A(n) (In)complete Guide to Bottoming to Me

Introductions

Don’t be shy and wait for me (or anyone for that matter) to make the first move. We are all human beings on equal footing to start off with and it should not be expected that the dom/top/bigkahuna is going to make the first move. Be confident without being arrogant. I like to know a partner knows that she is worth playing with but get turned off by a message which imply I have been graced with your attention. Once the initial greetings are out of the way be willing to meet in person.

Meet Me for Drinks

I am not looking for an online only partner. If I wanted to have hot talk that ended with me masturbating then I would stop taking my meds and get a membership to kink.com. I want to meet you in person and see if there is a real human connection. Who we are online is not the same as who we are in person, no matter how much we may try and be honest. Wear something sexy. Something that shows me you at your vanilla best. There are always exceptions to the rule but generally I feel the best first date is a casual meeting in a public forum where we can have alone time. This should be seen as an interview of sorts so put your best foot forward. Dress well, smile, talk, flirt as if you are trying to impress me. If you do, I will tell you so.

Be Able to Flirt Online

Email, IM, text are all acceptable. This is the 21st century people, get with the program. While the specifics of how and when we flirt will be dependent on what kind of dynamic be ready to send dirty pics and or follow commands. I want to know that we are not chatting up a storm littered with sexual overtones but with no real follow through. Don’t let your fingers type checks your cunt can’t cash. Unsolicited vulgarity at this point is always welcome. These perversions can include but should not be limited to:

  • Public displays of perversion including public sex, anonymous sex, nudity that could end in fines or disbarment (remember: unsolicited I am not asking you to do these things but would love to see the results if you did.)
  • Pics of hot girls in public accompanied by text of what you want to do to them
  • Pics found on the internet that are so disturbing you have to ask yourself, “Is that even really porn?”
  • Voicemail messages of you cumming
  • Creative and humiliating insertions

Likes

I like to experiment; I like to explore. There are really very few things that I am not willing to at least entertain the idea of but for the sake of this post let’s just stick to the knowns.

  • Mind fucks: Fear, sensory deprivation, confusion, disorientation and the accompanying power exchange that comes with this kind of play.
  • Humiliation and Degradation: I like both physical and mental H&D in all the varied forms it comes; from calling a play partner a slut and dirty cum whore, to pissing on her head while she licks the toilet, I like to see how low you can go. It is one part power exchange, one part experiment in human endurance. The point is to see how much you can take and still stand up at the end. I want confident partners who want to push themselves.
  • Age Play: I love to play with the dynamic that is created when I am older and my partner is younger. Teacher/student, Daddy/daughter, Stranger with candy, anything that involves at least some molestation and coercion will work.
  • Carte Blanche Sadism: Look at it like an extreme sport. How far can you push yourself physically? How long can you be tortured, beaten, raped, starved and drown before you break, before you collapse or safeword? There is something truly amazing about endurance not only for the person enduring but also for me. It is a game of seeing how close to the edge can I bring someone and for how long can I keep them there.
  • Forced Orgasms and Orgasm Control: Yeah, what is there not to like about this most sexual of power exchanges?

Dislikes

  • One Trick Ponies: If you have a “thing” that you are into (spanking, rope, leather) and it is all you are into then I am not interested. It may be great, it may be the world and a box of doughnuts to you but I prefer variety.
  • Clinginess: I love to play, I love people and I need to be friends with my play partners but I am not looking for a “relationship”. I am far too lucky already to have one of the most amazing, beautiful and perverted women I know in my life. I want to be friends, I want to chat, I want to play but I do not want you freaking out if I am not available whenever you are.
  • Play sans Sexytime: It is not a deal breaker but as a friend once said, “Play without the sexual tension is just a game like chess and chess [normally] doesn’t make me wet.”

Aftercare

I like to clean up a play partner after taking her apart. I like to see her come out of the shower with her hair clean and the smeared and destroyed make-up washed away. It does not always work out like that. There are scenes when the constraints of space or time do not allow me a chance to see her put back together and smiling before we have to part ways. In these cases I want to hear from you. Just a note that you got home ok, that you had a good (or bad) time. If you have any specific needs or wants from aftercare tell me up front. After a scene where you have given me everything, I deeply enjoy being able to give something unique and special back

Write-ups

After the fact, a day or two later, write down your recollection of the scene. Tell me what you remember, what you felt, what you liked and did not like and what you want to try again. Do not write it for fetlife. Write it for me. Tell me the things that you would only share with the person that was there. If the moment was something you want to put on FL, great! But that is a different write-up.

 

In Closing

I want that look that is at once utter shame and humiliation and pure sexual desire. I want to feel I have given you something — a moment, a feeling, an experience — that is, at once, wanted and not wanted. In that moment when you look up at me desperate and pleading for whatever it is that I want to give, I see why I do this. The beauty and the challenge is that this means different things each and every time with each and every person. What one person easily and comfortable gives of themselves, another may never part with. You may know it is disgusting, may know you should not love it but it if I can’t see that embarrassment, if I can’t see the shame then it does not matter to me. It is proof of the exchange. There in that moment is the gift that I am looking for. If you want to bottom to me be prepared to not just tell me, but to show me that you

 

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Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

  • [Title] – Real life blog entry.
  • [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
  • [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

This is what happened.

First read ZG’s appeal: Do you know what I did last night?!?

It starts out simple enough. You are bruised and beaten about the chest and thighs, leaving little meat to play with RBP-style. No problem, I have other ways of making you uncomfortable. I run through the list, seeing what might be fun for both of us. Negotiations can be a real pain in the ass (or not) when playing with your SO. You can lay together, all lovey-dovey, and coo sweet nothings about how there are no limits between the two of us and all is fine and good… until I try and sleep with your sister. I guess we do have a few limits, don’t we? So back and forth we go. I tell you what I am going to do, you give me that look that says, “Really? That is what you want to do tonight?” Eventually we land on psychological play. Brilliant! After that little passive aggressive banter about what we both want, I really feel like making you cry.

I fix you a drink. A nice strong French Martini and sit down to chat and perv on FL while you drink it. Just before getting up to go play, I head out for a cigarette and you join me. You say, “Can I have another drink? The smoke makes my throat scratchy.”

Hmmmmm… If I make you another drink it will mean waiting until you drink it to play (est. 20 min) but it will also mean that you are drunk and fucking a drunk ZG is like playing with a drunk sorority girl, all bets are off. So I make you another drink. Ten minutes into your second drink I am ready to go, so I tell you to pound the drink. You obey like a good like alcohol-soaked slut, put the glass down in my hand and start down the hall towards our bedroom. There is a very visible list to left as you stumble along. I take the glass to the kitchen and head down the hall behind you.

I open the door to the bedroom and you are laying across the bed half drunkenly, half seductively. You are wearing a sleeping dress and no panties so your ass is sticking out, just asking to be played with. I pull you up to your knees and start to undress you like a fuck toy. You are falling into the role, leaving you arms where I put them and not moving as I roughly remove your clothes. While your body is behaving, you mouth is not and you start to sass about the way I am handling you. You say that I’m not being nice, that I’m being mean.

Duh.

I grab the Whitehead gag and put it into your mouth. You refuse to open up and I force your jaws apart to the point you let out a little whimper. I take a hood and put it over your head and then push you down into the pillow and smack your ass until it is high enough in the air to put undue strain on your face and neck when I fuck the living shit out of you. I tie your arms behind your back and weave the excess rope between your toes. You love that shit.

I start you off by fingering your G-spot and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm while telling you not to cum. You start begging and after a few minutes I think you are primed so I pull the fingers out. What a wet mess. I let you rest for a moment and start in with the verbal abuse.

One of the biggest challenges that we have experienced with mindfucking in the past is that you know me and I know you, and the certain level of doubt and fear that is needed to really get a game going is often hard for us to reach. Part of this is because you trust me implicitly and have faith in our relationship, so most threats and verbal attacks ring hollow. Add to this that most of the times we’ve played with psychological sadism has been in connection with jealousy or anger play, so when the words do ring true they have a tendency to ring very true. But we are nothing if not persistent, so onward I push. I start in easy.

You are wet as all hell so I ask why you always want to play drunk or while you are asleep. Is it because you can’t stand me? Because you can’t get wet? Is your cunt broken or just your brain?

Soft whimpers. Okay, this is good. You are getting nervous about where we are going. You have a date in a few days and I ask you about him. Is he going to fuck you? You know he doesn’t want to fuck you. Nobody wants to fuck you. You are so desperate you might as well ask people on the street to fuck you. Protests and whines come through the gag.

Has he called you? No, because he is too busy with other girls! You know he’s playing with other people that he would rather fuck. You know how many of them he would prefer to fuck than you? All of them!

You fold. The whining stops. Your face turns down at the corners of your mouth. The gag is starting to affect how well I can read your reactions, so I take it off and ramp up the questions in search of those precious tears. So if X is not interested in fucking you. What about Y? Is he even interested in fucking you? You know he fucks everyone. What makes you so special? One of your partners doesn’t want to fuck you and the other doesn’t care. Where does that leave you?

You sink lower and lower and just as we verge on tears you get quiet. I slap your ass and punch your thighs. You moan and whimper. I take a little break to fuck you. You are a mess. Wet as hell and waiting so I lay into you. As I feel the urge to cum rising, I pull out. My dick is covered in blood.

You dirty little whore! You are bleeding all over me. You groan with embarrassment. I have you lift your head and suck me clean. You like the taste of that? You think your other partners like the taste of that, the smell of that? You are a mess and no one wants to play with you! I pull out a sheet that is for just such occasions and make you lay on your back with your arms pinned beneath. You wriggle around trying to get centered on the sheet and not ruin our bedding. I slap you a couple of times to make you move faster. You finally get squared away and I climb back on top and fuck you some more making sure that you know how thoroughly disgusted I am. You fall into the fucking and lose yourself. This is all hot and good, but it is not getting us where we want to be, which is with you as a tear-soaked mess and me cumming on your face. What I need to do is get off the physical humiliation and start working on the harder psychological aspects.

What do you bring to a playdate other than tits and a high pain threshold? No response. I throw in some more abuse to get a reaction.

You know you are being left behind for other girls, don’t you? Nothing. More beating, spanking and general abuse to prime your body and counterpoint the emotional with the physical.

You know you can’t get anyone you play with hard? Slap! Zip. You know you are unattractive? Punch! Zilch. You know you are selfish, you’re ruining our marriage, you’re a bad mother!!! Bite, scratch, punch! Crickets. Silence.

You have gone inside yourself so deeply that you have completely shut down. I am not sure if I should consider this a win or a loss. I mean the point was to break you, right? What is more broken than catatonia? The problem is that while you may be broken, I really want the tears, the bawling, the warped sad ugly face that means that you have lost all sense of self. I need to snap you out of it so I can get behind you and fuck you some more.

Hard, cervix-bruising fucking accessorized with punches to the ass and thighs. I grab the rope holding your arms and force you back onto me harder and harder. I tell you to push back, to work at it for a change, and you make a feeble attempt to push back. I pull out and jump off the bed.

Fuck it! You don’t want to try I will find someone who will! I pull on my pants and grab my phone. I storm out of the room, slamming the door as well as I can without waking up everyone in our building. I head out to the kitchen and turn on the chime for the security system so you can hear the back door opening as I leave. I walk quietly back up the hallway listening for signs of life. Nothing. I open the door and you are in the same position that I left you. Un-fucking-believable.

Are you asleep?!? Are you that jaded, that much of a whore, that you don’t even notice when I’m gone? You try to argue and tell me that you are awake. Then what the fuck happened? You don’t care whether I am here or not? You stupid cunt! I untie your legs and arms and turn you over. Your head goes back and smacks the foot of the bed with a thud. I laugh and pull you back onto the bed and fold you in half touching your knees to your chest. I grab your hair and try to rip clumps of it out with every thrust. You grimace and gasp. Does that hurt? I am hoping you say yes, but you say no and I realize that you are too gone to even feel anything. I think it’s time to finish this off.

I turn you over and have you put your arms under you in the classic molester missionary style. I grab your shoulders and continue to fuck you. The mess between you legs is insane, wet beyond belief. You are enjoying this way too much, so I pull out and drive into your ass. You gasp and I quickly get up a good pace. Again the whimpering starts and again I ask if it hurts. Again, you say no. Dear god, bitch, you are insatiable! I speed up and cum hard in your ass and then before you have a chance to catch your breath I start again, redoubling my efforts for a second orgasm deep in your ass. And. I. Am. Done.

I get up and go to bathroom to clean up leaving you laying in the middle of the bed with cum slowly dripping from your ass. When I come back I have to get you up and put your head on the pillow at the other end of the bed. You take the cue and roll out of bed to get cleaned up. I lay down and quickly fall into an orgasm-induced coma.

On the Ride Home

She hit me. Not hard, not maliciously, but with a joking sense of dare, she hit me. I looked at her and she smiled that smile that says, “I have no idea what I am in for…” I reached up and petted her head, running my fingers up the nape of her neck until they held the back of her skull. I closed them into a fist and pulled down hard. Her eyes closed as she melted into the seat. I pulled her closer to me. We are on Congress at the post office. The road narrows to one lane as it goes over the river, concrete barriers on either side as we drive through a hole in the side of a building large enough to have its own zip code.

“Open your eyes,” I said. “One of us has to watch the road and I am watching you.” She tensed up as we pass through and I-290 opens up on the other side. I had her stick her hand in her pants to see if she was wet. Hell yes. Instant mess. I had her stick her hand down her throat which was pretty easy since I had her head pulled back like a sword swallower. She got most of it in and started to gag. I had her pull it out and start masturbating.

“Think of this. Think of now when you go home. This is what you are missing. This is why you are moving back. This is what you want, what I want. This is what we do.” Now we are going about 60 and her exit is coming up quick.

“Cum now.” She picks up the pace and starts to let out those little lost girl sounds, that whimpering that makes me… As she starts to cum, I pull back on her hair hard making her scream in pain at the same time. Again and again I pulled on her hair as she shook through a fairly nice little orgasm.

I looped around to drop her off in front of her sister’s house and to give her a little time to pull herself together. We stopped in front of the house and chatted for a bit before she went to get out of the car. She leaned over and hit me on the shoulder. Some bitches will never learn.

Parlay

 Prologue: This story was inspired by the erotic musings of Fallen Depths though it takes a very different turn and has a different style. I recommend reading the original too. ~MN

She was the cruelest bitch to ever lay flint to powder; the dread pirate Annie McMayhem, queen of the seas. I had met up with her once before in a Malaysian smugglers den where she was fighting for gold teeth. On the table next to her bottle of rum sat a small pile of bloody gold canines and incisors. I knew then and there that this was not a cunt to cross.

We were three days out from the Fiji, heading east when our crow’s nest spotted her flag. We signaled her and pulled along side for Parlay. As I boarded the ship I heard a blood-curdling scream. A man, stripped naked to the waist was lashed to the aft mast; in front of him a small figure brandished a rapier. She was bald with a silk scarf keeping the sweat from her eyes. She wore an off white shirt open to her navel, exposing breasts casually to anyone brazen enough to stare, and one large hoop earring. One arm was capped at the wrist by a stainless steel dagger while the other lined up the rapier tip. She lunged forward at the man tied to the mast. The blade deflected off his jaw and into the wood. He screamed as if castrated. Tears ran down his face streaking the dirt.

Hold the fuck still you bilge rat or I won’t be able to pierce your ear!” McMayhem screamed. Someone appeared with a belt to strap his head to the mast. She lined up again and lunged. This time he screamed before she reached him. Her blade missed its mark and pierced his throat. The screaming died as blood filled his lungs. The blade had exited through the back of his neck and stuck tight to the mast. She gave it a pull but it didn’t budge. She put her foot on the dead man’s gut and blood spurt out as she twisted the rapier free. Victorious she wiped the blade on her shirt absent-mindedly. She looked up and saw me.

AHOY Nodi! You ole syphilitic sea turd! Is that a belayin’ pin in your britches, or are ya just happy to see me?” She leapt from the bridge of the boat and landed on the deck beside me. We hugged and sized each other up, looking for new scars since the last time we had met. She had a fresh scar, still pink on the left side of her face and three of her teeth were now made of ivory with sapphires set in them. The missing hand was not new but the stainless steel dagger was.

That’s quite a dagger ya got thar.” I said holding up my new steel hook. The same doctor had fitted both of them so they looked like evil sibling appendages.

Aye, and that a mighty nice patch!” she said, lifting it up to look at my newly vacant eye socket. “Ya lose that to the French?”

I laughed. “Arrrrg! I didn’t stop to ask the lout if he was French and his wife was otherwise too distracted to tell me when he barged in on us.” McMayhem giggled.

You, Nodi, are a whore.”

Right now I be a thirsty whore. Whatcha got to drink on this skiff?”

You’re in luck me heartie! We just plundered a Spanish galleon two days hence and filled our hole with bourbon and wine! Come, let’s drink!”

She led me to the Captain’s quarters. It was a spacious set of rooms with a sitting area occupied by a large round table scattered with maps, candles and the leftovers of several meals. With a sweep of her hand the table was cleared. A second mate brought me a chair while Annie sat in a high backed, red crushed velvet chair that was too big for her and the room but as she sat down she seemed to own in it. She put her foot up and tipped back in the chair.

Whiskey and grub!” She yelled and the echoing sound of people springing into action reverberated through the room. Supper was served by two beautiful servant wenches. Their eyes were constantly down-turned and any movement by the cap’n or myself made them flinch. As we drank we started to play with this fear; as one girl began pouring my drink I would sit up quickly as if preparing to grab her. She would flinch and stumble back toward McMayhem who would bolt up scaring the poor lass back my way. Back and forth a few more times, until the waif burst into tears and ran from the room. We burst into laughter each time we did it. Annie began to tell me about her girls, Dutch captives that had been missionaries in Africa.

They know more than missionary now!” She started giggling uncontrollably at her joke, pieces of food falling from her mouth. I spit bourbon across the table and tears welled up in my eyes. She calmed down and called in her first mate.

Bring me a four pound cannon shot.” He raced out of the room, passing one of the wenches as she entered with more wine. Annie grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in and across the table. The girl was barely eighteen with golden blonde hair and pleading blue eyes that stared at me. Her face was held down into a plate of half-eaten food and she let out a small whimper; she knew whatever was coming next was going to be nearly unbearable. The first mate returned with the shot. It was a iron ball just a little smaller than a grapefruit. McMayhem took it and called for the other one of the servant girl. When she came in, Annie handed her the ball and with her steel-daggered hand, lifted the pinned down girl’s dress exposing her soft white ass and using her good hand to anchor the wench by the neck. The smell of sex wafted from beneath her petty coats betraying her slutty desire.

“That’s the finest pirate booty I’ve ever laid eyes on!” I said with a sneer.

The second girl, who had a similar face and hair a shade darker, knelt almost reverently in front of Annie, turning the metal shot over in her hands. She let a long thread of saliva leave her lips to coat the ball. She then spit on her hand and rubbed the already wet cunt of the blonde. The blonde’s eyes closed as she let out a moan of pleasure.

I slammed my hook down on the table and her eyes were again wide with fear. “Ye look at me while she scrapes yar barnacles,” I hissed. She kept her sharp blue eyes on me as her fellow servant, possible sister, began to work the ball into her cunt. Her lips parted slightly showing the whiteness of her teeth as the stretching became tearing, and soon after became filling. The brunette finally passed the threshold and the ball disappeared into the blonde’s cunt.

Now ye hold it, me proud beauty or I’ll get me flogger!” barked McMayhem. She looked at the other girl, still on her knees. “Take off me pants.” The brunette undid the buttons and let the trousers fall. Underneath the pants McMayhem was wearing a harness with attachment points but nothing rigged to it.

Get me the ram rod,” she commanded and the brown haired wench nodded and crawled to a nearby chest. When she opened it there was almost a glow from the great variety of dildos inside. There were silver and gold and polished wooden ones with fine grains of yellow running through the black meat. There were thick and thin ones, long and short. The brunette pulled out a simple blue steel cylinder. She hooked it into Annie’s harness and started sucking it without being told. Once it was wet and glistened, the captain pulled the girl off of it and positioned herself behind the blonde. She directed her steel cock into the girl’s ass and very unceremoniously, she drove it home.

“RAMMING SPEED!” Annie roared.

The blonde, whose eyes had never stopped looking at me no matter where I was looking, screamed as the rod tore into her. McMayhem liked the sound and giggled as she picked up the pace. Faster and faster she sodomized the girl whose cries of pain started to melt away and turn into screams of pleasure.

Give this Sea Dog Hansel,” Annie offhandedly said to the girl on the floor. The wench had been enraptured in the fucking. She was caressing her breast and cunt absentmindedly. “Now!” Annie ordered and the girl jumped from her reverie and returned to the pleasure chest against the wall. She came back with a six-inch long statue of porcelain. It was a little Dutch boy with rosy cheeks and wooden shoes. The brunette adeptly removed my hook and replaced it with the figurine, and then with her eyes raised to me she slowly took the statue into her mouth, coating it with saliva. I took it out of her mouth, watching the line of spit trail from her swollen lips. I walked over to the blonde and she eagerly started licking at the wet figure.

Now, bring me Gretel.” The sweat was beading up as McMayhem continued to work the girl’s ass. There was a disappointed moan followed by a crash as the cannon shot finally fell from her overused cunt. The captain stopped.

You lazy whore! I’ve crushed seventeen men’s skulls between me thighs and you’re pussy is wider me ship’s beam!” She pulled out of the girl’s ass and picked up her rapier. “Ye know the punishment.” The blonde nodded, stood up slowly and turned over to lie on her back in the middle of the table while all the time, not for a moment, letting go of the Dutch boy that was my hand. She shifted her weight and moved back to get her whole body on the table. She brought her legs up and lifted her dress to expose her red and swollen cunt. A light fuzzy of blonde hair covered her like down feathers. Without a second of warning or preparation, the dread pirate brought the sword down across her labia. The girl screamed and bit down on the Dutch boy.

One,” said the brunette still on her knees, rubbing her clit. Annie slashed at the cunt again and again the blonde screamed.

Two,” her voice was getting more aroused.

Slash. Scream.

Three…” She was working her clit frantically. McMayhem shifts position to cut perpendicular to the last three.

Slash.

Four!”

Slash! The last one was with such gusto that the tip drew blood as it crossed the soaking wet pussy.

Five!” The brunette screaming in orgasm as the blonde cried in pain. Annie leaned in and kissed away the blood and licked the blonde’s swollen labia but before she could get the impression that all was wine and roses, she took her little Dutch girl and shoved it into the little Dutch girl. The little blonde was devouring the dildo in her mouth and in her cunt almost completely forgetting the pain from just a few minutes earlier. Annie fucked her hard and fast while I went for depth, reaching far down her throat.

Annie McMayhem giggled. “Let’s make ’em kiss!” There was an irresistible insanity in her eyes and we both started fucking our corresponding holes as deep as we could imagining that we would eventually meet somewhere in the middle of the bitch. She gagged and gasped and squirmed as the captain pushed up against the wenches cervix.

On the count of three, lift.” she said. “One, two, three!” We lifted her off the table by the dildos. Her hair hung down and her limbs hung limp but the small of her back was floating as if by magic.

Now that, is a spit roast!” By now the brunette was on the floor writhing uncontrollably.

It looks like your whores can’t control themselves.” I nodded at the mess on the floor and laughed.

She’s insatiable! However, most of my whores can fuck for hours without so much as a moan.” As she talked she motioned for the brunette to come closer. When she was near, the dread pirate rubbed her boot on the girls cunt, mixing the mud and salt with her cum. She lifted her foot and the brunette, like a starving dog, jumped up and started licking the mixture from her foot.

I don’t know,” I said. “I’m a thinkin’ I could get one of your whores to cum before I do.”

Bullshit!” She sneered and kicked the brunette away.

Care t’ make a wager?” I looked for that bit of crazy that would give me the advantage.

I’ll bet me best. No! I’ll bet better than me best!”

You’re on,” I said.

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem smiled and a twinkle filled her eyes. “Get Bridgette.” The order went out like ripples behind a massive stone being thrown into the water. The girls were cleared of the room and the table was broken down as to give the competition more room. Shortly after the room was prepared, a small hooded figure made her way to the open space. She removed her hood and I was instantly taken by her jet black hair and emerald eyes. She was an enchantress and I knew it.

Avast, me proud beauty! I be firing me cannon down through your porthole.” I growled.

I found a stool, sat down and called for a bottle. The blonde was on her knees at my side and I handed her a new attachment for my hand. It was two thin, slightly curved metal plates that came together in a duck’s bill. A small cord tied to the harness near my elbow allowed me to open and close it with a simple flex of the forearm. I stuck it in the blonde’s mouth and pried her teeth apart to test the mechanism. She moaned a little and I spit down her open throat.

“Bring me Moby Dick!” The dread pirate giggled as the brunette took a small wooden box from the larger chest. Inside was a scrimshaw dildo shaped like a sperm whale. There were rubies and diamonds embedded in it like petrified blood and sea spray. She put it into her harness and removed her shirt, now completely soaked in blood, sweat and cum. She made quite the sight standing there in only her boots, scarf and strap-on made of whalebone. Her nipples stood out like gumdrops, and thrust at the air. The brunette backed up and offered her cunt up to Annie, who fell upon the wench with renewed hunger.

“Let’s board these bitches Nodi!” she yelled as she fucked her captive. Bridgette lost no time, moving in close. Her hands were like snakes, seeking to wrap themselves around me until the found a place of weakness. I grabbed her hair, snapping her head back, pulling her mouth open ever so slightly. One hand was inside my shirt running up my side while the other wasted no time finding my cock. I opened the new clamp that was my right hand just far enough to take hold of her windpipe. She gasped and stepped backwards as I pushed her against a column. I let go of her hair, reach down and with a single movement pulled off my belt. I wrapped it around her neck and the post, cinching it to the point that she winced in pain. I watched as the color faded from her cheeks and her green eyes started to glaze before I released. She moaned and I secured the belt to hold her tightly without choking. I pulled off her robe and used it to tie her hands behind the post. I pushed her down onto her haunches, feet beneath her, knees spread. She was mouth level with my cock and stared at my crotch greedily. Her mouth opened and closed with her pouty lips quivering. I took the speculum hand and shoved it down her throat until her eyes were watering and then pulled it out covered in saliva and bile. I slid it into her cunt and spread it so I could easily reach her G-spot. Once inside her and pushing in her spot, I removed the speculum and put it back in her throat. In less than thirty seconds she was squirting all over the floor, crying gagging and convulsing.

“Thar she blows!” screamed Annie.

I stood up and pulled out my dick. While holding her mouth open with my speculum hand I pissed down Bridgette’s throat. She closed her eyes and drank thirstily. Annie put her boot against her brunette’s ass and pushed toward us. “Lick it up, slut!” I pulled up my pants and removed the belt from Bridgette’s neck.

Ye got quite the crew here,” I said as we dress and watch the brunette clean the floor. “Ye sure tha’ ye can part with one o’ them?”

The dread pirate Annie McMayhem giggled her evil giggle. “Aye, me have an even better bitch in mind for yar prize.”

I will not put the vanilla girls in the hole. I will not put the vanilla girls in the hole. I will not put the vanilla girls in the hole. I will not put the vanilla girls in the hole. I will not put the vanilla girls…

I found the hole at work and so the chance of just grabbing someone by the hair and throwing her in there was zero. That does not mean that I am not scheming and anybody who thinks that just because the hole is in my work thinks that it will not come into play does not understand that I have keys and access to the security tapes. Believe you me that the hole will be used. It is just too good not to. The issue is that right then, at the moment that I unearthed this Al Capone’s vault of kink, I had no one that I could share it with.

 Pictures or it didn’t happen

 It is like so many things in life, the true value of the hole is context so as I start to take pictures of it, I realize that I need to find some way of portraying the potential of the space, not just the physical existence of it. The girl is a cutie that works for us and she is – as far as I can tell – very normal, very vanilla, but since she is very easily the cutest girl in the room and I love toying with people, I asked her to pose next to the heavy cast iron door. To give it proportions. I snap a shot of it closed, then open. Then she asked me, “Do you want me to get inside?”

No one is vanilla. You either know your kink or you don’t. I say this with both certainty and from experience. For years I lived quietly a “vanilla” life thinking that what I wanted, what I wanted to do was just the dark ruminations of a twisted mind. People did not do what I wanted to do and that was that. As ZG and I started to talk more and more and I began to see that there are people, sick perverted people, who not only think like I do but are acting these thoughts out. That is the way it goes, you are one day thinking that what turns you on, I mean really turns you on is so vile that you are the only one thinking it. If you are lucky your fear is proven false and the world opens up.

An addendum to my more perverted readers: I know that many who have made their way to kink made it on their own. The desire overcame their fear of social norms and to them I say kudos. This does not mean that you are more kinky or a better pervert than someone else. It just means that you have an element of rebel in your make up. Great, but not the only thing that makes you kinky. We are doing what we do because we like it and that varies for each of us. Hell, that varies within each of us on a daily bases so cut the newbies and tourist a little break. They don’t all need to be thrown in the deep end head first, only most of them.

Not Safe for… (Friends & Family Edition)

“Dear Mom, I love you, but please ignore this post. Don’t read any further. Really. You will regret it. I’m giving you one last chance to turn back before you stumble upon information that you likely do not want to know. If you do proceed, know that you are reading my very intimate thoughts about life, sex and relationships, and if there is anything that you do not agree with, I really do not want to hear it. If you do proceed and just want to talk about it, then I am all ears. You have been warned.” ~Zelda Gillian

It is inevitable. With each passing day, each passing post and repost, the foundation of my anonymity is eroded more and more. It is not that you, my readership, will find out who I am. That I don’t have concerns about. I mean you found my site and are reading on even in spite of (or possibly because of) other things that I have posted… you know “how I roll…”

Dear god that was awful. Let’s try again.

I love my family, but after sending out a few test questions to the more liberal of them, I realized that my life was not something that they would “approve” of. That’s fine. We all do things that others do not like but what we each have to do is get past that. It is just unfortunate that most people cannot.

GoodDump posted a very poignant piece the other day about reading his mother’s poetry in which he ended with this statement:

“I probably can’t read my mother’s poetry because of what I’m afraid I’ll learn about her. But, maybe I can’t read it because I’m more afraid of what I’ll learn about me.” [read full post]

This is doubly so for me and my darker sex. If my folks were to find out about my life they would wring their hands and wonder where they went wrong in raising me. They did nothing wrong. I am this way for myriad reasons, most having to do with an overactive imagination and a predilection for the stranger tastes in life. I was not abused or raised to mistreat people. In fact I was taught to be a defender of other people’s rights. I just don’t think they knew that these would be the rights I would end up defending.

I am the same person that they knew from childhood. I have not changed as much as simply become more vocal about some of those things I only hinted at before. My dad told me when I was sixteen and he was divorcing my mom, “I have been doing things for others my whole life. I just need to do this for me.” He was right. He needed to get away to free himself and to free my mother. Today they are both happier for it. That is all I want. I want to be honest with myself, but that means running the risk of being honest with others that may not be ready for it. I worry that this piece of me will slip out and the friends and family that I have held close for years will back away. For them it is a fundamental change even if the truth is that the only thing that has changed is the point of view.

And so I say to them: WARNING! This is not a friends and family safe zone! If you cross this post and read beyond, it is at your own peril! I do not want to stop any of my family members from knowing me if they want to but I also do not want to force them into reading anything they are not ready to read. We will see in a year from now who knows what.