Duty

You won't hear from these pages, under normal circumstances, much in the terms of civic engagement, but alas, these are not normal times. I do not assume that those who visit this site in search of some bawdy or salacious material could care less about my opinion regarding the upcoming U.S. Presidential election. I won't offer who i'm supporting, for numerous reasons. But i will take this time to implore (sorry, this only refers to those readers who are registered voters in the United States of America) to those of you who can, the following:

Vote

This is not a time for apathy

Exercise your right, to voice your choice for the next face of this nation

It is your duty to participate in this democracy

Do not forget that there are those in this world who do not have this right guaranteed to them

This is your duty

Vote, on Tuesday, November 4th.

As a result of the events culminating with the US Presidential election on November 4th, i will be taking an extended pause from these pages in order to put my labors towards matters much more important than myself and my own interests.

I hope to return shortly following the historical outcome occurring just a week away.

sneaky little bugger

In the company of our home, i regularly tell my girl when it's time for her to go to bed, when she's done with her meal, and what she should wear. On a rare occasion, i'll vocalize similar things in front of others, but usually in tones low enough for just her to hear, and sometimes i'll even utilize facial signals where only she knows the message behind them. Being the little brat that she is, she'll recognize the social limitations of fully exhibiting our power exchange, and push those limits. When i've indicated that she's done with her french fries by subtly placing a hand on her wrist as it moves to her plate, she'll wait until i'm in the middle of an anecdote, occupied by my boisterous regalement, and slip one or two crispy culprits into her mouth. She always looks right at me as she does it, knowing full well i'm witnessing her commit this foul.

She'll later, under interrogation, say she was playing with me. And i do understand what she means. She enjoys the idea of the flow of our power somewhat inverted, where i, the one who is in command, has limits applied to me based on the social situation we happen to be in. It's also a way to flirt, grab my attention and speak to me in a silent dialogue only her and i are having. But, that doesn't absolve her of having transgressed a directive of mine. Correction does follow such behavior.

Recently, she and i attended the wedding of two very dear friends. The ceremony was in the evening, and prior to us walking the few short blocks from our hotel to the wedding's venue, i invited my girl to have a cocktail with me in the lounge just off the lobby. The bartender delivered us the overly rambunctious drink menu, and before even opening it, i said,"Two gin martinis, up, with olives." We enjoyed the moment of solitude. Her in her gown, me in my tuxedo, letting the stiff alcohol of the martinis wrap itself around our conversation, giving the precipice to the evening a distinct smoothness.

Once at the wedding, it became clear to me how stiff those drinks were. My girl is a charmer when sober, but she's an absolute heart sizzler when she's had a few. She seems to forget that others are around us, and her sensual arousal amplifies. She was pawing me, rubbing her hands up and down my chest as we stood amongst the chapel seats. She played little kisses along my jawline with her lips, working her way upto my ear. I loved it, but i also knew this was not the place for it. I pulled her arms-length away from me and looked in her eyes, giving her an expression that indicated 'perhaps not now'. What i saw in those brown bobbles was the earliest indication of a very pernicious bratty girl. To sway me, she wiggled back up against me, and lay her head on my chest.

"You smell soooo nice."

Throughout the ceremony, she held my hands in numerous combinations of one or the other or both at the same time. By the completion of the marital vows, i went to speak with my friends in the groom's party, thinking my girl would speak to the bridal counterparts. Not so. She'd wedged her way into linking with my arm, clinging to me as i talked "shop talk" with the boys. When we adjourned to the upstairs veranda for the cocktail hour, i suggested to her to take it slow, and just get some wine to sip. After all, it would be a shame not to enjoy (remember) the evening. At one point, we got separated, but from across the room, i occasionally looked over at her wherein she would smile and show me her glass still just half-full. By the time dinner was about to be served, we reconvened, and she proudly showed me her white wine glass as if to say "See? I'm still on my first glass." But, here's where the games began. She knew i wouldn't fall for it.

"Same glass? Why does this one not have the red scarlet imprint of your lips on the rim? Again, please take it slow."

We assumed our seats at our table, joining our eight other table-neighbors. When the waiters worked the room with wine bottles, my girl declined. Somewhere during the appetizer course, she noticed my bourbon was low and offered to get me a drink. I took her up on her offer, thanking her for it. By the time she'd returned, i'd somehow managed to gain the entire table's attention telling them a story about the groom and a creative use of bananas. She'd returned with a glass of amber whiskey, but also a cocktail of her own. I couldn't say anything in the midst of my stroll down memory lane - and she knew it.

For the rest of dinner, we engaged in a duel of sorts with me putting her contraband drink out of her reach, and her taking it back - again while i was consumed with a conversation so that i couldn't stop her. Eventually, i was able to pass it off to a waiter who was clearing dishes. Thankfully, the dance portion of the evening commenced, which served as a perfectly timed distraction. I adore dancing with my girl, she is adept at being led, which makes dancing a virtual heaven. We scooted around the floor for a few numbers, then i cut in between the groom and his new bride for a quick shimmy. Afterward, i couldn't immediately find my girl. When i did, she had a wrinkly, wry smile pulling at the side of her face.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." She said this as she wrapped her arms around my neck and swayed her hips to the slow rhythms of the band's tune. But, i could smell exactly what she'd been upto. And she knew it. This only made her smile more. The next number, the band kicked the rhythm up, which meant much more coordination from those dancing. Within the first few bars of the song, i knew my girl wasn't up for it. She stumbled, she plodded and she most certainly didn't follow my lead.

"Okay. We're done."

"Why?"

I went and grabbed her jacket from the coat check, holding it up to help her put it on, then gave her my arm to escort her outside. We walked back to the hotel, with her leaning heavily into me. A few times, i had to catch her, as she nearly tripped to the sidewalk. By the time we reached our room, she was incapacitated. The removal of her gown and undergarments was left to me. In this state, i knew she would not be responsive to what needed to happen. Lucky for her. Her booty got a reprieve that evening, but, later, she would pay for it.

used

blinded
head completely encased
breath coming from a small tube stationed in the mouth
appendages diminished to small, round, tape-covered nobs
the only exposed flesh are bulbous, succulent tits
and
a flushed, naked cunt

i make the toy sit up
i make it lie down
i make it crawl
i make it wait
then beg
i tell it to stick its bare gleaming sex in the air
and hold it there

i apply a vibrating rod to this speechless hole
driving the creature to lustful despair
i make it roll over
the thing inside taking command
rubbing its slit into the round, vibrating head
beastly nature consumes it

hips pound its crotch into the electrical wand
mechanical fucking, without thought
not even noticing the eruption
the liquid that sprays out
pooling beneath this writhing toy
if i didn't extract the stimulator
this would not end
the toy would continue to hump

but, instead, i decide its done
it stops
it crumbles into a pile
spent
and
completely used

Putting the "shhh" in shackling

As i live in a very big city, like most urban dwellers, i reside in an apartment. My unit occupies the entire floor of our building, with a neighbor above and below sporting the exact same layout. The wood flooring that extends throughout the pad does little to insulate the pitter patter of the upstairs toddlers' amidst their play. Nor does the thinness of the ceilings - due to the 19th-century architecture of this brownstone - keep much of the constant hollering and caterwauling of those who live below confined to their own boxing ring.

Out my windows, on both ends of the apartment, i am no more than 100 feet from my closest external neighbor - both streetside and the rear of the building (think 'Rear Window') - which means at anytime, if my shades are up, a potential of over 100 eyes could be peering at the happenings of my humble abode (this is why they invented dungeons). Now, i frequently parade around my bungalow with only what the good Lord hath given me, to the dismay, i'm sure, of my neighboring eavesdroppers. Not because i'm a slob and unkempt - i'm rather well fit, i assure the reader - but because i so often flaunt my nudity to the point of overkill (there is a purpose for this). In this country that i love, it is mildly acceptable to be naked in your home without the shades drawn, however, it is not acceptable in any way to engage in the deprave acts that i pursue in mi casa.

This means that the many times i've mummified my girl, tied her up and whipped her, encased her in garish latex, or simply slipped a gag into her mouth, i've done so under considerable limitations. Shades drawn and a pledge from my girl that she try to hold in her screams (how taxing is that thought?) which usually puts an interesting dent into what we try to accomplish. We do not want to arouse the neighbors suspicions at the overflowing moans of agony pouring from these floors (but, i often wonder, how fair is it that i don't question the young parent's above on their neglect for having let their child scream bloody murder for 40 minutes?), nor do we want to interrupt our agenda.

There are times that we travel to remote locations for vacation, wherein we usually like to pick destinations that are far from anyone else, offering us seclusion and solitude. Here, we can be as loud and boisterous as we want, which reminds us of the interesting negotiation frequently entered back home with our surroundings. Silence may be golden, but for us, it's part and parcel of living in such close quarters.

My girl, the dish

I may be biased here, but from the very instant i first caught a view of my girl, i found her strikingly beautiful. Now, mind you, she looks rather dramatically different today than she did then.

There are many things about that girl that do not appear to the average on-looker (and, brother, let me tell you, on-look they do) like they used to. She no longer has her bangs cut short and uneven (or any bangs at all, for that matter). She no longer possesses jeans, or any other trousers, pantaloons or shorts. Instead of a ring on every finger, she dons only one or two in total. Instead of eyelids, both upper and lower, heavily lined with black pencil, there sits a delicate wedge drawn with liquid eyeliner on the top that extends her already bright eyes up and out. T-shirts do not make up the majority of her daily uniform. And most certainly gone are her incredibly unflattering thick-soled shoes and boots she clumped to her feet to cover up what she thought were her unattractive legs (NOT TRUE AT ALL).

Now, her hair is dyed a deep, ebony black, put into curlers she sleeps in every night before i send her to bed (i don't know how she does this, but she insists she doesn't mind). Every day, she wears either a dress or a skirt, and when the weather permits, stockings and garters (As an aside, we had some friends over, and my girl requested to take off her corset and slip into something more comfortable. Our female guest, upon my girl's return after having changed, remarked incredulously that even her comfort wear was a skirt). Dangling from every finger, having traded in her rings, are 10 beautifully french-manicured, inch-long acrylic nail tips that make her hands longer, more delicate and complement her snow white complexion. Instead of concealing and hiding her gorgeous gams, she has amassed a wonderful collection of heels that she wears (most times) of 3" or higher that showcase the sizzling stems she sashays on.

I've written extensively on my girl's appearance in my personal journals, parsing hundreds of words on each individual feature. I've focused on her lips. On her neck. On her fingers. Her tits. I've pondered through the strokes of my pen her gorgeous cunt, but i think the physical feature that signifies my execution and my resurrection are her eyes.

Her big, brown eyes speak to me of the groundedness that pronounces my girl's very essence. When you look into her shiny peepers, you get an immediate sense of goodness and safety, comfort and beneficence. Often they remind me of the corners of a child's smiling mouth, the depth of movement at the sound of a familiar and needed voice, the promise of a day after a long and difficult night. Her eyes, unlike all these other parts of her physical image, will not change over time, even if their chestnut shade fades with maturity. I look to them for my center and my reflection. And i look to them for the very thing i cannot always find in myself.

Beauty.

Sugasm #149

October 3rd, 2008 by Vixen | Updated: October 3rd, 2008

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 #150? 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
Art of the Cunt
“The point of the abstraction was so that they, although anatomically correct, are hidden enough in colouring and some of the external shapes to hide the image for what it is.”

Come Get Your Knife
“”Do you trust me?” I asked.”

Tangle of Limbs There is Softness
“But I know myself, I know my desire.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Sugarbutch Star: Eileen

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

BDSM & Fetish
Bang The Bum Harder
Fucking and Flogging
How To Train Your Slave
Ins and (Mostly) Outs of Public Displays of Kink
Like a $20 Whore
She disappears
Submission

This is definitely going to hurt

"I don't care how difficult it is. Stay still. If the swats are too distracting, i can always give you something else to focus on."

Which in fact i did. Mind you, she had every reason to complain. I had her in an incredibly uncomfortable position. She was completely naked, and bent like an A-frame roof. Her feet planted firmly into the ground and her wrists sandwiched against the wooden slats of the floor. This caused her butt to be the lone prominent thing pointed up at me.

I don't take yoga, but i'm sure this would qualify for one of their more strenuous postures. Except, that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. I'd attached her adjustable vice nipple clamps to each perky nib, with the attached chain running between each gatored device pinching into her flesh. With her pyramided like this, the chain of the clamps dangled in the airspace between her tits and the floor below them. I'd also taken a leather strap and pulled it between her lips, latching it behind her head, rendering her incoherent.

I produced our mini-flogger with the long rigid plastic tendrils and began this week's correction. Immediately, either because of the brutal bite of the raking plastic or the position her body was in, she protested.

"OW!!"

She kicked into the air. Perhaps even at me, but certainly to exchange this energy thrust into her body. And moaned. I remember her moans. They were quite sharp and pedantic, but with fruity notes that dispelled their desperation. I sipped from them gingerly, wanting to drink more from their rich vintage. I uncorked upon her a new fury of floggings.

"OW!!!!!"

Wails this time. Pleading, sickened, angry wails. Undernotes of "You bastard", "You sick fuck" and "I hate you" filled out the vast landscape of these cries. I didn't blame her. I was being ruthless.

"Listen to me. If you do not stop, i will give you something to complain about, not for just today, but for the rest of the week."

I then took a double-headed metal clasp and latched it onto the chain dangling from her tits. This added weight, that with each jerk and spasm her body mustered would find greater articulation in this area. I returned my attention to her ever-crimsoning buttocks.

"OH-OW-AAAAA-AH-AH-AH!!"

She stamped into the ground. These sounds had definitely matured. They'd become cries. Tear-producing, deep surrendering, cries of desperation. Clearly, she was too focused on what was happening to her backside. I took another double-headed clasp and also a thick, heavy brass padlock, and clipped these onto the already taxed chain hanging from her tits.

"I do hope this is enough to keep you occupied."

Like a good girl who identifies the path to her salvation and chooses to take it, with the added weight tugging on her screaming nipples, she managed to remain as still as possible while i conversed with the white fleshy mounds of her ass. Well, not me exactly, but the very handy and sadistic plastic flogger.

Continuing demands

Hold on. Before you get comfortable, you will do one thing for me tonight.

Do you remember the vibrator i told you to put in your purse? Good, you brought it.

See that girl who's getting up from the table? Follow her into the bathroom. Pick a stall, and go inside.

I want you to take out the vibrator and turn the dial to its highest level. I want this to buzz into the air - open, loud, public. I want you to think about what it will feel like when you finally touch it to yourself, anticipating the contact of this device to your cunt. And then...

...I want you to bring yourself to the brink, to the edge, to the closest point of falling. Rubbing it up and down the folds of your slick pussy, pushing it inside, paying no attention to any traffic that may come in and out. When you feel you cannot hold off anymore, when you feel you're about to burst, i want you to turn it off.

Lift the glistening toy to your eyes and stare at it. I want you to reflect about what it felt like, how close you were, and how obedient you are being for not going further. Wipe it clean and put it back in your purse.

Then, i simply want you to compose yourself. Leave the stall without a word, without a look into someone else's eyes. I want you to immediately come back and rejoin me for dinner.

And i want you to act exactly as if nothing happened.


*this continues on here

Lifecast

Nearly done
Originally uploaded by GilesG

I want to mold you.
I want to press upon you with my hands.
Spread my rigid insistence over your body.
I want to freeze you, capture you, imprison you.
I want to build from your materials my sculpture, my art.

You will stand immobile, a reflection of my every want, every wish, every desire.
Your frozen form will tell others of the choices you've made, demonstrate to all that look upon your stationary corps your own passions.
This statue you have become will broadcast your life in one solitary, unmoving image.

Let's call it what it was

I summoned her to my bureau. She came to me wearing nothing but her black, silk negligee. I drew her in with a flex of just two fingers, aloft in the air. My head was lowered, causing my eyes to look across my dipped brow. With a leather strap, i bound her hands behind her back, then placed my hands on her shoulders. Her knees, receiving the message from her quickly racing mind, buckled, beginning her descent to the floor.

I opened the zipper to my trousers, pulling out the heated stiff anatomy that immediately summoned her mouth to open. With my left hand, i gathered her ebony locks that cascaded over her upper body, twisting them into a tight ponytail on the back of her head - my handle. With this grip, i eased her head forward until my erect, veined penis penetrated her curled lips. I held just the head of the staff in her mouth, allowing her tongue to slather it up and down, playing with the tiny, respiring opening on the tip. With each flick, a grumbling grew in my stomach and chest that shook apart the foundation of my intentions when i first called for her.

I dropped the hold i had on her hair, and took a grip of her jaw on both sides of her face, pressing my palms into her cheeks. Holding her head completely stationary, i slid deeper into her mouth, pressing all the way to the back of her throat. Feeling this pressure, her eyes peered up at me with a plea for pity. I pulled back, thrusting in and out with a regular rhythm, as she just knelt there accepting all of it. I sped up my pace, with each end to my forward momentum slamming into the back of her throat.

She choked and coughed, gagging on the intrusion. I continued to hammer into her open orifice. Her hands struggled in their leather stockade, wanting to push away from this onslaught. Saliva foamed at the edges of her mouth, dripping down her chin, falling humiliatingly onto her black, silk negligee.

I pulled out. A long, milky line of saliva hung from the end of my penis, connected to the tender, violated back of her throat. I lifted her to her feet and wrapped my arms around her, tugging her into my chest. We stood there, for a few minutes, just holding eachother, allowing our respiration to coincide, to synchronize.

Later on that evening, she turned to me while we were sitting on the couch, watching a classic, black and white movie as part of us winding down.

"That wasn't a very nice blow job earlier."

She was right. It wasn't. But, she hadn't grasped the point.

"That's because it wasn't a blow job*."

*in reference to lyn's own recent affair