Who’s next…?

September 7, 2015


Reading just now…

September 7, 2015


Using Dream Incense…

September 7, 2015


Dream incense is not burned while you sleep and dream; the burning process should be complete just prior to actually going to bed.

1. Close doors and windows prior to burning the incense, to intensify its effects and fragrance.

2. Place the incense burner on a nightstand or on a safe area near the bed.

3. Burn the incense.

4. When the incense has completely burned, provide ventilation by opening doors and/or windows as appropriate and then go to sleep. Don’t wait too long or the fragrance may dissipate.

Judika Illes
The Element Encyclopaedia of 1000 Spells

Rape Fetish

September 7, 2015


September 7, 2015


Cut silence
Like knives
And burning wax
Spills in vivid colours
On skin mauve
With loves bruising
You live for this kind of love
Don’t you baby
Be strong baby
Just for me

Joey Townsend
Summer Births, Winter deaths


September 7, 2015


Love Spanking…

September 7, 2015


Some girls, they like candy, and others, they like to grind,
I’ll settle for the back of your hand somewhere on my behind.
Treat me like I’m a bad girl, even when I’m being good to you,
I don’t want you to thank me, you can just spank me. Mmmm.

Hanky Panky

“A desire to spank or be spanked will usually stem from a childhood experience of spanking. It’s not actually about sex, but about fear. When you’re in a fearful position you become aroused – not sexually, but physically. When people then enter adulthood, they want to recreate that feeling of arousal, so spanking becomes a more sexual thing.

“What a person sees as sexually strange depends on their own view of sexuality,” she adds. “Most people view their sexuality – whatever that may be – as the norm and can be quite closed-minded when it comes to recognising that someone else might find something arousing that they don’t and vice versa.

“The same goes for spanking; for people who have no desire to spank or be spanked it can be difficult to understand, particularly because some people view it as a violent act.”

Sue Maxwell
Sexual and relationships therapist

Erotic Spanking

Yeah, there’s that pre-spank turn-on: a deep, deep arousing sensation in the lower abdomen when you know it’s going to happen and you have no control over it.

Sexually, you’re naked or half-undressed, over a knee (boys, your boner might be tightly gripped between clenched knees; girls, your bum is bare and vulnerable). Then comes the feel of hands touching intimate places (firm, soft) holding you in place. You know this is going to hurt but you won’t be hurt.

Then it starts. That wonderful heat rises in you. The vibration of impact on your bum reaches to your genitals, of course it does. There’s fear, yeah. Fear of the paddle or tawse or whatever’s being used to bring that glow to your cheeks. And there’s pain, too. The sensations in your bottom shift from tingling heat, to burning heat, to hell-fire heat spreading slowly from bum to upper thighs (boys, at this stage you might cum involuntarily between those partly crossed legs; girls, at the very least, you’ll be soaking wet down you-know-where).

Then when it’s over, there’s need. Surrender and humiliation leave you feeling very vulnerable. You feel small and sore. You may be crying or just have tears in your eyes. But you want, desperately need to be held – held tightly and reassured. You feel so deeply connected to your “punisher” just now. The incredible emotional peace you abruptly find grows from within you, filling you, transforming you. And that calmness can remain with you for several days.

Other Household Gods

September 7, 2015


Let’s say about autumn Altrincham,
the not-loved, the never-watched
words are more precious than.
Is that fair? the postman is yoked
with two sacks here, like a waterflea
or milkmaid
and morning-walks the grubs
winch down from trees like stage fairies do
twissling on spit and changing my mind smally
this way and that, admitting the river:
the stodge Bollin, clay and leeches
and cold clamp of wellies to ankles.
But everyone’s Altrincham hair is cut and brushed,
the bright young hair, like next-door’s unripe football
splashes our crabapple, sending down the wince of fruit
and weatherwise, the frothbright mornings subside
to suds by eleven, that’s fine; the wasted fruit
crushes down on sticky leaves, that’s peaceful;
do you want your sky poached or scrambled
half-set scald and wet, or over-easy
into sudden chill cloud?
Just need rotpear and rowan
for my household gods
just bacon rind for my doorstep cats.

Jen Hadfield

(Jen Hadfield was the youngest person to win the TS Eliot Prize with her collection Nigh-No-Place in 2008. Her collection Almanacs was also published by Bloodaxe Books. She plays the mandolin and banjo-mandolin badly. Living on Shetland, she is poet, artist, writing tutor and sometime shop assistant.Recordings Here.Profile Here.)

Ghost Stories

September 7, 2015


She took an apple from the bowl
and cut it into four pieces:
two for him and two for her.

They shared everything equally.
He told her nothing else mattered,
they had each other.

She fingered the bruises
he couldn’t see. Since the accident
he had stopped touching her flesh.

She caught the apple-pips in her hands.
They told each other ghost stories,
pretending to be Mary and Percy Shelley.

Each waited for the other to fall asleep;
each wanting to be the first
to dream up Frankenstein’s monster.

Helen Kitson

(Helen Kitson is an award-winning poet and short story writer. Her poetry pamphlet Seeing’s Believing was published by Scratch and was short-listed for the Forward Best First Collection Prize in 1992. This was followed by a full collection, Love Among the Guilty, published by Bloodaxe in 1995. A further collection, Tesserae, was published by Oversteps in 2003. Her latest collection,The Family Romance, is available at Indigo Dreams Bookshop. Her poem ‘Day of the Dead’, from The Family Romance, was Sabotage’s Halloween Special choice).

the blind ghost

September 7, 2015


The hand of the sea-ape
is white
is cold
It blesses thieves
The fingers hold stones
The fingers touch fire
The fingers conceive the daughter
In the darkness
the sea-ape carries lamps
called moons
My heart stinks in its summer bandages
I follow
past the dog who guards
past the rat who gnaws
past the eunuch who kills
I open the herculean box
I set fire to the houses
I laugh at the king
I destroy the beds
I am the slave ship
I lie face down in the church
I sew with biblical needles
I grieve indifferently
glutted with stars
a black beginner

Penelope Shuttle

(Penelope Shuttle is a UK poet living in Falmouth who has published twelve collections of poetry. She is also author with her husband of two prose works The Wise Wound and its sequel, Alchemy for Women.)