Not the sexy

In the depths of night, we count the lives our actions have cost, but we are not given to know the number we have saved. -Anonymous

It's easy to count the cost of the lives you've taken, the hearts you've wounded. They are clearly visible, obvious in the harsh light of self-reflection. The remembered tears in a lover's eyes when you hurt them, the cold cast of the dead man's skin whom you couldn't save. It's terribly easy, in the deepest darkness of night, to count the cost of the lives you've taken and the hearts you've wounded. Your nightmares show you clearly the accusing eyes of the dead, the weeping voices of people you've harmed- whether witting or unwitting. Your memories in the dark of night offer you a litany of faces, of names, and endless stream of, "I should have's".

But it is not given to use to know the lives we've saved, the hearts we've mended all unwitting. No one knows, in the dark of night, how many lives they've turned around with a kind word, or how many hearts they've mended with courtesy and respect. No one knows the number of lives they've saved by giving the keys to a friend when drinking, or being the friend who's stayed sober. We don't know the lives we've saved by sitting and listening to someone who's hurting, or stopping to help someone on the side of the road.

We don't know whose lives we've changed by being courteous and treating people kindly... and perhaps teaching them, all unwitting, how they deserve to be treated. We don't know whose wounds we've healed simply by being an unjudgemental ear.

The soldier knows only those lives he's taken, and it is they which haunt him in the hours before dawn. He knows the deaths which follow him, knows the accusing eyes of the comrades he couldn't save. But it is not shown to him the lives he saved, the attacks his presence thwarted, or the laughs of the children who will grow up because of him.

It is given to us the burden to count our dead, that we might be more gentle in our lives- but only the Gods can count those we've saved.

Goodbye, ashke

I said goodbye to Wolf yesterday.

Not zhai'helleva, not 'see you later'. Goodbye.

I don't say goodbye much. I say, "tschus," which is one of several German words for "see you later," (The primary version, "auf wiedersehen," literally translates as, "to be seen later"). I don't say goodbye. It's too final, too strong.

I don't let go well. Not even of those I should. I never have.

Wolf has been in my life for 7 years, he was my first real lover- the first person to teach me that sex could not only not hurt (thank you, Jewel!), but that it could feel really good. Before Wolf, I knew that only in the abstract.

He is the one who, by betraying me, taught me how strong that I am.

But he crossed the last line yesterday, threatening harm to someone who is mine. Yes, I'm aware that he views this person as his, but you do not protect someone by threatening them with harm.

Hurt me, break me, betray me, and I will smile through my tears and offer you forgiveness.

Harm someone who is mine to protect, and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.

There can be no love, no honor, no respect left between us after this. It is not in me to hate someone I once loved, but this childish, dishonorable behaviour has broken the last remaining thread of love in my heart for him.

I feel bruised inside, soft and sad and afraid, because I do not want to walk away from someone I spent so much of my time and energy loving. I don't want to give up, to abandon a love that was once the most important thing in my life- a love I based more decisions around than I'll admit even here, a love I believed would last forever. I don't want to admit that we failed even as friends.

But I cannot sustain a friendship with someone who can't be civil to me, someone who threatens his own brother out of anger at me, someone who has betrayed me at every turn and now seeks to betray his own brother.

So goodbye, ashke. I will miss you, but I'm remembering what I had forgotten- my life is better without you in it.

Bruises HNT

I did this to myself trying to lift Rigger's motorized wheelchair into my car.

Note to self: 105lbs does not easily lift 350lbs.

Voices

I am tired tonight, the weight on my shoulders pressing me down and to the floor.

I find myself, inside the safety of my own mind, curled tight in the corner and rocking. It's been a strange day, a strange week, a strange year, and I am paying the toll tonight, paying for a ten-year-old love I didn't believe in.

His words echo in my ears, "When you left, I just gave up."

My mind screams that it wasn't my responsibility to be his motivation, it wasn't my job to be his impetus to grow up... but my raw and vulnerable heart, scraped bloody by too many responsibilities, accepts this one, too, as my due.

As what I deserve.

And I'm left curled in the corner, hiding from the angry words in my own head, which have taken on his voice and the pain in it.

Once... and again...

It's morning. My mind knows it, waking quickly despite my exhsuated body's protests. Lucivar and I didn't get home until nearly 2am, and I'd lay heavy wagers that I didn't get more than an hour of sleep at a time.

And yet my mind is awake, as always, instantly buzzing with the knowledge of Lucivar's warm weight pressed against me. I can't resist pressing my face to his skin and inhaling his scent- it really is an aphrodisiac, because instantly, my body and mind agree on one thing and one thing only.

We want him.

Now.

Oh, I always want him, this is nothing new. But right now as he's curled in sleep, eyelids a thin shield against the world outside of his dreams, his eye makeup smudged into something between sluttiness and vulnerability, his cupid's box mouth loose and pink, the wanting is an instant, fierce ache.

It's only been since yesterday afternoon that I fucked him, and I slept curled against him through the fitful night, but it already seems too long. And when he turns, stretching a little, eyes opening through smudged eyeliner, I am transfixed. He wriggles a little, adorable ass mocking, inviting, while the smooth length of his back beckons me, a call it takes little deliberation to answer and then I'm atop him. Straddling his smooth ass, one arm around his chest and throat and he responds instantly, my adorable little slut, bucking his ass against my groin. I know what he wants, it's the same thing that I want. That I always want.

But my strapon is in the car, still in my toybag from the night before, and I mutter a soft, heartfelt curse. His chuckle is low and deep, one of the most masculine things about him, as he reminds me that there are glass dildos on the nightstand.

I'm in motion before he finishes, the bumpy glass heavy in my hand, quickly lubed, and his pretty little ass quickly filled. It's not my cock, not my body moving inside of his, but his low hiss of pleasure as it enters him is enough.

It takes bare seconds to find the rhythm of this one, of my wrist and hand pressing it deep into his ass as I lie beside him, my lips on his shoulder, my teeth in his back, my free hand clutched in his. Rocking it, inside and out, finding that spot by trial and error and staying when I hear him moan and whimper, rocking against me in desperation.

My slutty little girlfriend is beautiful like this, and I tell him that. I'm such a lucky boi to have a girlfriend who's such a little slut, who'll take my cock so eagerly, any time I want. And maybe that's what I'll keep him around for... he doesn't need a job, a house, a life... I'll just take him home with me and keep him tied up and gagged and fuck him whenever I choose.

His whimpers are almost words now.... "please, please, please..." and it's making me wetter and wetter while I fuck him. His moans are lower now, that almost-bass sound that I love because it means he's about to cum. I speed up inside of him, nearly shoving the glass cock into him in response to his whimpered, "please please harder please!" and he explodes against me, his body bucking and shaking against mine, little sounds of ecstasy and agony drawn from his throat and I slow my rhythm and deepen it, hitting that spot hard with every thrust, prolonging the pleasure for him until he collapses into the bed, into me. Only then do I slow the cock inside him, simply rocking it gently while he thanks me with blurred eyes.

Beautiful boi, my adorable girlfriend.

We curl up together as he comes down, my groin cupping his bottom, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other brushing his hair gently away from his face. I can feel the dildo inside him, pressed against my mons and it feels so much as thought it belongs there that I can't resist rocking my hips, pressing the dildo a little deeper into him. He shifts, moans a little, and I smile, pressing my lips to his spine. My hips quickly find a rhythm, spooning my girlfriend, fucking him, my hand creeping up to his throat, into his hair, wrapped in his collar. He is quickly whimpering again, moaning, and I am whispering in his ear how lucky I am to have such a cute little girlfriend, so good and sweet and slutty for me. I'm asking him in a hoarse whisper if he likes my cock waking him up in the morning, chuckling low and evil at his frantic, "yes!", and telling him that most girlfriends don't like morning sex, most girls aren't this slutty, and he is whimpering and moaning, rocking back into my hips as they pound the glass relentlessly into him.

I can feel him start to shake again, and it startles me just a little before I laugh into his ear, nipping it with strong teeth even as I whisper, "You're going to come again for me, aren't you, you little whore!" and he's whimpering and moaning that he might, and it only makes me more determined to push him over the edge again. My hand is wrapped around his throat and I am whispering harshly that he's going to cum again for me and my hips are insisting as well and suddenly he's shaking and writhing against me, moaning, whimpering, harsh noises torn from his throat while I'm fucking him with this borrowed cock and he's cumming around me, spasming against me and my arms are tight against him and my heart is full of love for this beautiful, beautiful boi who is moaning and coming down slowly in my arms. I want to hold him like this here forever, his scent rubbed into my skin and his body pressed tight to mine.

Sharing

I'm a little nervous, and very excited. it's been a long time since I've played, and longer since the one time I've played with this boy. Kaye is delectable as a boy, lovely as a girl, and the last time that I played with him was with Terry and Lucivar. That memory still brings dampness to my thighs, and now I'm here with his beautiful Mistress and we are preparing to hurt him.

I'm more hesitant than usual, taking my cue from her. Miss Gigi has become a good friend quickly, but new friendships can be fragile and I don't want to offend her by crossing boundaries with her boy. Besides, their relationship is beyond adorable, and the last thing that I want is to chance driving any kind of wedge between them...

but oh his naked vulnerability is too beautiful, and I have a bag full of toys beside me! Miss Gigi binds his arms, then shoves him onto the bed, gorgeous red hair swirling around a perfect heart-shaped face. She has no idea how beautiful she is every day, but particularly this moment, her eyes alight with love and cruelty and concern, all wrapped together. He is facedown, and we start on his already-red ass and thighs. We alternate caressing touches and cruel blows with our various toys. Her flogger, my Ikea toy. My fingertips, her nails. My rubber loop paddle, her lips, over and over and over. Unpredictable, intense, beautiful this partnership over the helpless body of a beautiful boy.

She remove the armbinder, flip him over. Pig-slapper to the nipples, alternating with gentle fingertips, her dragon-tail, my fingernails. His face contorts, body writhing in agony only a breath away from ecstasy. Harsh angry grunts escape his mouth and we mock him, lovingly. “Poor thing, we’re so mean to you!” I giggle, and Miss Gigi and I share a smile. I wonder if she knows that she’s breathtaking like this. We find a rhythm between us, not the ease of practice, but a half-wary consciousness of one another that eventually blends into comfort.

And then it’s clear that he’s peaking, reaching the limit of what he can take, and she halts us. It’s clear in every fiber of her being that her world is wrapped inside this beautiful boy spread in naked vulnerability beneath her, and as his eyes open it’s equally clear that this sentiment is shared. I feel like a voyeur, watching them communicate wordlessly. Her mind is still afraid of the way the she loves him, afraid of the myriad things that happen in any relationship, but it’s clear from her smile that her heart can read that adoration in his eyes. I simply lie beside them, content to bask in the reflected warmth of their love- my own loves are not present just now, but I am secure in them and content to enjoy the happiness of those I’ve so quickly come to care for.

We cuddle him between us, speaking silly words of praise, care, desire, and I can only sigh in contentment… and gratitude at having been offered the opportunity to share in this moment with them.

Pik-shers!

So, I realized recently that I have neither a camera (loaned it to USB) nor any recent pictures of myself. Since I'm months behind in HNTs, and the Marines that I write to in Afghanistan and Iraq have been requesting pictures.... any local photographically-inclined followers want to take Some HNTs and some G-rated pics of me?

Life is good

Sure, it's still hard right now. I desperately need to find a $500 loan to get my motorcycle back. The boy is still at my house, still moody and clingy. Jack is still out of work.

But.... today I added weight and a set to every machine at the gym, and time to my run on the elliptical machine. I shared a bacon cheeseburger with my lover, and had a short day at work. I came home to this house that I absolutely adore, and made a wonderful cream tea (blackberry chocolate chip scones FTW!!!) with real, homemade whipped cream, made-from-scratch scones, and the highest-quality loose-leaf tea and spent the afternoon with one of the most amazing women in my life. She's strong and vulnerable, beautiful and wise and little wild. Younger than me and with twice the accomplishment. We reconnected, and I laced her into my corset. Now, I'm curled up on the couch in my home, listening to Pandora and happy with my life.

Life just doesn't get much better than this.

Peach cobbler

There are grains of rice scattered on the floor, a trick Lucivar told me about.

My kitchen is stone tile, and the corner where he kneels is liberally sprinkled with sharp little grains of rice.

You never think of rice as sharp, until you kneel on them for a while.

I'm happily flitting around my kitchen, ignoring the boy who kneels in silent agony nearby. I'm making peach cobbler, one of my favorite desserts.

First, you blanch the peaches, letting them sit in hot water for a few minutes to loosen the skins.

Then you peel them, and then you cut them up.

Normally, I'd be making the boy do the menial labor of blanching and peeling the peaches, but I'm in the mood to draw out my cooking today.

He shifts once, and I shoot him a single, level look.

His immediate resumption of proper posture amuses me, and I smile as I return to my work.

I'm cutting the peaches into wedges now, their sweet-tart juices running messily over my knife, over my hands as I slice through soft-firm flesh.

Every few moments, I lift the knife to my lips, sucking slowly between my lips and licking the sweet juices from the sharp blade.

I know he's watching me do it. I know he's cringing and hardening at the same time.

I don't bother to look, though. I'll hear it if he moves.

The peach wedges are in the bowl now, and I'm drizzling honey and brown sugar over them, with a hint of pumpkin pie spice. Needless to say, this necessitates much more licking of fingers, with appreciative sounds for my culinary talents.

I take my time removing my sweet, wet fingers from my warm mouth.

Tossing the peaches with the honey-sugar-spice mixture, my breasts bouncing behind my apron in time with the fruit in my bowl. I can hear small keening noises from the boy now.

Layering them in the casserole dish, chopping small cubes of cold, salted butter with a santoku knife, watching him cringe from the corner of my eye. I love this knife. It's a sushi knife, originally a gift for Jack but he never uses it.

I do.

It's sharp as a razor, with a lovely ergonomic design that fits perfectly in my hand. My hands fly every time I use it, and I know he's cringing at the speed with which I bring the blade down. He know the fantasies I have about using this knife on him.

It's time for the batter now, flour and buttermilk and egg and raw sugar and spices... I'm moving quickly now, half-dancing. Baking is truly one of my great pleasures in life, and it's clear in my every movement.

He knows how pleased I am when a dish comes out well, how alive it makes me feel.

And how cruel my liveliness can be.

As I whip the batter, I watch him fromt he corner of my eye. He's not foolish enough to squirm, but there are small tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Excellent. The grains of rice will stick to his skin when he rises, embedded so deeply that they'll leave little red marks for hours.

I hum as I pour the batter over the peaches, ensuring that it snakes through every crack and crevice, the better to sweel and rise with the heat.

With a last smile, I set the oven timer for 20 minutes, then turn and beckon to the boy.

"Come, boy, we've just enough time to apply some heat to your ass as well as my cobbler."

He whimpers as he staggers to his feet.

Interlude

He is still dressed in the rubber he wore at the party.

His arms, chest, ass, and back are bruised, and he moves carefully but the grin on his face is unmistakable.

It's been a hard few weeks for my lover, and I'm pleased to see him so relaxed.

I'm exhausted, still a little sick. I had to leave the play area to keep myself from playing while sick... so tempting. An array of beautiful bodies laid out on a variety of playstations. I could play so easily, there are plenty willing to take the risk, but I'm too lightheaded from decongestants to trust myself.

Except with him.

He's walked me up to my room, and stands there now, looking like a fallen angel, wickedly innocent, in his Nasty Pig rubber and little-boy smile.

He's turning to leave now, turning to return to his Mistress, but I don't even remember moving and my hand is at his throat and I'm bending him over, pressing him into the bed. He still has his wide collar on, and my fingers are hooked into it- small fingers, they fit without choking him- too badly. I'm bending him back up to me until he's arched like a bow, his beautiful little ass offered up to me.

I want it.

I always want it.

Near him, I'm like a guy. I can't be within arms' reach without wanting to bend him over the nearest surface and fuck that pretty little ass.

As always, my beautiful little slut is making pleading noises, his ass grinding back into my hips.

Why don't I have my strap-on? I sigh, and shove him away from me.

I'll see you in the morning, boy.

Life catches up

I leave tomorrow morning for NYC.

SELF was amazing, but because I was sick I couldn't play. There were a few interludes I will try to write about soon, though.

On the upside, I'll be having dinner in NYC with the delectable Troy Orleans and the adorable Unspeakable Axe, as well as the darling LeatherD and possibly the amazing Catherine Gross :)

My life? It kinda rocks sometimes.

Meanwhile, I have 7 people in my house, and I still haven't packed for the trip!

Don't give up

Don't give up on me, guys. I'll write more eventually. 

Right now, my plate is even more full than usual and I'm doing a remarkably good impression of Atlas. 

Wish me luck, my friends. 

Necklace/stomach HNT

Yep, you read/saw that right :) 

This is the last of the chainmaille HNTs, so I did it against my stomach to better show off the pretty weave.

Rainbow choker HNT

I love Mouse's rainbow stuff. Maybe it's because I indentify so strongly with the gay community, I don't know. Either way, I adore her rainbow stuff, especially this one.

Teeth

'Do you want the blood spatter powerpoint?' he asked.

My eyes went wide, and I started licking my lips. 

He laughed. 

I like USB- UberSadisticBastard2.0. He's a sick fuck, and we get along beautifully. 

'Then I want two things,' he told me. 

I nodded, warily. He scares me a little, so I wasnt about to jump into that particular snake pit. 

'Throw me another of those chocolates, and bite me.' He said it casually, but I was instantly salivating. He's yummy, too, by the way. 

My forebrain intruded briefly, and I gave him an, 'are you sure?' look as I tossed him another chocolate. 

We're sitting in my kitchen. He and Jack are a little drunk, and they've just watched the hockey game, high on their masculinity trips for the evening as we all swap stories of hurting people. We sit in the points of a triangle, Jack and I on the counters on each side of the stove, framed by blond wood, and USB leaning next to the sink, the sage-green wall and darkened window giving his face an evil cast. 

He just grins. 

Instantly, my mind is made up. He's a big boy. He can make his own mistakes. 

I cross the room, almost a stalk. I know the bloodlust is clear in my eyes, and I love this man I barely know for simply grinning in the face of it. 

Even my darling Lucivar cringes when the color of my eyes is the color of this particular insanity, but USB merely smiles. 

Right this moment, I love this man. 

He lifts his arm to me, and my eyes lock onto it. I no longer know him as person, as friend, as shoe-whore and hockey fan. He is meat, and he's lifted a piece of the meat closer to me. 

Again, my forebrain intrudes, reminding me that he will likely wear short sleeves sometime in the next month, guiding me to his upper arm, where the shirtsleeve will hide any mark. 

I can smell him. 

Right this moment, this man smells divine. 

I have no idea where the attraction ends and the bloodlust begins. 

I doubt it matters. 

I almost don't realize it when my mouth touches his flesh, so wrapped up in the scent of his skin am I, but the shock of taste is 10x stronger. 

His skin is salty-sweet, a little like blood already. I spare a moment to wonder if he's sweating in my cool house before my teeth close on his flesh. 

This moment. This moment is divine to me. I love the taste of flesh in my mouth, the resistance of my teeth sinking into flesh. 

There is cannibalism in my lineage somewhere, I know it. Because right this moment, I want nothing more that to shake my head savagely, rip a piece of him away, and swallow it. I want the taste of blood and flesh, coppersweet in my mouth. 

But I restrain myself... slowly... carefully.... and I bite down. 

There is nothing I can compare it to. There is nothing with the texture of flesh except flesh. Nothing with the taste of flesh but flesh. 

The resistance of it, sweetly stubborn, and my teeth are sinking, sinking, and my hands are cradling his arm almost tenderly and I can taste his pain. It's changing the flavor of skin, giving it a sharper taste like adrenaline, and I can hear him cursing, "Fuck! Fuck that fucking hurts! Fuck!" and I am moaning my joy and arousal and the taste of his flesh as my teeth continue to close on his body. 

I realize suddenly, just as he taps me, "enough!" that I have sunk nearly to my knees, dragging his body with me as I bite into it. 

Dragon scale necklace HNT

This is one of the coolest things I've ever seen! It looks like dragon scales!

(The store)

(This one isn't listed yet, but you can email her if you like it. Gypsy is thinking about getting a belly dancing outfit made mostly in this... I will SO be borrowing it to post if she does!)

Hands

He is stretched beneath me, making small pleading noises behind the black leather mask. It covers his eyes and nose, but I've left the gag out for this first playdate. I want to ensure he's able to call safe, and I'm just on the edge enough to consider pushing him into doing so. 

He is plugged, and his body is quite lovely beneath me as I straddle him. I can feel the buzzing of the plug through his thighs and against my own skin as he whimpers and squirms. It's cute, and I tell him so. My voice is sticky-sweet, as I inquire after his well-being. 

He grits his teeth, but responds properly, "I'm fine, Miss."

"Oh, good," I coo, and begin. 

He doesn't like sharp pain, he told me. Most toys are a sharper pain than he likes, and he doesn't like toys in general. I listened, nodding, smiling inside as he tries to tie my hands and prevent me from hurting him as I want to.

Poor, deluded boy. He's obviously never played with someone who has struggled through months of physical therapy, or trained in massage. 

I tell him that I'm going to do him a favor, going to release some trigger points. I do my physical therapist's favorite trick of skin rolling... rolling his skin beneath my fingers and looking for redness which indicates a trigger point. 

And when I find them, I dig my fingers beneath them and press until I feel them release. It's almost like finding a ridge in the sheet of muscle, and ironing it out with your fingers.

It hurts like a sonuvabitch.

My physical therapist is nicer about it, but I don't feel like being nice tonight. I find easily a dozen, digging in while his face contorts in agony beneath the mask. It's beautiful, and I'm dripping above him.

I show him my favorite trick of Lucivar's, pressing my knuckles into his breastbone and twisting back and forth. His head snaps back and forth in agony, wanting to fight my hands but unable to. I know this pain, have felt it myself from Lucivar's hands. It feels like bruising the very bone, and it is. I lean down, whisper to the boy that isn't he lucky I'm creative enough to play without the toys he dislikes? He grunts, and I giggle. 

I whisper to him that this won't leave a single mark, but that he'll feel it for days. I tap his sore chest, hard, one last time and tell him that it will be something to remember me by.

Curled

We are curled together, on his couch. His body still curves around me as perfectly as it did so long ago, and his skin is the same combination of oil, soap, and male that I have found irresistible since the day we met.

His fingers are gentle in my hair, brushing through it as we chat about inconsequential things. The conversation is irrelevant- it is this, this touching, this sharing, that we are here for. 

No one knows him as inside-out as I do, and yet loves him anyway. No one else touches him with the same knowledge of who he is, flaws and strengths and fears and passions. I know this, not because he has told me, but because he hasn't. 

And so I stroke the line of his jaw, and I let him touch me.

He does not know me, not as once he did. Nor is it me that he still loves: it is the memory of a 17 year old ingenue. But for the sake of that ingenue and her love for him, I accept that, accept the memory of his hands hot on my body and his lips tender on my skin.

My own heart belongs to another now, but his body still fits to mine, and his arms still give me the safety that I crave, if only briefly, terribly briefly.

Drape necklace HNT

Another pretty piece of Mouse's :)

This is so cool! It's little silver aluminum rings, and the black ones are rubber, making the whole necklace just stretchy enough to be comfortable. Get a better look here

Beltaine

Today is Beltaine, my favorite holiday. I will spend the morning fulfilling my obligations, and then this afternoon and tonight will be for me. I will read, and I will sunbathe, and I might just take a long, hot bath. I don't know yet. 

It will be the first Beltaine that I've spent without my lover around in 5 years. 

I will fill my altar with flowers, and I will touch my own body as my lover would if he were here.

Silver/copper anklet HNT

The next several HNTs will be Mouse's awesome jewelry. I highly recommend taking a closer look at this piece, which is silver and copper, and looks just decadent. Of course, it's bracelet-sized for most people... I'm just tiny :)

Playdate

He is standing in the middle of the room, naked and shivering a little. His face is a study in agony as I hold out the bright pink lace panties.

"Put them on," I tell him. 

He shivers, fidgets, groans a little, and gives me pleading eyes. 

I tap my foot. He's already wasted an hour of my time by being late, and I'm not impressed by the current dilly-dallying. 

Well... my mind isn't, but my cunt is wet, dripping down my thighs beneath my skirt, in fact. 

He finally drags them over his hips, starkly neon pink against his pale, pale skin.

Next, the black lace garter belt, and another long session of pleading with his eyes, his little whimpers of humiliation.

Finally, I hand him the black thigh-highs, and he bites his lip, face crimson in an agony of embarassment as he shifts his weight back and forth, .

My eyes are cold. "Stop fidgeting, and just be glad I was nice enough to leave the camera in the other room."

His head jerks up, eyes wide. "Yes, Miss," he whispers. 

Exactly!

Said better than I could have myself:

Sweet and Lowdown, "Prince Charming is Submissive"

New layout

I finally sat down and created a custom header... took me long enough, didn't it?

What do you think of the new layout and colors- opinions, please! 

New jewelry HNT

This is the beautiful new set of jewelry that Mouse made for me, to match my purple and gold corset. 

As always, her jewelry is available here