It's been over two weeks since my last post, and some of you have wondered where I am.
It's that time of year, with the holidays looming, and with my Mistress working in academia, and my work in Silicon Valley, things have gotten very busy.
We are still having fun, but I've not had much time for blogging.
Between the housework, my day job, my new exercise regime and eating patterns, my beginning writing career, and the new short term contract which I just finished (whew!!) it's a wonder I even had time to sleep!
On a personal note, since starting a new more integrated exercise regime and eating many small meals, I have shed about 10 pounds. Thanks, Saratoga, for the info you pointed me to!
I haven't even read all the blogs I usually like to read in the last two weeks.
Anyhow, I'll write more later, when I can catch my breath.
Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Thomas.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
Post-play orneriness as an emotional defense
On Wednesday night, Mistress had me pleasure her with an all-over body massage which turned into a couple hour long play session. In the middle of it all, she consistently teased me and forced me to come to the edge, while saying “No. You may not.” to every single request of mine to orgasm.
She herself took her sweet time, and took her pleasure completely. She came three times, using my tongue, my hands, and toys.
By the end, I was floating on a sea of love and closeness intermixed with lust and surrender. I wanted to do anything for her and I felt very close to her.
Over the next few hours and into the next day or two (into part of today), I kept engaging in stupid nit-picky verbal struggles with Mistress Laura. Finally, she asked me today:
“What is up? Why are you more argumentative than usual?”
I thought for a long time and I replied:
“Every once in a while, when I feel overwhelmed by the feeling of being close to you, I want to cry, and instead, I think I look for anything that can distract you and me. So I nit-pick and get defensive about things.” I swallowed hard.
“Oh. You don't need to do that anymore. I'm not going to reject you. You can feel free to feel close to me.”
I want to cry with joy.
She herself took her sweet time, and took her pleasure completely. She came three times, using my tongue, my hands, and toys.
By the end, I was floating on a sea of love and closeness intermixed with lust and surrender. I wanted to do anything for her and I felt very close to her.
Over the next few hours and into the next day or two (into part of today), I kept engaging in stupid nit-picky verbal struggles with Mistress Laura. Finally, she asked me today:
“What is up? Why are you more argumentative than usual?”
I thought for a long time and I replied:
“Every once in a while, when I feel overwhelmed by the feeling of being close to you, I want to cry, and instead, I think I look for anything that can distract you and me. So I nit-pick and get defensive about things.” I swallowed hard.
“Oh. You don't need to do that anymore. I'm not going to reject you. You can feel free to feel close to me.”
I want to cry with joy.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Tasha the "cleaning girl" (part 1)
Mistress Laura came home from work last Thursday fuming and frustrated. Tasha, a co-worker, had been late in giving her a piece of a project, making extra work for her. When Mistress Laura approached Tasha about this, some snippy words were exchanged. The interaction was not really resolved, and I got to hear all about it. In detail. Every word. Every gesture. Each nuance of voice tone and inflection.
After listening to her go on about Tasha's demeanor, laziness, and overall irresponsibility, I interjected into a small space of silence in the conversation:
“Mistress, is there anything I can do to help?”
She stopped for a second and thought. An evil glint came into her eyes.
“Yes. There is something you can do. I was going to have you do a deep cleaning of my bedroom this weekend anyway. You'll be Tasha the cleaning girl this weekend and I'm going to have fun harassing you, double-checking your work, and punishing you.”
“I am happy to be of service,” I said, grinning.
On Friday, while I was at work, I got my marching orders by Email:
The stop at the drug store was a bit embarrassing, but I managed it okay. I just nodded my head and kept looking down when the cashier asked me if I had found everything I was looking for. She rang up the purchase, I paid, and I was on my way home.
When I arrived, I went through my usual routine. I undressed, shaved, showered, put on my Mistress Wife's collar, and quietly knelt at her feet. She was in her office, working. The ritual of getting ready and presenting myself to her puts me into a very docile frame of mind every time. The fact that Mistress is almost always busy when I arrive adds to my anticipation and arousal. This time, I was fixated on my Mistress's pretty feet, while waiting for her to finish what she was doing and turn her attention to me.
After a few minutes, Mistress Laura swiveled around in her chair and tousled my hair playfully.
“Good boy. You wait so nicely. How was your day?“
We chatted for a few minutes, with me kneeling at her feet while she lightly touched my face or my shoulder. The whole time, my Mistress-Lust-Meter was maxed out. :-)
Finally, she told me her plans for the weekend.
“You will wake me up tomorrow with my usual weekend breakfast. Once we have eaten, I want you to get dressed in your pretty clothes and high heels and present yourself to me. At that point, you will be "Tasha the cleaning girl." You are to change the sheets, wash the entire bedding and re-make the bed with the spare sheets, vacuum, do all the laundry, including the bed sheets, fold and put it all away, scrub the bathroom floor, clean out and replenish the kitty litter, and dust the entire bedroom area. I will be spending my time in my office writing, but I'll inspect your work every once in a while, and if Tasha's work is not up to par, she's going to get a serious punishment.”
“Yes, Mistress. Can you give me the list of tasks I am supposed to do on paper?” I was worried that I might forget a detail.
“No. And I won't repeat myself either. Either you were paying attention, or Tasha will have a lot to be punished for.” She smiled and tweaked my nipple, while grabbing my hair and kissing me on the mouth.
The rest of the evening was spent in a very domestic manner: I was her naked slaveboy, serving my fully dressed Mistress Wife dinner and then sitting at her feet while we relaxed and watched TV.
At one point, she made me fetch the Depends and had me lay down on the ground while she put it on me, telling me that while I had the "diaper" on, that I was to still ask to go potty, but that she might just have me go in the diaper. I didn't know what to think or feel about this, but it made my cheeks go pink.
After a bit more relaxing at her feet, Mistress Laura made us go to bed early, telling me that tomorrow would probably be a “big day for my little boy” and she told me that if I needed to go in the middle of the night, I had permission to go in my diaper. This time, her words made me feel very little and very embarrassed.
To be continued.
After listening to her go on about Tasha's demeanor, laziness, and overall irresponsibility, I interjected into a small space of silence in the conversation:
“Mistress, is there anything I can do to help?”
She stopped for a second and thought. An evil glint came into her eyes.
“Yes. There is something you can do. I was going to have you do a deep cleaning of my bedroom this weekend anyway. You'll be Tasha the cleaning girl this weekend and I'm going to have fun harassing you, double-checking your work, and punishing you.”
“I am happy to be of service,” I said, grinning.
On Friday, while I was at work, I got my marching orders by Email:
My boy, I want you to stop at a drug store on the way home and get a package of Depends. When you come home, get yourself cleaned up as usual, put on my collar, come find me, kneel and wait. I'll tell you my plans for the weekend, then.My heart beat a bit faster, but I managed to stay focused on work. Hours later, I was heading home.
The stop at the drug store was a bit embarrassing, but I managed it okay. I just nodded my head and kept looking down when the cashier asked me if I had found everything I was looking for. She rang up the purchase, I paid, and I was on my way home.
When I arrived, I went through my usual routine. I undressed, shaved, showered, put on my Mistress Wife's collar, and quietly knelt at her feet. She was in her office, working. The ritual of getting ready and presenting myself to her puts me into a very docile frame of mind every time. The fact that Mistress is almost always busy when I arrive adds to my anticipation and arousal. This time, I was fixated on my Mistress's pretty feet, while waiting for her to finish what she was doing and turn her attention to me.
After a few minutes, Mistress Laura swiveled around in her chair and tousled my hair playfully.
“Good boy. You wait so nicely. How was your day?“
We chatted for a few minutes, with me kneeling at her feet while she lightly touched my face or my shoulder. The whole time, my Mistress-Lust-Meter was maxed out. :-)
Finally, she told me her plans for the weekend.
“You will wake me up tomorrow with my usual weekend breakfast. Once we have eaten, I want you to get dressed in your pretty clothes and high heels and present yourself to me. At that point, you will be "Tasha the cleaning girl." You are to change the sheets, wash the entire bedding and re-make the bed with the spare sheets, vacuum, do all the laundry, including the bed sheets, fold and put it all away, scrub the bathroom floor, clean out and replenish the kitty litter, and dust the entire bedroom area. I will be spending my time in my office writing, but I'll inspect your work every once in a while, and if Tasha's work is not up to par, she's going to get a serious punishment.”
“Yes, Mistress. Can you give me the list of tasks I am supposed to do on paper?” I was worried that I might forget a detail.
“No. And I won't repeat myself either. Either you were paying attention, or Tasha will have a lot to be punished for.” She smiled and tweaked my nipple, while grabbing my hair and kissing me on the mouth.
The rest of the evening was spent in a very domestic manner: I was her naked slaveboy, serving my fully dressed Mistress Wife dinner and then sitting at her feet while we relaxed and watched TV.
At one point, she made me fetch the Depends and had me lay down on the ground while she put it on me, telling me that while I had the "diaper" on, that I was to still ask to go potty, but that she might just have me go in the diaper. I didn't know what to think or feel about this, but it made my cheeks go pink.
After a bit more relaxing at her feet, Mistress Laura made us go to bed early, telling me that tomorrow would probably be a “big day for my little boy” and she told me that if I needed to go in the middle of the night, I had permission to go in my diaper. This time, her words made me feel very little and very embarrassed.
To be continued.
Update on the reader poll: sexual and power orientation
Here's an update as of today on the poll I've taken for a while (see the side bar of my blog). In summary, there's almost a 5 to 1 ratio between self-identified submissive men to dominant women.
The graphical breakdown of the data, followed by the numbers.
It's my belief that there are far more dominant women out there, but they are not self-identified as dominant (since to do so is to run counter to social conditioning and the status quo).
The graphical breakdown of the data, followed by the numbers.
It's my belief that there are far more dominant women out there, but they are not self-identified as dominant (since to do so is to run counter to social conditioning and the status quo).
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Use me, trample me, make me your foot warmer!
It has been a bit chilly at night recently.
When it's just my Mistress Wife and me at home, I am naked, wearing only her collar. Mistress likes watching me naked, as I run around doing my house chores. She says I'm much more manageable when I am either naked or dressed in frilly girl lingerie. I don't know if that's really true, but I do know that being naked around my fully dressed Wife feels right to me.
Last night, after I had finished most of what she had assigned me for the day, Mistress walked into the room and said,
“slaveboy, I need a hot washcloth, then a foot rub. Then, you are to come to bed and be my heater.”
“Yes, Ma'am!” I responded and put one of the soft face towels under running hot water as I went into her bedroom to turn down the sheets, lower the lights, and to set up the hand lotion where she expects it to be. After the room was set up the way she liked it, I went back and retrieved the (now very hot) face towel and wrung it out. I went back into the bedroom and knelt in my position, waiting for her to join me.
“What a good boy,” she warmly cooed as she entered her bedroom a minute later. Hearing her pleased voice made my already hard cock twitch. I am so hopelessly in lust with her.
She sat on the edge of the bed and I gave her the hot washcloth. She wiped her face, making moaning noises of pleasure, then she threw the warm wet towel on my shoulder. I placed the wet towel to the side and I grabbed the bottle of hand lotion, starting to rub the lotion into her feet.
I love giving my Wife foot rubs. In truth, I love doing anything for her that involves touching her body: foot rubs, backrubs, clipping her toenails, literally anything.
I have learned that being her slaveboy means that my emotions are transparent to her. It's not just the physical nakedness that creates a certain obvious transparency (there is no way for me to hide my arousal); it's also the mental and emotional vulnerability, the openness that I crave and that my Owner/Wife demands.
As I was rubbing her feet, making sure to massage her heel area, her in-step, and letting my hands do their magic, I was also breathing heavier, feeling more and more aroused, and dropping further into feeling so good at just being used in this way. She looked at me very intently and smiled warmly, saying “You love doing this so much, don't you? Will you ever tire of this?”
“I don't think I ever will, Mistress.” I thought back to how this routine has evolved over time, but the rituals are essentially the same. I love the consistency, and each time I go through it, I feel the same feelings, sometimes with greater intensity. The feelings are variations of warmth, caring, being loved, lust, and above all, a delicious sense of surrender in the here and now. This heady mixture is an everyday experience for me and far surpasses anything I ever felt in any “equal relationship.”
When I was done with her feet, she crawled into the bed and just looked at me for a second, kneeling by the side. She patted the bed, which was my signal to hop on.
“My feet are cold, slaveboy. Here's what you're going to do. I want you to crawl under the covers, all the way to the edge of the bottom of the bed, and you will be my foot warmer.”
Her bed is a California King bed and I was surprised to see that I pretty much fit sideways at the bottom few inches of the bed. I am a petite man and my Mistress is taller than me.
If you can imagine it, I was under a sheet, thin blanket and large down blanket, sideways, across the bottom of the bed. She was laying in the bed normally, stabbing her freezing cold feet into my crotch, laying them across my very hard cock.
“That feels good,” she would say as she pushed her sole into my naked and shaved pubic region, or she moved her other foot onto my stomach. She kept pushing and prodding my body with her feet as I lovingly held her toes with my hands and moaned in absolute blissful pleasure at so obviously being used in such a simple way.
After about fifteen minutes, her feet were toasty warm and she announced, “Okay, slave. Get back up here and cuddle me,”
“Do I have to, Mistress? Can't I sleep like this at your feet all night?” I was still swimming in my feelings of objectification and feeling so wonderfully used, and reliving her moans of pleasure at digging her feet into me.
She just laughed and promised that she would do this again sometime and maybe I could be her foot-warmer for a few hour nap at some later point. I crawled back up and spooned her from behind. She wiggled her ass into my rock hard penis, telling me that I made a nice foot warmer, and slowly we fell asleep together.
When it's just my Mistress Wife and me at home, I am naked, wearing only her collar. Mistress likes watching me naked, as I run around doing my house chores. She says I'm much more manageable when I am either naked or dressed in frilly girl lingerie. I don't know if that's really true, but I do know that being naked around my fully dressed Wife feels right to me.
Last night, after I had finished most of what she had assigned me for the day, Mistress walked into the room and said,
“slaveboy, I need a hot washcloth, then a foot rub. Then, you are to come to bed and be my heater.”
“Yes, Ma'am!” I responded and put one of the soft face towels under running hot water as I went into her bedroom to turn down the sheets, lower the lights, and to set up the hand lotion where she expects it to be. After the room was set up the way she liked it, I went back and retrieved the (now very hot) face towel and wrung it out. I went back into the bedroom and knelt in my position, waiting for her to join me.
“What a good boy,” she warmly cooed as she entered her bedroom a minute later. Hearing her pleased voice made my already hard cock twitch. I am so hopelessly in lust with her.
She sat on the edge of the bed and I gave her the hot washcloth. She wiped her face, making moaning noises of pleasure, then she threw the warm wet towel on my shoulder. I placed the wet towel to the side and I grabbed the bottle of hand lotion, starting to rub the lotion into her feet.
I love giving my Wife foot rubs. In truth, I love doing anything for her that involves touching her body: foot rubs, backrubs, clipping her toenails, literally anything.
I have learned that being her slaveboy means that my emotions are transparent to her. It's not just the physical nakedness that creates a certain obvious transparency (there is no way for me to hide my arousal); it's also the mental and emotional vulnerability, the openness that I crave and that my Owner/Wife demands.
As I was rubbing her feet, making sure to massage her heel area, her in-step, and letting my hands do their magic, I was also breathing heavier, feeling more and more aroused, and dropping further into feeling so good at just being used in this way. She looked at me very intently and smiled warmly, saying “You love doing this so much, don't you? Will you ever tire of this?”
“I don't think I ever will, Mistress.” I thought back to how this routine has evolved over time, but the rituals are essentially the same. I love the consistency, and each time I go through it, I feel the same feelings, sometimes with greater intensity. The feelings are variations of warmth, caring, being loved, lust, and above all, a delicious sense of surrender in the here and now. This heady mixture is an everyday experience for me and far surpasses anything I ever felt in any “equal relationship.”
When I was done with her feet, she crawled into the bed and just looked at me for a second, kneeling by the side. She patted the bed, which was my signal to hop on.
“My feet are cold, slaveboy. Here's what you're going to do. I want you to crawl under the covers, all the way to the edge of the bottom of the bed, and you will be my foot warmer.”
Her bed is a California King bed and I was surprised to see that I pretty much fit sideways at the bottom few inches of the bed. I am a petite man and my Mistress is taller than me.
If you can imagine it, I was under a sheet, thin blanket and large down blanket, sideways, across the bottom of the bed. She was laying in the bed normally, stabbing her freezing cold feet into my crotch, laying them across my very hard cock.
“That feels good,” she would say as she pushed her sole into my naked and shaved pubic region, or she moved her other foot onto my stomach. She kept pushing and prodding my body with her feet as I lovingly held her toes with my hands and moaned in absolute blissful pleasure at so obviously being used in such a simple way.
After about fifteen minutes, her feet were toasty warm and she announced, “Okay, slave. Get back up here and cuddle me,”
“Do I have to, Mistress? Can't I sleep like this at your feet all night?” I was still swimming in my feelings of objectification and feeling so wonderfully used, and reliving her moans of pleasure at digging her feet into me.
She just laughed and promised that she would do this again sometime and maybe I could be her foot-warmer for a few hour nap at some later point. I crawled back up and spooned her from behind. She wiggled her ass into my rock hard penis, telling me that I made a nice foot warmer, and slowly we fell asleep together.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
When power transfer goes beyond fantasy
I've been very busy with projects the last two weeks. Projects at work for my employer, and projects at home, for my Mistress Wife.
At home, practically every second of every day has been taken up with extra projects: moving rooms, cleaning closets, re-arranging the garage, making a new workout space. I have been doing these tasks in addition to all the housework which I do routinely: cooking, cleaning, laundry, driving Mistress Laura, and getting my kids to their various events.
In order to motivate me, Mistress teases me mercilessly as I go about my tasks (whenever possible, naked with her collar on) and she promises extra special duties and tasks when I finish large chunks of her To-Do list. One might think that this would be a submissive fantasy come true, but the emotions I feel while going through this are all over the map.
A few nights ago, on Monday night, after I had served dinner and cleaned up, Mistress set me up with the extra task of making a portion of a one of her work-related web sites functional. Since this is part of what I do at work, I thought to myself “No problem!” and set about the task. I was also happy to be given a break from the mostly physical labor I had been doing over the weekend.
On this evening, Mistress presented me with a list of functions she wanted to be operational and stated “If you get all of this working, I'm going to let you lick my pussy for a long time tonight.”
With the reward in front of me, and what looked like an easy task ahead, I set out to finish in record time. Oh how wrong I was.
By around 11PM (very late for me), I had hit some roadblocks, even as I had made huge progress. I had spent the last couple of hours being side-tracked by a minor misbehavior and had probably wasted some time.
Even so, I was still hopeful that Mistress would be lenient and allow me to get my reward (some fun time and play with her) and let me extend her deadline. Oh how wrong I was.
I instant-messaged her with my suggestion of extending the deadline and letting me have some fun and play. Her response to me, verbatim, was:
To say that her response was disappointing to me misses the mark. My feelings were intense and varied. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I felt like crying. I got angry. I felt like just stopping, becoming depressed, and going to bed. I was so looking forward to some fun pussy-licking time with my Mistress Wife, and I had been working so hard.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.
If I thought this out logically, there was nothing unreasonable in my Mistress holding me accountable and pushing me to produce results for her. In fact, if she had given in to my demand, it would only have taught me that her deadlines are just words and that my own sense of what was important (or interesting to fix) takes precedence over her stated outcomes.
I had no choice but to keep working. As the realization that I had no choice sank into my awareness, something interesting happened. First, I was acutely aware of how awful I felt: I was dead tired. Bleary eyed-tired. I felt frustrated and pushed. The lump in my throat was still there.
and...
There was an over-arching sense of peace. I was doing exactly what my Mistress wanted me to do. And slowly, I realized that it was what I wanted to do... What I needed to do. I chose this.
This realization brought with it a surge of energy and focus as I dropped my resistance and surrendered to what I was already doing. I was hit with inspirations and each of the technical problems fell by the wayside. At around 3AM, the job was done and I was able to check off all the requirements that my Mistress Wife had given me.
I slept for a few hours and I drove Mistress Laura to her work that morning. I walked her to her office and we talked a bit. I got to tell her that I had completed her task, and that I was very happy to have done it.
She told me:
I assured her then, “You did the right thing, Mistress. I loved the fact that even though I felt like shit, I was disappointed and very frustrated, I kept going, because you said so.”
At that, she beamed, cupped my head in her hands, kissed me, and said “Good boy. You'll get your reward tonight.”
I did get my reward that night (Tuesday). I knelt by the bed and I buried my face between her glorious legs, licking and smelling and sucking while she told me I was a good boy. That was just icing on the cake, though. I had handled a personal obstacle. In a completely non-sexual context, I had gone past “I don't wanna!!!” and surrendered to Her judgment, her whim, her dictate. I was very proud of myself, kneeling there, licking and inhaling her sweet sweet juices.
I shudder to think of what I would have felt like if I had just given up.
At home, practically every second of every day has been taken up with extra projects: moving rooms, cleaning closets, re-arranging the garage, making a new workout space. I have been doing these tasks in addition to all the housework which I do routinely: cooking, cleaning, laundry, driving Mistress Laura, and getting my kids to their various events.
In order to motivate me, Mistress teases me mercilessly as I go about my tasks (whenever possible, naked with her collar on) and she promises extra special duties and tasks when I finish large chunks of her To-Do list. One might think that this would be a submissive fantasy come true, but the emotions I feel while going through this are all over the map.
A few nights ago, on Monday night, after I had served dinner and cleaned up, Mistress set me up with the extra task of making a portion of a one of her work-related web sites functional. Since this is part of what I do at work, I thought to myself “No problem!” and set about the task. I was also happy to be given a break from the mostly physical labor I had been doing over the weekend.
On this evening, Mistress presented me with a list of functions she wanted to be operational and stated “If you get all of this working, I'm going to let you lick my pussy for a long time tonight.”
With the reward in front of me, and what looked like an easy task ahead, I set out to finish in record time. Oh how wrong I was.
By around 11PM (very late for me), I had hit some roadblocks, even as I had made huge progress. I had spent the last couple of hours being side-tracked by a minor misbehavior and had probably wasted some time.
Even so, I was still hopeful that Mistress would be lenient and allow me to get my reward (some fun time and play with her) and let me extend her deadline. Oh how wrong I was.
I instant-messaged her with my suggestion of extending the deadline and letting me have some fun and play. Her response to me, verbatim, was:
“No. No. I told you what was needed. You told me that you were trying to fix this minor annoying issue and it looks like you got side-tracked. I can't have that. You will continue to work on this. No. You don't get to change the deadline. I need this prototype up now. Keep working.”
To say that her response was disappointing to me misses the mark. My feelings were intense and varied. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I felt like crying. I got angry. I felt like just stopping, becoming depressed, and going to bed. I was so looking forward to some fun pussy-licking time with my Mistress Wife, and I had been working so hard.
“Yes Ma'am,”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.
If I thought this out logically, there was nothing unreasonable in my Mistress holding me accountable and pushing me to produce results for her. In fact, if she had given in to my demand, it would only have taught me that her deadlines are just words and that my own sense of what was important (or interesting to fix) takes precedence over her stated outcomes.
I had no choice but to keep working. As the realization that I had no choice sank into my awareness, something interesting happened. First, I was acutely aware of how awful I felt: I was dead tired. Bleary eyed-tired. I felt frustrated and pushed. The lump in my throat was still there.
and...
There was an over-arching sense of peace. I was doing exactly what my Mistress wanted me to do. And slowly, I realized that it was what I wanted to do... What I needed to do. I chose this.
This realization brought with it a surge of energy and focus as I dropped my resistance and surrendered to what I was already doing. I was hit with inspirations and each of the technical problems fell by the wayside. At around 3AM, the job was done and I was able to check off all the requirements that my Mistress Wife had given me.
I slept for a few hours and I drove Mistress Laura to her work that morning. I walked her to her office and we talked a bit. I got to tell her that I had completed her task, and that I was very happy to have done it.
She told me:
“I never doubted that you would. I did feel badly about telling you "No", however.”
I assured her then, “You did the right thing, Mistress. I loved the fact that even though I felt like shit, I was disappointed and very frustrated, I kept going, because you said so.”
At that, she beamed, cupped my head in her hands, kissed me, and said “Good boy. You'll get your reward tonight.”
I did get my reward that night (Tuesday). I knelt by the bed and I buried my face between her glorious legs, licking and smelling and sucking while she told me I was a good boy. That was just icing on the cake, though. I had handled a personal obstacle. In a completely non-sexual context, I had gone past “I don't wanna!!!” and surrendered to Her judgment, her whim, her dictate. I was very proud of myself, kneeling there, licking and inhaling her sweet sweet juices.
I shudder to think of what I would have felt like if I had just given up.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
The chauffeur
When it's possible, I love driving Mistress Laura to work.
Last week, after her customary backrub and footrub before going to sleep for the night, Mistress Laura told me:
“Tomorrow morning, when you pick me up from work, I want you dressed in one of your nice suits. Be sure to be early and waiting for me. Since you're my driver, I want you to look the part.”
The next morning, I got up early and set aside my dark suit with a black tie and white button-down shirt. I did my morning routine for my Mistress Wife: serving her breakfast, making sure her towel was in place for her shower, helping her get dressed. Then I got dressed in the white shirt and suit pants, nice shoes.
I hung the jacket and tie up on a coat hook in the car. I came back and placed her briefcase and papers into the car while she did some last minute Emails, and then I escorted her to the car, opening the door for her and waiting till she signaled that it was okay to close it.
I drove her to work in silence, while she rested. Then, I went to my workplace.
All day long, all I could think about was how fun it was going to be to pick her back up at work. I did my own work, but kept watching the clock. I did not want to be late.
Finally, the moment came. I packed up my laptop and papers and went back to the car. I put on the black tie and the suit jacket and got behind the wheel. I then put on the sunglasses and the ear-piece (bluetooth wireless headset) that I had stashed in the front suit pocket and started driving.
Mistress Laura works at a local college. I drove the car in and parked in a loading zone close to the front of the campus. Then I got out and stood at attention next to the car, waiting.
Imagine the scene: You are at a sprawling college campus where there are many buildings separated by trees and landscaping. There's a silver Lexus mid sized SUV, with a man in a dark suit, sunglasses, waiting at attention near the curb out in front of the administration building.
I was about fifteen minutes early. I was subjected to many curious stares as faculty and students went about their business on campus, going to their classes or offices.
Two women who were walking down the path looked over at me and one said to the other:
“It looks like someone's getting picked up.”
The other one looked me up and down and said to the other, jokingly: “I want one.”
I was very nervous. I was sticking out, embarrassed, and, of course, loving every single minute of it. I stayed put.
Finally, after an excruciating number of minutes, Mistress Laura shows up. I walked up to her and took her briefcase and papers and followed behind. As she neared the car, she slowed down and I opened her door for her. I stashed her things in the back and I went around and got behind the wheel.
After we were on the road, Mistress Laura touched my hand and confided in me that she was really embarrassed to be picked up like that, but that it was very fun for her. She thought the sunglasses and the ear-piece were a nice touch. Dramatic and silly at the same time. I grinned wide at her comment.
“I felt like I was the President's daughter, getting picked up by the secret service.”
Great fun. We'll be doing this more regularly, I'm sure.
Last week, after her customary backrub and footrub before going to sleep for the night, Mistress Laura told me:
“Tomorrow morning, when you pick me up from work, I want you dressed in one of your nice suits. Be sure to be early and waiting for me. Since you're my driver, I want you to look the part.”
The next morning, I got up early and set aside my dark suit with a black tie and white button-down shirt. I did my morning routine for my Mistress Wife: serving her breakfast, making sure her towel was in place for her shower, helping her get dressed. Then I got dressed in the white shirt and suit pants, nice shoes.
I hung the jacket and tie up on a coat hook in the car. I came back and placed her briefcase and papers into the car while she did some last minute Emails, and then I escorted her to the car, opening the door for her and waiting till she signaled that it was okay to close it.
I drove her to work in silence, while she rested. Then, I went to my workplace.
All day long, all I could think about was how fun it was going to be to pick her back up at work. I did my own work, but kept watching the clock. I did not want to be late.
Finally, the moment came. I packed up my laptop and papers and went back to the car. I put on the black tie and the suit jacket and got behind the wheel. I then put on the sunglasses and the ear-piece (bluetooth wireless headset) that I had stashed in the front suit pocket and started driving.
Mistress Laura works at a local college. I drove the car in and parked in a loading zone close to the front of the campus. Then I got out and stood at attention next to the car, waiting.
Imagine the scene: You are at a sprawling college campus where there are many buildings separated by trees and landscaping. There's a silver Lexus mid sized SUV, with a man in a dark suit, sunglasses, waiting at attention near the curb out in front of the administration building.
I was about fifteen minutes early. I was subjected to many curious stares as faculty and students went about their business on campus, going to their classes or offices.
Two women who were walking down the path looked over at me and one said to the other:
“It looks like someone's getting picked up.”
The other one looked me up and down and said to the other, jokingly: “I want one.”
I was very nervous. I was sticking out, embarrassed, and, of course, loving every single minute of it. I stayed put.
Finally, after an excruciating number of minutes, Mistress Laura shows up. I walked up to her and took her briefcase and papers and followed behind. As she neared the car, she slowed down and I opened her door for her. I stashed her things in the back and I went around and got behind the wheel.
After we were on the road, Mistress Laura touched my hand and confided in me that she was really embarrassed to be picked up like that, but that it was very fun for her. She thought the sunglasses and the ear-piece were a nice touch. Dramatic and silly at the same time. I grinned wide at her comment.
“I felt like I was the President's daughter, getting picked up by the secret service.”
Great fun. We'll be doing this more regularly, I'm sure.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
No, I have not disappeared
Several people asked, so I am posting a short note here.
I am alive and well and having fun.
The last few days have been filled with non-stop activity (house projects for Mistress Laura, work projects for my employer, family obligations, etc.) and I have not yet had time to catch my breath.
I have also shifted some things with my schedule (I get up another hour earlier) so that I can get a few more things done. As a result of all of this, my blog reading and writing has taken a temporary hit.
I'll be back soon!
I am alive and well and having fun.
The last few days have been filled with non-stop activity (house projects for Mistress Laura, work projects for my employer, family obligations, etc.) and I have not yet had time to catch my breath.
I have also shifted some things with my schedule (I get up another hour earlier) so that I can get a few more things done. As a result of all of this, my blog reading and writing has taken a temporary hit.
I'll be back soon!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Dealing with jealousy, FemDom style
I admit it. I am a jealous husband. Especially when it comes to Mistress Laura's ex-boyfriends, I am ungracious and pathetically insecure. I fret and I sulk and I become a complete pain.
I think part of this stems from an unconscious “ownership” mentality with respect to my Wife. This mentality went unchallenged for all the years that I was the head of the household.
Recently, my jealousy was starting to become an issue.
Mistress Laura has an ex boyfriend, David, on the East Coast. David is married, non-kinky and monogamous. David and Laura have maintained a friendship over the years and they still love each other. David lives close to Mistress Laura's family and is in touch with her brothers and sisters. Over the years, he has become part of my Mistress Wife's extended family.
Because of recent family news (births, illnesses, the usual stuff) Mistress Laura has been spending a couple of hours on the phone, talking with David. I did not like this at all. I was not openly disapproving (I do know my place), but I was grumpy, sullen, mopey. Very attractive behavior, all in all.
She tried talking with me. Here's how one of the early conversations went:
“Tom, do you have a problem with me talking to David as much as I have been? I'm sensing a lot of hostility about the time I'm spending on the phone with him.”
“No, Ma'am.” I said, defensively, reflexively and without much thought. Then, a moment later, I added: “Yes, I feel jealous. There's not much I can do about it, because you obviously have the right to talk to whoever you want, but I don't have to like it.”
“Well, I almost feel bad, talking to David, because you seem so miserable.”
To my Mistress Wife's gracious statement of caring for my feelings, I replied like an oaf: “Whatever. I don't really care. Like I said, I don't have to like it, but you can do what you want.”
In retrospect, I can see that I was not really being a good partner. I just wanted to shut the conversation down and move on, and refused to feel the root feelings. Shut it down, compartmentalize it, let's move on. How stereotypical. :-)
We had a few more conversations. Some of the conversations deteriorated faster than others. In some, I was openly hostile to the topic from the beginning. I kept repeating that “I'm jealous and a bit angry and there's not much I can do about it.” I would leave each conversation more miserable and I don't even want to think what my Wife must have been feeling.
She got tired of dealing with the issue in a vanilla fashion.
Yesterday morning, I was woken up at 5AM with one hand firmly in my hair and my Mistress's other hand grasping my (her!) cock and balls firmly.
“Are you awake yet, slaveboy?”
The shot of adrenaline had certainly woken me up and my cock was instantly hard.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” She let go of me and motioned for me to kneel on the side of the bed. “David is leaving for work in about an hour. I want you to crawl into the other room, get me the portable phone, and crawl back.”
I did as she commanded, aroused by being ordered around. As I was crawling away, she laughed and commented “cute butt.” that made me feel good. When I brought her the phone, she once again had me kneel beside the bed.
She was sitting on the bed, with me kneeling beside her. She caressed my cheek lovingly, planted her lovely naked feet on the floor, and told me:
“I am going to call David now. You are to be completely silent and kissing my feet the whole time. If I so much as feel bad attitude from you, you will be extremely sorry. Now, slaveboy, start kissing my feet.”
My heart was in my throat and my stomach felt jumbled up with love, adoration, lust. I planted my hands on either side of her feet, and started kissing her feet lovingly. Every once in a while, I would lick a little bit.
She dialed the phone and in a minute was chatting with David. She was joking and laughing and talking with her ex boyfriend while I was naked, my butt in the air, kissing and licking her pretty little feet. My cock was rock hard the whole time. I think the conversation lasted about twenty minutes. I did not feel jealous in the least; I think my mind was incapable of feeling anything other than lust and adoration while I was kissing my Mistress's feet.
When she was done, she pushed the “off” button on the phone and set it aside. She then leaned down and motioned for me to stop and kneel up, cupping my face in her hands, she said to me tenderly, “Now, my cute little slaveboy, that wasn't so bad, was it?” and she reached down and stroked my already rock hard cock.
“No, Mistress, it wasn't bad,” I said, blushing a bit.
She kept stroking me and told me to tell her when I was close to coming. In a few minutes, I was very very close and told her so. She then stopped abruptly.
“You will not be allowed to orgasm today, slaveboy,” she said, looking pleased with the effect she was having on me, “Now, kiss my feet again and crawl back into bed. We're going to cuddle and go back to sleep.”
I planted my lips lovingly on her feet, kissing each foot a few times, and crawled back into bed, where she spooned me from behind. I felt at peace.
Since then, she has re-iterated that she will call David or whomever she wants at any time, and that the least amount of moping or surliness will earn me a severe punishment.
Interestingly, I feel so much more secure than when she was trying to deal with my jealousy in a conventional manner.
I think part of this stems from an unconscious “ownership” mentality with respect to my Wife. This mentality went unchallenged for all the years that I was the head of the household.
Recently, my jealousy was starting to become an issue.
Mistress Laura has an ex boyfriend, David, on the East Coast. David is married, non-kinky and monogamous. David and Laura have maintained a friendship over the years and they still love each other. David lives close to Mistress Laura's family and is in touch with her brothers and sisters. Over the years, he has become part of my Mistress Wife's extended family.
Because of recent family news (births, illnesses, the usual stuff) Mistress Laura has been spending a couple of hours on the phone, talking with David. I did not like this at all. I was not openly disapproving (I do know my place), but I was grumpy, sullen, mopey. Very attractive behavior, all in all.
She tried talking with me. Here's how one of the early conversations went:
“Tom, do you have a problem with me talking to David as much as I have been? I'm sensing a lot of hostility about the time I'm spending on the phone with him.”
“No, Ma'am.” I said, defensively, reflexively and without much thought. Then, a moment later, I added: “Yes, I feel jealous. There's not much I can do about it, because you obviously have the right to talk to whoever you want, but I don't have to like it.”
“Well, I almost feel bad, talking to David, because you seem so miserable.”
To my Mistress Wife's gracious statement of caring for my feelings, I replied like an oaf: “Whatever. I don't really care. Like I said, I don't have to like it, but you can do what you want.”
In retrospect, I can see that I was not really being a good partner. I just wanted to shut the conversation down and move on, and refused to feel the root feelings. Shut it down, compartmentalize it, let's move on. How stereotypical. :-)
We had a few more conversations. Some of the conversations deteriorated faster than others. In some, I was openly hostile to the topic from the beginning. I kept repeating that “I'm jealous and a bit angry and there's not much I can do about it.” I would leave each conversation more miserable and I don't even want to think what my Wife must have been feeling.
She got tired of dealing with the issue in a vanilla fashion.
Yesterday morning, I was woken up at 5AM with one hand firmly in my hair and my Mistress's other hand grasping my (her!) cock and balls firmly.
“Are you awake yet, slaveboy?”
The shot of adrenaline had certainly woken me up and my cock was instantly hard.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good.” She let go of me and motioned for me to kneel on the side of the bed. “David is leaving for work in about an hour. I want you to crawl into the other room, get me the portable phone, and crawl back.”
I did as she commanded, aroused by being ordered around. As I was crawling away, she laughed and commented “cute butt.” that made me feel good. When I brought her the phone, she once again had me kneel beside the bed.
She was sitting on the bed, with me kneeling beside her. She caressed my cheek lovingly, planted her lovely naked feet on the floor, and told me:
“I am going to call David now. You are to be completely silent and kissing my feet the whole time. If I so much as feel bad attitude from you, you will be extremely sorry. Now, slaveboy, start kissing my feet.”
My heart was in my throat and my stomach felt jumbled up with love, adoration, lust. I planted my hands on either side of her feet, and started kissing her feet lovingly. Every once in a while, I would lick a little bit.
She dialed the phone and in a minute was chatting with David. She was joking and laughing and talking with her ex boyfriend while I was naked, my butt in the air, kissing and licking her pretty little feet. My cock was rock hard the whole time. I think the conversation lasted about twenty minutes. I did not feel jealous in the least; I think my mind was incapable of feeling anything other than lust and adoration while I was kissing my Mistress's feet.
When she was done, she pushed the “off” button on the phone and set it aside. She then leaned down and motioned for me to stop and kneel up, cupping my face in her hands, she said to me tenderly, “Now, my cute little slaveboy, that wasn't so bad, was it?” and she reached down and stroked my already rock hard cock.
“No, Mistress, it wasn't bad,” I said, blushing a bit.
She kept stroking me and told me to tell her when I was close to coming. In a few minutes, I was very very close and told her so. She then stopped abruptly.
“You will not be allowed to orgasm today, slaveboy,” she said, looking pleased with the effect she was having on me, “Now, kiss my feet again and crawl back into bed. We're going to cuddle and go back to sleep.”
I planted my lips lovingly on her feet, kissing each foot a few times, and crawled back into bed, where she spooned me from behind. I felt at peace.
Since then, she has re-iterated that she will call David or whomever she wants at any time, and that the least amount of moping or surliness will earn me a severe punishment.
Interestingly, I feel so much more secure than when she was trying to deal with my jealousy in a conventional manner.
Monday, September 25, 2006
More on cuckolding
Since writing the previous post (“Is she just playing with me?”) I have gotten some very nice comments. One correspondent, DH, wrote me a very nice concerned note privately, saying:
DH's comments were very appreciated, and they caused me to reflect on the core of the erotic attraction to being denied sex even as my Wife could fuck whomever she wishes, however she wishes.
Part of my thrill is the denial, the humiliation, the power trip for my wife. I like the idea of inherent unfairness, unreasonableness, inequality; for example, my wife controls all the money and can do pretty much whatever she wants. I, on the other hand, always have to ask for permission for my non-routine purchases. She can have me pleasure her to multiple orgasms, then she can roll over and fall asleep. She can masturbate anytime she wants to. I, on the other hand, need her permission before I can even touch myself for any purpose other than cleaning.
The bottom line is: Her control makes me happy. Even if I am frustrated in that moment.
DH continued in his message:
If the submissive husband retains the most vaunted role, the “true love” spot in the wife's heart, then he is secure... But the eroticism of the situation revolves around his insecurity.
As sick and twisted as that may seem, the danger, the insecurity, the abject shame and humiliation are at the core of the “enjoyment” of such an experience.
If I was being cuckolded, I know I would be miserable but I would also be turned on by such a flagrant display of power by my Mistress Wife.
My Wife has, from time to time, made me fall on my knees in pure adoration and lust simply by entertaining the idea that she may, some year in the future, choose to divorce me and keep my as simply her slave. That scenario pushes the same buttons: I would be insecure, no longer legally joined with her as an equal in the eyes of the law, and totally dependent on her. I would not be her submissive husband, just her slaveboy, stripped of all rights.
Now, this is where someone goes ahead and sends me a link to husband abuse information, right? :-)
I am against cuckolding in most cases, even though I find the idea of being the so-called bull enormously arousing. I also endorse it in some corrective and advanced-practicioner situations.First of all, before I go into this in more detail, I have to say right upfront that right now, I am not emotionally mature enough or enlightened enough to consider being a cuckold husband. Not that it's in my hands at all; if Mistress wanted, she could move me there in no time flat. With that preamble out of the way, I wanted to delve a bit into this particular expression of my Mistress Wife's sexual power over me.
Through the net I have “met” many who were happy with the wife having sex outside the marriage. I have “met" some for whom it is a train wreck in real life. Her having more partners for her pleasure need not be an exercise in denial or humiliation for you. They need not be linked at all.
DH's comments were very appreciated, and they caused me to reflect on the core of the erotic attraction to being denied sex even as my Wife could fuck whomever she wishes, however she wishes.
Part of my thrill is the denial, the humiliation, the power trip for my wife. I like the idea of inherent unfairness, unreasonableness, inequality; for example, my wife controls all the money and can do pretty much whatever she wants. I, on the other hand, always have to ask for permission for my non-routine purchases. She can have me pleasure her to multiple orgasms, then she can roll over and fall asleep. She can masturbate anytime she wants to. I, on the other hand, need her permission before I can even touch myself for any purpose other than cleaning.
The bottom line is: Her control makes me happy. Even if I am frustrated in that moment.
DH continued in his message:
I would point out that in many if not most of these happy couples the hubby remains the focus of the wife's actions and her other Lovers are no more than fucktoys or friends with benefits.This is an interesting idea, but misses the emotional masochism inherent in the scenarios that attract me (like a moth to a flame). The fantasy, in its basest form, involves the dominant sadist wife inflicting physical and emotional pain on her submissive husband, while enjoying herself to the hilt with another man.
If the submissive husband retains the most vaunted role, the “true love” spot in the wife's heart, then he is secure... But the eroticism of the situation revolves around his insecurity.
As sick and twisted as that may seem, the danger, the insecurity, the abject shame and humiliation are at the core of the “enjoyment” of such an experience.
If I was being cuckolded, I know I would be miserable but I would also be turned on by such a flagrant display of power by my Mistress Wife.
My Wife has, from time to time, made me fall on my knees in pure adoration and lust simply by entertaining the idea that she may, some year in the future, choose to divorce me and keep my as simply her slave. That scenario pushes the same buttons: I would be insecure, no longer legally joined with her as an equal in the eyes of the law, and totally dependent on her. I would not be her submissive husband, just her slaveboy, stripped of all rights.
Now, this is where someone goes ahead and sends me a link to husband abuse information, right? :-)
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Is she just playing with me?
Those of you who have been paying attention know that I am not into the idea of being cuckolded. At the same time, my Mistress Wife and I have had some conversations about this and I can't really tell whether she is just messing with my mind or if she is serious.
The other evening, I took my required shower before bed and presented my nude body to my Mistress for inspection. I asked my nightly question: "May I sleep in your bed tonight, Mistress?" and she said yes. So I hopped into the bed with her. She was dressed in her usual nighty and underwear. She spooned me from behind for a while and then we switched, with me spooning her from behind, and that's how we fell asleep.
I half-awoke in the very early morning with a raging hardon pressed into her underwear. I was aware that I had been rubbing myself into her and there was some precum oozing from me.
"Did you come?" my Mistress Wife asked.
"No." I answered her and slowed down my rubbing.
It's been a while since I've had any release. The last couple of times that Mistress Laura has played with me, she has had me service her with my mouth and with toys to powerful body shaking orgasms while denying me any release. It's her right to expect that kind of service from me without any thought of reciprocation and I am actually very happy that she exercises that right; the fact that she comes when and how she wants and I only get to come with her permission is an important mark of my YMB relationship.
"You can put a condom on and continue to rub yourself against me like that if you want to come," she told me.
I thought about it for a fraction of a second and said, "Thank you Mistress, but I would rather pleasure you." I had been having a very interesting dream, and I was still half in the dream.
"Okay," Mistress Laura said and she rubbed her ass into my crotch. I rubbed myself into her some more while letting my consciousness slip back into dreamland. In a few minutes, I was asleep again.
Later in the day, I tell Mistress Laura about my very erotic dream in the morning. The dream went like this:
Mistress Laura was thrilled and amused at the dream. She probed, "So, are you saying that you wouldn't mind if I brought another boy to the house?"
I answered truthfully: "Well, it was a dream, Mistress. But..." I looked down, blushing. "If you wanted to do something like that and prepped me for it, I would do anything to please you."
She smiled at me and caressed my cheek. I sank down to my knees and she tousled my hair, putting my head in her lap and running her fingers along my neck and shoulders.
"Good boy." She chuckled. "I find it interesting that neither you nor this Joe character got to orgasm, and that I was clothed for much of the dream."
Then, she thought for a second, and said: "That was a good dream, except for one thing."
"What's that, Mistress?"
"You were far too involved in the dream," She said, while caressing my hair.
She continued: "Here's what I would have done. I would have had you strip and kneel naked outside the door of my bedroom, maybe with some clothespins on your nipples. I would tell you to be quiet, and if you do want to make noises, you have to whine like a puppy. Then I would have taken Joe inside and closed the door."
"Mistress, I know I would be kneeling there, listening to you and whining to be let in," I said, my heart in my throat while my cock was rock hard from imagining what she was saying.
"Yes, you would probably be an ill behaved puppy. I would open the door then, clip a leash to your collar, and bring you inside."
I was breathing shallowly, swimming in her words, not knowing whether any of this could happen in real life, but not caring... Her tone of voice was telling me that she was turned on by the idea of humiliating me in this way, and I was turned on by that.
"I would take the penis gag out and force it into your mouth, clipping it in place..." She continued. This time, she had grabbed my hair possessively. I was emotionally miserable and painfully hard.
"Then I would force your face to the floor near the foot of the bed, where I would attach the leash to one of the legs of the bed, with maybe about a foot worth of slack. You would be forced to kneel, with your face on the floor, gagged, at the foot of the bed... Listening to me having fun with some other guy."
She caressed my head and neck for a few seconds more, letting the silence settle. I was feeling the charged sexual electricity of the moment, and the delicious sting of emotional pain... "Oh no, Mistress... I would do anything to please you," I remember thinking in that moment, afraid.
"Kiss my feel, slaveboy," She finally commanded. Then she asked me about my chores for the day and we shifted to other topics.
I have since replayed the above conversation in my mind many times. When I ask her whether or not she is serious, she just smiles and says, "If I was serious, there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"
Gulp.
The other evening, I took my required shower before bed and presented my nude body to my Mistress for inspection. I asked my nightly question: "May I sleep in your bed tonight, Mistress?" and she said yes. So I hopped into the bed with her. She was dressed in her usual nighty and underwear. She spooned me from behind for a while and then we switched, with me spooning her from behind, and that's how we fell asleep.
I half-awoke in the very early morning with a raging hardon pressed into her underwear. I was aware that I had been rubbing myself into her and there was some precum oozing from me.
"Did you come?" my Mistress Wife asked.
"No." I answered her and slowed down my rubbing.
It's been a while since I've had any release. The last couple of times that Mistress Laura has played with me, she has had me service her with my mouth and with toys to powerful body shaking orgasms while denying me any release. It's her right to expect that kind of service from me without any thought of reciprocation and I am actually very happy that she exercises that right; the fact that she comes when and how she wants and I only get to come with her permission is an important mark of my YMB relationship.
"You can put a condom on and continue to rub yourself against me like that if you want to come," she told me.
I thought about it for a fraction of a second and said, "Thank you Mistress, but I would rather pleasure you." I had been having a very interesting dream, and I was still half in the dream.
"Okay," Mistress Laura said and she rubbed her ass into my crotch. I rubbed myself into her some more while letting my consciousness slip back into dreamland. In a few minutes, I was asleep again.
Later in the day, I tell Mistress Laura about my very erotic dream in the morning. The dream went like this:
I am at home, and Mistress Laura comes home, wearing a black dress, lipstick, eye shadow, perfume. There is a guy trailing behind her. He is taller than me, and slightly more muscular, with curly brown hair, sporting a mustache and beard. She motions towards the guy and tells me: "Go get some vodka, kalhua, and milk. I want some drinks and I intend to play around with Joe."
I obey, going to a local liquor store. By the time I come back home, she is already fooling around with this guy, kissing, groping, limbs intertwined. I put the drinks on the counter and watch as she pointedly strips Joe naked and starts fondling him, making him hard.
Looking at me, while fondling Joe's hard member, she says: "Strip, slaveboy, and come here and kiss my neck from behind."
I hurriedly undress and start rubbing myself on my Mistress Wife from behind. She is still mostly dressed. I am kissing her shoulder, licking the nape of her neck, and Joe is rubbing himself on her front, his hands roaming all over her body. At one point, he and she are french kissing and his hand is under her dress, massaging her beautiful breasts.
Next, she takes both of us into her bedroom and ends up on top of Joe, bouncing up and down on his cock, while I am licking and kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples. She comes hard, while twisting Joe's nipple with one hand and grabbing my hair and pushing my face into her chest with the other hand.
"That was nice, boys." Mistress Laura says, while rolling off the bed and putting a robe on. She has me bring drinks for the three of us. That was the end of the dream.
Mistress Laura was thrilled and amused at the dream. She probed, "So, are you saying that you wouldn't mind if I brought another boy to the house?"
I answered truthfully: "Well, it was a dream, Mistress. But..." I looked down, blushing. "If you wanted to do something like that and prepped me for it, I would do anything to please you."
She smiled at me and caressed my cheek. I sank down to my knees and she tousled my hair, putting my head in her lap and running her fingers along my neck and shoulders.
"Good boy." She chuckled. "I find it interesting that neither you nor this Joe character got to orgasm, and that I was clothed for much of the dream."
Then, she thought for a second, and said: "That was a good dream, except for one thing."
"What's that, Mistress?"
"You were far too involved in the dream," She said, while caressing my hair.
She continued: "Here's what I would have done. I would have had you strip and kneel naked outside the door of my bedroom, maybe with some clothespins on your nipples. I would tell you to be quiet, and if you do want to make noises, you have to whine like a puppy. Then I would have taken Joe inside and closed the door."
"Mistress, I know I would be kneeling there, listening to you and whining to be let in," I said, my heart in my throat while my cock was rock hard from imagining what she was saying.
"Yes, you would probably be an ill behaved puppy. I would open the door then, clip a leash to your collar, and bring you inside."
I was breathing shallowly, swimming in her words, not knowing whether any of this could happen in real life, but not caring... Her tone of voice was telling me that she was turned on by the idea of humiliating me in this way, and I was turned on by that.
"I would take the penis gag out and force it into your mouth, clipping it in place..." She continued. This time, she had grabbed my hair possessively. I was emotionally miserable and painfully hard.
"Then I would force your face to the floor near the foot of the bed, where I would attach the leash to one of the legs of the bed, with maybe about a foot worth of slack. You would be forced to kneel, with your face on the floor, gagged, at the foot of the bed... Listening to me having fun with some other guy."
She caressed my head and neck for a few seconds more, letting the silence settle. I was feeling the charged sexual electricity of the moment, and the delicious sting of emotional pain... "Oh no, Mistress... I would do anything to please you," I remember thinking in that moment, afraid.
"Kiss my feel, slaveboy," She finally commanded. Then she asked me about my chores for the day and we shifted to other topics.
I have since replayed the above conversation in my mind many times. When I ask her whether or not she is serious, she just smiles and says, "If I was serious, there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"
Gulp.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Busy boy and some quotes
The last few days have been busy, and I've been unusually swamped with work, so I've neglected to post much. I'll be writing more over the next few days. Here are a few fun quotes from my Mistress Wife:
In the middle of a conversation where I am starting to get unnecessarily argumentative, while taking out her "little black book" (where she writes down transgressions that she punishes me for later):
Talking to some friends in my presence:
Talking about her control over our sex life:
Discussing our relationship with me:
In the middle of a conversation where I am starting to get unnecessarily argumentative, while taking out her "little black book" (where she writes down transgressions that she punishes me for later):
"Would you please repeat that, slaveboy?"
Talking to some friends in my presence:
"He's just a little boy at heart who needs guidance and discipline. That's what I'm here for."
Talking about her control over our sex life:
"You guys always want what you can't have. If I take control of not just your orgasms, but also ration your chances to lick my pussy, you crave it. I get the double benefit of not just getting you to do what I want, but also rewarding you with my pleasure."
Discussing our relationship with me:
"FLR? LFA? TPE? ABC? Whatever!!! What we have is a YMB. You're My Bitch!"
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Fiction: Fully Under Her Spell (Hypnosis, Domination)
[ed: The following is a work in progress. Feedback and encouragement to continue are welcome.]
I don't really know what came over me. I guess in some ways, I was just testing the boundaries, seeing how far my wife would let me slide. Her parents were visiting from the East Coast and she was going to be spending the day with them, sight seeing.
I was supposed to be cleaning house. Instead, I had spent the day sitting on the couch, drinking beers and watching ESPN. The coffee table had four empty beer cans on it and I vaguely remembered that there was a fifth one around someplace. There was a cheesy greasy plate of nacho crumbs on the couch next to me, the remnant of the nachos and cheese plate I had microwaved and eaten a couple of hours before.
I was wearing my comfortable sweats and a dirty T-shirt, still buzzed from my last beer, when she walked in. The look on her face was priceless! I'd like to say it was worth it, but it wasn't.
She was stunned, of course. I had always done exactly what she had asked me to do, without complaining; in fact, I had been eager to do it. This day, for whatever reasons, I just didn't. Like an old ratty sweater, I had slipped on the comfortable habits of my bachelor days: spectator sports, beers, greasy snacks. The only thing missing was my college buddies to play billiards with; of course, the bililards table was sold off cheap at the first garage sale that we had soon after we got married.
After a few moments of just looking at me, she asked in a calm voice "Is this how you've been spending your day?"
"Yes honey... I just thought I'd watch a little TV, and then I got sucked in and lost track of time," I was a little sheepish, but not really sorry. I had a fun day being a lazy slob.
I expected her to get angry, and I am guessing that she was angry, but she didn't show it. Instead, she just sat down next to me and put her hand on my thigh.
"You've had a hard couple of days, haven't you?" She began. Her hand was lightly stroking my leg from just above the knee to right below my hips. "And I'm guessing that somehow you needed to do this... Just sitting on the couch, like you are right now, and watching TV, like you are right now, and feeling my hand on your thigh... like you are right now... listening to the sound of my voice... like you are right now... Feels good, doesn't it?"
I was almost falling asleep, since her voice was so soothing and melodic. It was like all my attention was slowly being focused on her hand and unexpectedly, all my defensiveness was melting away. She had crept into my world slowly and without much resistance.
"You like the way you are feeling right now, don't you my boy?" She continued. I nodded.
"That's right..." She continued. "You know... It's easy to feel good... And you can stay right here... on this spot..."
She tapped my thigh lightly with her hand and the bottom fell out of my mind; I suddenly felt unmoored, floating. My breathing was deep and regular, and I felt as if I was in two places at once.
"That's right... You only need to stay right here... Only going into trance... as quickly as you feel good... It feels good to let go... letting go of control is why I am here, isn't it?"
She stood in front of me and tapped my right hand and then my left hand.
"You're going deeper and deeper now... I wonder which of your hands, my little boy, is going to raise up, almost of its own accord... Can you feel it lifting? Just a little bit? As you breathe in... Can you feel it lifting? Almost like a helium balloon is tied to it?... Or maybe like you have a question in class... Maybe you are curious too, about which one or both of your hands are going to raise up... do you want to ask your teacher something, my boy? Who is in control? I wonder... as I talk to each of both of you... It might surprise you... or not... maybe you can begin to sense it now... Oh my! It looks like both of your hands are lifting... up... up... UP... That's a good boy... Who is in control?"
To my amazement, both of my hands were raised as high as they could go, above my head. She grabbed the t-shirt I was wearing and pulled it off, while continuing to talk. I felt as if I could not move my arms from their position above my head. In fact, I was beginning to suspect that I could not move any part of my body.
With another light touch on my shoulder, she had me leaning backwards into the couch so that she could pull the sweats off. I was naked, immobile, and she was still fully dressed from her night out.
Her patter continued and I felt more and more relaxed, still floating, feeling like all my attention had become focused on her and her voice.
"And now, my boy... It's time for me to have some fun at your expense..."
She moved behind me and placed my hands together, where they seemed to stay, and continued to weave her spell.
"I'm sure you've begun to notice your awkward position... Sitting naked on the couch... with your hands above your head... You might even try to move... but you can't, can you?"
I tried to move my fingers and pull my hands apart. I couldn't do it!
"Uh... Ma'am... What are you doing to me?" I managed to ask.
"Part of you knows exactly what I am doing, my boy," she said. "You can't move... You are helplessly under my spell... You like that, I know." She glanced down at my penis, which had become completely erect. She walked around the couch, surveying the room. I tried again to pull my arms apart, but I couldn't. There were no ropes, but her hold over me was stronger than any ropes or chains.
To Be Continued?
I don't really know what came over me. I guess in some ways, I was just testing the boundaries, seeing how far my wife would let me slide. Her parents were visiting from the East Coast and she was going to be spending the day with them, sight seeing.
I was supposed to be cleaning house. Instead, I had spent the day sitting on the couch, drinking beers and watching ESPN. The coffee table had four empty beer cans on it and I vaguely remembered that there was a fifth one around someplace. There was a cheesy greasy plate of nacho crumbs on the couch next to me, the remnant of the nachos and cheese plate I had microwaved and eaten a couple of hours before.
I was wearing my comfortable sweats and a dirty T-shirt, still buzzed from my last beer, when she walked in. The look on her face was priceless! I'd like to say it was worth it, but it wasn't.
She was stunned, of course. I had always done exactly what she had asked me to do, without complaining; in fact, I had been eager to do it. This day, for whatever reasons, I just didn't. Like an old ratty sweater, I had slipped on the comfortable habits of my bachelor days: spectator sports, beers, greasy snacks. The only thing missing was my college buddies to play billiards with; of course, the bililards table was sold off cheap at the first garage sale that we had soon after we got married.
After a few moments of just looking at me, she asked in a calm voice "Is this how you've been spending your day?"
"Yes honey... I just thought I'd watch a little TV, and then I got sucked in and lost track of time," I was a little sheepish, but not really sorry. I had a fun day being a lazy slob.
I expected her to get angry, and I am guessing that she was angry, but she didn't show it. Instead, she just sat down next to me and put her hand on my thigh.
"You've had a hard couple of days, haven't you?" She began. Her hand was lightly stroking my leg from just above the knee to right below my hips. "And I'm guessing that somehow you needed to do this... Just sitting on the couch, like you are right now, and watching TV, like you are right now, and feeling my hand on your thigh... like you are right now... listening to the sound of my voice... like you are right now... Feels good, doesn't it?"
I was almost falling asleep, since her voice was so soothing and melodic. It was like all my attention was slowly being focused on her hand and unexpectedly, all my defensiveness was melting away. She had crept into my world slowly and without much resistance.
"You like the way you are feeling right now, don't you my boy?" She continued. I nodded.
"That's right..." She continued. "You know... It's easy to feel good... And you can stay right here... on this spot..."
She tapped my thigh lightly with her hand and the bottom fell out of my mind; I suddenly felt unmoored, floating. My breathing was deep and regular, and I felt as if I was in two places at once.
"That's right... You only need to stay right here... Only going into trance... as quickly as you feel good... It feels good to let go... letting go of control is why I am here, isn't it?"
She stood in front of me and tapped my right hand and then my left hand.
"You're going deeper and deeper now... I wonder which of your hands, my little boy, is going to raise up, almost of its own accord... Can you feel it lifting? Just a little bit? As you breathe in... Can you feel it lifting? Almost like a helium balloon is tied to it?... Or maybe like you have a question in class... Maybe you are curious too, about which one or both of your hands are going to raise up... do you want to ask your teacher something, my boy? Who is in control? I wonder... as I talk to each of both of you... It might surprise you... or not... maybe you can begin to sense it now... Oh my! It looks like both of your hands are lifting... up... up... UP... That's a good boy... Who is in control?"
To my amazement, both of my hands were raised as high as they could go, above my head. She grabbed the t-shirt I was wearing and pulled it off, while continuing to talk. I felt as if I could not move my arms from their position above my head. In fact, I was beginning to suspect that I could not move any part of my body.
With another light touch on my shoulder, she had me leaning backwards into the couch so that she could pull the sweats off. I was naked, immobile, and she was still fully dressed from her night out.
Her patter continued and I felt more and more relaxed, still floating, feeling like all my attention had become focused on her and her voice.
"And now, my boy... It's time for me to have some fun at your expense..."
She moved behind me and placed my hands together, where they seemed to stay, and continued to weave her spell.
"I'm sure you've begun to notice your awkward position... Sitting naked on the couch... with your hands above your head... You might even try to move... but you can't, can you?"
I tried to move my fingers and pull my hands apart. I couldn't do it!
"Uh... Ma'am... What are you doing to me?" I managed to ask.
"Part of you knows exactly what I am doing, my boy," she said. "You can't move... You are helplessly under my spell... You like that, I know." She glanced down at my penis, which had become completely erect. She walked around the couch, surveying the room. I tried again to pull my arms apart, but I couldn't. There were no ropes, but her hold over me was stronger than any ropes or chains.
To Be Continued?
Monday, September 11, 2006
September-Eleventh-Fatigue. Am I the only one?
This post isn't about my relationship.
I know what I want to say is probably not politically correct... Especially since I had some friends who died on this day five years ago at the hand of Islamo-Fascists...
The media is currently doing its 24 hour cry-fest of personal stories aimed at the viewer's feelings and attempting to evoke grieving and healing. Am I the only one who is sick and tired of it?
Personally, I moved past the shock and the grieving a year or two ago, and I've been coasting at the "Let's just kick some ass" stage. Am I the only one who feels this way?
I know what I want to say is probably not politically correct... Especially since I had some friends who died on this day five years ago at the hand of Islamo-Fascists...
The media is currently doing its 24 hour cry-fest of personal stories aimed at the viewer's feelings and attempting to evoke grieving and healing. Am I the only one who is sick and tired of it?
Personally, I moved past the shock and the grieving a year or two ago, and I've been coasting at the "Let's just kick some ass" stage. Am I the only one who feels this way?
After much work, I get to wear girlie things again!
In "Drilling, Training and Treats" I talked about how I lost the right to wear any girlie clothes or my party shoes. Mistress Laura has been deliberate and methodical and has used the extra leverage of knowing that even though I am embarrassed by wearing the items of lingerie and the high heels, I crave being able to wear them for her.
So, this last weekend started out as a lot of my weekends with Mistress Laura do: She told me when to be home on Friday and that she had a list of items for me to take care of. She also informed me that we were going to do an attitude adjustment session sometime this weekend, but that the timing was up to her. It might happen on Friday evening or it might happen on Sunday. I don't like ambiguity, but it's really her perogative, and I can't complain. :-)
When I got home from work, she told me to strip, get myself cleaned up (quick shower) and present myself to her and she would tell me her plans. So, I did as I was told, kneeling in front of her with nothing on but her collar and my wedding ring. Incidentally, she has taken to calling my wedding ring my "man collar"; she wears no wedding ring herself.
"You've been a very good boy all week," She began. "I've been thinking about letting you wear some of your girlie clothing again. Do you think you deserve it?"
"Only if you think so, Mistress," I said. I've learned not to be too eager or too cock-sure in my answers. Whether or not I deserve something is entirely up to her, and I have tried to rid myself of notions of "fairness" based on a sense of entitlement in my relationship with my Mistress Wife. She likes it better that way.
She smiled at that answer and told me that I would get to wear the softest silkiest black panties with lace tonight, while I was cleaning house, and she also told me that we were going to be rearranging a couple of rooms. So, I happily went and got the little black "Jockey" brand black lacey panties and put them on.
The rest of the weekend was spent in heightened anticipation of my upcoming attitude adjustment session and being bossed around by my lovely wife, while wearing girlie panties.
She brought up the attitude adjustment session a few times, saying that while I had generally been good this last week, I still needed to be spanked, and that she would keep track of minor transgressions and add 5-10 strokes to the caning that she planned to give me. This had the effect of making me blush with shame and desire every time she mentioned it.
Meanwhile, she worked me. I was cleaning, moving boxes, rearranging pieces of furniture, emptying and packing things all weekend, all the while cooking for her, bringing her drinks, giving her shoulder rubs and foot rubs at her whim.
On Sunday, she finally told me that she will actually get to give me my beating that evening. I was to get completely naked, lay out her paddle and cane, and to get my high heel shoes and put them on the bed, next to the paddle and cane, and be waiting on all fours on the floor in the bedroom.
I was tired, but I was aroused by the entire process: putting out her paddle and cane, putting my high heeled shoes on the bed, and waiting on all fours for her. By the time she came into the bedroom, I was rock hard and producing precum.
She touched my hard cock with her toes and chuckled, then ordered me onto the bed.
"Since you've been such a good girl this weekend, I'm going to let you wear your pretty shoes again. But only your shoes." She told me, pointing to my shoes. "I want you naked for me tonight."
I felt very happy to be able to wear the high heeled shoes for her.
Next, she pronounced that she would give me 50 strokes of the cane. I don't know why, but I usually can withstand a lot higher numbers, but this time, the fifty swats were hitting my pain tolerance (maybe I was feeling anxious or otherwise not up to par).
At the end of the beating, I slid off the bed and kissed her feet, saying "Thank you Mistress." I felt peaceful.
We ended the weekend by watching a DVD. Mistress Laura sat in her chair, and I was naked, except for my party shoes on, sitting on the floor at her feet.
So, this last weekend started out as a lot of my weekends with Mistress Laura do: She told me when to be home on Friday and that she had a list of items for me to take care of. She also informed me that we were going to do an attitude adjustment session sometime this weekend, but that the timing was up to her. It might happen on Friday evening or it might happen on Sunday. I don't like ambiguity, but it's really her perogative, and I can't complain. :-)
When I got home from work, she told me to strip, get myself cleaned up (quick shower) and present myself to her and she would tell me her plans. So, I did as I was told, kneeling in front of her with nothing on but her collar and my wedding ring. Incidentally, she has taken to calling my wedding ring my "man collar"; she wears no wedding ring herself.
"You've been a very good boy all week," She began. "I've been thinking about letting you wear some of your girlie clothing again. Do you think you deserve it?"
"Only if you think so, Mistress," I said. I've learned not to be too eager or too cock-sure in my answers. Whether or not I deserve something is entirely up to her, and I have tried to rid myself of notions of "fairness" based on a sense of entitlement in my relationship with my Mistress Wife. She likes it better that way.
She smiled at that answer and told me that I would get to wear the softest silkiest black panties with lace tonight, while I was cleaning house, and she also told me that we were going to be rearranging a couple of rooms. So, I happily went and got the little black "Jockey" brand black lacey panties and put them on.
The rest of the weekend was spent in heightened anticipation of my upcoming attitude adjustment session and being bossed around by my lovely wife, while wearing girlie panties.
She brought up the attitude adjustment session a few times, saying that while I had generally been good this last week, I still needed to be spanked, and that she would keep track of minor transgressions and add 5-10 strokes to the caning that she planned to give me. This had the effect of making me blush with shame and desire every time she mentioned it.
Meanwhile, she worked me. I was cleaning, moving boxes, rearranging pieces of furniture, emptying and packing things all weekend, all the while cooking for her, bringing her drinks, giving her shoulder rubs and foot rubs at her whim.
On Sunday, she finally told me that she will actually get to give me my beating that evening. I was to get completely naked, lay out her paddle and cane, and to get my high heel shoes and put them on the bed, next to the paddle and cane, and be waiting on all fours on the floor in the bedroom.
I was tired, but I was aroused by the entire process: putting out her paddle and cane, putting my high heeled shoes on the bed, and waiting on all fours for her. By the time she came into the bedroom, I was rock hard and producing precum.
She touched my hard cock with her toes and chuckled, then ordered me onto the bed.
"Since you've been such a good girl this weekend, I'm going to let you wear your pretty shoes again. But only your shoes." She told me, pointing to my shoes. "I want you naked for me tonight."
I felt very happy to be able to wear the high heeled shoes for her.
Next, she pronounced that she would give me 50 strokes of the cane. I don't know why, but I usually can withstand a lot higher numbers, but this time, the fifty swats were hitting my pain tolerance (maybe I was feeling anxious or otherwise not up to par).
At the end of the beating, I slid off the bed and kissed her feet, saying "Thank you Mistress." I felt peaceful.
We ended the weekend by watching a DVD. Mistress Laura sat in her chair, and I was naked, except for my party shoes on, sitting on the floor at her feet.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Weekday domestic routine and a question for my readers
It's an interesting feeling being in the background. In my professional life, I am very much up front and center stage. I manage a team of software developers and I am often very opinionated and authoritative. In contrast, in my life with Mistress Laura, I am happily in the background.
I thought I would give a peek into my weekday routines, and ask my readers a question that I have been thinking about that relates to my routine.
Yesterday was a typical day. I woke up at 6AM, fed the cats, let the dog out, did some writing and then prepared breakfast for my Mistress. I brought her breakfast, kneeling by the side of the bed while she and I talked for a bit, about whatever she wanted to talk about.
I made the bed when she was done, took care of the kitty litter, garbage and recycling, cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed her office space, and went to work. This may seem like a lot, but since I have become a neat-freak, there's not much to clean most of the time (I am constantly picking up, instead of letting things pile up).
In the afternoon, after working on various work related projects and leading my teams, holding meetings and dealing with outside vendors, I get into my car and drive home. Mistress is not home yet, but I know she will be seeing a couple of clients this evening, so I stay out of the way.
She arrives home and says hello to me. I greet her with a kiss and her favorite ginger ale on ice. She goes off into her office to prepare for her clients while I continue to clean, do a load of laundry, and prepare dinner.
Her clients come and she meets with them. While they conduct business, I cook our planned meal of steak (marinated in red wine and cooked with black peppers) and baked potatoes and some vegetables. I set the table and light a candle so that when Mistress Laura is done, she and I have a nice meal.
When we are done, I feed the dog and clean up the dishes while she catches up on her mail and reading. With the kitchen back to the way I like it, I refill Mistress's drink and we retire into the living room, for some TV. She sits on the couch, while I sit at her feet. Sometimes I fold laundry while we watch television. On this night, I didn't have much laundry, so I massaged and kissed her feet instead.
After watching TV, usually we retire to the bedroom, where I give my Mistress Wife either a back massage or a thorough foot massage with lotion and we both go to bed.
So, here's my question: Before I became my wife's slaveboy, I used to do far less work on a daily basis and yet I was more tired and cranky. Now, even with the never-ending housework, and all the things I do during the day, I am happy. I would say that I am even low-level excited/ecstatic all the time. Do my readers have an explanation for this or have similar experiences to share?
I'm looking forward to reading your opinions and stories.
I thought I would give a peek into my weekday routines, and ask my readers a question that I have been thinking about that relates to my routine.
Yesterday was a typical day. I woke up at 6AM, fed the cats, let the dog out, did some writing and then prepared breakfast for my Mistress. I brought her breakfast, kneeling by the side of the bed while she and I talked for a bit, about whatever she wanted to talk about.
I made the bed when she was done, took care of the kitty litter, garbage and recycling, cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed her office space, and went to work. This may seem like a lot, but since I have become a neat-freak, there's not much to clean most of the time (I am constantly picking up, instead of letting things pile up).
In the afternoon, after working on various work related projects and leading my teams, holding meetings and dealing with outside vendors, I get into my car and drive home. Mistress is not home yet, but I know she will be seeing a couple of clients this evening, so I stay out of the way.
She arrives home and says hello to me. I greet her with a kiss and her favorite ginger ale on ice. She goes off into her office to prepare for her clients while I continue to clean, do a load of laundry, and prepare dinner.
Her clients come and she meets with them. While they conduct business, I cook our planned meal of steak (marinated in red wine and cooked with black peppers) and baked potatoes and some vegetables. I set the table and light a candle so that when Mistress Laura is done, she and I have a nice meal.
When we are done, I feed the dog and clean up the dishes while she catches up on her mail and reading. With the kitchen back to the way I like it, I refill Mistress's drink and we retire into the living room, for some TV. She sits on the couch, while I sit at her feet. Sometimes I fold laundry while we watch television. On this night, I didn't have much laundry, so I massaged and kissed her feet instead.
After watching TV, usually we retire to the bedroom, where I give my Mistress Wife either a back massage or a thorough foot massage with lotion and we both go to bed.
So, here's my question: Before I became my wife's slaveboy, I used to do far less work on a daily basis and yet I was more tired and cranky. Now, even with the never-ending housework, and all the things I do during the day, I am happy. I would say that I am even low-level excited/ecstatic all the time. Do my readers have an explanation for this or have similar experiences to share?
I'm looking forward to reading your opinions and stories.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Vulnerability and the Myth of the True Dominant
Just as there are unrealistic ideas out there about what is a "True Submissive", there are also unhelpful beliefs floating around the collective consciousness regarding the "True Dominant".
My friend Richard wrote in his blog entry Dommes and Vulnerability about how Dommes are women first with all the softness and need for emotional support implied. In the ensuing discussion, Richard followed up by saying:
I don't know about you, but the fantasy image seems cold and flat to me. It almost feels like a male image (always logical, detached, methodical) superimposed on the feminine. It certainly does not appeal to me in a real life relationship. It feels almost psychopathic, and while that may have certain charms in fantasy, it's not my idea of someone I want to give myself to.
My Mistress is a real person. She has her moods. She rages, she cries, she gets discouraged and depressed from time to time. She also laughs, has a great sense of humor, possesses a witchy intuition that a lot of women share, and is wise in many ways. She is not the cardboard cutout of my juvenile fantasies.
To those dominant women who are worried that showing your humanity will make you less of a dominant, or less appealing, I say: It is your humanity, your vulnerability, your grace and softness and your sadness and tears mixed in with your womanly charms and strength that brings me and a lot of other submissive men to our knees!
I know that if I want to really serve Mistress Laura, sometimes I have to just hold her and listen to her. When she cries, when she is vulnerable, when she is sad, she is still in charge, and I am still her loyal and devoted servant.
My friend Richard wrote in his blog entry Dommes and Vulnerability about how Dommes are women first with all the softness and need for emotional support implied. In the ensuing discussion, Richard followed up by saying:
It was a real surprise to hear from a few women who feared allowing their humanity to come through might diminish their femdomly sex appeal.That was a real surprise to me, too, but I think that the women are responding to something; they are responding to an imaginary construct of the True Dominatrix. Some of the attributes that this mythical creature possesses are:
- Ultimate detachment. Nothing the submissive does or says will move her, unless she chooses.
- Mind reading abilities. She can see into the submissive's soul and knows his deepest desires without him saying a word.
- She is a true sadist, and enjoys torturing him primarily because it thrills her.
- She is always in control of her emotions (always calm and logical, except when she needs to be angry and strict).
- She knows the perfect thing to say or do to her submissive, always.
I don't know about you, but the fantasy image seems cold and flat to me. It almost feels like a male image (always logical, detached, methodical) superimposed on the feminine. It certainly does not appeal to me in a real life relationship. It feels almost psychopathic, and while that may have certain charms in fantasy, it's not my idea of someone I want to give myself to.
My Mistress is a real person. She has her moods. She rages, she cries, she gets discouraged and depressed from time to time. She also laughs, has a great sense of humor, possesses a witchy intuition that a lot of women share, and is wise in many ways. She is not the cardboard cutout of my juvenile fantasies.
To those dominant women who are worried that showing your humanity will make you less of a dominant, or less appealing, I say: It is your humanity, your vulnerability, your grace and softness and your sadness and tears mixed in with your womanly charms and strength that brings me and a lot of other submissive men to our knees!
I know that if I want to really serve Mistress Laura, sometimes I have to just hold her and listen to her. When she cries, when she is vulnerable, when she is sad, she is still in charge, and I am still her loyal and devoted servant.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Drilling, training and treats
In order to keep our dog's obedience skills fresh, I have to constantly drill her. I make her heel, sit, stay, roll over, bark on command, etc. When she does what I want, I give her treats. In some ways, it is the same with a Lady and her slaveboy, though the behaviors may be a bit more complex. :-)
On Labor Day (yesterday) Mistress and I were sitting down to go over the list of meals for this week and the chores that need to be done. I was about to go and do the grocery shopping when Mistress Laura surprised me.
"After you do the shopping, get dressed in one of your pretty outfits and go and do a deep cleaning of the Mistress bathroom."
"Mistress, I already cleaned it well a few days ago," I complained. I guess my mind was not quite in the right space. In retrospect, I should have just enjoyed the humiliation and the opportunity to do something for her and said simply "Yes, Ma'am."
She just looked at me and said "Do you need some motivation?"
"No, Mistress," I said and left for the grocery store. As chess grandmaster Aaron Nimzovich once remarked, a threat is often more powerful than its execution.
I got back about an hour later, and after unloading the shopping, got into the frilly black lace panties and the black lace top with the spaghetti straps. Just putting these articles of clothing on starts to melt my boundaries. The feel and sounds of the lace against my body, and the sight of myself dressed in the outfit, with Mistress's collar on, turns me on by association. By the time I had put on the high heeled shoes, I had a raging hardon.
Mistress requires that I tuck my cock between my legs so I look like a girl with a shaved pussy, hold my legs closed, and walk over to her for inspection whenever I wear my cleaning outfit. It was hard to do (with my already excited state), but I walked carefully to the other room and stood up straight for her.
"Very nice. My cleaning girl is back," She petted the front of the panties, then with a slap on the ass sent me on my way. "Tell me when you're done with the bathroom, slavegirl, so I can inspect your work. You know what happens if you do a sloppy job."
So, I walked carefully, keeping myself tucked, got the bucket of cleaning supplies and knelt down to re-clean the bathroom. As with a lot of activities, once you begin, it's easy and even therapeutic. I found some spots that could use more scrubbing, emptied the trash can, re-filled the toilet paper, tidied up, and made sure that everything was gleaming white.
When I was done, I walked back to Mistress Laura, knelt in front of her, and waited.
She turned around after a couple of minutes and said, "Finished cleaning?" She caressed my cheek and shoulders, touching the straps of my silky/lacey top, and said "Good girl. Let's go see your work."
Of course, I was in heaven. I don't even know why I was complaining before. I followed as she made her inspection. I had a mental image of how happy the little dog is when I do some training and drilling of her basic obedience set, with her little tail wagging.
"Good work, slave. You can be trained," She said. Then she surprised me again by telling me to "Go turn down the bed, take off your heels, and kneel by the bed. I'll be there in a few minutes."
So, I turned down the bed and waited by the side, in my spot. My hardon throbbed, surrounded by the lacey underwear.
After what seemed like an eternity to my over-excited mind (it was probably no more than a few minutes), Mistress returned and sat on the bed. She touched my face lovingly and said:
"Have you been a good little slavegirl?"
"Yes Ma'am, I have," I said.
"Didn't you enjoy making Mommy's toilet spotless?" She cooed, once again, lightly brushing my neck and shoulders.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as my eyes got blurry for a second and I could feel pre-cum starting to ooze from the tip of my penis. Yes, even though I had complained, I had indeed enjoyed it. "Yes, Mistress, I did."
"Good girl," her fingers danced on my skin, sending shivers as she lightly moved around my nipple, never touching it. Then, she lay back and flipped up her skirt; she was not wearing any underwear.
"Come on up here, slaveboy, and get your treat for being such an obedient husband," she pulled me up onto the bed and allowed me to lick her to an orgasm.
Drilling, training, treats; I was very happy to be serving her and simultaneously very very frustrated.
There was one mishap along the way. As she was having me lick her sweet pussy, she was weaving her usual tales; stories that transport me... Sometimes I keep track of what she is saying, but other times I simply lose track... This time, she kept telling me "Don't you dare come!" as part of her verbalizations... For some reason, every time she says this, my cock gets harder and my emotions get all jumbled up.
Well, at some point, and without warning, I found myself just going over the edge. It was like I was watching myself in some dissociated state, as it happened, like I wasn't even there.
Then, I realized: I had just come without permission. I was mortified and almost started to cry.
She cut through my emotions with a cruel laugh and said: "Keep licking me, bitch, that little act just gives me an excuse to punish you later... Keep servicing me. You really have very little control, don't you?"
So I re-focused and I managed to bring her to an orgasm after a little bit.
When I was cleaning up afterwards, she told me to strip out of the girlie clothes.
"You won't get to wear any of your pretty outfits until I say so. I want you completely naked now... Until you gain a little bit more control, you are banned from wearing any of the pretty outfits, or those cute little shoes."
I felt sad and wanted to do whatever I could to earn the privilege to wear my outfits again.
Now, in retrospect, I think that is interesting: The same things that I swore I was not interested in (dressing in feminine outfits) have now been firmly turned into rewards and treats.
Drill, train, treat, repeat.
On Labor Day (yesterday) Mistress and I were sitting down to go over the list of meals for this week and the chores that need to be done. I was about to go and do the grocery shopping when Mistress Laura surprised me.
"After you do the shopping, get dressed in one of your pretty outfits and go and do a deep cleaning of the Mistress bathroom."
"Mistress, I already cleaned it well a few days ago," I complained. I guess my mind was not quite in the right space. In retrospect, I should have just enjoyed the humiliation and the opportunity to do something for her and said simply "Yes, Ma'am."
She just looked at me and said "Do you need some motivation?"
"No, Mistress," I said and left for the grocery store. As chess grandmaster Aaron Nimzovich once remarked, a threat is often more powerful than its execution.
I got back about an hour later, and after unloading the shopping, got into the frilly black lace panties and the black lace top with the spaghetti straps. Just putting these articles of clothing on starts to melt my boundaries. The feel and sounds of the lace against my body, and the sight of myself dressed in the outfit, with Mistress's collar on, turns me on by association. By the time I had put on the high heeled shoes, I had a raging hardon.
Mistress requires that I tuck my cock between my legs so I look like a girl with a shaved pussy, hold my legs closed, and walk over to her for inspection whenever I wear my cleaning outfit. It was hard to do (with my already excited state), but I walked carefully to the other room and stood up straight for her.
"Very nice. My cleaning girl is back," She petted the front of the panties, then with a slap on the ass sent me on my way. "Tell me when you're done with the bathroom, slavegirl, so I can inspect your work. You know what happens if you do a sloppy job."
So, I walked carefully, keeping myself tucked, got the bucket of cleaning supplies and knelt down to re-clean the bathroom. As with a lot of activities, once you begin, it's easy and even therapeutic. I found some spots that could use more scrubbing, emptied the trash can, re-filled the toilet paper, tidied up, and made sure that everything was gleaming white.
When I was done, I walked back to Mistress Laura, knelt in front of her, and waited.
She turned around after a couple of minutes and said, "Finished cleaning?" She caressed my cheek and shoulders, touching the straps of my silky/lacey top, and said "Good girl. Let's go see your work."
Of course, I was in heaven. I don't even know why I was complaining before. I followed as she made her inspection. I had a mental image of how happy the little dog is when I do some training and drilling of her basic obedience set, with her little tail wagging.
"Good work, slave. You can be trained," She said. Then she surprised me again by telling me to "Go turn down the bed, take off your heels, and kneel by the bed. I'll be there in a few minutes."
So, I turned down the bed and waited by the side, in my spot. My hardon throbbed, surrounded by the lacey underwear.
After what seemed like an eternity to my over-excited mind (it was probably no more than a few minutes), Mistress returned and sat on the bed. She touched my face lovingly and said:
"Have you been a good little slavegirl?"
"Yes Ma'am, I have," I said.
"Didn't you enjoy making Mommy's toilet spotless?" She cooed, once again, lightly brushing my neck and shoulders.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as my eyes got blurry for a second and I could feel pre-cum starting to ooze from the tip of my penis. Yes, even though I had complained, I had indeed enjoyed it. "Yes, Mistress, I did."
"Good girl," her fingers danced on my skin, sending shivers as she lightly moved around my nipple, never touching it. Then, she lay back and flipped up her skirt; she was not wearing any underwear.
"Come on up here, slaveboy, and get your treat for being such an obedient husband," she pulled me up onto the bed and allowed me to lick her to an orgasm.
Drilling, training, treats; I was very happy to be serving her and simultaneously very very frustrated.
There was one mishap along the way. As she was having me lick her sweet pussy, she was weaving her usual tales; stories that transport me... Sometimes I keep track of what she is saying, but other times I simply lose track... This time, she kept telling me "Don't you dare come!" as part of her verbalizations... For some reason, every time she says this, my cock gets harder and my emotions get all jumbled up.
Well, at some point, and without warning, I found myself just going over the edge. It was like I was watching myself in some dissociated state, as it happened, like I wasn't even there.
Then, I realized: I had just come without permission. I was mortified and almost started to cry.
She cut through my emotions with a cruel laugh and said: "Keep licking me, bitch, that little act just gives me an excuse to punish you later... Keep servicing me. You really have very little control, don't you?"
So I re-focused and I managed to bring her to an orgasm after a little bit.
When I was cleaning up afterwards, she told me to strip out of the girlie clothes.
"You won't get to wear any of your pretty outfits until I say so. I want you completely naked now... Until you gain a little bit more control, you are banned from wearing any of the pretty outfits, or those cute little shoes."
I felt sad and wanted to do whatever I could to earn the privilege to wear my outfits again.
Now, in retrospect, I think that is interesting: The same things that I swore I was not interested in (dressing in feminine outfits) have now been firmly turned into rewards and treats.
Drill, train, treat, repeat.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
I've created a delicious monster
Mistress Laura and I were relaxing on her bed, when she had me turn over so she could inspect my back and ass. She ran her hand over my back, and patted my bum.
Of course, I was loving it. I love being touched. Her soft feathery touches turn me on. Who am I kidding? Any kind of touch from my Mistress turns me on. Stroke me. Touch me. Slap me. Punch me. I'll take anything from Her and say "Thank you Ma'am."
"Hmmm... You have no marks left from our last time..." She said, running her hands over my ass and thighs.
"I'm going to have to do something about that," she said, kissing the side of my face. "Not because you've done anything wrong, but because I like it, and it keeps you in your place. We do have an attitude adjusment session planned for next week..."
I moaned in pleasure at the thought. This was also the most direct expression that she likes marking me. She has since talked about putting a more permanent mark on my body, on my always shaved smooth bikini area.
I hate needles, I don't like pain, and I despise tattoos, but if she were to put a tattoo on me, I would love it.
Of course, I was loving it. I love being touched. Her soft feathery touches turn me on. Who am I kidding? Any kind of touch from my Mistress turns me on. Stroke me. Touch me. Slap me. Punch me. I'll take anything from Her and say "Thank you Ma'am."
"Hmmm... You have no marks left from our last time..." She said, running her hands over my ass and thighs.
"I'm going to have to do something about that," she said, kissing the side of my face. "Not because you've done anything wrong, but because I like it, and it keeps you in your place. We do have an attitude adjusment session planned for next week..."
I moaned in pleasure at the thought. This was also the most direct expression that she likes marking me. She has since talked about putting a more permanent mark on my body, on my always shaved smooth bikini area.
I hate needles, I don't like pain, and I despise tattoos, but if she were to put a tattoo on me, I would love it.
Song lyrics with FemDom themes
I was listening to the radio, and Garth Brooks's "Shameless" caught my ear. This song perfectly captures my feelings for my Mistress Wife.
Do you know of any other songs with such overt Fem Dom themes?
For example, for me, the following snippets ring especially true: "oh honey, I don't have a prayer. Every time I see you standin' there, I go down upon my knees." and "I have never let anything have this much control over me. I work too hard to call my life my own. [...] But it's your world now, I can't refuse [...]" and finally, "I'm shameless. I don't have the power now. I don't want it anyhow. So I got to let it go."
Here are the full lyrics:
Do you know of any other songs with such overt Fem Dom themes?
For example, for me, the following snippets ring especially true: "oh honey, I don't have a prayer. Every time I see you standin' there, I go down upon my knees." and "I have never let anything have this much control over me. I work too hard to call my life my own. [...] But it's your world now, I can't refuse [...]" and finally, "I'm shameless. I don't have the power now. I don't want it anyhow. So I got to let it go."
Here are the full lyrics:
Well I'm shameless when it comes to loving you
I'll do anything you want me to
I'll do anything at all.
And I'm standing here for all the world to see
Oh baby, that's what's left of me
Don't have very far to fall
You know now I'm not a man who's ever been
Insecure about the world I've been living in
I don't break easy, I have my pride
But if you need to be satisfied
I'm shameless, oh honey, I don't have a prayer
Every time I see you standin' there
I go down upon my knees.
And I'm changing, swore I'd never compromise
Oh, but you convinced me otherwise
I'll do anything you please.
You see in all my life I've never found
What I couldn't resist, what I couldn't turn down
I could walk away from anyone I ever knew
But I can't walk away from you.
I have never let anything have this much control over me
I work too hard to call my life my own
And I've made myself a world and it's worked so perfectly
But it's your world now, I can't refuse
I've never had so much to lose
Oh, I'm shameless.
You know it should be easy for a man who's strong
To say he's sorry or admit when he's wrong
I've never lost anything I've ever missed
But I've never been in love like this.
God It's out of my hands.
I'm shameless, I don't have the power now
I don't want it anyhow
So I got to let it go.
Oh, I'm shameless, shameless as a man can be
You make a total fool of me
I just wanted to you to know.
Oh, I'm shameless, I just wanted you to know
Oh, I'm shameless, Oh, I'm down on my knees
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Portable Thinking Pond
Mistress doesn't have to spank me to keep me under her thumb. Like a good parent, she has many tools at her fingertips.
I just had lunch with Mistress Laura. She and I have lunch together about once a week on most weeks. She works at a local college and I work at a software company, so I usually meet her at the cafeteria on campus. There are usually lots of eighteen and nineteen year olds milling around.
I arrived late and was immediately flustered by her good natured ribbing.
"According to my watch, you are two minutes late," were the first words out of her mouth.
It was obvious that she was just teasing, but I actually blushed and stammered a lame "I'm sorry, Mistress."
"It's okay, my boy. You didn't speed did you?" She asked me.
"No. Of course not. I don't speed," I replied, still feeling off balance.
I am not allowed to speed. Before she laid out that rule, I used to speed around town incessantly, and would get about one speeding ticket per year. Now she tells me that if I ever get a speeding ticket again, Her penalty will be a lot worse than the money and time that the state will extract from me. I have no desire to find out.
It seems to me that she is increasingly comfortable with her authority over me. At lunch, Mistress Laura had me go and get the food while she sat at a table and read, and when I returned, we started to chat. In the middle of the conversation, she said:
"Next Sunday, you are coming with me to a work related volunteering dinner."
"Yes Ma'am" was all I said, but her tone of voice and her certainty went directly to my groin. It was slightly embarrassing.
Like I stated before, we were at a college cafeteria, and there are many eighteen and nineteen year olds running around. Also, at this time of year, they are often scantily clad. One particularly happy and bouncy girl with long blond hair, wearing shorts and a pink little top went cruising by our table. I couldn't help it. I ogled for a split second too long, only to hear:
"Look down, boy. Look down at the table."
I complied, blushing again, my ears red from being caught. I felt like the kid with his hands in the cookie jar, when Mom turns on the kitchen lights in the middle of the night and says "Aha! Caught you, you little brat!"
Then, Mistress went on:
"Put your forearms together in front of you and put your forehead on your arms, and slowly count to ten to yourself."
I put my hands in front of me and put my head on my forearms as she commanded, feeling silly and embarrassed.
"This is your portable thinking pond," She continued in her soothing voice, referring to a Super Nanny episode that we had watched some weeks back; the thinking pond was a place for the kid to sit and think (basically, a "time out").
"Little boys need to be guided, don't they?" She continued to murmur as I silently counted. "They need the help of a strong woman to at least act like gentlemen in public... Isn't that right, my little boy?"
I could finally look up, embarrassed and completely turned on.
"Yes, Mistress."
She can make me feel so small and so ready to please with a look, a touch, a slight change in her voice tone, or by simply looking at me "too long".
I just had lunch with Mistress Laura. She and I have lunch together about once a week on most weeks. She works at a local college and I work at a software company, so I usually meet her at the cafeteria on campus. There are usually lots of eighteen and nineteen year olds milling around.
I arrived late and was immediately flustered by her good natured ribbing.
"According to my watch, you are two minutes late," were the first words out of her mouth.
It was obvious that she was just teasing, but I actually blushed and stammered a lame "I'm sorry, Mistress."
"It's okay, my boy. You didn't speed did you?" She asked me.
"No. Of course not. I don't speed," I replied, still feeling off balance.
I am not allowed to speed. Before she laid out that rule, I used to speed around town incessantly, and would get about one speeding ticket per year. Now she tells me that if I ever get a speeding ticket again, Her penalty will be a lot worse than the money and time that the state will extract from me. I have no desire to find out.
It seems to me that she is increasingly comfortable with her authority over me. At lunch, Mistress Laura had me go and get the food while she sat at a table and read, and when I returned, we started to chat. In the middle of the conversation, she said:
"Next Sunday, you are coming with me to a work related volunteering dinner."
"Yes Ma'am" was all I said, but her tone of voice and her certainty went directly to my groin. It was slightly embarrassing.
Like I stated before, we were at a college cafeteria, and there are many eighteen and nineteen year olds running around. Also, at this time of year, they are often scantily clad. One particularly happy and bouncy girl with long blond hair, wearing shorts and a pink little top went cruising by our table. I couldn't help it. I ogled for a split second too long, only to hear:
"Look down, boy. Look down at the table."
I complied, blushing again, my ears red from being caught. I felt like the kid with his hands in the cookie jar, when Mom turns on the kitchen lights in the middle of the night and says "Aha! Caught you, you little brat!"
Then, Mistress went on:
"Put your forearms together in front of you and put your forehead on your arms, and slowly count to ten to yourself."
I put my hands in front of me and put my head on my forearms as she commanded, feeling silly and embarrassed.
"This is your portable thinking pond," She continued in her soothing voice, referring to a Super Nanny episode that we had watched some weeks back; the thinking pond was a place for the kid to sit and think (basically, a "time out").
"Little boys need to be guided, don't they?" She continued to murmur as I silently counted. "They need the help of a strong woman to at least act like gentlemen in public... Isn't that right, my little boy?"
I could finally look up, embarrassed and completely turned on.
"Yes, Mistress."
She can make me feel so small and so ready to please with a look, a touch, a slight change in her voice tone, or by simply looking at me "too long".
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Poll: Your sexual and power self-identification
A simple poll about you. I know that orientation is a continuum, and these categories are somewhat limited, but please answer the poll in the side bar with the one answer that most closely matches what you think.
I'm curious to see the results of this poll over time.
I'm curious to see the results of this poll over time.
Ordinary Female Led Existence
Today has been quiet. Even with being allowed release (or maybe painfully forced) this last weekend, there is a background growing hum of desire focused on Mistress Laura.
I was reflecting today on how connected I feel to my Wife, by doing things that I would have rejected in my marriage before it became female led.
For example, in the ordinary course of a day, I get up earlier than my Mistress Wife and I make her breakfast to order. While she eats, I made the bed and clean the kitchen. Sometimes I do a bit of vacuuming. Then I get dressed for work. Most days, I chauffeur her to her work on the way to mine. Sometimes she uses the drive to talk, and other times she simply rests. It's her choice and I love being with her either way. After work, I give her footrubs, fetch her drinks, cook, clean and do the laundry.
In my current mindset, I feel good about all of these routines. By taking care of her in this way, making her life easier, showing her my tangible love, I actually feel closer to her. I do not view love as a quid pro quo, "What can I give so I can get something I want?" Rather, I love the feeling of the outpouring of ordinary everyday little things that I get to do for her.
In my pre-FLR mindset, my attitude would have been "Why shouldn't she do these things for me?" or "What am I going to get out of this?" or, at best, an insistence that I could do this type of service some of the time (maybe on special occasions like anniversaries or birthdays), but it's too unreasonable to expect me to always give like this.
I was independent and alone. Now, I feel like I am intertwined with my Wife; interdependent, loved, loving.
Another paradox: I actually love the "unfairness", the unbending and high expectations. I want to do my best to please her and if it involves some work and perhaps even some suffering, so much the better.
Recently, when I am not with my Wife, I actually ache to be with her. I miss her. Not since the early days of dating her have I actually felt that feeling of longing.
Since she is in charge of if, when or how we have sex (or play), I am perpetually teased, perpetually wanting, always chasing my Mistress, wanting to please her.
This is romance; this is an ordinary female led existence.
I was reflecting today on how connected I feel to my Wife, by doing things that I would have rejected in my marriage before it became female led.
For example, in the ordinary course of a day, I get up earlier than my Mistress Wife and I make her breakfast to order. While she eats, I made the bed and clean the kitchen. Sometimes I do a bit of vacuuming. Then I get dressed for work. Most days, I chauffeur her to her work on the way to mine. Sometimes she uses the drive to talk, and other times she simply rests. It's her choice and I love being with her either way. After work, I give her footrubs, fetch her drinks, cook, clean and do the laundry.
In my current mindset, I feel good about all of these routines. By taking care of her in this way, making her life easier, showing her my tangible love, I actually feel closer to her. I do not view love as a quid pro quo, "What can I give so I can get something I want?" Rather, I love the feeling of the outpouring of ordinary everyday little things that I get to do for her.
In my pre-FLR mindset, my attitude would have been "Why shouldn't she do these things for me?" or "What am I going to get out of this?" or, at best, an insistence that I could do this type of service some of the time (maybe on special occasions like anniversaries or birthdays), but it's too unreasonable to expect me to always give like this.
I was independent and alone. Now, I feel like I am intertwined with my Wife; interdependent, loved, loving.
Another paradox: I actually love the "unfairness", the unbending and high expectations. I want to do my best to please her and if it involves some work and perhaps even some suffering, so much the better.
Recently, when I am not with my Wife, I actually ache to be with her. I miss her. Not since the early days of dating her have I actually felt that feeling of longing.
Since she is in charge of if, when or how we have sex (or play), I am perpetually teased, perpetually wanting, always chasing my Mistress, wanting to please her.
This is romance; this is an ordinary female led existence.
My wonderfully cruel Mistress (Part 2)
I wrote in the first installment about how Mistress Laura used her scheduled discipline session to make her point about cleaning the toilet bowl properly. The next day, Saturday, after doing my usual chores, I was ready to tackle that unfinished business.
Following her instructions, I got myself dressed up in a frilly black top with spaghetti straps, the matching panties, high heeled shoes, and Mistress Laura's leather collar and went to check in with her before beginning the task of cleaning the toilet bowl. She was sitting on the couch, reading. She looked up at the approaching clickety-clack of my high heels and smiled.
"Those heels are even better than a cow bell," she snickered, putting her book down to take a closer look. "Look at you, you are so cute... And with that cock so nice and hard like that... Turn around." I turned in a full circle for her.
She made me spread my legs wider and bend down, with my ass covered by the soft black panties, pointed towards her. She then slowly slid the panties down so they hung midway down my around my thighs. I moaned, and she softly touched my ass and said "Good girl..."
"You make a very nice picture," she stroked the backs of my thighs and pulled the panties back up. Every touch went straight to my penis, increasing my arousal. She then took a couple of hair ties and put my long hair into two pigtails.
"Now, slaveboy, get me my purse." I straightened up and went as quickly as I could and retrieved her purse.
She opened it and took out four wooden clothespins. I had no idea that she kept them there. I think she likes the idea of being able to inflict pain on me wherever we are, by pulling me into a quiet corner, even in the middle of a restaurant.
"Pull up your top, my boy," she said and I knew what was next, of course. She pinched one nipple and placed the clothespin on it, then the other, and she had me pull the top back down over both clothespins. My nipples were hurting a lot at this point, and I was breathing slowly and deliberately.
"Now, pull down your panties, you lazy bitch," She smiled at me sweetly as I pulled down the panties, releasing my hard cock; the head of it was drizzling precum. She grabbed my balls and pulled down the scrotum on each testicle, attaching one clothespin to each. Again, the pain was intense but not as bad as my throbbing nipples. "Now pull them back up."
"Here's what you're going to do now, my little bitch," She said as she settled back down on the couch to read her book again. "You're going to get your cleaning supplies and clean that toilet bowl completely spotless. When you are done, you will get me so I can inspect your work. If it's not done to my satisfaction, you will do it again. Only after it is complete, will I remove the clothespins. Do you understand?"
My scrotum was hurting, and the pain seemed to intensify as I moved and the fabric of the lingerie items brushed against the clothespins. I nodded and said "Yes Mistress."
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and went back to reading.
I got busy. Ignoring the pain was hard at times. I took the bucket of brushes, the toilet bowl cleaner, and the yellow rubber gloves. Walking slowly so as to not jar the clothespins too much, I made it back to the bathroom of the "Mistress suite".
Kneeling before the toilet bowl, with my yellow gloves and brushes, I got to work. The whole time, my nipples and ball sac throbbed with pain while my hard cock oozed precum. I kept my mind focused on the task. The task took about twenty minutes to complete. While I was cleaning, I kept telling myself that the pain will end soon.
When I finished, with me still kneeling, Mistress Laura inspected my work.
"Good. Much better, slaveboy. Now, put away your cleaning supplies and come onto the bed so I can take off those nasty clothespins."
I hurried off and came back, still in high heels. She had me take off the high heels and get on the bed on my back (mercifully!), with my arms above my head. Then she started toying with me again.
"Okay, my boy..." She pulled up the top, revealing my mangled nipples and flicked the clothespins, causing me to wince. "What have you learned?"
"I should make sure the toilet bowl is clean every time, Mistress," I managed to get out between gasps and moans of pain.
"Good boy." She kissed me on the lips then and told me "This is going to hurt. I want you to play with yourself, but do not come without my permission."
I stroked myself, the clothespins on my balls bouncing around, producing an odd juxtaposition of sharp pain mixed with waves of pleasure. Then, without much warning, Mistress Laura removed one of the clothespins from my balls. "Ouch!!!" I cried out.
"Did that hurt? That makes Mommy horny," Mistress brushed my lips with hers and told me to keep stroking, but make sure not to come.
She repeated the process with the second clothespin attached to my balls. She then grabbed both balls and squeezed, increasing the pain... "You're going to remember to do a good job with the cleaning, aren't you?" She smiled and kissed me on the lips again. I almost went over the edge, with her kiss and her obvious enjoyment of torturing me, impelling me towards the brink of a fantastic orgasm, but I managed to hold on.
She removed the first clothespin from my nipple while looking into my eyes.
Before removing the last clothespin, she paused, "Can you come while experiencing the pain?"
I was sure I could, so I nodded.
"When I remove this last one, you have permission to come. I want you to come as soon as I hurt you..." and with that, she squeezed the clothespin for a few seconds, before releasing my reddened and mashed nipple.
Pain emanated in throbbing waves from the area. My head swam and my pleasure peaked at once. I felt myself coming and I vaguely recall Mistress Laura saying things like "Good boy... That's good... I know that really hurt." I came all over my chest and belly.
Mistress Laura then kissed me on the lips slowly and got up, throwing a towel at me.
"Clean yourself up. If I do this again, I probably won't have you come. Count yourself lucky." Her eyes smiled at me even as her tone was all business.
"Yes, Mistress. Thank you." I lay there for a minute, enjoying the sensations. I felt wonderfully owned and well used... Using the towel, I wiped myself clean and slid off the bed, kneeling at my wonderfully cruel Mistress's feet.
Our eyes met for a second, she looking down at me, and I slowly kissed one foot and then the other.
"I love you, Mistress," I said.
"I love you too, my boy," was her reply, with her hand on my head, petting me slowly.
Following her instructions, I got myself dressed up in a frilly black top with spaghetti straps, the matching panties, high heeled shoes, and Mistress Laura's leather collar and went to check in with her before beginning the task of cleaning the toilet bowl. She was sitting on the couch, reading. She looked up at the approaching clickety-clack of my high heels and smiled.
"Those heels are even better than a cow bell," she snickered, putting her book down to take a closer look. "Look at you, you are so cute... And with that cock so nice and hard like that... Turn around." I turned in a full circle for her.
She made me spread my legs wider and bend down, with my ass covered by the soft black panties, pointed towards her. She then slowly slid the panties down so they hung midway down my around my thighs. I moaned, and she softly touched my ass and said "Good girl..."
"You make a very nice picture," she stroked the backs of my thighs and pulled the panties back up. Every touch went straight to my penis, increasing my arousal. She then took a couple of hair ties and put my long hair into two pigtails.
"Now, slaveboy, get me my purse." I straightened up and went as quickly as I could and retrieved her purse.
She opened it and took out four wooden clothespins. I had no idea that she kept them there. I think she likes the idea of being able to inflict pain on me wherever we are, by pulling me into a quiet corner, even in the middle of a restaurant.
"Pull up your top, my boy," she said and I knew what was next, of course. She pinched one nipple and placed the clothespin on it, then the other, and she had me pull the top back down over both clothespins. My nipples were hurting a lot at this point, and I was breathing slowly and deliberately.
"Now, pull down your panties, you lazy bitch," She smiled at me sweetly as I pulled down the panties, releasing my hard cock; the head of it was drizzling precum. She grabbed my balls and pulled down the scrotum on each testicle, attaching one clothespin to each. Again, the pain was intense but not as bad as my throbbing nipples. "Now pull them back up."
"Here's what you're going to do now, my little bitch," She said as she settled back down on the couch to read her book again. "You're going to get your cleaning supplies and clean that toilet bowl completely spotless. When you are done, you will get me so I can inspect your work. If it's not done to my satisfaction, you will do it again. Only after it is complete, will I remove the clothespins. Do you understand?"
My scrotum was hurting, and the pain seemed to intensify as I moved and the fabric of the lingerie items brushed against the clothespins. I nodded and said "Yes Mistress."
She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and went back to reading.
I got busy. Ignoring the pain was hard at times. I took the bucket of brushes, the toilet bowl cleaner, and the yellow rubber gloves. Walking slowly so as to not jar the clothespins too much, I made it back to the bathroom of the "Mistress suite".
Kneeling before the toilet bowl, with my yellow gloves and brushes, I got to work. The whole time, my nipples and ball sac throbbed with pain while my hard cock oozed precum. I kept my mind focused on the task. The task took about twenty minutes to complete. While I was cleaning, I kept telling myself that the pain will end soon.
When I finished, with me still kneeling, Mistress Laura inspected my work.
"Good. Much better, slaveboy. Now, put away your cleaning supplies and come onto the bed so I can take off those nasty clothespins."
I hurried off and came back, still in high heels. She had me take off the high heels and get on the bed on my back (mercifully!), with my arms above my head. Then she started toying with me again.
"Okay, my boy..." She pulled up the top, revealing my mangled nipples and flicked the clothespins, causing me to wince. "What have you learned?"
"I should make sure the toilet bowl is clean every time, Mistress," I managed to get out between gasps and moans of pain.
"Good boy." She kissed me on the lips then and told me "This is going to hurt. I want you to play with yourself, but do not come without my permission."
I stroked myself, the clothespins on my balls bouncing around, producing an odd juxtaposition of sharp pain mixed with waves of pleasure. Then, without much warning, Mistress Laura removed one of the clothespins from my balls. "Ouch!!!" I cried out.
"Did that hurt? That makes Mommy horny," Mistress brushed my lips with hers and told me to keep stroking, but make sure not to come.
She repeated the process with the second clothespin attached to my balls. She then grabbed both balls and squeezed, increasing the pain... "You're going to remember to do a good job with the cleaning, aren't you?" She smiled and kissed me on the lips again. I almost went over the edge, with her kiss and her obvious enjoyment of torturing me, impelling me towards the brink of a fantastic orgasm, but I managed to hold on.
She removed the first clothespin from my nipple while looking into my eyes.
Before removing the last clothespin, she paused, "Can you come while experiencing the pain?"
I was sure I could, so I nodded.
"When I remove this last one, you have permission to come. I want you to come as soon as I hurt you..." and with that, she squeezed the clothespin for a few seconds, before releasing my reddened and mashed nipple.
Pain emanated in throbbing waves from the area. My head swam and my pleasure peaked at once. I felt myself coming and I vaguely recall Mistress Laura saying things like "Good boy... That's good... I know that really hurt." I came all over my chest and belly.
Mistress Laura then kissed me on the lips slowly and got up, throwing a towel at me.
"Clean yourself up. If I do this again, I probably won't have you come. Count yourself lucky." Her eyes smiled at me even as her tone was all business.
"Yes, Mistress. Thank you." I lay there for a minute, enjoying the sensations. I felt wonderfully owned and well used... Using the towel, I wiped myself clean and slid off the bed, kneeling at my wonderfully cruel Mistress's feet.
Our eyes met for a second, she looking down at me, and I slowly kissed one foot and then the other.
"I love you, Mistress," I said.
"I love you too, my boy," was her reply, with her hand on my head, petting me slowly.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
They just don't get it
Over the weekend, while I was busy having lots of fun with Mistress Laura, I got a couple of funny comments to my previous posts. I've reproduced them below, with my responses.
To my "Fantasy: Serving Multiple Women" post, some anonymous person wrote:
In terms of my own manliness, I am a few months away from being a black belt in Karate, I am the father of two almost grown children, own a successful business, and am in a romantic blissful relationship with a fantastic woman. My relationship, even if unconventional, is buzzing with love and passion all of the time. I have given my Mistress Wife the reins to our relationship, not because I am a wimp, but out of a choice; this was an attempt to create a different dynamic: to recreate the passion of early romantic infatuation. I believe I am succeeding.
Finally, in response to "My birthday is tomorrow! Going shopping", probably the same person wrote:
No, she has not yet purchased a dog dish for me. However, she did get me a doggy bed that she makes me sleep on some nights.
We go through periods where she makes me explicitly ask to join her on her bed. Some nights, she makes me sleep on my doggy bed at the foot of the bed. Frankly, I enjoy those nights, because when she finally lets me sleep with her again, I love the closeness so much more.
Thanks for asking. I certainly appreciate your comments, and wish you the same happiness in your relationships that living with my Mistress brings to my life.
To my "Fantasy: Serving Multiple Women" post, some anonymous person wrote:
"You are sick."This is probably true in some sense, in that my sexuality is probably more unconventional than that of the writer of the above comment. I am, in that loose sense, a "deviant" (outside the norm). In the strictest sense, however, I probably have what is called in psychological jargon "optional paraphilia":
Clinicians often distinguish between optional, preferred and exclusive paraphilias, though the terminology is not completely standardized. An "optional" paraphilia is an alternate route to sexual arousal. For example, a man with otherwise unremarkable sexual interests might sometimes seek or enhance sexual arousal by wearing women's underwear. In preferred paraphilias, a person prefers the paraphilia to conventional sexual activities, but also engages in conventional sexual activities. For example, a man might prefer to wear women's underwear during sexual activity, whenever possible. In exclusive paraphilias, a person is unable to become sexually aroused in the absence of the paraphilia.To my post "A lesson learned: using others' presence as a shield", an anonymous person (probably the same incisive observer who informed me of my mental illness), wrote:
"I have a question? [sic] What happened to the man inside you? It sounds like you are more of a wimp than a man. I bet you are headed for a cuckolding experience in the near future. I wouldn't blane [sic] her if she did cuckold you, after all you are not a man rather a little mouse of a man."This is an interesting comment. The writer obviously reads Fem Dom sites and is familiar with the "cuckolding" terminology. One has to wonder why they are so fascinated with female domination? I think it's probably because they are fascinated and secretly crave to be dominated by a woman.
In terms of my own manliness, I am a few months away from being a black belt in Karate, I am the father of two almost grown children, own a successful business, and am in a romantic blissful relationship with a fantastic woman. My relationship, even if unconventional, is buzzing with love and passion all of the time. I have given my Mistress Wife the reins to our relationship, not because I am a wimp, but out of a choice; this was an attempt to create a different dynamic: to recreate the passion of early romantic infatuation. I believe I am succeeding.
Finally, in response to "My birthday is tomorrow! Going shopping", probably the same person wrote:
"I am curious, has she purchased a dog dish for you yet?"I'm glad you asked.
No, she has not yet purchased a dog dish for me. However, she did get me a doggy bed that she makes me sleep on some nights.
We go through periods where she makes me explicitly ask to join her on her bed. Some nights, she makes me sleep on my doggy bed at the foot of the bed. Frankly, I enjoy those nights, because when she finally lets me sleep with her again, I love the closeness so much more.
Thanks for asking. I certainly appreciate your comments, and wish you the same happiness in your relationships that living with my Mistress brings to my life.
Monday, August 28, 2006
My wonderfully cruel Mistress
My Mistress has not shown a propensity for sadism. Till now.
On Friday afternoon, she sent me her list of chores for the weekend.
As seen in this representative sample, Mistress subjects me to periodic attitude adjustment sessions, designed to focus my attention on serving her better; these sessions involve spanking with a leather paddle or caning. This is one of the tools that we implemented early on, along with orgasm control, to cement her control over me. The sessions generally happen on a weekly basis, and on a moment's notice at her discretion.
Her "pretty outfit" remark refers to the outfits that she bought for me on our recent trip to the mall, complete with her high heeled shoes.
When I got home, I checked that we had no visitors, then went about following her instructions to the letter. She was working in her office, as usual, and I quickly shaved, showered, and selected a sexy black top and matching black panties with lace trim. I dressed myself in the lingerie, put on the high heeled shoes, and walked over to my Mistress Wife.
"Very nice. Good boy," she looked me up and down and had me turn all around for her. Of course, I was already very aroused. "You look like such a cute little slavegirl." She then gave me a kiss and a pat on the ass and told me to get to work as she turned back to what she was working on.
So, with heels clicking against the floors, I went about my housework. I vacuumed, emptied garbage cans, changed the bed sheets, and cleaned the bathroom that is attached to the "Mistress suite" in the house. The whole time, my cock was fully erect.
As a side note: I look forward to each of my chore sessions, even as I intellectually understand that I am being the subject of an overt use of Skinnerian operant conditioning; deliberately associating doing housework for my Mistress with sexual arousal by the use of my kinks. I am a willing experimental subject. :-)
When I was done with the cleaning, I put away my supplies and again went to Mistress Laura and reported my progress.
"Let's take a look," she walked with me following into the Mistress bedroom and looked around.
"Very nice. Good job on the vacuuming... Let's go into the bathroom," she motioned for me to follow closer.
"Look at the toilet bowl, slaveboy," she pointed out what she wanted me to see. I already knew. "That is not clean, is it?"
"No, Mistress," I simply acknowledged. The last couple of times, I had not done the full toilet bowl cleaning routine, so there was a dirty ring in the edges of the bowl, at the water level.
She stated that now it was time for my attitude adjustment session and that I should take off the high heels and lay everything out. I went to Mistress's toy chest and retrieved her cane and paddle, placing them on the bed. She had me get on the bed on all fours, then she pulled down the silky panties I was wearing so they were down at my knees.
"Now, slaveboy," she spoke slowly, as she softly ran the cane across my bottom, "is there anything that you need to be punished for?"
She often starts my sessions in this way, and I have found that if I "confess" to something that I have done, or talk about an attitude that should change, my punishment is less severe than if she has to point it out. So I usually wrack my brains.
"I was a bit argumentative with you a few times this week," I said.
"Yes, that's true. Anything else?" she ran her fingernails softly against the backs of my thighs, making me shiver with excitement.
"Nothing else that I can think of, Mistress... Except for the toilet bowl."
She listed a few minor infractions that she had noted throughout the week and gave me a few whacks with the cane, saving the best for last. :-)
"Now, my boy..." She paused, "To get back to your cleaning job. I think you need to be much more careful about your work.... So, let's see... I think I'm going to have to give you 30 with the cane."
I was both turned on and scared. Something in her tone made it clear to me that she was serious.
The first twenty were a normal type of caning, with warmup and merciful pauses. Then, she turned downright nasty...
"I think I've been more than nice so far... So, for the next ten, I'm going to tell you how I really feel about this..."
"You should treat the toilet bowl like your Queen's throne..." WHAP!!! "You weren't doing a very good job of that, were you?!!" WHAP!!! "Now, you lazy little bitch..." WHAP!!! "If I ever see you doing a job..." WHAP!!! "... like that again ..." WHAP!!! "I'm going to have to have you clean it..." WHAP!!! "With your tongue..." WHAP!!! "Little lazy bitch!" WHAP!!! "Do I make myself clear?" WHAP!!! "My fucking bitch slavegirl... Do you understand me?" WHAP!!! She continued hitting me a few more times, "just because".
The pain shot through the roof during this last few minutes and my mind simply went elsewhere... To my amazement, I found myself getting very hard and even slipped into a space that was close to orgasming at her harsh treatment, and she herself was very aroused. After a moment, I said: "Thank you Mistress. I'm sorry. I won't do that again."
"That's not the end of it, slaveboy. Tomorrow, you're going to make some time and get dressed up all pretty again and clean the toilet bowl right. But before you begin, come check in with me," she informed me. I knew then that she would continue her torture at that time.
To be continued...
On Friday afternoon, she sent me her list of chores for the weekend.
- When you get home, check that we have no visitors, then shave, shower, get into a "pretty outfit" of your choice and present yourself to me.
- Then, do a thorough cleaning of the "Mistress Bedroom"
- After you are done, show me your work so I can critique it.
- When you are done with all this, we will have your attitude adjustment session.
As seen in this representative sample, Mistress subjects me to periodic attitude adjustment sessions, designed to focus my attention on serving her better; these sessions involve spanking with a leather paddle or caning. This is one of the tools that we implemented early on, along with orgasm control, to cement her control over me. The sessions generally happen on a weekly basis, and on a moment's notice at her discretion.
Her "pretty outfit" remark refers to the outfits that she bought for me on our recent trip to the mall, complete with her high heeled shoes.
When I got home, I checked that we had no visitors, then went about following her instructions to the letter. She was working in her office, as usual, and I quickly shaved, showered, and selected a sexy black top and matching black panties with lace trim. I dressed myself in the lingerie, put on the high heeled shoes, and walked over to my Mistress Wife.
"Very nice. Good boy," she looked me up and down and had me turn all around for her. Of course, I was already very aroused. "You look like such a cute little slavegirl." She then gave me a kiss and a pat on the ass and told me to get to work as she turned back to what she was working on.
So, with heels clicking against the floors, I went about my housework. I vacuumed, emptied garbage cans, changed the bed sheets, and cleaned the bathroom that is attached to the "Mistress suite" in the house. The whole time, my cock was fully erect.
As a side note: I look forward to each of my chore sessions, even as I intellectually understand that I am being the subject of an overt use of Skinnerian operant conditioning; deliberately associating doing housework for my Mistress with sexual arousal by the use of my kinks. I am a willing experimental subject. :-)
When I was done with the cleaning, I put away my supplies and again went to Mistress Laura and reported my progress.
"Let's take a look," she walked with me following into the Mistress bedroom and looked around.
"Very nice. Good job on the vacuuming... Let's go into the bathroom," she motioned for me to follow closer.
"Look at the toilet bowl, slaveboy," she pointed out what she wanted me to see. I already knew. "That is not clean, is it?"
"No, Mistress," I simply acknowledged. The last couple of times, I had not done the full toilet bowl cleaning routine, so there was a dirty ring in the edges of the bowl, at the water level.
She stated that now it was time for my attitude adjustment session and that I should take off the high heels and lay everything out. I went to Mistress's toy chest and retrieved her cane and paddle, placing them on the bed. She had me get on the bed on all fours, then she pulled down the silky panties I was wearing so they were down at my knees.
"Now, slaveboy," she spoke slowly, as she softly ran the cane across my bottom, "is there anything that you need to be punished for?"
She often starts my sessions in this way, and I have found that if I "confess" to something that I have done, or talk about an attitude that should change, my punishment is less severe than if she has to point it out. So I usually wrack my brains.
"I was a bit argumentative with you a few times this week," I said.
"Yes, that's true. Anything else?" she ran her fingernails softly against the backs of my thighs, making me shiver with excitement.
"Nothing else that I can think of, Mistress... Except for the toilet bowl."
She listed a few minor infractions that she had noted throughout the week and gave me a few whacks with the cane, saving the best for last. :-)
"Now, my boy..." She paused, "To get back to your cleaning job. I think you need to be much more careful about your work.... So, let's see... I think I'm going to have to give you 30 with the cane."
I was both turned on and scared. Something in her tone made it clear to me that she was serious.
The first twenty were a normal type of caning, with warmup and merciful pauses. Then, she turned downright nasty...
"I think I've been more than nice so far... So, for the next ten, I'm going to tell you how I really feel about this..."
"You should treat the toilet bowl like your Queen's throne..." WHAP!!! "You weren't doing a very good job of that, were you?!!" WHAP!!! "Now, you lazy little bitch..." WHAP!!! "If I ever see you doing a job..." WHAP!!! "... like that again ..." WHAP!!! "I'm going to have to have you clean it..." WHAP!!! "With your tongue..." WHAP!!! "Little lazy bitch!" WHAP!!! "Do I make myself clear?" WHAP!!! "My fucking bitch slavegirl... Do you understand me?" WHAP!!! She continued hitting me a few more times, "just because".
The pain shot through the roof during this last few minutes and my mind simply went elsewhere... To my amazement, I found myself getting very hard and even slipped into a space that was close to orgasming at her harsh treatment, and she herself was very aroused. After a moment, I said: "Thank you Mistress. I'm sorry. I won't do that again."
"That's not the end of it, slaveboy. Tomorrow, you're going to make some time and get dressed up all pretty again and clean the toilet bowl right. But before you begin, come check in with me," she informed me. I knew then that she would continue her torture at that time.
To be continued...
Friday, August 25, 2006
Learning to heel
To prepare me for my birthday shopping trip at the mall, Mistress had me naked and kneeling before her.
"First of all, even though this is for your birthday, this is primarily for me to have fun. Do you understand, my boy?"
I nodded. Of course, anything that makes her happy makes me happy. My joy stick started to point upwards.
"You tend to go too fast. For this trip, you are going to walk a half a step behind me. If you walk in front, I will silently count the seconds and beat you accordingly." She smiled at my rock hard penis.
She continued: "We will go at my pace. You are to make interested comments when I ask you your opinion about something. You will carry my purchases and deal with the cashiers. I will probably buy some things for you, but I may not, so be prepared for either possibility."
I nodded. She then had me get up and get dressed and drive her to a local mall. I held the door open for her as she stepped out of the car, and we went for a leisurely stroll through the mall.
While there, she let me hold her hand, but she clearly led, as I followed a half step behind and to her left. This is the exact same spot that her dog occupies when Mistress Laura walks her.
We went and shopped for some clothes for her, then she led me into the women's lingerie section of one of the department stores. She picked out a few outfits, which she held up to my waist or my back for size, and then had me buy my new clothes. I was very embarassed as I went up to the cashier and bought the panties and tops, but I hid it completely.
Only twice did I forget my place. The first time, she cleared her throat and I quickly fell back into position. The second time was towards the end. That time she just let me hang, till I looked back and she was a few steps behind. She just smiled. I blushed and fell back into line.
Afterwards, she asked me if I had fun. "Yes Ma'am, I did," I said, blushing.
"You were a good boy. You are learning to heel," she said. That made me very happy.
Since then, we've had some conversations about my eagerness to try new D/s activities; she wants to take things slow, and while I am intellectually fine with that, the little boy in me wants to try everything now!! From reading other blogs, this seems to be a common problem.
Today, I was reflecting on the shopping trip and the instructions that Mistress Laura gave me.
I need to learn to heel and follow her in a much deeper way.
"First of all, even though this is for your birthday, this is primarily for me to have fun. Do you understand, my boy?"
I nodded. Of course, anything that makes her happy makes me happy. My joy stick started to point upwards.
"You tend to go too fast. For this trip, you are going to walk a half a step behind me. If you walk in front, I will silently count the seconds and beat you accordingly." She smiled at my rock hard penis.
She continued: "We will go at my pace. You are to make interested comments when I ask you your opinion about something. You will carry my purchases and deal with the cashiers. I will probably buy some things for you, but I may not, so be prepared for either possibility."
I nodded. She then had me get up and get dressed and drive her to a local mall. I held the door open for her as she stepped out of the car, and we went for a leisurely stroll through the mall.
While there, she let me hold her hand, but she clearly led, as I followed a half step behind and to her left. This is the exact same spot that her dog occupies when Mistress Laura walks her.
We went and shopped for some clothes for her, then she led me into the women's lingerie section of one of the department stores. She picked out a few outfits, which she held up to my waist or my back for size, and then had me buy my new clothes. I was very embarassed as I went up to the cashier and bought the panties and tops, but I hid it completely.
Only twice did I forget my place. The first time, she cleared her throat and I quickly fell back into position. The second time was towards the end. That time she just let me hang, till I looked back and she was a few steps behind. She just smiled. I blushed and fell back into line.
Afterwards, she asked me if I had fun. "Yes Ma'am, I did," I said, blushing.
"You were a good boy. You are learning to heel," she said. That made me very happy.
Since then, we've had some conversations about my eagerness to try new D/s activities; she wants to take things slow, and while I am intellectually fine with that, the little boy in me wants to try everything now!! From reading other blogs, this seems to be a common problem.
Today, I was reflecting on the shopping trip and the instructions that Mistress Laura gave me.
I need to learn to heel and follow her in a much deeper way.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The way to a slave's heart is though his fantasies
Richard (Polyfetishist) wrote in "My Commonplace Masochistic Fantasies" about a series of images and fantasies that he masturabtes to.
He writes that his fantasies are "just as banal and ill-proportioned as any other man with slavish and masochistic desires" and goes on to list some common scenarios that turn him on. Interestingly, reading his list was like taking a peek into my own dark closet of extreme BDSM fantasies. These particular darkly tinged erotic scenes are extreme, but they are all interesting in that they point to some fairly universal themes.
Richard writes that his strongest fantasy is to be in a TPE relationship (total power exchange), and it is mine as well. I often think of my marriage as such a relationship. I refer to my wedding ring (which I am required to wear, while Mistress Laura can choose to wear it or not) as my "mini collar".
In my fantasy, my Mistress is cold, distant, only expecting service, special forms of address, postures and gestures, without regard to how any of it makes me feel. There is no warmth or love here, only complete ownership and loss of control. Here is a representative snippet of my fantasy:
My owner rarely touches me. I long for any physical sign of affection from her. I am naked, chained by my ankle to the cold floor of the shower stall, waiting for her to start the morning routine.
She walks in on me suddenly and I am late in getting into "the position" --- kneeling, both hands interlaced behind my head, my mouth open in an exaggerated way.
She grabs my hair roughly and forces my face to the floor, causing me to lose my balance.
"You are to anticpate my arrival, slave. When I come in here, you are to already be waiting in the position."
She pinches and crushes my balls savagely and I cry out. "Oh, poor baby," she says with a sneer, then she walks into the shower and squats over my face. Her warm spray of piss hits my face and hair and I can not escape the pungent odor. She pinches my nipples till I cry out in pain. She has me hold my buttcheeks open while she quickly inserts and locks in place my buttplug for today.
Walking back out of the stall, she unlocks my ankle chain and throws a towel at me, "Towel yourself dry, slave. You have your laundry and cooking, and I want the garage completely cleaned today. Serve me my breakfast in half an hour, sharp!"
I am forced to go about my day with the smell of her urine all over me, wearing nothing but the leather straps that hold the buttplug in place. I hear her taking a shower as I cook her breakfast.
The real life Mistress Laura is nothing like the stern, unbending, sadistic monster of my fantasy life. She is warm and loving, inherenently careful, and concerned with my well being. However, since she knows of my desires, she can use my fantasies in everyday little scenes by bringing forth some of the feeling of the unbending and harsh Mistress. This is an interaction that actually happened early on:
"Slaveboy, this toast is cold. Come here," she says, motioning for me to kneel.
Twisting my nipples savagely, she lectures me about how I have been lax and that I need more training in even simple things like making her toast. I wince in pain and I listen, my hands behind my head, kneeling by her side.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," I manage to say a couple of times.
"Kiss my feet now, and go make me a proper slice of toast!" she commands. I quickly do as she says, kissing her feet and running to the kitchen to make her toast. When the toast is done, I quickly butter it and run back to her.
"Mmmm... good boy. Much better!" she strokes my still sore nipples lovingly and I moan in unexpected pleasure.
She has not had a cold slice of toast since then. :-)
He writes that his fantasies are "just as banal and ill-proportioned as any other man with slavish and masochistic desires" and goes on to list some common scenarios that turn him on. Interestingly, reading his list was like taking a peek into my own dark closet of extreme BDSM fantasies. These particular darkly tinged erotic scenes are extreme, but they are all interesting in that they point to some fairly universal themes.
Richard writes that his strongest fantasy is to be in a TPE relationship (total power exchange), and it is mine as well. I often think of my marriage as such a relationship. I refer to my wedding ring (which I am required to wear, while Mistress Laura can choose to wear it or not) as my "mini collar".
In my fantasy, my Mistress is cold, distant, only expecting service, special forms of address, postures and gestures, without regard to how any of it makes me feel. There is no warmth or love here, only complete ownership and loss of control. Here is a representative snippet of my fantasy:
My owner rarely touches me. I long for any physical sign of affection from her. I am naked, chained by my ankle to the cold floor of the shower stall, waiting for her to start the morning routine.
She walks in on me suddenly and I am late in getting into "the position" --- kneeling, both hands interlaced behind my head, my mouth open in an exaggerated way.
She grabs my hair roughly and forces my face to the floor, causing me to lose my balance.
"You are to anticpate my arrival, slave. When I come in here, you are to already be waiting in the position."
She pinches and crushes my balls savagely and I cry out. "Oh, poor baby," she says with a sneer, then she walks into the shower and squats over my face. Her warm spray of piss hits my face and hair and I can not escape the pungent odor. She pinches my nipples till I cry out in pain. She has me hold my buttcheeks open while she quickly inserts and locks in place my buttplug for today.
Walking back out of the stall, she unlocks my ankle chain and throws a towel at me, "Towel yourself dry, slave. You have your laundry and cooking, and I want the garage completely cleaned today. Serve me my breakfast in half an hour, sharp!"
I am forced to go about my day with the smell of her urine all over me, wearing nothing but the leather straps that hold the buttplug in place. I hear her taking a shower as I cook her breakfast.
The real life Mistress Laura is nothing like the stern, unbending, sadistic monster of my fantasy life. She is warm and loving, inherenently careful, and concerned with my well being. However, since she knows of my desires, she can use my fantasies in everyday little scenes by bringing forth some of the feeling of the unbending and harsh Mistress. This is an interaction that actually happened early on:
"Slaveboy, this toast is cold. Come here," she says, motioning for me to kneel.
Twisting my nipples savagely, she lectures me about how I have been lax and that I need more training in even simple things like making her toast. I wince in pain and I listen, my hands behind my head, kneeling by her side.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," I manage to say a couple of times.
"Kiss my feet now, and go make me a proper slice of toast!" she commands. I quickly do as she says, kissing her feet and running to the kitchen to make her toast. When the toast is done, I quickly butter it and run back to her.
"Mmmm... good boy. Much better!" she strokes my still sore nipples lovingly and I moan in unexpected pleasure.
She has not had a cold slice of toast since then. :-)
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