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Had to share...

Tuesday, February 28, 2006 by Mellie

Image hosting by Photobucket

Wow, my ass really looked good last year. Hope I can keep that grade of ass-itude up in the coming year!

*This is 2006 ass. Better? Worse? You be the judge.


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As an unrelated thought, how much better would fiction be if everything included spanking? Romeo & Juliet, with spanking. Ouch! That hurteth.

by Mellie

She struggles to get a word out, any noise at this point would be a small victory, but she comes up with only more telling silence. He knows he is close to breaking her, but the battle isn't over yet. Still panting, even her failing strength motivates her body to continue to fight against him.

He moves her arms over her head and she feels the cool leather of his belt slip around her wrists. In one quick motion, he tears her shirt from her back and tosses it into a heap on the other side of the room. Pulling out his cold steel, he cuts her bra away and leaves a slight trail of crimson behind where the blade had been less than careful. She should have been worrying about her clothes, they had cost her a fortune, but her mind fixated on the tiny sting. She knew that her heaving breaths had something to do with the cut, but she couldn't fail to look past what that would mean to things to come. His bloodlust was strong and even the scent of her coppery lifefluid in the air would intensify his need.

As predicted, his breaths grew heavier and more animalistic. He began nipping at her ears and licked the wound on her back clean. He hovered over her like some sort of sadistic vulture, waiting for the killing stroke. She could feel his aura slide over hers, their cells locked in a wrestling match for dominance. Even though she knew this was a game she would never win, she still had to try.

"Get. The fuck. Off of me" she said, her voice barely a whisper and nearly impossible to hear over his breathing.

"You knew this was coming. You know better than to question me. I always get my way. You're mine. All it would take for this to be over is for you to say so."

And, with that announcement, he plunged his teeth into her pale neck. Her body shook with the shock the pain delivered, then she lay still. She expected him to pull back with chunks of her flesh but, as he pulled away, she saw from the corner of her eye that only blood dripped from his mouth. Before the small relief that knowledge afforded was able to wash over her, he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. The red stain spilled onto their cream colored sheets as she wondered what was in store for her next.

Removing the belt from her wrists and replacing it with a dark colored, rough, woven cord, he leaned back onto his elbows and gazed at her.

"I'm going to put you over my knee now. I'm going to hit you with this belt until your ass is raw and red, until your body looks like artwork. Nothing you say will make this any better. It is going to hurt. But if you fight me, I can find ways to make it hurt even more and for a longer period of time. Do we understand each other?"

She met his cold gaze, trying to erase the obvious fear in her eyes, and nodded as a tear escaped. He wiped it up with his thumb, smearing her own blood onto her face. He slid her jeans and panties down and off, leaving her lying there wearing only her own blood and knee-high argyle heather grey socks.

Hauling her over his knee, the girl braces herself for the belt. This isn't her first time, and it wouldn't be her last. She hadn't been able to embrace the pain yet, however, and wasn't able to rise above it. Every strike still hurt worst than the first, with no relief to come.

Even though she had prepared herself, the first strike still stung like lightening. There was a satisfactory echoed slap* to it, and he smiled with pleasure. Her skin began to welt immediately, raising hot red edges against the imprint of the belt. He ran his thumb over it gently, as if admiring his work. Tears dripped silently from her eyes onto the floor, a mixture of salt and copper. He raised the belt again and grinned a cold grin at the flinch of her skin before the belt connected.

Over and over the belt fell and, although random grunts attributed her lack of pain control manifested themselves, she was mostly silent. This wasn't her time to fight and she was silent under his sadism. Secrectly, she noticed herself beginning to grow wet with every stroke. She wouldn't let him win that easily though and she hoped he wouldn't notice...

*Thanks to Eala for being my subject for the exact assignment of the noise a belt makes as it hits flesh. Oh darling, you please me so.


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Monday, February 27, 2006 by Mellie

Her eyes quickly scan the room, looking for options and escape routes. A window with a screen, two stories up, and a door facing back the way she came provide her no satisfaction. She briefly ponders hiding in one of their walk-in closets, but reasons that her strenuous breathing would give her away. After an internal struggle, she races toward the door and is met by the one she is running from, standing tall with a calm look on his face and drinking in her obvious panic.

"Why must we always do it this way, my pet?" he says, his voice barely a whisper but bearing a taste of something darker. Venom maybe, perhaps veiled excitement at the process of things to come.

She thinks again of the window as she backs slowly into the corner. When her back hits the cool plaster wall, she knows that it's over. She's run out of time. He had come for her again, like he said he would, and he was about to claim his prize.

As he eyes her, a rabbit far away from her rabbit hole, he licks his lip. He deftly slides his belt out of his dark colored slacks and his wicked smirk is the only thing betraying the cold look on his face.

"You are mine. But yet, you run. I've claimed you time and again but it's never willingness that brings you to me. It's fear. I'm growing tired of breaking you, bunny. Stop running from me and welcome it."

He steps towards her and every cell in her body leaps with fear. She would climb up the wall if she could but, momentarily out of options, she acquiesces. His hand roughly grips her delicate wrist as he pulls himself toward her, crushing her body between his body and the wall. He repeats himself again, slowly, almost spitting the words at her...

"You. Are. Mine."

Her voice is stuck in her throat along with her heart, both beating like tender butterfly wings. Tears form in her eyes, more from the strength of his hand than from fear or sadness. Although her logical neomammalian brain tells her to give in, her reptilian brain (damn that perpetual fight or flight instinct!) tells her to run. She darts to his left, leaping deftly like a gazelle, and she achieves momentary air before he pins her to the floor with her captured arm behind her back.

Her breath comes in short and quickly, like a captured bunny, every rib heaving with her exertion. He presses his body weight into her and growls formless words into her ear, jamming his forearm into the back of her neck.

"So it's going to be like this again," he smiles.

To be continued...


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Sunday, February 26, 2006 by Mellie

It's still, obviously, a work in progress but I'm just too tired to do anything else with it this evening.

I'm exhausted in general lately, with so much on my mind that it's beginning to weigh me down physically as well as emotionally. I'm trying hard to exercise it out of me, and have taken to running about 5 miles a week to slow my head and work out my physical sluggishness. So far, it's working. More than that, I'm noticing that I watch people running with jealousy as I'm driving somewhere. I never knew it could be this addictive.

My Bear is out of commission, which has left me perusing other dominants' websites to get my fix of that energy and attitude (you know who you are...). He's medicated out of his mind on painkillers for back spasms and I know what happens when I either push him or baby him, so mostly I just stay out of his way. It's hard to help anyone that strong willed with anything!

So, I'm off. I have a paper on gender identity in fairy tales to write, and sleep is already beckoning me to her calming embrace.


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Friday, February 24, 2006 by Mellie

A few slips later and I'm still mostly raw and going strong. I'm learning to crave healthy things, instead of longing for grease and fat. It feels nice, my skin is starting to grow and my body already feels much healthier.

But I've found lately that it's not my body that needs the detoxification... it's my mind. I have a few unresolved issues I'm working hard to sort out so that I can happily move on and put them behind me. Everything makes me stronger, but the hardest part is realizing that the strength comes in fighting through those things in the first place.

And still, this blog eludes me. Who am I on here? What do I want to say? I worry about boring the kinksters with my mundane ramblings, and I worry about disturbing the people who read me because of my mind with my pictures and extreme sexual inklings. *sigh* I guess it will all work itself out and, if it doesn't, the glory of the internet is that there is an adorable little x in the corner that one can click if they don't like what I have to say or who I am. Wish that was possible in real life!


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Monday, February 20, 2006 by Mellie

Tomorrow, I begin my first raw food fast of the new year. I'm very excited about it; I just got back from the grocery store where I stocked up on apples, bananas, carrots, grapes and other delicious organic fruits and veggies. I get so enthused this time of the year - I always feel like a superwoman afterwards. I feel cleaned out and much healthier, like all the past sins have been washed away and I'm ready to begin anew.

I've been a vegetarian for about half of my life, on and off. I've been re-toying with the idea of adopting a vegan lifestyle, but I plan on doing it slowly because the detox and the cravings are a bitch. There have actually been studies that have shown cheese to be both psychologically and physiologically addictive. Go figure.

With all this outside "stuff" comes a better understanding of my inside workings. I just function better that way, with a clearer mind and less time worrying about what I'm eating and more time to think. I was at the tattoo shop with a friend this weekend and saw their suspension gear in the back room, which really got me thinking. Suspension has always been something I've had a fascination with, but never got a chance to try. Now I'm able to think about it as more of a possibility and less of an abstract thought. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about...


The reason behind it is much the same as my "reason" for seeking a more submissive lifestyle. Control, passion, mastery of emotion... I seek and find the same thing in my submissive life as I do as an dominant, only from different angles.

On a different note, I'll be changing the template soon. Not sure when, or to what, but it will be changing soonish.


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Truth?

Thursday, February 16, 2006 by Mellie

Webster's dictionary describes truth as the state of being the case; the body of real things, events, facts. With so much of our society's attention focused on being right, finding the best way, being "in the know," is it possible to actually discover "the truth" or are we all doomed to live our own realities without ever being truly satisfied?

Don't get me wrong, I'm no Christian. I don't even really believe in God; religion has always seemed to me to be the way of the weak. Strong people don't need some arbitrary imaginary friend to help them out of tough situations. They rely on themselves and pull through with brains, strength and the knowledge that they are the only one they need. I'm not speaking of the truth in a religious context, though that is what spawned this entry.

I was waiting in the drive-through lane for coffee behind a white car that was taking far too long to gather their things and drive away. I noticed that said offender had one of those metal "bumper stickers" with a fish that was labeled "truth" eating the Darwinian legged fish. It initially annoyed me, then infuriated me, then left me shaking my head with frustration. Why do those people always have to shove their religion in your face? What does that prove or solve? I'm not going to convert because of a bumper sticker, and I'm certainly not going to convert because you're telling me that it's the only true way. I'd rather go to hell, to be blunt.

After the rage faded, it occurred to me that maybe we all have our own truths. Like Christians, the curse of humanity is believing that we're right all the time. Our lifestyles, our food choices, our exercise routines - I'm certain that everyone has had at least one moment where they look at someone else and think "Wow, what an idiot. If he/she only did it like I do, they'd be in much better shape."

But is there a truth? Is there a right way of doing something or a right way to live? Are we all going to be standing before the face of a greater power after our life is through, forced to explain our indiscretions? Or will people realize that there is nothing after life, no better place or heavenly gates?

I wish I could answer that, but it's not my intention. I don't know the answer, I don't claim to know any right way of acting or living. I know that I'm constantly driven to find it, although I'm also just as driven to prove that it doesn't exist. If anyone has a better explanation, please let me know. For now, I'm willing to let life bring me my personal version of the truth.


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Tuesday, February 14, 2006 by Mellie

I found this over at Bliatz's, and thought it would be a fascinating experiment.
If you're so inclined, head over here and pick out the 6 words that you believe describe me best...
http://kevan.org/johari?name=Aine

ADDITION:

Try that one if you've ever wanted to tell me how much of a horrible person I am. I know you want to. :)
http://kevan.org/nohari?name=AineGirl


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In brief...

Tuesday, February 07, 2006 by Mellie

I remember hearing a woman's heartbeat described through a dominant's perspective - that he could feel it rolling around in his mouth like candy. I recall thinking how erotic that sounded; someone holding my essence at the tip of their tongue and holding me entirely at their mercy. The way I view my submission is much the same - it is a delicate and fluttering thing. Like a bird, I must fly. Walking doesn't suit me.

The call to arms is sometimes too much for me. This evening, I felt the overwhelming urge to sit at his feet. It was nothing more vulgar or sexual than that - an hour or so spent sitting by his feet while we watched television. I felt the thought of this tiny gesture making him grow stiff through his corduroys and appreciated the effect I had. Although my submission has nothing to do with vanity, times like these make me realize the importance I hold in his life. I fill that little spot in his heart just like he fills mine.


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What a weekend!

Monday, February 06, 2006 by Mellie

Phew! It's Monday afternoon and I still haven't really caught my breath! Even though it's only been a few days since I'm written, a lot has changed.

First of all, and most importantly, I'm wearing two things that are equally meaningful to me again...





















I say they are equally meaningful because they both express love and commitment for two things that are extremely important to me: my soon-to-be husband and his gift of dominance. I feel very content in this moment - I am able to submit and know that I won't be hurt by him again. I'm able to trust that the ring on my finger makes the one around my neck even more special. I'm his girl, his little bunny, and I've never been more happy with that.

We spent most of the weekend "in role," although I rather abhor that saying. It's not like a role for us; it's like coming home from a long vacation and falling happily onto the couch. It's natural, it feels right and I had a smile on my face even when I slept. We fucked like bunnies, I had occasion to get a very reddened backside, and he declared his love for me through both action and words. More to come when I have time....


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Growth.

Thursday, February 02, 2006 by Mellie

My skin has grown ill-fitting lately, the product of denied dreams and hidden inspiration. I feel as though every move I make may burst it wide open, spilling out random thoughts amidst the gore. I'm not quite sure why I choose to hide so much of myself from everyone, but it's there nonetheless. It simply becomes me; a personality flaw that causes me to keep most people at arm's length.

Maybe it's because I'm afraid of the consequences of being completely open. I mostly compartmentalize my friends and relations - some people know only of my wild and sexual side, others my mundane and reserved side. Few people know all of me and, of those people, even less know all the truths I hold inside. It's not that I mean to hold back,; it's either the way I was raised and it's who I've become.

Even the degrees of reservedness and sexuality that I show are significantly muted. People may know that I'm submissive, but they wouldn't guess that I often touch myself while thinking of being held down and cut. People may know that I can be fairly reserved in awkward situations, but they wouldn't guess that I sometimes go into the bathroom so that I'm able to splash water on my face, take a breath and face it again.

I can be very outgoing. I can work a room and feel energized by it. I'm confident, charming, capable, funny and a goddamn joy to be around, but I can also be withdrawn, nervous and needing a firm hand to help me continue on. I've been fighting that for so long that, now that I'm beginning to embrace that, I already feel so much more free.

I've never been one to need someone else. I don't need anyone to be whole. I'm a completely entity, no matter how flawed I may make myself out to be. People add things to me, and I take things away from people. There is a delicious dance that I do with all my friends and lovers - a chameleon sort of act where we merge and pick and choose from each other's best qualities. Sometimes they fit and other times they don't. It's the life I live that I'm capable of drawing things away from those people and still staying removed from their lives if that's the best decision.

The end of this entry is simple... there is no end. I'm still evolving, just as you are. I'm evolving to fit better in this skin, to shed the vestiges of old and unused and pick up new and useful. To learn to enjoy the pain of cutting without being afraid that I may go back to old coping patterns. To bow my head and sit quietly without feeling the itch to disobey to make myself heard. I grow, even now. And it feels delightful.


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I have a riddle for you....

Wednesday, February 01, 2006 by Mellie

What does a bad girl do with her time when she's all alone and horny?


THE ANSWER:

First this....




Then this!




Alright, so I'm horrible at riddles. Bear and I used to co-write a blog called Sexual Anarchism in 2004/2005. After we moved out, the blog slowly faded into oblivion and was taken over by a squatter who hasn't posted in it for almost a year now. I have no problems with that, everyone knew we were close to the end and I chose to take that site off the air.

I have, however, saved the entire archive and I read it from time to time. Glossing over the parts that are so obviously bad to me now (our use of sex to cover up our flawed relationship, my need for submission as an attempt to keep him with me), it's still extremely hot. I read over it yesterday and it reminded me just how safe and secure I felt when our D/s was in high gear. I felt so loved at that point and, even though things were going to hell, it was the one thing that kept me feeling safe, secure and grounded. I used to think that was a flaw in my psyche; that there was something wrong with me because I wanted him to dominate me and take control. I realize now that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, and I want it just as much now as I did when we were unconsciously using it as a cover-up for our scars.

I guess we'll have to talk about it. Discuss how to make it work now, how to model it so that neither of us feels additional pressure and is happy in the situation. All I know is that I still miss it, miss having it really work for us. And I want that back.

*As someone pointed out, I love that I look like a pink H.R. Giger painting in that second photo. His stuff has always made me uncomfortably turned on anyway!*


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about


"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -- Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

I'm like that, I'm the untaken road. I walk the path that's filled with jagged rocks, spooky trees and no sunlight - but I come out the other side wiser. It's always worth the price.


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