Monday, February 13, 2017

-- Cam Inventor's Confession: February 2017 --

"I've a treat for you," she said, as she slowly stripped me of my clothes, peeling off my work shirt, my trousers, reducing me from my professional, workday self to my true inner-self, her boy, her slave.

I clasp my hands together behind my back while she heads over to the dresser.  "Funny," I think. "She's left the collar..."  Then I see her slowly pull the hood out from the drawer.  It's thin, supple black leather, very sensual.  She knows I love wearing it.  She loves the space it puts me in when she pulls the laces tight.  She loves how quiet and still I become, how submissive it makes me.

"Mistress..." I start, but she holds the neck of the hood open and I immediately, obediently bow my head and she pulls the black leather over me.  It's an open-mouth design, but something about it stops me from talking, like a hooded bird of prey, patiently waiting for the chance to fly again.  Only the soaring I know I'll be doing is in this hood.

I moan softly as she moves behind me, one hand languidly stroking my shoulder.  The laces start to tighten, pulling the calfskin tight against my face. Slowly, by degrees, the hood gets tighter, the laces cinched lower and lower, until she ties them in a bow at the back of my neck.  I raise my head and wait for her to fit her collar back round my neck, over the neck of the hood, and the distinctive little metallic click as her lock seals me in again.

Just a finger on my shoulder, her nail delicately scoring my flesh.  It is all I need, the signal to sink to my knees.  All this time, I've been silent, but now, standing before me, she leans down, lifts my chin with her finger and waits for me to ask.

"Mistress?" I begin to ask the question, inevitably knowing it won't be answered.  But the doorbell cuts me off and she drops my chin like a child discarding a toy.

I hear her open the door, voices excited in the hallway.  Hers, and another.  Another female.

"Yes, he's in here. Would you like a drink first? Water? Or coffee?" she asks, being as ever the perfect hostess.

"Do you have any iced tea?" the other woman asks.  "Of course," she replies, and I hear her voice fade as she heads to the kitchen "I'd get him to get it for you, but..."

Within a couple of moments, there are two women standing one either side of me.  I squirm slightly, not knowing who this new person is.

"Cam," her voice, unmistakable my Mistress, "this is Erica.  She's a friend.  She's a Domme.  And for the first time, I'm going to share you with someone else.  Isn't that nice?"

I nod and reply, throat dry, cock stiffening involuntarily. "Yes Mistress. Very nice."

One of my two tormentors leans down and slaps my chest, hard.  I grunt. "Thank you...Mmmii..."

"Miss Erica," Mistress instructs, letting me know who it was.

"Thank you Miss Erica," I reply.

The pair get to work on me, slapping, cropping, flogging me.  Starting warming me up, reddening my buttocks, my thighs.  Learning how far, how hard to take me.  Taunting me; Mistress asks me how many times I've cum inside her without permission. Forced with slaps to my thighs, stinging blows, to admit it's been twice now so far.  And the circumstances of each.  Humiliation.

Objectification, too.  New toys come out to be tested on me; nipple clamps, what feel like bulldog clips (which I never see, but hurt like hell when they're ripped off my cock and balls), and a thin carbon fibre rod called a misery stick, marking me with tiny sharp welts all the way up my thighs.  I'm made to feel like an experiment, a competition to see who can leave the nicest mark.  I don't know who wins, because I don't know who's doing what.  The mystery both adds to the eroticism, and to my subby distress.

I want to stop it, to cry out and make it all stop.  But I don't want to let Mistress down and I'm so deep in subspace too that I'm just riding the waves of pain and pleasure, tossed around on a sea of sensation.

It's not long enough though (it never is when it stops!), and all too soon it's over; I'm released, unhooded, and sit, blinking and squinting despite the dim, dank afternoon light.  The three of us sit for a while, and all I can do is grin while the ladies chat - a few well-directed questions to bring me back to normality, still grinning like an idiot though, and Miss Erica leaves.  We're left alone.  I run my fingers over the welts and red marks, wincing at my sore nipples.

That was over a week ago.

The marks have gone, but I'm still grinning.  And I'm more in love than ever with Mistress.

February Confession by Anonymous

One day while sitting on a park bench, I had the most awful thoughts.   I pictured myself watching the Ladies walk by, dressed to the nines but all of the had their little secrets with them in their handbags.  I began to notice that all the men that accompanied them were several steps behind the ladies.  I didn't think much of it until one lady sat down on the bench across from me.  There was no man with her and her gaze appeared to fall on me.  I am not sure if it was paranoia but every time I looked up from my book I caught her blue eyes staring at me.  I smiled and nodded in her direction but she merely scoffed and stood.  I thought she was going to leave but she sat down next to me.  Without a word she handed me her black purse and in a very curt voice she told me to open it.  Inside I saw a hard thick black plug with several ribs on it.  I knew what this was as I had seen them in videos I would occasionally watch.  I must have blushed because she told me that I was going to wear it.  I smiled and chuckled and informed her that I was not going to wear such a thing for her or anyone else. She didn't think that was too kind of me because she simply slapped me in the face and again said I was going to wear it.  Quite frankly I was taken aback by her forwardness and  audacity at making such a demand on a complete stranger.  I placed her handbag back on the bench and stood to leave when she grabbed my arm and violently pulled me down.  Her gloved hand grabbed my throat and squeezed and looked directly into my eyes. "You son of a bitch, how dare you assert yourself towards me in that manner", she said, hissing as the words flowed from her soft lips.  She released my throat and produced a cell phone and dialed three numbers.  Still in shock from such rough  treatment, I heard her say that a man was resisting her desires and commands and was requesting assistance.  I thought to myself that this was a joke and it must have been some of my mates pulling a gag on me.  Again I tried to stand but my efforts were met with the same action as before.  Stunned once again I tried to speak but she slapped me and once again seized my throat.  I couldn't speak and couldn't move.  I saw a motion out of the corner of my eye and realized what it was.  A female police officer had arrived.  I thought that would be the end of it.  The lady released my throat and as she did I began to protest but was quickly shushed by the officer. "What seems to be the trouble here Miss" the officer said.
"This insolent man is refusing my advances and I want him punished"
I tried to speak again but was backhandedly slapped by the officer.  "That will be enough out of you"
They both looked at me and the Officer laughed.  "This man will be a challenge but I know you can handle it" the officer said to the lady.
Oh Yes, it will be fun.  She reached down into her purse and pulled the plug out and told me to stand. " I am going to place this in your pitiful excuse for an ass and you will be mine for all eternity.

It was at that moment when I woke up.  I was breathing hard as I realized I must have fallen asleep.  When I was able to focus I looked around and there, across the path from my bench was a Lady, with a black purse, and a slight bulge inside it.

My Confession About The Auction Process by Kaiser

                             My confession about the auction process

 To be slightly cliché, let’s start at the beginning. No, not when I first joined second life but when I was given the order to join the auction from Lady Persephone at Trials and Punishments. Though if you ask me, it was a punishment but we will put that aside for now.

 So, where was i? Ah yes… Let’s start right after the Trials and punishment event, the moment when it was decided that I will be sold in front of the dominion. At the time, I didn’t know how many would be there, so let’s just say that my heart was going a mile a minute. Though that anxiety was offset from the fact I was just done with trials, was I worried? Yes but as they say, “we must cross that bridge when we come to it.

 In the days leading up to it, it’s safe to say that the anxiety didn’t get any better, oh no. That would be far too easy wouldn’t it. Instead, the butterflies kept on coming, you’d think it was mating season for the dreaded species of stomach butterflies, I need some bug spray I think, that or a net. Not going to lie, I strongly considered trying to wriggle or worm my way out of the auction, just to try and relieve myself of those dastardly butterflies but I pushed through.

 Finally the fated day arrived and honestly, I felt great, the occasion never really dawned on me, which was until i was told to strip naked and stepped into the display box. Soon the dominion started to fill up, a little at first but soon there were about 30 people there, it almost like my heart sunk. Then the nerves started. I personally think that the dominants were in league with the butterflies but I will give the benefit of the doubt, after all, who wouldn’t like to see a poor submissive panic.

  I was hoping to go last, would give me any chance to cool down mentally but fate wouldn’t allow that, would it? Evidently not because I was selected to go first and let me tell you, the order to come up and display myself in front of all of those faces, nearly had me  keel over, I doubt that would have upped my value any.

   Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much interest in me, if you know me at all, you know that my fears are possibly justified but we will not go over that here. Then came the moment I had to actively sell myself and my points to the dominants gathered, I had to dance describe what would be attractive to a buy for those around me. I think it well, because I did get one bid from someone, then came the most dreaded moment of all, I had to sing. Now, I am not that good a singer, but the fact I did it is what matters, the song I picked could have been better but it was my mistake.

 It’s safe to say that yet another huge sigh of relief was let out once the whole thing was over, it was very stressful but in all honesty, the humiliation aspect of it was fun. Would I do it again? I doubt it but it was a good experience. Now, what happened after I was bought? That is a story for another time. For now, it’s the confession of my auction, I hope you enjoyed reading it.


Love Is by Anonymous

Love is finding you are having a conversation with your Mistress when you are sitting by yourself.
Love is finding time actually does move more slowly when you are apart.
Love is laughing before you know the end of the story she is telling you because you share the same sense of humour.
Love is finding joy in the quiet times.
Love is my Mistress writing me a book called ‘Because I love you’.
Love is finding your submission is over-matched by her domination.
Love is her never having to say ‘I guess I’ll have to choose between using the cane OR the birch’.

Once Upon A Time by Anonymous

Long ago there was a famous Mistress in Bagdad who sent her slave to market to buy provisions and in a little while the slave came back, white and trembling, and said, ‘Mistress, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me.  She looked at me and made a threatening gesture,. Now, please Mistress lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate.  I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me’.  The Mistress felt sorry for her favourite slave whom she loved and lent him her horse, and the slave mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.  Then the Mistress went down to the marketplace and she saw me standing in the crowd and she came to me and said, ‘Why did you make a threating gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?’  ‘That was not a threatening gesture’, I said, ‘it was only a start of surprise.  I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I have an appointment with him. Tonight. In Samarra.’

Voyeur By Firelight By Shadow Gehring

It was a cloudy, cold night. The air still dripped of the rain that had recently passed through, but the sun's rays peaked through the clouds at Her last glimpse of Atlanta for the day. I found myself at a place I didn't know, with no expectations for an event that I had never seen. Not really.

Yet here I was.

Earlier in the day I had first met the people of the group at a Biker Bar in Austell. It's dingy low lighting with the distinct scent of cigarettes made me uncomfortable. I was out of my zone, out of my element. A trend that would continue.

The munch had gone well, or so I thought, with vibrant discussion still ringing in my mind I made my way to the private farm. Here, was a haven that was built for a daily life for those who had a dark side, and my first ever play party.

They said it was okay to sit back and watch, and so I decided I would. It wasn't long before several scenes started up, but one of them in particular still sticks out to me.

It was later on in the evening, around 11 or so. I had gone into the house to converse a bit with a couple other kinksters, though I didn't say much, again, mostly listened. I decided to head back out. The layout outside consisted of the house. Out of the front door, a small barn held the upper dungeon, and farther down the driveway, there was a larger barn that was called the lower dungeon.

The upper was much warmer, lit by both the light and heat of a propane heater, I opened the door and went inside. Instantly my ears were graced by the sound of a pained scream. My eyes were drawn to the back of the dungeon where a Miss and male sub were engaged in a scene upon piece of equipment. It looked similar to a vertical rope wall, about 8 and a half feet high, 5 and a half wide or so. Instead of ropes, it was lined with thick leather straps, deep red in color attached to a wooden frame. Tied to it, a male, naked from head to toe, save for the chain collar around his neck. I recognized him from earlier in the evening. With him, a Miss. I never spoke to Her one on one, and I never caught Her name. She was confident in her mannerisms, much so in a way that demanded respect and submission.

It was enough to make me squirm, shiver and shy away, but no, I forced myself to watch.

I came in late to the start. She was already on him. In her hand, a tool I wasn't familiar with. I later learned it was a dragontail. It's handle shined in Her hand as the single strap lashed against his skin. I couldn't really tell what he responded with. His body tensed at each hit, a moan or a groan, even a scream escaping with the harder hits. She was quick to switch to something else, change the feeling of what was hitting him. Next up came a cane. Thin, black, unyielding to his back. She quickly tapped him, each hit getting steadily harder, louder to the rest of the room.

I shivered, imagining how It might feel to be underneath that cane, but imagination failed me. It was unable to register how that felt. Before I knew it, she had a wooden paddle out. It was solid oak, inch and a half thick. No give. Captivated, I watched how his entire body jerked at it's impact. She swung hard and fast, with an expert hand that guided the end right to the very spot She desired. Words were uttered, though their definition and meaning held nothing but gibberish to those outside of the scene. She went back to her bag, beginning to rummage through it before She pulled out a black paddle. This was much different than the first. It was smaller, black, but leather. And it had a nasty surprise waiting on its end.

She pulled him off the rope wall. I realized that he had only been hanging on to the rope wall via his hands. Onto his hands and knees he went, and immediately She sat upon his back, facing backwards as she brought the paddle down. The glint of pyramid shaped metal ends flashed through the firelight room, followed by a smack and a scream as they slammed into bare skin upon his ass. I shivered, nearly closing my eyes, but I was enraptured. I found some part of me, some dark voice deep inside, that simply said, "Don't you wish you were under such care? Don't you wish you were there?" He was quickly approaching sub space, and a few more slaps with the leather - metal studded paddle put him in a place where She felt it necessary to stop and begin after care. It consisted of little more than putting up her things and leaving him a mess upon the floor while covering him in a black sheet.

It felt like it had been nearly an hour, but only about 30 minutes had passed. I didn't get into any scenes... nor did I really want to after that. It wasn't that I was alarmed by it, not totally. It did however make me consider if this was a path I wanted to go down. It made me realize just how little I knew, and how much more there is out there. And this was only the start.

I left a little after 12:30. My mind a haze of wandering thoughts and memories of what I had witnessed that night. My first play party was over, and the only play I had engaged in was voyeurism. Somehow I think that was the only play I needed to engage in that night.


What Are We Made Of? by Anonymous

So I Find my self asking what are Submissive made off

Leather and lace
Whips and chains
all things that can bring much pains
thats what naughty submissive are made of.

Pink ribbons and frilly skirts
blushing cheeks and pretty things
paddles on there soft soft skins
thats what sissy are made of.

wagging tails and muzzled mouths
tapping hooves and gleaming manes
we can take a hold of the reigns
thats what pets are made of.

But what would they all be with out

Class and beauty
grace and power
just enough to make them cower
thats what Dommes are made of