Life is a different country; they do things differently there. Very differently.

So, I put myself forward for this slave auction and got accepted. At the specified time, I turned up in my best bib and tucker,(well, a pair of jeans and a Jam tee shirt), and was welcomed by Miss Eva and told to go into one of these cubicle jobs, get naked and wait. Which, with help from the ever patient Miss Eva, I managed to do, (getting into the cubicle. that is, not getting naked). Then all I had to do was attach a hastily purchased cock to somewhere other than my right kneecap and wait.

I was fourth up.

When I was called up I clumsily bashed around trying to get on the dais; clicking on various options, none of which the right one, (I swear that, at one stage, I clicked on an internet radio playing Johnny Cash's version of “Hurt”, but I could be wrong). When I eventually got on the dais I was facing the wrong way. Obviously that got sorted.

Then there were huge problems with my microphone; volume turned up too loud or some such thing that, added to my less than spectacular entrance, didn't do me any favours. In my defence, I'm partially deaf and pretty much need the sound to be turned up to eleven.
And so, to the questions from the ladies.

I wasn't looking forward to it. One of the earlier candidates had been asked where the clitoris was.  Thank Christ I wasn't asked that, my memory doesn't stretch back that far. The closest I come to sex nowadays is with 'Lilo Lil' my inflatable companion...and she's got a puncture.
I'd written out, in longhand, a couple of A4 sheets of stuff; a wee story and some bits and bobs about myself. For my grand finale, I had intended to read the brilliant John Cooper Clarke's 'I Wanna Be Yours', but that all went out the window.

Given the grilling the others before me had gone through, I had an easy time of it, very easy indeed. A bit of Only Fools and Horses and a smidgen of biscuit listing; I have to hold my hands up; I cheated a little on the biscuit front; a Jaffa Cake isn't a biscuit, (the clue's in the name), but, shhh, that's just between me and you.

To say the bidding on me was frenzied would be a more than mild exaggeration; I think I went for three baseball cards and a half eaten Jaffa Cake.

I will say to any blokes thinking of putting themselves forward; give it a go, but don't take it or yourself too seriously.
Oh, if a potential candidate with a slightly fragile ego should happen to read this goes on to be auctioned; just one snippet of advice; never ever read local chat while you are being auctioned.

Seriously, never EVER read local chat. I found it funny then and still do now, but I'm weird.

I'd like to thank all the ladies, even the ones who ripped into me, you made me smile.

Special thanks must go to Miss Eva and Miss Mo for their understanding, their patience and, most of all, their warmth.

Oh, I still don't cry.... well hardly ever.... well maybe just the odd tear when I listen to Anna Netrebko and Elina Garanca sing Delibes'Flower Duet, but that is too achingly beautiful to not let yourself drown in.

The Closet by Doc

"So… how long have you lived in Andrea’s closet, James?"
I wondered how she knew that I now slept, ate, and waited – mostly waited – not only in Andrea’s home, but in her closet.  I figured out that they must have been talking.  Mary and Andrea had been friends since high school, and, at one point, according to Andrea, had been lovers.  That, however was long ago.

“Uh, it has only been two weeks…. I guess she told you, huh?”  Mary nodded.  She then asked another question.

“Do you like it?”

I assumed she meant living in Andrea’s closet, but I decided to add some unasked for information.

“I only have to be there when she’s at home or expected home.  She lets me out to take care of ‘practical stuff’ most of the day during the week.  If she wants me to greet her from the closet during the day -- if she plans on coming home for lunch -- she texts me first.”  I paused.  “To answer your question, though, I find it a bit confining.”  She giggled.  It hit me that saying having to spend time confined in a closet might indeed seem ‘confining’.  I grinned.  I appreciated Mary’s sense of humor, but I decided not to say that to her.  I continued….

“She likes it when I’m waiting for her.  I like the fact that she seems to really enjoy finding me inside her closet – simply because she told me be there.”

Mary then said, “She not very nice is she?”  I thought for a second.

“No she isn’t,” I replied.  Then I added (unnecessarily), “She likes it when I tell her that she’s a bitch.  She takes it as a high compliment, in fact.”

“It is a compliment,” said Mary.  “I know her as well as anyone.  You are lucky to have her in your life, you know.  You could well have ended up with a much less smart girl taking you for herself.”  The look on Mary’s face was very wistful.  She was staring at me.   I evaded her gaze.

“I don’t know if I like this or not,” I said.  I was being very honest.  “It’s very disorienting.  I don’t feel comfortable.  I think getting used to this will take a long while.”

“That’s of relatively little importance, isn't it?  I mean as long as you don’t start ‘acting weird’ and being a jerk about it…. Right?”  I nodded, and then added, “I’m inside my limits.  It’s not as if I am gonna go nuts or anything.  After all, it’s only when she’s around.  The rest of the time I’m free.”  She smiled.

“You remind me of a dog I used to have,” she quipped.  “Heyyou always came running when called.  The rest of the time I guess he was fucking all the bitches in the neighborhood, or chasing squirrels or whatever the fuck else dogs do when their mistress is not around.  I have no idea and could have cared less what Heyyou was up to before I called him home.”

I didn’t say anything.  She continued. “I think I’m going to ask Andrea if I can use you when she’s otherwise occupied.  I think it’s a shame to have you in that closet so much.”  I said nothing at first.  Then I said, “That’s up to Andrea and you.  It’s none of my business.”

“True.  That’s one of the things I like about you.  You know you’re Andrea’s fuck toy and puppet.   You don’t fight it.  You are happy with that role.”  She paused.  “Andrea’s a great friend.  I like her.  I would never go around behind her back.  But…..”.  Her voice trailed off.  “… I would like to share.  You and me.  With her OK.”
I kept my mouth shut.  I knew my role.  I knew my first loyalty.  I knew which woman came first.

“Whatever Andrea decides,” I added.  Then I decided to try to derail the conversation.  “I was in here reading, Miss.  Would it be OK with you if I were to continue reading now?”  She once again grinned.

“Sure. Of course.  I’ll have Andrea tell you what we jointly decide to do with you – either way.  You won’t know jack either way until she tells you, though.  Do you understand?”  I nodded.

“Here,” Mary said.  She tossed me something from her handbag.  I looked down at it.  It was a dog treat.  She laughed, spun on her heel and left the room without a single other word.
I got my answer the next day from Andrea.  “Oh, about Mary?“ she said.  “I told her ‘no fucking way’.  She needs to find her own closet toy!” I nodded. “Now, James, go stand in the corner.  I like when you do that, too.” I went to corner of the room and faced away from her.  I could hear her softly chuckling.


Yet Another True Confession by Miss Vixie

M. has been sassing me for a week now. She lives in San Diego, a three-hour drive. She thinks she's safe. But, bwahahahah, she can't resist coming up to LA for a spanking now and then. I'll get my revenge...

M. is a t-girl like myself, but she's "finished." She's had all the surgery she wants, or that you can have, pretty much. She's tall, with long brown hair. She's a bit older than me; I was too young for Vietnam but she wasn't. She has killed a few people.

We managed to secure Threshold's Jail Room for the scene. She likes the overhead bar there. I, of course, am quite willing to accommodate her. We hug, then I order her to strip.

I place my wrist cuffs on her. Her wrists are big for a girl, but not as big as mine. She has full breasts, a nice face, and the usual t-girl lack-of-ass. Oh well, you can't have everything, I suppose. The fun thing about M. is, she laughs at low to medium pain levels. I don't mean she's being disrespectful, but those pain levels hit her in the giggle cortex. When she stops laughing, you know you must be hitting her pretty good.

I clip the cuffs to the overhead bar and take it up a bit. It's connected to a winch, with a switch built into the wall. She has me take it up a bit more, then a bit more still. Finally she is satisfied. I point her away from me. One of the advantages of the bar is it makes it easy to turn her around.

I grab my deerskin flogger; it's light and buttery-soft. perfect for warmups. I work over her shoulders for a while, then on down her back. I work on her butt a bit. She's literally feeling no pain. It's a tactile warmup; it will get the blood flowing.

On to the elkskin flogger. It's about the same softness as the deerskin, but muuuuuuuuuch heavier. It's whumpy. I work over her shoulders, work my way down her back. Her ass. I work my way back up, then back down again. She's in a little pain, but she's not even giggling yet. That will change soon.

I get out one of my best crops. Crops are a favorite tool of mine, as they're easy on my back. I can inflict a lot of pain with a simple flick of the wrist. I don't have to get my arm, and hence my back involved.

I start working over her ass. She starts giggling. We'll see how long she keeps that up, I think to myself. Still, this is just part of the warmup, really. She's a fairly serious pain slut; it will take quite a bit to satisfy her. I whack her ass again and again. She is not fazed. She's enjoying herself. "You hit like a girl!" she taunts.

I turn her around and take out my favorite nipple clamps. She has seen them before. She likes them. They're the kind that look vaguely like a C-clamp, with a setscrew. The challenge is to get them on tightly enough so they won't come off during play. I screw one on loosely, then tighten it a bit. Then some more. I let her get used to that, then give it a final tightening. She gasps, which is a good sign. I apply the other clamp in the same way.

Time for Mr. Crop again, but this time on the clamped nipples. A gentle tap causes quite a bit of pain. She likes it. Let's see what she thinks of a not-so-gentle tap...

I end up pinning her to the wall to keep her from writhing away. There's a small crowd in the aisle, watching. Hi, folks. We're here all week.

After ten or so minutes of this I'm tired of wrestling with her. Time for the canes. That will put her to bed. I've broken two canes over her behind in the past, so I make sure to select a solid, sturdy one. Nothing but the best for this ass.

A few exploratory whacks have her sighing and ahh-ing. No more giggling now.

"How many do you want?" I ask her. She says "Five."

Of course, I manage to mess up the count a couple times. She doesn't seem to mind.

When we get to the end of the "five", I ask her "Are you done yet?"

Nope, she asks for a few more. "Harder?" I ask. "Yes, please." She really is a pain slut, but I'm determined to get her to say "Uncle."

Whack! "Who hits like a girl now?"

"Not you!"

Whack! "Very good, dear."

Whack! "Another?"

"Yes, please."

Whack!! "Another?"

"Uh, yes. Please."

Whack!!! "Another?"

"Uh, I think that will do nicely. Thank you Ma'am."

"Sure thing dear."

I unclip her and we hug. End of scene, but I'll be seeing her again.

At The Helm: SL, Celery & Spring Rebirth - by Lady Danika

For no particularly good reason, I ate celery for breakfast this morning.  Except that perhaps some deep need in me was stirred last night and again this morning to take back control of my life -- to come back to the helm and steer myself away from oblivion and back into the center of the glimmering sea which once rose about me in undulating waves.

My daughter came to me last night, and pressed the pads of her small fingers against the underside of her arm and said, "I have grandma flaps." And she frowned.

She's a twig really. But at the tender age of nine, she already knows the power of appearances in this world.

When I look in the mirror, I'm usually content, save for my c-ankles.  Yes, c-ankles.  You know... where your calves and ankles have no defining separation?  Oh for the slender ankles of Victorian times, framed by the embroidered hem of an ivory petticoat above a small, buttoned boot.

Oh, I've tried it all -- soup only diets, running till my knees collapsed -- hell, I even own a set of electronic food scales that measures item weights down to the gram.  And I use it.  Every day.

Control nut?  Perhaps.

I think that's why we like SL.  In RL, we often wait on the deck of the boat while others steer the ship.  They stand at the helm like immobile boulders, taking with them all our control... steering the journey as we wait for a turn at the wheel which may never come.   Here, within the pixel realm, we are captain of our ship.

Not only can I make my avatar look as I want (skinny, athletic, voluptuous, fairy, dragon, wolf, you name it...) but I can shape my world. I can choose my family and my friends and my coworkers with a freedom that Real Life can never offer.  And I can mute the people who annoy me.  (Although, in looking at my mute list, I see that the only things there are two fountains on a sim I frequent... listening to them disturbs my bladder.)

Move furniture?  Yes! I can!  Change clothes in public without taking off the previous outfit? You bet!  Fly? Of course!

Sure... my avatar explores SL as a reflection of me, but that is not the only appeal.  She is my ship -- and my mind and my heart are at the helm. The real world is sometimes governed by circumstance and fickle Fate -- we can't control things like health conditions handed down by genetics for example. And Second Life offers the chance to control things in a way that real life sometimes just does not offer.  And so perhaps the real appeal is just that: risk with safety.  In SL,  I can fall... and fail.  And in the end, these pixels are expendable. Do they feel? Hell yes. They feel, or rather *I* may feel as me within them, but they do not breathe... and a Spring Rebirth is always a possibility.