Ds 1 Quotes

Better yet - I'll buy him a dildo with his own money, send it to him, and tell him to go fuck himself

How can the most cruel and despicable create something as breathtaking beautiful as this?

It’s okay if you need to be saved. Sometimes even the strongest, most independent people need to be rescued.

Three erotic paintings by Isa - $ 20K; chasing said artist in Benz SLS Coupe - $ 195K; the look on her face right at this moment - PRICELESS.

What the hell? Is she topping from the bottom? I’ll let it slide this time because she doesn’t know what that means and because she asked so nicely.

I feel his hardness between us and when I look down, sure enough, there it is. It’s big and yummy and pressed inside his pants like an encased sausage threatening to break free.

You have not realized yet that both of you are mine, have you?

One minute you are loved, and then you are not.

​Life... is full of compromises you never thought you'd make when you were young.

She's always rehearsing, having imaginary conversations in her head that preempt real encounters

What’s unacceptable is that you’ll accept my cock in practically every orifice of your body, my tongue in your ass and you’ll swallow my semen, but you won’t accept clothing from me.

I hardly know her. It all comes back to the paintings. Her amazing and beautiful talent. Her sincerity. Her kindness. Her feistiness. Her ability to be in my head at all times. Her ability to pull me out of myself and make me see things like I’ve never seen them before.

The sweet sounds of our fucking are hypnotic; the wetness, the sound of her ass slapping against me, the squeaks of the leather beneath her knees… fuck yes.

My two favourite demigods have returned,’ he said, and he held his arms open and embraced both of them at the same time. ‘Favourite?’ Will said into Mr D’s armpit. ‘I thought you didn’t even like demigods.’ ‘Oh, I don’t,’ he said. ‘All of you could fall to the bottom of the sea and I wouldn’t care. But I’d prefer if you two were the last to drown.

There are times when the marvels of scientific advancement expedite our processes, making our lives easier. Modern technology provides machines that can think three or five or seven steps ahead of the human mind, machines that offer elegant solutions, a selection of contingency plans, Bs and Cs and Ds in case A isn't to your liking. And then there are times when a screwdriver and a bit of elbow grease are all that's necessary to get the job done.

Little Miss Sassy Panties is back and I laugh out loud at her. I know she doesn’t like it but damn she’s fucking comical when she’s feisty, but I guarantee, her ass will be paddled and for that sarcasm when the time comes.

Can you use these on me? Right now, please…” Fuck yes. I’m always amazed at how quickly my cock can jump to attention at the hint of any sexual impropriety.

I wrap my arms around her, one hand in her hair, one around her waist and I hug her more tightly than I’ve hugged anyone since… my parents.

All these people locked in their own thoughts, enmeshed in complicated lives, each of us believing we’re at the center.

We don’t want America thinking that the D/s lifestyle is strictly about how much pain you can give and receive, how many people you can control and manipulate, but it’s about two people exploring one another—a vanilla couple—and being fulfilled. And I don’t just mean sexually, but emotionally and mentally--

1. Bangladesh.... In 1971 ... Kissinger overrode all advice in order to support the Pakistani generals in both their civilian massacre policy in East Bengal and their armed attack on India from West Pakistan.... This led to a moral and political catastrophe the effects of which are still sorely felt. Kissinger’s undisclosed reason for the ‘tilt’ was the supposed but never materialised ‘brokerage’ offered by the dictator Yahya Khan in the course of secret diplomacy between Nixon and China.... Of the new state of Bangladesh, Kissinger remarked coldly that it was ‘a basket case’ before turning his unsolicited expertise elsewhere. 2. Chile.... Kissinger had direct personal knowledge of the CIA’s plan to kidnap and murder General René Schneider, the head of the Chilean Armed Forces ... who refused to countenance military intervention in politics. In his hatred for the Allende Government, Kissinger even outdid Richard Helms ... who warned him that a coup in such a stable democracy would be hard to procure. The murder of Schneider nonetheless went ahead, at Kissinger’s urging and with American financing, just between Allende’s election and his confirmation.... This was one of the relatively few times that Mr Kissinger (his success in getting people to call him ‘Doctor’ is greater than that of most PhDs) involved himself in the assassination of a single named individual rather than the slaughter of anonymous thousands. His jocular remark on this occasion—‘I don’t see why we have to let a country go Marxist just because its people are irresponsible’—suggests he may have been having the best of times.... 3. Cyprus.... Kissinger approved of the preparations by Greek Cypriot fascists for the murder of President Makarios, and sanctioned the coup which tried to extend the rule of the Athens junta (a favoured client of his) to the island. When despite great waste of life this coup failed in its objective, which was also Kissinger’s, of enforced partition, Kissinger promiscuously switched sides to support an even bloodier intervention by Turkey. Thomas Boyatt ... went to Kissinger in advance of the anti-Makarios putsch and warned him that it could lead to a civil war. ‘Spare me the civics lecture,’ replied Kissinger, who as you can readily see had an aphorism for all occasions. 4. Kurdistan. Having endorsed the covert policy of supporting a Kurdish revolt in northern Iraq between 1974 and 1975, with ‘deniable’ assistance also provided by Israel and the Shah of Iran, Kissinger made it plain to his subordinates that the Kurds were not to be allowed to win, but were to be employed for their nuisance value alone. They were not to be told that this was the case, but soon found out when the Shah and Saddam Hussein composed their differences, and American aid to Kurdistan was cut off. Hardened CIA hands went to Kissinger ... for an aid programme for the many thousands of Kurdish refugees who were thus abruptly created.... The apercu of the day was: ‘foreign policy should not he confused with missionary work.’ Saddam Hussein heartily concurred. 5. East Timor. The day after Kissinger left Djakarta in 1975, the Armed Forces of Indonesia employed American weapons to invade and subjugate the independent former Portuguese colony of East Timor. Isaacson gives a figure of 100,000 deaths resulting from the occupation, or one-seventh of the population, and there are good judges who put this estimate on the low side. Kissinger was furious when news of his own collusion was leaked, because as well as breaking international law the Indonesians were also violating an agreement with the United States.... Monroe Leigh ... pointed out this awkward latter fact. Kissinger snapped: ‘The Israelis when they go into Lebanon—when was the last time we protested that?’ A good question, even if it did not and does not lie especially well in his mouth. It goes on and on and on until one cannot eat enough to vomit enough.

My name’s Christopher Bronson, and I’m a detective sergeant. You can call me Chris. You can call me DS Bronson, or you can just call me Bronson. But, you fat, ugly bastard, you can’t call me “Death Wish”.

I wonder how Isabel is doing this morning. I wonder how she got to work. She doesn’t have a car that I know of. Holy fuck - she’s not using public transportation, is she? That would be completely unacceptable.

Tarnelius leaned forward to give her a chaste peck on the lips. "That's all I get?" "Yes, that's all you get until you make the bond with me," Tarnelius said, smiling. "That's blackmail." "Hmm, so it is. I can live with that.

…she immediately heads towards the revolving doors and I follow behind her like a lost puppy. Fuck, Dylan, show some dignity man! I hear my alter ego screaming at me. And where the fuck was he earlier anyway? Fuck that. I want her.

I want this girl and if that means I have to concede a few things, then so be it. She deserves that much. I can’t expect her to be mine alone and her not expect the same from me, and I don’t want to lose her over something that really is a nonissue for me, because frankly, I don’t want to be with anyone else.

She’s genuinely interested. I’ve never been with a BDSM virgin before and her curiosity is novel to me. I’ve worked plenty of scenes before when I was training submissives, but they already knew most of what this sort of thing entailed. Isabel, on the other hand, knows nothing. She looks so absolutely acquiescent right now…

I try to remember what my mother said about sympathy and putting myself in someone else’s shoes.

…the way she reacts to me and how she doesn’t put up with my bullshit. That slap. Fuck. I just need to see her and talk to her. I just need to know that she’ll agree to be mine.

I want a real relationship, one without intimacy issues; without trust issues, but with all my emotional baggage, I don't know if that's possible.

We'll have an eternity to get to know each other intimately, starting tonight. I promise I will always be exactly what you need.

I think he sticks around to spite me, really. He does not want to give up the throne to his disobedient child.

Her eyes red-rimmed, now brimming, her forehead furrowed with disbelief and anger. There is nothing worse than seeing your mother cry and being the cause.

I look ridiculous, don't I? You're used to Big Boobs McGee shaking her Double Ds in your face. And here I am...the rack of a twelve year old. I'm practically a husky boy with moobs.

I get it, Dylan. Please… fuck me now,” she says through clenched teeth. How can I resist her when she says it like that? And those fuck-me-eyes… yes, I will fuck you, sweetheart, but I can’t resist teasing her one last time. “Do you think you deserve this cock after the way you misbehaved?

There was a snort, and then his brother’s sarcasm came spilling out. “It can be your eHarmony ad, bro. Wanted: smart, independent woman to play at D/s. Must like handcuffs, spankings, and anal sex.

I decide to break up the monotony of my day by bringing my newly acquired artwork with me to work. I plan on hanging them in my office for all to see. Yes. I’m sure that will go over well. I can hardly wait to see all those uptight assholes’ faces when they get a glimpse of these wicked beauties.

So do we get our happily ever after now?” I ask. He kneels down in front of me and grabs my hands and kisses the tops of them. “Yes, our version of happily ever after,” he answers with sparkling blue eyes. “The version with whips and cuffs, right?” I ask. “That’s the only kind of happily ever after I want, love.

I come stumbling back into the apartment, dropping a few boxes on the way in and looking like a complete pussy-whipped bellboy. Seriously, what the fuck? This is such bullshit. My alter ego is irritated at me for even going this far with this woman. I ignore him and pick up the boxes and lay them out in the bedroom.

She didn't think in terms of "dom" being capitalized and "sub" being lowercase. To Erin, D/s wasn't about one person being worthy of a capital letter and the other not. It wasn't about unequal worth; it was about two equals sharing power, sharing sex and emotion. She didn't submit to him because she wanted to be debased or harmed, because she needed to be lesser than anyone. She was aware some people got off on that, and hey, whatever floats your boat. But when he dominated her, she felt cherished and adored, cosseted in those cherished moments between them-in a way she never achieved with anyone else.

The problem of food, for one: it symbolizes everything. She wants delicious morsels, yet cooking for herself is so defeating: a surplus of ingredients, the washing-up unshared, and the sense that it doesn’t matter—the production of it or whether it’s nice.

Tea had featured heavily in the past fortnight. Miriam sometimes felt her belly sloshing with it, like a waterbed, yet still she took tea when it was proffered, for the symbolism, she supposed - solicitude, comfort, warmth. It is the English way, after all.

Isabel is proving to be a very fascinating woman. I’ve been doing vanilla for so long now, I wonder if I still have it in me to be a Dom. I like to think it’s like riding a bike… I guess we’ll find out. She has quite a defiant side to her, and for now, I’ll let her get away with it since she doesn’t know the rules of being a submissive, but that will change. I just need to be patient with her.

I watched the colored lights and sparkles coming off of Sebastian in the dark water, as the ocean began the process of rebuilding his tail. I longed to join him in the water, to wrap my arms around him and let him carry me under the sea; but I wasn't ready. For him, the ocean was a home; for me it was death. Without being able to transform, the ocean depths would suffocate me, the pressure collapse my bones and flesh.

Manon knows what lies beneath, how people can seem normal and yet grief swirls about like an unseen tide working against the currents of life, the mourner wrong-footed by its undertow. The bereaved should wear signs, she thinks, saying GRIEF IN PROGRESS—for at least a couple of years.

Using guilt, fear or any other negative emotion to try to change someone’s behavior backfires 100% of the time. If you want someone to do something for you or for themselves, the most important thing to remember is they have to want to do it. No positive outcome will ever be achieved by tearing another person apart or kicking them while they are down. If you truly want to help someone, conveying to them what a positive impact they’ve had in your life, is a great place to start.

He hugs me tighter than before - tighter than anyone has ever hugged me and it soothes me. I can’t deny myself this. I wrap my arms around him again and hug him as hard as I can. We just stand there hugging each other for what seems like forever. I don’t want to let go. I can hear his heart beating through his chest and it calms me.

That’s the problem when you can’t admit you have a problem, you stop controlling it, it starts controlling you.

Star Trek? Oh, I did my homework. TOS, TNG, DS9. Even Voyager and Enterprise. I watched them all in chronological order. The movies, too. Phasers locked on target.

If you think something in the material world can provide you with lasting happiness then lasting happiness will never be yours.

You cannot rely on others to provide your happiness to you. No one can accomplish that on a consistent enough basis. Your happiness is entirely your responsibility.

Happiness is the only thing that matters in this life. Don’t be cavalier about it. Fertilize it with attention and watch it grow.

Don’t discount this powerful use of appreciation. It is one of the great secrets of life. It’s the feeling and emotion of appreciation that matters most, not the lip service.

We have all heard the expression they wear their emotions on their sleeve, but most don’t realize they are actually worn over their entire body.

I’m not some complex creature whose every word has to be analyzed. What I say is what I mean.

Happiness does not dwell in some past event or future experience. It is an emotion that can only be focused upon and enjoyed in the present moment.

Happiness isn’t about what’s going on in your life … what’s going on in your life is about your happiness or lack thereof.

True happiness will never be found anywhere outside yourself … only within.

Money can enhance your life in many ways but it cannot purchase the essential things that make up a happy life.

When hope fails all that follows is complete and utter despair. Without hope there is no despair.

I guess when Andie Ward and her double Ds literally came bouncing by, your priorities shifted.

the truth was not always what people wanted to hear; sometimes it was better to keep the burden of truth to yourself.

People, she knew, are rarely who they show themselves to be. There is always a lie, always a mask.

the higher you put someone on a pedestal the further they have to fall.

the prettier the packaging, the more emotionally expensive the contents.

trust once broken can never be repaired.

Of course every person you meet in life has an impact on who you become, no matter how small the interaction, everything matters.

Davy, of course, smiling in at her, coffee in hand, the light glowing behind those marvellous ears, like red quotation marks.

TOS, TNG, DS9.

They were destined to live their lives leaving no discernible mark on anyone or anything.

She loves a silence with Davy Walker. Some people give good silence, and he is one of them.

Respect the woman, desire the slut, and cherish the little girl. Then you have the mind, body and soul.” By Unknown  

I just want you to know that I would never do anything to betray your trust. I know people have probably told you that in the past, but I truly mean it, with every fiber of my being.

her mother had never done what was expected of her, had seemed determined to ignore proprieties. In so doing she had broken the glass ceiling. And it was not all that she had broken.

​...she wonders if it isn't genetic - the whole personal tidiness thing. One is destined to become one's mother, after all. This thought makes her smile to herself - there are worse things.

Just do a Google search on it. The Bible’s definition of marriage. New Testament. When you read it, you’ll see what I mean. God’s the Master of D/s. So how’s married life?” He moved on, oh so confident.

Ignoring Misty Mountains wasn’t easy, either. Her brand new double D’s were mesmerizing, and the nipples kind of followed you wherever you went like the eyes on the creepy Jesus picture in her mom’s living room.

Was that Lucas Tine I saw in the corridor?” Lonnie queried cheerfully. Her eyes were filled with curiosity – and shining admiration. “Wow, I wish he’d hit me with his car, if that’s what it takes to get his attention.

Selfishness is an essential ingredient of lasting happiness. Happiness begins and ends with you, not with your relationship, not with your job, not with money, but with “YOU” Happiness is your responsibility, no one else’s.

Once you acknowledge the simple truth that the key to your own personal joy is nothing more than an emotion that resides within you and can only ever be experienced in the present moment – the Prize of Happiness will be yours.

The formula is simple enough. If you want more headaches and misery in your life, keep complaining, they’re on the way. If you want happiness and joy, give your attention to the things you are grateful for, and then sit back and watch them grow.

I love taking care of a woman, you know that. I’m just not attracted to the clingy ones who need me to do everything for them. I want her to need me, but not need me for everything, know what I mean? I want a smart, independent woman who just happens to enjoy submitting to me sexually. Is that too much to ask?” There was a snort, and then his brother’s sarcasm came spilling out. “It can be your eHarmony ad, bro. Wanted: smart, independent woman to play at D/s. Must like handcuffs, spankings, and anal sex.

The things you do with your friends are shared memories, thought Edie. You never fully remember the details of your life’s experiences yourself; you need your friends to fill in the gaps to completely experience the memory. Otherwise the depth and power of that memory gets lost to the passage of time.

He misses her. He miser her, he misses her, he misses her. ...Seven miserable lonely days of missing someone he never should have been with in the first place, yet wanting her back even so. He wonders if he could overlook her lack of human sympathy and generalized air of bitterness, just so he could have the feeling of being together again.

A distraction can be your greatest gift to yourself. Remember, when it starts to feel like our thoughts are thinking us, it’s due to the fact that we have developed certain patterns of thoughts that keep us stuck. When we are able to successfully distract ourselves we can withdraw from these mental ruts and change the direction of our focus and, in turn, the course of our daily lives.

Only the fool would take trouble to verify that his sentence was composed of ten a’s, three b’s, four c’s, four d’s, forty-six e’s, sixteen f’s, four g’s, thirteen h’s, fifteen i’s, two k’s, nine l’s, four m’s, twenty-five n’s, twenty-four o’s, five p’s, sixteen r’s, forty-one s’s, thirty-seven t’s, ten u’s, eight v’s, eight w’s, four x’s, eleven y’s, twenty-seven commas, twenty-three apostrophes, seven hyphens and, last but not least, a single !” —Lee Sallows

Bondage Among Other Things by Lesa Kendrick I lie upon your bed Wearing not a stitch of clothing Waiting...anticipating... Alone And waiting... wondering... I moan.   You dance into the room Your clothing drops to your feet My heart skips a beat As you walk closer Licking your lips As though I am the treat You wish to eat.   'Please, ' I beg, 'Kiss me... Touch me.' You take your feather-whip Teasing... tantalizing... My flesh. I'm going up in flames Wanting... waiting... Wishing.   Your mouth leaves a fiery path Upon my rosebud skin. Sweeping down, kissing everywhere Until I drag you in. 'Don't stop!!! ' 'Please NEVER stop! ' I surrender, giving in.... I am left there trembling when You begin again.

They chain-danced over the fields, through the woods to a trail that ended in the astonishing beauty of feldspar, and there Paul D’s hands disobeyed the furious rippling of his blood and paid attention. With a sledge hammer in his hands and Hi Man’s lead, the men got through. They sang it out and beat it up, garbling the words so they could not be understood; tricking the words so their syllables yielded up other meanings. They sang the women they knew; the children they had been; the animals they had tamed themselves or seen others tame. They sang of bosses and masters and misses; of mules and dogs and the shamelessness of life. They sang lovingly of graveyards and sisters long gone. Of pork in the woods; meal in the pan; fish on the line; cane, rain and rocking chairs.

The uninitiated often assumed that undergraduate students were at the bottom rung, but undergrads were the paying customers, or at least their parents were. And paying customers needed to be kept happy. Grad students worked for the school as teaching and research assistants--TAs and RAs--but weren't really proper employees, and as such they weren't entitled to the benefits that, say, a cataloger in the Coffey Library received. Then there was the fact that they had to learn to leave behind passive studying and test taking, which was what most of them had been taught in their school careers up to that point, and learn how to actively attack research problems and come up with new ideas, all while being poorly paid. Like Helen had said, a not insignificant number of grad students left after a year instead of sticking around to work on obtaining their PhDs. Who could blame them? Industry paid more and had better benefits.

Back in the barracks, those of us still left were white-faced and very shaky, but we were so relieved that the ordeal was finally over. Trucker looked particularly bad, but had this huge grin. I sat on his bed and chatted as he pottered around sorting his kit out. He kept shaking his head and chuckling to himself. It was his way of processing everything. It made me smile. Special man, I thought to myself. We all changed into some of the spare kit we had left over from the final exercise and sat on our beds, waiting nervously. We might have all finished--but--had we all passed? “Parade in five minutes, lads, for the good and the bad news. Good news is that some of you have passed. Bad news…you can guess.” With that the DS left. I had this utter dread that I would be one of the ones to fail at this final hurdle. I tried to fight the feeling. Not at this stage. Not this close. The DS reappeared--he rapidly called out a short list of names and told them to follow him. I wasn’t in that group. The few of us remaining, including Trucker, looked at one another nervously and waited. The minutes went by agonizingly slowly. No one spoke a word. Then the door opened and the other guys reappeared, heads down, stern-faced, and walked past us to their kit. They started packing. I knew that look and I knew that feeling. Matt was among them. The guy who had helped me so much on that final Endurance march. He had been failed for cracking under duress. Switch off for a minute, and it is all too easy to fall for one of the DS’s many tricks and tactics. Rule 1: SAS soldiers have to be able to remain sharp and focused under duress. Matt turned, looked at me, smiled, and walked out. I never saw him again.

Jamie guessed he wasn’t sure if calling it a homeless shelter when it was filled with homeless people was somehow offensive. He’d had two complaints lodged against him in the last twelve months alone for the use of ‘inappropriate’ language. Roper was a fossil, stuck in a by-gone age, struggling to stay afloat. He of course wouldn’t have this problem if he bothered to read any of the sensitivity emails HR pinged out. But he didn’t. And now he was on his final warning. Jamie left him to flounder and scanned the crowd and the room for anything amiss.  People were watching them. But not maliciously. Mostly out of a lack of anything else to do. They’d been there overnight by the look of it. Places like this popped up all over the city to let them stay inside on cold nights. The problem was finding a space that would house them. ‘No, not the owner,’ Mary said, sighing. ‘I just rent the space from the council. The ceiling is asbestos, and they can’t use it for anything, won’t get it replaced.’ She shrugged her shoulders so high that they touched the earrings. ‘But these people don’t mind. We’re not eating the stuff, so…’ She laughed a little. Jamie thought it sounded sad. It sort of was. The council wouldn’t let children play in there, wouldn’t let groups rent it, but they were happy to take payment and let the homeless in. It was safe enough for them. She pushed her teeth together and started studying the faded posters on the walls that encouraged conversations about domestic abuse, about drug addiction. From when this place was used. They looked like they were at least a decade old, maybe two. Bits of tape clung to the paint around them, scraps of coloured paper frozen in time, preserving images of long-past birthday parties. There was a meagre stage behind the coffee dispenser, and to the right, a door led into another room. ‘Do you know this boy?’ Roper asked, holding up his phone, showing Mary a photo of Oliver Hammond taken that morning. The officers who arrived on scene had taken it and attached it to the central case file. Roper was just accessing it from there. It showed Oliver’s face at an angle, greyed and bloated from the water.  ‘My God,’ Mary said, throwing a weathered hand to her mouth. It wasn’t easy for people who weren’t exposed to death regularly to stomach seeing something like that.  ‘Ms Cartwright,’ Roper said, leaning a little to his left to look in her eyes as she turned away. ‘Can you identify this person? I know it’s hard—’ ‘Oliver — Ollie, he preferred. Hammond, I think. I can check my files…’ She turned and pointed towards the back room Jamie had spotted. ‘If you want—’ Roper put the phone away.

He felt a jolt of terror charge through his body as he imagined the boy’s feeling of betrayal when he realised what his mother was doing, still not believing it even as she did it. Loving her anyway.

I save him my diatribe about people with bullshit EdDs and PsyDs that I’ve run into in academia who couldn’t pass a fifth-grade science exam all insisting that they be addressed with the same reverence as the head of oncology at a research hospital.

She

they didn’t operate quickly Peritonitis would set in. Coupland attempted to speak to the man’s distraught wife, Melanie, but a brief

comprising

Does it not get any easier?’ Coupland ventured, guessing the answer. ‘During the day I’ll be doing something completely inconsequential and I’ll be reminded of her…only now I find myself forgetting how she looked or how her voice sounded, as though my mind is somehow relegating her to the past before I’m ready…and I feel guilty and frightened that one day I’ll forget her altogether. I mean…I know I should let her go, that she isn’t in this world anymore, but she’s in my world, and that should count for something, right?’ Coupland

Muswell

Nilsen,

I don't know what I like better, the naked you or you in that tank top. Ds,right?