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 :)