Saturday, December 13, 2008


A little too much wine. Justified in my mind, because the beast has not been fed. He turns nasty, he does, when he's left hungry. Petulant, and sometimes downright mean. Because he doesn't like the fear. And when he's hungry, and doesn't get fed, the fear pours in, invading, consuming. Not a pretty picture at all.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Return of the Beast

I'm sitting here at work, and I simply cannot get anything done. My head, my soul my body most especially are drowning in a cloud of sex. He's reaching his peak, the Beast is. I can tell, because my thoughts turn from mere sex to S-E-X. Savage sex. Painful sex. Obsessive sex. Brutal sex. The kind of sex that isn't shown in soft core porn, or in Playboy or Penthouse. Slamming, kinky, wild, abandoned sex. The kind that scares me a little, and probably scares P more. And just behind it, underneath, the beginning of the pain. Currently at titillating levels, but showing promise of taking over, and becoming Most Unpleasant.

I do hope P has eaten his Wheaties.

And I wonder if I will have the backbone to lead our play to what I need.


One of the things I love about you is that I don't know what to expect. Occasionally, this leads to misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but far more often it brings tremendous rewards.

I shudder when we're cuddled on the couch and you slide your hand down to brush my nipple. Part of that thrill is just the basic touch on an erogenous zone (there's a zone?) but a larger part is the anticipation. How will it be tonight? Will you be tender and loving and vanilla? Will you be Master, hard and punishing? Creative? Will you focus on my pleasure, our yours, or ours?

The answer comes as we're kissing slowly, tender, stroking, teasing. The Master enters as you grab my hair, forcing my head back. I gasp as your knee forces my legs apart and your lips attack my vulnerable throat. When your teeth snag my nipple, the bottom drops out, and I am lost. All awareness is gone. There is nothing but you. Your touch, your taste, the things you make me feel. Your hair is loose tonight, and the silky softness of it trailing my skin only heightens the roughness of your hand spanking my pussy. Already I can hear the moisture in that slap. Tonight, you don't make me wait. Pinning my hands over my head, you enter me, fucking me hard and fast. Unexpectedly, I come quickly, but you barely pause, still fucking hard with a low growl. I watch your face as you begin your ascent, and the sight and the sounds of your pleasure hit me full force again, and again I come hard, sobbing with the intensity.

This was one of the best times, when your mood matched mine so perfectly. Just the right amount of tenderness, just the right amount of control. Love. Love. Love.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

The Phone Call

"Touch your breasts."

Panic. I've just answered my cell phone at work, and Master is on the line. Just the sound of his voice is enough to make my legs shake. The command, barked without consideration of where I am or who might be watching throws me into a spin. Trying not to glance around I raise my right hand to my left breast, cupping it over my clothes.

My quickened breathing tells Him I have obeyed, and I can almost hear him smile. "Tease your nipple for me."

I open my fingers to let my now extended nipple slide between them, and I pinch it between them, pulling slightly.

"No." I freeze. "Under your clothes."

My mind racing, and my pussy dripping, I slide my hand into my blouse, inside my bra. I let out a soft sigh as my fingers brush the nipple that is so hard it hurts.

"That's better," he says. How does he know? Does he truly know me so well that he can hear my compliance in my breathing?

"Treat them nicely now. Tonight, they will receive much harsher treatment."

White light explodes in my head as I flash on images of what that statement could mean. He laughs at my gasp. "I love you, my slut."

The rushing of the blood in my ears is so loud it takes a minute or two before I realize it's the dial tone, and hang up.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Anticipating the Moment



Sensory deprivation, I think it's called. It does interesting things to your mind. And body, at least in my case.

Expectation and Anticipation. At some point, I know you will touch me. When, where, how, I cannot say. I stand bound, with enough slack to prevent injury. I am blinded though the room is dark. Even my ears have been closed, that I might not hear your soft footfall to warn me of your approach. Naked, I can do nothing but wait for you, thinking of nothing but that first touch. Imagine a sudden smack on my ass, or even more intense, the softest brush against my nipple. How is it, how can it be, that often the most featherlight touch can slam into my body harder than the ruler you so love to spank me with?

My head is filled with every sensation you've ever given me. Lacking actual external stimulation, I recall every touch, every smack, every whipping you've bestowed on this vessel. Empty vessel waiting to be filled. My knees so weak, my pussy so wet, my nipples aching, waiting. Are you in the room? Are you sitting quietly, watching my need, reveling in the discomfort you've brought me? Are you out, watching TV, unknowing of my need, careless of my wants, knowing I will be there when you need a vessel to accept your cock?

And still I wait, tortured by my own thoughts and desires and needing your pleasure to release me.

Friday, August 15, 2008


This has been some week.

There are powers in the Universe, and I can feel them hammering, molding me, saying it's time to pay some attention to the greater things right now.

Fuck them.

But one can't dismiss the Universe so casually, can one? It has a way of making itself known. Persistent bugger.

I've been trying to figure out what my place is, where I fit, and the energy it takes has been amazing. Exhausting. Starting the week with the Beast, and only being partially able to attend to it's needs, was draining. Trying to reconcile my physical sexual self and my spiritual sexual self, and tossing in the emotional self results in far too many selves in one spot. A sudden, recent spate of self injury, or near injury, leads me to wonder if I'm intentionally looking for an out, or if Someone out there is trying to tell me something.

Since I'm not feeling particularly self loathing at the moment, I'm wishing that Someone would make the message a bit clearer.

I hadn't really intended this blog to become a journal, or a therapeutic means, but to be a place to put my erotic thoughts. Maybe they can't be walled off so easily. Maybe I need to address the whole of me, and learn how to integrate all those selves into one Being.

Or maybe I'm just a full of shit, self absorbed, accident prone, pathologically sexually obsessed deviant with a mystical Julian of Norwich complex.

I'm sure the Universe will fill me in eventually.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

What does it say about me?

Here I am at work, reading some new sites that I've followed from Vespertine Erotica (amazing site, btw!) and my browser is full of d/s sites, and I hear the door open.

What does it say about me that I hide the bag of pretzels I'm eating BEFORE I close the compromising browser pages?

What would Freud say? Especially since the pretzels are RODS, not twists....

Demise of the Beast

I have discovered the one single element on the planet that can halt the Beast in it's tracks.

A teenage son.

After having sent P a very explicit email regarding my plans for teasing him for several hours before finally allowing him to explode in my throat, followed by a very enjoyable but somewhat injurious afternoon of bowling with B, I proceeded home with every intention of letting the Beast loose.

Enter A, the aforementioned teen.

Okay, so he's not really quite a teen; 21 in December but not quite up to his age. Current power struggles have reached the limit, and he's in actual danger of being evicted, toss out on his arse to forage on his own. A new incident not only subdued the Beast, but may have put him in a coma.

So Mama went to bed, far too late, libido checked and halted, leaving me this morning with a tired headache, a pulled muscle in the hip, and far too little in the way of sexual enlightenment.

The best laid (or not!) plans....

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The Beast's Return

Ten hours.

That's how long the Beast was subdued. I can feel him fighting his way back, insinuating his need into my mind, my body. I feel the heat, the wet, the pain beginning again. Distracting, not yet overwhelming. I'm still able to maintain control, for the most part.

Maintain control. That's where the fear comes in. What if I can't? What if this Beast so overwhelms me that I embarrass myself? What if I get caught masturbating at my desk? What if I jump some poor unsuspecting guy because I need cock NOW and to hell with the consequences? What if I take the lead with P and he doesn't like it? What if everyone finds out what a slut I am?

Submission makes things both easier and harder. By submitting, I am absolved of all responsibility. I don't have to try to guess what P needs; I let him tell me what he wants and make me fulfill his desires. I don't have to worry about making mistakes; I just do what I'm told. The flip side is that (while P is amazing at reading me) I don't always get what I want. Or as often as I want. I don't get to try things I'd like to (reverse cowgirl, maybe? That naughty fantasy that never fails for masturbatory sessions?) or when I want.

I can't see ever even wanting to be dom. There is little about it that appeals to me, and I'm fairly certain P would NOT like it at all. What I would like is to have enough confidence in myself and in P to be able to say lets try this, or I feel that, or touch me this way. I have moved along in this direction a great distance, due to the trust I have been able to give to P, but there's still a long way to go.

That's one of the good side effects of the Beast. In full hormone storm, I have sometimes been able to express myself more than I normally would. One of the worst is that I question; are my desires and appetites more than P can handle, and I'll lose him because of it?

Monday, August 11, 2008

The Dark Side of Lust



Ache doesn't even begin to cover it.

Every month it starts as a pleasant warm feeling flushing across my breasts and a slight tingle in my lower abdomen. My thoughts turn libidinous, and the dampness spreads. This is the fun part. Tactile sensations become sexual, and the lightest touches are magnified, overwhelming. The mission becomes sex. In any form, right now, thank you very much. I can think of nothing else. Touch. Being touched. Taste. Drowning, drunk on the obsession. Raw.

Then it takes a dark turn. The lovely aching becomes pain; deep, hard hollow pain. Like someone has fixed a great weight to my uterus, and it pulls and stretches deep within. And still I'm wet. And the obsession continues. I need to be fucked, and fucked hard.

My fear keeps me from asking. I sit in my chair, gasping with the ache, gasping with tears when you walk by, your fingertips merely brushing against my arm and the touch is so overwhelming and yet not nearly enough. I want to kneel at your feet and beg you, please, fuck me now, fuck me hard, but the fear leaves me unable to move. What am I afraid of?

Somehow, you know. You know I need you, and you know just what I need. Not generous and tender, like last night, when my heart hurt, and I needed love and comfort; no, tonight you know that I need it rough, need it hard, need to be used. You walk me to the bedroom, and as I begin to rearrange the pillows on the bed, suddenly you bend me over, my face in the blanket, ass in the air. No soft kisses, not tonight, no gentle teasing of my nipples. Tonight, you use the bamboo back scratcher to lift my nightshirt, pleased that you find no panties. Hand on my head, you smack my ass with the bamboo, then use it to tease my lips open. Another whack, where my panties will rest tomorrow, in the crease where thigh meets buttocks. I hear your soft voice claiming me, naming me slut, your tone one of pride and ownership. After several more cracks with the bamboo, you lay me across the bed and offer your cock to my mouth. Feverishly I lick and suck at your cock, my body writhing on the bed, your hands sliding down my back to my ass and I'm frantic.

You whisper "I want to fuck you" and from a distance I hear my moan of desperation and gratitude. You lay me on my back and slam your cock into me, your groans matching mine. Hard and fast, you fuck into me and before I can even prepare for it, my orgasm hits, and I cry out. I feel your reaction as you pause, then resume fucking, and I feel your wildness too. As your orgasm begins, unprepared and still not down from my first, I explode again. Overwhelming. It's too much, and I literally can't breathe for a moment or two. I'm sobbing and gasping, unable to speak or move, or do much else but shake with the power of the release.

Moments pass, and finally, I'm able to get some air, but the sobbing into your chest continues for some time. I don't know how you know, when sometimes I don't know myself, but you do, you know, know just what I need every time. Love is too small a word to contain what I feel for you.

For now, the Dark Side is tamed, but I know that tomorrow morning it will return. Several days to a week the Beast lives inside me, tamed only for a few hours at a time. Tomorrow, perhaps, it will be weakened enough to allow me a full taste of your cock, allow me to play, to tease, to return some measure of what you have given me tonight. Thank you, my Beloved.


I have had occasion recently to contemplate my life and circumstances, and the theme that begins to emerge is fear.

P loves the movie "Defending Your Life" and is very proud that we have allowed ourselves to take a chance on some dicey circumstances to make our relationship work. I am amazed, myself. It is one of the things I'm most proud of in my life.

You sense the "but" coming, don't you?

I am still afraid. Constantly. Deeper and more pervasively than I was even aware, I am afraid. In every area of my life; work, sex, parenting, sex, love, sex, spiritual, sex. I'm tired of the fear.

I love this man with every fiber of my being. I trust him more than I have ever trusted another human being, and he has time after time proven himself worthy of that trust.

I don't trust me, I guess. And a very teensy tiny small part of me doesn't trust anyone, P included. I am not the person I want to be, and I am too afraid to try to become that person.

Lately I have felt pulled in all directions, both internally and externally, leaving me hanging in the wind, without substance or direction, unable to even see the horizon. I've taken submission to new heights, incapable of making even simple decisions, leaving everything to P, because I just can't deal. I hate it, yet I continue.

I feel things heading for a breaking point, and I need to take some very careful thought as to how to break the bad stuff without shattering the good. I'm hoping this blog will allow me the freedom to explore the crapfest that is my psyche and get to a happy resolution.

See? Fearful, but still ridiculously optimistic.

Friday, February 15, 2008


The soft sheets slide over my body like water. I lay naked, refusing to give up my dreams. I can still feel the warm lips traveling across my skin, coming to rest on my left nipple. Teasing. Soft. The hands that then trailed behind, finding the most delicious places. My back arches with the remembrance of the dream and I fight to hold on to the feeling.

I hear you stir beside me and turn to trail my fingernails up along your spine. You shiver and relax into my hand. Thus encouraged, I grow bolder, tracing down now slowly, finding the indentation at the bottom, teasing it. My hands slide over your ass, scratching and teasing over your hip and back down into your warmest places. My reward is the catch in your breath as your body softens and melts in my hands. I smile, knowing my dream will continue well into the morning.

My hands slide up so slowly, feeling every muscle defined under your soft skin. I feel the swell of your breast and guide my hand to the tip, knowing from your gasps that your nipple will be hard and waiting my touch. Fingertips barely touching, I brush across it, feather light, and hear your sigh in answer. Curling against your back, my lips linger at your neck, nuzzling, and I can smell the sweet scent in your hair. You are so beautiful. Yet always it has been your fragrance, your taste, and the lovely sounds you make when I touch you that most excite me.

You turn to kiss me, and your hands reach into my hair, pulling me to you, hard, your need growing. Your excitement makes me breathless as our kiss deepens, the softness of your lips hungry now, your body trembling. My own body's need makes itself known, and our motions become more frenzied.