Tag Archives: acceptance

Empowerment Through Punishment

Mistress M 234 (2)

I find myself here as a blanket of darkness surrounds me.  My arms are bent to form perfect right angles against my back.  The soft Japanese rope silken to my skin as small plumes of flesh escape at either side of the bind.  My wrists are one atop the other, partners in the challenge of maintaining the required position.  From the ladder laced between my parallel arms spawns a woven road to an anchor point in the ceiling.  A slight ache emerges from the inflexibility of my muscles; an ache transforms into pleasure as I breathe into the binds, allowing them to become one with my own flesh.  My sight removed from me.  I now stare into a darkness that is as endless as my determination to withstand what may.  In the end, You will be proud of my will, King.  I will make You proud.

“Challenge me”, I whisper to You as You place five heavy, beautiful beads of stainless steel inside of my sex.  You seal my fate with a kiss before commanding me to spread my legs wider, marking two areas on the floor with a material I can feel on the pads of my toes.  I imagine a thick glue holds my place, unable to slip, unable to budge.  As the space between my thighs expands, I become a vice around the spheres internal.  The metal seeming to surpass my body heat, feeling like small orbs of pure sexual energy within me.  Steely, my determination to impress You.  Tight for You.  Watch what Your treasured cunt can do for You…

My walls dripping of sweet glaze.  My focus intermittently interrupted with the thud of my favorite flogger.  The scent of deer hide leather fills the room – intoxicating.  I find myself in a crux of ecstasy.  Each thud upon my athletic thighs and my thick ass transports me higher.  A drunken relaxation veils over my body as the autumn breeze.  I’m both equally vexed and utterly seduced.

My stubbornness exhaled with every breath as the air smells of my obedient defiance.  You have transitioned to a device for punishment.  Oh, and You know me so well, so fluent in the language of me and my capable vessel.  You lay the gauntlet before me, my King.  With each calculated strike, my mind becomes a fogged street.  An intoxicated haze fills the space surrounding a deliberate focus, as a single beam of light through a heavy mist.  Thoughts break themselves from the ray, slightly fractionated, but the focus remains.  My head begins to bow as my body gives way onto the binds for support, my fortitude gives way to frustration as I teeter a pencil thin line – one side of temerity and the other surrender.  My head falls in acquiescence, my hair a waterfall of my succumbing pride flowing before me.  Your strong hand grips my chin as if Your hands cupped together to catch the spill, offering the liquid back to my lips.  I feel Your breath as You slowly and purposefully move your lips over my neck and to my ear.  Your words, a deep and calm whisper, grab my attention like a thunder clap that rattles through the quietest of nights:

“Beloved, you will keep your chin up.  You are my warrior, my valkyrie.  You will hold your head with pride because I am proud to have you as Mine.  Proud to have you by My side, fighting any battle life may put before us.  I’m proud to have you on My arm, to show you off to the world.  Proud to leave My mark on you, My claim inside of you.  Mine.  The punishment I give you is not to belittle or break you; My punishment is to build you up and make you stronger.  I will correct your behavior when I need to, and I will help you be better.  You are My wife, My beloved whore, My warrior and greatest ally.  Show Me how strong and capable you are, My valkyrie.  Do not let Me see you drop your chin again.”

I immediately correct, the fog lifts, and I’m standing in a meadow of absolute mental clarity.  I am Your valkyrie!  We have many conquered battles behind us and we have some wars before us.  This ax of insolence I wield at the world – this ax is not for You.  The shield I adorn keeping a true “me” from view – this shield is not for You.  Ego, the steed that carries me and rides me on high – he is not for You.  The many wounded in my wake, in the name of You and my love for You – You will never find yourself among them.  Casualties, they were far too weak for me.  I have always been strong enough for You.

Lifting my head, I note a heightened awareness of my value, my preciousness.  The heart that smolders within my chest – this heart is for You.  My flesh before You; full breasts, wide hips, physical feminine wiles, tethered and tied – My flesh for You.  The strength inside resides – Empowered by You.  I rise because I’m me.  I hold my head higher due to You.

As You continue to correct me, to build me, I will show You.  My King, look at my strength, see my devotion.  Look at what I can do for You.


Spanking Shame

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I’m going to tell you all a little story about murder– It’s a true story…

Since this is a true story, I am going to protect the deceased man’s privacy by naming him Joe.

Joe was in his late 50’s and enjoyed himself a spanking.  This man was an incredibly successful military Veteran, lent himself to several tours, and lived a life of high professional achievement.  This hard working man’s reward and release was found in the spankings of his Mistress.  He hid these desires from his wife, a psychiatrist, whom he correctly assumed would berate him for his delights.  He did not cheat on his wife; Joe only desired his ass cheeks radiate heat from the repetitive spanking of his Mistress.  Now, mind you, I understand everyone’s definition of cheating is different; but, I reason to argue that a spanking isn’t something the vast majority of people would consider cheating.  Alas, back to my tale…

Joe maintained going to his Mistress for years, and paid her for her services.  Unfortunately, Joe failed to adequately cover up his tracks (as men often are at a disadvantage doing).  Joe’s wife catches on that he is paying a woman to spank him in weekly intervals.  Enraged, Joe’s wife proceeds to do what any loving spouse would do:  Call the adult daughter they have in common and tell her of her father’s perversion (or what she deemed a perversion).  Joe’s wife reveals to their daughter that her father is a “sick and twisted” individual that should be committed for mental health problems (her “professional” opinion, of course, as she is a psychiatrist).  Joe is shamed; his privacy and emotional wellbeing raped from him at the hands of his most trusted companion – his wife.  Joe composes himself despite his emotional angst.  Joe feels the pride of his achievements as he dresses himself in one of his freshly pressed military uniforms.  He drives to the tallest 4-stack butterfly overpass in this big city and pulls his car to the side.  He steps out of his vehicle, walks to the edge of the guard rail, and throws himself over.  Joe took his life and his love for spankings to an abrupt death following a 90 foot freefall of misplaced shame.

I know what you are thinking:  “But, M…This is supposed to be a story of murder, not suicide?”  Indeed, you read me correctly in the first place.  I conclude that Joe’s wife’s witch hunt on sexual expression murdered him.  Joe’s wife’s reproachful mouth murdered a good man over a little spanking; or perhaps, lest we forget, her best attempt to maintain a white-knuckled grip upon sexual repression.

Should we not listen with open minds, open hearts, and open arms to the desires of those we deem lovers?  I’m not suggesting that you violate your own personal boundaries to please another person, unless you enjoy that sort of thing.  Merely, I am expressing that you should listen sans judgment.  If it’s not your thing, fine; but, move along or permit that individual the freedom of sexual expression for their own behalf.

How many people have you heard complain about their sex lives?  I have seen so many people carelessly look the other way as their significant other pleas for help.  Idiots.  When that person walks out of their life, or finds acceptance with another person, they cry victim!  You are not a victim.  You are not deserving of any pity.  You are a person who felt wrongly entitled to rummage through the essence of a person, acknowledge the things you find attractive, and cast the rest to the side as if discarded trash.  I admire people with enough gusto to embrace their desires and find someone to share them with.  If you leave an opportunistic, judgmental, condemning person bobbing about in the wakes of your dismissal – so be it.  Good riddance.  Allow me to ease your guilt:

There are plenty of people equipped to stare into the reflection of falsehood.  They find solace in the shallow and superficial.  It’s safe.  Let them fuck atop their traditional floral comforters.  Let her dish all her displeasure in his performance to her girlfriends over martinis.  Let him jerk his dick to some porn downstairs while she’s sound asleep in their bed by 8pm…with a headache, of course.  Allow them to sit next to one another in Sunday mass; she, eager to get started on that next chapter in her erotic novel, and he’s anxious to revisit that anal video on fuq.com from the other night.  Meanwhile…

You’re far too busy getting spankings.

Rest in Peace, “Joe”.

-Fervid M


My Message to You, Beautiful People

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like the fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…” – Jack Kerouac

I don’t just write for the simple joy of it, though, I do simply enjoy it.  My hope is to encourage people to embrace themselves and their sexuality.  My hope is that through some of my writing, some of you can find the freedom of acceptance, both of self and from those who you consider yourself intimate with.  I will not say the things that sound pretty; rather, I give the advice that most people shy away from giving.  I won’t say you are a “bad” person for doing a particular thing, unless that thing harms the unwilling.  Specifically, I will never condone the direct victimization (physically or emotionally) of an unwilling individual or an individual whom cannot make an informed choice.  That being said, people who subscribe to the misconceptions of society and perceived guarantees of religion and subsequently feel victimized by those who fail to subscribe to the same standards – take that somewhere else.  Admittedly, the best decision I ever made to was to have an affair, plain and simple.  I loathe judgment; more so, I particularly loath judgment from the pious populace, as they are often the worst of all.

I just want to be clear about something:  You will not enjoy my blog if you enjoy the sweet, delicate and soft.  You will find me abrasive, offensive, and downright salty.  I will not provide you with a soft place to fall, a mothering touch to your bruises.  I do not find a benefit in dismissing pain, especially emotional pain.  I enjoy prodding at my own bruises, discovering why they hurt, what hurts them worse, and how I got the “bruise” in the first place.

We are taught from a young age to quickly disperse of pain, both emotionally and physically.  We are taught to ignore it, accept it, and hope that someone can kiss it all away.  I we stood next to the pain for a minute, glanced over and observed it, we would see more about ourselves than we see in bliss.  While lost and looking through the fog, we would learn more of our capabilities than with a clear road ahead.  We can survive gloom of a temporary depression by living within it, thriving within the sadness, enjoying the darkness for the clarity it brings.

I love the dark.  A mental vampire, I desire the inner workings of the mind.  I look past the clock face; I am obsessed with the gears that turn and the rust that erodes.

I encourage you to please comment on my posts if you feel so inclined.  I understand it takes time, and I certainly understand that high demand for time in this life.  I am simply saying to allow yourselves a freedom of expression here, if you so desire it.  Thank you so much for reading.  I hope that you find a sort of transparency about me.  I am quite a dichotomy; I am a self proclaimed narcissistic artist with a great deal of compassion for human kind.  What you see here is all me, aside from a few pictures in my articles here and there.  I try to keep things as genuine and relevant to “me” as possible.

On caveat:  Don’t bring your religion here.  I respect religion and what it provides for people.  I don’t respect what it has done to humanity.  Quite simply, I refuse to worship; make a fundamental part of my life, a collage of myths responsible for the massacre of so many individuals.  I cannot press my hands together knowing the blood spilled between them.  I cannot bathe in the grace that is judgment, hypocrisy, control and hallucinogenic lunacy.  I’d feel as if I’d bathed in the dirty fields of countless holy wars and toweled off with the condemning cardboard signs of Pro-life protestors.  I’d feel as if I’d dressed in the robes of predatory priests, and donned footwear appropriate for booting dirt in the faces of homosexuals.  I’d wear enough make-up to conceal my vanity, have lunch with the woman whose husband I maintain an affair and curse the waitress for her idiocy at forgetting to split the tab.  This is religion to me.  Religion is ugly.  Religion is deadly.

Burn…

Fervid M


Primal

Photo by: FervidM

Photo by: FervidM

I thrive off of a dark soul.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy happiness, or those who express an elevated state of joy on a regular basis.  As I often say…I don’t think defining a complex mind is that easy.  I am not referencing a depressed person, or someone who has deep seeded pain and suffering which manifests itself in inflicting pain upon others; unfortunately, I see too many of those kinds of people in the world, the kinds of people who bring pain upon others to alleviate what resonates within them.  I’m talking about the obscure soul that clings to the darkness for its beauty, holding tightly though a metamorphosis into something beautiful. The caterpillar to a butterfly.  I understand how deliriously cliché the metaphor, but allow me to explain:  I don’t think butterflies are more beautiful after they have gone through a metamorphosis, rather they are simply more colorful with broader wings.  They still cling to their previous physique, looking rather wormy and unappealing.  They clung to their ugly and became something more beautiful, towing their darkness along with them.  That’s the kind of soul I find nourishing in this vast land of superficial happiness.

I believe the most elevated, mind-blowing, and euphoric sexual experiences exist within the darkness of our psyche.  We hold these beautiful images in our elevated storage, locked away behind the bars of societal acceptance.  These images hide behind the cloak of assimilation.  They are fearful sorts, bashfully crouching in the corner whilst our more “pleasant” visions step forward in the light of acceptance.  If you ask me, it’s those visions I find wormy, unappealing, and void of beauty.  They are shallow, stem from minimal creativity; these visions transform themselves and show their faces proudly in open, observable world.  I fail to find sexual nirvana in a field of yellow daisies, slightly bowing their heads to a gentle breeze.  I find sexual euphoria in a perfect storm; powerful, dark, omniscient and destructive.  I want not a wall to remain, a brick to lie there, or a cobblestone of stoic composure to exist after a sexual experience.  Gives a whole new meaning to making it rain…

I thrive on his animalism.  I drink up his power as if thirsting and stumbling upon a stream.  His desires should radiate from his fingertips upon the collection of my skin, with a purpose so strong it leaves bruises upon my delicate flesh.  He shall paint the canvas of my body with his fingers, bent strongly at the knuckles, leaving red paint strokes of fervor upon my skin.  Ripples of plush breast escape through the separation of those fingers, groping with unrepressed craving.  Five finger pads dive deliriously into the lining of my sensual hips, so deep as if intended to touch finger to bone.  Capillaries merrily collapse under the force. The caterpillar to a butterfly, a mere blood vessel giving itself to the light, revealing the beauty of sensual release.  Wings to new heights.

I ask you to lose yourself in the depths so repressed, not a shred of light exists that we don’t create with the radiance of our own shared desires.  I ask that you go to the place where your “demons” lie, and allow them to find solace in my open arms.  I can taste your desire to overpower me, and I can smell your seething for release.  I know your darkness grasps upon the bars of restraint begging to reveal themselves.  I, lying there, spread myself wide in acceptance.  I will hold them close, bringing warmth upon their chilled negligence.  I will ignite them, invite them, and allow them to permeate my soul to a place of approval.  We only truly exist here; bare, stripped of the collage of expectation that becomes our face, the mask that conceals the true animal.

I will have you so removed from your evolved brain, you render yourself inhuman.  I will have you so primal that you only seek to remove your teeth from my flesh as you notice my body buckle under the pain.  I will have you utter sounds undistinguishable to those civilized.  I permit you to release the power you’ve been told to curb.  I will have your testosterone coursing so gloriously through your veins, you find yourself void of all rationale.  There is no room for thought between our compressed bodies, animal.  No accommodations for manners amongst our seeping bodily fluids, animal.  No space for judgment between the depth of your cock and my stressed vessel, animal.  No acceptance for masked sexuality in this sphere, animal.  I will have you rare, exposed.  I will have you reacquainted with the spirit you shelved.  The spirit that was pointed at, ridiculed, and accused of being dirty, ugly, sinister, strange.  I will erase the memories of desertion upon your animal within the baptismal fluids of my sex.  You will be reborn primal; your darkness turning to light, “demons” dance amongst us, acceptance encapsulates us, “strange” is welcomed here, bizarre is amongst company.

We, the dark ones, have no interest in you beautiful people.  You delicately dance atop the sheets covered with boundaries delightfully freshened with Downy.  We writhe, hand in hand with our demons and celebrating the dark recesses with sexual decadence.   You do what you believe is beautiful, afraid to release yourself into the depths of your sexuality, a foot firmly anchored to expectation.  We approach the cliff, fling ourselves off and fall freely into the fire.  You enjoy the safety of delicate hands controlled by a manipulated being, a diluted prowess, a whipped rebel.  We enjoy restraining the body, while freeing the mind, emancipating the soul.  You enjoy your human.  We plea for the animal.  You need the light to see color, and we cannot see color until we’re plunged deeply into the darkness.

Free yourselves,

Fervid M