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While the slave girl was plugged onto the fucking machine, she was kept gagged so her moaning and sobbing would not disturb the master.
I’ve never suspended a girl, although I’ve always wanted to… there seems something very right about beating a girl when she’s hanging by her arms. Very… archetypical, as an image.
Of course, as soon as I’d done it to one I’d want to do it to two of them. Blonde ones. Such is the insatiable greed for greater pleasure of a Dom.
The possibilities offered by bad girls at play makes my heart sing and my cock hard. There are so many delicious things yet to be done.
on the subject of woman’s self worth
“What?” you say. “Me, a goddess?” Yes, I say, and don’t act so surprised. You knew when you were little that you were born for something special and no matter what happened to you, that couldn’t be erased. The magic could not be drained from your heart any more than Lady Macbeth could wash the guilt from her hands. Sorry to tell you, but you had it right years ago, and then you forgot You were born with a mystical purpose. In reading this now, you might remember what it is.Together we embark on a quest for our own enchantment. It will take us to a place where what is feminine is sacred, as are a lot of other things as well. There we can become who we are meant to be and live the life we are meant to live. But we need to see the lay of the land, and we need to see clearly the way back home.There are women who are enchanted, living here now as there have always been and always will be. They are bearers of the Goddess’s torch, however dim its light may shine. On the inner planes, they are priestesses and queens. They are absolutely powerful; they have made it past the gates. I have known a few, and I have heard of others. And I will tell you all I know, of who they are and how they do it* * *At every moment, a woman makes a choice: between the state of the queen and the state of the slavegirl. In our natural state, we are glorious beings. In the world of illusion, we are lost and imprisoned, slaves to our appetites and our will to false power. Our jailer is a three-headed monster—one head our past, one our insecurity, and one our popular culture.Our past is a story existing only in our minds. Look, analyze, understand, and forgive. Then, as quickly as possible, chuck it.Our insecurity is inevitable in the absence of personal meaning. Without a sense of connection to deeper, more noble ideas, we are doomed to a desperate struggle for things that fill us up: the job, the relationship, the looks, the body. We are tyrannized by a belief that we are inadequate. No nazi with machine gun could be a more tormenting presence.The monster’s third head is the pop culture we collectively spend millions of dollars supporting each year. It does not support us in return. Most movies do not love us, most advertising does not love us, most of the fashion industry does not love us, and most rock and roll does not love us (very sad that one—it used to).
