June 3, 2018

The deeper the wound, the more private the pain.

Isabel Allende

First Memory

April 21, 2018

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was –
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.

Louise Gluck

remember pain

April 7, 2018

But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.

Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale

Such wonderful things in life can start with a cup of coffee –


Commanding and adept your hands guide mine alone supple lips.
She tastes of cinnamon.
She squirms but cannot move.
She is not afraid.
Our hands grasp her neck.
Tonight she belongs to us
With every gasp she moans.
My mouth is quivering, thinking about tasting her.
I search for her thighs from my satin darkness.
They are warm, wet, and inviting like the ocean
she tastes of salt and sunshine.
My tongue glides over her vagina , slowly, tenderly as our body heat rises and
then crack goes the cat o’ nine.
She cannot breathe and I cannot see yet there has been no greater ecstasy.

R A Lee

My Kink

Your eyes are my bondage.
Your kiss leaves me breathless.
Your fingers are my toys.
I submit my body and my heart
For your abuse or adoration.
With you the red bag stays zipped.
Don’t you dare give me a blindfold
Don’t you dare gag my mouth
Don’t put leathers between us.
Only one thing does it for me.
Call it a fetish or call it love.
I just want you.

Hannah Dubrow


What are you going to do,
When you become the wicked?
The sick.
The twisted.
When you can’t manipulate your little girls?
When I get sick of this unrewarding lifestyle,
Living for your word?
What are you going to do,
When you become the wicked?

What are you going to do,
When you lose me?
What girl would still take you?
After all,
All you do is compare her to me.

The wicked,
That’s you.
The submissive,
That’s me.

I’m all you’ve looked for,
I’m the kind of sex you need.

Jacquelyn Audrey Whiston

My Dungeon

build for me a dungeon
let its walls be grim
use me there and often
and keep me locked within

in that darkest prison
you may use me to the full
keep your chains upon me
so I may know their pull

make for me a cage there
for extra close confine
where chill of steel can touch me
and pleasure be refined

keep your whip well oiled there
that I may feel its curl
while I hang in helpless torment
and my mind is in a whirl

let my mind be lost there
where only I may go
to know your deepest caring
while held in suff’ring’s throes

for there I’ll find my heartsease
as your willing prisoner
where bonds will hold you to me
and never let you go

Francesca Anderssen

To Be Powerful

On my knees
Legs pressed together
You hold my wrists
Above my head
With one hand
Lips parted
Tongue working
Face buried
In your free hand

I lick your palm
I taste your salt

Is everyone nervous
Their first time?

I lap it up
You cup your hand
Shove it in my face

“Tell me you love it”
“Tell me how much
You fucking love it”

This is a game we play
On Tuesday nights when we
Are too broke to eat out at my
Favourite Thai restaurant.

If I’m a good girl
You will pat my head
Kiss my cheek

Catalina Lopez




They speak German. They carry whips. And they are connected in some mysterious way with Nazi experiments carried out in a charming old Irish castle during World War two.

When members of the vacation party are found to be missing from their beds, and when pleading cries ring through the halls of the great house, terror grips hearts and minds, and the vacationers are brought face to face with the unknown…

What better read for a Sunday morning, boys and girls? Gestapochauns in the basement. Stunted lovers of S & M who engage in pleasure / pain sessions at the drop of a hat. Incredible…

Coping with the pain…

January 21, 2018


January 14, 2018

There are those who frown on our promiscuity. So what? Love, physically and emotionally, is fine when each lover is seriously attentive to the needs and desires of the other. Nothing else matters –

Of course, promiscuity won’t necessarily provide happiness. Looking over my shoulder into the murky abyss of time, I see a coterie of ‘disciples’ and mistresses but little ‘happiness’. Ecstasy, yes. Pain, too, if I’m honest. But true happiness only came when we were first together.

Remember us in your bedroom? Happy times. Alone together in the small hours of morning, whispering to each other. I would kiss your lips, your body, holding you close. I would make you cum over and over. I was so merciless –

And then later, together in the shower…

excitement and dread

September 24, 2017

fetish fun

I visited her every third Wednesday of the month, that strange, hard woman who was my secret obsession. And I always experienced the same sense of excitement and dread as I walked from the bus stop to her home.

She would be there in her spiky high-heels and tight pin-stripe skirt, long legs enclosed in black fishnet, a waiting spider to my hesitant fly.

Why did I visit her? Was it the cruel suede whip? The humiliation? The feeling of warm, oiled, heavy chrome beads being inserted carefully, one at a time?

Or did I simply wish to explore the psychic territory of pain in search of an ultimate, mystical proof of “otherness” in life, at the outer edges of death? Pain, pleasure, delirium and reason – she provided it all. For a price…

Dirty Thoughts
James Claudel

…I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your undumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it should lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is really just a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this — But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I don’t really resent it.

Vita Sackville-West
Letter to Virginia Woolf 21st January 1927