Clit-Orations

Sure, you know how to buy us gifts — but do you know how to properly present them? Try wrapping them in this.

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When I was a little girl, do-gooders would give me pieces of candy. It was supposed to be a nice thing to give the poor kids. I took it, and enjoyed it. But as I got older I noticed the look in my momma’s eyes — the look in all the mommas’ eyes when their kids were given candy. It wasn’t just the shame that comes from knowing others have decided your kids are poor and needy, but the fact that they’d rather that the well-meaning person would hand out bags of rice or otherwise give something that would help more than the five minutes of sweet sugar.

I continued to accept the candy.

As I got older, I also started to notice the ways giving candy changed.

My short Daisy Dukes weren’t a fashion statement — or a sign of promiscuity either. They were shorts that were too short but there was no money for better fitting shorts. But I saw the looks. And while I didn’t, at first, understand it; I knew there was a wistfulness, a question, a begging in their eyes…

And that’s when I began to feel the power shift. Shift to me.

Now I had something they wanted and they quickly became the needy ones I could hand out sweet stuff to.

Like the do-gooders who gave me candy, I gave out small pieces here and there, but never enough to really address the full hunger.

Trailer park girls are smarter than you think. We know we can’t say, “Give me a computer and I’ll give you a blow job.” The average guy will automatically believe there’s never been a blow job worth that. The trick is getting him to believe it is. So you tease and deny, increasing the desire and then the value of the blow job. The blow job becomes nearly unobtainable, and suddenly, just seeing your pantyhose-covered ass is worth a pc.

Even when he knows what you’ll do with that pc.

And when you’ve got the pc, you dump him. Because now you need the cable guy to get you hooked-up for free. The computer guy, who’s been wanking to his mental images of your ass all week, sees the cable guy leaving, and assumes he’s gotten a blow job — his blow job. He begs that he deserves one. But you laugh at him, tell him to email you pictures of his wee willie to impress you first, and shut the door.

Now you’ve got two men vying for you and the value of the bj increases wildly.

And you’ve got photos of pathetic penis to leverage into who knows what else.

Like money.

No Comments | Tags: financial domination, no angel, power play, trailer trash

Born in 1984, I may or may not have been named Nikki after the Prince song — but I do have some things in common with the song:

I knew a girl named nikki
I guess u could say she was a sex fiend
I met her in a hotel lobby
Masturbating with a magazine
She said howd u like 2 waste some time
And I could not resist when I saw little nikki grind

She took me 2 her castle
And I just couldnt believe my eyes
She had so many devices
Everything that money could buy
She said sign your name on the dotted line
The lights went out
And nikki started 2 grind

Nikki

The castle started spinning
Or maybe it was my brain
I cant tell u what she did 2 me
But my body will never be the same
Her lovin will kick your behind
Oh, shell show u no mercy
But shell shonuff shonuff show u how 2 grind

Darlin nikki

Woke up the next morning
Nikki wasnt there
I looked all over and all I found
Was a phone number on the stairs
It said thank u 4 a funky time
Call me up whenever u want 2 grind

Oh, nikki, ohhhh

Come back nikki, come back
Your dirty little prince
Wanna grind grind grind grind grind grind grind grind grind

{backwards at the end…}
Hello, how r u? Im fine. cause I know
That the lord is coming soon, coming, coming soon.

No Comments | Tags: about Nikki Nines, bitch, masturbation, music, Poetry, sex fiend

Spending a lot of time in airports means I spend too much time reading magazines — even the corny, out-dated (and sometimes dangerous) Cosmopolitan, abandoned on the seat next to me during a two hour layover.

Flippin’ bored I began to flip through pages… And what should my beautiful eyes spy? An article on orgasm denial.

OK, so the folks at & interviewed by Cosmo aren’t going to come right out and say “orgasm denial” — but sure as shootin’ that’s what they are talking about in Taking Your Orgasm to a New Level, by Jennifer Benjamin.

Any Dominatrix, Domme (or Dom) worth the salt in their sweaty subs, well, sweat (and perhaps tears), knows this stuff. But for the rest of you — and for those who think that their kink of orgasm denial means they are damaged goods (or worse), will find the advice from the sexperts both illuminating and comforting.

And that, ladies & grunts, is why it’s called wisdom: wise-dom or wise-domme.

Then again, those of you who do not wish to know how the rabbit, after long delay, delightfully pops forth from the hat, skip the read and just count on us to continue to provide the magic.

All images/scans from Cosmopolitan, June 2009 issue.

1 Comment | Tags: sex facts, sexpert wis-domme

Yup, those are pantyhose with a string of “pearls” in the crotch. And yup, those pearls get to My pussy before any piggies do — because those pearls are going to do more for Me than any pathetic pig is.

Now all you piggies have to do is tribute Me so I can buy them.  Hey, it’s the only way you’ll even get close to putting anything near My pussy lips…

Do it. Now.

No Comments | Tags: beauty, bitch, pantyhose

To live in a house with three Fem Dommes, what would it be like?

Each Mistress would have her own individual rules, expectations, and servicing needs.

For example, Nikki Nines demands a clean house at all times, but Mlle is always making a mess in the kitchen — or having you make one. And Trailer Trash Angel? Forget about clean with that one; her dirty panties, stockings, yoga pants and socks are strewn all about the place.

Mlle requires midnight feedings (of all sorts!), Nikki Nines expects you to be up at the crack of dawn to go down and give her 200 (or more) tongue lashes so she can start her day with multiple orgasms — and that doesn’t count the attentions you’ll need to give her in the shower. And then there’s Trailer Trash Angel who demands that you be at her beck and call when her mood strikes — or she’ll do the striking on your backside (which is probably already tender from having failed someone already that day).

Surely it would be exhausting to be the only servant to carry out all those duties…

For your latest duty roster, enter the Cherry Picked Post password.

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Call and say, “Hi!” Make reservations, if you dare…

No Comments | Tags: pantyhose, phone sex, sex fantasies

Sir John Suckling wrote that a lover serves for the love of service, nothing more:

After all, the wages will not be high, for [his heart] hath been brought up under Platonics, and knows no other way of being paid for service than by being commanded more; which truth when you doubt, you have but to send to its master and your humble servant

He will follow her will blindly, asking not the reason:

Yet, hearing you have resolved it otherwise for me, my faith shall alter without becoming more learned upon it, or once knowing why it should do so.

Though he is not ashamed to worship her, he knows that he has no more claim to her beauty & favors than any man have to light and beauty, secrecy is essential:

though you have left behind you faces whose beauties might well excuse perjury in others, yet in me they cannot, since to the making that no sin love’s casuists have most rationally resolved that she for whom we forsake ought to be handsomer than the forsaken, which would be here impossible.

…yet since the world is full of profane eyes, the best way, sure, is to keep all mysteries from them, and to let privacy be (what indeed it is) the best part of devotion.

And always, he accepts both his own nature and hers:

And now, since I know your ladyship is too wise to suppose to yourself impossibilities, and therefore cannot think of such a thing as making me absolutely good, it will not be without some impatience that I shall attend to know what sin you will be pleased to assign me

No Comments | Tags: Poetry, submit to your mistress