New Crib?

Unique Goddess had opportunity to check out what may become Her next crib.  The space would be perfect for Her and Her adorable lil wonder dog, ozzy.   With a big backyard She can take such delight in playing frisbee with Her pup, among many other games they love to play.  The fringe benefit is the uber sexy boi across the hall.  The Goddess spent an awesome Saturday night with this fine man and is still smiling about it today!

She’s in a great mood too, so what a great way to start off the week.  Smart slutty bois should get in while She’s in this mood, who knows what She may do!  The Goddess has availability on Tuesday & Thursday from 2-8pm and Friday from 3-9pm, so hurry up and setup session as She books up quickly!

Redskins lost again, but that has not spoiled Her mood!  C’mon bois, get it the FUCK TOGETHER! GEEZ!!!!!!

Punishing myself (My past in a nutshell)

How do I introduce myself? How do I explain where this rage comes from? This constant frustration with everything that normal people enjoy?  I lived my whole life in fear.

Fear of God mostly.  My number one fear was that he would punish me.  For what? Masturbating, occasional private cross dressing, putting ice cream on my asshole and letting the dog lick it so I could find out what a rimjob was like, but mostly I think my BDSM fantasies.  At the same time, I was afraid of God NOT punishing me.  I mean, my god, what if I was the only person that could stop me? What if God wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop my downward spiral?  What if I ended up in trailer with 16 kids and a grotesquely fat wife, drinking Miller Lite, and watching NASCAR? Or, dying of AIDS, alone and pathetic, abandoned by my gay buddies?  Or locked up in a rubber room, my memories of orgies slowly fading as tertiary syphilis ate my brain neuron at a time.?

And then when I realized how profoundly stupid and pointless Christianity, nay, religion is.  So I became an Atheist.  And I found in place of this constant fear was this constant rage at everyone else for not having the balls to grow up and stop pretending to believe in Jesus, and fairies, and unicorns.   With reflection, I realized this rage was projection of my own self loathing.

For so many years I believed something I knew, deep down, was total bullshit.  I wanted to put on a pair of assless chaps be spanked with a riding crop by giggling, jiggling fat women.  I wanted to pound a woman in the asshole. I wanted to tie some one up and cum on their face.  I wanted to be the dom half the time, and the sub the other half.  I wanted to have sex with thousands of women, in park shelters, airport bathrooms, and movie theaters.

I knew that about myself, and so horrified was I by my own sex drive and sexuality, that I didn’t even do the fairly normal things I wanted to do, like back pack Europe, go camping alone, or even go to college. Had I done anything of those things I might have been a lone at some point with someone reasonable attractive, trust worthy, disease free, and interested…and  if that happened, I would have gone for it…and if that happened…I would have taken my first step down a road to Hell, paved in condom wrappers and merkins.

So, the rage is at myself.  I turn 30 soon.  To old to fuck 18 year olds.  In fact, to old to fuck anyone much under 22.  Even if it is legal, I don’t feel like it is ethical.  I have responsibilities, I have a family.  I have a fucking Volvo.  I don’t know that anything demonstrates to me my total failure to achieve my dreams as the Volvo parked out front.  It’s like shrine to risk-free white breadism.   There’s a stalker outside.  His name is Time.  He’s got a pot belly, a comb-over, man tits, and sad, flaccid, little penis…all for me.  He may not catch me this year, maybe not next year, but he’ll get me.  He gets us all.

I only get a few more years to pour hot wax on a hogtied, naked,writhing woman and have it be right. After that, I become to others, not so much the guy who loves the BSDM scene as “that-creepy-old-guy-who-just-pretends-to-be-part-of-the-scene-to-get-younger-women”.   YES, I do want younger women, but not because they are younger.  I find beauty in woman young and old, fat, skinny, and muscled like Schwarzenegger. I want young women because I was too afraid to be with them when I was young. My youth is slipping away, my chances to experience my sexuality as a young man and not just a man are slipping away.  I am slipping away.

And so the fear…becomes rage.

Trust and Desire

I sent Andy copies of ”The Past” posts I made here. He’d heard the stories obviously, but he likes my writing. It adds another dimension to it than hearing it does. He asked for everything I’d written in the week and so I sent it to him along with this note…

“I almost didn’t send them. You know the stories in general and it felt almost like I was whining. It isn’t my intent when I tell the story. The last thing I want is for you to feel sorry for me. For me it’s informational, detached inasmuch as it can be. I am strong and it works for me most of the time, but I needed someone… I needed you to come along and know all of me.. There are days when I am floating along through life content in everything and you will text or email me. You’d think that by now I would stop being amazed at how lucky I am to have found you. I’m not really a glass half full or empty gal. More of a hey look, a glass with water, it is what it is kind of gal. Every time we speak, every time we are together I thank the gods for everything that you are. I would be literally lost without you.”

I’m not sure what I expected really, but the response made my toes curl with pleasure. He texted me and told me that I was a strong woman, replete with everything he wanted. He was a little shocked and pleased with my trust in him. He worries about hurting me, pushing me so far that I never come back. I admit there is a possibility here, but I do trust him to bring me back from it. Andy likes physical pain and that I can deal with.

We spent a considerable amount of time together last night. I am sorer, more spent and broken than I have been yet. He made me practice saying the safe words because I have not used it with him, strive not to. He worries that I will let him hurt me and to be honest, I have. I want to endure for him, feel the pain for him because I know he enjoys inflicting it. I trust him not to break me permanently and it scares him that I’d likely let him do it. He has to stay in control or he will hurt me.

He knows about the rape scene and what happened. He didn’t ask for it, but I sent him the posting about it with a little extra bit just for him. “It is unfair of me to tell you the things I am about to, but I need to. I meant what I said. I am wholly and completely yours for as long as you’ll have me. I appreciate you more than words can say.” He doesn’t like reading about my being hurt which confounds me. Doing it yes, knowing someone else is doing it, no.

This was his response…

After the experiences you’ve had, I’m all the more honored that you’ve chosen to trust and desire what we have.  I was very hesitant to harm you after your recent experience.  I know you’re craving the control and demands.  What I hope you take from me is empowerment.  You are an amazing woman, a sexual animal; so completely passionate seething with the need to please and be pleased.  I really hope you feel that way.  Eventually I hope that empowerment moves more into your entire life.

Thank you for sharing yourself.

Leather Lessons

Last night, I had the opportunity to take a leather-working class with Daddy Wendell, the Northwest LeatherSir from 2006 and Seattle Leather Daddy 2003.

He’s spent the past few years deconstructing leather gear and perfecting his technique, and now he teaches classes (and is writing a book) on how to build your own gear with a few simple tools (and no sewing machine – whoo hoo!)

I got to sit up front, which gave me a great view of all the beautiful leather:

And it was everything I could do not to dive headfirst onto this table

and fondle all that

gorgeously cold

hard

shiny

cruel

silver metal:

Daddy Wendell and his boy (the damn fine pair of leather pants in that first picture above) were both wonderfully down-to-earth and a lot of fun to watch.  They demonstrated how to make a bondage belt and a simple cuff (I got to take the cuff home – whoo hoo!)

Here he is cutting out the tip of the belt:

Here he is showing us all how a bondage belt works with another handsome assistant.  Damn, it was tempting to feign ignorance and insist they show us a few more times, just to be sure we got it…

He sent us all home with a bag of leather and metal, so we could give our new-found knowledge a try.

After the class, I scurried home to attempt my homework.

Here is what we were given in the bag:

With a screwdriver and a pair of pliers,

plus a little leather sweet talking,

I assembled the cuffs:

Now, isn’t that a thing of beauty?

(and, yes, there are two D-rings on the back.  I strapped them on my husband and we “tested” them for strength…and they passed with flying colors.)

Daily Batman: The Bat and The Cat, "Shocking!" edition

The Bat and the Cat, they do get up to some games. Who would have predicted that two grown people who wear leather animal costumes and beat people up for a secret living would take things off-Broadway in the bedroom. The heck you say!

This shot is from a collection compiled by Adam West from the scrapbook he kept during the shooting of the 1966 film adapation of Batman. Yes, you read that right: Adam West is a scrapbooker from Way Back. Ain’t no shame in a name, buddy. Own your pleasures!

Catwoman was played in the film by your 1955 Miss America, Lee Meriwether, because Julie Newmar was unavailable due to scheduling conflicts and outside projects, plus she was washing her hair (in other words, she read the script, and, seeing that the opening scenes had an exploding shark, correctly deduced it would fail miserably and distanced herself from the project).

Vera Vision—The Secretary

Being a secretary is more than just answering phones; you’re getting paid to be someone’s bitch. And if Jenna had to fax one more asinine contract, she knew whose ass it was going to get shoved up first.

A secretary and boss relationship is very sadomasochist of its own. Even though the boss is the Dominant one, there is no question on who really rules the roost. The submissive secretary controlled everything and if she was good enough, she also controlled exactly when her boss was able to take a shit. There’s a lot of trust involved but there’s also a lot of discipline. The secretary has to rely on the boss to give her implicit instructions on what was needed. Likewise, the boss should depend on the secretary not to make any crucial mistakes that would cost several dollars and much time to repair. It was a lesson that Jenna knew very early in her job career. Professionalism and discipline were required. But she also knew if she fucked up enough times, the punishment could be sweet.

Jenna didn’t know exactly when the D/s play began; it was a natural occurrence. A raised voice here; a stern look there. A strict warning behind closed doors occasionally. But Max never threatened to fire Jenna; there was no need to. She was one of the best assistants he had ever had and it would be completely foolish of him to fire her. But Max was a smart man. Jenna was a perfectionist and often re-did things before she even presented him her work. When she messed up, it was once in a blue moon. However, Max began to suspect she was starting to fuck up on purpose because she liked the punishment he dished out. Gradually it moved to spanking; first, with a bare hand, but now, with paddles. Jenna was wondering when the whips were going to come out. She knew that was the next level.

Once again it was a late night at the office. Jenna was going over the same spreadsheet for about the 30th time, trying to figure out where the discrepancies were coming from. Budgeting for the fiscal year is never easy, especially if there isn’t much money to begin with. What’s worse was the fact the marketing department was several thousands dollars over where they should’ve been and no one wanted to cut even a dollar from their own budgets for various reasons. It was going to be a long night, indeed. Standing up to stretch, Jenna cracked her neck to relax her muscles. Her salary was quite nice for her job even though Jenna thought she was getting severely underpaid. It did come with a lot of perks that she enjoyed. Of course, none of them were quite as nice as being spanked on occasion.

Jenna grabbed the spreadsheet from her desk and presented it to Max, who greeted her with a smile. She waited patiently as he read the results of her findings. It was any moment he was going to see she miscalculated the budget and made an easily fixable mistake. But she couldn’t let Max know that. She tried to wipe the sly smile that was appearing on her face and continued to wait. She was curious to see what the punishment was this time around. Just when she thought Max had glossed over the budgets, his face appeared from the budget spreadsheet. Annoyance was the look he was wearing and it wasn’t fashionable. Jenna couldn’t tell if that was a look of ‘You’re about to get it!’ or the dreaded ‘You’re about to get fired!’ She hoping it was the former, not the latter.

“Come here and bend over,” he quietly demanded.

Jenna got up from her chair and walked over to Max. She got down on her knees and waited. The waiting part was the worse. She didn’t know if he was going to hit her immediately or wait several minutes. When he did decide to hit her, it always shocked her because she never quite expected it. So, the waiting began. Five minutes. 10 minutes. Fifteen minutes. Jenna began to wonder if Max was going to punish her at all. Her back was starting to hurt and her knees began to feel weak. Maybe fucking up on the spreadsheets wasn’t a smart idea after all.

Just when Jenna was ready to give up, she felt a stinging hit on her ass. She squinted her eyes as the pain reverberated throughout her body. Once the pain subsided, Jenna opened her eyes. Her punishment was over and she could go back to her work night. However, Max had other ideas in mind. He slapped her ass again, this time harder than before. The sudden pain caused a whimper to escape Jenna’s lips. He would slap her ass a few more times, each slap stinging more than the last. Jenna never dared to ask him to stop. It was her punishment and she took it like the good obedient slave she was.

After 10 minutes of slapping, Max ordered Jenna to stand up. Jenna wasn’t sure if she was able to. Her arms were jelly and her knees were incredibly weak. But telling her Master no was not up for discussion. She mustered the strength to stand up. She then turned around and faced him. Her face was blank. She didn’t want to upset her Master any more for the rest of the night by giving off facial expressions that read what she really thought.

“Good work. Correct page 5 and give me the results tomorrow,” he stated. No smile, no wink. It was his MO. If Max let Jenna know he got off on her punishment, their D/s relationship would be irrevocably changed. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

Jenna grabbed the spreadsheet from her Master and bowed slightly to let him know she would do as He pleased. She slowly walked back to her desk. She grabbed a soft pillow she kept under her desk and put it on her seat to cushion the pain her ass was still feeling. She began to work on the spreadsheet once again and focused all of her energy to make sure it was perfect. It was then Jenna felt it was safe to smile.

*Above model is Jessica Drue; photography by Elizabeth Chiyoko*

The Current Players (as of 9-21-09)

It’s been awhile. I have gathered some and cut loose others. I thought it pertinent to update where things stand at this point. I still want for one man, one Dom to control me, protect me from the world, but at this point I am awash in either feast or famine.

“Parisil” (mid 40’s) is an Indian oil man with the will and financial capacity to travel. I know this because he came here to meet me. I agree that my eyes are my best feature and he thrills at them. He took me forcibly from behind, pulling my head around by my hair in order to see them. He can be sweet, gentle but he also comes from a different culture where women are expected to be subservient. He wants to marry me, take me back to India. He lavished me with gifts while he was here, trying to convince me to return with him. If it were just me I would consider it.

“Mathew” (early 40’s) is wonderful and splendid in bed. He is gentle and sweet, willing to take what I can give him. He lives 400 miles away but he is my emotional rock. We speak daily. There is some guilt associated with my relationship with Mathew. He is a good man. I don’t want to hurt him, but I fear that will be the end to this thing we have. He knows only part of my true nature.

“Andrew” (late 30’s) and I are very good together. If he could spend more time with me I think I would have found my Dom. He takes me to subspace whenever we are together and narcissist that he is, he still cares about how I feel. He wants to find my limits, push me over them. We both love the pain and I trust him with my life.

“Richard” (42) and I tend to spend the most time together. He accidentally took me to subspace the last time we were together. He got adventurous and fisted me until I slipped away. The poor man had no idea what to do. He thought I had passed out on the bed and almost called an ambulance. Wouldn’t that have been embarrassing? He understands it now and loves the fact that he did it to me.

I have a few side items here and there, one night stands when my regular men can’t be with me. Sometimes I just need a hard cock. It disappoints me when my regulars can’t, but I know the alternative of going without would be worse. I make bad choices when I am not satiated and dangerous things happen. I am cranky and mean to my family. I’m not the best woman, wife, mother I can be. It bothers me that this is so, but it is what it is.