Continued reflections from OLF and beyond
Shave-a-holic
If a year ago you would have said I would be bald, addicted to shaving things and people, and in general obsessed with a pair of clippers, I may have looked oddly at you. But I am. I helped shave K3 from head to toe before his dragness. I clippered a cute gay boy's hair at OLF. I shave Baldric down to bare. I've done me a few times. I shaved G. I love me my clippers, and my razors. I used to detest bigger women with bald pussies, but now I kind of like mine... even if at the moment all off my body is one big ball of stubble. I adore the transition. Becoming. Being. Bald.
The reactions, from kink events to going down the street to GenCon, of the full-bald rather than just the chic stubble is fantastic. Proclimations of wow that took balls. It makes me happy- even if I may be growing my hair out for a lil' bit because I plan to shoot with ShavedDyke.com in SF the end of the month, and I want to have something worth them shaving off.
Bridgett for Sale
They call me a cake whore. When he came to me after the auction at OLF, where I was up on the block for charity, and told me his case... I had to go.
I love being up on the auction block. Piece of meat. Price on my head, my skills, my pussy. Feeling valued. Natalie and I went as a pair at a kissing auction once for the cam for over $400. Kinksters, however, are cheap. Even for charity. But that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it any less. Shake that ass, get the NCSF 10 more dollars. I flash back to Midori's humiation workshop and that big black butch buying me for 1 euro, my mouth for sale to suck and please on stage. I am a whore. I enjoy being valued... even if that value is just a euro.
I have value. I know that if I were a serious entrepeneur of my services as a lady of the night, I could price myself much higher. I certainly charge far more than that as a Domina, and my pussy doesn't come as part of that package. But I enjoy knowing that my pussy can go up on the block as play, and the proceeds go towards my marque and other charitable projects. My Marque... I can feel the floral spiders creep across my skin, longing to be tapped into my flesh. I can feel them, and head the calling for just another cock, another pussy, another john or jane to turn a trick for to show how hard I'm willing to work to earn the etchings across my flesh.
I enjoy the game. But I also enjoy the service to the divine it inspires. People come to me with desires, and in this case, only I could fulfil the cake-man's desires. Forbidden fantasies. Dreams that I could render flesh. I asked him what he had- he jokingly said he had a cake. I accepted. The gods offer their gifts in strange ways... and it was Regina Anne's birthday. I sold my body for her birthday cake.
Late that night I went to his room. The room was lit with candles and his play partner was with him as I appeared freshly attired (after fulfilling my auctioned flesh's first scene of 3 in the form of a curvy lass hanging from ropes beaten by Boymeat and Regina... a family affair indeed) in a plaid schoolgirl skirt, tight white tee shirt, converse and white knickers- my short short hair and a smile the only things upon my head. His eyes went wide- perfection. I had opened up his dreams and made them reality. I had become his taboo.
His hands drifted across my skin as the blows came to my body. I went into a trance. I wasn't really me any more- a vessel for giving another what they needed. He needed to beat her. I became her. He needed to let his fingers caress her thighs, and I allowed those thighs to need him, if only for the night. He needed to be able to kiss her neck, and her neck atop my body rose to meet him.He has since gifted me with more. His sacred whore. Vibrators, jewellery, thank yous and riches of the soul. I became his sacred whore... a gift, my calling.
The other two auctioned flesh for NCSF I did that weekend were two that again, I would have done without the price- but the cash made it all the hotter. Money is our modern way of expressing the value of our time and energy. I work, I am given cash, I exchange this cash for what I deem to be of value. If I am paid, I am shown that my time and energy is of value- worth the value of what it took you to earn it. It is a symbol. An intoxicating one.
I took him into his first suspension. I'd met this couple numerous times, and they'd meant to ask me to play at LR- but the money on the table gauranteed their time and mine. By the end of the scene we were all hysterical watching him escape from the suspension as DMs toppled over one another to make sure no one got hurt. His ass was sore, but he survived. She is a wicked and delicious woman.
The second was Regina and another bellydancer who went up on the block as a pair- and I provided myself as the serving girl for the food. 5 women, amazing music, power, beuty, and Goddess Lakshimi and Mistress Constance enjoying the hell out of themselves. Fruits, meats, cheeses, accidents over me diving for berries, blushing, shyness... it was all wonderful. The 2 dancers donated their tips back to NCSF, but with Goddesses' permission, I kept my tips for my Whore Box.
Mistress Constance blanched. My whore Box? Yes, the golden and red wood box I keep everything I've made stripping for friends, doing prostitution scenes, etc. Not work... things I would have done anyway. She pulled $10 out of her wallet and said to me in the most motherly voice... This is for your Whore Box Honey. Regina and I almost fell over laughing.
My last formal whoring story from OLF shall not be told- a late night of energy working leading to a joke I wasn't joking about. Bliss.