Cade

Tell Kinky Santa what you want.

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 08:12:59 GMT

This ain't no planet of the apes!

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 08:54:57 GMT

It's still dark outside where I'm at now, but it won't be for much longer. Within a couple hours, the sun will be barging it's way back into the world, alerting all the day-breeders that it's time to make the march into their living world. I won't be there, of course. I don't care to be there, of course. Rather, I will be snug in my resting place, trying to close my eyes tightly to the invading light.

My life is terribly lacking; but that's not because of my nocturnal lifestyle. It's because I am missing someone. Or, more appropriately, I am missing "something". Without this "something", the world around me seems terribly lack-luster and without color. Just a bunch of tints and tones. Then I remember, I'm colorblind, so it's suppose to be that way.

Obviously, I'm just rambling on. What is the point of all this? I'm glad you ask, LiveJournal. There is no point. There never was, there isn't now, there won't be ever. Now stop being so damn dull, you ineffectual, repugnant mouth-breather!

The Rosary

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:12:02 GMT

Inspiration comes in many forms, and this day, it is birthed by the rosary that dangles from my neck.

You have grown quiet, long since has your resolve been found in the state of your capture, the cage. Now you simply lay still, trying to find comfort against the cold metal floor and walls, trying to keep your eyes off the same metal ceiling that thusly keeps you trapped. What's worse is that you have lost a sense of time at this point...how long did you cry out, trying to gain my attention so that you may be released? Only a clock could tell. No, you are lost to time now, the darkness that surrounds you only fortifies the loneliness and oppression of the cold bars. You shake the door one more time, just to break the silence.

You cannot help but jump as the door to the room swings up and light quickly pours in...in your shocked and blinded state, you cannot make anything but a dark silhouette that seems to move way too fast. In the next second you leave the cage behind, a hand secure in your hair leading you out into the brightness beyond the door. You know where you are at, of course, but without your glasses, you almost cannot make out where you are being dragged. You're not even completely sure how you are got out of the cage when you are suddenly tossed to the floor where you land with a thud.

The room quickly captures your attention...although the candles make the shadows dance frantically against the walls, you can see various points of interest clearly in the dim light. You thought you could make out the whipping bench as you entered, but that is behind you now. To each side of you are candle stands, the candles once long and tapered now spill forth long drips of wax that solidify before leaving their home. You take note of the pools of wax each candle has made; the shimmer of the flame dancing off them makes them hard to miss. You mind leaves that thought quickly, however, as you make out what is before you.

Your mind tries to take in the alter you kneel before. The white alter sheet that covers the alter only seems to burn into your eyes, the cross stitched into the sheet seems to blind you. You notice the different items set upon the alter now: a silver dish with what seems to be small crackers, a silver chalice with a bottle of dark wine next to it, crucifixes of varying sizes, a dagger that's blade reminds you of the candle's flame dance, and, of course, a bible in it's black, stiff leather cover.

Then you notice me just beyond the alter, looking down on you. You can barely make out my body in the darkness, my clothing black. But you cannot mistake the bright white square at my throat, nor the glint in my eyes as I drink you in. You scurry on knees to get closer to the edge of the alter and the last thing you see is my smile as you lower your head. My voice wraps your mind in a drunken haze, the hushed tone I am using is for you alone and you get lost in the burning heat you could not miss. I take the cross of the rosary that dangles from my neck in hand.

"Let us pray.

God, we would like to thank you for the experience we are about to receive. That if it were not for you, I could not exploit you for my own deviant benefit..."

You swoon.

Vlah!

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 09:43:36 GMT

So, I've decided to stop drinking liquor. I may still have a beer or two in social considerations, but really, I've realized I am definitely NOT one of those people that needs to feel uninhibited by intoxication. I make people cry and feel uncomfortable...and that's when I'm NOT drinking.

Once upon a time, there was this canine. It's owner was this mean man that kept that poor pup in it's cage, never letting it out. The mean man fed the dog raw chunks of meat cuts from his own meals. The mean man's idea of playing with the poor beast was shocking it through the cage bars with a cattle prod (z-z-z-ZAP). One day, the furious dog got out, and attacked the mean man ruthlessly. The animal had bitten through the owner's throat causing a spray of blood to cascade the grass around him. The mean man died, but the dog ate well, living happily ever after. The end.

Ack! I'm both the owner and ferocious beast! So, I guess that makes the cage my inhibitions. I don't want to eat me! I DON'T WANT TO EAT ME!!!

Special message to follow. Fuck you LiveJournal. That is all.

Writer's Block: Top of the Charts

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:46:31 GMT

What's the most-played song in your music library?

View 2073 Answers

Panty Shot, by Mindless Self Indulgence, hands down. That song is just too sexsay.

Weekend Debauchery Revisited

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 22:40:55 GMT

To start with a slight disclaimer...this story could be just that, a story. It could be a work of fiction, birthed in my mind and inked by electronic pulses, for your viewing pleasure or your virtual disgust. I don't care either way, LiveJournal...mostly because I hate you. I'm adding this to my journal for my enjoyment; think of it as a way to further humiliate the person involved (if there is, in fact, another individual involved). Oh, yes, I almost forgot the disclaimer. This tale is perverse, entirely too much so to believe it as factual...

...right?

Friday night, my host decided would make a great wine night. As such, the night started with a sweet port. The bottle was quickly emptied and so we moved on to a German imported white (in which, I do not remember the name, just the delicious taste). As the first bottle of white came to an end, the phone call arrived. The very person I did not expect us to hear from surprised me...she wanted to come join in on the fun. Certainly, fun it would be, if I had my way (although I did send jess to tell her not to get close to me).

Her arrival was timely, and the second bottle of white was uncorked. Playing cards were produced and the game of choice would be Strip Poker (of course). My host and I quickly found ourselves disrobed. This seemed disheartening to the new-comer...and she began throwing off, so that she may be naked, too. I helped her with her shirt; grabbing her up by her hair and "assisting" (if acting as an obstacle can be seen as assisting). Needless to say, jess won this game of poker, yet again.

She was sitting next to me, comically enough, and I could smell her so acutely with her clothes off. I moved in closer, to draw her scent in...before I knew it, my teeth had found her shoulder, and I bit down with calculated grace. This made her reel back, as my intensity was not to be received well in that moment. The following minutes would be marked with clothing quickly gathered and donned; a whirlwind of morals relocated. I moved to a different part of the house to escape...and in shortly after, my host emerged to tell me she had decided to go to bed.

My hospitable host took it upon himself to entertain me. For the hours to follow, I would find myself rubbing his head, trying my hardest not to offend him with my advances. He was a great host, and is my dear friend...I never once felt judged by him; not about my interaction with her, not about my interactions with him.

Oh, how I desired to wander back to where she lay. All I wanted was to push up close to her sleeping form, still snug and safe in the bed. How I would tear the comfort of modesty from your body, forcing my parts into her parts, where ever they may fit. Alas, I would not be allowed such pleasure...

...yet.

(To be continued...)

An email I enjoyed writing.

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 09:10:26 GMT

Rest assured, I didn't mean you in regards to being disappointed. The truth is, I just meant that I'm not really up for any more disappointment; I had something else planned and that fell through because the girl flaked for some lame excuse. You know how it goes, 'shit happens' (and when it has to happen to me, I don't enjoy eating it - which is what I think people expect me to do, for some odd reason). I'm pretty straight forward in my interactions and intentions (as you might have figured out)...I try to say what I mean, but I always mean what I say. Truth be told, I think this girl loved everything when it was just talk, but when it came time to move things off the computer, she didn't have the [insert word here] to follow through. That's just my opinion though, and I am sure my opinion is jaded by being the sadist that everyone is eager to play with, until it's comes time to play...haha, then it's laugh it up Cade, you invested time and energy to earn someone's trust that's fake. I can't beat fake...I get no sate from fake.

Hm...I apologize for unloading all of that on you. That wasn't my intention, but sometimes when the words flow, you have to let them ink themselves. Sometimes, to a bitter end.

As for our correspondences, they didn't collapse. I simply ceased communicating. You see, I gave you a lot of verbal attention, trying to achieve a level of mutual trust and understanding of the boundaries. I felt we had come to a point when it was time to make the next step, turning those ideas into a reality. However, you couldn't make it because of [insert excuse here] and let me know you had found someone to replace me. Certainly, you didn't say it in such a manner, but that's the truth of the situation when you think about it.

At that time, I must admit, I was disappointed in you. At that point, I had to access the situation: had you proven yourself in any way to me to aide in trusting that the disappointment was an isolated incident? Or, would I just continue chugging along, trying to make something happen, only to be disappointed again? Truth is, I didn't know. In that case, the pessimist in me came out, and I simply prefer not to look foolish twice.

This is the second time I have had to apologize for this today, and I will try to word it better this time. I apologize if this level of honesty makes me out to be an asshole. That is the furthest from my intentions. Brutal honesty hurts, I know...but please, don't mistake my tone as being anything but truthful and open to you. Even now, I am just trying to create a sense of shared understanding, so that we are both on the same page.

Congratulations on the boyfriend-thing working out. I can empathize with his feelings of not wanting to be excluded. You not being able to accompany jess and I to the dungeon without him does not upset me (you will find that very little does, aside from dishonesty and manipulations). To the contrary, I can understand his side. I don't agree with it, but I don't have to, if it work for you two. As for swapping, I don't think our particular understandings of the lifestyle really match-up well enough to make that beneficial for all parties involved. I don't express my sadism for punishment. To the contrary, I dislike punishing...I don't enjoy it because if I did, then I would be sending the wrong message to the person I am trying to punish, thereby creating conflicting emotions that does not promote the progress I desire by punishing in the first place. No, I express my sadism for the pure joy of watching someone cry. I spank and beat for fun. I cause painful bruises and raw welts because that is how I express my passion. I don't need something more to justify my actions than it is, in fact, something I enjoy...and hopefully, the person I am expressing this intensity to enjoys it, also. It's not always the case, but truly, they don't always have to enjoy what I am doing to them, just as long as they consent and they enjoy serving me.

As for the dungeon, our next tentative visit would be for the Halloween party (closer to the end of October). If your boyfriend and you would like to visit at the same time, I am sure we can work something out. Likewise, the address is on the website (Steel Sanctuary). Google maps gives a pretty good set of directions as long as you watch for the road names and realize it is behind the Outer Skin store. Although it is a member's only club, your boyfriend and you would just get the membership at the door and you would be allowed in without us.

::chuckles::Now, if I haven't completely alienated or offended you, and you would still like to hang out, you can get in contact with Blank to find out if Blank is willing to extend the ride.

A Momentary Message of Truth.

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 06:38:18 GMT

My cock's pet name is Vlad the Impaler.

The Mantra

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 11:15:08 GMT

What am I trying to accomplish? I am trying to accomplish my happiness, my sate (spiritually, sexually, sadistically), and to experience all that this world has to offer.

Stolen from a friend's friend! Haha

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 03:44:13 GMT

Name a CD you own that you think no-one else on your friends-list does:
Voodoo-U, by Lords of Acid.

Name a book you own that you think no-one else on your friends-list does:
Tears of the Inquisition, by Paul Little.

Name a movie you own on DVD/VHS/whatever that you think no-one else on your friends-list does:
Into the Mouth of Madness, by Clive Barker.

Name a place that you have visited that you think no-one else on your friends-list has:
San Francisco, Californa!

Name a piece of technology or any sort of tool you own that you think no-one else on your friends-list has:
The FUCKSAW!!!

Name a game you have that you think no-one else on your friends-list has:
Shaiya.

(I know, not really fair because I have a whole what, three, friends? HAHA. Keep it simple, that's what I always say!)

Dedicated to Kelly [EDITED]

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 19:42:36 GMT

The words are significant.

I wonder sometimes...

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:51:54 GMT

...do we know the hurt we cause to others, inadvertently? With our words and actions, to those close to us? Our choices to touch, or not...and worse, to love with limits - how foul! Are we loving then, if we can control when to turn it off?

This all poses a single question: what are we trying to accomplish?

I don't bring you close to push you away. I don't allow you to touch so I can tell you to stop. I don't kiss you that my tongue might cut you with my words.

I do not love to deny.

For once, this isn't about you, LiveJournal. It's about the world. You ALL suck, and I am no exclusion. I suck because my logic is confused by my emotion, and so, I remain stoic. This is what your words and actions have accomplished. I hope it is what you wanted, after all.

And fuck you, LiveJournal, for reading this.

Writer's Block: I May Be Crazy

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 03:57:55 GMT

What does this Rorschach blot look like to you?

View 575 Answers

A two-headed angel with dragon-like wings.

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 03:26:28 GMT

Vlah, I hate you LiveJournal. Maybe moreso in the moment because here I am, again, clattering away on a keyboard as if any of this meant a thing. It doesn't though, does it?

I am of sound rational. My logic is far from perfect, but it rarely fails me. I know the important things...the things that should make me feel one way; and yet, I feel another way. The wrong way. Not the way I should because it will only bring about torment and agony (and certainly not the pleasant kind). No, I shouldn't care. In fact, I would be well within my own moral code to be worse than apathetic...vindictive, inurbane, to be suffered.

Oh, certainly, those desires are there, worked within the confusion. I can't seem to force them to the surface, however. Instead, even apathy is just outside of my reach...and I have to wonder, why do I prefer feeling sad over just being depressed?

Faenum habet in cornu, longe fuge.

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 22:23:52 GMT

In a world inwhich one's senses dictate what is real, what does that make you? Just words on a screen?

Humble Beginnings...

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 22:06:07 GMT

I was born under Aries stars and burn at an intense heat. One might conclude that this is because my father was a satyr and the Mother was a nymph (what I believe is called a 'whore' these days). I was the first among my father's bloodline to be born without the tell-tale hooves, although I am rather furry from my waist down, growing a soft downy even right after being shorn. My father would charge me as guardian of the heart, a duty that I would rue for times past and future...not at the present. Never at the present. At present, I'm no more than your average horny animal, lurched over and pumping away at...well...whatever or sinking my teeth into some slab of raw flesh. My parental figures married a day or two after my birth, ensuring me a bastard, and separated a month later. I would meet my father when I turned seven, only getting two/three visits from him before he committed suicide after my eighth birthday. I was removed from the Mother that same year and placed into child protective services (lovely experience, I say sarcastically)...the day before my fourteenth birthday, she would renounce me as her child and I have not seen her since.

I've never been happier with my life as I am now.

Why do I share this with you of all people, LiveJournal? Hopefully as a lesson...your past does not dictate your present, so stop blaming it for all your woes, crybaby. Get your head straight and quit missing out on all life has to offer.

What are you drinking?

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 05:43:23 GMT

So, I should start with a short disclaimer, Liveournal (in case you hadn't figured this out on your own, moron). Simply put, I am a pervert. Enough said.

Now, I've always had a penchant for unusual and extreme penetrations. Thusly, I've collected a few items over time that I figured would make great dildos (sometimes being right, sometimes being wrong). For the last few years, I've really been into different bottles, and in this post, I wanted to share a few of these pervertable items. Before you make any argument, let me just say, fuck you, LiveJournal. If you don't like the topic, go blog about it to your mother. Hell, I blogged on your mother last night, LiveJournal (and she loved it, the sloppy whore).

To start, I'd like to discuss the merit of the limited edition aluminum bottle that soda companies came out with a few years ago. These are thinner than your average can, but longer, obviously. I keep two just because they are perfect for DP-action, with a most notable condition. They carry the temperature of any liquid put into them through the walls of the bottle, radiating into flesh wrapped around it like a glove. I've added rubber corks to hold the fluid, and below you see them against your common glass beer bottle.

These next few were gifts from a friend, unknowingly at first. 8D

The princess bottle (as some call it) boasts a slim mouth growing to quite the girthy base. As you can see against the beer bottle, the princess bottle is longer and is wider at the bottom...the cone like body allows for magnificent stretching. BE MINDFUL, THOUGH. If you should insert this entirely, it becomes very difficult to remove (which can become a fun game, of course).

This came into my possession as a juice bottle with an interesting feature. The base is threaded much like a large "screw". It is more stout, but shorter, than the beer bottle...going in base-end first takes patience and plenty of lube. However, if you can catch the first lip of the threads, you can literally screw this bottle in halfway (with some discomfort, I am certain). Below is a detail of the threading.

Finally, we come to a personal favorite of mine.

This lovely bottle has two baseball-sized bulbs (just smaller than my fist, consequentially). Likewise, the mouth of the bottle is slightly flared, giving some security should you be able to get the second bulb inserted. Also, the flared mouth is just long enough to get a good grip for proper 'fucking' use. Below you can compare it against the beer bottle.

Now, I know what you are thinking about the plastic bottles. They aren't glass. Now, usually, I would agree with you (glass is oh-so sexsay). However, you should stop thinking with your cock or cunt (or ass, in any case). I advise you to fill this with fluid and seal before use. Or, if you are a strange deviant (like myself), fill and freeze for great odd-shaped ice dildos, FTW!

Don't these blatantly perverse bottles make you thirsty AND horny?

Vlah!

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 06:04:44 GMT

I am a fairly stoic individual, LiveJournal (although it makes me emmensely happy to tell you how much I hate you on a regular basis). Lately, however, I have felt increasingly lonely. This would seem weird to many because I do have a personal slave that is (almost) always at my beckon-call. It's not all that weird because she is like a part of me (a right hand, maybe). Certainly, she entertains me in ways others aren't able (should read, 'won't allow themselves to be able'), but in the end, even talking to her at times feels like I am talking to myself. Typically, she knows what I say before I even speak, and conversations are pretty quick unless one of us plays devil's advocate.

Why am I lonely, though, I have to ask myself.

Repose for Undergarments

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 21:33:48 GMT

These last couple days have been difficult; not physically, but mentally. So, I will take this moment to advert my focus to something more appealing to the likes of me...the panty shot.

My first panty shot came when I was just a young Cade, not even called by that moniker yet. I danced and played in the sun at times, and the park was a fabulous excuse to escape the hardships of an abusive household. Commonly, there were the rest of the children from my street at the park; I could always count on them to help me forget why I was frail and unusual. One such boy had a younger sister he would always have to take with him, everywhere he went. She was such a pain, always trying to clamor in on the bigger kids' games.

It was summer and hot, which made for the perfect weather for sweating at the park, running away from whoever was 'it'. The younger sister sat to the side dejected by her older brother and all the kids faster than her still. Her choice of places to sit? By what I had always thought of as a vibrant blue port-a-potty. I spied her as I made my way to the bathroom.

"Would you like to see something?" She spoke as if she had a secret, hushed tones and sidelong glances to see if anyone was watching.

My response would come as a incredulous croak, "um...sure." Of course, I was not sure back then. I was too young to even realize why girls were different. She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the urine-scented private room, with it's sliding doorlock that alerted everyone on the outside that this room was occupied. Once inside, she looked up to meet my eyes, a coy smile on her face and her hands on the hem of her skirt.

The next moment would change my life forever.

She lifted her skirt to expose the most spectacular thing I had seen to that date, and to be honest, I had seen a lot already at this point in my awareness. Her panties were white and cotton, not uncommon of any little girl panties. I remember how remarkable I found this article of clothing in that moment, even as she pulled them down to show me her hairless slit.

Again, she looked up to me, her smile no longer coy, but instead, expecting. "Now, it's your turn to show me," she spoke so simply. I blushed feverishly and turned away, abashed at being at the disposal of a young girl that up to that instant I avoided. I pulled down my shorts and underwear (whitie-tighties, as was common for boys in the early 80's). She looked my bald crotch with severe interest, but my mind was elsewhere. My thoughts were locked on things white and made of cotton.

Am I a pervert now due to this interaction? Certainly not. However, I am sure it birthed my lust for that garment that acts as a giftwrap for some spectacular gift, a gift that soaks through it's giftwrap.

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 08:35:16 GMT

I am crashing, and I would take you with me.

Slipping away, I feel like lying facedown on the floor...if for no other reason than it seems like it would be cooler. I don't really want to look at anything (least of all you, LiveJournal), I don't feel like watching anything. In short, nothing interests me.

I don't even want to masturbate. That's pretty low.

Alright, I'm up off the floor now. I was right, it is much cooler and served to clear my head. I should masturbate.

Post 4:20 Musing

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 09:29:36 GMT

Oh, LiveJournal, how do I hate thee? Shall I count the ways?

Now that that is out of the way, let's talk. Yea, just you and me; a nice little friendly chat. Relax...you have the power button on your computer to keep you safe. If you magically become uncomfortable, you can always close the window or (more than likely) find another journal to read. Truth is, I'm really only words on your monitor's screen...right?

What would I like to talk about? How nice of you to inquire. I would like to talk about the way you think. Not necessarily what you think about, but the process you use to deduce, problem solve, or cope, even. I'd like to believe you're not the type of person to stub their toe and kick the cat, per say...but what do I know? I'm just trying to get to the part of you that actually has value. Don't head off to the pawn shop just yet though.

I am sure you are familiar with the onion adage (if not, stop reading)...that is your head. That's right. I just told you that your head is like an onion. What? Your head IS like an onion. What we have to do is peel away that decaying, undesirable, useless skin and get into the good part; you know, the part that makes you cry. How does one skin an onion, though? My preferred method is the sharpened knife.

If you've been following along with your secret decoder ring (there is NO secret decoder ring), than at this point I'm guessing you are either in the mood for a sexual exploit of some sort (most likely involving oral pleasures, things that have a sharp edge, and tears) or onions. Maybe I was using some elaborate design to corrupt your thoughts? Haha, words on the screen, remember?

So, if you and I are finally at some sort of understanding in this moment, I would bring about the point of this conversation. I am interviewing a gimp servant in the coming week. I had originally considered just calling her 'gimp', but she doesn't have a limp and I don't want to go the full bondage suit. I was thinking more like hood and wrist/ankle restraints - she'll work out better nude, in ways your filthy little mind most likely wouldn't comprehend (surprise me). As you are privy the situation now, how about some one-syllable name suggestions? Likewise, if you have some probing and pressing questions (haha) you would like answered by the slut, feel free to send them along.

Maybe now you have a small inkling of what I am. Will photographic proof serve to prove my validity? Damn right it would, you fucking pervert. Keep your pants on, LiveJournal.

Sometimes, it's not what you do, but how you do it.

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 20:37:33 GMT

What a night lastnight. It definitely had me reminiscing of the old Friturday nights back in Tampa. To start, I had my slave setup the front room, giving as much center of the room space as possible. I had her put up the spanking bench, and display all of my sadistic intruments along a nearby table. Then, I had her shower me as we waited for company (although she was fairly unaware of that plot twist). After she dried me and prepped my clothes, I told her to become familiar with the bench...and there she waited until our friend arrived.

After a brief talk, we slowly began to work jess over, starting with the more precussion type items (pair of plastic shoehorns, pair of five gallon paint stirrers [lovingly referred to as the Pain Sticks], pair of large wooden spoons, et cetera). We worked on her in this manner for a bit, before working up to heavier items (floggers, crops, canes, and straps). My slave is able to be milked, and some of the attention on her focused on cropping her nipples as she lactated. This exchange carried on for about two hours, naked jess's upper back, breasts, and bottom becoming quite a shade of red.

Then our friend's cell rang.

We decided to give my slave a break, and as she lounged in a blanket, I kept her attention with nippleclamps (a cute pair with bells on them that jingle anytime they are pulled). I held her attention for 20 minutes, and with a knock on the door, the scene changed. Entering were three more individuals: our friend's s.o, another female friend, and a bartender buddy of ours. The night would continue with the bartender and I tormenting jess with clothespins and our reunited couple taking to the bench for some spanking time.

By the end of the night, there were two naked female forms and a lot of tender flesh. What a night!

Baroooom.

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 01:40:41 GMT

Tonight I am going to be laying carpet, while secretly I wish I was eating carpet. How profound.

Way too early for me...

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:39:01 GMT

The sun is still up, vlah! I endure it with good cause, however...and I am here to relay that to you, LiveJournal. Not because I like you, keep in mind.

I am bursting at the seams with pent-up anticipation...I was able to hang out with that particular girl from my dreams (you know what girl, read my last post, asshole). She had rips in her jeans and her delicious leg-flesh peaked out. I am sure I don't have to tell you how awesome a tight wifebeater looks on the female form, but I'm going to anyway. It accentuates the natural shape of one's torso; you can draw out the roundness of breasts, the contours of the ribcage, and the turn of the waistline. Oops, I mean, nice rack.

Now, I know what you must be thinking. Am I objectifying her? Not really her, persay...moreover her legs. If I could cut them off and keep them in my closet...ehm, nevermind. Don't look in my closet.

Returning to the subject, I told her about the dream. She blushed.

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 08:01:53 GMT

I'm only sharing this with you because it was the second lucid dream I have had this week, although this one certainly seemed more my style (i.e: without limitations). It included a particular girl and myself. The landscape was a fairly secluded field covered sparsely by varying trees. It was late dusk and nighttime loomed within the shadows of those trees. She and I walked some distance, to a clearing of short-cropped grass and cast behind foliage. She seemed all too unreal and doll-like in the grass on her back...of course, I am a pervert, so this only seemed to fuel my drive.

I undressed her. This was done with the utmost care. Each article of clothing was methodically removed smoothly as to not disturb her trance, her lifelessness. With her top and bra removed, her breasts were vulnerable to the kneading of my hands as my fingertips found her nipples, pinching with deliberate sharpness. Next her shorts and panties slide off...her clothing, thrown aside remained unremarkable and seemingly nondescript. I had noted that the items were cute, certainly, but I could not tell you what they looked like in the least.

Without her bottoms, I was free to slide my cheek over the softness of her inner thighs. Her legs, long and thin, slip to either side of my head, tickling my back where her toes touch. I inhale deeply, taking in her scent...I move in closer to her hungry mouth and I kiss her. They oral sex continues, so I will jump to the part of significance. Her legs out-stretched and toes curled, I felt her gush into my mouth. This is an unmistakable sensation, one I certainly never expected to experience so strongly in a dream.

She called me five minutes after I awoke, still in a masturbatory frenzy with her smell on my tongue.

(Thank you for listening, LiveJournal. I still hate you.)