The Payment Series
CASSANDRA CARR

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Prized: The Payment series, part 1
After agreeing to a one-year term of service with a benefactor who can pay her debt, Catrina Carter begins training in how to please a man. But will a benefactor be willing to spend such an astronomical sum-one hundred and fifty thousand dollars-just to have her for a year? She’s about to find out.

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Possessed: The Payment series, part 2
Jared, Catrina’s “benefactor”, has agreed to pay off her debt in exchange for one year of service to him. In addition to taking his own pleasure with her, Jared offers Catrina to friends, colleagues, and even total strangers on his whim. But it’s not all fun and pleasure for Jared. As part of the agreement, he’s tasked with helping Catrina get her life back on track. He’ll succeed even if he has to spank every piece of financial information into her, and he finds he just might have to do that.
 

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Purgatory: The Payment series, part 3
Catrina has finished her year-long term of service to Jared, her benefactor, who paid all her debt off. Now she’s on her own again. Will she be able to keep the lessons Jared literally spanked into her topmost in her mind, or will old habits rear their designer heads?

Author bio
Cassandra Carr is a multi-award winning erotic romance writer with Ellora’s Cave, Sybarite Seductions/Twenty or Less Press, Decadent Publishing, Siren Publishing, and Loose Id. She lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out online. Cassandra is the co-founder of two successful group blogs, Romancing the Jock and Dirty Birdies, and participates in several others as a contributor. Currently Cassandra also serves as president of Western New York Romance Writers.
For more information about Cassandra, check out her  website,  “like” her  Facebook fan page  or follow her on  Twitter .

Links:
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Rough Surrender by Cari Silverwood

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Title: Rough Surrender
Author: Cari Silverwood
Genre: BDSM, Historical Romance/Fantasy, Mystery, Romance, Suspense,
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Ebook
Words: 78,000

Purchase:

ARe | Amazon | B&N |

Book Description:

At a time when airplanes are as new-fangled and sensational as the telephone, Faith dares to fly.

The one territory she has not explored is her own sexuality. In Leonhardt she discovers the man who can teach her how a woman surrenders her body and her mind. However, Leonhardt has a shadowed past and his own learning to do. He doesn’t have the right to keep Faith from flying, even if he thinks airplanes are flimsy death-traps made of canvas, timber and their inventor’s prayers.

Faith has her limits, Leonhardt has his flaws, and sometimes the nicest people get murdered by unscrupulous bastards. Even if Leonhardt can save the woman he loves, the battle for Faith’s heart will be the hardest one of all.

WARNING: BDSM, anal sex, orgasms galore, and a Dom who likes to claim his property with pen, ink and bondage.

Excerpt:

“That’s better. Relax, darling. You’re meant to enjoy this.” His hands moved, untangling and unrolling the last lengths of her hair, drifting lower, following the contours of her upper back to her waist and circling her there, pausing for a moment before leisurely curving across the mounds of her bottom.
What she was allowing this man to do stunned her.
“You have lovely hair, Faith, a beautiful body. I could touch you like this all night.” He kissed her neck, tickling her with small nibbles. “I’m taking your dress off now. Your answer, my dear?”
An answer? He wanted speech when her throat had seized up? “Yes. Sir.”
The wall behind the chaise lounge was cream…the lounge was timber and blue and her legs shook. Already.
From the sound, he’d knelt then his hands encompassed her ankles and ran a little way up beneath the dress. Cool air caressed her body as he took the garment up. “Raise your arms, Faith.”
She did so. The dress pooled on the lounge where he tossed it. She’d never stood before a man in her underwear before–in corset, drawers and stockings–and this was a man who knew how to control her with mere words. The longing to know what he meant to do made her breath come harsh to her ears. Her lips parted.
“I like a woman who obeys my commands.” He rested his hands on her shoulders.
Before she could stop herself a small noise escaped her lips.
“Do you have a question?” His hands moved on her muscles, massaging and spreading a delicious warmth that pooled in her breasts and groin.
“Yes. Uh, sir.”
“Ask then.”
“I don’t obey.” She let her head slowly drop forward as he continued the massage, and his body moved in to mold against her back. A hard length pressed along the crevice of her bottom. “I don’t. Not normally. Just you. And here. Uh. That’s all, so nice.”
He laughed a little, softly, near her ear. “I could tell you liked it, sweetheart. Obeying me here and now is all I want.” He stepped away, keeping a single finger in the center of her back. “I’m going to take off the rest of your clothes, Faith and bind you.”
Oh my God.
“Now is when you should say, no, my dear. Then I’ll go.”
She licked her lips. Say, no? And miss what her body craved? He’d done what he had at the workshop–made her throb exquisitely in all her private places. She said nothing, wanting, needing, to see what else he could do.
“You want me to stay then.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” This time she heard roughness in his voice. “Good.”
He drew off her shoes, her drawers, her hose and corset until she waited there naked with the air caressing her skin. The man in her room was still clothed…and she was naked. Her heart thudded, fast and anxious.
“Put your wrists together, behind your back.” His voice softened as he moved away. Something knocked, then came muted noises. Mr. Meisner returned and stopped there, just behind her, within reach, where she couldn’t see, waiting.
She sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and did as he ordered–put her arms at her back. He wrapped some sort of rope around her wrists, tightened the bindings until she could do no more than twist her hands one against the other.
“The curtain cords,” he murmured. “Being an engineer, I like to use chains and metal when I can, but this will do, for your first time. How does that feel, Faith?” He set his hands on her hips. His skin on her naked skin. She shuddered, feeling wetness seep between her legs. “Turn around and look at me. Now.”
Of a sudden, seeing him looking at her was scarier than staring at the wall and knowing he did things to her behind her back. She bowed her head, felt her hands again–roped together. The position made her breasts jut out and as she looked, her nipples puckered and poked out like fat buttons.
“Faith. Turn and face me.”
“Yes, sir.” She shuffled around and his hands stayed on her, sliding at her hips, just above there, where she ached. His big brown eyes were on her and she couldn’t help but look up into them and be caught, the sensation turning topsy-turvy, messing with every thought in her head. Mr. Meisner had her in his hands.
“There, love. I do believe you like this.” His eyes crinkled and his mouth moved in the most heartwarming smile she’d yet observed. “You don’t need to answer that. I can see. In this.” He put both hands on her breasts, cupping them then brushing each thumb once across her nipples.
“Oh.” She swayed and found her eyes half closing.
“And this.” Deliberately, while his gaze still locked with hers, he let one hand leave her breast, trail down her stomach, across the triangle of hair…
No. He wouldn’t. She tugged at the ropes around her wrists but nothing gave. Her helplessness fed into the heaviness curling tight and low in her stomach. The nub of flesh inches from his fingers peaked and hardened. She tensed then arched into his hold, and still he watched.
His hand slid between her legs and paused there. “You’ve no hair on your lips down here, Faith.” His eyebrows rose a smidgeon.
He wanted her to speak? Just being there, still, his finger confused her, kept her thoughts centered on the minute details of what he did. “I…I remove it. A friend in Paris showed me. For cleanliness and all…um.” Her explanation trailed away, swallowed by the sensations bubbling up.
“Hmm, I like the result.” His gentle baritone hum…the spot his finger touched…her nakedness and the power this man had over her, and, oh, the way he watched, it all roiled deliciously around inside her.
She gulped then held her breath as…his finger followed the line of her slit, where wetness collected, and slow as a tongue licking the edge of an ice cream, nudged aside her lips, and dipped inside her. There. Oh. Yes. A coil of simmering energy seemed to squeeze down into the tightest ball, and quiver to be released. His thumb found her nub and pressed down firmly. Over and over and over.
Her heart stopped. The room shattered. Her breath came out in a choking squeak from her gaping mouth. Nothing existed except the storm of pleasure bursting upward from where he probed and pressed. Unable to stop herself, she jerked and moaned through each wave of the storm until her body was wrung dry of the very last shudder.
When the room centered and she raised her eyelids, Mr. Meisner held her in his arms, snuggled to his chest. He rubbed her back, just like he had on the boat. “There you go, sweetheart. Lord. Never seen any woman orgasm that easily. You do like this. Do you understand? You like being tied up.”
Your chance to win a copy of the book:
About the Author:

Though I’d much rather stay invisible and spin you all tales with my words, here’s a little snippet of my world.

I have a lovely family, here in Australia, with the prerequisite teenager who dwells in the dark bedroom catacombs…a husband who raises eyebrows when he catches glimpses of what I write, and a furry menagerie of other animals barking, meowing, and swimming about the place.

I write stories that will blast you from your bed & heroes who will drag you back there by your hair and ravish you endlessly – think kink, adventure and alpha men.

Find the Author:

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads |

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My Thoughts From Last Year’s 10th Anniversary of 9/11

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On this, the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I remember where I was that day and the events that occurred in the days immediately following it. I’m sure that every other American who was alive that day (and who was old enough to remember it), remembers the events of that day as well. I remember watching the morning news on CBS, as I waited for my sister-in-law to pick me up and take me to the ISU Daycare; I was being evaluated that day to see how I interacted with the children, and I was evaluating whether or not my MS (Multiple Sclerosis, a disease that attacks the body’s autoimmune system) could handle working at the daycare.
My sister-in-law picked me up immediately following the first plane being flown into a tower at The World Trade Center. When I left, I was still under the impression that there was a communication problem between the control tower and the planes flying into New York. It wasn’t until around noon, that I figured out that something more was going on. The majority of the international students at ISU took their children to the university daycare for childcare. In fact, most of the children in the class who weren’t American were the children of my Middle Eastern friends.
So, when my third friend came to pick up his two children, I asked him what was going on. That’s when I learned that a second plane had flown into The World Trade Center, and that a plane had hit the Pentagon, and another had been crashed in a Pennsylvania field. My immediate thought, was fear that my brother-in-law might have been hurt. He was a Marine who worked at the Pentagon, but luckily he wasn’t at the Pentagon that day.
The head of the daycare told me that I was free to leave for the day if I wanted to, because so many of the children had been picked up by their parents, I wasn’t needed. My sister-in-law picked me up and I decided to stay with her until my husband arrived back in town from work, and to be honest, I was a little nervous. It somehow felt “safer” to be with family. When we got back to my sister-in-law’s house, I found out that a bomb threat had been called into my oldest daughter’s elementary school. My second grader attended the elementary where the international students’ children attended; apparently, someone decide to call in a threat because they knew that “Muslim children” were there.
My husband decided to comeback into town early and pick my daughter up. The children at her school had to deal with two terror attacks that day, the planes that crashed and the bomb threat that led to them being evacuated from their elementary school.
Don’t get me wrong, I was terribly worried about the events that the hijackers caused that day. I was worried about all of the people in New York, and I felt a sense of pride at being a citizen of America, where First Responder’s were willing to risk their own lives, in order to save other’s. A country where our First Responder’s will rush into places where most people would run out of. A country where people rushed out to give blood and to sign up for the military, where the majority of it’s citizens came together as one, putting aside their differences. I think this is the point where my experience started to differ from the majority of my fellow citizens.
The next day when I arrived at my house, pushing a double stroller, I was greeted with the sight of 5 police cars. I approached two of the officers who were standing in front of my house, and tried to find out what was going on. However, when they said nothing was wrong I said: Look, my father was the first African American police officer in the town where I grew up, and there wouldn’t be 5 police cars in front of my house if there wasn’t a problem. So, WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON???? That’s when I learned that there were a large number of bomb threats being called in about the mosque, which was located directly across the street from my house.
I lived in an Indiana city that had an average of 60,000 citizens; I wasn’t scared that “Muslim” terrorists were going to attack me. In fact, one of the perpetrators of the first attack on The World Trade Center was being housed at the federal prison in the town where I lived (the same prison that the terrorist Timothy McVeigh, was executed at). However, I was in fear of different terrorists; I was scared of the Terrorists in my town, the one’s who would dare to call in a bomb threat on that horrible day.
These were the Terrorists who were calling in threats to the mosque that was directly across the street from my house. They were the people who were threatening my Muslim friends, even the one who was white and obviously born in America. My friends were being terrorized whenever they tried to leave their houses’. My husband I had friends who were asking if we thought they would be safer if they shaved their beards, to which we told them the sad truth, that it wouldn’t make any difference. Their skin tone’s would also give them away and there wasn’t anything they could do about that.
My husband and I had to get basic items for some of our friends because it wasn’t safe for them to leave their houses. One of my friend’s had just given birth to a beautiful daughter, who had dual citizenship for the United States of America and Egypt. I also had a new fear; countless times I’d watched my daughters’ play with their friends who were Muslim. And you know what I realized after 9/11, I realized that my multiracial daughters’ had the same skin coloring and hair texture as their friends.
That’s when I realized that the terrorist I feared, where of the homegrown variety; the terrorists that I feared, where the people who were calling in the bomb threats against the mosque that was across the street from my house. The terrorists’ that I feared, were the one’s who would look at my daughters’ and be unable to tell that they weren’t Middle Eastern, and might hurt them when they were away from me.

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One stp forward & two steps back

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women'...

Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Sexual Fantasies (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This past week has been a roller coaster ride of confusion & turmoil. Oddly enough, last Sunday ended with my husband & I have a huge argument. He told me have gave me permission to have the open marriage that I wanted…but guess what??? My ass was shocked, shocked that he’d actually told me that I could see other people & I was shocked because I wasn’t overcome with joy.

The weird thing about being a relationship with someone for half of your lifetime & ALL of your adult life, is that your entire life seems to revolve around your memories with this person. Well, at least that’s how it is in my case. I love this man, he as seen me at my worst & instead of running as fast as he could in the other direction, on one occasion he actually hitchhiked over 70 miles to be with me at the hospital. When I had the chance to study in Japan, this is the person who took care of my three year old so I could go.

I feel indebted to him, but to what degree do I owe him? For the past four years, we have essentially switched roles. I have become the backbone & tried to provide him with the same type of support. When he didn’t listen to me & chose to move by my abusive parent, I tried to go with the flow. He’d started a new job and seemed unhappy; I ignored the hurtful stories that he passed along from my dad. When I saw us drifting apart, I even made arrangements for a friend to watch our kids so we could have some alone time.

He switched jobs and hated it even more than the other job; I tried my damnedest to be supportive, I didn’t even complain about having to load the kids into the car at 5:30 in the morning to drop him off at work. Hell. I didn’t even bitch when he worked EVERY fucking holiday. But, by this time we’d started to really grow apart…no matter how many times I told him I wanted to study writing, he insisted I enroll in a program at our local college.

Fast forward to last week and we’ve grown so far apart that I didn’t even want him to touch me. On Monday, we had a more civil conversation about our relationship status & he’d agreed to an open relationship. He’d also agreed to go to therapy, he starts in a few hours. But, I’m still in pain because of things he’s done & said; I don’t know how to get past them, and he’s excuse tht it’s not his normal character just doesn’t cut it. There’s been no real apology & I don’t think I can move past these things until I feel he’s sincerely sorry.

Surprise. Surprise..he’s not REALLY willing to allow me to have an open relationship. He’s just willing to say that it’s okay. I’ve discovered its okay, as long as I don’t actually talk to someone else….

Every Sub Is Allowed A Temper Tantrum, Right?

English: Bent forward strappado

English: Bent forward strappado (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Okay, if you are a Dom reading this you are probably thinking HELL NO…..actually, the funniest thing that happened after my  outburst & fit of self-doubt is that the Doms all said to breathe.  So maybe it’s not all that unsubmissive to question the depth of one’s submissiveness , lol.

But seriously, after I was able to get past that huge period of self-doubt I was able to think about things more clearly. I was very productive, mapping out a beginning the writing process for an Interracial BDSM story ;). Started the day out on the right foot, worked through a really crappy event with a Dom & able to see it from an outsider’s perspective. Then said Dom was kind enough to use orgasm control in a manner that left me with a high/bliss like feeling….Thank You ;).

Tainted Love: A Memoir

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Learning How to Love
My therapist has asked me several times recently where I learned how to be such a loving and caring woman and mother, because I didn’t have an example of how to be that way. But that’s not true, I always come back to you, Dad. I don’t know what changed on May 26,1986, but I know that before that day you loved me. You taught me how to love and care about other’s.
I can remember the first time that you took me fishing just like it was yesterday. I was so excited, you took me outside to the backyard and you taught me how to look for night crawlers. You gave me a little spade and you carried a white plastic container with a clear lid on it. Then you told me to look underneath our deck because it was cool and dark there, and my best chance of finding any night crawler would be there. I remember the smile you had on your face, I could see all of your sparkling white teeth and I was so proud of myself.
I can still hear your voice as you told me that I did a good job. You let me play with that first night crawler for awhile. I was amazed by how long it was; I investigated every last ridge it had on it, and the way part of it was a purplish gray color. Then you started laughing when I started screaming after finding out that the brown stuff coming out of the end was poop; I started laughing too, but I held onto that night crawler. I watched with excitement as you put it into the white container on top of the dirt that you’d added, when I wasn’t looking.
I don’t remember how many night crawlers I collected that night , but I remember thinking how gross it was that we had to put the container in the downstairs refrigerator. Even though we only used that fridge for drinks and the built in keg tap, I was still grossed out. Then you told me to go to the upstairs bathroom that was across the hall from my bedroom and take a bath. We both knew how mad Mom would be if I got any dirt in the house. So I ran up the stairs,and immediately to a bath.
I could hardly sleep that night, and I had to go to bed before my normal bedtime because we would be leaving early the next morning. Mom came to check on me, but I heard her coming and made sure to pretend like I was asleep. I was scared that if she caught me awake, she wouldn’t let me go fishing with you the next day.
You had told me that an older man named Frank Tribble would be going fishing with us. I spent part of the time I was awake,trying to imagine what Mr. Tribble would be like. I figured he would nice because you said that you’d known him since you were my age. At the time, it seemed like that was forever; it’s funny how a six year old views time. I finally fell asleep.
The next morning you came to wake me up at the crack of dawn. I didn’t understand what that expression really meant until that morning; at five in the morning, there had barely been a streak of light in the dark purple sky. I didn’t care though, I was just happy to help you collect all of our fishing gear. I remember telling mom good bye as I ran after you to your old red and white Ford truck.
We put all of the gear into the bed of the truck, and then you opened the passenger side door and helped me climb into the cab. I sat down in the middle and you double checked my seat belt to make sure it was fastened correctly. Then you walked around to the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck; the engine started to purr once you turned the key, and then we set out on adventure.
When we got to Mr. Tribble’s house, he was sitting on his porch waiting for us to arrive. Once he got situated in the passenger’s seat, you introduced us to one another. I remember being amazed at how small and skinny he was. Mr. Tribble lived off of Sixth street, right around the corner from the Benjamin Banneker community center. As we passed Banneker, you told me that when you were little it used to be the black school.
I was confused and asked what a “black school” was, then you told me that when you were little all of the black kids in Bloomington went to that school. I asked you how come you all went to the same school, because I was the only black kid in my class. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that when you were little, black kids and white kids didn’t go to school together. You told me that when you went to Bloomington High school, the black and white kids went to school together.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about that conversation. All that my little brain could focus on was catching fish; I was convinced that I would catch a ton of fish in no time at all. I knew what to do, my dad had already shown me how to cast & I’d practiced reeling in several imaginary fish over the last twenty-four hours.
As we got closer to my dad’s special spot, I began to notice sounds that I’d never heard before; the closer we got to the private pound, the foggier it became outside the truck. I never would’ve admitted it at the time, but I had started getting scared. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the fear must have been evident on my face, because both my dad and Mr. Tribble started laughing.
Then my dad told me that the low gurgle like sounds that I was hearing was only two frogs trying to find one another. He said it was like when my sister and I would yell for one another when we were in different rooms, those frogs just wanted to know what one another were doing. By the time my dad parked the truck, all of my fear was gone and I was ready to catch some fish.
At the time, I had no idea that that fishing trip would be one of my fondest memories of him. I guess I loved that day, because he didn’t have to be the cop who took care of everyone or the coach who taught teens how to play football. That day he was just my dad, sharing your history with me and showing me what a parent’s love was supposed to be like.
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
One of my earliest memories took place at this church; I was walking with my mother when a woman stopped us and said that I looked like my mother. I looked at her and said with the simplicity of a child: No I don’t, I’m my daddy’s girl! As young girl I was my dad’s shadow; to me, the sun rose and set with my father. If my dad went somewhere, I was always right there by his side. I was there when we got into his truck when it was still dark outside, and we stopped to pick Frank Tribble up, so we could set off on one of our 5a.m. fishing trips. My dad had a secret spot on the northern end of the county. On my first trip I of course caught the most & largest fish. I can remember the excitement that I had when I described the “big mouth” bass that I caught. My dad just smiled and didn’t even tell me that it was really called a large mouth bass. Then there were all the football practices that he took me to, where I would yell at the players to get their legs up higher as they ran through the tire drills. Or the fact that he used to call me little bird, because he painted the wood trim around our rock garden white and I got into the wet paint. He told me that it looked like a little bird had gotten into it & thus my nickname was born.
When I was little, I would get scared every-time he went to work because I didn’t know if he would return home safely. Well, I paid attention to all of the lessons that I had at daycare on calling 911 to call the police. In fact, you could say that I learned the lesson too well. I would always call 911 & ask if I could speak to my father. However, that all changed the day the 911 dispatcher called my house and spoke to my mother. She asked my mom if she could teach me the non emergency number for the police department, apparently they didn’t feel that my wanting to speak to my dad was an emergency….ooooooppps!
If you knew my father in a professional way or if he was ever your football or wrestling coach, then you know that my father could be tough. He wanted you to give him 110% of your effort, because that’s what he always gave. I’ll be the first to admit that at times it could be frustrating. But to this day, I can still feel the pride he had when he told me that he’d heard my name on the radio, after I won the 300 meter hurdles at my first high school competition.
However, my father wasn’t always tough. I can still see the tears that ran down his face on the day of my prom. You’re probably thinking that his tears had something to do with me growing up, but you’d be wrong. He was really crying because the thing he wanted the most for his birthday in 1992, was for his little bird to get better from my paralysis. So for his birthday, I was able to walk to him unassisted and I saw my father cry. He also cried when he held each of my daughters’ for the first time. I may not be my Daddy’s little girl anymore, but I will always cherish the memories of when I was.

 

Copyright Bisublivinginvanillaworld 6/18/12

All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole

or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Undeserved Sorrow

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It’s funny, my dad is dead but I’ve thought about him all day long; last yr on Father’s Day I felt so much anger towards him, I posted a facebook status that wished all fathers a happy day except for my own. Last night, a very wise Dom told me that I wasn’t really sad because my dad’s not here, but that I was sad because my dad wasn’t the father that he should’ve been.
It’s true, all these months that I’ve been mourning my father, but I’ve not been mourning the man who died on September 21, 2012. Lately, the song Somebody that I Used to Know/em>; has been the one that comes to mind, and slips through my lips when I’m experiencing my deepest moments of anguish.
I guess it’s kind of fitting that this song represents the two most important men in my life, my father and my husband. In the beginning they were both the forces that could make the sun shine in my life, now they’re the forces that bring the storms and clouds. Perhaps, I put them both on pedestals that would’ve been difficult for any man to remain on; in actuality, I think the tainted love that my father created in my life found a way to seep into other relationships.
After all, my dad was one of the biggest influences on my deciding to pursue my husband. I wanted to be with someone who was as different from my dad as possible, my pale redheaded husband is about as different as I could get from my brown skinned dad. Growing up in in my father’s house I learned one thing for sure, I wouldn’t marry a man who would beat me or my children. My father taught me how to fight, no it may not have been during a scheduled lesson, but I learned how to kick some ass from him. Hey, a girl only lets a bat get broken on her back once. At the time I took it as a compliment when my mom was driving my 17 yr old self back to the place where I was staying, and she said, “Girl, you really know how to fight. You didn’t just scratch and claw, you were punching him!”
Today as I think about that afternoon, I realize how entirely fucked up it was for my mom to compliment me on my fighting skills. It’s those situations that led to all the tests that my husband had to pass. To be completely honest, I would’ve left my ass; there’s no way in hell I would’ve tolerated someone throwing raw chicken at my ass. It would’ve been on, like Donkey Kong. The first time someone would’ve thrown something at me or used their hands to strike my body, that would’ve been the end.
But, somehow he was able to see beneath all the hurt and anger; he knew I was a diamond in the rough. I guess that’s part of why it’s been so painful to go throw all of the shit we’re going through right now. He loved me at a point when I didn’t truly love myself; he helped me grow into the woman that I am today. Unfortunately, now that I’m stronger I am able to see things more clearly; I am able to see through all the manipulative bullshit that he tries. My dad was the king of manipulative behavior, I’m just surprised it took me so long to see what was right in front of me.
I guess since it’s father’s day I should thank my dad for all of the wonderful things that he taught me, I’ve got a feeling my list is going to be a little different from my friends lists’. Here we go. THINGS THAT MY DAD TAUGHT ME:
1. No man better ever hit me, and if he does there’s no need to apologize because I’ll be gone
2. Be careful what you say, because you never know how the other person is going to throw it back in your face
3. Just because someone seems nice and loving in public that doesn’t mean that’s their true self
4. Size up your opponent, look for their weakness, give them a strong right hook & then kick them in the nuts if you have to
5. No matter what I do, it’s never going to be good enough for you
6. The people you love are the one’s who can hurt you the most
7. That I should be ashamed of my body
8. I’m going to grow up to be a worthless whore, that no one will ever love
9. If someone is choking you, hold your breath and the might actually believe they’ve killed you…in my case it did make him quit choking me
10.it’s possible for the person that you love the most in the entire world, to tell you they’re thinking about killing you and then themselves
11. Any time that I experience sexual pleasure, I should also feel shame & guilt…although, I’m not entirely sure if you wanted me to experience shame & guilt or just not have sexual pleasure

That wise Dom is correct, I am NOT sad because you are gone. I am sad because the father I loved died the first time that he beat me. I guess I spent the rest of my life hoping that somehow, someway, that amazing man would resurface; and to be completely fair, he did show up from time to time.
I remember when I was going to graduate from college (it was my first graduation, the quadriplegia kind of fucked up that whole high school thing for me), I didn’t have enough money to buy my cap and gown. He sent me the money, even though he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to attend.
I also have fond memories of things that he did with his grandchildren, taking them fishing, buying them clothes, taking them to the zoo. He even barbecued for one of his grandchildren’s birthdays; on a hot and sweaty July day, he didn’t complain when he had to cook on two grills, using separate tools so that our Muslim friends would be able to celebrate with us.
I’m mourning these brief glimpses of time, when he was that AMAZING man. I’m sad that that man died when I was in fifth grade, but I’m also sad that it took me until today to realize it. Since my father’s no longer here, I will never know why he changed. There are times that I wish he were still here so I could ask him, what the fuck happened?
I want to know how a person can go from being the most amazing father one day, and become a horrific monster the next. I’ve tried to examine everything that occurred and see if there were any common factors, besides me of course. I’m pretty sure his problem was me & anyone with a cock. Maybe, he thought I’d remain a virgin for the rest of my life….his beatings had the opposite effect, they sent me into the arms of anyone who showed me love.

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Somebody That I Used To Know

Decisions, Decisions

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It’s been an interesting week to say the least; the truth is out and now it’s decision making time, except I’m not really sure what choice I should make. My husband asked me what kind of marriage did I want, I said open. I love my husband but I’m not “in love” with him right now; we’ve both changed over the last 18 yrs, in someways I think we changed roles.
When we met I was 18, and had discovered I was pregnant a few weeks earlier. We actually became friends in the first place because I would talk to him while I would wait for my fiancé at his dorm. The more we talked the more I found him attractive, but nothing happened until after I broke up with my daughter’s father. In someways he was my knight in shining armor; when my mom went to the other side of the country in order to leave my dad, I was left with no family and a two month
old. He was my rock. When I was totally freaked out and stressed, his family watched my daughter so I could have a few days to try and wrap my head around things.
He saw me at my worst, but he still loved me. God knows I tested him more than any person should ever be tested; I had to know that he wouldn’t beat me or my child, I wasn’t going to repeat my childhood. I can say with complete honesty that he has never physical hurt me, or any of the children.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way my needs changed and I discovered I would actually like someone to hurt me in a BDSM way. I can’t say if this is just a phase and next week I’ll want something different. Although, it’s been my desire for over a year & a half….way before the Fifty Shades of Grey craze. It is also all but impossible for me to respond to him as a Dom; I’ve tried and it just doesn’t work.
One of the reasons I love him, is because he truly knows my (which also makes it easier for him to hurt me). While we were laying on the bed talking about things, and he was trying to get me to stop crying he said something that I’ve thought from time to time.
You know, you were jerked out of high school before your class even graduated. Then you were thrust into college & you got pregnant. If you think about it there are a lot of things you never got to experience. Then he said that maybe I needed some space so that I could experience those things.
I’ve been living under the cloud of all types of abuse until last year, when I decided it was time for me to heal. Maybe, all of these changes have occurred within me because I’m finally strong enough to shovel through the crap. In my everyday lives I’m am strong and always fighting to keep moving towards the goal. However when it comes to things of a sexual nature, I find it more gratifying and freeing when I am being submissive.
I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to understand and learn about my true submissive nature; hell, to be honest I’m not even sure what all turns me on or what all is out there. Through my “mentoring”, I’ve discovered that I apparently like a little shame, humiliation & guilt. I’m also learning that you can like things in varying degrees. I also have a Domme side, but generally is only arousing to me in terms of being with another woman. I already knew I loved orgasm control and have been exploring this aspect as well.
I’ve also learned some things about my sexual preferences that I am not altogether comfortable with, and have had ideas, vids or discussions that have triggered negative reactions. These negative reactions correlate to things that I’ve recently identified in therapy.
It’s nice to have someone who will push me when I try and change the subject because I’m uncomfortable. It’s not such a great feeling when I upset the person that I’m working with,I’ve always hated disappointing people so maybe thats the submissive in me.
This journey is nowhere near complete, and I know that it’s going to have some really rough parts (like trying to figure out what type of marriage I’m going to be in), but I’m also going to learn who I really am, what I do and don’t like, and hopefully get to a point where I’m comfortable with the fact that I really like, love sex.

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Stuck

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A wise man once said

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds

&

The truth is everyone is going to hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth suffering for

BOB MARLEY

I’ve been trying to free myself from my mental slavery for awhile; I can even say that I don’t hate you, too bad it didn’t happen while you were still here. I often think that I wish that I’d had the chance to say good-bye to you, but what would I have said? I’m sorry that you’re death is near, I love you….or would it be more along these lines: I’m sad that the end is near for you, I can’t begin to tell you the pain I have in my heart. But, I am angry as hell at you! Do you realize that I loved you more than anything else in this entire world? Perhaps, that’s the reason you were able to crush my soul; I spent more time with you than anyone else, so you knew how to make sure the pain stuck.
For the first few months after you died, I could only feel sadness for the loss of the man that everyone else knew. Now, now I can feel the anger and hurt for the monster you were as well. I’m angry that you turned me into the broken person that I am right now. I know this phase will pass, you know the phase when all of the horrible things you ever did or said get stuck on repeat. I can clearly hear the bass of your voice when you said that maybe you should kill me and then kill yourself. Who does that? Who says that fucking kind of thing to their own child? Maybe I could’ve forgiven you if you only said that one time, if I only thought you were going to take my life once. But, I can’t begin to count the number of times you said or did these kind of things to me. Here’s my question for you: Why didn’t you go ahead and kill me?
You never physically killed me, but each time one these things happened it killed apart of my soul and destroyed my self-esteem. Do you know that when something goes wrong, it’s never just that one thing for me. I hear you say I’m worthless and no one would want me, I hear you when you’re saying you should kill me…or, my heart’s racing and I have a feeling like the closed door is going to be busted open (you did do that, so I guess that’s founded). The only time I remember a dream, is when I’m dreaming you’re trying to kill me. For months I’d been stuck, stuck in the stage where I just felt sadness for your loss.
To the depth of my being, I don’t think you intended to fuck me up like you did. Constantly trying to find someone that I can please, because I could never please either of you. Hell, I even tried to make sure that you were taken care of after your strokes, when you caught your house on fire, and through all of your heart problems. You didn’t deserve my kindness, or my love. I stupidly gave them to you anyway.
I obviously haven’t mastered the second quote; I care about almost everyone. I’ve always treated other’s the way that I want to be treated, sadly it is rarely reciprocated. I’ve been told that I see thing as either black or white, with no grey in the middle. I’m not sure that’s the best description; I think I start out trying to trust people, but eventually realize the truth.
Even with YOU,I can’t be mad. It’s not like you lied to me and told me that you cared about me. It is simply the fault of my tainted mind; I erroneously tend to believe that it’s possible for me to make someone care about or find value in me. I want trust people too easily; I want someone to want to protect and care for me. So today, I am determined to find a way to bring this pain to the surface whenever I meet someone. Maybe I can find a way to cause some kind of electrical shock/or other instant form of pain to be triggered, whenever I start to think I can trust someone. I’ve heard it said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different result; I’m going to change things up, maybe I can create a mantra to repeat throughout the day: trust & care for no one, after all it’s what they would do for you 🙂 !