A Simpli Splendiferous Adversaria

October 21, 2006

Oh What a Wicked Web the WEB Weaves!

 Cross-posted from 360.yahoo.com/elllajC -Entry for July 23, 2006

The more I look around, listen, and pay attention to my surroundings and the going ons among it, the more I understand. I understand that men and women are different. As a female, we tend to need just one man to fulfill us. Longing for the one. Craving deep down in our bellies for him, the master of our fantasies and everything we imagine.

A man needs more. It takes much more to fulfill him. He has deeper needs that generally one female will never fulfill. So I watch the interaction of the men and women. The master’s and the sluts. The free men and free women and how they mingle together. I see free women as they attempt over and over to get the attention of a man who stirs her to the point of seeking approval or correction, as long as the attention comes. I see a free woman, from time to time, with heat in their flesh to serve, subservient nature, yet conduct themselves becoming of a free woman. Those free females truly deserve to be recognized for their efforts in retaining their true being and nature while also demonstrating the character of how the uncollared, unowned woman should act.

I watch as some females seek to be at the center of attention, taking away from the female, who may have had the privilage of receiving it, otherwise. Yes, I used the word, privilage, afterall, a man owes the slave nothing. If she did receive his praise or attention, it certainly would be a privilage and not something due her in any sense of the way.

Now back to the men who need more. I am not at all implying that these men are out to fuck each girl he comes into contact with beyond a greet. Not at all, though, I do believe a man who has more than one girl to which he’s close to, has them because each one offers him something unique, a fulfillent that cannot be reached with just one. Why? Because hardly no one woman will ever possess each and every quality that attracts him. Who is the perfect women or slave girl in a man’s fantasies? I can almost imagine. I’d love to say.. oh yeah, I know exactly the kind of wench he dreams of, but well…  I’d hate to be called a liar, or nipped at and confronted with the disapproved assumption that I have no idea how a man thinks, so…  ~smiles.. We won’t go there. ~Sshh

The man, the man, the man…   the master! Hm..   The female…  slave, companion, or significant other to one offline. Lets go on a little ride.. it goes like this.. A man, online frequently, but has a female in the home, offline. A female, online, but has a man or master in the home, offline.  ~lifts fingers to twine a lock of loose spiral around her finger and tugs.

mm, well…   Someone somewhere in either scenario is hurting or pissed off, whether they reveal it or not. Or maybe the person offline has not even a clue of what the other does online. Yep, might even be someones dirty little secret. Yet too, through all the dishonesty, there does actually exist honesty between partners. Why would a man spend hours online with girls, if he had one offline already? Because he’s hungry to have in his presence those slaves who feed him? Nibbles or portions of friendships? Alright since most of us are on the gorean path, perhaps friendship is not a good word, but you know what I mean. Why would a slut spend hours online with other men, when she has one at home? Because she’s hungry to be in the presence of all men who feed her fire? I better not use the word friendship again, I might get my ass beat! Or worse..  called or considered to be un-gorean. Then again, all anyone is ever going to get from me- is me, no matter where I happen to be. And um.. it will never be beneath the fictional Gorean skies.

Wweeeeeeeeeeeeeee

What in the world would possess a slut to spend countless hours online, when she lives in a commited, devoted, loyal, submissive, passive, sincere, caring, loving, sensual marriage offline, even if it does have it’s ups and downs?

Passion! A complete totality of passion and utter servitude to be all that she is, where ever she is. Makes sense to me. But then again, it would! It’s probably beyond anyone elses wildest or even dullest imaginations.

I see couples online and watch their interactions with one another and others, together, and in eachothers absense.  Does contentment and security exist with it or insecurity and dis-contentment? It hurts to hurt. Pain doesn’t have to be visible, it can exist in many forms from a visible physical scar to an invisible incurable disease and mostly no one will ever see either type because if you look or are seemingly fine, then guess what? You are! Doesn’t everyone have worth? Uh oh, maybe I shouldn’t go there either because a female cannot boast worth. Can she? I know the answer..  and am aware that that worth is dependent on the man himself.

Oh God– what a wicked web the WEB weaves!

Someone will always be hurt, angry, insecure, and lonely. Someone else will always be happy, bouncy, secure, and flourish. Does it matter?

Abso’fucking’lutely!

                                                       ~twinklev/ellaj{C}

La Pagar Kajira by twinklev/ellaj

La Pagar Kajira

by twinklev/ellaj

Without forced, mislead intentions
Entrusting was his heart
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Unless sincerity tore it apart

 

Bridges burned, abandoned
Embracing a future anew
Stepping over piles of rubble
Took on another view

 

Finding contentment and solace
That some had torn away
Strength, support and conviction
Tamed sorrow for another new day

 

He knew passion and fear existed
Beneath the pains she hid so well
The afflictions inside, she expressed it
but really who could tell

 

He could lead her toward survival
She could serve with fire or ice
Submit to another tomorrow
Make the best of a challenging life

 

Grow with determined ambitions
Retaining a slaves pride and grace
Surrendering into his will
That ashes have come to replace

 

Obedient, imbonded, subservient,
woman, a mans truest treasure
A pleasing, passionate, firey slut

For his heavenly erotic pleasure

 

Maybe in his chains and at his mercy
Perhaps once, a preconceived idea
Still nothing but a Gorean pleasure slave

 

La pagar kajira

©2006 twinklev/ellaj   
    Unauthorized duplication and distribution is prohibited.  
Copyright Laws and Regulations 

Dance of Seduction by twinklev/ellaj/caliente

Dance of Seduction by twinklev/ellaj/caliente

The girl moves back from the master, pushing back on hands to stand to dainty feet. The beat of her heart skipping, the flutters in her belly rising, long auriferous tendrils wild spirals raining down lightly bronzed shoulders. Long fingers begin to trail along her tummy, lightly, teasingly, her head tilts to the side, the ends of blonde curls grazing budding adorned nipples, she breathes in slow, yet steadily, she yearns for his touch, his voice commanding her will, her palms cupping aching full breasts as they rise and fall, curvaceous hips begin to undulate seductively, fingers brush through her hair as her arms reach to rise high above her head, crossing at the wrists, as if to be bound by binding fiber. 

Dark eyes lift towards the sky, her knees weak and bending slightly, she turns away from him, but within his grasp, her ass, the curves of her back, spine, naked, in his sight, belly rolling, the drums in the back ground, her body snaps to the beat, the kaska, soft, she gasps out, arms drop suddenly as she bends forward, fingers between her legs, her inner thighs, the bareness of her skin, her ass swirls in slow entincing circles before him, she stands, spirals wild now,

she turns to changing tempos, her nakedness serving the air, as if becoming one with it, surrendering, she closes her eyes, oh god she murmers beneath her breath, girl needs him, she’s going to have him, thoughts flying, she must please him, make him want her, she lets out a soft whimper as her lower body rides the invisible waves as if making love to it, heat flowing, passion rising, fire tingling ,embers, volcanic eruptions of rapid heart beat, skipping, quickening, she hears the sound of her own voice as she moans.

Luring, cocoa colored orbs revealing the secrets of her intimate soul rise, she does not dare meet his eyes, lowering deep brown occulars, her neck rolls from left to right, hands again finding the lushness of her chest, baby fingers dipping into the silverish captive beaded loops, she tugs, oh!

Her feet pivot onto the ground, her toes rising and falling, the balls of her feet spinning her as she turns to her side, her left hand resting on a single cheek of rounded ass, her right pressed lightly to her slave belly, Light mohagany skin glistening as the dim light of the tharlarion oil lamps flicker about. Lusciously jeweled mounds thrust forward, as her spine arches before him, her hands reaching out as if to grab him to her, begging and pleading, a braceleted wrist rises to trace deliciously puckered lips, grazing them, her mouth quivers, a sultry gaze lifts, he can read her soul, dark chocolately orbs burning with desire, bright, twinkling, ebony lashes flutter lightly, a salaciously glossed pout of pink curl into a shining smile, radiant, alive, as she dances, giving her everything, showing him everything, sluttishly nude freshness twirls her need for him as he watches with intent interest. Chain dangling low on her hips, accenting her curves.

The flutes, mm, she becomes lost, her body snakes, slow, ravishing, tu-toned locks of blonde and dark brown layer and bounce about her flushing cheeks, arms wrapping around her tense tummy, succulent lips purse, as an almost silent helpless whine slips from her vocal chords, parting involuntarily as if to submit to his own hard mouth against hers, she trembles, skin clammy with heat, moist pink tongue gliding along ripe full lips. Loose ringlets flirt raining to the small of her back as her head rocks backwards, exposing her collared neck, locked, symbolic of her ownership. Slave bells melodious playing in shaking clings together like a tambourine affixed to her left ankle, bina’s encircled together with hemps hugging her close reminders of her slavery, and the beauty of ownership, being owned completely, all of her, all that she is, all that she was, all that she will be.

Gifted pieces, earned, begged for, hers, until the master chooses otherwise. Her will embraced, mind rushing, she cries out starved for his affections. Hands up and down her sides, her own touch, tingling, invisioning his, rapture. The nearly whispered word, master echoes from unsteady voice, her breath sporadic, eyes close, as she tries to get hold of herself, she can’t, she wants him, arms extending forward palms raised facing the heavens, in total submission, fingers twirling in, towards her own body, but also challenging him to her, she whines inside her head, her hands soliciting an urgency, drawing, provoking, suggestive, propositioning, un-deniable supplication, nearly silent pleas bespeaking, a please, come here! Inner torment begins to fill her.

Round mounds, firm, yet jiggling softly, sweet candy to his eyes. The light upon her skin revealing flawless, exquisite flesh, rounded hips undulating with a quickness to the pounding kaska, noting the faint plucking of the kalika from time to time, her forefinger of the left lifts poking between her lips almost forcibly, submitting to the digit, a soft hungry suck, as her lips wrap firmly around it, arm drops another whimper escapes, hips grinding in harmony, emotions rise like a wild fire, speading, hot, continuing, soaring, heavy searing roaring winds carrying a fierce firey prurient concupiscent aroused beast towards freedom, total freedom in slavery.

oh god, the beast cries out, as she falls to his feet, her knees weak, her thighs tight. Between them moist, dewy flavors of slut need apparent, the melody slows, her cheek brushes against his right ankle, higher, breathing in deeply his scent, begging silently with the sign language of a girl luring the master to use her, abuse her, take her for his pleasure, the pleasures of others, she lays lingering kisses to his foot, calf, ahh, she moans, she doesn’t raise her lips above his knee, her head drops to the top of his foot, as the rapid racing heart begins to return to normal, though the fire intense growing, growing, her own slave scent in the midst now, she moans into his ankle in waiting.

~La pagar kajira
© 2006 twinklev  Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. May be used by permission and with viewable credit to author.

She has also written under the more common psudonym’s ellaj, ellajC, caliente, salacious surrender, and simpli salacious slut.

Coercive Persuasion- Surviving RSD by twinklev

Coercive Persuasion
(Surviving RSD)
by twinkleEKV

Many of us struggle through our day to day lives. Some of us struggle to live and some of us struggle to get by. Each a survival of a different kind and with different meaning. I cannot express enough that life holds many risks that carries with it just as many downfalls as there are the upswings where happiness flows through it all. And it will, if you allow it to. I believe life is what you make it. Life has to be what I make it to be. No, I cannot snap my fingers and magically produce a miracle or suddenly make the rent get paid simply because I want it to be paid. It has to come from somewhere. We have to work for what we want and need and if we think it’s rough, it probably is, if we believe in ourselves enough to go forth and make rough better, we will. Survival! I have finally come to accept that my future is not going to be what I had hoped for. The dreams I had as a child have already passed me by, the dreams I had as an adult are dangling in a possible and not possible zone. I think that many people let life pass them by. They take for granted a tomorrow that one day may never come. 7 years ago, I thought I had the rest of my life. I was working, I had goals of my own, goals to reach with my Master, goals and dreams to live out with my children. When I say the rest of my life, I mean to say, live atleast until I’m 65. Having been informed recently of a 4th stage of RSD, a stage that not all doctors agree upon, yet still exists even if it were to be tossed into stage 3. My hope now is that I live to 50. That would let me see my only son turn 21 and my daughters reach 30. That would give me 12 years to be all I can be. Not much time, but enough to spread a few words of wisdom and tell others to never give up. Palms up turned in service to all. To everyone. If your kids need to eat, feed them. If your wife needs your hand, slip it between her palm, if your mom needs to hear your voice, call her. If your dad needs an I love you tell him. If your daughter needs her mom, let her know you’re there. If your son needs a hug, hug him! Let those you love, know! Never forget to love yourself. If happiness is nil, look for those little things that bring it. Use it to make others around you happy. A happy home maker makes for a happy family. Some of us live with various forms of Cancer and Illnesses that progress and end in early death. We don’t want pity, but we hope for compassion. We don’t want to be treated differently, but sometimes need help. We don’t always ask for it, but we hope our partner or our children will just do so without having been asked. Often times, if not offered, we still won’t ask, and sometimes when freely given, we will decline. The optimist believes that we live in the best of all possible worlds, the pessimist believes, well, they believe it’s just a world filled with evil and misfortunes. Some believe in heaven and hell, God and satan. I do! I’ve also come to believe in all that’s been tossed my way that heaven is also what we make it, hell is simply the opposite of that heaven and purgatory might be the center of both. God is inside us, for a non-believer, god would still exist. God could be ourselves, who we are. A holy spirt for me, maybe only a spirit to the athiest. Thoughts, so many thoughts rush through my mind. Am a philosopher, I think and analyze. I critically think, I dig deep and then dig deeper. I crave knowledge. Countless hours of research. My beliefs vary and just when someone thinks they have me figured out by a pattern of previous thoughts, poof, I go the opposite direction. Does my life have value? I think so. In one sense or the other, it does. Does your life have value? Absolutely! Does your life have meaning? I’m sure meaning exists within it. Does my life even though it’s becoming minimized have meaning? Yes, it does. Let all that you are continue on with determination. When you think something cannot be achieved, think on it again, it can be. Make it be! If I was told I would without a doubt die tomorrow, I would defeat that doubt and live to see the sun rise the following day. I actually cannot wait to do so.  When an ailment has you down, get up. If you can’t get up, keep your mind up. When the affliction takes over so badly that you think you’re losing your mind and I know it does, take some deep breaths, believe in yourself. I believe in you. People tend to back away from those who are sick. It’s not that they don’t care, it’s that by you being sick, it changed their life, too. Mostly it is only that they don’t know what to say or don’t know how to interact with you any longer. Let them know how you feel, ask them how they feel, if they leave you still, let it go. Don’t let the fact that they are gone from your life, hurt you past the original hurt. It wasn’t you that failed. It’s hard for people to carry burden of any sorts. Don’t ever feel you are a burden. You aren’t! We all ended up a victim of circumstance. Circumstance changes lives. Pain is a constant reminder that we live, that we are infact alive. It’s proof that we feel and feel beyond what most ever will. It is enlightening! It broadens our minds. And God! It hurts like hell. A sudden thought- Perhaps pain is hell and heaven is the grasp we learn to have on it. Survival! Endurance! Patience! Suicidal ideations become overwhelming. The feelings of being useless, worthless, loss, lack of self esteem, helpless, but you’re not alone. Truly, you aren’t. Never give up on yourself because if you do, more than likely, everyone else will also. Be strong and others will be strong with you. Use your experiences and emotions to help and inform others. I know my words will survive me. Let yours do the same.

Don’t forget to tell people you love them and what they mean to you and don’t forget to let them love you back.

I cannot wait to stare the end in the eye and then turn around and walk away to live and survive another day.


                                                                                ~twinkle/ellajC

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