I am Pron, conqueror of men

I am Pron, conqueror of men and now

I rot their brains, sizzling and slow.

I hold their reins and even if they know

What happens, I am Pron.

In zippered haste they stumble

fingers fumbling, finding me

Touching me, running cum-stained

Thumbs and dreams along the keys,

It’s me.  They know, yes they know

Alright.  I am Pron.


Touch me, in deep lost night

It’s alright to touch me there,

The very sight of me stripped,

Whipped, bare, kneeling, mouth

Open to the storm.  I am Pron

You enter, you enter, typing madly

Half-holding, half-lost, the frenzy

The very sight of her with the whip in her

Hand.  You type, half-holding, not

Looking, not really.  You type me

You type me, my name

I am Pron.


Still love weird quizzes….not sure why though?

But what on earth do they mean, really?  The internet ones just seem to give us back what we want to hear.  The quiz needs to capture more than just my own-self-imagining….to be real, that is.  But do I really want that?

I guess I could make up my own quiz as to how self-deceiving I am.  And I suppose I would make it so I would fail.  That makes doing these other quizzes more, well, palatable.  Even if unbelievable.  But I keep doing them anyway.

Heck, what strange fun we have….



My skin, all white awaits you

Write, O write in red upon me

Carve your name inside me

It’s the pain I need right now.


Your words unformed create me

My soul unturned awaits you

White skin dies to red anew

It cries and cries me into

This need I have right now.


But you, you smile again and say,

“Soon, but soon, not now”


I Pay Women to Beat Me

There, that was not hard to say, now was it? I am a little ashamed as I write it.  But it is true.

I pay them to punch me, to slap my face, and to spit on me.  And whip me.   You know what kind of person I am.  A customer, I guess.  But a person even so.  And so are the women who are kind enough to accept my money and who are willing to beat me. If they don’t want to do some particular thing, that is fine of course.  Some people do not like spitting. Some don’t like punching.

And everyone does it differently. I have been beaten so many times and in so many different ways.  I have been spat on so many times.  Sometimes it is revolting, even to me.  Sometimes it is just beautiful.  I could watch a beautiful woman sniffing up, drawing the spit together, lining me, aiming, tilting her head back, and then leaning forward to land a loogie right there, right on my face.

And I can watch her ball up her fists, her punches coming in thick and fast onto my naked breast.  And I see her smile, and I laugh, just for the sheer joy of it.  And she laughs too, because the whole thing, as mad as it may seem, is just for that moment, a beautiful thing.

And that is a kind of heaven, even if like all such joys, it cannot last….

Waxed and Ready


“I am ready,” and I press my face into the sheets.  “Sit up for me, let me run my hands over your arms, your breasts.”

I obey, silently lifting myself from the pillow.  “Take me,” I whisper.

She cups my breasts, still raw after being waxed, “So smooth,” she says.  “Thank you,” she adds.

Gently, now, ever so gently, she pushes me back down onto the bed.  She knew my body better than I knew it myself.  I feel a finger inside me, probing, ever so slowly, and as I relax she tugs up on the inside of me.  “Am I big enough for you?” she asks.  But that does not matter to me at all.

She is behind me now, as I press my face into the pillow once more, this soft, blissful pillow.  She masturbates her cock.  As if it were not hard enough, or large enough.  Yes, she is slowly masturbating her cock.  See, I know this, even though I cannot see her doing it.  And then, as I wait, as I relax even more, she enters me.

I sigh so quietly that even she cannot hear it.  “Hold me,” I say.

Slightly put off her rhythm, by my talking, she says, “What?”

“Hold me.  Love me!”

My entire body hungers for her.  Love me, hold me, protect me.  Let this embrace last forever!

Urgently now, I whisper just that little bit more loudly, “Own me, take me, and take me completely!”

For I am yours!


I felt her enter me, warm and hot….

I felt her enter me, warm and hot.  “Is that ok for you,” she asked as she tentatively began her journey to my deep and warmest interior.

“Yes, O, yes!” I whispered.  Gently, then, ever so gently, she pushed further and further into me.  Not pulling back, just gently widening me, opening me to her.

I pressed my face into the pillow.  I relaxed.  And slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed in further and further.  I imagined her cock just then.  I had kissed her toes, her feet, wet and warm, I had brushed my lips against her skin, her legs, then her inner thighs.  I watched her cock growing, almost by a law of its own.  Soft and beautiful penis.  I took her shaven balls in my mouth.  She had washed herself, so there was a faint scent of soap.  I had run my tongue up along the shaft of her enormous penis, so swollen now with desire, power, heat.  And this was what was now driving slowly down into the deepest depths of me.

“Is it still ok for you”she asked again, less tentatively this time.

“Just beautiful,” I murmured.  And as if reassured then, she drove suddenly into me, and I felt her fill the entire inside of me.  Would I burst apart, I wondered as she drove deep and deep.  I felt the heat, the pain, ever so slight.  And I relaxed again.

And she drove on and on.

I was almost delirious, dreaming.  “I want to look into your face,” she said.  “I want to look into your eyes as I fuck you.”

I turned over.  I felt her enter me again.  My legs were in the air, and she held them like the handle bars of some large machine that needed steering.  She pushed them back so that my knees rested gently on the sides of my stomach.  She looked down at me then, and at that moment, I looked up at her.  I felt as though she suddenly owned me, and that I now could submit my very soul to her.  My eyes moistened slightly, and she smiled then.  A gift to me.  I gave myself to her in my turn.  My gift to her.

“Do you want me to cum?” she asked, smiling even more broadly..

Yes, I said.  O, my goodness, yes I do.

The best part of a beating….

Anticipation is a strange thing.  Ahead of any kind of session, I feel a kind of fear, longing, and desire all mixed up.

But the strangest thing is that the thing I like best is explaining my desires.  Then it depends on who I am talking to.  Is this a person who will beat me?  Is it someone who will humiliate me?  One who will punch my body until it turns so red that I know black bruises will appear in two days time (I do not know why heavy bruising takes an extra day – I will never understand that).  Is it someone who will want to bend me over and bang my glory hole?  Someone who wants to spit into my eyes?  I am never sure until we speak….and if I ever get hard, it is just then.  Once the session starts, my flaccid cock just dribbles away….and I am in a strange kind of delirium.

Afterwards, I just feel like I float away….I feel utterly invincible.