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My Blog

Welcome to my blog!

The Nigerians are at it again!
Posted:Nov 12, 2015 8:15 pm
Last Updated:Mar 29, 2024 4:9 am
107462 Views

Three emails came in tonight from so-called mistresses whom I have previously tagged as Nigerian scam artists. One of them has now contacted me via four different profile names, but the profile language itself has never varied. Be especially wary of anyone who indicates that they have just relocated to your community, or one nearby. This will in all likelihood lead at some point to a demand that you put up the money for toys in order to demonstrate your seriousness.

These guys come and go in waves, but there has been an uptick in activity over the course of the past week. Remember, never send money blindly to anyone on this site!
0 Comments
Ode the Sixteenth: Tease and Denial
Posted:Feb 19, 2015 4:06 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2022 8:09 pm
192372 Views

Fellow slave, if I may ask quite so bold,
How many times have you been told
That you're a slut, who could be sold
To some other Mistress down the road?

Like me, have you become the household pet,
Sleeping in chains 'longside the bed,
Green lawn now serving for your toilet,
Morning sun caressing an ass beet red?

Back into the house each morn I speed,
In the kitchen to fall on bended knee,
A chewed morsel mine on which to feed,
A toasted crust now the height of greed,

Fingering my cock, she laughs out loud,
Mocking what once made me proud,
"It's so small, and I do not doubt
That you welcome the cage offering no way out!"

"Just look at it," she cruelly adds, "this tiny little thing,
Surely small enough to wear your high school ring,
And to think that once in hallways the lordly king,
Soon to be hailed our Reunion Queen!"

"Can it stand erect," she further asks in mocking jest,
Fingering my cock, setting one more test,
"Make it so and you will be blessed,
Your orgasm not ruined like all the rest!"

She rubs with fingers up and down,
Mocks her slut the frat boy clown,
But I'm cumming, to this I own,
She can hear it in the way I groan.

Fingers dancing, Mistress pulls away,
My cock still straining, desperate now to have its way,
Fearing the empty promise of some future day,
Yet already shrinking to accept its mate,
To be housed inside a plastic gate,
Teased and denied the inevitable fate,
A slave cursed to serve with pleasure denied,
No matter how hard he strives or oft he tries,
With pleasure to bring light to Mistress eyes.

Night falls, to find him on roughened mat,
Tongue exhausted, her fingers his hair yet gripping tight,
Knowing that slave needs to sleep,
Cruelly she whispers in his ear of promises still to keep,
Makes him long to pay the price however steep,
To earn someday his promised release.

Fitfully he naps, thoughts dancing 'round his fevered brain,
In weighted chains, muscles screaming anew in fiery pain,
Once more lightly gagged, repeated moans the sad refrain,
Of a slave brought low whom she disdains,
To call by any other name--
Slut you are, and slut you shall remain.
0 Comments
Ode the Fifteenth: The Strap-on
Posted:Feb 13, 2015 3:21 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2022 8:09 pm
198911 Views

'Tis a sunny day, so deceptively bright,
Blue skies abounding, saffron clouds pierced by chilly light.
Even inside, if truth be told,
Where it should be warm, I am cold,
Shivering, arms pressed hard against my chest,
Yet still determined to do my very best.

I am a sissy maid, and dressed to play the part,
Corset laced tight across my heart.
It comes with skirt attached, and dainty apron too,
Two layers flaring and hemmed quite high, twins inviting you
To catch a glimpse of cock and cage,
Disobedience provoking fabled Mistress rage,
Sinful pleasures denied, taken no more in daily wage.

My feet encased in four inch heels,
On my knees no longer possible is it to kneel,
Dainty ankles bared 'neath legs so trim,
Ebon stockings not more than the thinnest film,
Drawing unwanted eyes to a garter belt,
Saucy remarks inspired and always felt.

Frilled ribbons adorn my wrists,
Sissy collar and crown the final twist.
A pink dust mop I push across the tile,
Bending over, my reddened ass provokes a smile.
She hauls it out and straps it on,
'Tis time for Mistress to have her fun.

She lubes it slowly, takes her time,
Anticipation building, reddened ass no longer mine.
She enters slowly, exalting in my dread,
My body bent over the nearby bed.
I squeal in increasingly excited state,
The dildo gently stroking exposed prostate,
Milking me over and over again,
The seed wasted, was it thrice, or was it ten?

I'm spent, and now she's done,
Time it is to pleasure her with eager tongue.
She squats down above my face,
Above the frills and the fancy lace,
Mistress the Goddess cruel but of timeless grace,
Her domain one tiny universe of infinite time and infinite space.
2 Comments
Ode the Fourteenth: It's Over
Posted:Feb 5, 2015 5:40 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2022 8:07 pm
209012 Views

Orbison's long since sang this song,
And hummed it many a time I did,
Trying my best to sing along,
Working for the man
In ye olde tool shed.

"It's over," he crooned,
'Tis such a saddened tune,
"It's over, it's over,"
Mistress words that forever scar
Condemned slave, sissy maid,
Perchance even dashing, would-be lover.

"Your baby doesn't love you anymore,"
The Mistress words that every slave fears,
Crashes to his knees in deluge of tears,
Stoppers his ears, just refuses to hear.

"It breaks your heart in two,
To know she's been untrue.
But oh, what will you do,
When she says to you,
There's someone new,
We're through, we're through ...
It's over, it's over it's O...VER!

You reach down deep inside,
Magic words you try to find,
A beating heart that runs to hide,
Fleeting shadows disarmed arms to bind,
A magician's trick all that's left to try.

We can start anew, you beg,
The Contract now yours to shed.
What else, Mistress, can I do,
When I can't stop loving you?
Would you truly hand me over,
I plead, naked, no excuses with which to cover,
To hardened latex or misshapen leather,
To some much abused plastic fantastic lover?

No! Forget the rest!
Damn it, to it all I've given my best!
Set me a test, Mistress, and make it cruel, lest
Desolate, riven with despair,
Out the window I stare,
At the sidewalk looming far below.
I can always make it so,
"It's over, it's over, it's O...VER!"

What was there about the collar that you did not get?
Forsaking all others 'till death do us part?
Remember the phrase, the words so carefully set?
Behold, ascending I will harry your dreams,
Haunt your most carefully crafted scene,
Descending fill your most cherished cup with deepened draughts,
Regrets unending yours to drain in bottomless quaffs,
There's no way out, no,
Not for you and not for me,
Until finally,

"It's over,
It's over,

IT'S
O...VER!"
0 Comments
Ode the Thirteenth: Oral Servitude
Posted:Feb 2, 2015 8:40 pm
Last Updated:Feb 8, 2015 3:02 pm
211493 Views

It is the shortest month, and yet the longest.
In northern climes, the second is far the hardest,
Winter hanging on, keeping us firmly in its grasp,
A season without hope, never yielding,
At least, not until the very last.

Mistress bids me light the fire,
Takes her place on the bearskin rug.
I've done it many times before,
Not once have I risked her ire,
No, never protested searing heat on naked skin,
Never betrayed, not even by a single shrug,
Suffering ever silently the fire to tend.

Flames dance across the log,
Mistress bids me fall before her.
Hers is the second fire,
And tasked am I to put it out.
With tongue and nibbling teeth she writhes and moans,
Climax climaxing in scream and shout,
She thrusts, rubs hard against my face,
Carried now by lust 'cross time and space.

The flames begin to falter, at last to settle down,
But I am far from done.
Mistress bids me with but one unspoken frown,
Bids me once more tend the fire,
With tongue and nibbling teeth make the flames jump high.
Patiently attending, I hear at last a gentle sigh,
A night of pleasure, the flickering flame that never dies.

She sleeps now, my head between her legs,
And still am I not yet done.
With probing tongue and sweetened kiss,
I search, not a single spot to miss,
Love's nectar the shrouded mist,
The smoldering flames of unending bliss.

I am content with this my servile lot,
Forever tending fires a clever plot,
To earn my place between her legs.
For this honor, not once did I have to beg,
Mistress favors me still,
A Goddess cruel but of timeless grace.
0 Comments
Ode the Twelfth: The Contract
Posted:Jan 27, 2015 3:02 pm
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2022 8:06 pm
213633 Views

Foolish slave, pay close attention!
Forthright, the Mistress makes it plain,
First sign a contract, withal limit the endless pain.
Leave nothing out, nothing undone,
'Ere first descending midst cobweb and gloom.

Chained, with face pressed hard 'gainst the wall,
It's too late, far too late, now there's no way out.
Mistress stands behind, coiled whip in hand, readying to let it fall,
She's going to use it, no matter how much you shout,
Begging's no use, you're about to get her all.

Now you hear a thunderous crack!
'Tis the whip, teasing first the ground,
The ground so firm behind your back,
Tears, and not of joy, will soon abound.

Your thighs are next, unless it's only your ass in play.
Without a contract, you're about to rue this day.
No blood's allowed, nor permanent mark, you say?.
The words tightly bind, set limits to your pain,
These the terms even thine Mistress must obey.

Your safe word, pays it does to remember it well.
Ah, but there's a gag to stifle your screams,
How, then, can you one precious safe word yell?
Do you have an alternate plan,
A ball, perchance, to let drop from hand?
Or must you stomp with foot upon the ground,
With heel and toe somehow make the sound?

Mistress sees and hears quite all,
With care and love, will not let you fall.
But it's for you always to guide her way,
With this contract once again to save the day.
0 Comments
Ode the Eleventh: Chastity
Posted:Jan 26, 2015 5:44 pm
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2015 11:12 pm
215620 Views

It was, as it turned out, the first thing to be installed,
Upon signing the Contract, giving Mistress my all.
Transparent, innocent, so deceptively small,
Yet in Mistress circles all the rage--
This teeny, tiny plastic cage.

Padlock equipped, it fits so tight,
Does me battle in the middle of the night.
My cock stirs, answers swift fading dreams,
Bulging, straining, ever straining, straining at the seams.

But it shattereth not, this unholy device,
That keeps me chaste, forever kept in my place.
I lie quiet, still, ah, but Mistress awakes,
Idly runs fingers down my spine,
Softly laughing in my ear, taunting, ever taunting,
"It's not yours, slave! No more! Now 'tis mine!"

Every day, my once prized freedom slips farther away,
Submission truly the costliest game of all to play.
I serve her, yes, I strive to please,
Hoping beyond hope for just an hour's release.

The moment comes when, helplessly tied to the bed,
Mistress washes and cleans, my cock growing hard and red,
Gently strokes, but no matter how much I beg,
Always refuses, softly teasing, rousing dread,
Driving me crazy, out of my head.

I yearn for release, or do I not?
Why, it's often hard to tell.
I begged for this to be my lot,
To live condemned, forever denied,
Shackled, without desire to escape,
The frustrated depths of Dante's Hell.

Forever pleasured with denied release,
I begged Mistress once more,
Yes, once more lengthen my stay,
To be merciless and cruel, the forever tease,
Begged her, bid her, oh Mistress, please,
Do not, I beg, do not do not yet end--
Do not yet end this chastity play!
0 Comments
Ode the Tenth: What's a Slave to Do?
Posted:Jan 24, 2015 10:43 pm
Last Updated:Feb 8, 2015 5:26 pm
221591 Views

What's a slave to do,
When his Mistress runs amok?
His first thought, of course, "why, it must be ...
Has to be ... why of course-- it's her time of the month!"

But no, that's not the answer, no, it can't possibly be.
And the slave would know, for day in and day out,
By hand he washes panties three,
Delicate swirls of silk, all pinks and blues,
Save with a telltale yellow stain.

Why so many, you ask,
And that answer's not far to seek.
Poor slave's failed at many a task,
And a panty cocktail many a time had to drink.

The dishes, ah, they're never done just right,
The silverware doesn't shine, the glasses never sparkle,,
No, they're never truly bright.
Criticism comes thick and fast, it's a marvel,
Pouring forth in a steady stream--
"Do them again, slave, and this time, do them right!"

Back to work you go, while Mistress looms behind,
Paddle in hand, readying her aim.
And what's a slave to do,
Standing there, all naked and in chains?
There's no way out, save possibly
Down upon his knees.

"Quickly," he thinks, "I must stem the tide,
Use my tongue, quickly take her for a ride!"
There's gold up in them, thar hills,
Liquid gold that I must not spill.
Not one drop can reach the floor,
Or woe's me, she'll give me fifty more.

But who am i to complain, for
After all, I asked for this.
Serving Mistress, with brightly reddened ass,
Count this, you tribe of slaves--
Count this for erotic bliss.

What's a slave to do,
When his Mistress runs amok?
Why, love her twice as much,
And forever bless his luck.
0 Comments
Ode the Ninth: What's A Mistress To Do?
Posted:Jan 22, 2015 2:50 pm
Last Updated:Jan 28, 2015 3:40 pm
219966 Views

What's a Mistress to do,
When a Cylon invades her space?
Where will the Goddess go,
When a fembot takes her place?

Flesh ages, the best tan fades with time,
Well, my name is Trish. I'm Number Six,
And your subs are mine!
I have sisters aplenty, a vast army of silicone machines,
Each of them ready and willing, catering to every man's dream.

Is it an Amazon you want? No
Problem, Lucy's just waiting her turn,
A Number Three-- the same one that
Made Gaius Baltar squirm.
She's still Xena,
Just going by another name.

They're already here-- and no,
I'm not referring to Grace,
Although God knows that
A Number Eight could take any Queen's place.

They're in orbit above us,
Obviously, well Nippon designed.
Just watch! In ten years or twenty
Our Mistresses will surely have vanished,
Their fates already written, their crowns all but resigned.

For that matter, what's a Master to do,
When a legion of young Robert Redfords
Comes rolling off the line?
No Terminators are necessary-- machines neither age nor die.
Asimov was right: it's all just a matter of time;
Humanity's almost finished, readying to wave its final goodbye.

The Governess no longer need use her hand,
Not when a robo spanker will do the trick.
It counts the strokes, ups the tempo--
Man, but that machine is slick!
Keep it dry, batteries charged
(You did see Cherry 2000, didn't you?),
Don't let it get wet. Last year's model?
For my money, it's still a damn good bet.

So Mistress and Master, what will you do,
When the buxom machine comes for you?
Will you gracefully go into the dead of night,
Or give us your all in one last fight?
Charge heroically into the Valley of Death,
Or quietly go, gently sighing,
One last breath?
0 Comments
The Opening Scene: Chapter 3
Posted:Jan 22, 2015 2:17 pm
Last Updated:Feb 4, 2015 9:08 am
204911 Views

It starts as a trickle, but once the dam is broken there can be no holding back. I can feel the warm wetness soaking into the diaper ... can feel it spreading. Will I leak, and leave a telltale wet spot on the back of my pants? How can something so ordinary as taking a leak be so incredibly humiliating? Sure, like most guys I've had the occasional accident when the beers finally got the better of me. But this is the first time that I've been ordered to wet myself, and what I'm experiencing right now is not even remotely like the contented sense of relief that a guy gets when it's finally his turn to reach the urinal-- and why does everybody have to wait until halftime, anyway?

And what's this about being kept in chastity? Twenty years ago, that threat would have scared the shit out of me, but it's been a while since Old Man River daily overflowed its banks. I can handle it ... I think. I know all about teasing and denial, so a lot depends on just how creative Mistress can get. Will she find the right buttons to push? I honestly don't know whether to wish her success or failure.

But right now she's driving home a point: one doesn't need chains to control the slave's body, although they are certainly useful on a symbolic level. No, all that she really needed to do was install locks on the bathroom doors-- locks to which slave does not have a key. Mistress' slave is also her sissy baby, and Mommy knows that a lot of accidents happen in the bathroom. Babies should never be allowed to enter without supervision, but of course they have little need of the bathroom when their bottoms are so well diapered. It's been made unmistakably clear to me that the simple freedom to use the toilet, like the freedom to eat and drink whatever I want, is a privilege that from now on will have to be earned with unhesitating obedience and good and loyal service. There can be no marks on today's entry in the infraction book, not a single one. But who would have guessed that food could be turned into the most painful form of punishment? It probably wasn't a good idea to answer Mistress' questionnaire quite so fully. Now she knows, among other tidbits of useful information that I definitely should have kept to myself, that Lima beans make me break out in a rash that itches like crazy. It's hard to scratch that itch with your hands cuffed behind your back while you're standing in a corner for an hour of time out-- an hour that gets extended if your nose twitches and the damn penny that you've been holding in place drops to the floor. Terrific.

I fight my way back into the present. Mommy knows that I'm soaked, and she couldn't be more pleased. I sit there in my sodden misery, and all she does is look at me with this self-satisfied smirk on her face. Together, we seem to have found the perfect balance.

She signals for the waiter, and proceeds to order for the both of us. My menu lies on the table, untouched and unopened. It may always be so. But she surprises me, which even at this early stage I perceive to be at the core of her strategy: always do the unexpected, for as long as Mistress keeps me off balance I can never take her for granted. She rewards me now, in the full knowledge that I haven't earned my treat, and will therefore have to be doubly punished. I cannot help but enjoy the steak, and the baked potato piled high with sour cream and chives-- right up until the moment when she leans in and whispers in my ear ...

"So, Little One, your bottom is going to be far more red than your steak! Yes," she murmurs in a voice that is filled with malice, "that's right. I ordered it blood rare for a reason! Never forget, slave, that there is purpose in everything I do!"

Mommy has disappeared yet again, vanished like pollen carried on the wind. She is Mistress now, and appetite suddenly gone, I am instantly reduced to terrified slavery because she doesn't make idle threats. The night has barely begun, and Mistress knows how hard it is for me to sleep. She can toy with me for hours, and reasonably expect me to remain attentive and alert throughout. I know her design, but cannot guess at the details. This entire night has been scripted to teach me one simple lesson: she is Mistress, and I am slave; she is Mommy, and I am sissy baby. She will prove stern but loving, brutal and yet caring. She will be a contradiction, never to be understood but always to be obeyed. This is our shared reality.

I cannot see into the shadows, for the darkness is too deep. How will she achieve her purpose? Unlike the baby, the slave has no deep, dark fantasies of which he's aware. But Mistress has many fantasies, and I am the stage on which she will act them out. It is a slave's duty to bring Pleasure to his Mistress, however she may demand. Oh, there are limits already in place-- a safe word that the slave hopes never to speak, for Mistress must always remain in control of two bodies, not one ... the slave's and her own. It is her right to test her slave's limits, to take him to the very edge of his endurance, but she must never cross that particular line, must never forget that ultimately ours is a partnership of the willing. In surrendering my body to Mistress, I have affirmed my trust in her, a faith so absolute that it amounts to a sacrament.

We are in the parking lot now. Already, there is a decision to be made. We came in two cars. Shall we leave separately or together? There is a third answer and a fourth, but I doubt if she can see them, this beautiful woman who actually thinks that 2 +2 = 4. I asked her about that once, idly and in passing, wondering if she would understand the need for caution. Would she understand that all the laws we so take for granted have treacherously little meaning inside the event horizon of a black hole? I have, I think, given her fair warning that there might be more to me than meets the eye.

What lies ahead? Will she deploy her cane and her whip on this first night? And where will the opening scene take place? She has been cautious and revealed little; she understands, at least, that in a predatory universe there is a need for vigilance. Perhaps we shall drive into the desert, with its chill wind blowing forever from the west. Perhaps we shall venture farther abroad, to some distant place where the pounding surf will mask the hard spanks to my not so innocent little bottom. Will we be acting out some dreary scene from that much attended course called Fem Domme 101? Yes, it's true and I shall confess it: I have reached a stage of life where it is no longer easy to be surprised. Been there and done that is the leitmotiv of my jaded and cynical existence. Can Mistress sing the Siren's song? She is not my adversary but my partner in crime. Terminal boredom is the real enemy, and this night, as the hours unfold, it is Mistress' task to keep it at bay.

Yes, I am a Submissive, but I am also a Chimaera. I am a Submissive, but I am also a Succubus. I will feed off her energy, all the while praying that it shall prove sufficient. There is, you see, only one punishment that I truly fear, and that is the absence of sensation. Pleasure and pain are nothing more than neural inputs to the brain-- we interpret them as we will, and their absence is far, far worse than death. Our psyches cannot stand up to endless silence and the numbness of a uniformly gray and featureless room. Anyone can be broken; it is a ridiculously easy thing to do. But not tonight. Tonight, Mistress will use me for her amusement. Will she even suspect that i am also using her for mine?
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