Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
MONDAY'S TALES - 2
Once upon a time, in a far, far away realm, there were an evil dark-hair King and a bad blond Queen who gave birth, strangely enough, to a tiny lovely red-hair child. She grew up to become a Fairy Loving Mistress.
However, she did not hold a normal magic wand.
Her magic was given through a very special riding crop, disguised as a mighty sword...
However, she did not hold a normal magic wand.
Her magic was given through a very special riding crop, disguised as a mighty sword...
One day, she heard voices about a talented story-teller who was living beyond the oceans and asked for her Father's sentinels to enquire who that mysterious story-teller was and why he was deemed to be so extraordinary.
Special couriers were sent all over the New World to look for him and report their finds directly to the Princess. The first messenger who would succeed in bringing her reliable information was promised a special reward: he would be allowed to kiss the Princess's feet.
Those who would dare come back without any result, knew they were to be chained in the deepest dungeon and ceaselessly whipped by the Princess with her mighty, magic riding crop.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
PETS' TIME
Sundays are normally for family.
For me, family means pets and especially bunnies that are so often abandonned, mercilessly killed and, in some countries, like Japan, objectified, dressed like babies and made to perform as if they were little jesters.
Bunnies - that Sole and I and many others with us - loved so much, are not just pets.
They are animals, with their own desires and drives. There's no feeling like their tiny tongues licking our hand when we feel and caress them.
They are beings.
With their own individuality.
They need their own environment and they need to be loved as they are.
Not as they should be according to our wishes.
For me, family means pets and especially bunnies that are so often abandonned, mercilessly killed and, in some countries, like Japan, objectified, dressed like babies and made to perform as if they were little jesters.
Bunnies - that Sole and I and many others with us - loved so much, are not just pets.
They are animals, with their own desires and drives. There's no feeling like their tiny tongues licking our hand when we feel and caress them.
They are beings.
With their own individuality.
They need their own environment and they need to be loved as they are.
Not as they should be according to our wishes.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
CASUAL FRIDAY
It was a lovely rendez-vous, each Friday, with Sole's interpretations.
Shall we try to continue ?
How to show that heavy woollen stockings can be sexy.
Shall we try to continue ?
Thursday, February 21, 2013
I HAVE NOT YET A CLEAR IDEA
I have not yet a clear idea on how to proceed with this blog.
I do not have Sole's gift for eclectic and creative posts. She had such a sparkling way of doing things.
I can just try and imagine what she could have done, had she lived.
Her blog history shows that she liked long-themed posts (as in "Is a kiss just a kiss", and all the "Colours", etc.)
She also enjoyed jokes and created lovely and funny little movies (that can unfortunately not be seen very well in the posts I copied in here from "Mixed Women")
Well, I'll proceed tentatively.
If anyone reading this blog is willing to give suggestions, I'll be all too happy to try my best.
I do not have Sole's gift for eclectic and creative posts. She had such a sparkling way of doing things.
I can just try and imagine what she could have done, had she lived.
Her blog history shows that she liked long-themed posts (as in "Is a kiss just a kiss", and all the "Colours", etc.)
She also enjoyed jokes and created lovely and funny little movies (that can unfortunately not be seen very well in the posts I copied in here from "Mixed Women")
Well, I'll proceed tentatively.
If anyone reading this blog is willing to give suggestions, I'll be all too happy to try my best.
***
Here's a gif according to her "Quand vient le Soir" series. I'm sure she would have loved it. So, Thursdays will be for gifs
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
A WALK ON THE BEACH
I'm sure this novel has already been published. But in my eagerness to retrieve all of Sole's posts before they could be deleted, I didn't "label" them.
I'm glad to re-publish what's a lovely, tantalizing and loving tale written by Sole's Toy, Captain, Chéri and probably much more. The ownership of this tale's Copyright is Zaphod Button's only.
A Walk on the Beach
Silence, save for the rhythmic swish of waves lapping gently on the shore yielding a sound which is both
timeless and eternal. The sea beyond forms a jewelled carpet bisected by a path of silver. At that path’s far
distant end, the moon beckons to us. Minutes before, dusk had settled with the hushed softness of a purple
velvet cloak.
A few hours earlier, we had taken advantage of some time for ourselves. Always a difficulty with two busy
schedules, but savoured all the more for each special moment. This time, we had decided on a walk along the
shore. At this season, we see few others and have the beach almost to ourselves. Even the warplanes from the
nearby base have stopped their raucous cavorting. We walk and savour the simple pleasure of each other’s
companionship. With each step, we feel the cares of the preceding days slipping away.
At times, our fingers touch and intertwine; the touch is comfortable and reassuring. And yet, no reassurance is
needed. With the passage of time and sometimes tumultuous events, we have learned of one another and
come to trust. We have become inseparable even in those times when we must be far apart. No matter our
distant travels or intemperate dalliances, we know on return the other will be there; a safe haven in an
uncertain world.
Sitting now, on a piece of drift wood, we snuggle close for warmth, for comfort, for love as the evening air
grows damp. The sun had set behind us with its magnificent crimson glow spread across the heavens and,
shortly after, pale inconstant moon had risen to bathe us in silvery light and illuminate a path across the water
towards us.
A wee nip from the flask I habitually carry brings out our inner warmth and a glow to our cheeks. Lost in our
love, we giggle happily for no reason other than we are together.
My arm slips around Your waist and draws us just a little closer. You snuggle to me and I feel Your head come
to rest comfortably on my chest just below my shoulder. Tilting my head down, my nose is tickled by the
reddish cascade of Your hair; inhaling, I breathe in hedonistic pleasure. For a moment, we leave aside our
roles of Mistress and Toy. I am Yours; You are mine.
Slipping a finger ‘neath Your chin, I lift gently and kiss Your forehead, the tip of Your nose, and then Your
lips. Not raw harsh kisses of urgent lust. Instead, kisses as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. Light and
delicate kisses of the purest contentment to adorn You. We both smile and settle together to snuggle just a
little closer.
Presently, as the chill night air defeats even the contents of the flask, we rise and retrace our steps. As we walk
back holding hands, I raise my free hand to my neck and run my finger tip along the soft edge of my leather
collar. I smile.
I'm glad to re-publish what's a lovely, tantalizing and loving tale written by Sole's Toy, Captain, Chéri and probably much more. The ownership of this tale's Copyright is Zaphod Button's only.
A Walk on the Beach
Silence, save for the rhythmic swish of waves lapping gently on the shore yielding a sound which is both
timeless and eternal. The sea beyond forms a jewelled carpet bisected by a path of silver. At that path’s far
distant end, the moon beckons to us. Minutes before, dusk had settled with the hushed softness of a purple
velvet cloak.
A few hours earlier, we had taken advantage of some time for ourselves. Always a difficulty with two busy
schedules, but savoured all the more for each special moment. This time, we had decided on a walk along the
shore. At this season, we see few others and have the beach almost to ourselves. Even the warplanes from the
nearby base have stopped their raucous cavorting. We walk and savour the simple pleasure of each other’s
companionship. With each step, we feel the cares of the preceding days slipping away.
At times, our fingers touch and intertwine; the touch is comfortable and reassuring. And yet, no reassurance is
needed. With the passage of time and sometimes tumultuous events, we have learned of one another and
come to trust. We have become inseparable even in those times when we must be far apart. No matter our
distant travels or intemperate dalliances, we know on return the other will be there; a safe haven in an
uncertain world.
Sitting now, on a piece of drift wood, we snuggle close for warmth, for comfort, for love as the evening air
grows damp. The sun had set behind us with its magnificent crimson glow spread across the heavens and,
shortly after, pale inconstant moon had risen to bathe us in silvery light and illuminate a path across the water
towards us.
A wee nip from the flask I habitually carry brings out our inner warmth and a glow to our cheeks. Lost in our
love, we giggle happily for no reason other than we are together.
My arm slips around Your waist and draws us just a little closer. You snuggle to me and I feel Your head come
to rest comfortably on my chest just below my shoulder. Tilting my head down, my nose is tickled by the
reddish cascade of Your hair; inhaling, I breathe in hedonistic pleasure. For a moment, we leave aside our
roles of Mistress and Toy. I am Yours; You are mine.
Slipping a finger ‘neath Your chin, I lift gently and kiss Your forehead, the tip of Your nose, and then Your
lips. Not raw harsh kisses of urgent lust. Instead, kisses as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. Light and
delicate kisses of the purest contentment to adorn You. We both smile and settle together to snuggle just a
little closer.
Presently, as the chill night air defeats even the contents of the flask, we rise and retrace our steps. As we walk
back holding hands, I raise my free hand to my neck and run my finger tip along the soft edge of my leather
collar. I smile.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
LES COSMOPOLITES
Who are the "Cosmopolites" ?
People who feel well, wherever they go.
People who blend with local people.
Citizens of the world.
Criticizing only the hypocrites.
Feeling good with anybody else.
There's an absolute value to all: love (in all its meanings)
Does it matter if it's men to men, women to women, cross-gender ?
As long as it's between or among consenting adults, does it really matter how ?
Sex Cosmopolites are only just people who aren't hypocrites about their drives and desires
People who feel well, wherever they go.
People who blend with local people.
Citizens of the world.
Criticizing only the hypocrites.
Feeling good with anybody else.
There's an absolute value to all: love (in all its meanings)
Does it matter if it's men to men, women to women, cross-gender ?
As long as it's between or among consenting adults, does it really matter how ?
Sex Cosmopolites are only just people who aren't hypocrites about their drives and desires
Monday, February 18, 2013
MONDAY'S TALES
Once upon a time, in a far, far away realm, there were an evil dark-hair King and a bad blond Queen who gave birth, strangely enough, to a tiny lovely red-hair child. She grew up to become a Fairy Loving Mistress.
However, she did not hold a normal magic wand.
Her magic was given through a very special riding crop, disguised as a mighty sword...
However, she did not hold a normal magic wand.
Her magic was given through a very special riding crop, disguised as a mighty sword...
Saturday, February 16, 2013
AMARCORD
Sole had some themes and days she celebrated in her own witty (and sometimes naughty) way.
I can't compete, nor do I want to.
So I'll just start some themes of my own - to continue her original ideas.
I was living for some time at a place nearby Federico Fellini's.
It reminds me of one of his movies called "Amarcord".
Amarcord, in the local dialect means "I remember"
I think that Amarcord can be a wonderful title for vintage pictures.
So here comes the first one
I can't compete, nor do I want to.
So I'll just start some themes of my own - to continue her original ideas.
I was living for some time at a place nearby Federico Fellini's.
It reminds me of one of his movies called "Amarcord".
Amarcord, in the local dialect means "I remember"
I think that Amarcord can be a wonderful title for vintage pictures.
So here comes the first one
Friday, February 15, 2013
A POSSESSIVE MISTRESS - FINAL CHAPTER
“Peut-être”.
With that hint of encouragement, Your guest transfers her gaze and looks intently to me as a smile forms on
her face. Responding in kind, I offer a smile in her direction with a hint of mischievous glint in my eyes. Her
voluptuous breasts rise with an intake of breath and her hand reaches forward with extended fingers. In a
blink, You intervene, take her hand firmly in Yours, and offer a polite “Au revoir”.
A stern look in my direction as You close the door reminds me of my manners. “Peut-être, mon jouet, mais
peut-être pas.”
Somewhat downcast in the moment, the image of this woman lingers. After some days the memory dissipates
but the excitement remains. I retain vivid images of that afternoon watching the two of you together.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
And now, weeks later, we stroll hand-in-hand along a street unfamiliar to me but which You have walked
before. As we approach a secluded piazza, I notice a charming café to one side with a solitary figure seated in front.
As I realize who she is, I’m barely able to restrain my smile.
Polite greetings are exchanged; You order coffee and pain-au-chocolat for both of us.
Puzzled, I silently observe the proceedings. Light conversation is confined to innocuous topics. But, I sense
there is something more to this meeting.
Our refreshment arrives and the conversation continues unabated. The coffee is fine, but tastes bitter in my
dry throat. The pain-au-chocolat has no attraction for me. My intuition frightens me.
As You finish the coffee, she leans over and reaches into a satchel beside her chair. Fumbling briefly within,
her hand emerges holding a collar.
Transfixed, I don’t notice You reach behind me until I feel Your fingers begin to unfasten the buckle on my
collar. Turning abruptly, I look into Your eyes, shake my head, and plead, “Non”.
You take the collar and walk swiftly away as she rises, smiles, and moves to place her collar on my neck.
Terrified, I rise abruptly, knocking the chairs aside and run after You. But, You have vanished.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
With a start, I bolt upright and look about the dim room. My pulse is racing and I cannot control my
breathing. My pillow and the sheets are clammy with my sweat.
Rising, I compose myself as best I can and walk silently along the familiar hallway to Your room.
Unannounced, I move the door aside and enter. You are asleep.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I lay on the floor at the foot of Your bed.
In my Pagan fashion, I offer to the woodland spirits a silent prayer of thanks that You are possessive.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
With many thanks to Zaphod Button who owns the copyright of this story.
Previous Chapters:
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/tuesday-february-14-2012-possessive.html
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/tuesday-january-24-2012-possessive.html
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/friday-december-23-2011-possessive.html
With that hint of encouragement, Your guest transfers her gaze and looks intently to me as a smile forms on
her face. Responding in kind, I offer a smile in her direction with a hint of mischievous glint in my eyes. Her
voluptuous breasts rise with an intake of breath and her hand reaches forward with extended fingers. In a
blink, You intervene, take her hand firmly in Yours, and offer a polite “Au revoir”.
A stern look in my direction as You close the door reminds me of my manners. “Peut-être, mon jouet, mais
peut-être pas.”
Somewhat downcast in the moment, the image of this woman lingers. After some days the memory dissipates
but the excitement remains. I retain vivid images of that afternoon watching the two of you together.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
And now, weeks later, we stroll hand-in-hand along a street unfamiliar to me but which You have walked
before. As we approach a secluded piazza, I notice a charming café to one side with a solitary figure seated in front.
As I realize who she is, I’m barely able to restrain my smile.
Polite greetings are exchanged; You order coffee and pain-au-chocolat for both of us.
Puzzled, I silently observe the proceedings. Light conversation is confined to innocuous topics. But, I sense
there is something more to this meeting.
Our refreshment arrives and the conversation continues unabated. The coffee is fine, but tastes bitter in my
dry throat. The pain-au-chocolat has no attraction for me. My intuition frightens me.
As You finish the coffee, she leans over and reaches into a satchel beside her chair. Fumbling briefly within,
her hand emerges holding a collar.
Transfixed, I don’t notice You reach behind me until I feel Your fingers begin to unfasten the buckle on my
collar. Turning abruptly, I look into Your eyes, shake my head, and plead, “Non”.
You take the collar and walk swiftly away as she rises, smiles, and moves to place her collar on my neck.
Terrified, I rise abruptly, knocking the chairs aside and run after You. But, You have vanished.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
With a start, I bolt upright and look about the dim room. My pulse is racing and I cannot control my
breathing. My pillow and the sheets are clammy with my sweat.
Rising, I compose myself as best I can and walk silently along the familiar hallway to Your room.
Unannounced, I move the door aside and enter. You are asleep.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I lay on the floor at the foot of Your bed.
In my Pagan fashion, I offer to the woodland spirits a silent prayer of thanks that You are possessive.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
With many thanks to Zaphod Button who owns the copyright of this story.
Previous Chapters:
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/tuesday-february-14-2012-possessive.html
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/tuesday-january-24-2012-possessive.html
http://monseulcaprice.blogspot.it/2013/01/friday-december-23-2011-possessive.html
Saturday, February 9, 2013
MEMORIES
All previous posts (except the oldest 4 ones) are not mine.
They were written by a much beloved friend.
I thought they had been cancelled forever after Sole's death.
I could recover them from another blog named Mixed Women (now replaced by a porn blog), but only till middle February 2012.
Then I could find some posts (not complete) from YouTube.
There are many posts missing but this is the best I could do.
She was the best friend I had in the real life and in the virtual experience of Secondlife.
Never judging anyone, always generous and kind and welcoming.
I loved her more than she knew.
These posts are a homage to Sole
She was such a very special woman.
Unique, in her own way.
They were written by a much beloved friend.
I thought they had been cancelled forever after Sole's death.
I could recover them from another blog named Mixed Women (now replaced by a porn blog), but only till middle February 2012.
Then I could find some posts (not complete) from YouTube.
There are many posts missing but this is the best I could do.
She was the best friend I had in the real life and in the virtual experience of Secondlife.
Never judging anyone, always generous and kind and welcoming.
I loved her more than she knew.
These posts are a homage to Sole
She was such a very special woman.
Unique, in her own way.
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