if you are adding this up - well that's just wrong
5/28/2016 7:54:56 AM
What D/s based intimacy means to me..... I give You the power to destroy me.......and trust You not to.
3/28/2016 7:11:15 AM
And a story I wish would happen
Archaeology is often a detective game. I was on a dig in Iraq. We were digging on the site of a small city that had been claimed by the encroaching dessert over a thousand years ago. The city was home to around three or four thousand people, almost all of them women going by the remains we found, but this isn’t unique. The city in all probability was a widow city. I’ll explain. It’s well documented that throughout our male dominated history, widows are perceived as obsolete. In certain cultures, when a man died, it was expected that his wife, being of no further use to society, would end her own life. Most women with an ounce of common sense fled, and so grew the widow cities. Safe havens from brutal traditions. My gender doesn’t usually affect my work, but being a woman, it was hard not to take things a little personally.
Because of the dry dessert heat, most of what was left behind over a millennium ago had been exceedingly well preserved. I was uncovering a house typical of the era, and furnished accordingly. I’d found chairs, tables, plenty of earthenware pots and pans, all in pristine condition. The house also yielded a lot of weaponry, which was unexpected seeing as the occupants were probably all female. It was exciting to find such well preserved items, but my discoveries weren’t going to rock the archaeological world. As the dig progressed however, I came across one particular object that had no obvious function. I did some research to try and find any similar pieces of furniture that may have been found, but nothing like this had turned up before. It was an archaeological mystery. To solve it would be to fit another small piece to a giant historic jigsaw puzzle. Piecing together this jigsaw puzzle is what archaeologists do and so I looked for an answer. What was this object used for?
It was carved from a solid block of wood, about six foot long, two foot high and two foot wide. A trough ran its length and one end was slightly raised. On the lip of the trough there were two sets of parallel slots. Perhaps they were used for lifting it. It could almost have been a narrow bed and so I laid down in it to test my theory. It was too uncomfortable to be a bed. My body was wedged tightly into the groove and my head, which was propped up on a deeply indented platform, felt a bit like an egg in an egg cup. This was not a sleep inducing piece of furniture but it was meant to house the human body. The way that the inside had been carefully contoured told me that, but I was still none the wiser as to its usage. The answer came by accident. A small group of us were leaving the following day so we had a little drink together and sure enough the alcohol worked its magic. As the sunset over the Iraqi dessert, five rather drunken archaeologists sat together in a thousand year old house and contemplated the previous tenants.
There were twelve or so women all living together in this one small dwelling. Most other houses that had been uncovered in the area were similar. Between ten and fifteen people living together and working as a unit to serve the needs of a female population in some way or other. One house had a primitive kiln that had baked bread whilst another had various building tools. Here was a city of dispossessed women who had grouped together according to their various skills and talents in order to serve the civic population. Here was a society that demanded respect and further study. Sitting there, a little drunk, I decided to devote time to writing a paper on the subject. I looked around my group of drinking partners and wondered whether any of them had the same idea but they were all studying my unidentified artifact. I suppose if we hadn’t been slightly drunk we’d never have stumbled on the answer.
A noted archaeologist, I won’t mention his name, passed out whilst lying on my unidentified block of wood. His body was wedged tightly in the trough and his head rested face up in the egg cup shaped scoop at one end. The other lightweights trooped off to bed leaving myself, and a close female colleague who shall also remain nameless, to polish off the rest of the booze. Feeling a little mischievous we found some planks of wood and fitted them through the slots carved in my wooden relic. As we slotted the last one into place over his neck, my sleeping colleague awoke to find himself completely trapped and immobilized. We sat back to giggle at our handy work and our colleagues helpless predicament. He took it all in rather good humor and it was only when he made a crude sexual joke about being raped by the two of us that the word eureka came and slapped me hard in the face.
It was so obvious. His pelvis and face were the only accessible parts of his body. This was, for want of a better expression, a rape bench. It was a piece of furniture designed by women to derive sexual pleasure from an imprisoned man. The pieces all fell into place. The realization excited me both in a professional way and a sexual way. The idea of a helpless male was a real turn on for me, and here was a titillating chance to research a small corner of history where woman ruled supreme and male sex slaves weren’t just an idle fantasy. On a drunken impulse, and also partly to shut him up, I sat on my colleagues upturned face, lightly at first, but then settling full weight. My female colleague was stunned and then amused by my bold action. I don’t know what the man underneath me thought. It was probably extremely uncomfortable for him. His nose must have been squashed flat against the seat of my jeans. I wondered why he hadn’t turned his head to one side and then realized that the furniture had been designed to stop him from doing so. I felt a tingle of excitement and felt an urge to remove my jeans and really have a good grind on his face, but after a month on a dig, I was pretty rank. Showers, baths and other washing facilities weren’t exactly easy to find in the middle of the dessert. I suddenly realized that he would smell through my jeans just how filthy I was and I leapt off his face. I assumed he’d be angry, but when I looked down he was smiling. He said that it was fun and I should stay seated on his face, which for some reason I found quite annoying. My female colleague had finally stopped giggling and was pointing to his tent shaped groin. His erection annoyed me even more. I didn’t like him enjoying the experience. For some reason it detracted from my own wicked pleasures.
So here’s how I justify what came next. First and foremost we were all very drunk, a universal excuse for outrageous behaviour. I could also explain that I was doing a bit of research work, just doing my job, another universal excuse for dreadful deeds. Of course the real reason was about all of us just being horny but I’ve got my story and I’m sticking to it. As I watched my partner in crime undoing my helpless colleagues trousers I tried to picture a similar scene a thousand years previous. Perhaps the warrior widows who had lived here had captured men traveling through the dessert. The finest specimens had been trapped into this evil apparatus and then sexually used, almost certainly to the point of their deaths. The men who had died in this solid block of wood had no-doubt fathered countless children in the last few weeks or months of their lives, but this ingenious piece of furniture had clearly been designed to fulfill another purpose. It wasn’t just a baby making machine. There was also a built in pleasure principal, the immobilizing headrest.
Once trapped, the male victim would be powerless to resist any woman choosing to use his face as her “pleasure seat.” He would have been forced to use his tongue and I tried to imagine the owners of orifices that his unfortunate nose had to penetrate. Over a thousand years ago, and in this part of the world, most people didn’t live much past forty years old, and girls were married aged twelve or thirteen. I assumed the average age of the population would have been around twenty five years old. There had been around three or four thousand women living in this lost city. Surely mathematics dictated we would find similar artifacts. I made a mental note and pictured the scenario. My female colleague was poking around disappointingly at my male colleagues now flaccid penis. I imagined her to be a twenty five year old widow of a thousand years ago. She has fled her home city and after a hazardous journey, she’s found this safe haven. She wants to fulfill her strong mothering instinct and bear a child but the only sperm to be had for miles around is in this very building, laying helpless in this very piece of furniture. She negotiates a deal with the women who have captured the unfortunate man and then waits her turn. She enters this very room where he lies at her mercy. His over worked penis lies soft and dormant. Here is a girl who up until now has lived in a male dominated society. For the first time in her life she has power over a man. She looks at his upturned face and then sits on it. Perhaps two or three women at a time would use him. Younger women, older women, big women, little women, fat, thin, tall, short, any women could just sit right down on his face and there was nothing he could do about it. How difficult could it have been to make him use his tongue in various satisfying ways?
As I slipped out of my drunken fantasy I found my hand rubbing softly at the crotch of my jeans. I was very turned on. If I were to just go and fuck his face right now it would be such excellent research material. He was a man of science. When he sobered up he would understand the historical value of our shared experience. My rather unhygienic state merely added a sense of authenticity to the experiment. People were a lot more smelly a thousand years ago. An olfactory fact! Content in the thought that the three of us had long since passed the outrageous behavior barrier, I decided what the hell and removed my jeans. I didn’t dare check the state of my panties. They were a comfortable pair of white cotton knickers that I’d worn constantly for three days and I knew they were pretty filthy. A little voice told me I couldn’t do this really but my sexual urge took over and I took the plunge. I sat down full weight on his helpless features. I was facing his feet and watching my friend trying to bring life to his shrunken member.
I think I heard him whine a short exclamation of disgust but my bum quickly muffled him. I wriggled about a bit to get comfortable and the little voice told me it was important to let him breathe. This time I listened to my voice of common sense and made sure that he could gasp a bit of air, but only a bit and a pretty rancid bit at that. Enough to keep him alive and licking! I realized that the survival time of a man could be measured in days rather than weeks and months. I made a mental note. The research was paying off. I giggled at the thought. My friend who was working on his penis also giggled an evil giggle. He was rock hard again. This time I didn’t care about his erection. It only justified the genius of the contraption. So what if he enjoyed himself too. It made us all complicit. Less likely to be raised in conversation at some future dinner party! I started to grind myself over his face, slowly at first, and then harder and faster. I kept catching whiffs from down below, but that only turned me on more. I pictured myself forcing my underwear into his mouth with instructions to clean and that’s when I had my first climax. As the waves of delight pulsated through my body I made a mental note. The night was still young.
The things the two of us girls did with my helpless colleague, and the things we made him do to us, were rather naughty and extremely revolting. I assumed I’d never hear from him again after the humiliations we’d heaped on him that night, but a few weeks later I received a call from him. He was very excited by a text that had been found on a dig a hundred miles or so from our Widow City. It was a perfectly preserved text written on parchment. The text was written in by a man of “twenty eight seasons old.”
It seemed that in the first paragraph he claims to have been kidnapped by women and taken to a place where “evil female spirits did unspeakable acts.” My colleague felt we should get together and translate the rest of it. He felt that we could both add a unique insight to the text, but as the translation progressed it became clear that our experience was only limited to a one off sexual game. For the man who had written this text a thousand years ago, it was real. Although he eventually did escape, he wrote this text as a suicide note. The shame and humiliation were too much for this man. Ancient Text Translated.
This is basically a suicide note written over a thousand years ago. It is a perfectly preserved parchment that was found in the Iraqi desert a couple of miles from the city of Basra. It describes a man’s capture, sexual enslavement and eventual escape from a city populated entirely by women. The literal translation of the first few sentences goes something like this. “To Allah I make this confession before I face my eternity. Twenty eight seasons have passed since I entered God’s garden. The shame that darkens my soul must be lifted, and being a man of God, I will write the truth so that others may know of the dark city of evil she devils who commit unspeakable profanities and thereby seek to destroy the glory of the Almighty. The truth shall give vengeance for God and man. Take heed of my warning”
If I carry on being so literal the text is difficult to understand so for the purposes of clarity I will loosen up the style a little and provide an edited version to make it easier to read. A full literal translation of this text can be obtained from the University of Basra.
As our trade caravan traveled to Baghdad along the Southern route we were set upon and robbed by a band of ferocious women. I alone survived the attack and awoke to find myself imprisoned within a strange piece of furniture. I was unable to move. Because my head and neck had been immobilized, all that I could see was the ceiling of a darkened room. My clothes had been taken from me and I was lying on my back with only my face and genitals exposed. I glimpsed a girl from the corner of my eye. When she realized that I was awake she ran from the room only to return seconds later with five or six other women. Although I found their dialect difficult to understand, they spoke in my own language. They stood around looking down on me. They seemed very pleased with me. Without warning, suddenly one of them sat down on my face. I tried to turn my head but couldn’t. She was sitting directly over my eyes nose and mouth with no feeling for my discomfort and humiliation. Thankfully she stood after only a few seconds but to my horror it was only to hoist her robes so that she could place her nakedness over my exposed features.
Here was pure evil. My head was unable to move and this creature was actually going to exploit my helplessness and force my face into the most intimate and filthy part of her body. As with most evil people, she was extremely unclean and the smell was unbearable. As she wriggled above, I felt almost a part of the furniture that I was trapped in. It was as if she was just getting comfortable on her favourite stool.
A pair of hands began to manipulate my penis and to my everlasting shame I became rampant. As they robbed me of my seed, the woman on my face began to grind herself down. It was difficult to breathe but she seemed unaware of my problems. All she wanted to do was to gain physical pleasure from my upturned features. When I did manage to find air to breathe it was rank and fetid as my nose was wedged deep within her stinking anus. She raised herself a little and commanded me, as if I was a common slave, to use my tongue. Of course I refused to carry out such a foul act but great pain was inflicted upon my body until I was forced to comply with her demonic wishes. She sat heavily down again. Her vagina pushed against my mouth and shamefully I used my tongue to give her pleasure. After a while she slid forward and forced my tongue into a tighter and more acrid orifice. I cried at my debasement, but fearful of my life I used my mouth according to her wishes. She dismounted, but the relief was short lived. My eyes opened long enough only to see another naked rump descending onto my face. It was as if I was in a nightmare from which I couldn’t awaken.
Time was distorted. I think I counted fourteen days and fourteen nights imprisoned in this wooden cage. I have slept little in that time. Apart from twice a day when I am freed for a short time, my face has been used as a pleasure seat. One after the other they came to sit on me. Some were younger, maybe 23 seasons and some were older, maybe 40 or 50 seasons. The older women wanted my seed and they wanted the pleasure that my nose and tongue gave them. The younger women were more wicked and spiteful and found their pleasure in shaming and humiliating me. They tortured me and forced me to lick the filth from their unclean bottoms. They laughed at me, spat on me and one particular group of females who visited me on a number of occasions actually urinated on my face. Human beings would not be capable of such foul acts. That is how I knew that they were evil spirits and not God’s children.
There were times that I thought I was going to die. When a woman of portly size seated herself on my face, breathing became very difficult and at times impossible. I slipped from consciousness many times only to reawaken in the same terrible nightmare. My seed was drained at every possible opportunity and although it became painful, the experience was insignificant compared to the horrors that were perpetrated on my face, after all, my groin can neither smell nor taste. Had I not escaped I am certain that by now I would be dead, yet Allah has spared me so that I may write this warning. This city of evil lies at the southern edge of the dessert, three days walk Northwest of the Gamolah Oasis. May the forces of God gather and destroy this wicked place.
I have made my peace with Allah and now I end this shameful life to be reborn in purity and without memory of such evil deeds.
12/6/2011 12:02:44 PM
I understand what you are saying and I certainly don't disagree but your comment makes me think about the issue of communication. If people could work through guilt and their feelings of shame or awkwardness and also not immediately pass judgement on another person's skills, they could probably talk more to each other and share their feelings, likes, dislikes, etc., and offer helpful suggestions. Although I am openly communicative, I still often fall into that trap of not wanting to say too much or I just loose myself when I am receiving instruction. and when I am going to serve... well I just enjoy it so much and I try to keep it lively and pleasure her the best I can. I want "her" to talk to me, if she desires to do so, but of course I can understand she may not be in the frame of mind to do so if she's enjoying herself and in La La Land. I'd love to meet someone who is into "kink, fetishes, etc" and is both aware and enlightened like yourself and many other people on here, but I would still not be surprised that even if I asked for feedback or to be taught how to best please you, that in the heat of passion and erotic distraction, one or both parties just won't be able to get the words out