• #10528 (no title)
  • 15 September 2020
  • Gourmet, Down South
  • The Author
  • Walking
  • What Endures. What Passes.

Dispatches From Dystopia

~ "What man by worrying can add one cubit to his span of years?"

Dispatches From Dystopia

Monthly Archives: February 2019

Give It Away For Lent

28 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

I grew up Presbyterian, Southern Presbyterian, in the Fifties and Sixties. The Catholics were the figurative “bad guys” in those days. Lent was a time that the Catholics, but nobody in their right mind, (Presbyterians) would observe.

So now, after fifty plus years, seems like everybody has a little skin in the Lenten game. As an Episcopalian, I noted the Lenten observance had some degree of rigor.

Now, as a Catholic, I am more than eager to deepen my relationship with God, God expressed in The Most Holy Trinity.

So giving something up is bandied about these days. No candy bars, coffee,alcohol, meat, tobacco, whatever. But simply giving something up, in itself, does very little to deepen that bond of love.

What is apparent to me is my attachment to stuff, also known as “material things”. Clothes, for example, or books, DVD’s, CD’s, furniture. Stuff takes up a lot of space. Somebody might make better use of my stuff than I have or would.

So it is time to give stuff away, and also not buy anymore. That’s Lent for me. Me and Detachment, really? Here goes.

Journey Part II

28 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing, sadomasochism

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

# Discipline

NSFW. Porn. Kinky Porn. sadomasochistic violence. Spanking. This is fiction, y’all!

Three

Flor thought she laid draped over the leather sofa for an eternity, or at least an hour. It was actually 10 minutes. The Captain walked up to her,lifted her off the couch , turned her, draped her over his shoulder, and took her to bed. She stirred when her skin felt the cool sheets. She welcomed the warm down comforter and the silky duvet cover. Her naked body reveled in the tactile awakening. She felt leather, the cotton of The Captain’s shirt, and now this silky warmth. Luxury. The ring of her anus felt its brusque intruder, Flor noted it as well. And at this moment, Flor fell asleep.

She had no idea how long she slept. Greta entered the bedroom with a tray. Flor noted the espresso pot, the pitcher of hot steamed milk, the sugar bowl, and the large cup. The croissants, butter, jam promised something rich, and the fresh pineapple, mango, and strawberries were more than welcome.

“Shall I fix your coffee while you use the bathroom, Mistress Flor?”

“Yes please. Sweet please. And strong.” She entered the bathroom and was taken aback by the mirrored walls opposite the toilet. As she made water, she was struck by her vulnerability, her exposure, if only to herself. After she voided, she stepped over to the bidet, cleaned herself, and here too, she saw her reflection. A mirrored bath. Decadent. She noted the drapes that were hiding the mirrors when she “freshened up”last night.

“Incremental decadence,”she noted inwardly.

Flor noticed the breakfast items had been set on a table overlooking a garden, planted with autumn flowers and rose bushes bore their last few flowers of the season.

“May I ask where The Captain is?”

Of course. He is at the pool and the gym. Then he checks with his office.”

“When will he join me?”

“When he is ready, Mistress, you will be taken to him. Please enjoy your coffee before it’s cold.”

Flor noted the abrupt change of subject, and the ominous sound in the passive voice (will be taken…) The coffee was hot, sweet, delicious. The croissant was a buttery extravaganza. Just sitting nude, in the warm and sunny room was a luxury.

Flor, as instructed, had brought no clothing with her. Since last night’s evening attire was provided, she assumed there would be suitable clothing provided for the day’s activities.

“Greta, I’d like to get dressed now.”

“Mistress, I have no instructions to provide you clothing. Are you warm enough?”

It then dawned on Flor that a choice had been taken away from her. She was being kept in this house, naked, waiting for this man, this Captain, to join her in his own good time. Her gorge rose. She was being ordered, directed, controlled. It dawned on her that there is a term for those who possess no power of choice, slave.

Four.

“The Captain is ready to see you. Please follow me.” It wasn’t Greta who made this announcement, but a man, a stranger, who entered the room. Flor felt her vulnerability as embarrassment, covered her breasts with her arm. Her other hand covered her pubis.

“Please put your hands at your sides. Walking will be easier.”

He opened a door to the terrace. She followed him, down a little step, to a path of stone pavers that felt cold and hard and rough on her bare feet. Her nipples hardened and pointed out in the autumn chill. She was relieved the servant was not looking at her, but the man mowing the lawn, stopped the mower and stared, as did the woman, in the flannel shirt and jeans, planting bulbs. She put down her trowel, and looked straight into Flor’s eyes, as she approached her. She smiled, then whistled, then winked.

Eye candy! At my age! A little insulted, a lot flattered, and even more frightened, as her vulnerability became even more apparent.

Finally they reached his office, a stone cottage, with that Lake Country quality. She almost expected Wordsworth to be inside. But no. The Captain was.

He made general inquiries about her comfort, as courteous as always.

Flor responded with anger and disrespect.

The Captain simply said, ” I knew showing you your place would bring this out. You were looking for the thrill that sex with a rich stranger would offer and yet you were indifferent to what that cost to you might be. But cheer up. My price is only what you want, what you need to lose.

“Thank you, Dr Phil!” Her sarcasm came bubbling out and she instantly regretted the remark.

I’ve noted your rudeness, your insolence, your discourtesy at resenting my… hospitality. There is, of course, corrective action to address your lack of manners.

He pointed to the leather ottoman in front of the arm chair in the office sitting area.

“Bend over that. Ass up.”

Any reticence was preempted by the hand gripping her bicep, then pushing her down and over. He was behind her to her left. She heard a drawer opening, then closing. There was a pause, then the paddle hit her squarely on her raised ass.

“We won’t have any counting strokes theatrics, but you will keep your hands on the floor.”

The paddle struck her buttocks, then again, and again, as the tempo increased and the heat in her ass, rose. She lost her dignity as the tears began. Her imagined stoicism vanished with the sobbing that came deep within her.

The spanking, no, paddling ended. As it was last night, she was alone, this time with her crying, her tears, and the snot. And she felt that something had left her. Something she needed to lose.

Dinner. A Victory.

27 Wednesday Feb 2019

Posted by David in cooking

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

#asparagus.

You don’t have to be Wolfgang Puck or Julia Child to stick a roast in the oven and have it turn out well. But when it does, I feel like I have scored some huge victory, like I’ve won the World Series, the Stanley Cup, or the Ashes Urn for all you Brits and Aussies out there.

It was a simple lean, pork loin. I rubbed it with sage, smoked paprika, and placed it in the oven at 400° for 30 minutes per pound. I use a rack so it browns evenly on both sides.

I cooked some apples. Peeled 3 Granny Smith apples,sliced them, and cooked them over medium heat with 2 tablespoons turbinado sugar and a few shakes of cinnamon. They kind of just turn into applesauce, but they taste good.

What I am most proud of tonight are the asparagus. I cook them with a steamer insert in a sauce pan. I did not overcook them. They were still crisp and hot.

I consider that a victory.

Now I am drinking my coffee while it is still hot.

Life is good.

Insomnia And A Prayer 26 February 2019

26 Tuesday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Spirituality, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

#insomnia #brokenness

I am up again. Been up a since 2:00 AM. I have this irrational fear that I may be missing something, but what that may be I don’t know.

So I am watching travel videos, shot in the 1930’s, on YouTube. Good old YouTube.

I feel sleep wanting to creep back in. And tears of a great sadness I can’t begin to describe.

I mourn those who have passed, my mother, father, brother, ex-wife, for starters.

I grieve the evil possessing Holy Mother Church.

I fear the modern world has fallen and worshipped the transitory and worldly instead of the eternal and Divine.

I must do what I can to set things a right.

And I fear failure. What I should fear is not trying, of shrinking from the challenge, of running away..

God, help me.

Stones

24 Sunday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Health Issues

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

#kidney_stones

Putting my desire and lust on hold, I revert to caregiver. Not unusually nor infrequently do I make the transition. You see, my beloved suffers from kidney stones.

There are times, as in right now, when the situation indicates that it isn’t about what I want or even need. That is a good thing, all in all. I don’t want to exaggerate my selflessness or altruism. But her needs have taught me things about myself. and serve to put my needs in context.

Later this afternoon

J finally passed the stone. Usually they no bigger than a grain of sand. This stone was almost as large as a pebble. How it even passed through her urethra truly astonished me.

24 February Bedtime

24 Sunday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

I’m going to bed soon. And yet…. The world in my imagination offers little real world solace.

“To every thing there is a Season. And a time for every purpose under Heaven.”-Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

Her Back To My Front

24 Sunday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Erotic Writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

#Making_love

NSFW. Sexual Theme.

She had her back to me as I climbed into the bed. She was naked, thank God. I was too worked up to strip off even her nightgown. I could sense the warmth of her buttocks, my prick found the inviting contour of her ass, wedging into the crack, but too dry to do much more and I was yet to decide if I wanted her delicious and eager cunt, or whether I would claim her anus and, in that crude and primal way, claim her.

She wiggled back, showing interest. I spit in my hand and reached below her belly, parting her cunt lips. I stroked a bit, while I kissed and nibbled her neck, seeking a rhythm to my stroking, while she kept grinding back on me.

I wanted her to want me as badly as I wanted her now.

A game of wanting and longing and teasing and tempo it would be.With my free hand, I spread her ass cheeks,and with a wet finger I pushed against her puckered rose. Just a little. Just enough for her to wonder. Then I stopped, raised her leg, found her slick and open pussy. My cock teased the lips then thrust in, while I frigged her clit.

“ Put that finger back in my ass. Fill me.”

Her hand found my fingers on her clit. She took to directing them, guiding me making my fingers hers. She increased the tempo.

“Yes, yes. Oh shit!“

That much I remember. That was all I cared about then.We gave over to feeling and heat. I longed for this to never end.

This moment. Now. Forever.

Sleep?

23 Saturday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Well I took this pill for my bronchitis and now I can’t sleep. Plus it must swell a man’s prostate temporarily because my urine stream is a trickle. Oh well.

I am going to give sleeping another go in a short.

Cold Morphs To Bronchitis

22 Friday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Health Issues

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

#Maria Beatty

Wherein I bewail the lingering nature of a common cold and castigate myself for being a mere mortal.

I am sitting here, fearful I will become permanently attached to my rather nice leather recliner with matching foot stool. The cold that began Monday morphed into bronchitis and a general feeling of fatigue. Yuck. I took some Guafenisin and hopefully that will help in clearing my bronchii. It is in the form of a 12 hour combination medicine with pseudoepinephrine, which usually gets me drowsy. We shall see.

I am doing some trainspotting, although most of the trains scheduled to pass through Ashland around this time have already gone by.

My body is in rest and recover mode. I am vain enough to take this a personal defeat. Being sick is not a failure on my part. Why is that so hard to grasp? (Is this a male ego thing?)

I am now going to have fun. Some DVD’s, maybe Maria Beatty’s The Elegant Spanking would be fun. Perhaps, just NC-17 rated Henry and June is in order. I could watch the documentary Paris Was A Woman and limit my viewing to general cultural improvement. First though, CARTOONS!

Later Loves 💘

Friday

22 Friday Feb 2019

Posted by David in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

I find myself awake and I wonder why. Feelings drift in. Fatigue. Boredom. Yearning. Love.

I have warm thoughts for the people in my life, even those I know only through the cyberworld.

I should go back to bed.

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