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Joji Sada

When Your Poly Feels Like A House Of Cards

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There is a great deal of therapy in sharing myself with you.  It requires me to think carefully about myself, and often confront feelings and ideas that I have struggled with.

I have never written for the benefit of others.  I write because it gives me clarity.  I write because I am my own worst opponent.  I write as a way to listen to myself.

But I started being honest and transparent as a benefit to others.

I have spoken openly that I spent my younger years being a mediator.  In fact, looking back, the only reason I had friends was because I was beneficial to them.  I would cover for their lies, soothe the feathers of those who were offended, and offer ideas free of charge.  I did not start drama, nor did I perpetuate it.

I simply spent my life trying to be useful.

Why?  

Because my biggest fundamental flaw is the core belief I hold.  It is burned upon the walls of my mind, stamped by the hottest iron.  

“I am measured by my usefulness.  When I cease to be useful, then I will be thrown out like trash.”

That is one of three toxic beliefs that I own.  Welcome to my logical world.  I am aware of my toxic beliefs and traits.  I know where my anxiety is from and why I feel and think as I do.

I just do not have the tools to change it.

Yet.

As I have written before, my Master and my wife have been cornerstones in helping me learn to cope, and how to be myself without judgement.  They have taught me that it is ok to be opinionated and boisterous, to have quiet, withdrawn days, to be outgoing and friendly, or to just be alone.  They have taught me that my own expectations are the most important.  My dynamic with Master and my marriage to my wife develop and grow as I do.  

That which grows must be cultivated.

That which you neglect, will wither.

That which withers cannot always be saved.

My house is built on a foundation of four.  

We are a closed, polyquad consisting of two married couples.  This means that we all have relationships with each other and none outside of our “core.”

Core- this is my word to represent the four of us.  

As I have built my foundation, here is how it works.

I have a 24/7 D/s dynamic with Master.  I am his collared submissive and we engage in a Power exchange relationship.  This dynamic does not exist for either of us with either of our other partners.

I am married to wife B.  She was my first girlfriend and we have been together for 12 years now.  We have explored all sorts of dynamics and found our happiness in just going with the flow.  We want to roleplay tonight? Sweet.  We want to sit naked and play Xbox? Awesome.  We want to go to an all you can eat sushi place and gossip?  Perfect, I’ll get the car.  

Wife B also has DID.  So, for one of her alters, I am Diddy.  She is four.  I take care of her like any parent.  She makes me laugh a lot.  We do a lot of Xbox, coloring, and lately, puzzles.  She is energetic and always excited to tell me about her day.  She is my pride and joy.

I consider these two relationships very strong.  I feel we compliment each other and help each other with personal growth.

But that leaves one person out, doesn’t it?

I told you I built my foundation on four people.  Often, I only ever mention two plus myself.  If I passed elementary math, 2+1=3.

Three is less than four.

So, where is number four?

I have been asking the same thing…for quite a long time.

Maybe, if I tell you our story, you can help me find her.

I met wife A (who is married to Master) at work.  She was kind, bubbly, and had a very familial feeling to her.  In fact, many called her mom at work.  We were acquaintances for a few months.  We talked very little of things outside of work.

Then, one day, I was sitting in our office and she is talking to me and her speech is…off.  I can tell she is upset.  So, I asked.  

And the floodgates opened.

There, before me, was a woman sobbing because her husband was diagnosed with cancer.  She had a preteen and a couple of dogs, but most of the family lives elsewhere.

So, I told her to take some time and if she needed to talk, I’d listen.

In fact, she did talk to me.  She even invited me over to play cards.  I was invited to the bar to meet her husband and a few friends of theirs.  It was some of the first connections I made after moving out here.  My family is two states away and my wife’s is all on the East Coast.  It was nice to be a part of something…even if I didn’t know her husband’s name for near seven months after hanging out.  

My wife started house sitting for them when He had treatments.  What started as two days of staying over led to a week.  Then two.  Then, at one point, we barely left.  I paid rent for eight months on an apartment I never went to….just to finish my lease.

Then, one night, about a year or so after I met her, the four of us had a night of drinking to celebrate His remission.  Somewhere, between drink two and four, we broke all the poly rules.

Someone made a joke about how much time we spent together.  One of us commented that we might as well be dating.  It’s all a little blurry to be honest.

Two weeks later, we negotiated the rules for our polyquad.

None of us had successfully been poly prior.  Several had issues with cheating or being cheated on.  

But we all consented.

So, what the hell, why not?

Friendly PSA: please do not use this story as a how-to for poly.  It is not, in any way, a good reference for the average individual

Three months later, my wife and I had to leave our apartment due to a toxic situation with a roommate.  They gave us a place to stay.  Seven days to Christmas, we moved in.  We were set to stay only until tax time.  Then, when tax time came, we talked it through, and decided to make the situation permanent.

We have been together ever since.

But, somewhere on this journey, wife A and I got lost.  She took a left and I didn’t.  

So, now, we are strangers.  We are strangers to each other and strangers in our relationship.

But, she’s still Master’s wife.

There are a lot of reasons that her and I are disconnected.

She has had some long-term medical issues.  I work a lot.  She struggles with communicating and I lack general sympathy.  I work long, odd hours and our schedules rarely meet.  We both have mental health issues.  We have different love languages.

But, the more I list it out, the more I hear excuses.  

The truth it, we stopped trying.  While she was wrapped up in her medical issues and struggled to communicate, I felt pushed away and I stopped listening.

I became bitter and disillusioned.  I wanted the relationship to come as naturally as it did with my other two partners.  I wanted her to see all the little things and be as observant as I am.  I wanted things she has not learned how to give.  And instead of showing patience, I cut myself off.

Because I was scared.

What if it didn’t work?  Would I lose everyone else in the process?  Would I be left alone because I couldn’t listen, or help her get better, or be patient enough?

Would I be considered “useless” if I failed?

Useless things get thrown out.

So, I chose to separate us.  I worked hard on my relationships with Master and wife B.  I stayed out of Wife A”s way.  I made sure I never asked for time with Master if she was home, so I wouldn’t be in the way.  I made sure I never made plans on days off from work just in case things had to change.  I made sure I did not argue, or disagree, with her so I wouldn’t cause problems.

I did everything I could to become invisible.  Exactly like I felt.

Because I was bitter at being pushed away.  And I was hurt that I felt she was not listening when I spoke.  After a while, I gave up.

I stopped being understanding that she was dealing with chronic medical problems and mental health.  I stopped giving her the benefit of doubt that I afforded my other spouses.

And the silence between is has become the Berlin Wall.

It separates us so firmly that we are never in the same room…even when we are inches apart.  We stopped listening.  We stopped watching.  We stopped caring.

I love her.  I can say that with absolute certainty.

But we are strangers.

Now, after two years of everything breaking down, I’m staring at her through the broken lens of my camera and I’m trying to capture what we had.

I think, that is why we are struggling.

Every moment, big and small, shapes who we are.  I’ve learned, through a lot of betrayal, that functioning with minimal emotion, and a guarded heart, gets me the farthest in life.

It allows me to be logical and understanding.  It does not make me the best wife, however.

In fact, my emotional range, led me to a point in my own marriage, where wife B told me, “I love you, I just don’t know if I’m in love with you anymore.”

Those are the hardest words I have ever had to hear.  But they got my ass to listen.

And reflect.

And change.

Now, I am hoping that those same words, that once burned and broke me, can help me find wife A and allow us to try again.

This time, I have the support of two partners, whom I consider myself to have strong relationships with.

Maybe, just maybe, her and I will learn we are not alone anymore.

We have people to lean on.  We have people who want what is best for us.  We have people who will tell us honestly when we fuck up.

I know one thing for sure.

I am not looking for nor expecting an apology.

I am looking for a stranger to join me at the table and help me build back up my house of cards.

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

The Emotional Side Of Masochism

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I am an emotional masochist.

I want to break down the negative connotations to what my statement means.

Traditionally, emotional masochists are those who feel unworthy of respect.  They tend to find themselves in situations that are toxically abusive because they feel they deserve it.  It has been said that there are some who crave the abuse they receive.  Whether this is a conscious or unconscious desire, it is often all they know.

Growing up, and into my early twenties, I was one of those individuals.  I went out of my way for people who would rather spit on me then speak a kind word.  I challenged my own ethics and morals because someone wanted something and “a good friend would help them.”  I’ve used the façade of laughter to cover the cracks in my self-esteem because if those I call friends don’t respect me, why would anyone else?

I come from a loving family.  I was not abused growing up.  However, I was deeply insecure and the pressure to be perfect was often overwhelming.  And I made mistakes that took me years to be comfortable enough to talk about.  I skipped eating and restricted my food to the point that I now suffer from constant stomach issues.  I carved my pain into my skin and the words of my insecurities are still visible to this day.  I controlled my emotions to the point that I can, and have, physically disconnect/short circuit my connections to people.  

These were decisions that bled heavily into my relationships.  And it defined the development of my BDSM.  I did not understand negotiating because my needs/wants don’t matter.  I did not understand communication because if they were angry it must mean they didn’t love me.  I didn’t understand that having an opinion did not make me a bad partner.  I didn’t understand jealousy because any attention my partner showed me “should be enough.”

Essentially, I did not understand BDSM.

So, I connected to what I did understand.  I could learn the proper poses for a submissive.  I could learn the expectations of a Dominant.  I could be of service.  

After all, no one throws out something useful.

I spent most of my life pleasing others with little regard for myself.  Even now, I struggle with the idea that I need to take care of myself with as much care as I do my partners.

With what I’ve told you, it makes it hard to believe that I am proud to be an emotional masochist.

What I have learned first and foremost, I can be whatever I want to be.

I can change the things I don’t like.

So, I’ve changed the definition of emotional masochism.

Masochist: Someone who derives pleasure from physical pain, with or without the involvement of sex.

Emotional Masochist: Someone who derives pleasure from deeply emotional play, such as through means of humiliation, degradation, fear, or consensual non-consent.

I should specify that I do love a good beating.  I enjoy the use of a variety of toys used upon my person at a varying degree of intensity.  I enjoy pushing my limits and my body from time to time.  I enjoy enticing my Sadist into staying creative and keeping me guessing.

But I love being mind-fucked more.

These are the moments that leave me feeling like I’ve run a marathon without ever getting up from my knees.  

I find humiliation to be a liberating experience.  Outside of my dynamic, I refuse to allow anyone to treat me in such a way.  Often, in the vanilla world, humiliation is done maliciously.  In our world, it is done with care and understanding.

I can face the demons that haunt me.  I can seal the cracks in my self-esteem.  I can be strong and weak at the same time.  I can cry my frustration out.  I can growl in anger and defiance without disrespect.  I can bare my soul and explore the parts of me I’ve been told should never see daylight.

I can proudly identify as a submissive, a masochist (physically and emotionally), and a piggie.

I cannot change the years of emotional chaos I put up with long ago.  I cannot change the individuals who whole-heartedly took advantage of me with no remorse.  I cannot change what I allowed to happen.

So, instead, I have chosen to grow from it.  I have chosen to challenge it.  I have chosen to revel in it.

And I am proudly an emotional masochist.

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Does A Slave Have Autonomy?

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There is no greater debate in the BDSM community than when it comes to definitions.  Since BDSM is a personal journey, how we define things is molded by our experiences.  We are influenced by the people we are with.  Through both good and bad encounters, we are constantly growing, changing, and evolving.

Today, class, we are going to discuss an age-old argument.

What is the fundamental difference between a submissive and a slave?

I do not have the answer.  But I would like to have a debate with you and share the debates I’ve had with Master.

If you have ever googled the definition of a submissive, you will understand why I refuse to repeat that definition.  Instead, I’m going to put down my thoughts on what each of these roles are.

*A submissive is an individual who willingly allows another to take responsibility and control of aspects of their life in an effort to grow as a person. 

*A slave is an individual who has willingly given themself and their decisions over to another with minimal to no reservation.

The best description I have heard, and how I apply it to my dynamic, is “a submissive gives over their body and their mind.  A slave gives over their body, mind and soul.”  The author implied that being a slave was a deeply spiritual experience unparalleled to anything else.

While I agree with their thought process, this is where people diverge on defining the difference.  Words like true and real frame expectations into these little boxes and allow us to separate each other.  If you do X, then you aren’t a real Dom.  If you can’t do X, you must not be a true sub.  In reality, the depth of the dynamic, to me, is built within the confines of the mind.  The rest is just the show.

Regardless of title, both require trust and communication.  

A submissive is seen as a strong, independent individual who kneels out of love and respect for a Dominant.  A slave is seen as someone who has gotten in too deep and has no recourse to leave.  A submissive can negotiate and set limits while slaves are expected to be doormats.  While many view a slave as the ultimate submissive partner (the dream of many 50 shaders and the expected goal of all who kneel), we view them through a harsh lens.

When the life of a slave is imagined, it often involves a 24/7, live-in situation.  These are individuals who have no opinions, no decision making, are chained to the bed by the ankle, never allowed to leave the house, and are at the whim of a Master/Mistress.  Outside of the community, they are viewed a sex slaves who are trapped and abused.

Above all, the identifying factor of slave implies that an individual cannot have limits or a safeword.

I think that is bullshit.

I had a long debate with Master over this.  See, as you all know, I alternate between calling him Mister and Master.  One is family friendly; one is kink friendly.  I see him as the Master of all things in my life.  

I have willingly given him control of my physical being—through correction and health decisions.  I have willingly given him control over my emotional being—through communication, sharing of burdens, and the influence of my mental health.  Lastly, I have willingly given him control over my soul—I bare it before him each time I kneel and each time I lay before him, so lost in subspace I don’t know my own name.  

I trust him with my life and my mind.

That’s a lot of fucking responsibility to lay upon someone.

We talked about our dynamic thoroughly in the beginning and continue to do so.  He does not desire a slave.  He says that he does not have the time nor attention that is required of one.  

Because, how he was taught, slaves are seen and not heard.  They are to do absolutely nothing, short of breathing, without the go ahead of their Master/Mistress.  

Master hates the term slave when it references me.  It upsets him.  So, out of respect for him, I identify myself as his submissive.  This does not change the dynamic we have.  All it really changes is how people imagine us to be.

By Master’s definition, I am not like that.  

I do speak my mind when I feel it is important enough.  I do take financial responsibility of a portion of our house.  I do work outside the home and do so in a managerial position.  I am an Alpha outside of our home.  Because of this, I do not fit with what the “traditional” definition of a slave.

However, I view it differently.

I speak my mind to keep my Master healthy and happy.  I offer ideas that may ease his daily burden.  I speak to calm him when life gets frustrating.  I think of the worst types of jokes in an effort to make him laugh.  I ground him so he remembers to take care of himself the way he takes care of me.

I work as a service to the household.  I do what is needed to provide for our family and keep us safe and comfortable.  I take part of the financial responsibility, so it does not lay squarely on his shoulders.

My rules do not cease simply because I am outside of the house.  The blanket consent I have with him, does not change when the scenes end.  His decisions are still final, even when I disagree with the outcome.  

I have a safeword to use when needed.  We use the color system.  Green for good, yellow for check-in, and red for stop.  I have never had to use red.  We both trust each other enough, that if I have to utter red, something seriously went wrong.  We use the safe words for unexpected situations.  Was I hit accidentally in a place?  Yellow.  Do I need to readjust due to pain or numbness? Yellow.  Do I need a check-in because the gag is aggravating my asthma? Yellow.

I have yet to come to a situation that requires me to have him stop.  Every situation I’ve given examples of are parts of play that could unintentionally injure or break me.  If you break your toys, you can’t play anymore.  So, we make sure no one is broken.

In the long run, our relationship is what we want it to be, regardless of the labels pressed upon us.  Yet, I’d love to see the definition of slave to broaden and develop, just as the community has.  I do not need to stay at home to have a deep, spiritual connection with Master.  I do not need to be meek and unfailingly obedient to be a good girl.  And I sure as fuck do not need to be anything less than what I am to kneel before him and call him Master.

I have all the rights granted to everyone.

I just choose to gift them to someone else.

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Journaling While Under Consideration

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***under consideration is an optional step/stage in the power exchange dynamic process. It can involve petitions, contracts, consideration collars, etc. It is essentially the step before being officially entering into a power exchange relationship. But again it is not needed to enter into a power exchange dynamic.

Journaling is often heavily used in power exchange dynamics as a tool for the submissive to learn, grow, and express themselves.

Sometimes, I think it is important to go back to the basics.

When I was taken under consideration by Master, his main requirement was journaling.  I was to answer the same question, every day, and see how my viewpoints evolved over time.  His question: What is one kinky thought I had today?

My first few entries were sexual.  While I was aware that BDSM and sex are not mutually exclusive, the word kinky led me towards it.  Slowly, over the span of a few weeks, you can start to see less mention of sex and more mention of my internal struggles.

So, I thought I would share with you a few snippets from my “under consideration” journal.  I have never let anyone other than Master read these.  They are deeply personal, and my stomach sits heavy with anxiety as I type these up. I am starting with just a few from the very beginning for this go around.

These have not been edited or transformed in any way.  They are simply transcribed so I could share with you my thoughts from then to now.

Day 3

Today was slightly different.  I spent a good majority of time contemplating what qualifies.as kink.  To me, kink is both sexual and lifestyle driven.  It seems to reflect an acceptance of my choices, my likes and dislikes, my thoughts, my goals, and all associated knowledge gathering for the BDSM part of my life.  So, when I think about my kinky thoughts, I drift towards a goal.  I would like to learn about the Leather lifestyle, and I would like to live it.  I would like to be mentored by you in regards to it.  I spent a while after work looking up information and compiling questions.  I expect that part of the journey is the search for knowledge and self-reflection, but I would appreciate a guiding hand.

I’ve thought about our previous conversations in regards to living by guidelines; by a code of conduct.  I am unsure what the virtues Leather outlines so I’ve decided to list what I find important and compare it later on.

Patience– Is it always important to remember that anything worth having is worth waiting for.

Honor– There is nothing more important than knowing that someone’s promise, their word, is a binding contract that will be supported and defended.  It is also essential that whatever virtues and personal laws that guide someone are worth defending.

Respect– You should be an individual who carries themselves in such a way as to not only deserve respect but be willing to give it as well.

Even Tempered– You should never be feared by those you trust, never act in a moment of high emotion, be able to assess a situation with detachment, and be known as someone who is clear headed and fair.

Trust– While I believe trust is gained, and can be lost, one must be willing to cherish the trust placed in their hands and be able to be willing to take someone into confidence, if earned.

**I know there are more virtues I consider important, but I am currently drawing a blank.  Therefore, I will leave it as is and revisit this thought process later on.

Day 13

Today, I got to ask the question of the day on KIK.   I asked, “when negotiations are required, are they more in depth with a short term or long-term partner?”

To me, negotiation is the foundation of the progression of a relationship.  My negotiations are all based on long-term relationships and goals. 

In the group, J relayed her thoughts on negotiations.  She viewed every decision as a negotiation.  For example, if a Dom says no, then a sub lists the reasons they disagree with the answer, and then a final decision is made is a negotiation.  I was surprised how much I disagree with that.  In a D/s situation, my negotiation for every day decisions would be the consent to being a submissive and consent to service as such.  The rest is filler.  Regarding play, I can see a need for extra negotiation, but not in everyday situations.

I wonder if I am wrong.  I wonder if my view is too narrow.  It somewhat confuses me.

I also wonder if I am just strange.  When I negotiated with Sir, I had one rule.  As long as I, or our wives, had not verbally stated something was not allowed, then Sir has the right to try it.  I call it “blanket consent.”  To me, if I cannot trust someone enough to allow such consent, then I should not submit to them.

Is that wrong?

Day 17 

I struggle with submission.  I recognize the “big” moments that require me to listen and obey.  But, those “little” everyday moments are hard to let go.  I struggled over a ridiculous order and you asked me to write about it.

My mom and Graa came out to visit, as a surprise.  Because of this, we went to visit.  As we were getting ready, I realized I only had my tennis shoes.  I started looking for a pair of socks.  After a couple of minutes, you told me to wear your sandals.  I told you, “no, its fine.”  You stated otherwise.  When you said “three” and started the countdown, I paused, I stopped searching, and I tensed.  “Two.”  No movement, no words, no obeying.  “Now.”  I moved, almost reluctantly.  However, I listened.

It feels natural to submit to you.  However, I have a very hard time letting go of control.  I am in control at work, and I am in control at home.  I hold the weight of the world by choice.

However, when I am ordered by my Dom, outside of play, I struggle with the mindset switch.  Sometimes, it is the inability to let go.  Sometimes, it is a challenge.  Sometimes, it is a lack of recognition that it is an order.  Sometimes, it is a push to see if you are serious.

All the time, though, it is a moment that quiets my mind.  It is an attempt to center myself.  I trust you fully, and with each successfully obeyed order, I’m starting to trust myself.

Day 37

You put me in the corner (of all things) today.  I deserved it.  Honestly, had the child not been there, I would have deserved the belt for mouthing off and calling you a woman.  I knew as soon as I said it, I was in trouble.  I find it hard to look you in the eye when I’ve misbehaved.  I’m worried I will see disappointment.  That’s something I severely dislike seeing directed at me.

When I was in the corner, you asked me one question.  “Am I ready to behave?”  You told me you wanted a yes or no answer, and as soon as I gave my answer, I could leave the corner.

It took three questions and physical contact on my neck before I could bring myself to answer you.  You told me my answer didn’t matter.  As long as I answered, I could have left the corner.  You asked me if it was so hard to answer the questions.  The answer was Yes, Sir.  It really was that hard.

I don’t believe in doing anything half-assed.  If I couldn’t answer you with an honest, fully meant yes or no, then I would not answer.

I expected a few swats or the belt.  So, when you put my in the corner, my first thought was disbelief.  My second was wanting to deck you.  I wanted to turn around and wipe the smirk off your face.  That is why I rested my forehead to the wall and closed my eyes.  I took a full, deep breath for clarity.  This is when the fight for control begins.  It is a small mantra of wanting to challenge your rights as Dom.  At the same time, I have a strong feeling of need.  I know that I need discipline.  In all the fight, I never debated leaving the corner.  Even when I turned, I did not leave the spot you left me in.

I wanted to push you.  I wanted to push and push and push until You stared at me in disbelief and reacted.  But, I knew that I did not actually want to upset you nor did I really want to be in control.

I use breathing to center myself when I cannot kneel or curl up and cuddle.  I use slow breaths to answer the hardest questions that I have.  I used it to remind myself that I asked for you to be firm.  I used it to weigh the heaviness of my words if I had asked if “this was all you had.”  I used it to measure my needs and wants.  As soon as I take that first, steadying breath, I know that I will submit.  Because I want to.  Because I need to.

So, the longer I stood there in silence, with my eyes closed and my breathing slow, the more the fight morphed into giving you an honest answer.

Could I behave?  Yes, I could.  I just needed to waid through all the white noise first.

I have always been open that I fought Master tooth and nail after he took me under consideration.  He saw something in me that even I didn’t.  He took steps, such as requiring me to journal, to help me learn about myself.

I am not proud of fight I have given him.  Yet, I know it was necessary.  It took me six months to kneel for him.  It took another three for me to refer to him as Sir verbally.  It took over a year for me to crawl for him. 

Throughout it all, he was patient with my struggles and firm with my punishment.  He was calm when I would work myself into a panicked state and damn near all knowing when he gave me topics to explore.

He knows me better than I know myself.

Because of him, I can read back through that first year, and see where I was.  I can read of my confusion, my distaste with myself, my joy, my triumph, and my growth.

I can watch myself change and learn.

Now, I use these writings as a guide so I can help other new submissives.  I stand strong in the belief that you never have to be subservient from the beginning.  You never have to change who you are.  You never have to face the journey alone.

You just have to be honest.

With your Dom, always.

But, most importantly, with yourself.

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

The Skinny On The Hanky Code

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hanky code, lgbt
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Early last year, I was given the opportunity to “fly my colors” for the first time.  Meaning, Master walked me through how to properly fold my two bandanas, so they would lay comfortably against my jeans, to express my interests to the other 1800 people in attendance at a kink convention.

Wearing colors had never crossed my mind.  Do not misunderstand, I wear my pride with my patches and my pins.  I am proud of my positions, as both a submissive and a Daddy.

But, the Bandana Code, also known as the Hanky Code, had become a relic of our past by the time I was in the scene.  It was used predominantly in the 1970’s and early 1980’s.  From talking to others in my local community, it is scene occasionally nowadays but is most often used more as a party theme.

I do wish it were still part of our community today.  I have hearing loss in both my ears.  I have lost around 30% of my hearing on each side.  I also struggle with hearing certain tones.  This means that during parties, my partners use hand signals for check-ins.  Since I cannot hear them properly, and they may be facing away from me, we built a rudimentary set of four signals to express our current state of mind.  When trying to mingle with others, I find it very hard to be able to talk to them, and hear their answer, which makes pick up play difficult.

Flagging, or hankies, were not used during play.  However, they were used to express what you were looking for at that time.  You could look out across a sea of people, and hone in on who was into what, and what role they were. 

It was known to have been used in Canada, Europe, and the United States.  It was used in the gay Leather community but has since been opened to all genders and sexualities.  Back then, hankies were used to denote a sexual fetish, what kind of sex they wanted, and whether they were a Top or a bottom.

Left side flagging indicates a Top.  Right side indicates bottom.

Keys were a predecessor of hankies.  The Left/Right indications were still the same.  Finding that out was amusing.  Especially since I have, and probably always will, hook my keys to my right belt loop.  Who knows that invitations I would have been subtly sending out if the key code was still actively used today?

Maybe I am impractical, but I wondered what happened if you had multiple interests.  At that point, it feels like I would have a rainbow hanging out of my pocket to express it all.  It was clarified, through a whole lot of laughter by Master, that you typically picked one or two colors and may swap them out depending on what was desired that night.

He expressed that he always wore his black hankie, since he is a Sadist above all else.  His secondary color changed as needed.

The colors have been added to over the years.  I’m going to include the basics from Larry Townsend’s 1983 Leatherman Handbook II.  If it spikes your curiosity, google Hanky Code colors and watch the lists grow exponentially.

Black- S/M

Dark Blue- Anal Sex

Light Blue– Oral Sex

Brown– Scat

Green– Hustler/Prostitution

Grey– Bondage

Orange– Anything Goes

Purple– Piercing

Red– Fisting

Yellow– Watersports

*As notated, the giver and the receiver were determined based on the side you put your Hanky/bandana on. 

I have never been the most outgoing individual.  I am unsure if I ever would have been brave enough to wear orange.  Then again, I believe it probably led to some unforgettable times between individuals.

We may never see a resurgence of the Hanky code, it would be nice to have an easier way to find my people when I am faced with the loud, rambunctious environments that surround both parties and kink conventions.Attachments area

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Erotica: A Touch of Trepidation

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woman tied to chair splashed with water
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Tonight I want to fear you. That’s not entirely true.  I could never fear you Sir.  What I really want, is to taste fear. I want to feel the hole in my stomach, the prickling on my skin, and my heart racing.  I want the blood to pound in my head and my chest to rise and fall rapidly.  I want to be disoriented and scared, and pushed to my limit.


I trust you Sir.

I’ve given You the liberties to my body, my mind, and my soul


I’ve let you love me in the most depraved ways.

Because that’s how we are.


Tonight, I want you to love me with fear.  I want to shake and sob because I don’t know what’s going to happen.  I want the lines between our decisions and our limits to be blurred.

I’m cold, Sir.  My body is shaking ever so slightly.  My muscles are tensing trying to hold position.  I’ve been here around ten minutes I’d guess.  
But, you know what happens when I’m cold.
It starts small.  I feel the ache in my hands and feet as the skin starts to stretch and swell.  Then I feel the irritation in my knees.  The cold causes them to itch and welt.  Then the goosebumps start.  They run the length of my arms and up my spine.  They cause my muscles to contract painfully.  Then, the longer I hold it, the more violent my trembling.  The harder it is to breathe.

You’ve kept it cold on purpose.

I know this.  Because, when I’m struggling to hold myself still, I cannot sink into oblivion.  I cannot regulate the pain of play by breathing and counting and disassociating.  I cannot simply close my eyes and bite down and bear it.  

I’m too distracted.

I’ve spread my legs wider than I’m supposed to at this point.  My forehead is resting on the bed, an allowable position if my arms weren’t hanging loosely at my side and my ass wasn’t sitting on my heels.

Every time I breathe in, it’s like breathing menthol.  There’s a spot, right between my brows, that feels like ice with each inhale.  As I exhale, I can hear the tremble of my breath. I’ve given up fidgeting.  I’ve lost track of time.  I’ve given in to my body before we’ve even started.

Just as you planned.

Because the greatest way to start the fear, is to put me in a position where my only outcome will lead to disappointment.

We both know that my body has more limits in the cold.  We both know, leaving me naked and waiting is going to wear me down. But I haven’t spoken.  And you haven’t even started yet.

I missed the sound of the door opening.  You always walk so silently but I’m usually much more in tune with your movements.

I feel sluggish.  Like everything is in slow motion.

I feel the point of your knife against my spine.  I inhale sharply as you drag it up my sensitive skin.  It burns Sir.  It burns like it’s been heated.  You trail it up and down with purpose, but you haven’t spoken yet.  Other than the slow torture, you don’t seem to acknowledge i’m even here.

You yank my hair and pull my head back hard.  It tightens my airway and I feel the point of your knife right below my chin.  You drag it so slowly.  I’m trying not to move and in desperately trying to meet your eyes but you won’t look at me.  Your eyes are focused on my chest.  

What are you looking for?  Why won’t you meet my eyes?  Is it to make me panic?  Is it to stop me from finding my center?

I’m beginning to wonder if I am ready for what I’ve asked for.

You kicked my legs farther apart.  My thighs are straining with the effort.  You slid the knife between my knees, laying it on the floor a hairsbreadth away from my crotch.  I know better than to rest against it.  Not only is it bad form, but then I would be dirtying your shine.  I don’t need that punishment right now.

You’ve moved behind me now.  My eyes slide closed as the blindfold goes on.  I’m surprised when a knotted rope slips between my teeth, pulling tight against my cheeks.  Then, the hood.

How I hate that hood with a passion.  You know how much I panic when I feel alone and vulnerable.

The fabric pulls against my nostrils and mouth as my breathing increases.  I’m straining to hear you.  I’m tempted to move but you’ve fixed that issue.
The rope is threaded through my D-ring and wrapped from elbow to wrist.  It pulls at my shoulders and brings my back straight.

I know with certainty why you bound me.  It’s not something you normally do.  You did it solely to make me vulnerable.  You know I would fight the urge to reach for you.  You love seeing the beads of sweat down my brow as I’m trying to hold myself together for you.  

Today, you are testing me.  You have taken my number one fear, silence, and amplified it.

You’ve left me cold, my nerves on fire, and my senses taken.

You’ve left me in a state of shock.

You’ve left me…

I’m convinced you’ve left me down here alone Sir.  

It’s so cold and so dark.

When I asked you to make me afraid, I had a very different vision than this.  I imagined being thrown around like a rag doll.  I imagined harsh words and an audience to humiliate me.  I even imagined you might let someone else touch me.

But, I never imagined it would all be in my head.

My eyes are burning.  I’m afraid you’ve left me alone down here and the silence is deafening.

I finally dropped.  My head fell forward, my chin to my chest, and I’m shifting on my knees.  I’m restless and scared and desperate to find you.

*Thwack*

I screamed in both shock and pain at the intensity of the hit.  If I was in a state to guess, I’m betting I was kissed by your snake whip.

*Thwack**Thwack*

I’m trying to curl back.  You’ve hit each breast and my stomach.  Every time you strike me, I move.  Every time I move, you strike me.

Over and over again, you kiss my skin.  It hurts and I’m crying.  I’m hiccupping around the gag.  

I can’t breathe.  That’s exactly what your aim is, I’m sure of it.  Pain is much harder to enjoy when I can’t sink into it.

I don’t remember the strikes stopping.  But I remember the hood being yanked from my head and your fist in my hair.

I remember your hand slapping me and you letting me fall sideways to the floor.  

I can still feel the rubber of your boot against my reddened cheek.  I remember the pressure and the pain in my ass as you smacked it, over and over again.  I’m not even sure what you used.  

I’m begging for mercy in my head.  But I’m not ready to give in.  When you move back, I’m trying desperately to bring my knees back under me.  I’m trying to be good and give you access to my body.

My legs are wobbling so bad.  I’m trying to hear you through the rushing in my ears.  I know you are talking.  I’m convinced it’s about how much I’m failing.

Rule number one: if you have not been told to move, you stay in position.
You’ve told me often enough that you get such Sadistic pleasure watching me fall out of position and having to out myself back into place.  That’s why you rarely bind me.  Because good girls know how to stay put.

I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough.  I’m afraid I’ll never be enough.I’m afraid I’ll always be too…

Broken.

I don’t remember much Sir.  I’m having trouble remembering what happened after I struggled to kneel up.

The next thing I remember is being laid out across the floor, free of restraints, with my head in your lap and your palm against the back of my neck.

As the sounds of water cleared from my ears, I can hear you talking.  My eyes are closed, they feel so heavy.  I’m shivering but sweating profusely.
“I’m so proud of you”. That’s the first thing I hear.

And I sob.

Your hand rubs up and down my back and I can hear you encourage me to let go.  That you’re here for me and you love me and it’s going to be ok.
I don’t know how long you held me before I opened my eyes.  I looked up at yours, still feeling dazed.  You meet them and give me three kisses to my forehead.

“You did so good, my little piggie.  Such a good pain slut”. Even after all of that, you know just how to make me smile.

I asked you to make me afraid.

You did that.  Even if I don’t remember all of it.

But, as you stood up, and I moved to kiss your boots, all I felt was peace.
Even in the darkest moments of play and the depths of a panicking mind, I will never fear you Sir.

That’s a promise.

Erotic fiction on Kink Weekly is for entertainment purposes only. It is not intended as a guide for how to do BDSM yourself. Always obtain explicit, enthusiastic consent from your partner before incorporating any element in your BDSM sessions, and maintain the ability for them to withdraw consent at any time during the scene, using a safeword or similar.

Journey of a Wayward Sub

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female sub tied suspended upside down with marks
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**This Started out as a very odd dream. When the dream ended, I was asked by my Dom to continue the story to its natural end. This is the result**

* *

We were chosen by random lottery. So, all the Doms and Masters would take their subs to this stadium and a lottery was drawn. They had a group of unowned subs. If your number was drawn (which was reflected by the registry numbers on the subs tags) then they would go to the center of the field. The sub would strip, their collar removed, and temporary cuffs and collar assigned to the camp were placed. Then the D/M would pick an unowned sub to satisfy their needs for the length of time the sub(s) was gone. The D/M was also told that if they so chose, they could choose to keep the temp sub in lieu of their chosen one.

****

They hooked leashes to our collars, one by one as we were called. 37 of us in total this time. Four males, the rest female. They waited until the stadium emptied before we were moved. I can only imagine it was to show us we were replaceable as we watched our Masters leave with our replacements. Not one of them looked back.

****

The windows were black on the bus they put us on. I thought they were tinted but as I’m moved up the steps there is no light. I’m walked over to a seat and sat. Almost tenderly they move my cuffs against the wall. Did you know they were magnetic Sir? No, you probably wouldn’t. I doubt they have ever subjected you to this kind of travel. A strap is placed across my thighs to keep me attached to the seat. I can hear one of the girls crying. She is trying to be quiet but little stops the sound from traveling. From somewhere in the dark we are warned to keep quiet or we will be gagged until we reach our destination. I miss you already Master. I wonder what lies they’ve told you about the camp. This is nothing like the propaganda they have spouted for so many years

****

Have you ever sat in complete darkness, Sir? I can hear the gravel on the road, the soft purr of the engine, my own heartbeat in my ears. We have been driving for a long time. I lean my head against the blackened windows. I need sleep. I cant change whats going to happen so attention his point the worst it could be is not waking up at all. There are no rituals to help me drift, no tenderness to ease the panic. It is simply time and darkness.

****

I don’t know how long i was in the dark. I opened my eyes to the handlers removing us one by one. I’m one of the last to be removed. He leaned in close to me, warning me to be compliant. Anything else would result in a swift correction of behavior. I stepped off the bus. My feet sunk into the deep, cold blades of grass. I blinked several times trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. We are on a large lot of land. There are trees for miles. A large two story house stands before us, the whole front is glass from roof to foundation. I’m nervous again. Two weeks is a very long time to be away.

They lined us up just inside the house. With a steely soft voice, a female ordered us to kneel. Down I went, my eyes firmly on the ground, my back straight, and my hands loosely on my thighs. I could hear the clack of heels but i resisted the urge to look. From the sound of flesh against flesh, i realize someone else didn’t.

I’ve never realized how humiliating it is to be so bare in front of anyone other than you Sir. Hands moved across my chest, up and across my shoulders. My chin was grasped and my head forced up. My mouth was yanked open. Then i was pushed to the ground. My forehead touched the floor, my ass in the air. I was told to hold myself open. I could feel their eyes burning into my skin.

All I wanted to do was run. Instead, I simply close my eyes and wait for it to be over. I can feel the cold sensation of lube before something blunt pushes against my ass. It burns. There is no finesse, no kindness in the movements. I feel so full and stretched and it hurts. I feel the pushing stop and what I can only figure is a plug stays put. I am pulled back up to my knees and then they begin to divide us into groups. There are three others in my group. They are as mute as I am. I prefer your instruction. It comes with clear, concise instruction. Here, the handlers speak so little and assume we know their thoughts. I’m not sure I am going to survive.

No one knows what happens here. They hook our leashes together again and nearly drag us through the vast house. It is a labyrinth of a house and down three flights of stairs we find our darkness. Did you tell I fear the dark Sir? Is this a punishment for a slight i am unaware I’ve committed?

One flickering bulb hangs from the ceiling with four military cots against the four corners. I half expected hooks to hang us from but the walls are bare. There is no life in this room. I expect that’s why we were brought here. To make us lose hope.

One night down Sir. Thirteen to go.

****

I miss affection. We both know how i crave your touch, your kindness, your praise. I crave it almost as much as i crave your Sadistic side. But its different here.

“Good Girl” is said almost mockingly. I was volunteered to show my talents this morning. I was singled out because I did not rise at first call. We both know how deep I sleep. Apparently that is unacceptable for a submissive.

Rule 1: I am always to be ready to serve your needs, of any kind, at any time of day.

Apparently, I am weak at what I do. I’ve been selected for private sessions with the handlers.

****

Rule 2: I will always respect my betters.

More than likely this is why I am in trouble. I’ve refused to call them anything other than Handler. They are not my Master nor my Mistress. This is, as I’ve been told quite violently, unacceptable.

I have been restricted. I’m not sure how long I have been kneeling here. I am unable to feel anything below my waist now. If not for this contraption, my body would have given out long ago.

Im watching the other slaves fight. Well, its wrestling really. But there is no mercy here.

****

Rule 3: A submissive should always be ready to shield their Dom with their body.

What this really means is that we should be able to take what ever strikes our skins without complaint.

We are toys Sir.

This is not a training ground for us. I don’t think we are ever to make it back. Will you remember me if I disappear Sir? I’ve always been willful and now it is my worst attribute.

I’ve been used more than i can count now. I fear what they are prepping us for. Is this where i will spend the rest of my days?

Should i swallow my pride and allow them to break me Sir? If it means i can go home?

I’m beginning to wonder.

Three days down–I think. After all, its hard to count the hours in the dark.

****

I haven’t walked since I’ve been here Sir. My knees are bruised and bloody from crawling. I hate it on a good day for you, I despise doing it for them. I compose these letters to You in my head but I wish I could just hear You. Just for a moment.

Will you still want me when I am so jaded and broke? Will You take your pleasure from me knowing I’ve choked and gagged on an unknown amount of men? Will You touch me knowing that even though you cannot see it, I will have been torn and bruised and brutalized simply because I would not form my lips to call another Master?

I hope so.

****

Tonight I am outside on the lawn. I’ve been here since sun up. They wont let me sleep. My arms are pulled taunt above my head, hooked to a pulley system in the tree. Occasionally they let me down to my knees but I am currently struggling on my tip toes.

There are weights on my nipples. They burn. I can feel the pull in my shoulders and my back.

They wont touch me yet. I’m still squirming too much. Once I find my center and try to zone through the pain, that’s when I will draw their attention. I will feel the crop to my pussy or too my feet to make me jump. After all, if I didn’t flinch I wouldn’t be in as much pain.

Rule 5: i will accept what i am given and be grateful for it.

Does that include getting hosed down instead of being allowed to shower Sir?

The answer is yes. It only took me six hours to concede that answer.

****

Are you proud Sir?

I look a right mess. At least, I think I do. There are tear tracks, involuntary. Sometimes the sting is too much. There are no safewords here. I think that’s why so few subs return. There were no promises in the lottery that said we come back undamaged or sane…or that we come back at all.

Did you know rule 4 is the same as one of yours?

Rule 4: No biting

You understand if you could read these words, that I made a decision. I was so tired Sir. So tired and cold and sore and sick. I was smart enough to not bite the cock as it fucked my mouth raw. I was not so gentle to his thigh when he wiped his fluids across my face. I drew blood.

Then they drew blood on me.

****

It dawns on me, a breath of life, as i lay there. The more I fight, the less likely I am to see You again. I’ve never been good at dealing with being left alone. Sometimes I wonder if I am easy to read or You have sold my secrets to the devil. As my endurance gets better, my punishments only get worse.

I’ve had no one to soothe me. No one to tether me. This isn’t play. This is cruelty. Cruelty I’ve asked for from You.

So why is it so hard to accept?

That’s easy. Because it isn’t You.

****

I can hear the crunching of leaves. My eyes pop open. They are still a distance from me. I bring my battered body up to a kneel. My hands are cuffed in front of me, chained to the base of a tree where i was left last night. Its not even dawn yet but i have managed some rest.

I keep my eyes down and my back as straight as i am able, just as i did on day one.

I’m going to try Sir. Because i want to go home.

I can see boots stop in front of me. They are black leather. I like them less than yours. And Sir, they severely needed to be shined.

“Lick them.”

My eyes close the tightly. I knew it was coming. I’ve earned not only the humiliation but they are showing me my place. Never to question. Never to hesitate.

I lean forward, trying to keep my balance. I have to strain forward. He stands just beyond my comfortable reach. Between the bonds and the position, I’m sure i will crash forward. I stick my tongue out and reach the tip of the boots. The leather is smooth yet well worn. I can taste the dirt dusted across it. I want to curl in on myself and stop this but i cant…i wont. I continue to lick–long, slow licks, shining the material to the best of my ability. As I switch boots, i feel a sharp thwack on my ass.

Its the crop. I hate when he wields it. But i don’t cry this time. He keeps the pace for a good ten minutes or so before he stops and steps away from me.

He wraps his hand in my hair ans pulls my head back to meet his eyes. “Do you have something you would like to say, slut?”

My mind is screaming at me to spit at him. To fight and scream. Instead, i cave…as i swore i never would.

“Thank you Sir for allowing me to clean your boots.”

He drops my head and left me kneeling there alone.

Then the tears start.

****

I’ve been allowed inside Sir. Its the first time in three days. I am halfway through my time here. I’ve had no human interaction with anyone other than the Handlers. I see the others, performing various acts, but I am kept segregated. It wears on me.

The plug they placed in me has been replaced with beads. They stretch me less but they also move with me more. I feel them with every movement.

So far, today has been my easiest. I am spending my day sucking cock. As much as I despise this place, my mouth still waters at being allowed to lick and suck.

I am kneeled over a small device. It looks like a black cushion but in the center is a vibrator. It sits against my clit. I am free of bonds and am to show my understanding of rule 6.

Rule 6: A submissive shall exert a firm level of self control in any circumstance.

I keep my hands behind my back, my right hands holding my left wrist. I start licking the cock in front of me. Soft, light licks to the head. I circle my tongue around and gently nudge the tip of my tongue against the slit. I flatten my tongue and push firmly against the shaft until I reach the balls. I gently suck on them. It is a weird sensation that i love.

I let them go with a pop and move back to the tip. I suck firmly before sliding down to take the entire cock in my mouth. I make sure to keep my teeth covered. I’m taking my time. We will see who gives in first.

I’m in a very unique spot Sir. The bead have been replaced with the plug again. Its rubber and feels thicker than the first. There is a vibrating egg in my pussy and a dildo in my mouth to keep me quiet. I am bent over a cold metal table. It reminds me of an autopsy table. It is shiny enough that i can see movement behind me but not clear enough to see what he is holding. My hands are pulled taunt above my head and secured to the table legs. Strapped to my thigh is a vibrating wand. It sits right at the edge of my clit. It teases me and my juices are running down my legs. I’ve been here a while now. My body shivers from the sensations. My pussy is throbbing and I desperately want to cum. But I need more Sir. I need pressure. I need pain. I-I n-need….permission.

****

My body tensed with the first swing. I was distracted Sir. So as soon as I felt the wood hit my cheeks and drive the plug into me, I knew what this lesson was.

Rule 7: A submissive should always be attentive when engaged with their Dominant.

I had allowed my mind to wander. I feel so full and the vibrations are overwhelming. I can feel how swollen my clit is. I tried to push back but that earned me a second and third whack. I couldn’t even cry out with my mouth stretched and full as it was.

Four. Five. Six.

It hurts. It hurts so bad. The plug keeps shifting inside me. My body is sweating with the effort of trying to relax. I know that every flinch and tensing only makes it hurt more.

Seven. Eight.

My ass burns and the skin feels hot. There are tears running down my face and a puddle of drool on the table below me. I’m trying to breathe, to relax, to pay attention.

Nine.

Ten.

Fuck.

I feel the egg pulled from my pussy and without hesitation, a cock pushed into me. My ass burns from the friction and my pussy is so sensitive. My tummy is pushing into the edge of the table. I’m expecting to see bruises tomorrow.

He pushed deep in me and stopped. Fully seated, I suddenly felt the wand pushed firmly against my clit. I could feel myself contracting around his cock, my stomach clenching. I screwed my eyes tight and tried to hold back.

Self control.

Self control.

“Cum.” and all my control disappeared.

****

I’ve never been one for the silence. I have trouble being alone. The longer I am there, alone with only my thoughts, the worse it gets. First I start they fidget. Little movements that only your sharp eyes catches. Then my eyes shift and my hands clench. My breathing becomes more shallow and I start to wonder. I wonder what I did wrong. The silence is always a punishment.

Here, though, it is a way of living. I can hear the cries of the other submissives. I can hear their training. I can hear the chaos. But, in my room, a solitary spot at the far end of the grounds, away from the actual house, I no longer connect to the sound. I zone through it.

So, I’ve taken to talking to myself. I’ve taken to reflecting on life…and training. I write these imaginary letters to you Sir, knowing you will never see them. I talk to you to keep me warm in the nights. This has been far from easy.

I’m trying. I wonder often if you would be ashamed of my actions those first few days. I am ten days in now and it took seven for me to stop fighting. Does that mean I have wasted this opportunity? Does that matter when neither of us chose to send me here? I wonder if you would still proudly claim I was yours knowing how I struggled. After all, it took months for you to tame me. Here, I’ve done it in a fraction of the time.

My submission is important to me. It took everything I had to lay it before you and offer myself. I figure that’s why I’m fighting so hard. I didn’t choose to submit to the handlers. It was a choice that was taken from me. But I’ve come to the realization that there are things I can be taught, from others, that can improve my submission to you.

So, as I sit here in the dark, humming a lullaby to soothe the fear, I’ve finally accepted why I am here…and what it will take to go home.

****

This is torture Sir. I thought You were Sadistic but they have proven there are others who are worse.

Rule 8: A submissive should be able to complete any task assigned without distraction.

Have you ever listened to a song on repeat because it speaks to you or comforts you or simply because you enjoy it? I have. There are many instances where I can listen to a single song for weeks. I have never, however, been subjected to them while working.

They are playing Disney songs Sir. My guilty pleasure. I’ve been told I am to tune them out. The volume is loud enough I can feel the Lion King thumping in the floor boards. I cannot sing along. I cannot dance.

I am to tune it out.

The task is relatively simply Sir. I am to clean the house. Its almost comforting. Of course, as I’ve been yet allowed to stand, everything is washed with a washcloth, toothbrush, and bucket. So, not my favorite.

Every so often one of the handlers comes in. Sometimes it is to purposefully track mud across my clean floors. Sometimes it is do be serviced. Most of the time it is to be distracting.

Poking and prodding me. Crops, paddles, hands…the implements change, the distraction doesn’t.

I have a deadline for when it is to be done by. I have no timer or clock to keep me on track. That’s part of the challenge.

After all, I am a service oriented submissive at home. If I am abiding by the rules, I shouldn’t need a clock to get everything done in time.

Right Sir?

****

I failed Sir. I was unable to complete my tasks on time. I tried. I pushed myself but I failed. I want to tell you it was because of all the interruptions but that is only an excuse.

I’m disheartened. Even without you here, I feel like I’ve disappointed you.

Rule 9: A submissive will accept that failure happens and endeavor to learn from it.

Rule 10: A submissive will never give excuses for her shortcomings. She will own up to her mistakes without hesitation and accept the corrections given.

I’ve been writing these rules for hours.

I cried Sir. I cried when they told me I had failed. I am guessing that I was not meant to finish the tasks. I was set up to fail so I would learn to accept it and move on.

Rule 11: Apologies are only meant to be given with heartfelt regret and a clearly stated reason as to why.

The more I have to recite these rules, the more I expect you to appear. I feel like you are watching Sir. I feel like you are feeding them my deepest fears, my darkest insecurities, and my biggest failures.

This is tailored to my rebellions.

Are the Handlers really that good or are You there Sir?

Three days to go. Maybe then I will find out if my suspicions are correct.

****

I have the worst balance Sir. I suppose I am meant to be graceful and ornate, skilled enough to make it through a crowd of people for service without being noticed. I am always to be on call and ready to serve.

Have you ever tried to walk on your knees Sir? To shuffle forward at a moderate pace while trying to hold tray service?

I am tightly holding a pipe like tube in my mouth. It is connected to a tray with drinks on it. Both my arms are out at my sides with my palms up, also holding trays, though these have food on them.

I am to stay still. I am to move only if told. Every shift in my position brings the items closer and closer to spilling.

This is torture.

****

Rule 12: A reward is earned and is never an expectation.

Did you know Sir that the more interest i show in something the less i get it?

I’ve expressed to you multiple times how I love to use my mouth. I’ve learned here that the love I have does lessen slightly with boot worship but is not wholly unbearable. I’ve also learned that I have a slight fondness related to rimming but my ultimate love lies with oral. Be it man or woman, i love the feel, the taste, everything. I enjoy sucking lightly on a woman’s clit while you watch, hearing her moan like a whore. I like swallowing you whole and tasting your cum on my tongue.

When I close my eyes and imagine being home, it is easier to perform those same actions here.

However, my enthusiasm for it, compared to my overall behavior, had the privilege stripped from me.

Even the gags changed. Now I have my mouth pulled open with a metal O ring. It does not allow my tongue anywhere to lick or suck.

I am impulsive Sir. I tried to lick one of the Handlers as they came by. I got one swipe in before the back of his hand connected to my face.

No words were uttered. They weren’t needed. I knew I was in the wrong. My whole body dropped in acceptance. I’ve only made the wait longer. I’ve only made the privilege harder to earn.

I am learning Sir. It just doesn’t seem to be fast enough.

****

It has been a long two weeks Sir. They have us all lined up outside on the lawn. This is the first time I have seen other subs since that first night. We are kneeling as expected.

Even me Sir. My eyes are down, my back is straight, and my palms are up, resting lightly on my thighs. I’ve not needed to be gagged in two days.

There are only a few of us here. I’m not sure what happened to everyone. Only one of the males remains and there are probably less than ten females left, including me.

I’ve been difficult Sir. I know that. But I’ve learned my rules and my lessons.

I was so afraid of losing myself. Of losing my personality. I didn’t want to be a doormat again. I had trouble separating my submission from myself.

But, being here, has brought me away from those fears. I ache from the depth of my lessons. My eyes have cried more than I thought possible. But I’ve learned the most important rule so far.

Rule 13: A submissive does not need to understand a Dominant’s decision to trust that it is for the best

****

Its dark Sir. The sky is beautiful out here. There are no other souls for miles and you can see the stars so clearly. It never dawned on me what I was missing back home.

I spend most of my time inside and I never realized it. Though, that is neither of our faults really. Between the fact that I cannot leave your property unaccompanied and the sun down curfew, i would never be able to see such sights in town.

Do not think I am unhappy Sir. You are both a kind and caring Master and I enjoy my days with you. I accept what i have and am grateful for it. But I will hold this moment close to my heart for a fair length of time. This is a freedom and beauty that cannot be replicated with so many people around.

The blindfold is being slipped on. Its not as frightening as it was on day one. In fact, it mostly feels heavy. I’ve been without clothes or adornments for so long now that it is uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

I hope this means I get to go home soon.

I miss you.

I hope you can say the same.

****

They have removed our collars Sir. They have removed all our adornments. My wrists and ankles are bare.

I have missed my own cuffs and collar. I have missed the comforting weight of them. Even though these last two weeks i’ve worn foreign marks of ownership, they felt wrong. But being without any feels worse.

We were told why they were taken. This is our final test. They expect perfect obedience on the way home. They expect absolute silence–a time of reflection.

Then, when we arrive back to the place in which we were taken, we would present ourselves for inspection.

Then, and only then, will we find if our Dominants have decided to take each of us back.

I’m worried.

My body is painted in foreign colors and marks. I know I am a masochist. I also know that the marks normally on my body are ones you know well. You take care that I stay undamaged.

My body is littered with more blue and purple than any of the other subs. You can see the marked up skin where my collar and leash were rubbing from being yanked so often. You can see the rope burns on my wrists and ankles that were previously covered by my cuffs.

These are the marks of a fighter. These are the marks of someone who spent most of the last fourteen days in trouble.

I wont need to say a word when I kneel before you. You will know in a moment what happened.

I wonder though….do I get in extra trouble for damaging your property by my bad decisions?

****

I knelt forward for my final inspection at this camp. The last of the devices are removed. I feel empty Sir. Then again, that has more to do with me being slutty than having the beads removed.

My body throbs, in a good way. I can feel the pulsing between my legs. I am preparing to suffer Sir. Heat is coming and I have yet to know if I am suffering alone this time.

We are loaded onto the bus, one by one. Our eyes remained darkened. I wonder if they fear we will know their location. It seems a futile fear. I doubt anyone wants to come back. I know I wish to be as far from here as possible.

The reason has changed from the first nights. First I wanted to leave because I feared that being away from you would have you forget me. Then, it was because of the restrictions. I’ve always asked you to be stricter and then when it was laid before me, I rebelled.

Now, I simply don’t want to need to be here anymore.

We were drawn by lottery. A lottery that very few survive.

As the bus comes to a slow stop, the gravel crunching under the weight of the tires, I am ready as I will ever be.

Fear is fluttering in my stomach. My nerves are vibrating with nervous energy. I breathe long, slow breaths. It is time.

I walked down the steps of the bus and forward until I am told to stop. I can hear the others. Their Dominants and Masters are talking to the handlers in low tones.

One girl is crying. I cannot see why but her sobs are heart wrenching. I hear another humming softly. I can only hope it is a happy song.

The sounds begin to quiet again. A single snap and I am on my knees. I close my eyes when I feel hands on my face. Slowly the blindfold is removed. I blink rapidly towards the ground so I can see again.

Its still dark. I’m not sure why that surprises me but it does.

I can see your boots Sir. All i want to do is lay my head on them and beg you to take me home. I want to beg you to hug me and kiss me. I want to beg for you to touch me in any way.

I don’t move.

I can hear the handler start to speak and you silence him.

“I can see how her time has gone.” Your voice is steady and low but hard to read.

My heart sinks.

Your hand touches me hair and combs through it gently. Your fingers trail down my face and place pressure under my chin until I am looking at you. I’m biting my lip to stay silent. I can feel the tears on my lashes.

Your hand runs across my throat before you pull back and reach into your pocket.

I see it. My collar.

You place it around my neck with practiced ease and slip the leash into its ring.

You tug me to my feet and give me a soft hug. Your lips brush my ear and you tell me everything I’ve ever needed to learn in one sentence.

“Rule 14: Whether on or off, my collar is always there.”

THE END

About the Author

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

The Gift Of Acceptance

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Tied up and reflecting on independence and freedom
via stock.adobe.com

When I was 26, my mother died.
When I was 27, my grandfather died.
And yesterday, at the age of 31, I lost my father 21 hours after our last text message saying “I love you.”
But, I don’t want to tell you about his death.  I don’t want to fill these pages with tear stains and unintelligible sobbing.
I want to tell you the greatest thing he ever did for me.
He accepted me.
The man I still called Daddy was a man who took care of not only his son, but two daughters who weren’t his by blood.
Of course, he’d chastise me for saying that.
We were his.  There was never any difference between us.  He told me that often enough.  He treated my sister and I, and both our spouses, as his kids.  When they asked how many he had, the answer was always five.
I learned about kink when I was barely a teen.  It spoke to me in a way that nothing else had.  I read stories and blogs from a variety of submissives and slaves and it resonated with me.  The more I learned, the more I wanted to know.
But, I needed a friend.  I needed someone I could talk to about it.
My daddy was that friend.
So, a few years after I discovered this world, I nervously fumbled my way through what I’d found and how I felt.
He listened.
Without judgement, he asked me questions.  He told me to be safe.
He laughed and then told me he had no desire to know about my sex life.
This is the same man who bought me my first pair of police grade handcuffs and my first cat o nine tails.
I was utterly shocked.  My dad was a straight laced man who still blushed at dirty jokes.
But, he wanted me to feel accepted.  He said he would always get me what I asked for if it was within his means.
I broke that pair of handcuffs about six years after I got them.  I got handcuffed and we lost the key.  So, with a fork, a butter knife, and a whole lot of bruising, I bent them enough to free myself.
On a side note, I don’t recommend losing the key.
For Christmas a couple years ago, As he does every year, he asked me what I wanted.
I told him nothing.
He called me on my bullshit.
I said the only things I wanted weren’t things I was going to ask him for.
He told me to send him the links.
So, I did.
That Christmas, I received a pair of black handcuffs and matching leg irons. I also received the money to buy the internal violet want attachments I wanted.
Weird, isn’t it?
I never thought so.
Though, seeing the face of my partners when I got what I asked for, was a picture worth taking.
**** **** ****
We, as humans, spend our lives noticing all the ways we are different.  We live in fear that we will be cast out for being different.
We shy away from coming out, in any way, that could be seen as deviant.
That fear often turns to anger.
We push people away, we hide ourselves behind a wall of indifference, and we pretend.
We pretend nothing can hurt us.  We pretend it doesn’t hurt when people walk away.
We accommodate people’s ignorance.
I’ve been fired from a job for being gay.  So has my wife.  I’ve been asked by my sister in law to not be affectionate with my wife at her wedding because it will upset guests.  I’ve been told I’m not Queer because I have an attraction to men and women.
I’ve hurt myself even more.
I’ve taken my depression, my anxiety, and my fear out on my own skin.  I have the silver lines of anger in my thighs.  I’ve starved myself.  I’ve scratched my skin to the point of bleeding.  I’ve cleaned until my hands were numb and I couldn’t stand.
I’ve hurt myself in more ways than I can even count.
And, there in the darkness, was one man.  A man who always had a hug for me.  A man who let me sleep on his couch when I showed up late at night, upset.  A man who sat there and talked about sci-fi and high fantasy to take my mind off whatever was bothering me.  A man who answered the phone whenever I called, even if he was at work.
He didn’t scold me for my depression.  He didn’t mock my anxiety.  He simply told me that if medication was helping, then I needed to listen to the doctor.
For a man who hated hospitals, and doctors, he always made sure we went.
He didn’t condemn me when I fell off my meds.  He didn’t lecture me.  He didn’t pressure or push me.
He supported me.  He accepted me.  Mistakes and all.
Above everything a father teaches their child, their are two pieces that have made me a stronger individual and helped my journey of self.
1) Whatever you are into is secondary. Always greet someone with a smile.  Just because I disagree with your choice, doesn’t mean I can’t still love you.
2) Be proud of who you are.  Never bow your head to those undeserving.  Trust with everything you have, but never accept a violation of that trust.
–It took me years to understand those teachings.  Hell, I’m still learning them.
When these lessons were reenforced by my partners, and made priority by my Master, I knew I was home.
His acceptance taught me what home meant.
Home is never just a place to sleep.  Home is the people who hold you up.  Home is the ones who answer the phone at 3am because you just needed to talk.  Home is those who know that whatever mistakes you make, you are still worth loving.
I wouldn’t be where I am without such acceptance.
In a community full of trauma survivors, I count myself among the lucky few who had a beautiful man who stood behind me.
Even though I have to explain that he really was my dad, he will always be Daddy to me.
About the Author
My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Rituals, Rights, Kitchen Lights

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I am terrified that one day, the light will be off.

I am terrified that the darkness will be all consuming.

I am terrified I will be forgotten.

*Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?  It sounds as though I am to be locked in a dark dungeon and left to rot.  I am not.  No need to dial 911.

In reality, I have an extremely irrational fear that the kitchen light will not be left on for me when I come home in the middle of the night.

Would it be the end of the world?  No, not physically.  Would I forget where I lived without the bright yellow glow?  No.

But, would I feel forgotten?  Overwhelmingly so.

The thought of it makes my stomach queasy and my anxiety spike.

It is completely irrational.

And yet, it’s there.

This is part of my rites and rituals that have developed in my relationship with Master.

**** **** ****

This is going to be a very frank conversation that will probably make people uncomfortable.  My service has no religious connotations but there are undeniable parallels.  This is not a political statement.  This is my life, my beliefs, and my dedication to my service.

My hope is to simply relay how rites and rituals can be everyday occurrences and do not need the formal ceremonies flouted online and in BDSM literature.

While I acknowledge and respect the formal ceremonies of our cultural past, I stand by my beliefs that I can show the same dedication, and receive the same reciprocation, in a much simpler way.

Rite: a customary act, practice or tradition.

Ritual: a series of actions or type of behavior regularly and invariably followed by someone.

When I refer to a rite, I’m referring to the basic etiquette and expectations befitting a role within the dynamic.

When I refer to a ritual, it is the actions of deference and support.

While my experiences are from the eyes of a submissive, I want to make it clear that rites and rituals are relevant regardless of role.

The first of those is the light.

Master is a cautious individual who does not trust easy.  He double checks the locks.  He closes the curtains when the sun sinks low in the sky.  He makes sure we are safe.

I work rotating hours that are often well into the darkness and long after bedtime for my family   As such, I have a key to our home.  Yet, he always leaves the light on for me and the backdoor unlocked.

Always.

No matter what he has done that day or where he has travelled to, whenever he is home before me, the light is on.

He knows I fear the night I come home to the dark.  I have confessed to him and admitted I know it’s irrational.

He simply smiles, gives me a hug, and tells me it’s ok.  He reminds me that he has never forgotten to leave it on.  When I send him a text that reminds him to leave it on, because my anxiety is speaking for me, he obligingly answers me with “of course”.

He indulges me without making me feel ridiculous.

This is his ritual to remind me that he thinks of me even when I’m gone.

**** **** ****

I’ve spoken often in my writings about the mental fuckery I happily subject myself to.

I walk a fine line of love and hate with humiliation, degradation, and predicament play.  I find my bliss in the pain of being torn down and rebuilt.

I always give a cautionary warning.  You can and will fuck someone up if you aren’t careful.

My first degradation scene was ten minutes long, and the aftercare was double that.

He put his forehead to mine and spoke to me.  His voice was firm but soft.  He brought me out of sub space with reassurances.  He told me that what is said in a scene does not reflect how he feels about or views me.  He repeated it as needed until I could answer him and tell him I understood.

This was his rite.

**** **** ****

His rite led to the first ritual I ever asked to implement.

I asked to kiss his boots and thank him after every scene.  It defined the end of our play and allowed my mind to separate the fuckery from reality.

The first-time life interrupted a scene, I did not have that closure.  It left me with a severe drop.  I had never experienced such a hard call back to Earth.

It hurts.  It feels like you have fallen a few stories and hit hard on concrete.  Your head is fuzzy, you feel abandoned, and you feel confused.

At least, I do.

Now, even when something unexpected comes up, and we do not have time to finish a scene, or do proper aftercare right away, we have a way to end the scene.  It helps tide the headspace over and begin the transition back to reality until we can come together again.

**Those of you who would smite Master for letting aftercare go, must not have other responsibilities.

I have never been prouder of him as a person than I am when he drops everything for his kids.  Even as they are grown, married, and living on their own, when that call comes in, and they need their dad, I will never put my needs before those.

I will snap into a functioning servitude.  “What can I do?  How can I help?  What do you need?”.

Health and family will always come first.

In no way does this mean I am forgotten.  We may not finish our scene, but he will check on me.  If I have dropped, he will endeavor to make me smile.  He will give me hugs and kiss me, he will invite me to cuddle or kneel, he will rub my back or slip his fingers into my hair…or he will ground me.

Definition Time:

 Grounding: today you relax.  Today you are not allowed to do chores, or serve, or work.  Today, we take care of you.

Only in my house is grounding a good thing.  *Chuckle*. That does not mean I don’t hate it from time to time.  Sometimes I cannot sit still, and I am as jittery as a ten-year-old with ADHD.  Sometimes I must remind myself that I am not in trouble. But I always know it comes from a good place.

**** **** ****

As I grew into myself, I had preconceived notions of what made a good submissive.  How to act, how to speak (or not), positions to learn, and to never, ever, ever make eye contact with your Dom.

This has been the hardest rite to unlearn.

You see, Master prefers eye contact.  Unless it has been restricted, he wishes me to meet his eyes.

The most powerful thing Master ever said to me was that he can see the surrender in my eyes.

He can see when I am blissed out.  He can see the shift to sub space.  He can see when I am no longer present.  He can see the recognition of him when I come back to him.  He can see every emotion and every thought running through me.

From that point on, I have always wondered why restricted eye contact has become so ingrained in BDSM culture.  You can be submissive and never fully submit.  You can fake your body language.  But you can never fake the look in your eyes.

**On a side note, I have been told it is both about respect and power.  Eye contact can be viewed as a challenge.  It also clearly shows your station.  This is a tradition groomed through thousands of years and hundreds of cultures**

But, every story, every picture, every bit of media you see, always shows the sub with her eyes down.

I struggle deeply with eye contact.  I try my damnedest to look past Master, at a point on the wall, so my head is up but I am avoiding his dark gaze.

Yet, he calls me out.  Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

He does so with a quiet patience that I am positive I could never achieve.

He will wait for me.  He will ask me to look at him and wait.  He will watch me blink repeatedly, trying to get his face to focus.  He will watch my eyes bounce from his chin, to the wall, to his forehead, and then his nose.  He will chuckle softly as he tells me I am almost there.

And then he will smile when I meet his eyes finally.  “There you are.  That’s my good little pain slut (or piggie)”

The latter depends on the mood (maybe soon I shall regale you with the Piggie Tales).

This is his ritual.

He likes to see me submit.  But he likes seeing me come back to him even more.

**** **** ****

When we think of rituals, they are often formal.  Sometimes religious.  Sometimes they involve many people.  Sometimes they involve few.

To me, a ritual is simply an affirmation of our dynamic, our commitment.  There needs to be nothing more than him and I.

They are meant to slide into everyday life with minimal disruption.

My rituals are fairly simple:

–I remove Master’s boots at the end of the day (relevant to days I am off or work early).  I understand that when I work into the night, he is not sitting up waiting for me simply because it is part of our routine.  That would both be inconvenient and restricting.

–Kisses always come in threes.  The fact that I am indulged in my OCD, even though he gives only one kiss to everyone else, reaffirms his recognition of my needs…and my quirks.

–What’s His is mine.  Sounds possessive…or marital, huh?  What this means is I have earned his trust and proven my worth.  I am permitted to care for his leather, and I am permitted to lay out and pack up his electrical gear.  No one else is given such liberties.

–Parties, and public play events, will always begin with a change of collar.  Once his gear is set up, and we are ready to open the doors, he takes ten minutes with just me.  I kneel, my forehead inches above his kilt, my palms up and in front of me, as he places his warm hands against the back of my neck.  He will squeeze the back of my neck, tight enough for my shoulders to drop and my eyes to slide closed.  He will slip the clasp of my day collar out of its rings and lay it across my waiting hands. It sits across my palms, turned up in front of my face.  I can hear the heavy metal on my collar clink as he removed it from his bag.  He rubs the back of my neck and moves my hair aside.  He slides it under my head and pulls it tight to my neck.  It always makes my eyes pop open and a sharp intake of breath.  He buckled it shut and adjusts the metals to his liking.  He asks me if it is too tight and adjusts if needed.  Then he pulls my hair back, puts his forehead to mine and stares me down.  He always tells me that I am His.  He takes the time to connect with me.  When he is confident that we are both in a good space, he pulls the center ring, lifts me tall on my knees, and kisses me, three times.

My rites are odd:

–I will always kneel for the removal, adjustment, or changing of my collar.  I will always kneel to remove his boots.  I will always kneel when I need time and comfort.

       –> Kneeling is my expression of respect, need, want, or emotional support.

–No matter where my hands are, at any time, they will never be in a fist.  They will always be open because I will never intend him harm.

–My hair.  Long and uncut, just as He likes it.

–I will always give him free rights to my mind and my body.  I am his to use as he pleases when he pleases.  It takes very extreme circumstances to hear an utterance of a safe word.

–My favorite rite and his favorite ritual: no scene will ever be planned.  We play organically and react and adjust in real time, without hesitation–

**** **** ****

We do not have the space for elaborate rituals.  Nor do we have the time.  Its funny really.  I am in several online groups, through various platforms, related to BDSM.  All of them tell me that if “I am important, there will always be time.”

I am calling bullshit.  I work a minimum of 60 hours a week, with travel time.  I work a rotating schedule where I can work five days on, one day off, five days on, one day off….over and over again until I am a walking zombie.  Somewhere, in that single day off, I must fit in my three partners, social time with friends, household chores, errands, hobbies, and sleep.  Then, on top of that, I have to make sure my mental health is perfectly in sync and my body is not in pain from my job and my physical issues.  Oh, yes, and our wives and children need to be at top form so that we can be confident that they will be alright if we disappear for a half hour or so.

And that is only from my side.

Then, you add those same stressors from Master’s side.

What happens with unexpected occurrences?  Our bathroom was torn apart for a couple of weeks, fixing electrical and plumbing issues.  Our fridge has started leaking so bad, we spent my day off getting a new one.  With the lockdown from the pandemic, we had a buildup of donations and items for a garbage haul.  When they opened, we spent our time getting everything transported.

You can read these as excuses.  It makes no difference to me.  But, it is our reality.

When I need time, and we don’t have it, I may kneel for a few minutes before I leave for work.  I may ask to shine his boots, simply so I can sink into service.  I might even tease him ever so slightly, so I can see that glint in his eye—the promise of retribution when we have our next moment in time.

In the end, I know that when we step out to play, and I’m waiting in the silence, with just the blood rushing through my head and the raggedness of my breathing, I have all the time in the world with Him.  I am his sole focus and he is mine.

Everything else, beyond that door, becomes static white noise.

The world will always influence how we are able to express ourselves.  But, it will never stop the continuation of our Rites and Rituals.

And, of course, it will never turn out the kitchen light.

About the Author

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.

Bonding In Leather

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Bootblacking is an act I have developed a love affair with.  Though it started simply as a service to take care of a Leatherman, it has grown to be something I find both relaxing and quite hypnotizing.  It has a way of letting the time slip by unchecked.  So, I wanted to learn more about the history of bootblacking.

You see, I am what Master calls a “Curious sort.”  I ask the most random of questions, seemingly out of nowhere, and am constantly researching. When I started caring for Master’s boots, I researched the best oils, polishes, and cleaning techniques.  However, I didn’t take the time to learn the backstory.

This interest bloomed for two reasons.  The first was that Master is a Leatherman and I felt it was my duty to make sure his leathers were properly cared for.  It reflected on both Him and my service to Him.

The second was slightly less than savory.  My core attended a kink conference early last year.  It was the first time I had ever seen bootblacking in person, as it is far from common in our area outside of equine needs.  The boy working on his boots was friendly and wonderful enough to give me advise on proper care.  But, when he finished, Master’s boots were dull and lifeless.  We were told that because his boots were oil tanned, there was little that could be done for them.  We tipped the bootblack for his time and left it at that.

I was dissatisfied.

So, at the end of our weekend away, I started looking into what steps I could take to make his boots shine.  As it turns out, oil tanning does affect the amount of shine you can achieve.  I will never be able to “spit shine” his boots, but I can make them look cared for with a bit of reflection.

Now, whenever I’m stressed or whenever they need it, I sit down, meticulously pull out my box, lay out my tools, and get to work.

I’m going to be realistic with you.  As erotic as it is to shine his boots while he wears them, I function in the real world.  In our world, our schedules don’t meet up three times a week, twice a week is days off (filled with doctor’s appointments, chores, errands, and family), and other two days are hit and miss.  When life is hectic, but my work needs done, I do it.  Sometimes he’s found me sprawled across the kitchen floor, surrounded by polish and water and laces and cloths, working on his boots.  Sometimes, they get done while he sleeps because insomnia has taken hold and I cannot sleep.

But, when we are able, I sit at his feet, his foot moving between the brass rest and my knee, as I wash and shine his boots until I am satisfied.  Because, to be honest, my view of “perfect” is far more critical than his.

Besides, between you and me, if you were into Boot Worship (and humiliation with those same boots), you’d have high standards too.

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Now that I have given you my backstory, lets get into the real history.  Sit back my peeps, its story time.  Don’t worry, its short and sweet.  Unfortunately, the bootblacking community seems quiet in their work and passes much of its history verbally.

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According to Merriam-Webster, the term bootblack was first used in 1817 and simply meant “one who shines shoes”.

I find the dictionary doesn’t come anywhere close to explaining everything that comes with the word bootblack.  It does describe the most basic functions.

It is very difficult to find information on bootblacking.  There is no reason given for why it separated from general leather care.  I did manage to find a picture from Paris, 1838, showing a very blurring picture of someone having their shoes shined on the sidewalk.

Bootblacking is most closely tied to Leather Culture.  In fact, I would consider it an integral part of the community since it revolves around the care of leather.  From my understanding, while bootblacking refers to the care of boots, many bootblacks expand their care of leather to other items, such as chaps, vests, hats, and collars.  This list is by no means comprehensive and I am positive that if something is made from leather, someone is there taking care of it.

There is very little information regarding bootblacking, outside of how-to instructions and the competitions held—the first of which was in 1953.  To put this in perspective, the bootblack pride flag, designed by Jesse “Spanky” Penley, did not make its debut until 2005.  That is a 52-year gap where the community had grown and developed before it adopted its symbol.

In my own experience, I have found it hard to meet others in a situation like mine.  While bootblacking is not gender defined, it is heavily dominated by men.  This was not unexpected since bootblacking, as we know it now, is so heavily tied to the gay leather community.  But, finding another female who bootblacks for a male Master, and does so generally without sexual intentions, is harder to find.

It is my hope that the more involved I get and the more people I connect with, I can experience the diversity that is not so apparent to the outside world, but makes up the vast community who love leather (and its care) as much as I do.

Like many things in the kink lifestyle, bootblacking is an individual experience.  We each have our own reasons for why we do what we do.  Whether it is a spiritual, service-oriented, or sexual experience, we find what we need in bootblacking.

Before I let you go, I figured I’d leave you with a glimpse at my reasons.

I have a deep respect for those who work their craft for strangers.  Currently, I do not have the patience for such a task.  I also view bootblacking as a service.  I find my fulfillment in providing that service to Master.  With His blessing, I also extend that offer to those within our family.

Bootblacking is a highly personal experience to me.  Not only am I caring for Master, I am able to lose myself in the fantasies and memories of our play.  Those boots have been pressed against my cheek to press my face to the floor. They have been used against my chest to bend me backwards. They have been used to move me into positions and correct my posture.  They have been polished with both my tongue and my body.  They are often the first and only thing I see when play begins.

Beyond all of that, they mark my shift from sub-space to reality.  Because, at the very end of every session, when I’m sweating, and panting, and coming down from the high of sub-space, I kiss each boot, thank my Master for his time and care, and press my forehead to the cool surface of his boots.

For me, there is no greater pleasure, than that moment of silence, that connects Master and myself as one.

About the Author

My name is Joji.  I am 29 years old currently and I have been in and around the kink community about 15 years.I am a collared submissive to Magick42.  I am also a Daddy to a wonderful babygirl, and have been for more than three years now and I find it very fulfilling.  I am being mentored in and being taught electroplay.  I am a masochist at heart and thoroughly love impact play, especially caning.  I enjoy reading anything I can get my hands on and am a die hard Harry Potter and Doctor Who fan.  I am also the secretary for a group in Idaho called Moscow S.P.A.R.K.E (Simply Providing Another Route to Kink Education).  It is our mission to teach safe practices to those new to the community and give them a safe haven to ask questions and learn without judgement.  We accept all kinks and all we ask in return is respect between all our members.