January 2008


This one is making the rounds . . . found it at Thursday’s Child, who says she stole it from Chanta Rose. Answer four questions and the quiz tells you (if you happen to be a female bondage fanatic) your ideal position for bondage, and provides an image to boot.

I answered it three times in slightly different (yet accurate) ways . . . because I’m compulsive like that. And then I answered it once completely inaccurately because . . . well, you get the idea. The three I answered honestly ended up looking uncannily like pictures my lover has sent me of precisely what he plans on doing to me.

The other one looked really, really, REALLY weird to me. Ew.

This is one of the ones I liked . . . hehe.

Your Bishop
Bondage Position
You are so nicely presented. Your breasts are exposed for whoever might come along and take advantage of you. There is no getting free from this.


How would you be tied up?
Take the Bishop Bondage Test
(only 4 questions)

Many things remind me of him, of the first impressions I had of him. I stumbled across this piece of art on Gloria Brame’s site. On the first night we met he gave me a tour of his house, graced with this kind of subtle erotica (the wilder stuff is more carefully hidden).

buddhashakti01_2.jpg

From the sublime to the practical . . .

Belated news from the sex toy front:

redmassager.jpg1. We finally really used the njoy fun wand over the holidays . . . and it was electrically good (okay, for him, as a massage tool.) At least it’s more stylish, and more effective, than those plastic back massagers.

bodywax.jpg2. Soy candles are all they are cracked up to be, and more. Thank you to my best friend, who is not yet kinky but who swore up down and sideways that they were the sexiest party favor she had ever encountered. Or as he said, “I expect one of those in my Christmas stocking every year.”

3. There were floggers galore at the play party and I got worked over by several of them, thanks to some wonderful people and to my lover’s patience and generosity. And so leather falls and the like are now on our list of way-too-expensive, needed-it-yesterday items, along with suspension cuffs, corsets, and . . . oh, we had a bigger list, in a file on his computer. It’s a good thing we keep forgetting to update it because we have no money.

flashlight-vibe.jpg4. I still don’t have a mini-keychain-flashlight-vibe, and I still have no idea why not. Two-second political screed: if the abstinence-only folks were really concerned about young women, they’d hand these babies out like candy.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled perversions.

190517704_e4eebe11f6_b.jpgThe last night we were together this visit, we went upstairs, and he lit incense and a candle, as he always does. He stood back. “Lift up your breasts,” he said. “Hold them up . . . like you’re offering them to me . . . like you’re giving them to me to do with as I will.”

I did. He smiled. Then his face went serious. “Now lose the bra,” he said, his tone commanding.

I have learned after two years that long explanations are not as useful as action. I lifted my coral-pink cashmere sweater off my head in one swoop and showed him the non-bra, neck-to-ankle nightgown underneath.

“Alright, get ’em out,” he said.

I pulled down the straps of the black cotton, down to my waist. “Now do the same thing again–lift them like an offering.”

I lifted my breasts and walked toward him, my hair curling around my face in a screen, falling around my shoulders, my new collar heavy on my neck, the candlelight glowing behind me and lighting up his face.

His face was glowing too, in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before. He almost looked dumbfounded. I could see that I was beautiful to him . . . and also that he was proud of me, lusted after me, loved me, seemed in some kind of awe of me, and knew down to his core that he owned me. At least, that’s what I saw . . . which often really means I felt all those things about him.

He collared me this last trip. It was not the first time.

The first collar was a dog collar.

The second collar was a choker to wear in public, a symbol of us–a birthday present, and beautiful. He made it himself and wrote the poem that went with it. I lost it about three weeks later. I hope I find it in one of our houses, one day.

Not My CollarThe third collar was a “proper” collar. Stainless steel, leather, O-ring. We had a ceremony of sorts, and he asked me to promise certain things that I was not ready for, and that he had not realized I was not ready for. I cried; he bound me and fucked me; we fought, then and for a long time after.

But I have no interest in being apart from this man. None. So somehow, despite our fights, last weekend, before the play party, he gave me my (belated) birthday present.

The fourth collar. Stainless steel, (nearly) permanent, and locking. I starting crying mightily when he showed it to me, and when he put it on. He looked at me uncertainly. “Is that good crying or bad crying?”

“Good.” I said. “Very good.”

The collar in the picture is not mine . . .

. . . but it is beautiful. You can learn about it and

many other locking collars via this website.

Things I hate: When people don’t write things on their blogs. If I bookmark you, I want a little love. (Then again, I’m still too leery of this newfangled “internet” thing to subscribe to any feeds, so I suppose it’s my own fault.)

Things I love: My lover. Did I mention that? We have a play party to go to tonight and I am a little nervous, because I always am before socializing with other mammals. My nervousness is showing up in undue anxiety about the size of my tummy (which is, I admit, considerable at the moment, bloatedly premenstrual as it is). I whined about all of this, and he shot back, “Too bad, I guess you wish you had a corset now!” Sheesh.

Not the Actual Skirt or the Actual MeBut he sent me not one but two sweet emails about what I wanted to wear . . . he is very eager to make play events fun and comfortable for me, I know. And I was all in a froth about it until I found in an odd corner of my closet a lacy skirt I bought on a whim a couple of weeks ago–it will look great at the party and I can wear it to a meeting on Monday. Perfect. After all, clothes are pervertible, too.

I told him about this little place.

He likes it.

He even took the quiz.

And so, for him, and for anyone else who happens to stumble upon this blog with nothing better to do but to research your own sexual interests . . . I offer you the quiz that will answer that urgent question:

Do I have an inclination for BDSM?

You know you want to fritter. Aw, go for it.

(I read about this at subtle slavegirl. She turns out to be a submissive . . . yay for her.

I on the other hand am a profound exhibitionist/voyeur . . .

Beautiful Day

. . . who loves bondage. To each her own . . . )

Thanks to the talented Alex Lee for the photo . . . what a find, via Cu-Cu.

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