captured
held immobile
kinked, inked, pinked
waiting for further attention
bound
Inspiration from Writing Exercise - Cinquain
June 8, 2012
May 31, 2012
Equal but Different
A current post by Pygar, A Kind Dom, asks, “Who is in control?”, I responded:
"Ultimately, they each have the power to end the exchange, but it is a power exchange. She exchanges her power for his control and having done so, as long as the relationship/exchange continues, the Dom is in control.
If the sub withdraws, there no longer is a "who?"."
Two related topics, again by Pygar and his correspondents, “submission and feminism” and “submission, feminism and equality” also talk about who is in control but goes on to discuss the question of the value of the submissive in the power exchange relationship. The construct for women that is called feminism is about a quest for equality, and the full and complete right to choose from all the available options. There is nothing about feminism that equates to dominance just as there is nothing in it that is tied to submission.
Aisha also spoke on this topic in response to the Newsweek article about 50 Shades of Grey that suggests that the submission portrayed in that story is anti-feminist. She says:
". . . they’re trying to figure out the connection between women being equal and being submissive at the same time without understanding BDSM at all."'
and
"But i think it increases the split, creates a greater dichotomy, between feminism and submission, when in fact, it is not even a split. Not a dichotomy at all."
I think it is interesting that she titles her post, BDSM Lite because it reflects the common misconceptions. Until you have the real, personal, and visceral experience of Dominance/submission as Aisha says, you are almost sure to see the two positions in a hierarchical view where one is above the other, not a linear view, where they are truly side by side, equal but different.
Feminism is about having equal rights; what is done with those rights and that choice, it seems to me, is up to the individual. Some women may choose to take on a strong business challenge or be a dominant leader in her career, or to grab the reins of her relationship and lead her husband/man in the course of their connection and activities. Or, exercise that same free will and equal opportunity to choose letting go of her power in the context of a power exchange relationship where she knowingly relinquishes control and ceeds it over to her partner. Of course, she knows she can always take that power/control back, effectively ending the power exchange dynamic and perhaps consequently the relationship, or at least the currrent formulation of the relationship.
But there is no hierarchy like:
Dominant
Feminist
Submissive
where if one is a feminist there is a better/higher position called Dominant and/or a lower/lesser one called Submissive. The feminist is a feminist, whether she chooses to be dominant or submissive or neither. Perhaps it is more like this:
Dominant - Feminist - Submissive
where she can choose either on a linear scale with no hierarchy involved at all. One is no better than the other, except as it relates to her personal feelings, perspective and desires.
There seems to be a popular sense, a misconception, that Dominant is superior to Submissive, higher, better? Admittedly in the context of a power exchange there may be that appearance. A feeling that the Top is above the bottom, qualitatively, not just physically, but I have always seen the dynamic as, again, "equal but different." I am not a better person because I am a Dominant nor do I see a/my submissive as a lesser person, nor would she view herself in that way. That “who is in control” discussion poses the exact question, who is in charge, who has control, who has the ultimate power. I would suggest that both parties have the power and control because without them being in the relationship 100% each, equally giving themselves to each other, there is not power exchange, no dynamic, and really no relationship.
"Ultimately, they each have the power to end the exchange, but it is a power exchange. She exchanges her power for his control and having done so, as long as the relationship/exchange continues, the Dom is in control.
If the sub withdraws, there no longer is a "who?"."
Two related topics, again by Pygar and his correspondents, “submission and feminism” and “submission, feminism and equality” also talk about who is in control but goes on to discuss the question of the value of the submissive in the power exchange relationship. The construct for women that is called feminism is about a quest for equality, and the full and complete right to choose from all the available options. There is nothing about feminism that equates to dominance just as there is nothing in it that is tied to submission.
Aisha also spoke on this topic in response to the Newsweek article about 50 Shades of Grey that suggests that the submission portrayed in that story is anti-feminist. She says:
". . . they’re trying to figure out the connection between women being equal and being submissive at the same time without understanding BDSM at all."'
and
"But i think it increases the split, creates a greater dichotomy, between feminism and submission, when in fact, it is not even a split. Not a dichotomy at all."
I think it is interesting that she titles her post, BDSM Lite because it reflects the common misconceptions. Until you have the real, personal, and visceral experience of Dominance/submission as Aisha says, you are almost sure to see the two positions in a hierarchical view where one is above the other, not a linear view, where they are truly side by side, equal but different.
Feminism is about having equal rights; what is done with those rights and that choice, it seems to me, is up to the individual. Some women may choose to take on a strong business challenge or be a dominant leader in her career, or to grab the reins of her relationship and lead her husband/man in the course of their connection and activities. Or, exercise that same free will and equal opportunity to choose letting go of her power in the context of a power exchange relationship where she knowingly relinquishes control and ceeds it over to her partner. Of course, she knows she can always take that power/control back, effectively ending the power exchange dynamic and perhaps consequently the relationship, or at least the currrent formulation of the relationship.
But there is no hierarchy like:
Dominant
Feminist
Submissive
where if one is a feminist there is a better/higher position called Dominant and/or a lower/lesser one called Submissive. The feminist is a feminist, whether she chooses to be dominant or submissive or neither. Perhaps it is more like this:
Dominant - Feminist - Submissive
where she can choose either on a linear scale with no hierarchy involved at all. One is no better than the other, except as it relates to her personal feelings, perspective and desires.
There seems to be a popular sense, a misconception, that Dominant is superior to Submissive, higher, better? Admittedly in the context of a power exchange there may be that appearance. A feeling that the Top is above the bottom, qualitatively, not just physically, but I have always seen the dynamic as, again, "equal but different." I am not a better person because I am a Dominant nor do I see a/my submissive as a lesser person, nor would she view herself in that way. That “who is in control” discussion poses the exact question, who is in charge, who has control, who has the ultimate power. I would suggest that both parties have the power and control because without them being in the relationship 100% each, equally giving themselves to each other, there is not power exchange, no dynamic, and really no relationship.
May 30, 2012
May 11, 2012
Chiquita - Flash Fiction Friday
click as she gets closer
I'd started snapping pictures from about 50 meters away. She was gorgeous, her bouncing breasts becoming more prominent, the closer she came. I could just barely hear her unintelligible song that was causing men's heads to swivel.
She playfully twirled her fingers through her hair with more than a hint of mischief as her other hand popped the buttons of her denim shorts. Now, just three meters away, in that singsong voice I hadn't understood, I heard her singing, “Gatito? gatito?”
Then, looking directly into my eyes she said, “Hey, chico, you wanna snap my kitty?”
She playfully twirled her fingers through her hair with more than a hint of mischief as her other hand popped the buttons of her denim shorts. Now, just three meters away, in that singsong voice I hadn't understood, I heard her singing, “Gatito? gatito?”
Then, looking directly into my eyes she said, “Hey, chico, you wanna snap my kitty?”
Your challenge, use the picture above to write a flash fiction of less than 100 words.
I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...a hint of mischief..."
Photo Credit: (Source image unknown, provided a long time ago by the lovely Lexi)
April 23, 2012
Starting
On so many occasions she had walked by my shop, and I’d smile, and say, “Hey. Hello.”
She would half-smile and keep walking, sometimes looking back, sneaking a peek.
And now, here she was, sitting on the edge of my desk, looking shy, nervous. What was she doing here? Sitting in her little plaid schoolgirl skirt with charcoal gray knee socks, her tender thighs open slightly, offering a tempting space.
I put my hand on the inside of her left knee and she jumped a little. But as I moved my hand up her inner thigh, she opened even further.
She would half-smile and keep walking, sometimes looking back, sneaking a peek.
And now, here she was, sitting on the edge of my desk, looking shy, nervous. What was she doing here? Sitting in her little plaid schoolgirl skirt with charcoal gray knee socks, her tender thighs open slightly, offering a tempting space.
I put my hand on the inside of her left knee and she jumped a little. But as I moved my hand up her inner thigh, she opened even further.
April 6, 2012
Noticing
"Yes." she said.
I let go of her chin, resumed circling around her, examining; bothering her attention, noticing. I noted the smooth soles of her feet, her high arches.
I grabbed a handful of hair, holding her head back, noticing her face. She stared up, half smiling, three quarters fearful. I let go her hair and her head flopped back down.
I moved around to her side, noticing the curves of her uplifted breasts, perky nipples.
Circling further, I noticed how her thighs were parted, opened, glimpsing the glistening darkness of her pubes, full and fluffy.
Was she really ready?
I let go of her chin, resumed circling around her, examining; bothering her attention, noticing. I noted the smooth soles of her feet, her high arches.
I grabbed a handful of hair, holding her head back, noticing her face. She stared up, half smiling, three quarters fearful. I let go her hair and her head flopped back down.
I moved around to her side, noticing the curves of her uplifted breasts, perky nipples.
Circling further, I noticed how her thighs were parted, opened, glimpsing the glistening darkness of her pubes, full and fluffy.
Was she really ready?
March 27, 2012
Your Name Is On My Lips
Four Years
Click to play"Your Name Is On My Lips", by Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez, from The New Bye & Bye - The Best of the Train Wreck Years 2002 - 2007
I heard your voice on the telephone today,
it's been a long time since we talked that way,
not so guarded, not so planned, I don't know,
just a natural woman and a man.
Didn't it feel so good, so warm,
you be the shelter from my storm, I don't know.
But it's a good thing, it is a good thing.
And your name is on my lips again,
and your name is on my lips again.
There was a time way back when,swim the rivers and back again,
just to hold you, just to feel you holding me.
Lightening just passed through the telephone line,
it burns a fire from another time, I don't know.
But it's a good thing, it is a good thing.
And your name is on my lips again,
and your name is on my lips again.
And lightening just passed through the telephone line,
burns a fire from another time, I don't know.
But it's a good thing, it is a good thing.
And your name is on my lips again,
and your name is on my lips again.
And your name is on my lips again,
like a prayer, like a prayer,
your name is on my lips, again.
like a prayer, like a prayer,
your name is on my lips, again.
February 24, 2012
Calmed Down
She sat quietly on the floor while I circled around looking her over, her head bowed downward.
“Look up here.”
I reached down and touched her shoulder. Her skin was warm, but her nipples were hard and her breasts were covered in goosebumps. She shivered at my touch.
I trailed my hand in her tousled hair, tightly gripping a handful and she whimpered. She blushed when I stood in front of her, staring at her untrimmed pubes, (unusual for a girl her age).
Grabbing her chin I lifted her face up and looked into her eyes, “Are you ready now?”
“Look up here.”
I reached down and touched her shoulder. Her skin was warm, but her nipples were hard and her breasts were covered in goosebumps. She shivered at my touch.
I trailed my hand in her tousled hair, tightly gripping a handful and she whimpered. She blushed when I stood in front of her, staring at her untrimmed pubes, (unusual for a girl her age).
Grabbing her chin I lifted her face up and looked into her eyes, “Are you ready now?”
February 16, 2012
Sit
“Gather yourself up.”
She collected her things and we walked out. She slid into the passenger’s seat and as I drove off, she just sat quietly.
When we got to my house, I took her wrist and walked her in. She handed me her purse and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
“Stand right there.”
I went and adjusted the heat, poured myself a glass of wine and returned to her.
I lifted her top off over her head, then pulled off her shorts and panties. Finally, I removed her sandals. She stood there, wonderfully naked.
“Sit down.”
She collected her things and we walked out. She slid into the passenger’s seat and as I drove off, she just sat quietly.
When we got to my house, I took her wrist and walked her in. She handed me her purse and stood nervously in the middle of the room.
“Stand right there.”
I went and adjusted the heat, poured myself a glass of wine and returned to her.
I lifted her top off over her head, then pulled off her shorts and panties. Finally, I removed her sandals. She stood there, wonderfully naked.
“Sit down.”
February 14, 2012
January 29, 2012
Agnes's Birthday - Dinner
Continued from here
The maitre d' looked down at his list and then back at Frederick and said, “Party of three?” Frederick said, “Yes, but only two of us are here now. We can be seated, we don’t need to wait.”
“Very good sir, right this way please.”
The assistant smiled as they stepped forward to be led to their table. Frederick smiled back, reaching out and handing the girl the bouquet of rose buds, “Could you please put these in a vase and have them brought to the table? Thank you.” She smiled and nodded.
Frederick put his hand in the small of Agnes’s back and ushered her forward to follow his lead. He led them through the front dining area toward a set of of doors that opened to the back room. Frederick noticed the attention that their passage was drawing, and knew that Agnes was the cause of the stirring. In her little black dress she was very alluring, catching the attention of both the men and the women as she passed by, enjoying the way her body moved. There was a natural flow to the dress, it clung at her hips and accented the shape of her bottom. The hem of the skirt flipped up to the back of each thigh alternately as she took each step and her hair swung in cadence with her arms.
Passing through the doors to the back dining area, they were in a room of surprisingly large size, filled with a half dozen extravagant overstuffed booths along one wall. On the right were heavily carved oak tables with various seating arrangements for parties of four or six. In between was what served as a dance floor and at the far end was a small step up stage cloaked by heavy curtains. Back to the far right was the sitting area with couches and tables, the area where Frederick had brought Agnes on their first evening out.
They were led to a table in the right side of the room; a table for four, but set for just three. The maitre d' held the menus in his hand and gestured with the other, indicating, ‘here is your table’. A server was standing at the far side of the table pouring glasses of water and next to him was the sommelier attending to a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Riesling with it’s characteristically long thin neck.
Agnes moved to sit down but Frederick put a hand on her arm. She looked back at him and he shook his head and said softly, “Not just yet, hold on.” The server finished setting the table and walked off after exchanging nods with Frederick. The sommelier uncorked the bottle, poured a sampling into one of the wine glasses and offered it to Frederick. Frederick took the glass, swirled the liquid around, sniffed the bouquet and took a small taste. “Superb! Thank you very much.” Frederick sat the glass down, the sommelier poured a second glass, and finished filling Frederick’s glass, and placed the two glasses on the table. Frederick thanked him. He put the bottle back into the bucket and withdrew.
Just then the girl arrived with the bouquet of roses and placed them in the middle of the table. Frederick walked around behind Agnes and pulled out a chair for her, she sat down and he pushed it in. He walked around the table, moving the vase to the back edge of the table out of the middle and proceeded to seat himself, but before he sat down he picked up his wine glass, lifted it in a toast.
“Happy Birthday sweet girl. I hope you have an enjoyable evening and that it is a fitting celebration for you.”
Agnes picked up her glass, lifted it up toward Frederick, took a small drink and said, “Thank you very much Frederick. I am sure it will be, I am looking forward to the night.”
With that Frederick sat down himself and smiled across the table at Agnes. Looking around he could see that the booths were filling up and there was developing a strong background murmur of conversations across the room. He had noticed that they had captured the attention of several parties as they’d proceeded into the room and were escorted to their table.
“Why is there a third setting?”
“Someone will be joining us for dinner. He is a special friend of mine and I wanted him to help us celebrate your birthday.”
A waitress arrived with a basket containing a variety of breads, two shallow dishes and a rack holding olive oil and vinegar bottles. She poured a medium size pool of olive oil onto each dish then poured balsamic into the olive oil. Frederick noticed Agnes’s curious look and said, “Break off some bread and dip it into the mix.”
They sat and quietly drank wine and ate bread, with no conversation, listening to the background music. Just as the waiter stopped by to refresh their wine glasses another man approached Frederick and greeted him. “Good evening Frederick.”
Frederick stood and shook the man’s hand. “Good evening Patrick, I am so glad you were able to join us.”
Frederick pointed to the third wine glass, and the waiter poured a glass of wine for Patrick and ushered him to his seat.
Frederick introduced him to Agnes. “Patrick, this is Agnes, a very special friend of mine and our birthday girl. Agnes, this is Patrick, he is the owner of this restaurant.”
Agnes offered her hand and Patrick kissed it. “Happy Birthday Agnes, I am so pleased that you have chosen to celebrate your birthday here. I hope you have an enjoyable evening, one you will not forget.”
“It is an interesting and exciting place. I have been here once before with Frederick. In fact it was the first place he took me out to, and I confess it was an eye-opener.”
“What did you discover here Agnes?”
Well, sir, it was a place like I’ve never been to before. Before coming to Paris, I was just a country girl and had never ventured far from my hometown, a small town to the south. Since moving here and meeting Frederick I have seen many things that I didn’t know existed and seen things I never knew people did.”
Patrick gave her a knowing smile but simply said, “I am glad you enjoy yourself here.”
At that Patrick turned to Frederick and began discussing menu selections. Noting that Frederick had selected a very nice Riesling, he suggested a couple of fish dishes that he thought they would enjoy. Frederick asked if they had any particularly nice pasta dishes that he would recommend and Patrick mentioned a spaghetti with squash blossoms and an eggplant dish but wondered if they was substantial or festive enough for the occasion.
Patrick turned to Agnes and said, “So, since you are the birthday girl, do you have anything in particular that you would like to have for dinner?”
Agnes smiled back at him, looked at Frederick for a moment, and then back at Patrick and said, sheepishly but with conviction, “That is something that is up to Frederick, he has told me that he will be making all the decisions about the celebration of my birthday. I am a little apprehensive but so far so good, and I do trust his judgment.”
Patrick looked back at Frederick and gave him a wry smile, and said, “So, it would seem that you are the man of the hour. Knowing you as I do, I’m not surprised by this. What strikes your fancy this evening Frederick?”
Frederick returned the smile and said, “Let me have one last glance through the menu and see what I might have missed. In the meantime I think another bottle of wine would tide us over until the food starts to arrive.”
At that Patrick gestured to the waitress. She was there immediately and took the wine order. Shortly the wine steward arrived and uncorked a second bottle which he placed in the ice bucket after topping off everyones glasses.
Frederick put down the menu and turned to Patrick, “There are so many wonderful choices I am having a hard time selecting just one or two. What would be perfect for us would be a platter of your chefs favorite offerings of pastas and vegetable dishes. Something we could all share and experience a nice variety.”
“An excellent idea Frederick. Excuse me for a minute while I go to the kitchen and make some arrangements.” Patrick got up from the table and headed back toward the kitchen.
After he was gone Agnes agreed, what a wonderful idea that was because she herself had been having trouble selecting just one dish from several she was curious about. Frederick agreed and allowed as how Patrick surely had a very good idea what would be best although he’d not wanted to impose his ideas on them without allowing them their own choices.
The table fell into quiet as they all listened to the music of the quartet on stage, munched on bread and cheese, and just relaxed. Suddenly Frederick turned back to Agnes and said, “Please, sit up straight in your chair.”
In response Agnes adjusted and stiffened her posture in her seat, with a quizzical look on her face. She was clearly taken by surprise at Frederick’s command. She sat up straight, placed her napkin on the table and put her arms on the arms of the chair, feet flat on the floor. There was a small smile on her face that seemed to speak of self pride at complying perfectly with the instruction while waiting for his purpose to reveal itself.
Just then Patrick returned, beaming, and took his seat. He told them that he had taken the liberty of suggesting a couple dishes that would take a bit longer but would be well worth the wait. Frederick and Agnes both nodded their acceptance of his decisions and offered Patrick a small toast of thanks.
“Did I miss anything?” asked Patrick, noticing the overly formal way in which Agnes was sitting in her chair.
Agnes said, “Oh, no. We’ve just been listening to the lovely music and enjoying the bread and wine.”
Frederick added, “That is right, but I am glad you are back. I was just starting something with Agnes.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
And simultaneously, Agnes said, “Oh.”
Frederick gave Patrick a conspiratorial smile and turned his attention back to Agnes.
“Are your feet flat on the floor? Put your hands on the table, fingers interlaced.”
Frederick glanced down under the table and saw her toes, even with each other, a few inches apart.
“Cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”
Agnes shifted slightly in her seat, looking at Patrick, and then staring at Frederick, but did not move.
“Cross your legs Agnes.”
“But Frederick,” glancing again at Patrick and at the room around them.
In a deeper, more stern voice Frederick said simply, “Agnes,” and glared at her.
For a couple of long quiet minutes, neither moved nor spoke. Then, reluctantly, she shifted around, and complied.
“Good girl. Now, start rocking your upper foot.”
She sat perfectly still except for the slight torquing of her torso as she rocked her upper leg, flexing at the knee. Her pace was steady, just as Frederick had taught her. She stared down at the place setting in front of her, concentrating.
Frederick snapped his fingers and Agnes looked up, “Look at me Agnes.”
Frederick could see the rocking leg was beginning to have its effect on her, looking at her face; he could see her eyes were beginning to glaze over. She continued on as he instructed. Agnes would let her gaze drift away but each time she did Frederick rapped a knuckle on the table top and she looked back up at him. Soon her breathing was becoming more and more ragged and her whole body was tensing.
Noticing her reactions, Frederick said, “Okay Agnes, slow down now.”
“Please, no, Frederick.”
“Agnes, slow down, come back from the edge.”
She slowed the pace of her rocking leg and took several deep breaths.
“Okay Agnes. I want you to stop for now, we can finish this later.”
Frederick had a slight smile on his face, but Agnes was clearly frustrated and disappointed.
Just then, three servers arrived with two large oval serving trays containing several steaming platters and placed them on collapsible serving stands on the unoccupied side of the table. They were each given a main plate and two side plates off to the right side. One of the waiters refreshed the oil and vinegar on their bread plates, while another picked up old napkins and provided fresh linen.
Patrick turned and smiled at the servers and then to the waiter and said, “Serve the lady a goodly portion from that platter,” pointing to the largest on the serving tray, “and then surprise us all with your best suggestions for our first course.”
He then placed his hand on both Frederick’s and Agnes’s wrists and shook them slightly, “Bon appetite! My friends.”
“Very good sir, right this way please.”
The assistant smiled as they stepped forward to be led to their table. Frederick smiled back, reaching out and handing the girl the bouquet of rose buds, “Could you please put these in a vase and have them brought to the table? Thank you.” She smiled and nodded.
Frederick put his hand in the small of Agnes’s back and ushered her forward to follow his lead. He led them through the front dining area toward a set of of doors that opened to the back room. Frederick noticed the attention that their passage was drawing, and knew that Agnes was the cause of the stirring. In her little black dress she was very alluring, catching the attention of both the men and the women as she passed by, enjoying the way her body moved. There was a natural flow to the dress, it clung at her hips and accented the shape of her bottom. The hem of the skirt flipped up to the back of each thigh alternately as she took each step and her hair swung in cadence with her arms.
Passing through the doors to the back dining area, they were in a room of surprisingly large size, filled with a half dozen extravagant overstuffed booths along one wall. On the right were heavily carved oak tables with various seating arrangements for parties of four or six. In between was what served as a dance floor and at the far end was a small step up stage cloaked by heavy curtains. Back to the far right was the sitting area with couches and tables, the area where Frederick had brought Agnes on their first evening out.
They were led to a table in the right side of the room; a table for four, but set for just three. The maitre d' held the menus in his hand and gestured with the other, indicating, ‘here is your table’. A server was standing at the far side of the table pouring glasses of water and next to him was the sommelier attending to a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Riesling with it’s characteristically long thin neck.
Agnes moved to sit down but Frederick put a hand on her arm. She looked back at him and he shook his head and said softly, “Not just yet, hold on.” The server finished setting the table and walked off after exchanging nods with Frederick. The sommelier uncorked the bottle, poured a sampling into one of the wine glasses and offered it to Frederick. Frederick took the glass, swirled the liquid around, sniffed the bouquet and took a small taste. “Superb! Thank you very much.” Frederick sat the glass down, the sommelier poured a second glass, and finished filling Frederick’s glass, and placed the two glasses on the table. Frederick thanked him. He put the bottle back into the bucket and withdrew.
Just then the girl arrived with the bouquet of roses and placed them in the middle of the table. Frederick walked around behind Agnes and pulled out a chair for her, she sat down and he pushed it in. He walked around the table, moving the vase to the back edge of the table out of the middle and proceeded to seat himself, but before he sat down he picked up his wine glass, lifted it in a toast.
“Happy Birthday sweet girl. I hope you have an enjoyable evening and that it is a fitting celebration for you.”
Agnes picked up her glass, lifted it up toward Frederick, took a small drink and said, “Thank you very much Frederick. I am sure it will be, I am looking forward to the night.”
With that Frederick sat down himself and smiled across the table at Agnes. Looking around he could see that the booths were filling up and there was developing a strong background murmur of conversations across the room. He had noticed that they had captured the attention of several parties as they’d proceeded into the room and were escorted to their table.
“Why is there a third setting?”
“Someone will be joining us for dinner. He is a special friend of mine and I wanted him to help us celebrate your birthday.”
A waitress arrived with a basket containing a variety of breads, two shallow dishes and a rack holding olive oil and vinegar bottles. She poured a medium size pool of olive oil onto each dish then poured balsamic into the olive oil. Frederick noticed Agnes’s curious look and said, “Break off some bread and dip it into the mix.”
They sat and quietly drank wine and ate bread, with no conversation, listening to the background music. Just as the waiter stopped by to refresh their wine glasses another man approached Frederick and greeted him. “Good evening Frederick.”
Frederick stood and shook the man’s hand. “Good evening Patrick, I am so glad you were able to join us.”
Frederick pointed to the third wine glass, and the waiter poured a glass of wine for Patrick and ushered him to his seat.
Frederick introduced him to Agnes. “Patrick, this is Agnes, a very special friend of mine and our birthday girl. Agnes, this is Patrick, he is the owner of this restaurant.”
Agnes offered her hand and Patrick kissed it. “Happy Birthday Agnes, I am so pleased that you have chosen to celebrate your birthday here. I hope you have an enjoyable evening, one you will not forget.”
“It is an interesting and exciting place. I have been here once before with Frederick. In fact it was the first place he took me out to, and I confess it was an eye-opener.”
“What did you discover here Agnes?”
Well, sir, it was a place like I’ve never been to before. Before coming to Paris, I was just a country girl and had never ventured far from my hometown, a small town to the south. Since moving here and meeting Frederick I have seen many things that I didn’t know existed and seen things I never knew people did.”
Patrick gave her a knowing smile but simply said, “I am glad you enjoy yourself here.”
At that Patrick turned to Frederick and began discussing menu selections. Noting that Frederick had selected a very nice Riesling, he suggested a couple of fish dishes that he thought they would enjoy. Frederick asked if they had any particularly nice pasta dishes that he would recommend and Patrick mentioned a spaghetti with squash blossoms and an eggplant dish but wondered if they was substantial or festive enough for the occasion.
Patrick turned to Agnes and said, “So, since you are the birthday girl, do you have anything in particular that you would like to have for dinner?”
Agnes smiled back at him, looked at Frederick for a moment, and then back at Patrick and said, sheepishly but with conviction, “That is something that is up to Frederick, he has told me that he will be making all the decisions about the celebration of my birthday. I am a little apprehensive but so far so good, and I do trust his judgment.”
Patrick looked back at Frederick and gave him a wry smile, and said, “So, it would seem that you are the man of the hour. Knowing you as I do, I’m not surprised by this. What strikes your fancy this evening Frederick?”
Frederick returned the smile and said, “Let me have one last glance through the menu and see what I might have missed. In the meantime I think another bottle of wine would tide us over until the food starts to arrive.”
At that Patrick gestured to the waitress. She was there immediately and took the wine order. Shortly the wine steward arrived and uncorked a second bottle which he placed in the ice bucket after topping off everyones glasses.
Frederick put down the menu and turned to Patrick, “There are so many wonderful choices I am having a hard time selecting just one or two. What would be perfect for us would be a platter of your chefs favorite offerings of pastas and vegetable dishes. Something we could all share and experience a nice variety.”
“An excellent idea Frederick. Excuse me for a minute while I go to the kitchen and make some arrangements.” Patrick got up from the table and headed back toward the kitchen.
After he was gone Agnes agreed, what a wonderful idea that was because she herself had been having trouble selecting just one dish from several she was curious about. Frederick agreed and allowed as how Patrick surely had a very good idea what would be best although he’d not wanted to impose his ideas on them without allowing them their own choices.
The table fell into quiet as they all listened to the music of the quartet on stage, munched on bread and cheese, and just relaxed. Suddenly Frederick turned back to Agnes and said, “Please, sit up straight in your chair.”
In response Agnes adjusted and stiffened her posture in her seat, with a quizzical look on her face. She was clearly taken by surprise at Frederick’s command. She sat up straight, placed her napkin on the table and put her arms on the arms of the chair, feet flat on the floor. There was a small smile on her face that seemed to speak of self pride at complying perfectly with the instruction while waiting for his purpose to reveal itself.
Just then Patrick returned, beaming, and took his seat. He told them that he had taken the liberty of suggesting a couple dishes that would take a bit longer but would be well worth the wait. Frederick and Agnes both nodded their acceptance of his decisions and offered Patrick a small toast of thanks.
“Did I miss anything?” asked Patrick, noticing the overly formal way in which Agnes was sitting in her chair.
Agnes said, “Oh, no. We’ve just been listening to the lovely music and enjoying the bread and wine.”
Frederick added, “That is right, but I am glad you are back. I was just starting something with Agnes.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
And simultaneously, Agnes said, “Oh.”
Frederick gave Patrick a conspiratorial smile and turned his attention back to Agnes.
“Are your feet flat on the floor? Put your hands on the table, fingers interlaced.”
Frederick glanced down under the table and saw her toes, even with each other, a few inches apart.
“Cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”
Agnes shifted slightly in her seat, looking at Patrick, and then staring at Frederick, but did not move.
“Cross your legs Agnes.”
“But Frederick,” glancing again at Patrick and at the room around them.
In a deeper, more stern voice Frederick said simply, “Agnes,” and glared at her.
For a couple of long quiet minutes, neither moved nor spoke. Then, reluctantly, she shifted around, and complied.
“Good girl. Now, start rocking your upper foot.”
She sat perfectly still except for the slight torquing of her torso as she rocked her upper leg, flexing at the knee. Her pace was steady, just as Frederick had taught her. She stared down at the place setting in front of her, concentrating.
Frederick snapped his fingers and Agnes looked up, “Look at me Agnes.”
Frederick could see the rocking leg was beginning to have its effect on her, looking at her face; he could see her eyes were beginning to glaze over. She continued on as he instructed. Agnes would let her gaze drift away but each time she did Frederick rapped a knuckle on the table top and she looked back up at him. Soon her breathing was becoming more and more ragged and her whole body was tensing.
Noticing her reactions, Frederick said, “Okay Agnes, slow down now.”
“Please, no, Frederick.”
“Agnes, slow down, come back from the edge.”
She slowed the pace of her rocking leg and took several deep breaths.
“Okay Agnes. I want you to stop for now, we can finish this later.”
Frederick had a slight smile on his face, but Agnes was clearly frustrated and disappointed.
Just then, three servers arrived with two large oval serving trays containing several steaming platters and placed them on collapsible serving stands on the unoccupied side of the table. They were each given a main plate and two side plates off to the right side. One of the waiters refreshed the oil and vinegar on their bread plates, while another picked up old napkins and provided fresh linen.
Patrick turned and smiled at the servers and then to the waiter and said, “Serve the lady a goodly portion from that platter,” pointing to the largest on the serving tray, “and then surprise us all with your best suggestions for our first course.”
He then placed his hand on both Frederick’s and Agnes’s wrists and shook them slightly, “Bon appetite! My friends.”
January 13, 2012
Mirror Mirror - Flash Fiction Friday
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| (Artist, Helmut Newton, title unknown) |
She got up out of the bed, putting the magazines down, driven, aroused and crazed. She pressed herself against the mirror, moving her hips rolling them up and down, rotating her pelvis.
She had always wanted to be inside herself, wondering what it would be like to feel herself. Not receiving but giving, or more accurately, giving and receiving simultaneously. Of course she had felt others, felt her fingers inside them, but it was just someone else.
She wanted her innie to be converted to an outie, something she could put inside herself and feel what it felt like to be inside herself. She was wanting to feel her nipples against her own nipples, feeling her breasts pressed against themselves, feel the arousal of the arousal.
She wanted to be the giver and the taker, feeling the pleasure of giving pleasure herself to herself as she felt receiving it.
She pressed harder and harder; breast to breast, nipple to nipple, mound to mound, the mirror was cracked and failing to give her the push back she needed.
She pounded her hands on the wall, crazed, “Let me inside!”
She had always wanted to be inside herself, wondering what it would be like to feel herself. Not receiving but giving, or more accurately, giving and receiving simultaneously. Of course she had felt others, felt her fingers inside them, but it was just someone else.
She wanted her innie to be converted to an outie, something she could put inside herself and feel what it felt like to be inside herself. She was wanting to feel her nipples against her own nipples, feeling her breasts pressed against themselves, feel the arousal of the arousal.
She wanted to be the giver and the taker, feeling the pleasure of giving pleasure herself to herself as she felt receiving it.
She pressed harder and harder; breast to breast, nipple to nipple, mound to mound, the mirror was cracked and failing to give her the push back she needed.
She pounded her hands on the wall, crazed, “Let me inside!”
This challenge is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of 85-188 words, using the phrase: "...cracked and failing..."
December 29, 2011
Building Heat
“Sit up, nice and straight, back against the booth.”
She smiled, shifting.
“Put your feet flat on the floor, fingers interlaced, on the table.”
I glanced down and saw her toes, even with each other, about 12 inches apart.
“Sit very still.”
After a few minutes I said, “Reposition yourself and cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”
She shifted around, complying.
“Now, start rocking your upper foot.”
I could feel the tip of her toe brushing against my trousers as it moved to and fro. I looked at her face; her eyes were beginning to glaze over.
She smiled, shifting.
“Put your feet flat on the floor, fingers interlaced, on the table.”
I glanced down and saw her toes, even with each other, about 12 inches apart.
“Sit very still.”
After a few minutes I said, “Reposition yourself and cross one leg over the other, nice and snug.”
She shifted around, complying.
“Now, start rocking your upper foot.”
I could feel the tip of her toe brushing against my trousers as it moved to and fro. I looked at her face; her eyes were beginning to glaze over.
December 28, 2011
December 25, 2011
December 22, 2011
The Fire
"The game is called Submission, perhaps you are familiar with it?"
She shook her head, "No."
"I will take this list and make a plan, to guide you through the accomplishment of these goals. Your side of this bargain is to follow my suggestions; sometimes they will be obvious and easy, other times you will not want to do as I instruct, and you will rebel.
"You’ll tell me your objection and we'll discuss it, then you’ll do as I instruct."
"And if I still don't want to do what you tell me to?"
"Then the game can be over."
She shook her head, "No."
"I will take this list and make a plan, to guide you through the accomplishment of these goals. Your side of this bargain is to follow my suggestions; sometimes they will be obvious and easy, other times you will not want to do as I instruct, and you will rebel.
"You’ll tell me your objection and we'll discuss it, then you’ll do as I instruct."
"And if I still don't want to do what you tell me to?"
"Then the game can be over."
December 15, 2011
Frying Pan to Fire
We sat staring at each other. Finally I reached down, spun the list around and read it.
“So, you wrote this list, sent it to me, came here, all of your own volition? I guess this means something to you?”
She nodded her head.
“You are a very young girl to have such an extensive list; you must have had very liberal parenting?”
Again she nodded her head.
“Being allowed to do what ever you want lacked the discipline necessary to learn to make good, informed choices?”
She continued nodding her head.
“So, do you want to play a game?”
“So, you wrote this list, sent it to me, came here, all of your own volition? I guess this means something to you?”
She nodded her head.
“You are a very young girl to have such an extensive list; you must have had very liberal parenting?”
Again she nodded her head.
“Being allowed to do what ever you want lacked the discipline necessary to learn to make good, informed choices?”
She continued nodding her head.
“So, do you want to play a game?”
December 12, 2011
Work, Love, Dance
until you go back to school,
until you lose ten pounds,
until you gain ten pounds,
until you have kids,
until your kids leave the house,
until you start work,
until you retire,
until you get married,
until you get divorced,
until Friday night,
until Sunday morning,
until you get a new car or home,
until your car or home is paid off,
until spring, until summer,
until fall, until winter,
until you are off welfare,
until the first or fifteenth,
until your song comes on,
until you've had a drink,
until you've sobered up,
until you die, until you are born again
to decide that there is no better time
than right now to be happy...
Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
So, Work like you don't need money.
Love like you've never been hurt and
Dance like no one's watching.
~Author Unknown~
excerpted from http://www.rogerknapp.com/inspire/Dancelike.htm
December 11, 2011
I Hope You Dance
Lee Ann Womack
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance
I hope you dance
(Dance)
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder
(Dance)
Where those years have gone
(Dance)
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty-handed
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making
Don't let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance
I hope you dance
(Dance)
I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder
(Dance)
Where those years have gone
(Dance)
December 10, 2011
December 8, 2011
Applying the Heat
“Again?”
She looked down, avoiding my gaze, not looking at the pack of cigarettes.
Softly, looking down into her lap, “Yes, but I don’t want to stop smoking. Who are you to make me?”
I sat the pack aside, reached across the table and lifted her chin until our eyes met.
“Who am I? You think I’m trying to make you stop smoking? I’m asking you, ‘Why are you smoking?’ ”
She looked confused. I continued, shaking her chin slightly and tapping the list, “Who are you to make this little girl do these things she doesn’t want to do?”
She looked down, avoiding my gaze, not looking at the pack of cigarettes.
Softly, looking down into her lap, “Yes, but I don’t want to stop smoking. Who are you to make me?”
I sat the pack aside, reached across the table and lifted her chin until our eyes met.
“Who am I? You think I’m trying to make you stop smoking? I’m asking you, ‘Why are you smoking?’ ”
She looked confused. I continued, shaking her chin slightly and tapping the list, “Who are you to make this little girl do these things she doesn’t want to do?”
December 6, 2011
Four Years - Fore!!
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| Thanks Sweet girl |
Beware: the coming of Krampus!
Four years, wow! Who'da thunk it?When I started this blog it was with the intent of gathering and collecting a list of interesting blogs to follow, "For now this will be a repository for links rediscovered, and read and appreciated." I still have a fairly extensive collection at my Blog Roll a ways down in the side bar, but this space has come to mean so much more to me over these past four years. Some know me as a carguy and I have always been very fond of Datsun/Nissan, whose motto for many years was, "Life is a journey, enjoy the ride." Thank you all for coming along with me on this journey, I have enjoyed the ride and see that many others have also. When I last looked at my hit meter I was hovering just below 120,000 visits.
I was reading back through previous Blogaversary posts and was reminded of this comment:
Anonymous said...I have been meaning to write to thank you. I found your blog about 1 year ago. In you, I recognized a man I had known 25 years ago, and had run from because I didn't understand who I was. I found him recently and am now happily owned. I would not have had the courage to look without your writings.I am so happy to present an image, that would evoke such a reaction. It humbles me.
I have really enjoyed participating in the Flash Fiction Friday series of writing challenges and making new friends there. Because of the generally limited word count available and a picture to evoke ideas, it is an excellent exercise in imagination and expression. I really do encourage everyone to look it over and give it a try. It is all in fun, there is no right or wrong way to do it. I often further challenge myself to pick a specific number of words and write to that count. That has led me to start a little writing project called 100 Words. Small enough to knock out in an hour or two, and long enough to depict a full scene or interaction, or explore a thought or frame of reference. We will see how that goes.
Of special note this year, I am very excited to have been selected by Rori for inclusion in her list of the Top 100 Sex Blogs of 2011. I started this blog to express D/s thoughts and ideas and quickly recognized that there were multiple, overlapping realms. Just over a year ago I made a conscious decision to focus on writing stories rather than essays/articles and express ideas and views through examples. I am honored to be included in Rori's list this year, thanks to those who nominated and selected me.
And what is ahead? I am not sure. Likely more of the same, some more Frederick and Agnes assuredly. More, shorter pieces in the 100 Words style. I have tried some different presentation styles this past year and the one before; things like I Like Your Dream, an audio, and an attempt at a visual impact with The Path. I will continue to look for others.
Again, thank you all for coming along, this blog has been my pleasure and will continue to be. So, let's lock arms and stride forward toward the future, whatever it may bring.
December 5, 2011
Please.Don't.Stop
He caressed my shoulder while we watched a movie, (nice). His hand moved down to my breast, but I pushed it away. Soon his hand was at my neck, teasing, slipping down again onto my breast, “Stop it.”
I moved away; escaped across the room. He followed, pinned me against the wall, arm across my chest, hand up under my dress. I jerked his arm down, “No!”
He slapped me, (stunned), then grabbed my throat, clutching hard. His mouth sought mine; I deflected, trying to squirm away.
I pressed my elbow into his chest, speaking loudly, sternly, “I mean it!”
I moved away; escaped across the room. He followed, pinned me against the wall, arm across my chest, hand up under my dress. I jerked his arm down, “No!”
He slapped me, (stunned), then grabbed my throat, clutching hard. His mouth sought mine; I deflected, trying to squirm away.
I pressed my elbow into his chest, speaking loudly, sternly, “I mean it!”
December 3, 2011
Heating Up, Again
There she was, sitting in the specified booth looking very much self-absorbed. I walked in and stood at the end of the table until she looked up, and said, “Hello.”
I slid into the opposite seat and recognized the printed list. I also recognized that same tank top, affording me that same delicious view.
“I see you’ve brought the list.”
She smiled nervously, “Yes.”
Reflexively she reached into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. I caught her hand, and took the pack from her, holding it in the air, twisting and turning, slowly, in the space between us.
“Again?”
I slid into the opposite seat and recognized the printed list. I also recognized that same tank top, affording me that same delicious view.
“I see you’ve brought the list.”
She smiled nervously, “Yes.”
Reflexively she reached into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. I caught her hand, and took the pack from her, holding it in the air, twisting and turning, slowly, in the space between us.
“Again?”
December 1, 2011
Tempering the Heat
I checked my email Saturday night; there was nothing from the mystery girl. I wasn’t surprised or particularly concerned, I suspected she’d default on the timing of the assignment, either out of reticence or because of the complexity.
I busied myself with weekend chores, had dinner with friends and got to bed early Sunday night in anticipation of a long hard week ahead. I checked my mail again on Sunday morning, still nothing - mid-day nothing, even Sunday night, nothing. It tickled me, imagining her mental gymnastics.
I checked again Monday morning, there it was, “Possible Improvements”, with an apology.
I busied myself with weekend chores, had dinner with friends and got to bed early Sunday night in anticipation of a long hard week ahead. I checked my mail again on Sunday morning, still nothing - mid-day nothing, even Sunday night, nothing. It tickled me, imagining her mental gymnastics.
I checked again Monday morning, there it was, “Possible Improvements”, with an apology.
November 27, 2011
Turning Up the Heat
When I got to my car, I saw her sitting in hers, opening a pack of cigarettes. I pulled up beside her, driver-door to driver-door.
“Hello, I noticed you in the store a few minutes ago.”
She smiled, “Yes, I noticed you too, bold statement, ‘Not yet’.”
“Give me the pack of cigarettes.”
She offered them and I tossed them onto my dash.
“By 9 o’clock send me your list of other bad habits, and two things you want to improve,” and I gave her my business card.
She looked off-guard, confused, but nodded her agreement, and I pulled away.
“Hello, I noticed you in the store a few minutes ago.”
She smiled, “Yes, I noticed you too, bold statement, ‘Not yet’.”
“Give me the pack of cigarettes.”
She offered them and I tossed them onto my dash.
“By 9 o’clock send me your list of other bad habits, and two things you want to improve,” and I gave her my business card.
She looked off-guard, confused, but nodded her agreement, and I pulled away.
November 26, 2011
The Heat of Summer
I was looking for Gatorade and trail mix. Rounding the corner heading to the checkout station what I found was a lovely raven-haired girl. She was wearing skimpy volleyball shorts, barely covering her well rounded buttocks, and a deeply slit cotton tank top.
We got to the line at the same time. Nodding, I stepped aside. She smiled softly, and silently stepped forward. I placed my items on the conveyor belt and looked her over. My eyes were drawn to the complex compound curves of her cleavage.
The cashier glanced at her, then addressed me, “Are you together?”
“Not yet.”
We got to the line at the same time. Nodding, I stepped aside. She smiled softly, and silently stepped forward. I placed my items on the conveyor belt and looked her over. My eyes were drawn to the complex compound curves of her cleavage.
The cashier glanced at her, then addressed me, “Are you together?”
“Not yet.”
November 19, 2011
November 17, 2011
November 11, 2011
I can't hear you
She’d been all for this game when my hand was clamped onto the back of her neck. And also when I had harshly squeezed her breast, although she'd grimaced and squirmed. And when I’d teased her navel and combed through her pubic hair, she was fine, giggly even.
Now she was balking. She held my wrist, pulling down. But I continued to push up forcefully, fingers pressing in against her throbbing veins.
“Let go of my wrist.” Her body shuddered in response but her grip slackened.
I put my lips to her ear and whispered, “Are you ready to continue?”
November 10, 2011
with or without
I was settled in my favorite Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was late afternoon and there was a breeze rustling through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the patio, against the house.
She was on a chaise-lounge, legs tucked up to one side, working on a needlepoint project. She was absent-mindedly humming an indistinguishable tune.
Suddenly I rapped my knuckles on the arm of the chair and she looked up.
Indicating a spot directly in front of my chair, I spoke softly, “Come here.”
She got up and came over.
I leaned back into the chair, “Lift your skirt.”
She was on a chaise-lounge, legs tucked up to one side, working on a needlepoint project. She was absent-mindedly humming an indistinguishable tune.
Suddenly I rapped my knuckles on the arm of the chair and she looked up.
Indicating a spot directly in front of my chair, I spoke softly, “Come here.”
She got up and came over.
I leaned back into the chair, “Lift your skirt.”
October 28, 2011
Batgurl - Flash Fiction Friday
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| (Source image: "Battire" by Gernot) |
Nickie arrived at the party and quickly moved through the crowd, accepting the obligatory greetings. There was no recognition, just kissed cheeks and hugs given anonymously with a sweet smile and soft giggle. A quickly grabbed drink and it was off to the tenebrous balcony.
On the balcony Nickie relaxed, fussing at the stockings, removing the cloak, adjusting the arm-wing stockings. After the costume adjusting and tucking Nickie looked inside and saw that Mark had arrived and was working through the crowd toward the balcony. Nickie leaned back against the pillar, stretched out, seductively lithe, sharply pointed toes, fingers outstretched.
Mark had seen Nick in stockings before but the recently acquired implants would make this dark spooky encounter freakishly erotic.
On the balcony Nickie relaxed, fussing at the stockings, removing the cloak, adjusting the arm-wing stockings. After the costume adjusting and tucking Nickie looked inside and saw that Mark had arrived and was working through the crowd toward the balcony. Nickie leaned back against the pillar, stretched out, seductively lithe, sharply pointed toes, fingers outstretched.
Mark had seen Nick in stockings before but the recently acquired implants would make this dark spooky encounter freakishly erotic.
The Happy Halloween challenge is to use the picture above to write a spooky flash fiction of 80-120 words. I would also like you to please use this H.P. Lovecraft word in your submission: "...tenebrous..."
October 21, 2011
Red - Flash Fiction Friday
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| (Source image: unknown title by Beau Monde; website link broken) |
Like so many times before, she sat intent on his voice, "Ten." All tangled up in herself, legs clenched, “Nine.” Breasts squeezed tightly, wrapped in the deepness of his voice, "Eight." Her stomach in a knot, cramping, “Seven.”
38
Growling, tossing the headphones aside, still hearing his commands, “Six.” His voice taunting her, hyper-attuned, each breath twisting her arousal tighter, “Five.” Fire burning, hot, damp, nipples throbbing, aching, “Four.”
68
Yanking the headphone jack out, still hearing, “Three.” Her fingers plugging her ears, shaking her head, ”Two.” Her legs twisted, burning thighs, suddenly in pained delight, ready, “One.” Then, “Now!!”
98
Your challenge is to use the picture to write a flash fiction of 38-98 words. I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...pained delight..."
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October 14, 2011
Pranayam - Flash Fiction Friday
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| (Source image: "Framed" by Marcus J Ranum) |
She got up from the desk, moved her yoga mat to the middle of the room and began undressing. She got down on the mat and assumed the kneeling position. She started doing her breathing exercises to clear her mind, humming softly, uttering a barely audible recitation of her mantra.
This was typically her pre-sex relaxation routine, to center herself and release tension. I was perplexed and confused, and asked, “What?”
Looking back over her shoulder, stretching, eyes down, she said solemnly, "I Lost The Game".
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| Click here for FFF Details |
Your challenge is to use the supplied picture and write a flash fiction of 80-112 words.
Rather than use a word prompt this week, I would like you to include the emotion of "calm" somewhere in your piece.
October 10, 2011
e[lust] edition #30
Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #31? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
Read more . . .
Read more . . .
October 7, 2011
Wallpaper - Flash Fiction Friday
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| (Source image by Vlad Gansovsky, title unknown) |
“Good, you’re back, I've been thinking about paint colors. What did you get at the hardware store? ”
"Brushes, roller pads, drop cloths and stir sticks, stuff we'll need for painting."
And to himself, "and a stiff stick for a
hot young brunette I talked to there."
hot young brunette I talked to there."
"I've been thinking the fireplace wall will look better with wallpaper. Something that will offset the light fixtures, the mantle and the mirror."
He looked in the mirror imagining the brunette
standing in front of him removing her sundress.
Pulling the straps down off her shoulder, it slides
off her hips, crumpling into a puddle at her feet.
“We took the wallpaper off that wall last year. Now we want to put wallpaper up again? What about this garish wallpaper behind us?"
“Yes, I think we need to take down this old wallpaper and paint the wall. We need something around the fireplace to wake up that wall.”
The only thing waking up for him was
a fantasy of that brunette straddling his
thighs, slipping herself down onto him.
thighs, slipping herself down onto him.
”Maybe you're right.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
He settled back, imagining her hand at
his throat, leaned in against his chest,
enthusiastically rolling her hips.
"Oh, yes, it's good."
|
| Click here for FFF Details |
Your challenge is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of 78-208 words.
I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...enthusiastically..."
I would also like you to please use this phrase in your submission: "...enthusiastically..."
September 24, 2011
Bullies
I am a tall man, maybe what some would call a big man, and through a practiced demeanor, very immune to the likelihood of being bullied by others. However, growing up I was lanky, and awkward, lacking in social skills, even shy and reserved. Because of that I was subject to negative attention from others who found in me an opportunity to exert their power over someone else. I hesitate to call it bullying because I do not want to co-opt the sense of helplessness so many young people must feel when they are singled out by others and treated badly.
Over the past couple years I have followed this issue of bullying in the various media and come to recognize it for what it is. I have my notions about what it’s origins likely are and see that those origins are not an excuse, and are not permission, to treat others badly.
A friend recently posted the following remarks on her Facebook page and I wanted to give her thoughts an additional venue and add my voice to it.
As a dominant man (not that dominance has anything to do with it really), I am ashamed of the way so many people treat others but feel a sense of powerlessness to do anything about it, I really have no solution. I can be an example and I can step in if I witness that kind of behavior and I can speak up when I have the opportunity. I am taking this opportunity.
I suspect I am preaching to the choir here, but perhaps something here will affect someone somewhere and it will have made a difference. I hope so.
Over the past couple years I have followed this issue of bullying in the various media and come to recognize it for what it is. I have my notions about what it’s origins likely are and see that those origins are not an excuse, and are not permission, to treat others badly.
A friend recently posted the following remarks on her Facebook page and I wanted to give her thoughts an additional venue and add my voice to it.
That girl you just called fat? She's overdosing on diet pills.
The boy you just tripped? He is abused enough at home.
That girl you just called ugly? She spends hours putting makeup on hoping people will like her.
That man with the ugly scars? He fought for his country.
That guy you just made fun of for crying? His mother is dying.
As a dominant man (not that dominance has anything to do with it really), I am ashamed of the way so many people treat others but feel a sense of powerlessness to do anything about it, I really have no solution. I can be an example and I can step in if I witness that kind of behavior and I can speak up when I have the opportunity. I am taking this opportunity.
I suspect I am preaching to the choir here, but perhaps something here will affect someone somewhere and it will have made a difference. I hope so.
September 16, 2011
Gypsy Girl - Flash Fiction Friday
Kissing her roughly, I walked her back against the counter. Working my knee in I spread her thighs open, kissing down her neck and shoulder. I could feel her damp heat on my leg as I laid her back onto the counter, wide open and panting in the heat of the moment.
Lifting her knees, her skirt slid up even further. I slipping down to my knees, hooking her legs over my shoulders. Pressing my mouth against her innermost thigh, I heard the mixed cries of ecstasy and anguish as I bit into her femoral artery and began to feed.
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| Click for details on FFF
The challenge for this Friday is to write a flash fiction of exactly 124 words, incorporating the required word, "load".
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September 14, 2011
Blithely Sauntering
The Consensual Stalker
He had known it was her habit to spend Friday mornings on a number of errands, generally wrapping a half days worth of activities into one outing. There was the early morning or noon-time yoga class, or a nice quiet coffee shoppe with excellent java and free wifi, or occasionally, just wandering the streets shopping, mostly for clothing, retail therapy she called it. Today was early yoga, and then coffee and a muffin, and now, she was slowly sauntered down the street, peeking in store windows, almost dreamy looking. She had a bounce to her step, occasionally moving to the beat of the music from her ever-present clip-on iPod Shuffle, he imagined.
She half concentrated on the stores but was periodically preoccupied with her phone, either texting or tweeting, but not talking. At times she’d stop and lean against a store front, rapt attention on the small screen, and suddenly burst out laughing, and then look around, self conscious. She wondered if people were looking at her, hoping they might be, and that they might be wondering what she found so laughable.
The day had started when he followed her from her home, across town, and out to the yoga parlor. After she parked and went inside, he went to the cafe across the street, found a window table and had a light breakfast and coffee. Then he leaned back, listened to his book, and waited. As she left the yoga class, he noticed she had changed into the lovely shape hugging, lightweight pink sheath dress, perfect for pulling off and on while shopping. He hoped so, he was looking forward to the idea of a day of watching her pop in and out of stores, knowing how dearly she loved her shopping excursions. He smiled in anticipation of a joyful day of observation, perhaps some embarrassment, a little humiliation and pleasure, certainly a bit of sexuality and excitement.
He watched her come across the street, walk into the cafe, and order coffee and a giant chocolate muffin. She went and sat at a table in the back seating area, waiting for the server to deliver her heated muffin.
He was positioned where he could see her reflection in the window while he appeared to be looking out onto the street. She pulled out her little laptop computer and busied herself with the Internet. The muffin arrived and she divided her time between eating and something on the computer. She busied herself with typing and he wondered if she was writing another story for her blog, she seemed more engaged than simple email or messaging.
After eating her muffin, and drinking a second cup of coffee, she packed her things, got up and headed out to the parking area beside the yoga parlor and got into her car. He got up, walked out after her, climbing into his large black sedan parked at the curb. He started the engine and waited to follow her when she pulled out. As she pulled out, he made a wide U-turn and settled in behind her, heading back toward the downtown shopping area. She looked in her rear view mirror periodically but of course wouldn’t recognize his car, having only seen it the once before, long ago. And that was only a slight image in her rear view mirror at the building supply store.
He followed her back into the downtown area where she pulled into a parking garage. He drove past the parking structure entrance to the end of the block and made another U-turn. He found a parking space beside the parking garage she had pulled into. He remained in the car as she walked out of the garage and headed toward the boulevard shops. After she passed by he got out of the car, crossed the street and took position in the doorway to an office building. From there he watched her as she slowly sauntered down the street, glancing in store windows. When she was half way down the block he opened his Blackberry and sent a text message, “How are you today? Out shopping?”
She replied, “Yes, just started. Went to yoga, then breakfast. Now I’m shopping, you?”
“Yes, I am out today too, enjoying the scenery.”
Reflexively she looked around but in the dark shadows of the doorway, looking through two panes of storefront glass it was unlikely she’d see him.
He sent back a text, “Enjoy your shopping. Buy yourself something nice. Hugs.”
He received her response, “Thanks. Hugs back.”
She put her phone back into her purse and resumed looking at shop windows. He stepped out of the shadows and walked down the sidewalk to the next corner. He leaned against the light pole and watched her as she went from store to store. From time to time she would do a little shuffle dance step or two, clearly enjoying her music. She had always preferred the little Shuffle in lieu of the MP3 player built into her phone, ‘it is so small and cute and easy, the phone is so bulky.’
He decided to give this some more time. He walked further down the street and went into the fountain shop. He got an iced tea, selecting a seat at one of the small window side tables. Sometimes she would pause and look over all the items on display, at other stores she would just slow slightly and glance at the window as she passed by. However, at every clothing store she would thoroughly examine the windows offerings and usually head inside.
After nearly an hour had passed, he pulled out his Blackberry again and composed a text. “Still out shopping? Did you buy anything interesting?”
“Yes still shopping but haven’t found anything I want yet.”
“What did you decide to wear today?”
“Sweat suit earlier, for yoga. Warmer now, changed to a dress, simple sheath, easy to pull off or up in a dressing room.”
“What else?”
“Simple strap sandals.”
“Yes? What else?”
There was a long pause and then, no response. He smiled to himself, imagining, wondering if she was busy with something and not able to reply immediately, or if, more likely, she was reluctant to respond any further. As he sat there looking at the screen, waiting for a response, his attention was captured by movement across the street. He looked up and saw her coming out of the dress shop, phone in her hand, looking around.
Grinning, he typed again, “What else!”
She stared at the phone, looked left and then right, and then back at the phone, and tapped a reply, “panties”.
Even from a distance across the street he could see that she had not worn a bra, but asked anyway, “Panties and a bra?”
Again, she was reluctant to respond, but eventually said, “no, just panties, no bra.”
“Which panties?”
“The white gauzy boy shorts.”
He felt a tingle in his palms from the tactile memory of those white gauze boy shorts, his fingers flexed involuntarily.
“Mmm, my favorite, very nice.”
Again, she looked around. Clearly it seemed that she sensed from his text messages that he might be around, nearby. He was sure that she would not be able to see him through the tinted window of the fountain. As she stood there looking up and down the street he texted back, “Enjoy your shopping, I am sure you are drawing some very appreciative attention.”
Her curt response came back, “No. I’m not.”
“Well, I need to be on my way. Have a good afternoon sweetheart.”
Again, a short, matter of fact reply, “Okay, good bye. I am nearly done and will be heading home.”
“Bye bye.”
She dropped the phone down into her bag and headed down the street and disappeared into another shop.
He got up, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. It was a bright sunny day with a slight breeze and temperatures probably in the low 80’s, a perfect day to sit with a rich sweet tea and watch the world passing by. There was a lot of activity, a lot of shoppers and window shoppers out this morning. Everyone as dressed for a warm fall day, surely glad that the oppressive heat of summer was passing and autumn was on the way.
He looked at the time and was beginning to wonder if he had lost track of her. Perhaps she had left or moved on while he was refilling his tea, or when he’d gone to the restroom. He was considering sending another text message when suddenly she emerged from the original store with a heavily loaded shopping bag. She was headed back toward the parking garage. It seemed that her shopping adventure had borne fruit and was over. He dropped a tip on the table and stepped out onto the street. He followed her along on a parallel route from the opposite side of the street.
When she turned into the parking garage, he dodged between traffic and ran across the street. He did not want to lose track of her in the dark maze of stairs, parking levels and myriad cars. When he entered the structure she was just turning around the corner of the staircase to the second level. He entered the stairwell and followed.
As he got to the second floor landing he heard her above him opening the door to the third level. He paused a moment and then ran up the final flight of stairs. He twisted the door knob slowly, silently and opened it just slightly but could not see her, or anyone. He stuck his head out through the door and looked to the left, deeper into the structure and saw her walking down the aisle toward a bank of cars on the right side of the drive. He stepped out, crossed the driveway and proceeded along the bank of cars and saw her turn in beside her own. He was about a dozen cars away and needed to catch up before she got in.
From one car away, across a vacant parking stall, he saw that she was fumbling with her hand bag, the shopping bag and her keys unlocking the backseat door. As she put her bags into the back seat and slide the door closed he stepped up behind her.
He took hold of her upper left arm and grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her hard up against the side of the car. Leaning in close he spoke into her ear, “Be still” but she continued to struggle against his grip. Looking closer, he let go her left arm, pressed her against the car with his body and reached up and pulled the ear-bud out if her ear and repeated, “Be still.” She seemed to recognize his voice and calmed down, relaxing the fight-or-flight tension in her arms and legs and torso.
Continuing to hold tightly onto the back of her neck he reached around and pulled the ear-bud from her right ear as well. He ran his free hand along the side of her hip and upper thigh and felt the memory. He moved his hand down further and grabbed the material of the dress and struggled to pull it up.
After he got the hem of her dress up around her waist, he let go the material and moved his hand up to her breast. He cupped his hand up under her left breast and felt her warm softness contrasted by the stiff hardening of her nipple. Rolling it back and forth with his thumb and the side of his finger brought a soft murmur and groan, and even greater stiffness. He pinched down harder and twisted, and felt her body tense, and wilt slightly. He loved the warm feel of her body squirming against his.
He let go her nipple and took hold of her left wrist. He guided her hand down across her front, across her stomach and pushed it inside the elastic of her panties, then deeper down. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Touch.”
He felt her hand moving, “Just touch, no rubbing. Curl your middle finger down and under.”
Still holding her wrist, he felt her fingers move. He deepened his voice even further, “Press with your finger, wiggle slightly, up and down. No friction. A very subtle movement.”
He could feel the tension in her stomach as she worked her finger slowly up and down. She was groaning and shifting and rocking in a thrusting motion.
Deep into her ear he said, “Restrain yourself, slow and easy.”
But she continued working her fingers, pushing her skin back and stroking lightly back and forth. She began spasmed repeatedly, like she was receiving little electrical shocks. Suddenly she was grunting and folding over at the waist, jerking and quivering.
He let go her neck and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his body tightly and they both shook with her spasms. Eventually her breathing slowed and her tension relaxed.
He opened the door and nearly poured her into the drivers seat. She collapsed into the seat and leaned her head back against the head rest, eyes closed, seemingly ready to drop off to sleep.
He rolled the window down and closed the door, then leaned in through the opening. A slight smile spread across her face. He reached in and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her head forward and gave her a long, deep kiss. Their tongues touched, teased each other and then he withdrew.
He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Have a good afternoon sweet girl,” and turned and walked toward the stairwell.
He had known it was her habit to spend Friday mornings on a number of errands, generally wrapping a half days worth of activities into one outing. There was the early morning or noon-time yoga class, or a nice quiet coffee shoppe with excellent java and free wifi, or occasionally, just wandering the streets shopping, mostly for clothing, retail therapy she called it. Today was early yoga, and then coffee and a muffin, and now, she was slowly sauntered down the street, peeking in store windows, almost dreamy looking. She had a bounce to her step, occasionally moving to the beat of the music from her ever-present clip-on iPod Shuffle, he imagined.
She half concentrated on the stores but was periodically preoccupied with her phone, either texting or tweeting, but not talking. At times she’d stop and lean against a store front, rapt attention on the small screen, and suddenly burst out laughing, and then look around, self conscious. She wondered if people were looking at her, hoping they might be, and that they might be wondering what she found so laughable.
The day had started when he followed her from her home, across town, and out to the yoga parlor. After she parked and went inside, he went to the cafe across the street, found a window table and had a light breakfast and coffee. Then he leaned back, listened to his book, and waited. As she left the yoga class, he noticed she had changed into the lovely shape hugging, lightweight pink sheath dress, perfect for pulling off and on while shopping. He hoped so, he was looking forward to the idea of a day of watching her pop in and out of stores, knowing how dearly she loved her shopping excursions. He smiled in anticipation of a joyful day of observation, perhaps some embarrassment, a little humiliation and pleasure, certainly a bit of sexuality and excitement.
He watched her come across the street, walk into the cafe, and order coffee and a giant chocolate muffin. She went and sat at a table in the back seating area, waiting for the server to deliver her heated muffin.
He was positioned where he could see her reflection in the window while he appeared to be looking out onto the street. She pulled out her little laptop computer and busied herself with the Internet. The muffin arrived and she divided her time between eating and something on the computer. She busied herself with typing and he wondered if she was writing another story for her blog, she seemed more engaged than simple email or messaging.
After eating her muffin, and drinking a second cup of coffee, she packed her things, got up and headed out to the parking area beside the yoga parlor and got into her car. He got up, walked out after her, climbing into his large black sedan parked at the curb. He started the engine and waited to follow her when she pulled out. As she pulled out, he made a wide U-turn and settled in behind her, heading back toward the downtown shopping area. She looked in her rear view mirror periodically but of course wouldn’t recognize his car, having only seen it the once before, long ago. And that was only a slight image in her rear view mirror at the building supply store.
He followed her back into the downtown area where she pulled into a parking garage. He drove past the parking structure entrance to the end of the block and made another U-turn. He found a parking space beside the parking garage she had pulled into. He remained in the car as she walked out of the garage and headed toward the boulevard shops. After she passed by he got out of the car, crossed the street and took position in the doorway to an office building. From there he watched her as she slowly sauntered down the street, glancing in store windows. When she was half way down the block he opened his Blackberry and sent a text message, “How are you today? Out shopping?”
She replied, “Yes, just started. Went to yoga, then breakfast. Now I’m shopping, you?”
“Yes, I am out today too, enjoying the scenery.”
Reflexively she looked around but in the dark shadows of the doorway, looking through two panes of storefront glass it was unlikely she’d see him.
He sent back a text, “Enjoy your shopping. Buy yourself something nice. Hugs.”
He received her response, “Thanks. Hugs back.”
She put her phone back into her purse and resumed looking at shop windows. He stepped out of the shadows and walked down the sidewalk to the next corner. He leaned against the light pole and watched her as she went from store to store. From time to time she would do a little shuffle dance step or two, clearly enjoying her music. She had always preferred the little Shuffle in lieu of the MP3 player built into her phone, ‘it is so small and cute and easy, the phone is so bulky.’
He decided to give this some more time. He walked further down the street and went into the fountain shop. He got an iced tea, selecting a seat at one of the small window side tables. Sometimes she would pause and look over all the items on display, at other stores she would just slow slightly and glance at the window as she passed by. However, at every clothing store she would thoroughly examine the windows offerings and usually head inside.
After nearly an hour had passed, he pulled out his Blackberry again and composed a text. “Still out shopping? Did you buy anything interesting?”
“Yes still shopping but haven’t found anything I want yet.”
“What did you decide to wear today?”
“Sweat suit earlier, for yoga. Warmer now, changed to a dress, simple sheath, easy to pull off or up in a dressing room.”
“What else?”
“Simple strap sandals.”
“Yes? What else?”
There was a long pause and then, no response. He smiled to himself, imagining, wondering if she was busy with something and not able to reply immediately, or if, more likely, she was reluctant to respond any further. As he sat there looking at the screen, waiting for a response, his attention was captured by movement across the street. He looked up and saw her coming out of the dress shop, phone in her hand, looking around.
Grinning, he typed again, “What else!”
She stared at the phone, looked left and then right, and then back at the phone, and tapped a reply, “panties”.
Even from a distance across the street he could see that she had not worn a bra, but asked anyway, “Panties and a bra?”
Again, she was reluctant to respond, but eventually said, “no, just panties, no bra.”
“Which panties?”
“The white gauzy boy shorts.”
He felt a tingle in his palms from the tactile memory of those white gauze boy shorts, his fingers flexed involuntarily.
“Mmm, my favorite, very nice.”
Again, she looked around. Clearly it seemed that she sensed from his text messages that he might be around, nearby. He was sure that she would not be able to see him through the tinted window of the fountain. As she stood there looking up and down the street he texted back, “Enjoy your shopping, I am sure you are drawing some very appreciative attention.”
Her curt response came back, “No. I’m not.”
“Well, I need to be on my way. Have a good afternoon sweetheart.”
Again, a short, matter of fact reply, “Okay, good bye. I am nearly done and will be heading home.”
“Bye bye.”
She dropped the phone down into her bag and headed down the street and disappeared into another shop.
He got up, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. It was a bright sunny day with a slight breeze and temperatures probably in the low 80’s, a perfect day to sit with a rich sweet tea and watch the world passing by. There was a lot of activity, a lot of shoppers and window shoppers out this morning. Everyone as dressed for a warm fall day, surely glad that the oppressive heat of summer was passing and autumn was on the way.
He looked at the time and was beginning to wonder if he had lost track of her. Perhaps she had left or moved on while he was refilling his tea, or when he’d gone to the restroom. He was considering sending another text message when suddenly she emerged from the original store with a heavily loaded shopping bag. She was headed back toward the parking garage. It seemed that her shopping adventure had borne fruit and was over. He dropped a tip on the table and stepped out onto the street. He followed her along on a parallel route from the opposite side of the street.
When she turned into the parking garage, he dodged between traffic and ran across the street. He did not want to lose track of her in the dark maze of stairs, parking levels and myriad cars. When he entered the structure she was just turning around the corner of the staircase to the second level. He entered the stairwell and followed.
As he got to the second floor landing he heard her above him opening the door to the third level. He paused a moment and then ran up the final flight of stairs. He twisted the door knob slowly, silently and opened it just slightly but could not see her, or anyone. He stuck his head out through the door and looked to the left, deeper into the structure and saw her walking down the aisle toward a bank of cars on the right side of the drive. He stepped out, crossed the driveway and proceeded along the bank of cars and saw her turn in beside her own. He was about a dozen cars away and needed to catch up before she got in.
From one car away, across a vacant parking stall, he saw that she was fumbling with her hand bag, the shopping bag and her keys unlocking the backseat door. As she put her bags into the back seat and slide the door closed he stepped up behind her.
He took hold of her upper left arm and grabbed the back of her neck, pushing her hard up against the side of the car. Leaning in close he spoke into her ear, “Be still” but she continued to struggle against his grip. Looking closer, he let go her left arm, pressed her against the car with his body and reached up and pulled the ear-bud out if her ear and repeated, “Be still.” She seemed to recognize his voice and calmed down, relaxing the fight-or-flight tension in her arms and legs and torso.
Continuing to hold tightly onto the back of her neck he reached around and pulled the ear-bud from her right ear as well. He ran his free hand along the side of her hip and upper thigh and felt the memory. He moved his hand down further and grabbed the material of the dress and struggled to pull it up.
After he got the hem of her dress up around her waist, he let go the material and moved his hand up to her breast. He cupped his hand up under her left breast and felt her warm softness contrasted by the stiff hardening of her nipple. Rolling it back and forth with his thumb and the side of his finger brought a soft murmur and groan, and even greater stiffness. He pinched down harder and twisted, and felt her body tense, and wilt slightly. He loved the warm feel of her body squirming against his.
He let go her nipple and took hold of her left wrist. He guided her hand down across her front, across her stomach and pushed it inside the elastic of her panties, then deeper down. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Touch.”
He felt her hand moving, “Just touch, no rubbing. Curl your middle finger down and under.”
Still holding her wrist, he felt her fingers move. He deepened his voice even further, “Press with your finger, wiggle slightly, up and down. No friction. A very subtle movement.”
He could feel the tension in her stomach as she worked her finger slowly up and down. She was groaning and shifting and rocking in a thrusting motion.
Deep into her ear he said, “Restrain yourself, slow and easy.”
But she continued working her fingers, pushing her skin back and stroking lightly back and forth. She began spasmed repeatedly, like she was receiving little electrical shocks. Suddenly she was grunting and folding over at the waist, jerking and quivering.
He let go her neck and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his body tightly and they both shook with her spasms. Eventually her breathing slowed and her tension relaxed.
He opened the door and nearly poured her into the drivers seat. She collapsed into the seat and leaned her head back against the head rest, eyes closed, seemingly ready to drop off to sleep.
He rolled the window down and closed the door, then leaned in through the opening. A slight smile spread across her face. He reached in and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her head forward and gave her a long, deep kiss. Their tongues touched, teased each other and then he withdrew.
He ran his fingers through her hair and whispered, “Have a good afternoon sweet girl,” and turned and walked toward the stairwell.
September 11, 2011
08:46:30 - Ten Years Ago
Only Time - Enya
Footnote - May 1, 2011I put this post together earlier in the year when I had rediscovered this recording. I remember thinking, this will be the ten year anniversary of 9/11 and so little has been resolved or done, and it saddened me.
Today, tonight, it was announced that Osama Bin Laden was found, and killed, evidently by a U.S. strike force.
A friend tweeted, "No cheers for murder. Of anyone. Ever." I agree with that wholeheartedly and am disheartened by the aggrandizing of so many over this; however:
The professed and confessed assassin of thousands of innocent people is gone, and I don't feel sad about that.
A friend tweeted, "No cheers for murder. Of anyone. Ever." I agree with that wholeheartedly and am disheartened by the aggrandizing of so many over this; however:
The professed and confessed assassin of thousands of innocent people is gone, and I don't feel sad about that.
August 27, 2011
Meditative Head Space
While reading some discussions on FetLife I came across a description of a state of mind that transported me back over 30+ years in time. A woman was discussing a condition where she was present in the moment but “separate” from the activities going on around her. It does not seem like an out of the body experience, or even that thing that many refer to as “sub space” (more on that later). Here is a link to the FetLife discussion - Mental relating to Physical... where you can read her full posting and all of the various comments by others.
I am sub-setting the conversation for those who do not FetLife, and in the likely case that the discussion might disappear or be archived at some point in the future.
As I said, I was particularly impressed with the "altered" state of mind she discusses. I understand her distinction between this meditative state of mind,and what she knows as sub space.
Many years ago, I was in the Galleria, in Houston, Texas, where I was living. I was standing at the railing on the top level, looking down into the open spaces below. It was a weekday afternoon, not particularly busy or crowded, but there was a steady flow of people around and the attendant background noise you would expect from such a shopping crowd. I was leaning my arms on the top of the railing and had a foot resting on the lower bar of the railing.
As I stood there I “de-focused” my eyes and let my mind break concentration from specifics. I felt myself shift into a state of mind where it was if everything going on around me was a cloud. Not a series of distinct and individual occurrences but a greater mass. Hearing everything going on, I remember the thought coming into my mind, “This is the noise that humans makes.”
This feeling lasted for a short period of time, probably less than 5 minutes, although I was not sure how much time had really passed. It was very much like she talked about above, “ it was as if I was removed from the situation”.
From my own perspective, this state of mind was not unexpected. I had been reading “The Teachings of Don Juan” by Carlos Castaneda, and other books in the series. In his writings he talks about the concept of “stopping the world”. Which I see as stopping your participation in the world, disconnecting from active or passive involvement from the goings on around you and being apart and separate from everything while being thoroughly in the midst of it all. (For more depth you might want to read the Introduction at Carlos Castaneda's Don Juan's Teachings).
So, it was something that I had been thinking about and in the de-focusing and clearing of my mind, I had actually hoped for such a state to be induced. After a few minutes the feeling cleared and I was back in the present moment, in the midst of a mid afternoon crowd of shoppers.
The similarities of these two events and the various notions of sub space have caused me to wonder about methods for reaching meditative states.
Have any readers had a “sub space” experience similar to the one reported above, something that went beyond what we collectively think of as sub space? What was it like and how was it different? Have others found that sub space functions as a state of mind that leads to a deeper or different meditative state? How, if at all, has it affected your submission?
I am also curious if anyone was a reader/follower of Castaneda and his books about his adventures with the Yaqui Indians, or might have practiced/attempted any of the mental states he discusses in his books?
I am sub-setting the conversation for those who do not FetLife, and in the likely case that the discussion might disappear or be archived at some point in the future.
Mental relating to Physical...
by MasterCharles_pet - August 17, 2011
"Just recently, I met my Master and sister slave for the first time. They came to determine if We All...fit Together, which, I am proud to say, We did."
"Something happened that I wanted to share, and see if anyone else has had a similar experience... "
"After a very physical session...well, as physical as One can get in a motel room...I felt myself seem to go into a state very very similar to subspace... I got totally quiet...eyes closed and deep within myself... I could hear Master and donna talking, but it was as if I was removed from the situation... though physically, I could not have been closer to Master, my entire body touching His. I could not answer questions .... until I was "Brought around" by Master asking if I were alright. I wanted to explain to Him that I was much, much better than simply alright...that I felt almost euphoric. That was not the worst beating I have ever been through...far from it... but it seemed so amazingly intimate, as if I gave myself over to Him..."
- - snip - -
"What I feel is that I have learned an introspective skill...where I can actually disappear inside myself, and there keep the joy and hope I have found in being a slave to a Master... and it is hypnotic, calming, possessed... I wish I could share this ability with my sister slaves, friends etc., so they could let themselves go and retreat inside themselves this way."
There follows comments and discussion, and then she adds:
"Understand what everyone is saying....and yes, perhaps it is...simple enough to be defined as subspace.... but I have been there too...and it was brought on during a mind fuck...an intentional act....this was more like a dream, less physical...less a loss of control, and more a deliberate...escape. If it were subspace, I would have recognized it as such, and hardly needed to expound upon it. This was more of a meditative, introspective state...not brought on by pain, or confusion....but brought on by a need to remain...intact."
As I said, I was particularly impressed with the "altered" state of mind she discusses. I understand her distinction between this meditative state of mind,and what she knows as sub space.
Many years ago, I was in the Galleria, in Houston, Texas, where I was living. I was standing at the railing on the top level, looking down into the open spaces below. It was a weekday afternoon, not particularly busy or crowded, but there was a steady flow of people around and the attendant background noise you would expect from such a shopping crowd. I was leaning my arms on the top of the railing and had a foot resting on the lower bar of the railing.
As I stood there I “de-focused” my eyes and let my mind break concentration from specifics. I felt myself shift into a state of mind where it was if everything going on around me was a cloud. Not a series of distinct and individual occurrences but a greater mass. Hearing everything going on, I remember the thought coming into my mind, “This is the noise that humans makes.”
This feeling lasted for a short period of time, probably less than 5 minutes, although I was not sure how much time had really passed. It was very much like she talked about above, “ it was as if I was removed from the situation”.
From my own perspective, this state of mind was not unexpected. I had been reading “The Teachings of Don Juan” by Carlos Castaneda, and other books in the series. In his writings he talks about the concept of “stopping the world”. Which I see as stopping your participation in the world, disconnecting from active or passive involvement from the goings on around you and being apart and separate from everything while being thoroughly in the midst of it all. (For more depth you might want to read the Introduction at Carlos Castaneda's Don Juan's Teachings).
So, it was something that I had been thinking about and in the de-focusing and clearing of my mind, I had actually hoped for such a state to be induced. After a few minutes the feeling cleared and I was back in the present moment, in the midst of a mid afternoon crowd of shoppers.
The similarities of these two events and the various notions of sub space have caused me to wonder about methods for reaching meditative states.
Have any readers had a “sub space” experience similar to the one reported above, something that went beyond what we collectively think of as sub space? What was it like and how was it different? Have others found that sub space functions as a state of mind that leads to a deeper or different meditative state? How, if at all, has it affected your submission?
I am also curious if anyone was a reader/follower of Castaneda and his books about his adventures with the Yaqui Indians, or might have practiced/attempted any of the mental states he discusses in his books?
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