Nice

I’ve been told that I’m too nice. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I wish I could just be outright mean. Sometimes I wish I could justify saying the things that are running through my mind. Sometimes I wish I could be the very demanding Mistress, the one that someone might be afraid of upsetting, someone that another would remember forever. I’m not one of those. I’m understanding. I try to see things from other people’s point of view. I justify why something I’ve asked for hasn’t occured. I consider it living in reality.

The longer I go without my needs being fulfilled, the more ‘nice’ seems to slip away. It’s a very gradual sort of thing though. For the last three weeks, I haven’t had a slave. I haven’t had a submissive. I haven’t even had a pet. At best I’ve had a friend and at worst I’ve just had someone that I exchange a few lines of text with every now and again. Things are looking up now so I almost feel bad writing this, but it’s nagging at my brain, this idea of nice.

I don’t know what it is that keeps me from simply demanding the things that I want. Am I afraid that I’ll push him too far and that he won’t want to play with me anymore? Am I afraid that somewhere along the line he’ll realize I’m not ____ (fill in the blank with whatever) and decide he needs someone that’ll actually challenge him? It’s all rubbish really. I’m not terribly afraid of any of that. I just can’t seem to bring myself to treat him the way he ought to be treated. He says he wants to be more than just a pet — that he wants to be a slave. I see all the potential in the world in him but then sometimes, just sometimes, I don’t see where he could consider himself a slave. Sometimes I wonder if he knows what it is to always live for someone else, to always put someone else’s wants and needs in front of his, to actually anticipate them and deliver them, and to do it with a smile.

I don’t know if service is what motivates him or not. That’s what I think of when I think of a slave though, even though I know for the most part slaves aren’t service-oriented.

Back to nice.

When I feel like these D/s feelings and needs aren’t being met, I can very slowly see the changes in me. They start with being aroused more often than not. This was something I lived with for years though, these desires without outlets, so it’s easy to ignore. After that, the need to masturbate arises. I haven’t had to rely on self-pleasure in months and months because I can abstain for a week at a time and then unleash it all on him when we’re together. After that though, I notice it mostly in my fantasies. Sometimes I snap at him, telling him that something is not okay when typically I’d be very understanding of it. Sometimes it’s in the form of doing a better job of upholding my own rules. For example, when he hasn’t shaved. Sometimes I just excuse it, or allow him to excuse it. In my fantasies though, I can blatantly tell him that if he can’t find the time to shave, to look just the way I want him to, that he can wear clothes, because then at least I’ll be looking at something presentable.

From there it’s a windy road down from snarky to humiliation to near degradation. From there, it’s fantasizing about what I want to do to him. Usually it starts with hitting him. It starts with marking his body. After that, it’s slapping his face. Telling him that he needs to live up to everything that I’ve ever wanted because I want him but I don’t want to settle for subpar service. After that, he’s hooded. That way I can’t see his expressions. I love him, so sometimes hurting him is difficult. Sometimes watching him in agony doesn’t push my buttons. Sometimes it’s just because I’m not hitting him as hard as I want to.

In my fantasies, I don’t worry about hurting him like I do in real life. I know what I’m doing in my fantasies. I don’t have him worrying about whether I know what I’m doing or not. I can hurt him and push him and make him cry. From behind his hood I can hear him crying. It’s soft and sweet at first. Sometimes he’s telling me that he’s sorry, but there’s no real reason for him to be sorry. I just like the way it sounds when I’m hurting him. Then as I’m hurting him more he’s sobbing. I can hear the snot and I can hear him gasping for air and choking on his sobs and just letting it all out. I’m scratching him. I’m kicking him. I’m telling him that he’s useless really. That the only thing he’ll ever amount to is a fuck toy. And then I use him. I slap him in the face and I climb on top of him and I use his cock until I’ve come. I tell him he can’t and he knows it. He doesn’t try. Maybe he gets close, I don’t know. I don’t think so though, because this is so far removed from what usually turns him on.

I take the hood off of him and I make him clean his face in the carpet. Then I have him clean me up. I don’t want him to enjoy it though. I just want to be clean and dry. I rub myself all over his face, getting my juices in his beard, and then I put the hood back on him and make him wear it until his face is dry. I send him over to the corner. I let him wallow in all of that. I don’t reassure him. I don’t tell him he’s good. I let him think he’s awful and that he’ll never be good enough and some part of me deep inside really relishes his agony. His tears. His pain. And part of me wants to hold him. I don’t want to coddle him though. I just want him to be closer as I keep pushing his buttons, keep tearing him apart. I want to break him down entirely.

Sometimes he’ll say that I’m the center of his universe, but in my dreams and fantasies I can break him down enough and build him back up around me so much that I truly feel I am.

None of this is realistic. None of this is psychologically sound. All of it is hot to me on some level or another.

Naked

One of my favorite rules that I’ve put in place for j is that when we’re home alone together (and when he’s home alone anytime) he’s to be naked. Oh, years ago I could talk to all my girlfriends about how I appreciate the female form so much more than the male form, how there’s not so much attractive about them, and while I’ll still admit that I find women absolutely beautiful, I’ve come to discover that men can be beautiful as well.

But then there’s something else as well, a conversation my husband and I have had time and again over the decade we’ve been together. We both suscribe to the idea that the more you love someone, the more attractive they are to you. I’m certainly no supermodel, but I have no doubts that my husband finds me attractive. The same goes for my husband, except that a lot of people find him attractive (he just doesn’t realize it) and the same goes for j.

We’ve talked a little about his physical appearance. He has one or two things he’d like to change about himself, but I’m so used to his body and appreciate it as it is that it wouldn’t matter much if he changed it at all. One of the things that we’ve talked about is how he’s not symmetrical, but how it’s hardly noticeable at this point, just because I see him without clothes so much of the time.

The one really fantastically great thing about boys being naked is that their arousal is so evident. I can lose minutes and hours just watching the different forms that the cock can take, from being relaxed to being erect to when it’s suffering from pain or slowing creeping away after an orgasm. It’s almost like cock lust except for not. I don’t necessarily want to be doing anything to it, I just want to watch it.

The other day he was kneeling in front of me and he pushed himself right into my lap and wrapped his arms around me for a hug. I hugged him back for a second but then went to tickle him. I wrapped my legs around his and held him in place so that he could squirm all he wanted but it wouldn’t really stop me. When I let him go and he moved over to grab something, it was obvious to see that he was aroused. I asked if it was the tickling, trying ever so hard to remember if that had been something he’d had on his like list on the profile that I stared at obsessively the first months that I knew him and he just shook his head. Then I remembered his fascination with bondage and asked if it was that I had been holding him, and he nodded.

Later in the night, after we’d gone to bed, we often lay awake (or not so awake) talking and should the urge hit me to have an orgasm before I drift off completely, I’ll typically find some way to use him, either by having him service me orally or by pulling him on top of me and directing him to rub himself against my clit so I can get off. Pretty much anything that doesn’t take too much effort on my part so that I can orgasm and then drift off right away. He’s really good at just curling up at my side and not demanding a thing of me afterwards, so it works out nicely.

Another option though, if I’m in the mood for it, is to just use him. Typically, because I don’t bother to undress for anything like this since it’s just rubbing our bodies together, I roll him over and then I can rub up against his ass. It’s kind of nice to imagine penetrating him and making him squeal, but we’re not far enough along yet that I could slip something up in there without hurting him beyond what either of us would find pleasurable. Plus, it’s a lot of work for pre-sleep orgasm. So I just rub away until I orgasm, he gets to feel something rubbing against his ass, and we call it a night.

The final alternative is for me to actually pin him and rub against his cock, which I’d say happens the least of all these things. It takes some fantastic positioning and again, work. But the position usually requires his arms above his head so that he’s not touching me and I’m always keen on that. This time, I clipped his wrist restraints to the headboard and clipped his ankles together as well, and then just wrapped myself around him as much as I could before I set out for my orgasm. When I was done, he commented that that was the tightest I’d ever held him. I had to agree.

Ever since then, I’ve put more and more thought into bondage. I don’t like the ropes so much, except to just admire the sight of them on his naked body. I like chains but he doesn’t, but his dislike for them isn’t enough to sway me from doing something I’d really enjoy. I just don’t know that I’d enjoy it that much. What usually comes to mind is saran wrap. I like the idea of just wrapping up his whole body, except his cock and his mouth.

Today I went a little further with it. I toyed with the idea of tape. I like it because hey, it hurts coming off too. I also like that it’ll hurt even more if he hasn’t shaved like he’s supposed to. I like that he could struggle against it even more and probably break less of it. I like the way it looks in my head, especially paired with his leather restraints and collar. I like the idea of tape and saran wrap. I worry ridiculously about the ill side effects of saran wrap trapping moisture between it and his skin and making his skin problem worse. I don’t think it’d be a measurable difference in just one session anyhow.

But what really tripped it from idea to arousing for me was pairing it with a hood.

I’ve read that a lot of people find it easier to do objectification if their slave is wearing a hood because then the humanity issue is gone. They’re an object and not a person so much. For me I think it’d help because I put so much stock in his facial expressions. They might not even accurately portray what he’s feeling but for whatever reason, they seem to trump the energy that I’m feeling from him and the sounds that he’s making. I know a ‘I need to breathe now’ sound from a whimper that he has to let out because he’s enduring something for me and enjoying (and also not enjoying) himself while doing it.

Then there’s also just the fact that hoods are hot. I want to play with one just to see what kind of transformation can be made and if it goes well (I don’t know how it wouldn’t) I’d love to upgrade to a leather hood. I know exactly the one I want for him too because I’ve been lusting after it for years.

Finally, since I seemed to leave off on such a sour note in my last entry, and while I certainly don’t take back anything of what I’ve said so far, it needs to be noted that there are plenty of areas in live where I can absolutely regard him as a slave and not just a submissive.

Amusingly enough, as opposite as it may be, he’s a great deal better at doing life tasks for me than the sexual ones that I’d mentioned previously. I cherish those above anything else, being that a slave’s priority in life is to make my life easier. Today he was able to send out a payment that I could not have possibly done in my schedule to ensure and those sorts of things are by far more important than a lot of other things I’ve talked about.

For right now, I’m rather happy where I am. We have a lot of changes coming up in the next two weeks and a lot of excitement. After things settle again, then it’ll be a great time to put into practice these ideas of higher protocols we both seem to enjoy the idea of.

Until then….

Suffering

For me, suffering is a very difficult concept. When I speak of being a Sadist, it’s the suffering that I enjoy the most. It’s not necessarily inflicting pain as I’ve come to find out. Over the years that I’ve been exploring and thinking about and trying to reason out what exactly makes me me, I’ve found that pain fit in there somewhere. But I don’t get a hard-on when I see someone else inflicting pain on someone. In fact, it’s not striking someone with the paddle that gets me wet. It’s the sounds they make and the suffering they endure for me that get me off.

The first night that I spent with j, I told him to strip. There was slight hesitation. He did though. And even though we’d never even kissed before then, he stood there naked before me. It wasn’t suffering, but it was arousing because it was close. It was something he didn’t appear to want to do, but did because I asked him to, because I told him to. I wasn’t afraid of him disobeying either, but that might not be relevant because he doesn’t disobey even when he knows that I intend to hurt him. The mindset didn’t make a difference in this case.

The first time that I spanked him, he squirmed and wriggled and made just god awful sounds. I think I was expecting him to like it. To really enjoy it. To honestly get off on it, the same as all the other boys that’d written to me, the ones that asked if I’d meet and play with him, just a spanking even. He honest-to-gods did not like what was going on once it started getting rougher. I didn’t start enjoying it either until I could tell he absolutely hated it, but then I couldn’t enjoy it later because I knew he hated it. I was in a very rough spot at the time.

But then we moved into chastity and this was when chastity sort of clicked for me. I’d experimented with it before. I love to watch a boy orgasm. I like the way their body responds. I like their faces. I like how they can’t talk. I like how they fight it. I love the expression seconds after they ejaculate. I love when they ejaculate! I love watching it being pushed out of their bodies. It’s beautiful to me, in a way. I lust after it. I don’t want to touch it or taste it but I like the smell and I like how they look after they orgasm. So naturally I like to ensure that they’re only having that kind of pleasure with me, around me, because of me. I want them to associate such pleasurable feelings with me, even if I’m not technically doing anything.

Every now and again I let him play in the shower if I’m not around, but no orgasm. He tells me it’s never as good as doing it in front of me. I like making him play and watching the way he bites his lip and pouts when he gets close to climax and knows he can’t. I love when he begs, begs, for me to stop touching him because he’s so close and he knows he’s not allowed to cum. I love when he’s pleading with me and I’m not stopping, not until I can hear the panic in his voice. I love that he’s begging with all his heart for something he doesn’t want, except he does, because if he orgasms without permission he gets in trouble and he doesn’t want to be in trouble — he wants to be a good boy. Good boys always follow the rules. I love that sort of suffering. I find it arousing and sexy and intimate.

I also enjoy having him go down on me. I like when he first startst he way he’s soft and sweet about it, being sure to warm me up, because sometimes I put him down there just for the sensation, not because I want to orgasm. Sometimes I just want to make him use his mouth — it’s been a while or I’m showing him that there are better uses for his mouth or whatever. I like that he’s soft and delicate and uses his beard and offers as many sensations as he can.

I also like when it changes, when he’s aroused me to the point that I then want an orgasm. I like the change because then what he’s doing and if he’s comfortable no longer matters. I like to make sure that he’s pressed between my thighs, so his world consists of me and only me. He’ll breathe me, smell me, taste me,  see me, and nothing else. If he can’t stay focused on me in that kind of situation, he’d never be able to focus on me any other time. Better than that though, I can pull his hair. I can clamp my legs around his neck. I can thrust myself into his mouth. I can make it hard for him to breathe. I can feel him gasp gratefully when I pull myself away from him and push him away at the same time, for that one split second, and I can hear him suck in a deep breath before he’s plunged back to where he belongs. I feel him struggle the longer it takes me, but he never stops. He doesn’t let up. I guide him and he does exactly what he’s supposed to until I orgasm and then he remains as still as he can until I tell him it’s okay. He eithers stays down there for a bit longer while I pet his hair or he crawls up and presses his back to me and I pet his shoulders, or curl around him.

I know that he suffers during that, because he’s getting nothing out of it. I’m restricting his air. I’m keeping him where I want him to be. I tell him what to do and when to do it and I tell him when he’s finished. But at the same time he loves it. He likes the suffering. It makes him feel good.

The pain is another way to make him suffer. If I want him to enjoy it to a certain point, to try to push him further than we’ve gone before, I go slow. I do what I know he likes. If I want to hurt him, I start with what I like best and I hit him hard from the get-go. Obviously he suffers with both, because each are painful. I know if I really want it to hurt though, if I really want to make it so he gets no physical pleasure from it whatsoever, I only need to talk about a transgression of his. Then his mind processes everything differently. I learned this accidentally once. He fails to process anything as pleasure and just about can’t be hit at all. While it’s still suffering, it’s not quite the sort that I thoroughly enjoy.

Finally, a suffering that really only stems from discomfort. He’s not allowed out of my sight without permission which means that he must ask to use the bathroom. Typically he doesn’t ask to use the restroom unless it’s already to a point where he’s uncomfortable, so I’ve typically just said yes. Every now and again though I say no. I obviously don’t say it often enough because I’ve seen him get up and take a step off in the direction of the bathroom before he’s realized I’ve said no.  This was this morning’s topic.

At night, when we’re in bed, if he’s sleeping in the bed, I like him to be attached to the leash, but only if he’s awake. There’s not much of a chance of him choking but still, I have a feeling he’s more fun alive than dead. Understanding why he didn’t ask, because he didn’t want to wake me, I woke when he left the bed and listened to him as he went to the bathroom and listened as he clipped the leash back onto his collar as he curled up behind me, which is always another good way to tell he’s awake, because otherwise we can only sleep facing away from one another.

When I fully woke this morning, I explained that I don’t mean to ask me to use the bathroom only when it’s convenient to ask me. If I’m asleep, obviously he’s going to have to weigh whether or not it’s necessary enough to have to wake me to ask if he can use the bathroom.

On the subject of convenience though, I only have him ask when we’re together, because otherwise the poor boy would end up going for entire days without using the restroom just because of the way our schedules align. Also because of the strange hours he works.

Making him ask to use the bathroom though, and being able to say no, that brings about a whole new way of suffering, one that I’ve found I really enjoy. And, because he’s my good boy, he suffers for me, in just about any way we could dream up.

One Step Forward and Two Steps Back

One of our favorite conversation pieces happens to be that it’s always the little things. Little things make the world go ’round. There’s nothing wrong with big and extravagent and that’ll usually be memorable, but the little details in the day is what makes like wonderful. We usually talk about the little things when they’re occuring, like letting him be himself, or the thoughtfulness that occurs between the two of us. There’s a lot of thoughtfulness between the three of us, actually, for one another. It’s really nice.

For me, the little things consist of making sure that I’m always well taken care of. Making sure my water glass is full. Making sure that the door is opened for me. Making sure to write or communicate every day. Smiles. Sweet sentiments. I like when the shows he’s thinking of me. With my husband, I always remember when he’ll stop by work and drop off a candy bar and a Rockstar to help make my day better. The little things like that.

Something that I really enjoy doing with my boy is handfeeding him. It started during puppy play one night. I was telling him to sit and rewarding him with a small bit of cheese for performing the action the way I wanted him to. He expressed an interest in receiving the food that way and so I continued it, though not often, outside of puppy play as well. The other night we went out for dinner, the three of us, and we got mint candies as an after dinner dessert. I opened one up, took a bite, and fed the other half to him. He ate it quickly and followed it up with ‘Yuck’. I laughed. It didn’t escape me that he ate it so eagerly despite knowing what it was and not liking it. In fact, he even offered that I feed him another one if I liked so much that he hated it. I told him I would, except my husband actually likes them, and he was set on devouring the rest of them. So he suggested that I feed him the cordial cherries I got as a gift earlier that day because they were even worse. I contemplated it. I liked the idea that I could feed him things he hated.

Today he brought me back to my house. We were doing the great partner swap. My husband needed to do some shopping for me and it turned out j needed to as well. With their powers combined, they’d be able to knock out everything needed in one fell swoop. When we got here, my husband was making himself some lunch and baking cookies. My husband! My husband was baking cookies! What a wonderful treat. I went ahead into the computer room to look up some more information about puppies, as I’m getting ready to purchase one, and my boy stayed in the kitchen with my husband. Not so much later, he came into my room and knelt down beside me with a plate in his hands. Two freshly baked, warm, delicious peanut butter and cookies so early in the morning? No, I wasn’t dreaming. I was happily eating one of them and he asked me if they were any good. I took the last bite I had and went to feed it to him and he leaned back and said ‘No thank you’.

Typically this wouldn’t be a big deal, I don’t think. Or maybe it wouldn’t have been a big deal if it hadn’t come immediately after a night of feeding him things he didn’t like and having him so eagerly accept it because it came from my fingers. I should have just pushed it at him again. I’m sure he would have taken it. I was so taken aback by his response though, so hurt that he’d leaned away from me, that I couldn’t even look at him. I was angry and upset and he knew immediately that he’d made a poor decision. He tried to apologize but honestly, I didn’t want to hear it right then. I told him to go away. I told him to go back to Matt and get ready to go.

After that, I went to bed. Both of them came in and I was swarmed with concern and affection from my husband. Because I didn’t want to embarass j, I just told him it was because my back hurt and I’d stayed up late the night before and so I needed a nap. He gave me a hug and said if I needed anything to give him a call. j stayed on the other side of the room and apologized quietly before the two of them took off shopping.

Hours later when they returned, we all gathered in the computer room again. j was kneeling on the floor next to me as I was browsing some of the blogs that I usually read. We were enjoying an unhealthy dose of lolcatz when he announced that he’d have to go soon because he was going to visit his mom that night. It’s been agreed upon that he will always have permission to visit his mom and to work, no matter when they might take him away from me. One of my first full weekends at his house he was gone for several hours because his mother wanted him to come over and do some chores for her around the house. No big deal. However, he typically asks. Even if he knows he’s going to get a yes he asks. Tonight, instead of asking, he told me, and that didn’t really fare well with me, especially after the cookie incident. I rationalized I was being sensitive and let him go without a word.

He got home not long after that and that was when I’d finally realized that rational or not, it still bothered me and so it had to be addressed. He had regretted moving away from me and said it was just a lapse. He’ll get used to it. He knows that it doesn’t matter if he likes something or not, if I want him to eat/have it, he’ll eat/have it. Since he has no food allergies, it’s always just a matter of preference. Typically I take that into account and I don’t forcefully shove something I know he absolutely hates, say shrimp, into his mouth. I might leave it near him where he has to smell it, but I’m not going to put it in his mouth. Not unless I’m feeling especially feisty. When I brought up the departure for his mom’s, he explained that since he knew he could go, he didn’t think he should ask, afraid that always asking me for things was going to get on my nerves. I told him if it bothered me, I’d let him know. (Not that I did so well in that department this evening.) I’d rather be asked than told. Always.

Those were our two steps back.

Since I always like to end on a more positive note, our one step forward occured last night. I was exhausted. I pulled a muscle in my back yesterday afternoon and so simply functioning was taking a toll on me throughout the day. He wasn’t tired and was feeling especially cuddly and affectionate. It might have had something to do with the short, improvised face slapping ‘scene’ that we’d had right before going to bed. I’m not sure. Regardless, he was touching me in all the right ways and I couldn’t quite fall asleep anyhow, so I put him down between my legs and let him use his mouth on me, which is usually a good idea anyhow. He’s turned into a regular slut these days — nothing I’m going to complain about. While he was down there, using his mouth and earning himself some soft moans from me, he told me that he had finally realized that he doesn’t have to give me an orgasm to give me pleasure.

I wish confetti could have fallen from the ceiling right then.

For some time, he always gauged his performance on my having an orgasm. That was my fault. He felt he was no good at oral and I loved his skills so much that I orgasmed every single time he gave it to me when we were first getting together. I told him he didn’t have to ask me if he pleased me when I’d orgasmed — orgasm meant I was pleased. There’ve been at least two times that I can think of since then that I’ve had him give me oral without the desire to actually have an orgasm. The first time was because I’d already orgasmed a few times, I think, and I didn’t have the energy to have another one. Last night I was exhausted and in pain and I couldn’t focus enough to orgasm (at first). Eventually he won me over though and I did get to orgasm. I’m just so pleased that he doesn’t equate my pleasure to orgasm anymore, that he’s come to realize that really, honestly, I’m just enjoying the feel of him between my legs, doing what he does best.