Saturday, December 31, 2011

...yes Mistress?

OK its a bit of a cliche to say I'm bi curious, but there it is. I've always known it though I have never had the opportunity to explore.  Is it fashionable these days to explore all sides of one's sexual nature? In my day (reference back to 'old willing whore' :) ) it was not fashionable. To be a lesbian was not fashionable, though being a male and gay was supported. Certainly being hetero-flexible, a lovely contemporary word not even conceived in an 80's eye, was not encouraged. A label needed to be fashioned and the lines of the definition boxes were never to be crossed. Bi, gay, lesbian..that was it...oh and straight..almost forgot!

I came close to experiencing a girl when I was 14. A girlfriend and I were very close. We rubbed  and pressed our bodies together whenever we had the chance. We sat so close in school assemblies we almost cuddled, our arms and legs hard up against each other pushing into each other's body so that we almost became one. I was aroused by our relationship. Though I didn't know then what masturbation was, I felt the physical effect of our explorations. We never spoke of it out loud and it eventually faded though I have never forgotten it and think of those secret touches with more than a little heat. Of course I realise now that it was a sexual exploration and I quite regret that we weren't brave enough to explore it to its conclusion.

It wasn't until quite recently that I had another close encounter with a woman. Unfortunately a work colleague, so a dangerous liaison in the first instance. I didn't know if she was gay but she began to show me an extraordinary amount of attention. We went out together and enjoyed each others company. I was aroused by her. I wanted her but far too shy to act. I told my husband and he encouraged it...such a sweetie when it comes to women! Fate stepped in and we were separated by organisational restructure, by life and when we eventually did come back together again she was in a committed relationship with an extraordinarily beautiful and talented woman..D'OH!!..such is life.

I have always put the hetero-flexible part of myself on the back burner. Until! I was chatting with an online friend. A woman. We began to speak about women. We both identify as sub girls however we began to talk about our preferences with women. My acquaintance revealed herself as a little bit switchy when it comes to women. I was surprised (totally) as I heard stories of adventures I became a aroused. I got squirmy in my chair. I was a bit shocked, I thought I had buried that side of myself. It seems though she is there just under the surface. But most surprisingly of all for me, I have discovered the little hetero-flex she in me might like to be dominated by a woman! there a thought..a Mistress. 

Tender by AngelDragonfly

Friday, December 30, 2011

running away

I am running away. To save my sanity I am running away..on my own, with no hub or family.

Feeling the guilt of the good mother and wife but nonetheless I cannot be dissuaded.

It has been a terribly difficult year.

2011..I hate it. Most of this year has been a roller coaster which I know I will survive..I have before (oh the Drama!).

The only way I can survive it though is to run. I am not going forever, just a couple of weeks, to get my head together, to get settled and balanced again. To wash everything that was this last few months away. To feel cool water and warm sunshine on my face. To walk, to photograph the stars..capture them. Maybe then I can return and be the woman my family deserves and the woman I deserve myself to be. I can return to the delicious little whore, wiggle my arse and smile back over my shoulder :)

I have held it together for everyone until recently, but now I have dropped my own bundle like I have never experience before.

I am worried I won't come home,
..but I will..I have a plane ticket!

So in a couple of days I will run, leaving 2011 behind me. 

I will face this kind of year again though hopefully not for a while.

2012 is going to be better, I know it.

artist unknown..but what a beautiful picture.. anyone know?

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

searching for the erotic

I laughed out loud today when I had a look in the last week how some people had found my blog. Search terms that lead the obviously initiated to little precioso one.

Beside the obvious..slut and submissive great favourites of the cyber explorer, people have found their way to me via:
dean yeagle cum! I have a picture by Dean Yeagle somewhere on the blog..but cum? I'm not aware of Yeagle's illustrations cumming on request!

girls taking care of daddy needs- Well this is kind of nice and I can see where this might fit, but the next one boggles my brain!

husband fantasy sex another for him careful - I'm not quite sure what to make of this one, is this a girl fatasising about a hubby, will she require him to have protected sex with another? Who knows?

Finally, one that cracked me up in fits of laughter. I accept that I am in the 'mature' set the wrong side of 40, though still a few years off 50 and even I'll admit to a willing whore, but please! one could be a bit kinder in the search for their old willing whore.

by Alvaros santos

Boxing Day

I love Boxing Day. I love it better than Christmas day. It is a day of new beginnings and relaxation. The pressure released from the cooker of Christmas. The Day when everyone can let go and lay in the sun like lizards warming in the summer breeze.

Boxing day has been taken over in most of our cities with buy buy buy. Quick get to the shops and spend MORE than we did before Christmas. PLEASE! What is this insatiable need we have to spend more? This expression of greed to accumulate more things, more bell's and whistles. ARRRRGH! (Gordon Gecko, the inaccurate slick haired capitalist was wrong).

In my town the government has not allowed Boxing Day shop opening. 'They' say we are the laughing stock of the rest of the country. Really? If that what makes us a laughing stock then bring it on.

I spent the Boxing day enjoying the sun, a bike ride in the national park, left-overs and a picnic in the clear summer air after the family enjoyed the opening session of the Boxing Day test  (Australia vs India) live from the traditional home of the boxing day test. Ok! so I didn't enjoy the opening session..but I tolerated it :)

Nicholson 2001

Saturday, December 24, 2011

happy christmas, happy holidays

Have a wonderful holiday season, be kind to each other and lets forget about our first world problems .. please consider the micro finance opportunities at Kiva. Makes for a great Christmas gift to friends and family (when only the best will do!)

Now back to our regular programming ... such beautiful Christmas naughties

happy Christmas Daddy  - L x

damn..that Dita, she does work an image doesn't she..
...and one for the girls..and some of the boys x

 Peace to all and a wonderful new year xx

Friday, December 23, 2011

Yaldah Tovah - The Healthy Submissive, my learning curve continues

This spun me when I received these few words in my email box today:

There are two kinds of strengths: the strength to lead, and the strength to follow; the strength to control, and the strength yield. There are two kinds of power: the power to strip away another’s soul bare, and the power to stand naked.

Yaldah Tovah

I began to search for more by this 'Yaldah Tovah' Hebrew for good girl.  I have no doubt that a lot of you more experienced than I am with TTWD are familiar with her writings. My interest is piqued. She described in her essay 'The Healthy Submissive' (2001) the traits of a submissive woman. My mind blew its bounds, she is describing me!
  1. The healthy submissive is capable of, and thrives on, intense, intimate, emotionally open relationships. This is often evident in the number of nourishing, sustaining, and life affirming friendships she makes over the years.
  2. The healthy submissive is a giver. She often needs help to ration herself because her impulses nearly always lead her to want to do good for others.
  3. The healthy submissive is capable of intense joy, especially in the context of a sustaining relationship.
  4. The healthy submissive finds significant relaxation when properly related. She is at ease in that place.
  5. The healthy submissive has finely tuned interpersonal sensitivity. She is reactive to subtle shifts in the emotional tone of others.
  6. The healthy submissive has a fluidity of self, a flexibility that enables her to adapt to changing circumstances.
  7. The healthy submissive is playful.
  8. The healthy submissive has no more than the usual cultural conflicts about her body, and its goodness and beauty.
  9. The healthy submissive takes pride in her accomplishments.
  10. The healthy submissive accepts herself as she is, knowing that while her culture values independence and self sufficiency, she has strong dependency needs and that there is no inherent 'wrongness' about those needs.
  11. The healthy submissive seeks nourishing relationships.
  12. The healthy submissive, in accepting herself 'as is' is tolerant of others. But neither will she allow anyone to tell her what 'her' truth should be.
  13. The healthy submissive has a reasonable self concept, aware of her difficulties as well as her strengths.
  14. The healthy submissive hungers to be the object of an intense and penetrating understanding. When her nature is understood and she is held in a loving and firm frame, her devotion is almost limitless. The healthy submissive has an enormous capacity for devotion, from which springs her service.
Of course it has also crossed my scrambled brain that this is my own perception and it may not be the woman that others see in me and born of rage or trauma as a girl? Maybe. Maybe this is just how I want to see myself in much the same way that I might be convinced of the presence of ghostly apparitions by a skilled psychic or the horoscope penned in the morning paper. There is always an element of doubt.

close but no cigar

I have made a decision not to continue with the local man.
It never sat right and he acted in a way that was not good for me. I'm sure he is a fine and good man but we are not a match.

I have to be careful. I am yearning too much, I am too needy, too eager. I would have met this man if he had asked but I could feel his weakness, his insecurity. I want someone to lead me through my anxieties about this thing I want. I need and want to be pushed with surety. I began to wonder about his confidence with me. He said all the right things but did not stand his ground. He did not encourage confidence in me. We are not a match.

I am beginning to measure encounters and men by D, a correspondent and Mentor.
I trust him in this world of TTWD, in a world where trust has come slowly for me.
He is my measuring stick, his way, his integrity, his strength of character, his and now his voice!! one else has got a hope!
I have a crush on my Mentor.
We have no agreement of ownership, no agreement of exclusivity. That would be impractical from different continents. We have no agreement other than friendship.

This girl belongs to Daddy...whether or not he knows it..:)
[Photo:] photographer unknown: Russian diver Natalia Avseenko with two beluga whales in sub-zero water in the Arctic

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

under the

The Christmas season..or the Holiday season if you're from the north American continent...
Yesterday I began to hatch a plan.
What could get for P to show him I care?
What would he like most of all?
Is it presumptuous to say me?
Well that's what I'm guessing anyway.

So Christmas eve I will put myself under the tree. Wrapped in gift wrap and a brightly coloured oversized bow.

Under the wrapping set for him to tear away I will wrap my skin in what I know he loves. A silky red and black corset, fishnets, bare bottom and cum-fuck-me heels (the ones I can only walk in from the lounge to the bedroom..or preferably crawl in!).

And the final touch?..the flogger hanging loosely in my hand. An invitation for him to do as he will (you may remember that I have to encourage my man to hit me, beat me, whip me!)

or maybe surrounded by a circle of toys..vibrators, wrist and ankle restraints, Ben wah balls... mmm the excitement builds.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

returning the gift

Summer frock..she wore no panties that day, his instruction clear.
' you understand?'
'yes Sir'
' that clear?'
'yes Sir'
'...have you a clear understanding of my expectations?' 
'yes Sir'

In the next days she follows his instructions. She revels in her bare bottom, in cumming each day within her limit for him.

He asks her what she is thinking, he wants to know.
She is honest in her answer, questions about the immediate future, where this will lead..all sorts of mild anxieties ..but excitement inside that. Truth be told she loved to be nervous.

He tells her it is a mistake, wrong timing, ...'go back to where you were'.

The frustration explodes deep inside her. Anger fights to find a voice. How can he expect her to go back! He led her here, she gave him her power. He took it then handed it back. She feels his weakness.

Surprisingly she feels the hurt in this denial of what she needs.

Mentally she crosses him out of her experience. 

photo: Terry Donovan 2006

Friday, December 16, 2011

the closet (O DOMeo, DOMeo where for art thou?)

     There is something about a good D/s relationship that makes 
     us feel whole, complete, cherished, adored and yet shamed, humiliated, degraded 
     and used all at the same time. I just don't think anyone who doesn't do TTWD would
     understand. (squirrel)

Squirrel left this in the comments on a recent post here. I think it captures in essence what I have tried to say in a million words. It captures that for which I search.

Its a hard search and that is down to me. I am cautious. Nervous even. I am wary of being exposed as the kinky bitch I am in my work and in my life. I am in the closet in TTWD, a taste of how a gay man or woman sometimes lives in secret. Don't get me wrong, I don't pretend to presume I have a gay persons troubles, but as far as hiding, closeted, I am there.

I cannot confide in friends, family. TTWD is not widely accepted (though I suspect there are more people like me than I know).

This makes it hard to find someone. I am partnered. My man is not my Dom. His interest does not match mine. So he has in his hands a woman who craves, who yearns, who needs to submit, who seaches for her Sir, Daddy, Master. He cannot lead. He cannot answer my need.... grrr ...frustrated Sub girl.

Finding someone else is the key. I am not a free person to do that as you see. I need to bring him along on the journey. To have his permission. Most of all I need to expose myself, step out of the closet.

I hate hiding in the shadows, in the closet with what inside me feels the most normal and natural course in the world for me.

The dark of the closet is making me shrivel..sapping my energy, my sexual self, my playful me. I hate the closet and I want to be free of it, to bend how I need to bend, to submit.

I feel like I can't do it by myself...enter Dom in knights shining armour stage left.
Artist: unknown (? Helmut Newton)

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Dance in the rain

Something David posted. A quick saying. One of those pearls of wisdom that are so very true but sometimes unattainable.

I have been waiting for the storm to pass as I know it will. I have been waiting a long time and I have been worn down by the waiting. This time around I have danced more than I was able to last time.

Yesterday there was a small dance in the rain. I heard his voice from the distance that assures us we will never meet but that is how we started, without that expectation. He is a friend and in the most unusual way he came into my life. His words made me dance. His voice made me feel nurtured when I was feeling terribly alone.  

He makes me Dance in the Rain..thank you Daddy.

picture : Alibibi

Saturday, December 10, 2011

A letter he will never read

Do you think we are really meant to be together forever my love? I have loved you and still do, but it hurts. Our relationship is a one way street. I am pushed and pulled always at your whim never knowing where I am. You are selfish but your ego is so quiet that I barely noticed.

My love, you have never stood in my way, except in the things that make me soar. In the things that are essentially me. 
We have lived with little ambition other than to get though the immediate future.
As I get older my love I am seeing these things for which I long.
The ache is too much sometimes.
I ache for the freedom to be who I am. To be the girl you once knew.
There is no room for me in our life anymore.
I want to stop hiding, the shadows are a dark place my love. 
Crouching, hiding in the shadows. My light dimming. Too weak now to hold us, support us, keep us safe.
Waiting for you to see me. To fill me. To hold me, protect me, make my world sure and secure.

A child, bring me home. 

Happiness ebbing away. The tide receding from my touch.
Tiredness overtaking me, stealing my energy, plundering my capacity to be me, to be a mother, partner, friend.

photo: helmut newton

Monday, December 5, 2011

The difference between pornography and erotica is lighting. (Gloria Leonard)

I live through pictures. My own pictures are not here but I have many. They are for the most part not erotica though I have told the story of she in pictures. These are pictures that I love and artists I admire. I hope you enjoy them.

Artist : Helmut Newton

artist : Kalschwarzer

Measurement : Helmut Newton

Artist : Helmut Newton

Artist : Helmut Newton

Sunday, December 4, 2011

slut-shaming - embracing the differences in my world.

From Kelly Wong's blog More than words stop slut-shaming

I tripped into this blog and thought it interesting though not unfamiliar that the words slut and whore which I use often to describe my inner she as you know if you visit here from time to time, can be less healthy in other contexts and other peoples paradigms.

Why I have embraced them? It is the power and freedom that those words afford me. The power of my slut in her skin. She sizzles, she slinks and she craves to express her sluttishness, her whore.

As much as I cherish the whore in me, the essential she-slut of me, like Kelly I am equally disturbed by a group of young women calling each other these names in greeting (now I am channelling my mother's middle class nice girl psyche LOL). I suspect however, that Kelly would be just as disturbed by my use of the words. She says that by women using them with each other somehow reclaiming them, it gives men an excuse to use them with reference to women, at women, about women in a humiliating context. Well hush my mouth and slap my face with a wet lettuce leaf! Did I get a little tingle when I read her argument there. Yes, Yes I am being flippant.

The difference is the paradigm. When a man calls me slut hopefully it will be prefaced with 'My'. When I hear Slut on His lips, I am respected, I am cherished, I am wanted. This is my worldview.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T....find out what it means to me


Saturday, December 3, 2011

pain slut?

Something a correspondent said to me recently got me thinking.
I have always been adamant I wasn't a pain slut, however it was suggested that I might grow to like it.

Pain doesn't turn me off, but the thought of pain inflicted on my soft flesh doesn't turn me on.In fact thinking about it more deeply I don't really understand pain and the term pain slut.I'm not fond of pegs,furniture designed to torture or in torture itself. Breast binding scares me because, though never having experienced it, it looks like it bloody hurts and I have breasts sensitive to harsh treatment.

Never say never though!

What does float my little boat is the thought of a strong hand. The stroke of the flogger across my arse. Just the thought of it makes me tingle. The thought of that big hand being brought down with force on my bottom. The feel of the resonating flesh wobbling in response.

oh Yes!

Floating my boat comes with the slap across my face. I know some find this a no-go zone but I can't do without it. Forceful strength expressed in the slap, the spank, the stroke of the favoured implement. The twist of my nipples between cruel fingers. The thought of pain, the reality of pain doesn't give me a high. It is the forceful nature of the expression of his strength that sends me into the heavens and it is for that reason I need the harshness of the pain this sting of pain. Pain is a by-product of the reality of His strength.

Pain slut? A whore for pain? ...hmmm...maybe, maybe not... probably not.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Friday Picture Punch

I need to scream
to yell
to cry
make me scream

hit me, beat me, whip me...Make me write bad cheques


Friday, November 25, 2011

Thursday, November 24, 2011

online clubbing

So what does a girl do when she begins her search for an understanding Dom man? How does she not seem desperate though that excitement in her every fibre leaves her looking toooo eager? No not really..just on here perhaps!

The girl joins a club! With no previous experience in this world of online clubbing (let alone off line clubbing) she cruised the Internet for likely places to settle her bare bottom.

She has toyed with fetlife but a very long time ago when she wasn't in the right place she can't even remember her nickname there..oh wait yes she can..but not the password and the email addy she used is long gone.

So then runs into the search engine. She taps the keys that sets up a basic ID..not too much information just yet.

Well Lordy Lordy what a hulla balloo! Have you seen what some of those men write? I think I have found all those 'wannabees' that buzz around the relative newbies. Lol Give me strength! Let me just drop everything and kneel in front of your enormous cock cos that's exactly what I am looking for in the first five minutes.

However, there is one who is rattling my cage, tapping on my computer screen..seems to be genuine. Telling the truth? Who knows? In the same town though and that is a first for the girl.

The delicious little whore..crawling into the unknown.


Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I am woman hear me roar

He sent me this today. I think most women probably relate. This is a piece of writing, author unknown,  rings very true for me.

I like my face. I like my breasts in fact I love them. My hips and thighs, well they have seen better days...but I feel the swish of my hips and the bounce of my breasts especially as I move into summer frocks. 

She giggles, yes the delicious little whore loves the flow of her summer frocks.  

SO..without further delay..a little piece to encourage us to appreciate ourselves and our skins-

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Artist:Stafani Huynh

Sunday, November 20, 2011

willing slut, apply within

OK..time for an overhaul.

The stories in my head boys and girls are real unless otherwise stated. I am too cautious for my own good.

I labour through this life having met and dealt with challenges. Blah!..and what challenges! but that's life for us all.

Cancer..I beat it but boy did I come out of it feeling less of a woman! Mutilated was how I felt. 6 years on, finally that is healing.

My hub..who is not really my hub with a ring and a piece of paper, he is my partner, never married but a beautiful child before child bearing was taken from me by the cancer. We are a unit though, the three of us.

My hub fucked other women..many before I found out. ...Like sand through the hour glass...this was not our agreement so there was a profound abuse of trust. Something we still work through.

His actions spun me onto this trail..I discovered chat. Damn that was fun. As I chatted and played I discovered the need in me to be His girl...A submissive they called it.

In the meantime Hub got unwell...grrr, how much more can a drama queen take? He has periods of light and dark and that is how it is. He is not Dom though he does Dom me in the bedroom at times.

I have not gone outside my relationship.. have not had an affair, but he gave me permission a short time ago to chat with other men, Dom men. Hoping to fulfill my need somehow.

Well now the delicious little whore is wiggling her arse..and her man has given his consent for her to find someone to Dom her for real.

Be Still my beating heart!! Cartwheels as she dances into the sunset..

So sweet blogging community friends..the whore is dipping her toe in that pool. It might take a while and I have to say I am as nervous as hell. After all I haven't been touched by another man in about 15 yrs maybe more.

Beginning my search. I've hung the shingle above my door: Willing Slut, Apply within.

Damn...He's not in the washing machine...


He heard her coming. He knew that sound. The click click of his sluts come fuck me heels on the concrete floor.

Initiative was something he enjoyed in her. She constantly let him know when and what she thought she needed.

*smiling wryly* 

He was not a true Dominant man, there were degrees of dominance he supposed but he loved his slut for all she was and wanted to give her everything she needed. That's why he was allowing her to seek a true Master. Tonight though, He would give her what she needed.

She came to him corseted and in heels. Those sky high black patent leather peep toe shoes she could barely walk in.

Her full breasts spilled over her corseted waist. He loved her torso restrained. He loved how her curves were liberated around the cincture. Her hips and breasts accentuated by the silken boned garment. In her hand swinging delicately by her side was the suede flogger that would later be layed in harsh brutality across her arse.


She was bent from the hips in front of the bed. Her hands balancing her body over the bed. Her heeled feet anchored to the ground.

The flogger came down across her arse.


Her voice was strong and grateful. He was starting slowly tonight. He would build it as he listen to her counting. The sting was building. He could hear it in her voice.


Her voice became quieter and more breathless as the strokes increased. At twenty he paused to rub the pinkness of her bottom. He slid his fingers to her cunt. As he slowly finger fucked her and she elicited a small moan. He removed his shirt to continue. She could hear the material slide from his body and she feared she knew what this meant. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw him take a step back and raise his arm to the heavens before he would bring the flogger down harder and faster. She gasped and readied herself for more.

He stung her bottom, just below the small of her back, and her thighs. The welts rose in unison with his cock. Damn he loved the pink of the sting. He loved to inflict these welts on his willing slut.

'Twenty nine'

As the blows became stronger and sometimes faster in rhythm she hesitated, catching her breath she continued to count though stumbling over her words.

At forty tears were welling in her eyes. She was squirming but stood fast. He rubbed her stinging buttocks, a short cessation while she caught her breath. At each interval he slid more easily into her willing cunt. She showed him she was ready for more by bending from the hips and clasping her ankles, the crown of her head pointing to the floor. You had to love her (and her Yoga practice) he thought to himself, his lips curling slightly at the corners.

The next ten were hard and fast. At fifty he rubbed her arse and slid his fingers with little effort into her dripping wetness. He wiped the ooze from his cock over her buttocks, it glistened on her soft and by now reddened skin. He had learned to let himself love the tears in her eyes as she continued to give herself to him.

'Fifty-three', whispered.

'Fifty-four', barely audible.

'Fifty-five'. All had gone quiet in between blows and now he was striking her with almost no restraint. He had never seen her reach this level.


She was aware of her breathing. Aware of the sting, but it wasn't hurting anymore. She was aware of the incredible peace and relaxation she was beginning to feel. Her mind was working fast. She was aware of thinking. What was she thinking about she wondered?


She was thinking about the feel of the flogger across her bottom. The sense of pleasure and the absence of pain now. She was so aware yet the awareness was right inside herself like she was separate from the event happening. She was almost floating but not quite. She was aware she was standing, her torso doubled over to her thighs but she had no idea how she was able to maintain this position. Even when practicing Yoga this position required a certain amount of her conscious effort. She had lost that consciousness and was just waiting for the next blow.


Floating, wishing this would never end, she could feel herself slipping more deeply into this consciousness. Each blow pushed her gently down.




His hands on her hips, he pushed into her. She moaned and took him first in her slick wet pussy, her heat wrapping him in her perfectness. He pushed into her arse, he left his seed in her tight little hole.
He lay her on the bed, holding her..

'Good girl' he whispered to his slut.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

His belt

I feel I have so much to write and I need to sort it in my head. Life has been hectic, my husband unwell. I resent these times I am ashamed to say. I try to survive with yoga and time alone in my head. I am torn between wanting to run and needing to stay..but all that aside, that is just life isn't it?

Sometimes all I feel I need is a man to take charge of me and bend me over his knee.

That's it, just my whinge, now on with the business at hand.


She lay on the bed on her stomach. She lay breathing deeply, where she had landed after their evening out where they took food and wine. Her head was spinning a little as she slipped further into sleep.
Her dress had ridden up, her panties on display and her red patent strappy sandals on her feet.

He looked at her lying silently on his bed. He was still hard from the drive home where he enjoyed her playfulness as she hooked her red heels up on the dash, legs splayed, her hand massaging his groin, bringing him to life. Such a delicious little slut. He raised his fingers to smell her on them. Her scent lingered. He had impaled her on the drive home, her pelvis moved forward encouraging him deeper. She was his good lil slut.

His belt slid from its belt hoops. He undressed. His eyes not leaving his sleeping whore. Her blond locks curled around her naturally full lips.

He laid his belt next to her on the bed. His hand slid up her thighs..Damn she was sexy...and she knew it. She knew He would be aroused, the heels, the panties. She was a tease. He loved that about His slut.

His fingers hooked around her sleeping arse and slid her panties down removing them completely.

He picked up his belt dragged it over her naked bottom. He raised his arm and brought it down hard and sharp. The sting made her scream in surprise and pain all at once. He did it again, and again. Her hands shot back to cover and protect her bottom. The belt stung the palms of her hands.

"Move your hands. Do I really need to tell you this girl?"

Her wits returning as sleep slid away, she took her hands from her bottom.

Tears wet her cheeks and juices wet her thighs. Begging him to stop. He brought his hands to her hips and pulled her to him. Pushing himself inside her, her tears making him harder still. She was his, her slickness told him so. He pulled away to admire her glowing arse, the welts, the marks that she had given to him in her submission.


He lay behind her, he had punished her bottom with his belt and brought her to begging tears. She loved being reduced to tears. Never did she feel more vulnerable, more His than when He let His cruel self rule his actions.

He had fucked her but was not finished with her. He reached to her nipples. They were hard with her anticipation and excitement. She could stand it no longer. The belt, his desire, he had pulled her hair to view face and her reaction to the sting of his belt. She reached her hand behind her and taking his cock in her hot small hand guided him to her throbbing puckered pink hole. She begged him in that one movement to take her in the way that melted her completely into her vulnerability and submission. She was His. She only belonged to him. She would belong to him for as long as he allowed. She need him and his domination in the same way she needed the air he allowed her to breathe.

He came in her arse in a rush of heat..and she was grateful to Him for making her His.

Friday, November 11, 2011

FIVE things


Trembling in anticipation, I slip my panties off at the table as I look into your eyes I sit pretty, bare bottom on the hard wood chair. Red flushing through my cheeks, my eyes glistening with embarrassment and excitement. Handing my panties to you under the table you raise them squished into a little ball in the palm of your hand to your nose. You taste my excitement, feel my wetness. You lower you hand to your top pocket, then looking at me you change your mind, there is a glint in your eye as you reach back over the table place my panties delicately over the supper plate laid out in front of me. They must stay there until you say otherwise.

My face is flushed, I am dying inside but so very excited as I glance around to see if any other diners have seen. I can smell myself..I wonder if the waiter can detect my slut odour as he fills my glass with the wine. He cannot help but noticed the panties. I avoid his look and I feel nauseous wondering how you could do this to me on our first meeting.

In the crowded restaurant you reach over and brush my cheek with your fingers.

"Open your mouth."

I part my lips.


I open my mouth wide.

Your fingers slide into my wet mouth. They probe deeply, touching my tongue, inside of my cheek, slowly, feeling every pink softness. The other diners and the restaurant staff are noticing. The red flush returns to my cheeks.


My eye widen slightly, but I cannot resist and my eyes close as I feel the breadth of your rough fingers in my mouth. The coarseness on my rose soft lips.

With each small test I am mortified and aroused. I wriggle in my chair getting wetter and needing to touch. Needing to be touched. Needing Daddy, for whom I have waited so long.

In your car I sit as you have always required, bare arsed on the leather seat, legs apart. The warm night air rushes through the open window as the car slips through the humid night.
You drive, your finger probing my slick clit.
My little button engorged and excited.
My nipples erect through my thin blouse.
I am unable to hide.
Ready to cum, needing to let go.
Drippng on the smooth leather seat.
Blindfolded, my eyes covered. 
Tethered, my hands in front of me.
Walked, led through the bush, soft underfoot.
The humid night air flowing into my lungs.
Trying to keep up with your long stride.
I fall.
Your hand hooks me by my upper arm dragging me to me feet.

"Not far now, young lady."

My breathlessness grows heavy.
I have trusted you all this time and now, in our first meeting I am beginning to waiver.
My courage is diminished.
I feel myself more and more vulnerable.
My predicament clear.
The heat between my legs is becoming intense.
I lose my breath as I try to keep up with you striding through the darkness.
The twigs and small branches are whipping my legs, scrapping my face.
The sting of them sending me into a space in my head that I never want to leave.

The fear of the immediate future, palpable in my throat, begins to give way to the eroticism of anticipation.
The space is dark, alive with the sounds of the night.
 My feet bare on the hard stone floor.
I hear the snap of cotton breaking. 
My skirt button pops and falls to the floor with a hollow tapping bounce.
I hear my skirt zipper, feel the loose soft cotton around my waist and then a sharp RIP.
My skirt is taken from my waist in one movement revealing my bare bottom.
I can feel your eyes burning into my skin.

"Legs apart girl."

Not quick enough I feel a sharp slap to my thigh encouraging me to follow this simple instruction.

Your hands from behind me slide to my waist and up to my breasts still clad in blouse and bra.
Some small protection from the embarrassment I am suffering with my dripping pussy exposed to the coolness of the air as it touches my slick heat.

My blouse is torn from my body. 
Then the cold metal which you hinted at earlier as my skirt button popped from my waist takes my breath away.
Trembling again not know whether it is with fear or...

The hard steel slides between my breasts. 
A deft hand slices my bra.
Breasts swing free.
A sharp breath in and shoulder straps are quickly gone.

I stand naked before you hands tethered, blindfolded.

"On your knees...Kowtow."

Happily, quickly and smoothly I am positioned to display myself for you, for your inspection, for your use, for your pleasure, for Daddy...

My introduction to you.

photo: unknown artist (sourced from the Internet)

Loving our lurkers

A BIG thanks and happy hello to those of you who lurk. I suspect you are there (the stats say so) and I would be pleased to hear from you.

My original plan was to have a place to make a journal for me..this hasn't changed. 

I admit though I enjoy receiving comments, I value the opinions of those with much more experience in this arena.. and believe me everyone has more experience.

I have picked a lovely couple of lurkers and a valued correspondent. 

So thanks to everyone who drops by and reads and takes some time to guide me on my path.

Please feel free to leave a comment, an opinion, advice and general feedback.

Picture : Jessica Hromas from smh online

Saturday, November 5, 2011

prostitute or whore

I was thinking...dangerous :)

Whore or prostitute?

It came from a laugh I was having with my correspondent.

"Oh no! you can't give me anything"

*thinking for a bit*

"I might be a whore but I'm not a prostitute!"

We both LOL'd for a bit.

So I have been thinking. Why does the thought of prostitution and in particular the thought of prostituting myself turn me on so much. It gives me a sense of empowerment, the same sense of empowerment that submission does. How could this be? It seems like such a contradiction but then I do tend to be a muddle of contradiction don't I?

The thought of prostituting myself  seems to be infused with a sense of control and self determination in direct opposition to the path of submission I am attempting, though somewhat unsuccessfully, to travail.

I am too much a contemporary girl..a girl of modern ideology..ArrrrGH!

The desire to just let go, be taken in hand is acute at the moment. The ebb and flow of one step forward two steps back is tearing into me and making my core slut scream!

Oh dear! The drama queen is back.

Back to my original question ..prostitution, yes yes. I don't think its the act of receiving recompense for services that turns me on. At the centre of it is my need to please him, or her or anyone for that matter. I need to give, to be the whore that brings pleasure through the use of her body and mind and yes to hear those words. You know the ones. Don't pretend you don't. The "good girl" that stops me in my tracks and sends a shiver down my spine. Those words ignite my Svadisthana, that chakra below my navel responsible for making me wet.

The payment of my whore is neither here nor there.

So we come full circle..I am indeed at my core a whore though I do prefer to be the delicious little whore wiggling my arse...with no need to be prostituted.

Greek literature refers to three classes of prostitutes: pornai, or slave prostitutes; freeborn street prostitutes; and hetaera, educated prostitute-entertainers who enjoyed a level of social influence that was denied to nearly all non-prostitute women. Pornai and street prostitutes, appealing to a male clientele, could be either female or male. Hetaera were always female.

According to tradition, Solon established government-supported brothels in high-traffic urban areas of Greece--brothels staffed with inexpensive pornai that all men, regardless of income level, could afford to hire.

Prostitution would remain legal throughout the Greek and Roman periods, though later, Christian Roman emperors strongly discouraged it. (Prostitution: An Illustrated History and Timeline, By Tom Head)

I think I might be Hetaera! :) but there's the contemporary girl in me talking :)