The Bell by Cam

Cam and Rob's companion stories are inspired by this image:
https://78.media.tumblr.com/052365ff1b7745657db57e00fd02ede0/tumblr_nx0y5ix9jQ1rispuco1_1280.jpg



She takes her phone from her ear and looks at it, smiling. Tapping the screen to end the call, she looks at us both.

"I know it's a bit short notice but I'm having a little soirée tonight, boys."

"Yes Mistress," we both chime in unison, looking up at her from our kneeling position.

"I'll need service," she says. "Which of you is going to do that for me?"

"I will, Mistress," replies my fellow boy, eagerly. Perhaps he's thinking he'll get played with. I bow my head, being a little too slow off the mark.

"Good. That's settled," she says. "Go get into your maid's outfit.". He crawls on all floors out to get dressed. I watch him go, grateful for not having to wear the maid's outfit, but regretting that I'm not going to be serving.

"What would you like me to do, Mistress?" I ask, nose scraping the floor. I'm hoping it will just be a caging for the night. Boring, but not too harsh a punishment for my lack of speed.

"Oh. Well," she chuckles. "I've been meaning to get my bell fixed. How can I summon the maid without a bell? But it's still not working." She taps a finger on her chin. "I shall need...a bell boy!"

I'm puzzled by this, so I kneel upright and look at her quizzically.

"A bell boy, Mistress?"

"Yes! Stay here. No, wait...go get yourself clean and meet me back here in five minutes."

I crawl out to the bathroom, prepare myself and head back to the lounge. Mistress comes in a moment later, carrying a large metal contraption; a heavy metal plate with a pole sticking up from it, some rope and a large metal ring, about 20cm across.  She noisily thumps the plate and pole down between the two sofas and throws the ring and rope down onto one of the chairs.

She pulls a large dildo out of one pocket, and a bottle of lube out of the other. "Lube up," she commands, throwing the bottle down to the floor in front of me. While I busy myself, she screws the dildo into the top of the pole and undoes a screw, dropping it down with a loud clang.

The dildo pole is now at a height I can squat onto. It's clear what Mistress has in mind, so I position myself over the pole and slowly squat down onto the dildo, easing it into my ass.

It feels good; well lubed, and I moan softly. My brief pleasure doesn't last long though, as she grabs the pole between my legs and starts to lift, forcing me to stand. As I reach my full height, she thrusts the pole up into me until there's no chance I can get myself off. Mistress locks off the pole with a screw, leaving me impaled on the pole in the middle of the room.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she chuckles. "It's a girl's night in. So you won't be allowed to see or hear." She turns tail and heads out of the room, leaving me there. Returning a few minutes later, she cuffs my legs, chaining them together, my hands, secured behind my back, before rolling foam plugs and pushing them into my ears.  They make a crackling sound as they expand, filling my ear canal, and muffling the outside world almost completely. The hood is next, blinding me and sealing me inside, I feel a little dizzy as the laces tighten round the back of my head.

Resigned to my evening, being put out as an ornament, I'm then shocked and aroused by the feeling of her hands around my balls, as the rope is tied around them, stretching them. I can feel some weight pulling the rope taut, pulling my balls down, making them swing gently between my legs. I'm puzzled as to what this is, but cannot ask.

I drift off, alone, into subspace, and time passes. After a while, I feel the heat and presence of people in the room, some 'accidentally' brushing past me, making my cock throb and stiffen. I wonder what's going to happen, and why I've been placed on display in the middle of the room.

Things get imperceptibly louder inside the hood, within the earplugs. Several people in the room. Suddenly, there's a sharp pain in my crotch. Someone pulled hard on the rope. I howl in pain. Moments later, I dimly hear the clink of glasses.

More time passes, terminated by another sharp pull, another yell. And again the muffled tinkle of glasses.

The evening is punctuated by yanks on my balls, my yells filling my hood. It slowly dawns on me.

I am the bell.

The Bell by Rob

“I will, Mistress!”



I throw my answer out before I have even registered what I am volunteering for. Service for a soiree? That sounds like an invitation for failure and punishment, while my fellow boy will almost certainly be the centre of attention. But it’s too late to change my mind now.



“Good, that’s settled,” Mistress says briskly. “Go and get into your maid’s outfit.”



I try to hide my wince as I bow my head and crawl across the floor to the bedroom door. Mistress has been perfecting my “maid’s outfit” for weeks, and it makes me blush every time I even think about it. Knowing that I will now have to wear it in front of her friends and my fellow boy makes me start to sweat before I’ve even left the room.



Sure enough, laid out on the bed is my uniform: a black garter belt with matching black stockings, two fine silver chains, my pink jewelled butt plug and – of course – my cock cage.



Reluctantly I start taking off my clothes, stripping down to my collar which Miss insists we wear at all times. Naked, I stare at the uniform – am I really going to wear this in front of a crowd of people!? With a jolt I realize that I am running out of time; the guests will be here in just a few minutes.



I start with the stockings; with the garter belt in place round my waist, I roll the first stocking and point my toes into it just as Miss has taught me. Then I glide it slowly up over my calf and past my knee, allowing the nylon to stretch easily over my skin. Even in spite of my fear about my imminent humiliation I revel in the smooth sensation; there is nothing quite so sensuous.



Once again reminding myself to focus, I clip the stockings to the garters and turn my attention to the chains. One end of each attaches to the ring at the front of my collar, leaving them hanging down across my chest, weighted by the clip attached to the other end. Then I take one of the clips – making sure not to tangle the chains – and attach it to the ring in my right nipple. The sudden weight of the chain on my pierced nipple makes me moan slightly, and my cock twitches. No! I have to put on my chastity cage in a moment, and I need it soft and manageable!



I try to distract myself as I clip the second chain to my left nipple ring and turn my attention to my plug. Bending over, I prepare myself and slowly push the well-lubed metal plug into my tight hole. My cock is instantly hard as my muscles stretch around it, filling me up, but I try not to think about how good it feels and concentrate on my breathing. Slowly my ass relaxes and the plug’s heavy shaft slides inside me with a rush of relief. The familiar feeling of fullness and tightness is almost overpowering as the jewel nestles between my ass cheeks.



I am just picking up my cage when the door opens and Miss walks in. I instantly drop to my knees and bow my head.



“Look at you,” she purrs. “You’ll look so pretty for my guests. I’m sure they’ll all want to have a good look at you. Are you ready to go out and greet them?”



Silently, head still bowed, I hold up the cage, knowing I am in trouble.



 Mistress’ tone is icy. “I see. What on earth have you been doing with your time? I gave you one task, and you haven’t even managed that. Well, hurry up and put it on!”



I scrabble to slide the cage into place; my cock definitely isn’t hard any more, and it slips easily into the metal sheath.



Miss stands over me and watches me fumble with the padlock. I click it close, blushing under her gaze. “Good. I don’t have time to punish your complacency now, but believe me I will deal with you later. Come with me.”



She leads me out of the bedroom and through the sitting room to the kitchen, ensuring she blocks my view of my fellow boy, who appears to be naked and is standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.



Trays of glasses and snacks have been laid out on the kitchen counter, along with a wide variety of drinks. Miss explains that I am to remain in the kitchen at all times unless summoned by the bell; but when I hear it “ring” I am to come through, take the guests’ orders and bring them drinks and snacks as they desire.



Just as she finishes, the doorbell buzzes. Miss gives my uniform one last look over and appears satisfied. Nevertheless, her expression is still frosty. “You’re on thin ice, slut. Do not speak unless spoken to, do not make eye contact with anyone and do not drop anything! I expect you on your very best behaviour or there will be severe consequences.” With that, she leaves, and I am left alone on the kitchen floor.



Just a few seconds later, however, I hear my fellow boy’s voice scream in pain from the sitting room. For a second I do nothing, frozen by my relief that I am not the one currently in pain. Then something clicks; my fellow boy standing naked in the middle of the room… He’s the bell!



Quickly I grab a tray of drinks and carry them carefully out into the sitting room. Sure enough, one of Miss’s friends is standing with the foot on the bell-rope which dangles from my fellow boy’s balls. He is grimacing with pain, as much from the dildo which appears to be lodged deep inside his ass as from the tension on his balls. Suddenly my own plight doesn’t seem quite so bad!



I kneel before the new arrivals and hold up the tray, blushing furiously as they discuss my outfit while taking their drinks. Everyone comments on my stockings, and they argue amongst themselves whether my legs would look better shaved or not. Once everyone has a drink, Miss motions me away and I return to the kitchen, my face still bright red.



A couple of minutes later there is another yell, and I rush out again. Several more guests have arrived. This time, Miss invites them to examine me closer, and orders me to stand up for inspection. Firm hands bend me over so they can see my jewelled plug twinkle under the lights, and they take it in turn to flick the chains hanging from my nipples. Miss laughs, but I can see she is watching her guests closely to make sure they don’t take things too far. Even though I feel thoroughly exposed, I am very grateful for her concern.



Once again their attention drifts, however, and Miss orders me back to the kitchen.



And so the night goes on. I am repeatedly called back in by the screams of my fellow boy to serve food and drink – so often, in fact that I begin to feel really sorry for his over-stretched balls! Sometimes I think they are calling on me just for the fun of tugging on the bell rope. I am required to kneel as a foot-stool, to offer foot massages and just as an object of their jokes and laughter.



At last, soon after the clock chimes midnight, Miss summons me one last time, and points to the floor in front of my fellow boy. Her friends gather round as she thanks them for coming.



“And now,” she says with a wicked grin on her face, “I think we need to reward my faithful bell for all his hard work tonight.”



She lifts my chin and looks me straight in the eye.



“You know what I want, so untie him and show my friends how well you can suck a cock.”

Confession by Anonymous

Fantasies and desires..

I would have to stick to the fantasies and desires since i cannot possibly write a good erotica or poem. I have this fantasy to be with a woman whom i could just adore, pamper and worship in a D/S setting. I have my guards up all the time and it is really hard for me to let those guards down, be vulnerable to feelings such as passion and intimacy. BDSM comes to the rescue here. BDSM helps me to let go. I imagine myself to worship a lady, not caring about anything, letting down all my guards, exposing my core to her, taking a leap of faith, fall on my knees before her, rest at her feet, treat her like a goddess/a queen/ a savior who would allow me to come outside of this shell that has been building up and hardening over such a long time as a result of rational reasoning, as a defense mechanism to not allow anyone get into my head. But now i feel i have lost so much in the process too, i feel like i have devoid myself from the pleasures of intimacy and passion, the pleasure to love. I want to act as a human now, not a machine. i deserve to feel the intimacy, the desire, the passion, the trust. And i want her to help me break those shells, help me to be vulnerable enough for those emotions to penetrate.
I would want her to grab me by hair and slap my face and spit on it, grab a whip and tear apart. i need to soften up, i need o let go. And a broken body is a good start. She also need to break into my mind then, humiliate me, make me worship her shoes, make me her whore, chew into my flesh, get a strapon and fuck me .. break my ego, make me realize i don't have to torture myself from trying to be at top of things all the time, break me to reach my core, help me to express. then i could tell her how much i love her, she could hold me, i could rest my head in her hand and weep, and i need to weep, i don't remember when was the last time i wept. i could kiss her feet in devotion, i would hold her so tight, i would kiss her so deep.. i would feel such a rush of emotions. The devotion, the intimacy, the passion, the pain, the trust. She could hold me, comfort me, kiss me, listen to my confessions i would never share with anyone. she could tell me i can trust her and put my emotional investment in her, she could put a collar around my neck and tell me " see i got you, you would not be lost". i would be so aroused so messed up with experiencing so many emotions. I could be playing with myself while i cry in her lap. Some times to build an old wall, its better to shatter the old one.

Rorke's Confession

This is an educational tale full of historical and scientific accuracy of how Femdom came into existence.

You see, there was once a time before the Dominion, a time even before Femdom itself, where the neanderthal caveman ruled supreme. Unchallenged as a Apex predator and perfectly adapted to survive, these first men truly were kings of the ancient world. This is where we meet the first submissive male, the male from which all subs are evolved from: Rorkus.

Rorkus was your everyday caveman, strong but quite simple, content to live in his own world of hunting dinosaurs, hitting things with a big club and showing the cave-women what was in his loin cloth. Despite this predisposition to the cave-life, Rorkus always felt something was missing.

One day, after fleeing from a vicious flock of pterodactyls, Rorkus found himself in a far and unfamiliar land. With darkness closing, our hero sought shelter in a nearby cave, little did he know this simple act would change the course of history!

As his eyes adjusted he became aware of another in the cave and he froze. But he did not freeze with fear...for sat on a rock, with legs crossed regally and the mammoth fur dress hugging Her every curve perfectly, was the most mesmerizing woman he had ever laid eyes on. We later learn she is Dommeena, Queen of Femdomia.

Language was not on of the cavemen's strengths and the simple grunting and groaning noises that usually suffice were clearly not impressing this heavenly Lady. "uuummm...urrgghh...mmmmppph", he said to her with no affect other than a disinterested look.

Crestfallen, our favourite neanderthal turns to leave, his club dragging across the floor but a sudden snap of fingers stops him in his tracks. To his sheer joy (and hands-free lifting of the loin cloth) she had moved from her rock to stand before him. A smile flickering on her lips as she guided him down to his knees.

Suddenly, a light bulb went off above his head (that is how the light bulb was invented but it is a story for another time), this is what was missing, this felt right!

Another push laid him flat onto his back and his breath quickened as she lowered onto his face, quite literally being queened by a Queen. Something that has not changed since the cavemen days is the basic male need to cum...so quite naturally Rorkus grabs his caveman cock and starts stroking as queen Domeena rides his face. Obviously it does not take him long and his caveman grunts and groans echo around the cave.

However, Domeena is clearly less than impressed with this performace and just as he is cumming...she pulls his hand away resulting in the first ever pathetic, twitchy, dribbly ruined orgasm! The rest of poor (or lucky!) Rorkus' evening was spent having his balls slapped mercilessly as Queen Domeena took her pleasure from him.

Now, that was just a short tale of the first meeting between Domeena and Rorkus. As most of us know evolution takes centuries, sometimes millennia to fully take hold which is why all the many kinks and fetishes we enjoy today began with what happened in that cave.

Keywords as per Lady Persephone's Trial Instruction: A Queen Queening, Caveman grunting, pathetic orgasm. Word count: 549

This Is Not The Gift You Were Expecting by Anonymous

This is not the gift you were expecting
You were expecting something wrapped smartly,
With crisp corners and tight edges, bright cheery paper, like those clerks in the malls
 At Christmas time would offer. Perfect bow centered on top, seams straight.

This is something wrapped urgently on the way out the door, barely covered in the Sunday comics, tape everywhere, frayed cord bow stretched enough to make a little hole right over The Family Circus

It’s the feel of the cord on your wrists that jolts you back into the present. It tightens like a feeding boa constrictor every time you try to move. You give that up.
The blindfold is still there. Time is meaningless, an abstract concept invented by a dead religion. The sun may have crossed the sky, it may have laughed at you. The stars may be telling inside jokes.

Cracked lips and dry mouth. Sore muscles. The not knowing. The knowing that the only thing you know is that you don’t know.

Then there is the cock. The random erections caused only because your thoughts drifted to her. Because in your need you dared to let yourself hope. Throbbing, pulsing, hardness, even that, ultimately out of your control.

Once more it stands straight up, slapping off your stomach as you hear her voice murmur an appraisal.  A wet tongue brushes your lips, gone in an instant

Then tracing every curve and line of your aching body, down the sweep of your thighs. A pause, then with impossible precision, a line is drawn up the vein of your shaft, and your whole body shudders.

This is not the gift you were expecting.

Sins Of The Flesh by Emma

as she rested on bended knee ..... her Mistress look up at her rolled her hand round her face ...... and smiled ........ and whispered into her ear " my little slut , mine all mine " as she heard her Mistress speak these words tingling sensations run through out her body and she was filled with adrenaline , as her Mistress looks down at her slowly removing the top she had on and was so gratefully allowed to wear  , she then slowly moving her hand round her shoulders all the way down to the very nipple , rolling all the way round making it stand on end ......... the more her Mistress whispered Mine into her ear the harder and harder they became , as her hand gently rolled down her stomach grabbing her pussy ....... saying in a loud booming voice ............ this slut this is mine too , i own this ......... are we clear ...... she nodded to her Mistress , yes Mistress ........ as she opens her legs wider .......... All Yours Mistress .........

as her hands began to roll round her nipple all the way down to her stomach pulling at her panties snapping it back hard leaving a pink mark on her pelvis ........ as she squeals thank You Mistress .... her Mistress grins grabs a piece near her waist starts to rip off exposing her pink fleshy dripping wet pussy ...........

as her Mistress pushes her foot up against her clit .......... is this what you want slut ?? is this what you want whore ??? ............. as she squeals and bends yes Mistress ......... as her Mistress grins slapping the inside of her thigh pink back handing the other side , she lets out such a squeal ........ all the while saying Thank You Mistress, as it was always such a pleasure to be touch by her ........

her hand moves down to inbetween her legs and slaps her clit hard as it goes vibrating through her , her Mistress staring  deep into her eyes filled with nothing but lust

pushes her back so she falls on the floor her legs spread wide as she moans Thank You Mistress mmmmmmmmm , slapping her clit again and again harder as she jumps the more her clit is so sensitive ........... slapping her ass and forcing her on all fours .........

il give you exactly what you deserve my little whore ........... is that what you want ? as another moan falls from her lips Yes Mistress !!! rolling nails down her back ........ rolling her hand round her hair pulling back so it arches her back ........... your just a little whore arnt you .............. yes yes Mistress .........

as her Mistress leans over her rolling her hands round her breasts ............ pulling her nipples twisting release , as she gasps as her nipple being pulled ....... her Mistress grinding her pelvis into her ass ...........

is this what you want ????

as the final squeal Yes Mistress falls from her lips .......... when you earn it you can have it .....

slapping her ass one final time red raw hand print ........ Your mine and i will do what i want when i please ............. as You wish Mistress Your will is my command ............ rolling her hand round her face and never forget that my little slut !! as her Mistress leaves the room smiling .......

the end

Confession by Doc

Doc rolled over and glanced at the clock, still groggy from a delightful nap that he’d needed.

“Oh, fuck!  OMG!”  The clock beside the queen size bed read 1:20. “Impossible! It can’t be.”  But it was indeed.  He raced up the stairs, glanced at the microwave clock.  It flipped over to 1:21.  He didn’t slow down, logging on to Second Life.  He knew he was late.  He’d agreed days ago to meet at 1:00 local to meet his Domme (one of several) with whom he’d agreed to tutor in Spanish every week.

Worse, they’d exchanged messages and emails to be sure they were talking the same time zone and not SLT.  Worst this was a repeat of another missed appointment, also his fault.  He felt like shit.

As he logged in, he checked the clock.  This one: 1:22.  She was not there.  More ominous: no IM hanging fire to blister him.  No notecard.  Nothing.  He hoped and prayed she was, as had happened a couple of times, running late too.  He sent an IM to her, and then – to be sure – another copy to her alt.  He waited.  Silence.  He minimized the screen, went into Google Chrome to see if there was any email.  None.  It was now 1:28.  He had promised to log on 15 minutes early so they could get a prompt start.  (He had been told to be at a discussion in The Dominion, which started at 2:00.)  After waiting a few minutes, he decided to write a notecard to send to her.  Writing always takes a long time.  He wrote, edited, revised, deleted, added and so on and somehow, when he next looked up it was 2:07.  He dashed off from this closet (one of his ladies had insisted he relocate his SL ‘Home’ to her Victorian wardrobe), so he logged in there to Dominion Beach.  The beach was the best (and most lonely) place to pull out a ‘kneel’ gesture from his inventory.

Landing in the Courtyard required nimble fingers to get into a kneeling position before the brickbats started flying, so he had long ago made it a practice to land on ‘The Beach’. There he could open his mini-map, click on a location near  -- but not too near -- the circle of green dots, and then approach the group.  Fully ready.  Already kneeling.

Today it was especially good that he had dropped into The Beach first.  He realized he was still naked as he landed. (Naked was another ‘wardrobe requirement.’; the lady in question liked to open her wardrobe’s doors – with built in squeak – to see him inside, naked).  Doc clicked on the conveniently located ‘shirt icon’ at the bottom of his screen. Using ‘replace all’ he put on his usual dark suit.  Being sure his cock was ‘turned off’ he cammed in and, satisfied, tp’d over (a bit late but not noticeably) to the discussion.

He never took his gaze off the ‘friends’ menu.  His Spanish-lesson-Domme never came online.  An hour and a half later she still had not appeared.  Nothing.  Again he checked his email in-box as he half-listened to others in the discussion.  Empty.

He still felt like crap.  Nothing at all was ominous.  It wasn't about fault.  It wasn't about anger.  It was about having disappointed.  That was a fact.  Failure, no matter what the reason, is not pleasant.

He logged out and it was at least an hour (probably more) before he logged in again.

His worst fears were realized.  A scathing note with a list of punishments (choose two out of these four).


The real kicker was toward the bottom.  A pending project, previously hanging without deadlines or parameters or shape or form was now once again active.  It was not his idea.  It was hers.  He had no hope that it would turn out well or that it was worth the effort.  That was, of course, irrelevant.  She had decided for reasons unknown that it would be a good idea.  His job wasn't to question orders.  His task was to obey orders.

They IM’d later.  After he’d had time to digest the contents of her message.  After he had made his choices based on the alternatives which she had offered.  It was a tense meeting, but one-by-one things were decided.  The deadline for the essentials of The Project was now set: one month from now.

His head swam thinking of the work ahead, but he calmed down, reminding himself of innumerable projects he’d undertaken which seemed impossible at the onset and which seemed less impossible as time went on.  Nonetheless he had failed several times ‘stretching’.  There was the horrendous end of a friendship when he’d incompetently attempted to build a Charleston-style ‘whorehouse’ for a client. (That was what she said.) After two weeks of work she then told him she wanted ‘something very large that looks like the French Quarter’.  He hadn't had the heart to tell her all his miserable efforts to date had yielded a small Federal-style residence.  She had never had time to look at his build before.  When she looked at it, she simply said, “This is all?”  He gave her back her lindens, but she was still furious.  She never spoke to him again.  He never built anything again commercially. He’d never really cared about the lindens.  It had been about creating something that would be loved.  He’d failed.

Then there was the English lady who wanted to write a FemDom novel which would match the commercial success of “Fifty Shades of Grey”.   Reading the novel itself was a horror but as her vision of ‘commercial FemDom qua house of prostitution’ unfolded, week by week, chapter by chapter, his heart sank further and further.  Her focus was on fame.  Also the money.  He dreaded fame and didn’t see the point of more money than what it took to pay the bills and have a bit left over for ‘fun’.  Worse, he got to hate most of the women that she sketched out. (His job was to flesh out the scenes, ensure continuity, paint word pictures, and write dialog. She briefly described the action).

This project continued for over seven months.  Doc learned he might be physically a masochist – but that he was not and would never want this kind of mental pain.  He finally told her he needed to quit.  He told her he had come to detest her characters and both their motivations and their actions.  Outwardly she took it well (maybe because she is British?) But…. She never spoke to Doc ever again either.  I doubt the project continued.  If it did, I would wish her well on becoming famous and wealthy.  I don’t think either will ever happen.  But then again I’m often mistaken.

Now, not thinking of the past, Doc pondered the future of this new project.  It also involved writings. Perhaps this will turn out better.  He will be happy if his Domme is happy and enjoys whatever she seeks to gain.  That’s what matters: being a positive force. It is scary and dark when one fails to perform and leaves a wake of unhappiness.  Even if unintended.

Last Night by Niki

Last Night
By Niki Songlark

A night like many others.
Casual conversation with people I like but keep at arms’ length.
A hug for a few, a very few, a friendly wave to the others.

Except for one.
A hug for her.
A warm hug, holding her tight and close.
Her arms squeezing me, holding me tighter and longer.
Did I “mmmm?” Did she hear me?

A bubble shattered unnoticed.
“Why are you moving away?” she asks.
“Was I?” I reply, closing the distance, my leg against hers.
Conversation and food and laughter and why am I blushing?

A hand on my leg.
A touch so casual and so intimate.
So welcome.
Does she know what she’s doing to me?
Mmm, tingles.
From my scalp, down my back.
This is why cats purr.

Conversation and laughing and a milkshake.
Goodbyes.
Outside.
“Can I walk you to your car?”
Did she hear?
She turns expectantly and we go.

And we’re alone.
Her arms are around me, pulling me close.
And we’re talking and laughing and her mouth is on mine.
So good so good so good.
I’m leaving hand-prints on her windows.

And talking and laughing and it’s so easy.
Her words cascade over me.
They’re so smart and so pretty.
She is her words.
My words feel clumsy and inadequate.
Why can’t I say it?
Why can’t I say how I feel, how she makes me feel, what I want?
She demands it and I do, in small words.
Dribbles through a crack.

My body is against her, and she looks at me.
Does she know how much I want her?
Her hands are on me, so cold, but I’m so hot and it feels so good.
She says she won’t hurt me and I trust her.
Please push me, make me say the things I can’t say, I want her hands on me, her lips, her teeth.
My hands are on her, in her hair. She feels so good.

Her hands are on my chest.
Can she feel my heart beating for her?
There’s a rattle, does she feel that?
I have to walk away and cough into the bushes, at least I didn’t cough in her face.
And we’re together again and the moment isn’t lost.
We talk and laugh and hers is musical and mine sounds like an old man’s and I hate it.

Her hands are on my wrists and they’re behind my back, her mouth on mine.
She’s in control.
So much power.
Does she know?
She looks at me and I feel like she knows what I’m thinking.
But she makes me say it.

It’s time to go and she kisses me one more time and tells me to walk away.
I do, wanting to stay, wanting more time, more of her.
I walk away and we wave and I sigh.
I’m in my car and that can’t be the time.

It’s a short drive and I’m thinking of her and how she feels.
Tasting her on my lips.
And I’m in bed and we’re talking still.
The screen glows and that’s how I feel.
My eyes close and she’s my last thought.

Acceptance by Lady Jericho

I accept you
Exactly as you are
There isn’t a thing about you that needs to change
I don’t need to break you and reshape you or mold you into the perfect submissive
I am going to break you
But it’s not necessary
That’s why I’m going to take my time
So we both enjoy it
So that the brutality of it can be cherished
So that in your darkest moment
In the face of your fear
You can remember what it’s like to feel alive

The Night I Sunk His Fleet by Lady Jericho

I didn't cheat. I just didn't play by rules he was expecting. I admit I'm surprised he didn't expect the duplicity; he's smarter than that. To be fair, it was his first public scene, so while his mind was filtering the typical anxieties of public play, I went on the hunt, pressing his buttons like a matador hooking a bull.

He laid out the scene, a luxurious blanket went down on the dungeon floor - we settled on it, and the box came out. It was still in shrink wrap; he bought it just to play with me. While I slid a fingernail along the seam of the box and peeled the shrink wrap off he watched me, his eyes still smack talking with defiance. I flipped the box right side up and let the bottom fall out of it slowly. It landed with a soft sound, unhearable to anyone but us. We each took out a battle station; he sorted out the white and red pegs while I broke the battleships away from their plastic moorings. When I handed him most of the ships, he stammered, confused, I was giving him an advantage. No, those weren't the rules. He wanted to win, true, but he wanted to win fairly.

I should mention the stakes. We'd negotiated for a scene of Battleship. You know the old "B7" "You sunk my battleship" game. The stakes were as follows: Standard Rules. If I win, he lets me hit him with my belt three times, in the dungeon (my choice). If he wins, he bottoms to me at a BARR munch (his choice). For each battleship of mine he sinks, I kiss him in whichever scenario we end up in (my choice). For each battleship of his I sink, I barehanded spank him in whichever scenario we end up in (his choice).

I insisted he take the extra ships. He tried to give me back the carriers, insisting they would be harder to sink, and I shouldn't give him such an advantage. I smiled at him, assuring him that I wasn't the slightest bit concerned and he should set up his fleet. I waited until he was nearly finished before I pulled out the hood and slipped it over his head. He gasped so loud I'm certain that even the people sitting behind us in the spectator section heard him. It took him a moment to catch his breath and protest softly about how this wasn't in the rules. It took just a few moments in the hood with my hand on his thigh for him to abandon his desire to play by any rules but mine. It was warm in the dungeon, warmer so under the hood. I let him struggle to set the rest of his board up, and when he was done I removed the hood.

I looked at him, long and hard. He bit his lip, looking back at me, expectant. I couldn't let him down, so out came the belt.  His hands went behind his back. I don't even remember telling him to do it - perhaps I didn't. I wrapped it around his wrists, looping, and tying. I leaned in so our bodies touched and with my lips against his throat below his ear I told him "That's the belt I'm going to beat you with" and he let out this soft little moan and leaned a little closer to me.

With magnanimity, I let him have the first move. He missed. I took a red peg, and with my eyes on his, I leaned across and put the peg in the first ship on his side. He let another moan pass his lips; this time tinged with some despair. It went like that turn after turn. He did manage, along the way to sink two of my ships (even with his hands tied behind his back) but I sunk his entire fleet, systematically annihilating every single vessel. I had him clean up the game and pack the blanket away. He approached nervously when he was done.  His eyes darted everywhere but came back to my face and to my eyes where they finally settled. He took a deep breath and looked that the bench next to which I was standing. He looked from me to it and back, and when I nodded he put his hands on it, bracing himself. "Are you ready?" I asked him, my hand gently rubbing along his back. He shook his head no. I shook my head yes, and he repeated my gesture. I took my first swing at him, and the belt snapped hard against his butt. It was a brutal swing, strong, hard. No warm up. His breath came out in a frantic gasp. Once. Twice. Three times and I kissed him then, long and hard with the same deliberateness I had applied the belt. He half moaned, half whimpered against my mouth, and I hit him again. And again. And again. I circled him like a matador.  I'd come in close, lay my body against his, or my mouth on his skin, my teeth on his flesh, and then I'd strike and move away. I weakened him systematically, methodically, and with deliberate brutality. I lost track of how many times I'd hit him or how long we'd been ‘in scene’. I hit him hard enough and long enough that my shoulder still hurts two days later, and my belt has a crease in it that hasn't flattened out.

He was drenched in sweat and shaking. He cleaned up after us - well, I might add, and we stepped outside into the cool night air. He asked to not be in the tent, to be out in the air alone, and I agreed, sitting there on the bench against the wall. He'd planned to sit next to me, you could see it from his stance, but he didn't, he dropped like a stone to my feet. He leaned into me there, like that, on his knees, and I held him. When he could finally lift his head, he gazed up at me. The total trust, adoration, and respect I found in his eyes then must have been the mirror image of the respect, adoration, and total trust he found in my eyes, looking down at him in that moment.

The Night She Sunk My Fleet by Niki

We walked into the dungeon, smiling and laughing as we checked in.
She looked stunning in her suit, my borrowed necklace just visible.
I was passable, in all black with my hair pulled back.
After checking in, we walked into the dungeon proper. The music was loud and the lights were low, people were playing, people were watching.

We picked out a spot out of the way and I put out a blanket for us to sit on.
I was feeling rather confident, though it was my ass that was literally on the line. Playful banter and smack talk went back and forth while we set up the game of Battleship.
There was some confusion when she gave me the ships, notably the aircraft carriers and all the other ships that have the most hits. I tried handing them back, noting that I would have an unfair advantage, but she insisted.
I relented, feeling I was being given a huge advantage. Until the hood came out.

I protested, these weren’t the rules!
But they were. We would be playing by HER rules.
I finished setting up my ships, mostly by touch. The haze of the hood making it a challenge.
After the set up the hood came off and we were ready to play. Or so I thought.
I found my hands behind my back, something stiff and hard being wrapped around them, binding them.
“This is the belt I’m going to beat you with,” she whispered in my ear, a sigh escaped my lips.

She generously allowed me to take the first shot. I called it out and missed, unable to mark it on my board as my hands were bound.
She took her shot.
Her gaze trapping me, she took a red peg, reached across my board, and placed it in a ship, scoring a hit.
I knew then that I never stood a chance.
So it went, me calling out a shot and her, placing a red peg in a ship, until my entire fleet was slowly and inexorably sunk.
I did manage to sink two of her ships, a small victory.

We cleaned up and I prepared to pay off my end of the wager for losing.
Three hits with the leather belt that had been binding my wrists.
If I had won, I would be collecting on the wager.
What that would have been didn’t matter, it was an illusion.

I approached the spanking horse and bent over, leaning against it.
She asked if I was ready and I indicated that I was.
She swung the belt, there was a sharp pain followed immediately by a sweet burn.
Over and over I felt the bite of the belt.
She walked behind me, back and forth, switching sides.
I focused solely on her.
Her words washing over me, her fingertips moving over my sweaty skin, her mouth on mine.
Again and again the sound of leather striking flesh, I’ve lost count.
Stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.
She tells me I’ve had enough and we stop.

Shakily I clean up, spraying the station with alcohol and wiping it down, just like the gym.
We go outside where it’s cool, we have the night to ourselves.
She settles on a bench and I go over to sit next to her, but find myself in front of her on my knees.
“You were perfect,” she whispers, taking me in her arms.
I wrap my arms around her, still kneeling, listening to the beat of her heart.
And I’m safe.
In her arms, I’m safe.

Why The Muses Were Wrong by Lady Danika

"Why The Muses Were Wrong" -- ©March 2015

Had my love been but a flame
it could have been fueled by simple things.
Tis true. Tis true.

Or held within the confines of a bricked-in pit
and tended with a rough or gentle hand
and the shove and prod of a stick or booted kick
to keep the embers glowing as might have been willed.

But my love was never so simple as fire.
Fire is the love of Youth-
the all consuming brilliance
that consumes and destroys despite
the momentary heat and comfort
and then burns down to bitter ash.

My love has always been the ebb and flow
of salty ocean waters
renewed and tended and replenished
in the pain and sacrifice of my own sweat and tears
as I gave what all I had of me for them.

Of course, water too can be dangerous.
It can drown, overwhelm, erode the shores...
But the ocean never dies, disappears, or becomes less.
Instead it cycles, rages, changes, calms, and evolves.

And yet what worth do we put in the former?
When all the love poems speak of love as an ember
an ever living flame to light the way of darkness!

Fire eats up the oxygen of souls!
Even the stories of old equate fire with Hell!

Was there ever an antique pen
that spoke of love as the ocean?

At least when love is an ocean-
the brave soul willing to compromise and bend
who is willing to learn to surf the waves...
can walk the sandy shores for glittering shells
each of which tells a small story of sacrifice
each its own small gift given in offering
to the beloved barefoot collector.

Fire can be tamed! Snuffed out! Smothered!
But it is not so easily re-lit as some might think.

You can walk the edge of the ocean
and circle the edge of the world
And she will -never- dry up!

But for most, the interest in such a strong love
seems to break like the ocean waves themselves
and crash against the rocks when the tides are high.
Because it is easier to see the traditional as love
when the muses have long defined it in poems and songs
as flowers and a soft smile highlighted by firelight.

Lest the broken-hearted lover
who tries to tame the ocean forgets...
the vapors that rise above those waters to the clouds
which later birth the great storms in cycles
are required to renew the deep, vast waters
that shimmer and undulate.
And those were what you first saw and loved.

Not the fire.

Perhaps the luminous memories of the water
that held you floating in warmth and cocooned in safety-
your lips and nose held above the waves so you could breathe-
when fire would have instead just singed away your skin...
Will remind you that such a love cannot be bricked in.

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.

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

"Look"....
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

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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.

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

Sexual Healing by Lady Jericho

my frustration dies there
impaled
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.

THE END

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.