You-tied wishes

This is an illustration from an artist and friend of mine (who introduced me and K ) named Carolyn Weltman (aka "sophi"). I think her work is sublime, and finding it at her sidewalk cart one winter afternoon in SoHo changed my life. So, it's quite fitting to be able to showcase a sketch of her's as my Holiday greeting.

I'm taking an extended vacation from The Lustful Quality starting in a few days. I won't be back until after the New Year. In my stead, i have solicited the titillating writing skills of my dear friend Vesta. She brings a much-needed voice to these pages (aka. she's a submissive female) that i'm touched to have. Please do me the honor of reading her entries, but don't stop there. She thrives on challenge and critiques. So i invite each of you to offer her your toughest and most critical (but engaging) comments.

It's been a fantastic year. I plan on providing a year-end summary on all of what's happened here at TransformHer when i return. I wish each of you a fantastic holiday season, and hope that you're able to be close to those you need to be.

I'll leave you with one of my favorite gals at OurNails.com, regaling us her version of "The Night Before Christmas". Oh, she's such a trooper...

This Old House

Recently, my girl's relations paid us a pre-Holiday visit (scheduling conflicts do not allow us to share the yuletide with them). Visits like these (and any from non-kink friends, really) always result in a quick scan of the house to make sure it is properly scrubbed and sanitized of any obvious SM paraphernalia. My girl takes the conservative approach, preferring to hide and conceal for reasons of modesty but also issues she still struggles with. Whereas, i rail against hiding and feel like people should just deal with the fact that her and i practice a power exchange. How we compromise is to not go out of our way to shove everything "in the closet", but to not leave out anything that's too obvious - to which i say "define obvious".

(Humorous note: One such episode of her folks visiting had her father grabbing my hard cover edition of Steven Diet Goedde's "The Beauty of Fetish" from the lower shelf of our coffee table. This resulted in dear ole dad inquiring to my girl as to whether or not i was into 'leather'. She replied, quite affirmatively, "We both enjoy that book, Dad.")

Out of respect to her, i do not leave any toys lying about (although i have been known to conveniently forget the buttplug sitting in the dish rack after getting washed), nor do i make any real mention of our activities when her family and friends are concerned. Truthfully, one would have to be completely blind not to see the marrow of our dynamic, especially when you see my girl always in skirts or you witness her dropping everything when i summon her from the other end of the apartment. But i digress...i guess.

In order not to be faced with considerable labors of shoveling things away whenever we have company (and we have company quite frequently - i love to cook massive feasts, although, ironically, i do not like to eat massive feasts), our home has been arranged so that regular, commonplace objects appear to visitors as benign accoutrements but in fact can serve as devices of nefarious deviation.

For instance, were i able (and willing) to take each of you on a tour of the House of Deity, seeing as you are here under the kinkiest auspices, i would be able to fully boast of the ways i've been able to use everyday objects for devilish intentions.

I'd take you to the bedroom, where i would point out the black, scrolled metal bed purchased from Ikea many years ago. To the average eye, it looks like a nice, Gothic setting for nighttime slumbering, but from the deviant's perspective they could immediately see how the long bar on the top and all the curly, metallic scrolls provides this sadistic mind plenty of anchorage.

We'd continue on to the kitchen where there sits a common wooden bar stool. Nothing kinky about that, you might say. Not so fast, friend. That stool serves as a very economical spanking bench. With a little rope, my girl is appropriately fashioned to it and given no choice but to stick her cute little tushy up and out.

Traveling down the hallway, we'd come across the bathroom - or as i like to call it the "examination room". Many times, post shower, i examine my girl's parts to make sure she's properly scrubbed them. It is also here where i administer her regular enemas.

Leaving the bathroom, our next logical destination would be my bureau. Fashioned across the doorframe is my pull-up bar, which has been used frequently for devilish purposes.

Once inside the precipice of my bureau, it's not hard to find deviant use of any of the furniture that resides there. In fact, i'd be amiss if i didn't confess that was my complete intention when i designed the layout of my office. If it can't be used somehow to correct a girl or provide me with some unsavory advantage, i won't have it.

When i actually reviewed my domicile, it became quite clear that there isn't any surface, corner or piece of furniture that hadn't been sullied with my sexual agenda. This might be overreaching on my part. It might be hubris. It might be profligated arrogance. But, at least it's home.

p.s. I'm greatly saddened by the loss of Ms. Bettie Page and would like to ask that you who read me give a moment of your day - any moment you can spare - in silent reflection to how much her contribution helped those of us similarly afflicted.

Rest In Peace, Bettie

Obituary in the L.A. Times

I'm really and truly saddened by this. God bless Ms. Page and her courage.

Morsels

- Recently, my computer of 8 years kicked the bucket. I've amassed and compiled a relatively impressive and valuable amount of porn (read: obscure, sadistic kink). In order to try to recover this store, i was given the advice to purchase a "thumb drive" and manually move all necessary files onto this in order to access it from the new (as of yet purchased) computer. There is something very strange, off-putting and yet humbling holding this tiny little plastic contraption that contains 4 GigaBytes of my catalogued, compartmentalized and still sexuality-impacting life. This is what my thousands of hours culling and searching amounts to? Something the size of a stick of gum? Not sure if i should be comforted or appropriately disturbed.

- I am the lucky victim of a mystery stress fracture in my heel. One day i'm running my usual 4 miles (and later that evening taking care of some other business), the next day i can't walk home from the train station. No trauma, no blunt violence to my limbs. I have been driving this body of mine hard, and perhaps the age of it has caught up with the use. For now and the next handful of weeks, i walk wearing a plastic-reinforced, velcro-strapped boot and a wooden cane (that i picked up at a local antique store for $5). It has led me to think about my vulnerability. I'm not as mobile as i would like to be or am used to being. I must rely on the kindness of others, both strange and known. And i must re-evaluate my own impenetrability, which i frequently fancy as near super-human. Not being able to support my own body weight has had an impact on how i can properly correct my girl or address anything kink-related. It makes the hand-written phrase on the single notecard i have hanging on my wall - that i stare at every single time i sit at my desk in my bureau, like now - all the more relevant:

"what is weakness?"

What is weakness? Indeed. What does it mean to be weak? What are the fall outs from those situations where weakness is avoided at all costs? Do we know whether we profit or suffer when we are weak?

I ask these questions of myself everyday, and now, as i hobble around the city that i live in, i wonder if weakness is found in my hobbling or in my inability to accept that it is my current lot.

- Christmas approaches, and instead of doing our customary "naughty Xmas" gift exchange, my girl and i are trying to put something aside for these tough economic times ahead. It's very difficult to justify putting money towards more material and admittedly unnecessary items when what faces all of us is uncertain and unknown. I can't help but feel like a brat to be miffed we're not upholding this tradition, but there are too many uncertainties that need flexibility and patience to endure.

Backside

Stripes that stretch across the rounded canvass
whose edges flare with thick crimson dimension
end suddenly
stopping as if to invite question of their origin
but, there is no doubt where these slashes
came from
in their heat, in their violence
there is no doubt
Only signals that tell the mind why their
throbbing justice lives so locally.

What lies behind door number three?

She'd been complaining earlier that day that her breath was labored. Sometimes, she felt a sudden need to take a very big gulp of air, and when she inhaled, her lungs never felt satisfied. At one point, she stopped in mid-sentence, just to breathe in. Seeing this, i decided to alter the designs i had on the evening, tossing out revisiting the new hood or dipping into our rope supply. Instead, i decided to play a game with my girl.

I'd been out with a friend, going for a 4-mile run, then celebrating our well-winded constitutions with hot wings and a pint. I returned home to a checked-off list of completed chores, finding her seated on our couch, knitting. When i sat next to her, i noticed she'd slid on the thigh-high striped socks i'd purchased for her from American Apparel. This sent a very distinct signal that i happily received.

"What motivated you to wear those?"

"These? Oh, i was cold, and i knew you wouldn't like me wearing pants."

Grrr. Correct answer. She must've known what this was doing to me. She'd gone to the hair salon earlier where she re-dyed her hair a deep, oily black and got it fashionably styled. After such pampering, she always felt frisky. Without much internal discussion, as she purred against my chest, i decided to take the bait.

"Do you like games?"

"Absolutely."

"Would you like to play a game right now?"

"Yes. I would."

"Sit tight, i'll be right back."

I hopped up from my seat and moved to the rear of the apartment where i gathered the necessary game pieces, strewing them about strategically. Memorizing the location of all implements, i returned to the living room and my patiently purring girl.

"Congratulations! You've advanced to the final round. Come with me."

I grabbed her hand and led her into my study. I extended a finger in the direction of my closet door.

"This is Door #1."

I then pointed at the built-in drawer beneath my semi-closet.

"This is Door #2."

I shuffled us into the hallway and pointed at our closed bathroom door.

"And this is Door #3."

Walking her back to my study, i continued:

"Behind each door, there are three separate* implements with which i will use to swat your behind. Now, which door will you choose!"

She gave it some thought, pausing, letting the moment effervesce into the air.

"Well, for posterity sakes, i think i'll choose...i'll choose door number 3."

Now, before i showed my girl her fate, i knew as i was setting up this stratagem that she would choose "Door #3", so that she had fulfilled my expectations made me incredibly giddy. With great excitement, i anticipated the reaction she would provide once i swung open her chosen portal. I knew imbued with her choice was a sense of victory, but because i'd rigged the game, victory was not hers. Victory was mine.

"Are you ready to see your selection?"

"uh-huh."

I grasped the brass door knob and twisted it open to reveal the device that would be slashed across her naked flesh. The expected gasp came shortly after.

"Ahhhh! I hate that thing."

I of course knew this. Despite the fact that i'd called it a game, it really was a con, and she was the mark. I grabbed the three meter dowel rod, and moved the game's finale to the bedroom.

*I emphasize "separate". Because my girl reads this site and because i intend on engaging in this game again, i will not divulge the exact weaponry i had laid out. Just know that the deck was stacked heavily in my favor, and that she was certainly not going to 'win' no matter which door she chose. I know...at least i gave her a "choice".

Sugasm #153

Sugasm #153

from Sugasm by Vixen

HNT courtesy of Blue-Eyed Vixen.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #154? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
For tonight, we’ll forget who and what we are.
“I want to play with you all night.”

Please, please don’t
“It will hurt, but it will be fine”

Rough
“I want you on top of me.”

Sugasm Editor
Radical Vixen

Editor’s Choice
Sometimes You Find You Get What You Need

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

BDSM & Fetish
Christmas came early…or late