Posts Tagged ‘pain’


Cold, hard metal
encased in buttery soft leather
feels best
with it’s sharp points focused
on my soft, sensitive, girly bits
Pain and pleasure mingle
My senses come alive


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Metal Clovers

Cold hard metal makes me melt…


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Happy 200th Sinful Sunday!


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Cunt Busting?

At a workshop I attended this past summer on pussy torture I learned what cunt busting was. I have to tell ya, not a fan. I enjoy me some pain but getting punched or kicked in the cunt is not the kind of pain I’m into. I was thinking about how painful it would be when it dawned in me that I had indeed had my cunt busted before. Although, it was not in the same context as the workshop and not at someone else’s hand, or foot as the case may be.

I was about 13 years old and spending the afternoon with one of my friends from school. We had gone for a walk to the store and watched a movie, Footloose. I remember the movie because we were dancing around the kitchen like a couple of fools and her mother told us to go outside, out of her hair she put it.

We went outside and were trying to figure out what to do. Not another walk. Her badminton racquet was broken, so no badminton. Then her brother, who I had the biggest crush on, arrived. He flew down the driveway on his 10-speed, threw it down on the ground, adjusted his leather jacket and went inside. I always thought he looked a lot like James Dean, though I couldn’t picture James Dean doing what he had just done.

We decided a bike ride would be the thing to keep us out of her mother’s hair. Problem was there was only one girls bike. You know, the one with the straight crossbar. No odds, I’ll ride her brother’s bike. Couldn’t be that hard. Nice thought, not so nice result.

Hopping on the bikes we headed out, down the road one way, back again. Then up around the bend towards the quarry. There is a large paved area there where the roads meet, not an intersection though as the roads do not come together at the same point. You can ride around in circles and do tricks or whatever due to the size and being able to see cars coming long before they are upon you. We didn’t want to go down the hill as it was quite steep and the bakes weren’t working so we stayed there on that area of the road.

My friend had been doing some kind of tricks on her bike that I wanted to do, or at least to the degree I could considering the state of the bike I was riding. I tried to turn around but was too close to the side of the road I was facing and didn’t quite make it. Boom! I hit the side of the road, going too fast on a bike that was too big and wasn’t able to properly stop. I went head over heels, still holding on to the handlebars and in the process jammed my crotch into the stem of the bike. You know, the joint where the handlebars and bike frame connect. Holy mother of god did that hurt!!

I must have passed out for a moment because I went from hitting the side of the road and feeling the impact against my crotch to being in the ditch with my friend trying to pull the bike off me. She was trying not to laugh as she asked if I was ok. If I hadn’t been in so much pain I’m sure I would have been laughing too. Unfortunately I felt more like throwing up at that moment. As I tried to get out of the ditch and to my feet I was thinking how glad I was nobody had seen. Apparently that thought had come too soon as seconds later I spotted a crippled old man coming towards us. He had seen the whole thing from his living room window and came to see if I was ok. Embarrassment factor just went through the roof.

It took some help, from both of them, but I finally managed to get to my feet. Still hunched over in pain I hobbled back to my friend’s house with the bike, her walking hers beside me and the crippled old man making his way back to his lookout post. Seriously, that’s what old people do, sit at home looking out the window to see what their neighbors are up to. They make for a good neighborhood watch.

But back to the topic at hand…

This was not a pain I would ever like to experience again. I honestly do not know how people enjoy it. It isn’t a sharp pain. It isn’t a dull pain. It’s somehow neither yet a combination of both. It’s like running full speed into a concrete wall except it’s your genitals that receive the impact rather than your skull. Pinching, slapping, even the occasional bite, my cunt likes these. A kick, a punch, that piece of steel from the bike, no thanks. You can use a flogger, a paddle, a Wartenberg wheel. You can pin it, clamp it, or pump that pussy up. Just please, PLEASE, don’t treat it like you’re trying to win an ultimate fighting challenge.


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I’ve been working on a few things but a work matter has come up so I will leave you with a few pics of my new friend the alligator.

He’s a little green, with teeth that bite in just the right way. 😉














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Broken Silence

The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock that mocked her. It mocked her for thinking this time would be different, for accepting his word at face value knowing full well he had never kept a word ever made. It mocked her for believing him and giving him another chance to do what he always does, hurt her.

There were times when the hurts were small. So minute in fact that they ceased to even register until so many had accumulated they could no longer be ignored. She tried though. Oh how she tried. Sitting here now she could not help but see the truth behind the veil of ignorance she had been wearing all these years. By ignoring what the rest of the world easily saw all she had done was let herself be played the fool.

From the near second of his lateness she knew she had been played yet again. She was done with it. She would be played a fool no longer. He would regret every missed moment, every forgotten date, every promise broken. He would regret every single hurt he’d given her, every bruise and broken bone, when she returned the favour.

All the times she had let slip by, unnoticed or unaddressed, were like tiny nails in a coffin. Eventually the coffin would be complete and ready for it’s eternal occupant. Her coffin was finally complete, though she would not be the one resting in it. Soft and comfy though it may be the body inside would never know. The body inside would be dead and cold, and she would be anything but.

Tonight the tables turn. Tonight he becomes the fool, he endures the hurts, he ceases to be.

She got up from the table leaving the full plates of dinner, the open bottle of Shiraz and her half empty glass. She also left the candles that had burned nearly completely away, though not before knocking one of them over. Wax spilled out over the cream linen tablecloth and the flame followed. The table was soon engulfed in flames. The chairs quickly followed.

The house they lived in, the home they had built, was crawling in flames and filling with smoke. She hardly noticed. Her mind was already elsewhere. On her way to the front door she stopped momentarily at the entryway mirror to check her appearance and fix her lipstick. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her.

She knew where to find him. All these years he thought she was clueless but she knew. She had never been inside the bar before now. Not once. It was his place, the boys club, where he went to drink and gamble and pick up whatever woman struck his fancy. Oh yes, she knew. She had always known, she had just refused to believe.

The place was just as she had imagined. Dark, dingy, and smelling like a day old beer with about an inch left in the bottle and half a dozen cigarette butts swimming in it. The men were a reflection of the bar. The women were the same, but in high heels, short skirts, and frosted blue eyeshadow. There were four pool tables, a larger snooker table, and one of those golf games at the far end if the bar. This end was occupied by a plexi box of pull tab tickets and two tabletop slot machines.

She walked past the machines towards the far end if the bar and stopped in front of the snooker table. “Hello, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looked up from the table he had been intently studying. The other player had left him snookered on a coloured ball. “What the hell are ya doin here lass?”

“I came to tell you I’ve had enough.” She watched the anger rise in him. Bad enough she was confronting him, but to do it here was much worse. His snooker buddy conceded the game and backed away from the table.

The bartender called over to Jimmy. “Jimmy man, that was the Darla. She says yer house is on fire.”

Jimmy looked back at her, eyes as black as night and a coldness in his tone that nobody could miss, but she didn’t flinch. “What the bloody hell have ya done lass?” He was beside her now, his hand at her neck.

In one swift motion Lynne took her hand out of her pocket and stabbed him twice in the chest with his own hunting knife. He fell backward against the table, blood quickly turning his grey shirt crimson. Shock and disbelief registered in Jimmy’s eyes when he looked down at the growing sea of blood. More began to drip from his mouth before he finally succumbed to the injuries and fell to the floor.

Lynne turned to the bartender. “Would you be a dear and call an ambulance? The truck I came in is in the ditch and I think my water just broke.”

The bartender could only stare at her in silence.


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A while back I attended a pussy torture workshop with Artist and Artist Wife at a dungeon studio in Toronto. I had been wanting to visit the studio for some time but things always came up that kept me from going. When I saw the posting for the pussy torture workshop the timing was perfect. My son was away, so I didn’t need to find a sitter, and it was an afternoon workshop. Afternoons are much less stressful that full on evening events when you don’t know anyone there. Yes, I brought Artist and Artist Wife along, but they didn’t know anyone else either.

We made our way downtown and my fellow travelers reminisced about when they used to work at a studio in the same neighborhood. It had been several years and though many things remained the same others were drastically different. The studio address was easily found, the studio itself not so much. We looked around for signs pointing us in the right direction. Nothing. There were several groups of people outside. No help. Then we found a parking spot and figured the studio was the one next to the parking spot. Wrong. One lovely lady finally told us where the studio entrance was. You had to go in one large door, through a group of people who were there chilling (smoking up) and the entrance to the studio was inside to the right. Why couldn’t those guys have been more helpful. Geesh!

Anyways, we finally made our way inside and found some rather nice people and a cool space. It was much smaller than I had anticipated, but that tends to happen. Ask a man about the size of something and see how accurate his measurements are to reality. 😉

The presenter was nice, approachable, and seemed to know her shit. I liked her. Truly. I’d like to hang out with her for an afternoon, one on one. Maybe even visit her dungeon. I just wasn’t that keen on the workshop itself. The majority of it was taken up by an anatomy lesson, Female Anatomy 101. Surprisingly, many women don’t know their own body. I understand that men may require the full on lesson, but I didn’t. I think that it should be a separate workshop on its own, or combined with male anatomy to get a full picture.

She also spent a lot of time on safety. This I really liked because it showed that she cared about the content she was putting out there and does not want to see people getting hurt. One can rarely be too careful when dealing with things that have the possibility of causing great harm. Something as simple as using foods or lotions with sugars in them can cause havoc with ones girly bits.

What I didn’t like was that there were two demo bottoms for her to demonstrate with, along with a variety of implements, and I got nothing from the demo portion of the workshop. I did find a lovely bamboo paddle/trivet with a handle that works amazingly well on her table of torture devices, even made a trip to Ikea to purchase a couple. That was an implement though, not an actual method or way to torture a pussy, and not an implement she demonstrated. I also found an excellent lube, but then I very rarely use any kind of lube. I have a small bottle I purchased upwards of ten years ago that is still more than half full. I didn’t learn anything new regarding the topic I went there to learn about, pussy torture. If anything I left there more frustrated than before I went.

There were a wide variety of  clothes pegs and clamps. She did use some on one of the demo bottoms but only discussed the difference between two types and the sensations each would provide. I think mentioning that the big plastic ones, though not much of a grip, have sharp edges that you want to keep away from certain areas would be important for the beginner to know. She mentioned a zipper (clothes pegs joined with string and applied to a body then pulled off with a tug of the string) but didn’t have one to show us or demonstrate.

One simple thing that I would have liked to see was ways the person being tortured could be positioned. The demo bottoms were sat quite precariously on a rolling metal table. They couldn’t lean back and get comfortable. There was no way they could position themselves in a natural way. Even the demonstrator couldn’t find a good angle to wield a flogger, paddle, or even her own hand. The spanking bench would have been a better platform than the rolling morgue table.

This is not a diss on the presenter. It is my opinion of what I thought of this particular workshop itself. It wasn’t what I had expected, nor was it what I was looking for. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a very helpful workshop for some people. As I said, I quite liked the presenter. I think she has a lot of knowledge to share and I would attend another one of her workshops.


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