tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51185775353864910402024-03-14T00:07:35.772-07:00A Rose for Your Button Holea blog about sexual encounters from an adventurous young bottomShastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-68096067214950546742013-07-20T08:20:00.000-07:002013-07-20T09:55:23.590-07:00Reverso world.<div class="clearfix message" id="message_314462889" style="background-color: #1b1b1b; border-bottom-color: rgb(39, 39, 39); border-bottom-style: solid; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #dddddd; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 23.33333396911621px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; padding: 0px 0px 17px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</div>
<div class="clearfix message" id="message_314986255" style="background-color: #1b1b1b; border-bottom-color: rgb(39, 39, 39); border-bottom-style: solid; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #dddddd; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 23.33333396911621px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; padding: 0px 0px 17px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div class="span-12 last" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 470px;">
<div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: purple;">This is what I have been left with, her blog. She told me that her writing was for me, so I took it. I am the man that she was writing about for a while. </span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;">The following exchange is how she baited me to the violent end of our relationship.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="clearfix message" id="message_314462889" style="background-color: #1b1b1b; border-bottom-color: rgb(39, 39, 39); border-bottom-style: solid; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #dddddd; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 23.33333396911621px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; padding: 0px 0px 17px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div class="span-2" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 70px;">
<a href="https://fetlife.com/users/1943671" style="border: 0px; color: #dddddd; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="pnwbbc4u" class="profile_avatar avatar s60" height="60" src="https://flassets.a.ssl.fastly.net/images/avatar_missing_60x60.gif" style="background-color: #171717; border: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; height: 60px; margin: 0px 0px 1px; padding: 4px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 60px;" title="pnwbbc4u" width="60" /></a></div>
<div class="span-6" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 230px;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://fetlife.com/users/1943671" style="border: 0px; color: #dddddd; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">pnwbbc4u</a></span> <span class="quiet" style="border: 0px; color: #777777; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">30M</span><br />
<em class="small" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.95em; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 0em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Bainbridge Island, Washington</em></div>
<div class="span-12 last" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 470px;">
<div class="quiet" style="border: 0px; color: #777777; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
written 8 months ago:</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: red;">Looking for some play in kitsap, and came across your profile.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">So your wanting some zing in your relationship?</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">If you have no zing, I would like to give you some.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I am liking your fetish list. I am into a lot of the same stuff.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Just going to be raw here, I want to fuck are you game?</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="clearfix message" id="message_314986255" style="background-color: #1b1b1b; border-bottom-color: rgb(39, 39, 39); border-bottom-style: solid; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #dddddd; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 23.33333396911621px; margin: 0px 0px 18px; padding: 0px 0px 17px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div class="span-2" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 70px;">
<a href="https://fetlife.com/users/192008" style="border: 0px; color: #dddddd; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="pippi-stockings" class="profile_avatar avatar s60" height="60" src="https://flpics1.a.ssl.fastly.net/192/192008/f0333abbd34fbf21cf3a26bb09471cd2_20090821005821_60.jpg" style="background-color: #171717; border: none; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; height: 60px; margin: 0px 0px 1px; padding: 4px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 60px;" title="pippi-stockings" width="60" /></a></div>
<div class="span-6" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 230px;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://fetlife.com/users/192008" style="border: 0px; color: #dddddd; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">pippi-stockings</a></span> <span class="quiet" style="border: 0px; color: #777777; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">31F</span><br />
<em class="small" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0.95em; line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 0em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Belfair, Washington</em></div>
<div class="span-12 last" style="border: 0px; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px !important; margin-top: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; width: 470px;">
<div class="quiet" style="border: 0px; color: #777777; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
written 8 months ago:</div>
<div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; font-style: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: red;">I don't know, send me a pic? Also, do you realize I'm 7 months pregnant? What do you think about that?</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #274e13;">The day before this exchange, wherein I pretended to be a Pacific North West Big Black Cock for You (pnwbbc4u), I had a long conversation with her about her removing a link to my fetlife profile from hers. We did not have that kind of relationship any more. We were co-parenting. I was living in the studio apartment, and there was no sex between us - there was no more us, aside from the kids. She had mentioned that she enjoyed the idea of cuckolding, I wanted nothing to do with it. She assured me during this phone conversation that she had no intention of doing that, and she was going to be up front and honest about everything from now on. I did not believe her. I created a fictitious person, and sent her a offer of sex. When I got home that day I asked her if she had any luck with her fetlife account, any letters, any leads, anything? Her reply was "nope nothing at all". Later that evening I told her that I sent the letter that she responded to, she punched me in the face and pushed me toward the door yelling "leave now". I asked her again to remove any links between us on line, she punched me again. I got on to the floor hands and feet in the air "please don't hurt me anymore" is what I was saying. She kicked me in the ribs breaking three of them. This getting on the floor thing I will cover more in a later post, suffice it to say it was the only way I could get her to stop attacking me - it did not work this time. She took the same follow up actions she had for every event like this one, saying that I was violent and crazed to all her friends and family. This has happened a few times. The craziest was when she broke my nose in my studio, woke the kid from a sound sleep, and screamed to the night "I can't believe you are doing this to us!" </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-74080524799960447692011-03-04T16:56:00.000-08:002011-03-04T16:56:04.398-08:00Au RevoirThe tagline of this blog is "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">a blog about sexual encounters from an adventurous young bottom." While I'm still adventurous, young (depending on who you ask), and enjoy being the bottom, I'm not blogging about sexual encounters these days. Who "I am" and what I'm doing has undergone a huge evolution in the last year. I'm reserving all the previous posts as drafts, with the exception of the first one. The idea is that I'll hold this place and that first post as inspiration. I may feel the urge some time to resume telling stories with a scintillating bend. Until then, stay loose, laughing, and lascivious,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">S</span>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-60767813953444305222010-04-28T10:00:00.001-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.487-07:00The "Read Me" Diary, for DaddyApril 14, 2010<br />
Dear Diary,<br />
Daddy talked to Julie today while i made sandwiches. i could see her eyes looking at him. i thought about her eyes looking at Daddy later, and i thought i remembered too, the way Daddy's body looked at Julie.<br />
<i>They're a cute couple</i>, i thought. When i recalled that, a few moments ago, i hoped she'd be forthright about her crush on Daddy. I hoped Daddy would encourage a crush by me, on Julie's boyfriend. i remembered how Julie had told me about his big dick. That's how she got preggers, she told me. She said he knocked all her birth-controls out of place and she still couldn't resist him. Then i thought about what she said, about "one night things" and thought, <i>well, maybe we maybe could be a family some day. </i>A love glistening family.<br />
<br />
i remembered Daddy saying he thought Julie was a "sweet young girl." i know how he likes sweet young girls.<br />
<br />
All of a sudden i wasn't thinking anymore. I was visualizing--imagining. Me and Julie kissing, sucking. Me and her man kissing, touching. Daddy cheering me on. Three of us wet, practically drooling...<br />
<br />
Would Daddy... could i imagine now... that it was him who had to say "Go"?<br />
<br />
Then imagine!<br />
<br />
Julie's boyfriend's big you-know-what in my mouth. He'd start slowly. Maybe Julie could touch and rub me for a bit - give me soft instructions on him.<br />
Daddy could kiss Julie too. i'd like to see him hang and fist her while I suck her tits or Daddy's cock.<br />
<br />
Oh >:-/<br />
if Daddy ever found this, i don't know what all he'd do... <br />
Love,<br />
Secret-RaeShastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-13445071124639456822010-03-01T11:23:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.431-07:00Get Back to WorkGiving up my independence has not been an easy transition for an unspeakable amount of reasons. Not only have I given up smoking, being able to drive myself everywhere, and determining my own grocery list, but my orgasms have become linked to my man's. This is actually a result of my own sensitivity and some unconscious training I gave myself years ago, than anything my man has or has not done. He'd have me coming all day everyday in an ideal world.<br />
<br />
He is away at some appointments this morning. This morning is also a morning in which I was unable to come and became frustrated. After hours of attempting to clear my mind, then finding myself unconsciously pulled to pornography online, I accepted that I must find a way to give myself orgasm.<br />
<br />
I didn't search too long for porn simulating truck stop fantasies similar to my own, before deciding <a href="http://www.bdsmplaypen.com/video/a_whore_made_for_public_consumption-838/">this</a> was enough. It worked (I didn't even get to the end), got me focused enough to go back to work, and increased my desire for a ball gag exponentially.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-61187933282403722582010-02-26T12:04:00.002-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.489-07:00dominant people v. DominantsDirectly after reading the assignment post my man asked a good question. I often wish I were tape recording conversation so I could transcribe it here. In hopes, I guess, to spark further thought and discussion in the arena. So! Moving on...<br />
<br />
He asked, "what's the difference between a dominant person and a Dominant?"<br />
My response was couched in personal experience which I related as a means of answering him and probing further into my own thought.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I think the difference is in conscious thought and effort put forth. For instance, my first serious boyfriend behaved as though he were entitled to the dominant position in many ways, but discussion of such things was never held. During sex he'd do things he felt propelled to do and I would react. He might spank me, gag me, or talk down to me and my reactions to those actions would set the precedent. Either I liked it or I didn't. If I liked he was encouraged to do it again. There was never discussion of these things once we were off the bed.<br />
<br />
BDSM is like that first experience in some ways, but mostly it contains much more conscious and thoughtful decision making skills. If a top is pushing a bottom, the bottom either completely trusts the top to have safety/comfort in mind and acquiesces faithfully, or the bottom watches from within the pleasure zone - to a degree - and calls out the chosen safety word if necessary.<br />
<br />
So there are those who push without first asking if it is OK to do so; they are dominant people. Dominants, to my mind, have made efforts to thoughtfully understand their needs and desires, and have found submissives who fit with those things.<br />
<br />
"Is it possible for someone to be both?" He now asks.<br />
I respond after thinking. "Yes, it is. Like-- you walk that line. <b>You do things without asking, but-- you have permission to do so." </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>This is an important distinction in 24/7 slavery.</b></div>
<br />
"Yeah" he says. "And-- I see the Goddess in you."<br />
"You respect me," I translate back.<br />
"Yes, I respect you, as a sentient being. I may not respect your body," he starts grabbing and pinching at me playfully, "I may pinch your clit and grab your throat" he does so, making me squirm and squeal and laugh, "but I respect you." And he kisses me.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-75924066571300880762010-02-26T11:41:00.003-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.494-07:00SM 101 - AssignmentI've been in a very cavernous place called OVERWHELMED and it's prevented me from thinking, and therefore, writing clearly about sex, sexuality, and our BDSM experience. Today, feeling frustrated by that and unmotivated to do sensible things, like look for a job or take a shower, I picked up <i>The Bottoming Book</i> again.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I wondered when I had last held the book I bought some time ago and how far into it I'd read. Then, as I scanned the notes in the margins, I remembered that I'd picked this book up before I'd met my first intentional top (because there are dominant people and then there are Dominants). I remember making my "Yes, No, Maybe" lists excitedly, before meeting a prospective top for a drink. I remember feeling very giddy and very silly and very unsure.<br />
<br />
So I picked it up today again, needing inspiration and a conversation. My man saw me with it in my hands and told me he'd been considering giving me an assignment relating to that book. He pitched, I accepted, and a learning process was begun. Let there be discussion! Ideas! Questions! Developments! And most of all, please Goddess, let there be More Writing!!!<br />
<br />
<b>The Assignment:</b> Read and report on one chapter per week from Dossie Easton & Janet W. Hardy's <i>The New Bottoming Book. Discuss with man and write about here. </i><br />
<b>The Start Date:</b> Today, Feb. 26<br />
<b>The End Date:</b> May 8 or sooner (at least one chapter per week for 12 chapters)<br />
<b>The Participants:</b> Me, My man, Friends, You readers<br />
<b>One Extra Goal:</b> Find other discussions of this book's contents and reader perceptions online to include here. <br />
<br />
<br />
Because, when life gives you overwhelming lemons, you ask if you can have a few too many limes too. (Oy vey.)Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-22441467195662288592010-02-13T10:07:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.442-07:00Being Ingrained: A Short Interview with My Man<div style="text-align: justify;">I asked my man a few questions about our progress as a 24/7 couple. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>We've found a sliver chain necklace that works well as a daily reminder of a collar.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">me: I whined a lot about the <a href="http://roseforyourbuttonhole.blogspot.com/2010/01/reason-no-2.html#more">collar</a> you bought me being uncomfortable and you didn't force me to wear it. Has it become a training collar? </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Him: It has. </div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">me: I know that I've been starting a lot of sentences with verbs. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Him: I have noticed it too. And you've been asking questions that begin with "<b>Can you</b> [do this or that]?" which is basically the same thing, but yes. Go on. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">me: I've noticed that you haven't been reacting immediately. I've been trying to do my best, but I think I become indignant without reinforcement. <i>[laughter] </i>There's a tension in me about trying to do my best and be good, and wanting to lash out or misbehave because of the indignation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Him: Where's your copy of the <i>Tao Teh Ching</i>? This book has helped me often in my life. Here's the quote I want you to read.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote>The highest type of ruler is one of whose existence<br />
the people are barely aware.<br />
Next comes one whom they love and praise.<br />
Next comes one whom they fear.<br />
Next comes one whom they despise and defy.<br />
<br />
When you are lacking in faith,<br />
Others will be unfaithful to you.<br />
<br />
The Sage is self-effacing and scanty of words.<br />
When his task is accomplished and things have been<br />
completed,<br />
All the people say, "We ourselves have achieved it!"</blockquote></div><div style="text-align: justify;">me: I've been wanting to write [here] and I've been unsure how to talk about the reality. I've been drawn to thoughts of our humanness. You've never had a real shot with a slave who desired to submit to you and I've never really had a master. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Him: We have made significant progress though.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">me: Yes. When I've felt indignant about not having reinforcement, I've told myself that you're aware of my behavior and that your are not reacting, to my fumbling the rules, on purpose. I've stayed away from losing faith and all the bad things that come with that. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Him: I like my style of leadership. I think I'm a good leader. It takes time to build real loyalty, which is what I inspire in people. People who have served under me [in the Navy] have always appreciated my leadership style. When someone says they'll follow me into battle that means a lot to me. It means they're willing to die for me. I think you should consider that quote and think about the recent changes in your life. I don't think you would have made a lot of those changes if it weren't for me. I think you've made significant improvements with me. Maybe you just weren't ready for my style.</div>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-35119494319897124282010-02-06T21:32:00.002-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.471-07:00Zen and the Art of the BlowjobThe many details of today feel like they're running in fog from my memory while thoughts of remembering yesterday and the day before, those details, come crowding in. My memory is apparently a high traffic zone presently. I just gave the best blow job of my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
It all started yesterday. Or was it the day before? We seem to be consistently running off to the next thing. My man had been muttering about <i>coitus interruptus</i>. Other times he promised me that he "<b>WILL</b> come<b> </b>in my throat <b>tonight</b>/in a few hours/later today."<br />
<br />
The fairness of my heart and the ease of my cunt want me to spend the next four hours epically recounting the cropping I received this morning. Wants me to tell you about the stinging corner shaped welts on my ass. Or recount how I tested the merits each of yelping and finding strength to keep my peace. That same affability wants me to shine a light on the impromptu photo shoot on the closet floor. I brought clothespins and lube in with me. My man snapped photos while I rubbed my clit and jammed the 7" dildo inside and out again. I wasn't going to get into this now, but this morning I had to have a towel under my knees as he fucked my mouth. I rode his face, we did sideways 69, he made me crawl around on my knees while sucking him off.<br />
<br />
<b>But there's a delicious looking snack plate waiting in the kitchen, and I'm not going deeper into all those details now. I'm going into the</b><b> deep-throating I just performed. </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">It's not every day I can master the zen of the blowjob. </div><br />
In the right position his cock will reach deep into my throat and I won't gag. There's a stride to it that involves relaxation and deep breathing. A sustainable body posture is required. My lips grasp his cock firmly, but don't scrape at it. I don't rely on expansive sucking in general. I use my lips for the strength of sensation that guys seem to love. It also helps the process for me to imagine myself performing, like a porn star.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, I said it. "I just gave the best blowjob of my life." My man thought for a moment, caught his breath, and confirmed it. <br />
<br />
I was working my thing, using my yoga skills, and he was starting to rub the back of my throat raw. I allowed my mind to go blank and asked my body to take over. Swallowing became easy to do, when the saliva became too deep. I knew then that I could swallow his come easily, if I could just keep my brain out of it. I breathed deeply and even started counting his rhythm. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 was the going for awhile. I hoped I wasn't getting too technical and losing passion. I held balance. I counted and swallowed, breathed and counted. I noticed him speed up. 1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4. My body kept cool and receptive. My breath helped me flow and he gave the grunts. He told me it was coming. I swallowed and opened. The pace was overwhelming because his semen was pumping deep into my belly. I sputtered and gasped, but he held my face tight to him. I swallowed and tried to breathe. He released me, laid back.<br />
<br />
I sat upright and somehow finally learned how to let my body have control. I sat up. I breathed, I relaxed back on my hands. I breathed and felt the come filling my belly. I felt an air pocked from gasping, fighting the rush of hot juice inside me. I breathed. My man, half lidded and smiling, gave purring approval. The come filled me up and I did not allow thoughts or <i>gross out</i> to invade my serenity. I was a laughing Buddha all of the sudden. I said, "I could really go for a chili cheese dog."Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-2036131846220242282010-02-06T18:52:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.441-07:00I Learned This While Discussing EnergyBiology time! There are three terms for creatures that birth living young, viviparous, oviparous, ovoviviparous.<br />
<br />
<b>Viviparous</b> creatures give birth to walking, squawking, living young. Think <i>vi</i>- as in vibrant, bright, living. <b> Oviparous</b> creatures lay eggs with living creatures in them. Think <i>ov</i>- as in ovum, oval, egg. That one's not too crazy, but get this: <b>ovoviviparous</b> creatures, aside from being fun to name, lay their egg babies inside themselves, then hatch them internally. It seems then, that that super fun prefix, <i>ovovivi</i>- means living and egg combined.<br />
<br />
<br />
I asked my master, after learning this lesson, if all the animals who give birth are women. He was practically answering it before I asked, and told me one of my favorite facts, which I already partially knew. Seahorses are the only exception. Except they have an exception too, which is that the males don't actually make the egg, their lady friends do. After the egg is made, the papa seahorse goes over to the mama seahorse and is like, "Hey, why don't you let me take that egg off your tail and go buy yourself something sweet?"Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-4323613439315522292010-01-30T20:13:00.002-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.478-07:00Reason No. 2Hello again! I'm back for the <b>third installment of "Why I Am a Mastered Slave."</b> We're on point number two in <a href="http://roseforyourbuttonhole.blogspot.com/2010/01/top-5-reasons-why-plus-4-others.html">the top 5</a>: 2. I have some areas where stronger discipline is needed.<br />
<br />
<b>Now, I'm a pretty tough woman</b>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I have a wide streak of independence and a strong ego driven need for achievement. I can take care of business well on my own, and I have evidence to prove it. I feel good about myself more often than not, <b>but I have my weak areas too</b>. For instance, on most days, even the good ones, <i>I should not be left alone in a room with doughnuts</i>, cakes, cookies or any delectable containing the following ingredients: sugar, milk, eggs, and butter. Also, <i>it is not best to take a firm line on my punctuality</i>. Unless the occasion is an interview, social event with a finite start time like a wedding, or a bakery opening, I can be counted on to arrive fashionably late. Finally, and with most difficulty, <i>I do not enjoy aerobic activities that entail repetition</i>. I am working on changing my mind about this one, because the last forty (or even the first ten!) pounds are not coming off without a <b>big sweat</b>. As much as I would like to be able to take a cardio-hike daily, the time isn't always there. I want those pounds off and I may have to jog and do push-ups to get them gone. That weight represent a lot of years of self-hate and denial. Also, I dream of pin-up photography and being a selective whore, and <b>working my curves to their fullest extent</b> will take me a long way in those endeavors.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.coach-tate.com/BootCampMOS_468x309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://www.coach-tate.com/BootCampMOS_468x309.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Before I moved in with my man, I imagined what it would be like to have him as my 24/7 owner. One image that repeats itself with surprising frequency, <i>still</i>, is the one of <b>boot camp leader</b>. I imagine my man yelling at me, getting in my face about my work ethic, <b>pushing me</b>, challenging me, ignoring my pleas and threats and protestations. I know I will fight. It is my nature to do so; just like the fat I've carried for too many years will fight to stay inert on my physique.<br />
<br />
I have seen what people with self discipline can do, and have been impressed. I'm impressed because I cannot seem to do the same. Yes, I can make something out of nothing, but I cannot force myself to do 15 push-ups or to jog for two miles. <b>I can come up with dozens, maybe hundreds, of clever and pathetic excuses why my laziness should be allowed to win out</b>. <i>"I'm </i>not<i> cut out for it,"</i> I will try to convince you. <i>"It's too </i>hard<i> on my body,"</i> I'll whine. <i>"I </i>need<i> to start out slower,"</i> I'll urge. I'm sick of hearing myself say these things and am honestly pushing myself for a more unbreakable internal "boot camp" voice, but the help...is really...well, <i>helpful</i>. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My man has been pushing me to get a few "Admin" tasks done for him lately, specifically he wants me to help him finish the basic outline of our <b>contract</b>. We have had a rough draft of the contract since August with the basic rules being <b>Acceptance</b> and <b>Love</b>. In our contract they are written out into full sentences, with examples, and room for addenda, and so on, but those are our guiding principles. Anyway, in our haste to move in together and have <b>everything</b> be <b>instantly</b> <i><b>perfect</b></i>, we have stumbled into the harder reality of life. Specifically,<i> things take time</i>. We are looking to add more concrete information to the contract now. He wants to know what <b>force</b> he can use with my <b>consent</b>. I have been hesitating on a few things. I go back and forth between thinking I am being lazy and should really get that done and thinking that I will do it as soon as the time feels right for me to write such important information down. I don't know if I'm feeling intimidated, lazy, inattentive, or busy, but no matter what the reason, I haven't gotten it done yet. It's ok though, because things are still moving along naturally. Today, I received my first proper collar from my owner.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8IJ5yUoJodI/S2UCqIMOx9I/AAAAAAAAACI/2cwG0h_E1XY/s1600-h/DSC_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8IJ5yUoJodI/S2UCqIMOx9I/AAAAAAAAACI/2cwG0h_E1XY/s400/DSC_0017.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
He has said for a few years that he would put a collar on a woman before he put a ring on another one (he is twice divorced). For such a big sounding thing, he did it in his customary matter-of-fact and tender way. There was no discernible ceremony, no major preparations, or hints of what was to come. I knew he would collar me some day and that there would be many fashionable collars following the first, which I could choose from for various outings.<br />
<br />
<br />
The collar is a reminder to us both that I am his. There are not special rules, at least for this first collar, that I am to obey while wearing it. One of the things that I love about my man, and one of the things that makes us a 24/7 D/s couple I believe, is that <b>there is no "in scene" or "out of scene" beyond what feels natural</b>. Sometimes we inhabit specific personality traits more strongly because of the activity we are engaged in, but <b>our proclivities are our proclivities, whether cuffed, collared, or not. </b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>1st image from: <a href="http://www.coach-tate.com/bootcamps.html">Coach Tate</a>, 2nd image credited to my man</i></span> </b>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-31135159218277402842010-01-30T18:39:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.446-07:00I wound up receiving an unexpected, but important gift today.This morning found me nursing a tiny hangover and craving a diner kind of breakfast. Being ever cunning, I declared this weekend my birthday weekend, so I could have even more of an excuse to indulge in greasy hash browns, sugary ketchup, and 3 egg omelets, for instance. My birthday is Monday, so it's not an entirely out of whack proposal. Last night we went into the big city to see a fantastic jazz/funk band and thus, my "party" mode was primed. We made the strong choice though and stuck with our well-being instead pecan waffles. This being my birthday weekend and a Saturday, we decided not to do anything of great responsibility, but instead drive to the nearest mall so I could buy myself a moleskin weekly planner. I wound up receiving an unexpected, but important gift today. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
The last moleskin planner in the store was 75% off and pink. My man wound up getting it for me, plus three lined essay books in the same hot pink. On the way to the mall my hangover dismay was growing and along with it my munchies for sugar, grease, and everything mildly-body-toxic. I began getting whiny before we were even out of town. I made several mentions of my desire for a custard filled doughnut. I did so with an unfortunate proximity to my questioning my man if he would be up to the task of acting as my personal weight-loss trainer. He has a soft spot for indulging my more girlish whims, like that of asking for sweets and candies. He assured me I could get a doughnut, even though I hadShastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-91546714033296942802010-01-22T11:16:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.512-07:00From the Desk Of...For all you readers missing<b> the sex</b>, I am back with a story from this morning. We both have the privilege of being home today. I have spent the majority of the morning writing on various topics, and tidying in between. My man found himself inadvertently tied to his desk as well, urged to write our mission statement at last. We'd been up for about three hours when he received a call requesting him to step out briefly. He said he'd be right there, as I typed away at my keyboard.<br />
<br />
My man set his phone down carrying a furtive desire in his belly. He came into my office, which is also our bedroom, shirtless, unbuttoning his jeans and wearing his house slippers, which are really iron toe "chucka" boots from his navy term. With no words he stepped up to my right arm and presented me with his flaccid cock. With no words or thought I opened my mouth to take him in.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
He did the work at first and I focused on keeping a relaxed jaw, open throat, and steady breath. I used my lips to stroke his cock, but did not suck hard as his pulsing hips did the jack motion for me. My practice has been paying off, I am able to more easily accept his hardened cock deep into my throat than I was at first. I tilt my head <i>just so</i> causing him to be able to slide more deeply in. He certainly likes fucking girls' throats, seeing them struggle to breath or refrain from gagging. He coos comforting praise when my stomach begins to flip-flop from too many gag-reflexes in a row. He wants me to be able to suck a cock from start to finish, as deep as I can, without stopping. This requires me to know my soft limit, so as not to trip myself up; over reaching, retching and gagging, resisting.<br />
<br />
He fucks my throat. The saliva in my mouth multiplies until I find myself being able to swallow it and continue taking his dick deeply down simultaneously. I know he wants to come in my throat more often than he does. He knows I react strongly to his come in my mouth. We do our best. Sometimes he comes in my mouth and I make a bad face which makes him laugh, and praise me as I run to rinse my mouth out. Sometimes our timing and mojo is right on and he comes deeply in my open throat. I feel his cock pushing out his semen right into my belly, no swallowing required, or even possible. I like these situations better.<br />
<br />
I sat in my desk chair, twisted to the right, sucking my man's cock and trying to keep protestations of come-in-mouth out of my head. He stopped for a moment and I resisted, further, the impulse to tell him I didn't want come in mouth. I didn't want to spoil, or even pause, his pleasure and knew a bit of discomfort was worth his pleasure. He is so generous and good to me. I really do want to be the best girl he's ever had for as long as I can.<br />
<br />
He said, "now get on your knees." I lowered out of my desk chair to the floor. I retained focus on the efforts above my shoulders, but also paid attention to my feet and knees on the floor. The more comfortable I can get quickly, the longer I can suck cock happily. I assumed the position, still having said nothing except a few impulsive groans of "mmmmmmmm." <br />
<br />
From my position on the floor he tilts my head back about 45 degrees and is able to insert his johnson straight down my throat. He truly achieves the action of fucking mouth here and I open right up for it, passive, warm, receptive, and skilled. I can feel his pleasure flowing in me and his love, that I work so fully to please him. He feels my gag reflexes increasing with my fatigue and says, "here, you suck." I take more control over the suction of my mouth and the back and forth of my head and neck. I have put all thought of possible displeasure out of my mind in regards to where he comes. Echoes of past instruction given me play across the marquee of my mostly blank mind. I am involved in a body/mind process not unlike yoga now. I am fully into sucking my man's cock. It's been at least ten minutes since his phone first rang. <br />
<br />
His phone rings again and I have the impulse to say, however muffled by cock I may be, "ha ha." I resist the urge and continue, wondering how long it might take me to make him come. He pulls his cock from my salivating mouth and slaps my face with it a few times. He rubs the slime on my cheeks and tells me what a good girl I am. "You are my good little girl. Such a slimy girl. You like being slimy, don't you?" I moan positively for him, my throat feeling widened and warm now. I want to keep going. The shower I will take after he comes on my face and in my mouth briefly crosses my mind. His cock goes back in my throat.<br />
<br />
After another five minutes he decides he wants to stop and move on with his work. He slaps my face with it again and praises me more. He reaches down and pulls me to my feet, which are stiff from being sat on. He holds me, kisses me, pulls my nipples, growls, and praises me. I glow from such good care and think about what we may do later, on our shared day off.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-63132318777771879672010-01-22T08:48:00.006-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.491-07:00Reason No. 1<code></code><br />
I promised, in <a href="http://roseforyourbuttonhole.blogspot.com/2010/01/top-5-reasons-why-plus-4-others.html">Top 5 Reasons Why</a>, that I would talk about why I am a mastered slave. Beginning with no. 1 of Why I Am a Mastered Slave: 1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy<br />
<br />
Holy jeez, could I have been a little less specific?<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Disclaimer no. 1: I do not believe in some kind of tit-for-tat karmic rewards system. My understanding of karma is more in line with Buddhist and Hindu thought wherein <b>karma</b> is<i> </i>a<i> </i>theme, or behavior pattern, which persists in a person's life and may serve as a life lesson.<br />
<br />
As for the energy hoo-rah, I have a bit of a hand-to-forehead smack going on with regard to my first point in this new direction for my blog. I'm looking at this point and wondering how in the good green earth I'm going to explain whatever I meant when I wrote that. I think I might have been high. But, excuses aside here's a couple more definitions to try and get us on our way. <br />
<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>female energy: </i>the qualities of receptiveness, birthing, nurturing, sensitivity. sometimes discussed as passive yin. related to the life and death cycle. <br />
<i>male energy:</i> the qualities of penetration, giving, aggression, strength. sometimes discussed as active yang. <br />
<br />
I believe that all humans, and maybe all living things, have these energies in them, making them complete and complex. All women have male energies in them and vice versa. The reason I'm stumbling along to explain my very first freaking point is that I'm not entirely sure I can explain what I meant, nor am I well versed enough to quote the texts that have influenced my thinking. Books like the <i>Tao Teh Ching</i>, <i>Women Who Run with the Wolves</i>, <i>The Prophet</i>, <i>The Complete Works of Rumi</i>, and even medicinal texts like <i>Healing with Whole Foods</i> include reference to the varied natural energies in people.<br />
<br />
Look, I'll admit it, I'm pretty young and must leave room for change and growth. This first point may become more articulated as I write more, or I may come to think that I was blowing a bunch of hot air. <i>However,</i> as of right now, without any further ado, here's what I mean by reuniting male and female energy. It has to do with several, completely personal, experiences that have shaped me. <i></i><br />
<br />
I didn't know men, as "real people," for a long time. The reasons are as faceted as any one human's story of development. I am an only child. I have a large extended family of women that were on hand caring for me in my childhood. Maternally, there are no men biologically given to my family for generations going all the way back to the old country. My man found this out and made an exclamation akin to "Holy shit! A coven of witches!!"<br />
<br />
I could go on about the reasons why my life was imbalanced, but the point is, I did not have enough maleness in my life to teach me about important male attributes. What I "knew" I had gleaned from TV, storybooks, movies, radio songs...all the wrong places actually; where the biggest messages are that men are for sex, anger, rescue, work, and war. I feared men until I was in college, for no other reason than I didn't have many examples of them in their real habitat or prime. All the men I knew were husbands and fathers, and were treated as such. They were woefully lacking their due respect in the voices of the women vocally raising me. <br />
<br />
By the way, when I said "real habitat" up there, I meant in their honest thinking ability; in an environment supportive enough of them to voice their internal thoughts fully. <br />
<br />
It was becoming apparent to me that my beliefs were lopsided and personally undeveloped as I began my climb out of college and into the metropolitan working world. I was 24 and still had not had any successful long term relationships. My first real girlfriend had dumped me before the summer and I'd decided to lose my sorrows in promiscuity. The inkling that I wanted something more stable and long-term was beginning to sway in the back burner of my mind. As I dated, I weighed the possibilities with my partners. I liked some very much and love some still. I could not seem to make anything stick though. I felt myself to be a good catch, but something always tripped us up, some sticking point would occur and before I knew it I was being called selfish, insensitive, or fickle again. <br />
<br />
Many great people attracted me and vice versa. I found lovers and friends with whom we could tickle our mutual kinky buttons and have good conversation. One man in particular, who will be mentioned here with some frequency, is the first would-be master. He and I walked a rocky two year road before I chose to cut all ties for the sake of my mental health. I tried my damnedest to love him fully, but it was impossible, we weren't ready for each other and weren't honest with each other. Hidden agendas, desires, or regrets have got to be the fastest way to derail a relationship. And, if your relationship is one predicated on power exchange and sometimes dangerous play, full, total and complete disclosure is a requirement, or failure <b>will</b> happen.<br />
<br />
It was as this relationship was finding its way toward a tragic end that I went to a mind, body, spirit expo in a nearby town. There I learned of my karmic assignment to realign myself with the male energies of the world. I had my records read, which is not exactly like having your past lives read. The woman had it set up so that you asked her a question which she relayed to her spirit advisers. As it is with most mystical practices the woman did not claim to be answering me herself, she acted as a conduit for the questions and responses. The theory behind this practice is that there is a vast spiritual library containing stories from all the souls that have lived and that certain mystics can access these libraries and receive information. Another theory that might be helpful is the one that we all have spirit guides with us. Some ignore, deny, or scoff at this kind of work and on the other end of the spectrum are those are so tapped in that they spend more time communicating with their spiritual advisers than they do flesh beings. <br />
<br />
I asked her about my future as a healer and she conveyed that this was possible, but that first I must reconcile my beliefs with men. She said that I carried an internal, unconscious belief that men were low-down, dirty-rotten, dogs; that I did not trust or respect them, because I didn't think that they had earned those two important values. She said that this was an overarching belief that shaped my interactions and that no man could get around my purview. It was black and white: if you have a dick you're not to be trusted.<br />
<br />
<br />
Boy did my eyes open up. I had already discovered that my "feminist" lessons had been horribly unfair and that much of the feminist movement had kind of thrown the baby out with the bathwater. I was unfair in my thinking, but no one had been able to penetrate me enough to get me to hear it before this woman. I don't think that's a coincidence - it would have taken a woman to get me to listen at first.<br />
I received answers so insightful to my goals and persona and without having provided her any information beyond my first name. I was really floored by the experience and have used the information given me as a tool to guide me in gauging my development and my honesty. One of the stories she relayed to me was of a long history of defending, protecting, caring for, and teaching women and children. She responded several times in indication that I must evaluate my relationship habits with men and allow myself to be more vulnerable. She assured me that success was imminent if I could let go of my protective layer and really open up to the world more. <br />
<br />
That lesson is applicable to most people who let fear control their decisions. Remember what I said about fears becoming behaviors? <br />
<br />
<i>(A</i><i>ny readers who are generally uninterested in spiritual topics? How do these ideas sit with you?)</i>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-1450802703373942532010-01-18T17:49:00.001-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.434-07:00<i>We might have been brown nosers. A bit of a teachers pets or wall flowers. We strive for recognition in different ways. I do my bidding sweetly and with streams of unconscious self praise. </i><strike></strike><br />
<br />
I promised, in <a href="http://roseforyourbuttonhole.blogspot.com/2010/01/top-5-reasons-why-plus-4-others.html">Top 5 Reasons Why</a>, that I would talk about why I am a mastered slave and I know I mentioned it again in my last post, but most just rambled in metaphors and imagery so I am here to do that now. Beginning with no. 1 of Why I Am a Mastered Slave:<br />
<b>1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy</b><br />
<br />
Holy jeez, could I be a little less specific? A few definitions of belief are required now. <i> </i>Disclaimer: the following "definitions" are from my perspective.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>karma: </i>a<i> </i>theme, or behavior pattern, which persists in a person's life and may serve as s life lesson.<br />
<i>female energy: </i>the qualities of receptiveness, birthing, nurturing. sometimes discussed as passive yin, sensitive. related to life and death generally. major archetypes are mother, little girl, temptress, whore, witch, goddess, crone, naivete <br />
<i></i><br />
<i>male energy:</i> the qualities of penetration, giving, aggression. sometimes discussed as active yang, strong. major archetypes are related to action and journey generally and, in humans, as protector, provider, husband, father, brother, <br />
<br />
According to my second college edition 1984 <i>Webster's New World Dictionary</i> my thinking is in line with Buddhism and Hinduism.<br />
<blockquote><b>karm-ma</b> (kär'mð, kur'-) <i>n.</i> [Sans., a deed, act, fate] 1. <i>Buddhism & Hinduism</i> the totality of a person's actions in any one of the successive states of his existence, thought of as determining his fate in the next<br />
</blockquote>Biology time! There are three terms for creatures that birth living young, viviparous, oviparous, ovoviviparous. Viviparous creatures give birth to walking, squawking, living young. Think <i>vi-</i> as in <i>vi</i>brant, bright, living. Oviparous creatures lay eggs with living creatures in them. Think <i>ov-</i> as in <i>ov</i>um, <i>ov</i>al, egg. That one's not too crazy, but get this: ovoviviparous creatures, aside from being fun to name, lay their egg babies inside themselves, then hatch them internally. It seems then, that that super fun prefix, <i>ovovivi- </i>means living and eggs combined. <br />
<br />
I asked my master, after learning this lesson, if all the animals who give birth are women. He was practically answering it before I asked, and told me one of my favorite facts, which I already partially knew. Seahorses are the only exception. Except they have an exception too, which is that they don't actually <i>make</i> the egg, their lady friends do. After the egg is made, the papa seahorse goes over to the mama seahorse and is like, "Hey, why don't you let me take that egg off your tail and go buy yourself something sweet?"<br />
<br />
<i>(A</i><i>ny readers who are generally uninterested in spiritual topics? How do these ideas sit with you?)</i>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-42239541528027636762010-01-18T16:25:00.002-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.476-07:00The Point IsSomething that a lot of non-BDSM, or non-collared, people don't understand is that we slaves <b>choose</b> slavery because it makes us happy to do so. We are not a bunch of broken and lost-cause people who can't think for themselves. It is commonly understood, in the BDSM world, that a bottom with no opinion is an energy sucking bore for a capable and thinking top. A strong top needs a strong bottom just as a sadistic top needs a masochistic bottom. The point of BDSM is to live on the edge, to live life in the extreme. <b>The point, to reiterate, is to live large.</b><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>My man often says this thing, which sounds very Navy-hoo-rah to the cynic, but is valuable to those interested in living really interesting lives:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space. </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Before my man and I got together, I was a successful young professional. I lived in a big city, had my own fabulous apartment, and wide circle of diverse, attractive, and compassionate friends (most of whom I'd at least made out with). On the outside, it looked like I was doing really well for myself. But on the inside I knew I was no where near my potential, and getting further from my dreams every day. All day I dreamt of writing, digging gardens, climbing mountains, finding poetry, and star gazing. I dreamt a humble life full of nutrition and connection and honesty. What I was lacking, was a driver. I wanted a partner who'd support my goals and help me feed the fire of more. I wanted someone who was self sufficient and strong in and of him/herself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I also wanted to get tied up, slapped, spanked, and verbally degraded. My dream partner needed to be extraordinary, because I am extraordinary. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The reason consensual slavery works for us is that I know I am a vehicle and my master knows he is a driver. I am a helper, a fountain of ideas, an organizer, a reminder, a teacher, and a soothsayer. He is a go-getter, a creator, a seeker, a builder, and a learner. I am the bowl and he is the food. There are many beautiful metaphors for our union. Since I'm warming up my writing chops after a brief hiatus, and since I'm a poetry seeker, let me tell you about a fascinating occurrence in the ocean.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Pyrite is a mineral, nicknamed fools gold, which often acts as a replacement mineral in fossils. I don't know what "replacement mineral" means scientifically, I just learned it on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyrite">wikipedia</a>. I can guess it has to do with how pyrite has a tendency to fill holes in the ocean, making fossils. Sometimes the things being filled are shells, which are symbolic spiritually and mathematically, which my man enjoys geeking out on. To me they're compelling and breathtaking.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://lyraeonline.com/store/images/DSCN1372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://lyraeonline.com/store/images/DSCN1372.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There are shells which find themselves vacant of previous tenants rolling around in the ocean. Iron pyrite will sometimes fill the void in a shell, making something once functional and pretty into something spectacularly beautiful. My man somehow came to possess such an artifact and gave it to me when I became his. "You are my shell," he told me, "and I will fill you and make you shine."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I am a slave to my master because we are a good fit, a good match, and because he does make me shine. He hears my dreaming and helps me make it reality. I hear his seeking and I find him answers. </div>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-7760025901126967702010-01-07T20:32:00.006-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.500-07:00Top 5 Reasons Why (plus 4 others)<blockquote>[Y]ou need to learn to be honest with yourself. Figure out what you will and will not do, and what is a "maybe". Search inside yourself for what you really want, and when you find it, be honest to anyone you talk to. Don't agree to something long-term that you know you will not be able accomplish. Ask yourself some hard questions. The rest of this article will give you aspects to contemplate so you can base your decisions on reality, and not someone else's dreams of how it should be. - from "<a href="http://www.enslavement.org.uk/soyouwant">So You Want to Be a Slave: The Realities</a>" </blockquote>I read paragraphs similar to above beginning in the late spring of 2007. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> about sex to me then. My thinking was bound by three columns of sex acts labeled yes, no, and maybe. (Or, in the BDSM world, please, peanut butter, and maybe.) I made arbitrary decisions about piss, spit, and humiliation. Arbitrary, because I was a topless bottom. A master-less slave. As the first man who wanted to master me put it, I was wanton.<br />
<br />
My master, aka my man, gave me the article quoted above last week and asked for my thoughts on it. I was so excited by my reactions, our discussions, and my constant excitement to write that this blog was more seriously formed. I have 3 major steps of reaction to the ideas in this article and I'm going to write about them now. I'll wait here while you take a few minutes to process that article.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/funny-pictures-a-cat-tries-to-get-out-of-you1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/funny-pictures-a-cat-tries-to-get-out-of-you1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 667px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
The first thing I trip over in that article is the neo-cultural imposition in the grammar. I am opposed to the following grammar: "my Master said He wanted me to come in." I am not going to take time out of my creative process to remember to capitalize male pronouns in the middle of a sentence for my man's honor. He doesn't care if I do or don't and so, I reject the importance that has been placed on this tradition. I understand it, I just don't care for it and boy, does it feel good to say so! <br />
<br />
I will use the common BDSM abbreviation "D/s" (Dominant/submissive) because it is understood by sexual "deviants" everywhere. Greetings fellow deviants!<br />
<br />
These varied reactions this article spurred create a tension which I find interesting, and if you make it to the end of this entry, then I guess you find it interesting too. If you have reactions yourself, please do share them. I'd love to hear ALL viewpoints.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Reactions/Counter-reactions to "So You Want to be a Slave"</b> </div>1A.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span> I don't want my opinions, desires, and tastes, to always be moot!!<br />
1B. A situation in which my opinions, desires, and tastes were unaccounted for would make me unhappy. My man doesn't want me to be unhappy.<br />
<br />
2A. I don't want my entire existence to be predicated on making him happy!! I feel that existing solely to entertain and please another may imply that my own pleasure is worth less. I am not worth less!<br />
2B. My man wants me to be happy and to achieve my dreams. If he tells me to do, or not do, something, it is because he is thinking of my higher aims. He loves me and is helping me reach my goals. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
<br />
</span>As I mentioned before, I used to think that D/s relationships were ALL about sex when I began my exploration of them. All I knew was that my panties, if they were still on, got <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> wet when someone talked dirty to me, spanked me, got rough with me, and that I wanted MORE. <br />
<br />
Now, when my man talks about <span style="font-weight: bold;">the fact</span> that my cunt, ass, mouth and everything in between belong to him, <span style="font-style: italic;">are his</span>, I get even wetter. It still is not "just sex." There are understandings between us that make this language and these ownership triggers happy and freeing. I'm getting very excited thinking about all this so I'm going to make another list:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why I Am a Mastered Slave</span><br />
1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy<br />
2. I have some areas where stronger discipline is needed<br />
3. I want help<br />
4. I want to help<br />
5. I crave kinky sex</div><br />
For summary's sake I want to also recap the points above that have been presented (and in some cases not yet discussed). <br />
<strike>1. I'm not going to capitalize Master etc. just because it's traditional.</strike> (see paragraph 4)<br />
2. My D/s relationship is only partially about sex.<br />
3. My man wants me to be happy.<br />
4. My man is helping me reach my goals.<br />
<br />
I hope you're excited to read and comment more about these points because I'm excited to write about them! Only, I'm going to do it later. I'm tuckered for now.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-92139443368329679282010-01-07T20:09:00.006-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.514-07:00Rule No. 1There are some basic rules in my relationship that must not be broken. The brevity of the rule and the degree to which it is the degree to which I break it dictates how I am punished. Here's one rule I struggle with more than others:<br />
<br />
"You are not to give orders. Sentences that begin with verbs are orders."<br />
<br />
Now here's a bit about that rule. It was created for me by my master. He is even so kind that he explained exactly why the rule was made. To understand it you have to know about my mother. Let me get right to the point and say that she is more than a little bossy. She's not a control freak so much as she doesn't consciously realize that people might be able to do things appropriately of their own accord. She also has Multiple Sclerosis. I'm not going to get into the details of it, because I doubt I'll talk about my mom frequently here. However, my theory is that her bossiness was at least doubled by her fear of losing mobility and perhaps doubled once more just by virtue of her being an aging Jewish lady.<br />
<br />
Now you know I'm Jewish on my mother's side too! See how fun this can be?<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to the context of the "no verbs" rule, as I think of it. This rule is very tricky, since the simplest concepts of <span style="font-style: italic;">being</span> are ruled linguistically by VERBS. But more on my struggle with it in a moment... the rule was created because my master wants me to be the best me I can be. The me I dream of being.<br />
<br />
I have lots of dreams. I make them into goals or stories. I work hard and I'm training to work more efficiently so I can realize even more of those dreams. One of my dreams is to be ready to market myself as a healer. I want to market myself so that more people, who are looking, can find me and come get healing. I suppose one of the things I believe I need to do in order to achieve this goal more fully is get more training at listening. In order to listen to others more intentionally, I must first listen to myself. I must speak with intention and cut out the bossy sharp edge in me.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">Here comes some of my soon-to-be-famous wisdom</div><br />
Bossiness is a behavior born of fear. People are bossy because they don't believe that they will be satisfied -- that they will receive enough. They have a fear of there not being enough for them. Fears, unexamined, become behaviors.<br />
<br />
Let's counter that. Love, becomes behavior too. Most of us, in culture "these days", are not trained to be running on the fuel of love. We have very little love inside ourselves that we didn't have to consciously grow. I mean, of our own accord. Intentionally. Fear, however, we are fed practically as soon as we are sucking our new mama's teat. I don't mean to sound dramatic about it or anything, but think about it? Can any of you who read anything anywhere argue with me?<br />
<br />
I wish you would.<br />
<br />
It makes sense that a slave would have rules. It's the basic premise of slavery that decision making is out of the slave's hands. Why would I choose such a life? Well that, my friend is a very good question.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-35432449509651065172010-01-07T19:01:00.006-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.474-07:00Introduction to Your AuthorGreetings! My name is Shasta and I will be escorting you through A Rose for Your Buttonhole. Shall we get the basic information out of the way?<br />
<br />
I love my birthday. It's soon! On February 1st I will be this many (28). That makes me an Aquarius. For any of you who care, my rising sign is Libra and my moon is in Taurus. My Venus is in Capricorn, but I don't know much about the effects of that yet -- which some Capricorns would say is par for the course (can I get an 'amen,' Capricorns?).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/tarot_cards/tarot35.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/tarot_cards/tarot35.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 329px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 230px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Sorry about the tangent, just having some fun. (But really...)<br />
<br />
<br />
Those who often come by this infrequent blog might be wondering why I've suddenly decided to "introduce myself". I'll try to be brief, which would be unusual for me:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">I have recently, and seriously, decided to commit to consensual slavery.</div><br />
<br />
It all began in May, last year. Or was it in October of 2007? Really, I said "Yes" to my master in August, 2008.<br />
<br />
It hasn't been until now, nearly half a year later, that my decision has become a clear reality for us. No more rose colored glass day dreaming for this girl; my life is in a brand-spanking-new phase.<br />
<br />
Before, however, I get into those juicy (<span style="font-style: italic;">and interesting!</span>) details -- more about Your Author. My decision to separate, <span style="font-style: italic;">in writing only</span>, my sex from my life was made slowly. I've compartmentalized my writing persona. Some day I may write children's books, or teen angst novels, and I won't get very far if it's widely known that I'm a <span style="font-style: italic;">slave</span>. As my master says, "We don't <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> have sexual freedom."<br />
<br />
Another thing that will become clear about me, if my conveyance is precise enough, is that I am optimistic about people. You know how they say "hope springs eternal"? That phrase was coined on my behalf in another life. Never the less, I have learned that stereotypes are born from the shared consciousness of our culture, which can carry very real consequences. Lots of folks in the D/s world are quite protective of their identities "in real life" and I'm just going to assume that it's true when some guy says he's been fired or exiled because it was discovered that he asks his wife to step on his ballsac after dinner at night. Just an example. And moving right along.<br />
<br />
I will write about my spirituality on this blog. My relationship is based firmly in the more veiled worlds of experience, and so is my thinking. I will, at times get intellectual on yo' asses, and write about theory. I will pose questions. I will sometimes be remarkably silly. I will be in full view. Spread eagle. I will make puns (there's already been one). I'm going to fucking geek out here, and I don't care who knows it. <br />
<br />
Now onto a list! I'm getting tired of deep explanation right now. Purple is my favorite color since forever. I am more sensitive than a slug on a freeway. I like to wear aprons. I have grown up voices and little girl voices. When the doggies I live with don't listen, I growl at them through gritted teeth. <br />
<br />
I'm going to remember to be really honest about my behaviors, and give context and consequences. As I mentioned, I did not become a slave overnight. In fact, I have only just begun devoting myself to it full time. I will talk about experiences I had with men who were not my master. I will use false names and locations, but the time-line and events will be real. I will not lie about myself, but I will also not divulge information that could be useful in court. Here are some truths I wrote down earlier today that I'd like to share upfront. I smoke pot recreationally. I sometimes struggle with anxiety. I wonder how those two are linked. I'm not a health nut per se, but I am on a quest to be as healthy as I possibly can. I'm about to learn all the reasons why I reject the phrase "New Age" and write an essay on it. If that essay sounds interesting to you, let me know and I'll share it once it's written.<br />
<br />
Ok, lists! I like them and could keep going on with details about me, but I'll give you just one more for now: I have a heart tattooed on the inside of my right forearm. I got it for, from, and with, my master on our second date.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-5474889803567063842010-01-07T10:38:00.003-08:002013-07-20T08:17:57.482-07:00Tender Hard Poem, from my man4:42 AM<br />
<blockquote>sleepy sleepy<br />
wooo! When I wake up I think of you. What a nice place you make.<br />
what a diamond studded destination.<br />
mmm sleepy<br />
lovey<br />
dovey<br />
softie<br />
wondering how well you do in a situation where no noise can be made.<br />
kids in the next room must be quiet.<br />
shhhh while I try to make you noisy.<br />
shhhh while I slide into my favorite attire.</blockquote><br />
<br />
This blog is going to evolve to discuss and document my evolution into a consensual slavery with my man. I'll probably start soon and I'll probably start with a post on Why I don't stick to tradition in writing from the slave perspective.<br />
<br />
Until then, feel free to read the post that got me started thinking about it more on <a href="http://www.enslavement.org.uk/soyouwant">Internal Enslavement</a>.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-31142963873644882822009-10-15T07:01:00.005-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.466-07:00Meat ChexHave been "living in sin" with my kin for two and a half weeks. We have been employing techniques to allow for my orgasms sans moaning. It was hard at first, but with some creative gyrating and facial contortions I finally came 'til I saw stars one night not long ago. <br />
(and again and again) <br />
<br />
My man and I remember to take our days off of working when the family members are away at their jobs. This morning the precursor to routine stretches and breakfast was me at his groin on my knees. <br />
<br />
"Come up here and kiss me," he demanded. "Mm-you taste like cock."<br />
I purred, "Your cock tastes like pussy."<br />
<br />
He pushed me back to my knees and was kind enough to get down into my throat before coming. I much prefer the choice of "spit or swallow" to be over-ridden by deep throat ejac.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-8456730338304989942009-09-06T09:33:00.006-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.502-07:00Afternoon BreakI keep thinking I'm going to get to stage two of this fantasy, but I haven't. This time a guest interrupted our progress. Read how.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's a cool, sunny September day and he and I are doing house-work. He's doing something outside as I wash dishes in the afternoon light by the window. I see him suddenly, standing in our dirt driveway and he calls to me, "Shasta put on those thick red leg warmers of yours and come down here." I dry my hands, find the knit leg warmers he's talking about, and go downstairs. I go outside in what I have on, which is one of the many reasons I love living out here where it's rural. I'm wearing the softest of his old button down work shirts, panties, and now the red leg warmers pulled up to my knees.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
He's drinking water when I get outside. He sets down the jug and puts his hands on me. He hugs, squeezes, and rubs me, and gets me all lovely and glowing. He reaches down to my knees and pulls my leg warmers up over them. "Stay right here," he orders, and walks into the garage. I stand in the drive, dusty in my bare feet. I toss the frisbee for our dogs and look at the sky through the trees, feeling good. When he steps out of the garage his hands are full.<br />
<br />
"We're gonna take a break from work" he announces gaily. He puts the coil of rope, which is at least 15 feet long, on his shoulder and pulls one of two handkerchiefs from his back pocket. He has a small opaque thing in his teeth which I recognize suddenly as a zip tie. "Hands behind your back" says he and zips my wrists together snugly. "Get on your knees" are the words that ignite the fuse to my cunt. I simply obey and lower to my knees, realizing what the leg warmers were for; they cushion me from rocks in the drive way. He blind-folds me with the handkerchief. I hear this zipper of his pants.<br />
<br />
"Look up" he commands and I raise my face to him. He praises me, he practically gushes over me, telling me what a good girl I am and how lucky he is to have a girl wanting to serve his impulses. How tells me he knows how much I like to give to him and how he wants to make sure I never feel neglected. A hot glob of spit falls on my face from where he stands. It splashes onto my cheek near my mouth and he practically barks his approval as he rubs my face slimy. My breath comes quicker and more shallow as his attentions turn to defiling language. He is talking to me like one of the filthiest whores I can imagine. <br />
<br />
He fills my open mouth with his cock my mind begins dancing over other possibilities. Who might come into our drive? Are the neighbor boys home? Might they come out on some routine errand and see this scene? I don't know consciously that what I'm doing is hoping, but there my imagination is, putting other men in our path. I find a good posture so I can sustain the position I'm in and try to open up my throat for him. He speaks to me occasionally. "Relax" he instructs. "Even out your breathing. Good." He pushes his cock deep into my throat giving me only two options: panic and choke or relax and open up. Both options have positives and negatives but I am in a calm, happy, open mood this afternoon. I simply am, any logistical going around in my mind, any analytics, are hushed or gone. There is only now, open, giving, receiving, loving, fucking. He practically howls about how much he feels for me and it furthers my pleasure of giving to him. I am happy. He has trained me well. He is an attentive man.<br />
<br />
He drops the rope from his shoulder, putting whatever plans he had for it on pause while he becomes more vigorous in fucking my throat. His hands are both at the back of my head. I have no time for thoughts on voyeurism or technique now. I focus on staying in the flow like yoga. I breathe where appropriate, open if he tells me to, and all the rest falls away. He suddenly stops. I open my eyes under the blindfold out of surprise. I hear what he's heard, a car in the driveway. He doesn't move and so neither do I. It sounds like a truck and it's stopped and the driver has stepped out. My ears are straining to hear. He mutters something I don't catch. I hear Lou's voice. I have a crush on our friend Lou that he likes to tease me about. My heart begins pounding. The simple bliss of flowing with him together has been replaced by adrenaline. I'm getting seen, bared and dirty, to a man I have fantasized about.<br />
<br />
The men make no small talk, they are old friends and something tells me Lou's not totally bowled over by the way my man is calmly holding his ground mid-fuck. Lou knows my man better than me in ways, has known him, and his propensities, longer than I. My man has done something kinda funny which is that he's left himself deep in my throat and I cannot move away. His hands are holding my head so that my mouth is firmly to his pelvis while his hard cock rests there in my airway. I can breathe with his cock, but I am drooling uncontrollably with my mouth open wide and full. Lou whistles and doesn't say much, especially not why he's here. He asks if he's interrupting and my man laughs saying he can obviously see the answer but it doesn't mean he has to go. My man does something I was not prepared for at all. He offers me to Lou. If I weren't already on my numbing knees I'd have gone weak in them.<br />
<br />
My man feels my stillness. He pulls his cock from my mouth and pats my wet and sticky cheek. "Ugh" he laughs, "she's a mess. Want me to get a towel?" Lou whistles again but does not answer his question. My man gets in my ear. "Lou is here Shasta." He turns his head away and says, to Lou, "she's got it kinda bad for you man" then with his face to mine he says, "awww, are you blushing? You are too sweet for words, you slut." I am too, my heart pounding, my cunt firing rapid shots of heat through my pelvis, I leave my mouth open and make no response. He loves this and grabs me hard by my jaw and pulls my mouth to a kiss. "God!" he shouts suddenly and softly slaps my cheek, "I fucking love you so much!" He stands away from my face and turns to Lou again, "So whaddya think Louie? You want to use my woman? She likes you and will be real nice." He's doing this for my benefit now, the language and talk. It's not necessary, but he's giving me a show and I love him more for it. It's embarrassing. It's powerful and it makes me feel raw in my hunger.<br />
<br />
Lou still has said very little, but I hear his boots step close to me and then his voice at my face. "What kinda woman are you?" he asks, the pitch of his voice raising. "What a good woman," he concludes and I hear his pants unzip. My mouth waters. "Close your mouth" he says, easily stepping into the proverbial captain's chair. I close my mouth and feel the soft head of a stiffening cock at my lips. He pushes it there but not hard enough to make my lips yield. He takes the back of my hair in his hand and then pushes slowly into my mouth, which is slippery and opens easily for him. His girth is wider than most, but he is not so long as to be stressful for my throat. He pushes in slowly, as deep as he can go until I gag and puff around his shaft. He pulls all the way out and rubs my saliva on my face. He warms up more, slapping my cheeks and lips with his hard cock, which feels like it looks very nice. I don't hear or feel my man yet, but I know he is near, watching and pleased. Lou quickly finds his rhythm and even though his dick is larger than my man's it is not too hard to let him fuck me. He begins fucking me steadily soon, but he does not pound me or abuse my abilities. He gags me a few times and calls me a whore but for the most part I am able to receive him without too much suffering. He is getting busier every minute when I feel my man behind me. I am still on my knees, which are pretty tired at this point. I've been down there for at least 30 minutes between the two of them. <br />
<br />
He puts a boot between my legs to get me to open them up a bit more. My knees are now wider than my hips. He gets on his own knees, between mine and says to Ken, "I'm going to make her come when you do. So give us a heads up man." He pulls my panties aside and plunges a rough hand into my cunt. He pulls it out and smells it and offers it to Lou. "She's the fucken sweetest wife around, man" he boasts and I moan a little. Lou pounds my throat in response, I don't know if he smells my cunt off my man's hand, but I'm sure he can smell the sex we're stirring up from where he stands regardless. It's been what feels like 15 minutes of Lou fucking my mouth where I am getting stiff, and even dry, when I hear him grunt that he's close to coming. "Good" my man says then dictates some rules, "keep your condom on, but come in her throat. When she's moaning from your fuck and my fingers it'll feel real good I bet." Lou does not seem to mind the directions and continues using me. <br />
<br />
It seems to work out according to my man's specifications. Just as I feel the hot pulse of Ken's jism from his cock in my throat, I feel my own cunt squeezing and gripping and my man gives his encouraging approval and tells me, "you squirted hard into my palm baby. Such a slutty whore. What a good job you do." Lou has pulled out and is coming down when my man stands. He grabs me by the arms and helps lift me to my feet too, which I am unsteady on. He squeezes me from behind and unbuttons my shirt and rubs my tits. "I'm going to take her to one of my special places and fuck her 'til she cries, man. Do you want to come?" "No, no, no" Lou says, "I don't even know why I came over anymore, but I better hit the road."<br />
<br />
"Hey" he says to me suddenly, "that was real nice Shasta, I like you a lot. I'm gonna give your man a hundred for you, cause that was a real nice thing you did for me and him just there. You're a good lady, ok?" I blush.<br />
<br />
<br />
Still haven't gotten to scene two of this fantasy. Wonder what all that rope was for...Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-16525378302609281722009-08-28T07:42:00.004-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.439-07:00PrrrrowlDaddy's going off the grid tomorrow for a week.<br />
<br />
I decided to get sauced tonight.<br />
<br />
This is what I'll be listening to.<br />
<a href="http://djdiddywah.com/A%20Cat%20Called%20Diddy%20Wah.mp3">A Cat Called Diddy Wah</a><br />
<a href="http://djdiddywah.com/pix/CreaturePoster.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://djdiddywah.com/pix/CreaturePoster.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 378px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Diddy Wah reminds us that they don't make nostalgia like they used to. ...Sock hop anyone?Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-33351643660542355592009-08-26T05:32:00.003-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.467-07:00Snapshot<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8IJ5yUoJodI/SpUrlz_LZKI/AAAAAAAAABg/GPLoBZMeHCM/s1600-h/0808091214.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374249658946905250" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8IJ5yUoJodI/SpUrlz_LZKI/AAAAAAAAABg/GPLoBZMeHCM/s320/0808091214.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
I flew to my man over a week ago. I wore the specified outfit. Getting dressed was very exciting. <br />
<br />
</div>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-26928719107716711382009-08-26T05:24:00.004-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.444-07:00Alma Hatch, Rose Holep. 69 <span style="font-style: italic;">The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote>Alma coming and coming, and screaming and coming. Me coming then, too. No words left, only not-talking passing through me into her. Through her, my body pulled up sweet to her sweet, to sunlight on a white bird way up high in the blue, flying.<br />
Alma Hatch's body was sarsaparilla or hard candy in a dish or an all-day sucker. Something so sweet and pink and sticky you got it all over yourself. Something once you starting in on you couldn't stop til you made yourself sick. Always smelled of roses, too - roses mixed with woman smell. Alma Hatch was always putting rosewater on her. Behind her ears, under her arms, on her wrists. Sometimes, she'd just sit her ass down in a puddle of that stuff and suck rosewater up insider her. If you walked into a room and Alma Hatch had been in there during the last twenty-four hours, you'd know by the roses. Pink roses. Not red, white, or yellow - pink. Nipples were pink, woman's hole was pink, lips pink. I swear Alma Hatch was no white woman. She was a pink woman.<br />
"Best whore in the state," Ida Richilieu would say about Alma years later. "What makes Alma so good is that she looks like a rose, smells like a rose, and then fucks your thorns loose."</blockquote>Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5118577535386491040.post-12079626131604136992009-07-28T10:30:00.003-07:002013-07-20T08:17:57.429-07:00Naughty at the Desk7:57 am<br />
me: leaving for bus soon. looks lovely out. skirt no panties...gonna be an interesting day!<br />
<br />
11:53 am<br />
me: I'm gonna run outside for a breath of fresh air now.<br />
H: are you wearing any panties?<br />
me: no...<br />
H: are you at your desk?<br />
me: ...yeeees<br />
H: is anyone around there?<br />
me: ...nooo<br />
H: hm. how does your pussy feel? is it wet or dry?<br />
me: well, I'd say it's moving to the wet end of the spectrum now<br />
H: why don't you, when no one is around, put your fingers up there and find out for me<br />
me: [giddy hesitation. looking around and humming. compliance. naughty delighted savor.]<br />
<br />
me: are you expecting something more? it smells good. wet.<br />
H: no [laughter] I just like knowing your over there at your desk with you hand in your pussy. you're such an innocent good girl. thanks for letting me dirty you up.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
very much my pleasure.<br />
i'd like, some day, to feel satisfied with my written descriptions of the electricity H (or many wanting to dirty me) create in that naughty box of mine. <br />
electric. throb. drip. swell. puff. grab. pull. shoot. strike. pulse. seethe.<br />
adjectives that will likely prove useful in the paragraphs to be written.Shastahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18187859160216969864noreply@blogger.com0