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Dame TylerRose.

Riding the Pole—Ties

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“I think you need more of the attention I used to give you,” he said. “Far more of my hands before the satisfaction of my cock.”

“That could be—”

His hand strong over her mouth silenced her.

“That required no response from you.”

He felt her energy jolt and sizzle against his. A few words, a small action, and he had almost total control over her. His hands slid down her belly to her thighs, reach for her knees. Strong fingers tensed, arms bending to lift her compliant knees from the bed. He raised her feet as well, his own knees bending under hers. He raised her bodily, putting her down atop his lower belly.

He lowered her thighs to rest on top of his. Parting his legs opened hers as wide as he wanted her to be. Bringing his up higher angled her sex for easier reach, his cock below.

The smell of her, musky and heady, hit a certain spot in his brain that resulted in an instant erection. He stroked himself fully hard and pressed his cock against her wide open slit. She couldn’t move much, but tried to slid herself against his rod.

Knees down, moved to the outside of hers, he forced her thighs to close, capturing his cock in the space between her thighs and dripping wet puss. She had a pole to ride whenever he wanted her to.

His hands slid down her arms to capture her wrists and bring her hands behind his own back. He held them in his left hand, his arm against hers, fist in the small of his back. She had to relax into him in order to avoid straining her shoulders too much.

Right hand returned to slide a hard palm across both breasts, giving the nipples a long sandpaper-like rub that had her squirming against his cock.

“That’s what I want. Remember how Tight I used to wind you up? How desperate I could make you before fucking you?” 

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, his finger and thumb gently rolling a nipple.

The hand opened, delivering a scorching smack that stiffened her from neck to knees. Her thighs squeezed tighter around his cock, ass pressing down into his pelvic triangle.

“You want some of that?” he asked.

“Please, Sifu.”

“Already with the please, Sifu.”

His hand struck the other breast, full on open palm that compelled a cough of a cry from her. She ground downward again.

“I love that sound,” he rumbled into her ear. “It means you’re ready to burst.”

Harder smack to the left and her groan was one of relief. The warm, wet flood accompanied the sound, providing slick lubrication for her riding.

“Ride me. Keep me hard.”

She obeyed, thighs crushing together and hips moving faster for half a minute every time he struck her breasts. He paused between each to let her ride the wave and come down. After about ten minutes, he increased the frequency to every ten seconds to keep her going at a steadier pace and not let her rest. 

Smacking left and then right, back and forth, one per second, had her bouncing off his chest and trying to turn away from his hand. His knees would not let her loose. A quick adjustment of his feet trapped hers to the mattress. She wasn’t fighting him so much as struggling to take the increasing intensity.

Her reactions, her raw passion, brought his climax through his body to spurt upward and splatter onto her from midthigh to lower belly. Hand gripping a tit tight had her shuddering with orgasm while his cock throbbed incessantly against her clit. He pumped his hips slow, prolonging his orgasm and milking out several more small blobs of semen.

“How about that,” he said. “I just used you to masturbate myself with.”

“I admit. That is a new one,” she huffed.

She tried to move away, to reach for the towel. He stopped her, holding her wrists in both hands to keep her in place.

“I’m not done with you. Turn over on my lap.”

“But—”

“But what? My cum is on you? Yours is all over me. So what. Lie across my lap, ass in the middle.”

She complied, squishing drops and splotches of his slimy jism between them.

“Bring me a box of gloves and the lube,” he said as she dragged a pillow to stuff under her shoulders and head so she wouldn’t be nearly upside down.

The requested items appeared beside him. Head resting comfortably, eyes closed, she heard him pull two gloves out, heard the plastic cap snap open, a sputter of air coming out of the tube with the clear gel. Two slicked up fingers slipped into her anus, unhurried but not stopping with her gasp. He drove in to the base of his fingers, making her take their length without allowing adjustment.

“Remember when we used to do this for an hour?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm,” she sighed, relaxing over him.

Two fingers of his other hand went into her vagina, driving in as the other fingers slid partway out. Alternating, she was fingerfucked through several rounds of gut-wrenching orgasms. Her cum splashed and dripped, soaking them both down to the mattress before he decided it was enough.

——-

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

 

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

How To Be A Dom For Him on His Birthday

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This is a simple guide intended for all those subbie/bottom chicks who have a sorta switchie/kinda dom boyfriend who has asked you to “dom” him for a night.

I know. He wants this but you have no idea what to do. And that huge group for submissive women is no help whatsoever because no one in it is allowed to speak from a top perspective. (Seriously, this is why you should be a member of my Give It To Me Straight group.)

You’re not accustomed to holding the cane, the flogger, the wooden spoon, etc, except to hand it to him when he tells you to. You don’t have the foggiest idea where to begin even though he’s done this stuff to you a thousand times.

Here’s a step by step guide that will hit all the important points and get you through the first scene. Yes, it’s partially tongue-in-cheek. It’s also a solid scene for a baby sadist or budding new top.

Today is your switchy dom’s birthday and you want to do something special for him!

HERE YA GO!!!

Items you will need: 

1 Wooden spoon

1 Velvet glove

No, really, that’s it. I believe in simplicity.

Pre-negotiation — I don’t believe in negotiating things to the nth degree. If he wants you to “dominate” him, then he’s just going to have to shut up and submit to what you will do. However, be sure to make him agree that he will NOT issue any reprisals. He asked you for this.

Step 1. Get wooden spoon from kitchen.

Step 2. Tell him to bare his ass and bend over.

Note: Steps 1 and 2 can be done in reverse order if you want to see him bent over with his ass and balls hanging out while you take your time getting the spoon. Pour yourself a glass of water while you’re in there. There’s no hurry. You know very well that the anticipation of what is to come can be very exciting.

Step 3. Start whapping his but at a moderate speed and force. When he whimpers and whines, call him a sissy boy and tell him to shut up.

Step 4. If he wiggles his butt, tell him wiggling means you’ll hit harder. And then DO hit harder if he wiggles again.

Step 5. Put on velvet glove.

Step 6. Give the balls hangin’ there a good feelsie and a squeeze. Not enough to get him off, but enough to get him hard.

Step 7. Turn wooden spoon around so you’re holding the spoon end and the handle becomes a short cane. Continue whapping the butt. Top, middle, bottom. You know that spot you hate, where the thigh meets the buttocks? Yeah, get him there really good.

Step 8. Tell him that anything he sticks out is going to get whapped. When he changes the arc of his back to stick his balls out, whap them.

Note: Give him a few seconds after a particularly hard whap. Give the spot a little rub and say “Awwww poor baby. Did that hurt?” When he says yes, correct him to say “Yes, Ma’am” or “Yes, Mistress.” Then give his balls an unexpectedly hard whap.

Step 9. Ask him if he is liking all this. When he says yes, correct him to say “Yes, Ma’am” or “Yes, Mistress.” Then give his balls an unexpectedly hard whap. If he says no, correct him to say “No, Ma’am” or “No, Mistress”, and ask him if he’s wimping out of the birthday present he asked you for. If he says yes, then you are off the hook for ever having to do this again. He will have learned the lesson. If he says he’s not wimping out, continue to the next step.

Step 10. Add a brief interrogation to the scene. Spend a couple minutes asking simple questions and making him answer and address you as Ma’am or Mistress. Now would be a good time to ask him something that you’ve wanted to know. Did he drink from the milk carton as you suspected? Did he eat the last of the ice cream? Why do your panties come up missing and suddenly reappear in the dirty clothes? Whatever thing you’ve noticed, now is the time to find out.

Step 11. If at any point he says something along the lines of “do this” or “do it like that” then you take him by the top of the ear and squeeze tightly so that your nails dig in a little. Pull his head back toward you and scowl into his ear *”shut up unless you want this to stop.”*

Repeat steps 3 through 11 as necessary until he’s a blithering puddle of goo saying “Thank you, Ma’am” at your feet. 

Step 12. If he gets mouthy, saying you’re not hitting hard enough, make him wait while you go into the kitchen. Get your smallest frying pan and use that as a paddle instead. He’ll stop mouthing off.

When you’re done, sit down with wooden spoon (or frying pan) in your hand and tell him to go make you a glass of wine. 

While he is gone, you pick up the remote control and turn on the television to whatever show you want to watch. Don’t ask if he minds. It’s not for him to mind. He’s your submissive during this time. Watch what you want, for as long as you want.

Make him crouch on the floor at your feet rather than letting him sit on the sofa next to you. Anytime he opens his mouth to say he doesn’t like the show, tell him to go get you something. Your slippers, your robe, another glass of wine, a sandwich.

Or put your foot in his face, tell him to shut his mouth and give you a foot massage. If he asks for aftercare, tell him “THIS is the aftercare. Shut up and keep rubbing.”

You will probably want to let him off the hook after the foot massage. By then, I’m sure he will have had his fill for the year.

If he wants you to do this multiple times through the year, you can add in things like making him lick your puss, kiss your foot, lick your shoe, make and bring you tea or coffee…or a sammich. 

If he makes the tea or sammich incorrectly, you can tell him to bend over on the floor so you can use him as a footstool. He can’t make a decent sammich, so obviously his only good use is as a piece of furniture.

You can make him do the laundry, scrub the toilet, do the dishes, sweep the floor, mop the floor. You can make this fun by chasing him around with a longer cane while he does them. A $5 oak dowel from Home Depot will do you just fine. They’re about three feet long and work perfectly well so long as you don’t swing like you’re chopping down a tree.

One of two things will result from this session. Either he will NEVER ask you to top or dom him ever again because he wasn’t careful what he wished for, or he will completely flip sides and want you to be the dom from now on. In the bedroom *and* out.

While there is a middle ground of the two of you regularly switching roles in the bedroom, that middle ground isn’t usually where things end up.

Above all…

HAVE FUN!

DTR

* Note: The word dom/dominant is used for simplicity, because that is what most people who don’t know any better use when they really mean top.

 

——-

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

Read her books on her Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her OP/ED work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

No Bed Required – A Tiny Taste of Peeper Indomitable

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She dropped her skin dress to the floor, stepping over to Moray and his thick, dark layer of fur. She ran her fingers over his chest, watching the hair disappear under her hand. It was soft, like nothing she’d felt before. Thinking back over it, almost none of the men she’d been with had much body hair. She liked how it felt against her breasts when he pulled her closer.

“How about we just take turns with you,” he suggested, a hand sliding down to grip her buttock. “Until you’re ready for a double ride.”

“That sounds like a terrific idea,” she smiled. “Working in tandem means I get more for longer.”

Moray grinned, lifting her by the back of her head and his grip on her ass to turn around and stand her on the bed. She was eye to eye with him but feeling herself small in the hugeness of his arms and chest. She felt like that skinny waif all over again, when everyone seemed so much larger than she.

“I like it when—”

He made a sharp SHH noise, stopping her. “I don’t take direction.”

Words that made her heart skip a beat. He lowered to his knees on the floor, taking her down to the bed. He put her on her back with her bottom at the edge of the bed platform and bent over her there. Arms braced on both sides of her, he had the right angle but didn’t crush her with his bulk. Her own size was nothing to him. He pulled her toward him, eventually flipped her over, and generally threw her around the bed like a ragdoll. If he wanted her in a place, she was in that place for as long as he wanted her there.

She gave herself up to him as she did Preece and Parin, needing the release of it. Moments like these were the only time her guard wasn’t up, were the only time she could let go all her worries. She lost track of time through her string of orgasms. He flipped her over onto her belly again and she screamed a burst of shock and distress as his cock head thrust fully into her anus without warning or preparation.

“You don’t have to put your face in the skins,” he said a few minutes later when she was trying to stifle her noise for the neighbors. “I like for the village to hear you scream and think I’m doing horrible things to you. Truth is you love every second of it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she huffed through a breath.

“So you go on and make all the noises. Just don’t ever tell me how to fuck you,” he said, and lifted her hips to bring her up higher.

The change of angle was like starting all over again, bringing that full volume moan that was so totally out of her control. Her arms went weak. She needed to lay her head down and rest her upper body, surrendering to his physical power. Another few minutes and he grunted his orgasm and pulled out to spurt his hot liquid over her back.

Without wiping her off first, Kaimen took his place at the side of the bed and took his sweet time riding her slow and deep. He took so long that Moray was ready again. Kaimen pulled out and lifted her while Moray moved in to lie on his back across the bed.

“Did you wash?” she asked Moray.

“Yes.”

A truth, she could see clearly enough, and allowed herself to be lowered onto his cock. Kaimen lifted her feet onto the bed, putting her into a modified frog position. She was filled as full as when Dohan and Preece did this to her. But Moray held her tighter by the hair to pin her down onto his chest, and spoke all manner of things Dohan never did.

“Greedy cunt takes it well,” he said, and immediately felt what it did to her. 

She flooded wet and slick.

“Wet pussies get fucked harder,” he said, Kaimen taking that cue to do just that.

“I should get three more men,” Moray teased her. “Make sure you’re good and ruined.”

Kaimen suddenly pulled out and she was given a second coat of hot semen over her back.

“Hold her up off me,” Moray said.

Kaimen lifted her and Moray took cock in hand to squirt upward. His velocity was enough to shoot onto her tits.

“Let’s go to the stream to wash off,” Moray said.

A stream that was only about fifty feet to the north east from his hut. The late hour and dark made for its own privacy. Rinsed off and enjoying the knee high cool water, Reah sank to her knees for a moment. Soon as she stood up, Moray had her around the waist against himself with two fingers going up into her puss. He fucked her fast until she was groaning her pleasure and her cum was splashing around his fingers and onto his hand.

With a nod and a gesture, Moray indicated Kaimen should turn around. On a knee and slightly bent over, his back became the surface for her to be placed on. Moray lifted her legs with his forearms under her knees and had her again. Her arms flailed a bit. Kaimen caught them with his own, hooking her at the elbows. Feeling more secure, she stopped trying to find a way to brace herself. Warm skin at her back, solid and strong, calmed her. They may have lived in a primitive society, but they were certainly inventive when it came to the fucking.

When Moray had finished with another set of jets over her belly, he let her down and took Kaimen’s place.

She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be used over and over again, receiving a third round as soon as they returned to the hut. When one spent, the other was recovered. When that one spent, the first was recovered again. Between the two of them, she was fucked ten times before they finally let her sleep.

Her gut was so sore the next day, from coming so much and so hard, that she was slightly bent over whenever she tried to walk. Her hips didn’t want to work right. Her arms had no strength.

“If you can walk, then I can still fuck you some more,” Moray said rather than tell her for the twentieth time to lie still.

The result was the same. She remained on her side in his bed, resting, most assuredly not prepared to take another four or more rounds.

——————–

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twentysomething fiction books.

Read the Peeper saga —https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B076657ZQW — to catch up on what you’ve been missing!

Twitter — https://twitter.com/DameTyler or @DameTyler
FB Fan Page — https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseGethis/

FB Regular page —  https://www.facebook.com/TylerRoseAuthor

Amazon page — https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can also find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

The Bratting Lies

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Lies Regarding Brats, As Told By Brats

As I have done before, this week I’ll be sharing a piece of my 50 Lies Told to New People about BDSM book. Today it’s brats and bratty behavior.

The lies are:
33. Bratting is totally normal and acceptable behavior.
33a. Everyone has to tolerate brats.
33b. If Doms don’t like brats, they’re weak and don’t know how to handle a brat.

  1. No, it’s not.
    33a. No we don’t.
    33b. No we aren’t.
    33b. And oh, yes, we do! 

Not tolerating it means we don’t like it, don’t consent to it, and have no time for it. We don’t want that kind of behavior in our lives. We have better things to do than deal with someone who manipulates their dom in order to to get what they want.

We’re allowed to have those preferences because it is our house and our relationship. If we want someone who knows their place; does what they’re told; and actually submits to what is wanted, when it is wanted, then we have the right to uphold that personal standard.

Every time the brat war comes up, the self-professed brats prove to me precisely why I don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. They will argue that a brat does too submit. But the meanings of the words are completely contrary. One cannot be “disrespectful/manipulative” and “respectful/obedient” at the same time. As far as I see, the two concepts are mutually exclusive. If a person is one, they cannot at the same time be the other. Language is not fluid enough for brat to ever be a good thing in the Merriam Webster.

Sulking and complaining about doing a task, mouthing off the entire time you’re doing, it isn’t being obedient. Nor is it doing what you’re told. It’s whining and complaining about fulfilling a role you said you would, that of the submissive. The one who yields to the authority of another.

When they can’t win on that point, they say they “can’t help it!” Yes, you can. A person chooses to behave badly. They do it for their own reasons and to achieve their own goals. I prefer someone who uses their words to express how they feel rather than passive aggressive manipulation to get what they want.

Then they’ll say that those who aren’t brats are boring robots and doormats. Tearing down others to make themselves seem favorable by comparison isn’t exactly mature either. 

They will say anything to make their behavior seem desirable and themselves somehow better than people who don’t behave as they do. 

Well, I’m going to say it out loud. Acting childish to piss someone off and get an angry reaction isn’t a good thing. 

There’s nothing wrong with being a doormat if that’s what a person enjoys. I know a number of people who are perfectly happy being a doormat submissive, and have been in their relationships for quite a long time. 

I’ve never seen a submissive who was a robot, however. “Doing what you’re told” entails a great deal of brain power when the dom doesn’t micromanage or give step by step instructions. It’s much more like the Quarterback tossing the ball to the Running Back and the Running Back decides which way to run to get the completion. The Monarch telling the Chancellor what they want done and the Chancellor deciding how to go about implementing what the Monarch wants.

One of the the self-professed brats actually said in a discussion thread “it’s our job to challenge the dominant.” 

Their job? 

Their job to give their partner grief? Their job to challenge their own partner’s authority? 

No. I don’t accept that for one minute, and neither do a whole lot of other people I’ve spoken with over the years. Far as I’m concerned, it’s just another excuse to get away with crappy behavior. 

In my relationships, the job of the submissive is to do what they’re told (within limits and reason) and support the dominant by making less work for them, not making more work. It’s certainly not appropriate to intentionally cause unnecessary dissention for not reason other than to do it. 

I’ve seen them say they’re “really respectful of where the line is and never cross it.” Yeah, sure you don’t. I call bullshit on that too. There’s a line. They always end up crossing it and causing hurt. It’s just a matter of time. It’s a lesson learned after it’s too late to fix it, and irreparable damage may be done to the relationship. 

I wouldn’t call that a good thing.

All I see is one denial after another, a pile of excuses, intentional manipulation, overt disrespect, outright disobedience, and utterly inappropriate behavior. 

It’s not cute. It’s not funny.

Do You Want an Ally or an Adversary?

Do you want someone to share your life with or do you want a perpetual adversary?

Do you want someone you must continually defeat in all things? 

I can’t fathom living a constant power struggle in which every interaction becomes the Battle of Hastings redux.

I don’t know when this “us vs them” thing happen between subs and doms. I see it as completely counter-productive to a harmonious dynamic. Last I knew, the dominant isn’t supposed to be the sub’s mortal enemy. Increasingly, this is exactly what I’m seeing. 

I do not see how a relationship–any relationship, not just a d/s one– can thrive when it’s based on distrust, dislike, and this constant fostering of invented adversity. 

Personally, I want my partner to be just that. My partner. We’re a team. Us vs. the World. We are both the one person who understands best and is the safe harbor. The home is a sanctuary away from all the external conflicts faced every day. I have lived that kind of harmony and it’s glorious. The last thing I would ever want is to create an atmosphere in the home that my partner dreads coming home to.

Of course there are doms, tops, sadists, etc, who enjoy bratty behavior in their sub/bottom. I’m not saying there isn’t. I’ve told many brats that if they find someone who enjoys that behavior, then they better hold onto that person for a good, long time. One day they may fall in love with someone who won’t put up with it, and the world as they know it will be over.

I once had a self-professed brat say that she would like me to play with her. I told her she could not do that running away from the paddle thing I’d seen her do earlier in the evening. I was not going to play that game. She would have to stand there and take it (paddling and caning) or I’d never play with her again. I would get her where she wanted to go; but it would be done my way, in my own time, and she had to be patient and let go that control. Bouncing on her feet was fine. It’s normal. Wiggling her butt was fine. It’s common. Foot stomping was fine. None of that moves a person off the apparatus they’re leaning against. 

She agreed and we began. 

During that play session, she learned a very valuable lesson: That she could get far more from me in being good and doing what was expected of her than she could steal in pretending to be bad. 

She’s never once bratted on me in the years since.

Brat As the Newest Kink Fad

Bratting has become a kink unto itself, like “training”, rope play, after care, and feet. 

Like any other kink, if you enjoy it and get off on it…great! I’m happy for you. 

But make sure you hook up with someone who consents to that sort of behavior. Enjoy each other thoroughly.

Also like any other kink, you have to respect that it is not enjoyed by everyone. 

Insulting those who don’t engage in your kink is unseemly behavior regardless what that kink is. 

Consent applies to brat behavior too. Forcing your behavior on those who do not consent is as much a violation as inappropriate touching.

But no one ever thinks about that.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She’s been doing this BDSM stuff for 30 years in private and 10 years in public venues. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can read the rest of the 50 lies in Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07HVS2H2T

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

A Piece of Property

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Master’s voice outside the door, greeting the familiar guard by name, drained the strength from Property’s legs. He went down to his knees, bracing on shaking arms. The knob turned and the door swung inward and his thighs.

Boots first, black with short block heels. Master’s favorite pair for shit-kicking a slave who had pissed him off. Property had known those boots many times over the twenty years since they’d first met. He had certainly angered Master this time, in a flash of selfish desire that had turned the entire world upside down for them both.

Property lifted his gaze too far, and saw Master’s eyes. Hard, black fury with a scowl to match. Death had come for him. His moment of final judgment had arrived and nothing would go in his favor. The same expression he’d seen that night their paths had first crossed.

An expression that caused Property to bolt for the nearest waste can and vomit his empty stomach. This time there would be no reprieve. He’d completely blown his second chance at life in his vulgar self-interest.

Master waited for him to be done and return to the appropriate spot two feet in front of him. In proper kneeling posture, head hanging low, again braced on his hands, Property waited in acceptance of his death.

“At least you understand how badly you screwed up.”

“I do—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Master cut him off in far too calm a tone. “I require no words from you. Anything you say will only make me angrier. That’s not a smart thing to do right now.”

The short snake whip was out of his pocket. One step around to the side and the red and black leather coil opened to hiss through the air and land a hard, striping slice across Property’s bare back. Three more and Master’s boot lifted to his ribs to shove him onto his side. The sharp corner of that block heel dug into flesh between the ribs to cause a pain that shot through Property like a spike. Property fell over, body curving together around that pain. The whip came down half a dozen more times, around his ribs to bite hard into his back. The boot heel kicked him over again, leaving a dent in his skin that would turn into a bruise if he lived long enough.

Property rolled in all directions on the floor, directed by the whip and Master’s relentless, demanding boot. He did not try to hide or escape, did not cover or attempt to protect any part of his body. There was no point to any of that, with the whip nailing him everywhere from feet to neck. If Master wanted to hit a specific area, he knew how to make his slave present that part of the body. One lightning fast, burning, slice after another, the twisted length at the tip drove home just how vehemently enraged Master was.

Property screamed with some, yelped or cried out with others. The one thing he knew not to do was beg. Or plead. No begging for mercy. No pleading “no”. Either would have made Master angrier, if that was possible. Certainly would have made him more vicious.

Powered by Master’s entire arm and back, follow-through ensured that every strike left a stripe of a welt or a weeping, bleeding cut. There was no such thing as mercy this time, as the whip bit and sliced him over a hundred times.

Normally, Property would have to count the strikes and say how many there had been. This time, the whip flew too fast to be counted. Once it began, there was no stopping until Master felt like it. Master had a tireless whipping arm and a bottomless well of fury. His wrath, especially today, was the unleashing of a demon straight from Parin’s Pit.

Today, Property realized, he could literally be whipped to death.

The thin whip curled around his arms and legs, wrapped around his ribs. Master landed the braided popper end to Property’s cock or balls every time they were presented, making sure to punish the greedy organs that had left Master’s wife vulnerable to kidnapping.

All through the punishment, Master said nothing, made not one single sound. Single-minded in his action, tightly focused on issuing this punishment, he had no need for words. When Master had no need for words, the slave knew he was in the most dangerous predicament of all.

As suddenly as it had begun it was done, and Master was standing over him. Cessation allowed Property to give in to his emotions and sob in repeated convulsions. Master waited a moment, to let him quiet enough to be able to hear what Master had to say.

“It’s as simple as this: If I find her and she is alive, you will live. You will suffer every single minute of every single day until I am no longer angry with you, however many years that may take. If she is dead, you will suffer a hundred times longer than she did before I finally end your life. Get up. Get dressed. We’re flying to catch up to Dohan’s ship. He’s following a vessel he thinks she’s being held on. I’ll issue the next round of castigation when we’re on his ship.”

Property had to crawl to his clothing. Even if he’d been permitted to walk, he’d have had to crawl. His limbs were jelly, not fully under his control. He was slow and stiff, testing to be sure his arms would hold his weight every time he moved them. He had to sit on the welts and slices on his ass, painful as it was, in order to put his shirt on. Had to sit there to pull his pants up to his knees and put his socks on his feet. Efficiency was the need of the moment, to conserve his energy. Had to lift a foot to bend the knee in order to put shoes on. Once standing on wobbly knees, he pulled up and closed his pants.

He took the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face and blow the snot out of his nose before slowly making his way to his feet. He didn’t think to tuck his shirt in and Master didn’t tell him to do so.

He dared not raise his eyes to Master’s again, and Master waited for him no longer. Walking out, he expected Property would follow. Property kept up as best he could, limping with the pain of a stripe along the bottom of his foot and several others that had wrapped around the tops of both feet. In the restriction of stiff shoes, they hurt much more than if he’d been barefoot.

In the steel box of the elevator, he leaned heavily into a rear corner to catch his breath. His eyes caught Master’s reflection in the brass plate, watching him. Property lowered his gaze away. His head swam with the endorphins a whipping always brought out, a combination of dizzy and high he usually enjoyed. There was no pleasure in it today. He felt only resignation. This day had been coming for him for a long time. His own stupidity had brought him this moment.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

Read the rest of “Property: Punishment of a Dead Man”: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PHV3CC2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

I Don’t Have Any Toys

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Over the years, I’ve seen a great many “This stuff is so expensive! Where can I buy for less?” and “Where can I get good quality stuff that won’t break the bank?” threads in various kink websites.

New people want to join the fun, but the sticker shock is real. I hear you. This stuff is expensive, and there’s really no way around it when it comes to things like latex outfits, leather pants, big shoes, corsets. If you want to wear the “uniform” of kink, those pieces are going to be expensive no matter what. Corsets and leather pants don’t show up at thrift stores very often, certainly not in MY size. Now and then I find a pair of shoes, but not often enough to rely on it as a source.

Most of the other people answering the “where do you buy toys?” threads say this vendor or that vendor, sometimes with links to the person’s website or profile page. Then there’s me saying that if you like impact play (spanking), you have an entire HOME full of toys sitting there right now. You just have to know what they look like.

First, go to your tote closet. Everyone has one. It’s either the closet or under the bed. A place where you stash all the empty totes you have that you never use. You swore, when you bought it, that it would be great for this or for that; but you never actually used it for anything. It went with all the other empty totes you had to have (or were given) but never used. Same with backpacks.

Grab one. Make it the ugliest one, so you can easily recognize it if you take it to a party. If you want to eventually work up to something fancier, great. But for now, a simple tote or backpack will do you just fine. If you intend never to take your kink outside the home, it doesn’t matter what the bag looks like. No one else in the world is going to see it.

So, you’ve got your tote. Let’s start in the kitchen.

First, reach for that wooden spoon with the hole in it. The one that came in the 3- or 4-pack of wooden spoons you bought but you don’t know what it’s actually used for (measuring servings of spaghetti). It’s a butt-beater now. It’ll make terrific little circles on someone’s butt. Grab a wooden spoon you’ve never used.  Put it (them) into the bag. Put the wooden fork in there too. You never use it for mixing salads anyway, and you know it. They all sit there taking up space.

Aside from the spoon/fork end, the handle can be used as a short cane. Should they break over someone’s butt, they are easily replaceable with a quick trip to the dollar store.

Next, look at your collection of rubber spatulas. If you have one little dinky one for getting into little jars and one big one for scraping bowls, anything more is probably superfluous. Take them. They are inexpensive and easy to replace.

Want to get a little more intense? Grab the metal hammer meat tenderizer. You know you never use it anyway, and even if you do…you can easily buy another. I know a number of people who love to use them as impact tools.

What else can we find in the kitchen?

Ah, that tiny little square frying pan you bought because it was SO CUTE!!! but used to make a grilled cheese exactly ONCE because you realized it’s too tiny and your aim in flipping over the sandwich isn’t that precise. It makes an excellent paddle that can be used on buttocks, thighs, and breasts, bottoms of the feet.

Do you have any plastic cutlery? A spoon can be used to imitate a blade edge for knife play. A plastic fork makes for interesting sensory play. I you have a set that came with a takeout dinner, wrapped in plastic, that’s perfect. Throw it away when you’re done and put a new set into the bag for next time.

Go under the sink. You know that bag of scrubbie sponges? Or those thin green scrubber pads? Grab one. Abrasive sensation play can be tremendous fun. Do you keep the sandpaper down there? Grab one of those. Even MORE abrasive sensation play. WOOHOO! I know people who put strips into their bra or panties when they go out on a date.

While you’re under the sink, do you have a bag or a box of inexpensive kitchen gloves? They’re like surgical gloves, but you can get them at the dollar store. I find bags of 25 to 50 for a buck or two, and always have them in the house. Grab a dozen and put them into a baggy and then into the tote.

Do you have some fresh ginger? Okay, don’t put that into the bag. It may rot in there and that wouldn’t be good. So that you keep in mind for when you want to do chemical play. (Peel it, touch to vulva or anus. Inserting the tip into the anus is called figging. It gives a burning sensation.)

Moving on to the living room. Go to that drawer where you keep all the extra phone/usb cords and the extra coaxial cable left behind by the previous tenant/owner when you moved in. USB cords are very whippy. Coaxial, you’ll need to use duct tape to cover the ragged ends. I hold the ends of either type of cord in one hand and use it in a loop shape, like a rug beater. Fashion a simple  handle by wrapping the duct tape around a few times.

Do you (or does someone else in the house) knit? Got one of those really long metal knitting needles? They work as a mean caning implement too, and can be used all over the body. Rosewood versions are beautiful as well as functional.

Do you have a telescoping metal pointer you never use? It may be one-use, because you will probably destroy it when you use it, but it’ll be great fun while it lasts! An old car antenna works the same way. I got through a thick diaper with one, and made the wearer stand up and say ow.

Where do you keep your collection of carabiners? Take four of them. (Or get them at the dollar store for cheap. You aren’t going to be climbing a mountain with them, so they don’t have to be ultra strong.)

Do you have an old sewing kit that you inherited from your grandmother or great aunt? Open it and see if you find a wartenberg wheel. Doctors use them for checking nerve response; but tailors use them to mark where stitches are going to go in leather. So you just might find a couple. Or there might be one with a smooth wheel rather than a pokey one. If she embroidered, you may also find “locking embroidery clamps”, known in the kink world are as “locking” nipple clamps. Embroidery clamps can usually be found in sewing and crafting stores/sites for a couple bucks each. Sure beats the $20 on a kink site!

Next, the bathroom. More chemical play. Grab the old tube of Ben Gay or Icy Hot that has been there so long it’s almost expired. It’ll still do the job. A little dab’ll do ya!, and will have the bottom squirming and squealing until the burning subsides. (Note to self…fuck first. Chemicals AFTER. Unless you like that kind of thing yourself.)

Do you have one of those long-handled wooden bath brushes? They are WICKED paddles! If you don’t have one but you want one, the last time I looked, my local big name pharmacy had one for about eight bucks.

Also in the bathroom. Do you have a package of toothbrushes waiting their turn? Grab one. More sensation play! Also good for applying the Ben Gay or Icy Hot if you don’t want to use your bare finger or a glove.

To the laundry room (or wherever you keep your laundry supplies). Grab that pack of 50 clothespins you bought, and the hank of cotton clothes line you SWORE you were going to start using to save money on electricity. Clothespins are great fun and can be used all over the body. A lot of rope snobs will scream at me about the cotton clothesline. Well, lemme tell you something…if you’re not intending to do a suspension, then plain ol’ cotton clothesline from the dollar store will do you JUST FINE! My former dom/husband never used anything on me but cotton clothesline, the entire 19 years of our relationship and I didn’t die. He was perfectly happy with it. It liked to cut the rope here and there as he worked. If the rope is three bucks for a hundred feet, there’s no guilt. If you’re paying five bucks a foot, you don’t want to cut it.

Bag’s getting heavy, isn’t it?

Now we can go into the bedroom. YAY!!!

No, we’re not going to take your entire sex toy collection. Just a few things.

First, the spare tube of lube. Put it in the tote. It’s a good idea to have handy when using the gloves. One never knows when one might be inspired to fit one’s entire fist into an orifice.

Got a drawer with a pile of bandannas? Grab one. Instant blindfold. If you have six, then you have an instant collar/cuff set with blindfold. Remember those carabiners? HEY! Instant hogtie set!

Dresser. Grab a hairbrush you never use. They make great paddles, but also sensation play when you turn it over and use the bristles. Take a comb from the bag of combs while you’re there. Sensation play with the teeth, or snap the end down onto the skin in various tender places.

Go to the closet. Grab a leather belt from the snazzy hanger thing you bought to keep all your belts on but don’t actually wear them.

Where do you keep the shoes you don’t wear? You know those flip flops you bought last year at the end of the season because they were dirt cheap? They make great paddles too. Put them into the bag.

Sit down a minute and look at your full tote. You just spent about half an hour going through your own home and pulled out an entire bag of simple toys. You may have seen other things along the way that might be fun. I don’t know everything in your home, of course.

And you didn’t spend a dime to do it. The money was already spent. You just needed to see these things in a different light.

Now put on your shoes and take $20 and go to the dollar store to fill in anything that was missing from my list when you went around your home. Maybe you didn’t have the clothesline. Or maybe the spoon with a hole in it also had an ugly crack in the head. You wouldn’t want to use that. Little plastic butterfly hair clips that cost ten cents each are fairly brutal nipple and skin clamps. I used to put them on the insides of my thighs.

Take a good look through the kitchen section to see what else you might find. Take a look at the selection of kitchen gloves. They come in sizes from extra small to extra large. I cut the fingers off one or two and put them in a baggy. Then I can use just a finger instead of using (and throwing away) an entire glove when it comes to applying a little cream or ointment, or inserting a suppository.

They will have hair brushes of all sizes, in case you didn’t have an unused one. Not to mention flip flops on the cheap.

I have a lovely olive wood spatula that I purchased for $12 at the Olive Wood stall at the winter market in Bryant Park. I love this thing. It has a satiny smooth feel to it, but smarts well enough on impact.

I once looked over the kitchen section of Target and found an immense wooden spoon that was on clearance for $12. It made an excellent paddle also. After Christmas one year, I found a set of “naughty/nice” rubber spatulas. The end of a summer, they had a small pizza peel that made an excellent paddle. The other day, I was in Kmart and found a narrow rubber spatula that has a metal center. Cost: $4.

Cooking stores, in general, are fantastic. I took a picture in one once, of a table they’d covered with fifty different kinds of wooden tools and rubber spatulas. It was glorious.

Home Depot is often nicknamed Dom Depot. Chains and all sorts of other things! My personal interest, however, is in the dowel rod selection. They have 3 foot rods of oak and cherry. Hello inexpensive cane! Just don’t hit like you’re coming from Cleveland and aiming for China and it’ll last you for years. While you’re there, grab a couple of those FREE paint sticks. They have wicked sting. Also check out the ear protection aisle. They have ear plugs, but also headphone style ear protection. Sensory deprivation, anyone? (ear plugs may be found in more of a variety of sizes at your local pharmacy, however.)

I went to my local hardware store and found a two-inch wide chisel that makes an excellent little paddle, and cost me about five bucks.

People like to fawn over Delrin canes. Crafters selling them put on some leather or paracord wrap that took them ten minutes to do and charge $60 for a single cane. Well, I googled Delrin to see what it was made of and where I could buy it. Guess what I found? A place where I could buy it by the foot. I got four feet of quarter inch Delrin for .19 a foot. I got three feet of ½” for a dollar a foot. It’s super whippy and I love it. I trimmed the length so it would fit into my pool cue case ($20 on Amazon, and pink) and put the case for a Bic Biro pen on it. I used red duct tape with dragons on it to secure the two pieces and now it’s my “light saber” for my Darth Skreven character/outfit (because the pen is mightier than the sword!)…and it’s also one of my favorite canes. For the half inch piece, I wrapped one end with red duct tape that has dragons on it, to make a visible handle end. I don’t need anything more than that, and I love it. I bought a one-inch thick piece that is three feet long for about three dollars a foot. Unfortunately, it is too heavy for me to swing as a cane. However, if I add eyebolts to the ends, I will have an inexpensive spreader bar.

With shipping, these three lengths of Delrin (two canes and a potential spreader bar) cost me less than twenty bucks.

I have a Nightmare Before Christmas hair brush that I include in my kit now and then. I got it at Hot Topic on a buy 1 get 1 half off sale, I think. They have all different characters of Disney.

I found a finger length ring with a pointy tip at a comicon for around five or nine bucks.

I bought two wartenberg wheels on Amazon for about twelve bucks. Total.

You’ll see a lot of sites selling those jeweled butt plugs for $40 or more. Forget that. Amazon again. I got mine for about twelve.

You will see sites selling anal hooks for $60 or $70. Screw that. I got the exact same thing on Amazon for…under twenty.

Bigger pieces, like floggers and single tails, are the investment. You want to have this piece for years. At the same time, you don’t want to be ripped off. Yes, I’ll pay up to $120 for a short leather single tail whip (I have one that is 3 feet) or a four foot paracord flogger. I paid to have a custom paracord sjambok made, then twin 18” snake whips (one of which is almost always in the pocket of my sweat jacket). I don’t work with fiberglass. I have a friend who cuts and makes canes out of it. Over the years, I’ve purchased several very economical sets from her in different lengths and paracord color schemes.

Those implements require skills I don’t have or tools I don’t want to purchase.  I’m happy to invest in an exceptional piece and support the crafters who make them.

You don’t have to break the bank building a play kit. You just need a good eye and some imagination. Save your money for the really special pieces you fall in love with and cannot live without.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Water & Wolves (Culpation League: Anger Issues)

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“Take her down to the water room. Put her in the cage and leave her be.”

“Yes, House Master,” the lead guard said.

To the elevator and down to the basement level. It seemed familiar to her but she didn’t know why. To the end of the block, left turn, left turn, and into the second door on the left. Numerous cameras were hung on the walls, none of them turned on yet. There were two short cages against the wall by the door, both empty. Her robe was taken off and she was pushed toward the first cage. She had to go to her knees to crawl inside but could sit upright on her butt once inside. The door clanged shut at once and he snapped the padlock closed.

She was left alone to look around and wonder. Near the wall to her right were three tall water tanks. Round and transparent, with stairs up to a platform and ladders to the top of each. She could see water dripping in several places. Someone had recently been up there…in there?…and splashed outside of a tank.

There was a door in the back wall. She felt she should know what was on the other side of it. So much about this room was familiar. She surmised she had been here before and didn’t remember, like she didn’t remember the person the House Master had asked her about.

A cushioned bench stood near the back left corner. Two padded surfaces, likely one for kneeling and the other for bending. Clear plastic cuffs were hanging from loops on the wall. Next to the bench was a coil of hose on a big hook. Bigger than garden hose, smaller than fire hose, with a large nozzle.

What had she done in the shower that they were going to do to her here? Apparently she didn’t remember much of her shower. She’d pinned her hair up. She’d washed. She got out and dried herself. She couldn’t think of anything remarkable.

The door opened, an unfamiliar face coming in to stand in front of the cage and look down at her.

“You going to cooperate or you gonna fight?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know. I don’t know what you’re intending to do.”

He laughed and popped the lock open to let her out. A wave of his fingers, casual and nonthreatening, beckoned her forward. He let her walk on the rough cement floor but guided her with his hands to lean over the bench. He put her hands against the wall.

“Leave your hands there or I will strap you to the wall,” he told her.

Bending over, he moved her left foot to where he wanted it and bound her lower calf to the leg of the bench. Then the other and she was held wide open.

With one hand, he lifted the entire coil of hose off its hook and laid it on the floor. Water turned on, he aimed away from her to test the water and the nozzle. He turned a dial on the wall, tested it on his hand for several seconds. Adjusting the nozzle, he brought it to a moderately strong sprinkler-type setting.

Water over her lower back was warm and soothing. Within a moment, it was spraying directly between her buttocks to patter against her anus in a sensation that stole her breath. She found it pleasurable and relaxing. Her eyes closed and she rested her head on her upper arm to enjoy it fully. Farther down, to spray over her open puss in a gentle rain, then back up, stimulating her continually.

The water fell away and a click echoed around the room. The water pelted onto the floor with more force, the stream concentrated. It landed on her anus so suddenly that she cried out a shocked sound and smacked her palm against the tile of the wall. She balled her fist to hit with the fleshy outer end instead, not wanting to hurt her hand.

Aimed at the flesh of her buttock rather than directly on the hole, then the other side, and then the middle, her arousal surged until she groaned.

The angle changed. The water shot upward into her spread vagina, into the hole made vulnerable by the ankle shackles. She grunted with it, gasping and pressing her hands harder against the wall to remain standing. When the water found her clitoris, her muscles clenched in an orgasm until it moved away.

The strong stream began to move from one to the other in no discernable pattern and he gave her both quick and prolonged clitoral orgasms.

During a relentless, extended clitoral orgasm, she shouted “Please stop!”

The water aimed away from her.

“Why should I stop, prisoner? You certainly like it enough,” he said.

“My legs are tired. They feel like they’re shaking too hard and I’m going to fall.”

The water turned off. She heard boots thumping on the concrete floor and two sets of hands worked to open the ankle shackles while a warm body fitting tightly against her back. Arms around her chest held her securely while stepping backwards. As she had said, the second weight was on her feet again, her legs buckled. Another pair of hands lifted them and she was placed on a dry, padded surface. A gurney.

She was wheeled out of the room and into another and moved onto a larger bed surface. Four men were already waiting, each wearing a black mask decorated differently with embroidery. All were wolves, but one was grey and white on the black. Another was black on black with dark gray accents. Another was all white on the black.

One came onto the bed with her at once, rolled her onto her side, and took her from behind. She was more than ready, the water having aroused her to complete compliance. She was near the side of the bed and a cock was put into her mouth. She sucked deeply and vigorously enough that he didn’t try to pump his hips into her face.

The man behind finished and left the bed, the one replacing him, turning her onto her back. He bit her breasts with a wide grip of teeth, hard enough to make her yelp and cry out but not hard enough to break the skin. Using his thighs, he pushed her farther up toward the head of the bed, until her head hung off it. At once, a cock went into her mouth and down her throat. Hands pulled her arms outward, making her grip more cocks while the one biting her finally impaled her anus. Hands held her ankles to pull her legs open wide for him.

However long it took, she was lost to time through her own bliss. She came hard, fingers now and then slapping or stroking her clitoris. Fingers pinched her nipples and smacked her breasts or her face. The cock down her throat pulsed hard and pulled out to spurt warm goo onto her chest. The two on the sides quickly followed. Last, the one in her anus stripped out to squirt onto her belly.

The room emptied. She opened her eyes as one man toweled her off.

“Is that it?” she asked. “I’m not done.”

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2. (USA site. For others, search your country’s site for B00HCPLSP2 )

Culpation League: Anger Issues can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B079SXVPHK
(For others, search your country’s Amazon site for B079SXVPHK )

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

My Sadomasochism Is Fluid

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Now and then I’m asked what I mean when I say “my sadomasochism is fluid.” I think the duality of being both sadist and masochist is difficult for some people to understand.

Let me simplify it. Lots of people say they are genderfluid. They range from masculine traits to feminine  from day to day, or hour to hour. Some people say their sexuality is fluid. They can be with someone of the opposite gender, the same gender, non-binary, etc. That aspect doesn’t matter to them.

Neither of those alters for me.

I am female and love being a woman. I’ve never had a second’s doubt regarding my gender.

I am heterosexual. I’m probably the straightest chick you’ll ever meet. I can give a woman a flogging or a caning. I can whip her tits and flog her cunt; but I will not have sex with her. My mouth will never touch her. Hers will never touch me. My fingers will never go into an orifice. Nor will hers. Because I’m not attracted to women.

Others had speculated, I think. A friend once tried to fix me up with another girl when I was about fifteen. I hadn’t even realized at the time that’s what she was doing. I wondered “why does she want the two of us to meet?” It wasn’t until I was a decade older that I realized my friend had thought I was a lesbian. I had no idea why she would think that. I’m sure the girl she introduced me to told her otherwise, as that was the one and only time we ever met.

My sadism and masochism, however, are as fluid in me as gender and/or sexuality are in others.

One moment, I can be discussing how very much I would like to be bent over something and whipped with a quirt while being forcefully taken from behind. For, like, an hour. Then the next minute I can describe some fantastically painful thing I would love to do to someone else.

By now you’ve probably read some of my erotica pieces. I often write the action within a scene from both points of view, flipping from one to the other effortlessly. Alternating from one point of view to the other, and back again is as natural for me as breathing. It is seamless, unforced. This is how I can write realistic scenes for my books from either the sadist/top or the masochist/bottom perspective. I can flip flop the point of view from one to the other endlessly from start to finish if I want because I am myself both points of view wrapped up into one brain and one body.

I think that’s the only way in which I could identify as a switch. (but that’s another article)

I can go to the kitchen section of a store, see a new implement and come up with a dozen ways to use it on someone, then see something else and think of ways it could be used on me. Same in the SM/sex store. There are implements I buy for use on others (paddles, canes, singletails) and things I buy for use on myself (dildos, vibrators, thin reed-type cane)

I can talk with someone, describing how much I adore having 50 clothespins on both tits (for a total of 100) and then in the next moment commiserate how “service submissives” don’t exist and I can’t get a sub/bottom to come meet me at my neighborhood train stop to carry my damn bag for me. “Hell, it’s full of stuff to beat them with! The least they can do is come meet me and carry the fuckin’ bag,” I have said more than once.

Being both sadist and masochist makes attending parties a little tricky. I’m attending as a dominant sadist top; but I might meet someone from whom I’d love to take a nice spanking or flogging. With few particular exceptions, when I walk into a party, I could play as the top or the bottom. I could go from one to the other and back again. When bottoming is a possibility, I take an implement or two to be used on me. (I have always advocated that a bottom should have their own kit for tops to use on them…but that, also, is another article.)

The exceptions occur when I know I will definitely be bottoming and expect to take one hell of an intense beating. When that scene has ended, it’s unlikely I’ll want to top someone. I’m going to be enjoying my high a great deal, and if it’s as deep a high as I hope, it would be unsafe for me to top someone else. I can forget what I’ve done from one minute to the next. That’s not good for me or the bottom.

This can create awkward moments. I’m known as being an impact top. So when people see my name in the RSVP list, they expect I’ll be there to top. Sometimes it becomes an assumption. They come to the party without asking first if I’ll be available. Sometimes they try to talk me into playing when I know I can’t. I’ve already had a hard beating. I’m high on endorphins. Forget the drink or two. That’s nothing. It’s the endorphin high that interferes with my ability to be a safe top.

So I guess this is turning into a piece on the top’s consent and something of a cautionary tale.

If I’ve just taken a beating, don’t be pestering me to spank you.

“You still could.” I had someone say this to me recently.

  1. I cannot. Being sadomasochist doesn’t mean being reckless. Being fluid in that doesn’t mean that the flow won’t ever stop on one side or the other for a day.

The notion that one person can be both sadistic and masochistic is a titillating one.

But we’re still not an on-demand fetish dispenser.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and over twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2. (USA site. For others, search your country’s site for B00HCPLSP2 )

You can find more of her work and follow her in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

Silly Dirty Talk (A tiny piece of Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle)

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“Do you need to be full, my sweet?” he asked.

“Please, Master,” she replied, eyes closed.

He left the bed a moment, returning with two smaller pieces of rope and something that landed with a thump when he dropped it onto the bed. First he wrapped a wrist with the rope, five times around, and tied it to the corner post. Repeated with her left wrist, her eyes showing him calm trust and quiet anticipation.

He spent long minutes feeling the shape of her thighs with slow, confident hands. Tugging and twisting her pubic hair between his fingers, pulling her labia wide, plucking her nipples, he generally played with her while she was vulnerable to him. When he was ready, he reached for the thing that had thumped onto the bed.

She opened her eyes to see a shaft of carved ivory. Rounded tip about an inch and a half wide, it grew thick and fat to a four-inch-wide base with gently swooping carved shapes. It was about eight inches long tip to base Her heart fluttered to pounding just to see it as he reached around his back to buckle a thick leather belt around his hips. The base of the ivory pressed into him just above the base of his own useless cock.

“Are you ready?”

A thousand things she wanted to say. Be gentle. Not too hard. She threw them all aside and nodded.

“Please, Master.”

“Say that again and say what you want me to do,” he said.

“Please give me a good fucking, Master.”

He grinned, lowered himself over her for a kiss to her cheek. “So polite. I like a filthy-mouthed cunt. Say it again but call me a fucking bastard instead of Master. Call me every profane word you’ve never been allowed to say. Be a foul-mouthed whore for me.”

“Shut up and ride me, you shit-fucking whoreson,” popped out of her in frustration.

He chuckled, reaching down to the swirled ivory shaft to guide it into her.

“Fuck that’s good,” she groaned. “Fill my cunt”

He did, pushing forward until half of it was inside her and she shuddered in orgasm from the fullness alone.

“Thank you, Master,” she said when the climax subsided.

“We’re not nearly done. Keep talking. Don’t worry that you’ll hurt my feelings. You won’t. You can say anything you want,” he told her. “Be insulting toward my lack of manhood. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You want me to treat you like a mounting slave?” she asked.

“If that’s how you want to look at it. I have no cock to satisfy. Fucking you is for your satisfaction. I just like doing it.”

He started a rhythmic motion, mindful of how deep he was going.

“Open your cunt for me, slattern,” he said. “Let me get my fat rod all the way into you.”

She groaned, relaxing to let her body receive him. “Deeper, worthless eunuch. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As you command, slut moll.”

He increased his speed, driving deeper and watching the ivory disappear into a hole that opened wider and wider.

“That’s my good whore. Take it all,” he said.

“You need a second fake cock to satisfy me, you’re such a sorry ass. You can’t fuck me hard enough.”

“You’re right, I can’t,” he admitted. “But I’ll hump your cock socket as long as you can take it, poonani.”

“Worthless sploogebag,” she said, one she’d heard from the First Mate she’d bedded with, when he’d cursed out one of the sailors.

She came hard, the rounded over swirling ridges of the ivory replacing the veins and texture of a penis. He worked her faster to keep her coming, and pulled out all at once. He watched as her liquid gushed out in a profuse flood.

“Sluthole likes to be treated like a dirty cunt,” he said. “Time to fuck your ass. Beg me to do it, goochslit.”

“Beg you? No. You fuck my ass right now, dickless shit muncher.”

He chuckled with delight and slid the ivory into her ass until he felt resistance. Out a little and driving in again, his skin prickling with the sounds of distress she made.

“I’m going to crack your ass wide open to take this whole thing whether you like it or not.”

“Then fucking do it already, big mouth piss guzzler.”

“You like your ass raped out harder, shithole?”

“Harder than you can manage, puny-cocked coward,” she said.

She took the tool almost to the base, screaming out “Master!” in a paingasm that squirted ejaculate out from her puss.

“Harder, cunt?”

“Yes, Master!”

The name-calling game was over. He’d broken her concentration with that powerful orgasm and she landed squarely on her original learned vocabulary, her default.

He slowed his pace, kept to an even motion until she was rising to another of those shattering climaxes. He did the same thing to her that he’d done in her puss. Let her build up to that teetering edge and then stripped the tool out of her. She came another jet of liquid that splashed over his pubic triangle and the ivory rod for a solid three seconds. Reaching to the rope at the top, he brought it and her knees down. Unwrapped swiftly and tossed aside, he reached for the quick release loops on her wrists.

He kissed her cheek. “You’re fun.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2. (USA site. For others, search your country’s site for B00HCPLSP2 )

Arlyn: Adjutant & Apostle can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07646YM2Z (USA site. For others, search your country’s Amazon site for B07646YM2Z )

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.

 

I Used To Be

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I frequently see people new to bdsm and dom/sub relationships ask “what am I?” They give a list of things they like and want, and a list of things they don’t, and want someone to tell them what they should call themselves.

It’s not that simple.

I have said many hundreds of times that we are forever in evolution. It’s only when we look back to see how far we’ve traveled that we can measure how much we’ve changed. What does change can be the very core of our being; what we thought made us who we are.

I’ve been doing a lot of evolving during the last twenty years. Some of it I didn’t know was happening. Some I was very aware of. Some isn’t actually evolving, but simply recognizing and accepting what has been there all along.

I don’t personally need for what I am to have a label. I’m me, and those labels aren’t for me in the first place. They’re for other people to get an idea of who I am through commonly shared terminology. That’s how we better relate to one another. That’s why definitions in dictionaries are important. They give us a commonality.

For example:

I used to be demi-sexual.

I could enjoy intimate things only with someone I had strong feelings for. It was how I was wired. I’d had a fuck buddy when I was 18, but the sex wasn’t as good. We didn’t have an emotional connection. I met and fell in love with the man who would become my first husband and suddenly the sex was mind-blowing.

Once I left my second husband, however, I realized I no longer needed an emotional connection to enjoy sex. I wanted sex for its own sake. I dove headlong into sex parties. Given the size of the wet spots I left on a couple beds, I’d say I’m way over being demi-sexual. It’s not how I’m wired anymore.

If I’m not demi anymore, then what am I?

During the flag-waving month, I found a great resource (two, actually) that contained a bunch of different flags. I looked them over carefully. I freely admit I googled a few of them. Sometimes I ask uncomfortable questions of those who know about it all, in my efforts to understand the subtle differences, or why two things that are complete opposites sit under the same umbrella.

I found that the term demi-sexual didn’t exist until 12 years back (2006). Well, no wonder there wasn’t a word for how I felt 30 years ago.

I found the term that really fits how I am now. Aromantic. A person who can fuck and be fucked without an emotional connection. Tongue pressed firmly in cheek, I call it the Slut Flag. YAY SLUTS ‘R’  US!!! I didn’t think we needed a flag, but okay. Everyone gets a trophy nowadays. I might have thought it would be a field of pink lace with a red thong and a condom in the middle, but no. It’s just four boring stripes of bland color.

It’s hard to take people seriously when they glom onto any new label that comes down the pike. It’s rather like being a hypochondriac. So realizing I’m no longer demi-sexual, that I do NOT need an emotional connection in order to enjoy sex (and haven’t for a long time) is not something I’ve accepted lightly. It has, however, been a relief to let that go and see myself as I am now rather than who I was five years ago.

I am a sadist, a masochist. I am submissive…whoops, hold on there!

I used to be submissive.

For 30+ years, submissive was my most natural state with my life partner. I was submissive to both husbands; was doing it before I knew d/s relationships were a thing.

My first husband and I were naturally d/s for over a decade. He was very much the boss and I…wasn’t. A woman knows when she is owned, and he owned me utterly. He controlled where I went and who I was with. He controlled where the money went, and would literally remove money from my pocket if we were going out somewhere. If he didn’t like my clothes, I had to change into something else (usually because of too much cleavage). I could be naked all day long at home, but had to be fully covered from neck to knees when we left the house. I didn’t really care much so long as he kept me happily fucked, which he did until the last couple years.

The minute I left husband #2, in January of 2018, any submissiveness in me vanished. I had been submissive solely for him, by his own command, for a very long time. For his benefit, for his pleasure (and mine), and for the harmony of the house; but not because it was who I was as a person anymore. I had ceased to “be submissive” as part of my being and had become “submissive for him alone.” When that shift actually happened, I couldn’t tell you. It was gradual over the years as he altered my own perception through the rules he instituted.

He’d let me explore topping. Topping led to domming as I realized I didn’t want to be a kink/fetish vending machine and wanted to do what ~I~ wanted to do during play. Negotiation ceased to be me asking “what do you like/want” and became “here are the toys I brought. This is what I do. Pick what you want used on you.”

The dominant aspects of my personality were allowed to flourish and, once out of a place of daily submission, became my whole being and personal point of view. I am dominant. It is my personality.

I am the boss when I top. I am the boss when I bottom.
I am a sadist.
I am a masochist. I’m not ever giving up the masochist part. I enjoy it too much. I just won’t be submitting in order to have those needs fulfilled.

Thus, I am a dominant sadomasochist.

I don’t have to submit to get a flogging, and the other person doesn’t have to dominate in order to give one. We can be equals, enjoying what we do and enjoying each other, cooperating to have a mutually satisfying scene/session, without either of us being the boss of the other.

The d/s aspect of it can be left completely aside. We can be top and bottom, sadist and masochist, and be perfectly satisfied and content.

I had thought the submissive in me was completely dead. Turned out she just needed a good, long rest. She perks her head up now and then, when a man has that innate quality that speaks to her. She will not, however, be who I am anymore. She only ever comes out for playtime.

Third on my list of things:

I used to be monogamous!

I used to be so strongly monogamous that I couldn’t think about being with a second man without feeling guilty. I couldn’t stand the thought of my husband being with another woman. Flogging was foreplay. If something involved tits, cunt, ass, or cock and balls, it was sexual. Period. It was that black and white for me.

Then husband #2 let me start paddling other people at parties. In turn, I had to not fuss about him playing with other people too. That was only fair. While it wasn’t easy those first couple times, I very quickly learned to separate spankings, floggings, and even dick caning, from fucking and being fucked by my husband.

There were rules I had to follow, and I agreed with them. I never broke a single one of his rules for playing with others. After I left him, however, those rules were gone. I had more sexual partners in my first two parties than I’d had since the year I turned 18. For 31+ years, I’d only been with those two men. My husbands were both very greedy with me, keeping me entirely to themselves.

I’m not polyamorous. Not by any stretch of the word. Remember, I don’t love any of the people I fuck. I’m not having an ongoing relationship with any of them except that we meet at the same sex party a few times. I don’t want a committed relationship or emotional entanglements.

I’m in a slut phase (waves that flag!), and enjoying the hell out of it! I don’t need or want romance. I actually don’t like what most people call romance. I write it really well, but I don’t feel it myself or have need of it.

I used to be heterosexual

Okay, yeah…no. That one hasn’t changed. I’m only interested in dick. Big dick, preferably, but we don’t measure entrants to the parties and put their length and girth on stat/name tags and I’ve had some fantastic sex with average sized dudes and too brief an encounter with some who are well-endowed.

Evolution of the self doesn’t stop. Five years down the road, I’ll take another look back and measure the change.

You will too at some point.

Embrace the change. When you do, you are accepting yourself as you are rather than how you wish you were. Acceptance of the self is one of the hardest things we as people ever do. Enjoy who you are.

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About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crocheting and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.