Finally, at last, en fin! A review, and a wonderful one at that. I admit I was tremendously nervous when I heard it was going to be posted, but I could not have written a more spectacular review. I'm blushing in fact!
BDSM Book Reviews
The kinkier side of me
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
It lies within a voice. Gentle, soothing, soft. Underlined with the lightest trace of the firmest conviction and fixity which can so easily rise to the surface.
And do, in the beat of a heart, when I least expect it.
Catapulting me in an instant from the sweetly compliant creature lured into this realm to the melting inferno of slavish yearning.
A voice, nothing more. Capable of shaping and molding me into . . . his.
And do, in the beat of a heart, when I least expect it.
Catapulting me in an instant from the sweetly compliant creature lured into this realm to the melting inferno of slavish yearning.
A voice, nothing more. Capable of shaping and molding me into . . . his.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
The magical enthrallment I feel
Stripping away everything which is a desire, no matter how minor or strong, I am left with but one true need - to be controlled. (Although I have to admit that bondage and chains would be sorely missed!)
I know that dark path I can travel, the one which leads to the destruction of my personality and spark of life. Far too intimately for I have become the proverbial doormat, more times than I am comfortable admitting. Yet it is not that form of submission I crave. The key, for me, is the Dominant. How will I respond to him, who will I become? The path I desire is one of beauty and celebration . . .
This is my form of Dominance and submission ... one which is loving, nurturing, fulfilling. I know I am a better person when I am with him and I also know that I soothe his impatience with the world as much as he provides me with the motivation to achieve.
My attention is captured ... by a soft voice filled with strength, twinkling eyes which silently command, a quirking smile that somehow conveys the knowledge that he can see into my very soul.
I melt . . . yearning . . . waiting . . . hoping . . . already becoming his.
I know that dark path I can travel, the one which leads to the destruction of my personality and spark of life. Far too intimately for I have become the proverbial doormat, more times than I am comfortable admitting. Yet it is not that form of submission I crave. The key, for me, is the Dominant. How will I respond to him, who will I become? The path I desire is one of beauty and celebration . . .
For each subjugation of my being, I see a
spark of admiration reflected in his eyes.
Every lowering of my essence towards nothingness elicits a
benediction of his assurance that, to him, I am beautiful.
Each following of his lead with absolute perfection
draws me closer into the safety of his arms and love.
And, despite all outward appearances, he demands that
I truly be his partner - intellectually, emotionally, sexually.
This is my form of Dominance and submission ... one which is loving, nurturing, fulfilling. I know I am a better person when I am with him and I also know that I soothe his impatience with the world as much as he provides me with the motivation to achieve.
My attention is captured ... by a soft voice filled with strength, twinkling eyes which silently command, a quirking smile that somehow conveys the knowledge that he can see into my very soul.
I melt . . . yearning . . . waiting . . . hoping . . . already becoming his.
Friday, February 11, 2011
The journey (part 3)
Yes, I was a submissive. Or at least I thought I was. I was becoming more confused with each passing day. What had seemed so enthrallingly wonderful in the beginning was quickly turning into a journey into tears, recriminations, fear and pain. Where once I had been filled with anticipation of a coming evening with him, now I was consumed with trepidation.
Everything I did was wrong it seemed. I didn't dress sluttily enough, then I dressed too much like a hooker. I didn't pay enough attention to him, then I was clingning. Each time I hesitated, he called my submission into question. I was so close to confirming his purported suspicions ... I wanted nothing more than to scream that I was not a submissive and run away from him and he entire thing which had drawn me so powerfully.
Battling the tears in my eyes, trying to paste a smile upon my face, I obeyed his order and approached the bar to fill his drink order. I waited for the bartender to prepare the drink, my eyes closed as I struggled with my emotions, knowing he would lacerate me with at least his words if I did not return looking as if I was radiantly blessed to be in his presence.
As smooth as dark, rich honey the voice cut through my forced meditation. It oozed and coated me, mesmerized me into a trance of liquidity, made me yearn to give him my very soul. My head turned towards the speaker, my eyes slowly opened to find his. The intensity was amazing, particularly when coupled with intelligence and compassion.
He quirked a gentle smile as he repeated his statement.
"I see before me an exquisite submissive who has offered herself to one who does not know how to command her. The flaw is in him, not in you."
Standing transfixed, I allowed his strength to wash a soothing calm into me. When the bartender delivered the drink I had been awaiting, the man I knew must be a Dominant nodded his head slightly and released me with the ease of a magician who has mastered every nuance of his craft.
"Go to him now and do not worry. I will be here . . . for you little one."
Everything I did was wrong it seemed. I didn't dress sluttily enough, then I dressed too much like a hooker. I didn't pay enough attention to him, then I was clingning. Each time I hesitated, he called my submission into question. I was so close to confirming his purported suspicions ... I wanted nothing more than to scream that I was not a submissive and run away from him and he entire thing which had drawn me so powerfully.
Battling the tears in my eyes, trying to paste a smile upon my face, I obeyed his order and approached the bar to fill his drink order. I waited for the bartender to prepare the drink, my eyes closed as I struggled with my emotions, knowing he would lacerate me with at least his words if I did not return looking as if I was radiantly blessed to be in his presence.
As smooth as dark, rich honey the voice cut through my forced meditation. It oozed and coated me, mesmerized me into a trance of liquidity, made me yearn to give him my very soul. My head turned towards the speaker, my eyes slowly opened to find his. The intensity was amazing, particularly when coupled with intelligence and compassion.
He quirked a gentle smile as he repeated his statement.
"I see before me an exquisite submissive who has offered herself to one who does not know how to command her. The flaw is in him, not in you."
Standing transfixed, I allowed his strength to wash a soothing calm into me. When the bartender delivered the drink I had been awaiting, the man I knew must be a Dominant nodded his head slightly and released me with the ease of a magician who has mastered every nuance of his craft.
"Go to him now and do not worry. I will be here . . . for you little one."
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The journey (part 2)
It was amazing and enthralling. With a simple look, I would fall to my knees, my head would lower, my hormones would rage and I would be yearning to have him touch me in any way he desired. Avenues opened before me which I had never contemplated before.
We would meet at the bar and, more often than not, he would drag me to the darkened alley or his car for a quick blow job. I became an expert at satisfying him as well as climaxing as soon as he finished and moved his hand to my sex for a couple of quick thrustings of his fingers before telling me I could cum.
Then he'd drag me back into the bar and show off the girl he commanded which seemed to cause envy among his friends. I was his and I preened at the treatment. It didn't take me long to figure out that, if I wanted to ensure another interlude before we left for the evening, I needed to stoke the desire of his friends. It seemed that there was a direct correlation between their sexual interest and envy and his erection. I learned that lesson the hard way.
We had met three times and, apparently, the novelty had worn off. For him. I was incredibly content to gaze worshipfully at him and ignore everyone else. So it was impossible to miss the way he slammed down his beer late one evening as he sneered maliciously and grabbed my arm to propel me from the pub.
Instead of pushing me into his car, against a wall or to my knees, he spun me to face him and shook me as he growled in outrage. What, he wanted to know, was wrong with me. Terrified and confused, I asked him what I had done wrong. To which he carefully explained that I was supposed to turn him on and he wanted a slut, not a miss prim and proper.
When I began to reach for him, he slapped my face then turned me and shoved my face to the hood of his car. Lifting my skirt and holding it with the hand pinned against my neck, he ripped my panties to my knees. Before I knew it, his hand was violently slamming against my ass. When I cried out, he told me to shut up and listen. As each blow of his hand fell, he gave me instructions. I would wear very short skirts, I would not wear panties or a bra, I would wear see through or very low cut shirts. I would shave my pussy and give people teasing views of myself. I would draw attention to my tits by stroking them now and again. If he told me to get him a drink, I would bend over the bar and show my ass. If I was allowed to dance with someone, I would hump against his hard on. In short, my job was to drive people wild with desire for me. Did I understand?
Sobbing, I nodded. Outraged, he hit my ass even harder and told me to answer him. And when I did, he impaled my flaming ass, driving into my anus without warning or concern. He thrust rapidly, holding my neck still pinned, his other hand digging into my flaming cheeks, the nails biting into the abused flesh. When he finished, he pushed off from me and practically vaulted into his car. As the engine started, I stood, confused and shocked, pathetically crying as I looked at him, pleading for some compassion or line of safety in my upended dream.
He rolled down the window. "Get over it. A true sub enjoys anal. You are a true sub, aren't you?" When I said I was, he told me he would see me on Friday night. And then sped away.
We would meet at the bar and, more often than not, he would drag me to the darkened alley or his car for a quick blow job. I became an expert at satisfying him as well as climaxing as soon as he finished and moved his hand to my sex for a couple of quick thrustings of his fingers before telling me I could cum.
Then he'd drag me back into the bar and show off the girl he commanded which seemed to cause envy among his friends. I was his and I preened at the treatment. It didn't take me long to figure out that, if I wanted to ensure another interlude before we left for the evening, I needed to stoke the desire of his friends. It seemed that there was a direct correlation between their sexual interest and envy and his erection. I learned that lesson the hard way.
We had met three times and, apparently, the novelty had worn off. For him. I was incredibly content to gaze worshipfully at him and ignore everyone else. So it was impossible to miss the way he slammed down his beer late one evening as he sneered maliciously and grabbed my arm to propel me from the pub.
Instead of pushing me into his car, against a wall or to my knees, he spun me to face him and shook me as he growled in outrage. What, he wanted to know, was wrong with me. Terrified and confused, I asked him what I had done wrong. To which he carefully explained that I was supposed to turn him on and he wanted a slut, not a miss prim and proper.
When I began to reach for him, he slapped my face then turned me and shoved my face to the hood of his car. Lifting my skirt and holding it with the hand pinned against my neck, he ripped my panties to my knees. Before I knew it, his hand was violently slamming against my ass. When I cried out, he told me to shut up and listen. As each blow of his hand fell, he gave me instructions. I would wear very short skirts, I would not wear panties or a bra, I would wear see through or very low cut shirts. I would shave my pussy and give people teasing views of myself. I would draw attention to my tits by stroking them now and again. If he told me to get him a drink, I would bend over the bar and show my ass. If I was allowed to dance with someone, I would hump against his hard on. In short, my job was to drive people wild with desire for me. Did I understand?
Sobbing, I nodded. Outraged, he hit my ass even harder and told me to answer him. And when I did, he impaled my flaming ass, driving into my anus without warning or concern. He thrust rapidly, holding my neck still pinned, his other hand digging into my flaming cheeks, the nails biting into the abused flesh. When he finished, he pushed off from me and practically vaulted into his car. As the engine started, I stood, confused and shocked, pathetically crying as I looked at him, pleading for some compassion or line of safety in my upended dream.
He rolled down the window. "Get over it. A true sub enjoys anal. You are a true sub, aren't you?" When I said I was, he told me he would see me on Friday night. And then sped away.
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