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Intimate Reflections Three months of what She thinks... October 3 Dear Diary, I knew I was in trouble before Capricorn came to warn me about the dangers that lie ahead if I persisted in my journey. The sissy had been in chastity for only a few weeks when I realized my chemistry was changing and I felt sexual electricity surging through my body, electricity that always left me feeling too sticky and too warm to allow for any rational thoughts and where is a woman’s power if not in the control of her mind! Work occupied my days but as soon as the sun set I began a series of bawdy boogie nights with an endless list of beautiful black-eyes boys and soft silky girls; I welcomed them all to my boudoir and took all they had to give. It became a far too powerful sexual cocktail shaken from a strange mixture that remains a mystery to this day. One beautiful Saturday morning I went out to exercise with a run into the city, the city that fancypants called his “sexual ghetto”. I stopped for an Egyptian coffee at the Russian Tea House long famous for the quality of their drinks and the beauty of the servers. Across the street was a pizza shop, a bodega, and a XXX Video and book store and I witnessed a procession of sexually starved men; old men, young men, beauties and beasts marching in rigid lock-step with their eyes glued to the ground beneath them. Each was terrified that someone familiar would recognize them; see them enter the shabby store front known for its perversion. But that didn’t stop them, it couldn’t stop that powerful sexual urge that men are such prisoners to. I sat for almost half an hour watching that procession while enjoying the beautiful youthful sexuality of the servers in the restaurant. My own passions rose! My pulse quickened and breathing became so labored I had to open my mouth to process enough oxygen. I wondered, if them, why not Me? Wasn’t I being driven by some cosmic force? Could anyone resist the temptation of orgasms that grow in intensity and duration with every tryst like mine had? I called for the check and left a generous tip; flirted with the doe-eyed boy that waited on me and patted his pretty ass. The blinking neon sign was like a beacon; “Peep Show”, “Peep Show”, “Peep Show. It urged me across the street, made me blind to the on coming cars and the deafening blast of their horns. More, later diary, it’s time for class to begin and there’s so much more to tell! L. Intimate Reflections October 4 Dear Diary, The tiny cubicle was dingy and smelled awful but that didn’t stop me from dropping coins into the slot and staring at the screen as the video began. A sleek black limousine pulled up to a dirty factory that could have been anywhere in the world; Belfast, Dresden, Allentown. A chauffeur got out and opened the back door then watched as a long sleek nylon clad leg appeared. His eyes widened at the sight of an emerald green garter and soft white thigh, then looked quickly away as the woman shouted “pig” and slapped his face very hard. “Wait here for me” she commanded, “and if you play with your cock don’t make a mess”. “Yes dear’ he whispered to himself wondering how he could love her so much after all these years of marriage and abuse. The factory noise was deafening; a combination of drill presses and metal shears. A small foundry blazed with fiery sparks as she marched down the center isle and the dirty workers eyed her with passion and distrust. They were all young men, thickly muscled and at the height of their sexual potency and as she walked farther into the factory they began to close in on her like the walls of a torture chamber, closer and closer. She could smell them now and that heady scent of perspiration triggered moisture between her legs. “Who’s in charge here” she demanded, but no one was listening. A rough hand pushed her over a tool bench then threw her dress up over her hips. Filthy hands tore away her designer panties leaving her naked and exposed; fleshy buttocks and thighs, the pouting lips of her sex peeked out from between damp thighs. “No” she cried, but someone had already mounted her, and when she tried to scream again another cock had filled her mouth. Her arms flailed like a puppets, reaching out both left and right to find hard rigid cocks to stroke. The elegant woman bucked her hips, sucked and gagged on the thick cock in her mouth, moved her hands with a violent rhythm. They all exploded as if on queue at the sound of the shift whistle that announced the end of the workday, and she was left alone, deserted, wanting. “What about me” she screamed and I heard a noise from my left and another from my right. Even in the darkness I could see the cocks poking at me through the glory holes cut into the video booth walls, and for a moment, for the briefest moment, I considered it! I considered dropping my running tights, bending over to receive one in my pussy, another in my mouth. My thighs were soaked with excitement, why not me? I could feel my clitoris throbbing, I wanted release now, right now, and then the horror of my thoughts seized me like a vise. I broke out in a cold sweat and ran out into the hallway. It was full of men kissing and groping each other, some were on their knees, and others were bent over. The sounds and smells of sex were everywhere and I began to run, down the hall, through the store, and out on to the street. Once I returned to the Studio I ran to the bathroom and locked the door, stood there in the darkness, panting with my rump up against the sink. It had all been so decadent and disgusting and so delicious I knew I had to return. My fingers dropped between my legs, and when I stopped shuddering I lay down on the bathroom floor, curled up like a little girl, and found a grateful sleep. L. Intimate Reflections October 20 Dear Diary, I watched the news last evening with equal measure of excitement and fear coursing through my veins as a raid was conducted at the XXX Book and Video store that had almost been the scene of my most hideous debasement. Nude boys were marched out with their wrists cuffed behind their heads, bent over and paddled for the television cameras that seemed to dwell on their most intimate and private parts. I can tell you Diary, and only you, that I was so frightened by it all I wet my panties. In a moment I can only describe as male-weakness I had considered giving myself into my insatiable quest for orgasm by the sordid act of anonymous sex. Only my Female-strength guided me through that ordeal or I may have been part of that assemblage. The thought of being publicly paddled and ogled by a large television audience fills me with a plethora of strange mixed emotions! Yet through it all I have found a positive. Remember me writing a while ago how the sissy fancypants announced in session that might have been a better boy with the aid of hearty 10-12 swats to begin each day? What if he is correct? In my role as counselor/facilitator I could quantify those results, couldn’t I? I could check and re-check the data for validity and reliability then offer it as my statistical thesis to the College of Dominants and achieve that which I have cherished my so long; my degree Doctor of Discipline! It will be called “Sunrise Spankings” and I may even apply for a government grant. L. Intimate Reflections October 24 Dear Diary, What fun I had this day!!!!!! It began with the sissy obediently bent over with his chubby ass framed by the most delicious pair of tangerine colored step-ins that formed the perfect target for the object of my scholarly study. Initially the plan had called for 10-12 good hard swats to temper his passions but my own enthusiasm ran wild and before I was done he must have suffered twenty, yet remained in perfect and devoted position…I do love obedient boys! When finished I cupped each round globe with my cool hand and almost saw steam rise from the poor punished posteriors…good job Luigi I thought…he’ll stand at lunch or at the very most sit gingerly on a fluffy pillow to ease his discomfort. It was at that precise moment that I noticed a delightful tingling in that region of mine that is properly feminine and the home of my deepest passions…now at mid-morning the tingling still haunts me and I noticed each time that I pass a mirror that a smile seems frozen on my face. What fun diary!!! L. Intimate Reflections October 25 Dear Diary, For the past several weeks I have been conducting email correspondence with a distraught mother and father who have commissioned me to tame their young irresponsible daughter. The girl is heiress to a large world-wide hotel chain fortune and spends her time in gay frivolous activity that brings embarrassment to the family. Recently she had her photo on the cover of several tabloids with her most intimate and feminine charms immodestly displayed for the cameras of the paparazzi and I have decided to entertain the job of work and tame this spoiled little bitch. In fact I’m looking forward to the task. The family has offered me a handsome fee for my efforts that I will gladly accept but the truth is diary I might have done the job “pro bono”. She arrives tomorrow! Early this evening I went to the basement gymnasium for a demanding 45 minute session on the stair climber and when I exited the room my Ms fancypants was waiting for me with a beaming smile on his face. I knew immediately the first day of my paddling program had been a success and I opened my arms to the sissy and gave him a delightful hug and an affectionate pat. Then I remembered my words, “a reward “ I had said, well why not? I placed one hand behind my head and pulled his face into my armpit, the little darling almost feinted! He whiffed and sniffed like a randy little bloodhound drinking in the heady aroma of my feminine perspiration and ran a soft warm tongue over my day old stubble seizing every gram of my nectar-sweat. When I released the boi he trembled! I looked down to his center where his silly little cockette was pushing mightily against the fabric of his short sissy pants, standing like a brave little soldier. I couldn’t help myself diary for giggling, it was that fucking cute! He stood rigid with his arms pressed tightly against his sides fighting the impulse to take hold of his favorite toy. What a brave sissy he had become, able to defy the temptations and torments that had haunted him like a demon for so long. The look in his eye told me that he was suffering this agonizing abstinence for ME, how sweet is that? I spanked him up the steps, “hurry darling, an ice cold shower with douse your fires, cool those burning desires for self-indulgence”. Then when I heard the showers I retired here for wine and repose. Diary it is divine being a Domina, it is divine being adored! L Intimate Reflections November 2 Dear Diary, Last evening I held a cocktail party at the Studio for a score of my Dominant friends to celebrate Holloween and to enjoy my taming of the heiress. I prepared her and my Ms fancypants in almost identical costumes. First red leather underbust corsets that coaxed their nipples to spill out like ripe fruit, then black rubber stockings and arched stiletto boots. My aim was to blur the difference between genders and present them not as boi or girl but rather as human playthings available to any inhuman Master or demanding Mistress for intimate erotic encounters. To this end I think my experiment was a resounding success and the bizarre feminine attire created intense sexual electricity that permeated the entire evening. The two slaves became objects of everyone’s dark desires; the heiress fitted with a posture collar and black butterfly wings and the sissy gloved with eagle’s talons and a beaked mask. I hung them both from the ceiling kneeling on tiny platforms mimicking poses from the photography of Ellen Von Unwerth. They rested just above eye level in a symphony of lights and shadows with tiny constricted waists that emphasized the elegant rondure of buttock and thigh. Mirrors placed throughout the room reflected transformations from fabric to flesh; blacks, reds, delicate ivories, shocking pinks! Suspended like that they resembled other world objects with their bodies presenting splendid curves offered for reward or punishment at the discretion of the viewer. The surveillance tape played all night long in a loop so that regardless of when a guest arrived or departed it might be viewed in its entirety. Each visitor on the porch had been recorded from the wide-shouldered package-delivery lady with the “Joey” nameplate on her brown uniform to the life-insurance salesman who thoughtfully left his business card behind rolled into a thin cylinder and placed in the avenue that rarely sees the sun shine. The heiress wept all night and appeared far more beautiful in misery than in joy listening to the conversation from the guests with rapt attention; politics, religion, the economy, and of course the age-old comparisons of delight; pussy, mouth, asshole! I drank too heavily diary so moved was I by the anticipation of imminent sexual sacrifice, actually shuddered with damp anticipation. L. Intimate Reflections November 5 Dear Diary, I was a bad girl yesterday diary, a very bad girl! Once Ezra left I walked up to my bedroom with the brat crawling behind like an other-world animal still dressed in her leather and rubber and wearing the gossamer butterfly wings. I sat down on the edge of my bed and when she saw the heavy long handled hairbrush next to me she crawled over my lap like an eager kitten stretching and rubbing her wet pussy against my thigh. The heiress was going home tomorrow and except for the humiliation and bondage all my efforts had been passive up to this moment. I needed to send her away with the kind of sore remembrance that would bind her to my will forever. My own passions became higher pitched with each hard swat while she wriggled and writhed on my lap crying and kicking like a divine little brat princess. I threw her on to the bed on her back and looked down at her soft ivory thighs then picked up several of the thorny black roses laying there and began to whip her. You know how I resist temptation diary, the temptation to self-indulgence, the temptation to the wanting! Giving in to “weakness’ is the domain of others, those who beg to worship Me. But the little speckles of blood fueled me. I gathered up a scoop on my index finger and sucked the warm ambrosia; it trickled through my system like white-lighting, sticky and metallic-rich. When I dropped to my knees a look of surprise crossed her faced. She thought I was about to lick her pussy diary, could she really be such a fool? I could almost see the femoral artery below the pale skin, I could almost hear the throbbing vibration of pulse, could almost sense the ebb and flow of life! The beautiful feint blueness of a succulent vein caused my nipples to peak and my clit to vibrate like a tuning fork. She was soft, and tasted like vanilla; I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of soft fragile flesh on my lips. I slid my tongue into the wound and under the skin. She gripped my hair with both hands moaning and begging for more, more pleasure, more pain! I possessed her, she was mine, but I wanted more! My harness slid neatly into place and I snapped in an eight incher, a new invention of mine, patent still pending. I squeezed the stem of the phallus and a gob of Boi Butter squirted out from the tiny slit. I rubbed it against the gates of the dry tight little tabernacle marveling at the beauty of the anus and the wonder of its surrender. My eyes darted back and forth between the look of agony on her face and the vision of my cock disappearing into that precious temple and then she laughed. It was such a laugh of childlike glee as the waves of anal-orgasm engulfed her that I let myself go. I pumped harder, faster, till the base of the phallus scratched my vicious itch. The heiress grabbed the cheeks of my ass, pulled me tighter, and we knew as women sometimes know an astounding joy. She slept with me that night in a tangle of arms and legs and steamy pussy and in the morning I sent her away, a good girl. She wore more sensible cotton panties and taupe tights under a light blue cotton blouse and oxford grey woolen skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and fixed with a baby blue ribbon, she wore little make-up, and sensible two inch heels. It was the image the world would now see forever and the real vicious little cunt would stay veiled to society and a servant to Me forever. I was a bad girl last night diary, and I loved it! L. Intimate Reflections November 18 Dear Diary, I made him wait all day and into the night with the evil mustard yellow prison strap that he’d brought to Me along with his confession sitting on top of my antique desk like a slumbering serpent. It was the cruelest weapon in my arsenal and centuries old; I tried to ply my day of work but it seemed to sing out to me again and again. The whimpers and wails of bois tamed and trained by its blistering application sang out to me like a sirens song; urgent and primitive. If I closed my eyes I could actually see them with their smooth round rumps quivering for attention while the attending Master or Matron readied themselves for work. Then I heard their screams, their pleas begging to lick a muddy boot, suck a cock or bury a willing tongue into a feminine temple! Oh, how I wish I could have whipped them all! My own passions rose several times during the day to such a degree that I was forced to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs tightly together delaying the liquid response that awaits me this night! Grooms delivered him naked at midnight freshly scrubbed and lightly oiled and lay him over the arm of a crimson leather divan in My boudoir so that his face rested on the seat and his rump stood proudly in the air. Hundreds of candles were ignited and incense burned, a baroque quintet played a soulful dirge on the stereo, as slow and somber as a funeral procession. When the grooms departed I pressed a remote control and opened the drapes revealing two walls of floor to ceiling mirrors and the glass doors leading to my balcony. It was all part of My plan, all part of his punishment. When I placed a blindfold over his eyes he squirmed with the knowledge that this punishment consisted of more than just a severe ass beating. I undressed slowly dropping each garment on the divan closer and closer to his face till finally my stockings and knickers lay teasingly close, frilly and fragrant. I pulled on a pair of thigh high red boots and took the heavy wooden handle of the prison strap in my right hand. It was time to begin. As I marched around the room enjoying the reflection of my beauty I felt like Narcissus seeking his own image in the reflection pool and understanding fully how he had desired to make love to himself. The flickering lights danced over My bouncing breasts delightfully and the nipples seemed fuller still than any time before. I turned to the mirror and slapped my rump, it remained full and firm, the object of so much lust. If only I could reach into the mirror, feel the warmth, inhale the fragrances, let my tongue dance in those precious feminine folds, and experience the joy! My concentration was broken when a branch from a tree outside the window broke with a sharp crack and another voyeur fell to the ground with a wail and a smack. I laughed wondering how many were out there tonight, how many weak men willing to risk their lives for the briefest glimpse between my legs. He looked perfect in this mode of sacrificial crisis, this boy that I’d spoiled with my attentions. The strap fell with a frightening smack, hard and punishing, and his flesh bristled while his mouth opened in a silent scream. I did it again and again, over and over, while something inside me, something tiny and vital took control of my entire being. Then when his skin was blistering and his thighs began to quake with the limits of his pain, my foreplay ended and I stepped back and let my left hand trail to that of me that is warmest and most feminine. The lips of my sex and the clitoris were swollen and already well-lubricated; I looked again at myself in the mirror and saw that I was covered with a sexual flush, my skin a cool magenta in the candles glow. My back, buttocks, and thighs were gripped in tension and my vagina seemed to balloon out almost begging to be filled. I felt myself elevate, just a few inches above the carpet, but elevate still, and then the contractions shook me. My heart was racing as the muscles in my vagina and uterus pounded me with pleasures and my anus puckered deliciously. And then slowly I descended to earth, mortal again and relaxed. The boy was laying on his side on the divan now with his back to me and I joined him pressing my wet thighs against his punished flesh till it sizzled like bacon. Then as if by magic all the candles extinguished at exactly the same time and we fell into a slumber so deep we may have been close to death. L. Intimate Reflections December 12, 2008 Dear Diary, I recognized Delilah immediately as one of those rare, truly fearsome Vampires who pop into my life with unscheduled frequency and create an emotional release or sexual thrill of unparallel comparison. The club that night was filled with legions of the undead from every neighborhood in the city but no one vibrated with the pranic energy, the life force, she possessed and I felt a sisterhood with her. Like me Delilah was moody, unpredictable, temperamental and overwhelming. When she asked to defile my boi I only knew I had to watch his sensual destruction and hugged the Shemale tightly enjoying the pressure of her sensible 32b implants against my own heaving breasts. She was suffering through the kind of energy imbalance that leaves us vulnerable if only for a very short time. When creatures like us experience a biochemical imbalance our natural rhythms go haywire causing inverted body cycles; temperature peaks, menstrual irregularities, sleep deprivation. I’d known the fear myself, recognized my weakness, and understood that a stronger being could take control of me in that state. In those moments I was gripped by the fear of submission, trembled with the knowledge another Dominant might recognize my plight. A Master or Mistress could take me over their knee, spank me, and send me to my knees to worship. What a horror! The thought of being driven to that ignominious position on elbows and knees with my hindquarters raised in supplication and my delicate parts open for penetration demanded I help this beautiful wild creature through her ordeal. I took the Shemale closer and whispered in her ear; “feed on my boi, draw his energy into your vortex, but be careful, don’t push him close to death, then fuck power back into him, fill him with your sticky protein, let him live to serve again tomorrow”. Delilah took fancy out on to the dance floor. I could almost hear her thick salty tongue dancing in his mouth while she slid her hands into the back of his rubber leggings and made his ass her personal playground. My own energy began to peak and I experienced a most delightful and moist moment. L.
Intimate Reflections December 22, 2008 Dear Diary, Once back at the Studio I undressed fancy, placed a collar around his neck and tied his wrists together with nylon cord. He was weak at the moment, but the large injection of sticky sweet Vampire protein bubbling in his anus would quickly build his strength and he would wake up erect and randy. The collar would act as a reminder of his servitude and the cord would keep him from masturbating. I made a mental note to give him an early prostate milking and a half dozen with a whippy taming stick to quench his fires. I tucked him in his bed and lifted my arm to give him the gift of My scent to stimulate his libidinous dreams then walked quickly to my own chambers and undressed in front of a full length mirror lifting my breasts to the reflection then turning to enjoy the sweep of my buttocks. The night’s activities had elicited frightfully powerful electricity to My psyche, so powerful as to cause clitoral trembles and anal sparks. Under the warm scented purple sheets I quickly nodded off traveling to a wonderland of emerald green pastures, mist-covered lakes, and rumbling volcanic mountains. The smell of wild strawberries filled the air and I cuddled next to a huge Bengal tiger who purred at me like a soft pussy cat. My body felt warm and wet; willing. I needed even if in a dream to part my thighs to a pulsing sexuality, to be driven to weakness by another’s strength, to know that raw feeling of fullness that is so hypnotizing. Then he appeared, more beautiful than any man I’d ever seen. He carried his muscled body with a regal gait like a being bred from gods on Mount Olympus. His smile was sparkling and benign, his voice as musical as a brook, and that of him that was male hung with a mustang’s majesty that made Me giggle like a schoolgirl. He approached Me timidly with a most curious tale saying that he was a Virgin and had been searching for me for many centuries in hopes of consummating the celebration of his masculinity at my temple of femininity. Well Diary, you could have heard the heart thumping! We both know my one ad only weakness; my huger for Virgin blood, the only potion powerful enough to sustain me. I reached out my arms in welcome ad parted my thighs and when he had achieved his journey’s end I took hold of his firm smooth buttocks ad lowered my mouth to his neck. I awoke with the metallic taste of blood in my throat from biting my own lip ad the wet expression of my passion staining the sheets. Will it ever really happen diary?????
L
Intimate Reflections January19, 2009 Dear Diary, I boarded the plane at O’Hare at 7:00 am precisely and by 7:27 we were lifting off runway number 77b and I looked down at a frozen Lake Michigan and the sub-zero temperatures of a frigid Chicago confident in the knowledge that the dreadful winter wind called the Hawk wouldn’t have my skirts to blow under for two full weeks. Hours and thousands of nautical miles later I landed in steamy Caracas, Venezuela after enjoying a large platter of Eggs Benedict, two powerful Bloody Mary’s, a short nap, and the attentions of a flirty blond flight attendant with a radiant smile and a pair of huggy midnight blue trousers that were full of promise! A young pair of newly weds were in front of me in customs and I watched a handsome female constable in a starched khaki uniform rifle through the bride’s suitcase. In between her panties and stockings were a wooden paddle, a dildo and harness, and a large jar of Boi Butter. The constable flashed a wide friendly smile and then spoke in a thick Bahamian English. “Take your pretty young groom to the bridle suite quickly, place him over your lap and deliver a long hard spanking then spread your legs and send him to his knees. One good licking always deserves another”. She smoothed out the lingerie, closed the suitcase and winked at the bride, “enjoy your honeymoon”, she added. When I stepped forward she smiled again, “we’ve been expecting You Signorina”. She handed me a large brimmed straw hat and a pair of huge sunglasses then pointed to a door that led to a waiting limousine that sped quickly through the city and to the docks where a gleaming sailboat was waiting for me. The shipped was captained by a muscular Argentinean of perhaps forty years and three twenty something Peruvian boys in Speedo bathing suits and soft soled deck shoes. In minutes we were gliding out to sea and towards the Isle of Bimbo, my final destination. “Signorina”, the captain said, “feel at ease here, remove your clothing if you wish, let the hot Equatorial sun bake your nipples and allow the salt spray to baptize the delicate folds of your sex. It’s a sensation like no other”. Of course I’d never had a problem putting myself on display, and these were men more comfortable in the presence of other men as evidenced by their giggles and gropes, so in moments I was naked on the ship’s bow being serenaded by gulls and rocked to sleep by the pitch and yawl of the vessel. Before I knew it the Captain’s voice yelled “land ho” and I was watching the pastel storefronts of shops in the city lined up like different flavored sherbets in an ice cream shop come closer and closer into view. It was a small Island part Dutch owned and part Portuguese with elegant plantation houses perched on hilltops with their verandas and windows opened to the sweet breezes. We docked and I hugged them all for my thrilling ride then walked up a wooded walkway still naked and unashamed as is often my custom. Transportation was again waiting for me, this time in the form of an Oriental rickshaw manned by a beautifully appointed ponygirl in red leather tack. I’m rarely surprised but when I looked into the azure blue eyes of the heiress, I was for a moment speechless. I knew immediately it had all been arranged by my secretarial assistant Fancypants who I’d reward on my return with a splendid smothering, but right now I had to pay attention to the young woman I had tamed at my studio and taken on a degrading slide from celebrity to slave! Her harness consisted of a network of straps and buckles all very snug and very secure. A leather band descended from a “D” ring at her waist and split the lips of her vagina before traveling backward to the tight little channel of her ass where a three foot long ash blond tail tumbled from her anus to her ankles. I straddled her left thigh and rubbed my sex against her warmth while allowing the fingers of my left hand to examine the dripping folds of her juicy sex, while taking hold of the tail with my other hand. The tail was marvelously heavy and supported by a huge plug stretching her asshole. Like an iceberg, its huge mass was buried deep beneath the surface. She looked radiant, like a perfect sexual animal, fit and limber. The crotch strap held a grizzly rasp that irritated her clitoris provoking her rump to buck and sway provocatively and kept her pussy on the verge of exploding with wetness. “You make a divine little animal” I said, “ripe and ready to be fucked”. I raised my arm so that she could bury her snout into my day old stubble and waited for her tongue to struggle past her bit and lap a drop or two of perspiration then took my seat on the rickshaw and flicked her rump with a leather covered taming stick. We were off to my château. There was someone about the Island, the climate, the sun, the fact that pretty boys and girls were everywhere naked or scantily clad that gave Me an unfettered feeling of joy. We started up a small hill and I coaxed the pony’s ivory rump for encouragement with my leather stick while admiring a dark skinned girl in tiny hot pants swinging her hips sexually. The slogan “girlz rules, bois drool” was written across her seat and as we past I shouted “sometimes girlz drool too” with a playful laugh and the beauty blew me a kiss and flashed a wonderful smile. We both watched as the kiss floated lazily through the air and landed with a warm wetness at the furrow of my sex. I’m Louise” I shouted, I’m staying at the big house on the hill, come visit”! I knew my vacation was going to be a memorable one! L.
Intimate Reflections January 24, 2009 Dear Diary, The Island proved to be everything I had dreamed about and expected. It’s architecture was varied and diverse dotted by European houses with distinctive gabled roofs, brightly colored Italian style mansions, Victorian Gingerbreads, and even peasant homes built from mud and thatch. The beach was wide and sprinkled with tiny coves and grottos where many of the sun bathers found privacy for their sexual expression and I spent every day naked except for my straw hat and sunglasses thoroughly enjoying the hungry eyes that stared at me and the freedom of 24/7 exhibitionism. Those vacationers who were paired adopted the custom of the male laying on his tummy with his scarlet rump on display while the female or dominant male partner stayed on their backs displaying huge radiant smiles. It seems spanking foreplay has quickly become the rule, rather than the exception, and my only response is: “what the fuck took you so long”. I could see the heiress hungered for just that treatment so I ignored her and found my joy with no small number of willing pretty boys and girls while keeping her in pony tack and thoroughly enjoying the sight of tears flooding down her pretty face. I’d make her wait for her precious “O” just as I had done when she visited the Studio! Each day began with a light breakfast of local fruit, grainy muffins dripping with clarified butter, and steamy mugs of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee; it’s the very best. I began to run for exercise barefooted in the deep sand farthest from the waters edge testing the muscles in my buttocks and thighs and enjoying the feeling of fitness and strength and the odor of my own perspiration. The return trip was always at waters edge with speed that made my lungs burn and caused my breasts to bounce provocatively for the eyes of those interested enough to look, and didn’t they all. The boat captain had been correct about the equatorial sun and the salty sea breezes, they were a unique and very special aphrodisiac and I was left feeling a special thrilling femininity. By noon I was lunching on grilled shell-fish and sampling some excellent Chilean and Argentinean wines while enjoying a never ending promenade of sexy boys and girls many of whom approached me and my pony. I answered their inquiries concerning the pony with little hesitation. “Yes, she is who you think she is”. “Yes, she remains a self-indulgent spoiled little brat”. “Yes you may share in her punishment and humiliation”. Vacationers came often when she was bent over and hitched to a bench or tree, and it was a joy to watch them raise her long ash blond tail with one hand, and whack away with their wooden paddles. They all delivered good stinging whallops and I loved to watch her ass cheeks contract then relax between swats and color to a delightful scarlet. Even now diary, the memory of those days brings a delightful tingle to those parts of me a lady does not mention in polite company. At the end of the third day I removed the heiress’s tack in my boudoir and led her to a red leather sling with gleaming silver buckles that hung from the ceiling supported buy a bungee cord. In moments she was tethered and helpless, spread open. Most new slaves are terrified of a sling, frightened by its intimacy, but she found a safety in its bondage. I could see she was freed by its confinement, freed from any guilt, freed from any criticisms of her weakness. I kissed her eyelids; the corners of her eyes where the salty tears dripped, bit her quivering lower lip very hard then spoke softly but with a treacherous authority. I told her that I’d claim her again, claim her at that portal of intimacy where the resistance of the flesh is oh so sweet. Claim her where even the most meager thrust of my hips would cause moans and tremors. Claim her where cries of “it hurts so Mistress”, would melt into guttural pleas of “harder, fuck me harder”. When I awoke the following morning she was lying next to me and had adopted that position slave boys adopt; on her side, spoon fashion, buttocks jutting out, wishing for the attentions of an early morning hard-on. Diary, I guess you could say that day in paradise started with a bang! L.
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