Mr. M’s 2nd Grade Art Class 5/4


“Hello kids.  Hi Mr. M!  How many of you have been to the zoo?  Raise your hands.  Can you tell me what your favorite animal is at the zoo and why?  {takes answers}.  Okay, now looking at this jaguar, how does he make you feel?  Is he scary? fierce? pretty?  What are some of the features that you notice?

Does the jaguar represent strength or weakness?  Why?  Did you know that two of these statues sat next to the king’s throne in Nigeria long ago?  The king was called an oba and had ultimate power.  All the men and women of the kingdom worshipped the oba.  He was both their king and their religious leader.

Can I tell you something?  Do you know that he had real live jaguars as pets on a leash in his royal court?  The king’s royal court was in the city of Benin, which was called Edo a long time ago.  When the British arrived, one of their artists did an etching.  Would you like to see it.  Yes Mr. M…


Do you see the jaguars on the leashes?  Did you know that this city was once one of the greatest cities in the world?  What do you think it would have been like to live in this city?  This city had an enormous wall around it much like the Great Wall of China…

and so this is how the conversation went today.  The kids were very attentive and engaged.   

Posted in Uncategorized | 29 Comments

The Cold Dead Weight

There have been far too many times
when I felt the cold dead weight
of well intended compromises
crushing my life and joy

And it was not the condemnation of Zeus
nor the evil trickery of Heracles,
it was really me. I simply declined 
to boldly confront reality

Quick drawing and poem by me

Posted in My Development | 33 Comments

A Fascinating Read on Spanking

I was actually reading in the “Discover” section of WordPress, which is something I rarely do, but this article was toward the top of the list.  I find it to be very thoughtful and intelligent and thought I would share it with you.  For those that are exploring, I think she does an excellent job of communicating her perspective in such a way that most people would understand and accept it.

Jillian Keenan on her new memoir, which delves into her lifelong obsessions with spanking and Shakespeare.

via An Exegesis on Spanking Fetishists — Longreads Blog

Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

Mr M Teaches Art to Kids

In the city where I live, we have a world class museum with attached art school.  I was recently contacted by the director of the museum and asked if I would be interested in teaching art and creativity to elementary school children.  I jumped at the opportunity and so, for the next several weeks until school ends in early June, I will be teaching an art class to second graders.  My first class is tomorrow!

Posted in My Development | 39 Comments

39 Images from Paisley Park

I was there today and find it difficult to describe my emotions.  There was a feeling of reverential mourning.  Many artists had rapidly produced artwork to honor him.  Love letters were pinned to the fence.  Without even attempting to share my thoughts further, I will simply present 39 images that I took at Paisley Park.  If you click on the first image, you can go through it in a slide show format (if you prefer).



Posted in Uncategorized | 16 Comments

A Little Encounter at the Drawing Studio

Most of you know that I spend my Sundays drawing live models in a studio.  This particular setup is called a “drawing coop” and it is where artists gather to practice their figure drawing.

A couple Sundays ago, I busy drawing and during one of the breaks, I wandered around to look at the work of the other artists.  I remember commenting on the watercolors that a fellow artist had done, as well as some of the charcoal and oil pastel drawing of other artists nearby.

A couple days later I received a message on Fet from a woman saying, “Were you at the drawing coop on Sunday?”   I was stunned and replied, “What? How did you know it was me?  Were you there?”  And she said something to the effect of “Well I was a couple easels away from you painting and was also admiring your hands, then I looked up and recognized you.”

Since then, I’ve learned that she is taking a class to become a professional Mistress (the female equivalent of a Dominant).  Really?  You can take classes for that?  She says is a Top that is into bondage, sensory deprivation and spanking with her play partners (umm… that’s my job).  She actually is a really good watercolor artist also, though she said she likely would not be coming back anytime soon.  Our encounter was quite brief and focused on our artwork, but I am amazed at how the world works sometimes.


Posted in My Dominance, Uncategorized | 29 Comments

My Grandma Is a Baby Girl

I have written in the past about how I occasionally use my Dom skills on my 95 year old grandmother. Well a couple weeks ago, I took a vacation and went to visit my parents at their second home in a warm part of the world.

While there, my mother commented that Grandma was missing me and was having a tough time emotionally. We were in the car at the time and I immediately took out my phone, called my grandmother, and put my full Dom skills on display right in front of my mother and father. Continue reading

Posted in My Dominance | 29 Comments

The Slave Auction Begins


My friends and followers, thank you for attending my gala, art and slave auction.  We have already raised over 100,000 Euro for distressed migrant families here in the Paris area.  The purpose of this auction, though it is quite erotic, is to raise money to help these families find safe housing, employment and education opportunities. Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | 135 Comments

Mr M’s Slave Auction Rules

20131002-075010.jpgIf you have been reading my blog, then you know that I will be auctioning my beautiful female slave to one of my followers for a night of pleasure. The purpose of this post is to lay out the rules for how the auction will be conducted.

The actual auction will be conducted here on WordPress beginning on Monday at 4:30 pm GMT (London/Paris time), 11:30 am Eastern time US, 8:30 am Pacific time US.  The auction will be intense and last about an hour.

The story of the auction will actually be written by you, my followers, via WordPress comments, so you are cordially invited to participate as a contributor via those comments.  The compilation of your comments will become the story.  If you would like to contribute, it is helpful that you be available during that time. Continue reading

Posted in Erotic Stories | 18 Comments

Mr M’s Auction Begins

This is a sequel to “You Will Be My Art “.  

Once a year I host an evening gala and art auction at my estate. It is an elegant affair. The men come in black tuxes and the women in shimmering gowns with plunging necklines.

The event has this Bacchanalian secret society aspect to it. Many of the women wear a masquerade mask and leave any jewelry betraying their marital status at home. Guests are free to use any room of the house, except my master suite, for any liaison they may desire. Continue reading

Posted in Erotic Stories | 40 Comments

You Will Be My Art


You have been summoned and told to arrive at my estate by 6 pm wearing a simple black dress with your hair up, tall black spikes and no panties, bra or jewelry. Your presence is needed for the entire evening. The nature of your duties has not yet been disclosed, though, as my slave, you have already agreed to provide whatever services I require without question. Continue reading

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , | 23 Comments

Power And Magic


I am still on holiday, but I just wanted to say this. The dynamic that naturally exists between a man and a woman is immutable. It has a natural essence of chemistry, desire, passion and fantasy. Or it simply does not. Words may be spoken and behaviors may be altered, but what exists between those two people cannot be fundamentally changed at its core. And it is when we live within this natural essence and let both its beauty and ferocity flow, both sexually and spiritually, that we finally find ourselves at peace, deeply satisfied and inspired by its power and magic.

Posted in Other Musings | 20 Comments

Your Crown of Thorns


You have suffered so deeply.
Do you know how beautiful you are?
Roll the stone away from your pain
and come to me.
Take off your crown of thorns.
I will brush away your tears,
kiss you deeply and make you remember
what it means to live once again.

Posted in Romantic Poetry, Uncategorized | 28 Comments

You are Forgiven


There is no pain
worse on this earth
than the judgement
of your own mind
How many times
have I told you
that you are beautiful
and worthy?
I would die
a thousand deaths
to relieve you
of your own crucifixion
so drag me
bind me
nail me
to the tree
I will suffer
and die
only to offer you
the gift
of your own absolution
and the return
of your grace
you are forgiven
my sacrifice
the gift of my life
my blood
my flesh
even my spirit
are yours


Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 26 Comments

Would You Remember?


Too many moments
just float away
gray and lifeless
like another cloud
on a cold November day
But what if I tied
and blindfolded you?
Would you feel alive?
Would your body tingle
with anticipation
if I whispered in your ear
and slowly tormented you
with wax from the flame
or ice from the tray
each hot drip
and freezing touch
getting ever closer
to your feminine ecstasy
Would you remember
the moment we shared?

Posted in Erotic Thoughts | 22 Comments

The Slave Girl from Tuscany

(written by the persona of Mr Modigliani)

My studio is in the hills of Paris in the district of Montmartre not too far from the Basilica of Sacré Cœur. But I am not French. It is my adopted home. I am originally Italian and was raised in the coastal city of Livorno in Tuscany. Continue reading

Posted in Erotic Stories, My Artwork | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments

Studio Sketches Mar 20

This gallery contains 7 photos.

Gallery | 30 Comments

Recognition of Male Bloggers 2016 – Final

I want to thank all the contributors who sent me names of male bloggers that they follow.  There is something here for everyone from general life poetry to the romantic, the sensual and even some BDSM and D/s material.  What is wonderful about this is that I discovered a whole set of new bloggers and it is my sincere hope that you use this list to also discover new blogs that may be of interest to you.  I’ve tried to organize these blogs by some key attributes that are differentiating and found that process quite challenging.  Please contact me if there are any corrections. Continue reading

Posted in Uncategorized | 56 Comments

You Will Dance for Me

i am
the choreographer
and you
are my dancer
on the fierce stage
of my passion
your beauty
is a swirl
of form
and submission
for me
my will
my artistry
and my desire

you will dance for me

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , | 20 Comments

Studio Sketch Mar 13 (revised)

I posted some pictures earlier using my phone, but at least one did not post properly, so I’ve corrected on the computer.  The first two are 10 minutes sketches, the final two are 20 minutes sketches.  The model today, Kari, was exceptional.  I am mostly pleased.

Posted in My Artwork, Uncategorized | 9 Comments

The Queen and the Stag


Some say
That I am a myth
Or the spirit of ancestors
Appearing Continue reading

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , | 21 Comments

My Customer’s Vixen Wife

She was blonde, hot and knew what she wanted.  I was on a business trip in the foothills of the Rockies and had been invited to an evening party at the large mansion of one of my largest customers.  A renaissance man, he also painted and thought of me like a son.  It was an elegant affair with a hundred or so chosen guests.  Men wore dark suits or tuxes and the women low cut shimmering dresses.  I had been invited at the last minute and so wore a jet black suit, expensive black cowboy boots and a bow tie.  It was the closest I could come to a tux on short notice. Continue reading

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged | 11 Comments

Sunday Sketch Mar 6


My special thank you to the model today.

Posted in Uncategorized | 20 Comments

My Religion

her beauty
…is my faith
her service
…is my communion
her sweet moans
…are my choir
her suffering
…is my worship
her gift
…is my religion

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , | 19 Comments


a relationship
in my past
reminds wistfully of
Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina
dashing and
ultimately though
a terrible tragedy
much too good
and far too
to forget

Posted in My Pain | Tagged | 15 Comments

Each Other’s Muse


Like the sight of a white tail
Bounding thru the woods
Or a sunset’s colors and hues
There was an undeniable joy
A spiritual gift really
Of being each other’s muse

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 16 Comments

Wild and Free


At night I gaze upward
to a tapestry of a million stars
while the moon casts its glow on the hilltop
and filters through the trees

By day I race through the valleys
and trot through clear mountain streams
I raise my head and hear my own whinnies
echo through the canyon

And though I see your approach,
The land is too beautiful
my heart is too wild
and I love the wind in my mane
wild and free

Words by Mr Modigliani

Posted in Romantic Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 29 Comments

The Eighth Time

His older hands are so gentle
And his steady devotion
Has been sort of a flaccid shelter
From the hard pouring rain
Of a beauty’s life
In her prime

But my artist’s hands are firm
And quite demanding
I clutched and commanded you
Yet held you so close
When you came for me
The eighth time

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Give Me Your Pain

Give me your pain
I will carry all of it
to Hades and back
Nail me to the cross
I will bleed and die
Crucify my flesh
Burn my body
It is yours
A human sacrifice
and testament
of my devotion
I give it all
For you

Posted in Romantic Poetry | 17 Comments

Bound and Tied


Shield your eyes
from me if you must
for I have already
peered past
your protections
I am sorry
to have left you
bound and tied
naked in the forest
your pretty ass marked
by my belt
It rained so hard
that day
but every drop
was one of my tears

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Uncategorized | 11 Comments

I Studied You As An Art…


I loved this brief poem from Christina Strigas on Twitter @christinastriga or on WordPress at  In reading it, I would have sworn it was written for me.  Also, there are many good poets on Twitter and some are close friends.  This particular poem just hit me square between the eyes and I wanted to highlight it. Poem is posted with permission of Christina.

Posted in Reblogs, Uncategorized | Tagged | 4 Comments

Mr M Needs a Stylist

Seeking stylist service submissive. Submissive must have advanced training in hair styling from an accredited organization, preferably Aveda, and be skilled in scissors cutting and all matters of male grooming, including straight edge shaving. Submissive must also be fit, attractive and stylish, follow all of Master’s instructions and take delight in pleasing all of Master’s needs. Master anticipates that services will be scheduled every five to six weeks. 


Posted in Erotic Thoughts | Tagged , , | 35 Comments

An Elegant Sadist


I keep coming back to the idea of how one combines feelings of love with the fiercest desire to do the most vile of things with a woman.

“But you aren’t vile.  Even your most violent perversions aren’t vile.  You are an elegant sadist.  And I mean that in the very best way.”

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , , | 34 Comments


A new follower reminded of some of some of my earlier writing and collaborations. This one was one of the most fun and got quite a response (for my little blog). And Hasty has always been one of my dearest friends, even to this day.

Mr. Modigliani's Private Studio

photo (4)

This is a duet co-written with Hasty Words.  Please visit her blog.  There are so many wonderful things to say about Hasty as a woman, a generous spirit and a talented writer, but the most important is that she is a wonderful friend.

Your toxicity is a rush
Fueling desires touch
Guiding my painters hand
With each stroke of the brush

Silently I lay for you
Taking your every command
I’m thrilled to be your muse
And lust for your hand

Watching your chest rise and fall
My heart pounds hard and fast
You haunt the canvas in front of me
The hard lines of your beautiful ass

When I look at your artist eyes
I wonder what you think and see
Is it simply my naked form
Or something deeper inside of me?

I settle on your face, your strong jaw
I see desire and curiosity watching…

View original post 226 more words

Posted in Reblogs, Uncategorized | 5 Comments

Remembering Marcus

We have hunted these woods as friends
Stalking the prey to sate our need
Our yips filled the emptiness of night,
While the great horned owl opened an eye
The deer turned their heads to listen
And the moose ambled deeper into the thicket

There is a mysticism deep in the forest
And though lives may end, spirits are never lost
They are collected by the forest’s great caretaker
You, my friend, have simply entered a higher realm
Where your awhoo’s will forever be heard
As a spirit wolf, High in the Woods

This poem is in memory of Marcus, the playful and friendly writer of High in the Woods.  Felicia, this is also for you.  I want you to know that you are still thought of and all of us hope you are well.    

Posted in Other Musings | 26 Comments

Power, Strength, Beauty & Determination

I admire these attributes so much in a woman and no where is it expressed so beautifully as in the world of dance.  Here is more work from the incomparable Misty Copeland.  She grew up poor, nearly homeless and doesn’t fit the archetype of a ballerina, yet she is strong, powerful and beautiful and has risen to the top of this spectacular art form.

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged | 15 Comments

The Amazing Work of Misty Copeland


Those of you that know me personally know that I am both a painter and a board director of a dance theater.  Edgar Degas is perhaps my favorite painter, so when I saw this work by dancer Misty Copeland of the American Ballet Theater for Harper’s Bazaar, my heart started palpitating.  You can see more of her work by following the link below.

Link to Misty Copeland’s replication of Degas paintings

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged , | 16 Comments

Cleopatra Seduces Marc Antony


Drawing of sculpture/bust of Marc Antony by Mr Modigliani, 2016 (in charcoal)

The story of Marc Antony and Cleopatra is a fascinating read.  Here I have provided a small excerpt describing their relationship and have done a charcoal illustration of the ruler himself.

“She had faith in her own attractions, which, having formerly recommended her to Caesar and the young Pompey, she did not doubt might prove yet more successful with Antony. Their acquaintance was with her when a girl, young, and ignorant of the world, but she was to meet Antony in the time of life when women’s beauty is most splendid, and their intellects are in full maturity. She made great preparations for her journey, of money, gifts, and ornaments of value, such as so wealthy a kingdom might afford, but she brought with her her surest hopes in her own magic arts and charms.

…she came sailing up the river Cydnus in a barge with gilded stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and fifes and harps. She herself lay all along, under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a picture, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like Sea Nymphs and Graces, some steering at the rudder, some working at the ropes.

…perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with multitudes, part following the galley up the river on either bank, part running out of the city to see the sight. The market place was quite emptied, and Antony at last was left alone sitting upon the tribunal; while the word went .through all the multitude, that Venus was come to feast with Bacchus for the common good of Asia.

On her arrival, Antony sent to invite her to supper. She thought it fitter he should come to her; so, willing to show his good humor and courtesy, he complied, and went. He found the preparations to receive him magnificent beyond expression, but nothing so admirable as the great number of lights; for on a sudden there was let down altogether so great a number of branches with lights in them so ingeniously disposed, some in squares, and some in circles, that the whole thing was a spectacle that has seldom been equaled for beauty.

The next day, Antony invited her to supper, and was very desirous to outdo her as well in magnificence as contrivance; but he found he was altogether beaten in both, and was so well convinced of it, that he was himself the first to jest and mock at his poverty of wit, and his rustic awkwardness. She, perceiving that his raillery was broad and gross, and savored more of the soldier than the courtier, rejoined in the same taste, and fell into it at once, without any sort of reluctance or reserve.

For her actual beauty, it is said, was not in itself so remarkable that none could be compared with her, or that no one could see her without being struck by it, but the contact of her presence, if you lived with her, was irresistible; the attraction of her person, joining with the charm of her conversation, and the character that attended all she said or did, was something bewitching. It was a pleasure merely to hear the sound of her voice, with which, like an instrument of many strings, she could pass from one language to another; so that there were few of the barbarian nations that she answered by an interpreter.

Antony was so captivated by her, that while Fulvia his wife maintained his quarrels in Rome against Caesar by actual force of arms, and the Parthian troops…were assembled in Mesopotamia, and ready to enter Syria, he could yet suffer himself to be carried away by her to Alexandria, there to keep holiday, like a boy, in play and diversion, squandering and fooling away in enjoyment that most costly, as Antiphon says, of all valuables, time.

“Cleopatra Seduces Antony, 41 BC,” EyeWitness to History, (2006)


Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments

Mr M’s Coloring Showcase and Gallery

This was such a joy to put together and I want to thank everyone that participated. It feels like a little party complete with confetti, glitter and treats. All of the entries are wonderful so please take some time to view and compliment others. If you click on the first picture, you can go through them sequentially in a slideshow mode if you are on a computer.  Also, thanks to Dawn D for pointing out that it is possible to comment on individual pictures.

I also know how sensitive these things can be so the pictures are presented in random order. If there are any corrections that need to be made, please let me know right away and I will take care of it (especially if I did not include an entry!). Finally, I always appreciate the trust that you put in me to do these types of things.

Mr Modigliani

Posted in Duets and Guest Authors, My Artwork | Tagged , , , , | 43 Comments

Overheard in the Studio

On a cold crisp day in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris, she came bounding into my studio. “Good morning Monsieur! How are you today?”. Good! The sun is shining through the windows of my studio and I have a beautiful muse to model for me today.

“What will we be painting today Monsieur?”. Today we’re doing a quick painting that is a color study in preparation for a larger, more detailed painting later. I am going to show how the skin tones of your breast transition from pinks to whites to orange tones. And I’m going to offset the skin tones with a sharp contrast to the black and red of this nipple clamp. “Oh you know how much I love the clamps. Whatever you wish Monsieur!”

Leave your dress on the chair and come over to the chaise lounge. I’ve already set up the lighting and have my palette ready. The clamp is right there on the side table if you could put it on your left nipple for me. “It will be my pleasure. May I put the other one on my right nipple?”. Of course you may.

“Monsieur, I am having great difficulty with these as they are different from mine. Might you be of assistance?”. Yes I can help. I want the heart locket to dangle down and reflect the light just perfectly. There. How’s that? “You can make them even tighter Monsieur. I don’t mind.” A soft moan is heard in the studio as I screw them tighter and begin painting, applying different layers of color.

“Oh Monsieur, they feel so good. You know how much I love suffering for you. May I touch myself while you paint?”. You may use your right hand, but not your left. Your left shoulder is in my painting. “Monsieur, do you get aroused when I sink a finger inside myself? Does it give you any thoughts? Does it firm your manhood when I withdraw and suck my finger like this ever so slowly?”.

Slap your clit five times. “Yes Monsieur” (as the sharp slaps echo through the studio). Now put two fingers in and bang yourself rapidly ten times. “Oh Monsieur, I need your cock in my mouth.”. Now work your clit rapidly until I tell you to cum. “Yes Monsieur….please….please Monsieur..”. More. Now. Cum for me now. “Aaaaaaggghhhh…” Do it again now. “Aaaaaaggghhhh…”

Good girl. Lick off your fingers.  Now we will continue painting. “Yes Monsieur, but I will take your cock in my mouth before I leave this studio….”. Yes you will.


Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , , | 20 Comments

The Beautiful Girl Inside

Tell me.  Who is that little girl inside of you?  Behind those beautiful eyes, I see reflections of a child in your tears. When I listen to your life’s struggles, I hear the whispered echoes of a precious, sweet girl hidden away.

Bring her out and let her twirl and dance before me.  It is the deepest form of trust to share her.  Let me hold her close and wipe her tears, read her a poem and tell her a story.

I listen.  I do hear your declarations of independence as a strong and capable woman.  I only know some of what you have endured, but I’ve felt the wounds of your heart many times.

Where did you hide when you needed to cry? When you fell off your bike and skinned your knee, who was it that brushed away your tears? Did your Dad bounce you on his knee and tell you how much he loved you? Did he tell you that you were his girl?

I understand.  It sounds too easy, like a promise whispered in the wind.  But I hid for decades and also suffered.  I don’t speak of it often, but my strength came not from success, but from many failures. I chose to embrace my vulnerability.

Sweet dear, let your little girl out into the sunshine.  Let me hold her hand.  Let her cry.  When she is done, we will laugh and play together.  We will color and draw, and then go for long walks in the woods. I’ll point out all the wildflowers and the birds.

Let me know her.  Let me cherish and adore the very special girl inside.

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | 52 Comments

The Granddaughter of Vlad – Final

If you did not read part 3, you may find it here:

The demon, now drenched in Jusztina’s blood flew about me, looking for its opportunity to strike. “You will die wizard and she will still be mine,” it hissed.

Raising my scepter with its mounted crystal high above my head, I drew upon my deepest powers and invoked “lumen de lumine, ad hunc daemonis sui.”

As I spoke the incantation, my white eyes and the crystal on my scepter emitted the most intense white light, and then shot a concentrated pulse of that light at the demon.  The demon howled and screamed, fell backward and then flew off into the night and back to its master.

With the demon gone, I removed the bloodstone from inside Jusztina and held it between her breasts.  Kissing her softly, the incision began to close and heal.  Jusztina was regaining her strength and was no longer possessed.  The true beauty of her eyes looked up at me and I felt I was holding an angel in my hands.

Bending down, I bared my own vampire fangs and took her breast into my mouth.  Her nipple was warm and inviting and I sunk both fangs into the breast just above it.  Small amounts of Jusztina’s blood flowed into my mouth.  Then taking the knife, I cut my own own hand and drew my own blood into my mouth.  Mixing the two together, I knelt further and kissed Jusztina, sharing my blood with her.

As she looked into my eyes, I saw her look of trust, respect and adoration.  Wizard, man or beast, there is nothing that stirs me more.  Then I spoke softly in her ear, “Simul erimus mundi” and together, both of us transformed into bats, and flew away into the night.

Notes from the author:  All of the incantations are in Latin and can be translated.  I wish to thank the beautiful and talented Garbo for her help with the story concept and research of the effect of various rune stones.



Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , | 18 Comments

The Granddaughter of Vlad – Part 3

If you did not read Part 2, you may read it here:  This particular portion of the story is quite dark and will not be for all readers.

img_0527I had heard her cries from my dark hollow and knew that she was suffering.  But it was not my place to save her. That was UNTIL she summoned me using the Dominus invocation.

I had taught Vlad the Impaler the way of fear and conquest during his rule.  But ultimately I could not save him and as he lay dying, slayed by the Turks, I promised that when I was summoned, that I would destroy anyone or anything that threatened his family.

Transformed into a bat, I circled the tower a couple times and then flew through the lookout opening.  As I flew through the window, I returned into my human-like form, part wizard and still part beast, and looked down on Jusztina.  Her eyes, now near death, looked up to see me and I heard the demon within her hiss and spit, fearful of my presence.

I held in my hand an ancient scepter with a powerful crystal mounted in a brass setting at its tip.  I also had a large knife, a small leather pouch with a half pound oval-shaped bloodstone and a leather whip made of dozens of long strips of leather.  Wizards have used bloodstone for centuries to expel demons, but they don’t go easily.  They hide deep in the body.  Sorcery and force are needed and many wizards have been killed by demons during the exorcism.

I had to move quickly and knelt down to cut off Jusztina’s dress.  I could seen the demon stirring deep beneath her skin.  Removing the bloodstone from my leather pouch.  Holding the stone in my hands, I incanted “Malo relinquas spiritus”, then placed it deep inside her driving the demon from her womb, away from the bloodstone.  The demon was now agitated and I took the leather whip and swung it across her body several times, striking at the demon and repeating my incantation, “Malo relinquas spiritus”.

The demon, now furious, rose to the surface between Jusztina’s breasts.  Jusztina looked up at me and weakly implored me, “Get it out! Take it out!”  I nodded to her and taking my knife, I cut a shallow “X” between her breasts.  The demon burst through the cut and let out a blood curdling scream, its wild red eyes threatening imminent attack….

to be continued (one more chapter…)

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The Granddaughter of Vlad – Part 2

Jusztina struggled both against her chains and the demon that occupied her.  It had been days since she had last tasted flesh or drank human blood and she was growing weaker.  She remembered what her grandmother Ilona, wife of Vlad, had told her before she died.  “They will fear you Jusztina and many will try to kill you.  You are the granddaughter of Vlad the Impaler.  In your weakest moment, cry out for the Lord of Light and he will fight to save you.”

And so when all hope of survival seemed lost, when Jusztina would either die a forgotten captive or be consumed by the demon ravaging her body from within, she waited for the church bells to ring, pulled against her chains then summoned her Latin and cried out: “Domini Lucidum me liberabit it de daemone”.

And though the church bells had rung, not a single bat took to the sky, for they knew the Lord of Light had been summoned.  They did not dare fly in the presence of the the Lord.  All the city was still except for one large bat with luminescent white eyes, that made its way from high in the mountains, then circled high above the city, its dark silhouette visible in the light of the moon before it dove for the tower.  

To be continued…

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The Granddaughter Of Vlad – Part 1

It had been nearly forty years since the rule of Vlad III Draculea in the kingdom of Transylvania. The residents of this small city of Sighisoara remembered his reign of terror, how he had beaten back the Ottoman Turks and impaled any invaders. Stories circulated of him cutting out the beating hearts of captured soldiers and then devouring the flesh in front of the remaining prisoners before they too were tortured or killed.

So it is not too surprising that anything or anyone associated with Vlad was feared. Many thought that Vlad’s spirit still haunted the city and Sighisoara’s dark Gothic architecture with its many spires, towers and gargoyles only fed the story that one day Vlad would return to take his revenge.

At night, as the full moon and stars illuminated the old cobblestone streets, bells would ring and clouds of bats flew from one tower to the next. It was high in one of those old bell towers, that shackles were secured to your wrists and ankles and another tight around your neck. Short lengths of heavy chain secured you to the heavy stone blocks of the tower.

You were chained and locked away because a woman in the village saw you eating a heart. Another woman saw the red glow of a demon spirit in your eyes. And they were right, for you are Jusztina, red haired, curvy, beautiful and beguiling.  You are the granddaughter of Vlad and it is true.  Though your heart is pure and your spirit kind and beautiful, you are possessed by a demon and do drink the blood of humans….

This tale will be dark and violent. Be forewarned. To be continued…

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Whoopi-Ty-Aye-Yay: A Western Duet

I once again had the pleasure to write with Wet Bliss.  She is a very talented poetess so please visit her blog and read all her great poetry, many of which are fun, sexy duets.  This duet is inspired by the old singing cowboy of the West, Gene Autry and also my fantasy of having sex on horseback.

I want you back in my saddle again
Naked on my horse, your breasts in my hand
I’ll slide it in slowly while you hold the reins
And together we’ll ride, hard on the range

Rockin’ to and fro’
In my saddle you’ll stay

Harnessing the rhythm beating in my heart
I’ll be your sweetheart, if you take me tonight
Out on the planes under the moon and stars
Burn a trail of kisses and hold me tight

Now, away we go
Start nice-n-slow

Love’s in the air, so giddy up, let’s ride
I’ll clutch your hips as we gallop down this road
The tension keeps building as we hit stride
Now polish my revolver before I unload

A little faster my dear
The moment is near

Cowboy, I like the way you fill my holster
Slip and slide with ease in tight spastic grip
Well oiled, shining with gleam, bite my shoulder
Oh! Rub that hard nub, squeeze a handful of tit

Playing with my gun
This is a lot of fun

There’s leather and skin by the campfire,
The coyotes yip their song under stars and moonlight
Our horse is hitched and unsaddled
But you’re bridled and ridden, hard through the night


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Toward a More Joyful Dynamic


I pursue life.  I pursue experience.  There have been times when I failed miserably and other times I have had great successes for a time.  From each experience, but particularly from the failures, I have grown.  The lessons from a failure are like the sharp edge of a knife or searing heat of a flame.  You learn…

And so from this experience, I have grown more attuned to the great alchemy, and the dynamic, that exists between a man and a woman.  The alchemy and attraction is innate, but it is the dynamic, and its joyful interplay, that fascinates me and drives me toward a deeper curiosity and desire to Master its nuances.

The closest analogy that I can offer is that a dynamic is like a magical type of sailboat.  It needs the wind given to it by both the man and the woman to fill its sails.  And if you sail (like I do), then you know the joy of a sailboat that is perfectly on course, slightly heeled heading into the wind and sailing at its optimum speed.  There is a magic, a beauty and a joy to it.

What makes this sailboat so unique is that the man and the woman use their communications and small acts of service to fill the sails, not at the same time, but each in turn.  One person uses all of their skill to listen, to be attuned to the other and the conditions, and then to blow gently into the sail.  The other then listens, is attuned and sensitive to the other, then blows gently into the sail in response.  It is this give and take between the two that propels the sailboat forward.

What is so unique about this is that the skill and the focus required is within one’s self.  You cannot fill the sail in collaboration with the other without first being aware of your own weaknesses and limitations, without listening to the other, without being attuned and sensitive.  You have to be attuned to what she is saying and not saying, to the deeper unspoken story within her and to the conditions around the two of you.  And then it becomes a matter of mastering your own emotional responses, perceptions, judgments, then your communications and ultimately your actions.

But you can learn to sail.  You can craft and participate in a more joyful, satisfying dynamic with your lover.  You can even tie your lover naked to the mast if you wish (use the clove hitch knot).  But the first journey is within you.



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I Am The Magician



On a side street of Old London
Dark, cobblestoned with black lanterns
The guests slowly file in

Beautiful masked women
With plunging necklines, pearls and gowns
Men in their black coats, tails and glasses

It is an erotic affair
As though it were a private masquerade
On All Hallow’s Eve

And as I come out on stage
Looking upward at the tiers and balconies
Gilded chandeliers and tapestries

I take my deep bow
And the lights dim
The audience settles to a whisper

There is nothing on this old stage
Except me, two candelabras flickering
and you naked in a long pine box

You are not quite awake, but not asleep
Aware but in a dreamlike state
Obedient to my commands

Looking slyly at the hushed audience
I wave my hands over the old pine box
As the lid slowly opens

Raising my hands slowly, rhythmically
Your naked body rises and floats
So beautiful, the audiences gasps

Your flowing hair and gorgeous face
Full, erect breasts
And beautiful curves

Aware of the audience and performance
But receptive to only me
Half dreaming, still desiring

Floating naked above the stage
I slowly tease a rope to encircle you
As though the serpent were to devour Eve

My hands never touch, but my motion
Controls your every move and response
Your body slowly rolls and twists

In a dreamlike stupor, you feel my touch
As though it happened
My hand on your neck, the lobe of your ear

As my hands move downward
I brush past your breasts
Your back arches, head tilts back

One hand below you, one above
The audience shivers and anticipates
Women whisper, men just stare

And as the rope begins to tighten
My hands near your deep wetness
While your thighs slightly part

You imagine my soft touch
Electricity rolls through, tingles and excites
Energy builds, pulses and throbs

And finally, as though possessed
You moan and explode, clawing at the air
Releasing all your power

The audience gasps

And as I lower my hands
You settle back into the box
And the lid closes

I take my deep bow
The audience roars
You are my assistant

And I am the magician

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Your White Stallion

I know the trouble
tension and fear
that echo in your mind
I sense your longing
to be wild
and free
so straddle me
my love
grab my mane
and let yourself go
ride me hard
under the stars
and into the night

I am your white stallion

Painting of Lady Godiva by John Collier

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Wenceslaus and the Bridge Builder’s Wife

My name is Wenceslaus and I was never a king, but was the Duke of Bohemia.   You may know me as Saint Wenceslaus.  This is the story of my relationship with Markéta, the bridge builder’s wife and ultimately, my martyrdom.

painting of peasant girl by Alexander Roche

Markéta was born to a poor family in a rural hamlet a few hours ride north of the capital city of Prague.  Her childhood was not perfect and at a young age she saw her chance to escape with a young man who had a promising future as a bridge builder.  He was tall, strong, modestly handsome, reliable and a bit dull.  But she dreamt of an exciting life far away from her parents and the little hamlet of her birth. Betrothed at a young age, she soon was bearing him sons and daughters.

Yet Markéta was not like the other young women of her village.  If you looked deep in her eyes, you could see an intellect, a curiosity and a sensuality that was being hidden away from the world.  And as the years went by, those traits, along with her physical beauty continued to grow until she literally felt she was bursting inside, trapped in a small life and kept by a large man, but one now much smaller in intellect than her.  Her husband lacked that verve for life that she so desperately lusted for and needed.  Like so many others, he was trapped by the conventions of a Bohemian society who could not grasp the spirit and passion that was hidden away in his own wife.  In this time, sadly, many of the men saw their wives as property, there only to serve their needs and bring honor to the family name and estate.

I am Wenceslaus and I also defied the conventions of society.  Other dukes of the time used their position to accumulate wealth, wage war, acquire new lands, drink, sleep with all variety of women and frequently conspired to overthrow the king.  They enforced the rules of society for their own profit or pleasure, but rarely abided by them.  This included my own brothers, also dukes, who fathered several bastard children with beautiful women in various villages but did not support them financially.

Many know me as a saint or even a Samaritan.  And, yes, I did give bread to the hungry, clothe the poor and build housing for the displaced.  But I was not a saint.  I, too, had my lovers, some of them quite illicit though I kept those relations very discreet.

painting of Wenceslaus by Sylvia Dahlgren

On one of my trips to her little hamlet, something about Markéta caught my eye.  It would be easy to say that it was the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her ass or the arc of her back.  But it was something more.  It was the way she looked at me.  She held her gaze a little longer with a knowing look.  The corners of her mouth would turn to a smile when she saw me.  And she spoke differently.  She was not simply a peasant girl. There was always a wisdom and worldliness that intrigued me that others did not see or appreciate.

It did not take long to take her into my bed.  The truth was that both of us were prisoners in our own lives and fucking each other wildly gave both of us a momentary escape.  We did things with her that polite society would never approve of, most would not even think of, but brought both of us great satisfaction.  Some of the things we did together were illegal in those times.  I fucked her hard and often, but I could never truly be hers nor she mine, and it wasn’t too many months later that she was discovered in the bed of an older Frenchman who had recently moved to the area.

Now if he wasn’t a Frenchman, nobody would have said a word.  She would have been escorted home and punished severely, probably with a leather belt, by her husband.  But we hate the French.   So the constable shackled her, threw her in the dungeon and a court date was set for the charge of illicit fornication.   A fair and just trial was an impossibility for Markéta.  She had been caught fucking a Frenchman.  The only real question is whether they would hang her or stone her to death.

By the time I learned of the trial from one of my couriers, she had already been convicted and was sentenced to public shaming and death by stoning.  The villagers, led by the powerful family of her husband, were furious.  She had brought dishonor to their name, which was all they truly cared about (and their grandsons and cattle).  Not even her own husband rose to her defense.  I saddled my fastest white stallion and rode furiously for her village hoping to stay her conviction and prevent her death.

When I arrived, she had already been disrobed and bound naked with rope on an old hag horse.  The villagers were in a frenzy.  As her horse was led through the village, the women hissed and spit on her.  Men yelled ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ with looks of terror and malice in their eyes.  A mob was starting to form and a few stones had already been thrown.

Much to the surprise of the villagers, I rode my horse straight into the angry mob and took Markéta off the old horse.  I cut the ropes that bound her wrists and wrapped her naked body in my red cloak, then set her high up on my white stallion.  The villagers were stunned and furious.  They were determined to see her blood spill.

The constable stepped forward, “Duke Wenceslaus, your presence here is quite curious.  This whore here has already been convicted for her crime and sentenced to death by stoning.  Not even you have the power to stay her conviction or intervene in her punishment.  What is your interest? Why are you here? ”

I looked at villager, many with stones in their hand and anger in their eyes and spoke firmly yet passionately.

“I am the Duke of this land, but today I speak with you as a man, a man no different than you.  Why is it that you seek the blood of this woman, a wife, a mother, and a child of your own tribe?  What is the source of your anger?  She is simply a woman who wishes to be known and loved for all that she is, all that she is capable of.  Do you seek to destroy her for wishing for love? Are we really so cruel that we cannot admit the complexities of love, of passion, of desire?   

Men of the village, let me ask you something.  In the moments before your death, will you remember how many cattle you owned or the balance in your accounts?  Or will you remember the moments you were loved fully and completely by a woman?  Where is your grace, your wisdom, and your compassion?  

Women of the village, why do you hiss and spit at her?   She is your sister and your friend.  Do you not care for her children? Can’t you see the tyranny in which you live? Many of you married as a child to a man selected by your parents solely to advance your family’s position and estate.  It was never for love and many of these men treat you as property.  Can you not empathize with her need for love?” Several of the women lowered their heads and cried softly when I spoke.

Then the constable and two village elders stepped forward.  “Duke Wenceslaus, that is a very fine speech, but she has already been convicted and sentenced to death.  She must be executed.

Now I was angry.  “Nothing in this land is fair.  The banker charges a usurous rate and repossesses the farms for his own gain.  The merchant triples the price for the least able to pay for his goods. The priest collects his tithes and vacations in a fine villa in Italy.  How many of you have had another lover?  I know for a fact that my own brother has sired two bastard children in this very village.  Perhaps the only honest people in this village are the children and the whores.  Let her go.  By the law of this land, an innocent person can step forward to take her punishment.  So I will die in her place.  Cast your stones at me.  I accept your anger and your sentence.”

The villagers were stunned with disbelief that a Duke would offer his life for a poor bridge builder’s wife.  Many lowered their heads while I looked the elders and the constable right in the eye.  I would not back down.  Then I heard the rocks drop and watched as the villagers turned and walked away.  Looking up at Markéta, she was bawling as I slapped the rump of my white stallion, “Markéta, you must go. Take my horse and ride hard until you are out of Bohemia.  Do not come back.“.  I saw one last look of love before my horse bolted forward to take her away forever.

Two weeks later was the Festival of Saints Cosmas and Damian.  It was the year of our Lord 935.  It was a cold dark, snowy night and while providing for the poor and the hungry, my brother, Boleslav the Cruel, had his assassin slit my throat.  He had been planning my death for some time, but my actions and words gave him the justification needed to kill me.

Some call me a Saint or a King.  I was neither, but I thought you should know the true story of Vaclav Wenceslaus and Markéta, the bridge builder’s wife.

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It’s the Small Curves

I adore women and find everything about them to be the most perfectly beautiful creation on this earth.  And as both an artist and a man, I could happily spend the rest of my life exploring all the little curves of a woman’s body.  For a woman’s beauty is really a composition of so many subtle little curves, that when viewed in total, the eye is enchanted with its masterpiece.

A woman’s eyes are perhaps her most beautiful feature.  A gentle S curve forms the lower lid, while additional curves create the upper lid and the eyebrow.

Her lips are full and gently undulating with curves throughout.

What man can resist the curve of a perfectly formed breast, not just its major arc, but the gradual curve that transitions from the woman’s chest to the breast itself, or the near circular arc underneath the breast?

The curve of a woman’s neck from the nape just below the ear all the way to her shoulders so subtly conveys her sensuality and hints at even greater beauty beyond…

And while a shapely woman’s ass always demands attention, there is subtle beauty in the gentle curves of her lower back as they slope into the more prominent curves of her hips.

Finally there are all the small curves that create the slope of her back, her shoulder blades, the muscles of the back and the transition to the hips.

Posted in Erotic Thoughts, My Artwork | Tagged , , | 34 Comments

Life Notes 4/30/16

So I have been a little quiet lately and usually when that happens, it is because there are one or more things that are subconsciously churning on the inside.  When this happens, I get writer’s block and retreat into myself.  So if I haven’t read your posts lately or if I haven’t been chatty, it’s just what’s going on in my head.  It’s not you, I promise. Continue reading

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A Moment of Pride…

So this post explores some of my preconceptions and actual experiences about the very urban school that I taught art in yesterday.

Many of you have some idea where I live now.  There are about 3.5 million people in my metropolitan area.    For the most part, it is a very clean and cosmopolitan city with thriving industries, low unemployment, a vibrant arts community and good governance.

Admittedly, I live in a very wealthy and safe first ring suburb that has the finest of everything, but there are poor and dangerous parts of the urban city where I rarely travel.  Much of the crime that does occur in the city happens in these poor areas.

Yesterday morning, before I taught my art class, I googled to see where the school was located and found it in one of these areas.  Now I will go anywhere and even the worst parts of this city are not really that dangerous, but some thoughts were circling around in my mind about what I might encounter.  I was going to a public school in a very poor part of the city that was filled with immigrant children of parents who were new to the United States and did not speak English.

I am socially progressive, but even my mind was circling with some preconceptions.  When I first arrived, the building was much nicer than I expected, but the main door to the school was locked.  Safety was clearly a concern.  You had to buzz in and be seen by someone in the office in order to get in.  What was I getting myself into?  Would the classroom be pure chaos?  What would the children be like?

But after that point, both the school and the children just blew me away.  This was not some very poor urban school that had already given up on the children.  In fact, it was just the opposite.  Yes, it was true that all of the kids were from cultures around the world, but they were bright, very well behaved and courteous in the classroom.  And even though the kids were of all different nationalities, from all places in the world, they got along beautifully and loved and accepted each other.  It was a beautiful thing to see and so very different than the white, homogeneous upbringing I experienced.

I was also so impressed by the school and what they were doing, using art and music, to give these kids every chance in the world to succeed.  So let me share a few details about the school itself:

  • all students at the school receive violin instruction in pre-K, kindergarten, first and second grade along with vocal music and keyboard.
  • students in grades 3-5 may select an instrument to play in the school orchestra
  • students perform in large fall and spring concerts and many smaller events
  • the school provides advanced curriculum in science/technology and several other subjects for gifted and talented students
  • all students receive 90 minutes of reading instruction and 60 minutes of math instruction each day
  • all meals are provided by the school, including breakfast
  • the school also provides housing, job assistance, dental care and other services for the families of the children

I was so impressed by the basic idea that this school was doing everything it could to help these kids realize their true potential.  And, even at the very tender age of 7 or 8, you could see the bright lights in their eyes as they both asked and answered questions about the various pieces of art we brought in.  And when I left, I felt a certain pride in my community, the school, the children and even in myself.




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Mr M Teaches Art (2)

I just returned from my first session teaching an art class to second graders. The class, as you can see, was very diverse and I was told that most of the kids did not speak English as their first language. Yet, I was so very impressed with their behavior, respect, intelligence and thoughtfulness. Their language skills were good though some were very soft spoken.

The class was only for one hour and was really more of an art appreciation class. They had been to the museum the week before and so we brought out large pictures of a few of the pieces that we had seen.  I co-instructed with a retired art teacher and docent for the museum so that was very helpful. 

In my particular part of the discussion, we discussed a painting by Philip Ludlow who was a contemporary and friend of NC Wyeth, so I was able to discuss oil painting a bit. We have another class with the same kids next week and I will be discussing some sculpture from China.

Bottom line is that I was very impressed by the kids, had a great time and feel confident about going back next week.

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Bohemian Rhapsody

So when Emily showed us that she plays this very unique instrument, I somewhat jokingly challenged her to play “Bohemian Rhapsody” never ever imagining that she would step up to the challenge. Well she did and I am just amazed. Thank you Emily!

Poet Girl Em

Dedicated to Mr. Modigliani who gave me one of the toughest songs to sing, nevermind transposing to harmonium.

Be nice to me.:) At this point, I’d sung through it several times and phew…tough on the vocal chords.

But, not bad for less than an hour’s practice.:)

Not one to shrink in the face of a challenge, though!

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Studio 10 Minute Sketches 4/26

Proportion in the human form is difficult. I am happy with the last one and, to a lesser extent, the middle one. The model was like 60 and built like a body builder. I know what is wrong with the first and it can be easily corrected

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