Wednesday, July 30, 2014

so it's been a long time.

the move to las vegas has been wonderful, and terrible.  too much to get into right now, but the blog bug has hit and i do believe it's time for me to revisit this little side project and invest some time and thought into it.

in the meantime, feel free to follow me on twitter @sammieSC2 where i try to condense a page of words into 140 characters.

and don't forget to visit my site,  this blog may have been silent, but has a new video and photo set every week!


Saturday, August 25, 2012


sorry for the lapse in posts.  the feedback i have gotten from this blog privately really warmed my heart.  but real life interfered for a few months.  so much has happened, both privately, and professionally.  and most of it happened because of a trip i had planned over a year ago, to go to visit friends this spring 2012.

well, i have been to las vegas twice now since March 2012 and spent a total of six weeks there.  I have met some incredible and amazing people.  so much so that i am moving there, from florida, in less than a week.  there is so much to post, both from my past, and from my present, and hopes of the future, but just not enough time in the day.  i was trying to do this blog chronologically but it's difficult to catch up with almost half a decade of experiences in just a few minutes.  

so, off i ride into the sunset, and i will update this more when i can.  i need to find a place to live, and a new local photographer to help me continue my XXX work.  if you know of anyone, please send them my way.  thank you.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

It wasn't always laughs

There were times it wasn't always laughs growing up.  

Face slapping to this day is something I have a love/hate relationship with.  With the right person, at the right time, it is a huge turn-on, and something very, very intimate.  With the wrong person, it can be devastating.

My mom was a slapper.

I am a very literal person.  I always have been, always will be.  I do not understand reading between the lines, nuances, non-verbal cues.  

One time I was standing by the toaster and I asked my mom, "How long before we leave to go to Aunt Iva's?"  The toaster had sides that were like mirrors and I could see my mom come near me to do something.  She replied, "In a little while."  I said, "Is a little while five minutes or fifty minutes, or what?"  And that is the first slap that I remember, right in my face.  

Back when I was a little girl, Sears had a candy kiosk in the middle of the store.  We would pass by it on the way out, and once I asked my mom if I could have some candy and she said, "No."  I wasn't being bratty, I was trying to find out the logical reason of why I was not allowed to have candy and I asked, "Why not?"  There was no logical answer, there was only a slap.  This slap was extremely humiliating.  Kids saw.  Mothers saw.  Store clerks saw.  I was fighting back tears.  I couldn't wait to get to the car fast enough.  And I swore right then and there if I ever had kids, I would never slap them in the face.

And I never have.

I would like to say that those were my only two experiences with face slapping and humiliation, but they weren't.  

Decades later, I was able to use role play with a dominant during an interrogation scene where I requested beforehand that he verbally humiliate me and slap my face repeatedly no matter how much I cry.  He insisted I have a safeword and use it if I needed to, and I promised I would.  

I would like to say that that scene purged the episode with my mom in Sears, but it didn't.  It helped, but it didn't quite address the issue.

To this day, face slapping is something I consider very intimate and very personal and I only do that with someone I trust.  I consider it a great stepping stone when I feel secure enough to engage in this with a particular person.  And, decades later, when I became a professional dominatrix, I still to this day consider face slapping a very personal, intimate thing that I will only do with clients with whom I feel comfortable.  

I feel BDSM is important for many reasons but one of them is that it can be a therapeutic way to act out through role play traumatic events in childhood and work through them.  I have three clients who saw me multiple times for Adult Baby play.  On the phonesex and webcam line that I work for, baby play is prohibited and strictly against the rules.  I disagree with this.  Many of the people I talk to NEED to revisit their childhood in a safe, loving, nurturing environment to work out deep seated emotional needs that were not met.  I consider it an honor for a client to choose me to take them back to that scary, horrible place, and try to help them rebuild it as a different reality.  The gratitude in their eyes says it all.

Since I am single, I have not engaged in face slapping for quite some time.  Most recently, it was Ramen, the Egyptian, and that is a story (or two or twenty) for another day soon.  Man, oh man.  Ramen.  I thought he was The One.  But it was not to be.  He sure brought out some latent submissiveness in me I thought was long gone, but it just didn't work out.  But boy did he know how to bring me to a place of such deep dark total submission, face slapping was just the logical conclusion.  I would cringe every time he raised a hand, whether it was to grab a collar or turn on a light, due to reflexes from his frequent slaps, and to this day I am not sure if that bothered him, or pleased him.  Maybe a little of both.  No matter, it's over now.  

But I think the day will come when I will be playing with someone I trust during role play, finally figure out what it was that happened inside of me that day, and receive closure.

That will be a very good day.

Photos and videos
Webcam and phonesex
I'm a twit!  Follow me

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

The Crib

Did you know that soap operas are slowly dying off, one by one?

I watched soap operas for years.  How could I not?  Some of my earliest memories are of soap operas.

My mom listened to her soaps on the radio.  Then this thing called TV was invented and my mom religiously followed them on that newfangled thing.

My mom had five children and a busy household to run, extended family to counsel, a husband to care for, and a big house to take care of.  When I was very young, whether I was tired or not, I was put down for a nap.  My mom needed the time to do things without worrying about an infant getting into trouble.  

My crib was right by my bedroom door, and I could look out of my bedroom door into the living room where I could see the TV playing.  I remember characters on General Hospital that were killed off decades ago.  

Sometimes I fell asleep, sometimes I didn't.  Sometimes I was bored stiff and would watch the soaps.  Sometimes I would listen to my mom talk on the phone to aunts, grandmothers, friends.  Sometimes I would try to climb out of the crib.

I managed to do this a few times, and I would always laugh and laugh that I got out of that crib.  "Hang on, Florence, my monkey escaped."  And she would lift me up and put me back in the crib with a scolding look in her eye.  I am not sure what my personal best was for climbing out of that crib in one day, but I bet my mom could tell you.

One day my mom was painting and I must have gotten into the paint so she put me down for a nap and actually tied one of my wrists to one end of a piece of rope and tied the other end to the bottom of the crib.  Yeah, nowadays I am sure this would be abuse but I thought it was great fun.  I don't know how long it took me, but I managed to untie her knot, climb out of the crib, and laugh when I found her.  

She was not amused.

Another time she put something over the crib as a cover and it was weighted down so I couldn't get out.  I pushed and pushed and pushed until whatever it was came crashing down to the floor with a huge BAAAAAAAAAAAANG.

She was not amused at that either.

The knots got tighter, and harder to undo.  I am sure there were times she had to cut the rope off me after my naptime, but I don't recall that.  But I do know I fell asleep many a time trying to get it undone.  Like a little puzzle or some other relaxing endeavor that makes you sleepy.

Like I said, nowadays I am sure that would be considered child abuse.  But for me it was great fun to see who would win that day's knot.  

I have been told this may be why I love bondage to this day.  They may be right.  I don't know.  

But to this day, the first thing I do when I am put into bondage is to try the bonds.  And when I escape some really good knots, I still laugh gleefully.

And hope I don't get scolded!

See my x-rated videos and photos here
Webcam and phonesex here
I'm a twit!  Follow me here 

Monday, April 30, 2012

The Basement

Elementary school years were spent growing up in a four story home.  There was the top floor, which housed the bedrooms and bathrooms.  The middle floor, elevated above ground by a few steps, contained the living room, dining room, kitchen and foyer with the main entryway.  The subbasement had a fourth bedroom, a bathroom, and a large family room. 

And then there was the deep basement.  

The deep basement is where my father would retreat with his radio, his beer, his peanuts and his workbench with tools of all kinds in a wonderful workshop.  There was a toy room where there were floor to ceiling shelves containing all our toys.  There was the laundry room with a huge washer and dryer (there were seven of us in the house, laundry was constant).  And in the center of it all was the post.  

The post was a round metal tube that extended from the center of the floor, by a drain pipe, to the ceiling.  It was painted brown.  It was always cold.  I am assuming it was a support of some sort to the house.

We had an older dog who would be incontinent sometimes, so if we were going to be gone for the day, my mom would chain the dog down in the basement to the post.  There was a dog bed there, nice and comfortable and warm with a blanket for her to nest in, a radio with music playing to soothe her, a water bowl and a bowl of dog food.  

Imagine my delight when, one day, I realized that the dog collar, still chained to the leash, which was still chained to the post, was the perfect fit for my neck.

This started a long love of spending hours in the basement.  I dreamed of being a captive to an evil king who kept me thrown in his dungeon, only being brought up to the bright world above to be beaten and used for his pleasure.  I didn't really know what sex was at such a young age but I knew that SOMETHING happened between a man and a woman and the thought of being kidnapped and having whatever the heck it was done against my will made for many hours of pleasurable escape.  

There were other fantasies, too.  Some of which actually were acted out in my later years.  More of that later.  

The day came when the dog collar no longer fit around my throat.  Luckily, I realized the collar would still fit around my ankle, although that was not as satisfying as the fit around my throat.  What is it about the delicate, tender, vulnerable throat, being the focal point of your bondage?  I still love wearing a collar to this day, and being leashed by it.  

After our vacation to Florida when I was ten years old, in the winter, my parents decided enough of the cold. We would move to Florida.  I was thrilled!  Ecstatic!  Jubilant!  I hated winter and because I had only been to Florida for two weeks and experienced balmy 78 degree sunshine every day, I thought Florida was always like that.  I couldn't wait to move.  I told all my friends and bid them farewell and gave them toys I didn't want to take to Florida.  

There was only one problem.

Florida is basically a sandbar.  There is something called the aquifer that runs all throughout Florida underground.  The water table is very low.  Meaning.....

There are no basements in 99% of Florida.

My beloved basement.  My beloved pole.  Gone.  Forever.

But it was worth it.  If we never moved to Florida, I never would have met Carn.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Bondage Barbie and Kinky Ken

Lois, Stacy and Karen were the three girls who lived closest to my house when I was in elementary school.  We would occasionally get to together, either one on one, or rarer, more than two at a time.  They were all girlie girls, very feminine, and very much into the usual trappings of girlhood.  They played with dolls and dreamed of weddings and tried on their mother's pearls.

Out of all of them, I would have to say Lois was the most like me.  Meaning, different.

Lois and I would sneak around back to the furthest part of the property, behind the garage, and engage in sadistic play.  She would have me spread my legs and prod me with a tree branch.  Down there.  Especially "down there."  And if it was a really good day and if I was really lucky, she would tie my hands behind my back with her knee socks or a hair ribbon or whatever was around.  That just heightened everything.  The breeze across my legs, the blades of grass on the backs of my knees, the hem of my skirt brushing my thighs, the elastic bands in the underwear I was wearing...all enhanced, all screaming for attention.

I was scared of Lois.  But intrigued.  I always went behind the garage with her, wondering what she would do next to me.  I wonder whatever happened to her.  If she's out there somewhere, a kick ass dominatrix, I wouldn't be surprised.

Lois and Karen and Stacy dressed up Barbie in beautiful ball gowns and shoes and elaborate hairstyles.  Ken would marry Barbie and drive off in the pink convertible and live happily ever after. They would have 2.3 children and the most exciting thing in their lives would be having sex with the lights on.

Not in my doll sessions.  Ken would drag Barbie by the hair down to the cellar, where he did truly "underground" activities to her.  Sick things.  Perverted things.  Things you can get arrested for in 38 states.  Of course, I had these sessions alone, after Lois and Stacy and Karen had gone home.  

I would often get bored and go find boys to play with in the neighborhood.  That was much more interesting than playing vanilla Barbie.  My mom called me a tomboy.  Yes, I played sports with the boys but what happened in the secluded neighboring woods were sports of a different kind.

We lived next to an abandoned cemetery and there were always grave markers, trees and crypts to play in.  Sometimes, if I was lucky, I would get tied to them, switched with a sapling branch from a nearby tree, and left alone to conjure up all sorts of even more wicked scenarios.

This was between the ages of 8 and 10.

Fast forward not even a decade later, and Carn and I were engaging in regular bondage sessions in the backseat of his car, in his home when his mom wasn't around, out at the party spot across the street from school in the orange grove, in the middle of a cow pasture by a live oak tree.  Wherever.  

It is one of those paradoxes I still cannot understand, but to this day, I still feel at my most freest, when I am in  bondage.  A strong rope tied around me, the inability to move, the freedom to choose stripped away from me, all that is left is the necessity to experience whatever my partner does to me from that point on.  Freedom in bondage.  Bondage brings freedom.  

My ex-husband was not into BDSM at all but bless his heart, he tried.  We had a very active and good sex life, even though he was vanilla and I was the most deviant person he had ever met.  One day he decided to give it the old college try and tied me to the metal rod across the opening to our shower stall, and proceeded to play with me as I was tied up.  He was amazed.  He said in all the years of our marriage, he had never felt me so wet.  The juices from my vagina were literally running down the inside of my thighs, trickling all the way to the floor. I think that was the first moment he fully understood what bondage and discipline and sadomasochism and dominance and submission means to me.  Unfortunately, he was not wired up that way, but I still do appreciate him trying.

Today I am single.  And single I will remain.  

Until I find my Kinky Ken, or he finds me first....And I will be his Bondage Barbie.  There will be no driving off in a pink convertible.  We will drive off in a camper, with the back bedroom turned into a dungeon.  There will be no elegant princess fairy wedding dress.  I will wear a dress that has the ass and breasts exposed, and will be shackled, wearing a chastity device with sharp tacks inside.  

And I certainly won't be wearing white.  

But, he will be making my nasty deviant scenarios come true.  And so help me god/dess, I will make every single one of his perverted twisted fantasies come true.

And that is why I am single.  I will not settle for anything less.

My videos and photos
My phonesex and webcam lines
I'm a twit!  Follow me

Saturday, April 28, 2012

It's in the genes

It was only a matter of time before Carn truly dominated me and took away the last thing I had left to give.  

In the meantime, my mom was not happy.  She didn't like Carn and thought he was trouble.  She saw the highly sexual nature of him, in fact, I think she sensed it.  It turns out that I found out later my mother was also a very sexual person, she was just better at hiding it.

I devised a system to keep everyone happy.  My life at school revolved around Carn.  As soon as I arrived in the morning on one of the first buses, I would go to our spot, an outdoor hallway on the second floor of our school that was seldom used.  Within minutes, Carn would arrive, and we would have about 45 minutes of extreme make-out time before the first bell rung.  

During his 20 minute morning shop break, I would leave my class for the supposed purpose of using the bathroom, where I would meet Carn.  At lunch, we would forsake eating and go across the street to the orange grove where there was a party place set up by fellow students.  Battery operated radios, mattresses, weed, alcohol - all that you needed for a lunch time party was in the clearing.  During my afternoon shop break, Carn would meet me.  And finally we said our goodbyes at the bus line at the end of the school day.  And of course there was Saturday night.

My mom only knew about Saturday night.

Friday night, I would go out with other guys, have a so-so time, and think about Carn.  Or if I was really lucky, I would devise a way to go out on a double date and be picked up first by the guy, so my mom thought I was going out with him, but then we would pick up the guy's date, and Carn.  Those were good weekends, when I was able to see Carn two nights in a row.  

I hated deceiving my mom like that.  I still hate deceiving people to this day.  But I did it for Carn, I did it for love.

And finally I gave in to Carn and gave him the most intimate part of myself.  This was huge for me.  It was, to me, the epitome of my deceitfulness to the church, to my mom, to my God  But I loved Carn that much.

My mom was supposedly going away on a church women's retreat.  Now, as I look back, I wonder about that.  I think she was doing something else, but that's another story.  I told Carn that I would be alone all weekend and I wanted him to come visit me.  I didn't tell him why.  But he promised he would come see me.  

That whole day I was a nervous wreck.  My conscience beat me mercilessly.  I wrestled with warring emotions of loyalty, trust, lust and love.  My imagination came up with all sorts of scenarios.  What if my mom came home unexpectedly and found us and sent me off somewhere else?  I would never see Carn again.  What happened if I got pregnant?  My mom would throw me out and disown me.  

But as Carn arrived and we sat on the same couch that he first fingered me, we started kissing, and he started touching me and I started sucking on him, and just when he REALLY started getting into it, I looked up at his eyes.  Those amazing, green/amber eyes, so intense, so full of lust, the sparks in the air crackling with energy, his shirtless torso flexing with pent up male need, and I stood up, ignored his questioning gaze, took him by the hand, and let him into the living room.  I wanted to be able to hear if a car pulled up in the driveway, my mother.  I had him pull out the couch into the sleeper sofa, and I laid down on it.  He still didn't catch on.  I pulled his hand to my vagina and he immediately entered it and I was so wet, so slick.  But that's how he always made me, so nothing was unusual there.  He played with me, but I couldn't orgasm, I was so nervous and scared and worried.  Finally he laid back in the bed, confused, his erection going down, and I looked at him.  I knew that this boy I was looking at was going to be the one.  He had been so patient, never pressured me too much about having sex.  Yes he was dominant but he knew my virginity was very important to me and he wanted me to give it to him freely.  Well, his strategy worked.  His patience would pay off.  I wanted to give that to him.  No matter how scared I was of the outcome, physical, emotional, mental or spiritual.

I had him lay flat and I straddled him.  He looked at me strangely. This was new.  And I rubbed myself against his cock.  It immediately started to grow and throb.  "Don't tease me like that, I won't be able to stop myself if you keep that up."  He wasn't kidding.  I could feel his lust as it encircled me like a physical presence.

And I looked straight into those eyes that I loved so much and said, "I'm not teasing you."

Finally he realized what I was doing.

And he let me do it all.  I decided how long I would rub against him, I decided when I would put his cockhead against my lower lips.  I decided how fast and how much of his cock I would take into myself.  I decided how long I would remain motionless, letting the pain recede, letting my body grow accustomed to the new invasion, I decided when I would stir and start to move up and down over him.  He lay still the whole time, watching my face.  It was all so INTIMATE, to watch him watch me lose my virginity on his cock.  

I would like to say that I ended up riding him hard and came all over his cock and he came all over inside me and we held each other and marveled at the wonders of penetrative sex.  But it didn't work that way.  I was still too nervous I would displease him, still too scared my mom would come home, and still too worried I would get pregnant.

But he said it didn't matter that it was not a storybook scene.  He said what mattered to him was that I gave him the most deepest part of me I could ever give him, that I allowed him, that I chose him, to be my first.

And he said, "Next time, it will be different.  I promise you, you will enjoy it."

That was the first and the last time I ever controlled how we had sex.  And he was right, the next time, it WAS different, and I LOVED it.

There was no turning back.  And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

My photos and videos
Talk to me on webcam or phone
I'm a Twit!  Follow me