I have taken on a novice dominant. We have been friends for a little while now, but as of lately she and I have been inseperable.

I am really sentimental sappy and happy about all of it. There are a lot of typo-s in the following post because I am just bubbling over with mush emotional PMS. So I really made a lot of errors by just trying to keep up with my excitability. I am so so so happy. But I still am fiesty and wickedly sadistic as well.

WARNING: THIS ENTRY IS VERY LONG, VERY INTENSE, AND GRAPHIC.
IT IS ABOUT A DAY OF NOTHING BUT HARDCORE BDSM. ABOUT THE INTENSE SPIRITUAL, SEXUAL, MENTAL ASSESSMENT OF ALMOST 24 HOURS OF NONSTOP BDSM…AND I STILL AM HUNGRY FOR MORE.

Life is good. I have been having fun with my slaves and working a lot, and for almost every second of the last 4 days I have been hanging with Jaque-oh.

I don’t feel very desciptive today. I have so much to do, I have 2 sessions, a meeting and a dungeon rental, “empty” is coming by and I am going out with Jaque-oh to dance and be merry after she gets off work. And Thursday is about the same run down.

Everything seems to be in it’s place. And this week has provided a lot of stress relief with handling one of the “problem children” in my life. Of course that was probably further aided with PMS. It seems last time I had PMS I had to handle another boy who was chapping my ass in much the same manner.

I have lived with my own problems and those of friends of mine that were caused by psycho, shit talking little boys. If there is one thing I have learned through my own experiences, it is to nip it in the bud. Don’t take shit…I rather die on my feet than live on my knees. (I have a theory that some of this is the Texan in me).

If you want to know why a certain someone hates me more now then ever before…it is because I finally got fully fed up with his psycho phone calls at 5 in the morning, his harassment, and finally he destrurbed my contentment of him giving me the silent treatment to open his mouth and talk shit to me…

Some people are just asking for it, and if they ask from me, I just might give it to them…repeatedly upside the head!

You’d think that having a new cat would help me to get over my baby’s death. Not this shitty kitty!

I just bought a new cell phone, and charger just a few days ago. I leave him alone for 5 minutes ( I had accidentallty forgot to recover the cord with a towel) and low and behold, I no longer have a charger for my phone!

Oh he wasn’t satisfied with all the cat waster products I had to pick up, all the clothes he’s ruined, the apholstery on my dungeon equipment that he has torn to shreds, and the getting all hyped up and biting and scratching me…NO. This little fucke has to destroy some thing very important that I use daily! My phone charger!!!!

I have given up on his name. He is cat, kitty, freak, freak show, dirty little nasty bastzard, shit machine, asshole, filthy little fucker…oh yes. I must be desperate for kitty companionship to allow this worthless little asshole destroy everything. I don’t want to share myself with other people very often, but I think I should of stuck with a female cat. I never had a problem with girl kitties. Boys are nicer, but I like prissy bitch kitties. My aAien was the most spoiled priss in the world!

I went out till dawn, only having one cosmo…watch the drama of Decatur Street. It is fairly amusing. I was thinking how I needed to make a soap opera of it all for television.

I went to bed, hoping to sleep till “empty” was supposed to call, but I had a horrible dream of tons of maggots. They got in my hair and clothes, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t wash them out, and then these birds came to eat the maggots and pooped on every one, which washed off but still left the maggots. I have been having a lot of screwy dreams lately.

I got up, watched the two signed Cleo du Bois videos “empty” got me at her workshop. One was so amazing…the scene was so intense with one girl in the “Pain Game” that Cleo was in tears. I have respected her and her husband, Fakir Masufar, for many years. I have been very interested in body modifications in all its forms. Piercing, tattoos and recently hooking I am currently involved in. I have been corset trained 10 inches from my original size. I want to return to corseting. I also want to do a practice called “well turned ankles” where you break and reform the arch.

When my ex-fiance and I first met he was tight binding his calves to have a pattern of rings up and down them much like corseting. I also am intrigued by sub-dermal implants, branding and scarring. I have done several burns on me, but not on others. I have considered having Kali and Domina Shannon do some mods on me, such as brands, cuttings and if I had more ear (my ears are very very small) I would have this beautiful clipping done.

I love the feel of control over my own body, making it go beyond my perceived limitations. The times in my past where I switched I was able to go really deep.

But I realized last week in the hooking, with the way I resisted the pull, that I need to get back in touch with all of it, If possible, I will get hooked again at the Hi-Ho tonight.

I think that I need this a bit to re-establish balance between my top ego and the depth of the rest of my persona.

I am cleaning house in preparation of the long day ahead, so I can have a disco nap prior to the first session of the day and feel more rested.

I am in a mummification mood, so one of the 3 sessions or maybe even two of them will find themself in a coccoon. And if two doesn’t get the urge out of my system and consensual limits coincide…I might go for 3.

There is only an hour buffer between each, so I won’t be able to go the almost 45 minutes over session like I had with the cricket session. And after the last session I will need another nap before going out to eighties night.

I can’t wait till it is officially the weekend for my friends. Come Friday I will get to see people I have been wanting to see all week.

I have to get back to cleaning, I was just journaling through a bite of breakfast, and after having a refreshing bath. What simple pleasures!

The one household chore I have been avoiding is laundry…it is my big peeve.

Today I had a session with a cute little novice. He had a nervous habit of curling his fingers on both hands and shaking his legs. So nervous he could hardly maintain his breathing…maybe next time he will have more of the trust to let go. It is essential to trust your captor and dominant.

I went very light on him, though even a tender sweet floggin, trying to slowly build him hup, became “safe word” worthy in his mind. Poor boy, it may take him a couple of times to let go where he needs to be.

I went to bed early and the phone kept ringing. The new cell isn’t letting me answer calls so it is still refering people to the land line.

After calls coming in all through the night and waking me up, I got a call from the Hide Out. It was the last night. Yes, The Hide Out is no more till they find a new location. Every one was there. The sidewalk outside was packed. The walss had been cleared and in the vacant spaces were blank spots amidst the tar and grimmy nicotine stains. The booth in back was gone, the light over the pool table missing, just a gradual fading of one of the most fun bars in town.

Yesterday’s session with the crickets worked to a point. The only problem was many crickets had died. This wasn’t the only activity we played with, but I want to try it again. I had him bound to the exam table with a Shibari rope formation, fully immobilized. This way he couldn’t remove the bag of crickets, or stop the harsh slaps, binder clips, or prevent me from popping his poor sore genitals with a tongue depressor (they are a great torture and in expensive, I have tons, the pop and break when using them, so I have a bunch of them). After I had been done with those tortures I pierced his foreskin closed and pierced a ladder down his cock.

After he was released I had him in breath play. He swallowed a condom full of his own cum he had brought with him, and I ended his torment and humiliation with brown toilet training.

The only hell he cannot endure is nipple play…poor baby (sarcastically). To a sadist, writhing and crying are so beautiful, music to our ears.