Doctor Livingston, I presume?

He stood with his hands cupped protectively in front of his genitals. Only a slight shiver animated him as his eyes watched me move around the room like a dangerous beast considering its prey. He was here for a slave examination and it was my duty to ensure that he was an acceptable specimen.

"Please put your hands next to your sides.", I instructed him softly. He moved his hands quickly and fixed his gaze at the ceiling behind me in nervous embarrassment. His cock bobbed in front of him happily as if it were an enthusiastic volunteer for the examination. I placed the hard plastic cervical collar around his neck and locked it into place. Only then did he try to look into my face but he could not see more than the blurry outline of my head as I moved to his side. I inspected his body slowly and deliberately. Poking and prodding were mixed with pinches, slaps, and squeezes as I circled around him. I made mental notes about his reactions, the immediacy of blushing where he was slapped, the tone of his muscle where he was squeezed and the tightness of his skin where he was pinched. I looked for visible scars and telltale signs of poor eating habits and musculoskeletal issues. I felt along his jaw line for swollen nodes and had him open his mouth so that I could examine his tongue and gums. He appeared to be in good condition on the surface and I was now able to examine him even more closely.

I led him to the examining table and watched as he backed on to it. I guided his feet into the stirrups and instructed him to scoot down to the edge of the table. He was fully exposed now; ass, balls and cock on open display to me. I walked up to the head of the table and spoke to him in a low, firm voice.

"I am about to give you a slave exam. Due to the delicate nature of this exam and the areas I will need to inspect, I strongly suggest that you do not make any noise nor utter a word to me other than 'yes, ma'am' or 'no, ma'am'. I would hate to be distracted when I am working down there with such sharp instruments. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, madam", he anxiously replied and cast his gaze back up at the ceiling.

"Very good.", I continued. "I am going to begin this procedure with a few tests. This may feel uncomfortable at first but the pain will soon pass. Please try to tolerate as much as you can. The success of your examination depends on these tests."

"Yes, ma'am", he offered and inhaled deeply filling himself with courage from the ethers, steeling himself for the great unknown that was about to happen to him.

I placed clamps on his erect nipples making sure that they were firmly in place. He winced slightly as the biting sensation wormed its way into him and finally disappeared from his surface awareness. I then took small weights and attached them to the clamps carefully. The weights pulled his nipples down and away, flooding his brain with new sensations. I waited a moment and gauged his reactions to his weighted nipple clamps before I returned to the foot of the table.

Sitting between his legs, I had complete access to the very core of his being. I took a piece of latex tubing and carefully tied up his balls and cock, making sure that I seperated the testes from each other in their binding. Jutting out from him like two green plums hanging from the limb of his cock, they invited a gentle squeeze. A soft moan escaped him but he quickly regained his self control and slipped back into silence. I arranged my tools and prepared them as they would be needed and then, slipped into my rubber gloves. The snap of rubber against my skin broke the silence like a warning pistol and signaled the beginning of a more invasive examination.

I began with his catheterization. I cleaned his penis carefully and then stood up so that I could show him what I intended to do and carefully revealed the slender, innocuous rubber tubing that would soon feel like a giant snake trying to enter him through the head of his penis. "This", I informed him in a bored voice, "will be placed inside your penis so that we can drain your bladder. Do not squirm and do not squeeze your muscles together in resistance or it will hurt that much more. This will only take a minute." I lubricated the catheter tip and drove it down the narrow passage as slowly as possible so that the tube would feel as if it were impossibly long and it would take forever to reach its destination. He was having difficulty staying relaxed as the tubing inched its way in and his cock began to shrink and retreat in response.

The straw colored liquid began pouring out of the tube and I quickly attached the receptacle bag and hung it from the table so that it was out of the way. I gently inspected his testicles for abnormalities while the plastic bladder hanging from the table filled with his urine. His cock began to rise tentatively under my touch; still shy from its catheter invasion. After a few minutes, the fluid pressure in his bladder seemed to be completely relieved and it was time to move on with his exam. I released the stop mechanism in the tubing and alleviated my boredom with this procedure by pulling the tubing out even more slowly than I inserted it, even pausing on occasion for emphasis. I could see him shudder as chills of sensation traveled from his cock straight up his spine and I grinned wickedly to myself. "If sadism is the deriving of pleasure from causing pain," I wondered silently, "what does it mean that I am deriving pleasure by causing uncomfortable overloads of heightened sensation?" Before I could answer the question for myself, the tubing made a wiggling leap out of his urethral opening and I was quickly distracted by the containment of it before droplets of urine could scatter in escape.

After lubricating my finger again, I found the opening into his most vulnerable entrance and pushed past the tight control of his anal sphincter. The small, muscular ring squeezed against my finger in a futile protest and attempt to bar further entry. In only a few moments, it surrendered and allowed me full exploration. I wanted to test the opening for its full limitation so I squeezed more lubrication onto the part of my finger that remained outside of him and began to slip a second finger in. He gasped and his thighs tensed slightly in response. He was less virginal than he would have liked me to believe; as the second entry finds its way in with only slightly more resistance than the first. I knew he could take more for me and I began to introduce a third finger in an attempt to find his limit. His hips raised off the table slightly in retreat and I stopped for a moment, reminding him to breathe. He began to relax but the resistance of his sphincter was absolute. He had experience but he was not a broken slut. Making a mental note of this, I went on to prepare him for his enema.

~to be continued..

The doctor will see you now.

Look into my eyes.

Sound and Fury

I find voices distracting. The spoken word pulls my ear and demands that I pay attention, process the information and from there, decide if it is worth listening to. Sex talk is the worst because I find myself analyzing what they are saying and why they are choosing the words and phrases that they do. I never come up with answers during this onslaught of obscenity that will constitute forgiveness for the offense against my psyche.

In its own way, it is a form of aural rape. It is verbal sexual dominance by objectifying and degrading the partner. You are no longer the source of love, passion or adoration but an archetype of sexual power that must be reduced to a caricature of sexuality. In short, you are a symbol of refined art that is having garbage thrown at it because the barbarian feels threatened by his painful awareness of his own ignorance in the presence of it. Some women enjoy listening to this. Of course, some women enjoy being treated like this, also. And the bottom line is that I am not one of these women nor will I ever be.

And perhaps that is why I like gags so much. It will not keep them silent but it will reduce them to the delightful grunts and groans of an animal which is more in keeping with their animal desires in these moments. The gag reduces them to monosyllabic grunts and strips them naked of potential lies, promises and vulgarities. Their eyes tell me everything and even the reserved ones become a cacophony of dialogue with their gaze. Theirs are the sounds of a powerful engine revving at high speeds, waiting only to be connected to the drive train so that it can explode into action.

And here I will be found, whispering the filthiest vulgarities into his ear. Pouring obscene descriptions and reducing him to the lowest form of social scum, I am relentless in my sexually pedantic tirade. I know these words are familiar to him and I want him to experience the power of the spoken word. He will feel the lashings against the soul when the obscene offerings travel along a path of bridled hostility; and when they are offered with seductive encouragement, the liberation of unexpected pardon from his moral prison sentence.

His mind and body are a symphony of building tensions and breaking crescendos as I play the invisible strings tethered to his agonies and ecstasies with the careful composition of words I conduct through his aural chambers. His psyche dances for me like a puppet on a string, helpless and waiting for the next controlling direction from my hand or mouth. Each vulgar description and each obscene command spins and pivots him in a frenzied tango during the embrace of my unforgiving attentions. He is lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and I am the calm eye in the center that he gravitates sensationally around.

The power of his speech is rendered impotent only by mechanical barrier and his denied power must find an expression. It is circumvented into me like an electrical charge looking for ground and my words are illuminated with his frustrated energy. I feed them back to him and create an intoxicating loop of dynamic power exchange. The tables are turned, and now he is the subject of vulgar assault. He is the formidable presence that will be reduced to nothing more than a receptacle for longing and frustration. Inside the vestibule of his true sexuality, I smash deceptive mirrors with sound and fury. I will not tolerate villainous lies and lubricious promises. He will stand before me naked and honest; completely or not at all.

Come Closer

Come closer

Tootsie Roll

His eyes seemed larger through the cling wrap. His presence more vulnerable and inviting in his helplessness. He looked through the thin plastic sheet with curious darting eyes, taking in everything with the erotic detachment of a voyeur. He was experiencing his first mummification with me.

He was wrapped from head to ankle in clear saran wrap with only his nostrils revealed so that he could breath. His feet were left exposed to stave off possible hyperthermia if he struggled and his hands were placed flat against his sides. The thin cocoon of plastic held him snugly as the heat started to build inside. Skin yielded sweat and a thin layer of salty water made him slick and warm as he squirmed ever so slightly, testing his new restraint. Each weakened effort only produced more enfeebling perspiration in his new amniotic sac.

I smiled at his curiosity and reached for scissors. His eyes widened with concern as he watched the light glint off the shiny blade in my hand. Leaning up close to his face, I looked into his eyes and layed the flat of the blade against his cheek so that the coolness of the metal would reach through the plastic to caress his overheated skin. His eyes were affixed upon mine, searching for a hint or suggestion of my thoughts and not daring to bait me by looking away.

The point of the scissors made a sharp trail along his torso like a serpent moving slowly to its destination. Stopping at his groin, his simpering cock had already begun choking out droplets of precum as it struggled to find enough room to stretch and reach for the attentions of a hand, mouth or anything else that would lend itself to its selfish and immediate need. I stopped at the spot just between his balls and his trapped cock. Puncturing the plastic wrapping carefully, I slide the cold metal blade between the wet, plastic sheath and his hot, sweaty skin. The scrotal sac began its dance of retreat upon contact and he began shaking his head in fearful protest with the inching approach of the blade. I stopped for a moment and looked at him with a mischevious grin. Once the blade was in place, I began snipping a thin line of opening in the plastic across his balls. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back in muted prayer and resignation to his predicament. The sound and sensation of cutting traveled along the plastic and across his body as clearly as the sound of a pin dropping in a silent, cavernous room; challenging him to respond inappropriately and invite the bite of its steel teeth where he least wanted.

Once opened, I slipped a gloved finger inside. I ran my finger along the wet pool where his cock head lay trapped against his balls, pausing momentarily to slip along the frenulum and tease him mercilessly, as it passed. I reached in and began the process of pulling his scrotal sac out through the opening. Deft fingers slipped it out, one testicle at a time. Completely wrapped with only his testicles exposed, he was a green limb in Spring with only a tender bud braving the external world. I greeted it by blowing gently on it, first cool then warm. My hands cupped their softness as I considered where else I wanted access to. I looked at his nipples and decided that they must reveal themselves to me also. I picked up the scissors and began to slice open the plastic so that his nipples would reach up proudly as if awakening in the morning from under bedsheets.

First one nipple, then the other. The cool, smooth metal edge slides against the tender sides of erect nipples and positions itself. A single snip reveals them neatly for my inspection. After wetting a gloved finger, I slide it across the dark peaks of his nipples and explore his responsiveness. His hips squirm slightly and I know that it would take very little to make him lose control and respond like an excitable puppy piddling on the floor. I bend over and in one small stroke, run my tongue against his nipple making it warm and wet. A small blow of air cools the wet skin and makes goosebumps rise up in his defense. He vainly attempts to pull away when I pinch his nipples. Pulling steadily, I am searching for his limit. Will his body rise up and follow my lead or will he cry for mercy in surrender first?

He watches me steadily through his plastic lens as I pull with steady, gentle force but I am impatient for a reaction. His discipline and acquiescence both please me and bore me. I release the hard nipple with a strong twist and watch as he winces with the quick movement. It is not enough.

I snatch the scissors up and begin to release his cock from it's plastic prison. My gloved hand reaches down into slit of the plastic and pulls it out for inspection. It jumps to erect life like a suffocating man finally getting his first full breath of air. . The enthusiasm of his cock in this quick moment surprises me as I watch it fill instantly and spring happily up and down in passionate, unrestrained delight. My gloved hand inspects the new toy carefully and a small moan escapes from him. I lightly trace a line along the length of his ardent erection and once I am near the head, a drop of pre-cum appears at the top and continues expanding into a near dripping bubble of frustrated fluid with every centimeter of cock that my finger approaches. Reaching the underside of his cock head, the pre-cum is no longer containable and begins its slow descent down the shaft of its engorged tower.

I pull my fingers back in a slow, delicate retreat and his cock responds by trying to reach for the source of its pleasure as if it had the means to capture it and keep it in place. A patronizing coo and a wicked giggle slip from me in reflex and I continue my relentless inspection. I know that this teasing is merciless and cruel and I cannot resist myself. I can feel myself becoming more aroused by his helplessness in the face of his erotic capture. I am incensed and my own frustrated desire fuels my erotic sadism.

I climb up and straddle his head. My knees and thighs create a foreboding shadow over him and trap him so that he can only see the triangle that leads to places he will not have access to. I lower myself and lean forward so that my cunt rests against his chin and the thin line of my thong in the cleavage of my ass is in full view. I know he can smell the fragrance of hot desire escaping from my nether regions. Laying there helpless; trapped between my thighs and behind a thin plastic barrier, he can see and smell a delicious cavity that he has no means of entry into. I can hear a frustrated sound while his head moves bravely and attempts to reach me as if the plastic would melt on contact from the combined heat of my cunt and his tongue. He cannot reach it though and with a grunt, he drops his head solidly back in abject resignation. I smile and rock my hips back and forth across his face slowly, knowing that it will only make matters worse for him.

I am a big cat preening my newly born cub as my hot tongue snakes a wet trail across the surface of the cling wrap from his chest down to one side. He can feel the heat and texture of my flat tongue lapping at his torso while the moisture of his own skin creates the sensation of wetness. I can see his body becoming rigid with sexual tension and I decide to pull his taut nerves a little tighter. I leap off of him and move to his side. Lowering my head down to his hip, I open my mouth and reveal my devilish instrument of torture. Holding him down with my hands, I begin to lick from hip to belly while he tries to sit up to see if I will be generous enough to grant his immediate wish. His eyes are wide with hope but I am not so easily won. I swirl and veer across the plastic on his belly; never actually going near enough to his pleasure source to invite even accidental contact. I give him a cruel, teasing wink and begin moving up his torso and away from his groin and the silent cursing in his mind is almost audible.

I lean in towards his head and lick the side of his face and across his shielded eye while one finger finds the ridge along the shaft of his cock and drags across the length slowly. A pearl of fluid rises to the top in response and I whisper into his ear, "Silly boy. You didn't really think I was going to reward you like that. Did you?".

I am not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry when he heard that. I reached down and slipped his aching cock back inside the plastic. His sweat had become its own slippery sheath and he could slide his arm just enough to reach it now. While he massaged his aching muscle, I found a square of plastic wrap and placed it over his nose. His breathing drew in the plastic closely but not in an airtight seal and limited his air without cutting it off. Too deep or quick a breath and he cut off his own air supply. Controlled breathing was required and I watched for a few moments as he discovered this for himself.

His hand moved wildly over his cock and his breathing became less disciplined. I placed my hand over his nose and forced him to hold his breath for a long moment and then I peeled the plastic back so that he could take a deep, full breath. Each deep breath was followed by a moment of breath control for increased increments of time. He was lost in a sea of sensation and riding a razor's edge of reality distortion as his focus became more narrow, more precise. He was reduced to absolute dependence and powerlessness as I controlled his breathing and his cock controlled his momentum. Finally, in a great surge, he exploded like a wild stallion breaking free of an unwanted corral and he was loosed.

Slicing open the plastic along the side of his face carefully and moving down his body in the same manner, the vulnerable wetness and warmth of his body was revealed. He was a larva being released from a transparent cocoon and he could never go back to who he was before. His transformation had begun.

Tootsie Roll Narration Part 1

The following files are for folks who enjoy aural pleasures. It is a narration of the story "Tootsie Roll". Unfortunately, I can only do them in 5 minute increments so it must be broken into three parts. Enjoy

Tootsie Roll Narration Part 2

Tootsie Roll Narration Part 3

For Love or Money

What is the power of money and sex that discussion of either can immediately set people off into defensive tirades?

It really isn't about feeling exploited or used mercilessly because if it were, discussions of romance and insurance premiums would rate a higher defensive reaction across the board since both of these are hotbeds of abuse for exploitative, selfish gain based on promises of things that were never intended to be fulfilled.

If a man is defensive about money, is it because he identifies with it? Is the money symbolic of his power? If this is the case, is a man who is parsimonious or stingy actually lacking power in his own life and because of this, unable to risk enriching another life with it? Or is he simply miserly and so secretly incompetent at renewing his resources that hoarding is the only strategy he knows?

In both cases, any woman who falls prey to his bait of altruistic romance and being "better than those women" will also find herself strangling in his tight clutches while he squeezes the life and vitality out of her also; trying to ensure that she is not holding back anything from him before he offers her something in return. His paranoia and mistrust are like mechanical vices placed around the heart and soul of anyone who is foolish enough to believe that he has the capacity to give anything of himself if only...

"Of course I am interested in you as a person. Why would you think such a thing?", he offers with a comforting smile, "Come here, baby. You are just being silly." With arm wrapped around you, he is rapidly assessing how much work he has to do to maneuver your too-talkative mouth toward his deaf penis before the conversation can ruin his chances of fucking you again.

And women lie and manipulate better than the men. We know this and there is nothing new here. A disempowered woman cannot afford to be honest and must resort to all manner of cunning and craftiness to achieve anything in her life. She becomes the female version of the stingy man, the large difference being that she will not give of herself sexually or emotionally until her price is paid... and the cost of her approval is perpetual.

A cold, stony glare previews the cold, stony back that you will be greeting in bed. How long has it been? 3 days? 3 months? Is it even possible that this could continue for years? Cold Wars are her specialty and she knows better than you that giving in to her is going to be easier and cheaper than leaving her and starting over. You hate her for being such a bitch. You hate yourself more for not recognizing your weaknesses before she did.

Some people would say that the only difference between dating and prostitution is the lack of manipulation (dating) or clear negotiation (prostitution) involved. I suppose that putting a nice face on things makes everything easier to lie to each other about. It's the oldest game in the book but we aren't really discussing seduction or even sex versus money or sex for money

The big secret is that it is not about the money or sex. It is about power, who has it and how they are keeping it from being taken away.

~Professional Predators~

They are suspicious of professional dominatrixes. They are considered the worst kind of predators because they are not even offering quantifiable sex in their repertoire of services. They won't get on you or get you off. The only head you get will be from her getting in it and not going down on it. The closest exchange of fluids that will occur is with saliva or lube, and both will only get as far as the latex or leather barrier that stands between your bad intentions and her unyielding boundaries. She is not offering you an X-rated carnival ride for your coins. She is offering something that has fluctuations in value based on the consumer profile but expects a consistent return for her investment of time. It is a mutual exchange of trust and value. Discretion and responsibility. Experience and respect.

She does not expect you to fall in love with her and propose marriage. She does not expect you to give up your current life and start over with her. She does not expect you to introduce her to your friends, colleagues or family. She does not expect you to come and rescue her if she finds herself on a dangerous road at 3 am with a flat tire. She doesn't expect you to do anything except show up, show the proper respect and follow the rules she sets for asking her to offer the best of her experience and knowledge. The money serves a purpose and it is not a simple matter of paying her bills or indulging her material whims.

Money is a hard boundary that keeps you at the proper distance and encourages you to approach with respect for her time.

• She is not the endless teat whose existence is solely intended to be a presence meeting your needs on greedy whim and demand. She is a whole, seperate entity who takes pride in the theatre that she can create with you. She is a professional, not a psychosexual buffet existing only to serve your hungers.

It is an offering of respect for her knowledge and discretion.

• Like any good consort, the knowledge about you that she is privy to remains her secret. She is expected to have learned her trade and built her repertoire of skills to include safety considerations and precautions to protect you. The compromises that you both make will not be ones that irresponsibly and selfishly endanger health or lifestyle.

It is an apology for not being able to offer her anything more meaningful.

• You want what she has to offer but only while she is desirable to you. You are not offering assistance or responsibilities for her health, welfare or sanity in the future. Your offering is a contribution to her health, welfare and sanity during the time that your selfish desires, not your noble heart, determine her value.

It is a testament to your appreciation of her existence in your life.

• We take care of things we want to make use of in the future. We nurture the things that sustain us. We show humble gratitude toward the people who do not judge our deformities but instead, give them a place to exist with a purpose. Her presence is an accepting stage for your psychodrama.

It is your expression of power in exchange for hers.

• BDSM is a power exchange. Marriage is a power exchange. Seduction and exploitation are not. You must be willing to give something in return or it is not an exchange at all. Your expression of power for hers. Simple, emotionally clean and psychologically neat.

~Caveat Emptor ~

"They exploit the needy and the ignorant for profit", they protest loudly and indignantly while they skulk off proclaiming that any woman who comes near them should do so ONLY out of genuine interest and not financial gain.

It is actually a fair enough demand so here are mine for those that would campaign for a more altruistic interaction between female Dominants and male submissives, regardless of professional or lifestyle status. (See link with this post.)

Now, there are more and more young girls who see BDSM as a quick leap to power and authority. Put on a pair of leather boots, start screaming demands and with the flourish of a riding crop, they think that they are instantly a Dominatrix. Of course, this type of thinking is the same moronic mentality that thinks that brandishing a pistol instantly makes you all powerful and respect incurring but:

• Fear is not respect.
• Irresponsible abuse is not power.
• Knowing how things are supposed to work without knowing how to prevent or fix the damage that can happen is not authority.

And this level of mediocrity in thinking and character is not limited to the young. Wallet raping (financial slavery) and blackmail are the new "deals" now. In every corner of BDSM, abject stupidity multiplies into grotesque distortions of power exchange. Impossible, unrealistic demands and complete lack of regard for life (alcohol enemas, gun play, choke outs) litter an arena that was once sophisticated psychosexual theatre.

I am appalled to be mistaken as part of this group and I find myself feeling like more and more of a fossil as my list of objections grow longer and more critical. It is not about being "old guard" or an "edge player". It is not about money or sex.

It is about power and the responsible use of it.

Who forgot to tell them that knowledge is power and that this is why only a little knowledge is a dangerous thing?

Whether it is love or money, they offer lip service instead of integrity and make deals with the Devil as a result. So why do I keep doing this knowing who I am dealing with? What I am working against?

I don't know anymore. What you do not know about yourself at 20, you cannot lie to yourself about at 40. Life is different and having been in bed with the Devil's advocate, I know the truth about my own handicaps and I know that love can betray you where money cannot.

Integrity is not betrayal and integrity is more appealing to me than promise.

Domination Directory

So you think you want to experience real domination? If you are in the Philadelphia area and you understand what real BDSM is about, feel free to contact me. Otherwise, try these links.

www.pandemos.net/empress-shibari

http://professionalmistress.com

http://dommeguide

www.americandommes.com

http://www.dickievirgin.com/home.html

http://www.dominamatrix.com




Also, the links below are personal picks by me for you to peruse at your leisure. Enjoy~

What a Goddess Wants

A Goddess doesn't always get... and that's when the real trouble starts.

It is mid-morning quickly becoming afternoon and I am sitting with my second cup of coffee, having just finished editing an article written by a girlfriend. She has been in the BDSM lifestyle longer than I have but I suspect it is only because she is older than I am and therefore, had a head start on me. *giggle*

What do I want in my life? I ask myself this often but I look around my space right now and I know immediately and painfully what I really need and desire. It is not a bigger fetish wardrobe, more sex toys or more boys. Nothing so simple or shallow. No, what I am aching for is a library. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling bookshelves wrapping around a room as a testament to the dynamic hunger that drives my warped, insatiable mind. A vault of knowledge at my disposal, within fingertips reach. I suppose that is why I love the internet so much. It is the penultimate encyclopedia available to anyone who puts in the small effort to open it and search for what they want. Oh, but books have their own appeal that computers do not. I love the feel and smell of books in my hand. My eyes relax when gazing down at the soft whiteness of the paper and I can let myself drift off into a sea of information and swim in written commitments to thoughts, ideas and knowledge.

Knowledge and sexuality are my two passions. These are the fuels for the engine that drives my train and with this in mind, it is no surprise that I ended up where I am today. Yet, there is more to life than fetish sex. There is more to living happily than satiating physical needs and material whim and still, I continue to return to this lifestyle; my aberrant source of pleasure. Some people would say that this type of sexuality is an expression of dysfunctional emotional needs, a psychological scab that we continue to pick at in frustration and perhaps they are right. We are thrill seekers, adrenaline junkies and hard lining cynics in our own right. For novices, power is the desired brass ring in this game. For some of us, however, power is a tool to leverage what we really want.

My entire life has been a series of lessons in the use and abuse of power. In my efforts to escape from the ongoing misuses of power, I have become a skin diver. Searching out worlds hidden in the depths, just beyond surface reach; satisfaction with shallow streams of consciousness scares me more than the illogical, irrational knots and tangles of the wounded psyche. My appetites could never sustain themselves with anything found traveling in a brook. I must have the jewels that can only thrive deeper down in a rich ocean of life. I must know what needs to protect itself so fiercely. I must see and understand what I will never let rise to the surface of my Self. Each person, each experience, each riddle must be met with scrutiny and investigation. Who are you? What is your motivation? What drives your train? Freud would have been proud of the support I lend his theories with my own ascertainments. In its most simplistic, it is about sex and your mother. In its true essence, everything is about life and death and ultimately, power.

Sex is the most easily attainable power for all humans. It is not because it drives our most compulsive, base desires, it is much more than that. Sex is about orgasm and through that orgasm, riding a lightning purge of everything that stands between us and our divine joy. That small physical release is an emotional and psychological catharsis of our lower natures and a validation of acceptance by someone who is willing to receive the whole of our ugliness in the process. We reunite with the Mother energy during sex; struggling, filthy and covered with life fluids, we are primal creatures fueled by fear and vulnerability. In one momentary crescendo of tremendous effort, all of our aggressive energies are cast from us and we cannot help but be pulled into a void between worlds. In this moment, we surrender ourselves with absolute trust that Mother will hold us in her love and will not let us die after we are cast out of our self sufficient shell. We bond with something greater than our fears and in this, we are liberated. In this moment, we receive authentic power like a lightning rod being illuminated against a dark and denying sky.

I don't want power. I am powerful. Filled with power, constantly generating force and energy, I am in search of a repository strong enough to be fed by me without being devoured. Power must have a flowing circuit for renewal and recycling or it will eventually consume itself. Without Other, I am an engine that is disconnected from the vehicle; restrained only by the pointlessness of spinning endlessly and without immediate purpose. I want Other, and my adult adventures along the way are the controlled exercises in power exchange that keep me from consuming myself in the flames of my own unrelenting passions.

My unmet, burning desire is a library. A silent temple of knowledge that I can reverently retreat to when I need to assuage the voracious monster that lives inside my head. After all, the Goddess does not make endless, arbitrary demands. She is very clear about what she needs in exchange for her blessings and good humor. As an ongoing panacea for her unmet needs, human sacrifices have become tokens of good faith. Whether they are vanilla boys consumed in the banked fires and poisonous fumes of frustrated passions or perverse devotees offering their pound of flesh for a moment of redemption, it makes no difference. The search for Other continues, the circuit remains open and volatile and the Goddess waits... patiently.






All copyrights reserved. No reproduction allowable without express permission of author.

Come closer...

Slavish Devotion

"I want a woman who will use me as she sees fit, take control of my finances and force me to serve her on a daily basis."

He was asking me if I wanted a real life slave. I looked at the words on my computer screen in irritated disgust. They offer their slavery as easily as they would promise fidelity and devotion and in reality, it is all perfectly meaningless drivel.

"I can cook for you and clean for you Mistress!", is always their defense when I ask them what they offer in exchange for such constant life management. The meager rewards from these groveling dogs carry far too high a price tag for me.

They say slavery but what they mean is pre-1960's marriage, with their role as a disempowered housewife. In reality, what they are proposing is an opportunity for them to be a needy, clingy perverted freeloader on my blood and sweat. Not surprisingly, I can see their limitations far more clearly than they can see mine. This, of course, begs the questions; would I own a slave and what would constitute a proper slave for me?

Let me describe a day in the life.

It is a Saturday morning and I am laying in bed, enjoying the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Long fingers of sunlight reach into the room and tentatively touch the bed where I am laying, slowly reaching up to caress my face and warn me that the day has already begun.

I can hear a newspaper rustling in another room and the low drone of something broadcasting news information. He is padding around silently making sure that the world is still spinning as when he left it the night before. A contented smile plays across my lips and I consider hiding from the world for another few hours when he appears silently with coffee cup in hand. He kneels by the bed and raises both hands to offer me the cup. This is his gesture to indicate that he is ready to be punished for losing his self control and sniffing my panties while masturbating, without my permission. I look at him and find myself wondering where and when he has done this between the time I fell asleep and and, now, awakened.

I bring myself to the side of the bed and sit with my legs spread open before him. I know that he cannot help but gaze directly at the dark wedge of my sex where those tempting panties once were. I sip my coffee and emit a delicious moan of delight as it enters my mouth and washes over my tongue. I swallow the warm liquid and enjoy the feel of it traveling through me like a hot bullet of comforting sensation. I can see a dark tattletale stain on his pants where his cock is straining and beginning to drip as it reaches in vain for the dark nether regions it wants to call home. I slip my hand down into the soft hairs of my pubis and give my sleepy cunt a good morning brush, knowing that it will release the fragrance of my sex and cripple his self control. I can see the agony building on his face but it only incites me more. His attempts at sexual self control are like an aphrodisiac for my jaded appetites.

I slip a finger in just slightly enough to wet it and just slowly enough to let his imagination break free of the reins of his self control. His mouth falls open slightly, begging to be used but not daring to ask. Licking his lip nervously, he looks up at me for some indication of shared inspiration. I hold his gaze steadily and place my wet finger across his lips, silencing his question before he can ask. His expression becomes pleading and I can't hold back the smirk traveling across my face. My sadistic mischieviousness lights up my eyes and I lean forward to look more intensely at him.

"Open up." I tell him and he responds carefully, trying not to offend me with his eagerness. I slide my finger down across his lip and slip it inside, resting it against his tongue. His mouth remains in an inviting O shape while he waits for further instruction.
"You want it, don't you?", I ask softly. He responds by nodding his head slightly and imploring me with his eyes. His mouth begins weeping with frustrated desire and a wet pool of saliva begins to form on his lip where it touches my finger.
"Lick it.", I demand. His eager mouth begins sucking greedily on the finger like a parched man in the desert trying to extract enough morning dew to slake his thirst. His enthusiasm was becoming sloppy and obscene.
"Enough.", I tell him flatly and retrieve my finger from his mouth. Taking his jaw firmly between my thumb and fingers, I pull his face closer.
"You have been bad, haven't you?", I ask him rhetorically.
"Yes, ma'am.", he offers weakly, looking away in shame.
"I know.", I respond sarcastically and abruptly release his face from my controlling grasp. Standing up to walk around him, I head toward the shower. "Are my things ready?", I ask expectantly. He replies that they are and stands up to follow me out of the room.

~

Hot, soapy water cascades down my shoulders and back. Along my breasts and ass, however, it transforms into teasing rivulets along the length of my nakedness that mock his inability to touch and explore my body with the same wandering freedom. He is also nude, standing near the shower with a folded towel and a shaving razor piled on his outstretched arms. His cock is also happily standing at attention, offering itself in hopeful service. The enthusiastic ignorance of his cock never ceases to amuse me. After I finish my bathing, I place the used washcloth on the bobbing peg between his leg to hide its insistent presence.

Taking the razor, I tell him to get on his knees, facing away from me. He does as requested making special effort not to drop the towel or the washcloth. Placing my foot on his back, I begin shaving my leg. I can see the water as it runs off my skin and races down his back to tickle his ass and balls, further tormenting him. Even the water of my shower has become a sadistic co-conspirator this morning and I am filled with exquisite glee by it. I finish shaving my other leg in the same manner and call out, "Towel". He stands up and turns to face me. The washcloth has not left its post and I am quite pleased. "Very good!", I coo and pat the head of his cock patronizingly. I know he is expecting a reward since I am in so obviously a generous mood. I have not forgotten, however, that he has sneaked off with my panties and masturbated so his hoped for reward continues to remain a vague consideration but not an imminent possibility.

I give him the razor to dispose of and take the towel from him. Its plush softness absorbs the rapidly cooling water on my skin and leaves a delighted blush on my skin. He disposes of the razor and the washcloth and returns to his position near me. I hand him the damp towel and wrap my long, wet hair into a temporary bun before I stand in front of the sink to brush my teeth. He hangs the towel over a bar and then kneels on the oval rug on the floor behind me, attempting to suggest a possible punishment or reward for him before I evacuate the potential play area.

I ignore him and begin brushing my teeth but I can feel his silent begging as forcefully as if he had given into verbalizing it for me. I interrupt my actions and spit into the sink sharply. Standing there silently, I consider what would be best suited for this moment considering his misbehavior. Should I make him clean my asshole with his tongue while I brush my teeth? Should I use him as a toilet for my morning expression? I turn to look at him and think about the slavish devotion he has offered me thus far and the amazing gift he has been in my life until now. I decide on both.

"Clean it!", I snap at him and return to my toothbrush. He knows exactly what I mean and he enthusiastically takes his position behind me. He gently opens the cleavage of my ass and holds it apart with his hands. I am momentarily frozen by the first contact of his hot tongue brushing against the bud of my asshole and I shudder slightly. Composing myself, I return to brushing my teeth while his tongue sensously and thoroughly explores the well hidden, hot button between the cheeks of my ass. I can feel myself becoming aroused but it is not until I can hear the familiar sounds of his masturbation that I call an end to his duty. He has forgotten himself and lost control again and I simply would not reward that kind of behavior. I reach around and grab him by the hair, pulling his head away from any contact with me. "What do you think you are doing?!", I demand. He looks at me in a curious expression of confusion between guilty shame and blind animal lust. Before he can answer me, I order him to lay on the floor; leading him by the hair into a supine position. Incensed, I squat over his face so that his nose is buried in my ass and place my cunt over his mouth. "Open your mouth and keep that filthy tongue to yourself!", I tell him. He does exactly as he his told with his hands dropping to his sides in dutiful, well trained obedience.

Sitting over him, I can feel him straining to resist the urge to push his tongue up into me. His entire body is a tensile band of self discipline in the face of overwhelming desire. I take a deep breath and relax. Only a moment passes before the morning rain of my body pours down into him. He swallows in gulps, trying to keep up with the demand placed on him. He knows that spilling one drop will result in far worse punishment and severe re-training. I can feel him struggling but refuse to slow down the flow. Once I am empty, I straighten my legs so that I can bend forward to look at him. My wet cunt hovers over him like a luscious fruit just beyond reach.
"You want to clean this too, don't you?", I ask him innocently.
"Oh god. Yes! Please ma'am! I would do anythi..." he responds before I interrupt him.
"Maybe next time," I snap angrily, "you will show some self control during your duties and you will have the privilege!"
I dry myself and move away from him while he looks on in abject disappointment and self disapproval as his cock lays against him, bobbing slightly as if waving a sad good-bye.

~

Walking through our space, I feel a sense of peace and contentment. My needs are more than adequately provided for and his devotion to me is beyond reproach or question. Our private life sits in discrete juxtaposition to our public appearance. We are the perfect couple to the outside world. He is the intellectual and professional Alpha male and I am his exotic, indulged Alpha female who compliments him perfectly.

In our private world, he is my slave and I am the Goddess he devotes himself to.

~
What is the difference between slavery and marriage? None really. At their highest, it is living for someone else knowing that they will always put your best interests first. At its worst, it is exploitation and abuse. I don't want a doormat or an emotional punching bag in my life. I have no tolerance for micro-management, liars, cowards and self-serving people. Unfortunately, many people who approach me and want to be slaves fall under these categories far too often.

Men are good for many things and should be good at them. Slave/Owner is not about the sex. It really is about feeling safe in a dangerous world and knowing that when you come home at night, at least one person is in your corner and you are their highest priority at every moment of their day. And just like vanilla marriages, people often forget that this is one of the key ingredients for success and longevity. Happiness is optional.
So you think you want to be my slave?
Here are my requirements:

• I do not play with the indigent or the ignorant.

If you are reaching for a dictionary after reading this statement, it probably means you.

• Income and I.Q. beginning near 150.

Poor geniuses and rich idiots need not apply.

• You must have a proper domicile for shared residency.

No, you cannot live in my current residence with me and the only shoe boxes I want to see should have shoes in them, not people.

• You must be in healthy condition, physically, mentally and emotionally.

There is nothing you can do for me if you are crippled, crazy or a general maintenance problem.

Only if you have passed these first requirements, can we discuss anything else. Don't waste my time and I won't waste yours.

Now, are you worthy?

Empress~

Surrender yourself.

Clang, clang, clang went the trolley. Ding, ding, ding went the bell...

He described to me what it was like for him, how it felt, what he saw. I carefully sifted through my own images, sounds and feelings to add to his symphony of images. Together, we created a lush call back song of perverse delight.

Through Mykal's eyes:

There were 67 of them. That's how many clothepins were attached to my cock and balls. There's something special about the pain that comes from clothespins, something unique, pain unlike any other.She had me tied to a bench, rope wrapped around my body holding me tightly in place. My arms were pinned behind me and under the bench. A spreader bar kept my knees apart. She rhythmically whipped my cock, gently, using a flogger with soft, wide leather straps. Though she swung lightly, with all those clothespins each stroke sent excruciating jolts of biting agony from my crotch directly to my brain. I had forgotten where I was, even *who* I was.

She had reduced me to one gigantic nerve ending.All the while she whipped me, she slowly but firmly fucked my face. My head hung backwards off the end of the bench. The strapon she wore was at least a foot long, and thick enough to force my mouth open as wide as it could go. Her hips moved back and forth, thrusting the dildo all the way in until my lips brushed the leather of the harness she wore. Again and again she withdrew the cock nearly all the way, with just the head teasing my lips, then slid it into my eager mouth. Sometimes she would drive it in to the hilt and hold it there, and I would struggle to breathe while trying to suck it even further down my throat.

My mind reeled. If I could have formed the words in my head they would have been "Take me! Beat me! Fuck me! DO IT TO ME! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" I was a slut, a thing, a toy, an object. It was pure heaven.The flogger snicked down on my cock again as she shoved the dildo down my throat once more...

Through my eyes:

He was a work of beautiful, human art. I watched as the clothespins bobbed with each hard breath like waves of grain in an open countryside. His eyes were glistening with moistness as he tried to cool the fires building within himself while his chest pushed forward at me in submissive offering. He wrestled with the ropes that pinned his arms firmly in place behind him and adjusted his body to accommodate the demands of his continued posture.

I took a soft breath and smiled as I looked down at him, helpless to my whims and concentrating on something deep inside his mind with the devotion of an exceptional submissive. The spreader bar between his knees winked light back at me, as if we were both co-conspirators in a private game of torture and humiliation with my new toy. Lifting my flogger, I aimed at the source of his male pride with the slow, methodical accuracy of a sadistic dentist.

The clothespins clacked gently in response to each slow stroke against his balls and ass. Each time, he caught his breath sharply through clenched teeth not daring to utter a word of refusal or resistance to me. His display of agonized self control sent heated waves of pleasure through me. Moving around him, I positioned myself above his head. I dropped his head back off the bench and forced his mouth open with my dildo. I wanted to fuck him. I needed to fuck him. And nothing else would satisfy me more than the sound of his choking and wet gagging as he tried to appease the animalistic lust of my appetites by taking as much of me as his whorish throat would allow.

“Take it!”, I demanded. My voice husky and hoarse as if the demon inside me had possessed me. I could feel him resisting violently and I pulled the dildo out of his mouth slightly. He coughed and sputtered and when he took his next deep inhale, I plunged down his wet cavity again. Muffled groans of pleasure and hunger escaped from him while I plunged in and out of his mouth more and more aggressively. I lifted the flogger and began flogging his cock and balls again, listening to the rhythmic slapping of the leather against his skin followed by a cascade of clacking from the clothespins.

His body twisted and jerked with each stroke. His head bobbed up and down trying to control the frenzied probing of his throat with my dildo. His cock was beginning to cry for mercy with long tears of pre-cum escaping from its blind eye.
I pushed into his throat deeply in one final stroke and held him firmly in place. He held his breath and his position as he waited for me to offer some suggestion or hint of what was to come next, what he should do next, how he should offer himself next.

A muffled gag tried to rise from his throat but the dildo blocked its escape. Standing over him like this, I was satisfied that his training had created such a disciplined beast that it was now time to take him to the next level. I pulled the dildo back out of his throat slowly and watched the long, glistening streamer of saliva cling like an impassioned lover to my unfeeling, retreating dildo.

I stepped back and gave him a moment to collect himself. I knew exactly what I wanted to do next and he would need all of his wits about him to play my new game.

~Empress Shibari

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