feel so alive

May 7, 2017

I don’t do BDSM for the pain. I simply LOVE being controlled. When I’m tied up and at someone else’s mercy, I feel so alive. I feel like I’ve finally been set free.

Source Here

Gradually, I began to enjoy it (BDSM). When Frank was there, he would train me in doing whatever he wanted me to do, including cooking, cleaning the loft or servicing him sexually. When he wasn’t there, I was left instructions on what to do, like meditation or even just stretching exercises. Rapidly, I lost track of time and Frank insisted that this was his goal. He wanted me to fully rely on him for all information. I realized that sometimes, a Wednesday would follow a Thursday, but I was expected to just accept it and soon enough, I stopped asking or caring about which day it was.

Today, I realize he was almost brainwashing me, but I didn’t see any alternatives. I was warm, I was secure, I was loved and the few times I was hit I actually welcomed and enjoyed it as it was usually followed by some of the best sex I ever had.

Several times, he invited friends over and no, I was not allowed to dress. I remained nude. Most of the people were friends I knew from the dungeon, but I was usually expected to play a certain role, like remain silent for the evening and simply serve food for everyone or even just remain on all four and serve as a human footrest for the whole evening.

Only twice did someone else had sex with me, thought in one of the cases, I have no idea if it was really someone else as I was blindfolded.

Confession of a fulltime Bondage Slave
Marilyn X

Untitled…

May 7, 2017

Does the running of your lips help?
Does it stop the spreading of the panic? The drawing of bad blood.
It was good to cut yourself yesterday.
Felt right as rain
– But adolescence abandons us all. Leaves nothing but bruises and breadcrumbs.
Not that you can ever go back
– not without pulling some serious trauma
and those debts ain’t so easy to pay off but hey
if that’s what it takes. Just don’t go too deep.

Others though.
Motherfuckers.
Got that arrested development shtick – playing it like a fiddle.
Easy money.
Fuck it.
It ain’t their fault
and you ain’t making any friends
Bleeding on the carpet.
Time to play make-believe
At being a grown up.
Razorblades are for children.
Real Men swallow their pain
With a handful of blues
And a mouthful of whisky.
Just beat your wife
Or significant other
Whatever. All your sins will be absolved.
So it is written.
Why would I want to save the whales when I don’t even want to save myself?
But, Oh!
The sanctity of human life!
Like human life is so fucking precious.
Face it, people, we’re just another species amongst many
And when we’re not fucking and killing those other species
We’re fucking and killing each other.
Entire nations have been founded on these principles!
Civilisations are born from such foundations!

Oh! Isn’t mental illness
Such an apt metaphor for the vagaries, jouannce
And ennui of the late 20th/early 21st century?
Isn’t it
So
Fucking
Apt?
Oh yeah, baby. Intellectualise the pain away.
Sometimes you have to pull the wool over your own eyes
Just to function.
When you are wallowing in your own filth
It seems ridiculous to get uptight about the little things.
As long as you dress up pretty for the normal folk,
Make it to work on time and at least pretend
To care everything will be okay.

If it gets too hairy,
A little too much,
And you veer into the attention of the medical community
Try not to get your hopes up.
Chemical Castration
Can only do so much.
You’ll need distractions – the more intricate the better.
I hear a career can be helpful
A focus and release
For all those bad thoughts – take some gentle exercise
A brisk walk around the stairwell if you’re lucky
Some fresh air can do you good
Maybe take up a sport
Or perhaps something that involves sitting
– a hobby
or unhealthy obsession.
Neurosis are all the rage with the cardigan set.
Nice sit down and a cuppa tea pet.
Makes everything better. World of difference.
Just tell me all about it and be sure not to leave out any of the
juicy details. I just want a taste and sympathy is such a good
lay. Makes you breakfast but
doesn’t help with the washing up.
Kick that cunt to the curb with a busted lip.

Some people do not like to be alone.
Need the repulsive throb of other
Human beings – so close they can touch you.
It is okay to need
Just don’t take more than others can be
Bothered to give you.

We are all complacent
In this torture garden :-
The giving and receiving of pain
Both emotional and physical
Is as natural as shaking hands
or sharing breath.
You certainly aren’t being disproportionate
In your charitable donations.
The good lord never gives us more than we can handle.
Stiff upper lip
You cry baby fuck.
If you honestly feel that beyond have you tried
Just not being such a miserable cunt?
There are starving AIDs babies in Africa
seriously
what have you got to be unhappy about?

Quit attention seeking and bumming me out with your eyes.
I have problems too but you don’t see me desperate and aching wondering if this feeling will ever go away
with its gnawing insistence that nothing will ever be okay
again despite what your rational brain might be insisting is the truth of the matter
better just to listen to the hateful whispers as they mutter over and over
about your worthlessness
and the pointlessness
of trying to achieve anything ever waiting
for the words to eventually tire
so you might put yourself back together.
Pick yourself up
Dust yourself off
And carry on with this marvellous motherfucking mess called living.

Adam V Cheshire

The Gentle Ones

May 7, 2017

I have the idea that we grandmothers are meant to play the part of protective witches; we must watch over younger women, children, community, and also, why not?, this mistreated planet, the victim of such unrelenting desecration. I would like to fly on a broomstick and dance in the moonlight with other pagan witches in the forest, invoking earth forces and howling demons; I want to become a wise old crone, to learn ancient spells and healers’ secrets. It is no small thing, this design of mine. Witches, like saints, are solitary stars that shine with a light of their own; they depend on nothing and no one, which is why they have no fear and can plunge blindly into the abyss with the assurance that instead of crashing to earth, they will fly back out. They can change into birds and see the world from above, or worms to see it from within, they can inhabit other dimensions and travel to other galaxies, they are navigators on an infinite ocean of consciousness and cognition.

Isabel Allende
Paula

Gateways

May 7, 2017

7th May

Sandra, Sandy, blond and randy. If you recall while still attending school she became a ‘fashion model’: so tall and beautiful on the catwalk, she was. At the time it seemed the only qualification required in the modeling game (beside good looks) was the ability to upchuck everything she’d ever eaten in her life. All the other girls, too, were enthusiastic users of suppositories. They didn’t realise that with hardly any food inside them they wouldn’t poo anymore. Roughage was carbohydrate and to be avoided at all costs. Diverticulitis was a fact of life.

One evening with red headed Claire, I replaced the gentle action of her Dulcolax with slow thrusts of my cock. ‘OMG,’ she said. ‘It’s like pooping backwards…’

That may have been the case but it did relive her constipation, eventually, didn’t it? And yes, in that act, she lost her final and only remaining virginity. Although it might have felt as if she were using her butthole as an overstuffed handbag, it got the job done, which is all that matters at the end of the day, isn’t it?

But with Sandra, my Sandy, I loved the smell, taste, and texture of her excited vulva. I really did. I’d go downtown on her at every opportunity. Often I felt myself enclosed by white light emanating from her, from between spread legs; and this light, her light filling me with pure positive energy.

#

On the moor near Minions are three interconnected bronze age stone circles. This site was obviously used for religious ritual and ceremony, details of which are now lost to us. The location is significant. These stone circles lay near two converging rivers, thus placing them where travelers and traders would meet. Such positioning is not uncommon for such circles. The surrounding moorland is dotted with ancient remains: cists, standing stones, barrows. Often, standing with my hands on one of these stones, I experience an emanation of pure white light much as I felt radiating from Sandy all those years ago. Eyes closed, I bask in this luminosity; feel myself overflowing with positive energy. It is the most wonderful feeling. To touch these stones is to step back in time. To become aware of the remarkably numinous quality of the location.