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Love or Bondage? A Sadomasochist Staging of A Midsummer’s Night Dream

Gordon Speagle Jr — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 02:28:11 +0000

A very interesting creative dilemma arises in the staging Shakespeare’s A Midsummer’s Night Dream. The director can choose to polarize the emotional effect of the play in which one extreme produces a whimsical and jocose love story, the other a sordid orgy complete with bestiality, fetishism, and pedophilia. Both productions, though in opposition to one another, are faithful to the text of the play. The staging and production of MND give the director the freedom to explore disparate interpretations of love and romance. In Jan Kott’s essay, Titania and the Ass’s head, he interprets the play rather darkly, and personally, I find the darker and nefarious readings more enjoyable. There are many scenes in MND that can be staged so as to degrade and give a cynical interpretation of love, but I think that the most important scene insofar as it can change the emotional insinuations of the play is the interaction between Oberon and Titania and their respective posses. In Act II Scene I Titania and Oberon are arguing over the Indian Changeling, because this argument is he catalyst for the events that unfold in the forest during the night, the staging of this scene influences the mood that both the play itself manifests as well as the audiences interpretation of love within the rest of the play.

The audience is introduced to Puck in the beginning of Act II, he is the first glimpse into the fairy realm and the portrayal of Puck is the indicative the nature of love for the rest of the play. Staging begins with the characters; their countenance and attitude is primary in the play’s interpretation. As the scene begins, Puck would be dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a white shirt and crimson tie. The actor playing Puck would have to be a very handsome man, some staging suggestions have portrayed Puck as androgynous, but I would have Puck played by a virile man. However, Puck would comport himself in very sexually ambiguous manner. Throughout his lines, he would constantly adjust his outfit, picking off any lint, adjusting his tie, straightening any wrinkle in his suit. A tattoo of some sort of runes would crawl from the collar of his suit to the back of his ear and around. His sanity would be in question through the entire dialogue. Puck’s narcissism, evident in everything that he says and all of his physical gestures gives the audience that he is more auto-sexual rather than holding a spot on the hetero-homosexual continuum. I would also have a mirror suspended in mid-air in front of Puck which he incessantly grooms in front of while insouciantly conversing with Titania’s fairy maiden. Puck’s contradictions, both in appearance and behavior should leave the audience on edge as well us disconcerted.

I will use a brief bit of dialogue between Puck and Titania’s fairy servant in Act II Scene I and use my staging suggestions to create the Puck character which I described above.

FAIRY

Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck, [Puck barely listening, brushing bangs from face in mirror]
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he? [Fairy is somewhat dazed and smitten with Puck, ignorant of the fact that he is treating her as a nuisance]

PUCK

Thou speak’st aright; [Begins lines with a hint of irritation and exasperation, He expects sycophant, but acts as if he doesn’t care]
I am that merry wanderer of the night. [Puck turns and looks at the fairy with a maniacal smile and slowly runs a gloved finger down her face and neck]
I jest to Oberon and make him smile [A hint of resentment about his obligatory service to Oberon]

When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, [Emphasizes “fat” with a violent and sadistic tone]
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:[1]

Oberon and Titania’s argument over the Indian boy will reveal the extent of the debauchery in the fairy world and how love is replaced by carnal sexual desires and urges. In order to destroy any notion of transcendental love, Oberon’s desire for possession the young Indian Boy must be sexual in nature. Oberon’s desire for the young boy must be fueled by sexual possession; there can be no hint of benevolence in his demands to Titania for the boy. Titania’s proclivity to maintain control of the boy must also be sexual. Both Oberon and Titania are attractive and lascivious and each must be dressed as such. I imagine Titania with dark black hair and striking green eyes, her outfit should not be gauche, but indicative of a very sexual and randy woman. Oberon should also be extremely attractive, but he with a much lighter complexion than Titania. Titania and Oberon are king and queen of the fairy world, but the relationship is obligatory and both view the forced coupling as a necessary evil. Titania’s soliloquy can potential elucidates the nature of her and Oberon’s relationship. Oberon would carry a scepter which is much more explicitly phallic than your staff. During their argument, both should make very affected sexually suggestive movements especially whenever there is any mention of the boy.

Titania and Oberon’s entourages can really exacerbate the sexual depravity manifest in their leaders. I imagine Oberon’s entourage of adolescent boys, which would emphasize Oberon’s desire for the Indian boy. Puck’s interaction with the boys would be one of general and disciplinarian, using corporeal punishment as means of sexual arousal and manipulating. The boys and young men would be clothed in sadomasochist outfits, chains, gags, and a variety of self-flagellating devices. Instead of trees in the forest, I would have large mirrors in place on the stage, so as to disorient and indict the audience. The mirrors will reflect the audience and they would view themselves as part of the hedonistic and aberrant group in the forest. Titania’s would include both men and women. However, the fluidity of gender would be on display. Female and Male Transvestites are intersperses among the entourage along with stereotypical gender representations. Titania’s group would represent a flux in sexual desire; uninhibited by any typical heterosexual constraints. As opposed to the dominant/submissive relationship in Oberon’s entourage, Titania’s group is all about fulfilling desires by any means necessary, with whomever at any time. Simulated copulations, much like scenes in the musical Hair, are going on at all times during Titania and Oberon’s argument. Nudity is absolutely necessary for the scene to have full effect. Green light descending from directly above the stage as well as a blue light emitted from behind the mirrors and red lights from the peripheries of the stage would give the scene the luminance of chaos. The voices of all the actors would mix into a cacophony of ecstasy and agony.

The major limitation to this staging of the scene is that the play is forced into a dark mood that necessitates a reevaluation of the staging and production for all other scenes. The play within the play at the end must not be the light hearted jocular affair that the de facto troop of players intendeds. Bottom’s lovable idiot character would be forced into a more malicious lecherous character. The love quadrangle of Demetrius, Lysander, Helena, and Hermia cannot maintain the whimsy and innocence that seems to be the default evocation of their relationships. It is possible, however, to contrast love in the fairy realm with human love, and portray human love as the trans formative idealized state that it is commonly endorsed. The dichotomy of lust in the magical realm and love in the mortal realm disappears in the forest during the night, and in the process the audience finds themselves confused about their own interpretation of love and lust and the intersection of the two.

[1] William Shakespeare, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Arden Edition., [Italics are Author’s]

i need more intercourse!

pierrejeande — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 12:30:20 +0000

“The wings beneath our spirits are the chains around our hearts.”

‘What is Truth’ – the most ancient, enduring, and timeless question of all time. I think the reason for this is quite simple; paradox, or self-contradiction if you like. I think gauging truthfulness to an idea or reality should be proportional to its paradox-like nature. Real truth doesn’t make sense, because within it, finiteness, linearity, cause and effect, and finally “if this, then this” do not have their stage to act upon. So this is a huge topic in itself (especially in theology/philosophy), but I would like to try to apply it to love… in a logical manner

I think Love is PURE Freedom – the only freedom powerful enough to RENOUNCE freedom itself. I am convinced that no other form of freedom can, and must, and has the power to surrender itself.

This synthesizes the truth paradox. It is in love and through love that we are free enough (and I would say FORCED) to want/desire to be bound! But Bound to what? – to Love… at last freedom from I and Me! This is a deranged commitment, which liberates our spirits but chains our hearts. I believe that all of Life is measured and calibrated around this commitment. (The truest of maxims – A joyful person, IS a loving person.)

Love is to chain yourself to that person(s) while at the same time making no conditions upon which that love is sustained, and this is pure freedom. (Why is love in this selfish world so often nothing like this?! lack of trust, lack of security etc. etc.)

((Tangent: if this is the love of God – which every Christian preaches – then how the hell can they even think that this God of love would place conditions(s) upon Salvation; his fellowship, his love!! ‘because the bible says so?? I would, as sensitively as possible, ask this person to turn on their god-given-minds for just a moment; it might be painful, but maybe Truth, Pain and Freedom come as the truest of trinities. Maybe who God is and how He is revealed to us goes deeper than the black and white of several de-contextualized pages; just maybe)).

Not a new idea of course! – ‘Agape’ love perhaps. The unconditional love of our parents and heavenly Father (as some understand it)… but for me this cannot simply be one form of love, it IS love. Real love, real truth, and pure freedom. I suggest that agape love stops being a form of love but becomes the one and only vital component in every species of love.

The worst part about this Truth is that often we are alone with it. Love is pure freedom, but it takes… associates..

“The wings beneath our spirits are the chains around our hearts.”

Happy Thanksgiving

Jesse — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 05:23:30 +0000

I hope this finds all of my readers happy and healthy. I love to cook and I love spending time with my family. Gods Thanksgiving is an awesome holiday. A little turkey, some ham, some scratch gravy, mashed potatoes with more butter than cream, peas with leaks, caramel apple pie, turtle fudge and a splendid dose of spirits.

I am thankful for friends, family, a good job, Master, soft restraints, bondage rope, candle wax, floggers, good men who love me, screaming orgasms and having enough of everything I need.

Grandmother (Part 2)

Monocle — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 02:00:26 +0000

Everyone stopped, and then there was a bustle of motion. Some of the younger attendants and Guardians looked uncertain, but the older ones took charge, issuing orders, and calling for a summoning of the Elders.

I was confused and frightened anew. How could I become Grandmother? There was only ever one. And she had always been there. Of course, part of me knew that couldn’t be true. The Grandmother was not the oldest of the People. But how? I whined questions, still feeling like a girl and not a Mother, alone and needing. The Grandmother was no comfort at the moment, her eyes were closed, her attention turned inward on whatever was happening inside her.

A cool, many-ringed hand laid on my bare shoulder, and I looked up. It was one of the Elders, perhaps one of the oldest. Her wizened eyes were kind, concerned, reassuring. Her expression and the tone of her voice soothed. Her words were respectful, even reverential – towards me!

“It is the turning, my child.” She had said. Then, words that must have been generations older even than her “The Last Father is old and tired. It is time for him finally to rest. The Son has been waiting. Waiting for his time. His Bride. He has been waiting for you, child.”

The ancient pronouns were strange to the ears, never spoken beyond whispers at night among children telling scary tales to each other.

“Grandmother will join her place among the Elders, as I did, and as you, someday will as well.”

I looked up at her. She was ornately robed, delicate but not frail, and ancient beyond my comprehension.

“Y-You were a Grandmother?” I stammered. Her eyes changed a little, looking beyond me into the past. There was love and longing there I could not understand.

“Yes. A long time ago. It was…” I didn’t know whether she was at a loss for words, or choosing not to elaborate. But I couldn’t ask because attendants had approached and were reaching out toward me. They carried bowls of an oddly pungent salve, and were smearing it all over my belly, from my breasts to just above where my body met the Grandmother’s. The salve was cool and hot at the same time, making my skin prickle and tingle where it touched. The attendants were neat, but very generous with it, paying extra attention to the tender bump that the Grandomother… the Father? Had poured into me. I looked up questioningly, fearfully as the almost-uncomfortable sensation of fullness in my innermost relaxed and flowed away.

“The Son is smaller than the Father, but he is still big enough,” the Elder said. “This will make it easier for both of you.” The words frightened me, and the Elder took my hand, and held it. “I will be here with you. We will all bear witness and welcome you. You may not know now, but you will learn how special, how important you have already become.”

I was going to ask more questions, when a sharp cry from the Grandmother caught all of our attention. Tears were in Grandmother’s eyes. Another Elder was holding her hands, which were still bound above her head. This Elder was much the junior of the one next to me. Was *she* the previous Grandmother? She had been talking to and soothing the Grandmother, as my Elder had been doing with me, but now she looked town at the Grandmother’s face and spoke.

“It is time.”

And it was. It started just like it had before, with the other girls, and with me. The first contraction shook the Grandmother, and she sighed in pleasure, seeming to will herself to feel it. Her belly was different now, no longer as round. It was lower, recognizable now as the posture of a Mother about to birth. I was scared more than before. I wasn’t ready for repetition of my ordeal.

The second contraction was stronger than the first, and she hissed and hunched. The motion caused her to pull pack from me, and our nexuses pulled apart, white sticky strands keeping us connected. I could see the trickle of my virgin blood stain the white pool beneath us pink. The Grandmother’s elder was caressing her, soothing her distress. Grandmother was breathing hard and fast, her brow knotted in concentration and effort.

“Don’t try to keep him, my child,” Her Elder said, bringing her hand down to circle Grandmother’s distended belly, “You must let him go.”

“I can’t,” Grandmother said. She sounded a lot younger now. She sounded lost and frightened like me. She groaned as her body wracked and squeezed again.

“You can. You must,” The Elder said, her hand reaching down between Grandmother’s legs. Her fingers rubbed up and down Grandmother’s lips, then up to the top, where her swollen bud jutted slightly from her. The elder’s fingers moved purposefully, skillfully, eliciting a shudder and protesting moan from the Grandmother, which was cut off when another contraction hit. The Elder pinched the bud lightly between her fingers and spoke commandingly to Grandmother, “Now, push!”

I think she couldn’t help it. Grandmother arched her back and neck, shaking with pleasure. She screamed, and bore down. Now that there was a hand’s breadth distance between us, I could see her. The Elder had lifted her fingers away, and I could see everything. Grandmother’s lower lips flowered open, pushing out not the rounded head of the column that had passed into me before, but two, four, more, pink, wormy stalks.

My last shred of detachment vanished as I realized they were reaching for me, closing the scant distance between our bodies quickly. I cried out and my hands gripped my Elder’s tightly. I should have feared crushing her ancient fingers, but her grip was strong in mine.

“He reaches for you,” the Elder told me, “Father has told him of you. He loves you already.”

How could that be? What did she mean? I didn’t know, but I clung to the solidity of the words as the pink tendrils, like impossibly long, boneless fingers, reached out of the Grandmother to caress me between my legs. Their touch was hot and gentle, exploring all around my junction, and my opening. One found the hood covering my own bud and began rubbing, coaxing it to emerge, making me shudder in pleasure I had only ever indulged in secretly, before. Another appendage was doing the same thing to the Grandmother, making her sigh and shudder through her tears, and making her push again.

The sinuous digits extended farther, sliding across my legs, buttocks, and belly. Four of them snaked around my thighs and pulled, drawing Grandmother back toward me. Before her opening pressed back against mine, I saw it dilate and stretch around the appendages. Emerging from between them, a small dome, like the crown of a tiny head, much smaller than a normal infant at birth.

“The Son.” The Elder Whispered. “Your Husband. He will Father with you, while the Son now already you waits to be born.”

As the archaic words washed over me, my eyes were drawn to the my own belly. A Son? Me? But there had been no Sons for generations untold! I wanted to understand, but now I felt Grandmother pulled back to me, or lower bodies again sealed against each other. The squirming limbs extended from her, binding us together, playing and curling against our buds. Two of them snaked up my belly to coil around my breasts, rubbing across my nipples like I had experimented with my own fingers. Feelings of pleasure coursed through me, even as I felt the dome push against my own opening, stretching me around it. It was bigger than the shaft of the Father had been, and I felt myself stretch wider and wider, and feared it would rip me open.

But it did not. The salve. It had made my skin more pliable, even elastic. And the feeling of the Son entering me was that of enveloping the world between my legs. My whimpers of fright changed to moans of a timbre I didn’t recognize as my own. Sensations and pleasures I’d never known, nor suspected, opened and entered me.

Grandmother keened, and pushed, and I cried out, penetrated ever more. The fullness I had experienced before returned, multiplied. The faint sting of my recently lost virginity colored the sensation, but that was quickly lost in the avalanche of new and strange pleasures. The pink tendrils never stopped. Grandmother pushed again, and I could see clearly the lump under my salve-coated skin, rising inside me, encountering the last barrier to my chamber. I felt it push against me, a strange pressure, something alive and *other*, impossibly far inside. The motions of the tendrils turned frenzied, their concentration on the centers of my pleasure redoubling, and I shuddered as I recognized my peak approaching. My hips moved on their own, grinding against Grandmother, who responded in kind. She, too was being pushed to her limits of pleasure. And she was the final trigger.

Grandmother contracted once more, screaming. The caresses of my bud and nipples turned into a biting pinch. Grandmother pushed hard and her Son squeezed against the gates to my cradle of life, demanding entrance. And my peak hit me, and my scream joined Grandmother’s. Pleasure consumed me and my entire body clenched and released again and again. The Son… my Husband… the next Father, pushed through my last, giving barrier and surged into me. Grandmother did not stop. I did not stop. He did not stop. He filled and filled and filled me. I stared down my body, slack-jawed, seeing without comprehending as my belly grew round, my salve-pliant skin stretching to accommodate him. The tendrils were withdrawing now, leaving my breasts, sliding back between our two bodies. But they were not retracting into Grandmother. I could feel them now, sliding, pulling into me. It felt terrifying, wonderful, impossible. It felt… completing, though I had never had an inkling before that I was incomplete.

And then it was over. For me, at least. The Guardians were untying me, lifting me from the altar. The Elder never let go of my hand. They brought me to my unsteady feet and my free hand went to my belly. I touched my skin, taut, but not stretched around the, melon-size lump inside me. I felt its – his – weight added to mine. I felt movement under my hand, though my skin, inside. I was full beyond measure. I was complete. I was..

“Come, young Grandmother,” the Elder said. I was no longer child to her, I realized. I was something entirely other. “The old Father departs and dies. We must let the mourners be alone. And you have many new things to learn.”

I looked back at the Grandmother and her Elder. Grandmother’s belly was half deflated now, and coated with a salve of a different color and texture than mine. She was not done yet, still breathing hard and pushing. Both she and the Elder were weeping freely now. The dying Father slowly moving from her chamber on his final journey. I realized then that the Father – not the Last Father anymore – must also be that Elder’s Son. In the same way that the Father within me was the Grandmother’s Son. I wanted to stay and add my comfort to them, but the Elder pulled me away.

“You will have your time together soon. Come away now.”

I turned, catching a glimpse at the other girls, Mothers all now, who had been chosen along with me. They had watched everything as well, and each unconsciously had one or both hands on their still almost-flat bellies. They bore the last children of their generation. I would usher in the next. I could see it in their faces. Though I was of an age with them, I was no longer part of their world. They had changed, indeed forever. But I had changed more. I smiled my goodbye to them, and followed the Elder into my future.

***

And that is my story. It has been four more generations since my time. And I am now Eldest. I know, I know. You are full of questions. Every new Grandmother is. I promise you all the answers you need and want. Rest now, though. I know how tired you must be. There is time. time. And I am now Eldest. I know, I know. You are full of questions. Every new Grandmother is. I promise you all the answers you need and want. Rest now, though. I know how tired you must be. There is time.

End

Happy Thanksgiving!

Ve — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 01:53:01 +0000

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!

Tomorrow, I am making use of the American so called Black Friday. I’m going to get two dresses from House of Bias and some other lovely thing, and since the dollar is so weak + the sale is on, it’s going to feel so good. And I’ve got something very blasphemous ordered yesterday.

Essays are getting written and I don’t really have the attention span to write on two blogs in the same time.
But I would like to make a quick note of a couple of awesome experiences that I’ve had lately:

A very rewarding beginners bondage workshop with London’s own Esinem. A full day of ropetalk and tying. What not to like is there, really?!
Esinem works from the codex of ‘tie people, not parcels’. That means that it is the interaction with the involved that matters, actions and reactions. Tying people, not on armlenghts distance but being close. Expressing, with rope, the connection. Not talking about Two Knotty Boys here, but the oh so wonderful ways of connecting with ropebunny.

So, while he was learning us single and double column ties, he also spoke and showed us ways to keep the connection, keep it flowing and basically, keeping it hot and exciting. There was tricks there that suddenly fell into place, but at some points I also fell flat. Because suddenly a two column tie seemed like the toughest thing in the whole world. I react in the same way when going to a dance class. I concentrate so much on following the steps that I can’t do it at all. Very frustrating.
But as the day went on and more and more jute fluff flew around in the room I relaxed. A very nice relaxed lunch was topped with some videos with the work of Osada Steve, but also some of the work that Esinem himself has done. Here is an example of what I see is a very strong performance, using bondage in a provocative,political, thoughtful, creative and downright amazing way.

Anyhow, after some well deserved lunch we continued, and in the end of the day there was even some time to try out a chest-harness. Before that I decided to do some self-bondage and it became something really nice that I know enjoy a lot as an activity. In regards to the chest-harness I must admit that I only came halfway, but that halfway through a chestharness gave me more thoughts and insights that any other has done so far.
I can recommend the course, and if you feel that a beginners course is a bit to simple for you ( I would love to do the same again so I could frame everything better and practice with more supervision!) there is alos a intermediate course and a advanced. It’s well worth the money, Esinem teaches very well, give you tips, insights, inspiration, and you will have a lot of fun.

A couple of days later I attended a peer-rope workshop. Which was also amazing. A sunday afternoon and evening and the hours flew by all to fast. Watched some wonderful ropework being done, including a lot of suspensions. Did again some self-bondage, got some help with that, then had a really beautiful spiderharness done, and in the end having very fun with an amazing woman. We hid a bit, found a calm space with dimmed lightning and sat down on the floor. And this is where I keep coming back to. Those 20, 30 minutes with her. Because afterwards, my legs were shaking, I was giggly and calm in the same time. And I had been the one doing the tying. Not since this summer I had felt anything like it (yes, I miss Korrosion) and it made me love the event even more. So, if you are in London, like rope, not busy on a sunday, check if the peer-rope is happening and go.

Last, but certainly not least. A new shining star on the club sky in London. Crimson is so fucking good. With a focus on the playspace, they must be the most well-equiped playclub in th U.K with at least two suspensionframes, numerous crosses, spankingbenches, a spitroast, bondagebed, medical play area, etc, etc. There is always space to play, but still very easy to be social and feel relaxed. All in all, it feels like a very, very big houseparty that is so kinky that it would make your jaw drop. Next one will be in february and I will be there.

Rope Bondage Weekend Intensive- Philadelphia!

klawdyarothschild — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 00:01:54 +0000

December 18-20 2009 at Passional Toys in Philadelphia, http://www.passionaltoys.com Classes can be t

Anniversary and where Ive been all this time!

klawdyarothschild — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:10:26 +0000

So this week marks the 1-year anniversary of this website, www.klawdyarothschild.com I want to anno

A Watershed Event

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:10:40 +0000

For as long as he could remember the brown haired and sky blue eyed aspiring poet had been different then most boys his age. Even as a child Adonis had always been able to get whatever it was he wanted from whomever it was that he wanted it from especially if it were a woman. No matter what it was that he wanted from some special favor like a toy or a piece of candy before dinner. To being left alone by the bullies that attended the various schools he was forced to attend during his formative years. Irregardless of who it was that he wanted it from having learned from an early age that as long as he could get the individual in question. To gaze deeply for just a moment or two into the seemingly bottomless depths of the liquid pools of his intense sky blue eyes it was but a simple matter to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted by subverting the command center of her will.

But is wasn’t until Adonis came home from college for a visit that he began to realize the full potential of his power over the minds and bodies of the individual members of the sisterhood. Only to discover that his parents had volunteered to host an international exchange student from Ireland in his absence. Of course once Adonis got a good look at the red haired and well stacked nineteen year old filly from the land of shamrocks, four leaf clovers and leprechauns he didn’t mind having Breanna around the house. Though the brown haired and sky blue eyed aspiring poet was discreet enough not to stare at Breanna’s melon sized breasts and was extremely careful to act the perfect gentleman around his parents.

Still it wasn’t until a few days later while his parents labored away at his father’s office that Adonis quite unexpectedly got to have his way with the full bosomed Irish lass. When he decided to go for a swim in his parents swimming pool during the early afternoon unaware that Breanna was already splashing around in the clear sparkling water wearing nothing but a white tank top and pair of green string bikini bottoms. Entering the changing room from the house Adonis took off his clothes and put on his Speedo swimming trunks rather pleased with the way the thin fabric of his swimming suit left nothing to the imagination in regards to the bulge of his manhood.

Only to come face to face with Breanna a moment later who just entered the changing room completely unaware that she was about to come face to face with the well hung son of her hosts. Caught by surprise and brought up short by the unexpected presence of the other for a long moment Adonis and Breanna just stood there admiring each others well developed bodies. Which in Breanna’s case was the nearly transparent and soaking wet white tank top that allowed Adonis to get a good look at the melon sized orbs of her breasts and the cherries of her nipples poking through the ultra thin fabric. While in Adonis case it was his bow flex muscular physique along with the bulge of his manhood that made Breanna blush even as she found herself being turned on by the sight of his well developed body.

Finely after drinking in the forbidden curves of each others body both Breanna and Adonis looked up at the same time to find themselves helplessly falling into liquid pools of each others eyes as their gazes locked together. One moment the brown haired and sky blue eyed aspiring poet and the red haired and full bosomed Irish lass were gazing into each others eyes. Only to find themselves in each others arms the very next moment after they’d pulled off their respective swimming wear and discarded in onto the concrete floor of the changing room. Nor did Breanna resist as Adonis picked her up off the floor and carried her over to th nearby bench on top of which he laid the Irish lass and mounted on top of her body. Eagerly slipping between the international foreign exchange students clean shaven and silky smooth thighs who responded by tightly wrapping all four of her well toned limbs about Adonis’ neck and waist.

For quite some time Breanna lay beneath Adonis with the mountains of her melon sized breasts and hardened tips of her nipples poking pressing up against the aspiring poets chest. As they there on top of the bench making out with each like there’d be no tomorrow until at last Adonis reached down between his legs. Where the fingers of his right hand curled around the swollen shaft of his manhood and guided the tip of his little head up against the oval opening of the flower of the foreign exchange students womanhood. Who could help but cry out in ecstasy when at last the red haired Irish lass felt the honeypot of her wetness spread open. When with one powerful and unrelenting downward thrust of his hips the brown haired and sky blue eyed aspiring poet sank the entire length of his rock hard and throbbing male sexual organ. Upwards into the welcoming warmth of the velvety sheath of the mine shaft of Breanna’s hot wet pussy for first and definitely not the last time.

Again and again Adonis thrust the entire length of his male sexual organ as far as it would reach into Breanna’s love canal. Even as the sounds of his grunts of exertion along with her moans, sighs and cries of sexual ecstasy mingled together. Then echoed all around the aspiring poet and his latest sexual conquest as they bounced off the four walls of the changing room. As the red haired Irish lass and the oldest son of her hosts continued to bang the ever living daylights out of each other until at last with a shutter and a shout of victory Adonis couldn’t help but cut loose. Even as Breanna cried out when she felt the aspiring poet’s throbbing manhood leap for joy within the warm confines of her hot and wet pussy. As the warmth of Adonis’s seed spurting up against Breanna’s cervix set off a sympatric response within her loins so that Adonis and the full bosomed international foreign exchange student came together as one.

Unwilling to stop Adonis kept banging away at Breanna who had no other choice but to hoot and holler as she lay writhing in ecstasy beneath the oldest son of her American hosts. Until at last the brown haired and sky blue eyed aspiring poet grew too tied to keep riding Breanna as she came again and again. Yet the two legged dear hunter vowed to himself that this wouldn’t be the last time that he’d avail himself of the luscious curves of the red haired Irish lass. As Adonis collapsed on top of the naked body of the full bosomed international foreign exchange student utterly exhausted but no where near to being sated or even close to getting enough of Breanna’s forbidden love.

My Best Friends Daughter

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:05:06 +0000

It was on a night dark and cold
a mid winters eve not all that long ago
when the raven haired daughter
of my soon to be ex best of friends
quietly came into the bedroom
where I lay beneath the blankets
tossing and turning unable to sleep
as the moon hid behind the clouds
snow flurries danced like fairies
upon the currents of the gentle wind
lightly dusting the rooftops
of the homes within our sleepy town
like white frosting on a wedding cake
the curvaceous daughter of the
best friend that I’ve ever had or known
took off her nightgown made of cotton
then slipped beneath the blankets
where I lay waiting for her appearance
slid into my arms and kissed my lips
made love to me till the break of dawn
became a woman in my arms that night
while my best friend and his wife
lay asleep in each others arms
never once suspecting upon awakening
that their nineteen year old daughter
who came to me as a virginal maid
returned to her sleeping chamber
a woman of experience at dawns light
a mother to be nine months later
now the raven haired curvaceous daughter
of my now ex best friend and wife
lies beside me her belly heavy with child
her father is now my father in law
a proud grandpa he is very soon to be

An Older Woman

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:03:29 +0000

Between the clean sheets of my bed
my raven haired and curvaceous lover
within my arms she lay just as naked
as the day upon which she was born
our lips locked together in a kiss
passionately and intensely intimate
while the tips of her swollen nipples
brushed lightly against my chest
the melon sized orbs of her breasts
still so ripe, firm and luscious
in spite of her being not as young
as she was not too many years ago
though just a bit long in the tooth
the mountains of her massive tits
filled the palms of my hands
till her flesh overflowed my fingers
about my willing body she wrapped
the limbs of her arms and legs
as between her clean shaven thighs
my powerful hips did settle
her sighs, moans and delighted cries
of sexual ecstacy filled my ears
when the entire length of my shaft
the hardness of my masculinity
my rock hard and oh so throbbing cock
slid upwards into the velvety glove
of my slightly older lover’s femininity
locked together in our embrace of love
where beneath the sheets of my bed
we eagerly rocked each others world
made love till the break of dawn
holding back for as long as possible
till the birth of a brand new day
sprang upon us both through the slit
of my still open bedroom window
then as the cool breeze upon us blew
at last in a rush we came together

Blueberry Hill

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:01:58 +0000

I found my thrill on top
of ole blueberry hill
between the silky thighs
of a nineteen year old girl
oh how she made me feel
like the man I used to be
when in her arms I lay
forgot all my troubles
my cares melted away
when my throbbing lance
slipped inside the depths
of her hot and wet pussy
like a much younger man
Rachel made me feel
on that hot summer day
when we mated on top
of ole Blueberry hill

Dream Girl

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:00:52 +0000

There is a rather lovely girl
who sings with the voice of an angel
though she dresses like a whore
with luscious tits and a tight little ass
her curves look great in a tiny black dress

By day she dances to music upon a stage
before an audience of randy bozo’s
making em hard with the desire to bed her
fleecing em of their hard earned money
for a glimpse of her body is all they’ll get

While at night on long, slender and sexy legs
she waltzes into my dreams
intentionally makes my lance hard as a rock
drives me wild and thrills my soul
just by talking off her itsy bitsy black dress

Into her arms she takes me for a wild ride
above the clouds of erotic delights
with her curves she makes me glad all over
that she is the woman of my dreams
a man I was born and man I’ll always be

Thrill

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 14:59:23 +0000

I found my thrill
in the arms of another man’s wife
doing her in his own bed
poking her with my swollen prick
filling her womb with my seed
while he was out of town
far away on a business trip
where he himself lay in the arms
of a lovely whore half his age
tasting the fruits of forbidden love
willfully cheating on his wife
even as she cheated on her husband
with me between the clean sheets
of their open marriage bed

Taken By Surprise

Dabir Dalton — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 14:25:38 +0000

It was late on a Saturday night that I was taken by complete surprise and without any warning what so ever by my former high school English teacher. A lovely twenty something African-American princess and curvaceous jungle bunny who’d begun her career as an English teacher at the beginning of my senior year of high school.

Of course it was only normal that as an eighteen year old red blooded all American well hung male with a bowflex crafted physique. For me to lust after the jungle bunnies melon sized breasts, the sun ripened raisins of her nipples and the hot chocolate of her wetness that lay within the apex of her well toned, clean shaven and silky smooth thighs. But for my former English teacher to lust after the curves of my hard and muscular body was something else entirely. Which is why the full bosomed and curvaceous jungle bunny waited until after I’d graduated from high school before giving me access to her hourglass figure.

Being no stranger to the small one bedroom apartment my former English teacher rented. Since during my last year of high school the well stacked African-American princess had tutored me in my studies at the small round table located inside her tiny kitchenette. So that when the jungle bunny called me on my cell phone to ask me to come over the first Saturday evening after my graduation. In order to put together the computer she’d recently bought nothing untoward or indecent about her actual intentions passed through my mind. Though the thought of banging the ever living daylights out of my former English teacher couldn’t help but make my oh so throbbing cock as hard as a rock.

It only took about an hour to set up my former high school English teachers computer and nothing seemed amiss about her attitude. Except that the curvaceous jungle bunny who insisted on standing directing behind me where I sat in front of her computer desk. Kept accidently rubbing the melon sized orbs of her tits against the curves of my back as she leaned down over me towards the wide screen monitor that came with her computer.

Of course I didn’t say anything about my former high school teachers inappropriate actions much less even bothered to object. Because if the truth be told I kinda liked feeling the ripe orbs of the curvaceous jungle bunnies melon sized breasts rubbing against the curves of my back. Plus the slight pressure of the massive milk jugs of her mammary glands had the added effect of making my manhood as hard as a rock.

Once my former high school teacher’s brand spanking new desktop computer was finely up and running. The curvaceous jungle bunny seemingly lost interest about the time I decided to go onto the internet and began downloading the necessary software updates. Disappearing into her bedroom as I continued to occupy myself by surfing the various web sites and blogs I liked to read as the computer updated itself in the background.

By the time the software updates had finished downloading and had been installed. The door leading into the sanctuary of my former high school teachers boudoir opened but didn’t close. As the curvaceous jungle bunny once again walked up behind where I sat in front of her computer. Only this time instead of rubbing the mountainous orbs of her melon sized milk jugs on my back as she had done a short time before. My former English teacher and after school tutor quite unexpectedly grasped my shoulders with her hands. Her long and slender finders digging firmly into my skin as she pulled the office chair in which I was sitting away from her computer and spun me around.

One moment I was sitting there in front of a brand spanking new computer. Preparing to put it to bed after putting the latest in updated computer technology through it’s paces. When suddenly without any warning what so ever I found myself coming face to face. With a curvaceous jungle bunny who appeared to have just stepped out of the pages of the latest Playboy magazine flying off the news stands at that very moment.

To say the very least the sight of my former high school teacher clad only in an expensive Victoria Secrets silk kimono took my breath away. Unable to offer up even the slightest resistence nor did I even want to resist as the curvaceous jungle bunny slipped down onto my lap. Where the twenty something first year teacher pulled apart the sash holding the flaps of her kimono together. After which the curvaceous jungle bunny opened up her kimono then and pulled my face downward into the luscious valley of her cleavage.

Instinctively my arms encircled my former high school teacher’s slender waist. As I grasped the twin ovals of the jungle bunnies cute and tight little ass within the palms of my hands. Even as I couldn’t help but dive face first between the twin peaks of the melon sized milk jugs of my former English teacher’s mammary glands. Where my lips, mouth and tongue soon found themselves happily rooting around like a pig in a mud hole.

For the next several minutes my lips, mouth and tongue took full advantage of both the opportunity and the privilege. Of ravishing the melon size rack along with the raisins of my former high school English teachers nipples that the curvaceous jungle bunny sported upon her chest. Only to climb to my feet some time later in order to carry the curvaceous jungle bunny. Across the livingroom of her one bedroom apartment and into the sanctuary of her boudoir.

Having ditched her expensive Victoria Secrets silk kimono by allowing it to slide off the curves of her shoulders and back. Where it fell downward onto the livingroom floor of my well stacked former high school English teacher in a colorful puddle of silk just before I’d stood up onto my feet. So that by the time I walked into the sanctuary of her boudoir and laid good ole Miss Tits down on top of her full size bed. The only thing that she was wearing was the intimate garment of the pair of panties that matched her kimono. Which easily slipped off the curves of her hips and the twin ovals of her cute and tight little ass.

After pulling off my former high school English teacher panties which I carefully folded up and stashed away in my pants pocket. It only took another moment for me to get undressed after which I joined good ole Miss tit’s right there on top of the altar of lust within her boudoir. Where I took the naked curves of the curvaceous jungle bunny into my arms and proceeded to bang the ever living daylights out of my former English tutor.

Before long the curvaceous jungle bunny and I found ourselves snuggled beneath the clean and fresh sheets of her full size bed. Kinda like two bed bugs in a rug with our arms and legs tangled together as we each took turns pressing each other’s back down on top of the bed. Just like a beautiful butterfly mounted in a display case with it’s delicate gossamer wings spread open. More then once good ole Miss tits and I mounted on top of each other in order to bang the ever living daylights out of her curvaceous body and my well hung and bow flex crafted body.

The powerful curves of my hips rapidly rising and falling like the pistons in a high powered race cars engine. While my former high school English teacher and tutor rode up and down the pole of my rock hard and oh so throbbing manhood. Which in either case throughly enjoyed to my pea picking hearts content sliding in and out of the delicious bowel of the chocolate pudding that was good ole Miss Tit’s hot and extremely wet pussy.

Even as each time I held back my own orgasm for as long as I could. Throughly savoring the intense climatic pleasure radiating out from the sensitive of my little head. Each and every time it pulsed again then a whole lot more whenever my rock hard and oh so throbbing cock. Sent a full load of my seed laden baby batter on it’s way into the fertile womb of my former high school English teacher and now forbidden lover. Until at last good ole Miss Tit’s and I couldn’t help but fall totally exhausted though not yet quite sexually sated into each other’s arms. Where we spent the last few remaining hours of the night sleeping off our mutually attained sexual hangover between the clean and fresh sheets of her altar of lust.

November Rapture Feast

uniquegoddess — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 05:35:24 +0000

Given that it is a “holiday” week, Unique Goddess does not have the time to give DXS Rapture the review it’s due. It was such a grand and diverse crowd with high level action that continued through to the wee hours of the morning. One very talented professor performed his rope magick, suspending two delicious hotties in the sixty-nine and sixty-nine they did! Mmmm, mmmm good!

The ever fabulous Mistress Leianya was in attendance with a body that would knock a blind man off his feet! Unfortunately, The Goddess missed her scenes, as She was busy supporting DXS with other duties. Although, The Goddess had opportunity to feast Her eyes on a beautiful new Domme learning the ropes, which is always a delight. This young Woman has the right look and right attitude! This is the type of Woman Unique likes to see join Her community.

There were also a lot of other new and beautiful faces of all ages. It’s nice to see Our community so seamlessly combine those of all experience levels and age ranges. With Our tight-knit DXS Fetish Family, people feel free to be themselves and play as they please. It’s a wonderful place to go to openly and erotically express O/oneself; only O/one’s imagination is the limit!

This was the last DXS Rapture for the year, so if you missed out, the next one will be in January. Unique will surely post word when the time comes, so keep your eyes peeled. Of course, there will be a ton of other Wintry Wiles going on in December, so don’t get blue so quickly; The Goddess is always up to something naughty and devious!

The Goddess still has time available next week, so hurry and get on Her schedule, because you know that can change quickly!

BTW, The Goddess has a new secret hideaway playspace available, although She is still available for session in Rockville too, email for details! Have a Happy Turkey Day, you filthy cockgobblers!
–
Sweetly Sadistic,
Unique Goddess
www.UniqueGoddess.com

Sensual, Sadistic, Surreal
Have you had The Unique Experience?

Almost enough

rubysjourney — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 23:22:48 +0000

As I mentioned yesterday, family, work and general stresses from the outside world had been hindering the kind of dynamic I so craved.

The first five months of our relationship were tumultuous, but full of raw excitement and passion. I have lots of stories from that time which I think I’ll save for now; plenty of little nuggets of erotic play. Sir had to leave for the summer to work a contract about 4 hours away. It was very hard. I missed him like mad, and I missed the discipline I’d grown so used to. Since then, there were periods of time when we would play hard and heavy, and our day-to-day relationship thrived. The lull happened when things in our lives made both of us feel as though we were powerless. He didn’t feel worthy of exerting control, and I didn’t feel safe enough in my own head to let him go there in that state.

However.

Lately, things have calmed down a little and I’m back in a place where I can trust him again. I am craving being retrained – having all of the naughty, bad little habits I’ve picked up over the months beaten out of me (both literally and figuratively). The hunger that I feel stirring up inside me is a powerful beast. I need to submit. I may need to submit 24/7 for a while. Something deep within me is missing and with Sir’s help, I can fill it up.

One of the lessons he taught me very early on, and something we discussed at length was that he was not the magical fix to any deep seeded need I may have. My submission, my training and my trust were in his hands, but were to improve my outlook on myself. He was the facilitator, not the answer.

So, after some discussion spanning the past few weeks, two nights ago, after a trying evening at work, I got a call from Sir telling me to be ready and waiting when he arrived home. My heart fluttered. I put the phone back on the cradle and promptly took off my clothes. On went my collar, my wrist and ankle cuffs, and a hint of makeup. I brushed my hair and quickly tidied up the place, finishing just in time to meet him, kneeling at the door. He smiled as he looked down at me. He first asked me to stand up so he could take a look. He called me “a vision”. After a thorough examination, I helped him take off his coat and boots, then knelt at his feet while he sat in his chair, deciding what to do with me next. He wanted to check his email and relax a little before dealing with me, so he told me to stand in the middle of the room, sticking my tits and ass out, accentuating the curve in my back. He told me to look straight ahead and to keep my arms straight out to my sides. I responded with a smile and a “Yes Sir!”

Now, call me out of practice, but my arms got tired fairly quickly. This amused him greatly. I knew he was testing me. He was testing how much I wanted to get back into the swing of serving and pleasing him. I could feel my stubbornness boiling beneath my skin. As uncomfortable as it was, it brought me great pleasure to demonstrate to Sir just how focused I was.

It was a night of retesting limits. Sir put the clover clamps on my nipples, then tied the chain of the clamps to the heel of my stiletto. He tied my wrists to my ankles so I was fully splayed and fully available and proceeded to fuck my cunt and my ass with his cock, a thick dildo and his fingers. In addition, I was allowed to take spankings from his hands, the flogger and a wooden spoon. Nothing was too much for me to handle. In fact, if I had felt slightly more outgoing, I would have asked for more. Asking for what I’d like is something I continue to work on – it doesn’t come naturally. In any case, I loved the beating. It takes a lot to mark me and I wished he would go full out so I could come away with badges. But I was happy with what he was giving me, and I took it all with pride.

After he had allowed me to have an orgasm, he let me kneel down in front of his and suck his cock. It was slick with my juices and I took as much of it as I could into my throat. To finish off our play, he had me ride him in a squatting position with my hands behind my head, thanking him for the use of his cock. When he came, he held me for a while. It was sweet. The hard play was over, but the rest of the night was service-oriented (which I also enjoy for the most part). I ran the water for his shower, I was waiting with a towel to dry him off, I made him tea and generally made myself available to be there to tend to his needs.

All in all it was a wonderful night and has pushed me even deeper into the mindset that I so want to maintain. I am craving more. We’ve decided to set up a time to lay out some objectives for the near future, and I cannot wait to see where that takes us. For now, however, I am eagerly awaiting Sir beckoning me. He is sitting in the chair next to me, playing with himself and will let me know when to kneel before him to be his cum receptacle. Then he is taking me out on a date night. I have been instructed to wear my collar and ankle cuffs, though I am allowed to wear an outfit that will conceal them. Just knowing that I’ll be in public wearing these very personal items is making my slut cunt drip with excitement!

<3 Ruby

Thanksgiving - Eat this!

samstagisteingutertag — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 22:34:59 +0000

“Mencomix” are my fantasies of men into leather, muscles, bondage, SM and more. You’re sure you want to share them? If not, leave – otherwise my latest work is a click away.

Nature always strikes back! Have a happy thanksgiving anyway! (and to avoid missinterpretation: No, I am not a vegetarian!)

Victory Over the Darkness, The Bondage Breaker, Spiritual Warfare - Book Reports

harry5599 — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 16:37:33 +0000

Anderson, Neil. 2000th Victory Over the Darkness: Realizing the Power of Identity in Christ A quick

058

jiller — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 14:41:01 +0000

056

jiller — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 14:38:17 +0000

Meerjungfrau - Tag 1 Die Ankunft

nomadbound — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 09:04:52 +0000

Sie kämpfte nicht mehr gegen die Fesseln an. Doch das musste sie auch gar nicht mehr, mit dem Bauch im kalten Sand und dem bloßem Körper dem kalten Seewind ausgesetzt, zitterte sie wie Espenlaub. Sandkörner rieben sich zwischen Seil und Haut und hinterliessen feine rote Linien wenn ein erneuter Kälteschauer sie durchlief und ihr schlanker Körper sich unkontrolliert bewegte.

Fest verschnürt liegt sie da, die Hände wie zum Gebet gefaltet auf den Rücken, mit Seilen an Handgelenken und Ellbogen gebunden. Kurze Seilen pressen ihre Knöchel auf die Rückseite der Oberschenkel knapp unterhalb Ihres Pos. Die Arme fest am Körper fixiert spannt sich ein komplexes Muster aus Knoten und Seilen um Ihren Torso. Einen Herzschlag lang fährt ein Lichtstrahl vom nahe gelegenen Leuchtturm über sie hinweg und taucht Ihr Ringen mit der Kälte in ein schwaches warmes gelbes Licht. Dann tanzen Schattenmuster im Takt ihrer stoßweisen Atmung über ihren Körper und lassen ihre weiße Haut alabasterartig erscheinen, bis die Dunkelheit Sie wieder umfängt und nur der Mond einen schwachen Schein auf Ihr hinterlässt.

Er lächelt, dies war die Frau die er heute morgen kennen gelernt hatte. Eine schlanke zierliche Person. Unscheinbar, mit blaßem Teint und von kleinem Wuchs, doch er hatte keine Augen für die kleinen Brüste deren harte Knospen sich unter Ihrem Gewicht in den Sand bohrten, keine Interesse an Orangenhaut und Problemzonen. Wäre Sie Ihnen auf der Straße begegnet, würde sie wahrscheinlich keines Blickes gewürdigt. Doch er hatte Sie gesehen, die Hingebung in Ihren grünen Augen und die Perfektion die in Ihrer Hilflosigkeit lag. Er sieht sich selbst als Künstler, ein Designer, er malt Bilder mit Seilen und Handschellen und Sie war seine Venus. Sie war ein Diamant ungeschliffen und roh, den es zu vollenden galt.

Wieder saugt sie tief Luft ein und schüttelt sich, die Atmung fällt ihr sichtlich schwer und in Ihren Augen liegt die Pein der beißenden Kälte und der schmerzhaften Haltung. Schließlich kann Sie sich nicht mehr zurückhalten und heiße Tränen laufen über Ihre Wangen, hinterlassen feuchte schwarzen Linien aus Makeup. Nun fehlt nur noch ein letzte Zutat, ein finaler Pinseltrich, ein Glanz in Ihren Augen.

Er kniet neben Ihr streichelt ihr zärtlich durch das wirre Haar, Wind und Transport hatten Ihre Frisur völlig zerstört. Ihr blondes gelocktes Haar fällt ihr jetzt ins Gesicht, vermischt sich mit zerlaufenem Makeup, Flugsand auf ihrer Haut und dem Speichel der über Ihre Unterlippe tropft. Langsam streicht er ihr mit einer Hand das Haar aus dem Gesicht während er mit der anderen den festen Sitz des Ballgags in Ihrem Mund prüft. Am Anfang hatte Sie Bedenken gehabt ob der große rote Kunststoffball nötig wäre doch Sie hatte einsehen müssen das es nur zu seinen Bedingungen stattfinden würde. Jetzt saß er tief und fest mit einem Lederband in Ihre Mundwinkel gezurrt. Sand bleibt an Ihren feuchten Lippen kleben und verdeckt den bläulichen Schimmer den die Kälte auf Ihre Lippen zaubert.

Einen Herzschlag lang verharrt er neben Ihr dann rollt die erste Welle heran. Die Flut hatte Sie erreicht. Er kniet nun zwischen Ihren gespreizten Beinen und sein Hände pressen Ihren kalten Körper fest in den Sand. Sie bäumt sich auf als die Schaumkrone Sie erreicht und Sand und Muschelstückchen um Sie herum spült, Sie wirft den Kopf nach hinten um dem salzigen Geschmack der Ihre Lippen berührt zu entgehen. Doch das Wasser fließt weiter, fließt an Ihrem Hals entlang und umspielt Ihre Brüste die nun aus dem Sand ragen. Nicht einmal der Knebel kann Ihr Stöhnen dämpfen. Jedes Häärchen an Ihrem Körper wie im Schock gesträubt streckt sie den Oberkörper mit aller Kraft aus dem eiskalten Wasser.

Diesen Moment wählt er um in Sie einzudringen. Langsam gleitet er in Sie. Mit beiden Händen greift er Ihre Hüfte und hält Sie fest als die Welle ihren Zenit erreicht. Im Sog des Meeres erlahmen Ihre Kräfte und Sie sinkt mit einem Seufzer in den naßen Sand zurück. Dann erreicht er seinen Zenit und beugt sich tief über Ihren Körper. Ein Zittern durchläuft ihren Körper und malt Mulden in den Sand wo Ihr Körper gegen die Fesseln ankämpft. Durch den Knebel gedämpft dringt ein zweites leiseres Stöhnen hervor, doch diesmal ist es nicht Kälte die Sie erschauern lässt. Ein weiteres Mal will Sie sich aufbäumen doch kraftlos sinkt Sie in den Sand zurück.

Zitternd im Mondenschein, Perfekt. Er hatte Ihr jede Kraft genommen, in Ihren Augen stand das Bild das er erschaffen hatte. Die Schmerzen, die Lust, die absolute Hilflosigkeit. Sie kämpfte nun nicht mehr dagegen an, Sie nahm es hin, Sie litt und Sie genoß. In Ihren Augen verschmolzen alle Gefühle, er hat Ihre Seele berührt und keiner von beiden wird diesen Augenblick je vergessen.

Er wartet nicht bis die zweite Welle heran ist, langsam beginnt er zurückzugleiten. Ein kurzes Verharren als Sie die kalte Nachtluft einsaugt, dann dringt er wieder in Sie ein, so das die kostbare Luft stöhnend aus Ihr entweicht. Lust und Schmerz sind nun eins und nur langsam beginnt er den Rythmus zu steigern um nicht die Illusion, die zarte Blase zu zerstören die beide umgibt. Eine eigene kleine Welt in der die Grenzen zwischen beiden Extremen verschwimmen.
Sie presst sich nun gegen Seine Hüfte und er stößt Sie zurück ins Wasser. Längst spürt Sie die Kälte nicht mehr, Ihr Körper hat sich an das kalte Wasser gewöhnt. Schneller und schneller dringt er nun in Sie ein, denn Ihm bleibt nicht mehr viel Zeit. Stoßweise atmend greift er mit einer Hand unter Ihren Hals stößt tief ins Sie und zieht Ihren Oberkörper nach oben als eine große Welle gegen Ihren Brustkorb prallt.

Sie spürt das Verlangen, die Wucht mit der das Wasser auf Ihren Körper trifft, der Sog der an jeder Faser zieht und Sie droht mit sich zu reißen. Wie tausend kleine Nadelstiche trifft der Wind die feuchte Haut wo das naße Element Ihren Körper freigibt. Bewegunglos verharrt Sie erst in seinem Arm, ein letztes Mal spannt sich jeder Muskel und sie bäumt sich auf stöhnend, zitternd. Dann sinkt sie zurück. Erschöpfung umfängt Sie wie ein dunkler Schleier, Sie spürt nicht wie er Sie verlässt.

Wieder kniet er vor Ihr im Sand, doch sein Werk ist verrichtet. Seine nassen Kleider behindern Ihn aber er muss sich beeilen. Mit beiden Armen greift er unter ihren zarten Leib und hebt Sie an. Ein paar Meter trägt er Sie zu einer trocken Mulde am Ende der Düne. Dort steht ein dunkle Sporttasche und ein großes Handtuch bereit, auf das er Sie nun sanft ablegt. Mit einem Messer durchschneidet er Ihre Fesseln, befreit erst Hände dann Beine vom Druck der Sie gefangen hielt. Mit einem zweiten Handtuch trocknet er Ihr notdürftig den Rücken und dreht Sie herum.
Ihre grünen Augen sind gerötet vom Salzwasser, Sand klebt an Ihren Lippen. Mit beiden Händen hält er nun Ihren Kopf und löst den Knebel. Er küsst Sie fest und fordernd, schwach erwidert Sie seine Begehren. Einen Herzschlag lang vergessen beide noch einmal Kälte und Wind. Schließlich lässt er Sie zurücksinken, trocknet auch Ihren Oberkörper und die Beine und wickelt Sie in einen langen schweren Bademantel. Wortlos schultert er die Tasche mit den Beweisen dieser Nacht kniet vor Ihr nieder und hebt Sie auf seine Arme. Wie eine Braut trägt er seine zierliche kleine Meerjungfrau zu der Ferienwohnung die er für Sie beide gemietet hatte.

Er duscht Sie, wäscht Ihr Sand und Salzwasser vom Körper, liebkost jeden Zentimeter Ihres erschöpften Körpers. Vor dem warmen Kaminfeuer massiert er Ihre Muskeln und reibt Ihren Körper ein wo die Seile Ihre sanfte Haut berührt hatten. Noch immer wagt keiner von beiden zu sprechen um die letzten Momente des Abends auszukosten. Schließlich bricht Sie Ihr Schweigen, danke flüstert Sie Ihm ins Ohr. Er küsst Sie ein weiteres Mal heiß und innig presst er sein Lippen auf Ihre. Ertrinkt in Ihren Augen und verliert sich selbst. Dann schläft Sie in Seinen Armen ein.

Ein letztes Mal lässt er im Geist den alles Revue passieren. Die Internetbekanntschaft, die endlosen Emails mit immer neuen Fantasien. Schließlich sein Vorschlag des gemeinsamen Wochenendes. Wie er das kleine Häusschen am Strand mietet, Sie vom Bahnhof abholt. Mit Ihr den Strand entlangwandert und die Stelle aussucht an der er Sie später ablegen wird. Das bange Warten auf die tiefen Nachtstunden in denen alles beginnen wird, das Lächeln mit dem Sie Ihm die Sorgen nahm ob alles klappen wird. Die zärtliche Berührung als er die Seile über Ihren Körper führt. Das Zittern Ihres Körpers als Sie gefesselt am Strand liegt.
Das Bild in Ihren tiefen grünen Augen…
Dann schläft er ein.