Mar 022014
 
Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

I write dark. I write sinister. There’s a tone for it. My pieces are triggers if they are written well. My new ones, mostly and fully. I believe it’s because each write is a collection of thoughts that have grown turgid and vile in the dark. Also, I shouldn’t be allowed the latitude that I have in D/s and life in general.

Wish One – Become a Better Writer

I’ve hung from tripods and train tracks, but I really want to do more suspension. I just don’t get enough rope time.

Wish Two – Fly

Now I’m going to make a wish that’s not sexy. I was selfish with the other two. I’m not trying to get all “Miss America” in here, but I’d feed everybody. I’m not going to get political with it, but I’d fucking feed everybody.

Wish Three – Everybody Eat

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Nov 182013
 
Cigar Secrets

Cigar SecretsShe gingerly sifted through her Mother’s personal belongings. She and her sisters had taken to the task since the funeral. Their Mother had a treasure trove of secrets. Mother dated cigar boxes, along with a small accounting book of all the money that came in and went out during that time, and how it came in.

Each box had given new life to old whispers. The sisters stumbled across information hidden to them,   but well organized, since before their birth. Some of the records and family information dated back over a hundred years. The girls found property deeds, and notes to places where money was stashed around the house. She cooked the books for more than one business. Unspeakable and illegal acts and consorts; their Mother had kept it all buried from their little eyes.

Mother was cookies and cornbread. She sewed and called for the laundry. She also laundered money and moved some packages for some “friends of hers.” The girls did recall having many “drop-by” Uncles, bringing gifts and baskets of chocolate.

The three of them were giving it a go together with a bottle or two of wine, seeing what else their Mother had been up-to all these years. Each began with a box. Donna took two. Everything was ‘something,’ her dictation regarding who had given her the expensive and sentimental items in her jewelry box and closet. Some of the names, they’d heard mention, even as children, or in college.

She sat back and wondered if the devil just ripped out her Mother’s heart. She couldn’t put herself in her Mother’s place, but she was her child, and she was loved by that woman. She might carry sins she didn’t understand, but she was a good Mother.

Her sister nudged her, and then smiled. She’d drifted off on a silent rant. She reached for the next piece of paper in her box. She began to read mindlessly out loud.

 

Dear Mother,

I left with him. I’m pregnant. We’re going to get married. We’ll be fine.

I love you,

Donna

June, 1978

 

 

Donna,

Bring me the baby and you can come back.

I love you,

Mother

July, 1978

 

…. She was born in December of that year, …and her sister was crying.

 

See who else is being wicked this Wednesday

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Oct 162013
 

potter Photo courtesy of Property of Potter

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Poetry

Shown
To Punt or Not To Punt, That is the Question

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

SexyLittleIdeas – Why PUA Is Like Feminism
Understanding When His Glass is Full
To Minxy Malone, Thanks For Everything
Biting the Bun
The List (is a waste of time)
Confronting Your Sense of Entitlement
What Do You Prefer: Cut or Uncut?
My Secret Relationship with Max
Quaint Little Categories
Erectile dysfunction isn’t a big deal

Erotic Fiction

Property Procured
The Delight of Leather
Christmas Eve Surprise
Granny’s Door
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Nine
Jessica
The Edge of the Park
Trust
The Blood Mage’s Sacrifice
The Spanking Paddle-Off
Used, Using, Endless

Erotic Non-Fiction

I Want You To
Love like a lotus
Bend to my will
Spanked
How you helped me to stray
Little Lightening Bolts v. Rayne’s Clit
Master’s Fuck Toy
Conflict
Tease For Two
Memories of Spunk
“It’s total perfection.”
Fucking a Girl with a Double Dildo

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Insatiable Whore
Thoughts: Submissive Journals
Bondage vs. restraint
Dominant and Submissive “Fix”
Baring It All
Blow Job Submission – A spicy twist
Quickstart Guide
Struggling with sub drop

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Events

CatalystCon Part 1: Dildos, dildos, dildos

 


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Sep 112013
 
Boss3

Boss3I don’t know how many new pages I opened. I’m not sure of how many established pieces I have worked on since the “Tease” prompt went up. Thinking about what to write for this prompt has teased the fuck out of me.

I thought about writing possibilities and found myself knuckle-deep in my pussy. I imagined scenarios, and before I could finish them I’m rumbling away to G-spot heaven. I looked at my older work and even pictures for some guidance and have ridden cock to the point of not caring.

How hard was it for me to get down a well written piece that pushed me, one that wasn’t a cop out or fallback? I couldn’t. The entire thing was a big tease.

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

Sep 072013
 
Sand

SandI have a confession to make. There are sand dunes in my submission brain. I’m craving for a shot of D-type.  I believe I’m going through some kind of submission withdrawals. I’ve not even let myself mentally release the last few times that I’ve played.

I’m topping in my local group, due to a serious lack of education.  That’s not what I want to do. I’m a sadist. I’m not a D-type. It’s got my filter all off kilter.  My writing has become darker. It’s less about logical BDSM relationships and more about the scarier side of life in general. You haven’t seen what sits, waiting to be worked on, and their levels of boundary-crossing afflictions.

I wonder if this is what happens when a submissive starts to dry up.

Aug 022013
 
Dirty needles

Dirty needlesShe fingered the baggie in her pocket and smiled at the score. It was a quick hustle to get back to the shop and her closet in the back. To tell you the truth, she was lucky to have it. For two weeks, she was chasing the dragon out front of an old Chinese man’s antique shop before he finally half-drug her scrawny ass inside and out of the rain.  He gave her a room. Or a large broom closet, but either way, it came with a pillow and a blanket. Sometimes, if he was feeling generous, a meal. But it was set outside her door as if she were a cat.

It also came with an extreme amount of Chinese yelling. He wanted help at the shop. She didn’t mind until he got to the point where he was shaking his fist. He’d shake his fist when she’d bang on the door at ungodly hours. He’d shake his fist if she was getting dope sick. He shook his fist when she called him “Mr. Miyagi.” He was funny, this guy.

It was just him. No family. He had a small little set-up, you just had to walk up the stairs from the shop. He was able to keep an eye on almost everything. Mr. Miyagi knew she took the spoon. It was the one from under the counter. Obviously it’s replacement didn’t fool him. He shook his fist at that, too. But at least he didn’t put her out. Anyone else would have.

She opened her worn box, all taped up with stickers, its soiled surface a sad reminder of it’s continued use. The only new addition was that silver spoon. The end had a beautifully scrolled “R,” on it. She did feel bad about taking it. But, the initial….

She had her needles. She didn’t share. She’d set her little box up and got to work. After a quick chop, she’d set flame to spoon and suck up that precious golden fluid. Once it was in the rig, she reminded herself to breathe. Everything was set aside, and out came her belt. Loop by loop and her tongue was salty with the taste of the dirty material. Her teeth dug in for a good pull, looking for her new mistress.  It was always…  just the newest one. Soon, it’d collapse and be a sad reminder of what she couldn’t do. Just like the others.

She only had to pull back once before she hit it. The perfect pull, the rosy swirl of her blood, she gave the plunger a nice, slow push.  It was always at this moment that she remembered how much she hated needles when she was a kid.

Mr. Miyagi would be so mad if he knew what she was using that spoon for. She was able to feel the world again. So much clearer. A hard clear.  For time that seemed like hours, but were really only moments. And she wasn’t all that clear. That spoon. It was in her head until nothing else was.  He’d find out about the spoon the next morning, when the Coroner left and he had to clean out Rocky’s room.

 

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