Forgiveness

This blog post could also be named: How Aki doesn’t follow her own rules. Additionally, it could also be entitled: Junk — this is a What Not To Do for your first dates. Onward.

The conversations over the past couple of months have looked like this: If they break up, you’re not really going to take him back again, are you? What he did to you was terrible and unforgivable. You deserve better people in your life, people who aren’t ashamed of who they are and who aren’t ashamed of who you are. You should never be someone’s secret.

I have great friends, I do. They want to look out for me, they want the best for me, they think I deserve the most amazing people and I’m grateful people have such high opinions of me, but in this one particular case, there was no advice in the world that was going to help me out.

I knew the downsides to being with him and I knew the downsides to ever going back to him. I saw the train wreck and if I had been rational, I would have said ‘Damn, that’s a train wreck’ and would have avoided it like the plague. Unfortunately, in matters of the heart, sometimes the same words get twisted up so it sounds more like, ‘Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, that’s a train wreck!’ and I interpret it as ‘I like trains and I like fire and things are shiny and I wonder what’s going on and I should go inspect it’ and there I go.

Hindsight is 20/20. The first time we split, I knew we were going to split. He needed to explore. Hell, the second time we split I knew we were going to split because there was unresolved business in two different places: with her and with me. That would account for all the bouncing. Submissive. Dominant. Top. Bottom. Both. It’s the both that can trip a person up. Does one outweigh the other? Where do you find happiness when you’re always sitting on the fence?

There were things that definitely would have to change. I wasn’t going to deal with him wondering what he was when everyone else in the world knew what he was. I wasn’t going to deal with being someone’s secret. I can’t hide who I am. I wasn’t going to deal with his threat to leave anytime something got hard. There was a lot I wasn’t willing to put up with any longer. My patience and generosity had been used up and spat out and I was done.

When we got in contact again, it wasn’t a plea for me to own him. It was finding out how I was doing. It was sending out feelers to see if I would be receptive to him at all. It was cautious and restrained. We talked for a while about nothing, then we talked for a while about him, then we talked for a while about me. Then we talked for a good long while about ‘us’ and ‘them’. Once ‘them’ got resolved and he was done and felt he had moved on, he had to clean up the mess he left of ‘us’ and the mess he left of ‘me’ and the mess he left of himself.

He wanted to know why, if I owned him, did I release him. He couldn’t be in a loveless relationship and he was in love with her, not me, and she loved him back now, so that felt like grounds for release to me. Also, the path we were headed down was bad. Real bad. I could either release him, let him roam and do what he needed to do, tie up loose ends, or I could stop all power exchange, stop all play, stop everything we’d built, and tear it all down with him, but for no apparent reason. It was well within my right to do, but it didn’t change the fact that the yappy terrier in the front yard would remain barking at us as we built this house anew. I hate yappy dogs. He needed to go and take care of that once and for all.

Now he has. It doesn’t mean she’s been eliminated from his life, it just means that she’s been eliminated from the possibility of him building his life with her, and that’s good enough. I don’t mind if she’s fenced up in the yard across the street; I just didn’t want her in my yard.

I asked why she was so important that he felt we ought to drop communication with one another entirely and he didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t have a good answer because I already knew the answer. Even if we didn’t share love, we shared intense emotions for one another. We had a rich (not always good, but rich) history with one another. Then there was the energy exchange that we had with one another. I had pull on him. I had an advantage over him. I was warned by a close friend that if I wanted him bad enough, I could probably rearrange the cosmos to have him. I didn’t want to influence him. He didn’t feel he was giving his all to that relationship if we were still in contact. He was going to have to choose one or the other at some point, and if you don’t choose the person you’re in a relationship with, you’re doing it wrong. In order to tie up loose ends, he was going to have to put all of his attention and focus and energy and emotion into the person he was supposed to be with. I understood. It just didn’t make it hurt less. He was mine, after all, in my head.

Then there was the piercing. Everyone knew he hated piercings. Everyone knew that he had a hard limit of needles and blood and most men just don’t want steel in their dicks. When he agreed to be pierced, we all thought he was serious and ready for commitment. It’s not likely he would allow that just to break up with me in another two weeks, right? That was my symbol of ownership. We had no collars, no rings, no permanent chastity device. That was the symbolism of the relationship we had with one another. So when we broke up two weeks later, I asked him to remove the ring that I chose for him once he was healed. Until then, it felt like it was still mine. He felt like he was still mine. So he did just that. When he healed, he changed the piercing, and my last connection to him was cut. Then he didn’t put it back in. Then he healed up. Then, he wasn’t owned any longer. He wasn’t pierced any longer. All he had to show for what we were and what we did was a scar. Just like life. He didn’t have me in his life anymore, just the scar of what we’d done.

At first I was hurt that he came back when it was over. I should have been good enough to be a friend regardless. Then I was hurt that he was going to remain her friend while he was seeking a relationship with me. She wasn’t a good enough friend to be around regardless! Then I realized that I didn’t really care. My issues were with trust and respect and something completely different.

Our dinner conversation went like this: there were things I misunderstood about their relationship, there were things he misunderstood about our relationship, and there were things we misunderstood about one another.

He told me: he has accepted who he is (and has actually done things about it independent of me), he is working through the issues that he didn’t want to face before, and he was sorry for hurting him.

I told him: I know.

After dinner, we went back to my place. I’d told him that everyone had advised that we not do anything for six months. I was taking their suggestion. Six months. Six months of what? Of punishing him? It was so close to the six years of punishment he’d had in another relationship. He was sorry, issues were resolved, he’d learned a lot about himself in the interim, who was I to keep punishing him? That didn’t mean I was going to trust him 100%. He knows this. It doesn’t mean that he gets back everything we had before right away. He knows this. That doesn’t mean that I think he made wrong choices along the way. He knows this.

The night before, after a day of tearing him apart, dissecting every mistake he’d made in all his past relationships, after talking about how we weren’t going to do anything sexual until July, I asked him how he felt about chastity. I asked him how he felt about chastity with me. I asked him how he felt about wearing his chastity device for me again. (This is the part where I don’t follow my own rules, in case anyone was wondering.)

So he locked the device on and went to sleep. Then during the day, I made a joke about extending chastity. Just because I could. He agreed that I could, I was the one with the key. I quipped about his poor negotiation skills, the very fault that sent him in a tailspin the first time we tried this, and he replied that he didn’t need to negotiate with me because he wanted to be owned by me. Moreso, the point he was trying to make, was that he trusted me. I told him I didn’t want to go down this route this evening. I didn’t want him flipping his shit over poor negotiations and me trapping him and his life being ruined, but as it turns out, he wasn’t anywhere near that.

I tried to not stare. I tried to not touch him. I tried to be angry with him. I tried to be hurt. I sat on a bench and held his hand. We touched during dinner. Eventually I kissed him. We did energy exchange. I asked him about that ring he used to wear, the one where when he was drowsy and coming back from a deep sub space he had mistaken for a wedding ring of sorts, believing honestly that we were in a committed relationship akin to marriage. That is what Ownership is supposed to be, so I never corrected him. The sorrow that washed over him, the sadness that enveloped him as he confessed to me that it was gone, it took me by surprise. He admitted he was stupid for taking it out and that he wished he hadn’t. Now all he had was a scar to remind him of the life he had, the life he so desperately wanted.

Then when he was back to his normal self, when we were sitting on the couch together, I threw all the rules I’d made out the window. (This, in case anyone was wondering, is what Junk shouldn’t do on a first date.) I unfastened his pants, I pulled him out, clad in that plastic chastity device, and I teased him. I ran my fingers over it where he could watch and know the sensations it should produce but didn’t, because there was a barrier between my touch and his cock. I talked about how I wondered if I could slip the whole thing inside of me and if he’d be able to feel how warm I was. I climbed up in his lap and pressed my hands to his chest. I kissed him hard and deep and suddenly I was in a whole different world. Clear, crisp air. Freedom. There was no pain, only love. We were together in our little world again and I could feel the device pressed against my clit. He made no move. He wasn’t going to push anything. He wanted me to be comfortable, to do what was right for me, but I really doubted he was going to complain about what was taking place.

I used him. I used him in a way that I hadn’t done in a long, long time. I put my mouth to his, I whispered the secret place I like to be shown affection, and he figured out just the right way to do it. I encouraged him to be active, participatory, aggressive and he went for it immediately. Then, as I reached climax, I gave him the very breath that was filled with my pleasure and my hope and my relief and my love and I put it right back into him where it’ll stay for at least another few days, because he won’t be due for his own orgasm until Sunday…if he’s lucky.

Ok, Go

The past couple of months have been, all in all, pretty good. I made some good friends in TNG. I have a few play partners. I made friends from my kinky board game group. I’ve been going out at least once a week if not more, usually with my TNG group. I’ve started getting active in the politics of my group in preparation to run for some kind of office next year. I’m taking an interest in doing some volunteering for the group, namely marching in the Pride Day parade. I’ve explored a lot about myself, about my kinks, about the kinds of relationships that I want to have. I’ve done a lot of soul searching, I’ve done a lot of sexual searching, I’ve done a lot of friendship searching.

I had made one play partner that I no longer keep in touch with anymore. I’m certain I could rekindle things with him but it seems as though we’re at different places in our lives right now. There are times where I really miss just going out and hanging out with him, hearing his laugh, watching him wrestle with Puck. There wasn’t a lot of option for a relationship there though and that’s alright, because in retrospect I believe he was put into my life to teach me to get over my fear of intimacy, and even to help teach me to go ahead and feel what I feel, even if there is no potential for growth. That really helped me out with the next relationship that I was given. Or dealt. Depending on how one might look at it.

The next ‘play partner’ that I met offered me the most intense relationship that I’ve ever been in. I connected on a physical, sexual, mental, emotional, spiritual level with him and I wanted to taste it all. I wanted to try it all. Every time I brought something up though, I was railroaded. He was too scared. He wasn’t sure he could do that. We went somewhere very dark together but there were moments of great beauty in it as well. A lot of that relationship is documented in this blog already, regarding the chastity that I was doing. There were some darker elements to it that might not have been posted, the abduction, the tearing down, the psychological warfare that was going on between us. The interference from the others in his life. My trepidation of doing something irreversible to someone I came to care so much about. I gave him a loophole, a way out, but never told him what it was — just that he had one. I knew early on that he was an intelligent man. He proved it by figuring out that loophole without one ounce of help from me. Everything crumbled. We should have parted then, never to see one another. In fact, it almost went that way. But then there was a conversation. A poke here and there. A sentence from one or the other. The turning point was a baseball game. From there, it was dates every week. From there, it was play sessions. From there, negotiations. The further we negotiated, the more distant he became, until finally he told me that he didn’t believe he was submissive at all and went on to further explore his more dominant side, taking a sub for himself, trying his hand at a D/s relationship. It stung, but I knew it had to happen.

As that relationship was winding down I was introduced to someone very young, someone very new, someone very shy. I had an instant attraction to her, but I didn’t think that she would much care for my kind of relationships. I was pleasantly surprised. Shortly after interrogating her, exchanging contact information, we were hanging out. There was some drama in the group caused by this, but it’s since subsided. I found myself with a masochistic slave. I was beside myself with joy. She had all the time in the world to give me and we were spending every night together. I can push the limits of my Sadism. I have the service in my life that I want. I have someone to fall asleep with again. There’s someone I can train, who wants to be trained. I told her that I’m Sadistic, that I’m Dominant, that I’m Polyamorous. She asked her questions; I gave her my answers. In our talks, in our vague negotiations, I told her one very important thing: There was a boy I was playing with, someone that I cared about quite a bit. He’d gone off to experiment with another facet of the lifestyle, of his kinks, but a part of me was certain he would be back. When that day came, if he asked me to take him back and was quite serious about it, and had decided that he was willing to do things my way this time, I would take him back. She understood, was quite fine with it, and things have been peachy ever since. She’d heard his name, knew that we had done some chastity, but Devin was hardly a household name to her — not the way that he was known to Joey, or Sergie, or Blake.

We had kept in touch. Almost every morning, with only one or two skipped entirely and a handful of others late, we wished each other good morning — just like the old days. What was different was that in the old days, our conversations would go on for hours at a time. At the beginning they were intense and scary and wonderful. At the latter part, they were full of hopes and dreams and planning dates and family life. These days, I hardly knew what he was up to. That wasn’t necessarily my business anymore though. What I knew was that he was playing with someone he’d known for a long time, that he was getting to try out a few fantasies that he’d had, and that things seemed to be going rather well. Once I started asking him questions about being a Top, our conversations flowed a little easier. Perhaps he was afraid of speaking of it for fear of hurting my feelings. Perhaps he wasn’t sure if it was a taboo subject or not. Regardless, I got to hear more about what he was doing, how things were going, and got to offer him some advice along the way. I felt like I was still somewhere in his life, even if it was the far outskirts. That was better than nothing.

Then, one weekend, we texted just like we had in the beginning. Back and forth with some banter. We talked about some toys. There was some teasing. I was unsure at first — had worked to keep sexual overtones at a distance out of respect for his relationship and his new position in said relationship — but the conversation was leading back to where we’d first met: chastity. We discussed some toys. Why he liked it. The different devices. Eventually, he asked if we might be able to set up a scene. He considered a ‘temporary ownership’ idea, in which I would own his cock for a predetermined amount of time such as 6 or 8 hours and could do anything I wished with it (except the usual death or dismemberment clause we’d agreed upon months ago). I was amused by this idea, wanted to play with him again, and so agreed. And then asked if that would break the rules of his relationship. The other one. I didn’t want to be the stereotypical ‘Mistress’ — a woman that a man came to see in order to cheat on his significant other. No thank you. He assured me that wasn’t the case and so plans continued on as we had made them. Until a scheduling conflict.

Wednesdays were our typical days. We were slated to play then. I had something come up and we had to move the day to Saturday instead. He was itching to feel chastity again and so, back like when we first met, he locked himself up over the weekend. I got regular updates on it and was happy to know that the adjustments he was making to his device had taken and he was no longer being rubbed raw in the middle of the night. Better than that though, he wasn’t suffering the same painful erections he’d had before that forced the device off of him because he broke skin. Monday came and he didn’t. I asked if he was going to wear the device to work and he said he hadn’t planned on it but did anyhow. In order to keep himself from unlocking when he got home though, he had to leave the key at work. I vaguely remembered that being the case the first time we talked about this as well. Tuesday’s final text told me that he was at home, key in hand, and he had no reason to not unlock and take an orgasm for himself. I told him he needed to find a better place for his key. He said it was right next to him, right there for the taking. I told him to put it in an envelope and mail it! He asked what I was doing. With Blake at my side, my next text was the address of my friend’s house and his next reply was that he was on his way.

Opening the door and seeing him there was almost unreal. I wasn’t sure when I would see him again. I figured whenever I did see him again, it would be done in introductions to his sub girl. For a moment, I didn’t even know what to do and could barely invite him in. The energy in the room was ridiculous. Playful and lighthearted and big. Big, big energy. He helped us make the egg nog we’d been working on and when he went to remove his jacket, he slipped his key into my hand. I hugged him. We held hands. We went to the theater room and we talked. He assured me that his relationship was over, that I had nothing to worry about. We talked a bit about the chastity, the fixes he’d made to the device. There wasn’t much time to stay though — he had somewhere to be. I followed him out the door to kiss him. I’d almost forgotten how sweet it was to be able to kiss him but the look of pure pleasure on his face when I pulled away reminded me well.

Like before, we ended up in a whirlwind of emotions, of talks, of texts. The next morning was rough. The device wasn’t hurting him, per se, except that his nocturnal erections were back with a vengeance — likely having to do with the key being back with its rightful Owner. He started to doubt what he’d done. He was wondering if he’d made the right choice. I asked if we were going to go down this road again, all the way from the beginning, where he thought I was someone awful and that I was only out to hurt him. He was quick to squash that idea. Just that was nervous, panicky. By midday, I decided that instead of drawing out the mental anguish I should throw it all at him at once.

“If you call me Master and declare me to be your Owner, what does that make you?”

I was highly amused throughout the rest of the afternoon while he flipped his shit over the realization that that made him a slave. We discussed what a slave was. We talked about how a slave acted. He told me he never envisioned himself as a slave but yes, that’s exactly what he was in this situation and asked if that’s how I viewed him as well. But by that evening something had clicked. Something new had transpired. As we were talking, he asked if he could create a new account for himself on Fet. He asked if he could create a new blog, a new email, using the same name. He was shedding his old name, his old persona, the flipping between Dom and sub. He asked if he could use the name that I’d given him and I said yes, of course. The new profile was made. Our relationship was declared in public (which was something that I was not expecting — it hadn’t been said before, or defined, and I wasn’t expecting either this time around either). I was congratulated on his return to me. More than that though, the way that he identified himself made him seem as though he had finally accepted his position, his place. While we all wait with baited breath to see if it will stick, to see if he is brave enough this time to follow through, I have faith in him. I have faith that this time around he will show everyone else what I’ve seen inside of him all along.

Shoes

Currently I am in a period of consideration with junk. Across Fetlife there are posts about how being ‘under consideration’ is just a way of holding a sub to you while the Dom doesn’t have to make any kind of commitment. I detest the idea of this though I can see where it probably came about. I am certain there are many out there who have told many subs they were ‘under consideration’ to take them off the market while they continued to mess around with others, not taking that particular relationship seriously. My own personal reasons for doing this were a bit kinder, in a way. She’s very young, this is one of her first relationships, this is her first exposure to BDSM, and it doesn’t entirely restrict her from playing with or getting to know others — it simply means that I get to know who she is playing with or getting to know and dispense my advice about them before she engages. There are many lovely people in our community who would likely make wonderful play partners for her (especially the more well-known and accomplished riggers) but there are very few who would offer her what she seems to enjoy the most, which is a service-based relationship (that does not simply take advantage of her). On my end, the consideration period works wonderfully because it gives me a period of time in which I can assess my feelings for her, determine what kind of training she would need if I were to offer her a contract, and see how she interacts with the people closest to me in my life. It allows me time to expose her to who I am, the more unconventional sides of me — such as my cross dressing and my flawed gender identity — and the parts of me that are possibly new to her in practice such as my being polyamorous. This is a period of time where we evaluate one another, not just for me to determine if she is a good fit for me.

In the time that we have spent together so far, I already know how I feel about her. I know that we get along well. I know that there seems to be little jealousy when she hears of the others that I know (my cuck, Devin, etc.) and she’s more than willing to engage in activities with me that will help my other relationships move along better (such as participating in a phone call with my cuck so that we might tease him as he was steadily approaching day 50-something of his chastity). Her desire to serve comes before anything else. After having a few idle moments in my home, she started to clean. When she was looking for something she needed to clean with, she re-organized. When we’d go shopping, she had mental notes for what I needed to stock my cupboards with. She learned my routines, the things that needed to be done such as feeding the dog, when and how much, and has taken over those responsibilities whenever she is at my house. When I asked her if she had any fantasies about being passed around and used by multiple people in play or in private she seemed almost horrified by the prospect; when asked if she would like the idea of being lent out so that she could clean a house for a friend of mine, she seemed to perk right up. These are little markers that I like to see in anyone that I want to consider for a slave.

The intimacy would be required as well though. As much as I could have a strictly service-oriented slave and develop that kind of relationship with them, I’m more interested in her as an all around, all purpose kind of girl instead of being strictly service and she seems pleased with this as well. I somehow stumbled upon a delicious combination of service masochist. Not in that I give her gruesome tasks to accomplish (although I believe she did feel that way about changing the tank on the toilet this past week) but that she enjoys service and she is also a masochist. This goes well with my being a Sadist. Her pain tolerance is not as high as I initially thought (sometimes I fall into the trap of thinking masochism means they can take all kinds of abuse and get off on it even if they’ve never done it before!) and so I do actually get to work on that with her, which is magnificent for me. Building something together is what I like best in relationships. The shared path. I finally have someone that I can pinch and poke and scratch and hit instead of only being able to hold hands with in order to show that I care, as the former comes a lot more naturally than the latter.

The most important skill for anyone that actually wants to be mine though is the pursuit of knowledge. To find things that interest them and to pursue them and to share them with me is a necessity, but beyond that, to want to learn about me, to learn how to serve me, to learn to do things my way. Without me telling her any of the past rituals that I’ve had, or even the past protocols that I had had in place for jhusdhui, I found her kneeling before me removing my boots one day. Another, she knelt before me to put my boots back on. At first I simply enjoyed that she had come up with this on her own and so allowed her to do things her way. Each subsequent time though, I provided more instruction. Such as ensuring that the leg of my pants was fully adjusted over the top of my boot before moving on to the next one. It bothers me for them to be left until the end and sorted then — or not sorted at all as she would think of something else we were supposed to bring with us and would scamper off to fetch that. To double knot my laces, lest she enjoy retying them every few minutes that we were out. Finally, the way she tied them in general. The way that she makes the knots makes them feel almost upside down from the way that I make them, which takes longer to untie when I’m home without her to do them. I want for the knots to be the same as if I’d tied my shoes myself. In order to do this, she has to mimic the way that I tie them. The first couple of times, she forgot entirely. The next couple of times, she would spin around and straddle my ankle and tie my shoes from ‘my’ angle in order to try to make the knot right. This looks very curious in public, I assure you, as the expression from the board members of TNG were priceless as they bore witness. Finally, last night, as she attempted to spin around to tie my shoes from my angle again, I put a stop to it, told her to return to her kneel, and simply tie them correctly from that position.

Have you ever been told that you tie your shoes wrong?

She did as I instructed but she struggled with it. She held the loop in her left hand, tried to cross it over to her right hand, looked up at me, fussed with it a bit, pulled the laces too tight until they ran through entirely and she had to start it all over again, and over all ended up frustrating herself. As we headed to the car she was quiet and unresponsive. She did still open my door for me and go through all the motions and that was fine. After a few minutes in the car, she confessed that she thought she knew why she’d gotten mad. Not mad, she corrected, but frustrated. She thought she could imagine doing them correctly, but that she would have to do it upside down from what she’d been doing. She was trying to visualize it in her head. This is precisely what made me smile too — that with the easy way being eliminated she actually had to think about why she was doing it. But she had grown frustrated because she was having a hard time grasping how to do it and it was something so simple. Tying shoes! But that she could no longer do it her own way. That she had to do it my way instead. It was then that she looked over at me and almost smiled and said ‘But I suppose that’s what training is all about!’ and seemed okay with it.

These are the moments that I look for, the moments to teach, to train, for the training to be accepted, for the thought that goes into it, for the desire to improve, to succeed, not just because it makes them feel good to do it correctly but because it is learning how to do things the way I want them to be done.

Impact

Since I met her, I’ve been trying to get to know her. There have been less questions, less interrogating, less prying of information just because she’s younger, there’s not quite as much history to obtain as there was with the last person I went through this with. For a while it seemed as though I wasn’t doing enough, like I wasn’t as involved as I had been before. Once I dropped the comparisons and realized the situations were completely different, things took off a little better. One comparison that I just couldn’t seem to drop though was pain tolerance.

Since I became active in my local community, I’ve had a few play partners. I’ve played with a couple of people at parties. Before that, I had a few pets of my own. Not a single one of them identified as masochists. In my longest D/s relationship, impact play wasn’t even a part of our usual routine. There were over the knee spankings because we found them enjoyable but even those had to be worked up to over a lengthy period of time. I’ve never had anyone that I could go all out with. So when I found out that she identified as a masochist, I wanted to push that as far as I could and see if she was truthful or if it was only wishful thinking that she could take all I wanted to give her. The first couple of times we played together, I did still end up holding back, but I easily surpassed anything I’d done with any previous play partner. There was no real warm-up though, there were no real emotions behind it. I was just swinging a flogger, gauging her reactions. I was whacking with a cane, gauging her reactions. I was spanking with the paddle, gauging her reactions. I was scraping nails down her body, gauging her reactions. She took it all well and never had to ‘yellow’ but I’m certain we got close at times. Her level of tolerance was higher than I’d played with before and that opened up a whole lot of possibility to me.

Over the following days and weeks, I spent time getting to know her mentally and emotionally, learning more of her history, and scaling back the pain. I took it all the way down to just pinching her. I pinched her a great deal though. She’s quick and caught on that if she’s getting pinched in public, it has less to do with what she’s doing and more to do with the fact that I’m bored. She went so far as to announce it once at game night. As she was squirming around, crawling over my lap as though getting closer would help her to escape the vulcan grip I had on her side, she scolded a friend: “Take your move faster — Aki’s bored!” Pain was replaced with affection and pure service. Things were going well and I had no complaints.

It wasn’t until I was lying in bed one night, flipping through mental images and thoughts that would help me to reach orgasm faster as I pressed my vibrator to my clit that I realized that I missed inflicting pain. That thought alone pushed me further along than anything else. I toyed with a few scene ideas, imagined the sounds that she might make if I really hit her, and before I knew it I’d reached my climax and I was ready to sleep. The little clues are often what give us the big picture anyhow. So the next time she came over, I made sure to have my stuff prepared.

There’s a shelf about waist high in my living room. It’s pulled from the wall and a blanket is draped over it. Tonight, two floggers, two canes, and a paddle are resting, waiting. When she shows up, she slips in as I finish up what I was working on. Upon seeing what I have laid out, she asks in jest, “Should I get naked?”. It was hardly a question though and I bluntly tell her yes. Without any hesitation, she undresses. I position her at the edge of the table and she leans down over it, exposing her back and ass to me. I start with my flogger. This time, instead of smacking her hard and working her from there, I go soft and slow. I go over the contours of her shoulder blades and beneath them. I angle my falls against her sides, but without wrapping. I hit up at the tops of her shoulders without letting them go too far. I do a figure eight between her shoulders. Then, I start to hit the same spot over and over and over and over and over again. She’s on her tippy toes, dancing around, ankles crossed, fingers grasping the blanket, and then I move spots. A quick flick across the ass, a light dusting of flogger down the backs of her thighs and calves. Then back up where I can hit hard against her shoulders, hard against her back, hard against her sides. The falls of the flogger are dangled over her, trickled down her back and ass. The nice flogger is retired.

Thick falls of suede replace the thin strips of leather from the last flogger. The weight of this one is immediately noticeable, as is the particular bite of it, coming from the plastic barbed wire tied in with the suede. There’s not been a single person that’s been able to take this flogger as long or as hard as I’ve wanted to use it. She dances for me, squirms about, makes her sounds of protests, gasps in so sweetly every time it hits, and turns a delicious shade of red beneath the falls, but never does she utter ‘yellow’. From what I know of her actions, her reactions, her sounds, her body language, I’m certain I’m riding close, and so I switch it out. I’m still high from getting to actually use it though and it’s simply draped over my shoulder rather than retired for good.

My thick cane is taken then and I do a few test thumps against her ass, against the backs of her thighs. I can hit her hard with this but it doesn’t give the desired effect. There is sensation. There is impact. There is some squirming. There is nothing quite like what I’m about to get to though when I switch it out for the bamboo cane I received at my first ever demo, which happened to be for caning. This one is so small, so whippy, such a nice fit in my hands. A friend explained the proper motion as being ‘what you do for fly fishing’ and that really helped me to line up my strikes. Once across the top of her ass, once firmly on the most rounded part of her cheeks, skipping the sensitive sweet spot and right across the backs of her thighs. I start out soft, knowing that this is the hardest kind of pain for her to tolerate. There is just barely a visible streak of red across her flesh but I’m only warming up. Placing my hand on her back, I can feel her starting to sweat. I smile to myself before I line up my next swing. This one makes a redder mark. The next one lands atop it. The next one gets closer to the cusp of her ass and thighs. The next one is lower on the thighs and the types of marks that I’m after are finally appearing. When I strike with my cane next, it smushes the flesh beneath it away from the point of impact, like her body’s melted beneath my cane. In its place is a tinge of purple with red around it. Fascinated, I do it again. And again. And again. I don’t want to be restricted to just her ass. To just her thighs. I’m running out of room to stripe her. Slipping my fingers between her collar and neck, grabbing her ass with my other free hand, I shove her further along that table. I know it can handle her weight. Like a good girl, she keeps her legs straight out behind her. The cane taps over her calves, dances down the soles of her feet, and back up her legs. Back up her thighs. Two good strokes against her ass where the flesh melts away and purple rushes to the surface. Then the cane is retired.

At long last, my trusty paddle is removed from its innocent looking sleeve and set upon her ass so she can feel what’s coming next. She’s floating though, somewhere between here and there, and she has no idea. I spank her hard. I spank her right over the cane stripes. I spank her often and fast and slow and hard and on the top of her ass and down the backs of her thighs and finally in that sweet spot that makes her squirm so bad. I pull her hair. I scratch her body. I kiss her. When I’m all done, when I don’t think we should go any further, I push my fingers between her collar and neck and ease her back off the table, back into my arms, and I take her to the couch where she can rest against me and return to the world.

The next day we see each other again. We have plans to go out, to go play games. I want to see my friends, play the games, eat the food that’s being made, but I also want to stay home. I want to be on the couch, touching her, using a movie as a guise for playing with her. I’m torn but we’ve already committed. I sit through the games and watch everyone drink and I just want to touch her. She’s in pain — pain not from me. I hate to see her like that (says the Sadist) but not so much that I won’t wiggle her arm or pull her back with it despite her shoulder hurting. It doesn’t keep her from being affectionate with me, or sitting next to me. It doesn’t affect how often we kiss. Towards the end of the night I’m calculating out the minutes I’ll have before she has to be home. We’re breaking curfew tonight for sure.

Once we get home, I pull her onto the couch. I pull her into a kiss. My hands are all over her body. I’ve found they’re my favorite toys of all. I just want to grab and pinch and slap and scratch and tug and pull and smack. I pull her hair, expose her neck, kiss her. I find her mouth and smile to myself when she kisses me the way I like to kiss now, forgetting how it started out. I can taste her. I can feel her. I lean back against the arm of the couch, I pull my legs up and spread them, and pull her into me. She fits so perfectly between my legs. She once asked why I like her to be on top when I’m the Top and I answered by grabbing her breasts. I like the weight. I like having my hands free. I like that she gets so distracted by her hair being in her face that she can’t do a whole lot more. She positions her hip against my clit, presses herself down into me, so I can rub against her and get off. Her touch is light and her fingers are trailing down my sides as our tongues are touching, as my fingers are pulling her hair. I could get off right now, take my orgasm, but it’s not quite right.

Moving her out of the way, I switch our positions. I push her face down into the couch and I get on top of her. Her ass is perfect. I want to rub against that instead. I slip a hand beneath her, grabbing a tit and squeezing, pulling, dragging my fingers over her nipples. We’re trying to get aligned and she pushes up against me, teasing me, and I can’t find the right position. I’m glad we’re not trying to use a toy right now too because then I’d just be frustrated. I pull her hair, force her head back, look down at her, and then I get up. She turns just enough to watch me. I grab her by her collar, by the back of her shirt. She’s light, easy to move around. I pull her across the room, turn us around, and throw her to the ground. Before she can change positions, I’m down on top of her. I’ve got one hand under her body, one tight in her hair, and I can press all of my weight down on her. I have her ass pressed right against me, right where I want to rub. It’s hard and fast and now I wish we were using a toy. I want to hear the sounds she makes when I impale her with my cock. I want to see the way she struggles and squirms and fights to take an orgasm before I get mine. But for now the twisting and the sounds she makes are divine. I’m watching her jawline, the way that my collar looks against her neck. I love the feel of her breast in my hand, the way she jerks when I pull it. I love the way that despite my hurting her, pulling her hair, her focus is still on getting me off and she shoves her ass up against me. I love that I can lose myself with her, make my sounds, and take my orgasm.

When I’m done, I take her to the couch. We kiss. Her body is still turned on. I flick her nipples, I suck on them. I tease her. I tickle her. At one point I’ve got her turned away from me, her legs around my waist, and I’m rubbing between her thighs. I barely touch her and she reacts. She bites her lower lip when I’m teasing her and I think she’s adorable. I continue to touch her, to try to arouse her, but when she gets too excited, too into what I’m doing, I pull away. I pull her in to kiss. I pull her in to hug. And then I send her home, so I can finally, finally sleep.

Catching Up

Quite a few days have passed since I last made a post. Life has been terribly busy in a good way. There have been many events going for my local TNG group that I’ve been attending. I’ve been trying to pull in some new faces, bring in new membership. A lot of the people that I meet through CollarMe and Fet are alternative sorts of people. They have strange kinks and fetishes, they have different drives than some others that I’ve met, they’re gay, or they’re trans. These are all the sorts of people that I want to see in my local kink community but they are also what we’re lacking. The lack of cross dressing boys makes me sad. The lack of female Tops makes me sad. The lack of relationship dynamics makes me sad. Where be my D/s, yo? With the elections having just closed and our new board members announced, I feel as though we’re on the right track to alleviating some of the hetero-normative behavior that plagues our group. (Okay, plague might be a little strong. I like submissive women, I really do.)

With that as sorted out as possible right now, I’ve had plenty of time to focus on other things. I was really hoping that things were going to work out with Devin in some way or another. I didn’t think that we could have a full Ownership relationship now. I was happy with going out with him on weekends, a dinner during the week, and when we could steal away a few hours here and there maybe a couple of scenes. Unfortunately that was not part of my path, so it would seem. While I’m happy that he’s found what he really is, or what he really thinks he is, I’m not going to lie and pretend like watching him switch from submissive and curious to monogamous Daddy Dom with a relationship status of ‘dating’ didn’t sting just a little. There was so much potential in him. Luckily it will translate well in his new role. That nasty ‘m’ word will always get me though. I would think that anyone who ever identified as a switch would be able appreciate having someone to top and someone to bottom to. Ah well. We can’t all live the poly lifestyle. It just doesn’t fit for everyone.

As I closed the wounds on that particular relationship, I was offered something delicious to tempt me away: pumpkin pie. Now, I understand that doesn’t seem like it’s all that appealing in the face of a power exchange relationship and I would tend to agree. However, this pumpkin pie was very special. This pumpkin pie was served up on a plate by an adorable girl and served right to me, before she had any idea what I was all about. Okay, maybe there was some idea of what I was all about. It was a night of pie and flirting, board games and punching, message exchanges and really, really, it was a lot of the beginning of everything. It was the night I told her about the social that she’d eventually attend that would put her on everyone’s radar. Our conversations moved from board games to kink to fetish to relationship to sex. I’m moving faster than I normally would and I know somewhere in the Universe Miss Chris is whispering ‘patience’ but patience didn’t exactly pay off for me last time. Besides, it’s not like I’ve collared her or anything.

Although the silly girl won’t take the damn play collar off.

411

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of attending Behind Closed Doors Four-One-One. This was my very first kink conference or weekend of workshops that I’ve ever attended. In fact, it was my first real exposure to any kind of Master/slave environment outside of what I’ve created in my own head, heart, and home. My local TNG group is great for finding people to talk to, to hang out with, and even to play with at socials, but they leave me wanting more. There’s only one couple that I know of that has the sort of M/s relationship that I am hoping to create again at some point in my life. Because this was my focus going in, it seems perfectly normal that the speakers that meant the most to me were Master George  and slave bren and Master Obsidian and slave namaste. It also makes perfect sense that the person I chose to accompany me this weekend to this event of debauchery that I hope to make into my life was Miss Chris, my vanilla friend.

 

A couple of months ago when I first found out about this event, I was planning on having a car and going on my own. I was hoping maybe Joey would be able to attend with me. As time passed and I got to know him better though, I realized he was not going to be a good fit. I asked Miss Chris if she’d be interested (especially if I purchased her ticket) and to my surprise she agreed. It shouldn’t have surprised me at all, for a few reasons. First, she loves psychology and people and relationships. Anything that will show her how others function in relationships, how they relate to other people, that sort of thing, is right up her alley. Aside from that though, she’s known me for years, seen my ups and downs, primarily with jhusdhui, and wanted to learn more about what makes me me. This worked out fantastically for us because I wanted the mostly educational workshops, not the play ones, and those were what interested her. As I met and got to know Devin, I invited him and while he had been excited to go, wasn’t able to fit it into his schedule. In retrospect, I don’t know if it would have been more beneficial to him at the point he’s at or worse. If he’d seen the way some of those talks made me light up, he may have been more frightened than necessary.

 

The first workshop that I attended that had one of my hidden lessons in it was Authenticity. I don’t have a hard time being myself, most of the time. Lately though I’ve realized that sometimes I was having trouble with giving responses to important questions. While I was called out on trying to tailor my reply to what they wanted to hear, the truth was that I was trying to look for the motivation of the question and answer to that instead of just the flat question. That made me come across as not being authentic, of trying to be a person that I wasn’t to seem more appealing to them. The rest of what Master Obsidian spoke of I was pretty good about, right down to admitting that I got my start online, like every other wanna-be Dom. I knew that most of what I was doing was rooted deep in fantasy and because of that, a lot of people thought that my fetishes were impossible as well, but it turns out they’re not. They were easily adaptable to real life and I’ve actually lived quite a few of them out, despite Blake saying that they were all fantasy. I’ve even met someone else that seems to find a lot of what I enjoy enjoyable from the sub side of it, so that was reassuring. Being myself? Not usually a problem.

 

One of the next lessons that I was supposed to learn but that didn’t actually sink in until today was that being a Sadist is okay. For the first time ever, when I laughed, there were a few others that laughed with me. Their eyes danced. One of the examples given was when Master Obsidian told his slave she would be speaking in third person to him, first person everyone else. He told her this was going into effect on the drive to a conference. There was no warm up time, no time to practice, no time to perfect it. I lit up. The guy behind me applauded. I finally felt like I wasn’t the evil villain in the room. Or, if I was, I at least had some cohorts to go with me. The reason this didn’t sink in then was because I was by myself, or with other Sadists, or with Miss Chris who already knew these things about me. What reminded me that not everyone knows how a Sadist operates is when Joey asked me today ‘How far does your Sadism reach? Like, if Devin broke his arm, would that be the most pleasurable thing ever for you?’ and my retort was ‘Does a masochist orgasm if they get in a car crash? No.’ Luckily for me, there was a gentleman there (whom I’d actually met in my local community prior to meeting him there) who put the words much better than I did earlier: ‘I enjoy watching you suffer as you try to please me.’ Paraphrased. But for that moment in time, it was like the sky opened up and a light shone down as that essential second half was finally articulated well enough that I could butcher it repeating it to other people. I had told Devin several times ‘I do so love your suffering’ and hoped he could hear the second part, but he never did. What I was really saying was ‘I am so pleased that you are trying so hard to make me happy, to do what pleases me the most’. Unfortunately he just heard me enjoying his suffering and thought that I wanted to cause him misery for the rest of his life. I think Joey thought the same thing. If the suffering comes from something external, some accident, I get no pleasure from it. None.

 

The last lesson that I honestly needed to have taught to me (again) came from Master George in his workshop about creating a M/s household and that was: Patience. Have it. Whenever he mentioned patience, Miss Chris looked at me. Or nodded. Or made that sound in her throat. Or drew attention to the word by sending her energy out to bitch slap me. Or repeating it in my ear, loudly. Or smacking me. Or, well, you get the picture. I have no patience. I feel like I’ve been patient for the past 8 years waiting for the right person to come into my life so I could start building this M/s life with them. I feel like I’m not going to be around forever and I want time to enjoy what we create together. I feel like life is so short. She tells me it’s my youth. It’s the way life is now. I’m just impatient. I say ‘What if I haven’t found the right person, that I spend all this time cultivating this with him and he cuts and bails and that’s it? I’ve spent 8 years working towards something I can’t have’ and she just stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Then, the way I usually do, rubs the salt in the wound and goes ‘Hasn’t he already cut and run? Twice?’ Right. Each time he’s come back, but who knows if he always will. The point is though, that I have to be patient. If I push him too far, too fast, it’ll be over for sure, for good, forever. Better to take things slow and work on a real solid foundation. Patience.

 

Finally, probably the most obvious, that I also didn’t really let sink in until the second day was: I am meant for this. Honestly. You don’t end up in hotel for a weekend with someone attending a kink conference unless you’re kinky. (You hear that Miss Chris? Just checking.) I’ve gone back and forth wondering if I can even do this. For a few years when I started, I even thought I was submissive. I had a mentor that used to call me ‘pet’. I was submissive to him. Kind of. Barely. Dear Raban, I apologize for the hell I put you through when I thought I was submissive and you knew better but humored me anyhow. I apologize for thinking that I would never be able to dom you when you asked me to, thinking I was too shy, because I spent a great many years after all of that fantasizing about doing just that. The end of our relationship couldn’t have been more picture perfect though. I’d still trade it in to have his words of wisdom around, but truth of the matter is, they are. They’re in my head, they’re in my heart, they’re in my community, and they’re in my friends. Not only am I meant to be here, but I know what I’m doing, I have good intentions, I’m a good person, and I’m dedicated enough to see it through.

 

There was one other thing too, but it was something I always knew: When I make a mistake, I can count on Miss Chris being there to laugh at me. Not because she’s a Sadist (…or is she?) but because she knows I know what to do in most situations, it’s just that I don’t. Whether it be because I’m afraid of getting hurt, because I’ve pushed away my emotions for so long that I can hardly feel them anymore (aka putting up walls!), or because I’m too stubborn to admit I’m wrong, I make stupid choices. I’ve cured myself of quite a bit of that in the last year though. I even put away my dignity for an evening to admit to someone how I felt about them, knowing full well it could end up in pure rejection and that I would have to be okay with that. So there has been improvement.

 

One of the highlights of the weekend though was when one of the presenters looked around the room and said with great certainty ‘There looks to be about 5 Masters in here’ and I counted for myself four gentlemen in leather who obviously made up the majority of those that were with me. The last one was going to have to be one of two women in the room that were not in cuffs, or collars, or sitting next to any other men. He locked eyes with me. I could easily say I imagined all of this, except that I had Miss Chris there to nudge me, like she always does when I’m questioning something, and it just left me to smile. It was my biggest fear going in, that I wouldn’t be recognized for what I was because I’m female. Or because I didn’t wear leather or any other fetish gear. The other female Dominants, the two of that I could easily pick out, wore those things. They had their slaves at their sides. I was there alone, in jeans and a t-shirt, probably looking quite out of place. But this person saw me. Those were the closing words of the closing ceremony given by Master Z too. ‘I leave you with these words, which to me are the highest compliment: I. see. you.’

 

All in all, I’m glad I went. I had fun. I learned a lot. I know my path. I’ve known my path for a long, long time now. This year strangers from all over the world have reaffirmed this for me. I couldn’t be more grateful to everyone I’ve met, to everyone I’ve emailed, to everyone I’ve played with, from everyone I’ve learned from. I couldn’t be more grateful to myself for finally taking that step, for finally wanting it bad enough that I went for it, for finally acknowledging that this part of me, like every other part of me, is okay. Now I’m making it my goal to see everyone in my life as clearly as I can. I want to see them all for the beautiful people they are.

Relationship: Kink

How I left out the most obvious requirement for any relationship I enter into, I will never know. I think, perhaps, because I figured that where I seek out my relationships essentially ensures that I will find someone kinky. However, I’ve come to realize that this is not always true. In one case, it was just that they were exploring another side of them. In another, it might just be that they’re scared out of their minds. I’m not sure. Even my newest snuggle buddy is vanilla though. How did this even happen?

 

You attract what you are. They always say opposites attract but I’m feeling less and less that that’s accurate. If it were, I’d have hoards of submissive men throwing themselves at me and I’d be able to pick from them with ease. Now, it may be true that there are enough submissive men offering me their services, but they’re not offering me what I want, which obviously excludes them from my search which makes them completely nonviable which essentially makes it so I don’t even see them. The only logical explanation is that I am vanilla. Yeah, I said it with a straight face, but not for long. I’ve tried claiming to be just that around a couple of people and it just doesn’t fly. Sure, I can do vanilla things. I like to go to the movies. I like to go bowling with Joey. I went on a road trip that didn’t include a chastity device, butt plug, or rope harness under someone’s clothes. All vanilla things. But I, myself, cannot be vanilla. I’ve tried. No really. I tried to be vanilla just like I tried to be submissive and just like I tried to be monogamous.

 

So I’ve been spending more and more time trying to define for me what is kinky. Because when I say I’m vanilla I’m not entirely joking. There is a lot of me that I think is vanilla. The trouble that comes into play there is that what I enjoy the most is relationship dynamics and I guess because I’m a girl that likes to be in control, that makes me kinky by default. If I was a guy that was just a little controlling of his girlfriend, that would be normal. Perhaps even be a way of expressing his care and concern over her. Unfortunately (for so many reasons) I wasn’t born male. The rest of the thought gets eradicated by the fact that I’m not just a little controlling, I am a lot controlling. Within a relationship that’s built on that kind of thing anyhow, not just of anyone random. In fact, I recently met someone that didn’t even know I was dominant, whatever that means, for better or worse. I guess I can’t command an entire room to look at me when I walk in it and I can’t get all the subs to quiver at my feet, but that’s okay, because I’m really only interested in one of them quivering at my feet (okay, or two).

 

In some recent correspondence with someone else though, I asked him if he was interested in D/s, without the kink. So obviously ‘kink’ to me has something to do with toys or props, which is something I generally dislike. But then I spent a night thinking long and hard about how I would feel if I couldn’t flog someone who submitted to me. I had someone in particular in mind, otherwise I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, and since he knows me well enough to understand what I can’t articulate, he said it for me: it’s an act of intimacy for me. Could I go without flogging someone? Sure. Would I always feel as though there was something in our relationship that I could never explore with them? Absolutely. Would it ruin the relationship? I don’t know. It would depend on what role they played for me. Ideally though, I would have someone that would do everything for me. I wonder sometimes if I’m actually poly or if I just can’t find someone who can meet all of my expectations. That’s another post though.

 

So by that definition, of kinky being something having to do with props, I am kinky, whether I want to be or not. I love my floggers, my canes, my crops, my paddles, my clothespins, my toys. I love cuffs and collars and leashes and hoods and cock rings and chastity devices. I love crosses and cages and chains and especially barbed wire. They are not the focal point of what I’m looking for though. I guess that’s the difference for me. So many profiles that I read say ‘I want to do these things specifically’ and for me, I want the mental submission first. If I can have that, you can have everything, because I want everything. Without the submission though, I don’t want to humor anyone with anything else. I’m already doing that, exploring in that fashion, and I know I won’t do it again. I know I won’t do it with anyone else, except to learn a specific skill that I can take home to do with my own personal pet.

 

But more than anything else in the world, I need someone who is in this for life. I need someone who wants to submit and then to play. I want play to be our foreplay, our sex, our intimacy. I don’t want someone that can do one without the other. I put a lot of time and energy and creativity and thought into creating the games that I play with my pets, so that we can have fun, enjoyable, memorable times in our relationships, but as much as I love games, I’ve found the words ‘This is just a game to me‘ absolutely crush my heart. D/s is not a game to me. Ownership is not a game to me. What I need to feel loved and cared for is not a game for me. If it’s a game for them, then they’re not for me, plain and simple. Sometimes it kills me; I’ll fall in love with everything a person is and then find that what they are not is what kills it all.

 

Post Puppy Play

Yesterday’s puppy play event was a success! I suppose asking one of the puppies if they also thought it was a success would be in order, but after watching them all collapse on the floor in one big heap of puppy love, I’m inclined to say they felt the same way. There were three puppies there that I personally knew and so had a blast getting to play with and three puppies that I had never met before who all seemed to know one another. Typically I would think the clash of cliques would be horrible but the puppies that showed up, who I believe have been puppies longer than most of the ones I know, really drew out the playfulness in all the other puppies. They were wonderful and I’m glad that they could join us.

 

Getting to watch six puppies romp and mosh around on the floor was everything that I ever dreamed of. I don’t have a pup and I don’t know that I would have the time to properly train one right now, but I would honestly love to get to do something along those lines in the future. Right now I’m busy with what I have going and working on all of that. I need to ensure that I’m in a good position where I can give my everything to that effort before I introduce another person into my life. But I can guarantee that I would have so much fun having a puppy to play with. Even here I had a great time throwing the toys around and giving all the puppies treats. I loved watching the Handler of the three puppies that joined us interact with them. I loved seeing all the Handlers and would-be Handlers acting around the puppies as well.

 

After two weeks of ups and more downs than ups, I got to see Devin in person again. He had volunteered to photograph the event and after we had a rocky week, I wasn’t entirely certain that he was still going to show up. I think for a brief while in there he wasn’t even sure he was going to show up. With the situation that we had going, the limbo that we were in, I wasn’t even certain where we stood exactly, except in front of one another and for some reason, when I’m standing that close to that man, I can’t help but to touch him. So hug him I did and the rest of the day seemed to go well from there.

 

This was the first time I actually got to see Devin work. This was the first time that Devin got to see the friends that I’ve made and that I hang out with on game night. This was the first time that Devin saw me affectionate with a friend of mine. I was afraid that jealousy might crop up, but then we aren’t technically in a relationship, I don’t know where we’re going with it, and he’s not in chastity. That’s what I attributed the lack of jealousy to. Later he mentioned that it was really just a matter of seeing me interact with him and that it wasn’t a big deal, which was a relief to me. After he did the candid photos, he did the actual portraits for the puppy that was there in his full hood and suit, which turned out amazing. Then as everyone was coming down and relaxing, we all just sat around and chatted. At some point a violet wand came out and that was all kinds of fun as well.

 

After the event was over, it was time to head home. Devin joined me, we got to try some flogging, and we got to do some talking. Then it was dinner and a random road trip, which was supposed to be for chasing storms but the lightning didn’t really feel like coming out to play with us. At any rate, it was a good time to talk, being trapped in a car with one another, and talk we did. We talked about the situation we’d gotten ourselves into, the way that it was handled, how it ended up going where it was, where we were headed next, oh, and chastity. Finally, on the way home, we had a talk about hard limits. It went something like this:

 

Me: Imagine that you can only have 5 hard limits. This means you really have to think about what are hard limits for you and what are things that you just really don’t want to do.

Devin: o.O

Me: Now, imagine that for every year we’re together, you lose one of those hard limits.

Devin: o.O;

Me: And not just that we would try it once, but that it could regularly be incorporated into our play.

Devin: o.O;;

Me: So, now, what would you say your hard limits are?

Devin: The first hard limit is that there is no elimination of hard limits. The second hard limit is that there is no breaking of hard limits. The third hard limit is that there is no pushing of hard limits…

 

Have I mentioned that sometimes I don’t necessarily enjoy playing with someone as smart as Devin? ;)

 

Honestly, the day was amazing. The pups that I got to meet were wonderful, the company was exactly what I wanted, the energy was wonderful. The only thing that would have made the day better was if Joey had been there to play with me too, but he couldn’t make it. Hopefully next time. I hear there might be another similar event come October. I sure hope so. Maybe during that event I could get Devin down on the ground as well. What, puppy play was not a hard limit. :D

 

 

An Experiment In Chastity Finale

July 23, 8:03am: Good morning Master! I know that I’m sounding like a broken record but last night was the worst. Your cock had me up in the one o’clock hour, the two o’clock hour, the three o’clock hour, the four o’clock hour, and the five o’clock hour. The lack of sleep is becoming critical. I can’t sleep because of your cock. I can’t function because of the lack of sleep your cock is causing. I now have a medical need. Skin has broken on the scrotum and there are traces of blood.

That is what can break him out of chastity before an agreed upon date. We made arrangements to meet so that I could unlock the device. The meeting was important for multiple reasons though, most of them emotional.

Last night we had a talk about how far the chastity and the mind fuck were going. I wanted to ensure that he was aware that I wasn’t willing to push as far as I wanted to go unless he knew precisely what he had negotiated and he was upset that I might be backing off from exactly what I wanted. Today’s meet helped alleviate a lot of the worry that I think we both had. The lesson had been learned in that he needs to ensure he knows what he’s negotiating — but a lesson had to be learned on my end too. I needed to learn that he isn’t just in this for the fantasy. He’s not doing this just to get off and then to return to his ‘normal’ life. What he agrees to, what he gives his word to, is what he is going to do. To him, if he was stupid about negotiations, well then he’s stupid, and he has to live with that.

So for now the agreement stands. All of the things that I had been talking about before, the keeping him locked up for longer periods of time, denying him orgasms (though milking would have to occur, health is important), and even the possibility of not having an intimate relationship with me (outside of the emotional relationship that occurs through the process of chastity) are all still on the table. There will not be any renegotiation. This was an ideal situation for me, personally. The issue that I was having was that I felt as though I had tricked him into all of this by not confronting and questioning him about it the night we laid the ground rules.

There was one detail that we made sure to cover once more and that was that he was afraid that he might be made nonfunctional, meaning that the chastity would take over his life so much that he wouldn’t be able to work or attend to personal obligations elsewhere in his life. While that is definitely not my goal or intent, I do think that for the first while of chastity he will have difficulty sleeping, he will have difficulty focusing, and that it might affect some of his work. The redemption though is that when he has a particular task to work on, he can focus on that. I’m less concerned when he says things like that. I’m certain there will be a curve where eventually he will stop struggling with having focus and at some point he will just give in and then the focus and energy will come from being in chastity. I suppose only time will tell.

For right now, the thing that we both need to work on is communication. He does a wonderful job of giving me his reports but sometimes he’s not entirely clear on what he’s feeling. For me, I need to ensure that I’m willing to back up everything that I say and convey that as well. I did the opposite of that last night and while it was with purpose, I think it created more turmoil than was necessary. Still, better to have it happen last night than on Monday night.

Now he will be out of his device for the next while, in order to heal, and because that was how it was to be scheduled. There will be a small break for reasons completely out of my control. He asked me Wednesday night if I was afraid he wouldn’t come back. I told him no. That was not a fear of mine. While I stand by that, while I’m not afraid that he won’t return to me, I do fear that something might be different. I may have to go back, rework some of the foundation that we’ve laid down, and build up again. That’s fine. As long as he returns, that sort of thing can always happen.

I’ve said in the title that this was the finale of the experiment in that the device is off. He still isn’t allowed to orgasm until Monday night though, if I allow it then. I can stretch it out all the way until…well, for quite some time after that. Perhaps I will decide on a whim. Maybe I’ll tie it into a game. Maybe I’ll indulge him. A man does only have a birthday once a year after all. We’ll find out Monday I suppose!

An Experiment In Chastity

July 19, 5:30am: Good morning Akalashi. It was a very good thing I did not have the key. Last night I was cursing myself for leaving the key at work. Let’s just say you were constantly on my mind. At one point I thought the device was going to break! The torment was almost too much to take.

It’s a little embarrassing, quite humiliating but also a turn-on that someone could sneak a peek, so to speak, and maybe figure out that it’s not my cock bulging from my pants but a chastity device.

I am wiped out and tired! That blasted device has had me awake more than I thought. But it always has me thinking of you.

July 20, 5:30am*: Good morning! What a glorious day! Sleep has once again eluded me. You will be most pleased to hear that my inability to find release last night caused me such physical and mental pain and torture that I was almost reduced to tears. My pillow was once again a victim of attempted rape.

Last night was the most intense yet! You are at the forefront of my mind. I am not exaggerating when I say rape and crying. These are accurate adjectives to describe my night.

Remember, this is coming from a man that used to masturbate every day.

You have me in a perpetual frenzied state at the moment. I can’t think, breathe, or move without physical arousal happening. Which always brings me back to the fact that you possess the key.

I did not anticipate how much of me you would own by your possession of the key, now your key. Because not only do you own my cock, my orgasm, my pleasure, you own my sleep and thoughts as well. I cannot sleep because of your cock. My every thought turns to you because of your cock.

I may never come again. That is something I never even contemplated!

July 21, 5:30am: Good morning Master**! I am now even more sleep deprived than I was yesterday. I was able to manage a couple of hours. The pain in the scrotum has now become such that I cannot even think about touching. The testicles are swollen. They have turned purple and cold. Each night the torture becomes worse than the night before. I am coming to a point that sleep is something I have to avoid. If I can avoid the sleep maybe I can avoid the pain and torture. This is much more extreme than I have ever imagined. Please tell me what I must do that you will allow me some relief from this device. I am desperate!

You are now my obsession. My physical body yearns for you, my every thought is of you, my only desire is to please you.

You reaching down between my legs and feeling nothing but the hard plastic device that caged your cock was a very humiliating turn-on.

I can’t sit, I can’t stand, I can’t think, I can’t sleep! But then I think about the pleasure my pain, anguish, and torture gives and it makes it worse! Because knowing the more pain, anguish, and torture I endure the more pleasure you receive.

My greatest fear is that you’ll keep me in chastity indefinitely. What would be so bad about that? To be free from the flesh between my legs. Didn’t that already happen when I gave you the key? I relinquished all rights of it to you. So why can’t I wash my hands of it and walk away?

Oh my god! I am never going to have intercourse again, am I? I hadn’t considered that possibility either!

How is it that I’ve gone from having intercourse multiple times a day to never having intercourse again?!

Absolutely every single feeling is pumping through me right now knowing that I might not ever have sex again. I may not even be allowed to masturbate much less cum. Hell, this damned device may never be coming off! I am feeling angry, mad, betrayed, hurt, sad, defeated, stupid, humiliated, aroused. What I imagined and what I negotiated are two very different things. That is my own fault! All of these feelings are directed at myself. It was my decision to move forward. I am also very scared. Scared of how sadistic you can and want to be. What else might you take from me and use against me?

I am being reduced to a membered eunuch.

July 22, 5:30am***: The pain from raw skin is beyond anything I have experienced! Sleep is something I now know I will never have again. One more thing to put on the list! Each day it seems there is something else you have taken from me. I am yours!

Last night was once again intense. Not sure how I cam going to make it through the day without sleep! I hurt and am too sore to continue a relationship of that nature with my pillow. Simply sitting is now a chore. I am now wondering if I will be able to continue like this. I am hoping that soon I will just become numb to it. I really do need out! But I know there is nothing that I can do or say that will make that happen. I am at a point where the actual physical pin is so great that I want out not to get off but to relieve the pain.

Right now I don’t even want to touch your cock! It is that sore! I apologize for not taking proper care of your cock. I just did not know how to.**** I would like to try to continue on to Monday.

Once you have your cock locked to the cage, not just in it, I will truly become your slave. Never to know an orgasm or freedom again. Am I correct? Your own personal torture toy. {In response to my informing him that since I own his cock, I could pierce it if I’d like.}

I’m tired. Falling asleep at my desk. I can’t think straight. I can barely work. I’m confused and scared. What have I done? How did I get here? I agreed to chastity. Having my cock controlled. But so much more has been taken. You have pointed out how stupid I am. I was thinking with my dick.

I am scared because you have used my sex to abduct me and I never saw it coming. I just happily handed it over to you.

* This is the first report after being given the key to his chastity device

** Dev was seeking an appropriate honorific to use to address me, as we are not in a D/s relationship, we are only Keyholder/victim at the moment. I commented that I was amused the key reads ‘Master’ on it and at first he rejected the idea of using such a term, because Master implies so much to me (and to him as well) but after much consideration, there is a distinct flavor of ownership to at least this one part of his body, enough that we agreed this would work. He also pointed out how nice it would be to have my name right on my key.

*** This was the first day that he was required to start sending pictures along with his morning report to help ensure that I can see what’s going on in order to make better, more informed decisions about whether or not continuing with wearing the device is in the best interest of his health.

**** Dev discovers lube is his friend and it helps to keep the cage from chaffing the skin.

Chastity. This is something that I’ve always wanted to try but I never had a boy that owned a device who wanted to play with me. I met someone on CollarMe that had some of the same interests as me. My initial draw to him was the fact that he spoke of submission and learning, not of fetishes and kinks. There were a few things that held me back from contacting him at first, but eventually I sent a letter. The person that I got to know was much more than I had expected from his profile, and he said the same about me. Of course that may be due to the fact that I have a rather generic profile.

One of the topics that kept coming up between us was his desire to be owned and to experience a full D/s relationship. Anyone reading this journal knows full well that I am trying to avoid that kind of situation because there were a few other things that I’ve been wanting to experience, and this was one of them. Dev had mentioned that he wanted to try wearing his device. He’d only ever gone for 48 hours wearing one before and never any longer. He masturbated daily. His last kinky relationship pretty much had him being used as a sex toy, made to perform for his Mistress several times a day. To hear the stories from him personally, one would think he was kept on site for a porn shoot, never knowing when he was going to be pulled out to be fucked again and again. But it didn’t have all of the D/s elements he was looking for.

With some encouragement (what?) he decided late Saturday night to put the device on of his own accord. He let me know that he had and I told him that I was rooting for him. Throughout the weekend he gave me updates and told me how difficult it was for him to do this and how much easier it would be if he had a Keyholder. Sunday he told me that he was afraid he would just unlock himself and be done. I told him that if he was especially clever, he would take the key to work and leave it at his desk to avoid that temptation. He took my suggestion and did just that.

That evening, through reasons completely unrelated to his stint in chastity, we had agreed to meet. I enjoy meeting local people who have similar views to my own. I was hoping too that if we met, I might be able to encourage him to join one of the local communities, perhaps even attend a play party with him. He had mentioned that he may bring his key with and if things worked out exceptionally well, perhaps we could negotiate me being his Keyholder, and talked at length what that would mean to each of us.

The evening was spent going over hypothetical situations, expectations, hopes and desires of both kink and vanilla. Towards the end of the night, after negotiating, he offered me his key and I accepted. The negotiations that he offered lacked two things: an ending period and any kind of limit regarding release from device, orgasm, or intercourse. I was perfectly aware that he’d forgotten about these, but I figured rather than just merely mentioning them, I would show him what happens when he forgets to negotiate to the very last detail in hopes that he would never make the mistake again. (I think he’s learned his lesson.) The only other thing that he didn’t allow himself, which I strongly encourage in every other situation, is a safe word. His lack of a safe word means more responsibility for me, ensuring that I don’t push him further than I think he can go, because I’m the only person now that can stop where we’re headed.

His expected date of release is Monday, July 25th. I’m hoping to make this birthday one he remembers for a while at least.