I have talons that I like to use for more extreme sessions. Razor edged spikes that slide over my fingers - palmless, cold, metal gloves. They were a gift from a friend who, by some blessing of nature, is a metal worker. He has produced several of my more severe devices. We are a dangerous pair when we get together and pull out our yellow tablets and pencils.

These talons, a particular favorite of mine, can be used in mild play sessions - or more extreme, and bloody escapades. Obviously, the latter has been far and few between - nm is, in fact, the only one that dared to go for a more extreme encounter, and she has an almost love/hate relationship with them…and me.

The gloves aren’t pulled out frequently for those reasons. Razors are a lot less threatening, disposable and don’t require the painstaking attention between sessions. Still, there are times that I put them on…just to have them on.

I remember the marks they leave - like you would expect of an animal. Perhaps that is where the appeal is - my lowest common denominator - the beast.

I crave. I hunger. I burn.

Couldn’t manage to get the car washed before going out…?

Hate them.

Firstly, it protects nothing. Your pictures are still available for anyone to snatch. There is no way to prevent anyone from taking anything that is posted online. If you don’t like people taking your pictures, cover the image with a transparent gif, watermark it, or make it a flash movie. Those steps will keep most people out of the loop.

Disabling right click means that I can’t pull a suggested link up in a new browser easily…that I can’t quote your text…and means that I will not be coming back.

Enough nm for the moment, I’m tired of introspection.

My music tastes are varied, but this post won’t tell you that. At this point, however, this is the music to which I am listening. If you were around a little while back, I posted ‘Love Remembered’ - a classical piece that reminds me of floating in a sea of tears. Perhaps it helps suggest my broader approach to music.

On the other hand, my usual tastes run along the same vein as say Metal/Industrial/Alternative do. I’d post the piece, but having had an epiphany - and don’t believe it should be available for you to download (Itunes) from me.

So today, I’m going to offer up a few items that I enjoy. Some are several years older than others - I’m not twenty anymore. Find them if you like. Feel free to comment.

Disturbed - Down with the Sickness
Disturbed - Prayer
Disturbed - Stricken
Rob Zombie - Living Dead Girl
Shinedown - Save Me
Staind - Outside
Perfect Circle - Counting Bodies Like Sheep…
Fuel - Falls on Me
Adema - Immortal
System of a Down - B.Y.O.B
Vast - Pretty When You Cry
Collide - The Lunatics Have Taken Over the Asylum
Lacuna Coil - Heaven’s A Lie
NIN - The Hand That Feeds
Nirvana - Come as You Are
Nirvana - Teen Spirit
Nirvana - Heart Shaped Box
NIN - Closer

Cruelty is my second nature - so much a part of me that I often can’t see the lines that separate one (the usual me) from the other (the sadistic me). She took him back.

God does have a sense of humor. To repay me for the years I spent whoring, drinking and smoking - he sent this creature to me. He made her so intoxicating she was more potent than any liquor, more satisfying than any cigarette and with skin that is softer, sweeter and more seductive than any other. He mocks me. I - a self proclaimed master of my universe - led on such a chase by a women whose neck fits so neatly in the palm of my hands. He made her so vicious she could wound me, yet made her so fragile I would want to protect her.

I hate him some days. I hate myself others. Some days, I hate her the most. Yet - I always love her. I always love him. I always love myself.

If the distance before was motivated by fear or dislike of commitment, it was different this time. This was self preservation. I was cursed by education that forced me to see and understand her choices, if not accept them. She said I was cold.

I was cold. I’ve used this piece before - it was fitting during this time.

Warmth eludes me and I am caught in the embrace of cold resolve. My will hardens itself against you; the sharp pain of self-denial ravages my thoughts. Your touch is as fleeting as a warm breath in my winter, disappearing until only the evanescent trace remains to keep me company. I am alone in my darkness, able to hear the echo of my own breath and I still would choose this emptiness over you.

Can you understand the choices that drove me here? I doubt it. I am sadistic even to myself.

She choose him.

Eventually they split on their own - I wrote about that discovery. I was glad that they split on their own without my added weight to one side of the scale.

So she is single. I am single. What is keeping us apart?

My sadistic nature. Her unwillingness to put up with it. Upon reading these posts, I see that I have painted her with a gentle brush. It amuses me somewhat. Protective. Yes, even when we disagree, I shelter her. There are other things - things that might define why I am so angry with her. Angry. They might explain all those empty holes in my post where I glaze over various things.

Some, are her fault, most are mine - and some belong to unspoken third parties - but I can only present myself in the ugly light of reality. Its the only way to be honest.

We spoke Saturday. It was not a discussion that went beautifully. She only wants the part that doesn’t make her cry. I told her that if she wanted to be fucked…I would fuck her. If she wanted to be put on her knees, I would place her there. If she wanted me to love her…I do. But under no circumstance would she call me Master. Amo. Sir, even. Nothing. Only Daemon. Only D.

It is a reminder to me to keep my head above water.

Let me just start by saying that to describe the level of betrayal I felt at that point…is beyond words. Reason never entered the equation. I hid it well, I think for at least the first few weeks. I have an outlook of - if you see it happen in your mind, eventually it will happen. It has worked well for me in business. In personal relationships, just because one person chooses to view it differently, doesn’t make the other person want to see your side of things.

She didn’t want to break it off with him. We resolved our issues over our break up and had settled into being friends. There was always that sizzle of heat that would happen whenever we had allowed ourselves to be caught alone together at night. Night was always our time. We flourished in the hours between sunset and sunrise. Yet we never touched…physically.

What does that mean? In short, I would fuck her mentally. I would catch her in a corner and lean in and whisper all the things that I wanted to do to her. I would fuck her… oh yes, but I never had to touch her to do it. It was satisfying for me, because I could still control her on a level that I knew he could never touch her. Dark people - we know what drives others of our kind.

Let me go ahead and state this now. I don’t ‘believe’ in cheating. That is to say, I don’t encourage it, condone it, accept it. I didn’t always have such a standard, but at this point, I had developed it - in large part because of my relationship with her.

It didn’t sit well with me, our relationship. He knew about me, of course, but I don’t believe he ever grasped how strong my hold was on her - even after two years of being apart. He was wary of me, but kept his distance. She told me time and time again how much we were alike. I hated that comparison.

She loved him. I hated her for loving him. Yet I remained silent for my part - only vocalizing when she pushed some point too far. I knew she didn’t trust me. I knew that. I had cut her dead (out of my life) once, how could she not think I would do it again?

I could do it. Even today.

We would get close and when we got too close, we would snap at each other and pull back apart. It was our way of keeping needed distance. We would avoid each other at night. I sought company of others. Women. Her jealousy was uglier than mine…mine was starting to sputter out as I had no reason to be jealous that she found someone else….hers…was ugly.

She knew the offers I was getting. She couldn’t bear the thought of me fucking someone else.

And one evening - we were weak. I’m not certain if she did it to keep me hooked on her or if it was purely a momentary lack of judgement.

She never told him, but I could see how her gaze, which was so tolerant of his errors before, had become very critical. Things that were fine before, were now abrasive to her. I saw the fissures forming in their relationship and when they broke open, I stood back and watched.

I felt some guilt, but I felt more self satisfaction. Still, she cried for him. That comfort she wanted from me still wasn’t there. I’m not good at providing comfort - at least emotional comfort, and certainly not when you are crying for a man I am glad to see gone.

I pulled back again. It wasn’t so much that I was retreating from her, it was more that I was conserving my energy for the issues growing within my family. I had 3 family members pass during a three month period. I had so much going on I couldn’t find enough hours to handle them all. I am the rock for my family. If you are the rock, you understand what this means. I am the one person anyone can turn too for a kick in the ass or stiffening of your backbone.

I just didn’t have time for much. Still, I kept in touch. I didn’t leave her like I had before. We had spent so much time rebuilding trust that I wasn’t about to sacrifice our progress. It took about 4 months to pass over this time.

When I finally got to see her again - I was greeted with the news that she was giving him another chance.

In the fevered haze that followed, I hit her….right in the heart.

A post entirely about her. She reminded me how we met. I brought about huge waves of memory that usually sit unused as new ones come in.

Her awkwardness turned my head when I first met her - she was beautiful, but sublimely unaware of her own power. It was refreshing to watch her stumble over her words when she would speak to me. The women I knew could milk each turn of phrase into an invitation for sex, and here she was unable to speak while looking at me. Her nervousness was palatable.

I wasn’t looking for anyone. In truth, I spent a good amount of time of my twenties finding those women with their guilded tongues and easily parted thighs, and most of them were other ‘Dominant’ women. I was content with fucking the flavor of the week, and the word relationship didn’t slide off of my tongue. Still we would often see each other in passing - same circles of company. She would smile but remain silent and I would watch and listen.

Conversation started gradually. It was two people testing waters. I was evaluating her, she was evaluating me. I didn’t want another woman - the ones I had were causing me headaches - snapping at each other for being with me. Yes, they all knew I fucked around and instead of asking me to choose, they went the other route and would try to poison my relationship with other women. Not that I would have choosen - I think it does take something special to compel someone to commit to another person, and my heart wasn’t involved. I digress - but it boils down to the fact that I didn’t want to bring her, or anyone else, into the mix. I was becoming increasingly disgusted with what I had sired. Detached - if you’ve read, you know how this is for me.

Still, we would talk. She has this mysterious quality that draws me - even today. I began by giving her small tasks to complete. They were simple, but told me a wealth of information about her as a woman. I would seek her out just to speak with her. I was compelled to dominate her. This is a hard concept to explain, but as women have told me before that they feel the pull to submit, so too, did I feel the need to put her on her knees.

She didn’t fit my usual pattern. I enjoyed being with dominant women - mostly to break them, I see now. It was a power rush to make them do what they had never done before. Ah was I naive. Still, here she was, submissive, and I wanted to surround her. Protective. God yes. I could see her petals and didn’t want them trampled….by anyone else.

When I kissed her I felt pressure on my heart. Ah god, for someone so starved for emotion it was like drinking water for the first time in ages. I didn’t pull back. I dove in. She would later tell me how she felt - nervous - and I would never tell her that I was scared.

Sex was incredible. Together we discovered the darker side of our natures. Blood, pain, anything. It was refreshing to not temper my emotional and physical demands. She would do anything I wanted. I would do anything she wanted. I had always been a sadist, but I never refined my edge so well as I did with her.

I could hurt her. Physical pain just turned us both on, but I also learned how to cause her beautiful emotional pain. Manipulative, yes. I was and am. I felt a savage joy in making her cry. I would snap on her small mistakes and twist them in my head (sometimes very much unaware I was doing so) and make her pay 100 fold for any error.

Jealousy. I had it in spades. Being so unrestricted with her …it mind fucked me - could she really take knowing me and still want to be with me? Jealousy was the result of that thought. It wasn’t obvious - it didn’t happen when I would see her interact with other men - it was when I didnt see her that my mind would work.

Then there was rage. Anger like I had never known before. A mistake she made in trusting someone - who took advantage of her during her need for comfort. She couldn’t seek comfort from me, you see, I had dissolved into a swirling tempest of sadistic emotion. There was no down time. No time to rest. I was always seeking her tears. Pain. And when he took advantage of her - I laid the blame purely on her shoulders.

I had to be drugged. I lost my temper that badly that I needed sedation. My knuckles were bleeding, split open from smashing drywall. It took everything I could do not to murder her. It was, without question, my wake up call.

I had fallen too hard and didn’t know how to handle it.

We did recover from that. I found a new way of handling my anger - chain smoking. I had smoked before, but during this time, I stepped it up to the point that there was a gray cloud of smoke that would trail me everywhere. We continued as we had, but tempered this time - better. I saw the depth that she loved me. I felt the depth that I loved her.

It all went south for very personal reasons, but I assure you, it was entirely my fault.

I left her. She didn’t want me to go. She wanted me to comfort her. She wanted comfort from the person that had caused her pain - and I couldn’t give it.

And for a long time I didn’t speak to, or hear from her. We had parted ways much like millions of other couples. Two years passed. I moved and never told her where I went.

During this time, I stopped smoking. I started attending the gym. I sank into my work. Exercise became my constant companion. My road rage evaporated. My list of friends grew in this new place. I had people who would tell me when I was being an ass, and I trusted them enough to listen.

No women of any note.

And one day I saw her. Here. We had found each other again. For a Catholic, this was…foundation shaking. A sign.

Then she told me about her owner. Modern day fairy tale romance, this was not.

{to be continued…}

Friday - having spent a good portion of the day with my nose buried in the hell that is ‘friday paperwork,’ I decided to take Anne up on her lunch offer and went out to The Palm - a popular lunch time retreat for the people who want to see and be seen. I had, in fact, met two women (at different times, of course) that I later dated. She likes those places because you can have a martini without getting the ‘puritan stare,’ which is common in this area - Texas is the big, gawdy buckle of the Bible belt.

Eh - it was easily a two hour lunch, but considering my hours, which average out at 55/week, no one even squeeks in objection. I did return to a particularly happy office. I should have known something was up - their faces were ear to ear with smiles - and I didn’t even think to question it. I claim after lunch stupidity. Red meat - yea - it was the red meat that caused me to miss that clue.

I opened the door to my office and my entire desk is covered in foil.

No, not just a bunch of sheets laid over my desk, which would have just been wierd, but everything on my desk, my chair, even my computer monitor - you guessed it, wrapped in custom foil pieces.

They even foiled my paperclips. The box of spare staples in my drawer. The wheels on my office chair. My coffee mug (with coffee still in it). The spoon. My desk calendar. My phone. My mouse (and the little ball inside, yep, covered with foil) Every fucking thing.

In light of the time it obviously took them to complete the task, I walked back outside and with a straight face told them all that I was going to dock each person involved two hours of pay.

Those smiles quickly evaporated before I started laughing.

Needless to say, I spent a good portion of work unwrapping, and I doubt I even got close to getting it all done.

Bless them for liking me enough to make me laugh.