mia loves henry miller

Letter 42 – A Shopping trip to Victoria Secrets and Another Fun and Kinky Party at MJ’s

I’m writing this letter on 3-11-12 at 4:04 p.m.

Dear Henry,

“When I say friends, I mean friends. Not everybody can be your friend. It must someone as close to you as your skin, someone who imparts color, drama, meaning to your life, however snug and secure it may be.” –Henry Miller, A Trilogy

Our clocks sprang forward by one hour sometime during the night – Daylight Savings. Mr. C and I didn’t arrive home from MJ’s party until after 2 am. I had to get up at eight this morning to get ready to take my mother out for breakfast for her 70th birthday. Afterwards, I’ve been so tired, that I have been dozing in and out of sleep on the couch all day, after working and revising my last letter to you, organizing the next burlesque show, and editing my manuscript.

On Friday night (3-9-12), after Mr. C picked me up from my artist loft, after he got off of work. We went to Rosedale Mall and shopped for a few things; black dress pants and a vivid magenta colored shirt with a colorful tie for Mr. C, and a vibrant pair of pink panties, which matched a beautiful, uplift bra, from Victoria Secrets for me. The undergarments were more expensive than I would have spent, but the lavish material felt so nice upon my naked skin. I must admit that luxury sure feels nice. Mr. C also bought me a new pair of knee length, black leather boots, which I love. The boots are well made and feel very comfortable. I wanted to look nice for MJ’s party. I wanted my undergarments to match and look sexy, just in case we played at MJ’s party, Saturday evening. It’s not too often that I get the opportunity to shop due to my busy schedule. It feels gratifying when I do get the chance to do so.

I was exhausted from working so many hours painting the previous week, that my body felt slow and sluggish on Saturday afternoon. I took a two hour nap before I got in the shower, put on make-up, and get dressed ready to go to MJ’s party. My head felt foggy and my body moved slowly like an ancient tortoise. Generally, Mr. C and I are always the first ones to arrive to any destination, event or party. But, yesterday evening we were fashionably late by two hours.

The party was quaint, simple and small when we arrived. MJ appeared gorgeous wearing a shiny, black, vinyl skirt that had two small ovals cut out in it, exposing her firm, tight, smooth beautiful ass. She paired it with a very sexy, vinyl black corset with faint red trim and three semi thin belts and buckles. I felt extremely turned on, intoxicated and dizzy, staring at her erotic, kinky ensemble. My hand instinctively wanted to reach out and caress her smooth, creamy, soft, buttocks. It was irresistible. But, I didn’t dare, not so soon after Mr. C and I arrived. I didn’t want to get into trouble just yet.

I had the opportunity to meet new individuals and flirt with old friends. It was great to see Miss Long Legged Vixen (Miss LLV) and Miss Nothing but Trouble (Miss NBT) again. They are both two of my favorite reasons for attending MJ’s party. I don’t get to see them often. Miss LLV is beautiful, tall and exotic. She used to perform with Dr. Farrago’s Burlesque Theater when we first began our show. Miss NBT is a naughty submissive, much like I am. I’m attracted to her tomboy, butch lesbian qualities. I’ve always been attracted to many women like her, ever since I was a young teenager. Last night, Miss NBT and I flirted and cuddled close together on a large, plush chair, near a tall cage MJ had created and welded, to lock her slaves into. We talked for long periods of time, witnessing the activities of the party from the corner of our eyes, in between silent breaks in our conversation.

It was near midnight when we observed the guest of honor, who was celebrating her birthday, Miss Pretty City Girl, receive her birthday spankings. Her wrists were buckled tightly into black leather cuffs, her arms were stretched, taut, uplifted above her head, and restrained by rope to large, silver eyehooks in the ceiling. She winced, wiggled, smiled, grimaced, moaned and screamed with each strike upon her ass. A birthday isn’t really a birthday in Minneapolis, until you have had MJ give you her traditional birthday spankings.

“Mia,” I heard MJ say from across the room, after Miss Pretty City Girl was released from her restraints. “I have no slaves tonight to assist me. Can you help me pass out birthday cake?” I didn’t mind helping. It reminded me of the days when MJ would throw big parties in uptown, and me and her previous slave boys would help her as good submissive slaves, at them. My submission to MJ goes deeper than the sexual realms. I admit that I enjoy this realm of servitude as much as I enjoy being tied up and used as a submissive toy.

“Melissa stretched in the soft, velvet chair. She had set aside the magazine she had been reading, her eyes fluttering across Kathryn. The girl was bound in the cage, her arms cuffed over her head to the roof, her ankles cuffed to the floor. The cage was not more than fourteen inches on a side, and Kathryn had been there overnight and most of the day.” –n.t. morley, The Parlor

Miss LLV was feeling intoxicated from the champagne she was drinking. I have no idea how she managed to put herself into this predicament, but before I knew it, she instigated a situation that made MJ lock her inside MJ’s cage. I felt sorry for her. It would drive me insane to be locked inside a cage during a party for long periods of time. MJ gave Miss NBT the keys to the cage, which made her smile large and mischievous. Quickly, feeling a little guilty, we abandoned Miss LLV, who was squealing to be let out of the cage, to smoke a cigarette outside, where my husband, Mr. C and friend, Mr. P joined us.

When I returned, MJ was inside the cage with Miss LLV, pressing her Hitachi wand firmly up between Miss LLV’s sexy, submissive, widely splayed legs. It was a glorious sight to observe. Both of them looked so beautiful, sensual, and lost in a world of kinky pleasure. Miss LLV’s head was tipped back, her luscious mouth open, releasing a string of orgasmic moans, her mind appeared lost in the throes of ecstasy. I viewed the scene much like an artist, thinking to myself, “The memory of this would make for a very erotic painting someday.” I quickly cataloged it inside my head, in the file of “future, erotic portraits.”

“The woman laughed, feeling Kathryn squirmed. “Pleasure soon becomes pain, and the other way around. Isn’t that right little slut?” –n.t. morley, The Parlour

When this sizzling scene was over, the guests went back to their conversations with each other.

“Mia”, I heard MJ say from across the room. “Mia,” she called again.

“Can you get my Sawzall? It’s in the medical room?” She asked when I appeared in her view, after I heard her call for me. My eyes got wide. My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

I didn’t have time to do as she asked. I was caught deep in the stages of dumbfounded and uncertainty. I could not move momentarily, as if I were stuck inside the sticky web of a vicious spider. Suddenly, I was blindfolded by an unknown hand, my body was floating downward, until I felt my body supported upon the brown, leather chaise. My world was spinning fast and erotically. My breath rate quickened when I felt myself being bound to this piece of kinky furniture by several unfamiliar hands. My head dangled over the edge of it. My neck felt weak and uncomfortable. But, I never protested about my awkward position. I concentrated on my breathing, attempting to relax, blocking out all of the people in the room, who might be observing. My body slipped deeper into a reposed state, when I felt those same unfamiliar hands that recently tied my arms down to the kinky piece of furniture, and stroke my soft skin on my arms and upper chest. When they ceased to caress, my body stiffened with apprehension and trembled with arousal. “What would happen next, I thought?”

“Spread your legs Mia,” MJ said, slapping the bare skin hard and high between my thighs.

“I can’t hear you, Mia,” MJ spoke again, sternly.

“Yes Mistress,” I answered, spreading my legs wide. My body stiffened and trembled again, knowing that she would soon be inserting a very kinky, powerful device, into my pussy and fucking me with it.

“Kathryn whimpered very softly as Melissa slipped her hand between Kathryn’s thighs. “Open them wider.” Melissa ordered, and Kathryn obediently worked her knees farther apart.” –n.t. morley, The Parlour

I must pause this letter Henry. I am tired and need some sleep.

I’m resuming this letter on 3/13/2012 at 9:05 a.m.

Good morning Henry!

I felt so tired. I slept most of yesterday evening and all through the night. I still feel drowsy and non-energetic. I am not planning anything special today. I’m just going to nap and write to you when I can. It was fifteen years ago today when Mr. C and I went on our first date. It does not seem that long ago. Time goes by so quickly when you are having fun and deeply love each other. Ten years seemed like an eternity in Hell when I was married to Mr. D.A. my first husband.

Mr. C and I don’t have anything fun or kinky planned. We are both pretty much wasted from working so hard last week and playing hard over the weekend. Mr. C’s job continues to get more demanding, which I don’t think he minds, because he really loves what he does for work. He runs a security company and is very passionate about his occupation. I think one of the key elements in our relationship is that we both love our work and that makes us both happy. We bring joy and positive energy into our relationship instead of stress and negativity. Our relationship has not always been easy. No relationship is. We found strength in ourselves and in our relationship when we travelled through the dark times together. It’s the good, the bad, and the ugly that makes the adventurous journey.

Back to MJ’s erotogenic party…

“Kathryn was placed over the edge of the bed, her mouth gagged with a plastic gag, and her arms and legs bound. Her legs hung over the side of the bed so that her feet just touched the ground, but her thighs were spread wide and her cunt was very exposed. Oh, God, she thought, They’re really going to do it….” —n.t. morley, The Parlour

My world was darkened by a blindfold. I could only hear pieces of conversations float throughout the room. My eyes flitted upward beneath the blindfold when I felt the sawzall enter my convulsing walls of swollen, wet, pink flesh, the power switch being turned on, and the dildo circulating and pulsating fast inside me. Euphoric chills danced up and down my spine. Tiny shock of erotic energy tingled in my curled toes. I saw fireworks and flashes of white light beneath my eyelids, as all of my hormones triggered simultaneously like the many power generators at Hoover Dam. The extreme pulsation of MJ’s toy trembled through my body like a small, euphoric earthquake. The adrenaline from the orgasmic energy was flooding my brain, causing me to feel very high. I was floating in a raunchy realm of bawdy bliss.

“Let it go, Princess, “MJ chanted, “Let it go…sing for me, Mia. I want to hear you sing.”

I concentrated on my breath again, letting myself fall deeper and deeper into submission. My moans became louder, stronger, more robust. At one point I felt someone gently hold my head up, to relieve my agony from my awkward positioning. I no longer felt fatigue and muscle cramping in my neck. I felt grateful to whoever was supporting my neck with their hands. Once my discomfort was relieved, it was easier for me to let go. And when I eventually did, the sawzall and dildo continuing to pound my cunt in a fast and furious way, my long string of moans echoed throughout the room, feeling as if my breath and hissing moans went of forever.

“Kathryn obediently kept the breathing rhythm up, and now, with Melissa’s weight on Kathryn’s thighs, both women knew that there was no way for Kathryn to hold back. She began to whimper, deep in her trance, and she felt her body shivering as the orgasm began to work through her.” –n.t. morley, The Parlour

My sexual appetite grew voracious. The sawzall continued to spin and thrust with intensity inside my swollen, wet walls of flesh, but, it didn’t feel deep enough. I wanted more! I wanted to feel it thrusting hard and deep into my insatiable cunt. I attempted to scoot my ass forward to thrust MJ’s toy deeper into me. However, my restraints did not permit me to do so. I felt sexually frustrated, and physically fatigued from trying to push the toy in deeper between my widely splayed legs.

When I did feel the thrusting dildo attached to the sawzall push further into me, my orgasmic rush continued to grow to an extent where I thought that I would cry from the intensity and pleasure. Suddenly, I felt the ultimate orgasmic release, as if my body was a tea pot whistling when it is at a full boil. My moans were now loud enough to shatter glass and wake neighbors. The intensity of this diabolic release caused me to use all of my stomach muscles and sit up almost straight upon the brown leather chaise, stretching the rope, binding my wrists, as far as it would go, screaming from my orgasmic bliss. I could hear MJ’s loud, satisfied laugh when I reached the peak of my culmination. Her voice sounded like music to my ears. I always love hearing her reaction and listening to her satisfaction of getting me off.

After, every last breath exhaled from my lungs, my body collapsed onto the piece of furniture I was bound to, limp, panting and sweaty. I begged and pleaded for a rest. Intermittently, I would feel unfamiliar hands still stroke upon my skin. I felt a strong hand glide near my wet pussy. Immediately, I grabbed this hand pushing it towards my sex, hoping that they would finger fuck me. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I suffered in silence, horny, still panting like a dog from my previous excitement.

“Would you like something to drink?” I heard a female voice speak softly near my ear. I couldn’t see who was talking to me, my eyes were still blindfolded.

I nodded my head, yes. My throat was so parched I could hardly speak. I was grateful to greedily sip upon cool sips of water through a straw. I was still lying on my back, listless, like a rag doll. MJ had just fucked the hell out of me. My smile was large and my eyes were glossy. I thought to myself how ironic it was that I started this collection of letters to you, Henry, soon after my first experience with the sawzall at MJ’s party in December. Now, I’m experiencing it again, as I’m nearing the fiftieth letter, which will be end of my first book of letters to you.

When I eventually recovered, I searched for my clothing. MJ refused to tell me where they were at. She wanted me to sit near her side in my pretty pink bra and panties set. I lightly massaged her feet covered in black fishnet stockings, as she conversed with other guests. It felt natural to be so submissive to MJ. It offered a certain kind of comfort that is difficult to explain. It’s a warm, loving, safe, comforting sensation.

A little while later, I put on my black fur coat. I was feeling cold wearing so little, and exposed in my bra and panties. I was sitting with MJ and her lover on the brown chaise, when suddenly my left hand was snared by a black piece of thick rope, like a rabbit caught in a trap. The rope gripped tightly around my wrist, entrapped by MJ’s lover. I couldn’t escape. He turned me into his puppet, making my hand stroke and spank MJ’s exposed butt cheeks in her dress. Everything he did, MJ responded by spanking my ass hard until it was a burning shade of pink. I wiggled, writhed, shrieked and laughed while trying to explain to MJ that I wasn’t the one doing the stroking and spanking with my hand. I had no control over my actions. It was her lover who was making me. MJ spanked me hard, a multitude of times, for trying to explain. It was no use. I couldn’t win.

It was after midnight. The party was thinning out. Some of us observed other helpless victims get tied up and spanked by MJ. I had difficulty controlling my laughter when I observed one of her victim’s thrashing, wiggling, knee weakening reactions to MJ’s vicious blows to his warm pink ass. I knew what that agony felt like and I was glad it wasn’t me feeling her wrath. My empathetic soul felt every one of her strikes upon his now bruising flesh. But, I still could not control my inner giggles. I honestly did not know why I thought it was funny. Maybe it was because he was dancing like a puppet on strings, and doing everything he could to move his body away from the striking blows of MJ’s thick, wooden paddle.

Sometime after MJ finished spanking this male victim, I heard her say, “Mia, come here.”

I did so slowly and reluctantly. “Remember Nancy?” I nodded my head. How could I forget her? Nancy is a mean, thick, mahogany paddle. I don’t like her much. Actually, I don’t like her at all and MJ knows it.

“Mia, bend over my knee,” MJ ordered, “Can someone please get me Nancy?”

Before I knew it, flashes of bright white light were blinding my eyes, each time MJ smacked my ass hard with Nancy. I have not been spanked in a very harsh way in a very long time. Most of my scenes I have experienced over the years are much less intense, or more sensual. It has been years since I felt the nasty wrath of Nancy strike upon my tender flesh. My body bucked, squirmed and wiggled. I even tried to worm my way out of it. It was no use. Waves of nausea rolled in my stomach. I was desperately hoping that I wouldn’t puke all over MJ. I was grateful that I hadn’t had much to eat that evening. Regardless of how hard I tried, I could not slip into the zone, to transcend this pain into pleasure. I fought every inch of this, which only made my agony worse. I wanted to slip deep into sub-space, but I was out of practice. It has been years since MJ and I did Dominant and submissive scenes on a regular basis. Mr. B and Mr. C never take my punishment to the extreme level MJ does.

Just when I thought it was over, MJ used a smaller, blonde, wooden paddle on my ass. I thought that the intensity would be far less than Nancy. But, I was wrong! The strike of her wooden paddle made the white flashes of light spark brighter before my eyes. My nausea rolled faster in the pits of my stomach. I pleaded, begging for MJ to stop. I could no longer handle the intensity of her cruel spankings. I knew then, that the smaller, wooden paddle would be named Nasty Natasha. She was much meaner than Nancy. I was grateful when my punishment was over, rubbing my sore ass cheeks, feeling their warmth, attempting to rub the pain away.

I eventually found my clothes and put them on. I was exhausted, my ass hurt, and I wanted to go home.

“I’m so sorry for laughing at you,” I told the male victim who was punished with spankings right before my encounter with Nancy and Natasha. I now knew personally the excruciating torment he went through. I didn’t think it was so funny anymore.

Soon after, I said my goodbyes to everyone left at the party. Giving hugs and kisses to all of my friends and new acquaintances. When we entered our vehicle, I winced in pain as I sat down upon the car seat. My ass felt like it was on fire. The coldness of the seat cooled my skin. My eyes were closing, my mind drifting in and out of sleep as we drove home. Immediately, I passed out with exhaustion by the time my head hit the pillow that night, smiling and wincing from my memorable time at MJ’s party.

I must get some painting done. Bye, for now, Henry.

I’m resuming this letter on 3-18-2012 at 11:11 a.m.

It has taken me a week to write this letter. It’s now a week since I attended MJ’s party. It no longer hurts to sit down. The Illusionettes just performed for a Vaudeville show in St. Paul last night. It was nice to perform for a show that I didn’t have to organize. All we had to do was pack up magic tricks, costumes and props. We did two shows yesterday, an afternoon and evening show. I’m still tired and recovering from the long day, yesterday. I’m getting ready to leave the suburbs to go to the loft and start painting again. I will write when I can.

Much Love,

Mia

“The obscene would be forthright, and pornography would be the roundabout. I believe in saying the truth, coming out with it cold, shocking if necessary, not disguising it. In other words, obscenity is a cleansing process, whereas pornography only adds to the murk.” –Henry Miller, The Paris Review