Taverns and turn ons

Tonight a friend took Me out to play a little pool, at a local dive bar. My friend Chris is one of those serious players. Mistress plays pool about as often as I go fishing (which I think may have happened at some point, in the past decade). My lady friend chose the locale, as she's a player owning her own custom pool cue, leather case and all...

I felt a bit like a tourist. Bars, drinking, gambling, and mating rituals can be fun to watch, yet regretful in the light of day. And as we both know, there are other ways to feed deep appetites.

I watched her slide on a purple spandex glove, with a few fingers missing (designed to help a player steady the cue, and keeps it smooth). She chalks up the cue, lines her prey. The place has that smell, a bit like a dorm hall. Stale beer had seeped into the carpet regularly. We were left undisturbed for quite some time, and I got to feel a bit inept at the sport, with moments of brilliance mixed in.

After a few games we were approached by two very dark black men, and asked if we'd like to play doubles. Chris and I chat a bit, then say yes. She's used to the rhythms of this, and I'm still watching and learning. I embrace a bit of innocence and discovery, even though these paths are known.

After a game or two, the older man with his skin so deep, like dark chocolate, starts leaning in a bit too close. He smells of many cigarettes and hard liquor. I felt Myself cringe with the scent, yet found his openness, and desire to see how far I'd let him in, curious. I'm open and playful, yet savvy, and before he knows it I've thrown him a couple quick bones of wit that left him slack jawed. Yes, satisfying. Yet I hunger for a playmate that responds in kind. It's sometimes too easy to leave a man breathless.

And just as he realizes there's much more going on under this surface, Chris and I say good evening, and thank you. We beat them at both games, and I feel satisfied.

What would you like to be beat at, dear reader? I'll bet you're just as pretty when breathless...

The bidding of phallic presents

So this is how My perverted mind thinks….

Mistress has a bevy of toys, collected over a few years. Insertables, to be clear. Some are gifts from slaves in the past, or ones bought on a whim. Some of them worked WONDERFULLY (and still do!) and a few were more experimental, and less practical.

One example dubbed the Big Betty, is a 12 inch glass dildo, 2 inches wide, that I barely was able to get inside sugar walls… That one I gave to a friend in need, after an attempt or two at using it (it just wasn't comfy). My friend is a size queen who had just lost her lover (a very tall, well built, black man). Last I heard, Big Betty and she had become very good friends…

Of all the dildos that I enjoy the most, My fave is a very stout black dildo, with lots of pseudo raised veins on the side, for extra sensation. The head of it too makes a pleasing pop of an entrance. Of course, depends on the tightness of the location... (giggle)

Yet what does Mistress do with toys used only a few times, and left to look pretty in My collection, but rarely used? All of them have visited the most personal places of My body, yet only a few are invited to return.

While looking at My garden of dildos today, I had a wild idea!

I've been saving to move from My present abode, and have been packing boxes, cleaning here and there, getting ready to spring forth and find a new nest for Mistress. When people are raising money for a cause, they have bake sales, car washes …

Consider this unique application. To help with the cause of helping Mistress Lily move? I'll auction off the phallic pretties that need someone to play with! Money raised from such a venture will go to the "Helping Ms Lily Move" fund!

Wild concept, I know… What are your thoughts on such a fund raiser? If you're intrigued, I might even let you in on the bidding (and offer perhaps a photo or two!). For more details, write or call Me!

Beast in a cave, sleeping

This morning in the wee hours, the power went out in My fair city. At least the chunk I reside in. Was eerie, and quiet for a few moments. The only light in the place was coming from My laptop screen. I did due diligence, called the power folks, then waited.

We forget what we depend on, until these things disappear. I gathered up keys after a few moments, locked the house up, and went for a drive in the dark rain. Half the city was murky and dim, occasional headlights streaming down wet pavement. The strange halting drivers at the dead stoplights, taking our turns with right of way. Odd to feel the blanket of these streets dark, and slumbering. Like a beast in a cave, sleeping.

After restless driving, seeking the boundaries of the murk, I made My way home, crawled in to bed, and waited for electricity, or sleep to catch Me.

As of yet, still the former.

Bring Me your own dark mystery, dear reader, let it mingle with My own…

Passion, Paris

Tonight I meandered through the tele channels, and settled on Globe Trekker. They were walking Paris, showing us the spots with their bright lenses. One detour brought a bookstore where Anais Nin, Henry Miller and oodles of others, shared words, glances, rumbling desire. It looked snug and very warm. So many books and nooks. I wanted to crawl like a cat through pages, and listen to the poets read their voice.

Nin, Miller - I've read a bit of their work. Although I'm more into their mythology… an amateur really. I've tried reading Miller and have yet to get the hook. He's messy, passionate, cruel yet charming... Anais Nin's desire seemed more in line with Mine, sensual, curious, exploring shame and hidden desires.

And their bodies lay to dust. Yet their words still entice us. I fantasize about passion that deep and reckless. I tend to be more controlled in romantic choices than most. Men have to accept that I enjoy this work with you little offspring, and I'm sometimes shy to share it.

Real power tends to be selective. And our secrets, give us mystery, and sometimes keep us sick.

Let your darkness breathe with Me, yes let's see how you open, wide...

The hearth

This cold cold weather outside, makes a Girl like Me feel dreary, and a bit like staying in. Warm fireplace, and warm little men like you to keep Me busy!

One thing this occupation offers is a study in the species of men. You can be an incredibly simple lot, and in other areas, especially around pride, ego, and shame, more complex, and harder to navigate. I love crawling inside your mind, swimming in to grab the twisted nubs of brightness you seek.

Bring your yearning and sweet things to Me, little men. I've a place right here, all for you….

Confusing Carry

My lovelies, I've been a bit less available this past week, for many reasons. It does pain Me. Slightly.

Along with the social life being particularly busy this week, I've been debauching a boy from the east side of the states. He's a tall, fit thing, and you may guess he's a bit like many of My slaves. There's something he's itching for, that a Girl like Me is designed to scratch.

I tend to pamper boys who are smart, respectful, and pamper Me first. A big part of this job is keeping a boy in line.

I remember our first conversations last week. His voice had a deep warmth that made Me lean in a bit. The mumbling did distract. Yet there was an intelligent core to this conflicted fella. A bit arrogant, there was a deep need in him to submit to a Woman with sensual strength. And he craved the humiliation of a Woman like Me, entering him. We talked at length about he spreading wide for Me, aching with want, hard, naked, offering his denial as My tool, entertainment. We edged him over 5 sessions, right up to the brink.

His heavy breath would yawn open and beg for release. The satisfaction of waiting, is key. He wanted to be held at bay, laughed at, defiled. And the shame was palatable. I could feel that dark place inside him that could suck up and run.

He's still here. We'll see if the thread of we sticks through time. And perhaps you and I, dear reader, have a thread to weave ourselves….

Blathering boys; Laces of grace

Ah, the early morning coke head.

The boy begging blackmail with lacking sincerity. They've yet to see how they self appear, and perhaps My weary eyes have slid over the likes of he, one too many times. Drunk, coked up, all sensation and lack of being present inside that flesh mess.

He hoovered nose candy, sucked down Jim Beam, sent his photos, begged Me to write down his name. When instructed to do the leg work, send the tribute, oh My, he chooses not. I feel a bit like a trainer of champions, watching a puppy piddling all over himself. You can't blame the wee one, yet his demands can cramp My time.

Sigh…. Onto other things.

One of My fat and plumpy ones trekked through My wishlist this past week, and this babydoll was a HAPPY CAMPER! I'm still so pleased looking at the stash of stuff he delivered to My doorstep. I need to start looking for different lingerie dealers though. Amazon's got just a sliver of market. Wonder if My Secrets In Lace wishlist still lives. Research…. (btw, Secrets In Lace is probably My favorite place of lace).

We need to discuss your guise this Halloween. I have a few ideas on what we'll wrap you in….