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You are here: Home / Archives for Dame TylerRose.

Dame TylerRose.

After the Battle for Aziza (Dirty Deeds)

September 19, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

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via stock.adobe.com

Mouths locked together as they soared up into the hatch, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

“I never knew fighting got you so hot,” Jerome teased as the hatch sealed shut beneath them.

“Yeah, you may have to wrestle me for position there, bubba.”

She turned to walk away and he darted a snakehead hand to capture her wrist and keep her on the spot. There was no fighting his iron hold. There was no struggling unless she wanted to start the wrestling match right here or bring her pyro or psychokinesis into it. She had promised him she never would.

He was talking into his phone with Gable but glaring at her with an expression she knew too well. She glared back, knowing what was in store for them both. Soon as Gable was on the teleport pad, Jerome had her over his shoulder to carry through the ship.

On her feet in their quarters, he ripped her blouse apart. Buttons flew in all directions.

“Have I told you how much I like that you don’t wear a bra?” he asked when he’d bared her lovely breasts.

She hooked his advancing foot and shifted, taking him down and putting him on his back on the floor and straddling his waist.

“Oh, you think you gonna be sneaky, huh?” he grinned.

He sat up and flipped her to her back. She twisted out of his grasp and rolled away. He caught her by the loop of her jeans and a boot and dragged her back. The boot came off into his hand and the button popped off her jeans between his finger and thumb.

“Come get me, old man,” she growled.

“Careful what you wish for, little girl,” he warned, hands seizing the waist of her jeans.

With him providing accidental leverage, she bolted out of them, laughing and leaving the other boot behind. He grabbed her ankle, loving her raucous laughter. Her right hand shoved back at him with an illegal blast of psychokinesis.

“Playing dirty will not end well for you,” he warned with a darted grab of her wrist.

Two seconds and she was on her belly and he was straddling her thighs to keep her in place. Wriggling and bucking under him, she tried to evade but he caught her other wrist. Holding them in one hard hand over her head, extending the Staff Power to prevent more illegal outbursts, he reached finger and thumb into his back pocket for the flat fold of duct tape. Twice around her wrists as she continued to writhe and curse under him and he was able to get up and hook an arm under her leg and the other under an upper arm. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.

She started the scramble away on her elbows and knees, and he caught her again, flipping her onto her back. He used the duct tape again, bringing it between her wrists and around the lowest bar at the foot of the bed.

“Now what’chu gonna do?”

He had her. Chest heaving, arms bound, eyes defiant. Finality would come with the forceful taking she expected. His knees drove her open wide and he looked down on her so beautiful in her passion, needing this aggression from him to get her own out in a safe manner.

Instead of the near rape she expected, he lowered to kiss her. She was calming, defeated but not submitting. His lips met hers, hot breath made steaming by the fires she’d created. Growing in intensity with the flicking of tongues. She bit his lip. Not enough to draw blood but dammit it hurt.

“You’ve been warned not to do that,” he smiled, and tore off another strip of duct tape.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I.”

He taped her mouth closed and kissed her over it. “Don’t bite.”

His hands thrust her thighs impossibly wide and his tongue found her hot, slick core and engorged clitoris. How her pyro got connected to her sex he was still figuring out, but the more she used her fire, the harder she needed to fuck after. She had stopped training with fire because of it.

This time, rather than give her the physical force of his thrusting cock, he gave her the unrelenting assault of his tongue and hands. Slaps and smacks to breasts, hard pinches to nipples, strong sucks of clitoris. She gave a throaty groan of gushing orgasm. 

He mauled her with hands and mouth as he had so often done before she’d given him her virginity, and did not let up until he’d worn the fight out of her.

Finally she lay still and breathless and he left the bed long enough to remove his clothes. Her thighs parted for him willingly this time and she sighed a soft groan of satisfaction when he drove into her flesh to join their bodies together in the thing they always had done best.

Eyes closed, she did not see the sharp knife sliding under the edge of the tape between her wrists. He cut her loose from the bed, then split the tape binding her arms together. She peeled it off blindly and reached for his shoulders to hold him.

“Bite me again and I will beat your ass with my belt,” he warned, and peeled the piece from her mouth.

“Tease,” she breathed.

“Yeah, we’ll see, won’t we? I bet I can make it so you don’t like it,” he said, and ground his pelvis into her.

He built her up to that same fever, only then giving her the violence and vigor she needed. The harder he was on her, the more she liked it and the more she gave to him. She had to give it all in order to be herself again. He knew when that happened. During that most intense orgasm that had her shaking in his arms and he felt a certain sort of POP! over his Staff Power aura. She went calm and quiet almost immediately, barely responding to his kiss. He lay beside her, occasionally kissing her cheek or temple. That profound sigh, relieved, satisfied.

The Fire Beast had gone back to its cave until battle would call it out again.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Much. Thank you,” she said before falling asleep in the next breath.

Excerpt from Dirty Deeds, book 4 of the Kingdom Key series
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B06XZ7PSJK


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over 25 fiction books.

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, fetish, power exchange, sex, teasing

I’m not “Poly”. I’m a SLUT!

September 12, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 3 Comments

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via stock.adobe.com

There are those who think that the word polyamorous is just a fancy term that means slut. They use it as an excuse to fuck anything that moves and betray their partners. “Oh, but I’m poly!”

No, you’re a slut trying to legitimize using people for your own gratification.

There are those who think the word bisexual means “slut who will fuck anyone”. They are heartily disappointed when the bisexual person they invited to join their bed for an entirely selfish threesome is offended and refuses. “But you’re bi! What’s the problem?”

I’m not polyamorous. I’m not looking for love or committed relationships. I want SEX with dudes who have a penis attached to their body. I want lots of sex with lots of dudes. Preferably dudes with enough stamina to keep up with me and go the distance. (Dudes, do NOT skip leg day!~ And do more crunches while you’re at it. Put a twenty pound weight on your butt and do pushups. Turn yourself over and put it on your crotch and do thrust-ups too.)

I’m a slut. I admit it freely, happily. I managed to get in a slut phase before I turned fifty. YAY ME!!!

I told a woman at an event some time back that I am the world’s most socially awkward slut. She said “There is no whore bigger than me in the world.” What a terrific moment of personal honesty. I don’t think I’ll forget it for a very long time. We actually worked out a deal that she would happily suck the cock and I’d take them on when they were fucking too long for her.

It’s time for unicorn hunters to stop treating bisexuals as their personal slut supply. It’s damned disrespectful.

It’s time for sluts to stop using polyamory as an excuse to cover being a slut. It’s deceptive and cruel to those looking for love and commitment.

Just own it already!


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm play, fetish, kink, kink positivity, kitchen table poly, one night stands, poly relationships, polyamory, sex positivity, sexual expression, sexual health, sexual safety, slut shaming, solo polyamory, swingers

Erotica: Echie Grown

September 5, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

woman tied to chair splashed with water
via stock.adobe.com

***all pieces of erotica are based on safe, sane, and consensual practices. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual.


“Thrall, come here,” he said, wiping his fingers on a cloth in his lap.

​She was the only other Thrall in camp besides Peeper, so Echie knew he must mean her. She hurried around the ring of officers. “I don’t have wine, Master.”

​“I don’t want you to fill my goblet. Put the pitcher on my table and assume the position.”

​She complied and was kneeling beside his table in seconds, knees wide and arms loose, looking up to him with confusion.

​“I’ve been watching. Do you feel as changed as you look?”

​Her mouth dropped open, mind startled into silence. “I—I don’t know how to answer, Master.”

​The play of emotion on her face was new as well. None of the anger that used to be there. 

​“Not once in these days since I arrived have I seen you paddled. Not once have you earned a punishment. This is not normal and I have noticed. What has brought about this change?”

​She blinked at him, taking pause. Also a new action for her. Echie spoke quick, heedless to any impropriety.

​“Master Jacek , Your Highness,” she said quietly.

​“How has he managed to do what no one else could?”

​“I—I don’t know, Master.”

​“That answer is not acceptable. Give it again and I will cane you. What is it Master Jacek does that makes the most disobedient cunt in court suddenly become the example for all on what a good slave should be? Answer me.”

​“It has not felt so sudden to me, Master,” she nearly whispered, eyes lowered. “It has been a very long and hard road. What does Master Jacek do?” She looked up to Preece again, disconcertion plain in her eyes. “Everything. He demands more of me than anyone else ever has.”

​“His punishments are worse than mine?”

She nodded.

​“What is his punishment when you misbehave?”

​“I kneel in the corner.”

​“That’s it?” Preece questioned. “He puts you in the corner of his tent and this is somehow a worse punishment than my favorite cane?”

​Echie nodded, swallowing nervously. She had to answer honestly, but was beginning to fear that she was going to anger him.

​“Why?” he asked, keeping his tone even and non-threatening.

​“Why, Master?”

​“That is what I said.”

​She shifted her weight, eyes lowering again to think and not looking up again when she had her answer. Yes, very different indeed. 

​“Because to have your cane is to have your attention. To have a paddling from one of the grooms, or Morcone or…anyone…is to have some sort of attention paid to me. The sting for the rest of the day and the marks for a day or two remind me of those attentions. When Master Jacek puts me in the corner, he does not touch me or speak to me. I am completely ignored until he is no longer angry with me. He also has me wait in a corner for him if he has no use for me but I am sent to him,” she ended offhand.

​“No use for you? Does he not fuck you every chance he gets?”

​“He does not, Master. Maybe one day in four.”

​“I see. How is punishment different from waiting?” Preece asked.

​“For punishment I face the corner, Master. For waiting, he now allows me to face the center of the tent and we may converse.”

​“Now allows you to face center? Why now?”

​“At first…well, when he first came…when I was…before—“  She stopped, took a breath. “Forgive me, Master…I really don’t—“  She halted again, realizing the word that was about to follow and searching fast for different ones. “…have words to explain.”

​“Yes you do. Stop worrying that every word is going to get you into trouble and say what it is that Jacek did or does that makes you so changed. Don’t make me repeat the question again.”

​Her brow creased, pinching her eyes in distress. She heaved a breath and started again.

​“When I was bad, no one really seemed to care. The Masters would smile and chuckle and it didn’t matter. I could be as bad as I wanted and no one did anything but give me some whacks. I wasn’t special to anyone, like Hanar is special to Master Rainko and Dohan was special to you. Not even when I was the King’s favorite, short lived as that was,” she mused. “I didn’t have anyone to please because no one expected me to try to please. Master Jacek never smiled or laughed when I was bad. He was the only one who ever told me so long as I continued to behave in that manner I would never be anything more than a cunt for fucking.”

​Her brow creased, not liking the thought.

​“I realized he was right. Even the Queen only saw me as a disobedient cunt. That’s why she brought me on the tour to be the example on how to discipline. She expected me to be bad and earn punishments so she could show the entire country how to properly punish a disobedient cunt.” 

​A realization she did not like one bit.

​“Jacek was the only one who insisted I behave,” she continued in softer tone. “From the first time we met, Jacek told me I would wait in the corner until he wanted to use me. And that I would earn the privilege of serving his table.”

​“Did he even have you serve his wine?” Preece asked, finding her tale an interesting one.

​“Cunts only fuck. They do not serve Master wine. Cunts don’t have a name or open doors and they don’t speak. They are a set of orifices for use and nothing more.”

​“How did you like that?”

​“I didn’t, Master. Not one bit. For the first time since I can remember, I wanted to please someone. I had to work to please him, work to earn my name, even to wear the flowers of Thrall.”

​“And so here you are two months later, sitting to the Queen’s left.”

​Echie nodded, her eyes coming up to his in plain truth. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just trying to get through one day after the next, sometimes one hour into the next.”

​“When is the last time you were caned or paddled?”

​She had to think on that. “For punishment or for Master’s pleasure, Master?” she asked.

​“Punishment.”

​Her face pulled back, eyes widening as her mind sought backwards. “Um…a couple weeks, I guess?”

​“And the last you got for a Master’s pleasure?”

​“A couple nights before we arrived at Lord Quye’s home, I think.”

​“Is a caning something you want to have for pleasure now?” he asked.

​“Not particularly, Master,” she replied quietly.

​“Why not?”

​“I’d rather have intimate attentions and be close with touching and kisses than receive a caning, Master.”

​“Why?” he pursued.

​“I don’t kn—I mean…”  She sighed hard and he could see she was coming close to tears for trying to supply so many acceptable answers.

​“Is it that you have found the value in Master’s most tender touch when before all you understood of love was his paddle?”

​Her relief was visible and she nodded vehemently.

​Preece looked to Dohan and Jacek sitting across from him with empty dinner trays. “Doe, go to my wagon and bring the short frame. Show Jacek how to set it up.” 

​Echie startled out of her skin, having not heard the two men return to eat. How long had Jacek been listening? Had he heard her full confession?

​The wood rectangle was brought and Jacek learned how to stake it to the ground on both sides. The base was a square for stability and the overhead portion high enough to stretch a slave tall on her knees. When it was ready, Preece stood in front and snapped his fingers sharply. Peeper and Echie both presented themselves, looking up to him and waiting. He pointed at Echie, then gestured to the frame. She crawled forward and he swiftly bound her wrists overhead. Walking around to see her from all sides, he noticed the soldiers drifting over to watch the show. 

​“Peeper, service this quim until you are told to stop.”

​Echie’s mouth fell open in a gasp. She had never been strung up to a tree in the courtyard to receive such reward. She had always been one to make a slave scream and cum for the Masters’ enjoyment. Tonight it would be her squirming and her crying out to amuse their eyes and ears.

​Peeper’s wide open mouth closing over the flesh of her womanly mound held a new, sensuous quality, the eyes of the soldiers new meaning. The sound of a strap landing caused her to flinch as if it struck her own back. He didn’t swing the strap hard, only enough to make a good noise and give Peeper a little incentive. He was careful to aim for her upper back, keeping well away from her bruised bottom. It wasn’t long before she had Echie straining in the shackles and screeching in climax. The soldiers chuckled and commented on Preece’s strap technique.

​He barely heard them, attention focused tightly on the two slaves, gauging every movement and expression. He paused the strap to step inside his tent and bring out his thicker cane. An end under Peeper’s chin backed her from Echie to wait. He rolled his sleeves another flip to rest above his elbows. A hand slid down Echie’s arms to cup her breast and give a firm squeeze as he bent low to Peeper’s ear to whisper instructions.

​Cane in right hand, strap in the other, he brought the strap down on the diagonal to land a long kiss from right shoulder blade to left ribs. She rose up to lip Echie’s nipple and he gave her a few seconds before swinging the cane. It struck Echie’s right buttock and she gasped with the thudding jolt. No pain, but the smack was firm. A strike to Peeper, the next to Echie, increasing each in force and speed until Echie was taking as hard as he wanted to deliver it. Not nearly as hard as he could swing, of course. Not nearly so hard as Peeper could tolerate. But strength wasn’t the point. Making her scream wasn’t the point, though her grunts and gasps were gorgeous. She took a full hour, perfectly capable of taking more.

​Squirming and tensing on her knees, Peeper’s lips offering a tender caress to balance the sudden,  thuds, Echie was being driven to a new level of need. When he slid his hand, cool and soft, over her hot, welting buttock, she shivered for him in a way she had not previously. His hand slipped between and under to find her slickness. The touch sent a gruff, startled cry from her, brought her jerking downward in spontaneous climax. The shackles would not let her go far, however.

​The soldiers chuckled knowingly, joked about how she could take them all on. Preece grinned at Captain Kron’s declaration that he would have her first.

​“If I ordered her to, I’m sure she would. But I think she is craving the cock of a specific Master,” he said, handing Peeper the cane and sending her to his tent with it.

​He bent again, to Echie’s ear, his hand under her chin to force her face upward. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and dreamy. Her first deep and real Dream Space.

​“When you please Master Jacek, you please me. When you displease Master Jacek, you displease me.” He opened the shackles, expecting the fall to her forearms on the wooden platform.

​“You could all mount her exactly like this and she wouldn’t give a single protest. Would you, cunt?” he asked, the tip of his boot nudging her thigh.

​Gasping for air, she couldn’t reply. She had known the beating slave’s dream space from many, many paddlings, but this was the first time she had been given sexual stimulation during any beating. It was totally different, far deeper a sensation, like floating half outside herself. Certainly the longest caning she had taken. She had not wanted it to end. He’d not even touched her left butt cheek. Or her thighs. There was much more caning to be done before she would be satisfied it was enough.

​“Master Jacek, the slave Echie is to be rewarded for her honesty and her diligent service this day. Use her as you choose.”

Excerpt from the novel PEEPER
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/bOxRLK


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She’s been doing this BDSM stuff for over 30 years in private and more than 10 years in public venues. 

She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/
FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm, consent, kink, master, mistress, power exchange, punishment, sex, slave

BDSM Doesn’t Always Mean Safe

September 5, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

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via stock.adobe.com

There are a LOT of “shoulds” in this world.

We should be able to walk unmolested.
We should be able to post pics and not get rude comments.
We should be able to go to a kink event and not have our consent violated.
We should…a million things.

People shouldn’t steal or lie either; but I busted 350 people stealing from grocery stores in three years and every fuckin’ one of ’em lied to my face. Repeatedly. I came to expect it, and learned not to believe a word out of anyone’s mouth. I have often said I’m so jaded the Chinese want to mine my soul. It comes from a tough upbringing. Not as bad as some, mind you. I’ll never say mine is worse than someone else’s. But tough enough that my opinions and attitudes are sometimes very hard-boiled.

I don’t live in the land of “should”.

I live in a world of reality and recognize that all those “should” moments depend entirely on the morals and ethics of another person. I know that if people are given the opportunity and think they’ll get away with it, they’ll do it. Whatever “it” is.

And that is a crying shame.

We know we can NOT depend on the morals and ethics of the other person in this new world of identity theft and cyberbullying. We live in a world where someone is assaulted somewhere every minute of every day and all we have to do is look at the news to see today’s version of the same story.

I lived in a town where a woman did NOT walk by herself after dark, and we drove with our doors locked long before the word car-jacking was coined. The neighborhood was irrelevant. They were all equally dangerous.

In some instances, just having your eyes down and looking afraid marked you as an easy victim and you’d get the piss pounded outta you. People make so much about subs lowering their eyes out of respect…but where I came from, that meant the opposite and could get you put in the hospital, if not killed. A kid was killed a block from my home, when a group of other kids crushed his head with a cinderblock.

I lived in a place where you had to be careful what color bandanna you had in your back pocket. Each color meant a different street gang, and having the wrong one on your head while walking on the wrong street would get you put in the hospital. Or killed.

These were very real things I lived with every day. Crips, Bloods, Ffolks, several others whose names I can’t recall now. There were so many gangs that a gang task force was created. What horrid place was this? Itty Bitty Toledo, Ohio…in the 80s and 90s.

Now I live in New York City. There are areas I’m not going to be going to alone at night, regardless whether or not I “should” be able to. Moving here didn’t suddenly make me stupid. “Should” doesn’t exist. But I do feel safe enough that I can walk home alone at 3am after the party if I need to. 

I have never lived in the land of “should” but in a world of “be smart and watch out for yourself.” I have always lived in a world in which my safety was directly put into my own hands and taking chances could easily end up badly. I learned to recognize the dangers and take the appropriate course to mitigate them. Dare I say it? I take personal responsibility for my own safety. It’s not up to anyone else to keep me safe.

I keep myself safe.

Do I live in fear? Nope. I’m not afraid of anyone. My x took care of that the night he held me prisoner with that sword. I just don’t trust them. I don’t trust them with my life, my hide, by backpack full of toys. I make the decisions appropriate to each situation, whether the decision is to take action or step back out of sight.

Being into BDSM doesn’t mean everyone suddenly got a shot of perfect morality and is absolutely trustworthy. Far from it. People will steal a toy left unattended. I couldn’t tell you how many “missing/stolen item” threads I’ve seen over the years. How many “he touched me” and “he/she didn’t stop when I said stop” threads have we seen?

Should people steal the toy? No. They “should” turn it in to the event promoter so it can find its rightful home. That’s the ethical choice. But there are those who will steal the paddle, steal the whip, steal the flogger. They’ll do it and not think twice.

Should people not touch? Of course they should not touch if they haven’t asked/don’t have permission. But they do.

I don’t live afraid. I live alert and vigilant and take into my own safety into my own hands rather than counting on the morals and ethics of strangers. I live ready to take action and assert myself if needs be.

If you’re expecting everyone to have perfect morals, because BDSM, you’re going to be extremely disappointed. 

You’re going to get yourself hurt.


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm, boundaries, communication, consent, fetish, negotiation, play, safety, sexual safety

Erotica: What is a Gallipot? (A piece of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle)

August 16, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

sexy Domme with whip
via stock.adobe.com

“Would you like to see a Gallipot getting a good working over?” he asked.

“What’s a Gallipot?” she asked.

“A pain slave who enjoys the harshest, roughest, most excruciating of pleasures. It’s quite something to watch.”

“They like it?” she asked, thinking of Segat’s pain slaves. 

“Tremendously. I’ve seen women squirt their juice three feet in orgasm and men with cocks so raging hard they turned purple before ejaculating.”

“How do you watch this?” she blurted in shock for the description.

“Preferably with a dozen others quietly engaged in their own sexual fun while watching. We pay to get in but we’re in our own roped off section. No one can touch you. Well, except me. But I won’t, I promise. It’s all very civilized.”

“Don’t you have a curfew at the temple?” she asked.

“Do you honestly think I give a shit if I have a curfew? Come on.”

Arlyn suddenly liked him a lot. She followed him through the market and out the opposite side. They walked a stone paved street up a slope and turned right to go farther into the town. Another right and they were in a small gated garden, narrow path leading to a low-roofed entry. The door closed as they reached it. 

“What’s that about?” she asked.

“It means someone just entered before us and we have to wait a moment. It’s fine,” he replied, reaching to pluck a pink flower from a vine wound through a hedge. He gave it to her. “I love these. They’re among the first flowers of spring.”

She smiled, reminded of the day Jacek had given her a flower.

The door in the entry opened and they went in. It closed behind them, the space lit by three oil lamps.

“Welcome. The event has not yet begun. How many are you?”

“One man, one woman. We’d like an upper tier box, please.”

She wore expensive linen clothes in colors that were also expensive to create. Pearl necklace, gold bracelet. This was obviously a lucrative business. Lenden handed her several gold coins and received a numbered slat of wood.

“Do you want a mask?” the woman inside asked, gesturing to a table with a variety of colored masks.

“I don’t,” he said. “But the lady would.”

He looked over them, selected a black and blue eye mask with gold beads and a small blue feather sticking straight up between the eyes. He tied it around her head and took her hand to continue through the corridor to the door at the end. Through it and they were in a cocktail party. Men and women mingled, talking and enjoying wine or whiskey. 

A server wearing a gold ring around his neck with chains down to a gold ring around his cock offered a tray of beverages.

“We would prefer water today,” Lenden said.

The server lifted a cup to her first and then to him and continued on his way. Another server had savory meat delicacies. A third offered candied fruits with a sharp cheese. 

The door opened periodically to let in new arrivals. Her eyes went to it each time, seeing who was coming in. She knew no one, of course, until the one face in the world she would recognize entered the room.

Harmen. He did not wear a mask. He did not have his belongings with him. She knew he liked to visit a whore house now and then while traveling. His eyes met hers across the room, hard and disapproving. He’d seen her come in, had followed to collect her.

Before he could take a single step, Lenden was taking her through the door on the left to go to their box. He showed their numbered slat and they were allowed past.

“Your number, Sir?” she heard behind them as they reached the stairs. “That number is for the floor, Sir. You cannot go up to the boxes.”

“I need to speak with that couple,” Harmen said.

“Then you will have to wait until they come back to this room, Sir.”

She heard nothing more, as they were at the top of the stairs. Another servant in gold collar and cock chains escorted them to the left, to the second open doorway. Going into it, Arlyn first saw the wide, backless sofa with small table in front of it for their cups. Beyond was a ring of similar boxes. One level below, the same ring with one box enclosed.

She saw Harmen enter his box and sit. His eyes met hers, displeased. She decided she would ignore him for now.

“Do you come here often?” she asked Lenden.

“About once a month. They do this several times a week.”

The boxes were full in a moment and the nicely dressed woman came out of the enclosed box.

“Thank you for attending, Marus and Maruals. For those of you who have not been here before, I am Marual Glynn. I will conduct the scene this evening. We are pleased today to exhibit the Gallipot Cadell for your entertainment and arousal. This is a non-participatory exhibition but feel free to enjoy yourselves. As always, please keep talking and other noise to a minimum until the event has ended.”

She went back into the closed box.

“Non-participatory?” Arlyn whispered. “What’s that mean?”

“It means no one from the audience can join the center display but the audience can have sex themselves if they want.”

She clamped her jaw shut rather than utter the ignorant “oh” springing to mind. Looking around the other boxes, she saw several women shedding their clothing, and a few men.

Lamps around the boxes were extinguished, giving the occupants a shadow of privacy while leaving the center ring illuminated. The door opened and a young man of magnificent musculature was led out by that same woman. Following was a nude woman with an arrow quiver strapped to her back. Several rods were sticking out of it, of different shades of green, brown, or tan, made of varying materials. Some were wrapped in leather, others were bare wood or bare bamboo. She knelt with her back to the center.

Behind her was another naked male carrying an ornate wood box. He knelt beside her, lowered the box to rest on his thighs, and opened it. Arlyn could see the shining knives in sheaths in the lid, metal sticks in a tray.

As Cadell reached the center, he lifted his hands to grasp a metal bar hanging from the ceiling. Arlyn saw the scarred designs on his skin. One on a bicep, another on the back of a shoulder, another on a thigh.

The Marual selected a many tailed leather whip. Rather like what was used on a ship, but with many more tails and not as brutal in the construction, she took position behind Cadell. She swung it to the left and right of him, in wide arcs of a figure 8 that levelled out her speed. She brought the piece to the center to strike him with each pass. Fwap, fwap, fwap, fwap, steady and moderately fast, about three strikes per five seconds. Not very hard for the first minute, she increased force but not speed, bringing the whip harder on the downswing. 

Cadell stood solid and unmoving, not even flinching. He was looking out into the audience, bottom and top tiers, and smiled at someone below Arlyn’s box. 

The mop-like flogger dropped to the floor next to the female slave and the Marual grasped a handle to take an implement out of the quiver. A rod about two feet long that she used to strike him from the upper back down to the middle of the ribs, then she skipped over the soft tissue of his waist and took up again from high atop his ass down to just above the knee. Another skip of the knee and she smacked his calves. Down and up, down and up again, she made a good thirty passes with increasing force. His entire backside was pinked, beginning to stripe in welts.

She changed targets, whapping back and forth between his thighs until he had parted his feet as wide as she wanted them. Around to his front and she began to cane his chest and belly. He made not a single sound. Arlyn saw his cock was raging hard. She flinched inside her skin when the Marual smacked his cock with the cane.

She smacked his cock from base to tip, five times in total while he gripped the bars tighter and gritted his teeth. Back to the base, to strike the triangle of flesh above it, then down the length of his erection. He only grew harder. The cane went lower to strike the ball sack hanging between his thighs. It swung like a ball on a tether and she slapped it again, this time with her gloved hand.

It was the gentle stroke of that gloved hand, gripping around his cock, that made him grunt loud enough to be heard.

She stepped away to drop the cane onto the floor next to the flogger. Reaching into the quiver again, she took out a thinner stick that was much more flexible and whip-like. Standing behind him, she swung it to land on his right hip and drag across his buttocks. A slice of blood opened to drip down his behind. She struck again from the left. Arlyn saw the end six inches of the thin reed wrapped around his thigh to leave a deep red welt there before it dragged across his buttocks.

She was familiar with that sensation, if in a wider medium. Harmen’s belt wrapped around her hip like that, it’s folded tip leaving a particularly intense sting. Sometimes the edge of the leather left her marked for a week, he struck with such power.

Ten strikes with the reed-like rod and the Marual paused. The female slave came forward with a wet cloth from inside the box. She wiped down his backside.

“When this is over, will you come to my room with me?” Lenden asked.

She turned her head to look at him a few seconds, then let her eyes sweep across several boxes to see couples engaged in various sexual acts. Mouth were busy between legs, fingers were delving into orifices, hips were at work from behind.

“Why, when we can have sex right here?” she said, reaching down to the buttons of her pants to loosen them.

She stood to push them down and her eyes met Harmen’s. She smiled at him and sat to remove her boots and pants at the same time. Her loose shirt came off easily, was dropped onto the pile of clothing between the little table and the sofa bench. She leaned over onto her left side as he kicked off his pants and shoes and moved in behind her.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked.

She reached around to grasp his half-hardened cock and stroke it. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to have sex more in my life,” she said.

He didn’t ask again, lifting her knee to place her leg over his thigh. She angled her buttocks backwards to give him better access. As the Marual was picking up her next implement, a six-inch-long metal stick, Arlyn sighed out her relief to be filled. Lenden kept himself to an even pace that allowed them both to watch the happenings below.

The Marual slowly worked the slender stick into Cadell’s penis, smiling at his grunts and struggle. With a gesture, she sent the female slave over to lick his cock and suck his balls. She then reached into the box to pull out a coil of leather. Tossing out the end showed the audience a four-foot whip. She snapped back and forth, cracking it. Several in the audience gasped with the sound. Arlyn had a cum, the sound so much like the sound of Harmen’s belt when it landed on her.

“Do you know the man scowling up at us?” Lenden asked.

Arlyn chuckled lightly, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Indeed I do.” She turned her head to whisper. “He’s my priest companion and he approves of nothing. So give it to me good and give him a wink when I cum.”

Lenden choked back a laugh and increased his speed. She quickly had another orgasm and he smiled at the face scowling up at him. He reached around to grip her puss from the front, watching Cadell get a whipping to his back and chest with a mouth slave kneeling under his cock. Arlyn lowered to lie fully on the sofa, eyes closing to enjoy her own pleasures while listening to the shouts from below. 

Cadell could no longer contain his vocalizations. The whip swung and he shouted, and Arlyn sighed with a near-climax. Cadell’s sounds continued, grunts and growls as he worked to regain control over himself. A good minute later, the whip swung again and he shouted again.

“You’ll want to see this,” Lenden said after some twenty shouts. “They’re about to finish.”

Arlyn opened her eyes to see the Marual reach around to grasp the ring at the end of the metal stick. She pulled it out of his penis in a slow and steady single motion. As soon as it was out, the mouth slave went to work. Cadell didn’t need long. Two minutes at most and he let go the bar to grasp his cock and finish off in spurts over the mouth slave’s face and gaping mouth.

Audience members not engaged in sex themselves applauded and the intermission commenced.

Read the rest of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07646YM2Z


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, bottom, femdom, fetish, impact play, kink, power exchange, sex, Spanking, Top, whip

Have Your Cake-The Hose

August 8, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. Leave a Comment

  • hot, sexy lesbian Domme and submissive bound
    via stock.adobe.com

Three clear tanks stood near the wall to the right. Round, each with a naked person submerged in water and forced to breathe through a snorkel clipped in place at the top. Two women and one man. They were awake, could see the people coming in, but could not move, as they were bound wrist and ankle to the frame they were standing on. So the metal fame came to the top of the tank. They climbed up the steps on the side and stood there and were bound by clips and cuffs. The snorkel was put in and they were lowered to the right depth. The lid was put on and the top of the snorkel put in place. They could drown themselves just by spitting out the mouthpiece if they wanted. 

Behind her were two cages, both empty. She was put into one of them. Cold steel bottom, padlocked, and the escort and guard left. The door was shut and locked. Looking around more, she saw three cameras. One aimed directly at the tanks, another at the cages and the third at the left corner. A hose was wound around a hook. A large hose, like firemen used, with a big tapered nozzle. There were several drains in the floor. Near the corner, in the middle, between the tanks.

There wasn’t anything to do but wait. She could be here minutes or hours before anyone came to do anything. There never were any clocks in any of the rooms she was left in for long periods. Not even her own bedroom cell.

She was there a long time when the door suddenly opened. The President came in wearing scuba pants, boots and gloves, but no shirt. A group of six guards followed. Two went to the first tank and activated the lift mechanism to bring the person up out of the water. With gravity returned, the woman had to sit on the top step and scoot herself down the steps to the floor. Her guards stood with her while the second pair got the man out. He was stronger, able to walk down on shaking legs. The third scooted herself down and lay in a curled heap on the floor, shaking and crying.

“The next time you want to fight a member in the pool, you remember this punishment. You’ll be here twice as long, if you’re allowed to live at all. Take them back to the Death Block.”

The room emptied and there he was staring down at her inside the cage.

“You again,” he said. “You just can’t seem to keep your hands off your own cunt, can you. I have a different sort of punishment for you. We’ll see if this one gets the message across.”

Padlock opened an d he used a short whip to drive her to the corner. 

“Sit in the corner,” he told her. “Face me.”

She saw there were clear plastic straps attached to the wall. Her arms were strapped first and then around the bottom of her thighs, holding her wide open on the cold, rough cement floor. He went to the roll of hose, unwinding it the full length and then turning the valve. The hose filled and he picked up the nozzle. Pointing to the wall, he opened the nozzle and adjusted the water until he had a fast mist. Cold water, and she shrieked and broke out into goose bumps as he wet her down. The spray concentrated downward, as he aimed lower and lower and adjusted the spray to a smaller and smaller diameter.

Then she was screaming a new sort of overstimulation as the hard, fast spray relentlessly pounded the flesh of her open vagina. Exhilarating but painful and she couldn’t angle her knees in to protect herself. Narrowing the stream, he aimed directly for her anus. Spraying up and down those few inches felt like he was spraying her entire torso as the water splashed all over her. Water flew with velocity in all directions, including into her eyes. She kept them closed. Water flowed from around her buttocks and back toward the drain. Drips ran down her thighs and breasts. Her hair became heavy with water and a single long drip tickled down the side of her nose. A hard toss of her head shook it off.

Several minutes and he closed the nozzle.

“Is that little cum at night before you fall asleep worth this, cunt?”

“It is at the time,” she sputtered.

And got herself another five minute drenching and pounding.

“Is that little cum at night before you fall asleep worth this, cunt?” he asked again when the water stopped.

“No, Master!” she chose to answer rather than give a smart reply again.

He turned off the water and opened the nozzle to empty the hose onto her.

“Keep it in mind.”

Excerpt is from Have Your Cake, story 1 in the Culpation League series.

Available now at your favorite digital store!
Have Your Cake by TylerRose.
books2read.com

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, Dame TylerRose., fetish, kink, sex

Bottoms – Do You Have Your Own Play Kit?

August 8, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. Leave a Comment

  • sex toys
    via stock.adobe.com

As a top, I have always liked it when a bottom could hold out a back pack and say “You can use anything in here.” Whether or not I do depends on what’s in the bag, of course. 

If it’s a needle kit or rope, I won’t be using any of it. Not interested. If it’s a Tens unit, I might. I’ve used one of those on myself, for my bad back. 

Butt plugs won’t be used. I don’t put things in anyone’s ass. He can, however, go to the bathroom and slip it in himself. My cane may find the end of it for a number of smacks.

It is a commonly accepted thing. The top will buy the toys, have the toys, care for the toys, etc. Yes, I have quite the collection of things I personally enjoy using on other people. They are never used on me. They can be cleaned. Poppers are given to the person they were used on. But my kit is limited to what I am capable of carrying that day.

That sounds silly, I’m sure; but I live in NYC. I have to carry my kit up four flights of stairs just to begin to get to an event. Then there are another two to four sets of stairs to get out of the station when I arrive.

If I can keep my kit fairly light, bringing only three or four things, and can count on a bottom bringing his own fun things that are specific to him, together we have expanded our play repertoire without either of us relying entirely on the other.

I don’t have nipple clamps, unless you count clothespins or those very nasty clamps with bells (fishing line bell bobbin). I don’t have weights. 

Until recently, I didn’t have wartenberg wheels. I did, however, know a bottom who brought them nearly every time he came to an event I was attending. Through using them on him, I decided to buy my own pair. I’m rather looking forward to meeting up with him again, and using both pairs at the same time. Mine in one hand and his in the other should make for a terrific scene.

I know bottoms who bring their own leg spreader; their own ankle/wrist cuffs, their own penis ropes. Things not used on other people. In this time of plague, having a kit of things to be used solely on yourself is an important investment. You don’t know how clean anyone keeps their kit. You don’t go home with them all to see what they do with their toys after the party. You don’t know how many people have already had it used on them at the party you’re attending. You can’t know.

Protect yourself. You know where your items have been. You know how they were cleaned because you did it yourself.

I used the word “investment”. Some things can be costly. It’s best to build your kit up over time. Keep in mind that a smallish woman may have a hard time handling a monster flogger. Find a more medium sized flogger that is easier to deal with but still gives the impact you want. Canes are easy and can be reasonably priced. There are numerous sellers all over Fetlife, Etsy, Ebay, Amazon. Ban-sticks, in Fetlife, is my favorite. I’ve bought four sets from her, I think. Three sets in different lengths for myself and one set as a present for my former husband.

Clothespins can be thrown away after use if you want. They’re not expensive unless you’ve put in the work and time to dye them.

Raid the kitchen for the wooden spoons or go to the dollar store and buy an inexpensive pack. You can wash and keep them to use again or discard after use. I know people who love the meat tenderizing mallet as well.

Rope. It’s easy enough to put in a pillow case and then into the washer. Cotton line can be put into the dryer. If you’re not doing suspension, cotton clothesline is fine. Don’t let anyone be snobby at you about it.

My point here is to not depend on the top to provide all the toys. 

Plague or not, every bottom should have their own play kit full of fun things they like used on them.


TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She’s been doing this BDSM stuff for over 30 years in private and more than 10 years in public venues. 

She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty five fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/
FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Tagged With: aftercare, bdsm, bdsm play, bdsm toys, bottom, Dame TylerRose., dom, domme, fetish, impact play, kink, master, mistress, Paddles, power exchange, sex, sex toys, slave, Spanking, submissive, Top

10 Things Emotionally Immature Chicks Want From Unsuspecting Dudes They Sink Their Hooks Into

July 26, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 3 Comments

emotionally immature chick
emotionally immature chick

I wrote this piece as a satire after reading the original list. The first part of each is the original requirement. My additions are bolded.

1. Please touch us
Cuddle us, spoon us, grab the small of our backs. Kiss our foreheads and make us feel small. We crave your hands all over us. We love them no matter where they happen to land—be that on our asses or up our skirts. 
Just. Touch. Us. 
Because if you don’t, we will turn into a whining, crying, harpy from hell silently shrieking and screaming inside our heads while envisioning scratching your eyes out!

2. Take pride in us
Relish in the fact that we’re yours—that we belong to you and no one else. Smile when we enter the room because you know we’re walking toward you. 
Because if you don’t, we’ll announce to the entire room full of people what an ass you are that you can’t even SMILE AT US when you see us, 
you fucking jackass

3. Let us cry
When we are sad or angry, or pissed the hell off. When we drink too much…especially when we drink too much, let us cry our eyes out. Let us be messes, with mascara running down our cheeks and pints of ice cream in our hands. Let us be okay with not being okay once in a while. 
This one requires no action from you, just that you be okay with it when it happens. 
HAHAHA
No, it totally requires action from you. You have to attempt everything humanly possible to tell us it’s okay and everything will be fine, and wait on us hand and foot for the rest of the day.

4. Forgive
Despite how hard we try, we will make mistakes. We will fuck things up, say things wrong, do things crazy, and when that happens we need you to forgive us. We’re not talking immediate forgiveness, or that a price won’t often be paid for it, but forgiveness that comes eventually. We need to know that the slate has been wiped clean, all trespasses have been forgiven…and when it happens, don’t forget to let us know. See number 5.
You must forgive us…but we will NEVER forgive you!
This is going to be such a fucking double standard that you will never know if you’re coming or going. I will expect you to completely forget the smallest thing I’ve ever done wrong. I, however, will never forget a fucking thing for the rest of your life. I will bring it up to throw in your face and make you feel guilty when you least expect it!

5. Communicate… often!
We need this.. If we don’t discuss something, it will fester in our brains forever, eventually driving us crazy. A three minute conversation could ease hours of worry for us once an uneasy feeling sets in. If that can be prevented with a few sentences, please take the time to speak them. Honestly, like two seconds of your time could stop our heads from exploding….and you don’t want to clean up that mess, do you?
You reeeeeallly don’t want to have to clean up that mess.
DO YOU?!?!
(eye twitching, maniacal expression that will haunt your dreams until you die)

6. We want you to make us feel pretty
Not that you don’t make us feel super sexy pretty darn often, but once in a while, it’s good to actually hear. Tell us our ass looks great in our yoga pants, that our hair looks especially shiny today. Tell us you like our new boots. Notice something small and compliment us about it, and our hearts will swell for days. Compliments let us know what it’s like to look through your eyes. Those are glimpses of the world we don’t often get to see.
TELL ME I’M PRETTY, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!
You wouldn’t want me to misplace something of yours, would you? 
Like your balls? (which I’ll be keeping in a jar, in a location you will never know)

7. It’s the little things
Some of these are sounding cliche, but are just so fucking true. Sure, your big gestures of grandeur are admired, but it is often the small things that get our cheeks turning red. Leave a note on the mirror in the morning telling us to have a great day. Sit next to us during a movie you have no desire to see. Take the dog out in the morning so we can sleep in for an extra 10 minutes, remember what ice cream we prefer to eat when we cry. If you do these things, we’re yours for life.
Just you fucking take that god damn dog out and pick up its crap when it shits.
I will make you do every single fucking thing that you hate for the rest of your life. You thought you were dominant in this relationship?
HAHAHAHA!!!
I’m the boss and don’t you fucking forget it.

8. Remember things
Speaking of little things, try to remember them. Things like how we take our coffee and the name of that bitchy girl who sits next to us at work. Remember anything. Three weeks from now, bust out some silly story we told you over dinner one evening in great detail. Remember something we’d never expect you to store into your internal drive. Remember our first concert together, and our best friend from kindergarten’s name. The more obscure the better.
You better remember fucking everything.
If you don’t, I will hold it over your head for the rest of your life. I will bring it up when you least expect it. Over and over and over again. Even when you do remember, I will remind you of all the times that you forgot. You will never be allowed to forget that you forgot.

9. Deal with us
When we’re singing in the car. When we drink too much wine. When we completely melt down. Deal with our pasts, and when we don’t feel pretty. Deal with our stretch marks and insecurities, our early bedtimes and exhaustion. Deal with our mood, and how we load the dishwasher the wrong way. These things silently tell us that you’ll be by our sides regardless of how nerdy, silly or utterly hopeless we can get.
JUST FUCKING DEAL!!!
I’m going to be a complete fucking mess from start to finish. If you ever break up with me, I will blog endlessly about what an asshole you were. You will never be free of me.
NEVER, DO YOU HEAR ME!

10. Be the most stable thing in our lives
Be stronger than us. Be the one person in our world that won’t turn on us or walk away. When life becomes scary and confusing, and we just need something solid to hold onto, please be our anchor. It’s because of you that our awful days are easier to get through. Don’t be perfect. Just be there. It’s the only real requirement on this list.
Just BE There
Because I’m never going to let you go anywhere without me ever again. Never in your life.
Except when you walk the dog. And when I send you to the store for tampons. And when I send you to the grocery store five times in a row to get something I forgot, that I couldn’t remember until you were all the way home again.
I will rule your life from waking until sleeping, and then I will haunt your dreams all night long.
GET USED TO IT, SONNYBOY!

——-
TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She’s been doing this BDSM stuff for 30 years in private and more than 10 years in public venues. 
She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2
You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/
FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Erotica: Hanar’s New Life

July 26, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

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Tagged With: bdsm, Dame TylerRose., erotica, midan slave, Peeper Gloriana, sexual slave

Dealing with health issues during the Plague

July 5, 2020 By Dame TylerRose. 2 Comments

submissive woman getting medical treatment.jpeg
via stock.adobe.com

I received an email today, from someone I’m friendly with in my local scene. It touched me in an unexpected way, and has compelled me to share some very intimate details of my current life.

Right when the plague was starting, I embarked on something of a medical odyssey. 

I’d been bleeding vaginally for several months. Basically a period that wouldn’t end. I decided it was time to do something about it. (If this happens to you, don’t wait more than three weeks. Seriously.)

I endured a uterine biopsy that was inconclusive, because reasons I won’t bore or gross you out with. It has been continuing for three months with the taking of a daily megestrol tablet, and waiting. June 1st, tomorrow as I type this, I will endure a second uterine biopsy. It required a sonogram the Friday before.

I’m not really keen on doctors. In fact, I despise the entire medical establishment. I’m pushing through the best I can, knowing my rights as a patient and advocating for myself. I’m not the typical “submissive, do what I’m told” patient. I study things. I research things. I question things. I know things. It surprises them when I use medical terminology as easily as they do. They don’t know what to say when I tell them they’re bullshitting me. (a couple ibuprofen “significantly” reduces the discomfort of the biopsy…mhhm who the fuck you think you’re lying to?)

While the gynecologist isn’t usually a place for sick people, I’m not keen to sit in a waiting room time after time, for an hour or more. But I’m doing it. I have to if I’m going to have the procedure. I want to know if I have cancer. 

If I have cancer of the uterus, I will have to have a hysterectomy. Possibly while the plague is still raging. I’m not very keen on that either; but I’m willing to face it. I’ve wanted a hysterectomy since I was 13 years old, my periods are so excruciatingly painful.

Why am I telling you this?

Because there’s someone out there who desperately needs to go to the dentist but is afraid they’ll catch the plague. Please. If you’re in pain, make that appointment for diagnosis. Make and keep the appointments to fix the issue.

If you’ve been putting off your yearly gyno exam, please make an appointment and go. Better to go and get a negative or an early indicator than not go and next year find out you have cancer.

If you’re putting off your yearly mammo, make the appointment and go.

Don’t let the plague stop you from maintaining your health.

This will end, and there are people out there who want to see you when it does.

DTR.

Tagged With: bdsm, DameTylerRose., fetish, kink

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