Sunday Morning Pastimes

October 8, 2017

True bliss follows a good whipping…

You are going to burn in the lava of my soul…

What is an hour or two of torture among such close and intimate friends…?

Grip hard and rub fast. Faster…!

Was it a dream, or did we really do that to each other…?

The casualties of love lay all around us…

She said to me, ‘What is life for? What’s it all about?’

And I replied, ‘It’s so we can love other people. So we can love…’

Give each other the gift of time…

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

He looked at the old wooden table leg she was holding.

‘Anything can be a dildo, if you’re brave enough.’ She’d somehow managed to stretch a condom over one end of the leg. ‘Bend over for me,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘This is going where there ain’t no sunshine, mister – ’

‘That’s too big,’ he said. ‘It’ll split me.’

‘Shut up!’ She spat in his face then hit him on the side of the head with the table leg. ‘You’re a perverted little wimp and you’ll do exactly as I say – or I’ll make sure everyone knows all about you and your dirty little secrets. Now BEND.’

He complied without further complaint. What else could he do? He bent over and spread his cheeks with both hands. She came in closer.

‘This is going all the way up,’ she said.

On the third grunting try he felt the leg enter him. ‘Push,’ she ordered, and he did, slowly sliding on this huge wooden pole. ‘Look at that,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to park my car up there by the time I’ve finished.’

He felt himself impossibly stretched around the solid wood. She began to move it in, and, not quite, out. She laughed as she worked.

‘I think you’re enjoying this,’ she said. ‘Look how stiff your cock’s become…’

Nigel North
House of Shame

Reshape his mind

August 13, 2017

must be vulnerable to me

August 12, 2017

Most men are very comfortable ‘giving’ me their bodies to play with and use. And yes, I like that. I love that. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. I want to crack open your emotions, your pride, your sense of self. I want to take that from you, too.

I will find your emotional insecurities and use them to highlight the power exchange between us, to show you that you can and – because you have to let go and fall in order to know what it’s like to feel me catch you.

And yes…You will love me for it.

Ms Kay
The Femdomdiary

Right then, let’s straighten this shit out.

If you’re a submissive man, you’re saddled with a shitton of stereotypes. Most of them damaging. I like to rage against the stereotypes. It’s like Rage Against the Machine but with less power chords.

Yes, I am a submissive man. No, I am not weak. I find your correlation of “submissive male” and “weakness” disturbing (and furthermore the association of submission in general!).

No, I am not a cuckold. No, I am not pathetic, nor am I snivelling, a worm, or any other value-decreasing adjective, and I refuse with enthusiasm the conjecture that these are requirements for male submission. The entire point of me and my submission is that I have fucking value. How else am I appealing? I have strength. I’m comfortable in my masculinity and in my submission, and boy let me tell you but society had a fun time telling me the opposite to that one!

How can you have a power exchange without the power? It’s like a paraphrase without the phrase. I want to build myself up, not build myself down, and I’m writing this as a call out to others, male or female, who feel this way. There’s something seriously wrong with the popular conceptions of all of this, and I want to help change it.

I don’t want to have to sacrifice one aspect of my personality to adhere to a certain set of expectations, a sort of “twisted” rulebook quietly set up to go about our business without forcing society to actually re-evaluate what it means to be dominant, what it means to be male and/or masculine, or any gender, really, so I’m not going to.

This is me standing up and calling out. I’m a submissive man, and I’m comfortable in that. I have strength, I enjoy that strength, and I’m looking forward to the day where I find someone who enjoys it too. Until then (and even after then), I’m just gonna be here, standing up and telling those stereotypes to fuck right off. Because they’re damaging and they need to change, and if I need to demonstrate that by example, then hell yes will I do so.

User: Torthal
Fetlife

Leaving my empty goblet, I slide from the soft pile at his order. I can already feel the desire bursting from between my thighs as I fall to all fours and begin my crawl to where he has seated himself.

“We will begin as before – you will be spanked over my knee – but this time there will be little pleasure in it for you, my captive. I intend to hurt you – to mark that pretty little behind – and make you unable to sit properly for some time.”

I am back by his feet as he concludes and warily, I raise my eyes as he finishes the sentence. I know I am not hiding the terror in my face and yet still I am compelled to carry on – submitting myself to him in this way for our mutual need. He catches my hair in his left hand and pulls it into a rough ponytail, again drawing my head back.

“When my hand is aching from tanning your backside, I will bind you to the bedpost and continue to thrash you with my strap. Do you understand?”

He eyes me wildly and for a moment I am too afraid to even respond. I have to swallow hard again to find my voice.

“Please, my Lofðungr,” I say shakily. “I do not know if I can bear such a punishment?”

He never takes his eyes from me as he answers. “You can and you will, my sweeting,” he says. “You will submit to me in this way as a sign of your true desire to be mine.”

I close my eyes at his words, understanding for the first time his real intention. He means not just to punish me, but to mark and possess me in some meaningful way. To make me his again in the way that our coupling had done before. As I open my eyes again and see him standing over me, there are tears but also a new acceptance.

I nod my head as best I can whilst he is still holding my hair in his fist. “I will bear it,” I say, my voice breaking.

He leans in toward me, his face just an inch from mine, those blue pools burning into me. “You will bear it,” he replies, his hot breath against my face, “and I will love you for it.”

Felicity Brandon
The Viking’s Conquest

a man lying over me

March 12, 2017

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