The Collarseum Club

As night falls and you lay beside me in this shared bed I wonder at how you sink so quickly into your slumber and wonder if I may have played some small role in my service, ever trying ever falling short in some small way I curl against my pillow fending off what seems to be an army outside our home but what is really only me my mind, my thoughts, my insecurities drowning in an endless tide holding to one frail hope trembling against the night as your arm slides around my waist I can barely believe that it has chosen me pulling me to you, placing me upon your chest even in slumber tears fall from grateful eyes as my hair whispers over your flesh unspoken truths, words I cannot yet speak safe within your arms And you guide me to a mirror that only you can see and you show to me, through your eyes what I am, how I am and you speak softly, your hand upon my chin Until my eyes close in bliss, serene quieted and still, lost in brooks and meadows that nev...

I am a slave because that is what I need It is what I must be for order to reign in my world, in this reality around me which threatens constantly to rend me and change me, to mold me into something I am not without regard for the fact that I have found at the basest levels of myself that I am a slave All the education and knowledge in the world cannot undo what I am in my darkest moment in my brightest moments, I am an animal, reacting on instinct led by million of years of DNA coding and genes dating back to the most primal of times and the fact that I can think that I know a great many things cannot undo my animal mind I hunger, my basest needs must be met Lest I fall into a whirlwind of my own undoing my intelligent mind failing me in my moments of need I am no more than a beast and like any wild animal, I can never be completely tamed I will fight and claw and bite If cornered, I will make my way through you rending you until in my bloodlust I fi...

At the mere whisper of your name, I find myself trembling A fire lighting to burn me, devour me, turning me to ash that I might be reborn again In your vision, a creature of your own making Molded by your hand and massaged by the device Of my greatest pleasure as you push me down Your hand upon my ass, my flesh caught in silent tremor As you push your way through my boundaries And beyond, until there is nothing but you And I am only an extension of the pleasure that you give And extract, as you pull my hair, my chin lifting back until I look into the sky My mouth opening in unhampered cries of both the exalted and the conquered Bathing in your glory and your claim to me To all I am or ever will be Your Mastery sets me free to be everything I ever imagined and never dared Your fucking me enslaves me to the object of my desire, your desire Your collar perfects me I am born of your pleasure, of my submission As I flood your plains, your shaft deep within my walls ...

He entered the room where I waited to greet him. It was where I was to wait to greet him when he got home from work, naked, upon my knees and ready to serve him in any way he wished. I was his, I wore his collar. I had heard him enter quietly, the door closing shortly after his footfalls, cloth brushing the wooden frame. I had not dared to look or move, I did not want to be out of place. He had paused in the outer rooms longer than usual today, making me wait, I supposed, enjoying my anticipation. I kept still, head down, as he approached me. "Hello, my slut", he growled "Hello my Master", I chirped, smiling as he lifted my chin that I might see him. He tasted my lips gently at first, then began to consume them hungrily. "I have an appetite tonight, slut" "Would you like me to fetch your dinner?", I asked as I removed his work pants, my fingers working quickly over the belt buckle, button, and zipper. He stepped out of them as I held...

THE LUSTFUL TURK Or Scenes in the Harum of an Eastern Potentate faithfully and vividly depicting in a series of letters from a young and beautiful English lady to her friend in England the full particulars of her ravishment and of her complete abandonment to all the salacious tastes of the Turks, the whole being described with that zest and simplicity which always gives guarantee of authenticity. LETTER 1 Emily Barlow to Sylvia Carey Portsmouth, Crown Hotel 18 June 1814 Dearest Sylvia We arrived here early this morning after a most melancholy journey. Time alone can remove the painful impressions which the appearance of poor Henry created as we parted. Never shall I forget the picture of despair he exhibited. Do all you can to comfort him, tell him although I obey my mother's and my uncle's wishes, still my heart in every clime will be true to him. Poor Eliza did everything in her power on the road to this place to amuse my wounded feelings, but it was be...