Filth: In a dog's own words

As a woman of sound moralistic mind and soul, virtue and intent I have to make public this very email that was sent to me by an[other] over imaginative, over sexed male dog - one full of insatiable lust and animal instinct; a male whose mind is clearly a cesspit of filth and sadomasochistic dispostition - a lowly slut who requires just chastisement for all that has been conceived from within and all that, that potentially, could be conceived further. I once again sit here and sigh, a perspective jaded, to have to again make public the very depths of depravity.


'Mistress

The very moment I saw you walk into the room the other afternoon I at once knew I would be fantasising about this meeting for months to come. You looked absolutely sensational! Springing to my feet eager to place a kiss upon you cheek and show the restaurant I held at least some small association with this beautiful woman. I wondered what onlookers would think - a man sat waiting, pensive, clearly lingering for a superior to arrive. The beautiful, dominant boss entering, eyes turning to the line of the sharp cut suit and seamed hosiery. Clearly she was entertaining a favoured worker, perhaps a Christmas reward for good service during the year. Their meeting starting warmly but cordially. However as the meal progressed, and wine from Southern regions drunk, she began to show quite openly how this subordinate was in fact a pet - teasing him with hand fed sweets, having him lick from her fingers. Then as they departed it could quite clearly be heard that she was taking him to the ladies toilets for him to lick her a**e. This, not the meal, the true gift for his loyal servitude the proceeding year. Half a dozen faces must have flushed crimson in shock and ill-concealed envy. Swiftly he moved behind her as she strode forth purposefully to public female lavoratories. The filthy, sluttish honour of crawling in my suit upon that floor, tongue desperately trying to gain depth and intimacy within Mistress. Jaw strained, eyes closed with the sound of p*ssing and idle chatter echoing off the tiled walls and porcelain seats. I would have paid so very dearly for a picture of that scene. The slave thoroughly reminded of his place both by the symbolism of the act and swift slaps to the face, followed by spittle spat with a snarl down his throat. A different man left that stall to the one that arrived.'

Dickens's Bleak House

All I had aspired to for the evening was to watch Bleak House; it was all I had wanted but there before me was an obstacle - perhaps an obtrusion would be a better term.

Whilst Mr Jandyce proposed to Ms Somerson I waited with baited breath and before me a slut squirmed whilst, I, myself, as innocent with intention as the morning dew, urged her (Ms Somerson) to accept his (Mr Jandyce's) proposal knowing that of course there may be complications ahead when the doctor would inevitably return to claim her hand. However instead of the next chapter of Bleak House a situation out of my control took place - I became distracted by a 'nemo'.

'twas then I took the ropes and twisted and turned with dexterity; pulled and knotted alike; a state of nimbleness that I had never attained in HE or at home sewing with my mother; And I gagged and beat and threatened and blasted; shots into the torso.

'twas then I realised a distant entity before me - nothing more than a creature of nature, restricted, strapped and roped and trapped he became - I brought him down.

And there I reduced the form to nothing, no more than a former shadow of a male; and at that, one (male), driven insane; locked up, a mind divided, then collected, a body disabled then mobilised - a body undecided. Apparently I had said - 'if you dribble upon my carpet I shall pluck out eyelashes one by one.'

At last I returned to Bleak House although the situ was far from over - he stays in the hall whilst I watch the conclusion - wishing he had took interest himself.

For Dickens's theme on the human condition still rings very so true - but in this very instance just relayed you see now how we wish to steer it ourselves.

Note: When a name ends with S either use: eg., Dickens' or Dickens's is acceptable.

Preparing for Pedestal

A friend cannot bear the thought of women hitting males (she calls them men) but prefers it the other way around - that is the female as sub the male as Dom. Club Pedestal, I try to persuade her is an 'experience' and 'oh, if you change your mind between now and Thursday let me know' for I am dying to show her this just environment which remains further from her fancy than a Masters' 'do' would from mine.

And so the paucity of understanding of the female Dominant continues: it remains and may always do so, difficult to gauge, just how different the Mistress/slave Domme/sub druthers is until someone close, whose inclination is not of the strictest, really puts it as they see it.

Despite the lack of enthusiasm from some friends One could almost overcompensate with the seeming enthusiasm of ten or so people at least - for Mistress and slave (for 'slave and I' could never do)are prepared for an evening of parade, pomp, punishment and correctness - correctness in the way things are, how they should be and the way they are seen. Oh! for greater depth, insight and understanding into the dominant female being; but perhaps then a sense of ennui would pervade?!

Unto us

As the dark unfurls
Strewn body
as furniture
stacked
on furniture
stacked on bodies
bare flesh
on metatarsals
blinded, by nascent
dark
still to come
to engulf
one's impatience
forfeited
misplaced

lain out
juries of
headless persons
do will
wishful thinkers
do wish
and turn in your grave
and present meagre offerings
into this impediment
to further some cause
and cause some further
tells not many, but some lies
and lies told unto us
will get nobody nowhere

Note: if you cannot get the 'flow' the first time I urge you to re-read and the accompanying syncopation should occur sooner or later.

Exposed and true

'Prostitutes' in paintings, in Covent Garden paintings as Hallie remarks were renown for their skills but 'prostitutes' not courtesans in shit stained paintings were the precedent to the evening: I became one.

In that evening we were walking, as Mistress walks her dog, to lead him to and alley where she asks if he is at home? and he bows and wags his tail and more civilised than she, and turns his gaze, his untrue gaze to concrete roundabout.

And up a wall the dog did p***, bestial in all his glory
As Mistress choked and looked away - unperturbed in her bright maladies
And one road up walked prostitutes - as those in the dark window spied
And prostitutes are everywhere - males in disguise!
And those that think that they are not
And those that think they are
And courtesans and business mans
Come suck my fake cigar

For prostitutes we are all
One really cant escape
So paint me naked
My fair muff
No modesty you' ll take

And get your agents to stand and talk
Out an oriface or two
For they are blinded by your wares
They are prostitutes too.

Losing Capacity

I suppose that one can lose their capacity, or at least their motivation, at any time to do anything that they believe required of them, simply for the reason that they run out of steam?! And it seems that is only when one really takes stock of their surrounding and happenings that this very happening or none happening one should say, is brought to the fore. Today I have run out of steam - well of course it is Sunday and I bear not to think of what will come Monday but indeed Tuesday seems much rosier.