Fire & Ice

I've loved. I've been in love. Mmmmmm...I've been in lust! I've been fucked poorly, rarely, well, passionately, and with earth-shattering pleasure that rendered me senseless. There's been a handful of one night stands, a sprinkling of short tepid time-killers, and a handful of long deep relationships. Of those long ones...one faded, one bruised my pride, and two broke my heart. I even did marriage once, but that nearly destroyed my soul. With some I Topped.  In others I bottomed. I Dominated. I submitted. I've been Owned. I've been left, abused, lied to, cheated on, neglected, and abandoned. I've walked away in peace, in resignation, in resolute conviction, in fire and fury, in relief. I've been hated, stalked, condemned, and I've been adored, worshipped, cherished, and loved. Even after all of that and forty some years, I'm still never quite convinced I know what I'm doing relationship-wise or if I'll ever get it ri

Perspective is key to understanding anything.  The more perspectives you have the more accurately you can see the Truth. I had the opportunity to step back the last few days - on many levels on damn near every front.  It's been an eye-opening experience that has brought a fresh measure of clarity I hadn't expected.  The kink/lifestyle front was by no means immune. Last week for the first time in 7 1/2 years, I saw my ex - the one who describes me as a force of nature.  I have never had a problem admitting that I wouldn't be where I am today without our time together.  For that, he has and will always have my eternal thanks.  He feels the same about me.  He'd followed me into the lifestyle all those many years ago, a journey that changed us both forever and eventually led us down different paths. As we spent time reconnecting, he said something to me during our lovely lunch that I hadn't considered or reflect on in a long time. "I had to negotiate a lot

Five hours after lasers had been beamed into my eyes, I found myself in bed in a dark room with nothing but my thoughts to keep me, my two very pissed off eyes, and my BITCH of a headache company.  The recommended four-hour nap would have been a blessing, but my body below the neck hadn't done anything more than take a train ride that day, so I had only managed to kill two hours.  Obviously, the eye center didn't get a whole lot of kinksters.  A single adrenaline spike is never enough to put me down for the count.  One is merely foreplay for my greedy hungry soul.  Though no part of me wanted to go another round with PRK laser.  RED!!!  (Naaa...it wasn't that bad. Eye NUMBING!!! lol) Anyway...I was deep into the post-op phase of things, and I was trapped.  Blind/light sensitive as a bat and tiny slits to see through, I couldn't read, I couldn't write, I couldn't waste time on the news or Amazon Prime TV.  All I had were thoughts.  And all the thoughts revolved

Standing in the open door to the Mercedes Coupe, my head carelessly fell forward as His teeth nipped a trail of fire down the back of my neck and across my shoulder.  I could feel the demanding ridge of His dick against my ass, and my pussy wept with need.  I arched my back to give His mouth more access and to rub my ass against that tree trunk I ached to have buried inside me. "That's it.  Beg for it.  I wanted to bend you over the table the moment I saw you."  Warm strong hands reached up and pulled apart the deep neckline of my dark red dress to expose my bulging breasts to the cool night air. I hissed from the sharp pain of my fat nipples morphing instantly to pierced berries ripe to be plucked. He didn't resist and latched on to both with a deliberate firm grip before a slow release.  Again a squeeze and a release.  "The waiter kept looking at your breasts."  Another squeeze and release between the bites at my neck.  "I should have pulled the

On my knees in silence. The winds of our need quiet. The rain of our passion dwindles. Time stands still.     In the eye of the storm.     I wait.         Battered.         Raw.         Yet still strong and fierce.          I survived. The imminent demand of dark clouds stalk the horizon. I bite my faint smile of anticipation. Distant thunder growls its menacing warning. That I instead embrace.     In the eye of the storm.     I wait.         My roots of loyalty and honor.         Keep me grounded.         I brace myself knowing...         I will survive. Violence trembles in my peripheral vision. This storm will soon break once more. Across my stoic soul. And a storm surge of hunger will overwhelm every that I am.     In the eye of the storm.     I wait.         To unleash my sexual fury.         And drown in His dark greed.         Through a surrender to my own Truth.         I will have survived. ~DominaKat

Last week while crammed in a NYC streetfront pizzeria complete with another diner less than an inch from my shoulder and well in hearing range (~shrug~ city life LOL), a heated and passionate debate sparked as I took a bite of my favorite ginormous greasy slice.  Sherpa and I had somehow wound our way into discussing arguing  DEBATING female masterbation, specifically my own current lack of inspiration and desire to do so. Meh.  I get like that sometimes. Sherpa - specifically TPL - was fucking appalled.  How could I be so dismissive and unappreciative of my pussy?!? The mind-boggling yet surprisingly fantastic analogy:  Sex = football. Masturbation = watching football. If my team (partner) is IN the game (masturbation with Him present or at the very least firmly/deeply in my headspace)... Oh hell yeah...I am ALL in!  I am enthusiastic as fuck, my jersey on, and ready for MANY MANY MAAAAAANY Touchdowns!!!  There is gonna be cheering and moaning and groaning and a mother fuck

Continuing to ponder my masochist and discovering little kernels of Truth... I don’t have fear. At least not any more. When the shit I once coped with on a daily basis was so vicious, nasty, and evil that I could barely even speak of it, it’s difficult to be afraid of the Pain a trusted partner might deliver in the context of a BDSM scene. Probably naive of me, I know.  There are many talented Sadists out there.  Maybe it would be better if I said...I don’t have fear YET. But still...I'm not sure there could be a "YET." A few things that have tumbled around my head as I've considered how fear might exist for my masochist... I don’t have phobias to play off and exacerbate. My response to sudden fear tends to be anger and swift violence, so maybe we really shouldn’t play in that pond.  I long ago trained myself to face and confront situational fear.  "Fuck it...let's roll/do this."  Having spent years on the South Side of the Yo makes most