Proper punishment

I havent been very active the past months, i felt sore somehow. But inside myself, the urge kept working, and found its way to surface.
I started to feel uneasy somehow, very irritable. And then found out what was behing it, my guilt, feeling dirty, which has zo be treated, that measures have to be taken upon.
Of course there is no other thing than the noose,
the only way for me to atone appropriately.

Of course i couldnt do that without Mistresses permission.
I didnt want to bother her, because of that, as i know how busy she is, but being the sloppy boy i am i did that eventually...
Mistress granted my wish lavishly.

And so i finally strangled my self.
I got on my knees, with a broom in my back, a noose around my neck, with one end tied to the put up end of the broom, hands fixed in my back around the broom.
I lower my position, and get strangled by the noose.

I feeled very dirty, very distorted by doing it, discredited by my self.
And thats the point, the reality the noose reveales about me, im not only a sloppy boy, i like it, and i like to feel the proper punischment for that.

And i didnt need my hands to cum, my winkie stands eagerly as soon as i feel the pull from the noose. Until i came gasping, spurted my semen on the floor, wrung out by the noose.

I feel releaved, and fundamentally exhausted and
clean again.

I hope you enjoy this report, Mistress....

your worthless slave

Urge...

I am lying on my couch idly, when i suddenly feel the void.

It starts with my neck, that itches along a circle, where a noose should be placed.
And then the void is creeping down my spine, spreading into my limbs, slides under my skin, until it is everywhere.
And i am enriched by the void, by the knowledge, the complete realization of my worthlessness.

My mere existing is tort:
1) I am a deficiency, that is to be wiped out,
2) furthermore, i deserve to be punished.

Slow death in the noose is the answer, the appropriate method to meet both requirements.

Tuesday, Oct. 12, 2010

Mistress already expected me in the chat.
And i was so happy to join her there. We hadnt got the chance to talk for quite some time.
We exchanged actualities, i updated her about what i did lately, and she was kind enough, to share some of her life experiences with me.

Somewhat later she reminded me, that we werent together for idle chat.
That i am a bad boy, that i am a miserable lad.
And that i deserve punishment.
That i dont deserve the air i breath.

I was ordered to undress, get on my knees, and choke myself with a scarf.
And i submitted happily.
So i kneeled in front of my table, and pulled tight a brown silken scarf until my breath rattled, my flesh shivered and strangulation made my indecesive winkie stand.
Mistress was very content with my report. She ordered me to pull harder.
And i did.
I rubbed my weener on the glass plate of the couch desk.
And Mistress told me she was satisfied, having me like this, kneeling naked, the breath cut off nearly completly, shivering, twitching, wanking as she wanted me to.
So many thousand miles away from her, and still at her will.

And when she rendered her verdict, when she appointed me to death by hanging, not then, not close by, but for sure, i spurted cloudy sperm on the clear surface.

Sloppy boy

Imperious Mistress,

i am dreaming of you every single night,
i wake up every morning now, your figure on my mind,

sloppy boy

Change

I became fascinated for the noose when I secretly fell in love for my high school teacher. She was formal and strict, but I had her sympathy.
That's why I fell in love for her.
First I didn't want to be hanged by her it all. I wanted sex from her, I wanted a romantic relationship with her.
But I had no right to desire that.
First of all, she was kind of ugly. There were quite some sexy lady teachers in our class, but it was her cold face and her skinny silhouette covered in formal clothes, that hooked up all my attention.
I was not normal, desiring her. It was just not appropriate. It made me a pervert.
And then I was only a boy, not able to act like a man, to conquer her like a man. No, I was even less, my personality was flawed, everyone tried to keep away from me.
How could I ever have dared to harass her with my distorted feelings?
She liked me for my performance in class, not for my personality. Revealing my desire to her could only repel her.
She would never ever answer my feelings!
I even would'nt be enough to serve her as submissive sex-slave! Kneeling in front of her, licking her shoes, being used by her at will.
The only way for her to engage with me could only be applying swift punishment. To be, how I was made me unresponsive to any corrective measure. So the only applicable mean could be ending my perverted existence. And stringing me up might have just been the right thing. For its ritualistic staging, which couldn't be mistaken for plain murder.
By hanging me she would conclude my destiny, liberating me from a nonviable life.

Thats about my motivational chain, as stringent as i am able to describe it.

The path of honesty is hereby reopened!

Halt!

It has been occupying me lately. And there would be a lot to discuss on the motivational complex of my death fetish. But as this would mean to touch my civil life and relationship to go any further, i wont talk about it here anymore.
Thus the path of honesty ends. In the briars...

Return of the fetish

I didnt have much privacy the last weeks and months. I couldnt resist to do some collecting, but i couldnt carry out IT... And it kept working inside me. I began to feel more an more uneasy over the time. Got nearly into some kind of depressed mood.
Since i have been taking the chance to do it again, everything is back to normal. I am active again, and like to go out.
I dont really understand why the fetish has such a massive effect on my daily life. Probably thats because its a way to canalize the flow from my dark side, which otherwise penetrates my feelings?
Sounds weird?
It surely is....

One more thing.
Have been watching Donnie Darko recently. Mary McDonnell plays the mother. Never watched "Babylon 5" and didnt get she was stand with a fist.
She would do great as executrix:

• She is emotive,
• She dresses formally,
• She is visibly a mature woman, but nevertheless hot
  

I shall have a slideshow of her photos on the screen, when meeting the noose.
That is to be tomorrow.
For now i leave pretending to be an ordinary guy towards my friends.

About being fucked up...

I said I put up this blog because there is not that much stuff on the asphyx fetish out there where women are in control.
But that is only half the truth.

The other reason for me to starting this blog was to portrait the full spectrum of my special kind of deathfetish. This also means getting the urge inside me to speak out loud its will, letting aside any reasoning. In other words bringing the IT up on the surface.
That's what I've been keeping up until recently.
And all this must have sounded rather fucked up.
But that is – I think in the end – just what it is, fucked up, a destructive turn. And I wanted to sketch that out. In my opinion this is not just another kink, only as there are ten thousands of people with similar fetishes, because there is something like a community, you start to see it as something rather regular on the agenda. Eventually is about the idea of oneself or somebody else to die or at least to suffer for pleasure. It Is something against any basic concept of morality, it is contrary to humanity!
Moreover I think you cannot reduce the fetish to plain fantasy. As if it were something mere hypothetical. Most asphyx people have very clear scenarios in their minds and no one plainly choose this. Although the vast majority of people might be sane enough to never cross the border and actually harm someone, or do something against his or her will, there is nevertheless reality, there is the capability to painfully die when strung up, there is a reality, that people are put to death by dropping them into a noose just today. The death fetish isn't something to come out of nowhere, it has quite a real template, that is the mortality of man, and having something alike inserted in ones sexual feelings, one has also to be aware about were it is deriving from.
But affirming this to be no more than fantasy also means denying what it is about.

Yes, the deathfetish is nothing clean, it is nothing plain and easy-going as everything seems to be out there on the net. The solution is neither staying quiet about it (what wouldn't work anyway) nor taking it as something normal. That's the ambiguity I am struggling with.

Continuous working on the subject pays out...

Now i have a formula for the relation:
A hangwoman is the anti-mother. She is extincting life just as much as a mother gives birth to it.
The hangee is not a subject in her eye, he is an object, and she is handeling it.

Staying honest...

Actually I don't really want to talk about it anymore. But as i promised honesty here we go:
Recently i had the chance to peek into my mothers shoe rack and i had to realise, she owns exactly those kind of shoes i am aroused by. I am sure this is not because i already saw them on her beforehand, its more that during my collecting i discover the footwear of my interest. And i am surprised to find those now are owned by my mother.
Disturbing discovery, not?

I already testified about the oedipal origin of my hanging fetish. But nevertheless it is impossible for me to imagine any real engagement with my mother, with the very person she is. She might be the origin, but who i am attracted to are mature women in general, those who could be my mother. I am looking for women, who are in charge, who have power over me.
That's the idea!

Persistent incertitude....

Tonight i successfully strangled myself autoerotically.

I havent been really active recently. As i had little alternatives. But I didnt miss it too much, anyway. I let dally away several occasions. And it was ok, it wasnt like something was lacking.

Nevertheless i kept up good old habits. But the thing is, collecting just doesnt get me into the mood anymore. And i just realise now how essential that is, to act it out, i really need the pictures!

But all the lurking aroung photosites (flickr, deviantart, modelmayhem) or online fashion catalogues (next, nordstriom, albamoda) nearly doesnt get me anywhere, this inner certainty about the necessity to be done by a mature female, i touched it again today, but it is fading, it looses its structure and all the pictures melt down to be no more than those of erveryday women, not executrices, and thats right what they are respectively are not.
The key of understanding the importance of collecting, is that the women all are untouchable. This is weaker on the screen than the direct perception of respective women eg. in the street, but the virtuality of the pics reinstates some of the untouchability, and if they have this i-am-looking-down-on-you-look or - even better - wear the right shoes, it's like it should be.
As said this is fading, and with it of course my actually living it out on myself.

I still recur to it in my phantasies, but this too is loosing power. I am gradually putting off my strange masturbational sex live, replacing it with plain regular sex live. Thus getting normal somehow, really being surprise by such a turn. Even my ballerina-fetish detaches from the death-fetish.
I am not sure about all that. But i like it. It feels alright somehow.
But I am still not sure...

Path of honesty

Another topic i have been suppressing... lately.
The role of the drug.
All the time it has been something for me to directly access my dark desires. Which are with me all the time. But which are covered in some way, i do not really understand.
But recently, the drug doesnt open anything anymore. The soft haze doesnt convey any special atmosphere anymore.
And now i think, probably it's that the drug can no longer keep open the gate which probably would have been closed already.
So how proceeding.
Cleaning up.
And walking along.
Will it be this way...?

Recent developments, continued...

I have been mobbed recently by female collegues.
"Who wonders?" one might think by onesself reading this and heaving in mind past stuff. And that might be actually right. It's probably that I am especially sensible for such gradients of power. Probably manoeuver into it just by myself.
But it's not what i want to talk about (nonetheless probably should do later on)...

The experience of being degraded by women, getting to feel their collective feminine power, just re-triggered my recently lost sexual desire for terminal submisson. To be erotically asphyxiated, practically meaning: auto-erotically asphyxiated, to write it down!

Moreover what I have already confessed so far, keeps on working inside me, changing me somehow. I only dont know yet into which direction.
Nevertheless what i wrote down in that regard isn't something i wasn't aware of already. I knew quite well about it, probably all my concious life long. But i kept it to myself.
But that writing it out into the anonymous internet actually mattered to me is quite a surprise.

By the way...
It's anniversery time just once more.
Hope you enjoyed it so far. To those who commented, wrote emails or i had the fun to chat with: Thank You for your fair words.

Recent developments

Since I started to tell the full truth, the urge to get asphyxiated has totally flattened. I still did it the last weekend, but it was like I had to convince myself first to actually do it.
So is this the consequence of confessing?
Only that this has not been my original intention.
And for the time I doubt this will last longer than some days...
Normally when I put up the right setting, things are coming by themselves, without me really wanting it, but rather plainly following. But the normally felt evidence of the necessity to be punished has faded. Even the collecting doesn't stimulate anymore. Less than that, it has become rather boring.
Probably it's been only because I was very active recently, took my chance, as long as it is offered to me. And now it just has become too much?
Time will tell...

Anyhow will I continue to follow the path of honesty...

Try honesty!

To resume it: I feel inferior and I am delivered by my sexuality. That's why I have to strangle to death in the noose. But this still isn't the whole truth! I am still trying to go on in hiding what has to be revealed. It's that I still fear your contempt. But I won't neglect your right to know who you are dealing with any further:
So how did I get it? When has my sentence been passed?
I do quite well know how. And I therefore should better express it.

Of course all of this is to find in the development of my personality. And it starts at the very beginning of every born individual. In my case, there was the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck.
And all my later life was not essentially different from its start. The umbilical cord remains wrapped around my neck tight, only that it's of emotional fabric now. I am attached by my mother's appendix to the world of her thinking, I have been nurtured with it and I still feed from it, I am a bubble floating inside her mind.

My mother is a woman, who always put her personal wishes and feelings after the necessities of real life. A life which is hard and without relief. And leisure always being the first step to demise.
In that sense she raised me. And she had quite an effort with me!
As i was a bad boy! I did things wrong all the time, I broke things along with her feelings. That's why she had to punish me as a matter of routine.

But there was more than just that!
I was a very egoistic child! And always tried to impose my will on her, even by using arguments to trick her into something different than her original intention. But she knew quite well there was no need for her to resort to such measures like arguing. There was a quite more effective way to prove me wrong:
She unveiled my dependence on her. She let me feel just how much I was at the mercy of her will, let me, exempt from her provision, struggle a bit, let me fail, all along with my point of view. And she probably wouldn't deny having received some joy from the scene: me creeping back to her, apologizing and submitting myself to her superior will, pleading “Please mother, excuse me for having been bad. I will never do it again!”, as soon as she wished to hear such a statement from my mouth.
Of course I had to repeat that very often!

Moreover, I permanently failed to acknowledge how much I occupied her. My weak efforts to disburden her only kept her even more busy, because I just never did it right. How much easier would it have been for her to just abandon me, to leave me behind, to my fate, or even fulfilling it by herself, terminating my pitying existence. But out of her inexhaustible generosity she kept on nourishing me. Despite the fact that I didn't deserve anything from her.
But it doesn't even end at that point!

Not only that I have been a miserable child and still am. I also threatened to become just like my father, and be rude and abusive towards woman. My father had detached mentally from his family and all related duties early. And she would never allow me to become like he is.
So she eagerly worked on suppressing any expression of manhood, taught me to see it as something disgraceful, something I had to avoid actively by myself and submit to females' categories.
Naturally I only failed once more, since I am male in the end.

And I could quite well feel my mothers silent disappointment with me, over my failed existence. That she would have been right in terminating my pitiful life for good. That this was in her responsibility, as the one who gave birth to me, putting me to death again as well. Even I accepted my fate, waited for the day, when she might finally come for me, placing me under a solid beam and stringing me up from it. Relieving me from my life in her unmeasurable generosity.
As much as she wanted it to be this way, and furthermore, as my mother, had any natural right to do so, this is still a patriarchal world we live in, and male controlled courts deny maternal law... She couldn't but let go on my miserable existence.

And here I am and moan: “Oh mother! Why didn't you string me up when there still was a time and place to carry it out? Why did you hesitate? Don't you really love me, still not having hanged me? Why did you let me wander this unwelcoming earth instead of relieving me from the pain of living?”

A Confession

I wrote on earlier occasions about how I am doing it. But i have been omitting to express why i am doing it.
That is why before being forced to go off from the grip of the tight noose i am going to write down the following confession:

It is that I am an inferior being and my life is of no particular quality or worth. That's why I am constantly avoiding getting near people, to not interfere with their procurements. And that's why I willingly submit to their will in case there is no way sparing them from busying themselves with my presence.
And that's how I could lead a devoted and humble life.
If I only wasn't male.

Since I am, I am haunted by sexual arousal when seeing beautiful women. As much as this is a desirable quality of real men, one suggested to be expressed openly, it is just as much inappropriate for a repulsive creature like the one I actually am.
Naturally the sexual urge is much more powerful as my weak personality, trying to keep the former down.
This is how I am loading up guilt on me. Because I cannot avoid the sexual tone of my stare, even when it is caught caught by the female's look.

But I want to be a good boy! Not that slithery wretch stalking the paths left behind from women annoyed with his proximity.
To pure myself from those bad desires, they are to be distorted in a way so that in the end they reflect content and ideas towards women that are suitable for creatures like me.

Evidently such images may never be those of penetration! Or sexual intercourse of any kind!
It has to be a exemplary way a woman might engage herself in me!
It cannot be other than that of correction!

So which correctional means are applicable in such a case?
First it has to comply to the intention of the measure. And that is of course ultimately ending any further obstruction.
As my offence originates in my sex, in me being male, there is no way in addressing my reason. A purely physical disposition can only be treated by physical means. Swift, there is no other way than physically extinction of my manhood, and that means, terminating my existence.
Moreover it is preferable for a such correctional measure to be carried out in a way that reveals its background, the reason it is applied for. (A fact earlier times jurisdiction was still aware of.)
And what other means of execution would be more suitable under above described circumstances than hanging by the neck? The helpless struggling from the end of a noose displaying at once the physical origin, as well as the reason (that is immeasurable superiority of the desired female over the inferior male).
The commonly observed death erection additionally underlining the sexual nature of the offence.

It has become time now to finally act...