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Musings from this side of the slash.
1 month ago. May 28, 2024 at 10:14 PM

The mind fuck. It's anticipation, the good

and the bad. A scenario painted 

in vivd technicolor and then left to replay

over and over in my mind, as the hours

slide slowly by. It's standing in the dark, 

breath coming in ragged pants, waiting

for a stroke or a strike, a rough hand to

maneuver me. Position me. It's a hand

covering my mouth and nose, eyes 

blazing down at me, wickedly dark. 

When do I breathe? When you say so. 

It's my shame, held up in front of me, 

impossible to ignore. It's making me cum,

hard, while I still have that humiliation 

fesh in my eyes, my mouth, my nose. 

My mind. It's the razor edge of fear, of

wondering, how far will you push me? 

How far can I go? It's surrender, unlocking 

that most secret, most sacred, part of 

my mind,  and handing it to you. 

1 month ago. May 26, 2024 at 12:47 AM

What's your pleasure: the soft stroke 

of the flogger that whispers through the air

and lands with a burning splatter and 

drags cool tendrils over my skin? Or

do you like the paddle, that hits

like the heavy hand of a scolding parent,

a teacher I've pushed too far. One 

with holes, that let it whistle through the air

or vampire spikes, to draw tiny beads

of blood? Perhaps you like the crop?

Sharp, hot explosions of pain. Precise,

on the curve of my ass or the arch

of my foot? Do you like stripes? You ask

as you run your tongue up the length of 

your cane. Smooth, long, and oh so

innocent looking. But the marks it leaves…

on my skin and my soul.  You have 

them all there, waiting for me. I'm ready.

So, what's your pleasure?

1 month ago. May 25, 2024 at 4:26 AM

I park the car, the sat nav telling me

in her cool voice “you have arrived”. 

I have. Heard thundering, I reach down

and pull the vibe from between my thighs.

My bag sits in the seat beside me. Filled

with gags and vibes and clamps. Lingerie.

Because who knows how you'll want me

to look, how you'll want me to please you.

I turn off the engine and throw open the door.

Cool air chills the sweat that's gathered

on my bare legs. The length of my skirt 

is obscene. Just the way you like it. 

I imagine eyes watching me as I hurry 

in high heels down the path to your house.

What must they think? Trumpet. Whore.

Whatever they imagine, it won't be as filthy

as what I'm about to do. There are six steps

up to your door. I take them quickly, ring

your bell. An eternity passes before 

you open it. Take me in with eyes that 

strip me bare. Molest me right there 

in the street. I feel fucked raw, even before 

you stand aside and motion me to come inside. 

2 months ago. May 13, 2024 at 3:04 AM

They sit in drawers, in boxes. Corsets, 

fishnets, lace drawers with a pearl string. 

They’re waiting, but there are no footsteps

on the stairs; no ragged, exciting breathing

breaking the quiet as I tiptoe into that room. 

The toys that wait their turn - vibrators, glass

dildos, clamps and beads - slowly lose their

optimism in tandem with me, as I scroll

through apps and inane messages. Fantasies

I planned to live out slide into dreams 

without someone to live them out with. 

Sometimes you just have to accept

That what you’re looking for isn’t out there.

Or if it is, it failed to swipe right on you. 

3 months ago. April 6, 2024 at 3:53 AM

I fell off the bridge. The water was cold,

and I thought I might drown, but I didn’t.

I climbed back up and stood, sopping wet,

in the middle of the road. Traffic whipped past,

as urgent and driven as ever.

It was the same as before. Some vehicles

veered wide, others tried to swipe at me

as they zoomed past. Some slowed,

like a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford,

to get a look at me. No one noticed

that I was different. Whatever map I

was following had vanished in the churning

cold of the river. I was lost, even though

I still knew the way.

5 months ago. February 10, 2024 at 11:02 PM

The throat hold, that's my

On switch. From strong, independent 

woman to pliant submissive

in the blink of an eye. My mind clears

and I lose that shyness that says

I can't look at you. Now I take in

your every move with quiet

watchfulness. What do you have 

in store for me? 


On your knees. You murmur 

the command and I drop, as if

you cut my puppet strings. I offer

no resistance as you cuff my hands

behind my back, as you grab 

my hair and use it to steer my head.

My mouth opens expectantly, eyes up

to meet your in pleading supplication. 

Move me. Use me. Hurt me. 

Male me plead and gasp and whimper.


You have me, lost in sub space, 

your servant and your slave. 

Content to follow your lead and take

whatever it is you want to give me.

The inside of my head is blissful quiet, 

Feed me your cock and I'll worship

It slavishly, sloppily, if that's how

you like it. Bent me and twist me

then rail me, and I'll take it, until

the pain and pleasure washes

me clean.



5 months ago. February 4, 2024 at 5:17 AM

Desperation. That's the feeling

that floods your veins when 

the need to be submissive wars

with the strong woman in you 

who is done

just done

with wading through the quagmire.

The need ripples under your skin, 

an ever present incompleteness

that leaves you tight. Tense. 

Find him, she whispers to you,

keep looking,

keep going,

the needle *is* in the haystack.

But on top of her soft, submissive voice, 

the rest of you is screaming. Fuck

all of them. Fuck the liars and the

gaslighters. The would-be Dominants

waving red flags

like paddles,

That kills the soft supplicant in you.



6 months ago. January 16, 2024 at 3:35 AM

Make me uncomfortable. Fill my mouth 

with a ball gag and cinch it till it cuts

the sensitive skin of my lips. Press 

my face into the carpet, bind my wrists

to my ankles. Gather my hair and tie it,

yank it back until it stretches the muscles 

in my neck, until it's hard to breathe.

Twist me, bend me, stretch me, 

until I can't stay in my head,  until

I have to live in my body. 

Let me feel every little twinge, every

pinch. And then, when you have

my complete attention, when I don't dare

move an inch, when I *can't* move an inch,

Torment me. Tease me. Treat me.

Because in this already tortured state,  

I can take it.

6 months ago. January 4, 2024 at 9:10 PM

Are you familiar with the analogy, 

one hundred dollars to a nickel?

Probably not. People rarely know themselves. 

But that's you. 

You start all in. Showering me

with one hundred dollar gifts

of affection,  attention.  Interesting

questions and thoughtful discussion. 


You hook me, until I'm checking my phone,

hitting that refresh button. 

And then, when you know you've got me

all in

That's when the gifts begin to dwindle.

Eighty dollars, fifty. A half-assed chat

about my day. A four hour delay

when I ask for permission to cum.

The barest compliment on a picture

I made just for you.

You wean me down until those 

hundred dollar gifts are just a memory

and I'm grateful for a nickel. 

Keep your pennies. I don't accept

your minimum effort. I am worth 

One hundred dollar gifts

One hundred percent commitment.

I won't let you reduce me

To begging for your scraps.

Note: this is not about money. Or gifts. At all. It's a metaphor, people!!! 🤦‍♀️

7 months ago. December 13, 2023 at 3:05 PM

It starts with a numbness. I’m fine.

I am. I’m totally fine. Breathe. Shut

down. Batton all the hatches and 

close all the doors. Don’t let it in;

don’t let it out. Float along on a 

cloud of nothing. Pretend until

A trigger sets off a firework. No, an

explosion. You can’t lie to yourself,

you’re on balanced on a wire, a fuse

an inch from the flame. Try to contain 

it; build a forcefield around it. It’s not

them. It’s definitely you. And right now

You won’t mean what you say. Hurt 

pools at the bottom of the well. You

Can put a cover over it, fill pots with 

fake flowers and use them to hide

the hole. But you know. It’s still there,

and one day you’ll need to drink again.