Goodbye Mistress by Anonymous

Goodbye my Mistress,
I will go
You said I am released.

but Those few words are not enough,
to say goodbye for me.

I need to first say thank You.
For all the good there was.
All the joy that I will miss.
I'm sure I will be lost.

I would have to count my blessings.
I had the chance to serve.
Someone I loved as much as You
A Mistress I deserved.

Then just as I would say goodbye,
I'd get up off my knees
Turn around and walk away,
With pride for what i'd been.

Anonymous

Wounded, Broken, Doubting by Daxie

I sit alone thinking about the path laid out before me.  It’s a familiar path, seen over and over again like walking lost in a forest, each tree looking exactly like the others.  Have I been here before? Have my choices been all moot points or is this a new path yet to be traveled? The feeling of being alone and lost is not new to me; in fact some would say it is rather familiar and comforting in ways.

Going through the SL life as if it were RL, I put my heart into my actions and relationships.  I used to trust easily and to care about being trusted.  I feel that this has broken over the last few months.  It is something I know I need to fix inside me but I'm unsure how to do it.  I’ve met some wonderful people some of whom I've had the honor to call Domme.  But these wonderful women have also been cause of pain.

I’ve had three SL relationships.  Each of the three have had common threads.  Each lasted around 6 weeks.  All three broke off for reasons out of my control.

I don’t know what is worse, being released when -- from their point of view -- I was a great submissive, or if I actually had been an asshat and that was the reason for my dismissal.   I jokingly said to one of my submissive friends, "Maybe I’m going about this whole SL submission thing all wrong."  And to that she laughed and said “Daxie, there isn't a mean or impolite bone in your body”  To which I then said “Maybe I need to go out on the MP to find one.”

The last two Dommes I’ve had left SL altogether -- partly on my accord.  They said their feelings were of "becoming too attached", and that though we were looking for RL/SL crossover, they found it painful to have to say 'good night'.

What course of action is there for me?  Is there one?  Is it me?

So here I stand alone, again looking down the D/s path wondering.  Is there a point to walking further down this path or will my path be a retread of the same thing? I’m wounded right now, and -- like many wounded animals -- I have a "fight al"l mentality.  I act out in ways I know I shouldn't; many times I feel I can’t stop it.  It does me no good. I know it. Any witnesses, especially those that know me, must think they are watching a different person.  And maybe my past is changing me more than I want to admit.

I am broken, a fixer-upper so to speak. (Luckily I’m cheap, ha ha).  I don’t do well with pity, which is why I keep to myself and do not let others in.  I’ve heard and heard many discussions/ and read many profiles where most Dommes want a sub with something to offer: skills, talents, mental security and confidence. Skills and talents? Well, I’ll let others see and speak on those.  Mental security and confidence? Few and far between.

Doubting, I’m currently highly cautious regards all 'positivity'.  I'm not sure if or when it is genuine or if or when it is just 'common courtesy.'

I write this not looking for kudos, nor for people to say “hang in there, you’ll find one”, etc etc.  This is a confession --my mind -- self-serving and very therapeutic for me.  Even if no one cares, at least I wrote it and sent it.

Carl Had Been Dating by Doc

Carl had been dating Julie for most of the summer.  When he’d broken up with Veronica by mutual agreement, he’d asked her one favor.  As a generally nice girl she’d felt obligated to Carl and, though she was doubtful, had figured she owed him.  This was how he’d met Julie.

He’d simply asked his ex-girlfriend, “Since I’ve always treated you with respect and since this breakup is your idea and not mine, would you help fix me up with someone that you think would suit me?”  She’d initially resisted, but – since he was basically a nice guy (and inconveniently just “there”) she decided to find someone ‘just right’ for him.

When Carl went out with Julie for the first time, he wondered.  Finally he asked, “How do you know Veronica – and how well?”

“Oh, she and I both are in the same math class, but I don’t think she knows me very well.  Actually she asked me how to get you fixed up with someone and we got to chatting then.”

“Oh, said Carl.

“You know the reason she broke up with you, don’t you, Carl?”

He shook his head.  “Nope”.  At that, Julie just chuckled.

“She wanted to get laid, and after Jimmy – the quarterback on the varsity team – made a move on her, she decided to trade up.”  Julie had then looked at Carl’s face.  He was devastated.  Obviously Veronica had never been very open with poor, pathetic Carl.  “Anyway, I told your ex that I would make things easy for her.  I told her I’d take you on.  As a challenge.”

Carl was still in shock.  He’d always wanted to ‘do it’ with Veronica, but he’d never dared even show any interest in her.  He’d figured she was a nice girl and would be shocked and repulsed if she knew he wanted more than just a peck on the cheek and a hug at the end of a date.  He was barely listening to Julie.

Julie noticed his inattention.  Her gaze roamed over him, however and she made a decision.   “You didn't know, Carl?” she cooed.

“Nope!”

“Carl, you and Veronica were never right for each other, you know.”  She then lied.  A big whopper! “Carl, I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time!” (Actually she had barely noticed either Veronica or Carl.  They both might have been furniture for all she’d cared.)

“Me?” he asked.

“Yep! Oh – and Carl – I really find you attractive!”  This wasn't quite a lie.  He was no better or worse than most of the other guys in class, but he did have one thing going for him.  She was (pretty) sure that she could get him to do whatever she wanted him to do.  Few of the guys were as passive as Carl.  That was his attraction.

Julie had then decided to put Carl to the test. “Carl, if I let you see my breasts, will you do my math homework?”  He had vigorously nodded.  Julie knew this was the guy for her!

Unlike lots of juniors, she never broke her promises.  From math homework, she gradually got him to most of the rest of her homework.  Then – since he had an ancient wreck of a car – she figured out how to make him into her personal chauffeur.  And then out to some really nice restaurants.  Julie was no dummy.

It was only at the end of the summer, with Carl now trained to take care of her sexual, personal, and school needs that she made some ‘adjustments’.  Kenny was a college freshman.  Time to dump Carl.  She broke the news to him gently, “Carl, I have a friend of mine who would be ‘just right’ for you.”

Carl never found out that the lady Julie had picked was a very ambitious sophomore.

“Hey, if you handle this guy just right you can get him to do your homework, be your chauffeur,  take you out to nice restaurants, and be your sex slave.  Are you interested?”  Alexandra nodded with an enormous grin on her face.  “Oh, and when you come over to my house this weekend, plan on spending the entire morning in bed with me and Kenny.

“Wow!  Cool!” were the only words Alexandra could manage. Except for “I owe you big time!”

Acceptance by Doc

“I’m leaving you.”

He nodded.

“Well, don’t you have anything to say?”

“Just that we both knew this was coming.  I think we’ve said almost everything else that has had to be said…. More times than were necessary.”  He wasn't sure he’d needed to add the last comment, but he was so very tired of re-plowing the same field endlessly.  He wanted her to know he didn't think talk was needed.

“You are worthless.”

He’d expected some comment like that, too.  He didn't agree, but it was pointless saying so.  He kept quiet.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

She glared and then stomped out of the room.  He’d expected that, too.  She hated it when she made a comment and he simply refused to say anything.  He wasn't sure why she felt he needed to say anything.  It was all a bit pointless, anyway.  She’d said she was leaving and that was that.  End story.

John decided to call his old girlfriend Ellen.  Ellen and he had been friends for many years.  She thought he was an ass too, but they both agreed to disagree on that and not to bring it up.  He really didn't care much how she felt about him.  He liked her even if she had some strange ideas.  He wasn't sure why.
As to why she didn't walk off, too, he had no idea.  “You’d have to ask her,” he once told someone who’d asked what Ellen saw in him.  He doubted they had followed through on the suggestion.  Few bothered following up on anything, especially his suggestions.  It was fine.  Everyone on his or her own course through life.  Atoms bouncing against each other, like O2 molecules in a balloon.

The phone rang before John got a chance to get to the phone.  It was Ellen.

“I hear she has finally decided to move up to something – and someone – more her style,” Ellen said.

“Yep.”

“So how do you feel?”

“Dunno.  I really don’t feel much of anything.  I knew she’d eventually leave.  I just wondered how it would play out.  I’m going to be out of town this weekend, so I assume she’ll have her stuff out on Saturday or Sunday.”

“Where are you going this weekend?” Ellen asked.

“I’m going up to the cabin.  I want to be alone and read and with all the shit going on here, I just need to get away.”

“I want to go with you, John.”  She didn't add anything else to that.  John wondered what she wanted.

“What for?” he asked.

“I want to get laid, and you’re now available.  Besides, you need someone to make your life miserable.  I think I can fill that bill.”
 
“Yeah, now that she’s gone I guess I’m fair game.  Sure.  It’s up to you.  Whatever.”

“John, do you know what you’re getting into?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Don’t you care?”

“Actually, no.  I don’t.  I guess you have your reasons, and when you decide to tell me what they are, you will.”

There was a pause before she calmly said, “It’s simple, you fucking moron.  I just like having a puppet in my life.  Someone who serves me.  Someone who will take my crap and not whine.  Someone who is pathetic and servile and who doesn't object when I feel like taking out my frustrations on someone I really don’t give a shit about.  Someone like you.”

John just said, “OK.”

Ellen volunteered, “Do you know what your real attraction is, John?”

“Nope”.

“You really don’t give a crap.”

Ellen hung up.  John went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.  He realized the pot would probably not be there on Monday morning.  He stuck a post-it on the refrigerator.  “Buy new coffee pot!”

He was walking away from the fridge when he thought of something else.  He scribbled underneath the coffee pot note “Take condoms to cabin” and “Pick Vonnegut paperback to take to cabin”.

He then said, very quietly, “That Ellen sure isn't shy!”

Ode To The Boobies by Leasha

Ode to the boobies
Pale or pink, Pert or tear
Boobies, boobies, they are everywhere
Less than a handful, more than a handful
Boobies, boobies, plenty to share

Jiggling up, jiggling down,
Boobies, boobies, let me go to town
Chomping here an chomping there
Boobies, boobies, nom nom where?

Tease them softly, Nibble them rough
Chew them harshly, scratch them off
Boobies, boobies, always there
Boobies, boobies, they’re everywhere

Bound or free, Waxed or flogged
Pegged or scratched, tight and locked
So give them a squeeze, or tickle them soft
Boobies, boobies, don’t throw them off

Boobies, boobies there’s nothing better
Boobies, boobies I love them forever.

One Summer Night 2014 by Rock

The warm breeze on his naked body makes him shiver.  He kneels, silently, his mind focused on the inky black of the blindfold, the sound of wind dancing through the trees, and the feel of soft grass beneath his knees.  His ears strain to hear the sound of footsteps; even the slightest sound makes his body twitch in anticipation.  He does not know what to expect.

He squirms, wishing he knew where She is, fearing that She has abandoned him to nature.  Will She return for him?  Has he displeased Her?

Every noise makes him jerk.  He shivers, both from fear itself and from the arousal that the fear within him creates.  He does not understand how he can be so afraid and yet so turned on at the same time.  His mind wanders, playing a hundred different scenes in his head.

Will She allow him to be touched, fondled and  tormented by others?  Will they speak to him, or will they remain silent and unknown?  Will they be kind, and hurt him beautifully, or will they be mercilessly gentle -- keeping him on the edge of passion, teasing him, yet not letting him climax?  He imagines the feeling of many hands on his body, stroking, pinching, and slapping.

He is jerked to his feet and is forced painfully against  the rough bark of a tree; he is held there by strong arms.  His hands are bound tightly around the trunk.  His head is jerked back, his hair tight in someone's grasp as another hand slaps his face.  A warm, almost pleasant sting burns in his cheeks as first one, then the other is slapped, and then caressed gently by cool, sensual fingers.  He is punched and prodded, tickled and scratched, as his mind drifts further and further away.

He feels his heart pounding in his chest.  His arousal hardens his clit and telltale moisture glistens between his thighs.  Sudden frustration invades his calmness as he becomes painfully aware of his biological body.  He feels trapped within the confines of female flesh.  If only he had the body that was trapped within his soul.

Pushing these thoughts away, he slips again into his fantasies.  Now he is kneeling, pumping his erect cock as his Mistress whips him for Her pleasure.  She commands him to work his dick harder, and he groans as he obeys, his mind reeling as he fights for control of his body, knowing that  he must not orgasm, that this pleasure is not his to enjoy without permission.

He is to keep himself on edge, so that She may enjoy the sight of his arousal and discomfort as She mercilessly wields Her whip upon the strong flesh of his chest.  Moaning, he grits his teeth against the petals of pain that explode across his skin again and again.  He cries out as a particularly hard crack of the whip lands directly on his sensitive nipple.

A twig snaps somewhere in the distance, forcing his mind back into reality.  The night is getting cooler, making his body erupt with goosebumps.  He moans behind his gag, and he whimpers softly as his limbs cramp in their bondage.  He tosses his head, stretching the muscles in his neck; his shoulders roll back and forth as he tries to ease the tension in his arms. Sighing contentedly, he settles back on his heels, and a small smile shows on his lips as more pictures form in his mind.

He kneels before his Mistress; his thighs spread wide as he leans down and gently kisses and caresses Her boots.  He darts his tongue across the cool, soft boot leather; a low moan is trapped in his throat as he lovingly shows his devotion.  He covers Her boots with kisses.  He writhes as Her hand runs deftly through his hair -- as they brush the strands away from his eyes.  His mouth moves even more eagerly; he licks until the leather glistens in the moonlight.

Lying on his back, he nuzzles her five-inch heels, and he runs his tongue up and down their length before taking them into his mouth.  He guides each down his throat, moving his lips up and down the shafts; he face-fucks each boot vigorously.

The air about him stirs; a summer storm blows in on the wind.  His body freezes, having lost all sense of time; he had not expected the wind which now gusts more powerfully about him.  A dull sense of panic floods over him, his heart pounding in his ears, and his body listening with nervous sweat as more images race through his mind, now turning to darker things.

He is thrown against a wall, Her knee thrusts into his groin, Her hand, around his throat, makes it hard for him to breath.  His eyes open wide as he gazes into Her face, seeing that stern, cruel look in Her eyes that tells him that this scene will not be an easy one.  It will be a lesson in endurance, in absolute obedience and in pain.

The whipping is relentless and takes him to the edge of what he believes he can endure.  It is for Her pleasure, and he takes it for Her; wanting to please Her and make Her proud of him.  He begs Her to gag him, to give him something to bite on to smother the cries he cannot keep within him; he is denied. She is reveling in his discomfort, his agony, and in the sweet tears rolling down his cheeks.

A soft hand brushes across his cheek, bringing the boy back to the present.  She gently removes his blindfold and gag, and he sees that the early light of dawn is just breaking on the horizon.  He has spent the whole of this summer night bound in the moonlight with his thoughts.

He is sensitive to the slightest touch, and he is eager to show Her how happy he is to see Her.  The night of silence, broken only by images of Her in his mind, has given him focus.  He is ready for whatever is to come; he is ready for whatever pleasure She has planned for Her amusement.

Unclipping his restraints, She motions for him to crawl behind Her.  He follows silently as She leads him back to the fireside. Other women are already there, seated around the fire, their submissives meekly at their feet.  A feeling of reverence falls on the group as the boy is led forward.

Kneeling quietly where he is told to kneel, his Mistress stands before him.  He shivers and looks up into Her eyes as she unclips the collar from Her belt.  "Do you still wish to be mine?" She asks him.

"Yes Mistress," he whispers, his voice hoarse and dry from the long hours in the gag.

"Do you accept this collar, and the meaning behind it?" Her voice flows between them, piercing deep into the boy's ears, sending shivers down his spine.

"With all my heart Mistress," he replies, emotion choking his voice, causing it to tremble with every word spoken. "Please allow me to be Your boy, Mistress" he begs, his eyes fervent with longing.

She smiles softly, locks the collar around his neck and brushes the tears from his cheek.  "You are Mine," she whispers, pulling him into a gentle embrace before grasping him roughly by the hair and forcing his lips down to rest upon Her boot.

What Do You Want by Doc

When a domme asks, “What do you want….?” I feel an impulse to say “I want to scream in frustration!”  But I restrain myself.

And I think.

What does a dog want when you throw a stick onto a pond and he jumps in to return it to you – and why do you throw it to him?

When a small baby smiles at you and you smile back at it, what did it want – and why did you smile back at that tiny face?

A frowning store clerk yesterday seemed grimly determined to stack a pile of merchandise.  What did she want to achieve? And why did you say, “Wow.  They sure keep you busy, don’t they?”?

When an old friend sends you a birthday card do you think, “I wonder what she wants?”

When the sun rises on a cold morning and sends its rays onto your skin, warming you and making you feel good, do you ask of the sun, “What do you want?”  Does the sun answer?

Sometimes we haggle over a purchase.  Bid and ask.  Sale or regular price.  “Why are you selling this if it’s so good?”

The marketplace where people gloat if they ‘get one over on you’ – or if you ‘get one over on them’.

Is sex a marketplace?  Do dogs haggle?  Do babies bargain?  Does the sun withhold for freebies?  Does a domme put one over on dogs and babies and the sun?  Does a son or daughter refuse to visit aging parents unless they do something in return?

Sometimes a simple question reveals more than the answer.

The words, “What do you want?” or “I want” sometimes tell you more than any words that follow.  The questions carry their own answers.