September 25, 2018

We’re all born a Witch. We’re all born into magic. It’s taken from us as we grow up.

Madeleine L’Engle
The Crosswicks Journal

struggle to get a peek

September 23, 2018

Fingering for fun

I wondered what it felt like for her to be sitting on the floor like a dog while I fucked her boyfriend. She could barely see over the mattress from way down there. She had to struggle to get a peek.

She was a mess, clothes half off, grinding against her own hand, hair dishevelled, we could hear how wet she was as she whined and rubbed her clit. It was clear how much she liked it from the slick-squish sounds her fingers made, how humiliating. We paid no attention, her boyfriend and I were too busy making each other moan to notice such a pathetic girl on the floor. I suppose I kept him too distracted.

She begged for permission to cum. We ignored her.

Her Dirty Little Heart

pain tells me that I am loved

September 16, 2018

Hanging around the office

By any standard pain is powerful, but for a masochist it is even more potent. Pain can unlock the mind, or shut it down. For a masochist, it can quiet the loudest of thoughts, and leave in their place the echoes of affection.

Sadness, for most, will mean that they need to be held until the tears stop. When other women are angry they may need space to cool off. Perhaps when they are frustrated they need time to think, and work through the problem.

But that isn’t what I need. I need pain.

For a masochist, for me, pain can heal. Do I want to be held? Yes, of course. I need to feel the firm pressure of your arms around me, and your soft words whispered against my ear. I need you to hold me and tell me that it will be okay, to talk me back to reason, and remind me that this too shall pass.

But first, I need you to pull me over your knee and warm my skin with the touch of your palm. I need you to coil your hand around my neck until my sorrows fade to black. To tie me down and multiply my tears until there are none left to be cried. I need you to drown out my inner monologue with the floods of pain.

Not because I’ve been bad, not because I shouldn’t be sad, not because you don’t want to hold me, but because you know that your hand on my skin is affection. Because you understand that the lingering heat, the sharp sting, and the aching marks your hand leaves in its wake, still my mind. They remind me that despite the storm, I am yours. Because you know that the pain tells me that I am loved, and some days the voice of pain is the only one I hear.

The Power of Pain

lying awkwardly on the sheet

September 15, 2018


I never saw him again. When my skin had gone back to its even tone, I slept with another man and discovered, my hands lying awkwardly on the sheet at either side of me, that I had forgotten what to do with them. I’m responsible and an adult again, full time. What remains is that my sensation thermostat has been thrown out of whack: it’s been years and sometimes I wonder whether my body will ever again register above lukewarm.

Elizabeth McNeill
9 ½ Weeks

Who the hell is this Moderation we’re all s’posed to be drinking with?

rip you to pieces

September 9, 2018

The masks we wear

I’ll break you, tear you apart, rip you to pieces, use you for my pleasure, bring you to your limits, love you so rough you’ll barely be able to breathe when I’m done.

I’ll hurt you, make your heart skip a beat in excitement and fear, make you flinch in pain, shiver in lust and unbearable desire, come so many times you’ll barely be able to keep count.

Playfully Sadistic


September 2, 2018

controling her

I want to push you onto the bed and straddle you. No niceties. No small talk. Leave who you are at the door. Don’t tell me about your past or your exes or where you see yourself in five years. I don’t care. Not right now. All I want is to feel you inside me, let the blood rush roaring through my ears, blocking out all thought and sound.

I want to rip your clothes from your body, buttons wrenching from their holes, belt buckle clinking to the floor. The speed and frenzy with which you’ll be stripped down leaves no time for feeling self conscious. You won’t be shy. Not for me. I won’t let you.

I want to throw you around, see the soft bits of flesh dance under your skin from the sheer force of each impact. When you reach out to grab onto my hips, I will pin those strong arms tightly above your head and slowly, so slowly grind my cunt down the length of you. Oh, did you think you were running the fuck tonight?

I want to shove your head between my legs, grab a handful of your hair, order you around like my own personal servant, and hear you thank me for the privilege… before I forcefully, greedily push you down again. Lick me. Suck me. Ram that tongue deep inside me as you cover yourself with my wetness. If you do a good job, handsome, I’ll let you stay there all night.

I want to hear the sound of your tongue lapping against this sopping mess you’ve made as I buck wildly against your face. I want to feel you struggle for breath as I push you down further and clutch you to my cunt. I want to feel you instinctively try to push away, feel your shoulders tense and your fingers dig into my thighs as your face turns red. And I want to hear you whimper and beg and go so soft and needy when I take it away. Oh, I thought you wanted a break…? Isn’t that what you wanted? And then to see that look of quiet desperation in your eyes, your hunger and desire so obvious while you plead. Well, since you’ve been such a good boi… As you eagerly resume, permission granted, I’m only dimly aware of the sweet mantra of thank you’s being murmured against my clit.

Oh, my sweet Butch, my handsome boi, more than anything I want to press my thighs against your cheeks, cross my legs behind your head, to pin you right where you belong so you have no doubt exactly what it is that I want most.


A Femme’s Desire

Proof she cares

September 2, 2018

Yes, she cares. Right in the middle of an intense scene of bondage and deprivation she’ll check to make sure she’s not hurting me (too much), and that I still feel safe in her hands. That, boys & girls is true love.

Chaos out of you

August 26, 2018

each fresh thrust

August 26, 2018

Such a divine situation: you, kneeling with hands bound behind your back, naked and vulnerable. My small fist clothed in lubricated latex. You groan and mutter my name as it enters you, then thank me for each fresh thrust. You are so happy to allow your Lady to profane and invade your insides.