In this space you’d normally find a sexy tale, right?

But I’m struggling. Fretting. Maybe even a bit — um–freaked out.

I only need to say one word (I think) to help you understand:


You’ve likely seen/heard/read about the three girls taken from the streets of their neighborhoods. Stolen away on their way to their homes and schools and workplaces. Three girls, 14, 16, 21 who were *stolen* from their streets and *forced* to be sexual slaves to three men. Held against their will inside a home for ten years. TEN YEARS full of torture chamber devices, raped, beaten, tormented, impregnated.

In a sex blog –in MY sex blog — I write stories like this all the time-well, except I NEVER write about children. The darker tales are on Dark Fantasies, which gets way less traffic than here. There are people who are really into the darker tales–and frankly? I’m one of them. Not into snuff, NOT into kiddy porn, not into kids getting kidnapped and brought into sexual slavery. This is shocking. Horrifying. And yet.

Some of this stuff is the very same thing that *I* fantasize about. That I write about because others fantasize about it. But I do it under the auspices of TTWD…as people who are into the whole D/s experience, whether as an old hand, or someone learning their way, or someone curious –who might discover that this weird thing they think about has a name. D/s.

The D/s element that is missing from what happened to those kids is the oft spoken “consensual non-consent”…that is…for me as a submissive, I have consented to leave my fate in His hands. He can do as he chooses to me. He can make me stand on my head, He can make me piss in a cup and drink it, He can beat me, fuck me, whatever. I say “make” because His word is law–I obey because I’ve given Him my consent that I will…which makes it, at its root, a choice.

I think it stands to reason that within the bounds of “normal” discretion,  I don’t need to sit and write a 17 page document that spells out what He can and cannot do to/with me. Right? I don’t need to lay there and worry that I’ll come out of the hotel room dead. Or armless. Or with my toes in His black bag. It’s just not going to happen. Oh, I might not *like* some of the things He does to me. But I’ll do them and get off on it simply because He MAKES me…that’s part of my kink. But it doesn’t involve limb removal, murdering my children or other insanites.

Trust is the key element between Master and nilla. The essential element.

Trust is also an element that I write with here. I trust that you, my readers, will understand that my stories are fairy tales. Some are dark and some are funny–but all of them are just fantasy.

They are not permission to go out and capture your neighbor and chain her or him in your basement to make them your sextoy. It makes a good story–because its base, and squicky, and I try to make it sexy as hell for you.

It is NOT consent to go out into the world and do this to others who are not a part of TTWD.

My stories are not guidelines. They are not roadmaps to non-consensual kidnapping.

And it horrifies me that there could be one twisted mind out there doing just that.

The odds are against it. I know that. But while the shock and horror are so new? It’s hard for me to move past it.  I lay in bed the other night and considered shutting this down. Just…stopping.


*heavy sigh*

*I* need this outlet.

Just because some sick fuck went out there and did this…doesn’t stop this from being exactly the fantasy fodder that speaks to my own sexual perversions.

My fantasies are shared by many of you. We’re perverted, that’s true.



  1. (of a person or their actions) Characterized by sexually abnormal and unacceptable practices or tendencies.
  2. (of a thing) Having been corrupted or distorted from its original course, meaning, or state.

Sexually deviant? Well, ya.

I like to be hit. Spanked. Slapped with spoons, FSCT, His hands. I love to be marked and bitten and hurt. I *LIKE* it when He hurts me.

I like it when He forces me to orgasm beyond what I thought was ever possible.

I LIKE it when He stabs into my pussy, my tired, sore, achy, swollen, exhausted pussy, and finger fucks me to another orgasm.

The pain is pleasure, amplified.

This is my fantasy, which He crafts into my reality. This is what turns me on, makes my motor hum, makes me, me. It’s not ALL of who I am, but it is a viable, real part of me.

I would not be fully who I am without Dominance, without submission as part of my life. Could I live without Master? I’d like to think so (but then again, i’m the same slut who gets all worried and fretful when we go days without talking to one another-is that co-dependence? I prefer the term “love”, actually). But I’d be less of who I am. I’d be that unhappy creature who first started blogging 3.5 years ago,when I was confused about what I fantasized about, alone and uncertain.

I’m NOT uncertain any more.

I am not ashamed of being perverted–because it is ME. Not 14-year-old kids. Not some woman taken off the streets all unknowing.  This is my fantasy, from my head.

I can live with who I am. I can be happy to know that I am not alone in my perversions. I AM happy to have friends who are subs, who enjoy the dance of lust and pain.

And I know that I am not alone in these strange, twisted, sordid fantasies.

But do not make me a tool in your arsenal if you are up to no good. This is not a guide-book to creating a submissive sex slave.


Leave little girls to grow up as they should-in the school yard, in their backyards, out in the sunshine. Live your perverted fantasies as the rest of us D/s freaks do…consensually.