at last

23 06 2012

It has been a lot of months I don’t write. Today I don’t have a lot to write about but I would like to start again to write here, as a measure to remind of what I am and what I like.

Life caught me unprepared, as it should be. Moving to Milan was interesting but for the moment not really useful. Will I find here what I couldn’t find in London?
I hope so.

Hope is what I have left at the moment. Hope. For I am consumed by the desire of being held strongly and punished, to beg for more belt on my ass and such.
But nothing is happening, mostly due to my own shyness and my doubts.
To me it looks like I somehow fall back to a mind state I was in long time ago. The days of pleasure and chains looks somehow distant, London seems even more far than it actually is. How can I placate my thirst for slaps?
I try to administrate pain to myself, but it’s not the same. Plus it doesn’t feel right. Somehow this state of perpetual negation is a logical complement for a slave nature. But the sweet torture of being denied is much nicer than this absence of sex and orgasms, as it’s me deciding this and not someone deciding it for me – it has a different flavor.

Life is full of pleasures, the touching of a stranger on my tight, the dark eyes of a traveller, the white smile of a perfect mouth, but all distant and dreamlike, impossible to reach wih my hand.
Maybe I am unwilling to follow them to the source.

So I find myself indulging in self-denying, trying to take weird kind of pleasures from every single thing I can. Today holding in pee on the train for much longer than needed, then finally release with a small degree of pleasure, reminds me on when I had to ask to do this things and there was something stronger in that, something deeper. I long for that control over my mind and my body.

I like to think that a slave life should be full of pleasures, in order for the Master to deny them at he sees fit. But what do I know, in the end, of a slave’s life if not the little pieces I gathered during all these years of searching?

Fair enough, the search is not over.
Let’s hope we live in interesting times.

But then in the end a beat catches up my mind. How much and strongly I want to look right, to look perfect, to look what you need, what you want to posses, what you want to destroy to make yours, to recontruct as you want to.

I don’t know who you are though.

Find me, please.
Find me soon.

Holding on
I am a vagabond
It’s always different
I am the one who falls




2 responses

22 10 2012
You know it already

I’m not very impressed with your latest post. It is so WRONG.

London was not the disaster you think it was.

If you hadn’t had to go back to Italy, you’d have chains around your neck… NOW.

But you had to go. There wasn’t any choice.

Once you’re done in Italy… just say. You’ll be mine immediately. I’ll take you, I’ll own you, I won’t let anyone else EVER take you away from me – not even you.

But.. now.. you have a job to do. You have to learn. You have to pass. You have to finish your degree…. make your Mum happy… and satisfy that normal human need.

Once it’s been satisfied… then you’ll be free to be free… to make any choice for your life that suits you… including the choice that we both know is right.

You’ll choose to be my property, and I’ll choose to own you. For the rest of your life.

It should be, and it will be.


30 11 2012
Makeshift Alpha

London is about who you know in my experience and male subs are pretty much bottom of the pecking order. Good Luck in Milan.

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