I hate nipple torture! by mmm I've got too much time on my hands these days, Too much snail's-pace time. I tend to reminisce . . . I'm slip-sliding backwards into that loft's draconian darkness. Once again I'm scrunched down into the loveseat, Superheroine-booted legs crossed at knees, Arms folded, tucked one into the other in my most un-approachable pose, Body language screaming, "Don't fuck with me, fellas!" The soundtrack reeking of midnight slap and leather hiss . . . Cutting the darkness, spotlit, Little Flossie had her hands cuffed, arms upstretched, chained to a ceiling beam. She undulated left, then right, Cotton-candy hair whipping slow motion-like back 'n' forth; A blonde kelp forest. On tippy-toe, she bent and bobbled, Bareassed naked, Relieved of every stitch of clothing by her Mom-ish Dom. Flossie's Mistress had prepared a variety-pak of whips, prods, probes and devices. Like dangling a carrot on a stick, Dom-mom displayed each coming implement to her manacled submissive. Flossie eyed each presentation and reacted accordingly, A purely Pavlovian set of responses: Eyes rolling, trembling legs splayed, chained arms twisting. As arse whipping commenced in earnest, Flossie's simple swaying morphed into a complex choreography of writhing. In the half light, her bared bum shone, A spectrograph of the color red: Splashed, slashed and dashed with varying hues, Pallid pink, rose, and magenta, finally shading to vibrant violet. The derriere deconstruction went on and on and on with no end in sight. Just when my boredom threshold was breached, Little Flossie opened her mouth and screamed And screamed again, Then once more with gusto for good measure. That was a first for me . . . it jerked me from my stupor! I'd come to expect, even to sneeringly anticipate scenes featuring the silent suffering of compliant bottoms, But here was pure vocalization, This primal noise . . . I glanced left 'n' right Checking the reactions of the other observers. Did I see a great deal of eyeball white amongst my cohorts, or was I imagining? Little Flossie, breastums under attack, Didn't revert to submissive silence, "I hate nipple torture!" she exclaimed, endearing her to me. Razor in hand, Madame Mum foisted on Flossie an impromptu humiliating haircut, Eradicating a good three inches of snowy head fluff that floated feather-like to the floor. Finally, Flossie's Mistress decided she had done enough damage for one evening. Lovingly she released a sobbing Flossie from her restraints, Leaving center stage open for other would-be revelers. I saw them later, Top and Bottom, Hand in hand, doing their star turn, Working the room, Gloating over Flossie's 'Eudora Welty' butt, proudly displaying those ornate heinous hieroglyphs I can see (in my inner eye) that slashed, reddened peach still. I've got too much time on my hands, Yessiree, too much time.

Barry's Chains by MsLegba I could tell you of many things, but I am silent You sit at my feet arms reverently circling my legs While I lightly finger through your ash blonde hair Hair that I made ash blonde, just as surely, as I made the slowly fading marks; you wear, with pride You love the caress of my hands, with the same devotion You have learned to love, whatever pain they give With my fingertip, I tilt your head upward until I See your hazel eyes, shining from unshed tears The memory of you restrained, arms stretched upward, Legs spread, my gag silencing filling your mouth My flogger kissing your nakedness a simple raising Of two fingers we agreed would stop the dance, but Your hands were clenched tightly, into fists of need My need, your need, so different yet truly they are one And the memory of those tightly clenched hands, wrap Chains around my heart, as securely as my chains, bound you

Flashing Red by pandorajune The heart presents itself engorged like any monkey's ass or heavy metal labia clanking obvious embarrassing the need beating it's pulse too loudly pulsing red for everyone to see Entrenched in the body no coat will cover There is nothing to be done except flash.