Monday, October 12, 2009

BLOG - how far would you go?

So, I've been thinking a lot, both in the course of writing more stories and while talking to people at work and online. One of the clinchers was watching a new promo for 'Extreme Wife' with Dawn Porter, a new BBC show exploring marriage customs and traditions around the world.

And of course I put my own spin on it... because that's how I roll ;)

So, how far would a person - I'm thinking woman, specifically, but it could be anyone - how far would a person go to have guaranteed security and safety and wealth? Like Michelle in my 'New Arrangement' story, what would you be willing to give up to be 'happy' and secure in your situation? If you could absolutely guarantee your partner would never cheat on you, never leave you for the rest of your life, would you give up your legs? Paralyzed or amputation? If you could be rich beyond your wildest dreams, would you give up your vision? You arms?

It's not as far-fetched as it might sound with the devotee/wannabe slant on it. Women compromise every day to stay safe and secure in their marriage. Women put up with physical and mental abuse for years and never leave because their husband provides for them, puts a roof over their heads, is a 'good provider' even if he's a bastard. Women in Russia and other places in the world are willing to uproot their whole lives and cultures to get married to Western men they have only met online; the 'Russian Bride' business is still booming, and has even had a devotee element added with some services offering things like amputee Russian brides. There are loads more examples, too, but you get my point.

So we know that women around the world will do lots, put up with lots, to stay married, to stay in that relationship that takes care of their needs, and none of those examples are a guarantee. A Russian bride can be sent back home, and abusive relationships never, ever end well. So if you had a choice, if you could get an iron-clad guarantee that you would be supported, taken care of, treated well, even pampered, and all it would cost was your legs, or your hands, or your eyes... would you?

Of course there's Happiness - something very important here. Could you truly be 'happy' if you became disabled for the sake of security? And if not, then would it be worth it? I think it's easier to be happy in our lives if we have guaranteed emotional and financial security, though, right? I'm pretty sure between 'able bodied and worried about the rent money' and 'paraplegic but wealthy and cared for the erst of my life' the latter woman will be the happier in 90% of cases studied...

Granted I'm not the best person to ask the question of, considering my particular fetishes, but I'm really curious. Would a guarantee of financial and emotional stability, in the form of a good, decent, honest, caring partner/spouse, be worth becoming permanently disabled? And is there a 'scale' there? Like, a comfortable middle-class life with yearly vacations and frequent dinners out might be worth paralysis or a leg amputation, but filthy rich and basking on the yacht might be worth the 'Boxing Helena' treatment?

Friday, October 9, 2009

Blog - gahhhhhh!!

Some people in this community are just disgusting. I am AMAZED that grown people feel that behavior like this is acceptable, and I am astonished that other 'devotee content producers' bother to put any content at all out there.

You know what? If you aren't adding anything to the community, if you aren't doing anything but lurk and consume thes stories and videos and images that others create, then you have NO FUCKING RIGHT to demand ANYTHING from those of us who DO contribute. Jackass.

And I was feeling really good today too....

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

STORY - Flash Fiction - What Happened in the Dark

What Happened in the Dark By ParaGirl

Lisa didn't expect it to hurt so much. She was pretty sure they broke her arm, or maybe just dislocated her shoulder, she wasn't sure. She bit her lip and struggled not to cry out. Her attackers were clumsy, whispering to each other, seemingly unsure of what to even do with her now that they had subdued her. The excitement was there, that red-hot arousal that she always felt a this point, when she was bound, face pressed to the dirt, her panties and skimpy skirt torn from her roughly. Her sex was on fire, she could tell she was soaked, literally dripping with anticipation, waiting for one of these idiot thugs to fuck her, to penetrate her and drive it home, give her that exquisite release....

Lisa knew this was crazy, and unsafe, but she couldn't control herself. Her rape fantasies had grown into rape roleplay with her lovers, and when that didn't work any more, it turned to this. Dressed in skimpy clothes, walking around bad parts of town acting tipsy or drunk. Most of the time, she was helped home by some good samaritin, left frustrated and unable to climax. Sometimes, though - some lowlife or frat boy or thug would take advantage of her, and then...

Finally, she felt a stiff cock press into her and she moaned and shivered as she came in waves of intense pleasure. It was insane, the pleasure, the deep waves of orgasm that filled her. It was better than any drug, better than any experience she had ever had. She could die, definitely, and that was part of the thrill. the throbbing in her arm was gone, and all she was left with was the pleasure as her attacker forced his shaft in and out of her, deeply in and out.

He didn't last long - they never did, rapists. Seemed like half of them were practically eunuchs, two thrusts and they were done. Pathetic. That's why she was actually happy there were two this time. It was more dangerous, of course, but it was worth it as he slipped his cock into her and pulled her hair sharply, calling her a cunt. She came again at that - he was rough, she could tell. He was a dangerous one, and even though her mind knew that her situation had gotten a lot worse, her sex just throbbed more, her ecstasy expanded until it filled her whole body, her whole world. He thrust into her and she cried out - he assumed it was pain or fear, didn't realize it was joy, lust, pleasure the likes of which he had never known.

She could tell he was getting ready to finish, his motions becming more jerky, more erratic, and she reached slowly into her pocket for the high-end pepper spray she kept there, armed and ready. Once they had gotten what they wanted - as she had - she didn't exactly want to stick around for pillow talk. She moaned as another wave of intense pleasure overwhelmed her and her attacker arched his back and let out a muffled moan, then something unexpected happened, something she hadn't planned on.

She pulled out the pepper spray as he came, popping the safety in time with his muffled, orgasmic moan, but then his hands were on her neck, and he was twisting, and then there was blinding pain, and then she was dead.

Wait. She wasn't dead. She opened her eyes. She was still laying beside the grimy loading dock. She could smell oil and garbage and piss, and her breathing was short and sharp. Her head pounded with the rhythm of her quickened pulse, but the rest of her body was covered in a cool numbness that Lisa didn't want to think about. She tried to turn her head, and light and pain flashed sharply behind her eyes again, and she blacked out.

Lisa woke to the antiseptic smells and chaotic sounds of a hospital room. She blinked her eyes painfully at the bright light that was flooding in on her. She heard the rhythmic beeps of some monitor, felt a hose at her nose feeding her cool oxygen. She felt the solid neck brace - well, she felt part of the solid neck brace, pressed against her chin and the back of her head. The rest of her body... not much of anything. That cool numb sensation seemed to start at her neck and radiate downwards. She couldn't move her head, couldn't see her body as she stared up. She remembered it all, every moment of it. She knew. the snapping of her neck. She knew.

Incomplete quadriplegia at the fourth cervical vertebrae. Permanent paralysis. Rehab. Full time care. Words like these filled Lisa's world. This was it. Her thrill seeking had put her in a wheelchair, unable to even scratch her own nose, for the rest of her life. She didn't even cry, not once. She deserved it, in a way - certainly she asked for it. What had she been thinking? She sat limp in her shower harness watching a nurse wash her pussy, and she couldn't feel a thing. that was the worst part to her, she realized - not being in a wheelchair, not being helpless. It was the sex. The pleasure. She started thinking about how she would never feel that amazing, erotic rush again. Never.

Lisa saw him on her third day of rehab. He was in the physical therapy room, helping a middle aged woman steady herself on a leg prosthesis. Lots of cripples here, she thought to herself. He looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Couldn't remember where she had seen him. It wasn't until that night, after she had been put in bed by her attendant, after he crept silently into her room with that sinister, deviant grin, that she remembered. He was the one. He was the rough guy. He was the neck-breaker. He was her rapist. And he was coming towards her. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

He came to her bed. He called her a cunt in that same raspy, nicotine-scarred voice, and he pulled the sheets off her paralyzed, useless body. He tore off the bulky diaper she slept in. He unzipped his pants. He got on the bed.

Her orgasm was impossibly good, the ecstasy and depth more than she had every experienced. She smelled his sweat and heard his grunts as he raped her, and her orgasm continued, waves of pleasure filling her crippled body. And, for the first time since she woke up in the hospital, Lisa cried.

BLOG - who wants a story

I'm trying to put together a new flash fiction story but I'm having trouble coming up with a theme/subject. Anyone out there have any suggestions?