tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-100731932011-04-21T15:57:02.407-07:00A blog of deep dark personal wishes. Some will always remain purely fictional...some may happen...and some may have already happened. Your job is to enjoy reading them regardless.Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.comBlogger121100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1109132476494256182005-02-22T21:04:00.000-07:002005-02-22T21:21:49.810-07:00

I spent the rest of the workweek furtively examining my fellow employees. Being an insurance claims adjustor is boring work. It’s paper. And in the end, I know I’m going to piss someone off. I wondered if any of my colleagues suffered the same angst I was suffering.Rick, in the cubicle to my left, was in his fifties, and had the shoulders of a man beaten down many years ago by his wife. He was a

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106881011553534812005-01-27T19:56:00.000-07:002005-01-27T19:56:51.553-07:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106878983800136802005-01-27T19:21:00.000-07:002005-01-27T19:23:03.800-07:00

That night, as I sat eating my dinner of oatmeal, accompanied by a beer, the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?” “Sarah, this is Lady Madonna returning your call.” “Hi…um…I’m pondering your question regarding my dedication to submission. I have tried doing some reading, but I feel like I’m more confused than when I started.” “What you’re going through

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106602771677305352005-01-24T14:30:00.000-07:002005-01-24T14:39:31.683-07:00

I drove home, and walked three flights of stairs up to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I entered, taking a look around me. I had done my best to decorate my suburban apartment, as much as I was allowed, but it wasn’t home. No pets to greet me, which was fine, because that also meant no responsibilities to another life either. I kicked off my heels, and treaded softly

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106537893070394172005-01-23T20:34:00.000-07:002005-01-24T10:47:41.916-07:00

As I passed the office to leave, Lady Madonna called my name. She was sitting at the small secretary, paperwork spread out in front of her. I entered the office, and went to parade rest. Lady Madonna smiled. “No, no…relax. We are not in training mode now. Right now we are in client discussion mode.” I was confused. “Okay…what can I do for you?” “Mmmm, the question is, what can I do for you?” she

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106167114264450922005-01-19T13:30:00.000-07:002005-01-19T13:38:34.263-07:00

I fell down in a crouch, breathing deeply. I was sore, sexually unsatisfied, and broken down. As a slave should be. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head. Lysistrata unbuckled her strap-on. She laid it on the floor next to me, and lifted me up. And kissed me full on the mouth. It was my first kiss with a woman. Her breasts

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1106006465119583392005-01-17T16:52:00.000-07:002005-01-17T19:13:42.896-07:00

I parked in front of the red brick row house, and took a deep breath. I couldn’t wait to find out what was next. I paid two hours again on the meter, and knocked on the door. Lysistrata answered, wearing a floor-length Mandarin robe and black platform heels. With her red hair down, she was hot. The image of ripping open that robe and diving in to eat her delectable pussy filled my head

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1105979116396847912005-01-17T09:20:00.000-07:002005-01-17T09:25:16.396-07:00

The next two weeks couldn’t pass by quickly enough. I was as anxious as a whore in church, to quote my mother, and looked at the world through different eyes. I looked at people and more voyeuristically…I wondered if they had their “freak” side, as I referred to mine. I began eyeing people, trying to discern if they too were slaves in their private life, or even tops. I didn’t have

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1105718983253894912005-01-14T08:49:00.000-07:002005-01-14T09:18:23.323-07:00

I drove home that afternoon. My ass was hot. The welts were feverish, and I squirmed in my seat as I drove the 20 minutes to my apartment. On the way home, my car was silent, but my head was roaring with the activities of the previous hour and its results. Part of me was scared. What if someone found out? Am I a freak? Could I go back for the next appointment? What the fuck was wrong with me?

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1105419659437031542005-01-10T21:53:00.000-07:002005-01-10T22:00:59.436-07:00

I drove to her address. The address turned out to be downtown, not in the ghetto, but in a-less-than-nice part of town. I found it, a narrow row house, with black iron doors and red brick. I parallel parked, and paid the meter for two hours. I didn’t plan on a two hour session - my budget couldn’t handle it – but I didn’t want to take any chances on getting towed either. I rang

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1105394314790360372005-01-10T14:50:00.000-07:002005-01-10T15:34:25.286-07:00

I began these Friday journeys six weeks ago. I work a compressed schedule, and get every other Friday off. Seven weeks ago, on a Monday night, I picked up the phone and made a call I thought would only remain a fantasy in my dark mind. “Lady Madonna speaking.” “H-hello.” “May I help you?” The voice on the other end was calm, but with an edge of impatience. “I believe I am…a submissive. I want

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10073193.post-1105392470451135142005-01-10T14:25:00.000-07:002005-01-10T21:53:38.410-07:00

Two hours to go. I sit in the vibrating chair, watching Tony scrape at my toenails, pondering the morning ahead of me. This has become my Friday ritual. I tend to my feet and my hands. Every inch of me must be presentable before I make my Friday journey into the unknown. Tony taps my foot, and I place it back in the hot bubbling water and bring my other foot out. He begins meticulously scraping

Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08504975455049875971noreply@blogger.com0