Always remember –

December 23, 2017

The Sweetest Smile contains the darkest secret…

My first ejaculation was a terrible shock. Like a seizure. An unexpected and terrible ripping of reality. Electrical currents in blue and gold sending spastic spasms of pleasure up me vertebrae; skull crushed in a vise in those first few seconds. Those never to be forgotten throbbing, animal convulsions and my head filling with white noise…

Neurological eruption!

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

9th September

Ahead of us, a weekend of unusual entertainments. J will be one of our select guests, and will bless our gathering and provide a spell of protection. Her nickname is Witch-Bitch and she will partake of the entertainment on offer.

Erotic delights will abound. Limbs will be restrained, oiled skin caressed; there will be uninhibited intimacy for all, with each of our fantasies very different. Eight guests, close friends, all individuals, all unique –

Here, will be our playground of the wicked. A place of sensory deprivation, masks, leather cuffs, straps and accessories. Here, fingers will tease and torment. Soft sensual voices will be heard and the sound of stiletto heels on the hardwood floor of our playroom –

The submissive moans of a female, following a dominant’s orders; the gentle begging of a hog-tied male, teased to a point where reality appears to collapse in on itself. Our every day personas will melt away. We’ll let go of our ‘to-do lists’, forget deadlines and projects. Instead our minds will focus on the incredible things happening to our bodies –

And it’s not about pain but about experiencing ultimate pleasure through different sensations, about handing over control to another. The mind, after all, is the largest sexual organ of the body.


Heavy rain during the night. So loud it woke me frequently. The moor is drowning this morning under a cloud filled sky. What the feck happened to summer…?

erotic device

August 6, 2017

Writing is an erotic device. The imaginary gaze of the gentle reader has no function other than to give the word a new and strange consistency. The reader is not an end; he is a means, an instrument that doubles the pleasure, in short a voyeur despite himself.

Jean Paul Sartre
Introduction to Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers


July 23, 2017

nature of the beast

July 8, 2017

The desire to dominate fuels the fantasies of so many men. The motivation, generally repressed, to assume the role of a Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun and to plunder a woman’s body in the same way Attila plundered the Balkans – or to possess several, subservient morganatic wives like Genghis. To ravish at will, to rape and force, to spill their seed in every orifice of their helpless victims. This is the true nature of the beast –

20th June

Long, hot night. Such intense darkness is the property of poets, madmen and lost lovers. Laying beside you reminds me of last summer, when we lay on the hot sand and the incoming tide cooled our naked bodies. I can still taste the salt on my fingers. Joined with you then, I became submerged in your wondrous depths and your body sang this song only I could hear.

I only exist beneath the tips of your slow moving fingers; the rest of my body is smoke,  lacking substance or form. Only where you touch me is there any true existence.

‘My religion is pleasure,’ you once said. Do you remember that? Then I proposed a toast to drowning mermaids and angels with broken wings. You laughed; Gabriella laughed too.

Gabriella desperately wanted you to love with her. She lay on her back with her legs spread and you handed her a red candle. ‘Pour the hot wax on yourself,’ you said. ‘On your breasts first, then on your belly.’

She did it for you, too. Her madness was equal to yours. She had lost herself in the chaos that is you. Suddenly she was sharing all the secrets and scars at the heart of your soul –


I love the twilight. That moment of melting colours before everything dissolves into darkness –

good poetry…

March 14, 2017

What I do know is that when I read poetry, good poetry, I forget to breathe and my body is suffused with something unnamable — a combination of awe and astonishment and the purest of pleasures. Reading poetry is such a thrill that I often feel like I am getting away with something.

Roxane Gay
Losing It,


Dream, now, that which makes murderers awaken, that which makes them masturbate with ferocity. Dream worse. Beneath Lilith, your head and heart filled with wicked fetish and fixation, with fantasies like the secret desires that are harboured in ruined hearts.

Unto you, in dreams and venom, does Lilith unlock the secrets of a sadist satyr’s pleasures – shows that which you are to be. Unto you is revealed the hidden aphrodisiac of suffering, the enigma of the sacred clay, the indulgence of lust and hurt at once…

…Dream, and become other than you are. Be forever bewitched, remade, and reborn. You are bewitched indulging in rape, and worse. You are bewitched sadistic, incapable of mercy, void of empathy. You are being rewritten in Lilith’s image of predation, etched anew with acidic venom. You are becoming a passage in Lilith’s wicked epic. You are becoming learned in the secret beauty of suffering!

Dream the secret of blood. It is a secret that envenoms you now. Dream it. It is a song of beauty, a flowing and red erotica that is sung in the veins and heart. It is an aria upon the skin when spilt freely. It is an ode in compliment of skin, a chorus of woman, which she sings with every heartbeat. It is a secret coquetry in harmony with your sadistic arousal.

Woman is a siren singing of the flower of her heart, drawing you in, beckoning you to partake. Dream the secret of her blood. It is a river vaulted and tombed in womanhood. It is kept in her halls and chambers to nourish her garden of being. Spill and loose the river as it wishes. Hear the river’s song, its harmony erotic. Let the river deluge to greet you. Obsess to let it, this that is so crimson and feminine. Bloodlet and let it pool like vermilion gems, like rubies and a gift to yourself displayed upon her skin. Bloodlet and know that it is a spell in red of your passion and lust, an enchantment whose potency is secret even to her, an enchantment to your very virility.

This is writ upon the sacred clay in secret. It is deciphered unto you by the venom of Lilith.

It is written also in secrecy: the beauty of bruises. It is an art of erotica, and hidden but to the black eye. Man’s understanding of it is limited. You are given the black mind’s eye that you may discern it, that you may have appreciation of it in your stiff phallus, that you may feel its beauty in your erection, that you may be stirred to dark passion by it. It has potent influence over your lust. Ecstasy: this subtlety of the ruby made amethyst and kept, rather than bloodlet. Erotic: the alchemy upon the heart’s gem, the muting of the tombed river from vivid vermilion to violet and amaranth, to black and cadaveric, from glistening crimson to stark contusions of heliotrope strokes impacted over a blanched canvas.

Know that bruises are of a woman’s beauty. They are sensual emphases of her complexion, accents of her suffering and effective in sustaining your erection. They are a visual companion to your orgasm, and are always to be of your doing. Know to tattoo woman with your presence. Tattoo her with the bruises of your lust, with mural and opus inspired by the very secrets of her sacred clay. Articulate your wisdom upon her skin.

Know the allure of woman’s hurt. Her suffering adorns her beauty. She is exquisite in a black necklace of ligation, in dark jewels of choke and smother, in the gray and lilac gems of gag and strangle. Bite down on her. Let her bear the beauty from your violent mouth. Let your maw be a ghost that haunts her skin darkly. Let there be black halos from your jaws upon the fields and meadows of her.

These are as gifts, from her skin to you. She bears these adornments by your hand and mouth, for you. As woman perfumes her body to enchant, so does she bear her skin to be bejewelled by you, to enchant you…

…Dream, dreamer of Lilith. Dream, and become of Lilith. Learn of your Goddess. She has wisdom to impart. Know that earthly woman does abound with the sexuality of suffering. Her body is a temple of it, an altar to it, a sanctum of arcane mysteries. Know the rites and rituals of the shrine of womanhood. You are given its wisdom in venom. Be wise in it…

…Dream, and know the temple of woman. Its façade is laid bare before you. Know that there are secrets without and within, upon her skin and within her vestibules. Know the three sacristies of the sacred clay, the three where she takes you inside her. These are where you perform the phallic rites of rape, where you find the culmination of your ecstasy with her suffering.

Know that her mouth is narthex to apse of a phallic rite. It is a chamber of her sensual suffocations. It is the hall of choke and gag in communion with Ithyphallos.

Unlock the jaw. Enter her mouth. Perform the rite from lips to throat. Dream of this, as succubae perform it upon you. Dream at the gate of woman’s mouth, while you are smothered by the destroying delta. Dream that woman may not have breath. She may only have of Ithyphallos, choke on Ithyphallos, hurt of Ithyphallos.

Her breathless panic and hurt heighten the pleasures of her mouth. It is the hurt of woman that multiplies the ecstasy of your arousal and orgasms. Fill her throat and smother her. Asphyxiation becomes a transmuted element, an alchemy of sadism. Your pleasure is the supernova of the black sun she suffers. Feel her suffocation like a harem fellating you at once. Her agony feeds into Ithyphallos and translates into ecstasy.

Before you leave from the sacristy of her mouth, you must make a sacrifice of your seed. This is an equilibrium of ecstasy and suffering.

Unto the second vestibule of the sacred clay of womanhood is another sacrifice of your seed to be made. This is also writ upon her skin in secret, the erotica of violent sodomy. Its cipher is washed away by the venom in your veins. Its arcanum is made clear by acidic revelation. It is of you now, as you dream it.

You are raped by succubae, kept erect by their venom, swallowed into the rectum of a darkling daughter, and dreaming the same of nameless woman. Dream of woman whom has taken your violence and sacrifice at her mouth. She has more to give and take. She has yet to be partaken of in sodomy.

Have her as such. Delve between the cleft that hides it, to the anus and rectum. Perform the rite, again where her agony will translate to your ecstasy, from the black nadir of her pain to the zenith of your unearthly pleasure and orgasm. Here, she may bleed to welcome you into her. She will fissure and haemorrhage her blood to pull you in deeper, like a tide drawing you in. Her blood will grease Ithyphallos. Her groans and whimpers will make you slaver all over her. She will moan the chorus erotic that exalts your presence inside her. She will hurt deep, and will scream a stifled scream that will be felt like a thousand tongues lathering and dithering and lavishing at Ithyphallos.

Her suffering of sodomy is exquisite when expressed in blood and half-gasped soliloquies of anguish. Devour what comes of her mouth. What come are secret words of enchantment spoken in the tongue of utmost hurt. Swallow from her mouth and be enchanted to violent orgasm inside her. This is the second sacrifice at the second vestibule. It is a gratitude for your wisdom of secrets, a gratitude unto Lilith, and expressed in violence and rape as she demands it.

Know the third vestibule of the sacred clay. It is the apex of the pyramid. It takes you to her belly, as succubus takes you to her belly now. It is the delta, the wellspring of blood like a magikal potency. You must part the thighs to find this high chamber, part the thighs and mark them with your passing. Bejewel them in amethyst and dark onyx, in obsidian and sapphire, in heliotrope and twilight. You must part the delicate labial veils. Let them, too, be bejewelled. Let them be tattered and pierced. Let them bead with droplets of nectar, like a mist of the river inside her. Then may the mount of Venus be delved into, then to the third vestibule, then to the high chamber of her suffering in marriage with your ecstasy; to her belly, and blood may flow.

Scourge the vulva and womb with Ithyphallos like a weapon of iron. Undo the keep of veins and make her spill. Her heart will drain through her womb. It will weep through her vulva to steep Ithyphallos. Her cycle may come of the violence. There may come menses and debris and the ecstasy of it. By your gift of violence, her tribulation will speak its saga in sweat, her exquisite Hell in every language of rapist erotica, like a tongue speaking upon Ithyphallos, a whisper hypnotic, a whisper of violence, and its pleasures.

Dream it in venom. Lilith does bestow upon you the wisdom of dark misdeeds and corporeal secrets. The sacred clay of womanhood has many secrets. Woman is delicate beneath your violence. She is frail and sweet of many scents. All that you do must hurt her. She holds the zenith of your pleasures in her hurt. They are thousands. Each is potent. Each hurt guards a pleasure. You must draw her hurt into being, into expression, before you can attain the pleasure it guards.

Your every touch must excruciate; every caress, bruise or pierce. You will feel her hurt like a black tongue over your phallus. The garden of her mouth, the sighed songs of suffering, these will be as if her mouth fawned and slavered over your phallus, as if every anguished whimper were laid down at your scrotum in harem appeasement, like a hundred women sucking down on your erection, like whores and harlots in love with Ithyphallos.

Havoc upon the sacred clay, and she will spill her secrets upon you. Her blood will pour over Ithyphallos like kisses. It will be the nectar that glides you into her vestibules. It is the river that guides you into her delta, the water of her body that gives you passage in sodomy. Her heart gives it to let you in. From the seat of her passions bleeds forth your every dark passion; from her belly, your lust for her suffering; from her bosom, the wind that enchants and erects you.

This is the wisdom of Lilith’s venom, such as she gives it to you. Her venom is becoming as your blood. This is your becoming, in dreams of it, and in deeds to come of it. You are discipled of it, made a vessel of it, made as a phallic counterpart to darkling daughters. As succubae work you, you are become Ithyphallos, a cairn wrought by the destroying delta, to be unto woman as they are unto man.

N. Onym
The Harlot Goddess