Keep keys safe!

Another news paper article translated into English, abbreviated version..

* * * * *

Man trapped in a chastity belt.

A man in Kingston, England decided to try on a chastity belt when his girlfriend was not home.
There was only one problem. When he went to take the belt off he discovered that the key to the chastity belt was missing. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get the metal belt off. Finally, he saw no other option than to call the local fire department.

The man's face was red when the firemen were forced to saw the chastity belt of him. He had lost the key. The men worked on the belt for over an hour before he was freed. The man did not notice his release. He had passed out from his swellings and pain in the genital area. He had spent the entire day trying to get the belt off.

* * * * *

Now there is a good quality belt, too bad the article does not mention who the manufacturer is...

Sandbox Master

We have all heard of them
Most Dommes have bumped into them.
We rename them Sandbox Masters.
Let me introduce to you a breed of men that have no respect for women.

I have just had the dubious pleasure of bumping into a so called sandbox master. For those of you who are not familiar with the concept; A sandbox master is someone who calls himself a master and just because of that title expects everyone to bow down to him, especially Dommes.

The short exchange began with him sending me a message

"I would like to look you in the eyes right before you get spanked hard with my leather belt!!!
Do you understand...???"

Now I cannot resist something as silly as that, I had to give a short reply.

"Ehm, no. Why would I want that?"

He did write me back.

"With my leather belt I meant because you are a woman who deserves it and needs it!!!

Oh come on! You will have to do better than that. My turn to rattle his cage a bit.

"Really? Are you one of those sandbox masters us dominants laugh at?"

Yeah, yeah, not the subtlest of techniques but hey, he earned it.
Still trying to gain control and put me in my place, he starts his next letter with an order.

"I don't call myself Master, and show your face when you are talking to me!!! You dominants, who are you?"

Okay, so he probably prefers a word in another language, who cares. Note the numerous exclamation marks and question marks he uses to emphazise his words. I suspect he needs them to underline his strength and power, something that comes from within and not from mere words.

Poor thing, doesn't he realize that he has been become my toy, instead of making me his?

Note to self

Certain experiences are best left unexperienced.
Enough said.

Passion

Have you ever met pure passion? Nothing but pure and unbridled passion?

If you can say yes, then you are among the lucky ones. Or perhaps the cursed.
I know I am both.

My father and I discussed him once. He asked who I was calling, texting, talking to while we were traveling. I told him who, and I explained why. He said that most people do not experience such passion. My wise and protective father gave me the advice to pursue it even though I told him it would end in disaster.

- At least then you have felt it, he said.

I was surprised.

It started out as an encounter among all the rest. A slave and a Domme engaging in a conversation about life, work and everything. I have never been the same since.

He was young. Too young. Beautiful and high-spirited, temperamental. It was obvious that he would be trouble. I have an unofficial age limit and he did not fit it. Yet ... there was something.

Suddenly our conversations changed.

- God, you have me...completely
- Why are you mine?
- Because You fit me... because i desire you - i want to be yours...i need to be yours. It is as if I have been your slave from the day I was born.

That was the first step, one of many. Part of me wishes it was still untreaded territory. Part of me could never live without it. What is done is done. We kept talking, joking, exploring. He called himself king and was quickly renamed slave-king. He saw something in me that had been left untouched, and wanted more.

Two days later I turned on my computer and was greeted by his face. I watched in amazement as his naked figure took out a roll of duct tape and started wrapping it around his wrists, determined to render himself helpless. Not the kind of helpless that can easily be reversed, but a complete and utter one. He was trying to make me rescue him. The expression on his face, his beautiful and flawed body, the way he held his hands, all was perfect.

That image still haunts me.

I knew I was being manipulated, provoked. Topped from the bottom if you will. I did not care. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and this was my excuse to escape the restraints of society. To not plan, prepare. Be primal. Simply act.

Minutes later I was in my car, driving with broken headlights through the still of the night. Mile after mile.

I picked him up at a train station. He came with a backpack and a brown hooded sweater. He climbed into my car and we exchanged the usual pleasantries. I told him that he was going to pay for his stunt, and he answered that he already knew he would have to.

I started driving, making my way out of the unfamiliar large city. He was sitting in the seat beside me. His bag on the floor, his hands on his knees. I was struck by how intense every single word seemed. The electricity between us was... still is. Natural. Unlike anything I have ever felt. I turned and looked at him.

- I want you.
- You have me.

Chills went down my spine. At that moment I did. Or did I? Was I the one caught? We are like a moth to a fire, but I have long since lost track of which one of us is the doomed fly.

There is no love between us. No romantic desires, nor a future. Passion was all that ever existed. Since we met, he has loved, as have I. Over time, a strong friendship evolved. He comes to my aid and I to his in the only way we can. The electricity never leaves. Some days he is just what I need to bring me back to life, at other times I must run and hide. He is my angel from hell, and my devil from heaven.

We can never meet again for fear of the result.

Passion is a dangerous thing. It corrupts and turns a believer into a fanatic, a worker into a workaholic, and a sadist into....

After writing this text I am still confused whether or not I regret it. I just know it has been a changing journey.

Is passion what you seek? Be careful of what you ask for.... Everything comes with a price

Sweet memories

Yet another memory...

* * * * *

Strawberries are part of summer. To me, they are the biggest and best sign that my favorite season is here. We picked up a liter at the store. Freshly picked. I sample one as we are walking home. It tastes so sweet.

I pour the whip cream in a bowl and hand it to him. It is the one thing he always whips. I start rinsing and cleaning the berries, and we finish at the same time.

-Put these on the table and then bring me your posture collar.
-Yes Mistress.

He is smiling, obviously sensing that I am up to something. He quickly does as he is told, then returns to me, kneeling with his collar in his hands, presented to me as he has been taught. I put it around his neck, locking it in place. It keeps his chin slightly raised, and it is impossible for him to turn his head. I attach the chain and leather leash.

- Come.

He follows me like an obedient dog, keeping out of my way, yet careful not to pull on the leash. He knows he would be punished for it. I sit down on the couch, making myself comfortable and motion for him to get in under the living room table.

Another order:
-Take off my panties.

Using his mouth, his lips, careful not to let his teeth graze me, he pulls them off my body. I help him by raising my body slightly from the sofa, but he works methodically. First one side, then the other. Every now and then he lets a kiss slip in and it makes me smile. I know it is his way of showing how he worships me.

I take a strawberry, dipping it into the cream and taste it. Delicious.

- Slave, would you like a strawberry?
- Yes Mistress.
- And some cream to go with perhaps?
- Yes please, Mistress.

I take another strawberry, and swirl it around in the whipped cream, making sure it is almost completely covered. I take the strawberry and bring it to my cunt, tracing the outline of it until all of the cream is wiped off. Then I slowly push the strawberry inside me. I pull on the leash and that is all the encouragement he needs. Within seconds the strawberry and whipped cream are no more, and his tongue continues to clean me. The TV is on in the background, a common summer feature, a sing along show and I join in the familiar tunes. More strawberries for me, and more for him.

- I am thirsty, get me a glass of milk.
- Yes Ma'am. Can I have some as well?
- No, you can't.
- Yes Mistress.

He brings me my milk, and I continue watching the show, with him sitting on the floor beside me, resting against my legs. As the final notes of the song ring out, I grab him by his hair, pulling him down on his back on the red carpet. I straddle his chest, whispering in his ear that his thirst will soon be quenched. I move up and sit myself down on his face, and let go. I hear the sound of him swallowing.

He does not spill a drop.

As I get back on my feet, the red carpet is still clean. I am satisfied and his thirst is quenched for now. There is a faint smell on his breath, recognizable only to the few who know, who understand.

-Thank you Mistress.

I pat the sofa and he climbs up, and lies behind me, spooning. He wraps his arms around me and I enjoy being so close. In his embrace. He nuzzles his face in the back of my neck, amidst my hair. His head is still held in place by the collar and I have no intention of releasing him yet.

The night is still young...