Fire & Ice

My hands clawed at the wet brick as I tried in vain to brace myself against the brutal rhythm of Him.  Another nail shredded. The smack-smack-smack of skin-to-skin and the wet sounds of sex and sin echoed between the dark confines of the narrow alleyway but mingled with the downpour and the random taxi or box truck that lumbered through the barren drenched city streets.  The masonry dug into my palms, and the edges of my soaked dress clung to the sides of my pale thighs, even as He used the bunched fabric at my back as leverage to fuck me like a beast in primal heat.  Just as the violent storm above raged, so did my anger, yet still I arched my back and raised my bare ass like the whore I always was for Him.   I needed... Dick... His dick... Him.  Him.  Him.  As always, the energy of us consumed us like a firestorm, singing our souls.  We were helpless to resist.  "Who owns you, bitch?"  He growled in my ear before He trailed burning bites down m

Womanhood is a complicated prism.  Strengths and weaknesses ebb and flow depending who is doing the assessing.  Gender, age, Power Exchange role, economic, cultural perspective, and more all influence which elements hold value and which are are irrelevant. A younger Man might rate a woman higher if she’s willing and able to bear children.  A bottom will likely gravitate more toward strong Dominant women.  Someone struggling financially might have a greater appreciation for a woman who is financially independent where a wealthier man might be ambivalent.  There is definitely no longer one way to "woman" -- at least in modern American culture.  There is also no one way to submit.  The best choice for either is to be authentic and true to who and what you are.  In fact, back in July one of my s-friends brought me back this from TESFest and Orpheus Black,   "You serve your purpose - your submission - by being who you are."   Such amazing fucking advice, and

The first time I heard a whip crack in my presence was a lightning strike. Electricity danced up and down my spine, bit my nipples, and seized my pussy in a vice grip.  Luckily I’d more than mastered the art of masking my sexuality by my late thirties and managed to keep from cumming on my good friend’s lawn chair as her husband continued to practices his throws. With every crack that rang through the air, everything in me responded with a “ Fuck yes...THAT. ” Me being me, it only took a minute or two before I asked for a try. My friend snickered and warned me not to kill myself while her husband raised an eyebrow in typical amused hetero-male doubt. I’d seen that look more often than you can image throughout my life.  He handed my the coiled serpent. I asked a few quick questions about stance, rotation, and placement of wrist snaps.  As soon as I began to swing that six foot bullship's beautiful weight above my head, I felt in perfect synch.   Fuck yes...THIS.  The dance

At my soul...at my very foundation and root is M/s. "The things which are sacred or precious to us are the things we withdraw from promiscuous sharing." ~Howard Roark, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand Sacred  | ˈsākrid | adjective   regarded with great respect and reverence by a particular religion, group, or individual The Dominance of Owner. The submission of property The Power/Authority Exchange. Simply  sacred . M/s entwines itself across every core element. Of my existence. And delves so deeply into my soul. I will not. C annot. Promiscuously share. Sacred. My sacred... Is not a kinky game. Or haphazard wrapper. Or just spicy sex. It's not pretend. Or a mirage. Or a costume. Or part-time. Submissive property. Is who and what I am. Even if I'm simply waiting. To be Owned. Claimed Treasured. Led. Sacred. To serve. To please. To be used. To support, encourage, guard, protect, love, ADORE. To give... All the best I have. To bel

There in the too well lit room where I couldn't hide, He rained down Pain.  It's what I wanted.  I am a masochist after all.  I escaped the world at large until only three elements remained: Him, my body, and Pain. The music faded.  The Sadistic sounds of the other couples crammed near us disappeared.  The voyeurs became an indistinguishable blur.  And my pride...my pride was nowhere to be fucking found. I was grateful for every damn bit He gave me.  I greedily drank up His violence, lapping at it like a dog on a hot August day.  I never got to safeword stage.  It was never too much.  I wanted...no...needed to suffer.  Maybe I needed it too damn much.  Lap, lap, lap...I lapped it up, searching for the usual sweetness only to find a dusty bitter tang. Every smack of His palm, crack of the crop, slap of the flogger exploded across my skin and within the landscape of my mind like a chaotic bomb.  I was neither tranquil or calm or peaceful or serene.  I moaned, whimpered, sho

I had to suffer through some brutal, long-term lessons before I fully comprehended what I now consider the Number One rule in submission (after the overarching fundamentals of trust, respect, honor, etc. that apply to both the D and the s.) I can ONLY give as much as He will TAKE. I wish someone had explained that to me at the beginning of my journey.  Though, I'm not sure it would have made a difference.  I can't tell you how many have verbally proclaimed on countless occasions that they valued and wanted everything I had to give only to prove the exact opposite in action.  Whether due to misaligned/misaligned expectations or outright mirages and lies, it didn't matter how many ways I submitted or how well I submitted, I eventually had no choice but to face being... untaken... unwanted... unneeded. Over time, my emotional wounds and physical frustration became devastating.  Imagine a torrential wall of hot lava (submission) fueled by a mountain of thunderous eruptio

Floggers, crops, whips, rope...heady, sexy, yummy toys of kink.  The showmanship, the Pain, the obvious position of Power and Authority to submission are tangible, bold opportunities to share intimate experiences with one another, especially those in D/s dynamics.  Yet, often a simple, reasonable, deftly placed "No" lands much deeper and last much longer than a night's pretty bruises or vicious lashes.  In fact an occasional denial (preferably accompanied with a why) is essential to a healthy Power Exchange relationship. A "No" in a sea of "Yes" demonstrates that He listens. A "No" because He wants that Privilege with me shows He still desires me. A "No" draws a Boundary that reassures me. A "No" to keep me safe reminds me how much He values His property. A "No" to make me uncomfortable allows me to please and amuse His Sadism. A "No" once again establishes His Control. A &quo

I remained silent.  As they took turns speaking, their words faded to background noise, and I held up my own Truth to my mind's eye and gazed at it in fearless acknowledgement. Yes, I see.  I know. Even there, surrounded by those who shared at least some version of my proclivities, it seemed unlikely my own Beliefs would find many companions.  I hadn't been hopeful - merely curious.  I long ago accepted in myself what I can so rarely express to anyone who can understand.  Though I have let  my Truth flicker in the ether at times . My Religion?  I bask, bath, am baptized in the Spiritual essence found only at the Divine intersection of a soul deep connection, pure, authentic BDSM, and raw hedonistic sex.  There...in those moments...I am free of the chains of this world and become one with the Holy Existence of Life and all that beautiful energy of the Universe.  There...in those moments...I find Grace. I am Grace. I am Everything and nothing. I am Life and death. I a

Yes, Sir. You have finally found that woman who You can drape in Your beautiful Rope. I will be still and patient as You tie and knot and wrap my flesh to bind me to Your soul. Please...Adorn me with your sacred. Yes, Sir. You have finally found that giving submissive who will be honest, loyal, and true. I will serve and obey You as best as I am able with my body, my mind, and my heart. Please...Show me how to please You. Yes, Sir. You have finally found that willing eager masochist to unleash that beautiful Darkness You hide from the world. I will soak up every drop of your cruel intentions. Please...Give me the Pain You long to set free. Yes, Sir. You have also found a lady who can share with You fine spirits, bask in the complicated melodies of jazz, and make You proud to have next to You. I will cherish every moment big and small that we find to share. Please...Let’s explore the wonders and flavors of the city...of the world. Yes, Sir. You have found that ethical insatiable whor

I’m in trouble. He hides His Beast and His passion behind so many layers...politeness, smooth grace, perfect manners, easy conversation, generosity, kindness, patience.  Too often I forget the Darkness that lies dormant and hungry in the lair of His soul.  I forget and...underestimate. Fifteen hours later, on a train surrounded by obnoxious suburban millennials seeking city thrills, I can barely look back at what He did to me.  My soul trembles.  I fight the tsunami of tears I couldn’t unleash last night, I clamp down against a spontaneous gut wrenching orgasm that threatens to burst between my legs, and I swallow a primal scream I can’t quite name the source of. All I know is...He fucked me up last night. I walked in a calm, relaxed, confident lioness.  In well under twenty seconds, He made me nothing more than His bitch and proceeded to drag me through the gutter of my soul. No one has ever taken me so deep.  He seemed to do it effortlessly. I'd entered our room an

I dashed up the familiar subway stairs. I’d made good time on my morning commute. I was feeling good. Real good. Dr. Dre and Snoop pounded through my headphones and my bones, setting my pace and encouraging an extra bit of sass to the sway of my hips. When my feet met the concrete sidewalk, I turned my long stride toward the office and smoothly weaved between confused tourists and the fragmented line for the donut street cart. Even the chilly overcast skies cramped between the steel grey skyscrapers couldn’t dampen my energy. One of my brother’s most frequent complaints is that I’ve always been terrible at picking up on another’s interest in me. In New York it’s even worse as I’m entirely focused on my goal to get from Point A to Point B and treat pedestrian traffic more like obstacles in my path to avoid, pass, or draft behind than a potential dating/playtoy pool. Halfway down the block, my instincts jabbed me in my mental ribs to pierce my usual tunnel vision with a “Hey...oooh

Kwesi loves rope. It’s spiritual for Him. Me...until a month ago, I was a complete Rope virgin.  I’ve been curious for years but never had the chance to indulge, so i was/am more than willing to explore with Him.  In fact, I cherish every kinky introduction He can claim for Himself.  At our age, firsts are truly special. Afterall, fewer of them exist if we've done our fair share of living. With the new year, He introduced me to Rope with a simple informal bit of tying.  His hands haven't help their sinuous strands for some time, so it was as much a re-acquaintance for Him as it was a first acquaintance for me.  He kept it basic.  No scene...no play...no sexy fun.  I sat peaceful and attentive as He wound the material around my wrists, but...I didn't get it.  I waited for some "ah-ha" moment/ experience/ emotion, but I found only a serene silence. My second feel of Rope was under much different circumstances.  We were smack in the middle of the most inten

I've been piecing together words, thoughts, feelings, but how can I be a poet or a storyteller or even fucking literate when I can barely handle the blaze of endless memories?  Fuck.  He gave me one of the best fucking nights of my life, and my mind can't really yet take it all in. I fly on the currents of our beautiful storm still twenty-four hours later.  My body aches deliciously.  My soul is freer than ever.  My mind...shit...I struggle to string it all together.  Our dark twin Beasts...so well fucking matched. Him.  My Lion.  ~sigh~ Stunning.  Fearless.  My fierce Warrior pushed me further than anyone ever.  He peeled back my truth and feasted Himself on my soul as I came endlessly. And the most exquisite perfect moment... One of the deepest, most intimate... The one that had forever been in my mind... In my deep dark fantasies... Was simply just there... And tears just slipped down my face at how tightly He held me in my most whorish of Truths. Fuck... Joy i

The room was overflowing.  Given the venue (which seemed to dampen sound - good thing to note) two dozen people sat quiet as hell straining to listen to every word the panelists shared about Service. The panel was amazingly diverse!  Various genders, races and sexual orientations of both experienced Masters and slaves.  I was eager to gain more insight, new perspectives, new knowledge.  I jotted down each question to the panelists to ponder later as needed for myself as well as took note of any thought provoking comments.  Then this happened... Question to the Panel (summarized/not word for word): "What service do you provide/receive that you enjoy most?" My IMMEDIATE internal answer (and a fucking movie reel of hot fucking flashback recent memories) screamed through my mind...SUCKING DICK! Yeah...thank every deity known and forgotten to man that I somehow managed not to even murmur  that sledgehammer-like thought cause I was feeling like the bouncy overly happy chick o

I currently have no dog in any of the past or current fights.  I stand on the sidelines and observe, listen, process, and learn both as a bottom and a Top roles.  A few people I've discussed things with seeking...input.  I admittedly am not always on point with politically correct messaging.  I don't always see eye to eye with the masses.  Truly...I suck at following the crowd and struggle in allowing myself to get swept away in mob mentality even when it may be a good thing.  Logic and reason are two of my favorite vices. I've spent days/weeks jotting down thoughts and notes.  To date these are my observations, lessons, and questions that I'm pondering... WORDS REALLY FUCKING MATTER  Say what needs to be said.  Tell friends.  Talk to people.  Ask questions.  Maybe I don't know someone's dynamic, but absolutely NO ONE can or will fault me for saying even from the sidelines..." I'm not comfortable with him/her/how they play.  It seems dangerous and

My mind is full.  Over the course of the next 48 hours there will likely be a myriad of posts.  Call it intellectual purging.  This month has been insanely packed not just with holidays but also significant family events and travel, as well as emotionally taut incidences.  I simply haven't had the bandwidth, the energy, or the willpower to sort through the tangled ball of yarn that have been my thoughts.  I crashed hard and deep for about three days this week and once again most of today.  To any I may have inadvertently been slow to respond to bare with me.  It's not you...it's simply I needed to recover as well as sort through and release my thoughts so that I once again have mental and emotional space for more. He punished me. I had no warning.  I had no preparation. I could and did and do argue miscommunication at a certain level.  However, despite all that, I can't lie.  My actions were deliberate.  I knew that at the time.  Why I did/didn't do those th

I needed this... Midori's Create Amazing Scenes: Get into their Heads Needed. Needed.  NEEDED. I learned much, but I was fucking reminded more. I. Need. the fucking CONVERSATION. Impossibly somehow I'd lost that.  I'd lost the dialog.  The banter.  The teasing.  The flirting.  The mental exploration of possibilities.  The opening of the door to the mindfuck. All of it.  Was just. Gone.  ~sigh~  I'd lost all the exquisite communication beforehand that lays the groundwork for all the magic that we do with each other. It isn't any single person's fault or influence.  Over the last seven years...between busy schedules, misinterpretation of others' lines, miscommunications, others' waning efforts and crumbling mirages, my struggle to find others truly willing to lead...Between all of that I've simply continued to get quieter and quieter and quieter.  Why waste time talking if no one is actually listening?  If no one truly intends to try a

Tell me...What is your relationship with Pain today? Is it a comforting friend? A brutal foe to endure or conquer? An entertaining date who provides temporary distraction? The thrilling dance partner? A longed for lover that seduces you to submit your dark hedonistic desires? Or the monster to torment and devour your willing soul? A palm’s sharp blow. The rhythmic licks of the floggers' fall.  A paddle’s thunderous smack. The snap and slap of a belt’s lash. A crop’s brutal bite.  The vicious strike of a cane. A whip’s hot kiss. Their impact varies but can all be manipulated with the mindfuck. The best Sadists pluck those mental and emotional strings to accompany pain’s delicious melody and orchestrate a symphony. When the last note rings in the air how will you want to feel? Soothed or victorious? Relaxed or exhilarated? Post orgasmic, sated, and high from sexual bliss? Or an exhausted sobbing heap on the floor broken and bruised? Tell me.

My flesh reflects my soul’s original flame. A sacred Goddess of intimate lustful beginnings.  My sexuality drips. From the mounds of my lush breasts. Across the valley of my waist and round curve of my hip. Down the globes of my plump pale ass.  Drip.        Drip.               Drip. I am.  The thousand sins You desire. The apple’s warm sweet nectar. Born in the wickedness of my mind. Falls from my lips and clings with longing to beaded red nipples.  Only the worthy lap at the fountain of my deviant desires. Drip.        Drip.               Drip.  I am. More than can be conquered. The whispered disapproval of old hags and broken balls. Amuses my shredded morality. I stand tall, proud on the crumbled ruins of their bitterness. And watch as they choke and drown under my sensual storm. Drip.        Drip.               Drip.  I am. A force of nature they will never possess nor control.  Unable to fathom the sweet surre

There’s much talk about being a sub, being a slave, property, pet or being a Dom, being a Master, Owner, etc. We have classes, discussions, writings, debates about how to be the most fantastical at whatever role you identify as yours. I’m not hating. I absolutely participate in and enjoy and learn from all of the conversations too. There's also the Great Debate.  Who truly has the control? The Dom! No! The sub. And then there's the whole...submission is the ultimate gift. SMH. The answer to the Great Debate is both equally hold control. Anyone that argues differently is a damn fool.  A Dom with no sub has no one but HimHerSelf to control.  Sub-Has-Control-ers...try submitting when there's no Dominance. I've tried it...trust me when I tell you that's a lot of things, but it ain't D/s and it ain't holding control. When you're throwing your submission at a brick wall, your submission damn sure ain't some grand omnipotent gift either. Tha