Joji Sada

Communications Methods For Kinksters

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

poly family, ethical non-monogamy — via stock.adobe.com

For the majority of the time I have been involved in the lifestyle, there has been a common theme amongst kinksters. It is the belief that communication in the cornerstone of BDSM. Anytime newer individuals ask for advice, we tend to repeat the same mantra.

Communicate. Communicate. Communicate.

Kink, and BDSM, allow us to delve deep into our darkest desires. It often can leave you vulnerable and sometimes a little broken. It can be cathartic when done right and dangerous when done wrong. You can laugh and cry. You can scream or moan. You can curse, and growl, and talk in tongues. You can be anything you want to be and do anything you want to do (within the lines of consent).

However, to get to a place of trust and security, to which you can achieve these things, you must communicate.

Unfortunately, I think there is one aspect we, as seasoned kinksters, often overlook when offering this kind of advice.

What happens if you don’t know how?

What if you have learned (through past trauma) that your thoughts and opinions don’t matter? What if you were trained to obey and never question? What if you have low self-esteem and do not know how to express yourself to a partner? Why if you are shy? What if your knowledge is limited and you do not know how to ask for help? What if you are overwhelmed by the endless possibilities?

What if you cannot figure out how to navigate the commonplace answer that tells you, “kink is what you make it and it is never the same for two people?” (And yes, while I agree this is an accurate description, it does nothing to help new individuals who are reaching out for advice).

How do you communicate?

My family has faced these challenges. In fact, for the last year, we have had such a breakdown in communication with one partner, it has threatened the strength and security with our other partners.

Three of us have learned to communicate. We have learned to talk to each other logically. We have learned to listen. We know how to barter and negotiate. We know how to trust.

We assumed our other partner knew how to as well. We have learned, quite painfully, that they have not learned to express themselves in the same way that we do. Our communication methods do not match, and because of that, we have been at odds for a long time.

Through much trial and error, we have come up with alternative methods of communication. While it sometimes takes more effort on our part to understand what is trying to be said, it has opened the pathways for better understanding.

I wanted to share some of these methods with you, just in case you have been where I am.

1. Journaling— write down your thoughts, questions, wants, needs, desires, problems, triumphs, dreams, and nightmares. They do not need to make sense. Write as chaotic as your mind is. Put your thoughts to paper so they stop cluttering up your mind. If you wish to later, you can refer to it. You can choose to have a partner read it or keep it for yourself. Writing everything down allows you to reflect on your thoughts and feelings when your mind is clearer.

**I find that journaling is a technique often used in a D/s dynamic. Master required I journal as well. He rarely read it. However, he wanted me to be able to track my own growth. He still has me refer to it from time to time, just to see my own strength of character as well as how my own interests have changed/shaped my development as His submissive.

2) Writing/Emailing/Texting—I referenced writing above as a more “old-school” journaling aspect. However, I am aware of how everything has turned digital now. Regardless of what medium we use, sometimes it is just easier to not look someone in the face when you talk to them. Whether you struggle to formulate your thoughts or experience anxiety when your words may upset a partner, writing it out, in any format listed above, gives you time to put the thoughts together concisely. It allows you to add or remove bits and pieces until you are satisfied with what it is you are trying to say. You can use it to express everything or just to get the conversation started. It is a wonderful way to work up to face-to-face conversations.

**I do caution against relying solely on written communication. It is often hard to read moods in text form and is negates the option of reading body language completely. Both of those are important forms of communication for humans.

3) Share your playlist— have you ever had a song just resonate with you? One that comes to mean more than just another song on the radio. I have. I use this method often. I send the lyric videos so that they can read the words as they listen. Most often, the genre of music doesn’t matter, it’s the message behind the music.

**If you need an example, go to YouTube and search “control” by Zoe Wees. You will get a small glimpse into my mind.

**If you need a second example, search out “A little Piece of Heaven” by Avenged Sevenfold (it is definitely NSFW). For those of you who follow my writings, you will remember a scene I wrote that involved listening to a song because it incites rage within me. This is that song.

4) Be Clear Headed— Never discuss anything under the influence of high emotions. Take a breather. Come back to it when you are calm. The same principle applies to any mind-altering substances. Alcohol and recreational drugs can also cloud your judgement and will not aide in solving any issues that arise.

5) Listen— Sometimes all you need to do to communicate is to listen. If everyone is trying to be heard, but nobody listens, nothing changes. Listen, repeat back what you understand, rinse and repeat until you reach an understanding.

6) Recognize the Right to Privacy— There are things you discuss with one person, that may need to stay between just you two. That is understandable. We are adults. This rule does more often apply to poly relationships but can refer to individuals who have multiple play partners, Service Tops, Friends with Benefits, or has an ex that they stay in contact with for whatever reason.

**Keep in mind, anything that is a danger to yourself or others should not be kept private. It should be shared with the necessary individuals (such as doctors, police, etc) who can provide the help that person may need. This is also true when talking about fluid bonding and the risks for STIs.

7) Patience— Remember, everyone processes things differently. Some individuals may need you to repeat yourself, reword a sentence, or explain a definition. This does not reflect badly on either one of you. It simply means you each need to have care in how you say things.

8) Separate Topics– Keep the “good job” conversations separate from the “this needs work” ones. Avoid the word “but” when possible.

Example:

I’m glad you did this but…

Thank you for that but….

You are such a good girl but….

I know you tried but…

**Each of these sentences will simply bring your partner down. If your partner already struggles with anxiety, low self-esteem, or mental health issues, this may lead them to just shut down and stop communicating all together.

An Alternative Example:

I appreciate your help with the laundry today. I wanted to make sure you are aware that we wash clothes on “cold” to prevent them from shrinking.

This is a legit conversation I had to have with someone. They tried to do something nice by helping with the laundry. My favorite shirt was dyed pink and half my clothes shrunk because they washed the load on hot. I also ended up with an allergic reaction because they used the wrong detergent. This does not negate that their heart was in the right place. So, I thanked them and then calmly informed them of what to do the next time to prevent such issues. While this may not be a major issue in your home, these principles can be applied to almost any situation.

This is, by no means, a comprehensive list. Communication is about two (or more) people sharing what is in their mind. It is about listening and understanding. Whether you are negotiating a kinky scene or figuring out what is for dinner, communication is key. Regardless of how well some of us read body language and anticipate your needs, we are not mind readers. If you do not know what you want and need, we won’t know either.

Take what you will from these options. In the end, it doesn’t really matter how you communicate. It simply matters that you are.

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.

Piggie’s Day Out

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

big little cute woman with pigtails and teddy bear — via stock.adobe.com

***All works of erotica are fictional. We NEVER condone anything that is not consensual.

You have talked about this trip for months.

It started in passing. You wanted to go visit some of your old haunts. You wanted to see what had changed, who was still there, and surprise a few members of your leather family.

I was excited for you.

It’s not often you get the chance to be free Sir. For you to take even these three days to visit is out of the ordinary.

You were all set. You asked me to book you a room. After all, you cannot surprise family if you ask ahead of time to stay there.

I booked you a room with a king size bed, located only a few doors from the jacuzzi. Long trips like this are murder on your body. I know you will need to relax, and the heat will help you.

About a month ago, you asked me to come with. I was surprised. You had been looking forward to some time to yourself. I did not wish to be underfoot.

You told me it was my decision. Logically, you planned on taking some gear to use at a party and you would appreciate the help but would not force me to go.

I knew I was going the minute you asked. Even kneeling quietly in a corner while you played would be enjoyable to me.

I like watching you play Sir.

Course, I have never met a girl who was not mesmerized by you.

It is Friday now. We are up before the sun, packing the van with your gear, our clothes, and a small cooler with drinks and snacks.

We have seven hours of driving ahead of us. I am not looking forward to that. I am worried I will get motion sick, like I often do, but you seem far less worried.

I run downstairs and say my goodbyes to the family, stopping to grab a jacket. I know it will be cold for a while.

I lay my jacket in the car and I hear you call me into the garage. I figured you needed my help.

I was wrong.

I stepped through the open door and one hand is on the back of my neck while your other covers my mouth.

You stare me down and get close to my face.

“Shh. From this point out, you are in service mode. You will worry about nothing. Is that understood?”. You remove your hand from my mouth.

“Yes Sir”. My voice is breathy. It often is when you take control so suddenly.

“Good. Bend over and pull your panties down.”

The garage door is wide open. Anyone could see us. But it’s been less than a minute since you told me I am in service mode and I have no desire to start the trip on a bad note.

I bent over, pulling my short black sun dress up my back and my lace panties to my knees.

Two of your fingers rub across my clit. You know I have no control. A few short strokes and then you plunged your fingers right inside me. I gritted my teeth. I have always been tight, and I cannot naturally lube. We both know it hurts without preparation.

You finger fuck me until I am trying to push back against you.

“Still.”

I whined softly. I do not wish to be caught but I am always desperate when you touch me.

I felt something round press against my cunt. It slips inside with only a bit of pressure.

You replace my panties and prompt me to stand up. I am pulled back against your chest and your lips rest against my ear.

“That will stay in place until I say otherwise. Did you pack the rest of what I asked?”

“Yes Sir,” I responded, thinking of both the clothespins and the clover clamps in my purse.

This is going to be an interesting ride and we have not even left yet.

We have been on the road for about two hours now and I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Without so much as a word, you keep turning on the toy you slipped inside of me. I should have known it would be more involved than just keeping me filled for the trip.

Fast pulses until I am nearing the edge. Then you cut the power. My body convulses with the sudden stop. I know better than to cum without permission. Even if you are pushing my body to the limit, repeatedly.

Four hours in and my body is beyond tense. You have been edging me continuously for the whole trip. Soon, we see a sign that says we are five miles from the next town. Your game intensifies.

“We are going to stop for gas and to get a drink.” When you smile, I know that is not all that will be happening.

“Yes, Sir”

“Take the clamps out of your purse and put them on.” You wait patiently as I do as instructed. I gasp a little at the pressure. The clover clamps bite hard on my tender flesh and press uncomfortably against my piercings. I have never made it more than an hour in these, and that was pushing myself to tears. “Now, slip your panties off.” Just as I start removing them, you turn the toy to high and I squeeze my legs together just to gain some semblance of control. I slide them down kick them from my ankles. I move to pick them up, but you tell me to leave them.

“When we stop, you are going to go inside and get us drinks. Take your time sweetie, I will be waiting.”

My head drops down to my chest. I know that my cheeks are turning a soft shade of red. You know how much this embarrasses me to be so underdressed in public.

“What’s a matter sweetie?”

“Nothing, Sir. I am feeling very shy.”

“Awww, poor little piggie.”

That just turns me an even brighter red. I enjoy being your little piggie, but I am extremely shy outside of our home. You love pushing me to face that embarrassment.

It is only a few miles to the gas station, and I am already feeling the bite of the clamps. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. Of course, you knew what I was trying to do. You prefer when I stay in the moment.

Suddenly, I feel your hand slap down onto my bare thigh. My eyes fly open and I grunt from the force. I look at you and you are simply grinning, keeping your eyes on the road. I look down to my leg and I can see the outline of your palm. The imprint won’t stay long but I will feel the smack for a long while.

We pull to a stop before I realize we have arrived. I grab my wallet and my mask. I still find it ironic that my face is covered but the rest of me is bare beneath my dress. I am slow to close the passenger door after I get out and you raise an eyebrow at me.

I take a deep breath, turn around, and head inside. I have never felt like my dress was too short or revealing as I have at this moment. It feels like all the eyes are on me. My hands nervously tuck at the hem of my dress, tugging it down. I kneel down slowly to get our drinks. They are always on the bottom of the cooler, but you knew that. I curse you under my breath as the vibrations start up again. I grab the drinks and my legs wobble slightly as I try to stand.

You are impossible, Sir.

I slowly make my way up to the counter. I wave away a kind strangers concern at how I am walking. I must look a right sight. I breathe deeply as I wait for my turn to pay. It is instances like this that I am thankful my face is covered.

I swipe my card and offer my thanks as I grab my bag. I walk as quickly as I can to the car without raising suspicion. I reach for the handle, only to find the door locked. I look through the window and you are staring at me with your fingers on the lock. The toy surges to its highest setting and my forehead drops against the window. I am going to collapse at this rate. My legs are shaking, and my breathing is getting erratic.

I know you can see me whispering against the window. It is a continuous litany of “please” and “Sir.” I am not even sure if I am asking to finally be allowed an orgasm or if I just want inside the car. After a couple of minutes, I hear the lock click open. I open the door and climb inside.

“What took you so long sweetie?”

I just glare at you as you chuckle. You are far too amused by this.

I pop the top on your drink as you pull away from the gas station. You have silenced the toy for now but without the distraction, I am starting to feel the intense pain of the clamps. They have been on nearly twenty minutes now. I can feel the pain radiating into my back.

“Sir, may I remove the clamps?”

“When we reach city limits.”

I close my eyes. That is nearly five miles. Red light after red light, five miles is a very long time.

Two miles down and I am unsure if I can do this any longer. “Please, Sir.”

“No. You are almost there sweetie. You can do this.” Deep breath.

I am watching the street signs intently. Another mile down. My hands have curled into a fist. You have kept the toy silent for a reason. You want me to experience the pain without distraction. You want me to endure it. You want me to know that I can.

One mile to go. My body is stoic. Every movement antagonizes the clamps. The cloth of my dress is nearly unbearable.

As soon as we crossed the city limits, I was ready to remove them. “Please Sir. May I remove them now?” Its always better to double check with you. I never know if you will have changed your mind and start something even more wicked.

“Yes, you may. You did good.”

I removed them and immediately press my palms against my nipples as the blood rushed back into them. It is so intense. All I want to do is be allowed to orgasm. I know that is a long time away. But a girl can dream.

It has been a long trip Sir. My body is exhausted. You have been edging me for eight hours, if we include the stops we made. My skin is so sensitive. My dress feels heavy and the slight breeze makes my knees quiver. You have had the toy tease me, pushed me with my clamps, and had me tease myself openly on the drive. I can tell you that seats are high enough that I am positive I was on full display. Is that why we took the roads that are crowded with semi-trucks?

You get us checked in to the hotel. We are not meeting anyone else until tomorrow. So, this should be a good chance to relax.

I should have known better.

Once everything is put away, you take a seat in the wingback chair near the window. The curtains are drawn, and you ask me to come stand in front of you. You sit forward slightly, and your hands wrap around my thighs, resting on my ass. I stand silently, waiting for your instruction.

You pull one hand back and bring it up to cover my cunt. My eyes rest on the top of your head and my hands come up to your shoulder as you smack my lips hard. Two, three, four times. Your fingers slip between my lips as my fingers tighten on your shoulders. My legs are shaking as I hold myself still. You slide over my clit. Its so sensitive from all the teasing. I can feel the pulsing in my back. You slide forward and I feel you hook the toy and pull it. I feel so swollen and the tugging hurts. You bring your other hand off my ass and snap twice.

With relief, I let my legs give out and drop to my knees. My eyes go to the floor and my hands rest on my thighs.

Your fingers come up to my lips and I suck them clean without hesitation. Once you are satisfied, you bring the toy to my lips and I repeat the process. You pull it from my mouth and drop it into my hands. My head drops forward onto your knees as I steady myself.

You run your fingers through my hair and speak softly. “When you are settled, I want you to crawl to the bathroom and leave the toy by the sink to be cleaned later. Then I want you to crawl to the door and bring back the bag I left there. Do you understand, piggie?”

I nod my head. Your fingers tighten in my hair and pull my head back to look you in the eye. “Care to try that again?”

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir.”

You let my hair go and I relax back into position. I appreciate that you are letting me settle into my role. It has been so long since I have been in continuous service like this. My head is in its confused state. It is where I can still feel the pain and sensitivity, but my mind has yet to clear of everyday stress. I need this. I need to just be here, with you, and forget everything else.

Thank you for knowing me as you do.

I think I am ready now.

I lift my head from your knee and slip the toy between my teeth. I turn and start crawling to the bathroom. In no time at all, I bring the small black bag to you. It is heavy between my teeth, but I am determined not to drop it.

You pull the bag from my grip and stand. You step around me. I can hear you laying items on the table, but I have no idea what it could be. I desperately want to peak but I know better.

I startle slightly when your hand rests on my head. I am losing myself in service. My mind is calm, even though my body is still sensitive from play. I breathe deeply and relax my shoulders.

I can do anything you ask of me, Sir.

“Come here piggie.”

I turn and crawl the few feet to you.

“Kneel up.” Your hands are on my chainmaille collar and I feel the clasp give way. You slide the metal across my collar bone and down my tummy until you drop it into my hands. I feel the strip of leather of my formal collar tighten around my neck. As always, my head tips up to look you in the eye. You have it tight enough to get my attention and make me gasp. You loosen it to your liking and buckle it closed. You tug harshly on the frontmost O-Ring and stare me down. The longer our eyes meet, the harder it is to keep eye contact.

It only take a few minutes before you let go of my collar and my body drops heavy back onto my knees.

“Tonight, we are going to have company.”

My eyes widen. We haven’t done this before Sir. I mentioned it, just once, when you asked me what one of my deepest desires was. I told you I wanted to serve you in public. I wanted to conquer my fears and overcome my shyness, my hesitancy.

But now, I am extremely nervous.

“Look at me.” I glance up. “I am going to show off my little piggie. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

I look into your eyes and the moments tick by in silence. You are waiting for an answer. I am curious if you believe you will hear my agreement or my safeword.

I have told you I can take anything you have to offer. I am not ready to back down yet.

“Yes, Sir”

I find myself dressed in my gear. My ears keep my hair back. It helps, considering how much you love to see it down. The silicone nose is situated over my natural nose. I still hate it with a passion. The idea of anyone but you seeing this makes me extremely uncomfortable. My tail is situated snuggly in my ass. I entirely hate how much I have come to love my tail. I enjoy any opportunity when I am allowed to wear it.

I am kneeling at your feet, the tail uncomfortably bending and adjusting inside me.

I am facing the door, my head resting on your knee. My body is tense. My head is filled with chaos. I am unsure of how much I want this. Dreaming it, and doing it, are far different.

Your voice is soft behind me.

“We are going to lay a few ground rules. Tonight, you are just holes to fill and abuse. You will enthusiastically serve them as you do me. Your ass is off limits. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” My voice is soft but strong. I make sure you clearly hear my answer.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

Your fingers tighten in my hair and you pull my head back just enough to look at you. “I know you will make me proud, little piggie.” Your fingers release me hair and hook into my collar. “This means you are mine. I will always take care of you.”

“Thank you, Master. I needed to hear that.”

You smile. It is always a highlight of my day to see your smile. It is so rare and you are always so reserved.

“Now, my little piggie slut, up on the bed with you.” I crawl over to the bed and climb onto it, staying on all fours. “They are going to be here soon. I want you to relax for me.” You remove my ears momentarily and put the hood over my face. It is the one thing that makes me lose myself. I hear nothing but the blood rushing through my ears. I see nothing but the darkness of my eyelids. I taste nothing as long as you keep the zipper closed. You replace my ears and place a kiss to the top of my head. “Lay down and rest. I will wake you when it is time.”

With his blessing, I close my eyes and regulate my breathing. A nap will do me good after everything today.

I woke to my body being bodily flipped onto my tummy. There were hands on both my legs and they pushed them forward until I was forced onto my knees. My face stayed against the mattress and my hands were caught underneath me.

There are hands everywhere. My breathing is erratic, and I am trying to figure out what is happening. The zipper on my hood is undone and there is a thumb put into my mouth, pushing my tongue and jaw downward.

As soon as I felt it, I knew it was Master. That is how he tests my self-control. He will hold it for as long as possible to make sure I do not lick or suck without permission. Being allowed to suck on his thumb is a rare reward. I am oddly comforted under the pain.

I feel fingers on my backside. Someone is playing with the tail. Every time they tug at it, or bounce it, it shifts inside me. Then, without warning, there are two fingers inside of me. I am unable to lube naturally. I am guessing someone realized that as suddenly I felt someone spit on me. I could feel it dripping down and it was warm as they pushed it inside of me.

There was little prep. Less than a minute later, there is a hard cock pressing into my semi-dry passage. I feel uncomfortably stretched. I gasp sharply and as the man behind me starts to thrust harshly, there is a cock put to my lips. There is a hand on the back of my head, adding pressure as they pushed as far back into my throat as they could. My stomach and throat convulsed as my gag reflux was affected. I inhaled through my nose as best I could, but the jarring movement, from the fucking, was making it hard to concentrate.

I tried to remember what Master had said. That I would serve them enthusiastically. I pulled back when he let my head go and brought myself up to my hands and knees. Not knowing where anyone was, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue.

It is not long before there is a cock in my mouth again. I am unsure if it the same person or not. I do not know how many people Master invited over. I bob my head, licking and sucking. I want to make Master proud. I am never happier than when I get to use my mouth.

I felt the guy behind me grip tight to my hips as he finished. It eased the burn of the next one who took his place. I’ve never been fucked so roughly. I am slightly panicked because I do not know where Master is. I trust he would not have left me alone, but I miss his touch right now.

I feel so full. It is brutal. I know that I will most definitely feel this tomorrow.

I lose count quickly of how they rotate. My jaw is sore, and my head keeps getting pulled in different directions to be fucked.

At some point, someone pulls my ears from my head and the hood is yanked roughly from me. I close my eyes against the light. I can hear the murmuring of one of the men. “She really is a pig, isn’t she? Look at the nose.”

I can hear Master chuckle. “She is my little piggie slut. She is such a dirty piggie.”

I can hear myself mewl at his words. It both embarrasses me and makes me whine in agreement. I am dirty and I would do anything for Master.

I was flipped onto my back, my head hanging off the bed. One thrust down my throat and another into my swollen cunt. My hands were grabbed and placed on another. I wrapped my fingers around him and started stroking. At least I now have a number. Master invited three people to have free reign of my body.

“Do not come down her throat. Piggies are meant to be dirty.” Master ordered.

And as he ordered, one covered my stomach and the other my breasts with their cum. The third filled my passage with even more cum. I could feel it dripping out of me. I felt tired and use. And dirty.

“Bring her here.” I felt myself picked up from the bed and tossed bodily to the floor. My arms were shaking, and I struggled to bring myself to my hands and knees. “Hold her.” I felt a boot push press against my back and push me back into the carpet. My arms went flat above my head. Another put pressed against my cheek and the last set held my hands in place.

I felt tugging at my tail. I started to try and struggle. My knees were pressed into the carpet, under my stomach, by the boot on my back. I had nowhere to go. I pulled and pulled but I couldn’t move.

“Please. Please no.” I didn’t know who was behind me. Only Master could touch me there. The tears welled in my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to get away. I would fail Master. “Please, no.”

“Quiet. I will do as I wish to my little piggie.” I sobbed at his voice. The tailed popped from my ass and I felt my walls pulse. It was weird being empty again.

You must have read my mind. Without any extra lube or preparation, you pushed into me until you were fully seated. It hurt. Your pace was just as brutal as the others. “Please, Sir, it hurts.” I cry. All I want to do is move away from the pain. My body is held in place. My neck is starting to hurt from the position but I am more focused on the pain radiating through my back. “Please, Sir. It hurts….it hurts so bad.”

“Hush and push back against me.” I hear you laugh softly. “Is piggie stuck? Isn’t this what you wanted? To be on a spicket and tenderized?”

I sob again. I am losing myself in the humiliation. I feel so exposed. I hurt and I am filled and covered in cum. My ass burns. I am unsure of how much time is passed before I feel your fingers tighten on my hips and you slam deep inside me. I feel your cum fill my ass. After you finish, I hear you tell them to release me. I feel like my body is made of lead. Out of the corner of my eye, I see you standing over me.

I shakily push myself up, slower than I would have liked, until I am on my knees. I open my mouth and gently take your cock into my mouth. I clean your cock with my tongue and then release you.

I lean down to the floor and kiss each boot three times. Then I murmur a soft thank you before kneeling back up. Our scene is done now. The adrenaline starts to slow.

My body is shaking. I am cold now.

You remove the nose from my face and your hand rests on the top of my head.

“You did good, piggie.”

I don’t remember you sending the others home. I remember falling back to the floor and curling up. It did not matter that I was covered in cum. I was exhausted. I never expected this. My body shakes from the adrenaline.

I remember my head being pulled into your lap. You are talking to me but it is hard to understand. When I finally come out of the white noise, you offer to run me a bath. I don’t want to be alone, even if the warm water sounds relaxing. I shake my head. Aftercare is the only time you allow me to answer non-verbally.

You move to get up and my hands tighten on your jeans. “Sir?”

“I am getting a cloth to clean you up. Then we will curl up and you can get your skin-to-skin contact.”

“Ok.” I sighed.

As you come back and start to wipe me down, I am comforted.

You always know what I need, Sir.

Even as I feel worn down, swollen, and somewhat broken, I know you will always be there to pick me up and put me back together.

You pick me up and place me on the bed. You make sure I am covered, so the shivering will stop soon. As you crawl in with me, you beckon me over. I curl my head onto your tummy and hand rubs my back reassuringly.

I feel my head go fuzzy and as I start to drift, I slur out the question I seem to ask every time. “piggie do good?”

I am positive I hear you laugh ever so slightly as you tell me “Yes, you are my good girl.”

My eyes drift close and I smile as I fall asleep.

You will always keep me safe.

I can rest now.

Erotica: Piggie Tails

December 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

dominant man and beautiful submissive in car — via stock.adobe.com

*all works of erotica are based on fictional scenarios. We never condone anything that is not consensual.

I am nervous Sir. More nervous than I can remember ever being. I’ve been stressed about this since I brought it up. I know you can see it and I appreciate that you have let me deal with this on my own.

I’m sitting, perched on the end of my bed, getting ready. For you.

Slowly, I slide my stockings up–over my foot, past my knee, to finally let then settle on my thigh. First the left, then the right. I carefully make sure the line in back is straight. These are your favorites Sir. I wanted this to be special.

Next comes the garter belt. I am not sure I will ever master the ability to hook the stockings on the first try. I love the look of the black lace. I leave off the matching undies. I know you have no use for them, especially when I have shaved.

Now, I am slipping on the black lace dress. It is the off the shoulder one that is skin-tight. I have seen the look in your eye when I wear it.

My hair is braided, so you can grab it easier. I am unsure how tonight will go, so I am trying to anticipate your desires.

Red lipstick is next. I have a feeling it will be smeared before the night is up.

Now comes the hard part.

I am watching the clock. I asked for a half hour to get ready for you. You said you wanted to be surprised. I want this to meet your extremely high expectations, Sir.

I open the dresser drawer and for just a moment, my breath hitches. Lying there is the pink piggie tail. It is not the largest plug we’ve ever played with, but not the smallest. It’s the eight inches of curl that I keep staring at.

Am I ready for this?

I reverently take it from the box. I put the box back into the drawer and close it with a click. I can feel the weight of the tail in my palm. I close my eyes briefly, just feeling the silicone.

I can do this.

I want this.

I need this.

I tighten my fist around the plug and head into the bathroom. I grab the lube from the vanity and move back into the bedroom to get more comfortable. I lube it liberally, bend my leg to give me more room, and move it to my ass.

I feel the pressure against my hole. It gives little with the first push. But with a second, third, even fourth push, it is slowly going inside. I won’t stretch myself beyond what the tail does. Because you like when I feel the burn. You like that I am going to be reminded for a couple of days about this. You know it’s going to take one look from you and I’m going to be fidgety, and sore, and embarrassed.

And you love it.

I take my time. I’ve still got fifteen, of my half hour, left and you would be very displeased if I damaged myself.

Five agonizing minutes later and it finally pops fully past the muscle ring and suddenly I feel very full. I can feel it shifting, ever so slightly.

I wipe the remaining lube off my hand with a towel and move to get up. I roll from the bed, down to my knees.

Did you know that an eight-inch tail bounces, Sir?

I forgot.

There are jolts of pleasure going up my spine now. I take a few breaths to calm myself.

I crawl back over to the dresser and hidden in a bottom drawer is the rest of my attire.

First comes the piggie ears. They are soft Sir. And honestly, not much different than cat ears.

Last, but certainly not least, is the hardest part. The silicone piggie nose. This one fucks with my head. Years of torment flash through my mind as I stare down at the nose.

Five minutes.

Only a few more minutes before I am to text you and have you come downstairs to our playroom.

Four minutes.

I think I have forgotten how to breath.

Three minutes.

This shouldn’t be this hard.

Two minutes.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and fasten the nose in place.

One minute.

I grab my leather collar from my drawer. I need this today. I need the absolute, unquestioning submission that comes with this collar.

It’s time.

I place the O-ring between my teeth and crawl over to the door. Today, I will be waiting for you on all fours. I keep my collar between my teeth because piggies don’t have hands, Sir.

Just before I set my phone aside, I let you know it’s time.

The silence is all consuming as I wait.

Normally, I can hear you coming. But it isn’t until the door snicks open than I realize you’ve arrived.

My anxiety has my body taunt. I’m nervous again.

This has come so far from where we started. I’m afraid I will scare you away. I’m afraid you’ll be disgusted. I’m afraid you’ll mock me. I’m afraid that despite your reassurances, this isn’t something you really ever wanted.

And then, you step up to me, your leather boots just inside my eyes sight and say, “There’s my good little piggie.”

And in that instant, I’m calm. I’m yours.

I can finally breathe.

Your boots leave my sight as you walk around me. I can only imagine you are committing every inch of me to memory. I am embarrassed. But I know better than to move.

I hear you snap. My eyes stay down but I turn towards the sound. A full one eighty and I crawl forward until your boots come back into view.

“Kneel up.”

I move onto my knees and am quickly reminded about the tail in me. Every movement has my insides clenching. The longer I have the tail in, the more I am reminded of how empty my cunt is.

This is going to be a test of self-control.

I am startled out of my thoughts when you hand comes to rest on the back of my neck. The warmth has my eyes sliding closed. I love your touch.

You work the clasp of my chainmaille collar easily and slide it from my neck. I hear you place it on the nightstand. It will be an easy find when we are finished.

You grasp the leather collar and I let the O-ring go. I feel it snug against my neck and instead of clasping it, you pull it tight, choking me.

Then game has begun.

You close the clasp and that your fingers lift my chin until I am looking you in the eye. Its so hard to meet your eyes Sir. Your forehead rests against mine.

“Too tight?” you ask.

I go to shake my head, but you stop me. “No, Sir.”

“Good little piggie.” You smirk, ever so slightly. You wrap my braid around your hand and pull my head back. “Tonight, we are going to do something different. Piggies do not talk. So, tonight, you will not either. This ends when my piggie oinks. And only when my piggie oinks. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir. This ends when piggie oinks”

“Good Girl.”

With that, you stood and started walking, your hand still in my hair. I crawled after you as fast as I could. You held me in place when we got to an open space.

“Stay still, head up.”

It is odd to hear you give so much direction Sir. Normally, I only hear the rhythm of your breathing and the occasional growl.

You are still out of my sight. Then I see it. A flash.

You are taking pictures.

I bite my lip. I do not want to share this humiliation with anyone else Sir. I contemplate, for a split second, of ending this.

Then I feel shame. We have done so much worse than taking pictures. If I can trust you to keep my confidence, I can trust you with this.

Time flows differently in this headspace. I do not know how long you took pictures. I think you are taking your sweet time just to fuck with me. You know how uncomfortable I am. You know I am more in my head during this than I ever have been before.

You are at my eye level again. Your camera is right in front of me. I know you want me to look at the camera. You want to capture my shame. No, that’s not completely right. You want to capture me at my dirtiest. You want a souvenir; of the things I only allow you to see and do.

The flash is bright in the dark room. It makes me blink. It is continuous. I am losing count of the pictures. I can hear the clicks. Every time my head drops, the toe of your boot comes up under my chin to bring it back up. The third time I drop my chin, I assume you have grown tired of correcting me. Instead of your boot meeting my chin, it comes up to my shoulder and pushes me back. My hands lift from the ground and I’m back on my haunches, looking up at you.

Your boot is on my chest, and the pressure is tremendous. I am pushing back against you. Dressed as a piggie or not, I won’t go down without a fight Sir. My thighs are burning with trying to support my weight and not bend under yours.

I hear you chuckle. You are getting such pleasure out of my fight. I think you are waiting for me to break. We both know you haven’t pushed me far enough yet.

My hands move swiftly from my side and grasp the underside of your boot, successfully separating it from my chest.

Is that all you have, Sir?

I must focus, Sir. Did you know that there is apparently less than eight inches from my ass to the ground in this position? The more you push me back, the more my tail shifts. My body keeps clenching. It splits my attention enough for my hands to slip. Next thing I know, I’m on my back, staring up at you. I quickly roll to my side. Without a word, your boot is on my cheek.

“Its not nice to try and run little piggie.” You chuckle.

Then I feel it.

One quick tap to my ass.

It’s the cane.

Thwack. Thwack.

There is no warm-up. I guess that is what I get for fighting back.

Thwack.

God Dammit, this hurts. I grit my teeth and breathe through it. I am waiting Sir. Waiting for you to shift just enough that I can shimmy away. As if sensing my desires, you step back.

“Face down piggie, ass in the air. I want a clear view as I redden it.”

I take just a moment to push myself up onto all fours.

I crawl forward in front of you, giving you more room to maneuver. Then I turned and crawled down the hallway, as fast as I could from you. Logically, I know you will catch me Sir. But, I am going to make you work for it.

I do not think I made it more than fifteen feet from you before you yanked my braid.

“Bad piggie.”

You pull me entirely back by my hair until I am flipped onto my back. You stepped on me, grinding the heel into my pierced nipple. I feel the piercing catch between the rubber. It hurts. Oh god, does it hurt.

I hear the cane hit the linoleum beyond my head. It takes my attention just enough for you to change position. You drop down to straddle my waist. My hands come up to your thighs and I try to push you back.

Without a second thought, your hand is on my throat and I can feel you squeeze. It drives the fight from me. It is unfair of you Sir. You ease the pressure enough for me to gasp in a breath, but your hand stays curved around my throat.

My eyes are wide, and my chest is heaving. The tail is uncomfortable, it tugs and every time I try to move my hips, it sends jolts of pleasure up my spine.

Damn you. Damn you Sir for indulging me.

Thirty seconds. That is all the breathing you allow before you tighten your grip again. This time your other hand covers my mouth and nose. You lean your head down to rest your lips against the hand over mine and stare me down.

This is the most intense I’ve ever seen you Sir. There is no question in my mind you’ve started letting the Dragon take control.

You let go as I start to see the black edging into my vision. I’m panicking. I get three full breaths in before you resume suffocating me. My chest feels tight. My hand is frantically tapping at your pants. I am wiggling as much as I can, but you have me effectively pinned.

Again. You let me take a couple breaths. And again, you go until the blackness edges in.

Three times you do this. Because I always tell you things must happen in threes. So shows your kindness to my OCD.

Finally, you let me breathe. You grab and hold my wrists.

“Look at me.”

Try as I might, I’m struggling to meet your eyes. I’m quite dazed Sir. I feel very floaty and it hurts to meet your gaze. Little piggie is rapidly becoming sensitive and cold Sir. It is getting hard to focus.

I need grounding, Sir.

You stand above me, and I can only assume you backed up because you are now out of my sight.

“Come here piggie. Come to Master.”

My eyes slide closed and with my chest still heaving, I roll over to get on all fours. Slowly, I get onto all fours and turn around. I crawl down the hall until I am staring down at your boots. They are comforting.

“You’ve been so good piggie.” Your hand rests on my head and I can feel your nails scratching me. “But still so shy.”

My body burns as I listen to you make snorting noises under your breath. You are needling it home, Sir.

“I think we are going to go for a walk.”

No.

That is what I want to scream at you. But I find myself speechless. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Please Sir. Please don’t do this.

I feel the tug on my O-Ring and suddenly I am aware of the weight of the metal leash. My chest is constricting with panic. This, this is about humiliation. I am not a pet Sir. Please don’t make me do this.

I fell you reach down to the hem of my dress and start pulling it upward. “Piggies don’t wear clothes.” You pull it over my head and then readjust my ears afterward.

You stand and tug on the leash.

“Be a good little piggie.” How desperately I want to hear that. And how desperately I do not want to do this.

Almost mechanically, I crawl forward.

You won’t open the door. You can’t.

A few more feet and my knees hit the cold linoleum. I hear the chain lock slide out of place. You tug me over to your left side, just out of the door’s path. Then the lock on the knob is turned. I cannot look. I want to believe you are just fucking with me. But I know you. If you want this, it will happen.

Then the cold air hits me and the light becomes too bright as the door drags open. There is just a shoulder high concrete wall that conceals me from the world. You step out onto the concrete and the tug on my leash leaves no question that I am to follow.

Please Sir. Please don’t do this.

I hear you in my head. All I have to do is oink. This all ends when I oink. But the word is stuck in my throat.

My knees hit the concrete. It is cold and rough on my knees. I know it will tear the stockings before we are done.

I hit the first step and then the second. There are only eight. In no time, I will be naked and visible to everyone. I am torn. My mind is racing a mile a minute. I want to be good. I want you to be proud and show me off. I want to do anything you ask.

But I cannot do this, Sir.

Not yet.

Please.

“Oink.”

I sob the word out and, in a heartbeat, you are sitting and holding me. I’m so sorry Sir. I am so sorry. I feel such shame that I cannot do this for you.

“Shh. You did well. There is no need to apologize.” You calmly unhook the leash and prompt me inside. You shut the door behind us and lock it back up. You settle onto the floor and pull my head into your lap. You remove my ears and the nose. You run your fingers through my hair and just let me be.

I am so upset with myself. I have failed you Sir.

Once the tears start to calm, I am hesitant to open my eyes. I do not wish to see disappointment in your eyes. Yet, I cannot help but search you out.

I look up and hesitantly meet your eyes. I see you smiling down at me. I cannot fathom why.

I must have been easy to read Sir. “I am so proud of you.”

Why? Why would you be proud of me for ending a scene? Why would you be proud of me for letting the fear win? I can only stare at you. I do not even know how to articulate the rhetoric in my head.

“I am proud of you.”

I realize, in that moment, that we will discuss this later. Right now, what matters, is taking care of me.

Soon, you will give me kisses and remind me that you love me. Then you will stand and let me kiss your boots as I thank you, piggie tail still in place. Tomorrow, you will ask me to write about the experience; to tell you what happened and why. Right now, though, you will hold me until you are sure I am ok…all while plotting just how we can push this farther next time.

Let me tell you now, I look forward to your creativity the next time your little piggie comes to visit.

Dissociative Identity Disorder And Kink

December 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

hot submissive wanting to please her dominant — via stock.adobe.com

Multiple Personality Disorder, which has been renamed Dissociative Identity Disorder, involves the presence of three or more alternate personalities (alters) within a single mind/body. DID is an extremely misunderstood diagnosis. While it has defining characteristics, it takes a psychiatrist who specializes in the disorder to diagnose the condition. To put this into perspective, there is one doctor qualified to diagnose DID within 200 miles of my home.

Why am I telling you this?

Because, in my world, I love an individual with DID. I talk often of the mental health issues my partners have. To us, they are simply a part of life. I am a strong proponent that Mental Health should always negotiated, and renegotiated, while in the lifestyle. It does not matter if you are just getting into the scene or have been in it for decades.

But what happens when these diagnoses happen in an existing relationship?

You must make a decision. That is the easy part. You are either going to support your partner and figure out whatever is happening, or you are going to leave.

I chose to stay.

We have learned over the years that the “early episodes” that we had attributed to her Bipolar Disorder, was Callie Anne testing the waters. In her own words, she was trying to come out of “the dark” and see if it was “safe.” When I asked her why she had never come out before, she said it was “cuz she had to watch and wait to see if I was safe.”

Then, in the middle of the night, seven-ish years after we started dating (and two years into our marriage), this little voice talked to me. Quiet, skittish, and unaware of her surroundings. She looked up at me with these wide eyes and asked who I was. She wanted to know why I was in her room. She refused to tell me her name. She said I was a stranger and she was taught to never talk to strangers. So, in the softest voice, I introduced myself.

That’s right; I introduced myself to my own wife.

The following morning, I asked her if she remembered waking up. She did not. She told me she had not dreamt and had not woken once the night before.

So, I let it go. I figured it was one of those things that just happen.

Then it happened again a couple months later.

And again, two weeks after that.

Then, she finally introduced herself. She told me her name was Callie Anne R.—vroom, vroom like the car. And I laughed.

Slowly, but surely, she would come out more and more. She would visit only when I was alone. Because, even at four, Callie Anne recognizes that DID has a very bad stigma attached to it. She had no desire to be “hurt again.”

Through research, and our own experience, DID often happens due to childhood trauma. It is not an absolute cause but is a common among diagnosed cases. Many alters fracture to protect the ‘dominate’ personality, from remembering/experiencing something.

We kept this secret for three and a half years before we sought out a proper diagnosis. I am deeply protective of both B and Callie. So is the rest of our polyquad. In fact, Callie Anne had a whole escape plan drawn out (in crayon of course) for her first therapy session. Drampa (what she calls our husband) would fight the doctor, Diddy (me) would sneak her out the back, Drama (our second wife) would be the getaway driver, and Tigger (our service dog) would snuggle her on the ride out.

She was so nervous to meet the therapist.

Because she didn’t want to be put back in the dark again.

And the most common “technique” associated with DID therapy is called Integration. This, basically, is when the dominant personality absorbs all the other personalities and they cease to exist as their own entity.

I respect people’s decision to choose this option. I disagree with the belief that it is a cure.

Callie Anne is as much a part of our life as B is. She writes to Santa at Yule. She waits for the Easter Bunny every year (since bunnies are the bestest). She cries when she gets a booboo. And she has the sweetest laugh when Drampa picks on her and tickles her. Her love and innocence are that of any four-year-old. Although she was born of trauma, she is full of happiness.

Therefore, integration of any kind would be murder in my eyes. I would be consenting to snuffing out the life of my babygirl.

Which, if you have not guessed, is unacceptable.

**On a side note, Callie Anne is sitting here with me and I wanted to record her reaction to the last two statements above. She said “That’s Good. I don’t wanna die either. If you try Diddy, Imma hide behind Drampa and He will beat your butt.” She then proceeded to dance a little and sing “Drampa’s gonna beat you up, uh huh, uh huh.”** –All I can do is shake my head with a fond smile.

As I have discussed before, Callie considers herself a little. This allows her to find others who are accepting of her, and don’t often question anything too personal. As such, I am a Diddy (Daddy), though our relationship is far from BDSM/dynamic related. She has found acceptance with the other littles in our community.

Even Callie wonders sometimes if she is classified as a little. To the best of my knowledge, the answer is yes. She is a regressive little.

I have tried, many times, to find others with a similar diagnosis. If DID exists in the BDSM world, it has been beyond my reach to find. The single article that addressed DID and kink was a very long rant about judgmental individuals within the community who do not want to play with people with mental disorders. I will never discredit their experience. We have been lucky to find an accepting community who simply say hello to Callie and her stuffed bunny (Foo-Foo) and invite her to join them in coloring.

Then, our core had a discussion. There are more personalities than just B and Callie. In fact, there are eleven currently known alters.

So, my core sat down and wrote out some questions for the alters. With Master as Head of Household, myself as Diddy, and our second wife as Dramma (grandma), it is our job to take care of them. But, we have only negotiated formally with B. How do you take care of eleven people and only talk to one?

You don’t.

So, what follows, is a record of the negotiation questions we needed answers to, in order to continue in our relationship with the consent of all parties involved.

Here is the Code to who is who:

B- She is the host personality.

Callie Anne- She is a happy-go-lucky four-year-old.

Blue- She is eight and generally sad. She is the only one besides Callie and B to successfully control the physical body, even for a short few minutes.

Black- She is nine and generally feels everyone’s guilt.

Callie Rose- She is nine and she hides in the safe space (a playground within the mind that the children built) and has yet to speak to anyone.

Cally- She is fifteen and she refuses to interact with the adult alters (or adults in the real world)

Bahloo- He is an adult alter who acts as a caregiver and therapist to all the personalities. We often refer to him as A.

Anger- He is the protector of the children.

D- She is the logical voice and cannot feel, or be influenced, by emotion.

Shadow- This is the protector of the child still in the dark. S/he has no identifiable gender.

Girl in the Dark- We know she exists but have yet to be able to break her out of her trauma cycle and interact with her.

Do I have to negotiate with all of your alters or just one?

B: I would say you would have to do the detailed negotiation with the one you scene with. And try and touch base with the others.

Callie Anne: your negotiation is with the one alter. But then it is the job for the one to check in with the others. To make sure that they all have a place to go when the scene happens. Whether it’s our hand built safe space in our brain, or that they just don’t care what happens.

If I violate the consent of one, do I violate the consent of all?

D: as the logical one, I would say no. You made the deal with one, not all.

B: for me this is a grey area. I know it’s not all about logic when you feel violated.

Callie Anne: when everyone has their own rules for play, I think unless you violate one of their rules, you are fine

Should people with DID play since they have blurred boundaries?

Callie Anne: each of us have our own reality. I feel as long as you have conversations with each alter that can control the body, it is ok. If there are alters that do not live anywhere but the brain, the dominant personality should talk with them and see what they believe, or will know, or will feel.

Do all alters have the same safeword?

Every alter has its own safe word. B has one and Callie Anne has a different version of it.

Example: B’s safeword is Alligator. Callie Anne’s is giggleator.

How do you compartmentalize kink if you have underage alters?

B: This question is difficult. Each person has their own ways of doing this. For us personally, we have spent the time and energy building a safe space in our mind. Our safe space looks like a glass snow globe. Inside is a waterfall, a lake, an open sided building that holds toys, books, crayons; anything that interests the kids. There is also a gray/black foggy space for when they are not ready to interact with people. No one or nothing can get into the safe space unless we build it. So, it is a place that is free from bad memories, bad feelings, and “monsters”. When getting ready for a scene, all the littles, and adults alike, that do not want to witness what is going on sit in there.

How do you explain kink vs abuse to alters?

Callie Anne: It was hard at first. Then Diddy and Drampa explained that the biggest difference between them was if you like it, it is kink. If you do not, and it bothers you or scares you, then it is abuse. We have found a new piece who was stuck in a bad memory loop. Her name is Callie Rose. There has been no explanation for her yet. She is still sitting in the black space in the safe place because she is still trying to deal with the fear and pain from her loop.

Does each alter have their own limits?

Yes, each personality has their own limits. B loves spankings, hard floggings, light electrical, and some voyeurism. Callie Anne loves rope, light floggings, giggles at Drampa when trying electrical, and if out during other scenes, pops in her paci and headphones and avoids paying attention

Are some of the alters unaware of kink?

Yes they are. All the adult alters know, and so far the only child who knows is Callie Anne. (Even then, she is not privy to the more edgy side of kink).

Do the alters that know about kink all have different roles?

Depends on what you mean. They only have different roles in kink depending on what they enjoy. They do each have different roles in my “normal” life.

Does a switch mid-scene require the scene to end immediately?

If it’s from an adult to a child, absolutely. If it’s from a child to an adult, I would yellow the scene and check with the adult to see if we can figure out why the child left. Making sure they weren’t scared, hurt, or upset for some reason.

**You must pay close attention to body language in case of a switch. If one alter is afraid, it can be a deer in headlights situation**

How do you deal in sub/Dom space?

B deals with it by cuddling up with one of the spouses. Callie Anne deals with it by becoming a “sad burrito”. She rolls up in a blanket, cuddles with her bunny, uses her paci and watches Disney until she falls asleep.

Does aftercare and drop look the same for all of them? Does each alter feel the drop? Is it only the one in charge?

After care and drop are different for each of the ones that participate. The alters do feel sleepy when the drop hits and don’t quite understand why. But it is part of the way my brain helps to protect the rest.

How do you accommodate one alter without hurting another?

It is a long process. There are a lot of discussions involved over many weeks until everyone can come to an agreement.

Can you safely participate in pickup play as a person with DID?

In my opinion, the answer is no. I can do it with my core group, and maybe one or two of our closest friends. But otherwise I feel it would be unsafe on both parts.

If the controlling alter does not disclose the DID with their partner, is it a consent violation for the other partner?

ABSOLUTELY!! It would be the same as not disclosing metal in your body when doing electrical. It should never be done.

I have found that my journey into kink, and those who participate with me, has been vastly different than the average person. It is my goal to let you see into my world, so that in the future, if you meet someone like B, you can understand that they can offer you far more than you expect.

DID is surrounded by a stigma that those who have it are incapable of functioning. That they cannot make lucid decisions and cannot actively consent to their own participation in the world around them.

I understand the trepidation, especially if they are in a D/s dynamic. As a Dominant, you become responsible for yourself and your submissive. If they have multiple alters, you become responsible for the well-being of each one. As a submissive, it can become convoluted if only one has submitted (or if they phase out mid-scene).

Like any mental health issues, it has its own ups and downs that go with it. There is no shame in choosing not to accept the responsibility of someone with DID. It will bring nothing but misery if you begrudge someone for being who they are.

But I wanted to give you a glimpse into our reality. To let you share in the joy and the frustration that comes with DID and then trying to incorporate Kink into that. I have learned more patience and understanding since I met Callie Anne, then I ever did in most of my adult life.

I want the community to be able to have open discussions about kink and mental health. I want the community to accept that just because our brains are different, we are no less valuable than those without our mental struggles. I want people to know that we are more than capable to give and withdraw consent at any time.

Being Kinky with DID is no less fulfilling. It just means there are always spectators and opinions.

The Ins And Outs Of Service Topping

December 5, 2020 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

male dominant with latex gloves — via stock.adobe.com

I cannot speak for anyone reading this but living during a Pandemic has had a serious impact on my BDSM time. While I am one of the lucky ones who lives with their partners, the lack of social interaction has pushed against my abilities to get into the proper headspace for play. One of the things I look forward to every year is party season. Since I live in Idaho, the last week of May to the first week of September is our party season. Otherwise, it is too cold, too wet, and far too snowy to be able to play.

Parties are intensely euphoric. The amount of people, the adrenaline, the excitement, and the play itself, usually lend to a high spike of dopamine. It also leads to some of the heaviest drops I have ever experienced. Those drops can (and are) made worse because Master is a Service Top, and I am an empath.

So, since we are unable to lay you on our table, I wanted to share a behind the scenes look at what a party looks like for us as well as the aftermath of our time with you.

Fittingly enough, our parties have been held in the upper level of a barn for a couple of years now. As odd as it is to have a trip of goats below us, you stop noticing it by the time the party begins. You walk up two flights of narrow stairs, and you are facing an empty floor. Well, you would be, had we not been there three hours before the door open to set up. Straight ahead from the stairs, against the farthest wall, is a hand-built St. Andrews Cross. Next to it is a folding table with some of the toys we keep for the public to use. At the other end of the same wall, is a Rope Spider Web. It stands just shy of seven feet tall and is wide enough to put two people on at once. Next to that, hangs more public toys. It is a variety of floggers, canes, paddles, and even a nice strip of Firehose (for the adventurous type of course). Right underneath the hanging toys is the sawhorses. Master converted them from garage use to play use. They are painted black and red (his colors) and the top has been fashioned with a removable cushion (so they remain useable in the off season). On a side note, the force of that strip of fire hose will produce enough force to push your ass off the front of the horse….it is quite hilarious.

Then we have the fencing. Out here, Littles and pets are quite common. So, we fenced off a section for them, that has blankets, pillows, stuffies, crayons, and coloring books. It also works well as a place to recover during aftercare.

The next spot is a table with melted wax and another with a stereo. Due to the setting (i.e. in a barn), we paint the melted wax on with brushes. It allows us to both be artistic and keep a relatively clean area. The stereo is there to set the mood and often helps keep some of the scenes more intimate since it blocks the overlay of multiple conversations (and cries of pain/ecstasy).

And lastly, right at the edge of the stairs, stands two built-in tables. Laid on the table is three wands and several cases of implements that lend well to Electrical play. We have the light bulbs for those unsure of their interests (since bulbs are generally light feeling—like bubbles on the skin). Then there are metal kitchen utensils, cat claws, chains, knives, and a variety of other items that will honestly intimidate most people. It is both a creative and impressive layout. (and yes, each bit must be taken up by either myself or Master—then again, who are we kidding, it is taken up and set up by me).

Draped in a white sheet, is the massage table. Though comfortable, it can easily be converted with straps to hold you still and leave you feeling quite electrified. Pun absolutely intended.

This leaves the center of the loft space for interacting with others, class/educational space, a place to spectate, or additional room for floggings and spankings.

Parties take months to prepare for. If you ever get to go to one, please thank your host. They have done far more behind the scenes than you will ever be aware of.

The parties we had planned this year (before the pandemic) were planned right after party season of 2019 ended. We had planned a Luau, Pirate themed, Halloween in July, Leo and Leopards, and a Leather and Lace party.

Sounds like a lot of fun. And I am sure it would have been. But we know how that turned out.

Generally, our parties have a turnout of 20-50 people. Our August and September parties are by far the largest.

With that said, I want to give you an idea of what a party of that magnitude leads to often: Service Topping.

The term itself has a few different meanings. I am going to stick to what it means to us.

Service Top: a person who Tops another individual, whom they do not have a power exchange with, in a scene.

Due to Master being one of the few who does Electrical play in our area (and the only one with as extensive a collection of implements), people will often come to the party to get a tasting.

Tasting: a short, introductory scene that allows people to try something new in a safe environment (as a reminder, we do not include sex in any tasting, nor do we play with anyone who has had a mind-altering substance such as alcohol or drugs).

This generally means a 5-15-minute scene that starts off exceptionally light and only occasionally gets more intense.

There are a few of us who ended up with a Sadistic scene the first time…but those were exceptions to the rules. Back then, before I was with Master, I laid on his table and I made two mistakes once I realized I couldn’t feel any of the lighter zaps: first, I laughed (at a Sadist) and second, I asked if that was all he had (again, to a Sadist). What followed was one hell of a good scene. Apparently, tastings are just not my cup of eletrici-TEA.

I know, my puns are terrible. I hope you snickered anyway. I’m here all day.

There is one major factor of Service Topping that no one ever talks about. The fact is, you only get short scenes. That means that you most often do not hit Dom space, are up and down with energy highs, and are utterly fucking exhausted by the end of it.

For example, Master usually gives tastings for several hours at a time. One right after the other. So, over time, Master and I have developed a routine. I negotiate with the next person as he works on the current one. I let them know the rules, how fabric interacts with electricity, screen the health questions, and verify the limits. Then I relay the information and while I wipe down his gear and table, he connects with the one I’ve just negotiated with, introduces himself, verifies the information I told him, and helps them onto his table.

I keep watch on everything happening. Electricity can burn skin. This means that even a light tasting can leave you covered in marks. Master always rubs them down with burn gel (to prevent any issues), asks if they need anything, and then I check in on them later in the party. You can never be too careful, and I find some people are just more comfortable talking to a submissive.

I also keep an eye on Master. When you have a line of people waiting to be on your table, you rarely get a moment for yourself. That means that I may bring cold drinks, a wet cloth, or food up to his table and remind him that he needs to take a few minutes to rest. It will not help anyone if he ends up on the floor from exhaustion.

We are a good team. He plays with and takes care of others while I take care of him.

Its my favorite part of the night.

Of course, that could be the voyeur in me.

While I may help instruct people on a basic flogging or rope harness, I am not a Service Top. Out here, in our community, they are few and far between. I was lucky enough to corner Master and get a few questions answered. Most of these are questions that have been asked by members of our community out here. I’d like to share them with you.

What is a service top?

Someone, at an event or party, who is there to give tastings of kinky play to many individuals. Generally, play lasts around 5-15 minutes.

How long have you been a service Top?

8 or 9 years

What is your favorite thing to do as a service top?

Electrical play (I should specify that Master also does impact play and fire play)

How do you negotiate?

I let my subbie do it. She knows the questions and gives me the answers. It saves time. It is general questions. Are you pregnant? Any medical devices in the body? Any metal in the body? Any areas you do not want touched? Have you done this before?

Do you follow up on people who are on your table?

I try to. It depends on the person’s reaction and how intense we played.

Do you prefer in depth/longer scenes or tastings?

Depends on my mindset.

Do you develop favorites to play with?

Yes. There are some that I enjoy their reactions and if they come back to my table, it is fun to play again.

Do you find it harder to abide by limits since you play with so many people?

Yes. I will ask someone to remind me again, even if we have played before. Just to make sure I stay within their consent.

Why do you service top?

I enjoy being able to introduce people to new sensations. Something they may not otherwise try

What do you get out of it?

The enjoyment of introducing someone to something new. Introducing the possibility of a new kink

Is the drop different when you service top?

Yes. You are dealing with so many people. More exhausting. Longer recovery time. It is often hours of nonstop play as a service top versus a shorter one on one scene

What do you wish people knew about service topping?

Most Service Tops do not have time for aftercare. It is something that should be in place by the person before we play.

Service Tops generally specialize in one area. We know other types of play, but we have what we do best.

Service Tops need taken care of too. We do this rollercoaster of adrenaline rush and then a drop. Up and down. For four to ten hours. I have done as many as forty people in a single night. There is little time between scenes. Especially since electrical is edge play that isn’t often seen where we are at.

I hope this has given you a little more insight into Service Topping. Please keep in mind that what happens in “pick-up play” varies from dungeon to dungeon. But I hope that should someone take the time to give you a tasting or even something you’ve been craving, that you remember what they go through in a single night. It takes just a moment to thank a Service Top.

Erotica: The Marionette

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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I need you to leave me.

No, that’s not quite true. I need you to leave me…broken.

I need you to strip me of my building doubt and fear and bring me back to reality.

It has been a long few months Sir. I’ve waited patiently from the shelf I’ve been placed on. A lifeless doll, stationed on the living room bookcase, just watching the world through wooden lids.

Can you see the varnish on my eyes; glossed over and shining with need? Can you hear the creak of my hinges as I try to reach out to you? Can you feel the cracks in my body when you hug me? Can you taste the dust covering my soul when you kiss me?

Probably not.

I am a very good marionette. I move when you need me to. I move in and out of your vision when I feel it is necessary to ease your stress levels.

I make a lot of decisions. My mind moves a mile a minute, but my mouth is stitched shut. I tug and I tug but the threads are so tight.

I should be panicking.

But, I’m not.

Because good girls wait for when they are needed.

Isn’t that right Sir?

I am a slow learner, but I know that patience is a cornerstone of self-control. And self-control is your number one requirement.

So, I wanted to share a story with you. I want you to close your eyes and dream of breaking me in the most deliciously depraved ways.

Here is what I see:

My eyes are closed. They have been for ages now. You put me in the back of your van, told me to keep them shut, and not say a word. I do not know how long we have been driving. For all I know, you have been driving in circles just to disorient me.

Halfway through, you told me to strip. I am not wearing much. I never do when you tell me to get ready. I am so used to being naked for you, clothing seems almost a sin. There should never be anything that prevents you from seeing or touching any part of me at any time.

Its cold, even inside your van. I am curled in a ball, my knees at my chest, with my back against the seat. I am staying out of view. It would be no fun if the police were to pull us over.

It is taking everything I have Sir not to open my eyes. My stomach is rolling with motion sickness and my body is disoriented from all the movement. Yet, I know that’s why you did not blindfold me. You prefer that I obey through will power and without assistance. That’s why I know that whatever happens, I am going to have to make sure I stay in the moment.

Thankfully, the van finally stops. I have not moved. I am waiting for your instruction.

Mistake number one.

I hear the door open and suddenly my ankle is pulled harshly. My head drops to the floor and my back burns from the rug.

“Up and Present”

I scramble to follow your voice. I am hesitant because I cannot see where you are and where I should be. As I get up on my knees, you have decided I am not moving fast enough. Your fingers wrap around the chainmaille of my day collar and yank me forward. You are the only thing holding me up.

“Have you forgotten everything? Is this what I am stuck with?”

Your words sting. I keep my face stoic. You have not given me leave to speak. But, I right myself and get my balance back. My hands lock behind my back. My knees are biting into the grooves in the floor of the van. The connector bars for the seats are not kind to my shins either.

You lightly smack my cheek. “Head up.” You command. Then, without warning, my collar drops from my neck. My eyes are wide behind the lids. Now, I am panicking a little bit. You’ve never removed it without warning before. Have I upset you Sir? Are you abandoning me here? Am I being released? My chest is heavy and constricted. What have I done? Why won’t you talk to me? Please Sir. Please, tell me I can speak. Please.

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds and I have worked myself into a panic.

Thirty seconds and then I feel it. I feel the smoothness of my leather collar. I can hear the rings and feel the heaviness against my throat. I take a deep breath. I know what is coming next.

Your hands tighten it to its furthest point. I can see white spots behind my eyelids. My lips fall open in an ‘O’ and I gasp. This is about control. You will release when you are ready, not when I am.

And you do. As the blood pounds through my head and my head is dizzy in need, you let go. You buckle it comfortably.

I’m naked, terrified, and in my TPE collar.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to break me.

Your palm is resting on the top of my head. I am trying to prepare myself for what I have gotten myself into.

Ten Seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

The silence is long tonight. It is never a good sign when you are quiet Sir. It means you are losing yourself in the moment. That means the dragon you keep leashed inside will be in charge tonight. I may not survive this.

And so, it begins.

Your hand curls into my hair and I am yanked from the van and thrown to the ground below. It is soft and cold. In a split second, your hand is back in my hair and you are half dragging me. I am trying to crawl fast enough, but I keep stumbling. Left and right, back and forth, there is no rhyme or reason to where you are taking me. I feel filthy. My hands and knees are sinking into the Earth.

Please Sir, let me open my eyes.

I am thrown back to the ground with a disgusted sigh. I can hear your frustration with me. I don’t remember the last time I couldn’t keep up with you, step for step. I’m frustrated with myself and we have only just begun.

I turned my face sideways to lessen the pain on contact. I figured it out now.

You have me in the mud. You have me naked, outdoors, in the fucking mud. I did the first thing that came to mind. I growled.

I forget how quick you can move Sir. You had me flipped over and you knelt across my ass, your knee landing on my lower back. Your hand wrapped in my hair and yanked my head back painfully. You leaned close to my ear and spoke ever so softly.

“Did you have something to say piggie?”

I growled again.

You pushed my face into the mud and then pulled me back.

“Good little piggies oink.”

Silence.

I refuse to give you what you are asking.

Try Me. Push Me. Make Me.

As soon as you let go of my hair, I made a decision. I bucked my ass up to jostle you and I took off. Even with my eyes closed, I was determined to put distance between us. I have no idea if you lost your balance or not. As quick as I felt your boot to my side, kicking me over, I knew I had not bucked hard enough.

I landed on my back and before I could breathe, your boot was on my neck. It pressed firmly and I felt myself sinking into the mud. My hands pushed against your boot without relief. I knew I had pissed you off.

“Open your eyes.” My eyes popped open instantly. Even in the darkness, it was too bright. I blinked rapidly and struggled to breathe.

You are ready to watch me suffer.

You finally lift from my neck and I am gasping for breath. Your boot meets my cheek and shoves half my face back into the ground and I hear you talking finally.

“Your hands will stay off my leather if you wish to keep them out of play. Do I make myself clear?”

“yes.”

You push down harder. “Yes, Sir.”

“Up.”

My breathing is laboured and I am seriously contemplating refusing you. But, deep down, I cannot bring myself to do so.

I need this.

I lift myself from the mud. It is already drying on me. I can feel it cracking. I’m on my knees, staring up at you.

You tap my lips and I open obediently, tongue out. You clip a clothespin to next to my piercing. You smile so mockingly. “This will help wash you off.” I glared. Drool is not a way to wash myself.

“Tonight, we are going to work on your discipline, lil piggie. Kneel up, off your heels. Back straight, eyes forward, neck straight. Lace your fingers behind your head and keep your arms up. I do not want to hear a sound.”

You walked around me. I don’t like losing sight of you Sir, especially in such a foreign environment. I feel your boot nudge my ass. I rocked ever so slightly, but no sound.

Then, it happened. I felt a sharp sting. It hurt. I was unprepared for this Sir.

Then again.

And again. There was no warm-up. You are hitting me as though we have been doing impact for a half hour now. My body is cold and sensitive.

It hurts. My knees are shaking. Holding myself in this position makes it hard to zone out the pain of the hits.

I bet that was your intention.

Six. I think so anyway.

Seven. A sob is caught in my throat.

Eight. I am unsure what it even striking me at this point. It hurts. You keep changing the contact point.

Nine. The tears are leaking. I am trying so hard to keep quiet. I need to please you.

Ten. That was a particularly vicious hit to my thighs. I broke.

I fell forward. My body is hunched over, my back bare. My hands are in the mud and I am shaking, trying to keep the sobs in.

Silence.

I can hear you breathing. Even now, it cuts through the sobs. I am aware of you.

I bring myself back up into position. Just as you expect.

Its not the falling that disappoints you. It is the unwillingness to pick myself back up.

I look up at you. You are blurry through the tears.

Without a word, you take your boot and place it on my chest. You push. My body starts bending backwards. You are saying all you need to without a single word. If I am going to bend, it will be at your will and your will alone.

I keep balance for as long as I can until I am once again on my back. Your boot moves and the heel grinds into my nipple piercing. It feels as though you will rip it from my body. It hurts to intensely.

My body is twisting, trying to escape you. Your weight holds me in place.

Please Sir. It hurts so bad.

You move to my other piercing. It burns.

Please Sir.

Please.

You’ve barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run a marathon.

I just want your comfort now.

Please Sir.

You move to grind your boot against my sex. My pelvic bone feels as though it is cracking beneath you.

I’m sobbing again.

But I know how to end this.

I must give myself over to your control again.

You are waiting for me to willingly do so.

I have known what I need to do for a while now. But my head was set on rebellion.

After a particularly strong grind, you remove your weight. Sobbing, covered in mud, and aching fiercely, I curl into a ball.

Brokenly, I end it.

“OINK.”

The BDSM Vetting Process

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 4 Comments

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When we have the potential for a new relationship, we generally experience a sensation called New Relationship Energy (NRE). This essentially blinds us to the character flaws of our partner and often makes them the center of our world, regardless of if we are monogamous or not. It also impedes our communication skills. NRE allows us to take what our partner says as fact, ignore the red flags, and skim over the vetting process.

At least, it does for those of us who still vet.

When I started in the community sixteen years ago, vetting was very much an important step to entering a dynamic. This was especially true with the growth of the internet. With the potential of thousands of possibilities, you had to wade your way through the chaos, and sort potentials into a few categories.

Category 1) Hell No.

Category 2) Not my Kink (this is basically my kink profile and your kink profile do not match)

Category 3) Maybe (meaning I need to investigate this further)

Category 4) I would like to get to know you

Obviously, people moved from one category to the next as the process continues. It makes it very hard to vet someone in my Category 4 if I am in their category 1.

So, what is vetting?

Vetting is, according to the dictionary, to “make a careful and critical examination of (something)”.

I’m going to be honest…that is a very broad term. It is also extremely vague. When I first read it, I imagined a person laid out on a table and I carefully and meticulously examined them with a magnifying glass. Then I laughed a bit at the absurdity of my thoughts.

Vetting is essentially getting to know someone and make an informed decision about whether they are honest or not.

I have always preferred to get to know someone without the kinks first. I need to know that I can enjoy your company in a vanilla setting as well as a kinky one. Even though I live 24/7, it is not an endless dream of whips and chains. It involves chores to keep the house running, work to keep a roof over our head, postponement of my needs to serve my partners, and a whole lot of cuddling. If I cannot tolerate you in that part of my life, then all the kinks/skills in the world would not change our incompatibility.

There are a few ways to start the vetting process.

First, I would look through their online persona. If you have them across platforms, see if their posts and/or their style of writings are consistent. You can evaluate how ever you like. For me, are all their posts angry or blaming people for things? Do our politics match up or do they at least seem tolerant of other viewpoints? DO they act thirsty with every man or woman they are attracted to?
Talk to previous play partners or the community. Honestly speaking, I usually skip this step. I have always been in a small kink community and that often leads to skewed answers. It is perfectly fine if you choose to not pursue person X because person Y said they were bad news. I know that for some individuals, this has been tremendously helpful.

However, I have also seen the opposite. In fact, my own dynamic with Master has fed the rumour mill. Did you know I am always in trouble? Apparently so. Those long-lasting marks could never actually be the result of pleasure (*gasp* Shocking, I know). Did you know that I am too bull-headed to be submissive? Obviously, I must be extremely unsatisfying to my Dominant.

I am, and always have been, an open book. You want to know something, ask. I have never had an issue with that. Its when people add their own spin to the story, after I have given my answer, that makes me cringe. Both of those questions came from a brat who wanted to know how to get her Dom’s attention because she felt he was ignoring her. I advised her that communication was key. She needed to sit down and talk with him. I am not a brat. I am offended at the implication of being one. It goes against all my beliefs as a submissive. But, she did not like my answer. She then proceeded to tell anyone that would listen that I was a brat, and an unhelpful one at that.

I have been accused of Topping from the bottom because I can get forceful in making sure Master takes care of himself. I have been told (by outsiders) that I am not dedicated enough because I am not home enough. Which, on a side note, just fuels my insecurities. So, thank you. I have been asked how I can “let Him do that?” We have blanket consent, including Edge play and CNC. You don’t have to like it, but I sure do.

All I am trying to say is, there are two sides to every story. People like to gossip. People like to put other people down to feel better. So, maybe what they are saying, should be taken with a grain of salt.

Do not assume anything. Listen to what the person says versus what they do. Does what they are saying match what they have put out into the public? If not, ask. If they cannot give you a satisfactory answer, trust your gut. If they make you feel negative energy, walk away. If you see/feel red flags, walk away.

Do their kinks match yours? Now, we get to the good stuff. Since you have gotten to step 4, you are probably compatible in the Vanilla world, and they do not give you the creepy crawlies, its time to find out if the things they like match yours. Discuss both of your limits, must haves, needs, wants, safewords, dynamic wants/needs, and everything in between. Be practical. Be willing to compromise or walk away. It would not be fair if one party wants a 24/7 dynamic and the other wants a long-distance, weekend getaway dynamic. They are both valid wants, but not very compatible.

Safety. If, and when, you get to the point of meeting (if you haven’t already), please do so safely. Meet in public. Make sure at least two people know when and where you are going to be, who you are with, and when you plan to check in. If I tell my safety that I will text her by 8, at 8:01 she is calling me to make sure I just didn’t lose track of time. Take your own car or have your own ride. Sometimes, situations get sticky and we just need to get away. If your date picked you up, you can feel very stuck.

In the end, vetting is necessary to finding the right partner(s). It takes a special breed to give us the communication, trust, and vulnerability needed to make this lifestyle work. The minute I consent to you binding me, I am trusting you with my mental and physical health. I am trusting you with my life.

Therefore, you are going to have to bear with me and play a few rounds of twenty questions before I let you anywhere near me.

Erotica: The Fight Within

November 7, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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***all pieces of erotica are works of fiction. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual, safe, ethical, or sane.

I need to specify to those reading this, that playing during high emotion can be dangerous. You can miss verbal/body cues, overlook a safeword, or face the issue of potentially blacking out/disassociating.

I wrote this to explore parts of my psyche I’ve yet to delve into. But I also wrote this to someone with whom I trust my life.

The goal of delving into the darker parts of the mind, is to learn. There is more revealed in the unconscious mind than in any other medium.

Even if I never delve into this scenario in person, I will have revealed everything I need to…subconsciously. Master has told me, on more than one occasion, that my writing gives him insight because I pour myself into it. It is the same reason he refuses to read unfinished work and offer suggestions. If he did, it could influence me.

I explore darkness only with someone who can bring me back into the light. I explore brokenness only with someone who can piece me back together. I explore emotional fuckery only with someone who will not be crushed beneath the weight of it.

What you choose to do is your decision. Just know, if you cannot separate what is done in a scene from what happens in real life, your relationship can be irrevocably changed or damaged.

You once told me, Sir, that I push your boundaries unlike anyone else.

I had to think about that. At first glance, it looks as though I lack respect for your limits. But, when we talked about it, you told me it meant I pushed you as you push me.

We have successfully faced quite a few demons and delved into some dark places.

We have moved seamlessly from physical pain to mental and we continue to push against what is deemed as safe and sane.

We are risk takers Sir. I’d have it no other way.

With that in mind, I wish to request a new boundary to be explored.

I want you to make me angry Sir.

I want you to throw me against the proverbial wall and help me bring the bricks down.

I want to feel the thrum of adrenaline and the fire in my veins.

I want to fight you.

I want to growl and scream and cry.

I want you to take me down without mercy.

Are you willing to brave this with me Sir? Are you willing to catch me on the other side as I come down? Are you willing to help me deal with the guilt when this is done?

Are you willing and able to keep me sane without losing yourself in the process?

We don’t play angry. We have always refused to play during any heavy influx of emotions.

Tonight, I want that to change.

Please, Sir?

You are a crafty bastard Sir. When I asked for an emotionally charged scene, I did not expect you to have me set it up.

You know how much I hate making decisions.

I know you’re fucking with me. But I also know you want to understand how far to push me.

See, you can read me my body like no other. But what I choose at the beginning, gives you an idea of how far to go.

I understand it. I just don’t like it.

I knew the two fastest ways to anger without conflict.

Step one: My song. On repeat. Seven minutes of mesmerizing lyrics that take me over.

You can see the change in me. There is a reason I rarely play this song. It stirs my mind like a woman possessed. It makes me feel…violent.

Step two: Handcuffs

We both know the cuffs alone will make me fight. I tried breaking the kitchen chair last time we used them.

This time, you were smarter.

You locked one wrist in front of me, pulled the chain between my legs, and locked the other one. Then you pulled the leg irons chain over the cuffs and pulled them down and around the leg of the bedframe.

I am technically free to move within a small area. With difficulty, I can switch from kneeling to sitting but little else is possible.

You snap your fingers.

I Breathe deeply. We are about to begin.

You want me immersed.

I sit down on my ass, my knees bent and my hands loosely hanging. My top half is bare, and the room is chilly. My fingers are playing with the soft fabric of my leggings already. Can you see my anxiety already Sir? I don’t think I have hidden it very well.

The leg irons pull against my ankles. I have twisted the chain already, but I refuse to say anything. I will deal with this.

I look up at you. I am scared Sir.

For all my bravado, I do not like being angry. I know that I could hurt someone. I know that I could hurt you if I sink too far. I feel very small for asking for this.

You read me so well. You look deep into my eyes, my lip trembling, and you run your fingers through my hair. It soothes me. I close my eyes to revel in it and you backhand me.

We’ve started.

From this point, you won’t let up until you are ready…or I color.

Would that be wrong? To color on a scene I’ve requested?

You will tell me that it is not wrong. And I know for damn sure, we would never be trying this if you didn’t trust me to speak up when needed.

Those thoughts cross my mind all the time.

So, let’s see what happens Sir.

Are you ready?

I am waiting for the music to start.

“Are you ready for this?”. You ask only once.

You are giving me an out.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want it.

“Press play” I state firmly.

Without another word, you press play. I know we have put the song on repeat for the length of the disc. It will continue to ramp me up until it is turned off.

The headphones are immersion ones. They close me off from the outside world. All I can hear is the music.

Then, you leave.

I fucking hate being alone. I get antsy and worried and scared.

Forty-five seconds in. My eyes close of their own volition.

1 and a half minutes in. I can feel my face contorting into a smirk.

2 minutes. My lips move unconsciously to mouth the dark words. You were smart Sir. By using the instrumental track, with only the backup vocals, I can sink ever so further. The ability to sing along and keep myself distracted from the emotion is no longer an option.

My chin drops to my chest. I roll my neck to one side and slowly to the other. I can feel the cracking of the bones.

3 minutes. My heart is pounding. My eyes are open and unseeing. My head cocks to the side, glaring into the nothingness.

Four minutes. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I start rubbing the cuff rings.

The cuffs are cool to my thumbs as I rub the metal.

My thoughts are dark Sir; and sneaky.

We are halfway through the first play of the song. The bass drum is beating loud. I am tugging more frantically at my cuffs now. I feel them pulling against my hands.

I am going to bruise.

I am watching the door. I’m determined to be free by the time you come back. I plan to tackle you. I’m going to take you to the floor and have you beg me for mercy.

I can do it.

I smirk.

If not, I will go down fighting.

I was unprepared for the mask Sir. As soon as the darkness descended, I started bucking. You appeared from nowhere.

Were you watching me? Where? I could not see you.

Why would you hide Sir?

Are you scared of me?

Won’t you let me free Sir?

I can do such wondrous things to you.

After all, you cannot see the fire in my eyes with a hood on.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Whatever shall we do Sir? Won’t you let me out to play?

You have turned the volume up. I can feel the vibrations across the whole of my ears. I feel the zipper on the hood open across my mouth. I strike forward to bite you.

Rule number 2 in our dynamic. I am never to bite.

I’ve just declared war.

I am pulling roughly at the handcuffs. If I can shift the bed frame, then you have no chance.

I feel your hand grip the back of my neck, as though you were planning to lift me. You press my body forward. Your other palm presses harshly against my mouth and pinches my nose through the hood. I did not even have a chance to take a breath. I’m trying to wrestle free. I can hear the clanking of the metal over the music. I feel like a feral animal trying to free itself. My head is locked into place by your strength.

I am going to pass out.

Then, you let me breathe.

Or so I thought.

One big breath is all I managed before you shoved the gag between my teeth. You made sure I would be able to breathe by picking the ball gag with holes. But it clearly tells me that talking is out of the question.

Good.

If you want an answer, you are gonna need to read my fucking mind.

Sir.

I feel the chain go slack for a split second. You must have lifted the corner of the bed. I pull quickly and round my head in what I believe is your direction. It connects with something. I turn the other direction and roll onto my back. I know I cannot run with the way I am chained. But I do have enough room to kick you.

I kick out, low to the ground, and my foot connects. I know instantly I have hit too low. Your boots hurt quite a bit when kicked with bare feet. I aim higher but I feel your hand grab my ankles. My arms are stretched as you hold me tight.

Then the blows start.

A firm smack right onto my ass.

I hate this position. I hate having my legs in the air like a baby. It is humiliating…and you know it. That is exactly why you do it.

Two. Three. Four.

In such quick succession, I cannot catch my breath or bearings.

Five hits me full force to the top of my pussy.

Fuck. I guarantee you heard that through the gag.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Harder and harder you hit my ass. My body is trying to rock against the floor. Anything I can do to get free. I am not fairing so well at that.

Nine is a firm kick to the ass by your boot.

God Dammit.

Ten reigns down on my pussy once more. Pretty sure I am going to be icing for days at this point.

You drag me by my ankle across the carpet until we meet linoleum. You roll me over in one smooth motion and use the leverage of the chain to pull my knees up under me. My ass is now in the air and my face is pressed to the cold floor. My shoulders are burning, and my wrists are swollen. I am biting down on the rubber of the gag so hard I am expecting it to split.

I feel a heavy thud against my thighs. Oh god, not that one. I hate it.

Five thwacks, each getting harsher and harsher. The hood is wet now. It clings to my eyes as they water, and I have soaked the bottom half with my spit.

I keep trying to shift away from the blows. For a masochist, I move a lot Sir. Have you ever noticed that?

Five more and I am sobbing. My legs are shaking to the point that I cannot hold them up anymore. Then again, as soon as I started to drop them, I felt it.

You finally unsheathed the knife you were hitting me with.

The broad side of the blade is cool against my skin. I feel its tip at my belly button, with the rest of the length sliding down to my pussy. It is your warning to keep my position.

And it is my chance to end it.

Not a chance in hell Sir.

Is that all you’ve got?

My legs are trembling. I feel like I have been at the gym for a couple hours on a treadmill. I feel the knife sliding against my skin. I am trying to hold still. I know there will be marks. Even the dullest of your knives leave me with welts.

Ever so slowly, the tip slides down between my legs. I feel you grab the crotch of my leggings and I feel the sharp tug as you slice them. The knife leaves my skin for just a moment and I feel your fists shred my clothes the remaining in bit. I can only feel them clinging to me from my calves to my ankles. Then the blade is back.

You are cruel Master. I am trying to focus on where the blade is at, but the music is distracting me too much. If I had to guess, knowing the marks it will leave, I am positive you are drawing little smiley faces that I will be staring at in the mirror for the next week.

I am not amused!

But I can imagine the smirk you must be wearing at your own ingenuity.

I feel the tip slide down my thighs and to my calves. I feel the rest of my leggings fall from my body.

Time is relative in the dark. I lost count of the amount of times my song has played. I know my ass stings. I have no idea how long you have been marking me with that blade. I know it periodically slides between the lips of my vagina and I hold my breath every time. I know my jaw aches from the gag and my neck is sore from being on the floor in this position. My shoulders still burn, and my body shakes from either adrenaline or cold. Of which I am not entirely sure.

But I want more Sir.

When you have finished with the blade, I feel you give me one last whack with it after you sheathed it and I felt your breath light up the cuts along my backside.

Gently, you pull me up to my knees and let me lean my head against your legs. The music is turned down until it is a mere whisper. It stays constant, and I still cannot hear you, but it curbs the adrenaline.

You pick me up to standing but my legs cannot hold me. So, you leave me kneeling and drag me to wherever you desire me to be. You bend me over the bed. It keeps me kneeling but puts the pressure on my abdomen instead of my knees. I put my forehead against the softer surface.

Your hand is rubbing my ass. It feels nice.

Then I feel the cold. You just dumped ice water down my back, across my ass, and over my legs. My body tenses instantly. We both know I do not do well with temperature change.

This is new.

And then I understand why you turned the music down.

POP

Fuck.

It is the fucking cattle prod.

Yes, it hurts. But it is the sound that gets me.

Once to the thigh. It travels with the water as it drips down my skin.

Then you set it off near my ear. I jumped and thrashed.

Another to the ass. The knife marks light up with the electricity.

Did you know open wounds increase the intensity of the shocks? Of course you did. This is your favorite. To watch me bend and bow to the lightning. To watch me shiver from the cold, or is that fear?

One. Two.

POP. This one doesn’t touch me but I can hear it near my face.

Three.

POP.

Four. Five.

POP. This time I hear it behind my neck

Then one long intense one between my legs. I screamed with that one.

POP. I can hear it again, but I cannot tell where it is coming from. This time I hear it and it is followed by a smack to my ass. It must be the belt.

I cannot hold back the cries anymore.

Smack.

POP.

Silence.

Where am I Sir?

I am very, very cold and I cannot open my eyes.

My ears are buzzing but there is no defining sound. My body is shivering but I feel a warm hand on my stomach and one in my hair.

My heart has slowed.

My mind is jumbled and dark. I’m not really sure what is going on.

I don’t know how long it took but my eyes finally flutter open. It takes several tries. The room is very bright, even though we have black out curtains up.

I finally open my eyes and I see Master there. I am laying on my back with my head in his lap. He is watching me. He seems worried.

I see his lips moving but I cannot understand what he is saying.

Everything is a blur, but I can guess what happened.

I stare up at him with a soft smile. I am in the safest place right now.

He is waiting for an answer.

I know the question.

“My name is Joji.” I see him breathe a little easier.

He brushes my hair from my face and rubs soft circles on my tummy with his thumb.

“And my name?” The question sounds so soft to me, but I can hear him again.

“Master.” As I see him smile, I know that we are both going to be fine.

When Your Poly Feels Like A House Of Cards

October 17, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

poly triad, beautiful people — via stock.adobe.com

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.

The Emotional Side Of Masochism

September 26, 2020 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

sexy male Dominant with wooden paddle — via stock.adobe.com

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.

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