I live dangerously, do you? Life is short, especially now, so I live it to the max. I don’t give a damn but I’m cautious. Trustworthiness & honesty are tantamount to me. Given the fact that men are sluts, bar none, it’s their nature so I’d rather not know about their indiscretions. I’m straight. I have a dominant nature. I abhor naturally submissive wooses. I like to tame them my way. I don’t want a shmutz shuffling two steps behind me. I love a man to entertain me, I don’t want the opposite, i.e. get a Barbara Walters done on me. I’ll tell them what I want them to know, when I want them to know or they can wait for my book. I like to live in the now, not rehash the past. I love a man to pamper me & treat me like the Goddess I am. I can never have too many of these; they have to be gorgeous, hot, be alert & not be/play dumb.
I like street smart guys who have book knowledge too. Other men bore me if they lack these qualities. I love guys that are close to their family, this lacks mostly in Americans. I prefer to live in Europe or the Middle East because that’s the way I was brought up. Maybe it’s time for an older man who’s young at heart. Let’s see what happens!
I can go to the Plaza for dinner then Hogs & Heifers for drinks without second thoughts. I don’t care what others think: how I’m dressed, how I behave etc. I’m here to have a good time without hurting anyone. I’m superstitious; I used to be uptight & private about it. Living abroad, I tell the truth, and it’s more pleasant. I feel more at home. People aren’t judgemental. I might seem hardened on the outside but I have an understanding, sweet, generous inside.
I love all kinds of music from hard rock, world, opera and gospel. I’m trying not to be a perfectionist; it doesn’t pay to get frustrated over nothing.
He has to be tall; I’m petite & slender. I live by the sea & I try to walk it daily. I wish I had a couple of Afghans. I love their company.
I was in my subterranean 16th c. kitchen in Istanbul, preparing a banquet with 3 of my most trusted and gorgeous slave boys.
The wardrobe: I wore a custom black leather laced up the back corset dress, zip front, for easy access, of course, Victoria’s famous thigh hi sheer black stick up seamed nylons, Frederick’s black patent leather 6” fuck me pumps, up to the armpit black kidskin gloves from Florence, Italy, a heavy gold 24k neck-chain from Hong Kong and that’s about it. My 3 hot little bunnies were in skin-tight black custom low-wasted leather jeans, silver jewellery, tattoos and mandatory chic motorcycle or cowboy boots. So fatally kool.
I loved it down here in my dungeon.
The surroundings: my dungeon kitchen; ancient stone walls, circular design cobblestone and mosaic floors, walk-in fireplace with a huge black cast iron cauldron of yayla soup which is a traditional thick yoghurt and mint soup, simmering over a wood fire, oil-fed fire sconces on the walls, ibex candleholders, ancient silver candelabrum, wagon-wheel chandeliers lit up every possibly dark nook and cranny. No electricity down here. Huge carved marble double sink with 10 ft dish drain & counter, baskets upon baskets & platters of colourful fresh fruit and veggies everywhere, several ultra long old marble free standing tables groaning with many varieties of fresh cuts of meat, bowls of farm fresh eggs from my girlfriend’s farm on the outskirts of town, wedged chunks of white cheese that came in 10 kilo metal tins, jars of spices from all over the world and all the local delicacies and herbs of the season. The aroma of beeswax candles burned, the food wildly aromatic was prepped and cooked. Huge palace sized pots and pans simmered and sizzled with wonderful exotic aromas from herbs and heady spices that mesmerized me. Baking dishes, huge fry pans, lids and my favourite monster utensils tongs that I use to grab nipples with besides turning food, hung from wrought iron hooks that hung from the ceiling. Used for torture in the old days is my guess. Modern utility shelving against an old stone wall under the main staircase struggled to hold anything that couldn’t or wouldn’t hang. This looked like a set from an old horror movie. It had a two flight up circular stone stairway behind the oven that led to an alley across the street. I called it the fire exit, but I really know why it was put there all those years ago!
The atmosphere: Hot and steamy with food cooking on Coleman camp stoves, soup simmering over the wood burning fire, bunnies prepping madly. Rock music cranking in the background. I’m supervising but we’re all singing, laughing and joking. Food is flying when they tease each other as to who is my favourite. Carrots are being used indiscreetly. They are silly little sexy bunnies. We drank a lovely local white, but my bunnies used it as a Jack chaser. Boys will be boys.
The slave boys:
A: shoulder length bleached blond hair, muscular built, medium tall, pierced in all the right places; use your imagination girls, full arm tats, partial back, neck and legs. Big red rosy cheeks, especially when he smiled; he looked like Vince Neil; oozed sensuality, sexy as hell.
B: Past the nips straight brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, thin build, very pleasant and pleasing disposition, looked like Lars from Metallica. A little bit of stubble gave him a rugged quality. Such a fox.
C: tall, slender build, black almond shaped eyes, porcelain complexion, long jet-black wavy hair past his nips. He modelled for Bottecelli in a past life.
I’m not gonna rate them nor tell you who’s my favourite. I can’t. Impossible. I’ve stayed up nights deliberating this. They’re all fabulous and each has distinctive wonderful personalities, qualities and appetites. They all look delicious shirtless, in their tight leather jeans with their hairy chests shimmering with sweat.
I strutted over to a six foot tall old Mongolian gong. I clasped a wooden paddle with both gloved hands that is used to stir food in the cauldron and gave the gong a good shot. The ring resounded throughout the cavernous vaulted room over the music and their silly chatter. They knew what it meant. They stopped what they were doing and immediately cleared a stone-based marble table and laid a locally-made hand knotted silk carpet and over it a fluffy orange Turkish towel, of course. Another smaller towel was rolled up at put at one end. They came to me, hoisted me up on their shoulders and carried me Cleopatra-like to the table they had prepared. They laid me down gently and changed the music to an old Oriental wailing CD by Natasha Atlas. They blew out some of the candles so it was dark and eerie, I could see shadows and silhouettes only. I liked it this way. I fed them well; they were well trained as you will see.
I relaxed for a few long moments as I enjoyed the change of atmosphere. I could barely make them out moving soundlessly in the dim light. I closed my eyes and waited patiently. I wondered what they had in store for me. One time, they stripped down to veiled and sparkled g-strings, put on King Tut-style headdresses and did an authentic belly dance for my amusement. No time for silliness today. I clapped twice. They knew what that meant. They got down to business.
One picked up my leg by the ankle and removed my pump as another unzipped my leather dress to let it fall on the table freeing my voluptuous breasts and expose what they desired. The other pump followed the first and two of my bunnies, I’m not sure which ones, it doesn’t really matter, kissed and caressed my nyloned feet and legs with their smooth faces, hands, lips and tongues. Ahhhhhhh, it was so delightful to feel their hot bodies on my lower extremities. How sensual these Turkish bunnies are. God, I love Turkey!
I felt another’s presence at my shoulders, as he kneaded and caressed and thoroughly massaged all my stressed muscles expertly; just the way I loved it. Now I could really feel the stress and tension of the day leave my body. This was better than heaven. Warm masculine hands caressed my shoulders and legs; lips sucked my toes and wet tongues lapped between my toes through the nylons. Such sensations filled me with lust, with such desire to have more of them. I knew whatever I desired would be mine. Whatever. They were put on this earth to please me and they knew it and loved it.
I held up my gloved arms. Two immediately massaged them tenderly yet firmly. My arms and hands went limp under their strong kneading. As they worked their way up toward my shoulders my hands of course bumped their crotches. I pushed a little to see who was the hardest. Tough call. They were both hard as rocks; their cocks struggled inside their very tight leather jeans. The two with the longest hair licked my nipples and slowly sucked on them hard while their hair caressed my upper torso. I was ecstatic. I grabbed the one with the hardest bump in his jeans and pointed upwards. He knew what this meant. He sprung on the table between my legs as the others spread my legs gently and massaged a leg and a breast each.
This sexy bunni knew what to do. I felt his warm tongue lick my outer lips as he reached up and pinched my erect nipples ever so gently. Then his hot quivering tongue lightly danced around my inner lips, he flicked it with such expertise. He sucked my clit, lightly first, and as my back arched and my pussy came up to meet his tongue, harder. He slurped and hummed with delight. I felt him humming! What a trip! What a real slut! I loved it! He plunged his tongue into me. Immediately I felt his piercing, I knew which one it was. Boys will be boys! I smiled as I groaned a deep dark, nasty orgasm. He was that good, I came that fast. I felt renewed and refreshed in a few moments.
“All right, bunnies, let’s rock, we’re having a party tonight!”
“Yes Madame, we are, we are!” they chanted in unison.
This is the definitive way to make yayla corbasi!
1/2 cup pearl barley
2 large onions, chopped
1 pint yoghurt
3 cups chicken broth
2 Tbsp. butter
2 Cup chopped parsley
1 cup chopped mint
1 tsp. salt
Put the barley to soak the night before. Drain well and boil until tender in the chicken broth. Meanwhile cook onion in butter until soft. Combine with barley and broth. Add mint, parsley and salt and pepper
Simmer for one hour. Five minutes before serving time add well beaten yoghurt. Serve in heated bowls.
Yogurt Soup (Yayla Çorbası)
Ingredients Measure Amount
Rice 1/3 cup 60 grams
Water 4 cups 800 grams
Salt 2 teaspoons 12 grams
Flour 3 tablespoons 18 grams
Yoghurt 1 2/3 cups 360 grams
Egg 1 50 grams
Butter or margarine 4 tablespoons 40 grams
Mint 1 ½ tablespoons 2 grams
Wash the rice and place in a saucepan together with water and salt and cook for about 30 minutes, until tender. Blend the flour into yogurt in a separate dish, break in the egg, mix and warm the mixture by adding a couple of spoonfuls of the hot soup. Gradually add the yogurt mix to the saucepan, stirring continuously and keep stirring until it comes to boil and then cook for 10 minutes. Melt the butter or margarine in a pan, add the mint, stir a couple of times and remove from heat and slowly sprinkle over the soup.
Nutritional Value(in approximately one serving)
Energy 137 cal
Protein 4.0 g
Fat 7.4 g
Carbohydrates 13.5 g
Calcium 79 mg
Iron 0.26 mg
Phosphorus 83 mg
Zinc 1 mg
Sodium 824 mg
Vitamin A 214 iu
Thiamine 0.04 mg
Riboflavin 0.12 mg
Niacin 0.26 mg
Vitamin C – mg
Cholesterol 49 mg
This soup is made in all regions of Turkey. The literal translation of its name means “the soup of the high plateaus.” In the old days when refrigeration was not available, it was difficult to keep milk fresh and it was thus turned into yoghurt as soon as possible. Plateaus were cool and consequently the best yoghurt could be found in these high plateaus. Hence the name of this yoghurt based soup.