There is nothing appealing to me about the fantastical elements of time and place, dungeons and kings and knights and castles. I don�t want my Master in a cape and codpiece. I require no time travel Renaissance Faire fantasy to transport me to some Other time and place where men were men and the women were distressing damsels. Fuck that.

My hot submission fantasy is more along the lines of giving it over to some trailer park redneck who ignores me as I�m bound on the bed while he drinks his beers and yells at the television.

There I am: spread-eagled, strapped to the bed, tied down with pantyhose or power cords, blindfolded with an old dishrag. Everything about our �scene� is lo-tech. I submit to the low class blue collar sweat hog daddies of minimum wage.

(already I�m wet)

Never knowing if �the boys� are coming over tonight, to do with me what they will. Tag team Friday Night Football Fuck Fest? Or not. What�s it gonna be? He could just ask me to get up and cook. He could sneak up suddenly and lick my pussy. He could smack me around, I don�t know. I never know. I�ve given him control. I signed on for the ride, till death do us part.

I once heard Jealousy described as �erotic pain�.

If only we could view our actual day to day relationships with the same kind of erotic titillation that we view our �scenes�. Life really is just one big �scene�. A shifting, continuous, confusing power struggle between humans and their contradictory impulses: animal and divine.

The Kinky Real: the day by day, the ebb and flow, the change and rearrange of the whole thing. It is an utterly groundless, undependable, erratic relationship, as unstable and selfish as mankind itself. Survival of the fittest and only the strong survive. Evolution and revolution both require movement.

My girlfriends are always saying, in regards to whomever the man of the hour may be, "But he�s not fulfilling your neeeeeeds. He�s never there when you neeeeeeeed him." No, he�s not. He responds to need like one would respond to a sick, mangy animal. Pity and disgust. The prescription is distance and time.

Like a dog eats grass in order to regurgitate, let nature rid you of your parasitic attachments. Vomit out your need.

So tell me a story. Turn me on.

Let's play a game...

(and p.s. please don't go taking none of my trash-talking personal, now... I'm just ranting. Letting some of that hot blooded Southern soul sauce just drip right outta me. Glory be. There's a saying down where I'm from, "Takes All Kinds" (to be said with a sultry twang, a slight smile, and a wink) I love you all. Every one of ya'll.)

Love your site!

OK, Juliette, I'll play. Start with your job as a waitress at Denny's. I'm your unemployed husband sitting around at home drinking my beers...

Your move.

Did I?

Maybe you should of finished your reply.

Working the late-night shift at Denny's... you see a lot of people. All kinds. Strange, middle-of-the-night creatures. Drunks and Junkies. Midnight snackers. Lots of young punks with nowhere else to go. Homeless folks coming in for coffee. Cops. Hookers. Binge-eaters on a secret sundae run. The dregs of humanity.

To spend the whole night watching folks eating kinda takes it's toll on a person. It's quieter in there at night, so it seems every clink of a fork on a plate reverberates through the joint. The sounds of spit and teeth grinding is audible in every corner. Like a ventriliquist throwing his voice, every person's chewing seems to be projected directly into my ear. It weighs heavily upon me.

It was near the end of my shift when my husband finally came in. Because we only have the one truck between us, and he doesn't like me driving it, he has to wake up at 3am every morning to come pick me up. I used to take the bus... but after a few close calls and scary situations he decided that I wouldn't be taking that route no more. So now he comes to get me. Tired. Irritated. Hungry. I comp him a meal every night. He eats. And then he tells me how thankful I should be that he's willing to get up and give me a ride at this hour.

Of course, he doesn't mention the fact that HE should be thankful that I'm the only one of the two of us that's had a job for the past 2 years. But that's another story.

I should be thankful that he's willing to get up and get me.... and he's got all sorts of ideas about how I should express my infinite gratitude.

Post deleted by Freddy

well??????

What the fuck am I doing? Sitting here in this shithole trailer park waiting for Jewel to get home (from her shift at Denny's); waiting to continue another in what seems to be an endless charade of fantasies she's concocted. I thought we were finished with this nonsense after the last adventure. That stint at the Rose motel in Arkansas was quite enough, thank you. I felt like such an idiot at that front desk, watching the world's dregs, dope pushers, whores, and losers pay their 8 bucks to do whatever the hell it was they did. And Jewel cleaning those filthy sheets day in and day out. It made me nauseous, quite frankly, but the worse things were the more she seemed to thrive. What could I do?



It shouldn't be this way. When my wife died and I sold the business, I envisioned something quite different. Sailing around the world, perhaps. Or lounging on Bora Bora. Cocktails with umbrellas? I wanted to experience everything we'd talked about but would now never do together. I missed her so much I wanted to leap off the deck of a cruise ship - I'd even planned for it. But no. I had to meet Jewel. And now I am stuck in a Carr Creek, Tennessee trailer park, dressed like Cleetus and faking a Southern accent. It is the ultimate humiliation.



******************************************************



I'd been grabbing my daily cup of coffee at Peets and had barely noticed the new girl at the counter. Nothing about her seemed out of the ordinary, so I placed my order, waited for my usual cafe mocha, and waited. And waited.



"Um, excuse me, but I ordered a cafe mocha about 10 minutes ago and..."



"Sorry sir, I'm new at this. What did you say you ordered?"



"I didn't. A cafe mocha, no whipped cream."



And then she flashed me that smile. That knowing glance that would captivate and conquer me and, as she handed me my beverage, the hot liquid spilled and scalded my hand. I barked an obscenity from the pain and instinctively reached for some napkins to clean the mess. She just stood there, that slight grin cracking her lips as I looked at her perplexed. No movement to help me. No reaction whatsoever. Just... that... sexy... grin.



That was 3 years ago and I have since been a janitor at an elementary school in Minnesota, a food grease collector in Grand Junction, Colorado, and a telemarketing agent in Spearfish, South Dakota. And now she's found the lowest position of all - unemployed and living in a trailer park in nowhere Tennessee. I have millions in the bank and here I am. She's my master and I must obey.



Just wait until that fucking bitch gets home.

I've got a knack for sniffing 'em out, miserable fuckers. Coasting along, thinking they've achieved all there is to achieve. Everything's come easy so far.

Suckers. They've never lived a day in their life.

He was one of the best I'd even seen. Sooooo together. So self-assured. Making a good "living", just waiting to die. Coasting.

He could smell the dirty in me. I ain't your run-of-the-mill white trash, see. I've got a way about me... something deliberate. I am how I am by choice, not out of some sort of spiritual poverty or ignorance. He could sense it, and he was intrigued.

The first day I saw him, I marked him. Followed him out to his car in the parking lot. Watched him drive away. He saw me watching... didn't get but a block away before the "inexplicable urge" kicked in and he came back. I was just standin' there smiling. I got in the car and we drove. We drove through two states without exchanging a word. I just looked at him. A kind gaze. Penetrating.

I was sitting sideways, one foot on the floor, one on the back of the seat, head tilted back out the window, feeling the wind in my hair...

His hand found its way onto my leg, up my thigh, under my dress, inside my panties. His fingers slipped into my wetness, my warm pussy tightened around fingers.

He was a good'un. Intense. Obviously had some pain in there, some deep shames in his childhood, a couple devastating love affairs.... I could feel it all through his motions.

I moaned and wriggled and came all the way to Arizona, where we stopped at a Motel.

When he was filling out the room registration I said to him, loud enough for the few folks in the lobby to hear, "I'm gonna fuck you till you cry."

"Fuck!" I yelled to no one. Where the hell was she? She told me she'd be home by 8:30 and not even a phone call. This whole thing was becoming shittier by the second and I continued cursing myself for another half hour. How did I end up with this woman? And why did I continue in her twisted world? I had to break free. Had to pack up and get out; get on a plane and fly to Tahiti, dammit. I would be lavished by island girls and sip drinks of colors I'd never seen; I'd lay in my hammock overlooking the reefs of Bora Bora and have a harem of nubile women drop grapes into my parched mouth; they'd caress my sun beaten, leathery skin with their soft fingertips; they'd...

Hello? Yes. It is late. When are you coming back to the room? Alright. Fine. Did you make good tips? Uh-huh. Yep. Alright. See you in 15 minutes. Yes, Daddy's very angry with you. Yes, you will have to be punished...

When I'm in trouble, I have to knock before entering.

The key is to look really sorry... with the pouty lips and the puppy dog eyes. Hands behind my back, pushing my breasts forward... cleavage showing through the open collar of my dirty waitress uniform. He says he hates the situation. My job. His "unemployment". The lack of money. But I know he loves the uniform.

I knocked lightly and heard him taking his time to open the door. He poured himself a drink. Whiskey. I could hear the ice clinking in the glass as he neared the door. Eyes to the floor when I heard the locks opening, the door creaking open.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." I mumbled as I raised my eyes up slowly. I took in a nice, long look at him. He was standing in his boxer shorts and bathrobe, whiskey in hand. That half-angry, half-amused look he got when he wanted to be angry with me, but wanted to fuck me even more. He was already getting hard.

The sight of the outline of his cock through the boxers made my nipples rise in a sort of sympathetic erection. My cheeks flushed red. My breathing got shallow. I was already wet.

It was gonna be a good night.

Luckily, we had been in Tennessee long enough for me to acquire a slight twang in my speech, so I did my best to fulfill my role.



"Ye'er layte agin'," I drawled. "And now y'all got ta be puh-nished. Gimme yer munny ya whore."



She meekly took out a small wad of bills and placed them into my sweaty palm. I already knew what she wanted next...



"Is this all ya got? This aint even enough ta pay the lights godammit. What the fuck you been doin' all night?" I scolded.



"I'm sorry daddy," she wimpered. "It was kinda slow toni..."



(cutting her off) "Yer just a lazy whore. A good fer nothin' little slut. How're we supposed to keep the lights on? The fridge full?"



I knew she needed to be taught a lesson. WANTED to be punished. Her nipples were so hard they were threatening to tear through the front of her uniform. Her fear mingled with excitement as I removed my belt and moved toward her, reaching back behind her head and grabbing her hair, jerking her toward me. I brought her face inches from mine, "You been a bad little whore and daddy's gonna show you what he does to bad little whores..."



I bent her forward, over the arm of the worn couch we picked up at the side of the road some months back, when we first arrived in Tennessee. Her body trembled with anticipation as I gently stroked her ass with my wide leather belt, running its smooth leather over each cheek slowly, then letting it dangle toward the floor through her crack. As I pulled the belt up slowly, it grazed her wet pussy on its way up, causing her to moan.



"Give it to me daddy," she now whimpered. "I've been bad. Teach me daddy..."



I continued to run the leather over her lovely ass, then, with my open hand, I stuck her left cheek lightly, leaving only a slight pink imprint upon her luscious skin. I was hard as a rock now, knowing she was begging in her mind for the pain to come. I struck her left cheek again, but harder. The distinct sound of the slap was louder now and I struck again. And again. And again. The redness was now spreading and exceeded the size of my entire outstretched hand.



"Daddy, I'm so bad. You need to teach me to be good, daddy!" she yelled suddenly. I knew now that my hand would not satisfy her. Only the intense strikes from my belt could reach her threshold. The point at which the pain from her burning flesh would reach its zenith; where all thoughts would be lost and her tolerance would finally break down and cross into mindless ecstasy. Only the intensity of her aching pussy could exceed that of the leather strikes. I struck with fury repeatedly, watching her tears dot the fabric under her hidden face, coming up, then slamming down into the cushion to muffle her screams. I began streaming obsentities through my gritted teeth, steadily as I continued to beat her. "Yer a fuckin' cunt, a no good lousy bitch, a good fer nuthin' slut whore," I rambled as I administered more punishment. Her ability to endure the pain was astonishing. The more I abused her, the more she begged me to continue.



And, at last, she released. Her body shuddered violently and went limp, a steady trickle of fluids ran down her leg and collected in a puddle at my feet. Her orgasm was complete.



She had lost consciousness and I gingerly lifted her and placed her on her stomach on the couch. Her beautiful ass was purple from my beating, so I went to the bathroom and retrieved a wash cloth and soaked it in warm water, then applied it to her discolored skin. Her breathing was relaxed and steady and I progressively soothed the area with cooler applicatations of the cloth, then gently massaged the entire area with aloe-based cream.



This was why I stayed with her. Why I allowed my dignity to be be trampled and my money to sit unspent. Why I was probably destined to exist in fantasy for the rest of my life. I wanted to escape, to leave her sleeping and walk out the door. Back into the real world. Back where I could live behind a white picket fence and sit on a porch with my paper or a good book.



But I knew thoughts like these were futile. I was too weak. Too addicted. It would literally take a miracle to escape.



A gentle groan broke my contemplation. She was slowly regaining consciousness and I knew she wasn't finished...

First I gave him the smile. The slow spread of my full pouty lips across the tear-stained face. Then I bit the bottom lip, furrowed the brow in a mock-confusion/moment of contemplation... sniffle of the nose. Wiped a tear away. Look him dead in the eyes.



"Lay down, Daddy."



He looked at me kind of dumbstruck for a minute, while the belt slid out of his hand. The sound of the buckle hitting the floor brought him back to attention, as he took a couple steps backwards and sat down on the bed.



My ability to take punishment astounded him. Even scared him a little. But the intrigue of it kept him coming back. He couldn't find my limit, and that drove him crazy.



"It's time for my treat," I said, crawling over to his feet. My hands slid up his legs, the fingers into the waistband of his britches, the slow slide down.



A small sigh escaped my mouth when I caught a glimpse of his cock. A beautiful sight. I can't help but want to put my mouth on it whenever I see it. Just to feeeeeeeel it... run the soft tip of it over my lips, circle the head with my tongue, nibble down the shaft lightly with my teeth. Everything done so lightly... so light.



After all that ass whuppin'... I was gonna teach him a different lesson.



Sometimes lightness can hurt just as bad.



I crawled up onto his lap, kissing his body all along the way, finishing up at his face, still smiling. Kissing his eyelids, cheeks, forehead, chin, tip of his nose... and finally, his delicious mouth. Feeling his tongue in my mouth, his taste, my whole body getting hot. My pussy starts to pulse. Drip. Crave.



Laying him down with a kiss, I began to caress his body with my breasts... stretching him out... stroking his arms up over his head.... running my hands all over him.



He was relaxing, relaxing. His whole body softening. Trusting.



He didn't even realize that the cuffs were on him till he heard the click. Only then did he feel the cold of the metal.



"What'r ya doin', baby?" he asked, in his imitation drawl...



I smiled and said, "It's my turn, now."

If there was one thing about this new arrangement that made me slightly uncomfortable, it was definitely her habit of moving me closer and closer to total submission. I didn't mind being bound by those pink fuzzy restraints in our last adventure - after all, I could've broken free of them at any time - but with each session the tools became more elaborate, more well, cruel . This latest set of cuffs were standard police issue and she dangled the keys tantalizingly from a thick silver chain around her neck. I was helpless; for one thing was clear about this shitty motel room - the bed was bolted to the floor and not going anywhere, no matter how hard I struggled. The frame was thick metal and I could only move my arms up and down, causing a horrible scraping noise as the metal from the cuffs clanged against it.

In my focus on the wrist situation I had taken my attention away from my legs, which were now quickly bound at the ankles in thick leather, tied to the front of the bed, spread apart exposing my anus, into which she now applied a generous amount of lube...

My mind began panicking. I had no idea what she had planned and had yet to be violated in this manner. In our journeys we had tried many things and been in an amazing array of situations, but I'd always held firm in my one taboo. I would not allow myself to be penetrated. She'd promised to stay away, but who was I kidding? Of course this fucking whore wouldn't keep her word! I began writhing violently and threatened to scream, but she was ready for everything; the gag ball was shoved into my mouth and just as quickly the blindfold was in place. I used every ounce of strength I could muster to try to break free, but her torture chamber held firm. I could see nothing and finally, I felt her breath in my ear and she whispered...

"Don't struggle, Love... everything will be just fine... truuuusssst me..."

I had no choice.