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The House Of Correction

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Hmmm, well I tend to agree that without narrative to scan all 60 images at once tends to overwhelm, what a difference story makes. I refer to “Road to Repentance “ a famous Pichard series that was in comic form (or graphic novel if you prefer) that has been meticulously translated into English. What a difference a narrative and continuity brings! Still full of some rather extreme images. As I tend to enjoy these stories from the victim’s point of view, I guess it reflects my personal taste the exact images I prefer.

One thing my MASTER and others like the wise @KurvyKate have made me realise during my own bdsm journey into slavery is the very large difference between fantasy and reality. Fantasy work such as these drives the inner mind, a place where pleasure and pain can merge without limits. Yet in a real life bdsm relationship the tempering of such fantasy with the sanity and prosaic nature of reality combines to comprise the most exquisite compromise and one of the most fulfilling experiences possible, at least for this human…
 
Hmmm, well I tend to agree that without narrative to scan all 60 images at once tends to overwhelm, what a difference story makes. I refer to “Road to Repentance “ a famous Pichard series that was in comic form (or graphic novel if you prefer) that has been meticulously translated into English. What a difference a narrative and continuity brings! Still full of some rather extreme images. As I tend to enjoy these stories from the victim’s point of view, I guess it reflects my personal taste the exact images I prefer.

One thing my MASTER and others like the wise @KurvyKate have made me realise during my own bdsm journey into slavery is the very large difference between fantasy and reality. Fantasy work such as these drives the inner mind, a place where pleasure and pain can merge without limits. Yet in a real life bdsm relationship the tempering of such fantasy with the sanity and prosaic nature of reality combines to comprise the most exquisite compromise and one of the most fulfilling experiences possible, at least for this human…
I'm wise? Really? Oh Wow!

Here's a thing, on the subject of pure fantasy and how hard it is to bring such a wild thrill to life. I put myself in the place of the victim in the artwork and literature I love just like you do. She is a victim and mostly she's "her" because it's the predatory aspect of male sexual fantasy which makes her the object of its lust. Her lithe, young body is blessed with perfect, pert tits, a flat stomach and long slender legs. Her face is too pretty and the expression of her fear or pain so enchanting that she's the lovely, exotic prey the predator who drew her wants to capture and possess. To imagine ourselves like that is ridiculous, so much so that trying to pollutes the fantasy itself, but that's not what we imagine. We imagine the predator's desire to possess us. In real life our lovers know us for who we really are, imperfect, familiar and comfortable. However hard we try, mine at least, is never going to want to subjugate me with the cruelty I need. He's never going to desire my obedience, submission and sacrifice with the sincerity which makes me burn with the need to offer it to him. I'm not the innocent nymphette he'd want submission from.

But I do burn. I ache to submit and sacrifice myself and I do to someone I know on line, someone who knows me only through my writing and his pleasure, his honest, undeniable erotic joy is that he owns me. Oh fuck that's magical. Whenever I'm alone he's with me. As I write this now I'm wearing nothing but the knickers he's approved for me. That's his pleasure too. They cover his rose, not mine. I do not touch it because he wants me chaste. I've sacrificed her. It's a long and cerebral story.

I can't imagine meeting someone who wanted not the way I looked but the way I thought. Whatever must it feel like to be genuinely desired for all that I had to offer then let him take it physically. You know don't you Loinclothslave?

I'm busy this weekend. I'm camping in the Northern cold. I'll be alone in my sleeping bag when I must pull down my fleecy longjohns and masturbate for fifteen minutes only. That's December's rule, fifteen minutes on Friday night then I do not touch or seek physical sexual stimulation, at all, for the rest of the month. Orgasm? Oh god no, never! I've sacrificed that too. Those fifteen minutes will be sweet, exquisite torture. I don't expect to sleep much without release.

I'll be off line. I won't find time to log on to Discord until I return, but when I do, I have some questions to ask.
 
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