Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

March 22, 2011

Tell them what the Hand of Glory is, Sister.

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 9:00 am

The Hand of Glory is a medieval construct. It is the dried and pickled hand of a man who has been hanged, lit like a candle to point one to treasure. Five hundred dollars inspires you to re-create this on your serious and mystical girlfriend. My hand receives a wick and a grotesquerie of molten green wax. The treasure I seek is courage.

You light the wick and wax melts around me. I stare, entranced, at our visceral meditation on courage.

You give me pleasure. May I please come, Brother? Thank you. Thank you. It’s burning my skin please blow it out…


January 19, 2011

The thermodynamics of a whipping

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 10:07 pm

Some submissives, says Madison, when they get beaten – you can see the energy jerking around in their body, like they don’t know what to do with it. I am like this, and a scientist, so I consider the equations.

The kinetic energy of a whip transforms (partially) to heat as it lashes my body.

I am whipped to burning. 100, 130, 160; incremented mindlessly with each impact; even when you cease, rest the whip about my shoulders and hit my face instead.

January 11, 2011


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:29 pm

My brother and I are offered a feature scene at The Upper Floor. We come hopeful and excited for a practiced finale – suspension with flaming rope. His suspension is faultless, but the fire he’d lit in practice doesn’t light now; it flickers and falters, and the alcohol rag catches fire on live webcast.

Amidst alarm there’s nothing I can do; able bodies smother the fire. I stay serene, closed-eyed, hung before the fireplace. I can guess at the disappointment my lover must feel, failing at the crux of a performance. I hurt for him, proud and talented as he is; and for us.

He takes me down. In this rich room where we’ve celebrated and laughed and he’s beaten me terribly, we’re humiliated. Come, and we’re an island of 2; his hand begging pleasure between my thighs. I’m too sad and embarassed to come. Come. I can’t. I feel that he needs this to restore himself to himself, his pride, our strength together. We’re a world of two. I come.

Five days later, we get it right: The Fire Lotus.

December 13, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 pm

An artifact: piss-and-champagne foam along the walls of an empty glass. It left a taste so bitter I cleaned my mouth with cloves, and asked for a hug.

December 7, 2010

Thin Line II

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

An artifact: one chicken korma skewer, which I served your wife as you beat her & she squirmed beautifully on the cross.

December 6, 2010

Undyed Hemp

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

Big brother unbottons my shirt for the camera, introducing us: This is my sister.

The viewers think we’re crazy hot. I carry his champagne glass across the rich room; collared, flogged, caned, whipped, given to please a beautiful woman; and raw with tears. As I kneel by his chair, we get two thumbs up. His pride and mine are not separate.

We exit this dream exhausted and amazed. In his toybag is a short length of rope which had tied my mouth shut and head back.
{smiling} You know what I appreciate.
And, together: This rope has a story…

December 4, 2010

Post-ballgag hyperlexia

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

I stamp out his whippings like a pony. Flick: stomp. Flick: stomp, stomp. Afterward, tear-stained and distraught, I fetch him a drink. The bargirl, refilling my brother’s champage, gently wipes my face with a paper napkin.

May I? And the gem-eyed lady brushes hair out of my sticky face, strand by strand so gently.

With your words stripped away you don’t have any power left, do you? asks my brother. Forefinger & thumb held a centimetre apart, I gesture: a little. My brother’s angry I’ve contradicted him, but the lady laughs – It shows she has spirit.

December 2, 2010

Thin Line III

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

I suspended Hades and myself at the Armory; was utterly delighted, and stared at the picture of us untying each other for an hour.
Never seen her so proud and happy, notes my love.

November 28, 2010

An education

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 9:00 am

Big brother has me watch the slaves from a top’s perspective, rather than an empathetic submissive’s.

Teaching like Socrates, he leads me to read psychological insight from their stances. This is an excellent tool in my little domme toolbox – I appreciate that he attends to my education whilst I am collared.

November 24, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 12:45 pm

You ask me to sit straight against shots of electricity to the nipples, forcing me to control physical reaction on a level more base than I’ve been able to. I try not to flinch but haven’t that level of control, though I subdue the reaction. I’m crying in terror at my inability to acquiesce, and at the threatened punishment (electricity to the bare clit).

I fail. You move to my clit…
Just fucking with you. I wasn’t going to.

Why did you ask for electricity? you say in the car. You always react with very strong terror to it.

I offer possible answers. I’ve had such a hard week; thought I might just ride the momentum and keep doing difficult things.

If you need to recover from giving so much of yourself, is giving more the best way? I want to challenge you and make you better, but that doesn’t just come from pushing you. I want you to learn from this.
I tend to fight until wrecked. Like you, I often work by brute force; I’d rather fight my knuckles bloody at the strongest thing I can think of than carve a middle path. Once they’re bloodied and I can’t move my hands, I can rest a little while…

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