I hope that all of you out there has had a wonderful Samhain and is enjoying the descent of the Goddess. While I have my own things and traditions that I do every year to celebrate Samhain, usually involving bones, blood, and boners, this year I focused on jewels and jewelry. I made a beautiful Dark Goddess bracelet for myself out of black pearls, garnets, and hematite, with a scarab at its focal point. I’ve had the scarab bead since I was in first grade and went to the King Tut exhibit at the Mint Museum in Charlotte, NC. Then later that day I got to see my first dead body at Discovery Place. They had a complimentary exhibit about mummification, and they had on display in a glass box a partially unwrapped mummy. Somehow or another I’ve managed to keep the scarab safe and with me all these years, and until this Samhain I never had the urge to use it.
The Descent Goddess, Inanna, Ishtar, Isis, She who is known by a multitude of names and incarnations, is often depicted with either bared breasts or bejeweled breasts, symbolizing not only sexuality but also her loss self and ego at the gates of the Underworld. And who doesn’t love pretty titties with glimmering jewels on them?
Making sacred jewelry is a great way to connect with deity. However, not everybody has time or talent to devote to the practice. There is nothing wrong with commissioning pieces of sacred jewelry. Although many “traditional” magic practitioners insist that all magical pieces should be hand made by the user or significantly altered, that is just not always practical or possible. If you commission a piece, is the intent not the same?
Helaine, the artist and owner of Subsensual Jewels, is just the person to help you out with a commissioned piece so that your own sacred breasts can be just as glittering as Inanna’s were. Rather have a glittering vulva or scrotum? Not a problem. Helaine has come up with this ingenious design for non-pierced nipple and genital jewelry. Instead of the loops of metal and elastic that you typically see in non-pierced nipple jewelry, Helaine uses magnets. Not only do these magnets keep the jewelry in place, but they can also be magically used to attract things to you: love, desire, money, etc. (Beware what you attract!) Now is the perfect time to put in your custom order for sacred kink jewelry because Subsensuals had such a successful summer of vending that they are sold out of jewelry and Helaine is busy making new pieces to sell. Want a set of Lapis nipple jewels to celebrate Inanna? She can make them! Want a pretty piece of hematite to attach to your genitals to keep you grounded enough to succeed at Tantric sex? She’s got you covered! She loves taking custom orders, and the prices for custom pieces are comparable to her already made pieces, but she prefers to use her own materials rather than materials sent in by customers. This is so that she can ensure that the materials used are safe for contact with a person’s delicate skin (although I hope that one day she’ll make me a pair of Wolfsheim nipple adornments from my wisdom teeth since I never wear blouses that require cuff links). The sensation of the jewelry itself can be used with a partner or by yourself to draw up energy in a ritual. Place the jewelry on your body during the invocation of your intent and then as you build up your magical energy, the physical sensations will grow until it’s time for you to release your energy for your magic when you remove the jewelry. To cleanse your jewelry in between ritual uses, rinse under cold water, dry well with a towel, and recharge your pieces under the light of the moon.
As you can see, your custom sacred kink ritual jewelry is only encumbered by your imagination! Visit Subsensuals website: http://www.subsensuals.com/ to contact Helaine about a custom piece or visit her and Subsensual Jewels on Facebook, Instagram, or FetLife.
Still not sure?
“At first I did not even feel them on. They were very comfortable, in fact I wore them underneath my top at the munch and no one even knew it. Over time the magnets kept drawing closer and the intensity grew stronger. As I passed one hour the pain started to really set in between 60-90 minutes it was very strong. Overall I absolutely Love them!!!!!” –Ladywithalens
“I just have to take a moment to talk about some of the body jewelry made by Subsensuals….If you are looking for a specific erotic look that is unique to your Submissive you are certainly in the right place. My experience with the nipple jewelry was most erotic, it was both erotic for the submissive and myself. The jewelry allows for that look but also allows the build of sensation as you come into and build with in a scene, whether its prior or during. It allows time for placement and time for the submissive to accept the slow and growing build as the magnets continue to pull in tighter and tighter… A perfect gift for that someone special in your lifestyle.” –Lobo
Now let’s dance around and pay some bills:
Make sure to mention me, Sparrow Brown, in the subscription comments so that I can get paid! Make sure to check out my column and articles in the December issue!
She looked at herself in the reflection of the bathing pool. She was filthy, thin, and her hair beraggled. Two days ago she had found a sparrow trying to make a nest in her hair; it was so horrible. She scrunched her eyes tightly to hide her tears as her Tendrils tried to gently tease out the knots. They were good girls, she knew, and they always tried to be gentle, but she was very tender-headed, and no matter how hard they tried, she always cried when they brushed her hair. Every day before the Oak King sent her into the fields, the Tendrils would braid her hair into simple peasant plaits and cover it with a poofy linen cap that her sunhat fit over, but every evening when she took the cap off, her hair would be unplaited and full of knots, tangles, and brush—and sometimes critters. Every Oak season was the same, and she never understood how it happened. It was just part of the magic of the cycle.
She let her mind drift to the coming opulence of the Holly King, that is if things worked the way they always did. Although without fail the brothers met twice a year to kill each other, the Ivy Queen always worried that this may be the year when things didn’t go as they were ordained, that her Holly King wouldn’t come back and that she would be stuck in an endless summer of hard work forever. She was tired of sweating. She shouldn’t work in the fields like a peasant. She was a Queen! She shouldn’t be tanned like the Oak King.
Her skin should be white to better show the lusciousness of her cool ivy leaves. She missed her castle where she could cavort and frolic with her Tendrils without the interference of the ever present Oak. His low growl of “Back to work” never left her ears, nor the exciting chill of dread that sprouted in her heart when he would touch the buckle of his belt or when he would glance between her and the whip hanging from the wall. The Tendrils washed her with whisper light touches over her thin, hard body. They drew the rag up between her small breasts and over her protruding collarbone. The Queen longed for her curves that had to be contained in an endless line of beautiful corsets. All in due time, she thought, all in very short due time.
She thought back to the Oak King touching his belt buckle and shivered.
Catch the irony?
He rarely punished her in that matter. The Tendrils started washing her thighs, and she opened them wider. One of her girls started to gently rub the tiny nub that always brought her so much pleasure. Instead of beatings, the Oak King was fond of the saying, “No work, no food.” He used hunger to motivate the people to do his bidding. Everybody worked hard, but he worked people so hard that their caloric earnings couldn’t keep up with their caloric spending. “Mmmmm”, she sighed as the Tendril rubbed a little faster and harder.
Everything wasn’t horrible with the Oak King. He did enjoy his pleasures, although they were of the more rustic variety. And she enjoyed sharing his pleasures, when he allowed. Often though, he would take a Tendril out with him into the wild wood, and either make her experience his touches vicariously through her girl’s retelling or be made to watch while she was imprisoned in a hollow oak tree.
She hated the tree most of all, since the hollow was only barely big enough for her to stand in and her arms were pinned to her side, not allowing her to masturbate in any way. There were times, however, when he touched her and melted her natural resistance to his authority. Once, during a terrible spring storm, the Oak King had spirited her away into the wind and lighting, pushing her back against a broad strong oak tree, pinning her hands above her head, and fucking her roughly while the rain and hail pelted them, leaving bruises on her slowly tanning skin. The Queen knew that she still had the scars where the tree’s bark had torn into her back, leaving the Oak King’s mark upon her skin.
At Beltane, when all the young men came to treat a Tendril for the night, the Oak King, just like a young swain, built her a cool, soft leafy bower for their sacred coupling. As gently as a nervous groom, he shyly took her with his perfect priapic wand, taking almost all night for her being to burst into a frenzy of fireflies and stars.
That was her sweetest memory of him. She fancied that that night was the sweet meat beneath his hard shell, but she was allowed to taste it so rarely, she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Ohhhhh,” she gasped, remembering his rod moving back and forth slowly inside of her,his rough tip rubbing her most sensitive spots. One of the Tendrils slipped a small wet fist into the Queen’s vagina and started to flex her hand.
Then, most recently, there had been their coupling in the field of partially ripe wheat. He had ordered her Tendrils to strip her of the simple brown shift that she was allowed to wear during the Oak King’s reign. Then he had blindfolded her and led her forward with a strong hand around her wrist. As she stumbled behind him, her skin was burned by the unrelenting sun, her nostrils were assaulted by the smells of grain, grass, and humid earth, and her ears rang with the drone of millions of insects. The wheat, about waist high, had switched and cut her thighs, leaving hundreds of little scratches. It had even tickled further up, sometimes even dipping between her nether lips. By the time the Oak King brought her to a halt in the middle of the field and removed her blindfold, her pussy was dripping, further irritating the tender flesh of her thighs, and she was covered in a heavy sheen of sweat. Through the memory the Queen was aware that her Tendril’s hand was moving even faster. She moaned louder with pleasure, knowing that she was close to coming.
The Oak King had invited her to lay down amongst the wheat, the dust and dirt of the field turning to mud against her sweaty skin. He took a length of wheat and teased her abused thighs with it, tickling her, working his way over her sunken tummy and breasts. He tickled and rubbed her nipples with the wheat kernels until they started to bleed. Then he took the wheat head and caressed further back from her vagina, moving her wetness back to lubricate her ass.
With out much thought she had lifted her hips and opened up as much as possible to him on her own. He teased her tight hole with the acorn head of his penis, being more patient than was his wont, slowly rubbing her in tight circles, coaching her body to slowly open up and swallow him. His entrance had made her stiffen and cry out in pain, but his slow persistence soon convinced her body to relax. The Ivy Queen remembered that she had lost herself in the blinding blue of the sky until it all started to feel good. The Oak King had been very attentive to her that day. He took his time and went as slow as she needed him to go, only starting to pump her dirt coated ass harder when she pulled him fully on top of her, wrapping her legs around him to pull him tighter. She remembered how the wheat tickling her soles had pushed her over the edge.
“Oh!” the Queen gasped and clamped down on the attending Tendril’s hand. Ivy Queen started to giggle, allowing herself to climax. The harder she came the louder she laughed. Then a loud knock on the door shattered the moment.
Her summons had arrived. The Oak King was ready for her, for what may be their final mating of the season. The old fear returned. What if this time, the Oak King prevailed for another six months? What then? She didn’t think she could bear any more of the Oak King’s austerity. Besides, she longed for her own castle. The Holly King allowed to her to come and go as she pleased with her Tendrils. The Oak King never let her go beyond the fields unless he was with her. The Holly King always invited her to share his plush bed. The Oak King insisted that she maintain a pallet on the floor in a dark corner of his chamber. The Holly King was robust and dark yet endlessly mirthful. The Oak King shone like the sun, tall and sturdy like his tree, but he rarely laughed, and then usually at her expense.
The Tendrils smoothed her wet hair down her delicate back. They had dressed her in a simple green tunic that swept the floor and opened fully down the front. As she followed the King’s servant to his chamber, the Oak Knights caught sight of her apple tits and ripe peach. The Queen was conscious of their stares, and despite her blush, she held her head high and glided on. The Oak King was standing before a wide window, gazing out into the courtyard bathed in the late morning sunshine. It was already hot. The spring breezes had ceased several weeks ago, and now it was swealtering. The King stood with his back to her, straight and tall. She always wondered what the brothers thought about in the final hour before the fight. Neither one ever appeared to be nervous or even the least bit concerned. She was the only one who ever seemed nervous. Each brother bore his fate with an unfathomable faith that the cycle would be never ending, that nothing would go wrong.
The Ivy Queen took a deep breath and shrugged her robe off, leaving it a green puddle on the floor. The Oak King turned at the soft thud of the fabric. A greedy, slightly malicious smile twitched on his lips. He took her ALL in fully. It wasn’t often that he saw her freshly scrubbed. He kept her too busy at her chores. She was finally the way he liked her best. She was whispy, yet the delicate muscles that rippled under her bronze skin belied the physical strength she had slowly built up during the growing season. Her hair hung down straight and brown, with blond and red highlights bleached in from working in the sun. Her attitude was tempered too. At the beginning of winter she was always full of disrespectful quips and constantly challenged every order and request. But by the beginning of summer, the Ivy Queen’s attitude was as pliable and agreeable as an ivy vine. Every year he was tempted to keep her naked once the weather grew warmer so that he could see the changes in her body more easily, but he had yet to command it. Perhaps this spring….
“Please lay on the bed, my Lord, and allow me to pleasure you one last time.” The Ivy Queen requested quietly meeting her lord’s gaze. He cocked his head at her, wondering where this was going to lead. It wasn’t like her to be willing to give pleasure. The Ivy Queen was a very selfish lover and felt that people giving HER pleasure was a tribute always due her. She met his gaze full on and pointed at the bed. “Please, my lord.”
As requested, he laid down, stretching his full length out. The moment he had sense her in his room, he had become aroused. This was the epitome of everything they had worked on for his half of the cycle. He felt confidant that he could turn the world over to his brother for six months and that due to his hard work and staying after the populace to also work hard, that civilization would still be here at mid-winter when it was time to for him to take control again. The Ivy Queen pounced on him, untying his trousers and releasing his semi-erect penis.
She bent her head and finally started to show him the respect that he felt he deserved. At first she lapped at his bobbing member like a kitten, paying special attention to the vein underneath. Each lap made him harder and harder. Then she opened her rose petal lips wide and pulled his cock into her mouth with a suction that took his breath away. She had never deigned to pleasure him in this manner. Her skill shocked him. It felt as if his penis were encased in vines, each one hugging and releasing at a different pace. He got lost in the sensation and felt that he was close, very close to spilling forth in her mouth when he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.
The Oak King’s body became still and rigid. The Queen slipped him out of her mouth and gave him a wicked smile. She pushed the small knife into his neck a little more, and a small bright stream of blood started to trickle down his neck. The moment was suspended in time and space, the Fates spinning and weaving furiously to get the cycle back on track. Finally, the spell was broken, the proper weft repaired in the fabric of time. “You seem surprised, my Lord. You shouldn’t be. Every year I’m always worried that something won’t go right, that the One I look forward to best won’t come back.” She slowly drew the grafting knife along his neck, leaving a thin but shallow line of crimson.
The thought of the Ivy Queen, that insolent and ungrateful bitch, plotting to slay him in his own bed jolted him out of his shock at the turn of events. He wrapped his long, strong legs around her tiny body and flipped the Queen in a wrestling move. She screamed and stabbed his shoulder, leaving the knife in his flesh. He had her pinned to the bed spread eagle, keeping her in place with his bleeding body. He roared, “How dare you! How dare you! After every thing I’ve provided for you? How dare you try to interfere? And favorites? How dare you even think to choose! My brother and I are different but equal. We are both necessary to the cycle. And you, dearest bitch, are the fulcrum that keeps it all balanced. You worry about things not turning out the way they should each turn of the wheel? If they don’t turn out correctly, you and your choosing favorites will be to blame! Nothing that I’ve done!” His eyes burned into her as hotly as the noon sun did outside the window. The look truly scared the Queen. The King turned his head from her and bellowed, “Bring the brambles and the nuts!” Within an instance the room was filled with several Oak soldiers, one carrying a sack full of something and the other ones bearing yards and yards of thorny brambles.
“What, what are you going to do?” she whispered, swallowing hard. This was not going well at all.
“Hold her.” The King commanded the soldier holding the bag. He did as commanded, replacing the Oak’s body with his own. The Ivy Queen closed her eyes. The fact that a commoner was on top of her at the King’s bidding was too much for her to bear. She could feel the King’s strong, hard hands grabbing her wrists and pulling them over her head. Around each one he tightly wrapped the bramble vines, their barbed thorns grabbing and biting into her flesh. She felt something cold and sticky being laid on her throat. The Queen realized that it was the knife she had left in Oak’s shoulder. She tossed her head until it slide off of her.
“Quit!” The Oak King growled. “You will be still and take what’s coming to you. And you’ll figure out a way in your twisted, viney brain to enjoy it so that the balance is restored. No more favorites!” As commanded she stopped. He pulled first one and then the other ankle tight with the bramble vines, spreading her as wide as her limbs would allow. The soldier climbed off of her and gave her a pitying look as he and the others left the room.
The Oak King was still hard. In fact he was harder now after their tussle than he had been when he was at the point of climaxing a few minutes earlier. He stripped off his clothes and straddled the Queen’s neck, smacking her enchanted face with the one and powerful Priapic wand. She started to sob. She was so tired, so afraid, so sure that this was going to finally be the end, so turned on that this was finally going to be the end. Finally something different was going to happen in the cycle. Her tears pushed the King back to almost climaxing. With firm, sure strokes he rubbed his rod and exploded all of the Queen’s face. She gasped in shock and embarrassment. Her eyes streamed more tears as the semen burned her eyes. Without meaning to she inhaled it up her nose started sputtering and sneezing in an effort to breathe.
The Oak King waited for the Queen to compose herself. He knelt between her legs and picked up the bag and poured acorns all over her. She shuddered, not sure she could bear where this may be headed. The King smiled at her glistening sex. At least her body made an effort to obey him even if her heart didn’t. Slowly and methodically he dipped an acorn into her juices and then pushed it past the tightly crimped petals of her hidden rosebud with a pop.
“Oh!” the Queen exclaimed. She struggled to scoot away from the King and his wicked acorns, but the brambles only dug deeper into her skin. Finally she gave up and lay still while the King inserted one after another, each time dipping and rolling it in her cunt first. Each inserted acorn made her whimper. Every time she breathed she could feel them moving within her. At first it felt horrible and embarrassing, but now with each acorn and breath she felt more and more aroused. She could feel her juices dripping down from her spread lips and into the crack of her ass. She heard her king chuckle. Her king, had passed almost unnoticed through her brain, but the uncomfortableness of her bonds caught it just in time to register in her mind.
When he felt that the Queen was full enough behind, he started stuffing her pussy, popping the acorns in two at a time. His time was running out, with the sun almost directly over head, and he wanted to make sure that the Ivy Queen was full of his seed for when his brother tried to mate with her later today. She lifted her hips as much as her prickly bonds would allow. “Please,” she pleaded in a husky voice and pushed her pelvis toward him.
He chuckled again, but didn’t give her the pleasure of a verbal response. He just kept popping the acorns into her. She writhed with the uncomfortable pleasure of it all, ignoring the barbs tearing her skin. There was a heavy knock on the door. The King didn’t answer it, nor did the person on the other side open the door enter. The King knew what the knock meant.
“Well, my dear Ivy cunt, it seems that our time for this cycle has come to an end. My brother has arrived. I trust that if things go as they must, that you’ll receive me warmly into your body come Yule. I’ll be most curious to see if anything has sprouted or if you were able to get all my seeds out.” She stuck her tongue out at him and was going to respond when a new pain silenced her. The Oak King cut her ankle bonds from the bed, but now he was winding new brambles around her ankles, binding them tightly together. He wrapped even more up around her legs and thighs, making sure that they were lashed tightly together. She groaned at the new pressure created in her very full body. Using the same knife that she stabbed him with, the King cut her wrists from the bed and pulled her up into a sitting position. The sound that came from the Queen’s lips was unlike anything the Oak King had ever heard. It was a mix of scream, groan, ecstatic moan, and a growl. The sensation of sitting up with so much inside of her was overwhelming. She came hard repeatedly, her head filling with bright lights and fire. Her body tried to dislodge the acorns, but they were held firmly in place by her tightly closed legs. She shook uncontrollably for a moment and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
When the Ivy Queen regained consciousness, she nearly lost it again from fear. Her eyes fluttered open to see the Oak King striding out of the castle to meet his brother the Holly King, who was just as handsome as ever. She wanted to call out to both of them, but she was unable to. The knife that started her whole late morning ordeal had been wrapped in ivy vines and crammed into her mouth and tied to her tightly. She tried to calm herself. When she had fainted, the Oak King had continued trussing her, binding her arms tightly to her sides with the brambles, bringing the jagged tooth vines up and around her breasts, over her shoulders, and then back under her arms in a harness. Then he had proceeded to hang the Ivy Queen out of the bedroom window. Each wiggle injected her nerves full of pain and pleasure. She was afraid that if she moved much that the brambles would snap, letting her fall to the cobblestone court yard below.
She saw the Holly King gesture up to her, but she couldn’t hear his question to his brother. The Oak King’s answer was out of earshot, and he pointed to the shoulder that she had stabbed and the cuts on his neck, both of which had magically stopped bleeding. The Holly King then turned fully in her direction and gave her a look that both scared and excited her. She knew from his look that the Holly King fully intended to continue the Oak King’s punishment of her even after he had dispatched his brother. Then both kings raised their swords in a salute to each other and the fighting commenced. The clashing of the swords sounded more terrible to the Ivy Queen than it had at previous fights.
Both men, to her, seemed to fight harder too. Unlike in previous years, she now could find no enmity in her heart toward the Oak King. He was right. It was unnatural for her to show favoritism. The fighting this time went on longer than usual, both men sustaining deep wounds that would have killed mortal men. Fate finally interceded, and the wind picked up. Dust flew through the summer air. The Holly King kept his head down to avoid getting dirt in his eyes, but the Oak King worried that his bramble harness may not hold in the wind. He looked up to the Queen, and at that moment, his eyes were filled with dust. He never saw his brother’s fatal thrust. His dark blood spilled over the cobblestones, making mud out of the dirt packed between the pavers. Deep, horrible sobs wracked the Queen, making her suspension a terrible torment. Her sobs choked in her throat, caught behind the knife gag. Just like always, the slain king’s body slowly started to disintegrate and disappear.
Happy Beltane! It’s time again for fire and sex! Two of my favorite things. Another of my favorite things is E.J. Bellocq’s photos for Storyville. For those of you who are ignorant of whore history, Storyville was a legal red light district in New Orleans during the Belle Epoque. E.J. Bellocq, a New Orleans native, fulfilled his desires by taking photographs of the people who supplied the entertainment in Storyville.
In honor of Beltane, I propose that you and a lover or lovers, choose a few of the photos that make you the most hard and bothered, and work on recreating them for yourself. Remember, all acts of love and pleasure are acts of devotion to HER. Set up a sacred space and get started!
To help set the mood, listen to Lisa Thiel’s “Beltane” https://youtu.be/qCsddmu9Lvs I really like this song for Beltane because it has a nice driving beat for fucking, and her voice has that ragged longing in it that is so drippingly seductive. Plus, it’s all about divine sex.
Pedro from South of the Boarder (http://www.thesouthoftheborder.com/), the best place to go when inebriated.
This is my bikini top from Mexico and ring from Magdalena, a piece of blue creek glass that a house mate gave me this summer, and my Almalthea horns from a sacrifice.
This is my cowerie collar for all those fun money spells, my new business cards that are attached with cloak clips that have tons of fun uses, my gypsy ear rings, and the skin that my snake shed at Litha. The beads that are holding everything up is a belly chain from my belly dancing days.
These are my favorite tracts so far this summer on my red hot tract panties and my new fly swatter from my honey.
Yule Challenge 2013 send your pics to email@example.com
From the top: Evil Eye candy for 2014, the crystal from the Perchta Power Project, my “confidence” clothes pin from our annual Krampus/Perchta ritual, yarn from a Songbird Snuggle, money for the New Year, greenery and prickles from our sexy Yule meditation, and last but not least–Perchta and Krampus by Aramis September.
Psst, come here and give me a hug. Can you feel what’s hugging me as you hug me? If you don’t know what that is, then your ignorance about foundation garments is appalling. Some days are corset days, some days are bra days, and some days are dirty hippie days when I wear nothing at all.
I like corsets. I don’t wear them tight enough to permanently change my shape. I wear them just tight enough that they’re not slipping around and being uncomfortable. I can do anything in a corset: fuck, toss cabers, cook, drive, run, kneel and suck, ride carousels– anything I want to do. I like corsets because it feels like someone is always hugging me, like a lover wrapping his or her arms around me as they look over my shoulder.
There are tons of different styles of corsets, ranging from from ancient to modern. I prefer a corset that’s more in a modest Victorian style–one that covers my tits (because why should you have to wear a bra with a corset? That’s stupid!) and comes down far enough on my hips that when I kneel or bend over it doesn’t slip up over the waist band of my jeans.
While corsets may seem expensive and time consuming, they’re really not.
In the long run, corsets work out to be cheaper than bras, especially if you shop around and take good care of your garments. You only need one corset (although more is always fun). You don’t wash it more than once a year (if that). You hang it over a hanger in the closet to air, if you want you can put fabric refresher on it, and the only other expense is buying camisoles to go under the corset. Cotton camis are much cheaper than bras and much easier to wash. Once you practice a time or two, putting on your corset is a cinch because you shouldn’t unlace it after every wearing. You only need to loosen the laces before storage.
Ideally, corsets should be just tight enough not to slide around, like someone giving you a nice hug. There is the practice of corset training, which is a form of body modification. During the Victorian Era, it was the norm to purposely and permanently change a woman’s shape by using corset training.
Corset piercing is another popular form of body modification.
Magically, corsets are like egg shells–protective and decorative. They can be used for magical and psychic protection since they cover your heart, solar plexus, and sacral chakras.
Your corset, when used magically, is an extension of your psychic walls of protection. You can use color magic to boost this principle, applique on stones, or embroider or paint runes and sigils on your corset.
Since corsets shouldn’t be washed, Florida water, of Hoodoo and Zora Neale Hurston fame, can be dabbed on the inside seams that cover the boning to cleanse your corset psychically and to give it a nice scent. Why those particular areas? When applied to the inside seams that cover the boning, the Florida water won’t seep through to the front of the corset and potentially stain the material. (Thanks Ms. Finch!)
Corsets can also be used for self-bondage. A wonderful self bondage/suspension substitution is to lace yourself into a corset (and for this you may lace a little tighter than for normal wear) and go swing on a high “big kid” swing at the park. You know, the ones that get really high into the air.
Just enjoy the moment. Use it as a meditation or a private, sexual moment (or both). Once you get high enough, lean back and just let your body fly through the air–only pumping enough to maintain your height. When you’re done, you can use the gradually slowing motion to bring yourself back down to reality.
These folks hope that you all have a very fun Ostara and fuck like bunnies:
It’s that time again! Time to break out the candles and whipped cream. This year, the Imbolc season coincides with the Super Bowl, so if you’re football inclined, you can cover your special person in wax the same color as your favorite team’s jerseys and then keep score by scratching the score into the cooled wax, like human cuneiform.
But all that aside, let’s talk about nuns. While Imbolc has several different goddesses associated with it, the most common that you will find if you’ve been doing your Google searches is the goddess Brigid (or Brigit, Briget, Bride, blah, blah, blah). Brigid is one of a handful of goddesses that transitioned in many parts of the world from Pagan to Christian in the form of a saint. Although the Catholic Church is loathed to admit it, St. Brigid of Ireland is probably a clever populace’s successful attempt to continue to venerate a favorite goddess within the context of Christianity.
However, Brigid the goddess and Brigid the nun are not so very different. Granted, Brigid the nun has had her great and vast powers curbed somewhat and has to work within a patriarchal framework, but She still provides succor and healing to those who need it, She still controlled the forges, hearths, and sacred wells. She still lead a group of women in holy devotion that served Her and carried out Her wants and wishes. And She was smart and clever when it came to dealing with know-it-all men (look up the story of how Brigid got the land for her monastery).
As Pagans, there are many important lessons that we can learn from nuns. ”Unconditional” is one of the biggest lessons. They have given themselves unconditionally to the chosen deity. They unconditionally do what they feel God and Jesus wants them to do. They serve unconditionally without any expectations. ”Submission” is the other big lesson. They have found joy in submitting. Their submission has given them a freedom and the resources to do in the world what they feel called to do. I’ve heard many Pagans lament the fact that there are not any to very few places for Pagans to go and cloister themselves and submit fully to the Gods and Goddesses. Perhaps somebody should do something about that.
Happy Yule! Yule is a special time of romance, drinking, sacrifice, and violence. This year to celebrate, we want to give to you a special, sexy Yule meditation–a seasonal romance.
You can read it as is by yourself, you and a partner can whisper it to each other as pillow talk before mid-winter love making, or you can step it up a notch and add a textual element with the use of evergreens. Holly leaves can be used like a Wartenberg wheel; pine, fir, rosemary and other evergreen boughs can be used as a fragrant love nest; smaller boughs can be used as invigorating switches (the scent of many evergreens are used in aromatherapy for invigorating sluggish souls) or sensual ticklers; ivy vines can be used make sure your lover doesn’t run off in the middle of your winter revels. As with anything sex and BDSM related: make sure everything is consensual, everyone is legal, safety is top priority, and outdoor sex occurs on private land that you have permission to use.
It was approaching Mid-Winter. A time of great frivolity and expectation. A time when the ancient winter crone tries to sneak up on the waiting spring maiden. A time of bittersweet sacrifice.
A cold crispness filled the air, like biting into an apple from the icebox. She waited outside, growing impatient as she grew cold, waiting for entrance to the large castle. To wait outside like a common visitor, she thought to herself, and in the snow no less! Her retinue of ladies, whom she fondly called her ‘tendrils’, waited behind her. More patient than their mistress, they smiled sweetly thinking of the vigorous festivities that waited inside. Finally, she completely lost her poise and patience and started pounding her delicate fist on the sturdy oaken door.
“I am the Ivy Queen! You can’t keep me in the yard like a stranger! There’s snow on the ground and it’s freezing! I’m freezing! Open up! Open upppp!” She screamed in all her fury, her nearly exposed bosom heaving in her tight, rabbit fur trimmed bodice. She pounded until her hand was bruised. ”Let me in!!!!!!!! I demand an audience with the king!” She could hear a deep, mirthful laughter resonate from the heart of the castle, as if the castle itself was laughing at her predicament.
“And who have you come to see, lady?” The laughing voice asked from an upper window.
“I’ve come to see the Holly King! I’m expected! You know that! Stop asking and let me in!” The Ivy Queen screamed. Her hand would have ached if it wasn’t numb. Her teeth were starting to chatter. She pulled her green velvet mantle around tight, trying to still her shivering. She knew that most of the shivers were from the cold, but a certain amount of it was anticipation and nervousness. Would there come a day when he wouldn’t admit her at all? When her body finally was no longer attractive to him? When he just didn’t return? That was always a possibility, she felt. Then she would be left forever with his twin, the stern Oak King, who was not nearly as much fun.
The deep laugh boomed again. ”No! Not yet! Not ’til you learn some respect!” The Holly King shut the casement, but stayed close to the window to see the resulting fury. The Ivy Queen screeched in rage, yelling obscenities and threats. Toying with her turned him on in ways that her vine like fingers crawling over his body in foreplay never could. He loved seeing her creamy skin flush in anger, contrasting against her green clothing that she was so fond of. Today she was in a heavy green velvet, covered in embroidered ivy vines. Although she never aged or changed, he never grew tired of seeing her, being with her, holding her tight. She embodied everything that mankind hoped for in a woman. She was the ‘Every Woman’. She was Queen.
The Holly King looked down again. She was literally fallen now, utterly broken. She was a green heap against the snow. He opened the casement and could hear her soft crying. Her Tendrils looked embarrassed for their mistress as they waited behind her, all in light green with their hands in white fur muffs. He could feel the crotch of his trousers tighten. He had had each of the ladies during his season, but now it was time to be with his queen again, the last hours of passion and love before she became his brother’s queen.
The great door opened on its own, and the Ivy Queen looked up, not sure that it had finally done so. Every year it was the same for the first and last meeting. She always said that the Holly King was the nicer of the two twins, but he did have his mean streak. He enjoyed reducing her to tears before he built her back up to being queen. But his method of building was lots of fun. She got up stiffly and shook off the snow. The Holly King smiled watching her trembling shivering movements that shook the bounteous blessings of her breasts.
Once inside, the Ivy Queen moved quickly through the castle to her love. Although this was an endless drama that continuously played out, she always felt a great sense of urgency, as if that if she didn’t take advantage of every moment with the Holly King, she would regret it forever. She arrived at his door, panting slightly for breath. A sudden blush flooded her face as she thought about the things he would do to her. She blushed a little more deeply thinking about what she would do to him, how she would slid her mouth down…
“Do you prefer the hallway to my rooms?” The king teased.
She looked at him, and the warmth beneath her gown that had been building all day accelerated. ”No, I’d much prefer your rooms.” That was all it took. The King grabbed her up and spun her around, kissing her deeply. As they kissed, the Holly King felt as though his heart was being encased in vines, binding him to her forever. ”Oh, I’m so hot.” the Ivy Queen said, as they pulled apart.
“Well, let’s get you out of some of those clothes.” The king replied with a broad grin. Broad was the key word with the Holly King. Broad smile, broad shoulders, broad appetites. Built like a tank, he was a brawler, where as his wiry, lithe brother enjoyed quick jabs. He removed her fur muff that matched the Tendrils’ and her heavy dark green cloak. The king reached into her low cut bodice and pulled out a handful of breast. ”Your girls don’t have girls like these,” he whispered as started to softly squeeze and suckle her ivory globe. She bent her head forward in a protective gesture, their crowns meeting and caressing each other as her vine fingers twined in his hair. The king liberated the other breast but turned his head to the side so that his holly crown pricked the skin.
“So we’re going to play that game, are we?” The Ivy Queen coyly inquired, fully knowing the answer. They always played ‘Tickles and Prickles.’ It was one of her favorite boudoir activities. The Holly King loved to play long games of seduction, full of rich food and sweet, intoxicating beverages. The Oak King was all business. All procreation, hard work, plain food, and plain water.
“Of course we are, my love. And if you try to scoot away, I’ll tie you with ivy vines.” He laughed as he pushed her large tits together and blew into them like a motorboat. The Ivy Queen giggled. That was a tickle. The King untied her tight bodice that her breasts were now hanging out of, and slipped it off, along with her gown. Her clothing was starting to litter the floor.
“Wine?” The king asked, fully drinking in the sight of his darling standing before him in nothing but a thin green silk shift. The Ivy Queen had slipped her breasts back beneath the silk so that her nipples now pressed tauntingly against the fabric. She nodded as he handed her his goblet. That’s how it was with him. They shared. He shared with everyone, despite his large appetite. Enough was never enough but there was always plenty. His twin was miserly with everything. The only thing that he shared halfway willingly was his bed, and even then he preferred that the Ivy Queen bring her own blanket.
Outside the darkness was starting to gather as the sun set. It was always iffy if the sun would rise the next morning. The Ivy Queen knew that somewhere the Ancient Mother Goddess was pacing and squatting somewhere in the throes of labor. The couple moved to the window to watch the bonfires being lit. The king stood close behind his queen so that she could feel his growing need against her back. He wrapped his thick arms around her and held her tight as she sipped. He blew lightly on her neck exposed by her ivy snood. She shivered. Then he took a holly leaf and very lightly rolled it across her neck. She shimmied against his hard-on, making him very happy.
“More wine?” The King asked, drinking the last from the goblet and refilling it. While his back was turned, The Ivy Queen slipped off the last of her clothing so that she now stood there in all her glory. She stood there full figured with nothing on but her crown of ivy with leaves and tendrils hanging down over her vine snood. She bit her lip in anticipation of his reaction. When he saw her, he grinned with a wolfish delight.
“I’m going to eat every creamy ounce of you!” he declared and made a playful lunge at her. She squealed and danced out of his reach. Here and there she dodged him, her curves bouncing to the King’s delight. During the Oak King’s reign, she always slimmed down on his meager rations, but her figure always blossomed under the Holly King’s largess. Finally, she found herself cornered on the bed. ”Do you concede, lady?” he asked, his cheeks ruddy from the chase.
“Mmmmmm, uh, no!” she squealed and started pelting him with pillows.
“Then I’ll have to tickle and prickle you into submission!” he roared as he pounced on her, holding her down with his brawny arms. He lowered his head once again to her naked breasts and lolled his head back and forth, letting the leaves of his crown prick her flawless skin. The sensation was almost electric for the Queen, and it unlocked the passion between her legs. She could feel herself growing moist in anticipation. He moved slowly down her torso, rolling the leaves over her rib cage and soft stomach. Her sighs turned to moans as he prickled her thighs, which could be very properly called ‘gams’, and gently across her mons. He let the leaves comb through the silken locks, tickling and prickling at the same time. He pushed his crown back on his head and started softly tickling her delicate skin with his beard, urging her to open up to let him in.
“I don’t think I should be the only one naked,” the queen said in response to the king’s ministrations.
“Hmmm, then you should undress me.” The queen took a deep quaff of wine, and proceeded to undress her king. She unlaced the front of his shirt and slipped it over his broad shoulders and head, being careful to leave his crown in place. Then she turned her attention to his boots, which were a little more difficult to remove. Finally, she was at his pants, more precisely between his pants covered thighs. Through the fabric she started kissing and nuzzling her king, driving him into a slight frenzy. With her teeth, the Ivy Queen pulled loose the button on his fly, releasing his manhood. She kissed its tip and looked up at her man.
“I want you on the bed.”
“And who are you to tell me what to do, Queen? Didn’t we settle this dominance issue outside in the snow when you first arrived?” The King tried to sound stern like his brother, but it was hard for him to suppress his mirth.
“Do as I say or I’ll tie YOU up with ivy!” the Queen retorted, smiling. Her hand was still sore and a little swollen from pounding on the door earlier.
The Holly King acquiesced and leaned back. His consort straddled him backwards, settling her ample hips and buttocks onto his broad chest. He couldn’t resist giving her creamy cheeks a pinch.
“Hey! Not fair!” The Ivy Queen protested. Her king just laughed.
She placed her ivy crown over his growing erection in an imitation of a decorated maypole waiting for dancers. She loosened her locks and tendrils from her vine snood and flipped her hair over onto the king’s body. He had the prickles, but she had the tickles. More slowly than a snail, the Ivy Queen pulled her hair along his skin, gently scooting her ass back towards his face with every wiggle. The sensation of her hair was both soothing and sexually exciting for the king. Soon her vagina was right where she wanted it, with in licking distance of the king’s tongue. She was going to hold him to the promise of devouring every luscious ounce of her. She lifted her hips and lowered herself on to his parted lips. His tongue started lapping as she stretched her body to reach the wide expanse between the king’s mouth and cock. She flicked her tongue up and down his penis in quick, teasing moves, bringing him to full erection before sliding him into her ruby lipped mouth.
They worked as a matched pair, always in perfect timed rhythm. They both went slowly at first, the Holly King entertaining the queen with long deep strokes of his tongue into her wanting wetness. She moaned continuously over him as she slowly moved her mouth up and down his cock, like a child savoring a lollipop. The more she moaned, the bigger the king grew and the deeper he dove to savor her earthy goodness that was tinged with a slight bitter aftertaste. The Holly King never faulted the love the that he shared with his brother for her bitterness; for after all, her life was nothing but a bittersweet romance set on a continuous loop.
He felt his companion’s thighs tighten and tense around his ears, and he knew she was close. He pinched one of her cherubic thighs to get her attention. She knew what that meant. It was no longer fun and games, but time to enjoy each other one last time. With a loud pop she let his penis slip from the suction of her lips. She inched forward on hands and knees over his chest, swinging her luscious hips as she went. Those hips would be lean and almost gaunt by the time this king returned–if he returned. She pushed that fear away as she turned to face him, their eyes locked together as she slid her gushing wetness onto him for their ancient dance.
While their oral ministrations had become rather vigorous, the couple chose a slow minuet to start off their coital finale. The Ivy Queen once again flipped her hair forward, letting it swish across the king’s broad chest. She could feel what she thought was the tickle of her ivy crown on her mossy mons Venus, but when she pressed down harder to bring her lover more fully into her depths, she gasped.
“That’s very cruel!” she hissed as she stilled moved her body in their tango. ”That’s not fair! How did you switch your crown for mine?”
“The nature of sacrifice is cruel and unfair, my love. But you anointing my crown makes it all worthwhile and meaningful.”
Their tango became a painful flash dance as both moved more quickly toward their last orgasm. They screamed in wild abandon, clawing and clinging to each other as the realization that things may not go as they always have gone loomed between them. With a growl, the Holly King came so hard that the Ivy Queen felt a violent jolt in her loins. As she slowly lifted herself off of him, blood dotted her skin from the crown, like red holly berries. The King leaned up and licked some of the blood berries from her skin. ”A holly doesn’t bloom and bear fruit if it’s not pollinated.” He whispered.
For the rest of the evening the couple snuggled in furs, dining on paper thin slices of raw stag and roasted whole wrens on skewers. They both drank deeply from the wine goblet, joking and laughing about devouring the Horned God, debating whether he tasted better raw or roasted. Inevitable though, the knock was heard on the Holly King’s door, announcing that the midnight hour was drawing near. Abruptly the revelry ceased, and the lovers prepared for their fates.
“All hail the Oak King! Our victor!” The marshal announced to the stunned onlookers. Even though all in attendance knew the expected outcome, when the Holly King’s blood is spilled upon the snow they are always shocked into silence. For a moment, there was nothing, but then a wild roar of applause and cheers erupted, shattering the winter evening like an icicle.
The Ivy Queen looked torn between her two kings: the one covered in blood on the frozen ground, already turning to a mystical ash that was being blown away by the North wind, the other standing triumphant with his sword aloft, covered in his twin’s gore. The triumphant king came to her then, and took her hand.
“It appears that you’ve been living high on the hog, my lady.”
She barely nodded.
“Well, that’ll change soon. We’ll get you back on a schedule. By the way, who killed Cock Robin?”
She smiled. Things would be different and less jolly, but fine nonetheless. ”The Sparrow did, my king.” He bowed then, formally kissing her hand. Different she thought, but the same.
These folks are waiting for the sunshine of your love:
Our Lady of the wooden spoon, whose two faces see the old and new, You who admonish us to do our work and keep it true, Keep us focused and strong so we may never swoon. Bless us with thrift, industry, and tidiness. Bind up our laziness. Slit our bellies and remove all silliness. Replace it with the straw of discipline, fortitude, and management. A well run home brings gold to the pockets. One great worker is worth three lazy ones. Push us to strive for greatness. Beat it into our souls and being.
I think this is really a cool idea. I can already see my own wall of bones and leather starting to take shape! In the spirit of the season, I challenge you to start planning and executing your own living wall! Just call me the Holly Queen!
When you get your wall (or other area) up, take a picture and email it to firstname.lastname@example.org. I’ll post all the pictures in a special area. If we get neat enough ones, maybe we’ll have a contest. So, look through your junk and memories, and pull out all your coolest, grittiest stuff. And remember, this isn’t an altar, nor is it a shrine (well, in a way…). It’s just something fun to help you display your memories and think, “God, how did I not get arrested for taking that!”
I had considered writing a nice Ostara post last week about creating a fertility spell with Scotch eggs, but I spent my time instead drinking Scotch and watching Justified. So, here we are. When I was a Christian, the Maundy Thursday (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maundy_Thursday) service was one of my favorites. First of all, there was no preaching (Presbyterians don’t preach unless there’s a cause to). Second of all, we got to eat Jesus. Third of all, the Maundy Thursday service is extremely creepy and unsettling if done properly. Our church organist would make these horrendous, blood curdling sounds come from her organ when the scripture about the earth quake was read and the whole sanctuary was pitched into darkness.
While there are many popular traditions with Pagan roots that have been adopted by or continued by Christians, the Eucharist is probably the most hard-core. I’ve often wondered if Jesus knew about things like Dionysian myths when he was setting the scene for the Last Supper. Pagans seem to have all different views about Jesus from he was completely fictional to he is just another name for the God. Personally, I think Jesus was a real man with real followers and real problems but that he was no more the Son of God than I am a daughter of God. Yes, as we all know from the chant, we all come from the Goddess, but we’re not Messiahs. I think he talked a really good talk and created a religion just like Gerald Gardner did based on what people wanted to believe in a repressed society.
He has some interesting points, but like a lot of people, he misses the greater point. The point is not whether modern Pagans erroneously attribute universal fertility symbols to a little known or completely fabricated goddess, the point is that all the things that make Easter “fun” are Pagan. There may not be an unbroken lineage, but Jesus didn’t miraculous turn into a rabbit once he was crucified. So, if it’s not in the Bible it must be Pagan (or so they want us to believe). The egg, however, could be argued not to be Pagan. A Jewish Sadar is the type of meal that was served to Jesus and his apostles at the Last Supper. I wonder why artistic depictions never show matzoh being served and why there is never an empty seat for Elijah?
The sadar egg doesn’t represent fertility. Instead it represents its opposite–destruction–which is vital for balance.
I hope everyone sent Tucker and Tammy an awesome Ostara symbol. As promised, I went the cheap and easy route and mailed them plastic eggs. There were no bow ties, however, because it turns out I’m not that crafty!