Sunday, April 25, 2010


As i layered over her cellophane-wrapped fists with black duct tape, i contemplated how much of a sadistic jerk i fancied being that night.

We'd just spent a wonderful weekend day together in the city, exploring the freshly blossoming public gardens on a pristine spring afternoon. Once we arrived home from our outing, she nestled herself onto our couch in hopes of winding down, aided by her book and a curled up feline. I attended to some incomplete matters in my bureau, fully aware of what i would find back on the couch in 20 minutes time. I looked in on her, as i moved my activity to the kitchen, preparing to start the evening's repas. There she was, collapsed into a sleeping ball of beauty, her pretty mouth pursed partially open. Her breath hummed into the solemn air, its peaceful buzz reaching my ears. But alas, were it seeking some noble fraternity with my thoughts, it would feel betrayed. Instead, it would've found a twisted, malevolent factory, rapidly churning out the perverted designs i would later use to torment this slumbering angel.

Accomplishing what i needed to in the kitchen and setting the slow simmer into motion, i retreated to the bedroom and began to lay out the numerous apparatuses that i would employ. Now, there may be some of you out there who envision the delicate slumber i was about to interrupt and think my behavior selfish - and you wouldn't be wrong to think that. The part that's even more wicked is that i didn't care. By the time i'd placed the last item on the bed, my mind buzzed with electricity and that familiar, rich flavor flooded in my mouth.

"'s time to wake up."


"Come with me back into the bedroom."

There are those who have a parent that gave them a look when they were a child wherein they could immediately identify what was coming next. Over the years of our relationship, my girl has learned that when i summon her to the bedroom, she's not entering the chamber where she sleeps in the evening, but instead the dungeon i've constructed.

I grabbed her tiny, delicate hands and fashioned them into tight balls. I took her left hand and wound several layers of tight cellophane around it, encapsulating her digits. I then tore off long strips of black duct tape, smoothing each over her clubbed mitt, making sure no plastic wrap showed through. I asked her to try to wiggle out of it, but she confirmed what i already knew - trapped. I repeated the same procedure with her right hand, and then retrieved the patent leather hood and neck corset from its stand. I snickered to myself as i loosened the hood's laces, pondering the next 60 minutes. After properly positioning the hood and hitching up the neck corset, i said goodbye to my girl, then latched the matching blindfold over the now completed toy's head.

I took some time to enjoy the spectacle of my fucktoy. This doll who sat before me, naked, speechless, shiny black head concealing all of her features, with matching shiny immobilized hands was no longer the sleeping beauty who'd just ten minutes before been resting on the couch. This was Barbie. And Barbie needed shoes.

"Stick out Barbie's feet."

I slid the latest addition to Barbie's wardrobe onto her pointed legs, gliding the zipper to the top. My goodness, the shininess of these boots still managed to amaze me. I positioned my dolly onto the bed, on her belly, legs spread open. I latched a locking leather cuff around each of the doll's wrists, and then fastened these up onto the headboard. I grabbed the Hitachi and laid it in a supine position in between the fucktoy's legs. I placed the dormant head right against Barbie's cuntlips so that she would know it sat right there.

"Okay. Now be a good little toy and keep those legs spread. I'll be back in a bit."

Barbie grunted, indicating frustration that the magic wand wasn't animated before i departed. I scooted off to the kitchen, checking in on the meal. Everything was as i expected. After about ten minutes of additional prep work, i returned to the bedroom.

Greeting me, like a good little toy, was Barbie's glistening pussycunt, aimed upwards in the air. I grabbed the wand and turned it on, and pressed it to my dolly's naked thigh.

"Is this where Barbie wants this?"


"Oh? Barbie wants it higher?"


I brought the gyrating knob within millimeters of the swollen cuntlips, holding it right there.

"Does Barbie want to feel the wand?"


"Beg, Barbie, beg."

"Mmmmmm-mmmm-mmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!"

I pressed the wand against the fucktoy's lips, and immediately Barbie began to feverishly grind against the implement. I held it securely in place, as the dolly's hips thrashed against the white, silicon head. Four, maybe six minutes of this, i could begin to see the glowing crimson color of an oncoming orgasm building in the toy's cunt flesh.

"Does Barbie want me to turn the wand to high?"

"mmmmmmmmmmmMMMMmmmmmmmm..." This was a deeper sound, scraping off whatever intonation the toy found on its vocal chords.

I responded by deepening my own voice, and when i spoke, i could feel the devilish grin painted all over my mouth.

"Beg. Beg, Barbie. Show me how badly the toy wants more."

Barbie thrashed on the bed, trying to shove as much of the toy's pussycunt onto the vibrating wand.


I easily interpreted this as wanting more and flipped the switch to 'high'. Immediately, hums poured out of Barbie, constantly flooding the room with sexual purrs. In my head, i counted downward from fifteen, and when i reached zero, i flipped the wand off.


Apparently, the fucktoy didn't approve of this. Good thing Barbie was in no position to decide.

"I've got to check in on dinner. Be a good toy, and keep those legs spread."

Barbie pleaded with me. The dolly wiggled its perky little ass in the air, drawing an illustration of where i should re-apply the fun stick that had just moments before been alive. I wasn't persuaded.

The food by now filled the air of our apartment with such robust flavors and perfumes. Stirring the pot, i concluded that we only had a dozen or so minutes before it was completed. I took out the dining china and the corresponding stemware. Meticulously, i set the table, making sure each dish and fork sat the exact distance from each other. I lit the candles for the meal, and corked the wine. I stopped and gave real thought to any details i might've missed.

Nothing. Nothing it seems.

Barbie, i thought, must be famished.

Saturday, April 10, 2010


I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
–Pablo Neruda, “Twenty Love Poems: XIV”

I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

I want
to do with you what the soprano does with a melody.

I want
to do with you what light does with water.

I want
to do with you what time does with wine.

I want
to do with you what the explorer does with a map.

I want
to do with you what voltage does with light bulbs.

I want
to do with you what wind does with a rock face.

I want
to do with you what a camera does with a landscape.

I want
to do with you what a cat does with a purr.

I want
to do with you what your eyes do with my stomach.

I want
to do with you what the spring does with the cherry trees.