Kink Weekly

BDSM articles ideas bondage erotica resource

You are here: Home / Archives for Joji Sada

Joji Sada

Erotica: The Monster, The Maker, and The Master

By 2 Comments

dominant man puts handcuffs on woman in sexy red dress.jpeg
via stock.adobe.com

I knelt by the fireplace.  My knees burn with the effort.  My legs have long since gone numb.  I am waiting for Master.  He said He would be but a few minutes, and yet the chime of the clock mocks the hour mark.  

I am worried about him.  I cannot help it.  Master is extremely capable of taking care of himself. I would not wish my worst enemy to turn his ire, but I cannot help the slight stuttering of my heart as the clock hands tick.

My body is starting to bend.  My posture is failing, my back bending forward weakly.  I feel tired and weak, but I refuse to disobey Master.  He ordered me to wait and wait I shall.

My eyes drift close thinking about Him.  He has done so much for me.  He let me see the light again.  He touches me with kindness.  He speaks to me as though I am a person.  While I know it is an illusion, it is one I cling to desperately.

Anything is better than before.  I will not disappoint Him.  To do so only means I will be sent away…or worse, forgotten.

He had said only a few minutes and yet the time has passed, bringing back only anxiousness in return.  I am trying to remind myself that I live by His time, not mine. But still, it is unlike him to be late. I know my Master and he is punctual, easily displeased when others are not. 

I want to look for him. Even numb, my knee twitches as though to lift my weight.  I lean back further onto my haunches.  I know better.  I am to stay where I am.

The fireplace is dimming now.  My body is on fire, but the chill is rapidly cooling the sweat beaded on my skin. The embers mock me as the darkness falls.  I do not like the darkness.  I spent far too long submerged in it to ever again be comfortable.

I close my eyes.  If I pretend the darkness is simply because my eyes are closed, I may yet survive this.

My mind starts drifting back to before Master owned me.  Drifting back to the lessons of a madman and his monster.

“Stupid wench.  How hard is it to please my friends?  Your sobs do not make for a good fuck!”  He threw me to the ground.  I could barely get my barrings before his hand wrapped threw my hair and he dragged me across the cold cement.  My eyes watered from the pain. I tried so hard to stay quiet, to not fuel his rage, but I couldn’t help the small sob that escaped.  

He flipped me over, my outer thigh scraped from the pavement and my knees bruised from the force of falling on them.  He pulled me to my feet, my arms limp at my sides.  I knew better than to fight him.  

I am to be punished.

Without a word, he finally lets my hair loose and sets about securing my wrists in the shackles hanging from the ceiling.  They are secured high enough that I have to stay on my tip toes to remain standing.  My body sways in the chains.  He leaves my feet free because he knows I will move.  At some point, I will try to shift the weight from my wrists.  I know, as does He, that all that does is knock my center of balance and ends up wounding me more.

I close my eyes.  This will not be pleasant.  I have disgraced him, amongst his peers.  

His fury has settled into silence.  My skin has developed goosebumps.  The hairs are standing on end.  Why isn’t he doing anything?

Deep breath.

Time passes slowly in the dark.  I do not know how long I have been here.  I can hear the scurrying of a mouse or two, but without light, it is hard to tell the time.  

I suddenly feel the strike of a whip.

My body tenses in surprise.  My eyes open but its hard to tell.  The darkness is too oppressing.

Again.

And Again.

The tears are falling heavy and my chest is heaving with sobs.

Again.

And Again.

I am pulling at the shackles as hard as I can.  I just want to run.  My legs feel weak from how long I have been there.  

Again

And Again.

My back is on fire.  It drips with either blood or sweat.  It makes the floor slick beneath me.

Again.

I’ve begged him to stop.  I’ve apologized over and over again.  I’ve promised to never shame him again.  He stays silent.

Again.

The sobs have quieted now.  I have no tears left and my voice is raw from screaming.  

Another.

Three more in succession and all I can do is let out small gasps.  I have no words, no tears, no fight left in me.

He unhooked me and my body dropped like lead.

His voice surrounds me when he does speak.  “We will go until you can take this in silence.  You will never shame me again with your incessant crying.”

I spent a week in the darkness.  I earned my food and water only when I could keep from making sounds during his cruelty.

He alternated after that first session.  He would strike several times and then stop.  He would leave uneven lengths of space between his rounds.  I was tired. I just wanted it to end.

And it did.

The moment he missed and took sight from my left eye.

The memories faded from my conscious as I came to awareness. My eyes blink rapidly, trying to push my horrific past from my mind. 

I did not think I had fallen asleep, Sir. I feel a hand running through my hair and my eyes finally start to focus in on the soft glow of your bedroom.  I wouldn’t have come in here without your permission Sir.  I promise.  That must mean you brought me in here.

Had I fallen asleep?  I must have.  Oh no.

I can feel my body tensing against you.  Your hand stops caressing my locks.

My voice is shaking, and my words are barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry Master. I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t. I tried, I’m sorry.” My voice sticks in my throat and, for the first time since my sight was taken, I could feel the tears spill through my lashes. I couldn’t help it. I have disappointed you. “I-I…”

My head drops from your chest and I move swiftly from my position next to you, until I am kneeling on the bed in the same position I had been by the fireplace.

If I had been thinking clearly, I would recognize that I had both spoken out of turn and removed myself from your grasp.  But everything is fairly fuzzy in my panic.

I see your hands reach for me, and then you are gently trying to pull me back to you. I tense. “Pet,” Your voice is firm with warning.  

I have no desire to upset you further Sir.  I take a deep breath and consciously relax my body, resisting minimally as you pull me into your lap. My shoulder leans against your chest and I feel the warmth of your hand as you urge my head to rest upon your shoulder.

“Why did you panic, pet? It is not like you to resist. You may speak freely.”

I take a deep breath and thank the Gods you have not made me meet your eyes.  “I-I fell asleep Master. I remember waiting for you and now I am in here. You must have carried me Sir. I do not understand why you did not just leave me there.  I apologize for failing you.” My voice wavers during the last sentence, but I have said what I must.

“No, pet, you did not.”  My head turned up to meet your eyes.  “I found you unconscious. Your body was burning with fever. It only broke a couple of hours ago. I had not expected you to wake at all tonight. Why did you not tell me?” You stare into my eyes, waiting patiently for me to gather my thoughts.  I break eye contact and swallow harshly.

“I thought I would be okay Sir. You said you would be back in a few minutes, and I did not wish to worry you.  My discomfort comes after You, Sir.”

“I had not expected to be gone so long. I received a call I had been waiting for.”  Your fingers grip my chin and you bring my head back up to face you. “I thought we had agreed you would tell me these things?” You sound disappointed, Sir. 

Now that is true pain.

“Yes, Sir. I just, I didn’t feel that bad. I was only a little sore. If I thought I was going to pass out, I would have told you.”

“We are going to have to work on your sense of worth.  I want to know any discomfort you are feeling pet. For now, you will rest. Is that clear?” 

“Yes Master.” You nodded that you heard me.  I attempted to get up, but your hand on my chest had me stilling.

 I swallowed, “Sir?”

“I said rest, pet.  Tonight, you share with me.”

You stripped down and climbed in behind me.  My body molded into yours.  

Tomorrow, I am sure we will address the punishment for omitting too much when I told you I was fine.  Just as I am sure that my scale of “fine,” may be redefined.

But, for tonight, I will curl up with you.

Maybe, now, I won’t fear the darkness.

The Power Of Choice In Power Exchange

By 2 Comments

Shibari male submissive bound
via stock.adobe.com

Submission is a choice.  Every aspect of the power we hand over to another individual is a daisy chain of choices.  I have always been transparent about the struggles I had in learning how to make those choices.

I chose to offer Him my submission and He rejected me.

I chose to offer it a second time and He took me under consideration.

I chose when to kneel.  I chose when to call Him Sir and once again when to call Him Master. I chose when to crawl.  

And I chose when to finally let go.

As I write this, I understand that to the naked eye, it seems as though I had all the power.  And we all know how I feel about that saying.  

What I am trying to do is highlight the slow decent into complete acceptance.  He has a considerable amount of patience.  He pushed me by setting His expectations a notch higher than I thought I could achieve. 

Every. Single. Time.

By turning me down, He verified I had an honest desire to serve Him and the determination to address things that make me uncomfortable.

By letting me kneel at my pace, He could see that understanding dawn in my eyes when I finally accepted the desires I spoke about.

By allowing me to choose how to address Him, He guaranteed my service was sincere and natural.

By waiting for me to crawl, He watched me finally comprehend that my discomfort is secondary to His pleasure.

In a profoundly silent style, He taught me how to sink into my submission and wrap it around me like a warm cloak of spirituality.

Each of these led to my final choice: to offer Him a Total Power Exchange.  He would (and does) own my body, my mind, and my soul.  At this point in O/our dynamic, my limits are His limits.  

Now, the reason I am laying this out, is because you need to understand the building blocks of our dynamic before I tell you the final step of His “training” process.

Once I reached the point of complete acceptance, He pointed out the most important part of what I had learned.  I had learned to anticipate His needs, and, by default, my own.  During my efforts to figure out my own wants and needs, I had started subconsciously seeking his approval.  I had, without realizing it, had taken the service aspect to heart.  My happiness came from my ability to make His life easier.  It was (and still is) my mission to recognize and provide everything He desires without Him ever saying a word.

Only once I reached the point of anticipating His thoughts (as much as submissive can anticipate the thoughts of a Sadist) were we able to delve into O/our favorite part of BDSM.

Now the fun part.

I am going to ask you to define Mental Bondage.

I know, without ever hearing the answers, that each of you gave me a different definition.

Here’s why:

If you type Mental Bondage into Google (without any other code words), you will get two types of answers.  The first is religious.  They refer to mental bondage as the inability to see, feel, or understand the spirit of God. The second is a warning against domestic abuse.  Mental bondage, in that capacity, refers to the inability to break the cycle of abuse and recognize the trauma being experienced.

If those aren’t vastly different ends of the spectrum, I don’t know what is.

If you change your search to “BDSM Mental Bondage,” the answers move to kink related themes. 

1) The first answer is sexual hypnosis.  Sexual Hypnosis, also called Erotic Hypnosis, is the use of hypnosis to elicit a particular set of sexual or sensual responses.  It can be used to force orgasms, increase sensitivity to touch, or implement trigger words that can sink someone into sub space.  While it is not my kink (mostly because attempted hypnosis just triggers my narcolepsy), I did take a class on it at one time out of curiosity.  For those who can use hypnosis in (or as) their kink, it is amazing to see the sensuality of it.  I have a friend who partakes, and she keeps her trigger word private because it will turn her extremely primal.  I was able to watch her play with Master one time where she wanted to have her word used in conjunction with electricity.  It was…quite the scene.

2) The second answer you will see is a reference to positional training.  This most often references the Gorean slave positions or submissive training poses.  I make the distinction between these because while some of the poses overlap, they are two separate sets of positions and commands to learn.  There are three common languages used to give the commands.  The first is English, and most commonly coincides with submissive training poses.  The second is German, akin to the same words used to train dogs (and I may or may not have managed to surprise Master when I responded to them).  I have seen this one used in more High Protocol settings, and more often used with slaves.  The last is the common tongue of Gor.  These are the terms (and definitions) outlined in the Gor Series (written by John Norman).  These books are the foundations of the Gorean lifestyle.

The reason positional training falls under Mental Bondage is because the learning of these positions becomes second nature to the submissive and often can sink them into a particular mindset, depending on the position used.  This is especially true with the Gorean positions.  For example, the position “Bracelets” is used to put slave bracelets on so the slave may be chained.  “Leasha (Leash)” is the position used to attach a leash to the slave.  

If you have been in either of those positions (formally or just in play), they are vastly different mindsets.

3) The third most common answer revolves around 24/7 dynamics.  It is the commitment of a submissive to the rules laid out by their Dominant.  Think about it.  Do your rules dictate what you eat, what you wear, or what you can say?  Are you required to answer questions with a particular honorific or in a certain way?  

All of these are forms of mental bondage.  You are bound to a strict set of expectation that you are only released from at your Dominant’s discretion.  It is an invisible version of bondage.  It is much like being bound with rope and only being freed once your Dominant desires it.

While there are quite a few other definitions, the ones listed above are the most commonly agreed upon within the vast online BDSM community.

Then there is U/us.

While we do use aspects of the previous mentioned definitions, we have developed O/our own version of Mental Bondage.

Mental Bondage, in my experience, is the adherence to protocols, orders, and positions that have only been anticipated (and never verbally directed) with the expectation of correction if the submissive is wrong.

Sounds scary, huh?

To me, it sounds deliciously fearsome.  Which is why Mental Bondage is my kink.

O/our version of Mental Bondage does have a component of Consensual Non-Consent (CNC).  The expectations laid upon me change each time we play. As mentioned, many times before, I do not know what is going to happen until it happens.  

One example of Mental Bondage is “the waiting game.”

When Master has decided it is time to scene, I am sent down to my room to wait for Him.  He never states how I am to wait.  The only consistent is the fact that I kneel.  Sometimes I am naked and other times I am dressed.  Sometimes I am in Nadu pose.  Other times I kneel at the edge of the bed, my forehead to the mattress, my arms extended out above my head.  The pose depends on what I have anticipated He wants me to do.  

Unfortunately for me, W/we like to combine Mental Fuckery and Mental Bondage, so I am only right about 20% of the time.

Another one of Master’s favorite expressions of mental bondage occurs during impact play.  Sadomasochism is a heavy part of our play.  This means that we play for short amounts of time at a high intensity with little warm-up or cool down.  I have been bucked off a spanking bench and a barrel from the force of the impact.  

Do you know what happens when I break position?

I pick myself up and move back into position.  He never breaks posture, nor does He speak.  He knows that once I am in a position, I will hold it until His direction changes.  He expects me to hold myself in a way where He can reach as much of my body as physically possible.  

While He refuses to admit to me that He enjoys watching me struggle, I can see it clearly on His face.  Watching my legs tremble beneath me, hearing me sob as I try to continually hold my body against the force of impact, and ultimately watching me collapse brings a sinister grin to His face.

Rope has been used only one time during the length of O/our dynamic.  Metal cuffs have been used three times, and I can count the number of times my leather cuffs have been used on one hand.  Outside of those instances, all of the bondage I am subjected to is mental.

In my experience, Mental Bondage brings me a sense of accomplishment.  Knowing that I am pushing my body to the edge to hold a position for longer periods of time, simply because He wants me to, is rewarding.  

It also gives me a focus point.  Master does not like to keep the same rhythm during play.  Doing so would allow me to push out the pain.  He wants me to feel it, to experience it in the moment, and to push through it.  Repetitive motion, like a flogging, can allow a submissive to sink into a meditative state to push their pain threshold.  He expects me to push through it through an active choice to continue (through the withholding of my safeword).

I have the choice to put myself back into position.

I have the choice to stop experiencing the pain and the pleasure.

I even have the choice to break the invisible hold of mental bondage by using my safeword.

After all, there is nothing physically stopping me.

It is my honor as a submissive that bound me to Master.  It is my desire to serve and please Him.  It comes down to the moment I gave Him power over me.  

The moment I gave Him my power to choose.

The Breeding Fetish

By 2 Comments

hot people sex threesome
via stock.adobe.com

Over the years, I have become less conservative in exploring my interests.  When I started out, I was very shy.  I had all these different interests, and I was convinced that there was no way my partner would understand.  So, I stuck to what I considered “standard” kinks.  Since getting with Master, I have found the freedom to explore anything that comes to mind.

So, I thought I would share one of them with you.

One of the kinks I kept hidden, for many years, was Breeding.

Traditionally, a breeding kink involves a Dominant male having intercourse with a submissive female with the full intent of impregnation. This generally means sex without protection and an intentional exchange of body fluids.  It is considered a riskier kink (though not edge play) because bareback sex can increase your chances of a Sexually Transmitted Infection (STI).

It can also increase the chances of a yeast infection or PH imbalance.  The vagina is generally considered acidic and should have a PH level of 3.8-4.5.  However, sperm need a PH level of 7-8.5 to thrive.  During unprotected sex, the vagina’s PH level will rise to accommodate the sperm, optimizing the chance of impregnation.  

Sounds great, right?

Well, it can be.  But for some of us, the ph level struggles to go back down afterward.  An acidic environment (with the PH of 3.8-4.5) is naturally protective.  Having an imbalance can promote the growth of bacteria and lead to several different types of medical issues (i.e. Bacterial Vaginosis or Yeast Infection).  So, my personal PSA is to consult a doctor if you notice things do not feel right after unprotected sex.  Stay healthy and optimize your kink.

Alright.  Now we can get back to the fun stuff.

Breeding, over the last couple decades, has expanded in its definition. Let’s go over some different ways to enjoy your kink.

Role Play: 

There are a few ways that role play can be incorporated. 

  1. Cross-Gendered Role play

Due to the expansion of role play aspects in this kink, there is less focus on the gender of those involved as well.  For female/female partners, the use of a strap-on can simulate the action of breeding.  There are dildos that have tubing in the center to simulate ejaculation.  For male/male partners, the incorporation of other kinks, such as sissification, can make the fantasy of impregnation more realistic.

  1. Breeding with Birth Control

For some individuals, having a resulting pregnancy is not part of their kink.  This could be due to medical factors, financial reasons, or already having children.  As such, the use of birth control can help mitigate the chances of pregnancy.  As with anything, I recommend talking to a licensed professional to find the best option possible for you.  I also recommend researching everything for yourself.  As several individuals in my family learned, the pill form of birth control actually made them more fertile.  For me, I have an implant in my arm.  It lasts 3 years, has minimal side effects, and I am not allergic to it.  While the chance of me getting pregnant is under 1 percent, the use of birth control is a secondary preventative measure. 

  1. Animal play

Animal play is an umbrella term for when one partner acts as an animal and one acts as a handler.  Most often, breeding often uses role play of actual “bred” animals.  While hudogs (i.e. human dogs) are occasionally seen, it is almost always farm animal role play.  Hucows (Human Cows) are the most common.  A hucow is defined as a “submissive woman who is into lactation (whether voluntarily being milked or forced lactation) and/or breeding (forced insemination).  The breeding aspect is a newer addition to the Hucow kink.  

You can also add objectification to this type of play.  An example of this is putting a burlap bag over the “animal’s” head (which could even be labeled with “Breed Me” or other more derogatory sayings) so that the receiver becomes nothing more than a breeding machine or potential incubator.

**Animal play also gives an opportunity to play with artificial insemination as a form of breeding**

  1. Consent Non-Consent:

Consent Non-Consent (CNC) is another umbrella term.  It is often equated to “rape play.”  I do not use that term for two reasons. The first is because CNC has so many different avenues of expression.  Second, consent is paramount in our community.  Rape does not involve consent in any form, and I feel that it needs to keep its own definition (and implications) without convoluting consensual play.

The definition I prefer to use is “[play] between two (or more) consenting adults where one of them does unpleasant or harmful seeming things to the other, who looks as if they’re not enjoying it, or not consenting.”

Breeding can be incorporated into almost any CNC scenario that you can dream up. All the scenarios I am about to list reference “role play scenarios” in which all parties have consented to the activities involved. 

  • Blackmailing a co-worker, Boss/secretary dubious consent, Headmaster/student
  • Hypnosis/Mind Control
  • kidnapping, home invasion
  • Gang Bang

It is also important to me that CNC can also be a relationship type.  It is most often referred to as a Total Power Exchange (TPE).  I have talked previously about my relationship with Master.  He has blanket consent to do as he pleases.  He allows me the option of a safe word, just in case.  However, I never know what is going to happen or when.  I do not negotiate our scenes.  That means that every time we play, it falls under CNC.    I can scream, cry, say no or stop repeatedly but the only thing that will stop the scene is the word “red.”

As I have explored Breeding more and more, the only real consistent “requirement” is sex without a condom.  Everything else is up to the individual people involved and as broad as their imagination.

I find Breeding is a kink that many still find themselves shy to talk about.  I have seen it kink shamed on more than one occasion.  If I have learned anything in the last 15 years, it is that there is no shame in kink if consent is paramount.  Never let someone tell you what you can and cannot enjoy in your dynamic.

Erotica: The Master and The Monster

By 5 Comments

sexy Asian slave bound
via stock.adobe.com

**This story contains depictions of edge play in the forms of electricity, knives, blood, and implied consent/CNC.  The implied consent is based on the Total Power Exchange of an M/s dynamic.  It also references past trauma as experienced by the slave who tells this tale**

I am often overlooked down here as I sit quietly at Master’s feet.  There is a thick leather collar around my neck and a steel band, around my thigh, whose chain is secured to an eyebolt in the floor.  It keeps me in place while still allowing me a moderate amount of movement.  But Master always leaves my arms free.  He has done so since the first time someone felt it right to attack his property.

Since then, he has also kept my mouth covered with black cloth when I am not by his side.  

You see, I scare people.  Or so I have been told.

My previous Master had a sick sense of humor.  He liked to play with his toys until they were broken.  And if he twisted us enough, he was sure no one would take us.

I am one of the lucky ones.  I bare the fewest scars, but I look the most fearsome.

There is a deep cut from my forehead, through my right eye, and down past my ear.  He took my sight on that side with a single whiplash.  He had my teeth sharpened to points.  I’ve been told that when I smile, its horrific.  There are slices down my back from when he played too rough while he was drinking, and a couple burns on my right thigh.  But it is my face that keeps people away.

I am used to it now.  I don’t speak anymore unless Master asks me a question.  I don’t dream.  I don’t ask for anything and I never allow myself to crave anything.

I simply exist.

I exist for Master’s pleasure.

The taste of blood is frequent, even after all these years.  I constantly swipe my tongue over my teeth and they nick it in protest.  I find it soothing. It reminds me of meeting an old friend.

Master is too kind.  He treats me delicately.  He holds back.

It…hurts.

I can see the craving in his eyes to bend me back and take his pleasure.  I see the desire to take his Sadistic needs out on my flesh.

But then I see the hesitancy when he caresses my face.  When his thumb slides down the marred flesh, I see a caring that limits him with me.  I want to tell him it’s ok.  I want to shout that I am forever in his debt and he can do as he wishes.

But I don’t say a word.

What right do I have to direct Him or His actions?

So, I wait.

Maybe soon, he will notice me as more than just a monster.

Maybe.

Master is Sadistic.  Have I mentioned that?  He likes to watch someone’s body tighten, to see them sweat.  He likes to see them grit their teeth to take what he gives.  But, most of all, he likes to see the bliss on their face.  To see them get satisfaction from enduring what only he can provide.  He likes to see them happy….and sore.

And they fall all over Him.

I watch beauty after beauty prostrate before him.  I watch them bend and burn for him.  I watch their pain, and their passion, and I see their growing attachement to him.

Not one of them will come near me.  

But he draws them in like moths to a flame.

He is intoxicating.

I think Master gets enjoyment out of watching me.  See, I love to feel his fingers through my hair.  Often, I curl between his legs, with my back to his chair, and lean my head on his thigh.  And though I never let Master see, I am sure to give a smile full of teeth to every person I watch pass our room.

He chuckles darkly from time to time when someone gasps.  They all try to be nonchalant, but no one has Mastered it yet.

It amuses me.

It makes the passing of time easier until he takes me to our private chambers each night.

While this probably makes me ill-behaved, Master hasn’t chastised me yet.  So, I must be doing something right.

My eyes are closed when another visits.  As I crack my good eye open, I see it is a far cry from another grovelling slave.  It is another Master.  I know better than to meet his gaze.  There are some things even I cannot get away with.

But I take him in.  He wears nothing but black.  His t-shirt and jeans are as dark as coal.  His vest is dark but blazing with colors.  They are too blurry for me to read.  His boots are dirty.  I can tell he must live in them.

He speaks softly and passes Master a note. This must not be for a slave’s ears.

Master taps my head twice and I instantly move back to the side of his chair.  As Master stands, my hands slip under his cushion and pull the black cloth.  I slip it over my face, in time for Master to give me a nod of approval.  

I lean my head against the side of the chair and close my eyes.  I know Master will wake me when he needs me.

I am unsure of how much time has passed when I feel Master’s fingers in my hair.  I look up at him and he is grinning.  

Two snaps.

I move to kneel in front if him.  He leans forward and removes the cloth from my face.  His hand cups the side of my face and his thumb trails delicately over the scarring.

“I have a gift for you.”

I cock my head to the side.  A gift?  I am curious as to what I have done to earn such a privilege.  

“Thank you Master.”  I smile slightly, with my mouth closed.

“It will be delivered shortly.”

Two snaps.

I return to the side of his chair.  I face the door.  My curiosity has the best of me.

With my last Master, surprises meant pain.  They meant a lot of blood and a lot of crying. But this Master is kind.  He takes care of me.  He lets me sit on a cushion instead of the cold floors.  He keeps me fed.  And he doesn’t look at me with pity or disgust.

I am uneasy but I know it will be ok.  Whatever the surprise, I am sure he knows what he is doing.

He is a good Master.

A girl.  You have gifted me a girl, Master.  

Do I get to play?

I stared at the girl thrown at Master’s feet.  She is stoic.  She is breathing heavily.  She must be nervous.  She won’t look up from the floor.  She is also refusing to rise onto her knees.  Her intentions are clear.  She is intending to refuse her orders.

I don’t need to hear what was said previously to see what is happening.  Master is good at training.  She isn’t the first to be put before him.  But she is the first to be gifted to me.

She must have offended him.  He is sending a message to her, and her handler, that she has not earned the right to be touched by him.  She is not worth his time.

But she is worth mine.

She is a pretty little thing.  Her hair is black.  It is braided tightly and cascades down to her ass.  She is petite and her skin is bronzed.  She has spent many hours in the sun.  Her arms and legs are thin. She is definitely not a work slave. I wonder if she is new to the fold or possibly a house or pleasure slave.

She has the gold markings around her wrists and ankles.  The rest of her is bare.  

When she finally looks up, I smile.  I see her eyes widen and I can feel her fear.

It’s delicious.

Master rarely lets me play with others.  I tend to be fairly sadistic.  The other Masters don’t let me near their toys.  So often, I am left by Master’s chair while he plays with others.  Unless he brings out the electricity.  Then I get to watch.  He lays them across his table, mere feet from where I sit.

I find it fascinating.  Watching the girls squirm is entertaining.  He goes so gentle with some of them.  Especially those whose Masters stay nearby.  But those left to him to take his pleasure from get a whole different experience.

Their bodies bow off the table, akin to a scene from Frankenstein.  Their voices are breathy, save for a few who unwillingly curse at Master.  It’s amusing to see his reaction.

The result is always the same.  They leave his table shaking and sated.  His eyes glow and his body vibrates with energy. It’s those moments that he unleashes me and takes his pleasure.  It is those moments that I feel useful and owned.

It’s those moments, brought by the subjugation of others, that I stop feeling like a monster.

Master stands and turns towards me.  I kneel up, my back rigid and my eyes firmly on the floor.  I let out a deep, cleansing breath.  I feel him unlock the leather collar from my neck.  In its place, I feel the cold snap of the metal collar.  Its electrified.  Should I disobey, punishment is swift and merciless.  The electric collar always comes out to play when I am unleashed now.  Apparently fighting other slaves is not an approved behavior.

Then he unhooks a key from his belt, crouches down, and unlocks the iron around my thigh.  As he sets the iron down, I lean forward until my head is between his boots.  I kiss the left boot three times and repeat the action on the right before returning my forehead to the floor and whispering, “thank you Master.”

Master returns to his seat.

Two snaps.

I kneel back up.

“Entertain me, pet.”

At his words, I prowl forward on my hands and knees.

I hope she tries to run.

She is shaking.  

It is delightful.

I make sure I move enough to give Master a good show of my ass.  It takes me only a few steps to cross the room to her.  She isn’t moving.  In fact, she has stilled like prey.

Is it bad I wanted a fight, Master?

I reach out and run a finger down her side.  Her skin is cool to the touch.  I briefly wonder how long she has been uncovered on the cold floor before she was put here.  

She jerks away and I snap my jaw at her, as if poised to bite.  She screams.  Her arms reach out as if there were spots in the floor to pull her away from me.

My hand clamps down on her hip and I flip her into her back with little effort.  My arms are much stronger than hers.

I straddle her waist and pin her wrists down with my right hand.  My left wanders down the side of her face.

“What a pretty prize you are.”  My voice is low and gravelly.  I cannot speak much more than a whisper. I don’t really know why.  I can guess but it hasn’t mattered in a long time.  Slaves aren’t meant to speak.

I brought my fingers down, hovering slightly over her nipple.  I turned my head to glance at Master.  He nodded in confirmation.

I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.  Her breath hitched.  She must be sensitive.  I tugged on it lightly before twisting it and letting go.  I flicked it several times before tugging and twisting again.  The more I did it, the more she arched under me.  When her nipple was engorged and aching, I switched my attention to her other nipple.  I swapped the hands holding her wrists and repeated the treatment. 

She is whining, low in her throat.  I can tell she is trying to be quiet.  She is trying to hold back.  

I click my tongue.  Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

I lean down to her ear so she can hear me clearly.  “You will scream for us before we are done sweetie.”  I licked the shell of her ear before returning to playing with my prize.

I let my nails drag across her stomach.  She is twisting beneath me.  My thighs can hold her tiny frame in place.  But I am excited to see her reactions.

It is much better play when the prey fights back.

I scoot my ass back a few inches until I am resting on her thighs.  I decide to see what she will do.  I let go of her wrists.

I lean back and rest on my haunches.  I stare her down.  I drag my nails down her chest, between the curves of her breasts.  Once my eyes left hers though, I learned my mistake.

I felt a hard smack to the side of my face.  My neck turned with the force.  I growled.  It’s not that she hit me Master.  Its that she hit me on my blindside.  That’s just dirty tactics.

I turned back to meet her eyes and I grabbed each of her wrists with my corresponding hands.  I gripped tightly.  I am trying not to bruise her…after all, she isn’t mine permanently.

I lean down near her shoulder and drag my top teeth across it.  They are sharp enough to draw blood.  I lap it up and hold it in my mouth.

I move her hands to her sides and kneel on them.  Then I grab her chin with bruising force and lean down to kiss her.  I let the blood, her blood, trickle into her mouth.  Then I cover her mouth with my hand until she swallows.

I watch her shudder.

She wants to hit me hard enough to taste blood, it is only fair to return the favor.

I lick the salty tears trailing down her face.  I am growing bored with her now.  

Master said I should entertain him.

An idea pops into my head.

I wrap her braid around my fist and move off her.  I give her a moment to flip over but she makes no effort to move.

So, I start dragging her.  She is begging me to let go.  But we both know how this works.  You go where directed or you are moved by force.

She made her choice.

I reach the wall and crouch down, still holding her hair. 

“Stand.  Or I will make you.”

She moves with purpose this time.  I stand her up, her back to the wall, and attach a metal cuff to each wrist.  They are above her head, stretched out to an X shape, leaving her standing on the balls of her feet.

Endurance.  That was a lesson I struggled with myself.  Let’s see if she can do better.

I roughly grab both her nipples without warning, pinching and pulling them away from her body.  Her feet are dancing, trying to alleviate the pain.

I lean in and bite the side of each breast, semi-gently.  I want her to heal.  As the blood begins to slowly seep out, I let her nipples go and watch her body bounce back in relief.

The blood is glistening.  It excites me.

I turn from her and kneel, facing Master.  My lips are still red from tasting her.  I keep my eyes down, waiting for the command to come back.

Instead, I hear his boots on the cement.  I still the quivering in my body.  I am riled up from playtime and I crave his touch.

His boots come into view and I immediately lean forward with my head on the floor.

Two snaps.

I am kneeling upright again.

Two snaps.

I climb it my feet and put my hands on my elbows behind my back.

Two snaps.

My eyes move to meet his.

He is grinning.  I can see the Sadistic glint in his eyes.

He pulls me forward by the electric collar and growls into my ear.  “You’ve done well, pet.”

He pulls my hair into his fist and tilts my neck before biting down at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.  My hands break rank as I grab for his shirt.  He knows this will bring me to my knees.  Harder and harder he bites until my first knee hits the ground.  I let out a breathy sound just before my second knee drops.  I can smell the copper tang.  He drew blood.

My head is tilted back and as he kisses me, my own blood trickles between my lips.  It is warm.  His tongue his hot against mine.  It is almost dizzying.  When he pulls back, I swallow the remaining liquid and stare up at him.  I feel drunk now.  When he lets go of my hair, my body slumps, heaving great breaths.  

Master really is intoxicating.

I almost forgot we had a guest.  Then I heard the tell-tale whine.  She is rattling the chains.  She is starting to give me a headache.  

She is interrupting my bliss.

I growl again and climb back to my feet, turning to face her.  I take the first step towards her and Master halts me with his hand.

I still.  I am dissatisfied with the direction, but I know better than to question it.  

He moves away from her and puts a finger to his lips to keep me silent.  I see where he is headed and I finally understand why.

I watch as he grabs his knife and tucks a cord through his belt.  He has just turned himself into a conduit for electricity.

He’s going to play with her.

He is going to paint her pretty with fine red lines of electric current through the tip of his blade.

She won’t know what hit her.

I can hear the soft buzzing of the electricity.  I am positive she can too, especially how this room echoes.

I am watching Master move.  His steps are light but sure.  He stays just out of her sight.  I can see the soft stains of the blood marks and sweat intermingling on her flesh.  It is both erotic and enticing.

I catch Master’s eye.  He smirks and I watch as he licks the blade from base to tip.  I shiver.  He is teasing me.  I doubt if he even feels the electricity anymore.  I am positive it must run through his veins.

He lays the blade flat on her stomach, covering her navel.  I know she won’t get much of a jolt with such a broad surface but the cold with react with the heat of her skin.

Sure enough, she looks down and tries to press herself back against the wall.  I am amused.  If there is something sharp touching you, it is best practice not to move.

But adrenaline and fear will often override common sense.  That’s what makes it so delicious.

Master slowly lifts the blade and turns it on its tip.  He drags it from her naval, up between her breasts, and slowly across both shoulders before sliding it back down.  He follows the path a couple of times, watching her.  She is mesmerized by the movement.  Where he turns the blade, her gaze follows.

He slides it down her breast, circling the dark patch around her nub.  He taps the blade against her nipple.  She gasps.  I watch him repeat the process to the other side before he reaches towards his belt.  He turns up the current.  The next round will be harsher.

Again and again, he works her over.  Turning the current up and down without warning.  He slides the blade up her thighs and across her stomach.  He tortures her nipples with both the blade and his hands.  He makes her stick out her tongue and he touches the tip of the blade to it.

I flinch.  I know that feeling.

I can smell her arousal.  It lingers in the air.  As much as she whines and cries, her body is betraying her.  Her sensitivity is heightened.  Instead of running away, her body arches towards him now.

They all break for him in the end.

He warns her not to move.  He drags the blade softly across her hips and down to her hood.  He reaches back and turns off the current for a moment, sheathing his knife.

I watch him mercilessly take two fingers and start rubbing her clit.  He does not give her any respite.  He keeps the pressure heavy and the movements fast.  

She moans and cries and begs him.  A littany of pleases leave her lips and he pays her no mind.  When she reaches the edge, he stops.  

Her body curls in on herself as tears form on her lashes.

He turns the current back on and runs the blade over her skin again and again.  Once he sees her body settle into the play, he flips it off and brings her to the edge again.

This time though, when he stops, he keeps her lips spread, turns the current back on, and taps the blade over and over against her clit.

I know from experience how sharp the sensation is.  But when you are in the state she’s in, it doesn’t matter much.

All you want is more.

Her chest is heaving.  I can tell she is tiring out. So can Master.

He has me sit down on the floor as he removes her restraints.  Her head rests on the floor next to me.  

I run my fingers through her hair.  Being worked over and left on edge is a hard lesson.  

She will be fine in a little while.

Master rubs her down with a burn cream.  We want her to heal.

Her eyes are only half-open, and the fight has left her.  She shivers from the cold floor.  

Master locks a matching electrical collar around her neck before he picks her up.  He moves to the other side of the room.  He opens the door to one of the iron cages, lined with wool blankets, and lays her gently inside.

He locks the door.

“Keep her company, pet.  She’s ours now.”

Rebuilding After Trauma

By 3 Comments

Shibari male submissive bound
via stock.adobe.com

There are many commonalities in the kink community.  As hard as it is to admit, many of us have a history of trauma.  Though the causes vary, they impact our interactions in BDSM heavily.  So we are going to explore what you can do if you need to renegotiate or build a scene after recent trauma. 

Trauma is defined as “a deeply distressing or disturbing experience.”  

This is a broad definition.  We often equate trauma to incidents that result in physical injuries or abuse.  But trauma can be anything.  Trauma can happen as a result of a death in the family, stress from work or family, near death experiences, abuse, accidents, and mental health imbalances.  This is, by no means, a comprehensive list.

For example, due to repeated deaths in my family in a short period of time, and a couple of traumatic experiences from when I was a teenager, I deal with the effects of PTSD.  My brain just sort of short circuits at times.  On an average day, it does not affect me much because I have learned to cope with it.  However, when I delve into play, the closer I get to sub space, the less control I have in my head.  Sometimes, that means disassociation.  Sometimes it is moments of extreme panic or fear.  

Outside of play, and regardless of the control you have over your mental health, your trauma does influence all aspects of your life. It can change the route you take home from work or where you work.  It can change how you sleep or whether the light stays on at night.  It can affect how you talk and who you talk to.

In kink, and often as a result of trauma, many suffer the effects of PTSD, severe depression, anxiety, agoraphobia, fear of men/women, nightmares/ Night terrors, and more.  Some people lose their sense of self and their independence.  

Some seek help.  Some don’t.  Some find relief in a bottle and some in pills.  Some never sleep and some only sleep.  Some learn to cope, and some don’t.  Some move on and some don’t.  Some give up and some don’t.   

It is an individual experience and recovery.

As mentioned previously, you don’t need to look hard to find a lot of trauma survivors in BDSM and Kink.  We all have our own reasons for delving into kink and dealing with our mental health.

Some use kink to reclaim their independence.  It allows them to reclaim the moments they felt helpless and take back control.  Some use kink for coping.  

And, for some, they attempt to keep their trauma and their kink separate.

I do not personally believe the last statement is possible.  Even the most careful of individuals can be triggered unintentionally.  Because of this, it is important to figure out how to renegotiate and build a scene after trauma, to meet the needs of both yourself and your partner(s).

The steps below are built on the premise that you were involved in kink prior to the traumatic event.

Step 1: Be honest (to yourself and your partner) about your mental and physical state.

As much as we would love to pretend the trauma has never happened, it did.  You and your partner need to accept that.  You also need to clearly state your current needs.  Do not allow yourself or your partner to assume that your wants, needs, and desires are the same as they were prior to the traumatic event.

Step 2: Negotiate with what you can do, not what you can’t

Feeling powerless is common with trauma.  You may find yourself hesitant or even fearful of things you consider to be “simple.”  There is no shame in doing what is best for you.  If you cannot handle hugs any longer, or need someone to ask ahead of doing so, be clear in those expectations.  Because there may be so many more things that you cannot do/have done as before, it is important to not lose yourself in what you “cannot do.”  Instead of negotiating with your partner about what is off-limits, change the parameters.  

“I would like you to do X, but I need you to keep eye contact with me.”

“I would like to feel your weight on me, but without restraint.”

“I need you to use my name when you talk to me.  Please speak clearly so I know it is you.”

“I need skin to skin contact and I need you to stay above the waist.”

“I want to be flogged with my shirt on.”

Any of these options are considered green behaviors for this individual.  It states what you wish to do and how it needs to be done to minimize triggering.

Step 3:  Watch for frenzy.  It can happen after long bouts of inactivity, not just to people new to the lifestyle.

Sometimes we remove ourselves from kink all together when trauma occurs.  When we feel strong enough to get back into the scene, it is easy to lose yourself into frenzy.  The feelings that you had thought forgotten come rushing back, and with it, so does the desire to get back into everything.  

Watching for frenzy also means watching for extreme drop.  We, as people, like to believe that we will always be able to do everything at the level we currently do it.  Maybe, prior to your break, you could take an hour long beating with a cane.  Most likely, after that break, you will not be able to. To play safely, it is better to start as though you are new and gauge your tolerance from there.  But it can be a blow to both your ego and your self-esteem to “feel less than” we once were.  Tolerance can be relearned.  Pushing too fast, though, can reignite the trauma responses that required the break in the first place.

Step 4: If needed, write down the negotiation.  This way you can review it and revisit it before play, if needed.

I am not suggesting a contract.  I am suggesting more of a journaling exercise.  Write down where you want to start, your goals, and your reactions to things as they occur.

This includes determining who will be involved in the scene, participating or watching?  What will happen?  What is your safeword?  What are the boundaries?  Are the scene boundaries different than your everyday ones?  Do you have a panic option if your safeword becomes unuseable?

What happens though if the trauma happens during kink?  Or if it happens with your current partner?  Does that change how we renegotiate or build a scene?

In my mind, it does.

Trust is paramount in a dynamic.  When that trust wavers, it can make kink so much more dangerous.  For example, you can lose the comfort and confidence needed to safeword.  As much as most Dominants seem like mind-readers, they are not.  They need to know their partner will 22speak up when necessary, to prevent hurting the submissive.

Below, I have an altered set of steps to help guide the reestablishment of boundaries and the renegotiation of terms in an existing dynamic.

Step 1: Make sure you are both emotionally recovered enough to discuss logically.

Was the trauma caused by yourself?  Your partner?  Did it happen during a scene?  Was the trauma an accident, miscommunication, or malicious?  Is it unrelated?

These are important questions to ask yourself.  Trauma that is unrelated may be easier to navigate with a partner than something caused by them.  The same goes for the intention behind what happened.

Accidents and miscommunication happen in scenes.  My first scene with Master was at a public party as pick-up play.  I thought we had negotiated a flogging. Turns out, he was under the impression we negotiated an impact scene that involved floggers.  In this instance, it turned out to be a beneficial miscommunication.  

Later on, in our relationship, we did impact play at a party and a couple hours later we tried fire play.  Turns out, even a light flogging (one that doesn’t leave marks) can weaken the skin enough that fire play can burn (when it otherwise would not).  Technically, I was injured because my skin was burned.  It was a small crescent shaped mark and for me, was a plausible outcome to the risky stuff we engage in.  In this example, neither instance impacted my trust in Master.  But, I have seen similar instances that have traumatized submissives and made them very skittish.

Step 2: Read through the current rules, together, and discuss their meaning.

When we first begin in kink, there are often a set of rules that we put in place to set the boundaries of our dynamics.  Over time, those can change or evolve.

Due to personal issues with food in my past, one of my rules is that I must eat 3 times a day (or six tiny meals to help with my diabetes).  When my dad died last year, I couldn’t bring myself to eat through my grief.  But I had to, because it was a rule.  I essentially made myself extremely sick.  So, I had to reach out to Master and ask for an amendment.  The rule adjusted to eating 2 times per day and I could use a meal replacement shake if needed.

We were not discarding everything that we had set forth, but we were adjusting them as needed to make sure I was ok.

Step 3: Recognize if any of the current rules contributed to the trauma.

**The rules I use as an example below are just rules that I have had mentioned to me by other submissives that have encountered issues.  I have a personal belief that as long as rules are consensual, then they can be anything the Dominant and the submissive wish**

Some rules can add to the negative headspace left by trauma.  For example, some dynamics have a rule that issues will be discussed once a month during a free chat.  This could lead a submissive to believe they cannot speak up when needed.  

Another example is a rule that does not allow safewording during a punishment.  Is this something that foster’s fear in the submissive?  Can this lead to triggering during a punishment without recourse to remove themself from the situation?

Step 4: Remove or adjust any rule that has impacted either the D-type or s-type’s state of mind.

Step 5: Keep the number of rules manageable.  Trauma impacts the mental and physical states.  If you are still recovering, having too many rules can make you feel like a failure and having too few can maximize your feelings of not being wanted or useful.

Step 6: Make a plan to maintain the healthy mindset.  Whether this is through therapy, medication, maintenance discipline, etc.  Recovering from trauma is fluid.  It does not just stop and get cured.

Ultimately, you are stronger than your trauma.  No one will know your reactions better than you.  There is no right or wrong answer in your decisions, kink related or not.  Your kink goes at the speed that you determine is best.  Never let anyone try to force you to change.

Lastly, as cruel as it sounds, your trauma is your trauma.  Just as you have the right to play at your discretion and pace, others have the right to choose not to play with you.  This is not a reflection on either person’s character.  Some people are not willing or able to deal with the aftereffects of trauma.  This is their right.

When you vet a new partner, or renegotiate with an old partner, Be honest, clear in your expectations, and open about your mental health.

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

Erotica: The Laughter Of Kink

By 2 Comments

sexy male Dom with crop
via stock.adobe.com

I asked what you wanted, as I have many times before.  Usually, you will tell me you are unsure, and decide in the moment what will please you.  This time you had an answer.

“I want to hear you laugh.”

I was taken aback.  Have I been so depressed that you are unable to see something so simple?  Has it become so rare you feel the need to request it?  I am disheartened to think I have stopped giving you such a small thing.

I shake my head of my thoughts and look at you. “You want me to laugh?”

“Yes.  It makes me happy to hear you laugh.”

It has been a long time since I was at a loss for words.  I do not know where to even begin to make this happen.  If it were so easy, I probably would have done so already.  It will be a challenge Sir.  But I am sure I can accommodate your request.  

I am nervous Sir.  I have been so unsure of what you have planned.  I am so afraid of disappointing you.  This is the first time you have told me what you plan to do.  I always thought that doing so would take away the anticipation.  It did not.  

You have decided on tickle torture.

I am convinced of two things.  I am probably going to piss myself.  And I am probably going to die.  Ok, that is a little dramatic, even for me.  But I cannot help it.

I am standing before you, completely exposed.  I am trying to be patient.  Methodically, you are wrapping rope around me.  My arms are folded behind me, each hand clasping an opposite forearm.  My eyes are closed, and I am trying to relax my breathing.

Ropes have never been a limit.  We just do not use them.  I have discovered that my patience is minimal when it comes to this kind of prep work.

Your hands are soft as you move the rope around me.  Ever so slowly, it tightens into place.  Finally, I hear you chuckle.  I am curious at what has amused you.  My eyes pop open just in time to catch the camera flash.  

My head dropped down to hide my blush.  No matter how depraved we get, I never cease to feel so shy when your attention is focused on me.

“Head up sweetie.”

I complied.

Your hands are tugging at different spots.  I am sure you are making sure that nothing will damage me.

“How does that feel?”

“Good, Master.  Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.  We are just getting started.”

There is that feeling again.  The nervous anticipation.  

Your fingers are running through my hair.  It is so long now.  You seem to have such a fascination with it.  I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I kneel.  As I settle, I feel a brush run through my hair.  I stay silent, enjoying the feeling.  You have never done this before.

I try to stamp down the little voice inside my head that tells me that you are dissatisfied with me for leaving my hair down.  I normally pull it back, but I thought you might enjoy the change.  Was I wrong, Sir?  Should I not have deviated from my normal routine?

I try not to let my inner thoughts ruin what you are doing.  I have to remember to breathe.  It does not matter the why.  It only matters what pleases you.

After several long moments, I feel you pull my hair back and wrap it into a ponytail.  Then I felt the telltale pull of braiding.  I have not had someone braid my hair in years.  It is odd how much I am enjoying this.

Of course, I am not blind to the fact that the nicer you are now, the rougher you will be later.

I am sure I make quite the picture, Sir.  The white ropes are stark as they crisscross over my skin.  My shoulder muscles are taunt from trying to free my hands.  My hair hangs in a braid down my back. And the beautiful cherry on top, is my jaw wrenched open by a red ball gag.  I can feel the amount of drool sliding down the sides of my mouth.

Do I glisten Sir? Are you enjoying the mess you have turned me into before we have even started?

You do not have to answer Sir.  I can see the glint in your eye. You are enjoying this.

At least you were kind enough to use the gag with holes through it. Maybe I will still be breathing at the end of this.

The first shove took me off guard.  I have been standing here, just waiting for instructions, and you have not said a word.  You just stared at me.  Do you know how unnerving that is or how much it makes me want to squirm?

But I know better.  I waited, as still as possible, for your instruction.

Suddenly, I felt your hand in the middle of my back and I was forcefully shoved.  My body hits the bed and it takes the wind out of me for a second.  I try to get my knees under me to adjust myself, but you are not letting up.

The game has begun.

I feel several rough smacks from your hand every time I try to shift up.  There is no warm-up today.  Finally, taking far longer than it should have for me to understand, I stop trying to get my knees under me.  All I am doing is giving you a target.

I start rotating my body so that I can flip onto my side.  You start tickling my feet.  I cannot help but laugh.  It sounds awfully breathy through the gag.  I hate being tickled.  Did I mention that Sir?  I despise it.  But above all, I despise anyone tickling my feet.  They are so sensitive that it often hurts.

My brain is fighting over the rules.  I am not supposed to move when you tickle me.  Because you enjoy watching me struggle.  Yet, my reflex is to kick at you.

I curl my knees up, trying to keep my feet still but move from your reach.  It is a fruitless endeavor.  You simply move closer.  My body is twisting, I have lost the battle to stay still.  I am laughing.  I turn to look at you.  Your face is filled with Sadistic glee.

In that second, I know exactly why I agreed to this.

I cannot take it anymore. My legs are kicking at you.  This just seems to amuse you more.  I roll onto my back so I can use my feet to push me up the bed, trying to escape.  You expected the move.  Your hands wrap around my ankles and tug.  My ass is at the edge of the bed.  You move over me and straddle my hips.  As you meet my eyes, your fingers move to my sides and start tickling me relentlessly.

I toss my head side to side.  Your thighs tighten on my hips.  I am pinned.  I will be at your mercy until you decide otherwise.

It hurts but I cannot stop laughing.  My brow is matted with sweat.  This is one hell of a workout.

I feel one of your hands move up my stomach and grab roughly at my boob.  Your fingers pinch my nipples tightly and you tug upward.  You are just holding it.  Every time I try to twist from the tickling.  You gave me a slight reprieve from the tickling but now both my nipples are under your sadistic hands.  

Your thumb and pointer fingers hold tight to my nipples.  You seem to enjoy pinching right where my piercings lay.  It hurts so much more, especially when you roll them until your nails are dig into the tender flesh.

You smirk down at me when I hiss in pain.  Without a word, you lean down and take my nipple between your teeth and tug harshly.  I should probably specify that the strangled noise you heard was, in fact, a gasp.  A gasp, I repeated, as you spent a few minutes alternating between each of my nipples.  

They are so tender Sir.  They will be for days.  But you know that.  You know my work clothes will press upon the tortured flesh and I will be distracted by the memories it conjures.

You let go suddenly and lean back.  Your body weight presses down on my thighs and my stomach heaves in exhaustion.  You are looking down at me.  Your eyes boring into mine.  My face is flush. I can feel it.  My jaw aches as I pant through the gag.  

I’ve never seen you so energetic during play.  You have a glow about you.  It makes me happy.

I can feel myself slipping Sir.  I can see the static starting to form around you.  The blood is rushing loudly through my ears, making it difficult to hear.  I am quickly sinking into subspace, Sir.  

I am positive you see it.

Your hand wraps in the front harness of ropes and pulls my upper body close to you.  My eyes feel blown open as I try to meet your eyes.  It is so difficult to make eye contact Sir.  I am losing focus.

You let go and I drop back to the bed.  My head bounces.  I am saddened by the loss of pressure.  

Suddenly, your hand is wrapped back in the ropes as you spin my body around.  I will never understand how you can move me as though I am weightless.  

My feet are on the wall and my legs are bent.  My head rests in the middle of the bed and I am staring up at the ceiling.  I laugh when you wrap my braid around your hands.  I understand now.

I needed a handle.  

I push against the wall, trying to alleviate the tugging on my head as I am pulled to the edge of the bed.  As my head comes to rest, hanging off the bed, I see you crouch down.  I feel you undoing the buckle of the gag.  Your fingers slide around my cheeks, towards my lips, and you gently pry the gag from between my teeth.  

The first thing I did was swallow.  I am sticky with sweat and saliva, but I unable to move to wipe it away.  As you stand, I move to lift my head, but you prevent it by stepping forward.  Your jeans press against my face.

I can smell your arousal Sir.  It excites me.

Like the good girl I am, I open wide and stick out my tongue.

Have I been good enough to get a reward Sir?  Will I get to taste you?

You stand there for a few minutes.  I feel restless. I rub my face against your jeans.  Please, Sir.  Please may I please you?

I keep still and quiet.  You do not like to feel rushed.  I am here for your pleasure, not the other way around.

Then I hear it.

Your zipper slides down and the button is tugged from its home.  Teasingly, you take your time pulling out your cock.  I have no choice but to wait patiently.  I am not in a position to initiate anything and you know it.

You put the tip to my lips.  I stick my tongue out and work my piercing around the head.  I push the tip of my tongue slightly against your slit, moving it up and down for a few strokes before I return to circling the head.  

I must have teased you a little too much.

Without warning, your length is down my throat, passed my gag reflex.  My throat is spasming around you as I gag.  I am struggling to breath.  My nose is buried in your balls and your scent is all around me, but I cannot draw breath.  

I start struggling.  My feet flatten on the bed and I lift my hips.  My lower half is twisting, trying to tell you I need to breathe.

You wait a few seconds more.

Then you pull back.  I draw breath just before you thrust in again.  Over and over, I struggle to breathe as you alternate your rhythm.  Sometimes you fuck my mouth without mercy.  Then you will bury yourself deep and wait until my body twists and turns in panic before pulling back.  

It starts to get fuzzy around here Sir.  I remember your hand wrapping around my throat as you push your length slowly back in.  You do not go far enough to trigger my gag reflex.  My chest is heaving, drawing small, short pockets of air around your cock.  

I feel as though I am suffocating but you always leave me enough room to draw breath.

When your hand leaves my neck, I feel you pull yourself from my mouth.  My eyes are struggling to stay open.  

As they slide closed, my body exhausted, I feel you finish on my face.  I can feel it across my forehead and my eyes.  There is even a bit sliding down my cheek.

I feel relaxed now Sir.  My breathing is slowing, and everything is quiet.

I feel your finger tap twice on my lips.  I open obediently.  You wipe the last of your cum across my tongue.

I must have missed you speaking.  It is rare you resort to hand signals.

It is so quiet.  

Where are you, Sir? 

My body is freezing now.  All the hairs are standing on end and I am shivering.

Your hands are like fire as they caress my skin.

I both love and hate this.  I want to curl into you Sir.  Yet, I have to wait as you remove the ropes.  I know you are being cautious, so I do not get burned, but I just want you to hold me.

Once free, my body just drops.  I do not even have the strength to even lift my head.

I jump slightly when I feel a warm cloth on my face.  You are cleaning me up.  

It saddens me to have my face cleaned but I appreciate you taking care of me, Sir.

Even with my eyes closed, I know you are talking to me.  I cannot hear you.  But that is normal.  

I hope my laughter has pleased you, Sir.

As soon as my senses dull, and I come back to you, I will be sure to thank you properly.

With three kisses to each boot and my forehead to the floor.

An Inside Look At Pet Play

By 2 Comments

latex, kitten, bdsm play
via stock.adobe.com

It has been nearly two years since the first time Master called me Pig.

We were sitting in a Leather class at a local convention and the Leatherman teaching the class introduced both himself and his wife/slave (who could not attend for health reasons).  He explained that she was his girl and she identified as a Pig.

Naturally, someone asked why.

His answer still rings in my ears today. “Because she squeals when I hit her.”  He laughed.  He said that was their favorite response to the question.  I do not remember most of his definition of why she identified as a pig.  I remember key words.  Tenacity.  Durability. Loyalty.

Master did not hesitate in leaning over and whispering in my ear that it sounded like me.  In an instant, I was blushing, and I hid my face in his shoulder, shaking my head slightly.  I was embarrassed.  

Each time he brought it up that weekend, I adamantly refused him.  

When I finally accepted his new name for me, I corrected him.  I am not a pig.  I will never be a pig.  But I would happily, and bashfully, be his piggie.

There are two defining reasons for this distinction.  

Growing up, my Great Graa and Graa (short for grandmother) were my best friends.  For the first eight years of my life, I spent more time with them than my parents.  They referred to our trio as the “Pig Women.”  While I was never told why Great Graa gave us that nickname, it is still something I hold dear.  It is also something I choose to keep separate from the darker side of my kink journey.

The second are my own experiences growing up.  

I am not a traditional beauty.  I have, only in recent years, come to accept that I am beautiful in my own way.  I have never been desired by anyone who did not use me for their own gain.  I was bullied, lied to, manipulated, used, and abused by those I had chosen to trust as friends.  I have spent my life overweight.  I have struggled through eating disorders, self- harm, and mental disorders.  I have continually shied away from anything that negatively related to any of those struggles.  For me, the term Pig has ugly connotations that refer to my weight struggles and my non-traditional looks.  It is a time of my life I am not eager to relive.

Throughout my journey in kink, I have discovered strengths in myself that I never thought possible.  I found I could take heavy impact play.  In fact, I craved it.  I adopted the term masochist to define my love and craving for such rough play.

I reveled in making people cringe when they watched us play.

But it wasn’t until Master introduced me to humiliation and degradation play that I found my place.

Where I could take a beating quietly, and I could banter back to tease him, humiliation would reduce me to tears in a matter of minutes.  The first time we delved into it as the main part of play, He thought he broke me.  The scene lasted about ten minutes.  The aftercare took more than a half hour.  

The end of that scene found me kneeling, unable to speak, tears rolling down my cheeks, and unaware of anything around me, including the presence of Master.

I have never felt more liberated than I had after that.  My demons felt less oppressive and my mood was lighter.

From that point, we have pushed against all of my perceived boundaries.  We use my fears to amplify the intensity of a scene.  We take my insecurities, and he criticizes me for them in play.  He has taught me that when I kiss his boots to end said scene, the insecurities stay there.  By adding them to play, they plague me less in my everyday life.

I have found a deep love of foot and boot worship.  I find it relaxing and arousing, and absolutely humiliating.  Worship has the flexibility to allow me to play sensually just as easily as I play rough.  For example, kissing his boots to end a scene is comforting.  It allows me to reconnect with Master.  Removing his boots after a long day of work reminds me of my place.  Polishing his boots allows me to care for him and show my pride in my service.  Yet, licking the dirt from his boots as he degrades my skills, both arouses and breaks me.  It makes me try harder, push more, and lose myself in our play.  

What I find most ironic, is that I can explain the humiliation I have willingly suffered, but the idea of expressing what piggie means to me, has left me struggling to put the thoughts to paper.

So, let me start back at the beginning.

As I said, I was embarrassed.  But I was also confused.

I am not, nor will I ever be, a pet.

Master is not, nor will he ever be, a handler or an owner.

So, how then, could I be a pig and yet not be a pet?

Pet play is when someone roleplays as a domesticated animal.

I do not find this definition to be all encompassing, just based on the pets I do know.  For them, pet play is also a headspace.  This is where they often take on the characteristics of the animals they relate to.  For example, the kittens tend to enjoy curling up, purring, being petted, meowing, etc.  They may have their ability to talk restricted since “animals do not speak English.”  Some enjoy being placed on a leash and playing with toys.

The first time I was introduced to pet play, it involved Pony Play.  Specifically, it involved “Show Ponies.”  Then I was introduced to Puppies.  Then Kittens.  At this point, I have met foxes, bunnies, and even a lizard.  You truly can be whatever you wish to be.  

**For reference, I was introduced through friends.  I did not partake in the activities myself.

Most often, Pet Play varies from animal to animal.  

Let’s look at the most common animals: Ponies, Puppies, and Kittens.

Ponies, for example, tend to work on their walks (such as cantering).  But even this varies.  Some ponies are trained to pull carts.  Sometimes their trainer rides the carts and sometimes it is for labor purposes.  Ponies are one animal that undergo more formal training than other animals.  

For example, when leading a pony, a trainer should stand on the left of them, with a 12-18in gap of lead between them, to lead the pony.  This is similar to the etiquette of leading a bio-horse.  Keeping the lead slack if the pony is behaving and tightening it when they disobey.  A sharp tug can stop an errant pet in their tracks.

If you are teaching them “tying,” the process reflects teaching a puppy to stay.  A ground tie simply means your pony has reigns and/or lead on but is able to remain standing at a point you have left them without requiring them to be tied to a post so they do not wander off.  

It starts with a proper stance. The pony should stand squarely, his weight distributed evenly on both legs.  His front hooves and fore hooves should be hanging straight down.  His head should be held up, his back should be straight, and he should remain looking ahead of him.  Once he has mastered the stance, the trainer will slowly work on teaching them to stay.  Depending on the pony, this can be a lengthy process.  Positive reinforcement is the recommended way to train but a good swat on the ass if they aren’t listening never went awry.  You may wander a few feet after telling them to stay.  If they do as you have instructed, you should move back to them and then reward them.  You can give them a treat, pet them, and/or tell them what a “good boy” they are.  If they have disobeyed, pick your poison for correction.  It could be a tug on the reigns, a verbal reprimand, or a swat to the ass.  Repeat this process, moving a little further each time, until they have demonstrated their understanding of the command.

The Ground tie training helps with the next step of training.  Ponies are expected to be able to stand still for longer periods of time (i.e. more than fifteen minutes).  Fidgeting, pulling, or pawing is considered undesirable.  A pony should be able to sink into their identity and hold themselves with calm confidence.  The best I can describe it as is a deep meditative state.  

Pony training is a long process that requires a deep love and dedication to your desired role.

Puppies tend to be very enthusiastic, play fetch, and tend to be social.  I have had a little more interaction with puppies than I have ponies.  They are my personal favorites.  I find the happy energy that puppies exude to be contagious and I find there to be a little more freedom in their interactions with outsiders.  I am also a sucker for a cute puppy and do so love to pet them (with their and their owner’s consent).  

Puppy play is often a direct reflection of what a bio-dog likes.  Most puppies enjoy playing fetch.  They enjoy tug of war and catch. They love being petted, belly rubs, and, of course, treats.  I find puppies to be exceedingly loyal as well.

They can be trained with commands through the use of German words (as Service dogs are trained), sign language or hand signals, or through the native language of the pup.

Puppy play varies from person to person.  It depends on what they enjoy, disabilities the pup may have, opportunity to play, and so forth.

Kittens are far more introverted and tend to be calmer. In our local community, we have eight people who identify as kittens.  The leading theme is that they also identify as littles and brats.  While these identities are not mutually exclusive, in my experience, they often intermingle. From what I have been told, the mindsets are similar.

I find that kittens and puppies also tend to have behavior corrected with BDSM-related discipline.  

Let’s break this down a little bit further:

The wider umbrella term of this kink is called “Animal Play.”  The definition is the same as Pet play, but it tends to refer to non-domesticated animals.  Cows and Pigs fall under this type of play.

A furry fetish refers to an interest in animals with human-like tendencies and features. Indulging in this fetish might involve drawing these characters, wishing to become them, or interacting with other furries in online communities.

Although often mistaken as such, Primal play is not inherently animal play.  It revolves around getting in touch with your baser, and more animalistic, instincts.  While I have met some who relate to animals, such as wolves, it is more about power than being an animal.

Each of these sub-categories can include sexual aspects.  It is purely up to the negotiations and consent of those involved on whether sex is included or not.

Then there is Piggie.

Piggie is born of humiliation.  

I talk about her as though she is a separate being.  Because, in my mind, she is.

Piggie has her own headspace.  It isn’t animalistic to me.  It is a quiet headspace.  It makes it difficult for me to speak with words and I am often reduced to a low whining sound, from the back of my throat.  I find that the boundaries of my limits blur so heavily, I struggle to remember that they exist. While Piggie prefers to crawl, there is no limit to standing or sitting.  

When we started this, Master only called me it occasionally in an effort to embarrass me.  He said my reaction was cute when he brought it up.  This was not limited to in-person teasing.  He would often tease me through text as well, and it was no less impactful.

Then it showed up in a scene.

It is hard to remember exactly how it happened.  But sometime during our play, he referred to me as his piggie.

Later on, I asked him why.  He wasn’t sure.  He said it felt right in the moment.  Slowly, over that next year, the name would appear more and more.

I asked again.

He said it was because I am always “down to get dirty.”  When I asked for clarification, he said that I had little inhibitions when it came to play.  Whatever he wanted to try, no matter how humiliating or ‘dirty,’ I would whole-heartedly explore.

I considered it a compliment at that point.  

Then came the oink.

During one of our scenes, maybe 9 months ago, he ordered me to oink for him.  For those of you who read my stories, you can imagine what happened.  I stared him down, in complete silence, and I pursed my lips.  I silently refused to oblige him.

So, he pushed me.  He put my body through impact that was meant to break my resolve.  Without a word, I knew that I was either going to oink or safeword by the end of that scene.  I just had to figure out which option I was taking.

Over time, “oink” has become a safeword on its own, at least to me.  We have scenes now that do not end until I utter that word.  While it has never actually replaced my safeword, I know that when I have to choose between “oink” or “Red”, I will always utter “oink.”   

**It is important that I specify that we have never negotiated oink as a safeword.  The feeling of it is solely based around how I feel in the moment.  Making me oink is a form of humiliation, especially because I struggle so hard against it.  As with anything, there are exceptions to the rule.  We have continued play after I utter the word.  He has had me utter it over and over and over again, just to see me curl in on myself in embarrassment.

I have discovered that pushing myself to the point of oinking fucks with my head.  It strips me of my humanity.  It reinforces my natural reactions in subspace.

I am one who gets exceedingly quiet during play.  The further I get into subspace, the worse it gets.  It has been an on-going process to learn to answer Master verbally, in and out of play.  But, once I move into service mode, I stay quiet.  By the time I hit subspace, I lose the ability to speak at all.  It is as though I have forgotten how.  I stop understanding English.  I forget my own name.  I lose the ability to safeword at all.  

Master says I become catatonic.

Except, I can still be of service.  I can continue to function on autopilot and meet Master’s needs, but I cannot do it independently and of sound mind.  There have been many times that he has had to call the scene when I hit that point.  My trust in his ability to take care of me is infallible.  That is what allows us to explore such extreme mind fuckery without fear of permanent repercussions.

I explored pet play because that’s where everything leads.  When you look up “pig” or “piggie,” you either end up with pet play or food play as a result.  Neither of these fits what I am.

So, now I get to ask you the same questions I asked myself.

How can I be a piggie, if I am not a pet?

The answer is easier to express now.  It is because being a piggie is simply who I am.  The attributes I have given her are a part of me.  

I do not need to take on the roles of the animal itself.

I do not need gear (though we are exploring the absolute humiliation that occurs when I shake my 8-inch springy tail).  My talking is never restricted, nor is my ability to walk. 

 Being Piggie is not a headspace that I must achieve.  

Piggie just is.

She thrives in my humiliation the degradation of my everyday self.  She sets out to please, by any means necessary.  She has little in the way of reservations and finds pleasure in watching my inhibitions disappear.

Piggie is born from a desire to be humiliated and degraded by Master. Piggie is…Me.

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.

Collars And Rings

By 2 Comments

bdsm leather submissive collar
via stock.adobe.com

“A collar is more sacred than a wedding ring.”

I have heard this sentence nearly as often as the one that says submission is a gift.  I made my view clear in a previous article that submission is a trade of services and certainly not a gift.  This time around we are going to discuss the statement above.

Let me get the hardest part (for you) out of the way first: I completely disagree with this statement and it makes my eye twitch when I hear it said (or see it written in a group).

I enjoy spending time in different online groups.  Don’t get me wrong, I prefer in person socialization, but a global pandemic tends to change things.  My problem with the groups is that even though our experiences and opinions vary widely, there are a few statements and/or beliefs that are pervasive.  The statement about collars is one of those beliefs.

I am going to pause for a moment to discuss my own collar.  I find that my viewpoints often confuse individuals. 

The collar around my neck shows I belong to Master.  It both marks me as his property and as his “little pain slut piggie.”  It represents his protection and his love.  It marks his right to discipline me as he sees fit. 

But my collar cannot speak to you like it speaks to me.  It does not regale you with the tales of me going nose to nose with Master as I learned how to submit.  It does not tell you about the aches in my fingers from writing enough lines to fill a notebook.  It does not tell you the number of tears that fell for me to understand that a submissive is as important as a Dominant.  It will not tell you about the struggles I had and the patience that Master had to have to teach me about self-love and self-care.

I did not have a collar while I was under consideration.  When he offered me His collar, He offered it permanently.  I wear a day collar because He knew I needed to have something to ground me when I am gone long hours at work.  I needed to feel the weight, and slight pressure, because it reminds me of his hand upon my neck.  It gives me strength when I panic, joy when I am down, and peace when I am surrounded by chaos.  And that collar has nothing on the strip of leather he wrapped around my neck the very first time.

When I refer to my collar, I am referring to a thick band of leather that has O-rings across its entirety.  It is heavy and demanding.  It allows Master to restrict me in any direction, in a variety of creative ways.  

It is extremely hard to remove, emotionally.  I am rarely allowed to wear it.  It is used for formal events and parties, and only once or twice has it been worn at home.  There is nothing more trance-like than the ritual of having it put on.

I cannot speak for anyone else, but the changing of my collars (from day to formal) always happens in proper dress.  Master will always be in his leathers and kilt.  I will always be kneeled, my eyes resting on his black, leather boots.  Most often, I am half-dressed, or less.  My back and neck lay bare to him.  My hands are held in front of me, flat with palms up.  His hand sits on the back of my neck, just letting me feel the warmth of his skin.  It burns like fire.  His body runs hot just as mine runs cold.  Then the metal is unlocked, and he drops it carefully into my awaiting hands.  He brings the leather into my sight and moves it to my neck.  He pulls it tight enough to make me gasp, every time.  He holds it tight, for just a moment, before buckling it at a more comfortable length.  Then, he hooks two fingers into the O-ring in the front and drags my head up until I am staring him in the eye.  It is the most difficult part.  Looking him in the eye, in that headspace, is a battle every time.  He is looking for something*. When he finds what he is looking for, however long it takes, he takes my chainmaille collar and slips it into his vest.  With the ritual, I shed most of my normal anxiety and inhibitions.  The leather allows me a freedom that is often elusive in my day-to-day routines.

*He told me once that he watches for the mindset change.  He waits, patiently, for me to switch from everyday life to service*

Now that I have given you a glimpse into my mindset with Master’s collar(s), I want to redirect back to why I feel it is unfair to compare a collar to a ring.

I have been with my wife for 12 years now, and we have been married for seven of them.  She is my rock.  She has seen me at my worst (and my most naïve) and has helped me grow as a person.  It is through her that I learned how to convey my affection and my love.  I learned how to communicate calmly, how to redirect my anger in a fight, and how to logically face problems.  I learned patience and understanding, I explored my sexuality, and I learned confidence in my actions.  I learned how to navigate my own mental health and how to balance the quirks and mental health of another.

I remember how glued I was to the television on election night when the reality of marriage became possible.  I remember the scream for joy, and the three days it took for my state to finalize the voting results.  I even remember that marijuana was legalized in under 12 hours on the same night.  I remember the excitement that I could give her the protections offered to only a spouse.  I remember the relief when I could make her medical decisions when they found the cancer.

I remember every aspect of our time together, just as I remember every second of my rituals with Master.

But, neither one of these things are remotely alike.

To compare my wedding ring to my collar is detrimental to both of my relationships.  Doing so undermines the lessons and growth that I have experienced with each.

My wedding ring symbolizes my dedication to us.  It is the commitment of standing together, problem solving, supporting each other, allowing for growth, and learning to understand and co-exist.  It is a representation of my love for her.  It is a show of strength.  It is also the recognition of why we are poly.  That ring reminds us that we remain dedicated to each other but recognize that one person cannot fulfill all the needs of another.  It is acceptance and support and the desire for the happiness of our partner.

Master tells me that “my collar is always on, even when it’s not.”  If, for any reason it is removed (such as for medical reasons), it does not diminish my role as His sub nor my worth to him. The collar is for me.  

I rarely wear my wedding ring.  I had the weld break on one at work and nearly lost it, so for my own piece of mind, I keep it at home and wear it for special occasions.  The lack of a ring on my finger does not diminish my role as her wife nor my worth to her.

The wearing of my ring and the wearing of my collar are two completely different mindsets.

Each represents two people, growing and learning together.  I stand tall beside my wife, and I carry her when she cannot walk.  Just as Master stands tall with me and carries me when I cannot walk.

My wife accepts me for all that I am.  She willingly put her insecurities aside and let me find and build a bond with Master.  She knows there are things she cannot provide me.  Master allows me to explore the darkest aspects of myself.  He does so with a calm and gentle demeanor.  He listens without judgement and allows his inner Dragon (what I call his Sadistic side) to give me what I need with absolute trust.

“A collar is more sacred than a wedding ring.”

There is no comparison between a collar and a wedding.  Just as there are shotgun marriages in the vanilla world, there are Velcro collars in the BDSM one.  

The symbolism of each represents trust, understanding, commitment, and growth.  Each, to me, have strong, permanent bonds.

Maybe I am unique.  Maybe the wearing of both a ring and a collar from different individuals is the reason I cringe when I hear that statement.  It often feels like I need to justify the importance of each relationship.  That I cannot give the whole of my being to either because I have both.

To be honest, giving my whole being is the easy part.  It is the vulnerability that I have struggled with the most.

Master has my mind, my body, and my spirit.  My wife has my soul.

There is no comparing the two.

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 Learns A Lesson

By 2 Comments

hot Domme ass with crop
via stock.adobe.com

**This story picks up right after “Piggie’s Day Out ends.  While it can be read alone, it would be best if you read that story first**

**It is also important to note that this story delves into breaking a submissive mentally and then continuing with play.  The items in this story are consensual and line up with the TPE dynamic I have in real life**

My eyes open quickly, and my breathing is erratic.  It takes me a minute to remember where I am.  I take a deep breath and just savor the feel of my cheek on your thigh.  I must have moved while we were sleeping Sir.  My head feels fuzzy and my body is sore.  I peak at the clock on the hotel nightstand next to you and it reads a blurry 2:30am.  

The longer I lay there, the more muddled my mind becomes.  Your body is warm against mine, but right now, even that is bringing me little comfort.  I move the sheet and slowly slide from the bed to avoid waking you.  I pad silently to the bathroom and close the door softly before I start the shower.

My body is shivering.  I don’t feel very good Sir.  I am going to try and figure myself out before the daylight.  I know you have more planned for this weekend and I refuse to be the reason your plans alter.

I cannot stand a hot shower normally.  But, right now, I turn it as hot as I can handle it.  I step in, shut the curtain behind me, and sit down.  I bring my knees to my chest, lean my head back, and close my eyes.  I can feel my skin burning under the hot spray, but I find myself not caring.  I will pay for it later when my hands and legs swell from the heat.  The steam is so thick it is hard to breathe.  

I cannot figure out why I feel so out of sorts.  It is like I am inches from drowning.  And no sooner do I think it, the tears start.  I try to hold it in.  The walls are thin in the hotel and I have no desire to interrupt your sleep.  If I cannot figure out why I feel like this, I doubt you will know either.  

I don’t know how long I sat there before the I couldn’t hold back the sobbing anymore.  Why do I feel like this Sir?  Why do I feel so empty inside?

I rested my head against the wall when the sobs lessen, and I closed my eyes for a minute.  I should get back into bed before you wake.  But my arms and legs feel like lead.  I am going to sit here for a few more minutes.  I open my eyes and stare at the knobs.  I should turn down the temperature.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, and I jump.  My eyes are wild in panic and my breathing is erratic.  Where am I?  What is going on?

“You are safe sweetie.  You are with me.”  I can hear you Sir.  My eyes blink rapidly as I shake my head and try and figure out what is going on.  My body is shivering and suddenly I feel very cold.  “You are safe sweetie.  Look at me.”  My neck feels weak and I am struggling to lift my head.  I keep trying to find you.  “You can do it.  Come on.  Look up here.”   My head lulls backwards and I blink slowly this time.

Suddenly, I can see you Sir.  Your dark eyes are staring down at me with worry.  What is wrong?  Why are you awake this early?

“Let’s get you dried off.”  You wrap your arms around me and lift me up from the tub.  I feel awfully dry for being in the shower.  You grab a towel off the rack and I shakily stand there as you dry me off.  I step out and let you lead me back to the bed.  Once you sit down, my knees give out.

I don’t understand what has happened and all I want to do is apologize.  It is only because you require a reason for an apology that keeps me from breaking down in a litany of “I’m sorry.”  I lay my head against your thigh and find comfort when your hand immediately tangles in my hair.  

We sit there quietly for a few before you ask me to climb back into bed and curl up with you.  As I scoot closer to you, I see the time on the clock.  4am.  

I think I understand your worry now.

I didn’t take a two-hour shower.  I zoned out.  I am guessing you found me in the shower, cold water turning me blue, and tried to wake me.  It explains why I am so cold.  I look up at you and you meet my eyes, and you cover me with an additional blanket.  I smile softly.  I am fine.  At least, I will be now.  

Let’s talk about this in a few more hours.  Maybe then we can figure out why I feel like I just jeopardized our whole weekend.

I woke slowly this time.  Your fingers were running through my hair.  My eyes opened and I am in the same position I fell asleep.  My head rests heavy on your thigh and I am staring at your feet as the tv croons in the background.  Slowly, I turn my head to look up at you.

“Good morning Sir.”  

“Good morning my little piggie.”  You smile at me.  I love your smile.  It always makes me feel at ease.  

I shift up next to you so I can get some kisses.  

“How are you feeling sweetie?”  My forehead creases in thought.  I feel fine.  My body is sore, and I am feeling a little tired, but I feel ok.

“I’m fine Sir.  I feel tired.  If it falls within our plans, I may need to take a nap later.”

You are staring Sir.  My body wants to fold under your gaze.  I do not understand why you are staring at me so intently.  What are you looking for?

“Are you going to tell me about last night?”

I sigh.  “There is nothing to tell, Sir.  I woke up and didn’t feel very good, so I decided to take a shower.  You came in at the end of it and helped me back to bed.”

“No, I got up to find you sitting in the tub, shivering, as the cold water rained down on you.  You were non-responsive.  Once I turned the water off, it was another ten before you answered me.”

“Oh.”  I don’t remember that.  I don’t really remember much beyond sitting in the hot shower and then having You dry me off.  “I am sorry Sir.  It is all kind of fuzzy.”

“How are you doing?  Honestly.” 

“Honestly, Sir, I am fine.  I feel good, other than being sore from yesterday’s activities, and my emotions are settled.  As I mentioned, I may ask for a nap later but otherwise, I am fine.”

You hug me close and kiss the top of my head.  “Alright.  If it changes, you will tell me.”

“Always, Sir.”

“Good Girl.”

After breakfast, you let me know that you have a couple errands to run.  I let you know that I just need to get dressed.  You stop me.

“You are going to stay here, piggie, and get some rest.  I have plans for us tonight and I need you to be at your best.”  My shoulders drop.  

“Are you mad at me Sir?”  I cannot help that this is my natural reaction.  You rarely refuse my company.

“No.  This is because I know you.  You will push yourself until you are so exhausted you drop.  I am grounding you, for your own good, until I get back.  You are going to put your phone aside and take a short nap.  I should be back soon.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”  

I am both saddened that I must stay here but intrigued as to what you have planned.  Should I fear what you have set up for me, Sir?  

My heart is racing as I am jerked awake.  I am on my back and there is a heavy weight across my hips.  It takes just a minute before I recognize you.  Your knees are locking my wrists to my sides.  I take a few deep breaths before your hand comes down hard on my mouth and nose.  My eyes widen as my brain connects that I cannot breathe.  I am trying to conserve the air I took in but before long I am struggling.  I am trying to rock you from my hips, but I cannot get any leverage.  I am franticly trying to move my head from your hand, but it is not working.  Just when I think I cannot take anymore, you let me breathe.  

1 breath. 2 breaths.  And on the third, the pressure is back.  My chest is heaving as I start struggling anew.  My heels are digging into the bed as I try to bend my knees and knock your center of balance.  You relent once again. Three seconds and this time as one hand covers my mouth and nose, the other is pressed against my neck.  The pressure on all sides has the edges of my vision darkening.  The strain on my chest is extreme.  The more I struggle to turn my head, the harder you press.  I think it is only the give of the mattress that keeps me from passing out at this point.  My hands are twitching against your knees.  I do not have the strength to kick my legs anymore.  I wonder if this is the time I finally pass out.

And, as though you can hear my thoughts, the pressure is gone.  My chest heaves with deep breaths and my eyes are shut tightly as I try to get my bearings.  I can feel your weight shifting back enough that I am able to pull my wrists free.  I move them out of your way but leave them stretched out at my waist.  When I feel settled, my eyes open and I find your gaze.  All I can do is smile.  

The fear.  The struggle.  The adrenaline.

“Mmm, thank you, Sir.”

A deep rumble comes from your chest.  You always seem so amused when I come from a place of intense fear and struggle to this soft, doe-eyed submissive who smiles from the experience.  We call it my “drugged out” state because I look at you with wide eyes, a dopey drunken smile, and looking high as fuck.

So far, this has been one hell of an up and down day, and I am positive it is far from over.

It has been a relatively relaxed day for us.  It is not often we have this much time together.  It is nice.  I have spent most of the morning curled up with you.  It is early afternoon now and you said we have to head out around 4pm.  Only about an hour to go and I find my anxiety is slowly building.  I trust you Sir.  I know that you will always make sure I am cared for.  But I also know you are skilled at mind-fucking and are able to leave me so confused I will fail to know my own name.

You move back to the chair you were in last night.  The one that brings flashes of humiliation to mind.  

You snap your fingers twice.  I shake my head to clear my mind.  I know what that means.  I slide from the bed, onto my knees, and crawl over to you.  I keep eye contact, as you prefer.  I stop just in front of you, kneel up, and rest my hands on my thighs.

“Tonight, I have plans for you piggie.  Plans that I am positive may cause you to forget yourself.”  You put your fingers under my chin and pull me up slightly.  “I worry about you.  Especially after what happened this morning.  Do you need to talk?”

“No, Sir.  Today has been a good day.  As of right now, I am fine.”

“What is your safeword?”

I am silent for longer than I expected.  You never ask me that.  I know the answer.  I teach it to others, as do you.  Why would you feel the need to ask me?  What do you have planned Sir?

“Piggie.”  I jerk out of my thoughts.

“I apologize Sir.  My word is Red.”

“Good piggie.”  You let go of my chin and smack my cheek lightly.  “Right now, you and I are going to center.  We are going to work on your self-control and remind you who is in charge.  You will not speak.  You will stay here for however long I require.  Should your knees get too uncomfortable, you may readjust onto your ass.  Is that clear?”  

“Yes, Sir.”

You unzipped your jeans and pulled out your cock.  “You will hold me in your mouth.  You will not suck, lick, tease, or otherwise attempt to play.  You will simply keep my cock warm.”

I am surprised but I enjoy using my mouth.  I fill my mouth with spit to moisten it.  I settle your cock into my mouth until my nose is nestled in your curls.  I see you pull out your phone, completely ignoring me.  I wonder how long you will keep us here.  Will this be until we head out?  Do you have something else planned?  

It takes ten minutes before my mind shuts off.  I have been on edge for the entire trip.  Everything you have me do leaves me with hundreds of questions.  I think this is the reason you are doing this.  You want me to sink into my service.  You want me to have peace of mind in my submission.  You know how hard it is for my mind to shut down.  Now, instead of wondering about tonight, I am fighting myself.  All I want to do is suck.  It is not even with a particular goal in mind.  I just want to suck on you.  I find it both relaxing and an emotional release.  The fact that it teases you is just an added benefit.  

I have looked up at you at frequent intervals.  You do not seem to notice my presence at all.  You are happily wrapped up in your phone.  Even when I readjust my position, you do not once look at me.  It drives my desire to suck even higher.  I want your attention.  I want you to look at me as I suck and lick you to hardness.  I want to feel you harden between my lips and for you to shove your cock down my throat until I am gagging.  I want you to pinch my nose as I gag so that I am struggling to breathe.   I want you to face-fuck me so hard my jaw feels wrenched from its socket.  I want whatever you will give me.

But it isn’t about what I want.  It is about following your directions without question.  It is about connecting with my submission and letting go of my anxiety and inhibitions.  It is about recognizing that sometimes I will have to do things in a way I may not agree with.  

It is about accepting and honoring Your Dominance.

You kept me there for somewhere near a half hour before you paid any attention to me.  You simply told me to stop and kneel up from my seated position.  I knelt there, watching you.  Without another word, I watched you slowly bring yourself to hardness.  I watched you tease yourself.  I watched you play.

This is torture. I hate, more than almost anything, not being allowed to touch.  I absolutely despise it.  It always feels like punishment when it happens.  But I know better than to raise a fuss.  There is a reason to everything you do.  Just because I do not understand it, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen. 

My eyes never leave your hand.  I watch every move you make.  I know if I look you in the eye, my resolve will break.  I will start to beg Sir.  Beg to touch you.  

Begging is the last thing you want to hear right now.

So, I watch.

When I hear the hitch of your breath, and you moan low in the back of your throat, I know you are close. Only then do I dare to meet your gaze.  As I do, you paint my face with your cum.  I feel it on my forehead and my cheeks.  And just to rub it in, you smear the last of it onto my lips.

I imagine I am quite an image Sir.  That feeling is only cemented when you pick up your discarded phone and I see the flash of your camera lens.

Why do I have the feeling there will be more pictures tonight Sir?  You seem to have developed a love of chronicling the humiliation of your piggie.

I sat there, covered in your cum, until you told me I could clean up.  I crawled into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wet it in the tub.  I stayed on my knees while I cleaned up and then crawled back to you.  

I leaned down, kissed each boot three times, and laid my forehead down to the floor.  “Thank you, Sir.”

I decided to wear a short, cotton summer dress tonight.  In a rare change of circumstance, you told me undergarments were not needed.  I say it as though I had a choice in the matter.  We both know I did not.

As far as I am aware, you left my piggie gear at the hotel.  It matters little in the long run though.  I am not your pet, who needs dressed up to find their headspace.  I am, at all times, your little piggie.  I am always willing to get down and dirty with anything you can dream up. Besides, you seem to love to make me squeal.

We were in the car for about half an hour before we got there.  I have never been to this area before, but you seem oddly at home.  You take each turn with confidence until we come to a stop in front of a house.  It seems so normal looking.  I doubt anyone would suspect what hides behind those doors.

I am unsure of how tonight will go.  Normally, I would drown my anxiety by unloading and setting up your electrical gear.  Your gear usually takes up half of the back of our van.  It takes me fifteen to unload and another half hour to set up properly.  It is even longer to take down and pack it away.  But, for some reason, your gear did not come with us.  I am so used to taking care of you Sir, of negotiating your pick-up play, and keeping an eye on everything, I feel very out of my element without those distractions.  

Once the car was off, you pull the keys from the ignition and I watch you turn down the volume on both of our phones.  You tuck them into the inner pocket of your vest.  “I am going to hold onto these, sweetie.  If you need yours, come talk to me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You put your hand on mine.  “You can do this.  I will be with you every step of the way.”

“I know Sir.  I am just nervous.”

“Good.  You should be.”

I shook my head.  I have no doubt you mean that.

I step out of the vehicle and make sure the door is locked.  I shut the door and wait for you.  

I will never tire of seeing you in your gear Sir.  My eyes always land on your boots first.  I have a healthy love of your boots.  From polishing them with my kit to licking them clean, I have yet to find something I dislike about them.  They are the defining feature of your headspace for me.  Because, regardless of the position I am in, they are always the first and last thing I see when I submit.

“We have one last thing to do before we go in.”  I cocked my head in question.  Two snaps.  I kneel, awaiting your direction.  

Then, I saw them.

You brought my cuffs Sir; two black strips of leather, stamped with the very first name you ever gave me: Pain Slut.  They bring me security and comfort when you put them on me.  

I held my arms in front of me and offered you my wrists.  Once you buckle them on, I feel safe.  Between being here with you and having the opportunity to wear my cuffs and collar, I know that no matter what happens behind those doors, I will be fine.

Because you wouldn’t let it be any other way.

You walk up to the door and knock.  I stay behind you.  I prefer to remain unseen when possible.  

You greet the man at the door like an old friend.  You do not introduce me as we step inside, and I do not ask.  I simply observe.  I follow you as the man leads you through the house.  We navigate a narrow hallway that opens into a large open living room space with large sliding glass doors.  I can see the burning end of cigarettes through the door, so I assume it is accessible to guests as well.  There are chairs interspersed throughout the area and I could hear smacks from down another hallway.  I guessed that there were people behind the closed doors, but I had no plans to investigate.  I have never seen a party so small, but I imagine this is the way of the world now.  From what I can tell, there is less than fifteen of us.  So far, I do not see any other submissives.  I hope that just means they are behind the closed doors.  

I waited quietly as you reacquainted yourself with old friends.  Once you take a seat against the back wall, nearest to the sliding doors, I kneel next to you.  My head rests on the outside of your thigh and your hand comes to rest on my head.  The hum of conversation is hard to follow for me.  There is too much noise, and each of you talks too low, for me to follow.  I close my eyes and rest.  If you need me, I know that you will make it known.

You seem to be enjoying yourself.  Your laughter, quiet as it is, brings me peace.  It makes me happy to see you so comfortable.  

I have been quiet while you are visiting.  It feels right.  I tip my head back to get your attention.  Your hand moves from my hair as you glance down at me.

“Yes?”

“May I go to the restroom Sir?”  I am unfamiliar with this house and where I should go.  Normally, you just let me slip away with a quiet acknowledgement but that is not possible right now.

“You may.  It is down the hall, last door on the left.”

“Will you help me up Sir?  My legs are numb.” 

You smile broadly.  “You are cute.  You may crawl.  I am going to enjoy the view.”  Thank you for reminding me about how short my dress is and the fact that you banned undergarments tonight.  

I can feel my cheeks flush.  “Yes Sir.”

I fall forward onto my arms.  My legs have gone numb, but it is not the first time I have had to make them move without feeling.  Sometimes I consider it a blessing that I deal with intermittent paralysis.

It is the longest hallway I have ever been down Sir.  Ok, not really.  But I can feel your eyes on me.  I feel extremely exposed.  I have been naked dozens of times.  It has never been as nerve wracking as this.

Once I make it to the door, I kneel up and wait.  The bathroom is occupied.  I keep my eyes focused on the bottom corner of the door, near the hinge.  I am too uncomfortable to look around and see if anyone has noticed me.  I squeeze my legs together tightly.  I need this person to hurry up or I am going to end up having an accident.  That might be a humiliation that even I cannot deal with.

I crawl back to you and as I pass in front of you, you stick your boot out to stop me.  I look up at you, wondering what I can do for you.

“My friends enjoyed the view as much as I did.”  My head turns slightly, and my shoulders come up.  It is a sure sign of my embarrassment.  “I think it is only fair you treat them to more for hosting us.  Wouldn’t you agree piggie?”  

Your question is rhetorical.  I know that.  You do not wish for an answer, so I remain silent.

“You were very lax in your duties piggie.  My boots are quite dirty form our travels.”  My eyes shift to your boots.  It is a blow to my gut to hear you say that.  I try very hard to keep your gear in good, clean condition.  As I stare at the dirt on your boots, I know you are correct.  It hurts to see that.  I bite the inside of my lip and try to keep my face stoic.  “I think it is only fair you clean them now.  Get to it.”

Deep breath.  That is what I tell myself.

I start to lean down but your boot stops me again.  “Face me. Let them have a good view.  Make sure to spread your legs wide piggie.”  You are determined to break me Sir.  No one gets to see me like this.  I reserve this kind of humiliation and degradation for you and you alone.  

My word sits heavy in my tongue.  I swallow it down.  I can do this.

I don’t need it yet.

I turn to face you and back up enough for me to head to the floor.  I do as you commanded and spread my legs wider.  I shift my hips enough that my hips shouldn’t freeze in place.  The air is cold on my lips and my hole clenches automatically.  I fill my mouth with spit, just to moisten my tongue.  I know from experience that my mouth, and tongue, will dry out quickly.

I lower my head and enthusiastically being servicing your boots.  I started with your left boot, as I always do.  You move your right one up to rest on my back.  Normally, I can relax at the feeling of being your footstool. Not tonight.  

I have a feeling I am going to be here awhile.  

After I finish your left boot, you switch places effortlessly to give me access to your right boot.  I am only a few licks in when I feel a sharp sting to my pussy lips.  My body jerks a little bit, but your boot holds me in place.

Then I feel it again.

And again.

I would bet it is the crop.  The sting of it is unique.  

Another hit.  

I don’t know how I feel about this.  You never let people touch me with impact toys.  You are far too protective of me.  So, this is extremely new territory.

“Pay attention to your task piggie.  Otherwise, I will punish you.”

Damn you and your observations. Sir.  

I push the thoughts from my head and get back to cleaning your boot.  I can hear the murmur of your voice, but I cannot understand you.  You must be speaking quieter so I cannot anticipate what will happen.  

It is not long before I feel someone separating my lips.  The air is cold to my exposed clit.  It makes the sting of the next hit hurt all the worse.  My legs shake.  I am trying to focus.  I am halfway done.  It won’t be much longer.

Again, and again.  The hits have no rhythm, and they vary in strength.  They are not extremely rough, but they are making my flesh tender.  It is also turning me on.  I am still sore from the brutal use yesterday by your friends Sir.  Are you planning another round?

The hits only continue until I have finished your boots.  Once done, the hands leave my body.   Your boots lift from my back and are placed back to the ground in front of me.  My hips ache with the position I am in, but I make no move to readjust without your say so.

Two snaps.

I am never so thankful as I am right now that I understand what that means.  

I slowly lift myself up and move back to the side of your chair.  I am careful to keep my eyes on the floor.  I cannot bring myself to face my audience.  You tap my head and as I look up at you, you make a hand gesture that I am ready to bite you for.  You motion for me to sit.  Which would be fine if it wasn’t the same hand signal you have trained the dog with.  You outright laugh at me as I glare at you.  You make the hand signal a second time.  You are counting down to my compliance.  Fine.  I will sit.

Asshole.

Your hand is tangled in my hair almost as soon as I think the thought.  

Jesus, did I say that out loud.  

“I think you are forgetting yourself.”  You stand abruptly.  You drag me to my feet by my hair.  My eyes are watering from the pain.

You thrust me forward and let go of my hair.  I barely manage to stay standing.

“Present.”  Your voice is hard.  Why do I have to be in my head so much?  All it does is backfire on me.

I spread my feet shoulder-width apart, put my hands behind my head, and interlace my fingers.  I keep my eyes on the floor.  I try to calm my breathing.  I tried so hard to be good Sir.  All I have done is upset you.  My stomach is in knots right now.  I am positive I am going to throw up.

I breathe deep through my nose.  At this point, I refuse to open my mouth.  Even for air.

“I think I have been too lenient with you, piggie.  I have spoiled you and now we need to reaffirm your place.”  Your fingers grab my nipples.  You tug and twist harshly as you talk. “I have thought about something like this for a while now.  You love pain far too much my little pain slut.  So, I had to get” you pull upward and bring me up onto my toes “creative.”  You let go and I rock back onto my heels as your hands come down hard on both my breasts.  I grit my teeth against the pain.

You extend your hand outside of my line of sight.  When you have what you are reaching for, you bring it up for me to see.

Lipstick.

What the fuck are you planning to do with lipstick?

You stripped me of my dress, tossing it carelessly to the side.  I am completely exposed now.

You, and your friends, ran the lipstick up and down my body.  None of the lines seem to make sense.  I stare at a fixed point on the wall.  Each of you move with confidence.  I am more stressed that I do not understand what you are doing than I am that I am in trouble.  I prefer quick, concise punishment.  Physical or otherwise, I want to be absolved of my crime and be reassured that you are no longer upset.

Once everyone moved away, the flashes begin.  I make my first mistake then.  My head turns to see where you are.  Without hesitation, I feel your hand connect with my cheek.  

You…you backhanded me, Sir.

My head snaps back into place.

There are back-to-back flashes.  I know your phone Sir.  It cannot process a flash that quickly.  There is more than one camera.  

I do not like this.  

I dislike others seeing me like this.  I dislike it even more that they will have a permanent shot of me, humiliated and struggling.

I am biting the inside of my lip.  You have always told me that the most memorable punishments are public.  As much as I dislike this, I do not believe in safewording out of a punishment.  I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

You grab my chin roughly and make eye contact with me.  “I expected better of you.  Maybe I shouldn’t have such high expectations of a dirty little piggie.”  Your words hurt Sir.  It is worse than any physical blow.  “Since you are so anxious to see yourself, take a look.”  You hold the phone up for me to see the pictures.  It is not your phone.  My fears are confirmed.

My body is covered with words.  I can see the word Piggie on my forehead.  I remember the feel of you writing it.  The other words are less kind.  

Dirty. Slut. Whore. Just a hole. 

Those are the easy ones.  I can get behind those. 

Fat.  Brat.  Defiant.

Those are harder.  I disagree with them.

But, there, across my stomach, is the word Disappointment.

That is the hardest to see.  I am wracking my brain, trying to figure out if you had written on my tummy.  Of course, it is across the area of my body I hate the most.  It says I am the one thing I try so hard not to be.

I blink back the tears.

This is the hardest thing you have put me through, Sir.

I would have preferred the physical punishment Sir.  You did let me sit next to your chosen chair afterwards.  I sat cross-legged because you knew I could not kneel any longer.  I keep my head down and stay quiet.  My head is muddled again.

I have never shied from following orders from you.  I have always told you that I am yours, to do with as you please, when and where you wish.  

It wasn’t until this moment that I realized how hard that can be.  It is so easy to believe what I say but moments like this make me doubt myself.  Sometimes I wonder if I can really do this.  Why do I feel like I have lied to you?  

I am unsure what time it is now.  I feel like I have been sitting here for a long time.  Yet, I know that time passes differently when I am in this kind of headspace.

I am almost thankful you have not cuddled me Sir.  As much as I desire your touch, I feel I might crack.  

I am determined to see this through though.  I wonder if you are pushing me for your enjoyment or to see what it takes to hear me safeword.  

It has been on the tip of my tongue for hours now.  But I am not ready to use it yet.  I know that, at the end of this, you will pick me back up.  I have asked you more than once to break me.  

You may finally have taken my words to heart.

My eyes keep drifting closed.  I am so tired Master.  I see you crouch down in front of me and I try to force my body to get into position.  You place your hand on my shoulder and hold me where I am.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

I don’t want to.  I don’t want you to see that my head is a mess.  I don’t want you to see me so insecure during service.  

But I feel like I have already disappointed you tonight and I cannot fathom being the cause of that again.

I look up at you, my eyes half-lidded with tiredness.  

I know you see it.  The way you look at me has softened considerably from earlier.  You put one hand on my cheek and rest your thumb against my lips.  I shake my head slightly.  There are some vulnerabilities I am unwilling to share.  My body can be given out.  But the comfort I find in that reward, cannot.

“Are you ready to go home sweetie?”

I close my eyes, lean into your touch, and nod my head slightly.  

You lean forward and give me three kisses.  You lean your forehead to mine and softly whisper, “You have done well piggie.  I am so proud of you.”  

That’s when the tears start clinging to my eyelashes.

You wipe the tears away with your thumbs.  “Let’s get you dressed.”  You must have grabbed my dress before you came over.  You slip it carefully over my head and then put your hand out to help me up.

I move to kiss your boots, as I do at the end of every scene.  You stop me.

I am slightly frantic at that.  I need this closure.  I need to know this was just a scene.

“Shh.  Not yet, sweetie.  We are going to get you home and cleaned up before this scene is over.  I will not have you see these words all over you outside of service.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You help me up and wrap your arm around my shoulder.  I hesitate to lean on you.  I do not want to get lipstick all over your leather.  You don’t hesitate to pull me in close.  

“Leather washes.  It will give you something to do tomorrow.”

I laugh softly.  I will never understand how you know me so well.

“That’s my good girl.”

My body is cold and filthy, and I am so tired.  I must have dozed off on the drive.  We are back at the hotel already.  You wrap me in the blanket from the car.  We enter through a side door. 

Thank you for not taking me through the lobby.

We get back into the room without running into anyone.

“Strip down and into the tub.”

I comply.  I sit down on the cold porcelain.  

You follow me a few minutes later.  You are naked from the waist up Sir.  It is not often I see you out of gear when I am still in a scene.

“Turn and face me, piggie.”

I turn so my back is to the wall and I am sitting cross-legged in the middle of the tub.

“I have shared you this weekend, piggie.  I have let others bring both your fantasies and your nightmares come true.  I have set you on a rollercoaster to test your resilience.  But, I want you to have no doubt that you belong to me.  You are mine.  My little pain slut, my subbie, and my piggie.”

Suddenly I knew what you were going to do.  And I was at peace with it.

I closed my eyes just before I felt the warm liquid hit my hair.  You are pissing on me.  You are marking me as yours.  I am not offended as I probably should be.  I am comforted.  It is as though you are washing everything else away, even if you really are just making me extra filthy.

When you are finished, I just keep my eyes closed and feel it drip down my face.  Before I think to turn on the water, you have the shower running.  Silently, you begin to wash me.  I feel you scrubbing the sweat, piss, and lipstick from my body.  It feels like you are washing away all the humiliation from the last couple nights.  It will physically be gone.  However, I know that it will be imprinted in my mind for a long time.  There are aspects that cut far deeper than I could have imagined.

I could never have done this with anyone else.  You give me the strength to push myself like this.  You give me the strength to hold my safeword back so I can experience things I had kept locked in the dark for most of my life.

Your touch is so soft.  It soothes the pain inside.

When the sobbing starts, you just hold me.  I am sure we are getting water all over the floor, but it doesn’t seem to bother you.  You don’t say a word.  You let me work through everything, silently giving me support.

When the sobs slow to hiccups, you wash my hair.  You rinse it carefully, trying to avoid getting water in my ears.

Just as we were in the early hours of dawn, you dry me off and help me to bed.  

You sit down on the bed and I kneel down.

No matter how exhausted I am, I have two things I need to do.

I lean down, still wrapped in the towel, with my hair dripping everywhere, and kiss each boot three times.  I press my head to the carpet between them and thank you.

Then I kneel up and work to remove your boots.

As I place them by the nightstand, I realize something.  

No matter what we do, how much I let myself be mind-fucked, as long as I always end up right here, at your feet, I will be fine.

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

The Evolution Of Safewords

By 2 Comments

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

Anytime I refer to when I was first learning kink, I get this terrible image in my head that I am surrounded by a group of newbies, droning on about how “back in my day,” we did this or that.  I can even hear the horrid imitation grannie voice.  But the reality is, kink has changed and evolved since I dove headfirst into it, all those years ago.

The most consistent philosophy, in my opinion, would be SSC (Safe, Sane, and Consensual).  Though, this too has evolved to include RACK (Risk Aware, Consensual Kink) and PRICK (Personal Risk, Informed Consensual Kink).  While each of these has the same idea that consent is paramount to kink, they are more involved and have developed to include personal risk and responsibility.

However, the most fluid idea would be that of a safeword.

Safeword: A word, phrase, or physical symbol that indicates a BDSM scene must end.

Until recently, I accepted this definition.  I believed, and taught individuals, that a safeword is used when someone in a scene reaches their limits.  While I do believe that a safeword can be used in a relationship, just as much as a scene, especially with mental health issues, I accepted that it primarily referred to end a BDSM scene.

But I am having a crisis of definition.

Let me start at the beginning.  We are going to take a moment and explore that horrid “back in my day” story.

When I first delved into the community, I was taught that a safeword was a single word.  It was a word that was given to me by a D-type (blasphemy, I know) and it was to only be used if I was in physical danger.  

Back then, no one talked about mental issues.  No one discussed sub drop.  No one discussed that having a scene in a bad headspace could fuck you up.  No one talked about it.  The community I learned from, demanded that submissives were seen and not heard.  Their entire purpose was to always be available to their Dom.  The needs and wants of a submissive were unimportant.  A submissive had no say in how they were played with nor who they played with.  I was taught that safewords were only needed until you were trained, because “real” submissives did not need safewords.  “Real” submissives did not need a safeword because that was tantamount to Topping from the bottom.  It meant that the submissive did not trust their Dominant.  It meant that you were weak willed and weak minded.  Above all, it was discussed as a disappointment when a submissive needed to save out.  For the most part, scenes stopped when one was uttered, but the silent oppression in the aftermath made that an extremely uncomfortable experience.

And in all my time in the community, I never quite realized how many red flags are in that story until I wrote it out for you to read.  It was simply accepted as the way of things.  I honestly did not think about it too much.

Maybe that is why I am so adamant about consent and communication now.  Because I see myself in all the newbies and I want them to know they have a choice.  A chance to be heard.  A chance to have a voice.

What was once the definition of a submissive, is now the epitome of a slave.  Where once you would be passed around, with simple acceptance, now requires consent and negotiation.  We discuss these concepts like they have always been part of the community.  Maybe, somewhere, they have.  But I was not lucky enough to be surrounded by that type of support.

The first Dominant, who was interested in me, was 32 years my senior.  He had been involved in kink, privately, for a couple of decades.  He knew what he liked and from the first time we talked, he groomed me.  There was no negotiation.  And I believed that was normal.  He groomed me, at 18, and he required Honorifics.  Naive as I was, his interest in me sparked me to break my own rule and refer to him as Sir.  I had extremely low self-esteem and his attention was addicting.  Until, one weekend, he texted me to let me know he would be out of cell range for a couple of days and he would text when he got home.  Fourteen years later, I still have not received that call.

The second Dominant who was interested, was a Mistress twice my age, who wanted me to move to her and become a house girl.  I would not be allowed to contact my family (whom I was close with), would be required to be rail thin, and would not be allowed to pursue my college degree.  My wants, and needs, had no consideration. She too required honorifics from the very beginning, and she too ghosted me when I refused to comply.

I want to specify that I was not disrespectful.  I just wanted to be treated like a human being.

After those experiences, I became very reserved.  I was surrounded by submissives, and through a matter of circumstance, I fought my nature and became a switch.  Once I took control, I refused to ever let it go again.  Being groomed and ghosted and having no sense of self, left me with a bitter taste of BDSM.  I let it become relegated to a bedroom only activity.  I lost the beauty and drive of my submission.

And it culminated in the best and worst thing I ever said to Master (before I was even under consideration): “I bow to no Man.  Do your worst.” But that’s a story in another article.

I wanted to give you background on where my definition of a safeword started.  Had either of those individuals become my Dominant, I would not be talking to you about safewords at all.  Because, back then, safewords were a handicap.  They were a disappointment.  They were the sign of a submissive’s failure.

Over time, my definition changed.  When I met Master, he introduced me to the Stoplight system.  Green for Go (although I find that part redundant), Yellow for Check-In, and Red for Stop Immediately.  Not only was it more universally recognized in public dungeons, but it was also a good system for him and me to find our happy mediums. 

I rarely use any of the safewords.  Yellow is reserved for health issues.  For example, if the cane misses my ass and hits my thigh.  I will say, “Yellow, that got my hip.”  It does not stop our play.  We do not stop to check in.  He readjusts his swing, and we continue.  He trusts that I will tell him if we need to stop.

Red has never been used.  I struggle deeply with even contemplating the use of it.  The indoctrination (and most likely because I started as a teenager) makes it hard to hold to my limits.  Master has commented more than once that when I say red (because it will happen eventually), He is figuring it will require medical intervention.  

We play hard and rough and my body can take quite a beating.  If I am saying red, something will be very wrong.

I tried to explain it to Master at one point.  When something happens in a scene that I am unsure of, my head starts arguing.  Its several voices talking over each other.  One argues to safeword.  One argues that I can take more.  One says to push my limits.  One says to back off.  One sobs with my pain and one laughs at my suffering.  It goes back and forth between being at my limit and wanting to push more.  By the time I settle on a decision, I have already endured more than I thought I could. Then it starts over.

It is only in sub space that I escape the chaos in my head.  I become catatonic.  I can function and follow orders, but I lose the ability to safeword.  I stop recognizing my own name.  I lose the ability to speak and understand English. I am gone.  

Due to my struggles to safeword, and my tendency to become catatonic, Master has learned to read my body first and listen to my answers second.  Over time, He has come to trust that I am not lying to him when I say that I am fine or that we can continue whatever we are doing.  In my head, I am ready to serve and accept what he offers me.  In my head, I can take anything he can dream up.  In my head, I am still that teenager who was taught that safewording means I am a failure.

I have encountered many viewpoints on the use of a safeword.  There are the individuals who play without them.  People like those who taught me.  There are those who use a single safeword and only apply it to BDSM scenes.  You have those who use a single safeword but apply it to all aspects of the relationship.  You have those who use a color system (like the stoplight system) that are more universal in the lifestyle.

Throughout the years, the consensus has moved from submissives being property to submissives being an autonomous individual with rights.  There is much more emphasis on consent and negotiation than there was years ago.  We, as a community, make sure that submissives know that they are valued and should get to know a potential D-type as a person first and dynamic second.  

I will never speak against those who prefer to play without a safeword.  Just as I will never speak against those who prefer to be property.  I am one of those submissives who handed all decisions over to Master.  I do not negotiate, He has blanket consent, and I hold out on my safeword far further than most.  I am his to do with as he pleases.  I am there for his pleasure and in service to him.  That is how I view my submission.  Whether by choice or conditioning, I will probably always struggle with using my safeword.  I will always struggle with the feelings of failure and disappointment, even though I know Master would never feel either of those feelings if I use it.  

The culture surrounding the use of safewords has come an exceptionally long way.  But I am positive that it still has a long way to go.

*On a side note, the color system has grown exponentially over the years.   What started as a three color system has become almost comical in the alternative colors available for use.

Green – Go

Yellow/Orange/Tan/Amber- Slow down

Red- Stop your current activity/ End scene

Black- End everything immediately

Blue- I need water/I need comfort

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.