Submitted by Xela Turbo
For a long time now, I have really enjoyed kitty play. But before I took to being a kitty myself, I liked to own them. I learned most of what I know about kitties from a girl who used to be my friend, and then was taken. In order for me to be with her, I had to be her sub... and so I was. Not really her sub but more of a plaything, I learned much about kitty play from observing her. You Ladies might like her if she wasn't a sub at heart... when she Dommed me, she was fierce and unforgiving.
It was after my "relations" with her that i started to develop my own rules for kitty play. These rules were what I would expect of my subs, and what I would later come to follow myself.
The rules so far are:
1. A kitty is always a kitty, always in ears and tail
2. Kitties do not wear shoes
3. Kitties are always crawling, unless asked not to
4. Kitties wear less clothes than normal subs
5. Kitties may or may not talk in local chat
The fact that I wanted my girls to dress rather indecently, with no shoes and little clothing, and that I wanted them to always crawl has always been met with... conflict.
And now for the juicy stuff:P
She sits with her feet on top of me, my naked body below her.. where it always is. As always, I am leashed, but today Mistress is trying her special dog leash on me. It is the kind that follows me around where I go, and when Mistress wishes, causes me to return to her with the press of a button. But Mistress has never used that. At the snap of her fingers, I am to be between her legs. Mistress has trained me well, teaching me to drop whatever I'm doing when she snaps. I didn't need much training in dropping whatever I was doing; the happiest moments of my life have been serving Mistress physically.
Some days, when Mistress has gotten too behind on her work and gets stressed, she will lock me up in restraints against the floor, under her desk. She doesn't even need to snap now, all she needs to do is stuff her lovely sex in my face. Mistress, in her loving grace, allows me to cum as many times as I need these days. My cock doesn't even need physical touch like it usually does, over and over again I cum because of the thought of how I am pleasing Mistress.
And at night she sometimes lets me cuddle with her, if I've been good. She will let me press my body against her until she falls fast asleep, and so do I, to the sound of her wonderful breath against my face....
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Journey of Submission Part I
Submitted by Nicolae Parx
"Lunch meeting"
The afternoon was warm and sunny with a bright sky that only the southern city can display on a June afternoon. The skin on Nicolae's chest was tight with anticipation and it seemed almost like breathing in and out required his undivided attention. Setting up lunch seemed almost easy in email compared to the reality of sitting at a table with a dominant woman he knew only from powerful online chats.
He must have typed hundreds of millions of characters during the time they chatted online for these many months, but at this, moment, Nicolae felt as if his words were useless. His skin tingled with nervousness from pent-up energy yet his voice seemed to have vanished. Coughing several times in a vain effort to clear his throat and regain his voice, he surveyed the sidewalk café in search of a woman who was one of his closest friends but whose face he had never seen.
Couples. Nicolae saw couples enjoying salads and sipping overpriced water replete with lemon wedges in crystal glasses but he found no single woman that seemed might be his lunch date. Eyeing the diners with more intensity, he wondered what a dominant woman looked like when she lunched in the southern city. Hoping she would wear black so that he could have some criteria for locating her, Nicolae surveyed the crowd with renewed passion.
A voice rang out above the crowd's hushed hum.
"Nicolae? Is that you?" a woman's voice asked plainly.
He snapped his head in the direction of the questioner's voice and found himself nodding almost mechanically in response. Although he had practiced his opening line hundreds of times in front of the mirror and inside his head on the plane as well as on the drive to the restaurant, no words came. Chagrined at his inability to utter a single syllable to her after all these compelling months of chat and typing, Nicolae stood immobile on the sidewalk as he felt her step confidently toward him.
She reached out and took his hand so unexpectedly that Nicolae could not seem to convince his body to breathe.
Instead, he turned toward her and drank in the most sincere smile he had ever seen. Within a moment, he felt inexplicably relaxed and noticed that he did no longer have to concentrate in order to inhale and exhale. Her touch, combined with her poised self-assurance, washed over him with a comforting aura that compelled him to calm down and let go of his fear.
His eyes stared into hers as he absorbed her quiet assurance and felt oddly stronger.
She reached up and rested her palm on his shoulder and pulled him toward her in a deliberate effort to force him to bend and kiss her on the cheek. As her fingers dug slightly into his muscles, vivid flashes of his assiduous work repairing his wrenched shoulder flashed through his mind. The long afternoons he submitted to the agony of deep massage drenched him with lingering pain but her touch seemed to cleanse him of those memories. In that single touch, she purified him and his knees felt oddly weak. Yet his dancer's body had responded to treatment and he healed with the tenacity of muscles used to injury.
"Syriana?" he whispered from deep in his throat.
"Well, I HOPE so," she laughed infectiously. "Or do you bend to kiss all the women you meet on the sidewalk?"
Nicolae felt his face burn red and realized at that moment it was her intention to toy with him gently that afternoon. Even though they had agreed their styles were different and they would not make suitable play partners, her dominance wasn't something she put on and took off. It was part of her; embedded into her core. And it was from this woman that Nicolae wanted to begin his education into those odd feelings he had lived with for so long that this woman had finally named for him.
She called it, "submission."
There is a power in having the capacity to name. Syriana knew that from her experience; after all, her partners were afforded individual names as she saw fit after experiencing them in scene. However, Nicolae posed another sort of situation for her. He wasn't as much interested in being her partner as he was compelled to learn under her hand why his chest burned with a passion he could not explain during odd moments in his life.
His questions burned through the bandwidth and his sincerity seared her heart. In all her years of experimentation and practice, Syriana had never been asked to be as introspective as she was with Nicolae - - all in the guise of his personal search for answers to questions he didn't yet have the capacity to ask. She took his almost desperate interest as a compliment. After all, he had come across the seas to her for answers.
"Let's sit here," she directed and pulled Nicolae by his warm hand toward an empty table.
She knew better than to banter; instead, she waited for him to find his words and balance himself so the flurry of questions she knew would follow could find a safe venue between them. Crossing her legs carefully, she watched his eyes stare at the tip of her black boot that peeked out from her long denim skirt. As she sat back comfortably in the webbed chair, his eyes rose slowly toward her face. It was obvious that he would never remember later what she was wearing at that moment. But he would recall her voice, her fragrance and the touch of her hand on his.
The silence between them was palpable but the depth of emotion was bottomless.
At last, the server arrived to break the almost insurmountable silence.
"I'll have a sparkling water with lemon, but no ice," Syriana spoke deliberately and focused her eyes on Nicolae's glistening face. She never asked him to order; rather, she left it completely up to him. It was a summit he would have to scale on his own.
"Water," Nicolae pleaded to the smiling waiter, who turned and strode briskly inside.
"I can't believe I'm sitting here with you," Nicolae's words seemed to wear heavily on his heart. "I just can't believe it."
Syriana refused to soften even though she was touched by his passion. Sitting silently and surveying his body language, Syriana noticed that he was hunched forward, his hands on his knees and every muscle in his neck, shoulders and arms was rock solid. Momentarily unsure if she were enjoying his discomfort a bit too much, she granted him a soft smile and reached out to touch his hand that was grasping his knee with a death clutch that she had seen so many times before.
He felt her touch like electricity that ran from his fingers directly into his brain and launched a disconnected series of words and phrases that spewed endlessly from his lips.
"I have so much to ask," he started. "Why am I here? How can I figure this out? Where did it come from? What should I do? I don't know how to say what I feel. You said that I'm not alone but I am!" His eyes were filled with the demands of the uninitiated and Syriana held his warm hand with a static but caring grip.
Instead of answering, she simply smiled. And after several silent minutes, so did Nicolae.
"Whew," he let loose a sigh of near-exhaustion.
The waiter placed two crystal glasses on the table as Syriana drew Nicolae's hand to her knee in an action so determined that Nicolae felt like the waiter wasn't even present and babbling on about if they needed more time to examine the menu which neither of them had yet opened. Her gift was allowing those who served her to figure things out for themselves. Knowing that this table would order at their own leisure, he left to attend to more pressing needs. Nicolae exhaled as he exited his line of sight and focused completely on his hand, which was now totally engulfed in Syriana's fingers.
Words were spilling from his mouth.
"There's so much I don't understand," he began as honestly as was humanly possible, "like how I got here. No, I don't mean here, but here."
She smiled at his plight. For a man whose words were so important to him, she was amused at his inability to form a coherent sentence out of his incoherent thoughts. Yet she recognized that he would soon cast out the incoherency as his turmoil diminished to the extent that she would allow.
More phrases fell out of his mouth.
"I've been reading," he started, "and talking to other dominant women. And asking questions and listening to the answers. And reading and then re-reading what they write to me. I replay those conversations over and over in my head to make sense out of them." Even without touching any part of him other than his hand, Syriana knew that his skin burned under the light blue pullover shirt he wore. With her free hand, he sipped the sparkling water and listened with delight as the lemon zest tantalized her lip.
"See, I'm not sure that they can understand what I feel. But they all, well, most of them anyway, seem to have a sort of 'knowing' about me, like I am someone they've seen before." Syriana noticed that Nicolae's eyes were wet either from his overflowing emotion or from that pesky city sun that requires tinted glasses.
He continued as if he were an overfilled water tower that suddenly had a hole punched in its belly.
"It's not that I want to just drop down on my knees and crawl to anyone," he spoke with a fervor that was as honest as it was energized, "but I want to be on my knees. Somehow."
His voice seemed to trail off before he added the magical question, "Am I just crazy?"
Shifting her legs to cross the other one, Syriana held his hand tightly and took it with her as she changed positions. Her move was purposeful and her fingers detected a slight slackening in Nicolae's muscles. You can order someone to relax, she recalled, but it never works. Instead, she looked at his eyes and watched them burn in expectation that she would both assuage his fears and solve, in a single sentence, the complexity of his ardor.
She would do neither. Instead, she simply held him in her eyes.
For the first time, she took a good look at his square jaw and light brown hair that was combed back from his face to reveal a boyish charm that tried to secrete itself under some imposed definition of what being grown up was all about. His shoulders weren't too broad and his hips and legs, hidden beneath a pair of well-fitting tailored slacks, spoke of years of practice and exercise that made them undoubtedly rock hard. Casually dressed but bearing an element of proper upbringing, Nicolae's demeanor piqued her interest as well as her passion to bring new sincere men into the lifestyle that she so enjoyed.
"You see," he seemed to have gotten a second wind, "I don't think I'm crazy. I've read all about this from those books you suggested, and I think there might just be others who might understand this. But I'm not sure - - I'm not certain. I don't know exactly where to go to explore this. I'm not sure what's safe and who's right and how to get the answers I need to …" His voice trailed off as he noticed, apparently for the first time, her ear-to-ear grin.
"I haven't let you say a word, have I?" he asked with selfamusement. "Here I am, asking for answers, and you can't get a word in." Nicolae shook his head from side to side and chuckled at his own display. "I should just shut up now, right?"
Syriana stared at his sheepish grin and responded. "I think the hard part is over, dear. Now you can begin to hear me," she commented tersely but with affection.
Nicolae squeezed her hand affectionately, as if the immense burden he was carrying had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. In fact, for the first time since they had been seated, he raised his head and looked her in the eye.
Syriana noted how sparkling his gray-green eyes were and grinned silently. He was indeed a pretty boy who was smart enough to realize his good looks could turn a woman's head but chose not to use it and she enjoyed his embarrassment without judgment.
"What is it - - really - - that you want to know?" she asked and waited for him to form the words that identified the core of his quest. "And what would you like to eat?" she asked with a chuckle.
Questions
Ordering a grilled chicken salad was much easier for Nicolae than answering Syriana's question about what he really wanted to know. He had spent almost 40 years trying to figure that out and attempting to compact it into a single question seemed an unreachable goal. Instead of talking around his fundamental need, Nicolae took a few minutes to put his singular question into words.
With a great deal of effort, he finally found the words.
"Am I deluding myself?" he asked so honestly that Syriana's heart leapt out to him, "or can I have this?"
"No, and yes," she cooed at him. "But it's entirely up to you as to what you make of yourself."
His perplexed expression spoke volumes and Syriana continued in her Socratic fashion as she gripped his hand tightly in her own.
"Your submission is your gift to give," she spoke softly and with resolve. "No one can take it unless you offer it and it is accepted." Syriana paused to allow her words to sink into his brain.
"But I have terms!" Nicolae fairly shouted. "There are things I want, things I've thought about and analyzed and come up with a scenario that might work and…"
A single finger to her lips hushed his tirade. "What you want, what you analyzed, what you think will work?" Nicolae understood immediately that this series of questions was rhetorical and he sat silently, hunched over so she could hold his hand firmly against her knee.
"It doesn't work that way," she giggled softly behind her sunglasses and Nicolae wished he could see her eyes sparkle. "There's one thing you haven't even mentioned yet, and I'm truly surprised." Her voice trailed off and Nicolae struggled to regain his footing. What had he omitted? What had he forgotten? For so many months, he was absolutely certain he had covered all the bases and now was faced with omitting something fundamental. His brain raced but his lips remain closed.
"You're backing up," Syriana observed, "walking away from our conversation in your head. She smiled, "As if when you're confronted with a different way of thinking that your initial reaction is to run." He felt his body tense at her accusation and was about to retort when she added quickly, "Is that submissive behavior?"
Her smile metamorphosed from kind and gentle into a harsh grin that troubled his heart. She had set him up, and he felt a sort of angry terror rush through him. But her grip
on his hand was firm and warm and the touch of her thigh, even under her long denim skirt, was consoling and reassuring.
"No, I guess not," he mumbled and her ears picked up his insincerity.
"Why are you still here talking to me, when you could have gotten a taxi and been back at your hotel already?" she asked pointedly.
Nicolae had to mull that one over because the simple answer was that he didn't know why he was there in the first place, let alone why he was staying when she was obviously toying with him and challenging everything he believed.
"I'll tell you why," she began, "if you will open your ears, your head, and your heart and hear what I say."
Syriana sat silently and waited for Nicolae to nod affirmatively before continuing.
"Say it," she half-demanded. "Say the words."
Without understanding what had just happened, Nicolae felt words fall from his lips. "Yes, I will," he said, and added almost inaudibly, "yes, Ma'am."
They both heard the capital "M" in his voice.
No fireworks went off and no bells clanged in the distance. No camera panned into the hills and no sunset abruptly fell atop the seated pair. But Nicolae had crossed a chasm willingly and of his own accord. Syriana felt the jolt that passed between them yet Nicolae still struggled with the odd sense of elation that surrounded his soul. Sometimes, the best response to the awesome is silence.
The pair sat in a hushed calm and Syriana allowed Nicolae to sort his feelings before continuing.
"I'm here because I want to be here," he started slowly. "Because you can teach me. Because I," and here Nicolae paused noticeably, "trust you."
"Trust is something you have to feel, not type," Syriana insisted, "Up until now, you trusted the distance between us because I could not hurt you. Now," she spoke deliberately and slowly, "you understand trust better." Nicolae sat and stared at her lips that had just spoken the unsaid words that he could not manage to form.
"You were safe behind a keyboard, dear," she concluded, "but now you are in reality. It's not a time for fantasies; rather, it's time to touch your submission."
For two and a half hours, Syriana and Nicolae explored his quest for submission and his journey into understanding it. Words flew, questions were asked and asked anew, and Nicolae slowly fell into a comforting glow of attention mired in appreciation that seemed to thaw any remnants of misgivings he might still have harbored. With his salad almost untouched and his head reeling with information and a strange elation, Nicolae realized that Syriana was still holding his hand in a comforting yet determined manner and that for an undecipherable duration, she held him in that hunched-forward, tight-shouldered position without a moment's let up from forcing his concentration to her eyes, lips and words.
His parched throat told him that he done most of the talking.
Her smile fascinated him. Not only did she seem pleased with the effort he expended in concentrating on her words, but also Syriana's lips were barely parted in an affirming grin that enveloped him in an odd sense of safety. Nicolae felt like he could tell her anything and realized that he just had. Her sincerity was both conspicuous and insidious and drew out of him those private feelings he had once believed would remain locked in a tight box within his soul.
Fumbling for a credit card, Nicolae paid for lunch and felt he had gotten much more than his money's worth. He simply didn't realize that she had much more of this lesson in store for him.
"Lunch meeting"
The afternoon was warm and sunny with a bright sky that only the southern city can display on a June afternoon. The skin on Nicolae's chest was tight with anticipation and it seemed almost like breathing in and out required his undivided attention. Setting up lunch seemed almost easy in email compared to the reality of sitting at a table with a dominant woman he knew only from powerful online chats.
He must have typed hundreds of millions of characters during the time they chatted online for these many months, but at this, moment, Nicolae felt as if his words were useless. His skin tingled with nervousness from pent-up energy yet his voice seemed to have vanished. Coughing several times in a vain effort to clear his throat and regain his voice, he surveyed the sidewalk café in search of a woman who was one of his closest friends but whose face he had never seen.
Couples. Nicolae saw couples enjoying salads and sipping overpriced water replete with lemon wedges in crystal glasses but he found no single woman that seemed might be his lunch date. Eyeing the diners with more intensity, he wondered what a dominant woman looked like when she lunched in the southern city. Hoping she would wear black so that he could have some criteria for locating her, Nicolae surveyed the crowd with renewed passion.
A voice rang out above the crowd's hushed hum.
"Nicolae? Is that you?" a woman's voice asked plainly.
He snapped his head in the direction of the questioner's voice and found himself nodding almost mechanically in response. Although he had practiced his opening line hundreds of times in front of the mirror and inside his head on the plane as well as on the drive to the restaurant, no words came. Chagrined at his inability to utter a single syllable to her after all these compelling months of chat and typing, Nicolae stood immobile on the sidewalk as he felt her step confidently toward him.
She reached out and took his hand so unexpectedly that Nicolae could not seem to convince his body to breathe.
Instead, he turned toward her and drank in the most sincere smile he had ever seen. Within a moment, he felt inexplicably relaxed and noticed that he did no longer have to concentrate in order to inhale and exhale. Her touch, combined with her poised self-assurance, washed over him with a comforting aura that compelled him to calm down and let go of his fear.
His eyes stared into hers as he absorbed her quiet assurance and felt oddly stronger.
She reached up and rested her palm on his shoulder and pulled him toward her in a deliberate effort to force him to bend and kiss her on the cheek. As her fingers dug slightly into his muscles, vivid flashes of his assiduous work repairing his wrenched shoulder flashed through his mind. The long afternoons he submitted to the agony of deep massage drenched him with lingering pain but her touch seemed to cleanse him of those memories. In that single touch, she purified him and his knees felt oddly weak. Yet his dancer's body had responded to treatment and he healed with the tenacity of muscles used to injury.
"Syriana?" he whispered from deep in his throat.
"Well, I HOPE so," she laughed infectiously. "Or do you bend to kiss all the women you meet on the sidewalk?"
Nicolae felt his face burn red and realized at that moment it was her intention to toy with him gently that afternoon. Even though they had agreed their styles were different and they would not make suitable play partners, her dominance wasn't something she put on and took off. It was part of her; embedded into her core. And it was from this woman that Nicolae wanted to begin his education into those odd feelings he had lived with for so long that this woman had finally named for him.
She called it, "submission."
There is a power in having the capacity to name. Syriana knew that from her experience; after all, her partners were afforded individual names as she saw fit after experiencing them in scene. However, Nicolae posed another sort of situation for her. He wasn't as much interested in being her partner as he was compelled to learn under her hand why his chest burned with a passion he could not explain during odd moments in his life.
His questions burned through the bandwidth and his sincerity seared her heart. In all her years of experimentation and practice, Syriana had never been asked to be as introspective as she was with Nicolae - - all in the guise of his personal search for answers to questions he didn't yet have the capacity to ask. She took his almost desperate interest as a compliment. After all, he had come across the seas to her for answers.
"Let's sit here," she directed and pulled Nicolae by his warm hand toward an empty table.
She knew better than to banter; instead, she waited for him to find his words and balance himself so the flurry of questions she knew would follow could find a safe venue between them. Crossing her legs carefully, she watched his eyes stare at the tip of her black boot that peeked out from her long denim skirt. As she sat back comfortably in the webbed chair, his eyes rose slowly toward her face. It was obvious that he would never remember later what she was wearing at that moment. But he would recall her voice, her fragrance and the touch of her hand on his.
The silence between them was palpable but the depth of emotion was bottomless.
At last, the server arrived to break the almost insurmountable silence.
"I'll have a sparkling water with lemon, but no ice," Syriana spoke deliberately and focused her eyes on Nicolae's glistening face. She never asked him to order; rather, she left it completely up to him. It was a summit he would have to scale on his own.
"Water," Nicolae pleaded to the smiling waiter, who turned and strode briskly inside.
"I can't believe I'm sitting here with you," Nicolae's words seemed to wear heavily on his heart. "I just can't believe it."
Syriana refused to soften even though she was touched by his passion. Sitting silently and surveying his body language, Syriana noticed that he was hunched forward, his hands on his knees and every muscle in his neck, shoulders and arms was rock solid. Momentarily unsure if she were enjoying his discomfort a bit too much, she granted him a soft smile and reached out to touch his hand that was grasping his knee with a death clutch that she had seen so many times before.
He felt her touch like electricity that ran from his fingers directly into his brain and launched a disconnected series of words and phrases that spewed endlessly from his lips.
"I have so much to ask," he started. "Why am I here? How can I figure this out? Where did it come from? What should I do? I don't know how to say what I feel. You said that I'm not alone but I am!" His eyes were filled with the demands of the uninitiated and Syriana held his warm hand with a static but caring grip.
Instead of answering, she simply smiled. And after several silent minutes, so did Nicolae.
"Whew," he let loose a sigh of near-exhaustion.
The waiter placed two crystal glasses on the table as Syriana drew Nicolae's hand to her knee in an action so determined that Nicolae felt like the waiter wasn't even present and babbling on about if they needed more time to examine the menu which neither of them had yet opened. Her gift was allowing those who served her to figure things out for themselves. Knowing that this table would order at their own leisure, he left to attend to more pressing needs. Nicolae exhaled as he exited his line of sight and focused completely on his hand, which was now totally engulfed in Syriana's fingers.
Words were spilling from his mouth.
"There's so much I don't understand," he began as honestly as was humanly possible, "like how I got here. No, I don't mean here, but here."
She smiled at his plight. For a man whose words were so important to him, she was amused at his inability to form a coherent sentence out of his incoherent thoughts. Yet she recognized that he would soon cast out the incoherency as his turmoil diminished to the extent that she would allow.
More phrases fell out of his mouth.
"I've been reading," he started, "and talking to other dominant women. And asking questions and listening to the answers. And reading and then re-reading what they write to me. I replay those conversations over and over in my head to make sense out of them." Even without touching any part of him other than his hand, Syriana knew that his skin burned under the light blue pullover shirt he wore. With her free hand, he sipped the sparkling water and listened with delight as the lemon zest tantalized her lip.
"See, I'm not sure that they can understand what I feel. But they all, well, most of them anyway, seem to have a sort of 'knowing' about me, like I am someone they've seen before." Syriana noticed that Nicolae's eyes were wet either from his overflowing emotion or from that pesky city sun that requires tinted glasses.
He continued as if he were an overfilled water tower that suddenly had a hole punched in its belly.
"It's not that I want to just drop down on my knees and crawl to anyone," he spoke with a fervor that was as honest as it was energized, "but I want to be on my knees. Somehow."
His voice seemed to trail off before he added the magical question, "Am I just crazy?"
Shifting her legs to cross the other one, Syriana held his hand tightly and took it with her as she changed positions. Her move was purposeful and her fingers detected a slight slackening in Nicolae's muscles. You can order someone to relax, she recalled, but it never works. Instead, she looked at his eyes and watched them burn in expectation that she would both assuage his fears and solve, in a single sentence, the complexity of his ardor.
She would do neither. Instead, she simply held him in her eyes.
For the first time, she took a good look at his square jaw and light brown hair that was combed back from his face to reveal a boyish charm that tried to secrete itself under some imposed definition of what being grown up was all about. His shoulders weren't too broad and his hips and legs, hidden beneath a pair of well-fitting tailored slacks, spoke of years of practice and exercise that made them undoubtedly rock hard. Casually dressed but bearing an element of proper upbringing, Nicolae's demeanor piqued her interest as well as her passion to bring new sincere men into the lifestyle that she so enjoyed.
"You see," he seemed to have gotten a second wind, "I don't think I'm crazy. I've read all about this from those books you suggested, and I think there might just be others who might understand this. But I'm not sure - - I'm not certain. I don't know exactly where to go to explore this. I'm not sure what's safe and who's right and how to get the answers I need to …" His voice trailed off as he noticed, apparently for the first time, her ear-to-ear grin.
"I haven't let you say a word, have I?" he asked with selfamusement. "Here I am, asking for answers, and you can't get a word in." Nicolae shook his head from side to side and chuckled at his own display. "I should just shut up now, right?"
Syriana stared at his sheepish grin and responded. "I think the hard part is over, dear. Now you can begin to hear me," she commented tersely but with affection.
Nicolae squeezed her hand affectionately, as if the immense burden he was carrying had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. In fact, for the first time since they had been seated, he raised his head and looked her in the eye.
Syriana noted how sparkling his gray-green eyes were and grinned silently. He was indeed a pretty boy who was smart enough to realize his good looks could turn a woman's head but chose not to use it and she enjoyed his embarrassment without judgment.
"What is it - - really - - that you want to know?" she asked and waited for him to form the words that identified the core of his quest. "And what would you like to eat?" she asked with a chuckle.
Questions
Ordering a grilled chicken salad was much easier for Nicolae than answering Syriana's question about what he really wanted to know. He had spent almost 40 years trying to figure that out and attempting to compact it into a single question seemed an unreachable goal. Instead of talking around his fundamental need, Nicolae took a few minutes to put his singular question into words.
With a great deal of effort, he finally found the words.
"Am I deluding myself?" he asked so honestly that Syriana's heart leapt out to him, "or can I have this?"
"No, and yes," she cooed at him. "But it's entirely up to you as to what you make of yourself."
His perplexed expression spoke volumes and Syriana continued in her Socratic fashion as she gripped his hand tightly in her own.
"Your submission is your gift to give," she spoke softly and with resolve. "No one can take it unless you offer it and it is accepted." Syriana paused to allow her words to sink into his brain.
"But I have terms!" Nicolae fairly shouted. "There are things I want, things I've thought about and analyzed and come up with a scenario that might work and…"
A single finger to her lips hushed his tirade. "What you want, what you analyzed, what you think will work?" Nicolae understood immediately that this series of questions was rhetorical and he sat silently, hunched over so she could hold his hand firmly against her knee.
"It doesn't work that way," she giggled softly behind her sunglasses and Nicolae wished he could see her eyes sparkle. "There's one thing you haven't even mentioned yet, and I'm truly surprised." Her voice trailed off and Nicolae struggled to regain his footing. What had he omitted? What had he forgotten? For so many months, he was absolutely certain he had covered all the bases and now was faced with omitting something fundamental. His brain raced but his lips remain closed.
"You're backing up," Syriana observed, "walking away from our conversation in your head. She smiled, "As if when you're confronted with a different way of thinking that your initial reaction is to run." He felt his body tense at her accusation and was about to retort when she added quickly, "Is that submissive behavior?"
Her smile metamorphosed from kind and gentle into a harsh grin that troubled his heart. She had set him up, and he felt a sort of angry terror rush through him. But her grip
on his hand was firm and warm and the touch of her thigh, even under her long denim skirt, was consoling and reassuring.
"No, I guess not," he mumbled and her ears picked up his insincerity.
"Why are you still here talking to me, when you could have gotten a taxi and been back at your hotel already?" she asked pointedly.
Nicolae had to mull that one over because the simple answer was that he didn't know why he was there in the first place, let alone why he was staying when she was obviously toying with him and challenging everything he believed.
"I'll tell you why," she began, "if you will open your ears, your head, and your heart and hear what I say."
Syriana sat silently and waited for Nicolae to nod affirmatively before continuing.
"Say it," she half-demanded. "Say the words."
Without understanding what had just happened, Nicolae felt words fall from his lips. "Yes, I will," he said, and added almost inaudibly, "yes, Ma'am."
They both heard the capital "M" in his voice.
No fireworks went off and no bells clanged in the distance. No camera panned into the hills and no sunset abruptly fell atop the seated pair. But Nicolae had crossed a chasm willingly and of his own accord. Syriana felt the jolt that passed between them yet Nicolae still struggled with the odd sense of elation that surrounded his soul. Sometimes, the best response to the awesome is silence.
The pair sat in a hushed calm and Syriana allowed Nicolae to sort his feelings before continuing.
"I'm here because I want to be here," he started slowly. "Because you can teach me. Because I," and here Nicolae paused noticeably, "trust you."
"Trust is something you have to feel, not type," Syriana insisted, "Up until now, you trusted the distance between us because I could not hurt you. Now," she spoke deliberately and slowly, "you understand trust better." Nicolae sat and stared at her lips that had just spoken the unsaid words that he could not manage to form.
"You were safe behind a keyboard, dear," she concluded, "but now you are in reality. It's not a time for fantasies; rather, it's time to touch your submission."
For two and a half hours, Syriana and Nicolae explored his quest for submission and his journey into understanding it. Words flew, questions were asked and asked anew, and Nicolae slowly fell into a comforting glow of attention mired in appreciation that seemed to thaw any remnants of misgivings he might still have harbored. With his salad almost untouched and his head reeling with information and a strange elation, Nicolae realized that Syriana was still holding his hand in a comforting yet determined manner and that for an undecipherable duration, she held him in that hunched-forward, tight-shouldered position without a moment's let up from forcing his concentration to her eyes, lips and words.
His parched throat told him that he done most of the talking.
Her smile fascinated him. Not only did she seem pleased with the effort he expended in concentrating on her words, but also Syriana's lips were barely parted in an affirming grin that enveloped him in an odd sense of safety. Nicolae felt like he could tell her anything and realized that he just had. Her sincerity was both conspicuous and insidious and drew out of him those private feelings he had once believed would remain locked in a tight box within his soul.
Fumbling for a credit card, Nicolae paid for lunch and felt he had gotten much more than his money's worth. He simply didn't realize that she had much more of this lesson in store for him.
The Drug
Submitted by Roxana B
She was restless,
paced up and down
She was hungry
She desired,
desired him
The urgent need
To feel him
Touch him
Taste him
Devour him
She could feel his energy,
amongst the others
She could have taken theirs,
but it was his she wanted
He was her addiction
The reason why the veins in her sprit,
itched and ached for him
As she paced her hunger grew for him
Her anticipation grew,
in turn made her hunger grow
Round and round in a never ending circle,
of passion, lust. and control
She needed to control him
He needed her control
She need to taste him,
taste his precum,
feel his swollen and heavy balls
Hear his moans as she touched them
She needed to hear his breath
quicken under her nails,
as they assaulted his nerve endings
Feel her tongue pierce the seal of his lips
Wrapping around his like a vine
Consuming his breath
as he exhaled
Licking the salt from his skin
She needed to bind him
Feed from his helplessness
To command him to kneel and serve at her feet
To feel his heat and passion build
To make him give her pleasure,
and to take her pleasure of him
For he was hers,
and she would take what she wanted
Oh how his tongue would know her service,
and how he would taste her
How she would taste him,
as his swollen crown, hot and hard,
dripped his salty juiced down the shaft
How her tongue would run its length,
lapping at his oozing fluid
How he would throw back his head and moan
Fighting against his bindings
How his muscles would strain and flex
How she would smile and say
"Shhhh, my beautiful boy"
"Relax"
Wine glass in hand she would drink
Bring his lips to hers, and allowing the cool liquid to flow
from her, to him
How she would lick at the trickles
that formed down his throat
Licking first down,
then back up again
How she would slide her soft cheek down his chest
Stopping to lick at his hardened nipple
Feeling her excitement build
She hears him moan again
as his nipple is pinched
Oh how that made his cock jump wildly,
and how his balls would pulsate
How she would ease herself down on him,
and feel him fill her.........
completely
How she would explode on his hardness,
time and again,
while denying him his release
How she would take all that he offered,
then still demand more
How he would beg her
Plead with her
for the moment of release
How she would ask why he should be allowed
"Because I am yours Mistress"
"Because I beg you take pity on me"
"Because I need you, need to serve you"
"Because I would do anything for you"
"Because you are my Mistress......I would die for you"
"If I lost you, I would die anyway"
"I live to serve you"
"No greater wound can you give me, but your disappointment"
"Stroke for me boy"
"Yes Mistress"
"I want to hear you moan like the little slut you are"
"Yes Mistress"
How he would gasp for air,
hungry and desperate for relief
But the more he stroked for her,
the more he was denied
Over and over she commanded him
Stoke..........and he stroked
Stop..........and he stopped
But cum.......he did not
He could not
Not without her permission
Her pleasure was his pleasure
He needed to serve her,
more than he needed to serve himself
Over and over he was commanded
Until he was lost in the moment
Lost in headspace
Lost to himself
No longer feeling his body,
or its own needs
Only feeling her desires, wants,
and her commands in his ears
Longing for the moment to give his gifts to her
His total submission to her will,
his orgasm, and everything that was him
Body, mind, and sprit
Gratefully handed over to her
who brings order to his chaos
Love to his heart
Fire to his belly
Tenderness to his soul
To she who quiets the maddening crowd
Is the light that still shines when everything is dark
The port in the storm..........his everything
"Give me your gift boy"
The moment arrives
"Yes my beautiful Mistress, yes"
Oh what a wonderful sight to be hold
How his muscles would bunch and contort
How he would buck his hips
How his lips would be dry,
yet his skin would drip sweat
How his moans would turn guttural
How he would pant and gasp
Fighting with his passion
wrestling with his gift,
as it fought its way out of his Body, Mind, and Sprit
Feeling the rush as he explodes,
his gift pulsating as it shoots,
covering his belly,
and coating his hand in his cream
His balls stealing the last of his strength,
trying to expel every last drop
Till there was nothing left to offer anymore.
How he would look naked, on all fours on the floor
His head bend in total exhaustion.
Everything he had,
he gave her
Everything he was,
was hers.
She was restless,
paced up and down
She was hungry
She desired,
desired him
The urgent need
To feel him
Touch him
Taste him
Devour him
She could feel his energy,
amongst the others
She could have taken theirs,
but it was his she wanted
He was her addiction
The reason why the veins in her sprit,
itched and ached for him
As she paced her hunger grew for him
Her anticipation grew,
in turn made her hunger grow
Round and round in a never ending circle,
of passion, lust. and control
She needed to control him
He needed her control
She need to taste him,
taste his precum,
feel his swollen and heavy balls
Hear his moans as she touched them
She needed to hear his breath
quicken under her nails,
as they assaulted his nerve endings
Feel her tongue pierce the seal of his lips
Wrapping around his like a vine
Consuming his breath
as he exhaled
Licking the salt from his skin
She needed to bind him
Feed from his helplessness
To command him to kneel and serve at her feet
To feel his heat and passion build
To make him give her pleasure,
and to take her pleasure of him
For he was hers,
and she would take what she wanted
Oh how his tongue would know her service,
and how he would taste her
How she would taste him,
as his swollen crown, hot and hard,
dripped his salty juiced down the shaft
How her tongue would run its length,
lapping at his oozing fluid
How he would throw back his head and moan
Fighting against his bindings
How his muscles would strain and flex
How she would smile and say
"Shhhh, my beautiful boy"
"Relax"
Wine glass in hand she would drink
Bring his lips to hers, and allowing the cool liquid to flow
from her, to him
How she would lick at the trickles
that formed down his throat
Licking first down,
then back up again
How she would slide her soft cheek down his chest
Stopping to lick at his hardened nipple
Feeling her excitement build
She hears him moan again
as his nipple is pinched
Oh how that made his cock jump wildly,
and how his balls would pulsate
How she would ease herself down on him,
and feel him fill her.........
completely
How she would explode on his hardness,
time and again,
while denying him his release
How she would take all that he offered,
then still demand more
How he would beg her
Plead with her
for the moment of release
How she would ask why he should be allowed
"Because I am yours Mistress"
"Because I beg you take pity on me"
"Because I need you, need to serve you"
"Because I would do anything for you"
"Because you are my Mistress......I would die for you"
"If I lost you, I would die anyway"
"I live to serve you"
"No greater wound can you give me, but your disappointment"
"Stroke for me boy"
"Yes Mistress"
"I want to hear you moan like the little slut you are"
"Yes Mistress"
How he would gasp for air,
hungry and desperate for relief
But the more he stroked for her,
the more he was denied
Over and over she commanded him
Stoke..........and he stroked
Stop..........and he stopped
But cum.......he did not
He could not
Not without her permission
Her pleasure was his pleasure
He needed to serve her,
more than he needed to serve himself
Over and over he was commanded
Until he was lost in the moment
Lost in headspace
Lost to himself
No longer feeling his body,
or its own needs
Only feeling her desires, wants,
and her commands in his ears
Longing for the moment to give his gifts to her
His total submission to her will,
his orgasm, and everything that was him
Body, mind, and sprit
Gratefully handed over to her
who brings order to his chaos
Love to his heart
Fire to his belly
Tenderness to his soul
To she who quiets the maddening crowd
Is the light that still shines when everything is dark
The port in the storm..........his everything
"Give me your gift boy"
The moment arrives
"Yes my beautiful Mistress, yes"
Oh what a wonderful sight to be hold
How his muscles would bunch and contort
How he would buck his hips
How his lips would be dry,
yet his skin would drip sweat
How his moans would turn guttural
How he would pant and gasp
Fighting with his passion
wrestling with his gift,
as it fought its way out of his Body, Mind, and Sprit
Feeling the rush as he explodes,
his gift pulsating as it shoots,
covering his belly,
and coating his hand in his cream
His balls stealing the last of his strength,
trying to expel every last drop
Till there was nothing left to offer anymore.
How he would look naked, on all fours on the floor
His head bend in total exhaustion.
Everything he had,
he gave her
Everything he was,
was hers.
Past Reflection
Submitted anonymously by a submissive of the Dominion.
A late January evening, the winter weather was tremendously horrible with snow everywhere, yet a perfect atmosphere to write. Reflecting on many things, my pen flowing rapidly, and carefree, a wild thought passed by. For some reason, I suddenly thought back into the end of July. During a cool breezy night, autumn just around the corner, I was shaking up the nightlife scene!
What I didn't know that particular night, is that I would collide with a female, that would change my life dramatically and possibly forever.
This impactful woman that I had met was Renee Scavone. Whether it was good or bad fortune, the path had already opened, and where it led would be one crazy adventure. Now you are most likely wondering, "Just who could be so important?" So an in depth look would be quite appropriate. and an array of details will be covered.
Who we had before us, was an ambitious young woman, with long flowing brown hair, usually colored blonde for mor accentuation, deep observing brown eyes, ones that always took everything in, you could easily get lost in them. A nice petite,even slender frame, no blemishes or flaws to her white skin, usually tinted with a nice golden tan, always presented with her best foot forward. Comparable to those of models, she definitely could increase the heart rate in a room rapidly, if not stop it in time altogether. As entrancing qualities as these may be, when standing in close proximity, you could inhale the blissful scent of her enriched perfume, a classy scent from Guess. Smooth skin to the touch, and kisses that tasted like strawberries, everything was completely phenomenal about her. However, what about any demons that lie within? Obviously picture-perfect beauty was a remarkable thing, however the depth to such a person, what makes them tick, are they as beautiful inside as well? These are truely the most important questions. She looked the part without any shadow of a doubt, but did acting ladylike, and acting the kind of person someone would want to be around, describe such a personality?
What you have here is a book that can't be judged by the cover, but sometimes the book just isn't worth reading at all. If you were to tell me that "You'd trust this person as far as you could throw her," I would have to ask you, "Despite being able to throw her far, would you even want to throw her?" What does someone that never has a bad looking day do exactly? Why are they so self concious about their image so much, that they become high maintenance? Does every charming beauty carry a dark side about them? These are some lessons I am learning the hard way. Renee is a young 21, with many aspirations and dreams, but no direction and aim to achieve, or even attempt accomplishing them. Basically a say one thing, and then get extremely different results persona. Believing in someone to the very core, having faith in her, all of these tested consistently by her nature. Just how well could you hold up mentally, when the biggest thing she wanted to do, was go party every weekend, hang out with friends, and continuously get hammered night in and night out. When the dust settles, the one place that remained true, was taking a backseat to everyone else.
Renee is definitely a flower, despite looking absolutely gorgeous, one constant remains. All flowers decay over time, and that beauty doesn't last an eternity. So with venomous charm and a radiant beauty, the inner complexities were full of idiosyncrasies. When she spoke, it occasionally gave me a sickening feeling, that of absolute disgust. When you held a conversation, words had to be picked carefully, or she would badger you. The kind of person that was lightning fast to turn the tables, but never containing enough humility to take any blame. I would even go as far as to call her "spoiled rotten," for lack of better words. A great example would be the typical conversation in getting to know her, "I have five best friends and countless other admirers, people don't know me, but they've heard of me!" Anybody with insight would be appalled almost immediately. Irony is a perfect word for this situation, covering her strong core belief in karma, yet such neglect in it, especially with how she acts towards others, myself most of all. The better you treat her, the further away you feel from her, maybe these are just barriers, or just what she likes to do, including sometimes giving pet names to every good friend or acquaintance, other names just absolutely inappropriate. I had fallen for someone so contradictory and complex, it was rather frightening. The destruction it created to loved ones, all of it just didn't matter. "I love you and have feelings for you, but I have to take things really slow, I'm just not ready for all of this."
Always hearing these words was enough to cling onto with ferocity, to want to believe. One of those women that walks around a mall with Chihuahua in purse, the kind you jokingly laugh at about on television. Well there she was right here in the flesh and convincingly trying to prove to not be a stereotype. She lived a luxurious life and made a lot of money. I myself even parted with over thirty-thousand dollars to such a silver-tongued woman. What it comes down to could be one simple thing; I was a casualty to a sweet stripper.
Now reflecting back on all of these times, reprimanding myself won't fix anything, but many lessons were learned. The path to enlightenment was hastened through plenteous hardships and mental challenges. So even knowing all this with an expressionless face, the lack of friends, and refusing to get out in general. In the purest simplicity of conclusions, I still talk to her this day, trying to be a friend, but ultimately labeled a mere fool that probably fell for the wrong woman. I had become as dull and dead as the winter itself.
A late January evening, the winter weather was tremendously horrible with snow everywhere, yet a perfect atmosphere to write. Reflecting on many things, my pen flowing rapidly, and carefree, a wild thought passed by. For some reason, I suddenly thought back into the end of July. During a cool breezy night, autumn just around the corner, I was shaking up the nightlife scene!
What I didn't know that particular night, is that I would collide with a female, that would change my life dramatically and possibly forever.
This impactful woman that I had met was Renee Scavone. Whether it was good or bad fortune, the path had already opened, and where it led would be one crazy adventure. Now you are most likely wondering, "Just who could be so important?" So an in depth look would be quite appropriate. and an array of details will be covered.
Who we had before us, was an ambitious young woman, with long flowing brown hair, usually colored blonde for mor accentuation, deep observing brown eyes, ones that always took everything in, you could easily get lost in them. A nice petite,even slender frame, no blemishes or flaws to her white skin, usually tinted with a nice golden tan, always presented with her best foot forward. Comparable to those of models, she definitely could increase the heart rate in a room rapidly, if not stop it in time altogether. As entrancing qualities as these may be, when standing in close proximity, you could inhale the blissful scent of her enriched perfume, a classy scent from Guess. Smooth skin to the touch, and kisses that tasted like strawberries, everything was completely phenomenal about her. However, what about any demons that lie within? Obviously picture-perfect beauty was a remarkable thing, however the depth to such a person, what makes them tick, are they as beautiful inside as well? These are truely the most important questions. She looked the part without any shadow of a doubt, but did acting ladylike, and acting the kind of person someone would want to be around, describe such a personality?
What you have here is a book that can't be judged by the cover, but sometimes the book just isn't worth reading at all. If you were to tell me that "You'd trust this person as far as you could throw her," I would have to ask you, "Despite being able to throw her far, would you even want to throw her?" What does someone that never has a bad looking day do exactly? Why are they so self concious about their image so much, that they become high maintenance? Does every charming beauty carry a dark side about them? These are some lessons I am learning the hard way. Renee is a young 21, with many aspirations and dreams, but no direction and aim to achieve, or even attempt accomplishing them. Basically a say one thing, and then get extremely different results persona. Believing in someone to the very core, having faith in her, all of these tested consistently by her nature. Just how well could you hold up mentally, when the biggest thing she wanted to do, was go party every weekend, hang out with friends, and continuously get hammered night in and night out. When the dust settles, the one place that remained true, was taking a backseat to everyone else.
Renee is definitely a flower, despite looking absolutely gorgeous, one constant remains. All flowers decay over time, and that beauty doesn't last an eternity. So with venomous charm and a radiant beauty, the inner complexities were full of idiosyncrasies. When she spoke, it occasionally gave me a sickening feeling, that of absolute disgust. When you held a conversation, words had to be picked carefully, or she would badger you. The kind of person that was lightning fast to turn the tables, but never containing enough humility to take any blame. I would even go as far as to call her "spoiled rotten," for lack of better words. A great example would be the typical conversation in getting to know her, "I have five best friends and countless other admirers, people don't know me, but they've heard of me!" Anybody with insight would be appalled almost immediately. Irony is a perfect word for this situation, covering her strong core belief in karma, yet such neglect in it, especially with how she acts towards others, myself most of all. The better you treat her, the further away you feel from her, maybe these are just barriers, or just what she likes to do, including sometimes giving pet names to every good friend or acquaintance, other names just absolutely inappropriate. I had fallen for someone so contradictory and complex, it was rather frightening. The destruction it created to loved ones, all of it just didn't matter. "I love you and have feelings for you, but I have to take things really slow, I'm just not ready for all of this."
Always hearing these words was enough to cling onto with ferocity, to want to believe. One of those women that walks around a mall with Chihuahua in purse, the kind you jokingly laugh at about on television. Well there she was right here in the flesh and convincingly trying to prove to not be a stereotype. She lived a luxurious life and made a lot of money. I myself even parted with over thirty-thousand dollars to such a silver-tongued woman. What it comes down to could be one simple thing; I was a casualty to a sweet stripper.
Now reflecting back on all of these times, reprimanding myself won't fix anything, but many lessons were learned. The path to enlightenment was hastened through plenteous hardships and mental challenges. So even knowing all this with an expressionless face, the lack of friends, and refusing to get out in general. In the purest simplicity of conclusions, I still talk to her this day, trying to be a friend, but ultimately labeled a mere fool that probably fell for the wrong woman. I had become as dull and dead as the winter itself.
Lesson Learned
Submitted by flonk Fhang
some of you may have heard of a club in London called the torture garden. Back when i was in university - probably not as long ago as some of you may think - it began to make its way out of being something that only insiders knew about and into the consciousness of the rest of London, mainly via a magazine called loaded.
i couldn’t help but want to go check it out. i'd had some experience of submitting to a previous girlfriend and so thought i knew the ropes. the internet was just starting up and so as a single boy i had reached out and made a few contacts. i put out feelers about torture garden and the feedback wasn't positive - the common perception was that it was once a great place to be you but had eventually become a fashion show and as such was not to be taken seriously.
despite that, one night i went. you can’t get in as a single guy so i managed to convince one of my web friends, another sub, to come along with me. being a student and not overly endowed with money at the time i had a limited budget and so went in a pair of leather pants and a domino mask.
it was quite a place - especially for someone my age at the time. feeling, intimidated i reacted as only a man could do, and hit the bar. clubs in the UK are often very stand-offish but BDSM clubs aren’t, so it was easy to talk to people. the downside of this was that my friend and i became separated, and my evening degenerated into a blur. at some point i remember a blonde Lady in a black hat talking to me.. i remember repeating the internet party line about the club being populated with models and wannabes.
the next morning i woke up on someone's floor. this wasn’t an uncommon event at the time and initially i thought little of it. until i tried to get up, and realised i couldn't move my hands or my feet. i rolled around on the floor a bit trying to get up and managed to struggle to my knees. as i was getting my bearings, i heard a door open behind me, then footsteps up to my back. i sunk back down to my knees but felt a hand in my hair, closing into a fist, tightening, pulling the skin away from my head, then upwards. i rose, far too far behind the hand to save me pain but just about managing to make it up before losing a clump. i could feel Her breath on my neck. She pulled my head backwards, so i was looking at the ceiling and said, "so.. a club for poseurs, hm?"
i stammered something about being full of drunken bravado. the snort of derision almost bore a hole in the back of my neck.
"you, boy, are my prisoner, and shall remain so until i deem that you have learnt not to make assumptions based upon what you read on the internet... now: you have been out all night, and i am sick of the smell of you. let's go". with an almost derisive flick of Her fingers She pushed me forwards, and i stumbled. She laughed and stepped past me, taking the chain on my cuffs in Her hand and yanking on it to drag me forwards, the metal cutting into my wrist.
i followed Her as best i could up some stairs, and took Her in for the first time. There was no black cap but there was no doubting this was the Lady i was talking to at the bar - Her blonde Hair fell straight down Her back, Her black leather boots ending halfway up Her thighs. it was hard to see if She was wearing anything else.
When we arrived at the bathroom She pushed me past Her and in the direction of the shower, almost spitting out the words, "get in, you smell like a pig". once i was in, She made me turn around: i saw She was wearing nothing bar the boots and She was an awesome sight. my eyes must have betrayed me, as Her mouth twisted into a cold, cruel sneer, then stung my face with a slap i barely saw coming. "who said You could look at me, boy?". i looked down and began to trip over my apology, struggling to say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. as i was trying to finish, She said, "hands out, piggy". i shut up and limply held them out in front of me. She reached past me, letting Her breasts brush against me, making me tremble. She turned the shower onto cold, as fast as it could go, and pushed me backwards, shutting the door. "get on with it, I’m sick of the stench".
it was a struggle to do anything in that shower - i was shivering from fear, cold, and arousal, and was struggling to wash with my hands cuffed. somehow, after what seemed like an age, i managed to clean my front. but as i went to clean my back, i dropped the soap again. i turned and bent down to pick it up, struggling with my cuffs and my tied legs. As i was bent over i heard the door open behind me, and the shower stop. i froze, feeling something come to rest where my thighs met. She snorted again, and i felt a hand on my shoulder, Her grip tightening as She dug Her nails into me. "well, You know what happens if you drop the soap in the prison showers, don't you, pig?". i whimpered a "Yes, Miss". Her grip tightened and i braced myself to be pulled backwards, trembling. but first She pulled me almost upright, the pushed my head so my forehead was resting against the wall by the shower. i felt Her foot against the inside of mine. She ran Her foot up my shin a little, then kicked my leg out so i was as tight against the leg ropes as i could be. my head scraped against the tiles and i let out a gasp. She had a handful of my hair, and leant towards me - i could hear Her breath in my ear and feel Her nipples brushing my back. "this is as wide as you get to spread, boy - I’m not making this easy. and make sure You're quiet: You wouldn't want the other guards to feel the need to come see what's happening, would you? in fact", and She pulled my head back from the wall a little, "let me help You with that". i felt Her fingers in between my lips, parting them. the force with which She did it left me in little doubt there was no point resisting, and i had little fight left in me anyway, i opened my mouth and She put what i could only imagine were the pants i was wearing at the club in my mouth - they were slightly too big for it and made my jaw ache immediately. She whispered into my ear, "thank me, piggy". i could only moan into my gag. She pushed my head back against the wall with a loud bump, and i grimaced. again, Her breath in my ear, "just remember, piggy: quiet. No. Squealing". i felt Her nipples move up my back a little and closed my eyes.
it was a long day but She let me out at the end. needless to say, i didn't believe everything i read on the internet again, and i certainly didn't judge people - especially Ladies - as a crowd.
some of you may have heard of a club in London called the torture garden. Back when i was in university - probably not as long ago as some of you may think - it began to make its way out of being something that only insiders knew about and into the consciousness of the rest of London, mainly via a magazine called loaded.
i couldn’t help but want to go check it out. i'd had some experience of submitting to a previous girlfriend and so thought i knew the ropes. the internet was just starting up and so as a single boy i had reached out and made a few contacts. i put out feelers about torture garden and the feedback wasn't positive - the common perception was that it was once a great place to be you but had eventually become a fashion show and as such was not to be taken seriously.
despite that, one night i went. you can’t get in as a single guy so i managed to convince one of my web friends, another sub, to come along with me. being a student and not overly endowed with money at the time i had a limited budget and so went in a pair of leather pants and a domino mask.
it was quite a place - especially for someone my age at the time. feeling, intimidated i reacted as only a man could do, and hit the bar. clubs in the UK are often very stand-offish but BDSM clubs aren’t, so it was easy to talk to people. the downside of this was that my friend and i became separated, and my evening degenerated into a blur. at some point i remember a blonde Lady in a black hat talking to me.. i remember repeating the internet party line about the club being populated with models and wannabes.
the next morning i woke up on someone's floor. this wasn’t an uncommon event at the time and initially i thought little of it. until i tried to get up, and realised i couldn't move my hands or my feet. i rolled around on the floor a bit trying to get up and managed to struggle to my knees. as i was getting my bearings, i heard a door open behind me, then footsteps up to my back. i sunk back down to my knees but felt a hand in my hair, closing into a fist, tightening, pulling the skin away from my head, then upwards. i rose, far too far behind the hand to save me pain but just about managing to make it up before losing a clump. i could feel Her breath on my neck. She pulled my head backwards, so i was looking at the ceiling and said, "so.. a club for poseurs, hm?"
i stammered something about being full of drunken bravado. the snort of derision almost bore a hole in the back of my neck.
"you, boy, are my prisoner, and shall remain so until i deem that you have learnt not to make assumptions based upon what you read on the internet... now: you have been out all night, and i am sick of the smell of you. let's go". with an almost derisive flick of Her fingers She pushed me forwards, and i stumbled. She laughed and stepped past me, taking the chain on my cuffs in Her hand and yanking on it to drag me forwards, the metal cutting into my wrist.
i followed Her as best i could up some stairs, and took Her in for the first time. There was no black cap but there was no doubting this was the Lady i was talking to at the bar - Her blonde Hair fell straight down Her back, Her black leather boots ending halfway up Her thighs. it was hard to see if She was wearing anything else.
When we arrived at the bathroom She pushed me past Her and in the direction of the shower, almost spitting out the words, "get in, you smell like a pig". once i was in, She made me turn around: i saw She was wearing nothing bar the boots and She was an awesome sight. my eyes must have betrayed me, as Her mouth twisted into a cold, cruel sneer, then stung my face with a slap i barely saw coming. "who said You could look at me, boy?". i looked down and began to trip over my apology, struggling to say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. as i was trying to finish, She said, "hands out, piggy". i shut up and limply held them out in front of me. She reached past me, letting Her breasts brush against me, making me tremble. She turned the shower onto cold, as fast as it could go, and pushed me backwards, shutting the door. "get on with it, I’m sick of the stench".
it was a struggle to do anything in that shower - i was shivering from fear, cold, and arousal, and was struggling to wash with my hands cuffed. somehow, after what seemed like an age, i managed to clean my front. but as i went to clean my back, i dropped the soap again. i turned and bent down to pick it up, struggling with my cuffs and my tied legs. As i was bent over i heard the door open behind me, and the shower stop. i froze, feeling something come to rest where my thighs met. She snorted again, and i felt a hand on my shoulder, Her grip tightening as She dug Her nails into me. "well, You know what happens if you drop the soap in the prison showers, don't you, pig?". i whimpered a "Yes, Miss". Her grip tightened and i braced myself to be pulled backwards, trembling. but first She pulled me almost upright, the pushed my head so my forehead was resting against the wall by the shower. i felt Her foot against the inside of mine. She ran Her foot up my shin a little, then kicked my leg out so i was as tight against the leg ropes as i could be. my head scraped against the tiles and i let out a gasp. She had a handful of my hair, and leant towards me - i could hear Her breath in my ear and feel Her nipples brushing my back. "this is as wide as you get to spread, boy - I’m not making this easy. and make sure You're quiet: You wouldn't want the other guards to feel the need to come see what's happening, would you? in fact", and She pulled my head back from the wall a little, "let me help You with that". i felt Her fingers in between my lips, parting them. the force with which She did it left me in little doubt there was no point resisting, and i had little fight left in me anyway, i opened my mouth and She put what i could only imagine were the pants i was wearing at the club in my mouth - they were slightly too big for it and made my jaw ache immediately. She whispered into my ear, "thank me, piggy". i could only moan into my gag. She pushed my head back against the wall with a loud bump, and i grimaced. again, Her breath in my ear, "just remember, piggy: quiet. No. Squealing". i felt Her nipples move up my back a little and closed my eyes.
it was a long day but She let me out at the end. needless to say, i didn't believe everything i read on the internet again, and i certainly didn't judge people - especially Ladies - as a crowd.
A cuckold's story
Submitted by Cloudrider Andreti
If I would have had the choice to be in this position 6 months ago, I would never have accepted it. However, if I would have a way out today, I would never take it. As I wash the floor, I can feel my male sensitive nipple sensually stroking in the soft fabric of my satin green top. My feet are all sore because they are locked 5 inches turquoise leather boots. My waist which is trapped in this outrageously tight corset is almost as sore what is left of my maleness. Actually, when I look at my pouty lips, my delicately painted nails and my soft feminine skin, I have to come to the conclusion that it is now impossible for a stranger to recognize me as a male. The only thing left about my masculine past has been encased in a chastity device 6 months ago and has only been used to pee. As if I wasn't embarassed enough already, I have to ask permission if I want to take off my lovely silky panties and sit on the toilet to pee like a little obedient girl. This is what Mistress say to me when she sees me pee like a girl. "I am so proud of you my Little Girl. Mistress will by you new sexy clothes so that you can turn boys on even more."
It all started 7 months ago. I had been living with the same girl for over 3 years. We met during our University studies and everything was perfect when both of us were broke. Last year, this stunning lady which I had seduced few years ago finished her psychology Phd. She started working right away and made a great deal of money. I can't tell you how excited I was when I saw Dr. Lafleur come back from her consultations all dressed in professional gear. She looked so classy whenever she would get back from work. I would have dropped to my feet right away when seing this 5 feet 9 inches woman wearing high heels mules, black professional pants and white blouse tightened at the waist by a black belt. It is as if everything from his appearance was calculated in order to look as feminine and powerful as possible. Just the tought of her looking at her red painted nails as she clicks her stiletto heels on the floor makes my now useless cock struggle to find some space in this way too small chastity device.
On my side, things were not going as well. I had studied four years to be an high school teacher but failed my Internship. I had made all of these sacrifices for absolutely nothing. There I was at 24 years old caught in debt and witouth a profession. I had never been a very handy man. My brain and my mouth had always been my greatest assets but I was unable to find a way to make money out of them. The months following my failure to lunch my teaching career were the hardest of my life. I could not find the energy to get my ass up and go find a job. My girlfriend grew quite tired of it and things started to change.
She told me that since she makes over 100 000 a year, she was able to pay for both of us. I was relunctant at the beginning but she conviced me by telling me that I would make the chores in the house. I ended up accepting.
When I woke up the morning after I had accepted to be a househusband (I guess this is how I should consider myself now.) I was completely naked. I scatched my unhairy cheek as I yawned, trying to remember how I could have fallen asleep naked last night. I posed my delicate feet on the cold ceramic, played with my curly blond hair, and scratched my cute little white butt as I walked towards the drawer where I keep all of my clothes. At my surprise, all of my clothes were missing. "Janice !!! where the hell did you put my clothes!". I heard her laugh like I never heard her before. "What is so funny hon?" I heard her heels clicking as she got closer and walked behind me. She ran her nails on my soft baby skin, grabbed me by the hair with her right hand and brought me close to her with her left arm as she wrapped it around my neck. She then sensually placed both of her hands on my respective cheek and sensually draw them down to my penis, making a very appreciated stop to pinch both of my delicate nipples. During several seconds, she caressed all of my body from behind, sending it into shivers. With her 4 inches heels, she was now 6 inches taller than me. She was squeezing all of my dick with both of her hands as she was preventing it from getting bigger. Meanwhile, she was moving her pelvis like a male, doing as if she was fucking my ass. "You like this barbie doll" She told me as she pressed her pelvis against my bootie. I was speechless. I tried to speak but she placed her right hand on my mouth right away. Ohh! How could I over estimate your intelligence like that. I thought it was clear that from now on you were going to be my house wife."
This is how it all started. She had thrown all of my male clothes away. I had no money to buy others and anyway if I wanted to get out I needed to go out as a female. Her locker was obviously locked. She did not want me to wear her classy gear. The only clothes I could choose from looked either like hooker clothes or maid clothes. Fuck me boots, leather and latex hot pants, silk red tube, skirts that were not even long enough to hide all of my butt. If it looked slutty, I had them. At the beginning, even if the whole idea was turning me on, I was only wearing the panties and tried to act as manly as possible, However, my girlfriend which is a firm believer of the behaviorism school started to ignore me when I was acting too manly. It obviously was the other way around when I made efforts to be a little more girlish. She spent two hours caressing my smooth skin and telling me what a good girl I was the day I decided to shave my body all over. This is the day I completely gave up all of my will to resist. I knelt down in front of her and told her how happy I was and that I had never felt as good as I did at this very moment. I was shaking in pleasure and in submission. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. I felt so vulnerable. I was so happy but in the same time I was realising how I had gave up everything for her. I was absolutely nothing without her. "Good Girl, I am so proud of you" I wonder if it is because I have not come in a month, but this last sentence felt better than any orgasm I had ever experienced. It sent waves of pleasure all over my body. Almost like convulsions. I have been living like this for 6 months now and I still go through the same spasms everytime I hear my Mistress say "Good Girl" or everytime she is proud of me.
"Good Girl, I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. The day where you will put all of your maleness away and become my little pet. Today, I will reward you with your last male orgasm ever. After that you will be locked in a chastity device forever. But don't worry, I am not that cruel." (she ran her finger from the bottom of my scrotum to my butthole) "You will obviously get plenty of female orgasm."( She told me as she entered her index in my new pleasure zone. " You will always have to wear female clothes and will never be allowed to take off my collar. If you ever disappoint me or disobey me, I will abandon you and you will never see me again. The same will happen if you don't make efforts on keeping your sexy body tanned and firm. You will also need to make sure that your lips are always very pouty. You never know when I will bring my new boyfriend and ask you to pleasure him.!"
After that long speech, she fucked me with a strap-on until my balls were completely empty. She said it was a good transition between my male and female life. So as you already know, it was the last time that I had a male orgasm. Since then, I have had plenty of female orgasms. None better than when I feel my Mistress's feminine hands run on my smooth skin as she fucks me and tell me how proud she is of the slut I've become.
Today was a day like any others. I woke up at 6h30 with my alarm. I got out of my cage and took the bag filled with the clothes I had prepare the night before and got out of the bed room so I don't wake my Mistress up. I jumped in the shower and washed my smooth body which is starting to change because of the hormones. I spread perfumed soap all over my body except for the part that I cannot access and that My Mistress will allow me to wash tonight under her supervision. Once I am out of the shower,the first thing I do after filling my vagina with my buttplug is to put on a nice sexy pair of green satin panties. Today, I will have to dress in a green silky maid outfit. My Mistress told me we had a visiter tonight and that I need to look like a servant.
It is now 7h30. I am all dressed up but I still need to apply my make up. My Mistress hates it when she gets up and I am not all dolled up. 7h55. I have 5 minutes to prepare coffee, cook two eggs and peel an orange. 8h00, Beep! Beep!Beep! Her alarm is ringing. Thank god, she just pressed snooze. I have 5 minutes left and everything will be ready on time. I will not get punished this morning. At 8h45, My Mistress is ready to leave I help her put her shoes and her leather coat on. "Good Girl, don't forget our guest tonight. Roast beef for supper and two glass of wine when I get here at 5 p.m."
It is now 4:58. I am waiting anxiously but also nervously to see who the guess will be. She had already told me that she was looking for a real man since I cannot sexually satisfy her anymore. The roast beef is in the oven, I am kneeling in front of the door to greet my Goddess like every night. Ding! I crawl to open the door, before backing up to let my Mistress in. (At this point in time appelations like Goddess and Divas are mere euphemisms to describe how I feel about my Mistress) I sensually slide her feet out of their leather mules. " See Richard, I told you what a sweet and obedient girl she was." I looked up and saw him standing in front of me. If Janice was the definition of feminity in person, Richard was the definition of maleness. He was everything I had never been. "Oh Hun, by the way, this is Richard, my new Boyfriend and ehh... well your new Master."
He made a heavy step with his 13 size leather shoes and deposit one of them on purpose on my delicate right hand. He looked at me with an autority I had never seen before in a male face. "Hi slut, you are now mine" He told me with a firm and warm voice as he bend over to grasp my hair. His hand was big enough to cover all of my skull. He stayed like this holding my hair during a dozen of seconds. Janice broke the silence when she said: "Let's get comfortable Richard while our servant pours us two glasses of red wine. Go slave" I got on my feet and started to move towards the kitchen when I felt A strong hand grab my right arm and force me back. Richard held me from behind and squeezed my neck, which never felt so small, between his index and his thumb. "Two Things slave. First, did you ask your Mistress permission to get up?" "No Sir I did not" He slapped my butt harder than I had ever been slapped. "Then you will not be allowed to walk until she tells you that you can. Second, you are supposed to indicate your Mistress that you've understood what she asked. When she asks you to bring some wine, you are suppose to answer: Yes Mistress, I will bring you some wine. Now apologize and answer properly." I did not wait a second: " I apologize Mistress, and I will bring you some wine." My Mistress nodded and my new Master added: "Good, I think that Janice has been a little to soft on you. Things will need to change here. Now go slave!."
I crawled as best as I could in the living room without spilling the wine. When I got there, they were both sinked in the red leather couch. Janice looked like a children. She had one of her long legs over Richard's body and she was holding his huge sex in her right hand. She made me an evil smile as she held Richard's dick pointing it in my direction. "Your first real blow job hon. Make me proud."
If I would have had the choice to be in this position 6 months ago, I would never have accepted it. However, if I would have a way out today, I would never take it. As I wash the floor, I can feel my male sensitive nipple sensually stroking in the soft fabric of my satin green top. My feet are all sore because they are locked 5 inches turquoise leather boots. My waist which is trapped in this outrageously tight corset is almost as sore what is left of my maleness. Actually, when I look at my pouty lips, my delicately painted nails and my soft feminine skin, I have to come to the conclusion that it is now impossible for a stranger to recognize me as a male. The only thing left about my masculine past has been encased in a chastity device 6 months ago and has only been used to pee. As if I wasn't embarassed enough already, I have to ask permission if I want to take off my lovely silky panties and sit on the toilet to pee like a little obedient girl. This is what Mistress say to me when she sees me pee like a girl. "I am so proud of you my Little Girl. Mistress will by you new sexy clothes so that you can turn boys on even more."
It all started 7 months ago. I had been living with the same girl for over 3 years. We met during our University studies and everything was perfect when both of us were broke. Last year, this stunning lady which I had seduced few years ago finished her psychology Phd. She started working right away and made a great deal of money. I can't tell you how excited I was when I saw Dr. Lafleur come back from her consultations all dressed in professional gear. She looked so classy whenever she would get back from work. I would have dropped to my feet right away when seing this 5 feet 9 inches woman wearing high heels mules, black professional pants and white blouse tightened at the waist by a black belt. It is as if everything from his appearance was calculated in order to look as feminine and powerful as possible. Just the tought of her looking at her red painted nails as she clicks her stiletto heels on the floor makes my now useless cock struggle to find some space in this way too small chastity device.
On my side, things were not going as well. I had studied four years to be an high school teacher but failed my Internship. I had made all of these sacrifices for absolutely nothing. There I was at 24 years old caught in debt and witouth a profession. I had never been a very handy man. My brain and my mouth had always been my greatest assets but I was unable to find a way to make money out of them. The months following my failure to lunch my teaching career were the hardest of my life. I could not find the energy to get my ass up and go find a job. My girlfriend grew quite tired of it and things started to change.
She told me that since she makes over 100 000 a year, she was able to pay for both of us. I was relunctant at the beginning but she conviced me by telling me that I would make the chores in the house. I ended up accepting.
When I woke up the morning after I had accepted to be a househusband (I guess this is how I should consider myself now.) I was completely naked. I scatched my unhairy cheek as I yawned, trying to remember how I could have fallen asleep naked last night. I posed my delicate feet on the cold ceramic, played with my curly blond hair, and scratched my cute little white butt as I walked towards the drawer where I keep all of my clothes. At my surprise, all of my clothes were missing. "Janice !!! where the hell did you put my clothes!". I heard her laugh like I never heard her before. "What is so funny hon?" I heard her heels clicking as she got closer and walked behind me. She ran her nails on my soft baby skin, grabbed me by the hair with her right hand and brought me close to her with her left arm as she wrapped it around my neck. She then sensually placed both of her hands on my respective cheek and sensually draw them down to my penis, making a very appreciated stop to pinch both of my delicate nipples. During several seconds, she caressed all of my body from behind, sending it into shivers. With her 4 inches heels, she was now 6 inches taller than me. She was squeezing all of my dick with both of her hands as she was preventing it from getting bigger. Meanwhile, she was moving her pelvis like a male, doing as if she was fucking my ass. "You like this barbie doll" She told me as she pressed her pelvis against my bootie. I was speechless. I tried to speak but she placed her right hand on my mouth right away. Ohh! How could I over estimate your intelligence like that. I thought it was clear that from now on you were going to be my house wife."
This is how it all started. She had thrown all of my male clothes away. I had no money to buy others and anyway if I wanted to get out I needed to go out as a female. Her locker was obviously locked. She did not want me to wear her classy gear. The only clothes I could choose from looked either like hooker clothes or maid clothes. Fuck me boots, leather and latex hot pants, silk red tube, skirts that were not even long enough to hide all of my butt. If it looked slutty, I had them. At the beginning, even if the whole idea was turning me on, I was only wearing the panties and tried to act as manly as possible, However, my girlfriend which is a firm believer of the behaviorism school started to ignore me when I was acting too manly. It obviously was the other way around when I made efforts to be a little more girlish. She spent two hours caressing my smooth skin and telling me what a good girl I was the day I decided to shave my body all over. This is the day I completely gave up all of my will to resist. I knelt down in front of her and told her how happy I was and that I had never felt as good as I did at this very moment. I was shaking in pleasure and in submission. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. I felt so vulnerable. I was so happy but in the same time I was realising how I had gave up everything for her. I was absolutely nothing without her. "Good Girl, I am so proud of you" I wonder if it is because I have not come in a month, but this last sentence felt better than any orgasm I had ever experienced. It sent waves of pleasure all over my body. Almost like convulsions. I have been living like this for 6 months now and I still go through the same spasms everytime I hear my Mistress say "Good Girl" or everytime she is proud of me.
"Good Girl, I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. The day where you will put all of your maleness away and become my little pet. Today, I will reward you with your last male orgasm ever. After that you will be locked in a chastity device forever. But don't worry, I am not that cruel." (she ran her finger from the bottom of my scrotum to my butthole) "You will obviously get plenty of female orgasm."( She told me as she entered her index in my new pleasure zone. " You will always have to wear female clothes and will never be allowed to take off my collar. If you ever disappoint me or disobey me, I will abandon you and you will never see me again. The same will happen if you don't make efforts on keeping your sexy body tanned and firm. You will also need to make sure that your lips are always very pouty. You never know when I will bring my new boyfriend and ask you to pleasure him.!"
After that long speech, she fucked me with a strap-on until my balls were completely empty. She said it was a good transition between my male and female life. So as you already know, it was the last time that I had a male orgasm. Since then, I have had plenty of female orgasms. None better than when I feel my Mistress's feminine hands run on my smooth skin as she fucks me and tell me how proud she is of the slut I've become.
Today was a day like any others. I woke up at 6h30 with my alarm. I got out of my cage and took the bag filled with the clothes I had prepare the night before and got out of the bed room so I don't wake my Mistress up. I jumped in the shower and washed my smooth body which is starting to change because of the hormones. I spread perfumed soap all over my body except for the part that I cannot access and that My Mistress will allow me to wash tonight under her supervision. Once I am out of the shower,the first thing I do after filling my vagina with my buttplug is to put on a nice sexy pair of green satin panties. Today, I will have to dress in a green silky maid outfit. My Mistress told me we had a visiter tonight and that I need to look like a servant.
It is now 7h30. I am all dressed up but I still need to apply my make up. My Mistress hates it when she gets up and I am not all dolled up. 7h55. I have 5 minutes to prepare coffee, cook two eggs and peel an orange. 8h00, Beep! Beep!Beep! Her alarm is ringing. Thank god, she just pressed snooze. I have 5 minutes left and everything will be ready on time. I will not get punished this morning. At 8h45, My Mistress is ready to leave I help her put her shoes and her leather coat on. "Good Girl, don't forget our guest tonight. Roast beef for supper and two glass of wine when I get here at 5 p.m."
It is now 4:58. I am waiting anxiously but also nervously to see who the guess will be. She had already told me that she was looking for a real man since I cannot sexually satisfy her anymore. The roast beef is in the oven, I am kneeling in front of the door to greet my Goddess like every night. Ding! I crawl to open the door, before backing up to let my Mistress in. (At this point in time appelations like Goddess and Divas are mere euphemisms to describe how I feel about my Mistress) I sensually slide her feet out of their leather mules. " See Richard, I told you what a sweet and obedient girl she was." I looked up and saw him standing in front of me. If Janice was the definition of feminity in person, Richard was the definition of maleness. He was everything I had never been. "Oh Hun, by the way, this is Richard, my new Boyfriend and ehh... well your new Master."
He made a heavy step with his 13 size leather shoes and deposit one of them on purpose on my delicate right hand. He looked at me with an autority I had never seen before in a male face. "Hi slut, you are now mine" He told me with a firm and warm voice as he bend over to grasp my hair. His hand was big enough to cover all of my skull. He stayed like this holding my hair during a dozen of seconds. Janice broke the silence when she said: "Let's get comfortable Richard while our servant pours us two glasses of red wine. Go slave" I got on my feet and started to move towards the kitchen when I felt A strong hand grab my right arm and force me back. Richard held me from behind and squeezed my neck, which never felt so small, between his index and his thumb. "Two Things slave. First, did you ask your Mistress permission to get up?" "No Sir I did not" He slapped my butt harder than I had ever been slapped. "Then you will not be allowed to walk until she tells you that you can. Second, you are supposed to indicate your Mistress that you've understood what she asked. When she asks you to bring some wine, you are suppose to answer: Yes Mistress, I will bring you some wine. Now apologize and answer properly." I did not wait a second: " I apologize Mistress, and I will bring you some wine." My Mistress nodded and my new Master added: "Good, I think that Janice has been a little to soft on you. Things will need to change here. Now go slave!."
I crawled as best as I could in the living room without spilling the wine. When I got there, they were both sinked in the red leather couch. Janice looked like a children. She had one of her long legs over Richard's body and she was holding his huge sex in her right hand. She made me an evil smile as she held Richard's dick pointing it in my direction. "Your first real blow job hon. Make me proud."
I'm Straight... really.
Submitted by Eliah Tomsen
I am straight. I really want to point out this fact. Yes, I am straight and I never had sexual fantasies with men in any way. - Well, I am hesitating. Writing this down, I remeber a similar sentence of Bill Clinton starting with the same words „I never had a sexual….“
Ok, ok: There is always an exception that proves the rule. Well here is mine.
There is indeed one sexual fantasy in which a man plays a main part, along with my Mistress of course. I never have told anybody about this fantasy, neither RL nor SL. Thats the reason I think this fantasy suits „Confessions“ very well.
---
My Mistress forces me in this fantasy to give a man a blowjob. And not just an ordinary, everday blowjob. No, she demands to give the best blowjob this man ever had (although my face has never been nearer than 1m away from a guys cock – lets call this „the straight man safety distance“).
She knows that I dont like to do it, and therefore she ties my wrists up my back and she forces me to kneel in front of this guy. My own cock is tied up tightly too and hurts because I am already very hard even if I am scared about the forthcoming task.
My Mistress lets me know that she expects THE PERFECT BLOWJOB, and she threatens me with a very hard punishment if I should fail to fulfill this important lesson. I nod, kneeling helplessly on the floor, fearful and shivering. His erected cock is just in front of my face like a threatening spear. Very near, TOO near! Really a situation of horror for a straight guy like me. I feel like a convict in front of the hangman.
First, my Mistress commands me to kiss his cock and his balls slowly and softly, like a sweet and timid lover who kisses his new girl-friend for the first time. She observes very exactly what I am doing and she corrects every mistake right away whenever she notices a lack of passion or devotion. She is holding a riding crop in her hand to support my motivation and to add authority to her corrections.
She whispers into my ear: „I want you to beg for it!“.
I hesitate a short moment. A very biting slap of her riding crop hits my ass. My hesitation vanished into thin air.
„Yes Mistress, please let me suck this cock dry, please Mistress“.
Wow – I cant beleive that I have said this. My voice seems to be coming from another man.
My Mistress seems to be pleased but she teases me again because she knows that she can make me mad with words like this: „C’mon, show me what a horny, cock-sucking slave you are. You will take it in as deep as you can. You will suck like a man lost in a desert would suck an rescueing ice-cube.“
She laughs. Oh my God how she can laugh. I moan.
„You are mine, and I will turn you into a cock-addicted whore if I want to. And now, open your sweet and wet face-pussy. „
„Yes Mistress“, I reply. Those will be the last words I’m able to say during this session. Afterwards I will have my mouth filled with….. ahmm you know what I mean.
First, I close my lips about the tip of his cock and I start to lick and suck it carefully. Then my Mistress grabs my hair and takes over the control of my movements. She pushes and pulls my head back and forth. I have no chance to resist and have to take in the cock deeper and deeper. She is very amused and she praises my sucking mouth. The moaning of the man tells me that I am not doing this totally wrong. From time to time my Mistress lets slide the cock out of my mouth and she commands me to lick the balls and the shaft. Watching my passion my Mistress teases me and mocks me as a obedient and horny piece of shit.
Again she forces the cock into my mouth and I have to suck it faster and deeper. I have to strain myself to suppress the urge to gag. The moaning of the man is getting louder and louder and he start to move his hips against me. Now I really experience what deep-throat means.
My Mistress smiles: „When he cums you will swallow all of it. Don’t dare to waste a single drop slave!“.
I don’t even have a chance to respond. I feel the cock becoming very hard and he accelerates the movements of his hip. I sink into a bath of feelings of shame and lust. And suddenly he jerks off his warm juice several times into my mouth. He hardly can cease to pump. I swallow it all.
„Yeeeeeeees, thats a good slut“.
My Mistress smiles. „Lick it all up and clean. I know that my little slut likes that“, she giggles. She lets the cock slide out of my mouth. I am gasping for breath. She turns my head and wipes the sweat off my trembling face. She looks deep into my eyes. I can see that she obviously enjoys her victory.
„That wasn’t too bad for the first time, boy. We will have enough time to practice that over and over again until you will be a sperm-addicted picture of misery! “ , she giggles again.
„But, dont you have forgotten something?“, she smacks my ass once again with her riding crop. This helps me to remeber how to behave.
„Thank you Mistress“, I reply, „Thank you, you care so much about me Mistress“.
„Good boy“
She smiles and pets my hair. I relax and I enjoy her caressing and loving hand on my head. I can feel her love thus I am overjoyed. I look up to her. She smiles and she seems to be happy. Thats the reason I am happy too. I love her so much.
I am straight. I really want to point out this fact. Yes, I am straight and I never had sexual fantasies with men in any way. - Well, I am hesitating. Writing this down, I remeber a similar sentence of Bill Clinton starting with the same words „I never had a sexual….“
Ok, ok: There is always an exception that proves the rule. Well here is mine.
There is indeed one sexual fantasy in which a man plays a main part, along with my Mistress of course. I never have told anybody about this fantasy, neither RL nor SL. Thats the reason I think this fantasy suits „Confessions“ very well.
---
My Mistress forces me in this fantasy to give a man a blowjob. And not just an ordinary, everday blowjob. No, she demands to give the best blowjob this man ever had (although my face has never been nearer than 1m away from a guys cock – lets call this „the straight man safety distance“).
She knows that I dont like to do it, and therefore she ties my wrists up my back and she forces me to kneel in front of this guy. My own cock is tied up tightly too and hurts because I am already very hard even if I am scared about the forthcoming task.
My Mistress lets me know that she expects THE PERFECT BLOWJOB, and she threatens me with a very hard punishment if I should fail to fulfill this important lesson. I nod, kneeling helplessly on the floor, fearful and shivering. His erected cock is just in front of my face like a threatening spear. Very near, TOO near! Really a situation of horror for a straight guy like me. I feel like a convict in front of the hangman.
First, my Mistress commands me to kiss his cock and his balls slowly and softly, like a sweet and timid lover who kisses his new girl-friend for the first time. She observes very exactly what I am doing and she corrects every mistake right away whenever she notices a lack of passion or devotion. She is holding a riding crop in her hand to support my motivation and to add authority to her corrections.
She whispers into my ear: „I want you to beg for it!“.
I hesitate a short moment. A very biting slap of her riding crop hits my ass. My hesitation vanished into thin air.
„Yes Mistress, please let me suck this cock dry, please Mistress“.
Wow – I cant beleive that I have said this. My voice seems to be coming from another man.
My Mistress seems to be pleased but she teases me again because she knows that she can make me mad with words like this: „C’mon, show me what a horny, cock-sucking slave you are. You will take it in as deep as you can. You will suck like a man lost in a desert would suck an rescueing ice-cube.“
She laughs. Oh my God how she can laugh. I moan.
„You are mine, and I will turn you into a cock-addicted whore if I want to. And now, open your sweet and wet face-pussy. „
„Yes Mistress“, I reply. Those will be the last words I’m able to say during this session. Afterwards I will have my mouth filled with….. ahmm you know what I mean.
First, I close my lips about the tip of his cock and I start to lick and suck it carefully. Then my Mistress grabs my hair and takes over the control of my movements. She pushes and pulls my head back and forth. I have no chance to resist and have to take in the cock deeper and deeper. She is very amused and she praises my sucking mouth. The moaning of the man tells me that I am not doing this totally wrong. From time to time my Mistress lets slide the cock out of my mouth and she commands me to lick the balls and the shaft. Watching my passion my Mistress teases me and mocks me as a obedient and horny piece of shit.
Again she forces the cock into my mouth and I have to suck it faster and deeper. I have to strain myself to suppress the urge to gag. The moaning of the man is getting louder and louder and he start to move his hips against me. Now I really experience what deep-throat means.
My Mistress smiles: „When he cums you will swallow all of it. Don’t dare to waste a single drop slave!“.
I don’t even have a chance to respond. I feel the cock becoming very hard and he accelerates the movements of his hip. I sink into a bath of feelings of shame and lust. And suddenly he jerks off his warm juice several times into my mouth. He hardly can cease to pump. I swallow it all.
„Yeeeeeeees, thats a good slut“.
My Mistress smiles. „Lick it all up and clean. I know that my little slut likes that“, she giggles. She lets the cock slide out of my mouth. I am gasping for breath. She turns my head and wipes the sweat off my trembling face. She looks deep into my eyes. I can see that she obviously enjoys her victory.
„That wasn’t too bad for the first time, boy. We will have enough time to practice that over and over again until you will be a sperm-addicted picture of misery! “ , she giggles again.
„But, dont you have forgotten something?“, she smacks my ass once again with her riding crop. This helps me to remeber how to behave.
„Thank you Mistress“, I reply, „Thank you, you care so much about me Mistress“.
„Good boy“
She smiles and pets my hair. I relax and I enjoy her caressing and loving hand on my head. I can feel her love thus I am overjoyed. I look up to her. She smiles and she seems to be happy. Thats the reason I am happy too. I love her so much.
Have You Ever....
Submitted by Ysatis Pichot
Close your eyes.
Ever met someone who you just loved to pieces?
Someone who you thought of at some point everyday without fail?
Ever met someone who made you laugh when you felt like crying?
Or who touched you so deeply with sincerity that you cried anyway?
Ever met someone who you admired?
Who called 'em like they saw 'em?
Who opened your eyes to what you could not see for yourself?
Ever met someone who knew you'd love it?
Someone who "GOT" it?
Someone who got "IT" just right?
Ever met someone who was so much like yourself that it was scary?
Someone who wasn't afraid to give you the skinny?
Someone who pointed it out?
Ever met someone who had been there and back?
Someone who knew how to fix it?
Someone who taught you to fix it yourself?
Who taught you to draw the line?
Ever met someone who had walked that mile in your shoes?
Someone who remembered that?
Who picked the perfect song?
Who knew all the words?
Ever met someone who laughed with you?
Someone who sent it your way?
Who went your way?
Who asked the hard questions?
Who had the right answer?
Who made you stop and think?
Ever met someone who shoo'd the butterflies?
Who patted you on the back?
Who kicked your ass when you needed it?
Ever met someone who took your side when you were staring "wrong" in the face?
Someone who took up the sword when you were weary?
Ever met someone who noticed the change?
Who you'd give your last cookie to?
Who wasn't afraid?
Who gave the hug you needed?
Ever met someone who was always there?
Someone who will always be
just
what
you
need?
Open your eyes.
Have you ever met these people?
Introduce yourself.
You
deserve
the
best.
I love the D.
Close your eyes.
Ever met someone who you just loved to pieces?
Someone who you thought of at some point everyday without fail?
Ever met someone who made you laugh when you felt like crying?
Or who touched you so deeply with sincerity that you cried anyway?
Ever met someone who you admired?
Who called 'em like they saw 'em?
Who opened your eyes to what you could not see for yourself?
Ever met someone who knew you'd love it?
Someone who "GOT" it?
Someone who got "IT" just right?
Ever met someone who was so much like yourself that it was scary?
Someone who wasn't afraid to give you the skinny?
Someone who pointed it out?
Ever met someone who had been there and back?
Someone who knew how to fix it?
Someone who taught you to fix it yourself?
Who taught you to draw the line?
Ever met someone who had walked that mile in your shoes?
Someone who remembered that?
Who picked the perfect song?
Who knew all the words?
Ever met someone who laughed with you?
Someone who sent it your way?
Who went your way?
Who asked the hard questions?
Who had the right answer?
Who made you stop and think?
Ever met someone who shoo'd the butterflies?
Who patted you on the back?
Who kicked your ass when you needed it?
Ever met someone who took your side when you were staring "wrong" in the face?
Someone who took up the sword when you were weary?
Ever met someone who noticed the change?
Who you'd give your last cookie to?
Who wasn't afraid?
Who gave the hug you needed?
Ever met someone who was always there?
Someone who will always be
just
what
you
need?
Open your eyes.
Have you ever met these people?
Introduce yourself.
You
deserve
the
best.
I love the D.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
A Butch Fantasy
Submitted by Heart Himmel
Her hair caught the light of the sun that filtered through the low clouds as she walked out of the door, turning to lock it behind her, it flew, a flash of colour in the dreary morning. Her blue eyes were the shade of blue that reminded hym of the clouds on a summer day, though today was not summer and the sky was not blue.
Hy watched her from hys window, hating hymself for not being brave enough to introduce hymself properly, but then, what did hy have that a woman like her could possibly want. Hy wasn't handsome and she was so classy. Hy shoved hys hands into the pockets of hys jeans and hummed a song from one of hys favourite movies, the wordless tune drawing words in hys mind, painting a picture. "Can't look in her eyes, she's out of my league. Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs. She's like the wind."
Ocaisionally hy would see her as she shopped at the local grocery store. It had been a long time since hy literally stopped and stared at a woman. But hy could not help hymself. Hy never saw her in the company of anyone either and it always made hym wonder what she did with her time. Hy would give anything to be part of her life even if it were only in a small way.
It always impressed hym watching her stroll nonchalantly down the sidewalk, head held high, not like so many other women that appeared to intentionally avoid eye contact. Continuing to watch her, hys right hand wandered from hys pocket and into the waistband of hy jeans, finding hys smooth skinned chosen cock, causing hys breath to catch in hys throat. This woman did things to hym that no one had in a very long time.
Glancing over at the clock hy became aware of the time and with a heavy sigh removed hys hand from inside hys jeans. It was time to get ready for the daily regime. After removing the shirt and jeans, the fingers of both hands raked hys hair, reminding hym hy needed a haircut. Hy despised shaggy hair, much preferring short, tidy, with a bit of spikey wildness.
Moving sure-footed from the bedroom to the bathroom, hy reached into the shower adjusting the hot water, and closing the door letting the steam engulf hys solid form. Hy inhaled slowly, drinking in the moist air. The blast of hot water caused hym to gasp sharply, peppering hys flesh. The soap had a fresh yet masculine scent, producing enough lather to cover hys body, making hym appreciate that it did not clash with hys preferred cologne. Nothing was worse than a plethora of different aromas vying for attention.
Showering always made hys mind wander, and this time was no different. She consumed hys thoughts. Hys soapy hand wrapped itself around hys silicon cock again but this time, giving hymself permission. Slow were the strokes, edging hymself thinking about her. Thoughts of her always aroused hym, the pain of hys erection welcomed, creeping like lava through hys veins, the clenching in hys belly turning hys knees to jello, propelling hym back against the tiled shower wall; a coldness barely perceptable against hys skin.
Hys breath quick, racing to keep up with hys heart, catching in hys throat, finally unable to maintain hys balance, hy slid down the wall to the floor of the shower mingling hys cum with the water in which hy sat. The muscles in hys legs taut and quivering, hys hand still cradling hys cock, sitting,feeling the pounding of hys heart, the raspiness in hys throat from the gasped breaths.
Time having no meaning and moving of its own accord, hy managed to rise at some point on unsteady legs, turning the tap to remove the beating of the water, hys trembling hand opening the door to seek out hys radiator-warmed bath towel,and began to dry hymself off. Fingers teasing back hys hair from hys eyes, towel wrapped around hys waist, hy returned to the bedroom and dressed with care.
Finely creased black trousers, white shirt with tucks tailored for hys physique and black loafers. The style suited hym well, as much as jeans and polo shirts did. Picking up the loose change, wallet, keys and cell phone from hys dresser and slipping them into pre-designated pockets, hy turned to leave. One hand on the open door handle, the other busy with keys, hy noticed her, coming back home from the bevy of stores down the street and around the corner. Hy smiled and called out a greeting to her, the first time hy had ever dared such a thing ... but after all, why not, hy had already made love to her.
Her hair caught the light of the sun that filtered through the low clouds as she walked out of the door, turning to lock it behind her, it flew, a flash of colour in the dreary morning. Her blue eyes were the shade of blue that reminded hym of the clouds on a summer day, though today was not summer and the sky was not blue.
Hy watched her from hys window, hating hymself for not being brave enough to introduce hymself properly, but then, what did hy have that a woman like her could possibly want. Hy wasn't handsome and she was so classy. Hy shoved hys hands into the pockets of hys jeans and hummed a song from one of hys favourite movies, the wordless tune drawing words in hys mind, painting a picture. "Can't look in her eyes, she's out of my league. Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs. She's like the wind."
Ocaisionally hy would see her as she shopped at the local grocery store. It had been a long time since hy literally stopped and stared at a woman. But hy could not help hymself. Hy never saw her in the company of anyone either and it always made hym wonder what she did with her time. Hy would give anything to be part of her life even if it were only in a small way.
It always impressed hym watching her stroll nonchalantly down the sidewalk, head held high, not like so many other women that appeared to intentionally avoid eye contact. Continuing to watch her, hys right hand wandered from hys pocket and into the waistband of hy jeans, finding hys smooth skinned chosen cock, causing hys breath to catch in hys throat. This woman did things to hym that no one had in a very long time.
Glancing over at the clock hy became aware of the time and with a heavy sigh removed hys hand from inside hys jeans. It was time to get ready for the daily regime. After removing the shirt and jeans, the fingers of both hands raked hys hair, reminding hym hy needed a haircut. Hy despised shaggy hair, much preferring short, tidy, with a bit of spikey wildness.
Moving sure-footed from the bedroom to the bathroom, hy reached into the shower adjusting the hot water, and closing the door letting the steam engulf hys solid form. Hy inhaled slowly, drinking in the moist air. The blast of hot water caused hym to gasp sharply, peppering hys flesh. The soap had a fresh yet masculine scent, producing enough lather to cover hys body, making hym appreciate that it did not clash with hys preferred cologne. Nothing was worse than a plethora of different aromas vying for attention.
Showering always made hys mind wander, and this time was no different. She consumed hys thoughts. Hys soapy hand wrapped itself around hys silicon cock again but this time, giving hymself permission. Slow were the strokes, edging hymself thinking about her. Thoughts of her always aroused hym, the pain of hys erection welcomed, creeping like lava through hys veins, the clenching in hys belly turning hys knees to jello, propelling hym back against the tiled shower wall; a coldness barely perceptable against hys skin.
Hys breath quick, racing to keep up with hys heart, catching in hys throat, finally unable to maintain hys balance, hy slid down the wall to the floor of the shower mingling hys cum with the water in which hy sat. The muscles in hys legs taut and quivering, hys hand still cradling hys cock, sitting,feeling the pounding of hys heart, the raspiness in hys throat from the gasped breaths.
Time having no meaning and moving of its own accord, hy managed to rise at some point on unsteady legs, turning the tap to remove the beating of the water, hys trembling hand opening the door to seek out hys radiator-warmed bath towel,and began to dry hymself off. Fingers teasing back hys hair from hys eyes, towel wrapped around hys waist, hy returned to the bedroom and dressed with care.
Finely creased black trousers, white shirt with tucks tailored for hys physique and black loafers. The style suited hym well, as much as jeans and polo shirts did. Picking up the loose change, wallet, keys and cell phone from hys dresser and slipping them into pre-designated pockets, hy turned to leave. One hand on the open door handle, the other busy with keys, hy noticed her, coming back home from the bevy of stores down the street and around the corner. Hy smiled and called out a greeting to her, the first time hy had ever dared such a thing ... but after all, why not, hy had already made love to her.
Secret Confession
Submitted anonymously by a submissive of the Dominion
I know I never really satisfied my wife. She faked it a lot, she protected my feelings. As time went on her eyes wandered more. The occasional comment came out...."wow he's cute" and "I wonder what kinda package is under there". In bed...."if you were just an inch bigger" and "just go down on me because it's really the best way for me to cum with you" Maybe these comments were designed to plant a seed, maybe it was coincidental. All I know is that each time we had sex I felt more and more inadaquate. One night we were watching some porn and she watched as an enormous man took control of a woman and made her scream. She said..."see there is the difference, you don't make me scream". The comment cut like a knife, but deep inside it triggered something in me....a confession of sorts. The kind of confession that maybe should be left unsaid. So here it is, I confess to a great longing, to be cuckolded by my wife. I confess to wanting to be put in chastity, denied sex with her. I confess to wanting to be made to watch as other stronger, better men please her. I confess to wanting to clean up at the end. I confess to wanting to see her please by those who can, and those who deserve to try.
I know I never really satisfied my wife. She faked it a lot, she protected my feelings. As time went on her eyes wandered more. The occasional comment came out...."wow he's cute" and "I wonder what kinda package is under there". In bed...."if you were just an inch bigger" and "just go down on me because it's really the best way for me to cum with you" Maybe these comments were designed to plant a seed, maybe it was coincidental. All I know is that each time we had sex I felt more and more inadaquate. One night we were watching some porn and she watched as an enormous man took control of a woman and made her scream. She said..."see there is the difference, you don't make me scream". The comment cut like a knife, but deep inside it triggered something in me....a confession of sorts. The kind of confession that maybe should be left unsaid. So here it is, I confess to a great longing, to be cuckolded by my wife. I confess to wanting to be put in chastity, denied sex with her. I confess to wanting to be made to watch as other stronger, better men please her. I confess to wanting to clean up at the end. I confess to wanting to see her please by those who can, and those who deserve to try.
A Slave's Need
Submitted by Nicolae Parx
Full of need, he lifted his face and looked at Her.
It's not always that easy to tell if a boy's head is needy, that is, that he thinks he has been deprived and wants simply to play with and touch his penis carelessly and casually or if his body is truly needy and might explode unless he can ejaculate away his essential physical requirements or risk exploding. It's not good for boys to have to make that decision by themselves, either.
She thought that's why his lips were contemplating something between murmuring one more time, 'I am your slave,' or declaring, 'You are a domme bitch from hell.' In his world, which was really the world She created for him, they were really statements of the same thing.
It was obvious that he'd never gone that long before -- not a full 6 weeks without either masturbating or ejaculating -- as it was clear that the denial was grating on his already frayed nerves. When She put the chasity device on him, he called it his chastity that he was pledging to her but She knew better. What he was really giving her was the fundamental essence of his way of life the way it used to be before he was her slave.
Maybe it was the night he took her hand, mashed it firmly into and around his caged genitals and half-grumbled and half-pleaded, "These are yours. Take them. Use them. Any way you want." She counted to two and waited for what She knew would soon follow and he didn't disappoint her.
"Please." She felt her hand being pressed to him harder as he gave himself to her intensely and She greeted his gesture of what they both already knew but loved to hear repeatedly with a firm grip that needed no words to make her point. They communicated so well. She never needed his permission and he knew it. When he offered more and more of himself to her more and more intensely, it was simply his need talking -- or screaming -- at her. He never needed to give her permission but he always needed to be assured how She wanted him.
Anyone can be a sex slave. Only one can be Her slave. she have very high standards and she choose only once. He was hers. And she kept him halfway between heaven and hell.
His lips' whispering the word "please" was her second favorite word in his vocabulary. There was something about the way he said it, about the way his mouth formed it, about the way it used to stick in his throat, and about the way he learned to push it out with a huge gulp of air that hovered between a demand and an urgent plea. Now that his natural state was wearing her cage in his nakedness for her pleasure and because it was the state that felt the most natural to him, she was pretty used to hearing him beg. Her ears had learned the difference between his constant state of want and his less-frequent but animalistic intense need. She knew which was real, although that didn't dictate what she would do with him. That was always up to her and her mood
she preferred him to remain in need. So she kept him there. At times, she put him there and then dangled him in it like a puppet on her string.
Once, when the cage was new, she made him crawl up and down the bed on crisp white sheets just to feel the agony of fabric against the bits of cock that stuck out between the bars. Each time she made him wiggle back and forth, he learned to know that his need was what she ate for breakfast. She distinctly remember the way he said THAT "please."
The first time he had enough courage to wear the chasity through a metal detector at the airports; his hotel room was high enough to look over the entire city. she figured in her own fantasy, which is, of course, the only one that matters, that the whole population of the southeast US should know that my slave was caged and suffering his personal purgatory that I imposed.
"On the floor," I said simply into the free night and weekend minutes that my new cell phone afforded.
Slipping from his knees to the carpet, I could feel him in place when I gave him my second instruction.
"Hump the floor," I smirked. And he did.
Within seconds, he was screaming for relief, release, and reprieve -- none of which he was going to receive that particular evening. A six-week commitment is just that and it was never a question of my holding him to it. It was a given, or as lawyers say, it was stipulated. There need be no discussion.
It wasn't until he returned that I set out his biggest challenge.
In the reality I created for him, the cage had to be removed at times. Sometimes, it was for personal cleanliness and other times, it was for him to use certain exercise equipment. I like my slave clean and in shape, so I was generous enough to allow him to remove it when I was with him so he could fulfill other needs I had for his body. It was one of those times that I turned into the closest thing to hell that he ever endured.
Whenever I allowed him to remove the cage for brief respites, he always tried to catch my eye in silent begging as to whether or not I'd allow him a few minutes of what I came to call a distant memory. He didn't masturbate anymore; he wasn't allowed. But he loved it even though it was a mere reminiscence of another time before I took him as my slave, and his need to touch and fondle and play just a bit was omnipresent underneath his six-week promise and his new reality that I was creating for him. This time was no different. He wanted to touch. He wanted it badly.
When I didn't return his pleading gaze, he screwed up his courage and asked.
He is required to ask. Whenever he wants something; when something pops into his head; when his body has a need or his mind a desire or even simply a question, he is obliged to ask me. He is not allowed to hold anything back. This time was no different.
"Mistress," he began by using my first favorite word that his lips can utter, "may I masturbate?"
The question itself, along with the colossal craving that underscored it, always entertains me. That's one reason I insist that he ask for whatever it is that pops into his head. He amuses me and I love being entertained.
He was on his knees and his eyes, dripping with need, stared into mine. I love a slave who is proud enough to look me in the eye, hold my gaze, and communicate what is inside him and that, along with a few dozen other details, is why this one is mine. I always take his need seriously.
"Yes," I began to his obvious utter amazement. But I wasn't done.
"You have 90 seconds," I added and watched his deep-set eyes fill with shock. "And," just for my own amusement, "you can't come."
His stare of disbelief was almost worth it, but I did promise him 90 seconds so he dangled from the She giveth and taketh away string that I kept him on. He was just too good a slave to start without my giving the word. Holding his pleading eyes in my own stare, I counted silently and when I reached a number that made me happy, I said, "Start now."
He reached for his temporarily freed penis and began that masturbation rhythm that only men can do for themselves. Stroking lovingly and forcefully, he shut his eyes and elevated himself back to the time before he was caged, into his distant past where he could touch and feel and stroke without regard to my wishes or timetable. I could feel his comfort in touching what used to be his and I watched his technique and method to determine if I could use it later to torment him when I felt like watching him suffer again for me.
My watch said 20 seconds when the first moan fell from his lips.
At 30 seconds, he was groaning.
At 45 seconds, his throat emitted a deep grunt that made me wet enough to consider stuffing my new red silk panties into his mouth, but I knew there was more coming and I didn't want to miss a syllable. At 60 seconds, he was trembling.
"Only thirty seconds left, I reminded his unhearing ears. "Get what you can because you won't touch again until the six weeks are over." He gulped and sighed and added a second hand to the show.
At 75 seconds, I heard it. From somewhere deep inside him, a place I'm not sure he had ever touched before with the simple act of familiar masturbation that now seemed like such a foreign gift to him, his body threw out an amazing growl when I said, albeit throatily, "Remember, you may not come."
He still had 15 seconds left but instead of using them, he fell onto the floor and pressed his hips into the Berba carpet and forced his hips, chest and legs into it while his entire body shook and trembled. All the while, his throat continued to growl. He knew it -- he had reached his limit -- and a single touch would have thrown him over his edge.
Beating himself in the floor, he obeyed my simple command. "You may not come." That's all I needed with him; that's all I ever needed with him.
That's why he is mine; that's why he is my slave and is the culmination of everything I've ever sought.
His need was now worse that when he started. And he wore it so well that I pulled his head to my lap and held it there for a few seconds before sending him to the stationary bike to begin that night's workout. If he did well and sweated for me, I'd let him make me coffee later and suck my toes while he thanked me for attending to his need.
Full of need, he lifted his face and looked at Her.
It's not always that easy to tell if a boy's head is needy, that is, that he thinks he has been deprived and wants simply to play with and touch his penis carelessly and casually or if his body is truly needy and might explode unless he can ejaculate away his essential physical requirements or risk exploding. It's not good for boys to have to make that decision by themselves, either.
She thought that's why his lips were contemplating something between murmuring one more time, 'I am your slave,' or declaring, 'You are a domme bitch from hell.' In his world, which was really the world She created for him, they were really statements of the same thing.
It was obvious that he'd never gone that long before -- not a full 6 weeks without either masturbating or ejaculating -- as it was clear that the denial was grating on his already frayed nerves. When She put the chasity device on him, he called it his chastity that he was pledging to her but She knew better. What he was really giving her was the fundamental essence of his way of life the way it used to be before he was her slave.
Maybe it was the night he took her hand, mashed it firmly into and around his caged genitals and half-grumbled and half-pleaded, "These are yours. Take them. Use them. Any way you want." She counted to two and waited for what She knew would soon follow and he didn't disappoint her.
"Please." She felt her hand being pressed to him harder as he gave himself to her intensely and She greeted his gesture of what they both already knew but loved to hear repeatedly with a firm grip that needed no words to make her point. They communicated so well. She never needed his permission and he knew it. When he offered more and more of himself to her more and more intensely, it was simply his need talking -- or screaming -- at her. He never needed to give her permission but he always needed to be assured how She wanted him.
Anyone can be a sex slave. Only one can be Her slave. she have very high standards and she choose only once. He was hers. And she kept him halfway between heaven and hell.
His lips' whispering the word "please" was her second favorite word in his vocabulary. There was something about the way he said it, about the way his mouth formed it, about the way it used to stick in his throat, and about the way he learned to push it out with a huge gulp of air that hovered between a demand and an urgent plea. Now that his natural state was wearing her cage in his nakedness for her pleasure and because it was the state that felt the most natural to him, she was pretty used to hearing him beg. Her ears had learned the difference between his constant state of want and his less-frequent but animalistic intense need. She knew which was real, although that didn't dictate what she would do with him. That was always up to her and her mood
she preferred him to remain in need. So she kept him there. At times, she put him there and then dangled him in it like a puppet on her string.
Once, when the cage was new, she made him crawl up and down the bed on crisp white sheets just to feel the agony of fabric against the bits of cock that stuck out between the bars. Each time she made him wiggle back and forth, he learned to know that his need was what she ate for breakfast. She distinctly remember the way he said THAT "please."
The first time he had enough courage to wear the chasity through a metal detector at the airports; his hotel room was high enough to look over the entire city. she figured in her own fantasy, which is, of course, the only one that matters, that the whole population of the southeast US should know that my slave was caged and suffering his personal purgatory that I imposed.
"On the floor," I said simply into the free night and weekend minutes that my new cell phone afforded.
Slipping from his knees to the carpet, I could feel him in place when I gave him my second instruction.
"Hump the floor," I smirked. And he did.
Within seconds, he was screaming for relief, release, and reprieve -- none of which he was going to receive that particular evening. A six-week commitment is just that and it was never a question of my holding him to it. It was a given, or as lawyers say, it was stipulated. There need be no discussion.
It wasn't until he returned that I set out his biggest challenge.
In the reality I created for him, the cage had to be removed at times. Sometimes, it was for personal cleanliness and other times, it was for him to use certain exercise equipment. I like my slave clean and in shape, so I was generous enough to allow him to remove it when I was with him so he could fulfill other needs I had for his body. It was one of those times that I turned into the closest thing to hell that he ever endured.
Whenever I allowed him to remove the cage for brief respites, he always tried to catch my eye in silent begging as to whether or not I'd allow him a few minutes of what I came to call a distant memory. He didn't masturbate anymore; he wasn't allowed. But he loved it even though it was a mere reminiscence of another time before I took him as my slave, and his need to touch and fondle and play just a bit was omnipresent underneath his six-week promise and his new reality that I was creating for him. This time was no different. He wanted to touch. He wanted it badly.
When I didn't return his pleading gaze, he screwed up his courage and asked.
He is required to ask. Whenever he wants something; when something pops into his head; when his body has a need or his mind a desire or even simply a question, he is obliged to ask me. He is not allowed to hold anything back. This time was no different.
"Mistress," he began by using my first favorite word that his lips can utter, "may I masturbate?"
The question itself, along with the colossal craving that underscored it, always entertains me. That's one reason I insist that he ask for whatever it is that pops into his head. He amuses me and I love being entertained.
He was on his knees and his eyes, dripping with need, stared into mine. I love a slave who is proud enough to look me in the eye, hold my gaze, and communicate what is inside him and that, along with a few dozen other details, is why this one is mine. I always take his need seriously.
"Yes," I began to his obvious utter amazement. But I wasn't done.
"You have 90 seconds," I added and watched his deep-set eyes fill with shock. "And," just for my own amusement, "you can't come."
His stare of disbelief was almost worth it, but I did promise him 90 seconds so he dangled from the She giveth and taketh away string that I kept him on. He was just too good a slave to start without my giving the word. Holding his pleading eyes in my own stare, I counted silently and when I reached a number that made me happy, I said, "Start now."
He reached for his temporarily freed penis and began that masturbation rhythm that only men can do for themselves. Stroking lovingly and forcefully, he shut his eyes and elevated himself back to the time before he was caged, into his distant past where he could touch and feel and stroke without regard to my wishes or timetable. I could feel his comfort in touching what used to be his and I watched his technique and method to determine if I could use it later to torment him when I felt like watching him suffer again for me.
My watch said 20 seconds when the first moan fell from his lips.
At 30 seconds, he was groaning.
At 45 seconds, his throat emitted a deep grunt that made me wet enough to consider stuffing my new red silk panties into his mouth, but I knew there was more coming and I didn't want to miss a syllable. At 60 seconds, he was trembling.
"Only thirty seconds left, I reminded his unhearing ears. "Get what you can because you won't touch again until the six weeks are over." He gulped and sighed and added a second hand to the show.
At 75 seconds, I heard it. From somewhere deep inside him, a place I'm not sure he had ever touched before with the simple act of familiar masturbation that now seemed like such a foreign gift to him, his body threw out an amazing growl when I said, albeit throatily, "Remember, you may not come."
He still had 15 seconds left but instead of using them, he fell onto the floor and pressed his hips into the Berba carpet and forced his hips, chest and legs into it while his entire body shook and trembled. All the while, his throat continued to growl. He knew it -- he had reached his limit -- and a single touch would have thrown him over his edge.
Beating himself in the floor, he obeyed my simple command. "You may not come." That's all I needed with him; that's all I ever needed with him.
That's why he is mine; that's why he is my slave and is the culmination of everything I've ever sought.
His need was now worse that when he started. And he wore it so well that I pulled his head to my lap and held it there for a few seconds before sending him to the stationary bike to begin that night's workout. If he did well and sweated for me, I'd let him make me coffee later and suck my toes while he thanked me for attending to his need.
A New Lesson Learned
Submitted by Syriana Paine
We had a medical clinic today, and I sent my boy up to participate. I've never had him do something like that before. I guess, I've always just kept him close with me, and honestly wasnt alltogether sure how I'd feel about it. However, I knew it was all in fun, and the two people that would be dealing with him, I have a great deal of trust and respect for. So, I sent him up, and encouraged them both to embarrass and taunt him. I wasn't exactly sure what all would happen, and was very excited to see, knowing my boy would feel a huge amount of embarrassment and humiliation, mixed in with alot of fun and arousal. The end result was another boy 'injecting' my boy for a good length of time in front of all of Dominion, with one of the Ladies in command of it. I watched, smiling and excitedly. After all was said and done, I was so proud of him for how he handled it all, this was a first time for him too, certainly in something so public. So, where's the confession part.... I guess more of a lesson for myself, and a very fun time for us both. Just another way for us to bond closer. I love you my boy, and am very, very proud of you.
We had a medical clinic today, and I sent my boy up to participate. I've never had him do something like that before. I guess, I've always just kept him close with me, and honestly wasnt alltogether sure how I'd feel about it. However, I knew it was all in fun, and the two people that would be dealing with him, I have a great deal of trust and respect for. So, I sent him up, and encouraged them both to embarrass and taunt him. I wasn't exactly sure what all would happen, and was very excited to see, knowing my boy would feel a huge amount of embarrassment and humiliation, mixed in with alot of fun and arousal. The end result was another boy 'injecting' my boy for a good length of time in front of all of Dominion, with one of the Ladies in command of it. I watched, smiling and excitedly. After all was said and done, I was so proud of him for how he handled it all, this was a first time for him too, certainly in something so public. So, where's the confession part.... I guess more of a lesson for myself, and a very fun time for us both. Just another way for us to bond closer. I love you my boy, and am very, very proud of you.
A boy's explanation
Submitted by Chance Tracy
It wasn't very long ago when I was just another guy wandering around and searching for something.. something I just couldn't put my finger on. I had already been to just about every place I could possibly go in this world, yet I still longed for something. Filling my time with empty, meaningless relationships and poseball sex was dreadfully boring. The women were like sheep lining up to be sheered. So many of the men I knew took advantage of that, but I just couldnt bring myself to it. I always respected people much to much to use my anonymity as an excuse to be a asshole.
One day.. while building something in a sandbox, a woman approached me, she wore a tight black leather outfit, thigh high boots, and had a whip coiled on her belt. She spoke with an authority I had never experienced before. She emoted the way she looked at me. The conversation clashed with her body language and it confused me. Her words were saying, "I need a house build.. how much will you charge me?" And her body and her emoting said, "You will do this, and thank me for letting you". I told her what my going rate for builds was and she thanked me.. and left.
I thought about her alot over the next few weeks, I was coming online less and less due to boredom and lack of interest up until I met her, but now I was energized, I had seen something new. Something that challenged me, aroused my body and my intellect. But sadly, when i finally worked up the nerve to contact her, the account was closed and she was gone and her profile was wiped clean.
I had found what I wanted to do, although I really had no clue what it was. I started frequenting BDSM places and got a quick exposure to both poseball warriors, and para roleplayers. Neither of which really was of much interest. I installed RLV and started wearing a collar and VGS Transmitter. I was abducted by a man who spoke very little english. He clicked about and locked me down without a word. In short, I was bored, but prefer to see where things lead to. I am glad I did. I didn't know what region I was in. Nor who was around me, all things were hidden. I was bound and gagged and displayed between two posts. A beautiful woman approached, spoke with the man and the transaction was completed that quickly. I was sold. The woman dragged me into a dungeon and began a scene I will never forget (and regret not having my logging turned on). She emoted with such intensity it made my heart stop. She bent me and moved me around with ease, putting me in postures I hadnt even imagined possible. She awoke in me the need to serve. Every day for a week, I would log on and wait, she would come.. and I would do as she commanded. Each day, becoming more and more desparate to please her, praying she would raise the shroud around me and make me hers.
She was incredible.. and I worshipped her. A few days passed, and she did not show, a few more days I waited, locked down, unable to move, unaware of what to do. After two weeks it became clear that the Lady would not return, and I logged in a normal viewer and freed myself.
I looked around a bit and ran into an old friend who i taught how to build back in my early days in SL. Mitzi told me about The Dominion and suggested I come here to explore. I guess I was a bit shy, watching, not really knowing what to do, so I knelt as Miss Mitzi told me, and watched the crowd, following the helpful guidance of Gregie and Dorsel.. and a few of the others. When i saw the announcement for a physical exam I jumped in with both feet and here I am.
Yes, I am a roleplayer, which helps me communicate my thoughts and my feelings. But before you dismiss me as a fake, I would insist that I am not disgenuous in what I type or say. I truly feel every nervous tumble in my stomach, every quiver in my gut. My life here is as physically and emotionally real as is my RL. I pray I can be pleasing here.
It wasn't very long ago when I was just another guy wandering around and searching for something.. something I just couldn't put my finger on. I had already been to just about every place I could possibly go in this world, yet I still longed for something. Filling my time with empty, meaningless relationships and poseball sex was dreadfully boring. The women were like sheep lining up to be sheered. So many of the men I knew took advantage of that, but I just couldnt bring myself to it. I always respected people much to much to use my anonymity as an excuse to be a asshole.
One day.. while building something in a sandbox, a woman approached me, she wore a tight black leather outfit, thigh high boots, and had a whip coiled on her belt. She spoke with an authority I had never experienced before. She emoted the way she looked at me. The conversation clashed with her body language and it confused me. Her words were saying, "I need a house build.. how much will you charge me?" And her body and her emoting said, "You will do this, and thank me for letting you". I told her what my going rate for builds was and she thanked me.. and left.
I thought about her alot over the next few weeks, I was coming online less and less due to boredom and lack of interest up until I met her, but now I was energized, I had seen something new. Something that challenged me, aroused my body and my intellect. But sadly, when i finally worked up the nerve to contact her, the account was closed and she was gone and her profile was wiped clean.
I had found what I wanted to do, although I really had no clue what it was. I started frequenting BDSM places and got a quick exposure to both poseball warriors, and para roleplayers. Neither of which really was of much interest. I installed RLV and started wearing a collar and VGS Transmitter. I was abducted by a man who spoke very little english. He clicked about and locked me down without a word. In short, I was bored, but prefer to see where things lead to. I am glad I did. I didn't know what region I was in. Nor who was around me, all things were hidden. I was bound and gagged and displayed between two posts. A beautiful woman approached, spoke with the man and the transaction was completed that quickly. I was sold. The woman dragged me into a dungeon and began a scene I will never forget (and regret not having my logging turned on). She emoted with such intensity it made my heart stop. She bent me and moved me around with ease, putting me in postures I hadnt even imagined possible. She awoke in me the need to serve. Every day for a week, I would log on and wait, she would come.. and I would do as she commanded. Each day, becoming more and more desparate to please her, praying she would raise the shroud around me and make me hers.
She was incredible.. and I worshipped her. A few days passed, and she did not show, a few more days I waited, locked down, unable to move, unaware of what to do. After two weeks it became clear that the Lady would not return, and I logged in a normal viewer and freed myself.
I looked around a bit and ran into an old friend who i taught how to build back in my early days in SL. Mitzi told me about The Dominion and suggested I come here to explore. I guess I was a bit shy, watching, not really knowing what to do, so I knelt as Miss Mitzi told me, and watched the crowd, following the helpful guidance of Gregie and Dorsel.. and a few of the others. When i saw the announcement for a physical exam I jumped in with both feet and here I am.
Yes, I am a roleplayer, which helps me communicate my thoughts and my feelings. But before you dismiss me as a fake, I would insist that I am not disgenuous in what I type or say. I truly feel every nervous tumble in my stomach, every quiver in my gut. My life here is as physically and emotionally real as is my RL. I pray I can be pleasing here.
One Domme's Journey
“Boy, take your clothes off,” I commanded, as I stalked across the room whip in hand. My soft spoken, gentle sub kneeled on the floor quivering as I approached, knowing full well what was in store that day. “You disobeyed me toy?” I asked harshly. “Yes Miss”, he stammered, head hung low “I stayed up later then you instructed”. “Why”, I demanded? “Cause I was dancing and it was fun.” “You promised you would go to bed before midnight and your fun is more important than a promise to me?” I growled softly. “I’m sorry Miss,” he whispered quietly still staring at the floor.
Leash in hand I dragged him to the rack fastening first his hands then ankles to the wall. His naked ass shone in the moonlight, and I shook my whip out, cracking it in the air. As it sounded I saw him jump and struggle against the chains. “Next time you will not break a promise toy.” I pulled my arm back, and then jerked forward bringing it down hard on his ass. “That’s one boy,”…. Crack…. It sounded again hard against his already red ass…. “Two, boy”, I stated flatly, “Three.” I heard him whimper from pain as he jerked again on the rack pulling against the restraints. “Four,” I called out again, as he whispered, “Thank you Miss.” I sighed; disappointed my toy had not done what he was told. I reached up unhooking his wrists from the rack. “Undo your ankles boy, go lie on the bed, and don’t get any blood on it”, I quipped.
I watched as he staggered across the floor toward the bed, welts already formed across his ass. I sighed again inwardly, thinking how could the man I love break a promise? He collapsed onto the bed legs still shaking, and I pushed them wide, sitting between them. I gently began to rub some salve on his red ass, soothing the stinging lines etched in his skin and as I rubbed as saw his balls begin to tighten, cock growing hard. “You excited toy?” I barked as I slapped his ass again. “No Miss,” he stammered. “Well you will be”, I responded reaching for the vibrator. I rubbed a bit of lube around it, and drizzled it down his ass before pushing it hard inside him. I felt his muscles clinch up as he moaned loudly, then I pushed it farther in slowly, holding it inside him as he wiggled, whimpering in pain. “Get up on your knees toy”, I commanded and pushed it back inside his tight ass, hard. He moaned again, and I could see his cock was hard. I reached under him, one hand stroking his hard cock while I pushed the vib in and out, the mix of pleasure and pain was torture. I watched his face grimace with pain as the drops of cum began to leak from his hard cock. “Don’t cum boy I commanded,” as I slipped under him licking the tip of his cock. I let my tongue flick over him teasing as I pushed faster in and out with the vib, turning it inside him. He groaned again louder, grunting from the pressure in his tight, virgin ass.
I must confess I am not really a Domina, not a trained one, just a woman who as a result of circumstance and life became what I am. My story starts many years ago, when I was really just a girl, so young and naive.
It all began the summer of 1987, I was just 17, miraculously still a virgin, growing up in a fast town. Even then I was stubborn and free spirited, I did what I wanted when I wanted to. One evening late in August, changed the course of my life forever.
San Clemente Beach, the wind blew in off the ocean, and smell of salt and sun tan lotion mixed with vodka filled the air. There was a keg party at the beach. You see, back in those days it was still easy to smuggle a keg down the winding cliffs to San Clemente, burry it in the sand and then pass out plastic cups for all to enjoy, parents and police none the wiser. We had started drinking late that afternoon, and by 7 the bonfire was raging, pallets stacked three high, flames everywhere. We also had run the keg dry and switched to vodka, gallons of cheep Smirnoff poured in the flames and downed in bongs. Fifty or sixty High School kids milled about some surfing, some already passed out, others looking to hook up. The music blared, and as things got out of the hand, the inevitable happen. The cops arrived. Flood lights glared over head, “Clear the beach,” sounded from the top of the rise, we knew we had to go, or risk being picked up.
As I started up the steep, winding path to the campground above, my legs began to feel funny the alcohol was finally kicking it. I staggered and slowed to keep from falling, the crowd pushed together, all trying to get up the hill before the cops arrived. And as I looked up, I realized I was lost, separated from my friends. Just then, a soft voice called from behind me, “Do you need help?”, “yes,” I stammered, “I have lost my friends.” “Come with me, I know an easier way up the hill” the soothing voice called. So I took the stranger’s hand and followed him into the darkness.
The path turned sharply to the right, and before I knew it we were alone, in the darkness. The waves thundered behind us, and the sound of sirens echoed in the distance. The footsteps and voices of others had faded away and an eerie silence enveloped us.
Fear. How do you describe real fear to someone who has never felt it? Every fiber of your being comes to life, alert, tense. Your stomach drops, the hair on your neck stands on end. The buzz of alcohol gone instantly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but it was all too late. In that split second, I felt myself being thrown to the ground, the once kind voice now ragged and angry, my head thudded on a large rock as I hit the ground, and I screamed. Before I could react he was on top of me, my small wrists pinned to the ground, trapped in one large hand, and as I struggled his grip tightened, my shorts ripped from my thin hips. I brought my knee up hard, but he already had his thigh pressed between my legs. I twisted and arched, screaming again, and as I fought my bikini was torn away. I lay pinned and naked in the dirt. I felt his hand between my thighs, as he forced my legs farther apart his weight came down on me, gasping for air I screamed again. The only sound I could hear was his uneven breathing as he leaned closer, “If you tell anyone I will find you, I will kill you.” In that instant, I felt a searing pain between my legs, warm blood began to trickle down my thighs. He thrusted harder ripping my flesh as he pounded into me, my screams and cries went unheard, and I watched from above as this stranger continued fucking, raping, the limp body below.
Time has passed, and while my life was changed, I do not harbor anger, resentment, or even fear. Life gives us opportunities to learn and I have learned. I know pain, and the feeling of being dominated and violated, but I also know love and empathy. The ability to feel what a sub may be feeling, and the compassion to understand has made me who I am. While I dominate, it is not for revenge, but control. I have many kinks… but without control I cannot cum, and so I move forward happy and content in my boys arms knowing I am loved.
Leash in hand I dragged him to the rack fastening first his hands then ankles to the wall. His naked ass shone in the moonlight, and I shook my whip out, cracking it in the air. As it sounded I saw him jump and struggle against the chains. “Next time you will not break a promise toy.” I pulled my arm back, and then jerked forward bringing it down hard on his ass. “That’s one boy,”…. Crack…. It sounded again hard against his already red ass…. “Two, boy”, I stated flatly, “Three.” I heard him whimper from pain as he jerked again on the rack pulling against the restraints. “Four,” I called out again, as he whispered, “Thank you Miss.” I sighed; disappointed my toy had not done what he was told. I reached up unhooking his wrists from the rack. “Undo your ankles boy, go lie on the bed, and don’t get any blood on it”, I quipped.
I watched as he staggered across the floor toward the bed, welts already formed across his ass. I sighed again inwardly, thinking how could the man I love break a promise? He collapsed onto the bed legs still shaking, and I pushed them wide, sitting between them. I gently began to rub some salve on his red ass, soothing the stinging lines etched in his skin and as I rubbed as saw his balls begin to tighten, cock growing hard. “You excited toy?” I barked as I slapped his ass again. “No Miss,” he stammered. “Well you will be”, I responded reaching for the vibrator. I rubbed a bit of lube around it, and drizzled it down his ass before pushing it hard inside him. I felt his muscles clinch up as he moaned loudly, then I pushed it farther in slowly, holding it inside him as he wiggled, whimpering in pain. “Get up on your knees toy”, I commanded and pushed it back inside his tight ass, hard. He moaned again, and I could see his cock was hard. I reached under him, one hand stroking his hard cock while I pushed the vib in and out, the mix of pleasure and pain was torture. I watched his face grimace with pain as the drops of cum began to leak from his hard cock. “Don’t cum boy I commanded,” as I slipped under him licking the tip of his cock. I let my tongue flick over him teasing as I pushed faster in and out with the vib, turning it inside him. He groaned again louder, grunting from the pressure in his tight, virgin ass.
I must confess I am not really a Domina, not a trained one, just a woman who as a result of circumstance and life became what I am. My story starts many years ago, when I was really just a girl, so young and naive.
It all began the summer of 1987, I was just 17, miraculously still a virgin, growing up in a fast town. Even then I was stubborn and free spirited, I did what I wanted when I wanted to. One evening late in August, changed the course of my life forever.
San Clemente Beach, the wind blew in off the ocean, and smell of salt and sun tan lotion mixed with vodka filled the air. There was a keg party at the beach. You see, back in those days it was still easy to smuggle a keg down the winding cliffs to San Clemente, burry it in the sand and then pass out plastic cups for all to enjoy, parents and police none the wiser. We had started drinking late that afternoon, and by 7 the bonfire was raging, pallets stacked three high, flames everywhere. We also had run the keg dry and switched to vodka, gallons of cheep Smirnoff poured in the flames and downed in bongs. Fifty or sixty High School kids milled about some surfing, some already passed out, others looking to hook up. The music blared, and as things got out of the hand, the inevitable happen. The cops arrived. Flood lights glared over head, “Clear the beach,” sounded from the top of the rise, we knew we had to go, or risk being picked up.
As I started up the steep, winding path to the campground above, my legs began to feel funny the alcohol was finally kicking it. I staggered and slowed to keep from falling, the crowd pushed together, all trying to get up the hill before the cops arrived. And as I looked up, I realized I was lost, separated from my friends. Just then, a soft voice called from behind me, “Do you need help?”, “yes,” I stammered, “I have lost my friends.” “Come with me, I know an easier way up the hill” the soothing voice called. So I took the stranger’s hand and followed him into the darkness.
The path turned sharply to the right, and before I knew it we were alone, in the darkness. The waves thundered behind us, and the sound of sirens echoed in the distance. The footsteps and voices of others had faded away and an eerie silence enveloped us.
Fear. How do you describe real fear to someone who has never felt it? Every fiber of your being comes to life, alert, tense. Your stomach drops, the hair on your neck stands on end. The buzz of alcohol gone instantly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but it was all too late. In that split second, I felt myself being thrown to the ground, the once kind voice now ragged and angry, my head thudded on a large rock as I hit the ground, and I screamed. Before I could react he was on top of me, my small wrists pinned to the ground, trapped in one large hand, and as I struggled his grip tightened, my shorts ripped from my thin hips. I brought my knee up hard, but he already had his thigh pressed between my legs. I twisted and arched, screaming again, and as I fought my bikini was torn away. I lay pinned and naked in the dirt. I felt his hand between my thighs, as he forced my legs farther apart his weight came down on me, gasping for air I screamed again. The only sound I could hear was his uneven breathing as he leaned closer, “If you tell anyone I will find you, I will kill you.” In that instant, I felt a searing pain between my legs, warm blood began to trickle down my thighs. He thrusted harder ripping my flesh as he pounded into me, my screams and cries went unheard, and I watched from above as this stranger continued fucking, raping, the limp body below.
Time has passed, and while my life was changed, I do not harbor anger, resentment, or even fear. Life gives us opportunities to learn and I have learned. I know pain, and the feeling of being dominated and violated, but I also know love and empathy. The ability to feel what a sub may be feeling, and the compassion to understand has made me who I am. While I dominate, it is not for revenge, but control. I have many kinks… but without control I cannot cum, and so I move forward happy and content in my boys arms knowing I am loved.
Even More...
Submitted by Nicolae Parx
There is never enough for a slave's Owner. She will always want even more.
Even with the scars, welts, and stripes on his forearms, shoulders, and back along with a deep red hue glossing his balls and starting to spread up his shaft, She wasn't done with him. Her need was too great and his need was screaming in Her ears. She had to have everything he could give Her - - his present, his past and his potential. It was all Hers and She wanted
. . . even more.
He knelt on the hard floor, just waiting and tuned into Her slightest movement. A small crooked finger meant he was to spring into action and obey whatever She instructed. Silently, She controlled him more than any words could engender. A nod brought him to his knees; a tilted head laid him flat on his stomach at Her feet. A single kick opened his mouth and made him drink in whatever She put before him. It didn't matter if it were Her toes or fingers or breast or dripping bottom. He sucked. He worshipped. That's what he did.
She always wanted more from him and he struggled to anticipate it, to perform, to please Her. Most often when he did, She patted some part of him and murmured, "Good slave," or "Good fucktoy." Her words ate through him; he longed to hear them and would do anything She required just to hear them and to feel Her touch.
Until today because She wanted
. . . even more.
Usually She kept him chained to Her ankle, but today She altered his position and put him on his knees a mere three feet from Her. Deftly, She roped his penis and balls in a slip knot that tightened as She pulled the rope toward Her through a very utilitarian floor hook. Tied inescapably to Her chair, She could shorten the rope in short, crisp tugs and bring noises from his throat that approximated grunts. Some were screams. All of them made Her smile. But She wanted
. . . even more.
Finally, when the rope was as taut as possible and his genitals screeched for relief, She spread Her legs and made him peer into Her. Even a slave could see the warm wetness glistening from her trimmed hair and even a slave understood that She was ready to be pleased.
But this slave would soon learn just what it took to please Her.
She twisted the rope one more agonizing turn around the latch on Her chair and delighted in the tears that welled up in his eyes. He would never complain and they both knew it. He would clench his jaw and suffer for Her, but he would never complain.
She smiled at his plight and She wanted
. . . even more.
A long finger worked its way into the dark hair of Her lower lips and a small moan escaped Her lips. Forced to watch Her do what he longed to perform himself - - what was his duty - - his back teeth ached from his fierce self-inflicted bite. A second finger and a new moan and his ears burned as hot as the welts on his arms that She had inflicted just a few minutes ago. Proud to wear Her scars, he stared into Her, searching for each finger, desperate to know what every one of them did to please Her so he could do the same for Her when she allowed him entry. He longed for permission but he knew that She wanted
. . . even more.
A third finger and another moan, louder this time.
His tortured penis began throbbing in excitement and he oozed the need of the truly famished. Almost jealous of Her fingers' journey, his head moved an involuntary inch forward. He never realized its movement, but She took it all in. Her slave's need was in Her control. She owned his desire and fed off his passion. And She wanted
. . . even more.
A long drip of precum launched from the tip of his penis and dribbled down to the cold floor when a fourth finger entered Her and danced a sensual circle inside while a longer, louder moan filled the utilitarian room.
With an air of authority that comes from the security of ownership, She worked her fingers in a dance of delight. Soon, She was in joyful song and his eyes, riveted to what he could see of Her fingers, burned with tears of need, want and obligation. In short order, She seemed oblivious to his presence.
"Please," he moaned.
She ignored him.
"Please, Mistress," he begged.
She was in Her own world of delight.
"Oh, god, please!" he pleaded in a throaty whisper.
She heard a noise but did not discern words.
Her hand took the rope and tugged it mercilessly toward Her. The pain seared through him and dropped him flat on the floor at her feet, his lips a bare inch from Her shoes.
With his stiff cock under his weight, he slithered toward Her, parted his lips and took the toe of Her shoe between them. Lapping like a dog on a hot summer day, he was forced to listen to Her incessant moans of happiness and be satisfied to taste the leather of Her shoe. Slithering closer, he moved his tongue to the skin of Her foot and with dogged determination, slithered an inch closer to Her.
The rope ate his balls in its ever-tightening death grip. But he knew She wanted
. . . even more.
Barely able to lick Her skin, let alone worship Her the way She deserved, he punished his own body by slithered yet another inch toward Her moaning body's warmth. Tasting Her was all he imagined yet Her sounds of joy filled his ears. Desperation gripped him as he thought about not being between Her legs where he belonged when She was ready to finish. It was so unthinkable, he pushed himself forward as the rope tore his organs in an ever-tightening noose.
She moaned loudly enough to make him stop immediately and savor the sound that filled the room and fell into his ears.
One more inch, he calculated, and he could taste her ankle while she completed the journey without him.
She sighed from Her throat as his elbows carried him the final inch to Her. Opening his mouth, he pressed his tongue out and . . .
Her sounds made him realize he had performed well for Her. He knew, as always, she was done with Her need, and therefore, with him.
Her strong wet fingers lifted his head by his hair from the cold floor and drew him between Her legs. In a single motion, She untwisted the rope from its harness and pulled his face to within an inch of her glistening moisture. His lungs inhaled Her; his eyes drank in Her ecstasy, and his tongue longed to taste Her again.
Even in the throes of joy, She always made sure he knew his place. Yet he heard and felt only one thing: the need to take Her to the end of Her journey with the tongue She had trained so well. But he knew that She would demand
. . . even more.
Somewhere, birds chirped and the wind blew through the trees. But the slave existed entirely between Her legs and for him, there was no other world. With only his tongue, he painted the rainbow for Her and listened happily to Her repeated calls of delight. His balls burned, his arms ached, his cock was rubbed raw from dragging underneath as he slithered toward Her across the cold floor.
But he was happy.
And She was nowhere close to done with him. She had to have
. . . even more.
There is never enough for a slave's Owner. She will always want even more.
Even with the scars, welts, and stripes on his forearms, shoulders, and back along with a deep red hue glossing his balls and starting to spread up his shaft, She wasn't done with him. Her need was too great and his need was screaming in Her ears. She had to have everything he could give Her - - his present, his past and his potential. It was all Hers and She wanted
. . . even more.
He knelt on the hard floor, just waiting and tuned into Her slightest movement. A small crooked finger meant he was to spring into action and obey whatever She instructed. Silently, She controlled him more than any words could engender. A nod brought him to his knees; a tilted head laid him flat on his stomach at Her feet. A single kick opened his mouth and made him drink in whatever She put before him. It didn't matter if it were Her toes or fingers or breast or dripping bottom. He sucked. He worshipped. That's what he did.
She always wanted more from him and he struggled to anticipate it, to perform, to please Her. Most often when he did, She patted some part of him and murmured, "Good slave," or "Good fucktoy." Her words ate through him; he longed to hear them and would do anything She required just to hear them and to feel Her touch.
Until today because She wanted
. . . even more.
Usually She kept him chained to Her ankle, but today She altered his position and put him on his knees a mere three feet from Her. Deftly, She roped his penis and balls in a slip knot that tightened as She pulled the rope toward Her through a very utilitarian floor hook. Tied inescapably to Her chair, She could shorten the rope in short, crisp tugs and bring noises from his throat that approximated grunts. Some were screams. All of them made Her smile. But She wanted
. . . even more.
Finally, when the rope was as taut as possible and his genitals screeched for relief, She spread Her legs and made him peer into Her. Even a slave could see the warm wetness glistening from her trimmed hair and even a slave understood that She was ready to be pleased.
But this slave would soon learn just what it took to please Her.
She twisted the rope one more agonizing turn around the latch on Her chair and delighted in the tears that welled up in his eyes. He would never complain and they both knew it. He would clench his jaw and suffer for Her, but he would never complain.
She smiled at his plight and She wanted
. . . even more.
A long finger worked its way into the dark hair of Her lower lips and a small moan escaped Her lips. Forced to watch Her do what he longed to perform himself - - what was his duty - - his back teeth ached from his fierce self-inflicted bite. A second finger and a new moan and his ears burned as hot as the welts on his arms that She had inflicted just a few minutes ago. Proud to wear Her scars, he stared into Her, searching for each finger, desperate to know what every one of them did to please Her so he could do the same for Her when she allowed him entry. He longed for permission but he knew that She wanted
. . . even more.
A third finger and another moan, louder this time.
His tortured penis began throbbing in excitement and he oozed the need of the truly famished. Almost jealous of Her fingers' journey, his head moved an involuntary inch forward. He never realized its movement, but She took it all in. Her slave's need was in Her control. She owned his desire and fed off his passion. And She wanted
. . . even more.
A long drip of precum launched from the tip of his penis and dribbled down to the cold floor when a fourth finger entered Her and danced a sensual circle inside while a longer, louder moan filled the utilitarian room.
With an air of authority that comes from the security of ownership, She worked her fingers in a dance of delight. Soon, She was in joyful song and his eyes, riveted to what he could see of Her fingers, burned with tears of need, want and obligation. In short order, She seemed oblivious to his presence.
"Please," he moaned.
She ignored him.
"Please, Mistress," he begged.
She was in Her own world of delight.
"Oh, god, please!" he pleaded in a throaty whisper.
She heard a noise but did not discern words.
Her hand took the rope and tugged it mercilessly toward Her. The pain seared through him and dropped him flat on the floor at her feet, his lips a bare inch from Her shoes.
With his stiff cock under his weight, he slithered toward Her, parted his lips and took the toe of Her shoe between them. Lapping like a dog on a hot summer day, he was forced to listen to Her incessant moans of happiness and be satisfied to taste the leather of Her shoe. Slithering closer, he moved his tongue to the skin of Her foot and with dogged determination, slithered an inch closer to Her.
The rope ate his balls in its ever-tightening death grip. But he knew She wanted
. . . even more.
Barely able to lick Her skin, let alone worship Her the way She deserved, he punished his own body by slithered yet another inch toward Her moaning body's warmth. Tasting Her was all he imagined yet Her sounds of joy filled his ears. Desperation gripped him as he thought about not being between Her legs where he belonged when She was ready to finish. It was so unthinkable, he pushed himself forward as the rope tore his organs in an ever-tightening noose.
She moaned loudly enough to make him stop immediately and savor the sound that filled the room and fell into his ears.
One more inch, he calculated, and he could taste her ankle while she completed the journey without him.
She sighed from Her throat as his elbows carried him the final inch to Her. Opening his mouth, he pressed his tongue out and . . .
Her sounds made him realize he had performed well for Her. He knew, as always, she was done with Her need, and therefore, with him.
Her strong wet fingers lifted his head by his hair from the cold floor and drew him between Her legs. In a single motion, She untwisted the rope from its harness and pulled his face to within an inch of her glistening moisture. His lungs inhaled Her; his eyes drank in Her ecstasy, and his tongue longed to taste Her again.
Even in the throes of joy, She always made sure he knew his place. Yet he heard and felt only one thing: the need to take Her to the end of Her journey with the tongue She had trained so well. But he knew that She would demand
. . . even more.
Somewhere, birds chirped and the wind blew through the trees. But the slave existed entirely between Her legs and for him, there was no other world. With only his tongue, he painted the rainbow for Her and listened happily to Her repeated calls of delight. His balls burned, his arms ached, his cock was rubbed raw from dragging underneath as he slithered toward Her across the cold floor.
But he was happy.
And She was nowhere close to done with him. She had to have
. . . even more.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Breaking in a new toy
Submitted by Tommy Warden
Getting to this point had taken a bit of doing and had not gone entirely smoothly at first. It’s too often that way setting up anything new. Luckily enough, all the pieces had been there and the directions had been comprehensible. I had done most of the work, as I should have, but Mistress had taken part. One of the many things that I love about my Mistress is that She is no idle woman of leisure, much as I do appreciate opportunities to do for Her, and She is fully capable of picking up and working with Her hands on a project. Despite the hiccups and not being sure where “slot A” and “bolt B” were at times, after an hour and a half of work, we had ourselves a brand-new, steel framed, padded, all ergonomical St. Andrew’s cross. It had the attachment points we needed at the ankles and wrists, but was portable and sat at an angle, allowing the victim to stand at a more natural angle, even though restrained. It was padded at the stomach and chest. All in all, it was about as comfortable as one could get restrained with one’s backside completely exposed. Mistress had said, with one of Her trademark giggles, that She wanted me to be as comfortable as possible while She beat the hell out of me. I appreciate that. There are few things as annoying or distracting during a good beating as having an itch or a cramp somewhere.
After all our efforts, we finally had our new toy put together. It sat there invitingly, just waiting for its first customer. As we took a break from the work for a light lunch, as it got into the late afternoon, She got a gleam in Her eye that grew and grew, as She would look over at our new toy. I felt that mix of anticipation and trepidation that I always do, watching Her work up to something, feeling myself work up to it in my way as well. I forced myself to relax through lunch and just to let what was to come happen as it would.
Shortly after we finished, Mistress looked squarely at me, then at our new cross, then back to me again. She smiled slowly and commanded with one word: “Strip”. I nodded and complied, “Yes, Mistress,” as I went over towards our open playspace. I slowly took off and neatly folded and set aside each item in the little space near the wall and out of the way of both of us that I have for my clothes when we play. She had gone over to our toy closet and was intently looking through for what She wanted to use today to inaugurate our new addition. As She did, I stretched out thoroughly. It wouldn’t do to get a Charlie horse or a cramp!
Mistress apparently had made Her decisions, but decided to hold off on actually taking anything out, I assume to keep things a bit of a surprise. She turned back towards me holding my cuffs, wrists and ankles, the fuzzy ones. It wouldn’t do to chafe. “Ok, my boy. You know the drill.” I brought my wrists up and She snugly fixed the cuffs around them, and led me over to the cross. I brought myself forwards towards it, and She came around towards my front. She quickly checked the panic straps on the wrist cuffs, and then secured them to the arms of the cross above my head. We had adjusted the cross so that I was upright, but not uncomfortable. These particular wrist cuffs were made for suspension, and had handy-holds to grab on to, so I had a bit of extra support. After making sure that the cuffs were secure, She stood there in front of me a moment as I stood helpless. She smiled and reached out for my cock. She grabbed and squeezed it strongly, playing with it just a little, before running Her nails down it. I gasped as She dug them in just a little, and looked down as She left red streaks down the length of my shaft. I winced a little, but just kept breathing. She giggled again, and reached underneath and grabbed at my balls. This was something She had been working on with me, getting me more comfortable with Her playing with them. She grabbed them and played with them between Her fingers, pulling on them, running one, and then the other, between Her thumb and fingers. I couldn’t help but try to double over a little, and my left leg shook and bobbed up and down a bit. I really am sensitive there, and nervous about that area getting messed with, so it’s always a challenge to stay still. After enjoying toying with my front for a few minutes, She stepped around and secured my ankles to the legs of the cross. Now, I was locked in at all 4 spots. She chuckled softly. “Comfy, my dear?” I nodded, “Yes, Mistress. Just fine. Thank You.” Satisfied and eager, She retreated back around and went to the cabinet for what toys She wanted.
We we’re breaking in this new toy… and She was going to break me in a bit as well. She started on me with one of our medium-weight deerhide floggers. Very nice and soft, it always made for a great warm up. She alternated, between quicker, more regular downward strokes to the left and right, and then began to mix in harder, sharper whacks every five strokes or so. I could hear Her warming up, breathing, getting into Her zone as I went into mine. The feeling of my skin warming up and the shudder I had from the hard strokes started to wash over me. Now, restrained on our new acquisition, I felt a new sense of comfort and peace. I was secure in one place, not going anywhere and had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t going to flinch or struggle, and I didn’t have to take care of anything.
After that warm up, She brought up our slapper whip. This was the worst and sharpest toy we had. “Just a taste at first, my boy. I’m keeping this one ready for a lot more later.” With that, She took the handle in Her left hand and the tip in Her right, stretching the whip slightly as She sized my back up. It was difficult for me to see, but I looked around as best I could. I always feel more comfortable being able to see Her as we play. For later, She agreed that we could get a large full-length mirror so that we could watch ourselves. For the moment, though, we were still starting in on something new.
Ready now, She took aim and fired with that slapper whip. The first strike hit me low in the back, just above my waist and close to dead center. I gasped and stiffened. I am always so much more sensitive near the center of my back and near my spine, that the feeling is overwhelming. I stamped my left foot and shook. Mistress came forward and rubbed the spot a little. She knew what this mean little toy did, and was always careful to take Her time with it. “Breathe, my boy. It’s ok. You aren’t going anywhere. You’re safe. I’ve got you and I’m going to take us up slow and easy.” I nodded and breathed “Ok, Mistress.” She stepped back, readied the slapper again, and let out another lash, this time striking my ass. That was much easier than the first, hitting my better-protected hindquarters. She kept up, working both on my back and on Her technique, warming both up. She struck from my shoulders to my legs, again and again. Sometimes, over thicker spots, my legs, my ass, the hollows of my shoulder blades, it burned but the feeling didn’t break through for another few strokes. Other times, hitting my spine, over my ribs, or any other spot where the skin was thinnest, the feeling broke into me like crystal shards, leaving me panting and shaking, the rush going up to my head and all the way through to the front of my face. It was those times that She would pause to rub and comfort me. She knew what She was doing, where to hit me, and what it would do, and little by little, my endurance picked up and Her need to do that subsided. This time, She only gave me twenty-five with that slapper.
After rubbing me one last time, She came around to look me in the eye. “How are you doing, my boy?” I was sweating and still panting slightly, but I nodded and whispered “I’m doing fine, Mistress. No worries.” In truth, seeing Her face to face again always helps me to feel very, very much better right away. Even after the roughest bit of play leaving me as sore and shaking as I can be, having Her there always brings me back to center very quickly. She came forward, caressing my face softly, and kissed me gently. I kissed back, taking in the warmth and sweet taste of Her lips. We broke, and She moved back around me… Now, I could see that She was taking down the pair of hinged rotating floggers we had been working on. One of these is rubber, and stings even as it thuds. The other is bullhide, very heavy, but soft. Now, with these, we would really hit our “high gear”…
Getting to this point had taken a bit of doing and had not gone entirely smoothly at first. It’s too often that way setting up anything new. Luckily enough, all the pieces had been there and the directions had been comprehensible. I had done most of the work, as I should have, but Mistress had taken part. One of the many things that I love about my Mistress is that She is no idle woman of leisure, much as I do appreciate opportunities to do for Her, and She is fully capable of picking up and working with Her hands on a project. Despite the hiccups and not being sure where “slot A” and “bolt B” were at times, after an hour and a half of work, we had ourselves a brand-new, steel framed, padded, all ergonomical St. Andrew’s cross. It had the attachment points we needed at the ankles and wrists, but was portable and sat at an angle, allowing the victim to stand at a more natural angle, even though restrained. It was padded at the stomach and chest. All in all, it was about as comfortable as one could get restrained with one’s backside completely exposed. Mistress had said, with one of Her trademark giggles, that She wanted me to be as comfortable as possible while She beat the hell out of me. I appreciate that. There are few things as annoying or distracting during a good beating as having an itch or a cramp somewhere.
After all our efforts, we finally had our new toy put together. It sat there invitingly, just waiting for its first customer. As we took a break from the work for a light lunch, as it got into the late afternoon, She got a gleam in Her eye that grew and grew, as She would look over at our new toy. I felt that mix of anticipation and trepidation that I always do, watching Her work up to something, feeling myself work up to it in my way as well. I forced myself to relax through lunch and just to let what was to come happen as it would.
Shortly after we finished, Mistress looked squarely at me, then at our new cross, then back to me again. She smiled slowly and commanded with one word: “Strip”. I nodded and complied, “Yes, Mistress,” as I went over towards our open playspace. I slowly took off and neatly folded and set aside each item in the little space near the wall and out of the way of both of us that I have for my clothes when we play. She had gone over to our toy closet and was intently looking through for what She wanted to use today to inaugurate our new addition. As She did, I stretched out thoroughly. It wouldn’t do to get a Charlie horse or a cramp!
Mistress apparently had made Her decisions, but decided to hold off on actually taking anything out, I assume to keep things a bit of a surprise. She turned back towards me holding my cuffs, wrists and ankles, the fuzzy ones. It wouldn’t do to chafe. “Ok, my boy. You know the drill.” I brought my wrists up and She snugly fixed the cuffs around them, and led me over to the cross. I brought myself forwards towards it, and She came around towards my front. She quickly checked the panic straps on the wrist cuffs, and then secured them to the arms of the cross above my head. We had adjusted the cross so that I was upright, but not uncomfortable. These particular wrist cuffs were made for suspension, and had handy-holds to grab on to, so I had a bit of extra support. After making sure that the cuffs were secure, She stood there in front of me a moment as I stood helpless. She smiled and reached out for my cock. She grabbed and squeezed it strongly, playing with it just a little, before running Her nails down it. I gasped as She dug them in just a little, and looked down as She left red streaks down the length of my shaft. I winced a little, but just kept breathing. She giggled again, and reached underneath and grabbed at my balls. This was something She had been working on with me, getting me more comfortable with Her playing with them. She grabbed them and played with them between Her fingers, pulling on them, running one, and then the other, between Her thumb and fingers. I couldn’t help but try to double over a little, and my left leg shook and bobbed up and down a bit. I really am sensitive there, and nervous about that area getting messed with, so it’s always a challenge to stay still. After enjoying toying with my front for a few minutes, She stepped around and secured my ankles to the legs of the cross. Now, I was locked in at all 4 spots. She chuckled softly. “Comfy, my dear?” I nodded, “Yes, Mistress. Just fine. Thank You.” Satisfied and eager, She retreated back around and went to the cabinet for what toys She wanted.
We we’re breaking in this new toy… and She was going to break me in a bit as well. She started on me with one of our medium-weight deerhide floggers. Very nice and soft, it always made for a great warm up. She alternated, between quicker, more regular downward strokes to the left and right, and then began to mix in harder, sharper whacks every five strokes or so. I could hear Her warming up, breathing, getting into Her zone as I went into mine. The feeling of my skin warming up and the shudder I had from the hard strokes started to wash over me. Now, restrained on our new acquisition, I felt a new sense of comfort and peace. I was secure in one place, not going anywhere and had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t going to flinch or struggle, and I didn’t have to take care of anything.
After that warm up, She brought up our slapper whip. This was the worst and sharpest toy we had. “Just a taste at first, my boy. I’m keeping this one ready for a lot more later.” With that, She took the handle in Her left hand and the tip in Her right, stretching the whip slightly as She sized my back up. It was difficult for me to see, but I looked around as best I could. I always feel more comfortable being able to see Her as we play. For later, She agreed that we could get a large full-length mirror so that we could watch ourselves. For the moment, though, we were still starting in on something new.
Ready now, She took aim and fired with that slapper whip. The first strike hit me low in the back, just above my waist and close to dead center. I gasped and stiffened. I am always so much more sensitive near the center of my back and near my spine, that the feeling is overwhelming. I stamped my left foot and shook. Mistress came forward and rubbed the spot a little. She knew what this mean little toy did, and was always careful to take Her time with it. “Breathe, my boy. It’s ok. You aren’t going anywhere. You’re safe. I’ve got you and I’m going to take us up slow and easy.” I nodded and breathed “Ok, Mistress.” She stepped back, readied the slapper again, and let out another lash, this time striking my ass. That was much easier than the first, hitting my better-protected hindquarters. She kept up, working both on my back and on Her technique, warming both up. She struck from my shoulders to my legs, again and again. Sometimes, over thicker spots, my legs, my ass, the hollows of my shoulder blades, it burned but the feeling didn’t break through for another few strokes. Other times, hitting my spine, over my ribs, or any other spot where the skin was thinnest, the feeling broke into me like crystal shards, leaving me panting and shaking, the rush going up to my head and all the way through to the front of my face. It was those times that She would pause to rub and comfort me. She knew what She was doing, where to hit me, and what it would do, and little by little, my endurance picked up and Her need to do that subsided. This time, She only gave me twenty-five with that slapper.
After rubbing me one last time, She came around to look me in the eye. “How are you doing, my boy?” I was sweating and still panting slightly, but I nodded and whispered “I’m doing fine, Mistress. No worries.” In truth, seeing Her face to face again always helps me to feel very, very much better right away. Even after the roughest bit of play leaving me as sore and shaking as I can be, having Her there always brings me back to center very quickly. She came forward, caressing my face softly, and kissed me gently. I kissed back, taking in the warmth and sweet taste of Her lips. We broke, and She moved back around me… Now, I could see that She was taking down the pair of hinged rotating floggers we had been working on. One of these is rubber, and stings even as it thuds. The other is bullhide, very heavy, but soft. Now, with these, we would really hit our “high gear”…
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