Mind the doormouse.

Stop Watching This Blog (50)

I don't drink water - fish fuck in it.

This blog is visible to alt members only. If I find any of it reproduced elsewhere I will dice your spleen and pan fry it.

There is no such thing May 10, 2008 3:37 pm
830 views

There is no such thing as a beautiful conifer.
5 comments
Ask me for a photo. May 10, 2008 2:55 pm
471 views

Go on, ask me, I've got loads. I've got a really good one of a parrot as it goes.

I'm supposed to be at SubVersion tonight, and I'm really not happy that I'm not, but I have to be able to string a few words together tomorrow. Which is deeply unlikely if I'm allowed anywhere near Phil Draper (Dj extraordinaire, lunatic, and excellent car-ballet dancer)

So here I sit, in my room in the attic; and listen to the Beatles. Contemplating my muse, who stirs the pirate in me, who can steel my resolve and yet sit smiling and joyful when stars burst from my chest. My earth wire and my glittering connection to the sky.

And when I read that back my mind laughs 'BOLLOCKS' a lot. Then stops and kicks its feet and scuffs its shoes in a grudging admission that I may be allowed some moments of fountaining happiness. Held aloft by Atlas.

A Titan. 'By harsh necessity' the legend goes 'Atlas supports the broad sky
on his head and unwearying arms,
at the earth's limits, near the clear voiced Hesperides,
for his is the doom decreed for him
by Zeus the counselor.'

Shouldering the sky, does that mean the combined weight of all the angels too? I hope not - cherubs are fat little fuckers. For I am nothing without my muses, who support my fire, which, at times, threatens to consume us all.

When you support the Heavens, you have to be prepared to get your feet burned.
2 comments
Supernova May 9, 2008 3:46 pm
721 views

There will be times when all I am thinking about is what I am to write today. This place is like the pub. The pub where all of us can sit and spew crap in a way we never could when faced with the eyeline, pheremones, visual, visceral, solid casing that contains all the words and thoughs we regurgitate so readily on here. That bag of meat that has the audacity to say who we are.

I read recently in a cruise-by that those of us who had been here for years were simply searching for something still, were deeply unhappy with our lives etc etc. This was from someone with so much rejection and misery apparent in their writing it left a bitter taste in my mouth, a mouth which was twisted into a big grin. Rictus had nothing on me.

I love joy. I love glee. I love funny. I love stupid, I occasionally love angst (mainly my own) I love me. Very very much, both in the solipsistic sense and...another one that doesn't relate entirely to myself so I can't be arsed mentioning it.

I ADORE wankers. Idiots who think their sole purpose in life is to shout "AHA!" a lot, online, which counts for fuck all really doesn't it? All you get out of it is another online lashing from people with more words at their immediate disposal than the last three generations of your family could summon if given a dictionary with pictures.

I eat what you feed me. Your joys, your narratives, highs, lows, trivialities, news, stories, memories and conflicts. I lick my lips and smile and chew and spit out the pips.

I see you when you come to me, and invariably find you dulcet and docile - calm with me who has been fed on your words, who hangs on your now. Your now. Now.

You, safe in my house, unjudged by the woman who lives in the fekkin dark; who is hopelessly, helplessly, happily addicted to the pleasure of others. Wonka Winehouse with the facilities and faculties to make it all happen. Who knows you need your hand held, knows where your smile starts and who claps like a toddler when it erupts onto your face.

And knows that the same smile will creep when you dream of the plummet off the tower block, the seconds before the train hits, the blissful oblivion of the pills, the spreading of two-tone in the bath. Sex and death.

Supernova. Next high.
3 comments
Liking May 7, 2008 12:54 pm
456 views
I am not, traditionally, one of the 'big up' brigade. I try and avoid linking where possible, and treat you all to my own diatribes as much as practicable.

There is one post on this site, that no matter how long ago it was written, I revisit regularly. I don't know why, but I find it mind blowing.

I sneak back to it like a guilty fat kid snitching ice cream.

So I'm......sharing

** MODERN MADNESS ** (Red)

1 comment
Shhhhhh May 7, 2008 4:40 am
587 views

It's a secret.

I hereby annouce, VERY LOUDLY that I am starting an ancient secret society that no-one is allowed to join if they want to. Only if they don't want to, and if I say they can. Cause it's MY fekkin tree house and you can't come up unless I say so. So there.
6 comments
Consensual kink May 6, 2008 1:52 pm
520 views

That be where I did be this weekend.

Down in deepest Bournemouth I was invited to attend some time ago and finally made the trip, with entourage, last Saturday.

I loved it, got good pics off the photgraphers there and had an hilarious time at the after-party with two of the most obnoxious twats it has ever been my squirming duty to be in a room with.

Followed by having the best time ever with two people I really wasn't expecting much from.

Let's start with the lady in the sheep shall we? Cause she was a fucking GEM! To be sat in a club is one thing, to have a buzz around your arrival is another (usually good, I like a ripple whisper, and my escorts for the evening were beautiful and well turned out, as was I - I BRING something to a fucking party) to stand at the bar, and be chatting with wonderful, erudite, cheerful, slightly pissed people is great.

To have a comically unattractive (and I mean that in every sense of the word) person suddenly bray very loudly behind you "well all this full latex really does nothing for me you know. Who do they think they are?" to a companion who at least had the decency to look embarrassed; is quite hilarious.

Indeed, who am I to up the tone? I did nothing for her you know, thank all the Gods for that.

The second truly boring induvidual, sadly, was a fetish photographer. Who made a similar comment - why do we 'townies' insist on all this effort? Well, because a fetish party isn't so fun if everyone's in jeans really is it? Whilst I am to some extent a purist who feels strongly that BDSM permeates all levels of the social structure and should be enjoyed by those who simply want to tie Mildred to the bedposts with a hankie right up to....for arguments sake (and I do love an argument) the CODA (BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHHAHHAH) I am of the opinion that a dress code is a dress code and one is duty bound to do one's best.

So to make everyone happy my escort (the other had gone off to do unspeakable things to his sub bless him) decided that the only way forward was to take ALL THE LATEX OFF and get in the pool. I donned the World's smallest pants, which, for those curious are featured in one of my profile pics. And nowt else.

Now to the lovely people. One is a prolific and far too good for his own good DJ, and one is his astonishingly funny Missus.

We all left together, and decided to hit Bournemouth proper, at 8am. On a Sunday. Drunk. Wearing a bowler hat.

After a brief but eventful splash in the sea we toddled to the pier, and after finding the arcades closed, decided the only sensible thing to do would be to go to a bar until they opened. Feel the logic.

This bar had a parrot. I liked her, she liked me. Now my descriptive powers must be perfect, allow me to set the scene:

We were seated by a picture window on a set of bonkettes so filthy we contemplated mass masturbation in order to elevate them to the status of performance art, the walls are white, there is (for reasons unclear) a swing hanging from the ceiling. One of the bonkette backs was missing (see previous bracket) and faced the direction of the parrot approximately 30 feet away.

I wanted that damn parrot.

Bowler hat askew, I slithered over the mass of mess that was the cushion and through the missing section onto the floor, like a poo. Landing smartly on my elbows I proceeded to drag myself, regiment-style, a good ten feet along the bar floor before being spotted by a spotty oik who was all they could get to man a bar at 8am. Adopting my best 'casual' swagger I sauntered over to the parrot, and we had a chat, and a little bobbing-head parrot dance. The formalities done with I offered her a shoulder which she gladly sat upon and we headed back. Minutes of pleasant conversation ensued with her chatting and dancing and having a preen, much to the amusement of my fellow bird-nappers. She was a happy parrot, and I feel we bonded.

Cue spotty oik number two who said I had to give her back as she was 'distressed' (I know a bit, a lot actually, about parrots) so I said that was fine, but he'd have to take her. He blanched, offered a hand (never offer a hand to a parrot) and tried to take her. She started the funniest 'Benny Hill-esque' dance around my shoulder and arm, I actually felt sorry for her, then she tried to bite him. Finally he managed to convince her she wanted to go back in her cage.

Then I spotted the balloons in the staff room.....

We left shortly after, me cheerful (after tearful farewell to parrot) with a balloon emblazoned with 'I AM A FUCKING PARROT' tied to my big toe.


pic - my impression of Keres as was - in me bowler hat
3 comments
Nantucket May 2, 2008 9:28 am
846 views
Is it fekking poetry day an Alt today?

Every cruise-by I do on the blogs someone is harping on about things 'growing' and their 'inner darkness' and 'need' and 'seeping, heat, desire, longing' meow meow meow jam sandwich.

I have read ONE, count em, ONE poem on an alt blog that was in any way decent. Who am I to judge? ME! The person reading crap in order to find something worth reading.

Anyone who can come up with a decent poem using those words that doesn't make me want to attack them with a cheese grater wins a prize.

There's a lot of creativity milling around BDSM people (I need an acronym). Most of it is Horseshit. I truly madly deeply don't care if you find that statement offensive, go and write a fucking poem about how mean I am...

And yes it's subjective. But a huge majority of it on here is solipsistic, self-absorbed wank. Much like the idea that being from a certain background or having a certain heritage gives you status. It's part of who you are, yet it is not who you are. These are two seperate things.

I have always laughed very loudly at those who proclaim to be something-when-it-suits-them. I have a very good friend who is a self-proclaimed Buddhist, who has all kinds of tat to prove how Buddhist she is. Loudly proclaiming she can't cause harm to another living thing etc Ad infinitum ad nauseam.

Then going off to the loo to snort another line.

Now.

I have pointed out that perhaps doing that much damage to herself, let alone the countless people in the chain of supply of said Cocaine who were killed, hurt, or are living in fear of their lives and those of their families, those who are the victims of crime funded by said Cocaine and indeed the entire eco-system which is having to pass this crap through its collective kidneys and water supply may indeed nudge against those Buddhist principles she holds so dear?

Apparently not enough to stop.

Humans are funny.
6 comments
New game! May 1, 2008 9:58 am
562 views

Firstdeepkiss is now blogging in Spanish as we know.

Translating it through babelfish has now become my new favourite game....

chicorubio

porque I am not no badly porque desire does not damage to you porque I want to spend my days in the happiness porque my heroes are not of the meat and bleeds porque I believe that the pleasures of the meat are dulled and vain porque my treasures are not of this world porque I have left the wealth and material gain porque I do not think of anything or anybody

I have no IDEA what's going on but it's very very funny...

I am off to dull the pleasures of my meat
1 comment
Slave Croquet May 1, 2008 3:46 am
578 views

I thought it was high time I clarified the rules of this game.

I am a HUGE croquet fan. I'm there with me pom poms and such, giving it large. Extreme croquet.

Mallets and hoops with spikes on the end, I mean the fucking game was MADE for people like me.

This is best played somewhere with a pole, but any solid painful object will do. You need two teams of Mistresses, various weapons (our list thus far has consisted of feet, crops, a bullwhip, spud gun, pure unadulterated malice and threats - which I do not consider cheating at all - nettles, tiger balm, electro pokey thing, broken glass, a latex glove *that was me* etc etc)

Teams each pick a ball (slut boy) and remove whatever feeble garment is protecting his arse cheeks (if this leaves him in the ludicrous position of having a top and shoes but no trousers all the better)

Cue Mistresses taunting the balls. Literally and figuratively.

Cue Cackling.

Stop cackling. Briefly.

Line up teams at opposite ends of target object (pole) and assign 4 boys as 'hoops' (one hoop for each team, hoops must form an arch by linking hands) Hoops can either be interchangeable as part of relay or securely tethered to floor. Hoops are expected to gaze lovingly into each others eyes for the duration of the game.

Line up balls.

Threaten balls.

Threaten balls some more.

More cackling.

Balls are blindfolded and are under the loose instruction to 'hit the pole'. Now, I have seen this achieved by threatening them so badly they break wind and/or making them forward roll (one legendary ball got a black eye doing this - it still makes me laugh thinking about it) Balls are not allowed to feel for the pole and must hit it at the full force they were originally propelled at.

Disorientate balls by spinning them around and choose method of propulsion.

First team to get all of their balls crying wins.

Cue insane cackling, Mistresses left, right and centre doubled up and a lot of bruised balls.

Stop cackling - accuse other team of cheating and begin again.

Anyone for cricket?
2 comments
Master bait Apr 30, 2008 6:39 am
887 views

Reading one more blog entry that says 'why are all men such fakes and wannabes because they don't meet all my criteria and innermost desires RIGHT NOW' may cause me to unload a whole heap of Lime on someone so I shall burble here.

This isn't something we discuss openly too much, mainly because there are some very very stupid people who seem to think any sign of uncertainty in a Deity, Master, Domme (blah blah insert chosen Noun here) is a sign they are not...well I'm not sure what. I'm not the Queen. I know that much. Nor am I God. Just thought we'd clear that up.

Right.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to present this in point form, which isn't my method of choice but I am pushed for giving a fuck about it time.

1. Non BDSM people (do not ever use the word 'Vanilla' or any of its permutations near me) are fallable. Human if you will. So are most of us, however we choose to present ourselves (see blah blah blah above). They are also not mind readers, responsible for your sanity, there to fix any major concerns or issues you have surrounding yourself or your past, able to know what your deepest desires are or, indeed, your pet hates unless you tell them.If they're not that interested in why you are the way you are then alarm bell number one ought to be jingling into life.

2. If you throw yourself into the path of a stupid person you will regret it. This goes for all of life. Throwing yourself anywhere will inevitably end up with a bump on your head at best.

3. If you lie about who you are, what you want, what you know and what you bring to a relationship (aside from the 'gift' of your fucking whining insanity - really - would YOU put up with you?) then expect to be treated exactly as you have asked. Like a fucking liar.

4. Any top worth its fucking salt is as scared of you as you are of it. Sometimes we are terrified by the sheer scale of what we are capable of feeling and doing. Giving someone carte blanche to trample on you, if they are not in control of themselves - a lot of people aren't, and some people aren't all the time - then you will get (altogether now) trampled on. It is not biologically natural to actively enjoy hurting someone you care deeply about - until you are aware that this is what they want. Trust is a word bandied about a lot, communication, honesty, a little bit of fucking GIVE instead of suckling like some bloated swamp leach might help.

5. Life is tough, if you can't deal with it yourself then and this is so important I can't stress it enough PLEASE don't be under the childish and fucking deranged illusion that those of us who have hauled ass to make a success of ourselves want to take on your parasitic self and deal with your housing crisis/lack of ability to buy food/drug habit etc etc. If you can't wipe your own arse then get a fucking nappy and live in your own shit.

A person who convinces you they are going to take all your problems away, order your life, make all your dreams come true, finance you, fix you, love you, make it all better, without you having to give ANYTHING back except baring your arse cheeks and saying 'yes master/mistress/whatfucking ever other stupid fantasy fucking name you've made up' sounds too good to be true BECAUSE IT FUCKING IS YOU STUPID FUCKER.

You are only worth something to us if you value yourself. Do not bait men. For the love of all things green do not bait Doms, especially ones that promise the above - the girls after you may not be so fucking lucky. Even idiots can only take so much.

It is customary on here to share the other point of view when making a blog post like this.

Fuck that. You're big enough to be here you're big enough to work out the other side.

**this post will be sticky for a few days, then back to business as usual**
7 comments

To link to this blog (LadyCReturns) use [blog LadyCReturns] in your messages.

January 2009
Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
        1
 
2
 
3
 
4
 
5
 
6
 
7
 
8
 
9
 
10
 
11
 
12
 
13
 
14
1
15
 
16
 
17
 
18
 
19
 
20
 
21
 
22
 
23
 
24
 
25
 
26
 
27
 
28
 
29
 
30
 
31
 

Recent Visitors

Visitor Age Sex Date
Geekachu 35M10/26