ABC’s

There is a song which I have memorised. It is called “The ABC’s of kinky sex” sung by a band called “Lords of acid”. I find it a wonderful tool and often encourage menials to learn it. Getting a letter wrong can be rather excruciating for my subject, though incredibly entertaining on my part.

Because I am unbelievably generous, this post is to clarify my slight variation of the lyrics for those currently attempting to learn them:

A is for asphyxiation, you won’t catch your breath.
B is for the blindfold, that keeps you dark as death.
C is for your cock which I will squash beneath my shoe, while I watch you wiggle, and I laugh at you.
D is for my dildo that you will learn to blow.
E is for your enema, I control the flow.
F is for my flogger, I will whip you so violent.
G is for the gag in place to keep your screaming silent.
H is for humiliation that you must bear.
I will immobilise you in my sexual lair.
J is for your jizzy, jerking tendency.
K for kisses, L for love and licks you offer me.
M is for the manacles imprisoning your feet.
N is for your nelly little nimby so sweet.
O is for the O-rings, holding you in place.
P is for the perspiration dripping down your face.
Q is for the quirt I use to whip your eager ass.
R is for restraints, to make the magic last.
S is for sweet suffering that only you will know.
T is for the torment, that keeps you on the go.
U is for unbridled lust that only I control as I claim for my own your body, mind, and soul.
V is for the vicious urge to struggle in vain, while I tease and tantalize you and eroticise your pain.
W is where, the winding woman walks.
X is for excruciating X-rated talk.
Y is your the yo-yo; I will yank upon your string and watch you yell and holler from the pleasure that it brings.
Z is for the zestfulness with which you will submit.

Now I have taught you every letter so remember all of it.

Home is where the heart is.

It was my first Sunday morning at the House. I was not expecting much. The dungeon had been closed on Sundays for at least 6 months, activity had died down virtually to the point of nonexistence and I was preparing for an extremely quiet day. Sundays needed to be rebuilt and I had no doubt that the first few would be completely uneventful.

I sat on my tall iron throne, inspecting the condition of the 4ft quirt which I tend to favor out of the Houses arsenal of equipment. It is known to my hand intimately, as if it were a normal bodily extension, its use now being as easy to me as walking is to the average mundane. All it would take is a quick flick to extinguish the single lit candle sitting opposite me to plunge the dungeon into a pitch save for that slight peek of daylight, forever scratching to get through the blackened and blinded windows.

I never did like the light.

A heavy sigh of relaxation brought with it that mix of scent and taste which hangs heavy in the air of my realm. Disinfectant, Linseed oil, leather, rubber, heat. A perfume of cleanliness and warmth begging to be defiled.

The music was being pumped throughout the speakers of the house, vibrating louder than usual, ricocheting off the walls (a selection by ‘Within Temptation’: About as “Metal” as one can get while still being half decent for both sensual and violent play) and I felt a peaceful satisfaction as I was overlooking my realm, completely oblivious to the vanilla outside world.

Some say “Home is where the heart is”, they are, of course, completely incorrect as your heart is buried deep within your ribcage. But I was home. Relaxed. Unfettered. Content.

And then the doorbell rang.