subLife

Pet

2009-11-15T16:45:00.000-08:00

It began before they left for the lake house, with her ass arched up and her cheek pressed to a pillow. She obediently spread herself open; her fingernails, painted hooker red, dug into to her slick, snowy skin. Behind her she heard the snap of latex gloves and then moments later fingers pinching and prodding at her achingly exposed pussy and ass. She moaned, not knowing whether it came from humiliation or the attention to her throbbing lips. But at the same time, the gloves made his touch feel coldly medical. She ached from the lack of heat from his body, and the texture of his fingertips.

She squealed as he squeezed lube onto a gloved finger and pressed it into her asshole. Then he removed his finger and spit on her still open ass. She caught her breath and sqeezed her eyes shut against the embarrassment. He gave her cheeks a few swats, warming them with his hand, and then swiftly replaced his finger with a plug about twice that size. She took measured breaths, letting her body adjust to the invasion. He continued examining her, pinching her clit and nipples, pressing his fingers into her mouth and making her gag on them. All of this making her squirm and writhe with a desire to be used, and making her painfully aware of all the parts of her he used for his sexual gratification.

He grabbed her hair and pulled back, stretching out her neck. Three heavy swats to her ass landed before she could even react to them. She clenched around the plug in her ass, and moaned despite her growing humiliation. "You're going to learn to love this paddle over the next few days, girl."

"Yes, Sir," she breathed.

She had worn no panties, by his order, and the pleated skirt which was now thrown half over her face as he warmed her ass with heavy, rhythmic swats. The emotional cocktail she always felt when serving Him- that desire laced with fear, infused her. Her squirming stilled, and she unashamedly began to lift her ass even further to meet the paddle. Being the sadist he was, he chose that moment to stop. She was allowed to lie there only for a few minutes while he fastened cuffs to her ankles and wrists. He was noticeably more gentle when he put the collar around her neck. When he asked her if it felt ok, she bit her lip and nodded. He forgave her speechlessness, though normally it would have earned her a slap.

Still foggy with the chemicals of lust and pain, she climbed into the passengers seat of his blacked out truck. "Hands behind your neck," he said. And when she obeyed but did not acknowledge his order with, "Yes, Sir" he redden her thighs with swift swats. He fastened the links on her cuffs to a bungy cord attached behind the seat so that her hands were bound behind her neck. She sat with her legs spread, a gesture acknowledging his unhampered access to what was his. "Good girl," he said. She blushed. He reached into a bag and pulled out out a leather bit with a bridle. She looked at him helplessly and kissed his hand as it passed her lips, the only way she could beg for his mercy. "Open," he said, and again fastened it with some attention to her comfort. It was only after he started the truck that she understood why she was gagged and bound. He pulled a tiny remote from his shirt pocket and turned the dial a quarter turn. The plug inside her ass began to vibrate softly, and she moaned and squirmed, moving her hips as if to fuck herself. Her shame already shedding from her.

"You are a greedy whore, aren't you?" he said, pulling her breasts out of her shirt. She moaned her response. He spit on each of her nipples, pinched them until they stood out, and then attached clothespins to her nipples. Only then was he satisfied with his plaything, and put the truck in gear. She moaned, feeling every bump of the road in her nipples and in her ass. Her pussy soaking her thighs. But even through all that perhaps the helplessly humiliating part was how the bit forced her salivating mouth open, so that drool ran down her chin and on to her aching breast.

She stayed in that position all the way to the lake house, while he tortured her nipples and increased the vibration in her ass when she was a very good girl and took her pain gracefully. By the time they drove up the the lake house, she had earned the strongest vibration and the right to wiggle and bounce on it while he petted her sore nipples. He was proud of her.

He walked around to her side, unhooked her wrists from the cable and pulled her out of the truck and to her to her knees. Instinctively she kept her hands behind her neck even though they were not bound that way anymore. Her jaw ached from the bit, and her nipples from their torture, and yet she trembled with anticipation. He pushed her down so that her cheek was pressed into the dirt drive. He held her there with one hand while he attached a leash to her collar and pulled it up so that it choked her. "You're going to crawl for me," he said tugging it tighter, "like my bitch."

The word hit her like a slap to her face. She moaned. If he had said "my slut", she would have blushed and bit back a smile - knowing how hard she had trained to be that for him. "But bitch," she half thought with a gasp, "It's like I'm his dog." When he let go, she choked back a sob and shivered. He guided her as she crawled, petting her head, into the house where he took the bit out of her mouth. He left her on the floor and sat on one end of a couch. She was angry at him though she knew better than to show it. And at the same time he had made her so hungry and trained her so that she could not bear displeasing him. She keeled, nose to the floor, ass up, and arms stretched in front of her, a perfectly posed slave.

But he noticed she was tense, and it was a long time before she let out a breath. He smiled at her struggle to obey. "Come, bitch."

She winced and a small noise escaped her as she lifted up to hands and knees and crawled toward her Master. She was allowed to lay her head on his thigh, and he stroked and scratched her, murmuring, "Good, girl." She felt herself surrendering to him. She remembered how she used to be offended by the name slut, before she was trained, and how she took such pride in it now.

He turned the vibration up on her plug, and she moaned gratefully and kissed his leg. She had not even realized through the ordeal he had turned it off. "Down, girl," he said without anger. She slid down his leg to the floor where she keeled at his feet. He ordered her to take off her clothes, and she slid out of them obediently and returned to position. "Arch your back," he said, pressing a paddle into her back, "lift that ass up like a little bitch in heat." She let out a cry and buried her face in her arm, but she obeyed immediately. He pushed the vibe in and out of her twice before putting more lube on it and shoving it in again. She became nearly frantic with desire, squirming and pushing up her ass.

"Greedy bitch," he said, and she blushed a deep red. He paddled her evenly across her cheeks, making her fair skinned ass the same color. Sometimes he allowed her to suck his cock as he paddled her, forcing her down on his cock til she gagged and then lifting her up and slapping her hard across the face, to which she moaned, "Thank you, Sir."

He mocked her unmercifully. "Quit whimpering. I'll bet you're soaking wet," he said, "Spread yourself open." She reached behind herself and spread open her pussy lips. She felt wetness ooze down her thigh and blushed in humiliation. "Oh you fucking bitch," he said as he cupped up some of her wetness and flicked into her face.

He left her there on the floor spread open and went to a bag they had brought in with them. Out of it pulled a long pole with a dildo attached to the end. From where she was on the floor she couldn't see what he had retrieved, she only felt a wide rubber object being jammed into her dripping pussy. He moved it up so that she scrambled to get up onto her tiptoes and fingertips. He gave her upturned ass and thighs several more blows before letting her back down onto hands and knees. He turned her collar around and took hold of the leash, then rammed the dildo into her forcing her forward. "Crawl, bitch," he said sternly. She crawled in front of him, the dildo every once in a while hitting deep enough to hurt and hurrying her along.

He led her toward the back door and when they reached it she hesitated a little. She was rewarded by a hard swung paddle to her ass. "Open the door," he said calmly. She was terrified, though she knew they were secluded from anyone else for miles. She crawled onto the back porch with her head hung, until he yanked on the leash forcing her almost to her fingertips again and at the same time ramming the dildo deep within her. "Stay," he said. She almost whimpered with humiliation. She could hear him get things from the inside and return. "When I say 'heel' you're going to come over here and sit on your heels with your hands behind your head." He sat down in the porch chair. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied, and trembled nervously.

"Heel."

She scrambled toward him almost tripping on her leash. She blushed that she wasn't more graceful about it. She felt like a puppy too eager for its Master. She got into position, sitting on her heels with her knees and lips apart, open to him, and her eyes lowered. He twisted her nipples and watched her face contort to the pain. He slapped her breasts several times, making her nipples hard. Then he attached the clothespins back onto her aching nipples. She moaned and bent to kiss his hands fervently. "Is that to show gratitude or ask for mercy, my bitch?"

She winced in pain, but begging for mercy would be a disappointment to him. "Yes, thank you, Sir."

"Good, girl." He pulled her hair to raise her face toward him, then took an ice cube, which he had brought in a bowl with him and ran it across her forehead. She sighed gratefully. "We're going to play fetch now, my little bitch. I'm going to toss these ice cubes and then i'm going to start counting," he explained all this to her while twisting the clothespins attached to her nipples. "And whatever number I get to by the time you get back is how many swats of my paddle you get. Do you understand?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes, Sir." Being outside she felt even more exposed. Now that she was being made to fetch she felt herself fighting to yield to such humiliation. When he tossed the first cube, he was on 2 before she moved. She crawled quickly and taking it in her mouth retrieved it and placed it in her Master's hand before he said 8. He immediately pushed her down and put his foot on her cheek, pressing it into the wooden slates of the porch. Then he shoved the ice cube deep into her pussy, making her gasp and wiggle under his foot. "Don't ever hesitate to obey, bitch," he said dealing 7 hard blows to her upturned ass. "Now, heel."

She kissed his boots and she returned to position and lowered her eyes. Her attempt at asking forgiveness. And like a sadist, he let her believe he didn't notice it and merely through another ice cube and began counting again. The ice cubes mixed with her juices as they melted inside her, and after a few she was dripping wetness down her thighs. She tried hard not to squirm away from the swats she earned. By the end of his game her ass was stinging with welts and burned to the touch. Her pussy was embarrassingly wet.

"Good girl," he said as he led her back inside and sat down on the couch, letting her kneel across his feet. She was much more at ease in her position now. The game had made her feel less than human, but as he was comforting her, she felt freed by that and took no shame now in kneeling with her red ass upturned and her dripping pussy exposed. "You want to feel that big cock inside you again don't you, my little bitch?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, almost wiggling her ass.

He put his foot over her check again, pressing her down, then rammed the dildo hard into her pussy, fucking her hard and fast so that her aching pussy was near orgasm within seconds. "May I cum, please, Sir?"

"No. Bet that tight asshole of yours is feeling neglected now, isn't bitch?

"Yes, Sir," she said nearly in tears. She knew the dildo was large and would stretch her.

All at once he stopped and commanded her to go get the book she had brought with them and when she got back to lie across his lap. She obeyed quickly, and with much anticipation. He told her to read the chapter about the slaves and she quickly flipped to the page. "Read," he said, as he landed the first blow across her cheeks. She moaned and arched her back. She read from the book while he laid rhythmic swats across her ass. The scenes of the slaves being tormented day and night, used and violated by so many people in great halls of onlookers made her ache to be his whore and his property. Soon the girl in the book was being fucked, meanwhile the large dildo was pressing against her hole, and finally it entered her and she lost herself in submission and gratitude. He fucked her until she begged to cum, and then stopped and paddled her into submission again. He repeated this over and over again until a single thrust or a swat threatened to send her into wild orgasms. Yet he never let her be satisfied.

And when he tired of that game, he chained her wrist to ankle so that she couldn't get up from the hands and knees position and led her around the room with the dildo in her ass, making her set the table for dinner. She served all his food on her knees, crawling when she didn't have anything in her hands, and encouraged by swift swats to her ass. He gave her a little wine in a dish, which she lapped up gratefully as he held her leash and ate. She realized with some surprised how quickly she had lost all shame in being his pet.

subCulture Launch

2009-07-03T09:52:00.000-07:00

It seems pretty obvious to me that people participate in BDSM at different levels. There are people who get their fix for power exchange and sadomasochism behind the safety and privacy of a computer screen. There are people who are the "weekend warriors" of BDSM - who might come to an event here and there, and generally keep their kink confined to the bedroom. There are some people who involve themselves in BDSM community because they feel a sense of belonging and connectedness to others who understand just how delicious pain can be, or how right it feels to have a submissive kneeling with her head in your lap. And there are some people who pursue power exchange and sadomasochist practices ambitiously, with the hope of reaching a point of artful distinction. It is the latter that most fasinates me.

I've been working on a few pieces on practicing BDSM as a cultural pursuit. As something that can be learned, practiced, and excelled at the same way any other art form can be practiced and mastered. They will be part of a new blog I'm launching called subCulture. My goal is to highlight BDSM as a artful practice that requires skill, training, and perhaps even natural talent. I also want to write about BDSM as something that creates a lens through which we see the world around us, as power exchange and sadomasochism take on philosophical and spirtual hues.

I'm really looking forward to feedback. The BDSM community is not just the intended audience of this blog, but also the reason for it.

with love,

e.

2008-09-25T06:12:00.000-07:00

The marks I carry were a gift; a lilac bouquet of bruises laid across my skin. Their reflection in the mirror brings a Mona Lisa smile to my face – a secret I wear under my clothes that is mine and his alone. And the bruises themselves mirror a feminine tenderness, and the strength of endurance whenever my skin is touched by hand, or seat, or clothes. They serve as a badge of my submission. The lengths to which I will go to suffer passion.

It’s been a few days since I received them though, and those purple petals are turning brown and wilting into a sickly green. But even the short life of my bruises outlived his affections. Without the Man behind them, they are an ugly and mocking reminder of my failure.

I dared to hope that he might be the one to rein the maverick. To keep me from bolting in skittish sprints from the unfamiliar and intimidating, keep me from bucking the lead and snorting at authority. I wanted to be broken. I wanted to be led to my place of cultivated ~~sirenity~~ serenity and feel the cathartic release of tears. I wanted to overflow and spill myself out onto him.

I got what I wished for. The tears came after all. Too bad he wasn’t here to see them.

Dom Chat

2008-09-15T19:29:00.001-07:00

It still amazes me after all this time how much of a sense of a person you can get even over IM. The diction and tone a Dom uses when he speaks to me over IM tells a lot about what kind of Dom they are. It's nothing that I can really put my finger on. But I can almost immediately tell by the way that I answer them whether or not I could submit to them. There are some Doms that I like enough to chat with them, and I soon discover that they don't make me "feel" submissive. I feel too much like a peer, like a friend, or, to be honest, like I could too easily manipulate them.

There are others though that have that Alpha male quality that permeates the space in which they occupy, and it is apparent even in the words they speak. I feel smaller next to them, even in chat. I immediately give the respect of titles - saying Yes Sir, asking permission to leave the chat for whatever reason, and taking on a submissive tone in my words.

I wish I knew exactly what it was that makes the difference between the two. It happens so rarely, it seems.

I wonder also if there are submissives that have the same effect on dominants. Do I behave in a manner that makes them feel more or less dominant? What are those behaviors? Do they pick up on the difference the way that I do?

I wonder if the Doms that have that effect on me have that effect on everyone, or if it is just some connection or spark that is specific to us?

I wonder what it is that makes me so eager to say Yes Sir to some, and so reluctant to say it to others?

Wandering

2008-08-31T18:15:00.000-07:00

Two days without feeling control is far too long. I'm starting to wander. I'm starting to doubt.

At the same time, its moments like this that affirm my belief that this is not a phase, or a game, or something I play at. This is my life. I'm not even sure anymore that I chose it in the sense that I had another option to chose. It almost seems to have chosen me, from the very beginning. Every event bringing me closer to the point where I was ready to hear the Truth and accept it as the path for my life.

I am also amazed at how many ways this lifestyle parallels spirituality. That subject happens to be a theme in the novel I'm writing. I hope it is as eye opening as it is subversive.

Even my blogs are wandering....

Study

2008-08-27T18:11:00.000-07:00

A student comes to a young professor's office hours. She glances down the hall, closes his door, kneels pleadingly. "I would do anything to pass this exam." She leans closer to him, flips back her hair, gazes meaningfully into his eyes. "I mean..." she whispers, "...I would do...anything."
He returns her gaze. "Anything?"
"Anything."
His voice softens. "Anything??"
"Anything."
His voice turns to a whisper. "Would you...study?"

I have believed for a long time that the best way a submissive can serve is to become a student of her dominant. Not just in the techniques and protocol that he will demand of her, though certainly that, but also the unspoken desires and subtle nuances that arise from day to day interaction. It is such a heavy load for a dominant to take charge of another person. It requires such a devotion of time, energy, and thought that I always felt the need to lighten his load in whatever way I can. I’ve learned that the best way to do that is to learn to anticipate the small needs and wants he has and to take initiative to fill them before he has to ask for them to be filled. If I am successful, if I have been a diligent student of his every whim, then just maybe I will get to see that spark that occurs when he is both surprised by and grateful for something I have done.

Laura Antoniou says that a “slave's life is mostly composed of patience and study. Yes, study. If not with actual books, then following the example of greater, senior slaves. Or learning every nuance of their owner's character, so that they can more completely and seamlessly offer themselves at the right time and in the right manner.” We do things for our dominants we never dreamed of doing before in order to be pleasing and obedient. Often we do scary, painful, dirty things for our dominants – but how often do we serve in small details? How diligently are we willing to study and learn them so that the contours of our service fit like a missing piece into their lives?

Music

2008-08-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

Trying to explain this lifestyle to someone who has not experienced it is like trying to explain music to someone who has never heard a song.

I can talk about the different kinds of music - submission, dominance, masochism, sadism, fetishism - the different instruments that are used to make the music - floggers, paddles, feathers, talons, canes, hands, words (perhaps the most powerful tool of all; of course, I'm an English major and aspiring writer, so I might be biased, but I digress...). I can talk about the feeling you get when you play the music - the intensity, the mood, the emotions, the release, the joy, the pain. I can talk about the history of music - from Egyptians, to early monks, to Spartans, to the leather movement, to the French. I can talk about the major musicians - the Marquis de Sade and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the leaders in the Leather community who travel the country teaching the tricks and tools of the trade.

All of this amounts to nothing if you have never experienced music first hand. If you have never been held captive in the eclectic symphony of pain and pleasure - if you've never felt the beating of the music coursing through you, destroying your ego with every note that strikes your skin, if you've never known a crescendo that climbs the hours of the clock, that stretches your soul and arrests your mind - then you couldn't possibly understand.

Words are inadequate.

The Carnival

2008-07-27T23:07:00.000-07:00

I had a dream that I was walking through some surreal and eerie carnival. Garish lights flash around me, leaving halos of light in my eyes that obscure my vision. The air is filled with a brash and clamoring jumble of people yelling, machines humming, buzzers and dingers announcing the moment’s winners and losers, and carnies calling out and enticing those who have not yet become either. I cannot discern between any of it. It solidifies in my ears into one overwhelming mass of noise. People rush by in excited haste. There are thousands of faceless people gathered in this place. I make myself as small as possible, trying to slink between stalks in a human wheat field. I don’t know where I am going. Left to my own devices, I wander aimlessly. I’m overwhelmed and overpowered, and I am desperately seeking his face in the crowd.

The world is big and scary and all I want to do his hold on to his arm and follow a half a step behind him as he guides me through it.

It becomes a Fight Club, this Lifestyle.

2008-07-19T15:41:00.000-07:00

It becomes a Fight Club, this Lifestyle. The Lifestyle becomes the reason you grow your hair and manicure your nails. The reason you learn to deep throat or bake oatmeal raisin cookies. Learn to endure. Learn to serve. Learn to obey. This is your Lifestyle and it’s consuming you one minute at a time. Like a place of worship, it becomes the place you go to escape the outside. It becomes the place you kneel. The place you serve. The place you sacrifice. Because without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.

Who you are in the Lifestyle is not who you are in the rest of the world. It becomes the place you know yourself like only a person who suffers passion can.

Snug.

2008-07-09T17:55:00.000-07:00

The word keeps flickering in my head like a phonograph caught in a groove.

I heard them calling my name but I didn’t care. I was snug. Six years old and hidden under t-shirts and summer dresses hanging in my closet. Completely cocooned in my huge (huge to a six year old) pillow and blanket. I fell asleep before they found me.

“What are you doing in the closet?” they asked the sleepy eyed imp. I didn’t know. I hadn’t found the word “snug” yet. Still the desire was there.

I was always finding snug places. The laundry cabinet in the hall bathroom. The branch of the magnolia tree that curved like a seat, surrounded by giant green leaves and giant-er white flowers. The bath, my fair and freckled skin blanketed by warm, soapy water. Makeshift fortresses of couch cushions and overturned armchairs with chenille roofs.

Later, the muscular arms of men as they held me tight against broad, furry chests. A flesh and bone citadel against the onslaught of open space.

Still the desire is there. Full fledged and transfigured into a fixation for control. A strap of soft leather tightly hugging my neck like a frightened child. Cuffed and chained at the wrists, bound against my own vehement volitions. His resonant voice seducing my surrender, tucking me into place with a lashing of words from his tongue.

And me, sinking into snug subjugation.

What You Wish For

2008-06-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

Kiera was finishing the dishes when she heard his car door slam in the driveway. She surveyed the living room from across the kitchen counter. It wasn’t dirty, just – lived in. The couch pillows were scattered from the night before. His tea glass still sat on the coffee table, dripping condensation dangerously close to a stack of his work files. “Too late,” she thought she thought as she wiped her moist brow with the back of her hand. A swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttered by her heart, and came to rest in her throat. It was the keys jingling outside the door that snapped her out of her paralyzed state of anticipation. She would have made it to her spot on the floor where she kneeled to greet him everyday had she not slipped on a wet spot and landed face first on the terracotta floor.

That was where Paul found her when he opened the door. At this point, he was surprised by nothing. All day things had been coming unglued at work. Shipments were late, the phone rang incessantly, and the committee heads were making requests that were only possible with a DeLorean and some plutonium.

“Did you fall?” he asked, setting down his keys and briefcase.

She lifted herself slowly and crawled to his feet, hobbling awkwardly on her now bruised knees. “Yes, Sir.”

He smoothed her disarrayed hair, still in a loose bun secured with a pencil. “Are you ok, kitten?”

She nodded and rubbed her sore wrist. “I didn’t get to finish the…”

“The room. I can see that. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Just a few bruises,” she smiled

“Ok, kitten” he said as he kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be in my office.”

She turned around just in time to see the door to his office close. She looked around the room again at the scattered domestic paraphernalia she had neglected to put back in their place. The last time the house had looked like this was one month after she had moved in. She hadn’t realized at the time that she was testing the resolve of her new Master, and hoping he would keep his puckish red-head in line. Her punishment for playing with her vibrator in bed all day instead of completing the tasks he had given her was a black and blue ass and orgasm denial for a week. “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it,” Paul had whispered while he held her, aching and sobbing. After the paddling, her prayers had been for leniency. Ok and a kiss on the forehead sounded deliciously easy. Now, she sat on her legs on the floor with the furrowed eyebrows and wrinkled nose of someone thoroughly confused.

Mostly because she couldn’t think of what else to do, she decided to finish cleaning the room. “It’s probably just because he knew I just fell,” she told herself as she straightened pillows and wiped off the coffee table. Still, not getting what she expected made her anxious. Even if the something she was not getting was going to hurt like hell. She grabbed up the work files, the last thing to put away, and made her way down the hall to his office door. She stood at the door biting her nails and listening to him on the phone. He sounded frustrated and tired. She knocked softly and opened the door at the same time. She placed the files neatly on the corner of his desk and stood there waiting for him to acknowledge her. He did so with a nod and a backhanded wave meant to shoo her out the door. Kiera’s emerald green eyes slanted and she stood a little straighter. She gently replaced her unruly lock behind her ear, holding her Master’s eyes while she stood – waiting as patiently as someone with a naturally impatient temperament could wait.

Paul sighed and spoke into the phone. “Ryan, mind if I call you back, man? I have another issue doing cartwheels on my desk here…..Alright, thanks.” Paul ran his tie through his hand to smooth it. “What is it, kitten?”

Kiera opened her mouth expecting a phrase to flip off her tongue, just like every other time Kiera was trying unsuccessfully to be patient. This time, however, it did not. Her freckled cheeks glowed pink.

“Are you angry because I’m not spanking you for the room?”

Kiera suddenly realized how ridiculous that sounded. “Um…No Sir.”

Paul sat back in his Allure mesh ergonomic office chair. “How was my day?”

Kiera blushed. “How was your day, Sir?”

“Shitty, actually. And what did you do today?”

“I …cleaned.”

“Yes. And?”

“Played, Sir.”

“You played. How many times did you make yourself cum, kitten?”

“Once.”

Paul leaned forward on his desk and waited.

“Twice, Sir.”

“And now you want a spanking.”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

“Yes. You do.”

Kiera bit back a smile. “I thought you didn’t want to because I fell.”

Paul did not smile back. “Do you remember what I told you, kitten?”

“What, Sir?”

“What do I tell you? Think.”

“Oh. Be careful what you wish for.”

“You just might get it. That’s right. It’s been a rough couple of days. I would love to take some of my built up frustrations out on your ass. I promise you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow. Now, do you really want a spanking, kitten?”

Kiera’s heart pumped ferociously. The thought of being spanked by her Master was enough to moisten her panties but also scared her enough to make her second guess herself. She thought carefully over her options. Kiera was not a painslut. She bruised easily. She could say “no, Sir” and plead her case. Perhaps then she would only have to kneel in the corner or something. “Yes, Sir” she was sure, would bring her pain and tears. Kiera froze between wanting to feel the euphoric release of erotic pain and the fear of pain itself. The thought of feeling her ass tingling and red made her squirm where she stood.

“I asked you a question, kitten.”

“No, Sir. I promise I won’t do it again. I…”

“Fetch your paddle,” Paul interrupted. He smiled wickedly at his trapped pet.

Kiera opened her mouth to protest.

“Unless you are about to say ‘yes, sir’ I would suggest holding your tongue if you don’t want to make matters worse.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kiera breathed the words as she turned to get the paddle.

Kiera retrieved the paddle from the bag of toys in the closet. She placed the wooden paddle between her teeth and crawled on all fours down the hallway. Kiera was trembling so hard at this point that her arms could barely hold her weight.

“In here, slut,” Paul called from the living room.

Kiera crawled to her Master’s feet and kneeled with the paddle still in her mouth. Above her she saw rope slung around the railing of the upstairs loft so that it hung down in the middle of the room. The ends of the rope were tied to the rings of her leather cuffs.

“Good girl,” Paul said taking the paddle from her mouth and setting it on a nearby table and picked up his kitten’s collar. Kiera assumed her position to be collared – kneeling, palms up on her thighs and mouth open. She felt the soft skin of her Master’s cock tracing her lips before slipping inside her mouth. She sucked gratefully as he buckled the collar around her neck. Paul let his little slut worship his cock with her mouth a few more minutes before motioning for her to stop and stand up.

“Arms up,” he instructed.

Kiera raised her hands above her head. As Paul strapped the cuffs around her wrists, she realized that she would have to stand on her tip toes in order for her arms not to be too uncomfortably pulled.

Paul stood back to admire her squirming on the ropes before slipping a finger between her legs. Kiera let out a low moan and blushed at the wetness already giving the insides of her thighs a slick sheen.

“You think a greedy whore like you deserves to cum again?”

“No, Sir” Kiera moaned.

“But you want to don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re going to be begging for it for a week, kitten.”

Paul gave each cheek a sharp slap with his hand, watching her skin redden in the shape of his hand print. Kiera gasped with each slap, and melted into tingling warmth they left behind.

Paul slid the wooden paddle over Kiera’s reddened ass, watching her squirm in anticipation. The first slap landed with a sharp thud that forced a whimper from Kiera’s throat. Each successive blow landed a little harder than the one before. After only a few hits, Kiera felt her ass becoming sore with bruises, and soon she struggling on weak legs to withstand the beating.

“Please, sir! Please. Stop,” Kiera pleaded in between hits.

“Stop? I thought you wanted this, kitten. Shouldn’t you be begging me for more?”

Kiera moaned and wiggled in the cuffs before receiving yet another blow.

“I don’t hear you, slut.”

Kiera whimpered, unable to pull the words her Master wanted to hear from her throat.

Paul sighed heavily. “Fine.” He produced nipple and clit clamps connected by a chain in the shape of Y. He pinched Kiera’s nipples hard and twisted them making her wince and moan. Her nipples stood erect in response. Paul carefully placed a clamp around each bud of her nipple and tightened them until Kiera’s face scrunched in pain. Then he slid down Kiera’s stretched torso so that his face was level with her dripping pussy. Placing his hands on her bruised ass he pulled her to his mouth, digging his tongue into her slit and seeking out her clit. He lashed her clit with his tongue until Kiera was moaning and struggling to maintain composure on trembling legs. Kiera’s moans deepened and she pressed her hips forward to meet his mouth.

“Sir… I need to cum. Please, Sir.”

Paul stopped and stood close to his whimpering little submissive, looking down into her pleading eyes. “No, slut. You may not cum.” Kiera fussed helplessly. Paul pinched her clit and rolled it between his fingers. Kiera gasped as she felt the cold metal of the clamp touch her clit and then press tightly around it. Paul then took the center ring of the Y shaped chain and connected it with another chain to her wrist cuffs so that it pulled her breasts up by the nipples and tugged on her clit.

Kiera’s helpless cries intensified. “Oh my God, Sir. Please fuck me.”

Paul shook his head. “No, kitten. That’s not what you are supposed to beg for.”

Kiera bit her lip and blushed. Paul flicked her sensitive nipple causing her to cry out with the pain. Still, she could not force the words out of her mouth. He flicked the other nipple twice in quick secession.

“Ok. Ok…” Kiera cried as she pulled at the ropes, “Sir… Will you please…”

“Yes?” he asked placing a finger on Kiera’s engorged clit.

“Oh my God, Sir please paddle my ass!”

“You can do better than that,” he said tapping her painfully sensitive clit.

“Sir please paddle my ass for being a greedy little slut. Please, Sir!”

Paul hummed his mock uncertainty and tugged at the chain.

“Please, Sir. Please paddle your greedy slut.”

“What do I tell you, slut?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Sir.” Kiera’s responses spilled effortlessly from her mouth now as her Master continued stripping her of inhibitions.

“And what do you wish for?”

“A… flogging…Sir.”

Paul stopped, surprised. “A flogging? Now you want a flogging. You don’t like the paddle, kitten?”

“No, Sir.”

Paul held the chain taunt as he spoke to her, pulling her up onto the tips of her toes. “Why is that, kitten? Too hard?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Paul went to the table and grabbed a silk sleep mask he used as a blindfold. Standing over her trembling, aching body, he looked into Kiera’s desperate eyes. He smoothed her unruly red lock from her cheek and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow before tenderly placing the blindfold over her eyes. “I wonder which one I’ll give you.”

With the luxury of sight taken from her, Kiera’s remaining senses heightened. Her nipples and clit ached under the pressure of the clamps and she blushed, suddenly realizing how embarrassingly wet she was. Straining to hear what her Master was doing was impossible; he had turned on music to drown out any small noises. All she could hear while Paul picked up the paddle and flogger was the flittering guitar and hum of ambient tones.[1]

“Does that help you relax, kitten?” Paul chuckled.

It didn’t. Kiera breathed this song in her sleep. She hung there in tense anticipation for a full minute until the melodic introduction broke into a mesh of sound behind a floating vocal… I must resist the thought you kissed / The truth you've somehow turned around. / I must resist your soft warm fist / The pounding of a lonely sound.

Kiera whimpered. She heard the resonating smack of the paddle before her body registered the solid blow across her cheeks. …I wear my heart / Like a red stain…. I fear that I am not….

“Please God Sir, please take off the clamps, please Sir,” Kiera yelped in protest.

“One more, kitten.”

She braced herself through the last blow, which after several long seconds landed squarely across the hump of her ass. Kiera screamed and squirmed as she sank into the pile of sensations - her burning bottom, her aching nipples and clit, the dry lips she licked, her pussy throbbing as edged toward orgasm, the words vibrating through her ears …I fear this constant condition / My strange strangelove addiction… Paul shoved two fingers into her dripping pussy and pressed against her g-spot, nearly lifting her off the ground. Kiera buckled and screamed, cumming as he fingered her. Paul quickly took the clamps off her clit and nipples making blood rush back, and Kiera howl. As she relaxed he lifted her under his shoulder a few inches to give her arms a rest from the stretching. He did not remove the blindfold, however. She would listen better that way.

“Kitten…”

“Thank you, Sir” Kiera heartfully recited. “For…ahm…”

Her Master relieved her from speaking. “You’re welcome, kitten.”

Kiera listened as she floated through the aftershocks of her orgasm. …the lullaby
The skin the touch that makes me high…

“kitten.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did you ask permission to cum?”

Kiera’s moan ended almost like a sob.…The truth has left me dumb tongue-tied. /

“kitten,” his voice deepening, he hooked his finger through the ring of her collar.

“No, Sir, I didn’t” Kiera mouthed.

“Mhm. And you wanted a flogging.”

“Sir, please…,” You don't feel my pain / And me I wear my heart Like a red stain… I fear that I am not…

“What do I tell you, kitten?”

“Be careful what you wish for, Sir.”

Kiera sobbed as she felt her Master easing her back onto her feet. For the next few seconds she only heard the repeating finale, and silence before a bottomless vocal[2]... The ponies run, the girls are young, / The odds are there to beat. / You win a while, and then it’s done – / Your little winning streak. / And summoned now to deal / With your invincible defeat, / You live your life as if it’s real,….

She felt cold leather touching her shins, and heaved relief. As Paul helped her onto the ottoman, she was able to kneel with her arms resting on her head. …I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed, / I’m back on Boogie Street. / You lose your grip, and then you slip / Into the Masterpiece.

“Beautiful, kitten. And why is that?”

“I just…” Kiera moaned the broken words as tucked themselves firmly into her memory; the strands of the flogger wrapping against the tender flesh of her breasts, leaving them stripped with red. … A Thousand Kisses Deep…

Kiera floated inside her head, reaching her limits inside a sea of emotion stirred by the leather stands slapping against her legs, torso and breasts.

“Kitten. Answer me.” His words leashed her and pulled her straight.

Gathering a breath and strength for the words, she tucked the wild red lock escaping from the blindfold back behind her ear. She held onto the rope behind her head and parted her trembling legs. “I just might get it…. Sir.”

…And sometimes when the night is slow, / The wretched and the meek, / We gather up our hearts and go, / A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Confined to sex, we pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck.
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,
I’m back on Boogie Street.
I guess they won’t exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep.
And quiet is the thought of you,
The file on you complete,
Except what we forgot to do,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat . . .

[1] Supreme Beings of Leisure – “Strangelove Addiction”

[2] Leonard Cohen – “A Thousand Kisses Deep”

The End of the Rope

2008-06-08T19:37:00.000-07:00

I am not very good at making decisions. I think it’s fairly safe to say that is a common trait for submissives. It’s not that I feel like I make stupid decisions. Quite the opposite, I am frozen by the options. Every decision we make is a pebble thrown into a pool. Consequences ripple over time to create the texture of our lives. Too few consequences and our lives become stagnant. Too many, and it’s a tsunami. I’m overwhelmed by the task of choosing my own fate. But the most important decision I have to make is one that no one else can make for me.

At the club, even among people who understand, accept and practice the lifestyle I choose, I was painfully shy. This was my third bdsm event, and my first in this area in years. There were only two people I knew, a handful I knew by reputation, and the rest were complete strangers to me. I followed closely behind my escorting Dom, allowing him to mingle and introduce me to the community. Eventually, he led me by bound wrists with a length of white rope woven into a swirling braid.

I managed to be self-conscious as we made our way around a room full of people in various stages of dress being whipped, flogged, slapped, tickled, licked and kissed. I fed on his confidence so that I could manage a few words to people I wanted to know. The more I felt under his control, the more I began to relax. This lifestyle, my submission - those choices I knew to be true and right for me. There was only one nagging question in my mind, the most important decision I have to make…

Whose hand should hold the end of the rope.

Sunday Morning Service

2008-05-28T12:05:00.001-07:00

She was always a little sad in the morning when her collar had to come off. She blended like mismatched thread in the mainstream tapestry – functioning, but slightly out of place. This morning, however, was a Sunday and she had a few extra hours with the soft leather buckled and locked around her neck. She was happy. He was still sleeping. She slipped out of bed lightly and walked, still nude, to the kitchen to start coffee.

Over the last few months she had watched him carefully. She paid attention to every detail, from morning routines, to which pillow he preferred, to how he made his coffee. Anticipating his needs became second nature to her. In the past, the detailed thought that went into her service blended seamlessly into daily routine and was easily taken for granted. The first time she had ever made him coffee, his surprised response had been, “How did you know how I liked it without me telling you?”

“Magic,” she winked at him. She smiled at the memory now as she poured the exact ratio of coffee to milk into his favorite cup and stirred in the sugar. He would be pleased.

She carried the cup carefully to the bedroom and sat it down on his nightstand. While she was gone he had sprawled across the bed on his back. She slowly peeled the covers down to his knees, revealing his tanned, naked body underneath. She climbed carefully between his legs and braced her hands on either side of his hips, letting her nipples brush against his thighs, his cock, his belly, as she rocked gently over him. She watched him stir and then slip back into a dream. The ring of her collar clinked as she leaned down and placed soft kisses and slow licks on his thighs, hips and stomach – working her mouth closer and closer to his cock.

He tasted salty-sweet and always had a fresh, soap smell. She inhaled deeply, drinking him in through all her senses as she finally allowed herself to lick up the length of his cock and flick her tongue across the sensitive vein on the underside. She swirled her tongue around his head, watching his face react to her in that space between sleep and awake. She placed her lips around the head of his cock and sucked as if drawing a drink through a straw – milking his cock with her mouth. Her tongue flicked just the right place and he moaned, his cock growing inside her mouth. She licked her lips to wet them and mouthed him again, sliding down over the length and sucking as she came back up.

On the second stroke he opened his eyes to see her ass wiggling in the air between his legs. He followed the curve of her body with his eyes to her head slowly going down on his cock as she sucked. He grabbed a handful of her hair and squeezed his fist around it making her squeal. She sucked a little faster, feeling herself getting moist between her legs. She enjoyed the full length of his cock in her mouth until her jaw started to ache from accommodating his size. Occasionally, she would give her jaw a rest as she licked and sucked his balls. As she took each into her mouth he let out a moan that sounded more like a growl – deep and low. She loved the reassuring and appreciative sounds he made. Each one made her wetter.

With his hand wrapped around her hair, she sucked his cock feverishly. His fist pressed her head down far enough for his cock to hit her throat. She felt him get rock hard and buck his hips up against her mouth. He was close. She wanted him to be the first thing she tasted in the morning. She re-doubled her efforts on his cock.

“Mm. Good girl, kitten,” he moaned. She let his praise melt through her skin. She moaned over him, her voice sending vibrations through his cock. She pressed her tongue pressed firmly on the underside of his cock as she sucked. The small extra motion with her tongue paid off as she felt him start to throb in her mouth.

“You want my cum for breakfast, kitten?”

She moaned and wiggled her ass. He pulled her down hard onto him by the hair making her gag a little. She was rewarded with his load shooting into her mouth. She continued sucking through his orgasm, relishing the feeling of him throbbing with orgasm inside her mouth and swirling her tongue around the salty-sweet cum.

With one last buck of his hips he fell back onto the bed. She leaned up but stayed kneeled with her legs tucked under her between his legs. She held his cum in her mouth patiently. He took a few deep breaths, slowing his breathing and then leaned up on one elbow.

“Open,” he directed.

She opened her mouth to show him what she held on her tongue.

“Good girl. You can swallow now.”

She smiled and swallowed. “Thank you, Sir.” She leaned over him and retrieved the cup of coffee from the nightstand. “Good morning, Sir,” she said as she handed it to him.

“Morning my beautiful pet,” he said as he grabbed the ring of her collar and pulled her down toward him. She nestled herself into the crook of his arm and dozed peacefully as he stroked her skin. He always meant to tell her that her little snore reminded him of a cat purring.

Reserving Submission

2008-05-24T16:51:00.000-07:00

If I were to submit to anyone and everyone who messages me, how would that honor my future Dom when I choose to submit to him? It wouldn’t make him feel very special. Submission is not something I choose to throw around lightly. I want whomever I choose as my Dom to be honored by the fact that I chose to submit to him above all others. He will have earned that respect from me. I realize that this goes against some protocols, but I think “considering multiple collars” is just as important of a step as “being under consideration” from a Dom. I don’t mind being under consideration as long as he realizes that he too is under consideration.

I am submissive in a thousand ways in everyday life. It is just my nature to be so. It’s a subtle respect that I give alpha males who are respectful of submissives and women in general. I believe I can have a submissive nature and be respectful without offering my complete submission to everyone.

Reserving my submission to a very select few, I believe, makes it more precious. When I give that gift to a Dom, I don't want it to be a cheap trinket. I want it to be priceless.

C is for Caning

2008-05-15T21:09:00.000-07:00

I'm standing outside the university wearing my backpack and a paper in my hand. My skirt is shorter than I would have normally worn to school - I've been tugging at it all day trying to be modest when I sat down, but you picked it out for me to wear and I obeyed and pushed through my embarrassment to please you. I'm biting my lip and shifting my weight nervously. I see your car pull up to the curb in front of me and I walk around to the passenger's side, not able to meet your eyes through the window. As i get in, I lift my skirt up so that my bare ass is touching your leather seats. I put my backpack in the back seat and sit with my legs open, just as you taught me to do.

By this point, you have taught me many lessons and my behavior has become nearly automatic - I rarely forget my lessons because I know what happens when I do. A bruised ass I can take, but hearing disappointment in your voice burns me to the core. I work hard never to hear that tone from you. Today, however, I know I'm going to hear it and I'm already choking on my emotions.

I kiss you deeply hello, then return my eyes toward my feet.
"Well, kitten, did you get your test back today?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And?" You are aware of my demeanor, and your tone reflects it. Your voice is deep and solid - unwavering in its strength. I hand you the folded paper in my hand in response.
You unfold it and read the grade at the top. A long sigh escapes you. You read my professor's note along the margin out loud for my benefit. Even though I have read it a dozen times already walking from the classroom to the curb, I listen with my eyes closed; concentrating on the emphasis you put on the words, my throat closing around a solid rock of emotion - of shame. "'Your ideas are interesting and innovative but your delivery is poor. The grammar and structural mistakes distracted me from appreciating your thesis - however clever it might have been.' You got a C. Your sloppy work earned you a C."
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm not happy, Erin."
I cringe. You used my real name. Not the loving pet name you gave me, but the ordinary name everyone else uses.
"Yes, Sir."
You start the car and pull away from the curb. Your silence is deafening. After a few minutes of letting me stew, you ask me what happened.
"I didn't have enough time to clean it up, Sir."
"Why not? How long did you have to do this assignment?"
"A week, but I put it off until the last minute."
"Why did you do that?"
"I wanted to go out with my friends."
I glance up from my shoes briefly to see your cheeks flushed and your jaw clenched in anger and disappointment. I go back to fiddling with the edge of my skirt nervously. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"Yes. You will be."

We arrive at your house and I wait until you open the car door for me as you taught me to do. You help me out of the car and I walk a step behind you up the walk to the door. You unlock it and hold it open for me. Before I get four steps in I feel your hand grab a handful of my hair and pull it back, leading me firmly to the dining room table. I gasp and skip steps to keep up with you. You push me face down onto the table so that I am bent over the edge. You don't have to tell me to stay. I stay exactly where I am as I listen to you go to the other room to get rope and cuffs. When you return you place the cuffs around my wrists and tie them to the table legs so that I am stretched out over the table. You do the same to my ankles, and place a spreader bar between my knees. My thighs are already trembling from being spread so far and from the fear of what I am about to endure.

You stand behind me and rake your nails over my thighs and ass, lifting up my skirt as your hands move up my body. I feel you press your hard cock against my ass and pussy through your pants. I moan and squirm.
"You want that, don't you slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Have you earned it?"
"No, Sir."
"Hmm. What have you earned?"
I hesitate for a second and it costs me a sharp slap on the ass. "What. Have. You. Earned?"
"Punishment, Sir."
You walk around toward my head and slam the paper down on the table in front of me. I whimper and pull at the cuffs.
"Look at the paper!" You lift my head up by my hair, pulling it out of my face so that I can see. "I want you to count how many marks are on this paper. One at a time, out loud. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
With that you return to my exposed ass. I hear the unmistakable clank of bamboo cane as you retrieve it from a bag. "Begin."
"One." I whisper horsely. I feel the cane land on the bottom of my ass near my thigh. You aim right for that crease, so that it hurts whether I'm sitting or standing.
"Louder."
"Two." I say a little louder.
Another hit lands on the other cheek, and pushes the table forward a good inch. I cry out and grasp the ropes in my hands.
"Three." Another wack reddens my ass.

With each count, I receive a new mark with the bamboo cane. You run your hand over my ass and I can feel by your touch where the welts are going to appear in the next hour. Instinctively, I try to push my legs together, but the spreader bar pushes back, and after a while my legs are cramping and sore. After the twentieth hit, I break. My eyes well up and spill over with tears. They fall onto the paper in front of my face and I can't read through them anymore. I sob my apologies to you. "Please! I'll do better next time. I won't put it off 'til the last minute. Please, Sir!"
Another whack hits my already bruised ass. "Are you going to forget what your priorities are again?"
"No, Sir... I promise I won't."
"What are your priorities?" Another whack.
I cry out loudly. "School, Sir."
Another whack hits on an already sore spot and makes me nearly jump off the table.
"And?"
"Serving you, Sir."
I cringe, awaiting the next hit with the cane. It doesn't come.
"Good girl."

Those two words lift and what feels like a ton of weight from my shoulders, and I collapse, sinking into the table with a heavy sob. I feel your fingertips softly caressing the black and blue spots on my ass. You run your hand up my back to my hair, pushing my sweating red locks from my face and running your fingers through it. You keep one hand in my hair, your fingers intwined in my locks while you unhook the cuffs from the rope with the other hand. You make sure to keep that one hand gently on me at all times, knowing that after a harsh punishment, I need your touch to keep from sinking into sub-drop - that sharp drop in my emotions after the rush of adrenaline has ended. You unhook my ankles, wrists and the spreader bar from my legs before gently lifting me up my shoulders. I stand with my face buried into your chest, hiccuping and sniffling while you wrap your arms tightly around me and kiss the top of my head.

With your arms supporting me and keeping my knees from buckling, you lead me to the bed and lie me down. You lie down with me and I wiggle into the nook of your arm, resting my head on your shoulder. As I come down from the adrenaline high and I can think a little more clearly, I start to cry again. This time not in pain, but because of my overwhelming regret for disappointing you. You hush me and speak to me in soft, paternal tones.

"Don't cry, kitten," you say as you wipe my tears.
"I'm sorry I disappointed you."
"No, I am very proud of you, kitten."
"You are?"
You lift my chin and look me straight in the eyes. "Yes. I am. You made a mistake. You took the consequences, and you learned from it. Right?"
"Yes, Sir."
You smile warmly at me and kiss me gently on the lips. "Let's see your ass, baby, turn over."
I turn over on my stomach and let you examine your work.
"Hmm... that's going to hurt later," you laugh and kiss my bruises lightly. Your fingers run across my welts and in between my legs to my pussy. "And you're wet..."
I blush and hide my face in my hands. "Yes, Sir."
"Getting your ass beat made you cream yourself, didn't it kitten."
I moan and squirm as your fingers explore the lips of my pussy. "Yes, Sir."
"Do you want my cock, baby?"
I look back and smile at you. My eyes telling you what I am too embarrassed to say.
"Oh..haha... you want my cock but you want my mouth even more, don't you kitten."
I nod shyly at you.
You push my hip and I turn over, gasping when my ass touches the bed. It makes you smile. You spread my legs and caress and kiss the insides of my thighs until I'm writhing on the bed, pushing my hips up to meet your mouth. "No kitten, be patient."

I stop moving my hips. I'm embarrassingly wet - so eager to feel your tongue swirling around my clit. My juices drip from my pussy. I feel your fingers teasing my pussy lips and sliding my own wetness down to my asshole. I arch my back and let out a low moan as you rub your fingertip against it. Your fingers slide back up and spread my pussy apart. I blush at how exposed I am to you, and squirm on the bed. I find myself holding my breath waiting for your tongue. I feel your fingers slide into my soaked pussy. You wiggle them around, feeling the soft, hot walls of my pussy and making my muscles contract tightly around your fingers. You angle your fingers up so that you press firmly against my g-spot. I gasp sharply and my legs begin to tremble. Now I am nearly in a panic to feel your mouth on me.

"Please will you put your mouth on me, Sir?"
"Kitten... you can ask better than that... show me what a slut you are."
I moan and blush bright red. "Please, Sir." I hesitate.
"Yes?"
"Please, Sir, I want your tongue on my clit. I want to cum all over your fingers and mouth. Will you let me cum, Sir, please?"
"Good girl." With that, you flick your tongue lightly against my clit, making me jump with each touch. My pussy aching and clamping down on your fingers. After a few more teasing licks you press your mouth around my clit, licking and sucking it while you massage my g-spot with your fingers.
"Oh my god, Sir!" I moan at a near scream. The combination of both sensations - the firm massage of my g-spot and your tongue attacking my clit - brings me to the edge of orgasm within just a couple of minutes. "Please, Sir, may I cum now, please?"
"No." You continue your pleasure torture of my pussy as I squirm and fuck myself on your fingers.
"Please Sir... Please may I cum... I can't hold it anymore."
"Hmm you are a greedy little slut aren't you? You want to cum already."
"Yes, Sir."
"What are you, kitten?"
I grab the sheets beneath me in attempt to hold back the waves of orgasm. You have me at the point where I will say almost anything for relief and you love using that to get me to say things I would otherwise be too embarrassed to say.
"Your slut, Sir."
"What kind of slut, kitten?"
"Your horny, dirty slut, Sir." Even now the words are hard to say and my face burns red.
"You are such a good girl. You want to cum now, princess?"
"God, yes, Sir, please may I cum? Please? Please!"
"Yes, cum now baby."

Before you can finish saying "yes" I scream and arch my back in orgasm, ejaculating wetness into your mouth and around your fingers. You feel the walls of my pussy contract in waves, as if it was enticing your fingers deeper into my hole. I thrash on the bed as I peak, and you fuck me even harder through my orgasm. You keep finger fucking me hard and licking and sucking my clit as I come back down, panting. But you are relentless. Before that orgasm has completely subsided I peak again, pouring juices around your fingers. My pussy feels hot enough to burn your fingers and I scream as waves pulse from my toes up through my body and out my fingertips and back down again. My bruised ass completely forgotten in my wild furry of orgasms, I peak a third time and float into sub-space. All that exists in that moment are carnal pleasure and gratitude. As I come down I mumble nearly incoherent praise and thanks for allowing me such pleasure.

You lie over me and swirl my own wetness around my tongue with yours in a sticky, sweet kiss. You collapse to my side and I snuggle in close to you, not caring that we are both covered in sweat and sex. After a few minutes you hear my breathing slow.
"Are you forgetting something, kitten?"
I hum a yes and get up onto my knees, kneeling on my haunches with my head down and my palms facing up on my thighs. I hear the clink of metal and then feel the leather collar around my neck. You buckle it gently and lock it into place.
"Now you can sleep, kitten."
I smile and look intently into your eyes. "Thank you, Sir." My eyes tell you I mean more than the orgasm. My eyes thank you for your guidance, for expecting my best, and for the care you take in molding me into your perfect slave.

The Case for Considering Multiple Collars

2008-02-07T19:13:00.000-08:00

There's a commonly accepted practice within the BDSM community that involves the submissive being "under consideration." The parallel in vanilla terms would be "dating." It's a period of time in which the two people get to know each other before taking on the commitment of a collar. The submissive is usually restricted from speaking or playing with other dominants, so that she can concentrate her efforts into proving her worthiness to him, while the dominate essentially "decides" when and if he wants to collar her. The dominant, however, can have multiple submissives under consideration at a time so that he can decide between them. I am quite sure that there are lifestylers that would disagree with me on those assertions, but I would ask the submissives to try "considering multiple collars" and see how that fares with the dominants. If your experience is anything like mine, it will lead to either in depth conversations about the philosophies behind the practices and rituals of BDSM, or it will get you a snorting bull of a dominant, who refuses to even discuss it.

The practice of a submissive being "under consideration" is a completely one way street. It gives the impression that the submissive has nothing to consider, and that the acceptance of a collar is a given once it is offered. Is this because the dominant thinks that his authority would be doubted because he was compared to other dominants to gage his worth? Does a dominant not also have to be worthy of submission?

I am completely in favor of the practice of consideration; however, the submissive has just as much to consider as the dominant. Finding the right match in the lifestyle can be a grueling process spanning years. Besides finding someone who shares any personality traits, politics, spirituality, and any other interests that have to be considered in even a vanilla situation, there is a kaleidescope of lifestyle interests that are as different for each person as a fingerprint. The dominant and submissive both have to consider all of these things in order to get everything they desire from this lifestyle - a lifestyle with a deep love for fulfilling desires to begin with.

This is why the practice of a submissive being "under consideration" is so dangerous. It doesn't take into consideration that the submissive has just as much to consider as a dominant. It makes the collar something that doesn't require thought. In doing so, the collar loses worth.

"Considering multiple collars" raises the value of the dominant's collar, as well as the value of the submission she exchanges for it. If the submissive "considered multiple collars" she would have just as much opportunity as the dominant to make sure that her desires are able to be fulfilled by him, or if there is another dominant more worthy of her submission. We agree that it is a gift, correct? How valuable would you like this gift to be? Should it be something given to just anyone who claims to be dominant, or should it be reserved for those True Dominants, whatever definition that takes on in your own mind? How honored can my Sir feel when I accept his collar, if I have accepted every collar that was ever offered to me? On the other hand, how much more is his collar worth if I have chosen to accept his over all others with careful consideration? By carefully considering multiple collars before the submissive decides on which to submit to, her submission becomes rare. Precious. In one sense, more pure - as fewer have been able to grasp it. It sets the submissive apart from the others; a diamond in a sea of cubic zirconia.

Yes, the submissive should be "under consideration" by the dominant. The dominant, however, should also be "under consideration" from the submissive. It is not in the best interest of the submissive to restrict her from considering multiple collars. She should be allowed to find the best match for her. In my opinion, submissives should be cautious of a dominant who doesn't allow her to "consider multiple collars" and restricts her from speaking with other dominants. Likewise, the dominant who is secure enough in his worth to be compared to his peers is already one step ahead of the one who demands devotion from the beginning.

End Note:
I realize this philosophy won't fit with everyone's desires in this lifestyle. There are dominants who don't want their submissives to have value, and there are submissives who don't want to be valued. To each his own, but they are not the audience this blog is directed to. This is meant to speak to the majority of lifestylers who want the kind of D/s relationship conducive to personal growth, with servitude, guidance and protection that comes from a deep love for each other.

The Rebellious Submissive

2007-12-22T02:10:00.000-08:00

A submissive who is being disobedient may just want a spanking because she enjoys it. The pure adrenaline rush of a flogger against her exposed bottom might be reason enough for her to occasionally be bratty. Your submissive could be addicted to the intensity of pleasure derived from pain – those luxurious moments of torture paradoxically filled with joy and fear, security and vulnerability, pleasure and pain that make her feel violently alive.

Or she could be rebelling for a different reason. She may be rebellious because she wants to feel safe. Rebellion is not contradictory to submission; rather, it is consistent with it. A person of authority has no reason to rebel – only a powerless person has need to rebel. It may not be her intention to be bratty or disrespectful, but only to reassure herself by feeling the solidity of the boundaries set for her while the control of her Dom. She craves your discipline; to know that her Dom has her best interest at heart, and that when her actions are not in keeping with her best interest, her Dom will be there to correct her, and guide her back onto the right path.

When she craves the thrill of a firm hand reddening her skin, or a flogger slapping welts across her back for sake of pleasure, her need is for explosive orgasms. But, when she needs to feel safe, her lesson begins the moment she begs you to stop.

When she is edging her tolerance level, she is most ready to be taught. She will be hanging on your every word and slave-like in her willingness to obey. This is when you guide her to understanding that your will for her life is in her best interest. That straying from the path you have paved for her is at least not what is best for her, and at the most dangerous for her wellbeing.

Her first lesson is this: That being at peace with your desires is essential to enjoying this lifestyle to the fullest, and that you want her to have that. If she craves your hand against her ass, then she must be willing to ask for it and that seeking it through bratty behavior will not be tolerated. She must be willing to say, “Sir, will you please spank my ass,” and not be ashamed to do so. Starting now. Have her repeat the words back to you several times until you are convinced she means it. Have her screaming in pain from your slaps, and begging you to continue instead of stop.

Pablo Picasso said, "Every act of creation is first of all an act of destruction." You are molding your submissive to be the best that she can be in all areas of life. To do this, you have to destroy her in order to create her. In turn, she is to be the source of all your pleasure – to serve every desire you have. You, as her Dom, have a vested interest in making sure that she is cared for because a sub that is not well taken care of cannot serve to the best of her ability.

Destruction takes its toll, though. She will need lots of aftercare – reassurance, affection, cuddles, pets, and praise – to keep her out of subdrop – the emotional crash a submissive can experience after being disciplined or in pain. Let her talk about what she’s learned and how she is going to behave in the future now that she has learned it. Praise her for her willingness to learn and for her obedience when she asked you for pain.

You will have one sweet, obedient little submissive on your hands – at least for the next few weeks. ;-)

The Man Who Would Be King

2007-12-21T23:42:00.000-08:00

"The man who would be king - must first rule the empire of himself."

Every person on earth is responsible for two things; that is, to teach and to learn. Every person that walks even briefly into our lives has something to teach us and something to learn from us. Our purpose on earth is to learn as much as we can from each person we encounter and to incorporate that knowledge into our lives so that we become better in every aspect. Also, and probably more importantly, to pour that wisdom out onto other people by teaching them what was taught to us.

You were looking for a bdsm story and stumbled upon the purpose of life itself, eh? :-)

Well, don't fret. This is a bdsm story. This is a story about just one of the lessons taught to me by an archetype of one those Doms that truly embody that title in every way. In case you haven’t had the honor to meet one of these men, I’ll describe him for you.

He exudes authority as soon as he enters the room. He has the confidence of a man used to being respected, obeyed, and adored. His presence alone can suck the air from your chest and leave you breathless. But he is not an angry tyrant; he does not abuse his power. He speaks in a tone that both commands obedience and displays his kindness and integrity – like a benevolent king to his subject.

I have had the honor of meeting a handful of these, and I consider myself lucky. I had only been speaking with him 10 minutes and I had already learned more from him than I had from a dozen other people. He painted words across me like strokes to his Master-piece. I was enthralled. Now its time I passed it on to you.

He told me that a man who takes on the responsibility of controlling another life, must first be able to control himself. He explained that “dominating is about lashing out. Dominance is about being inwardly centered. One who leans toward dominating will spend most of their subconscious life praying for a better wind. A Dominant will know how to set a better sail.” Instead of trying to force another to submit, a “Dominant will conduct His life in such a way as to inspire others to bow.”

It is not enough to be a sadist, or to enjoy the humiliation of others, or to be attracted to the innocence of youth, or to desire to rule another. Rather, his validity as an authority figure rests on whether or not they are themselves a successful person. Are the in control of their own lives, or are they struggling in the waves? Are they a pillar of strength, or are they blown around with the wind? Does he demand that others follow his lead, or does his lead inspire them to follow?

The only men who have earned the titles we give to men who dominate another – Dom, Master, Lord, Sir, Daddy – are men who first rule themselves. Only men of this caliber can be King.

(from quotes by and conversations with Mr. Miller, 45, West Palm, Florida)

The Lesser Spoken Qualities of Doms

2007-12-20T17:48:00.000-08:00

There are so many avenues that can be taken in this lifestyle. To some people this is merely a sexual playground. Others use it to gratify their sadism or masochism, or an almost endless list of fetishes that are possible for a person to have. Still others have always known that they were dominant or submissive, and this lifestyle feels more like home than anything else in their lives. In permeates out of the bedroom and into their every day lives, affecting the smallest behavior to the most important decisions; from a subtly submissive downward glance with her eyes, to the direction she decides to take with her life on a long term scale.

Although we should enjoy the sexual playground that this lifestyle provides, it is much more pervasive than just the bedroom. Ideally, besides sharing complimentary sexual desires, a Dom would also provide several other things: guidance, direction, caretaking, and protection.

Guidance and Direction:

A Dom should be a torchlight – a good leader, teacher, mentor and disciplinarian. He would be someone who has had enough life experience and who has been successful enough in life to validate his authority. His responsibility while in control of another is to mentor them and help them become a better person in general by giving them boundaries and goals, along with punishments and rewards when they fail to meet his expectations or when they exceed them. This includes holding them accountable for anything that might affect their progress at school, work, socially, physically, or emotionally while having their best interest at heart.

Caretaking and Protection:

Some Doms think that it is somehow undomly to be nurturing, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Subs in general tend to be emotional creatures that require lots of comfort and attention. Those soft touches teamed with hard handed swats when a submissive misbehaves are extremely fulfilling. A Dom should be a shelter in the storm, a safety net, and when needed, a solid brick wall to protect his submissive from influences that might harm them. He should be able to soothe them when they are scared or nervous, even if he is the one causing them to be afraid or nervous by pushing their limits. He has a vested interest in making sure that his submissive is well taken care of because a submissive that is not well taken care of cannot serve to the best of her ability.