The Witch's Fingers

I was just a 22 year old journalism student working for the local paper for a summer job. It shouldn't have ended up this way, trapped in a body I no longer control, in a mind that I can barely call my own...

I volunteered to write a piece on the town's own "haunted house" mystery where supposedly a dozen or so young men and women had vanished without trace in the 19th Century, and to research the history of the building and the stories surrounding it.

Easy stuff, really - there wasn't anything new in the story, and most people in the town knew most of what there was to find out about the place anyway. The evolution of the story over time might be more interesting, going through the local library archives to see if the story changed much since it first started to be told.

Then I hit upon the idea of breaking into the house itself and snooping around. It had been abandoned and empty for as long as anyone could remember, and yet strangely no youths had made it a den of their own, nor had anyone proposed knocking it down and building new developments there. Something about the place kept people away, and I thought it would be great scoop if I could get inside and find out what - or, more likely, prove that it was just the power of superstition.

I was a warm and sultry summer night as I headed out to the abandoned house, a bright moon casting eerie shadows along the lane as my torch picked out the road ahead. Sounds seemed at once heightened and stifled in the night air, as though I could hear anything for miles around, and yet there was nothing there. Of course, in reality there were traffic noises from the main road nearby but that just added to the sensation. And, I was breaking a taboo that it seems even the rebels dared not break, so even though as far as I knew there was nothing wrong with what I planned to do, yet I had opted for the secrecy of darkness, and my heart felt like I was breaking some ancient law.

I wore thin jogging trousers and battered trainers, and an incongruously sexy red top (I had never really liked it, and therefore didn't mind getting it messed up - and it was nice to feel the air on my skin where the top failed to cover it). In my little backpack, I had my notepad and digital SLR camera, and fingerless gloves in case I needed them to protect my hands while scramlbing about inside. I also had a bottle of water, and my phone in case I had an accident and needed to call for help.

The house itself was more like an old-fashioned manor house or stately home, althouh rather small for one of those. It had a sturdy brick wall about 5 feet tall all the way around, with a rusty iron gate as the main entrance. The gate looked as if it would be too stiff to move easily, and because the wall had plenty of footholds, I decided I would climb over the wall and then see where everything went from there.

Getting up the wall was ridiculously easy and I was starting to feel really pleased with myself. I could see I would have a nice, soft landing, although there were many bramble patches and other signs of the decades of neglect, so without hesitating I lowered myself down the other side of the wall.

I don't know what happened next.

As my foot hit the ground, everything seemed to... change around me, and I felt myself slipping from consciousness, falling towards the ground, and panic ran through my mind - absurdly, the thing that seemed to frighten me most was the crazed thought, "Oh God, I'm going to break the camera!" Then there was nothing.

***

I awoke to find myself in front of an empty fireplace, lying on a soft fur rug. It took me seconds that seemed like millennia to remember what I had been doing before I lost consciousness. I started to look around me for my backpack, before I realised that my trousers had been removed, leaving me in just my panties and the now humiliatingly skimpy top. Someone must have found me and brought me back to their home - but that meant they'd taken off my shoes, socks and trousers - what sort of pervert were they? Where was I? And why wasn't I panicking as much as I should be?

A door opened behind me. For some reason, I didn't turn to see who was there. I was just kneeling, facing the fire, feeling strangely calm and unbothered by everything. It just seemed to me as though now everything would be explained, and I would understand, and there would be no reason to worry. I didn't like this feeling, because there was no sense to it at all, and it seemed like there were suddenly two parts of my mind, one that was serenely calm and happy to let everything happen, and the other that was yelling at it that something wasn't right - that I should be scared of whoever took my trousers, and that I should at least find out who was now standing behind me!

I felt soft, small hands on my shoulders. A voice spoke. It was a woman.

"You're lucky I found you," she said, "But what were you doing trespassing on My property?" The authority in her voice was unmistakable, irresistable.

I stammered, 'I'm sorry Ma'am, I thought it was abandoned..."

"That's what you're supposed to think - and yet, you came anyway, nosing where you do not belong, meddling with forces that you cannot comprehend. I ask again - why?"

"I... I was just curious, Ma'am, I didn't mean any harm..."

"Harm!? There will be no 'harm!'" I felt her fingers running through my hairon the top on my head. "You could never do Me any harm, and never will!" Suddenly, I realised she wasn't running her fingers through my hair but was stroking, rubbing, pressing, my scalp. I felt a wave of panic as never before, and the calmness that had engulfed me, anaesthetised me, subjugated me, was washed away - but it was too late...

My lungs tore out a hideous scream as I felt the witch's fingers push through my scalp, white fire and energy seeming to pour down them, my eyes opening wide with horror at the unimaginable pain of this totally unparallelled penetration, my arms stretching outwards in search of an imposisble rescue from this impossible rape of my skull.


















I felt Her power flooding my brain, and all light except that which streamed from Her fingertips seemed extinguished, there was nothing in the universe except me and Her, and Her power.

















No part of my mind, body or soul seemed unviolated by the witch's invasion of my identity and self. For eternity, it seemed, She stood there, and in my mind's eye I could see Her haughty features utterly indifferent to my suffering, or even my existence it seemed - for She was Everything, and I was nothing compared to Her.

And then, my entire being drained, burnt out, exhausted, I felt her fingers slide from my brain, exit my skull, and miraculously heal te entry points as if they had never been there, and, released from her spell, I slumped, collapsed, spent, upon the floor.

















I lay there for an Age, or for a millisecond, I have no way of knowing. Was she there the whole time, gloating over her conquest of me, or did she just leave me as a wasted, blasted piece of ore, that has given up its precious metal to the fire and has no other use? I just know that I woke to her imperious voice: "Stand!"

I stood up.

"Face me!"

I turned to face her. Saw her cruel, heartless face, her contempt for me, it seemed, written into the very features of her bone structure, it was that deep.

"Listen very carefully, girl. You are now My property, as surely as this house, as surely as the rug beneath your feet. Your mind is now Mine, your body will not obey you against Me. This is the penalty for setting foot in My garden."

I stared at Her as she spoke, but I could not, would not, believe it was true. I did not believe in magic. I turned to leave. Or, I thought I did, and yet, I was still in exactly the same posture...

"It is true, and your belief is not necessary," the witch sneered. "As I shall now demonstrate..."

Se made a gesture with Her hand, and my own hand rose from my side, and I found that there was nothing I could do to stop it, it was moving with a will of its own - or, more accurately, it was moving according to her will, not its own, and not mine. Fear filled my face and my voice, "What are you doing?" But the witch ignored me as my wrist turned, my hand formed a clasp. I could do nothing except watch with wild, staring eyes as my own hand irresistibly closed around my neck and unbelievably started to strangle me.

"No!" I managed to croak, but any further protests were cut off as my lungs franticly sought to bring fresh oxygen past the ever-tightening blockade that my hand had formed My mouth worked, yearning, straining, but to no avail. I felt my knees begin to sag, consciousness leaving me, and still Her will held my arm and hand in place as She strangled me with my own fingers. A slow, whirling blackness overtook my senses.

She must have released me then, because I am still alive, still breathing. But She has commanded that I keep my eyes closed, and that I hear nothing unless She speaks to me. I have no senses, nothing can break through Her spell, and so here I lie, telling this story to myself and wondering if I could have escaped, and thinking, if I had the decision to make again, I would not have been so adventurous...

Crush on Me!

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The Golden Hermaphrodite

A concept I came up with while playing around with Daz Studio - an airless alien world, a strange golden statue celebrating fertility...


From a different angle:

Into the cellar

This is roughly what the cellar in my dream home would look like, created using an application called "Sweet Home 3d" and then Daz Studio.

Why not join me on a quick tour?



I thought about sending this video off as an audition tape for a job as a children's television presenter, but decided on second thoughts that they'd be more likely to put me in jail than offer me a job!

My girl's homework

I am currently in the initial stages of a relationship with a slave, and although we have only played online so far, the relationship is going quite deep and we have plans to meet up in the next month or two.

A part of the relationship is that I set her homework tasks, and the latest of these was to write a poem about her submission.

She has posted a slightly edited version (edited by me to help her improve her writing in future) on her slave-blog, and it would be nice if people gave encouraging comments!

Interview with a Sadist

Dana, who regularly comments on my blog, A Femanist View, recently had some questions for me about some of the more extreme posts I have here, and how they relate to what I'm like as a person. The resulting interview-by-email is reproduced here with her permission in the hopes that it will also be useful for others.

D: Basically I was kind of disturbed by your post about almost raping someone and didn't quite know what to do with the knowledge (makes the name "and you thought I was sweet" awfully apt, doesn't it?) you got that far.

It's supposed to be disturbing! I posted it precisely because it's something that I found extremely disturbing, and because (as I stated at the bottom of the post) I had the hope that maybe having the information out there would help prevent others from being in the same situation, or from making the wrong choice if they are.

I think if people don't find that story disturbing, then they probably need to get the help that at the time, I didn't get. That's why I make it clear in the post also that anyone treating that story as erotica would be seen as extremely Not Okay.

I've always been aware of the darker side to my psyche, and when people extend trust to me too quickly, I get very alarmed for them. I often tell the story of when I was walking back to my student digs from university in the middle of the night, and a woman with her friend came up, peered at me, and commented, "oh, it's you - that's okay, you're placid". Knowing that I have fantasies of a violent sexual nature, I was naturally quite alarmed that she'd drawn this conclusion just from seeing me around, and I told her that for all she knew, I was a mad axe-murderer and she should be more careful! But, yes - from that you can see why I might call this blog "And You I Was Sweet!" - lots of people do think I'm sweet, without knowing the full truth.

As for "what to do with the knowledge I got so far" - something I've been dealing with one way or another ever since. I think I have made my peace with it, in that I understand how the depression brought me to that point, and I know it can never happen again, but it remains a part of my past and I can't hide from that.

D: I struggle with the idea of rape fantasy (as protagonist) in general, let alone the idea you got that far. Now, you're still the person you always were and I like this person! But the idea that it took you watching extremely violent, sadistic porn to be able to draw that line in the sand? Shook me.

I wouldn't say I used violent porn to draw the line in the sand. Rather, that it gave me that much less of a reason to cross the line.

But I think we need to be clear here - the events I described were no longer about rape *fantasy*, because they were a part of the real world and not a part of any roleplaying game. The fantasy did not get that far, but the other-destructive urges took the potential reality that far. And yes, it's something I struggle(d) with.

D: I was thinking about it later, thinking about those morals that you "feel". And I remembered when I was younger and very depressed. How once when my mother asked me to hang out the washing and my internal reaction was towering rage (having her ask me to do ANYTHING - our relationship is semi-functional now but it's taken about 6 years of living apart), and I was imagining grabbing her head and smashing it into the concrete until her skull smashed and blood ran down the wall and her brain slid through my fingers. And while I knew I would never do it I felt no emotional constraint, nothing FELT wrong about it.

Yes, that's almost exactly what it felt like for me on that (thankfully not so
fateful) day.

D: So I thought maybe I could see where you were coming from. Now, I know I couldn't do it because even when my mother really hurt me I could never ever hurt her back. And now I have that "line in the sand" back again, even though I still struggle with depression and anger.

What I wanted to know was if you felt that moral constraint now or if your body entirely disagrees with your brain?

As I described in the post, as soon as I got home I felt the moral constraint come flooding back - to the extent that it affected my physically, almost a state of shock. I wrote an account of what had just happened to remind myself and make sure I never again went that close to such unforgivable acts.

The reality of rape is deeply distressing to me and I certainly feel all the moral concerns that are important. This is why I find it so frightening and disturbing to think back to that afternoon on the golf course, when for a few brief minutes, they weren't there.

D: And rather than questions I was wondering if you had some self-analysis or insight to your sadism that would help me understand where you're coming from. Because the fantasy about torturing and raping, dismembering and killing a woman also disturbs me. But at the same time I believe from what I see of you online that you're a good person, better than most.

The best analysis I have is that it comes down to the fact that a lot of my kink revolves around extreme emotions, and works in terms of the mind rather than the body of the person in the fantasy (or indeed, in real-life, although the real-life is a lot different from the fantasy). So concepts and ideas that involve desperation, fear, pain, helplessness, terror, humiliation, anxiety, denial, and so on, are right alongside lust, passion, need, tenderness and warmth for me as erotic responses in a partner.

So the fantasy about dismembering a woman was not about the act of dismembering her per se, but rather, about rendering her helpless. The rape fantasy is not about brutalising someone, but about her emotional reactions to it in the context of a storyline. The fantasy of torturing her is about her pain and her fear, and the fantasy of killing her is about her terror, her desperation and her helplessness. That's why I wrote in my most recent post (which features some images of a fantasy concerning a woman on a guillotine) that the most erotic moment for me is the one at which death is inevitable, but hasn't actually occurred yet.

The fantasies are all just storylines that exist to present a conclusion wherein those extreme emotions are combined with a sexual setting (which, because it's all just playing out in my mind, I can time perfectly to coincide with my orgasm when masturbating). I have no desire at all to carry out the extreme acts in real-life (even if I do get aroused by pornographic images of such acts, as long as they're produced in such a way that no one actually comes to harm!) That's why horror movies, slasher movies, and "torture porn" movies, are genuinely porn for me - it's because they are storylines designed to provoke those emotions, or to present characters on-screen as feeling those emotions.

In real-life, I also enjoy toying with a partner's emotions, as part of BDSM play. About the only emotion that I can't reproduce safely in a real-life BDSM setting is "terror", and I don't consider that a big loss.

I hope this helps you to understand about the clear distinction I make between what goes on in my mind and what I do in real-life, and I hope it helps to explain why I have the fantasies I do.

La guillotine et la madamoiselle

More pictures made using Daz Studio, and some of the clever freebie stuff available out there.

This is a series of pictures created from a single scene (well, technically, it's two scenes, because in some of them the guillotine is on one side of the pool and in some it's on the other - but I digress) featuring the freebie genital-lacking female model, and a freebie genital-equipped male model.

They tie in strongly with my death-fetish interests, and as the title of the post suggests, in this particular scene, the death in question is by guillotine. I haven't actually created a version of the scene in which her head has been chopped off, but because my kink is really about the emotions and the fear, the most erotic images for me are those where the blade is descending but hasn't actually reached her yet. That is, the moment when death is inevitable but hasn't actually occurred.

I started off with a few pictures of just her, wearing nothing but a bustier and a chastity belt (and the handcuffs that keep her arms twisted under the bench of the guillotine). Then I introduced the male executioner, who molests her, then rapes her, and finally, activates the release mechanism and lets the blade fall under gravity's lethal influence...








Ending with a "fond farewell" wave from the executioner...