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!

I Can’t Promise You The World

This past week at work was a mess. One of my bosses decided to schedule me for a shift that I couldn’t possibly work without some outside help. Since the car accident, kitty’s been left without a car, so he uses mine to get to work. He works late; I work early. This works out! Thursday and Friday of last week, I had to work late. This didn’t work out! I had to arrange to get someone to drive 80 miles in one day to pick me up, take me to work, drop me off home, and then go back to where they lived, right next to work. I was not pleased. I don’t know why this person even agreed to help me out! But she did, and it was sweet of her. I bought her dinner and gave her gas money. She had to repeat the morning trip on Friday but Friday night I had covered.

Joey probably had no idea what he was getting himself into when I messaged him and asked if he’d be willing to pick me up from work, instead of meeting me at my house like usual. I explained that I worked a little ways out, but if he would do this for me, it would increase his rank in the Teh Bestest Pet Ever competition he didn’t previously know he was competing in. At first I think he was tentative. I guessed this because he asked me just how far out I worked. “Just follow the freeway you usually take to get to my house to the end.” To the end of what, I could hear him asking? “To the end of the freeway.” Joey is very, very expressive. Not always through words though. Usually just his deep, brown eyes. Via text, it comes out like this: O.O

“Best pet ever?” was what he asked in return and I knew he was hooked. It might have also had something to do with the fact that I mentioned pets that could offer service as well as their backside always got me revved up, and I wasn’t entirely lying about that either. Oh, and if he picked me up, we’d have to go get this flogger I was looking at. C’mon now, it was pay day.

Friday night, he came to hang out with me at work for a while. He drove me to the store to buy the new flogger that we’d played with together the time before last when we went to buy new lube for him. This is a beautiful flogger that I almost missed in the dark of the dungeon. I’d found a whip, one without a handle, that was designed to look like barbed wire. This pushed all the right buttons for me because when I was a little younger, I used to have fantasies of tying up boys in rough rope and barbed wire, but I just couldn’t find a good way to get barbed wire into the place without breaking SSC. Now that they’d made a leather alternate, I was hooked. I lashed him with this and the way he jumped and swore had me sold. Oh, but there was no handle. However was I going to work this? Just then, peering down into the darkness, on the next shelf, which was home to floggers, I found it: a suede flogger with falls of leather barbed wire in them. I snatched that baby up and Joey barely had time to turn around to offer his back to me before it fell upon him. The same reaction! Glorious!

Well now that it was pay day, I had to have it. And have it I would!

After that, we made our way back to my house. I knew I wanted to use that on him. I also knew that I couldn’t use just that on him or we wouldn’t each have a wonderful time. Tonight we’d do a proper warm-up.

Usually when he comes over, I give him time to get in the door. I don’t kiss him right off, because it’s too much like a relationship he’s said (although I’m beginning to think he can see how this all fits together) so instead I just let him join me in the living room and we talk for a bit. The dog (the real dog) is always super excited to see him and I think it’s best that he gets some attention first, if we want him to leave us alone at all while we’re playing.

Then comes the magic moment, when the dog winds down a bit, and Joey looks at me, waiting to see what I want to do. “Strip!”. It’s said with some enthusiasm, usually. Sometimes deadpan, but with a smile. It’s so entertaining to me because he is still so shy. He watches me when he can, but otherwise looks around to everything else in the living room while he casually pulls off his shirt and lowers his pants. It’s always the hesitation at the waistband of his underwear that makes me smile. I reassure him that I’ve seen him naked before and he laughs nervously. It doesn’t make it any easier this time around.

Tonight was different though. For one, he was standing on the other side of the room. I’d ignored him up until then, trying to get some music started so the neighbors didn’t hear the sounds of floggers. When he looked at me, I went straight for him. A kiss. There was no collar around his neck yet — it wasn’t part of the scene — but it appeared to be okay. I kissed him and helped him undress. It was as smooth as I can be, which really means it wasn’t smooth at all. I’m used to him taking his socks and shoes off when he gets in the door, tucking them under the coffee table where his furry bff can’t thieve his socks away for a vacation while we’re playing. I got all of his clothes off his body, had my fingers curling around his hard cock, and then realized my mistake. Oh well. He wasn’t shy undressing that time, and that was all that mattered.

In a matter of seconds he’d finished the job that I’d started and climbed onto the couch, kneeling away from me. I started with the old flogger, Old Trusty. I can swing and fling and flap and hit and thwap with that all night long. I can really get into it too. Usually I’m pretty good with it but he’d tell you there’s been one or two strikes to the side, completely unintentional. I wasn’t quite lined up right when I let go — premature flogging, due to excitement. Each time that I bring it out, I try to hit him harder and harder. He admitted once that part of him really wants me to hit him as hard as I can and the sane part of him is glad that I don’t. We’ll get there. I know this because I can see how far we’ve gone in such a short amount of time.

Caning is another favorite and while I usually tend to keep like toys together, which would have meant the new flogger would have come second, I didn’t think he was ready to go from thuddy to super stingy. I have a very thick cane that’s very thuddy and bamboo canes that are very stingy. I’m positive that they both got used. I’m positive that he did not get such a warm up for the bamboo canes. I can attest to this because there was more time spent sitting upright, breathing, then hunched over with his ass pushed out ready to accept another strike. So little effort; so much pain. I love these canes.

After that came the paddle. My paddle is beautiful. Thick, wooden, covered in sandpaper. It was frightening enough that pup, the construction worker, felt the need to point out the quality of the sandpaper and assure me that that was the real deal, this wasn’t fine grain to help save skin. Thanks pup! To anyone less experienced with sandpaper, it just hurts. I made sure that it hurt Friday night too.

Once I was done with the paddle, there was a crop. The crop is lovely because it makes the best smacking sounds ever when it connects with an ass. Especially a lovely ass that’s made to accommodate the size of the heart at the end. He’d jump when I hit him hard. He’d jump when he thought I was going to hit him hard. Friday night was all about pushing him and making him hurt. He’d mentioned that he thought I might make him bleed that night. I told him I hoped I would.

One major difference in the way we played Friday night was that I paid some special attention to his nipples, primarily by thwacking them with the bamboo cane and ensuring that they were rubbed by sandpaper. I remember him specifically pointing out later on that his nipples hurt while the rest of his body was mostly just a dull ache.

Finally we got to it: the new flogger. I tried to go light, I really did. It’s much heavier than Old Trusty though. I wasn’t quite used to the feel of it. I tried to swing it around behind him before I made contact but I was aroused. The first fall hurt him more than I was expecting but he put on his brave face for me. We have this agreement going that the less he says ‘fuck’ in normal circumstances, the happier I am. When I’m beating him, he can say ‘fuck’ all he wants and I don’t care. I think it’s hot, actually. Well, when this flogger came out to play, that was all I heard. Thwack, fuck, thwack, fuck. Amazing.

Afraid that he might not be able to handle it, I crawled up on the couch behind him, I pressed the handle of the flogger against his collared neck and pulled him back against my body. I told him ‘This is your one chance to get out of this if you want. You can ask me to stop right now, and I’ll put the flogger away.’ He swallowed, breathed for a second, and asked, ‘What do you want?’. I was thrilled. I was so turned on. ‘I want you to take more for me.’ So he nodded, I let him go, and I hit him more. To ensure that we didn’t go too far though, I made him answer in numbers. One a scale from one to five, one being my light strikes with Old Trusty and 5 being oh god, stop please, he was to let me know where he was at all times. I got a three, a four, and a lot of fucks. Never a five. We didn’t go for much longer though — I was too turned on.

I put the toys to rest. I had him climb down off the couch and kneel in front of me. I pet him for a moment, but then I remembered that my favorite toy was out to play. Reaching down, I began to stroke his cock. He knelt nicely, letting me play. He let me know when he was getting close. He’s never allowed to orgasm without permission. One of my favorite things about him is how sensitive the head of his cock is. Just touching it is an amazing experience for me. So I dragged my fingers over it, masturbating just that part of him, and watched with delight when he actually pulled his entire self away from me to get a moment’s reprise. When he was getting too close, we stopped.

Here’s where things go a little soft, a little vanilla. Picture some kissing, some rubbing, and a boy wearing a collar for me working to get me off in a new and exciting way for him that would probably elicit some yawns from the rest of us. Not that it mattered to me — I orgasmed.

After that, I pushed him back, had him sit at the corner of the couch, and told him to jerk off. In a matter of minutes he was riding the edge, fighting between doing what I told him to now (masturbate) and doing what I told him to always (don’t come until I tell him to). This is always an exciting game for me. He asked. He begged. I gave in way too easily, but he’d done me proud with all the pain he took. He came and I told him I loved the smell of it — like fresh rain.

After that, I took the boy out to eat so he wouldn’t starve to death. Waffles at midnight are a godsend. He made a bet, as we were both yawning, the he couldn’t stay up until 4am. What? Why would either of us agree to that? Because he shook my hand for so long that we were holding hands over the table in the middle of IHOP while not in a “relationship”, that’s why. I knew as soon as he got home and had constant stimulation he’d be able to make it. The wager? $10.

Needless to say, I lost the bet. Tonight I pay up. I have my own creative way of feeling better for losing though, which ties into service, which ties into “I Can’t Promise You the  World”. Tune in later!

Finally

Waking up early enough to look at cars didn’t happen. The extra sleep was nice. For a moment, he felt guilty. He took care of the puppy, a refreshing experience, while I showered. Together we headed out for breakfast. Shopping for new clothes came next. I tried on a million things and the last one stole my heart. His card slid across the counter instead of mine. I used to balk; I thanked him today.

Mother’s Day. Flowers and alcohol for mine; a card, cash, and dinner for his. We had a wonderful meal and lots of laughs. I feel like I fit into his family. I feel like I get along with his friends. People seem to know about me. People seem to know about my husband. Everyone seems cool with it all. I worried about his friends being concerned over him. They might be still. I’ll take good care of my kitten.

The house is empty. It would have been vacant but he came to keep me company. My husband ran off for a long weekend. I miss my pup but I have my kitty. We don’t worry about stepping on toes. Nudity is the only dress code for him. Collars and cuffs and he asks permission to put on pants to let the dog out. I couldn’t be happier. For once, things feel on track. We’re headed the way I want to go.

In the dark, curled under covers, he tells me his secrets. They’re not real secrets. They’re things he’d tell me anyway. In the dark of the night they feel like secrets. He whispers to me. He talks softly. He croons. I touch and listen. He lies still and talks. I’ve hurt him this weekend. I have a new toy that stings awful. He loves it. He has a hood to keep me from seeing his expressions. I can hurt him harder then. I don’t worry quite as much. He can safeword. He won’t.

He tells me how much he loves me. I tell him how sad I was at dinner, watching the other family. I wonder if the dad was a bad dad. I wonder if his daughters have reason to hate him. I wonder if his wife resents him. I see how much he loves his grandbabies. I hate that no one said thank you to him. I hate that no one spoke to him. I wonder if he could be that bad. I wonder if he’s lonely. I think he is. He tells me that he likes that I notice those sorts of things and curls up with me.

By now, I remember he’s not so sick. I remember he can be used. His mouth latches onto one of my hard nipples and it almost hurts I’m so aroused. I turn him over and climb on top and kiss his neck. He groans. He makes beautiful sounds. As I’m reaching my climax he tells me I’m the best boyfriend ever and there are no words. I take what I want from him, roll off, and pull him close.

I tell him sometimes that I don’t know how he was ever in a regular relationship. He says he could never be in another one. He says he never wants to be in another relationship. I tell him time and again he won’t have to be. He’s here. He’s where he belongs. He says he wants to be good for me. He is. Always has been. We’re learning together. I’m teaching slowly and he’s learning quickly and things will be great soon. Everything will be as it should be.

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.

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.

Flashbacks

Every now and again I peruse the old forums on the site where I originally met j. I read one this evening where a Domme was feeling as though she couldn’t beat her pet the same way she did back before she was so emotionally attached to her boy. I had the same troubles with Lin, when he and I were some kind of item. The more I liked him the less I wanted to hit him, the more I wanted to coddle him and protect him and make sure he wasn’t hurt. I didn’t understand spankings as a playful sort of thing, only as punishment really.

With j I was the complete opposite. When I first met him, I didn’t want to hurt him at all. I wanted to pet him and I wanted to tell him what to do and I wanted him to open doors for me. I suppose maybe it was because in the first hour or two of our ‘date’ I wasn’t sexually attracted to him. I thought his personality was adorable and I thought he was sweet and I liked the way he interacted with me, but I wasn’t about to hop into bed with him. By the time we were well into the movie and I was playing my game of whether he’d pay more attention to me or the movie, I started to feel something. I liked the fact that he’d let me touch him wherever I wanted. If I touched the inside of his thigh, he’d just move his legs further apart so that I could touch more of whatever it was I wanted. I liked that he never, not once, ever tried to make a move of his own.

By the time the movie was over and I wasn’t ready to go home, I wanted to go for coffee, knowing he’d know a place. We went somewhere new to me and we talked. He talked and I listened mostly. I called my husband to let him know that I’d be out later and not to worry because everything was going great. We were the annoying couple there because everything he said made me laugh. By that time I was attracted to him in a new and different way. Finally, by the end of the night, after sitting in a vacant parking lot and talking and talking and talking, we said good-bye and I didn’t kiss him. I kissed his cheek as he hugged me and told me it all felt like a dream to him.

The following weekend I went to his house and I made him strip in front of me. I spanked him. I think I scared him a little but he rolled with the punches. By then, as I was curled up behind him listening to the soundtrack of what I considered the most perfect night ever, by then I most certainly and without a doubt was sexually attracted to him. I liked his beard. I liked pulling his long hair. He had cute smexy chicken legs. I didn’t like his body hair but it was only around for another week. Mostly though, mostly I liked how willing he was. It’s hard not to be attracted to someone so willing to be everything I wanted him to be.

As I felt I was growing closer to him and as my feelings for him deepened, so did my desire to hurt him. I think I was probably more vicious in the beginning because I was trying to scare him off. I wanted to spank him. I wanted to hit him. I slapped him across the face before either of us had ever discussed it and did actually feel guilty about that later. I’ve used clothespins on him, a crop, a paddle with sandpaper, I’ve used my nails, my teeth, and some very fun toys.

The first time I spanked him, I had him on the bed. He was so nervous though that I opted against it. Another time I had him over my lap and I was hardly spanking him at all before he was wriggling all over the place and not handling it well at all. I didn’t think he’d ever be a good outlet for whatever sadism I have stored up in me. Now I have him asking if he can be spanked. Now I actually feel as though I’m not fulfilling his need for pain. I used to pinch the insides of his arms so bad they’d be bruised for days and I loved it, until someone pointed them out to him. Now that he’s wearing short sleeves again, I don’t feel so inclined to do it. The insides of his thighs might fall victim to it soon enough though.

We talk about bondage a lot too. That was one of his interests independent of me. I think I could get into it if there was anything in it for me. If I could tie him up and then use his face maybe. I have a great fantasy that involves wrapping all but his boyish bits in saran wrap and then using him as my fuck toy. Of course I like the idea of having some over his mouth but the poor dear has to breathe. I love when he struggles for breath, like when I cover his mouth and block his nose with my hand. I love how I can feel him gasping for air in the palm of my hand, like I hold his life right there too.

Sometimes I think I don’t make a very good Sadist, but the truth of the matter is, when I stop worrying about hurting him and not knowing what to do for him after, I do have rather violent fantasies. The last time I was bringing myself to orgasm, I was thinking of beating his ass black and blue. I can still orgasm without fail anytime I think about cutting him and watching the lines of blood ooze down his back. I think I love that most because I know he’d hate it. I don’t know how he’d handle it. I’d love to tie him up and bruise him up.

In short, the more I love him, the closer I feel to him, the more I want to hurt him, the worse I want to hurt him, and I’m the only one holding me back. Hopefully I can get to work on that sometime soon.

Sadism

The term ‘Sadist’ has never gone over well in my head. For years I’ve enjoyed the idea of pain and torture, but it’s always in a setting where everyone’s consented to it. There were many years in my life where I denied being a Sadist, until I read a specific thread about it on a specific forum where people were discussing it in a way that I could wrap my head around it. I took this new information to my friend Crow and admitted to her that I thought I might be a Sadist, that I might enjoy other people’s (sexual) suffering. She laughed and thought I was kidding. I told her that I was serious and that it was a bit troublesome. I then realized that she was laughing at me because everyone else in my life knew I was a Sadist. I was the only one that hadn’t been clued into it prior to that conversation.

Though I’m finally getting acclimated to the idea that I am in fact a Sadist, I still rarely call myself that, because I don’t like the imagery that comes to mind when such a thing is talked about. I don’t want to be approached by people asking me to hit them. That’s not what it is to me. In fact, more often than not, when I’m in the mood to seduce, I try really hard not to include any form of pain in my planning and execution. In some parts of my mind, the two things (romance and pain) don’t mesh. In others, they’re absolutely necessary, I can’t have one without the other.

As I’ve written before, I have a healthy dose of gender fuckery in my life. In the head, I’m a lot like a boy, at least what I view a macho boy to be like. Naturally I sought out a boy that was a little bit more like a girl, to complement the different needs that I had. On recent dates, my j has whispered to me things like how he always feels like the girl when we’re out together, the sort of thing that I really enjoy hearing because it means whatever I’m doing, I’m doing right, because that’s exactly how I want him to feel. Last night, because he’d had a rough week, I wanted to take him out and have dinner and a movie and then take him home and help him forget whatever might be on his mind. Whenever I’m trying to distance him from something, I always think pet play first, because he’s not required to think whatsoever during it. Life had other plans for us though.

Instead, when we got home from the movie, he needed to work for a bit. I waited up for him, because it sounded like everything was getting worked out in a timely fashion. I wanted to take him to bed and seduce him, use him, and then fall asleep with him in my arms, the way we do most every night we spend together. Everything was going fantastically well except that I couldn’t seem to find whatever it was I was lacking to push me over the edge into orgasm. (Also, nature decided to take away my testosterone driven fantasies by making me bleed on the very day that I was finally going to get to act out all my macho sexist fantsies, which didn’t help in the least.) Finally, in the soft and quiet voice that he usually has when he’s rolled onto his stomach with his head pressed down into the pillows so that I can rub against his ass, he asked me if I’d hurt him.

I tried to explain (though didn’t do so well, because I was busy trying to get to an orgasm) that I was trying to seduce him, couldn’t he understand? Pain sure didn’t fit into that. Except, as he pointed out, it sure does. It might not have always fit into our lives together (and I’m thinking quite fondly of the first time I tried to spank him and also the first time I was successful in spanking him) but now it plays a big role in what we’re doing. I love leaving marks on him. I love the sounds he makes when he’s being hurt. I love the faces he makes. I love his suffering. He’s asked me what I like so much about all of it and I’ve told him this much. I wish he could see it through my eyes, how beautiful he is when he’s bound and forced to endure whatever I want to do to him.

So after I added some clothespins and then just scratched him for a bit, I certainly was able to achieve orgasm. It wasn’t anything wonderful or stupendous, because what I really wanted to be doing was nailing his tight ass with my thick silicone cock, but it got the job done and the feeling of intimacy was as strong as ever. Hopefully we’ll be getting around to a little more pain in the future, with some better marks, and some actual pictures documenting these kinds of things. Who doesn’t like pictures, after all?

Sex and Intimacy

The sun had set hours ago. We were well into the evening, spending time together silently as we often do. I was sitting on the couch watching the television more than I was watching him. He was sitting on his pillow, in his place, watching me more than he was watching the television. Often times we’ll watch dog shows, watch and listen to the training that occurs in preparation for the puppy I want to get in the upcoming year. We both smile when we hear about the consistency needed, the way a dog needs to be led, and how much better they function when they have a job.

I think that’s what’s made the biggest impact for me, personally. With my first pet years ago, he didn’t have a job. His job was to be cute and pleasing, but he just wasn’t generally useful. If I asked him to do something for me, I’d get excuses. When I shared a fantasy with him that involved him cleaning something, he was rooting to get out of it. Eventually I abandoned the idea that he could ever serve me the way I truly wanted and thought that I’d be fine with that. Today, jhusdhui has some of the same expectations: he’s expected to be pleasing in his attitude, tone, and words; he’s expected to be pleasing in the way that he dresses, the way that he does his hair, and in his hygiene; he’s expected to follow the rules that we’ve agreed upon; and he’s expected to serve me in any way needed, which yesterday meant picking something up at the store for me before coming over and today meant that he mailed off the packages for my other pet and his family. While he serves in the bedroom, he also serves out of the bedroom, and it’s an element to our relationship that we both need.

When my show was over, I touched the top of his head and moved from the couch back to the bedroom. He stayed put like a good pet. When I called his name, he came crawling to me. I climbed into bed and he kneeled beside it, giving me kitten eyes, those eyes of absolute adoration. He asked if he could join me in bed. This question always amuses me on one level simply because he bought the bed. He bought the bedding. I asked him if he would. We picked it out together. He paid for it all and went along so agreeingly, despite it only being the second weekend I’d ever really known him. Paying for it doesn’t mean he owns it though. It took me longer to get there than it took him. I own him; I own his things. The bed is mine. Everything is mine. I allow him to join me in bed, because he serves me well there.

He curls up against me, facing me, and I hold him. He’s my sweet little girl in bed. I rarely curl up against him and when I do, it’s usually only when his wrists are bound or when he’s been told to hold the headboard. It’s when he can’t touch me, when he can’t reciprocate. I don’t like to be held by him. I don’t think I ever have been, actually. What I get out of curling up next to him is his scent. I know his scent inside and out. I can tell when he’s aroused simply by how he smells. I can smell the faint perspiration that comes when we’ve been very close. Often times I can smell myself on him. That’s the only reason I’ll curl up against him. Otherwise the boy is in my arms where he belongs.

Tonight I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m hardly functioning. I’m listening to him talk. He has such a sweet voice. I wasn’t sure about it when I first met him, but he has great control over it. He can change the tone and he can change the volume so easily. I know who he’s talking to by how he talks to them. I figured out on my own that he had speech problems when he was younger, just because of the way he speaks when he’s feeling very soft, very safe. He doesn’t enunciate quite as well. His words slip together. He almost sounds childish, only that’s not really how he sounds. Mostly he just sounds sweet and pleasing. It’s a voice that I only hear in the bedroom or in whispers. I don’t think anyone else ever gets to hear it.

When I’m in this state of mind, I like to hurt. I don’t worry about whether it’s too much or if it’s too far or if he can handle it or if he wants it or if he’ll resent me in the end or anything. I’m too tired to let my mind take over like that. The first couple of years that I was in this lifestyle, I worried enough about those things to cover me and at least three other new Dominants. I worried about everything. I never did get to reach to the insides of myself because I was the one holding me back. In retrospect, I can see where my first pet and I would have got on a lot better if I’d just stopped worrying and did the things I wanted to do. Maturity kicks in and explains I never could have anyhow, because there was no trust. I’m thinking this as I rake my nails over his back. He presses up against me.

I read in another blog once where she was scratching her boy. She was scratching him over and over and over and he said he felt like he couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t picture it, so I played with it for a long time myself. My pet doesn’t have that problem. I press my nails in at the small of his back and rake them up to his shoulder as I hold him. He sucks in his air and whimpers a little. Not much though. His whimper right now means he likes it. I can tell the difference. I follow those tracks back down by never lifting my nails from his flesh and I do it again, same tracks, greater intensity. He sucks in his air harder and squirms a bit. The first time I spanked him, I was gentle. He threw a fit. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to hurt him. He does much better now. I go for a third time. Sometimes I’m worried I’ll draw blood. A lot of the time I’m hoping I’ll draw blood. Sometimes because I love the savagry of it. Sometimes because I know he hates blood. I do it again and now I can hear him.

The first night we were together, he refused to make sound. I could hear he wanted to but he wouldn’t. I told him to keep his mouth open. He nodded. I told him to keep his mouth open and let the sound come flooding out. Eventually it did. He’s not afraid to make sound anymore. I’ve actually gotten quieter. Typically I just make sound because I get off to my own sounds, egotistically enough.

I rake over his back even harder. I move to another spot. I repeat and repeat and repeat until he’s working up a sweat. I can’t get to his other side and I like to be symmetrical. It’s not terribly relevant; my boy’s not symmetrical at all. He still looks beautiful to me. But I like my marks to match. The best way to solve this, as I’m exhausted, is to have him climb on top of me. We’ve almost worked out the touches and gestures enough that he knows when to climb on top of me and when to climb down between my legs. Every now and again he’ll get them mixed up. He gets on top and I can feel his hard cock pressing between my legs. He hasn’t orgasmed in three weeks.

Memories of my past insecurity wash over me. A real Domme wouldn’t let her pet on top of her. A real Domme wouldn’t even entertain the idea of sex. A real Domme always takes charge and she would never put j in a position of any kind of power. With his penis pressing against me, guess who’s in charge? Surprise, it’s still me. That took me the longest to get over. Sure, I could get on top of him, but that’s plenty of work. I don’t want to seduce him right now — he doesn’t get to orgasm anyhow. What I want is to feel the thick head of his cock rubbing against my clit so I can get off. That’s what matters. That’s what he’s giving me too. For about a second. I raked my nails over his back, felt his cock get even harder, and decided I wanted to feel that inside of me.

I don’t like sex. Never really have. No, I take that back. Way back before I was on any kind of birth control that messed me up, I loved sex. Now it either hurts or I can’t really feel it so it does me no good. But, cliche as it is, I like the intimacy that comes with it. I tell him to put on a condom and get back on top of me. I guide him inside of me and I hurt him. I scratch him and hit him, scratch him and hit him. I’m doing a number on him. He marks easily and holds it, so I know these marks are going to be there for a while. He’s clinging to me. His cock is buried inside of me, his arms are around me the best they can be, and he’s making a sound somewhere between a pant and a whimper and a cry. It’s the idea of him crying that’s really working for me. Every time he makes that sound, I can feel myself become wetter. It’s that very sound that eventually gets me off. I push him off of me. I don’t need him anymore.

He can’t breathe. I’d typically be worried, but I’m so tired and I know it’s just his asthma kicking in. I know it’s not as bad as it could be. I know because I trust him to tell me if it is. I tell him for a second that I don’t like the situation and he tells me if it was bad, he’d tell me, he promises he’d tell me. I trust him. He’s on the other side of the bed catching his breath. He can’t curl up with me like he normally would. He tries, but then he can’t breathe. I love breath play the same as the next, but neither of us get off on this kind. He talks. He knows how sometimes I feel bad for wanting to hurt him. Not really, but enough guilt that I’ve brought it up before. He tells me I’ve done nothing wrong. He tells me he wants to be right beside me. He tells me he will be when his lungs cooperate. I know. I know and I smile and I can drift off to sleep. When I wake, I wake to him curled up against me.

That was the night that changed everything. I’d never pushed him so far in pain. He’d never been so close to crying with me. The pain went so far away from pleasurable that he truly was suffering for me. It changed his mindset completely, permanently. He’s closer to me now. More dependent in a way, in a way that we both love. It’s what pushed him into slavehood, I think. It put him right where we both want him to be, and I don’t see him coming out of it ever. I’m happier than I can ever remember being.

Weekend Blues

Actually, the only thing blue about this weekend was the fact that I didn’t get to see j at all, even though we’d planned for him to come over Sunday night.

While we normally spend every weekend together, this weekend was special. It was my 5 year anniversary with my husband and so we thought long and hard about how we wanted to spend it and came up with Christmas shopping. He doesn’t acknowledge the wedding anniversary so much because it’s half the time we’ve actually been together and it’s right before Christmas and he’d rather save the money for our presents. I’m something of a Christmas Nazi (so he says) and so he knows he earns more points with good Christmas presents than an anniversary gift.

We picked up presents for j, Kayn, and Ayngel. I think we did a pretty splendid job, actually. Even did a donation for Toys for Tots. I picked out one of my favorite kid books and donated that. We were supposed to have dinner together at a restaurant we used to go to back when we first started dating but I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have the appetite necessary for such good food, so we just passed on it and went home to play together.

Sunday night, j was busy trying to get all his chores done. He joked about how he got negative work done on Saturday and somehow ended up with a ton of stuff to do Sunday evening and asked if it’d be alright if he came over Monday night instead. Matt and I figured that’d be fine since we were all three in WoW anyhow. So Monday afternoon he headed over to my place and we got to spend a little time together alone.

One of my favorite things to do right now is to give him bruises. I like the insides of his arms, personally. It hurts incredible amounts and the bruises usually last for a while. He’s had someone notice them, but typically they can be hidden underneath his shirt. The insides of his thighs are another favorite place, but not nearly as accessible as his arms. Right now we’re both still in some gushy phase, but pain has somehow worked itself into it as well. Sharp, lasting pain seems to be a fantastic way of showing my affection for him and he enjoys it. He even kind of enjoys it while it’s happening!

Once Matt got home, it was time for dinner. I wanted martinis and so we headed out to Friday’s. We were four steps from the door when we were reminiscing about the awesome Pixie Stick Martinis at Outback and we all decided that was a better choice for the night and headed across the street for some martinis and some fantastic steak and some wonderful conversation. Like always, Matt and j had great nerd conversation and I got to keep my kitten close to me throughout dinner. After dinner, my husband polished off all of our drinks and learned the very valuable lesson about how one never mixes their alcohol. He paid for it all night long, actually.

When we were home again, j and I stayed in the living room for a while. I asked him to tell me a story, which I kind of meant about him, but he told me a wonderful story about a platypus named Percy who was made King of all Playpi and the moral of the story was that it was good to be a platypus. It really was an adorable story. After that though, the next logical step was bed. He hadn’t brought his things over to stay the night, but I figured snuggling up in bed for a while wouldn’t be a bad idea. Two and a half hours later, I was scared half out of my mind by my husband waking me up to let me know that it was midnight, wondering if j was staying or not so we could either put his blanket down for him or be sure to say good-night. Unfortunately, I had to give my teddy bear up.

Today I find our conversation is riddled with gushing and promises of pain in the near future. He’s ordered restraints so that we can play with that, a fantasy we’ve both had. A way to keep him still for the sake of letting him thrash around more when I’m hurting him. I like to see him struggle and I think he enjoys being able to as well. We’re getting closer and closer to the day that we’ll sign our contract, making him my slave for a period of a year and a day. If it goes well, which I’m sure it will, we’ll end up talking about a longer commitment to one another. We’re both commitmentphobes in theory, not in practice. We spent a good while terrified of this and of the day but now I think we’re both just excited. He needs it. I guess in a lot of ways I need it too. If nothing else, it’s another new adventure that I’m really looking forward to sharing with him.

A Weekend At Home

But not without my kitten.

My husband and I were planning to do a little work around the house this weekend. This does not involve either of us actually doing the home repairs ourselves though because we’re really not that good at it. Instead, we hire a guy that my husband works with and he comes over to tackle some of the home repair projects that we’ve compiled. We’ve started with all the issues that were listed for the house when we bought it and then added our own projects along the way.

This weekend, I finally got the cold water in the bathroom fixed from the explosion that occured when we let our neighbor try to help pull out the swamp cooler. I haven’t been able to brush my teeth with cold water in about a year, so I was disgustingly happy with that.

Because he would be coming over, and because my husband was getting a television and a couch from co-workers (and wanting to hang out with his friend/co-worker) someone was going to need to be home for the repair guy to be there to fix everything up. I decided that we’d play at my house this weekend, and by ‘play’ I mean we’d pretty much just be there, but we’d be there together and that was all that mattered.

Our repair guy had his list of things to do, but he wasn’t the only one. My boy had a list of chores that my husband and I thought ought to get done over the weekend. He did a fantastic job cleaning up what needed to be cleaned up and then put together a list of things that we needed to get to help improve his job cleaning. Our mop, for example, died at the tail end of his mopping job, so it was time to get a new one. We got some new towels for the bathroom and a few other things that I wanted, such as scented candles to make it more festive around here. Christmas is just around the corner!

Our weekend actually began Friday night. The three of us went out for pizza and then my husband was playing WoW and jhusdhui and I decided to play in the bedroom for a while. Lately I’ve been fascinated with bruising him and I wanted to see my work from earlier in the week. He had some nice yellow’ish marks on the insides of his arms. I wanted to add a few more, and did, and scratched him up a bit as well. I love the way that he squirms and wiggles around when I’m hurting him.

This weekend also marked two weeks from his last orgasm, so I decided that he could have one. Friday night as we were curled up together, I was running the band of his panties over his cock and kissing around his mouth. He reacts so well to such simple touches, and such soft kisses. Kissing on his mouth doesn’t happen quite as often as anything else. I like to kiss around his face, lick over his cheek, even bite lightly. He’s said that kisses near the corner of his mouth are probably more arousing than being kissed on the mouth because it’s more where he ought to be kissed, in his mind. Or perhaps it’s other reasons now. Whatever the actual reasoning, kissing him around the corner of his mouth is what gets him most excited, so when I’m pushing him to the edge of an orgasm, that’s what I like to do.

Edging is quite a bit of fun for me too, because he’s not allowed to orgasm without explicit permission, and he never asks to orgasm. Instead, he tells me that he’s close. He tells me that he’s close with enough time for me to play for a bit longer. The information is necessary, of course, so he doesn’t cum prematurely. When he can hardly bear it anymore, he whispers soft as he can, ‘Please Miss, no more’. I like it mostly because he’s absolutely begging me to stop when we both know what he really wants is to orgasm. ‘Please? I don’t want to break the rules’ is what comes next. He’ll squirm and he pouts a little bit. Sometimes there’s a whimper that follows. ‘I want to be a good boy’ usually works its way in there as well. That’s when I stop. I watch him struggle with it for a moment, watch him roll around, feel him press up against me and then we start all over again.

Friday night though, I nearly pushed him too far. We were close — not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. We had a strong connection flowing between the two of us. I was holding him close and I’d been stroking his cock ever so lightly, teasing, and then I started kissing him. Not just around the corner of his mouth either. I had to stop stroking sooner than I wanted and heard ‘Oh no’ in just the faintest whisper. So I left his cock alone and went to just kissing him, but he was still whimpering. He wriggled and begged me to stop, to even stop kissing him, because he was afraid he was going to orgasm.

By that time, I was so aroused by the idea of him orgasming without any direct stimulation that I had to have my own orgasm. It was intense, very fulfilling, very deep even. I kept him for another day without his orgasm and not long after playing, it was time for bed.

Bedtime at my house means that my husband and I get into bed together and my boy gets on the floor next to my side of the bed. He has a pillow and a blanket and he curls himself up around the teddy bear that we got him a few weeks ago. He looks adorable, absolutely precious when he’s down there. He stays put until morning, until I’m awake, and usually then he’ll ask if he can go to the bathroom and then we start the showering cycle. One bathroom and three people is always really fun.

Saturday nights are usually family dinners, and this week jhusdhui wanted us to try Korean food. He knows that I like meat, and Korean food was literally a plate of meat. It was amazing. My husband liked it best of anything we’ve tried, I think. Dinner conversation usually revolves around WoW, which is always fun. Watching my husband and my boy talking geek is always pretty amusing to me. They both know a lot of the same game references too, so they just throw those back and forth all the time.

After my husband went to bed Saturday night, I tried to re-create Friday night with jhusdhui. I wanted to get him close to orgasm again, taunt him with very light touches and kisses. This time, I never really did take my touch away and it was with my kisses that he came.

Sundays are the days that we end up going to our own homes again. We’ve been working hard on making it less traumatic than it’s been in the past. The game plan for today was to go painting and then to pick up scrapbooking supplies for the angel we got on a tree, our holiday donation.

I gave him the option of either painting Thanksgiving plates for his friends, since that’s who he’s having Thanksgiving with this year, or painting doggy dishes for him, one for his house and one for mine. With averted eyes and the softest of voices, he asked if we could do doggy dishes for him. So that’s what we did! He did an amazing color combination of soft pink and light green. I did funfetti! White with rainbow specks in it. I couldn’t figure out how to get his name on there without it looking stupid, so I got creative and it turned out even better than I thought it would! Pictures for that will be here next week, after we pick our pottery up.

With the introduction of doggy dishes though came the question of whether or not I’d considered having him eat out of one. I had to laugh. Eating out of the dish had come to mind a long, long time ago, one of the first things I’d wanted to see from him. When we went shopping for puppy stuff at PetSmart I’d wanted to get a dish, but they just weren’t right for what I wanted. So hopefully there will be pictures of puppy play around here soon.

Having a weekend at home was really quite nice. It’s wonderful to see how well he fits in and how everyone gets along. It’s nice to know that it blends as well when he’s here for three days as it does when he’s here for three hours. I never had any doubt, but it’s just nice to be right sometimes.