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Phoenix’s Friday fiction – Last Night In Fog With My Goddess (part 1)

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This written offering is part one of a somewhat fictionalized account of my recent trip to Portland, Oregon in the company of an eager and devoted pet of long acquaintance…

LAST NIGHT IN FOG
Oh it was foggy, just like you hear. Of course, i only know this from the brief forays into the outside world. Most of the time was spent inside at the beck and call of my Goddess, the divine Martine Phoenix.

After picking Her up at the airport with a vibrating plug shoved in my ass and chrome ring tight around the thickening meat between my legs, (Her orders, of course) we drive to the hotel. As i accelerate, She increases the amount of vibe for the plug in my ass. The faster i go, the more vibe She gives me…laughing Her delighted laugh all the while. As you might imagine i am moving as fast as i can to get us to the hotel and myself on my knees at Her feet. The buzzing increases to maximum.

i have to use all my concentration as She starts to unbutton my shirt to gain access to the clamps on my nipples that She has also instructed me to wear. Curling Her finger around the chain connecting the pincers, She tugs lightly and laughs Her throaty, wonderful, laugh of pleasure.

Once back at the hotel, She continued the onslaught on my nipples as if She had been thinking about it for the whole plane ride. The feeling was incredible. Kneeling at Her bedside, making those small sensitive knobs of flesh available to Her as she relaxed from Her flight, my Goddess immediately had my cock rigid and throbbing purple-headed. Soon, fresh drops of pre-cum started to ooze out the engorged tip, adding to the already dried layers that already were there from thinking about My Goddess all the time…

…and She instructs me that for the duration of our time together, whenever i sense or notice that pre-cum is dripping out of my prick, i am to gather it on my finger and lick it off, and make sure that i am a noisy slut about it.

i think it was at this point that She reached between Her royal, svelte, never-ending legs, gathered up some of the evidence of Her excitement on the end of Her fingers and proceeded to stick those sacred juice covered fingers up my nostrils…making sure to wipe any excess across my top lip just under my nose.
What heaven i was in. To inhale the essence of my Goddess with every breath…most intoxicating…yes. Dream inducing…quite.
That’s how it began.

Next up, next several hours of heaven/hell that my Supreme Goddess, The Esteemed, Martine Phoenix, put me through…

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Phoenix’s Favourite Things, part 1 – CBT

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Definitions according to urbandictionary.com:

CBT stands for “Cock and Ball Torture”, a type of sm practice involving the infliction of pain to the male sexual organs. Torture can be inflicted by: Slapping, Squeezing, Pinching, Weights/Parachutes. The testicles can stand great pain but caution should be taken.

In some cases, “Torture” is considered “Play”. The testicles are simply tugged on or stretched out. Most men find handling, stroking and squeezing gently is a pleasurable sensation. Some enjoy using ball stretchers to achieve a longer sac.

Cock and Ball torture can also be cock and ball teasing. Playing with a man’s scrotum can be painful or pleasurable. The goal of BDSM is to make CBT both painful and pleasurable.

There is probably no activity more emblematic of the relationship between FemDom and malesub as all variations of CBT. I don’t know of a Lady, professional or lifestyle, who doesn’t indulge in the intensity of single minded sadistic focus on a man’s prized possessions. For me, CBT can consist of just the simple act of resting my foot on the crotch of a potential to gauge his reaction. On the other end of the spectrum, I have been known to load on as many clothespins as the sac and cock of my otherwise bound subject can hold, wait just long enough for the skin to acclimate to the pressure and laugh while carefully cropping off each one.

I love the rush I feel, playing in such an intimate fashion, being able to command my bottom’s attention so immediately and directly. Even as I type these words, my mind’s eye flashes to a memory of my left fingers tightly encircling my partner’s scrotum, its skin taut and shiny while the crop in my right hand keeps time with beats patted out on the balls beneath. One might think that force is the major key to this scenario. Rather than immediately inflicting agonizing pain, I prefer to play with rhythms, pressure, manner of delivery, anything to keep the waves of sensation going through my subject, radiating from the center of his being.

There are seemingly endless ways to execute CBT on a willing (or, not so willing) subject. I especially enjoy utilizing clips, clothespins and clamps. During a recent trip away from NYC, my travel assistant was requested to find the nearest Home Depot and while inside, I proceeded to dreamily empty as many containers of clips as possible into my shopping basket. My play partners over the next few days were all subject to being used as test dummies for my new toys! When I don’t feel so subtle, a few flicks to the genitals, a gift of single tail kisses to my sub, are quite satisfying. All delivered with a smile, of course.

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Mistress’s weekend – an offering from c.

This entertaining story was written as a present to me from one of my devoted pets.  Hope you enjoy it as much as I did…

Well, let’s see, just thought I would remind all my retainers how nice it is to be totally pampered and catered to.

I have just returned from a weekend in the country at one of my pet’s estates.  Not only did he send a limo for me but it came stocked with some delicious food to nibble and a bottle of champagne he had selected from his own wine cellar.  When I arrived at his manse, I was greeted by a beautiful female servant and relieved of my coat and bags.  A red ball gag in her mouth, clamps on her pert nipples and the smell of hot cunt in the air…I knew she’d come in handy later on.

Immediately, I make my way to the fully equipped dungeon, my thigh high leather boots with the five inch heels crushing the rose petals my pet had strewn on the hard wood floor, that lead me to him.

Ah… There are not many sights as delightful as walking into a dungeon and finding a pet waiting for you, on his knees in the kow-tow position, offering him or herself to their Goddess.

So vulnerable, so giving, so ready to receive my abuse…and what’s this I see…? Are those some drops of pre-cum that I detect, glistening in the candlelight on the floor directly below the purple head of his stiff cock?

That’s what I like to see, and what a fitting compliment.

This makes me so hot that I waste no time. Without saying a word, I approach him and stand with the toe of one of my boots next to where his forehead is touching the floor. He pants in anticipation and I can feel moisture between my legs. He knows that I am going to have him greet me by licking my boots, but I wait.

The anticipation grows. His panting becomes heavier. His cock twitches, and finally…yes there it is…another drop of pre-cum falls from his meat and hits the floor. I rub my leather clad toe in it and tell him to lick it off.

Breathlessly, he thanks me as his tongue laps up his juice. I raise the toe of my boot off the floor, rocking back on the heel and tell him to show me how hungry he is by taking as much of the toe into his mouth as he can.

He eagerly obliges, stuffing half my foot into his mouth.

Oh What Fun!!
Oh What A Sight!!

Now the fun really begins. I order him to his feet and tell him to take his place at the wooden X, facing the wall and to secure his ankles to it.

After locking his wrists in place, I select one of my favorite, custom made canes from the arsenal. This one has soft leather wrapped around one end, so as to prevent slipping from my hand. On the business end, a small hole has been drilled and a thin strip of leather has been slipped through it and tied in a loop, creating a small leather tassel, ideal for tormenting nipples and balls.

I instruct him to stick out his ass and prepare for my first swat. I wave the cane through the air… I love to hear it whistle, and it also keeps him off guard, never knowing which one is the one that is going to connect and then…WHAM!

The cane catches both his ass cheeks and he recoils and yelps his thanks. The burn is instantaneous and almost immediately I can see the welt starting to form.

I connect again, and again, alternating between his tender thighs and his lily white ass cheeks. With each swat to his ass I can feel a pulse in my clit, and I can feel it starting to push against my damp panties as it grows more stimulated and engorged.

I remember the femme slut upstairs, and with the tip of my cane, I press the button on the intercom, summoning her.

More blows are delivered with the cane and I start to dance around, teasing his meat with the leather at the tip of the wood. My pet writhes in delirious pain induced ecstasy as I continue to raise welts on his flesh, making it appear as if he has sat on some sort of red hot, psychedelic waffle iron.

I run my fingernails over his burning skin, tracing and aggravating some of the beautiful welts I have just created.

I unshackle him and have him lie down on his back. I tell him to move his ass around on the floor, further irritating the burning lattice work that I have created.

He moans and groans…how I love those sounds…
…and what’s this?

Why here is that girlslut, just in time. Her chest covered in her own drool, and her nipples throbbing from the clamps.

Right on cue she kneels before me and assumes the kow-tow position, displaying to me the juice running out of her glistening, shaved pussy and the plug inserted in her ass.

across the small of her back, written in garish, rubyred lipstick it reads:

“I AM A SLUT”

and across her ass cheeks,

“USE ME”

And I thought I was having fun already…

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My daily (not so) grind – or, why I love my occupations

After spending very many years in the corporate world, shuttling through the fields of law, advertising, and fashion, I am very appreciative of my current autonomy. To this day, I still don’t know how I was able to muster the enthusiasm needed to devote a huge percentage of my time contributing to someone else’s bottom line; being fulfilled in life is something that has become more and more important as I get older. There is a great deal of responsibility in being self-employed (quarterly taxes, anyone?) but I wouldn’t trade the peace of having full control of my day-to-day schedule for anything. Without a doubt, my lifestyle is not for everyone or even something 80% of the population would even understand. Regardless, the feeling of standing back and viewing a favourite toy in tight bondage, gagged, plugged and clamped in certain tender places affords me a deep sense of peace and serenity.

As well as amusement and amazement at the havoc I create.

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Studio memories

I was suddenly struck by memories of the dressing room at Arena Blaze. It was a small, oddly shaped space, holding floor to ceiling racks of trunks, television, couch and always slightly too many people, adding to the cozy vibe. During the summer, the front dungeons were icy oasis of constantly running air conditioners and drawn velvet curtains, all the better to keep the room comfortable for clients, at least initially. It was in the dressing room where all my best memories of working in a studio began. Dead phone evenings with 4 other girls on shift, back door open to a canyon of buildings in midtown Manhattan, funky R&B slipping quietly from the staff radio. Games initiated in fun in-between sessions, riding high off the heavy dose of scene adrenaline, involving crops, floggers, hands and vibrators. The sheer concentration that can only be emitted from a woman completely intent on drawing the perfect eyebrow line.

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Maintenance

Saddle soap, leather protectant and rags for single tails and floggers in need of a little love and care. A cane or two could stand to be replaced; they’ve been loved a bit too much. Oh look, I’m in need of new clothespins! Should wood or plastic be the new choice? No rips, holes or runs glaringly evident in the ever-growing nylon collection (always on the look-out for new and exciting legwear). Maybe I should treat myself to a pair (or three) of sexy heels…

Acquiring equipment and outfits is always enjoyable. However, maintaining my acquisitions is a lovely way to spend a cool, grey Sunday afternoon.

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Back in the game.

It’s been some time since I have posted in this blog or even had any substantial online presence for quite a while now. Without going into too much detail, time was necessary to begin to put my various houses back in order. Now, the itch to immerse myself in play and see clients has grown stronger, leading me to offer sessions again in the great city of Manhattan. A slow and steady prowl of fetish and BSDM catalogues is yielding a few fun toys and wicked ideas of how to use them. The first order should be arriving any day now; who’s ready to be my guinea pig?

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An animated life.

I’ve always been drawn to comic books; there’s something about the mythology which is very appealing. Without exception, every superhero (or villain, for that matter) is an outsider who either

  • learns to control the innate powers they have possessed since birth or,
  • transforms through some incredibly traumatic event and uses their new-found abilities in the service of others.

Both choices accurately describe My path into the business and the lifestyle. It is a psychically powerful thing to start taking professional appointments and/or begin to introduce kink into your personal life. The opportunity to fulfill your fantasies, as well as those of any particular partner, makes the interior life becomes so strong, so outsize, comic book comparisons aren’t completely out of order. At times, My life feels like it exists in a parallel universe far removed from that of most members of My family and everyone I met before the age of 25.

I read from My previous (handwritten) journals from time to time; life on paper seems to be a great deal more integrated than the realities of My everyday existence. I feel like 2 people inhabiting the same body, constantly switching from D/s to vanilla persona during the course of a day (depending on the level of stress I occasionally contend with, the number rises to 3). I feel very close to My X-men namesake, Jean Grey/Phoenix. For everyone who isn’t familiar with her, quick rundown: ridiculously powerful telepath and all-round good girl who happens to be possessed by all-encompassing universal force with a habit of destroying worlds.

I chose My name with some accuracy.

Feeling so powerful, invincible and, on occasion, possessed when I play always makes Me wonder if people coming in contact during the course of an average day sense the alternate person not very far from My surface. Or, that it wouldn’t take long for Me to reduce surroundings to ash when confronted with a particularly vexing problem.

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Remembrances

Going through boxes of papers and old Vault magazines filled with ads of Mistresses from long past, I happily stumbled upon a nondescript, black envelope. Within in were 40 poems, each individually printed on delicate transparent stock, written as an odd mixture of declaration, barely veiled plea and love note from a slave client lover man who, once upon a time, was very special to Me. As soon as I pulled the seal open, removing the unexpectedly heavy bundle, I was struck by a wave of remembrance of our time together.

C. was a large part of My life during the years 1999-2001; someone who managed to move past professional relations and learned defenses right into My romantic considerations. Scary thing, that. I ended up pushing him away and, by omission, into the arms of someone else. He got married not too long before dropping off the radar (which definitely signaled the end of our relationship) and is probably married still. The two of us are lives away from those countless hours spent in quiet, mutual contemplation of his bound self within The Pit in Arena Blaze’s Byzantine Room. However, reading his words so many years later brings Me back to an almost sensual remembering of C. How he looked at Me in a certain way, with open anticipation and many unformed questions in the back of his eyes. The wave and scent of his hair. His skin under My fingers. The rush I felt giving him pain. My delight in his humiliation.

As I sift through each page, I sense Myself sinking deep into his always unspoken feelings for me. I realize I was never very far away from the center of his thoughts.

#1

I am resigned to loving what she has left behind. As space, a phrase, discarded mannerisms. I will populate her absences, and weep for the scent that trails her. This is how I get used to her with another. I, too, am what she has forgotten, at home in areas she has passed through. There is so much country to occupy. Of course others see her as I do, and spend their nights speaking of new goddesses.

#3

Mine is a contained affair. Framed by walls of another’s choice, and a decor of so many timed screams. Can my love ever be equal here, more than local, and meant for every spot you once were. If my intentions have been improved, by better men, and in this same place. Perhaps it’s time to accept an impossible struggle, and a love too ferocious to forget by morning.

#6

This was planned for centuries, give me permission to believe. My blessings mean more if they were thought of through time. A final expression of an emotion, too old now, that waited for generations to rest at your feet. I am comfortable as something inevitable. Let me adjust to this sudden swarming of grace.

Maybe I’ll share more selections as a quiet remembrance of all that transpired between us. Or, am I just longing to see him again?

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e-relationships

Just thinking about how relationships move at light speed here on the “interwebs”. Seems like a great deal of energy is expended to try and get to know someone one day, then, more energy is expended ignoring them the next. Call Me old fashioned, but if I take the time to give you a virtual tap on the shoulder, it usually means that I want our interaction to go further than a flurry of emails followed by deafening silence.

As My beloved dad would say, “that’s just rude”.