Mine.

The softest of black suedes. A small sliver of a rare South African skin that I had been saving for something special. It was laid out flat next to the vibrant purple of a Spanish relaxed grain leather. The contrast was beautiful. The colours complimented each other and as I sat down to study the striations and view the detailing of the leathers further, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and hugged me from behind. Nothing was said, she simply wanted to see.

It needed to be perfect. It needed to be special. She had picked the leathers, her favourite colours, and I was about to build it for her with my bare hands while she watched.

There is nothing quite like the smell of freshly cut leather. My blade sliced through her choices effortlessly as I cut the strips required. A soft but strong backing of the blackest night followed by the warm and vibrant colours that would accentuate and bring life to that darkness. I could not help feeling slightly amused at our dynamics similarities.

Metals next. The strongest of steel. Cold and hard. An armour of chain for its front and a little love willed into every ring as they were forcefully weaved together. As the skies darkened and turned to night, I flicked my workbench lamp on. The dim light glistened off the metal as I held it aloft to look closely at the weaved florets and I could feel her smile as she continued to watch it take shape in my hands.

The next step was aesthetics. Those little touches of beautification. Not because it needed such things, but because they are desired. The reflected shine from the steel bezel blazed into my eyes as I placed it in position, enhancing its every detail. The victorianesque patterns which oddly reminded me of rope whenever I looked at them closely were glistening in the light and I began to reminisce of the previous evenings play in the very spot where we were now. I was tempted to repeat the process. Her scent was constant and delicious, I could feel her soft breath on my neck and it would have been so easy to simply throw down my tools and grab her for another ropey roll on the floor, but this was important, so as I brought the hammer down roughly atop the clear crystal rivet center of the final touches, I shook the desire to the side and promised myself the pleasure at a later date.

It was late by the time I had finished. All was quiet as I stood in front of her with the finished creation and held it in the light where she could see it clearly.

“Are you sure?” I asked as I gave her a meaningful look.

Her meek grin was incredibly cute as she nodded back at me.

The last ingredient was already in place as I slipped the leather and steel collar around her.

Trust.

Unequivocal. Clear and pure. Trust.

Her smile widened as the click of the padlock shattered the silence and as I pulled her towards me by the belt, I gave her left nipple a playful pinch followed by a toothy grin.

“Mine” I growled through the smile as I wrapped her in an embrace.

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Quotations: 2013

Continuing the quotations of the year posts, here is the selection for 2013.

You can see the ‘Quotations 2011’ post: Here
You can see the ‘Quotations 2012’ post: Here

Favorite quotations of the past year (including some that I have not been able or bothered to ‘tweet‘) in a single blog post purely for fun.

As usual, no names will be mentioned (with the exception of my own) and people will be referred to in an anonymous fashion or title. Of course, you will all know who you are from being present when I had said the quote in question. Try also to bear in mind that almost all of these quotes have been said in the heat of the moment and are not meant to offend any readers of my blog.

Enjoy.

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Aemilia Hawk: “You know something is seriously wrong with your karma when you manage to poke yourself in the eye with a duvet while searching for a chainmail earring that somehow managed to get stuck down the back of the living room radiator.”

Aemilia Hawk: “People may not realise this, but I have difficulty navigating certain aspects of daily life. You know, feigning interest in others, not being able to talk about BDSM as much as I want, putting up with everyday mundane stupidity. It is incredibly exhausting.”

Aemilia Hawk: “There is something about forcing a man up against a wall, shackling his arms and legs wide and forcing cold metal rods down his manhood that I find very erotic.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Ribbed for his pleasure.” (In reference to a sounding rod)

Aemilia Hawk: “If you are going to be a smart-ass, first you have to be smart. Otherwise you are just an ass.”

Aemilia Hawk: “You can tell a lot about my mood if you watch my extremities. For example; If my claws are pressed against your throat in a threatening fashion; I am probably annoyed… Or aroused… Or both.”

Aemilia Hawk: “I have made it through the entire morning and only managed to insult two mundanes. I think my people skills are improving.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Quit being so facetious.”
Friend: “I do not know what ‘facetious’ means.”
Aemilia Hawk: “Do you know what ‘Google’ means?”

Aemilia Hawk: “I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off your hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots.”

Dentist: “You may feel a little discomfort.”
Aemilia Hawk: “I am a sadomasochist, Sir. I think I have a pretty good idea of when something will inevitably ‘hurt like hell’.”

Aemilia Hawk: “You would be surprised at how fast people can run when they hear the crack of a Longeing Whip a few inches behind their head.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Appreciate what you have, because basically; I am awesome.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Pretty Pooky pleasantly pacificates pectorals, pandemian pallesethesia permitting.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Darth Vader hole invader?”

Aemilia Hawk: “Kin chasa du Jedi!”

Aemilia Hawk: “I suddenly have images in my head from the “Queen of the Damned” movie. Except with floggers and more blood.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Give a man a fire and he is warm for a day, but set fire to him and he is warm for the rest of his life.”

Aemilia Hawk: “When I was a mundane, I spoke as a mundane, I understood as a mundane, I thought as a mundane: but when I became a kinkster, I put away ‘mundanish’ things.”

Aemilia Hawk: “I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person!”

Aemilia Hawk: “Must you leave so soon? I was just about to poison the tea.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Clearly you are not yourself today. I noticed the improvement almost immediately.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Is the vegetarian option 100% real vegetarian? Why are you laughing?”

Aemilia Hawk: “Forged in the fires of Mount Kabunza, there were made rings of power! Fashioned with a secret formula now known only to the makers of hitty things, these fabulous rings gave their users untold powers! Originally, there were twenty in all: six for mastery of the female orgasm, five for rule over erection dysfunction, three for dominion over anyone shorter than 1ft (length, not height), two for the conquering of bad breath, one was lost down the back of a radiator and we can’t get it out, two were recalled for factory defects because they tended to short-circuit in the rain, and THE ONE RING… Which didn’t really do anything, but we kinda liked the way it looked. So they are now mass produced for our floggers.”

Aemilia Hawk: “I still get horrible flashbacks of a tall, grey, bearded guy, pointing a cane and what looks like a BD10 violet wand to the heavens and shouting “YOU SHALL NOT FLOG!” at me.”

Aemilia Hawk: “There are onesies in M&S. Society has finally crumbled.”

Aemilia Hawk: “I absolutely did NOT threaten to punch him. I threatened to spank him.”

Aemilia Hawk: “You need to laugh. Everyone does. What is life if you cannot moon it with a wink and a slightly crooked grin?”

Aemilia Hawk: “Don’t fuck with my chi.”

Aemilia Hawk: “I am not saying that you are stupid. I am simply saying that you have extremely bad luck when it comes to thinking.”

Aemilia Hawk: “Of course your opinion matters. Not to me, but I am sure we could find someone suitably empathetic. Have you tried posting it on Facebook?”

Aemilia Hawk: “I would like to apologise in advance for my behavior tonight.”

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Do unto others?

One of the things which I pride myself on is the fact that every BDSM activity that I partake in, everything that I inflict on others, is something that I have personally experienced the sensation of (with the exception of the obvious, e.g. penile sounding).

I have been canned, flogged, spanked, paddled, whipped, cut, electrocuted, tortured, skewered, burned, bloodied… The list is quite extensive.

My point is that, regardless of how sadistic I may be feeling at any given moment, I would never put anyone through something which I am not willing to go through myself (even briefly, just to see what it feels like).

In fact, it is through diverse experimentation like this that I have figured out that:

  • I have a sliver of masochism. However, I am not truly masochistic (I do not derive physical pleasure or relief from pain, however I do understand it and I do consider it a bit fun on occasion if the mood and setting is complimentary, e.g. Touching nipple to nipple when using a violet wand body contact pad with the setting turned on full so you have the effect of sparks or lightning passing between the nipples).
  • I am incredibly sadistic (I derive physical and intellectual pleasure from inflicting pain and suffering on others. I have also discovered that part of what makes me better at inflicting pain is the fact that I study human anatomy/biology and that I personally experience and research each activity).
  • I am naturally and instinctively far more dominant than submissive (I am also in the firm belief, through years of sociological D/s experiences and encounters, that everyone has at least a little of both in them; despite some Dominants claiming that they are 100% “everyone on the planet should kneel before me” dominant).

Call it an ethical judgement or personal morality if you like, but my main question is: Why is it that I do not see or hear more peoples stories of experiencing things themselves before inflicting things on others? Has that Dominant in the corner of the club experienced what they are putting that submissive through? Or am I, yet again, part of the minority in that I practice what I preach and inflict?

Responses to this post would be greatly appreciated. I am incredibly curious to know of other peoples stories and opinions on this matter.

No Champagne.

Written by Benjamin.
Edited by Aemilia Hawk.

A story about one of our play sessions that my Benjamin has been asking me to write for some time. However, lately I have not been in the mood to write short stories. So, I told him to write up the story from his perspective and that I would publish it on the blog after adding to it and editing it.

Enjoy.

It was a Tuesday evening and I made my way to the dungeon for the usual session with my Mistress. I thought it would just be a regular session. I was wrong.

On arriving at the house doorway, I paused slightly in the entryway before ringing the bell. It is very similar to visiting the dentist. There is a clean smell but at the same time, an unnerving sense. Once you step beyond the barred metal door, you give up all rights and you are at the whim of the Mistress to do as she pleases.

I rang the doorbell and waited for the clicking sound of heels which I normally hear as Mistress approaches the door to let me inside. I waited and I listened. I heard no sound this time.

Suddenly the door opened. It was the house slave.

“Good evening, the Mistress is expecting you and is awaiting your arrival upstairs.” he said with a welcoming smile.

I glanced at my watch to double check that I had arrived on time. I was a few minutes early.

“Is everything alright?” I asked as I stepped through to the hallway.

“Everything is fine, the Mistress is waiting for you in the purple room tonight, she demanded that you be sent up as soon as you arrived. Enjoy your evening.”

As I made my way up the thin staircase, I could see the dull glow from the dungeons candles seeping through the curtain door and as I entered, the first thing I saw is Mistress sitting on her Iron throne, smoking a cigarette and looking quite relaxed.

I try my hardest not to show any nerves. She always says that she can smell fear. So far she has never been wrong. But I manage to greet her as normal. There was a short silence as I waited for her reply. The tone of her voice can usually give away some clues as to how heavy the evenings play will be, but this time the words were soft and sensual.

“Come here.”

I approached slowly to stand in front of her and I offered her my usual gift which she accepted gracefully. There was a certain glint in her eye as she placed the gift to one side and in a single word told me to undress.

My nerves kicked in again. Normally I am undressed by the time she enters the dungeon but I turned away and begin to do as I was told.

“Face me. I wish to watch.”

With her watchful gaze upon me, I returned to face her and begin to take off my clothes piece by piece to place neatly in the corner. She smiled as I removed the last item and then gestured to the floor in front of where she sat. A signal of her wish to have me kneel at her feet.

After a few peaceful moments of sensation, Mistress running her claws through my hair and behind my ears, she leaned forward and whispered for me to stand in front of the slanted post, which I did immediately. She followed, but slowly. Standing from her throne and making sure every click of her heel could be savored as she walked towards me.

Normally just my hands and feet are secured, but this time she also secured my waist and made sure my movement would be limited.

“I want you fully secure tonight” She said in her voice like silk. “You will understand why in a few moments.”

I took in a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. I decided that it is probably best to say nothing at all.

Once secure, Mistress walked slowly towards the door, pausing only briefly to turn and smile at me before disappearing out. She returned a minute later carrying a large black box with silver accents. There was no mistaking her vintage violet wand (Angele) which she placed directly next to me on a waist height spanking stool.

My trepidation built as she took her time connecting all of the leads into the machine along with the body contact pad attachment. Then slowly lifting one side of her Steampunk skirt to reveal her left stocking top, she sensually slid the pad inside. For me this was breathtaking to watch, but unexpectedly she then lifted the other side of her ruffled skirt to reveal a small dagger tucked inside the top of her other stocking.

The dagger was tenderly removed and Mistress stood for a few moments before me, watching my expressions intently and caressing the blade tip with her claws. When she is not pressured for time, she likes to take her time, which can be all the more unnerving.

Eventually, she turned to one side and switched on Angele. The machine is not like a modern violet wand which would hum and whirr, Angele rumbles and growls, and had now electrified both my Mistress and the dagger in her hand.

Mistress returned her gaze and looked at me with such tenderness that I became oblivious to what she was about to do. The look in her eyes was one of content and pure confidence as she leaned in close to press the dagger against my chest and hold it still against the skin.

The initial shock of cold steel upon the skin outweighed the electrical discharge. As long as the dagger was pressed firmly and not moved, the electricity would not be felt.

“Now you see why I want you secure” she said softly as her body leaned in close for a few moments to press against mine.

And then it happened; she quickly stepped back and drew the dagger in a diagonal line across the bare of my chest. With the electricity running through it, it had the same sensation as if the knife was burning through the flesh and cutting deeply. A red line appeared in its wake, tracing the daggers branding and you could smell the scent of burning flesh.

Mistress paused and held the knife still, stopping the pain. She then leaned in close, again to press her body against mine before tracing the line she had just drawn across my chest with a claw. She deeply inhaled the scent in the air and a grin of utter pleasure formed on her lips.

“No Champagne” She said in that deceptive soft tone and referring to our normal safe word, revoking the privilege.

So, I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes and tried my best to find my sub space.

A steady hand.

The sound was like running a wet finger over the rim of a crystal wine glass. A steady, single toned hum cutting through the dungeons background music. A Bakes Rosebud Dilator being stroked up the shaft with a moist disinfectant towel. I have come to appreciate the soft echos they make.

I am always meticulous about hygiene, but when it comes to urethral sounding, I am overly cautious. A single speck of dust can cause infection to set in. Every sounding rod is cleaned thoroughly before and after use. It has become a ritual and part of the play. It aroused him every time. There is something incredibly erotic about being chained to a wall while a scantily clad dominant woman strokes phallic shaped metal rods in front of you. He was erect and eager, watching me slowly clean my toys and waiting with anticipation.

“Number 5 and number 6 Bakes, 7/8mm Hegar, Vibrating UD, Wartenberg wheel”, my thoughts while adhering to the ritual sounded oddly mathematic and the medical instruments being laid out neatly on the small, tissue clothed spanking stool next to where he was restrained made it look like I was preparing to operate on his vital organ. I was taking my time and could smell the trepidation building within him, but the look on my face remained peaceful and serene, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

I gently placed the last of my cleaned tools onto the stool and lined it up neatly with the rest. I was ready to begin.

Turning sharply towards him and grabbing his manhood roughly, I leaned in close to his face with my teeth on show. He inhaled deeply and his body went taut as my claws gently prickled his sensitive skin.

“Mine” I growled through a clenched jaw as I tightened my grip.

His voice broke and shuddered as he nervously released the air in his lungs. “Y-yes Mistress”

Keeping eye contact, I gentled my grip and slid my hand up towards his tip, my fingers cradling the meatus of his penis while my other hand grabbed the 7mm Hegar from the makeshift medical table. His arousal was evident and was oozing pre-ejaculate.

I slid the 7mm Hegar sounding rod into his urethra. After months of practice my hand was expert and precise, I no longer needed my eyes to see what I was doing, I simply felt my way along the tract and his natural fluids supplied the lubricant. A slight twist at the bend of the rod and within seconds it was inside at the full length. His eyes widened at having been penetrated so forcefully, surgically and swiftly. His attempts to lean forward were dulled by the restraints and my relaxed facial expression turned to one of smiling pleasure as I held the rod steady and watched him finally give that shaky exhale that I have grown to expect and enjoy whenever something impacts his system.

The first rod is always the simplest. Easy, quick, pleasurably shocking and it stretches the ducts slightly for more complex play later.  His clear liquid oozed through my fingertips as I held the rod in place and with my unsullied hand I lovingly ran my claws through the hair behind his ear.

It was going to be a long and very pleasurable evening.

And I was just getting started.

Hegar Urethral sounds

Bakes Rosebud Urethral Sounds

8mm Vibrating Urethral Dilator (VUD)

Wartenberg Pin Wheels

All images are Copyright © 2012 AemiliaHawk. All Rights Reserved.

The best cruelty.

“It is just a little cut, Mistress.” He said as I inspected his nipple closely.
A very faint and miniscule red line adorned the tip. It looked beautiful.
“Too eager with the razor while shaving?”
“Yes Mistress.”
“The smallest cuts are always the most uncomfortable.” I said as I ran my tongue over a fang and continued to inspect the tiny wound with interest.
My sadistic mind began to tick over the possibilities. For me, this is automatic.
“Lay down.” I said forcefully as I pointed towards the bed.
He hesitated for a few seconds but did as he was told. For him, this should have been automatic.
I spent a few minutes chaining his wrists and ankles down. It gave me time to mull over the ideas forming. I decided simplicity would be best. Nothing quite beats tactile contact with a sharpened claw in an open wound. Regardless of how small the wound.

Have you ever heard the expression “You need to be cruel to be kind”? Well, it works both ways.
The best cruelty, the kind you can taste in the air and which sends a sadistic rush of pleasure down the spine, comes with kindness, relaxation and a false sense of security.

I removed a surgical latex glove from its container (I always keep a box of these handy, they have so many uses) and watched his expressions as I seductively walked towards where he was laid on his back.
He was already erect. But the gentle hip sway, the slow process of one foot in front of the other, the click of heel on tiled floor and direct eye contact with a knowing smile was an assurance he would remain so.
The glove was placed over his member. It was simply to keep his juices contained and off my rather expensive clothing. His eyes widened as I lifted a leg over his waist and sat on his stomach. His look was one of slight worry and he had good reason to. It was likely he was questioning why I was being so nice.
Stockinged thighs wrapped around body, a slight pelvis muscle flex to further distort attention and a forward lean to draw eye to cleavage.

I was being really “nice”.

Subtly on my part and oblivion on his part, my own attention returned to that miniscule bloodied cut.

I gently caressed the clean, unscathed nipple. A touch as soft as liquid silk. No doubt running shivers down his spine from all the tease up to this point.

And then he felt it. My other hand, unseen, unheard, unnoticed, had slowly made its way to the gashed nipple. My pointed claw pressed forcefully inside the cut and he grunted, his face turning red with the pain and his attempts at keeping the moans of agony contained. He struggled, but the chains held his limbs securely and the weight of my body on top of his kept him from attempting to dislodge the claw.

The expression on his face (aside from the pain): one of shock and realisation as to what I had been doing all along. It was equally as beautiful as that tiny nipple wound when I had fist seen it.

And now it was my turn to be the one with that rush of pleasure down the spine.