Fantasy? Reality? A mix of both? U be the jury and the judge, but i like it. It's a kind of a comedy, and yet it's not. It put a smile on my face, and also turned me on. Indeed this vid is miles away from the usual crap.
After watching it, ask urself if it did anything to u (or for u, lol), and if so, what was it? When did u feel the first itching, or didn't u feel anything at all? Which of the actors would u love to be in real life? Perhaps u would like to bring in a third party, and be that one? R there any of u out there , who would dare (or crave) to come forward here, here in this blog, and tell me about ur feelings, ur fantasies, or who knows.............real life experiences in the realm of fetish and d/s?
The time my teachers were trying to explain to me, that our beautiful planet has the shape of a soccer ball, speeding in circles (kind of eh) around the sun, and not that of a plank, hanging around in unknown territory, i felt for those poor bastards sailing the Atlantic with Columbus, knowing that somewhere the ocean had to end in a huge waterfall, taking everybody and everything down to unimaginable depths and fairytale abysses. But i also wondered if these pioneers of the oceans ever asked themselves why the oceans never ran dry that way. Maybe it rained a lot at that time? Or maybe they were just like us, not willing to go beyond the truth of the hour? Must be. U too do believe the Earth is a sphere no? U r sure about that! It’s a known fact dammit. Anybody who would say differently, would considered to be an idiot right? But tell me, what kind of a globe is that, with peaks like the Himalayas, the Alps, or the Andes, with valleys, and troughs going down as much as 30,000 feet? And another thing: The floors in my home r very level, as is the water in my swimming pools. I assure u, it’s very real. How can that be, when i’m living on a sphere? The time i still went with my daughter to visit the animals in the zoo, she quickly learned that a tiger was not a tiger, an elephant not an elephant, and a monkey absolutely wasn’t interested in being a monkey. Of cors i had taken care she never was taught that Santa Claus was living on the North pole, traveling in mid air by sledge at X-mas time, nor that babies were delivered by storks, or popped up from green acres when the time was right. So maybe that explains her fast learning, that things r not always as they appear to us, and also quite often differ from what is stamped into our belief system by ruthless teachers, moron parents, smartass friends, robotic holy men, or semi sophisticated d/s people populating nowadays the velvet underground.
The time the Greeks invented democracy, they firmly believed that Helios (yep u got that right, he's Euryphaessa's son), every morning, loaded the sun in a carriage, and drove this hot ball of fire along the heavens from the east to the west, unloading it at the end of the day, putting it to rest for the night. Next day repeating this procedure…….. forever and ever. That was pure reality to these famous scholars, and fathers of our political system. Of cors we know better now. So we think.
The time Semmelweis proposed, that death caused by childbed fever could be cut considerably by washing hands in antiseptic fluids, he was declared insane, and imprisoned in a mental hospital, eventho he had shown to his colleagues, and the world, that his methods worked! Years later, the medical reality changed, when Pasteur was able to prove the existence of germs.
The time Einstein developed his theories of relativity, Newton’s laws lost their universality. Now, quantum electro dynamics is challenging all beliefs and reality, about time travel, things existing at different places at the same moment, and even the possibility of being dead and alive simultaneously. R u still there? Good. Btw, quite recently an unknown force was discovered in the cosmos, explaining a lot of the unexplained. Yes, my friends, gravity got a big brother now, and has to step aside a bit to make room for this giant. Ahem...... big brother was among us already for some time u know. The realists just weren't aware of this reality. R u still with me? Great!
The time i entered the virtual world, i.e. the sacred grounds of the late Yahoo 360, and now the more elite deserts of Blogger, i found many who wanted me to finally get a life, to refrain from creating drama, to act less childish, and for once and for all to get real. Naturally they, i mean them purified realist eh, had a life, full of splendor and logic, and real to the bone. And for sure they showed that child behavior is of really poor quality and should be replaced as soon as possible by real mature acting. When real Christians r involved in this, they realistically bypass or conveniently forget for a while the words of their lord and savior (if not master, hehehe), spoken some 2 millennia ago, who invited them to become like children again. Real hypocrisy i'd say.
These wonderful realists never cease to declare, that reality is of supreme importance, attacking all they consider a poser, a fake, or a liar. They want the truth, and nothing but the truth, so help them the rest of moron society. Their criterion for reality and truth, is what they belief is real, abhorring even the possibility there could be more than one reality, one truth. They even speak of the real truth, to make it clear to the ignorant and fools around them, how serious they r, how dedicated they r, even ready to die for their mission, their quest, their holy crusade, chasing and condemning the ones who dare to deviate from the one and only reality. Reality to them, is forever. Real is real. Like Kraft's real mayonnaise i think. The rest is unreal, period. To them, nightmares r far from real, while a lovely dream is only deception. To them, Dali’s paintings r unreal, while sunrise/sunset is real. To them concrete is solid, their farts r not, and to acknowledge they themselves, the ultimate realists, mainly r build from water, will take some time. Hmmmm, i wonder if they would accept there’s something beyond the visible spectrum, or that nonconsensual femdom is a brutal reality in their sheltered land of vanilla flavors.
The time these driven purists come online tho, they easily switch from one reality to another, and, not surprisingly, without even noticing same. Suddenly there’s a Goddess, demanding absolute obedience and devotion from e v e r y b o d y, not one second hesitating to instantly leave behind her role of timid secretary, abused mom, or mediocre student, in her dull and frustrating land of 9-5. Now, a henpecked husband transforms himself into a cruel Master, relentlessly spanking noisy damsels in distress, without even touching one inch of skin. Macho men hop around in latex pampers, whipped by strict teenage moms afraid of whips. Vanilla authorities r groveling feminized under the boots of submissive housewives posing as Venus in Furs, and aunt Mary (who.....pssst...... actually is uncle John), sitting in front of her state of the art computer, is riding in full virtual riding gear, spurs and all, a hot shot general wearing his virtual hoof-boots with pride.
I wouldn't want to exclude here those realists, standing firmly in their shaky conviction, that feminine femdom, as described and lived by me, is not really possible, and at best only could be a real fantasy, but probably not even that. In their view a slave has always the possibility to say no, basta, i don't want this, etc etc. A slave should be allowed to protect him/herself by safewords, in case the glorious domme would lose her cool, or goes bonkers from ecstasy or something, during their weekend encounter in her tasteful and cozy dungeon. Yes true and real slavery there, and only there. To enslave someone can only be realized with full cooperation of the potential slave. Otherwise the prospect to enslave would arrogantly walk away, mercilessly leaving the domme behind. That's the reality dammit. And the only possible one at that. Sure, the fantasies of these poor d/s realists tell us a different story, but must be considered completely unreal, no matter the real frustration which comes with it, no matter the ongoing longing to fall into the hands of a woman like me. Their cultural prescribed and accepted roles leave them no other option than to franticly look for inconsistencies in my writings, to qualify same as ultra negative, to find the illogical in it, and to eliminate that gnawing feeling deep down hidden in their corrosive limbic system, that my world could eventually exist after all, completely without their consent, without following the rules of their precious patriarchal logic, and without any respect for common sense. (Oh that reminds me: U really should read -again- my blog: "Da rules & da Dommes". More realistic gems there.)
Should i take these people for real? Of cors i should! And i do! Like any other reality, the virtual reality is a reality pur sang. If only these idiots would refrain from harassing and annoying people whose life outside of Cyberspace is more or less the same as is presented by them in here, and who, unlike these twisted members of the reality cult, have no urge to prove how real they r. If only they would stop spamming the place with real stolen wisdom and really lousy poetry. If only they would stop their endless semi-philosophic discussions regarding their adventuress fantasies in bdsm-country , their fetish encounters in their local saturday night club, and their never ending personality growth, triggered by their silly journey to.......um........grrrrrrr......... not even their beloved bdsm gurus know where. Oh yeah………and also, if they only would skip these boring and banal declarations of real love. I mean, of really unreal, really fake, and really illusionary love. It would certainly make the online experience more real. Alas, it will never happen. These fanatics of a one-dimensional reality, at best will occasionally be trying to think out of their narrow box, but will resist, at all costs, to leave the damn thing even for one second. The thing is tho, they don't believe they're really in a box. So why should they leave eh?
Sometimes, when sitting all alone at the beach, getting engulfed by Freud's "oceanisches Gefühl", for a fleeting moment i have a dream, a dream so splendid, so real, and so full of .................. ai no.....i won't do that to y'all, and spare u the rest.
More than once, i’ve used the hyperbola as a metaphor, to describe the dynamics of femdom in general, and my feminine femdom in particular. Of cors i can’t resist mixing hyperbole and hyperbola, resulting in one confusing hotchpotch. Well, in a way eh, as both have the same roots. Cognates, so to speak. To make it even more exciting, i’m actually referring to rectangular hyperbolas, having no problem calling them orthogonal or equilateral as well. Anyway, this caught the interest of one of the more serious ones among my Cyberspace friends. He even stated : “ so true, so accurate, so desirable…….” This triggered the following story. *****************************
Once there were 2 mathematicians. One was extremely dominant, and never could take no for an answer. She was the apex of femininity, and yet harboured inside her the best of masculine power as well. In her youth, she had coldly calculated the risks of descending/ascending the right part of the hyperbola, dwelling now in areas, not visible anymore on any chart. The other one, erratically wandered at the left side of the hyperbola. Well.....he could have been at the right side too, in case she had chosen the left side, but since she wanted to be at the right side, and had no ears for his humble prayers, he had no choice, right? It was rare tho, he would descend, to come near the vertical asymptote. In fact, he even feared to travel along the horizontal one as well. Scared to death as he was, to approach any limit whatsoever. Instead he safely stayed near the crossing of both, a land filled with giggling bimbos, loudmouth wannabes, painsluts, and platonic servants, trying to get the attention of the herd on the other side, where married mistresses, sitting provokingly on their uncomfortable hyperbolical thrones, were having tea with poor money dommes, and eagerly mingling with the boring fetish crowd.
He hated all that. As a mathematician, he knew, what those ignorant morons didn’t know, and never would know. Amidst the cacophony of the noisy ones, he alone could sense the mysteries of the hyperbola, its hidden treasures, its delicious dangers, its seductive powers, and its intense enlightened darkness. He alone was capable of grabbing the symbolism of hyperbolism. At times he even had disturbing dreams of a land , colonized by women, who had no interest at all in his desire to be abused, dehumanized, and punished, when once again, he deliberately had forgotten to put out the garbage, or to do the dishes.
Alas, when waking up from nightmares like that, he franticly clung to that silly vanilla axiom: “Dreams deceive”. Nonetheless, he stayed restless, unsatisfied, and not fulfilled. He vowed, someday he would find the one he was looking for.
A miracle occurred. He found one indeed. Well, so he thought. One he was able to convince, that she was a femdom, a mistress pur sang, one who was eager to punish him for small errors, or for no errors at all. Paradise! And yet……..a gnawing residue of doubt was eroding his happiness. And so, the search went on. And on. And on. Time and again, he did the math, but never was able to act on the obvious, on the only right conclusion. Quod erat demonstrandum became an irritating nuisance, and had lost its powerful & compelling meaning.
And the first one? Oh that one? She’s not so busy anymore with doing math and so. One day tho, she may try to revolutionize the principles of the hyperbola. But only during a lost moment.
I can't even remember when i heard this music for the first time. All i know is, that it went through me like a double sided sword, and made me very emotional. Since then i listened to it (and played it myself) a zillion times, under very different circumstances in all kinds of places. And although the melody stays the same, i feel more and more enriched, empowered, engulfed, and saddened by it, every next time i'm letting myself float on the waves of this incredible expression of Mascagni’s soul . That’s why i made sure to hear it for a last time, when i depart from this life. At that time, there will be no tears, no mourning, and no speeches. Only an intermezzo.
When still in my wild years, i visited Muzo, and spend some time there with men who i consider to represent the best of the male species. No luxury, not much safety, and certainly no fancy candlelight diners in that region. But we danced, drank, and made love endlessly. One day, when i came out of my quarters at dawn, a group of fiery men was waiting for me. One of them approached me, embraced me, stroke my hair, and lay, without saying any words, a small package in front of my feet. It contained a trapiche emerald, of a beauty i had never seen b4. I cried my heart out, as i knew what this gift meant to them. I still carry their faces in my heart, and will cherish that gem till i die, and after.
Once i wrote this in Stef’s blog, telling her i gave this emerald her name. I did so, cos i loved her way of writing, the way she looked at life, and also cos she was as crazy about boots as me.
The men i was talking about i loved too. More or less the same way as i loved the 5 men who saved me years ago from getting killed by our mutual enemy. Like the Colombians they were willing to give all they had out of love for me. It’s a kind of love so intense and passionate, it’s hard to describe.
I existed b4 her, Although i came later.
I carried her, Cos she gave birth to me.
I kill, torture, and deliver pain, For i am seeking peace.
I am the paradox in chaos And crave simplicity.
U can’t comprehend my being, Yet u want to be my slave.
My existence is infinite, Still i will end my life.
And u Cmala r me, While i am u.
This poem i wrote for Carla (aka Cmala), a woman i met in 360, as i never met a woman b4 in this medium. She struggled, fought, and put herself to discussion as i never had seen here. Although she had strong beliefs, she never would impose those beliefs on others. She's unique among the unique ones. She's not here anymore. She chose a different path to express herself. But i still love her.
My daughter called me yesterday. Not cos it was my birthday, not cos she needed money, not cos she was falling apart, and certainly not cos it was one of those commercially sugar coated romantic days like for instance the day of those 2 martyrs going by the name of Valentine, whose adventures later were converted to celebrate romantic love, the sale of chocolates, jewelry, and the yearly slaughtering of a few forests to cover the demand of Hallmark cs, but just to say hello. I love that little brat. Well….um….she would firmly disagree with the latter, as she’s a grown woman now, challenging me already in different areas of life. But, we still love to go out together, play the piano till exhaustion, quarrel about algorithms and the value of males. Once she was in me, one with me. Now she’s as independent as a human can be, although i’m still tempted to guide her once in a while. The bond between the 2 of us is strong, rigid and elastic. In short, i would give my life for her.
Her father was what some people would call, the love of my life. At least i thought he was. He was strong, full of life, and adored me to no end. The way he touched me, triggered an incredible passion in me. We did the craziest things together, and i felt a love as i had never felt b4. But i was very young at that time, still in my teens, and soon would feel differently. In the end i was too strong for him. My personality frustrated his machismo. He couldn’t handle my dominance. He was just a male with a great body, strong arms, and a formidable libido, but too weak to commit to the woman he once vowed to be a slave to. So i dismissed him. My love for him is gone. I loved many men and women after him. Or better put, had passionate sex with them, and not so much feelings of love.
And so i could go on, telling u about my love for chess, and the one man known as Steel, living in my Labyrinth, with whom i’m playing this marvelous game. He’s a very tall and passionate man, almost psychotic. A man with a physical strength as i have never seen anywhere. He would not hesitate to crush anybody’s skull who would try to harm me, and yet he’s a man living in chains, afraid he could kill me if he wasn’t. I love him.
I could tell u again about my love for leather, boots, and rubber. I could go on telling u about my love for whips, and the fury that comes over me when whipping a man or woman till exhaustion. I love slaves who can endure these whipping sessions with me, and crave to go with them into the singularity when their endurance makes place for an all consuming addiction, not being able anymore to go on living, without being whipped by me. The feel of a single tail in my hand, the sight of a longing slave, hanging from the ceiling, awaiting the explosion of my hunger to take him or her to the next level of ecstasy and love making, is something nobody should try to take away from me, as it would equal a traumatic suicide!
I love so many things, not in the least myself. Some people (here), believe my ego is blown out of proportions. I guess mostly cos their own ego is so tiny and small. Little do they know about me making love to myself, having sex with myself, the lust it triggers when i touch myself, the satisfaction and peace that comes with same.
And yet....there’s another love, a love that surpasses all i described till now. No matter all the passion i had and have with others, no matter the intense love i feel for myself, there’s one beyond all that. Or better, there was one. It was the love i had with Shirah, the one from my blog: “HaMa’eiven Yavin”. She’s dead, died in my arms, and yet she’s not. She’s living somewhere. In the afterlife, in my belly, in the sky, in the trees, in the……. I feel her close to me. I sense her far away. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. But i don’t think so. When i look at my hands, her blood is there. I can hear her cry. I can hear her laugh. I can feel her pain. My heart breaks when i remember her dying eyes still trying to lock onto mine, her weakening body seeking a last hug. When i touch myself it’s like if she is touching me. When i brush my hair, it’s as if i’m brushing hers. I can remember everything we did together, the short time we were existing only for each other. She knew what i thought, felt, or wanted. Still does. I could read her mind even when she was asleep. Just looking at each other was enough to know what love is. Raw and bloody like fresh slaughtered meat, pure, naked, tender and soft like a new born kitten. I wanted to be so close to her, that i once asked another woman to put us face to face into heavy inescapable bondage. It was so strict that we couldn’t move at all, only able to look at each other, breathing each other breath, glued together for hours, our bodies slowly becoming one, our souls merging.
When i’m visiting her grave, i can’t leave, although i know she can’t be in it. Without her i feel as if part of me is not at home, although i know she’s there. A love that’s devouring me, and yet is making me walk on clouds. She was taken away from me, but i will get her back. I will find Shirah. And we will love again. Maybe tonight.
I never spoke to monsieur Poquelin face to face, and yet i’m certain he would roll over in his grave from laughing, the moment he would lay eyes on this blog. Like me, he loves to ridicule and mock the ones whose beliefs, wants, and behavior, r so determined and predestined by their cultural settings, that they only can pretend to be, or to become, someone they’ll never be. Not that these people would ever acknowledge this, oh no. They take themselves very seriously, convinced they’re examples of virtue, pillars of society, and carriers of culture. Of cors, they’re the ones with completely open minds, and an unequalled zest to rigidly embrace, absorb and support, rusty new ideas ad infinitum… ………till their brain falls out from their ignorant moron skulls. One of their greater assets, is to contaminate their environment with clichés and plagiarism in the politest of ways, and overflowing from slimy love for their willing audiences. Take for instance the ones so close to us, i.e. the ones residing on our friends list of the ever expanding virtual social networks. In short: our friends. Not that all of them really would be friends eh? But then again, who would dare to define friendship? Well……..they do. Oh yes. True seekers for the ultimate definition, that’s what these champions of morality r. With a never ending stream of hollow and empty words, larded with the simplest of graphics, and an avalanche of windings, they come and tell us about true friendship, never ending love, absolute trust, real honesty, and sickening tolerance. Ad nauseam, they spam the place with sugar coated crap, stolen from other spammers, or so called love & hug poets. Without knowing the first thing about us, they never stop to declare their love for us, never cease to tell us they’ll always be there for us, and never refrain from winking, hugging, smiling, pinching, and stalking us on a daily basis, at times from hour to hour, sometimes unloading a bulk of hugs in one time, giving tribute to that immortal evergreen: ‘Oh oh oh oh, I’m the Great Pretender’.
Considering the endless complaints in Cyberspace about fakes & posers infesting our once pure cyber world, one should think, the good people would ignore, delete, and remove these creeps. But…….it seldom happens, as good people often happen to be true friends as well, joyfully spamming the place themselves, while happily exchanging sweet nothings with other members of the SpamClan. Heartwarming that, and a great escape from the grim reality at home.
It’s even worse! I met many citizens of Cyberia, who got a nervous breakdown, or an attack of diarrhea, once they discovered their true friends weren’t friends at all. The signs were there, the flags were up, the sweet breezes of hoax were preceding the storms of deception, and thundering voices were whispering: “He’s a liar, she’s not ur friend, she will abandon u, he will leave u to the sharks”. But why listen? Better deny what’s right in front of u, right? Then, blame the crooks ......…….. feel victimized, and in need to leave this immoral Valley of the Dolls , to recuperate far from Yahell’s Place, in an oxygen tank full of fresh air. Sneaking back in again later of cors, preferable with another exotic or trite alias, longing for some repeat business. Yep, a new trend in masochism is dawning, stimulated by the IT era. Rofl!
Then there r the Content Junkies. Not that they would add to the world’s knowledge databases, deliver intriguing questions, or shine from sparkling originality. They have better things to do. They want us to know about what’s boiling inside them. They feel like a volcano. They want to erupt. They want to share, share, share, not only with their true friends, but the world as a whole. But no drama eh? No, no, no, absolutely not. No drama! Not ever! Period!! What u say? Melodrama? Well, perhaps. But only if u tell them that they're growing, making progress in conquering their dark side, and that they r what they pretend to be. To exist, they need ur support, ur loyalty, ur unconditional love for their nonsense, and certainly not ur criticism. That’s what true friends r for no? So it is written, and so it is done.
Now and then, it itches me to go on a page like that. Of cors with only honorable intentions, and true curiosity, to find out about what’s cooking there. Often the blogs in ContentJunkieLand contain a lot of exploring, searching, and discovering of the True Self of its owner. Not that the owner would restrict him/herself to his/her own ego or stirrings of the soul. Come on. That would be selfish no? To be selfish, or egocentric in ContentJunkieLand, is against the rules, against holy protocol, and out of the question. To share, share, share, that’s what it’s all about in that country of milk and honey. And what is the best way to share? To generalize of cors, to give away freely what’s only urs, and to ram it down the throats of ur loyal supporters, who hungrily await to get back what they gave u. Dumping one generalization after another, yeah, that’s the thing to do! Claiming ur statements have universal value. Or not claiming that, but nevertheless creating the illusion that u do. Who cares? Well, i do. Me the minority. The truth? Logic? Discussion? Proof? Content? Hahahahaha! From what planet r u, asking stupid questions like that? It’s all about ego-tripping. Yep, that's what it is. It’s completely unimportant if people would read ur stuff or not, to grasp its essence, to know if it’s fiction, non-fiction, or plain garbage. The only thing that matters is sharing, feeling close to each other, even if that would be in the sewer.
Don’t ever dare to go on pages like that with the purpose of asking questions, and certainly not on those where ur presence could give the mispoche hanging out there, the idea u could be criticizing the sacred words of the queen (hmmm, or king) owner. The results will be devastating, even earth shattering, if not resetting the Earth’s axis. It will be no picnic, i tell u. And i can tell, as i went through minor disasters like that many times. Not that i would go out to criticize. Far from that. I’m not the type for that. Too civilized i guess. But….. just asking sweet and innocent questions, without any second agenda in sight, is already creating havoc, at times even making rookie white knights climbing their crippled horses, to revenge their angered virtual Dulcineas. And the owners themselves? Oh, it varies, lol. Some try to keep their cool, and lose it anyway. Some end up calling me names, curse me, or put a spell on me. I even had one, who sent me a Voodoo doctor. Others vanish from the face of the Earth. Some call their Mom. Or r they only pretending?
To conclude, here’s a nice one from another giant who loves to ridicule and mock the clones of society: Herr Heine.
Doch die Kastraten klagten, Als ich meine Stimm' erhob; Sie klagten und sie sagten: Ich sänge viel zu grob.
Und lieblich erhoben sie alle Die kleinen Stimmelein, Die Trillerchen, wie Kristalle, Sie klangen so fein und rein.
Sie sangen von Liebessehnen, Von Liebe und Liebeserguß; Die Damen schwammen in Tränen Bei solchem Kunstgenuß.
What's that? U don’t understand German? What a shame. Consider criticizing me. Or beg me, to upload a translation.
Dominant female, promoting feminine femdom, as opposed to trendy and recreational femdom.
My slaves r powerful, challenging, lustful, and hungry for my whip. Together we ridicule fascists, quasi-femdoms, and boy scouts.
