Joji Sada

An Inside Look At Pet Play

March 13, 2021 By Joji Sada 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

February 14, 2021 By Joji Sada 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.

Piggie Learns A Lesson

February 7, 2021 By Joji Sada 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.

The Evolution Of Safewords

January 30, 2021 By Joji Sada 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

Communications Methods For Kinksters

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

Communicate. Communicate. Communicate.

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

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

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

What happens if you don’t know how?

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

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

How do you communicate?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Example:

I’m glad you did this but…

Thank you for that but….

You are such a good girl but….

I know you tried but…

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

An Alternative Example:

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

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

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

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

Piggie’s Day Out

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

You have talked about this trip for months.

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

I was excited for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like watching you play Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

I was wrong.

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

You stare me down and get close to my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

“What’s a matter sweetie?”

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

“Awww, poor little piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

You are impossible, Sir.

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

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

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

“What took you so long sweetie?”

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

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

“Sir, may I remove the clamps?”

“When we reach city limits.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you may. You did good.”

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

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

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

I should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir.”

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

Thank you for knowing me as you do.

I think I am ready now.

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

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

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

I can do anything you ask of me, Sir.

“Come here piggie.”

I turn and crawl the few feet to you.

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

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

“Tonight, we are going to have company.”

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

But now, I am extremely nervous.

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

Your voice is soft behind me.

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

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

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body is shaking. I am cold now.

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

“You did good, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

“Ok.” I sighed.

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

You always know what I need, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

You will always keep me safe.

I can rest now.

Erotica: Piggie Tails

December 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now comes the hard part.

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

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

Am I ready for this?

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

I can do this.

I want this.

I need this.

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

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

And you love it.

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

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

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

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

I forgot.

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

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

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

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

Five minutes.

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

Four minutes.

I think I have forgotten how to breath.

Three minutes.

This shouldn’t be this hard.

Two minutes.

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

One minute.

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

It’s time.

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

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

The silence is all consuming as I wait.

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

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

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

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

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

I can finally breathe.

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

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

“Kneel up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Then game has begun.

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

“Too tight?” you ask.

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

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

“Yes, Sir. This ends when piggie oinks”

“Good Girl.”

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

“Stay still, head up.”

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

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

You are taking pictures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that all you have, Sir?

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

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

Then I feel it.

One quick tap to my ass.

It’s the cane.

Thwack. Thwack.

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

Thwack.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad piggie.”

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

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

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

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

Damn you. Damn you Sir for indulging me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

I need grounding, Sir.

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

“Come here piggie. Come to Master.”

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

You stand and tug on the leash.

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

Almost mechanically, I crawl forward.

You won’t open the door. You can’t.

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

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

Please Sir. Please don’t do this.

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

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

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

But I cannot do this, Sir.

Not yet.

Please.

“Oink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am proud of you.”

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

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

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

Dissociative Identity Disorder And Kink

December 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

Why am I telling you this?

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

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

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

I chose to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

Then it happened again a couple months later.

And again, two weeks after that.

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

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

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

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

She was so nervous to meet the therapist.

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

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

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

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

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

Which, if you have not guessed, is unacceptable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

Here is the Code to who is who:

B- She is the host personality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger- He is the protector of the children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should people with DID play since they have blurred boundaries?

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

Do all alters have the same safeword?

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

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

How do you compartmentalize kink if you have underage alters?

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

How do you explain kink vs abuse to alters?

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

Does each alter have their own limits?

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

Are some of the alters unaware of kink?

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you deal in sub/Dom space?

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

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

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

How do you accommodate one alter without hurting another?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ins And Outs Of Service Topping

December 5, 2020 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Its my favorite part of the night.

Of course, that could be the voyeur in me.

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

What is a service top?

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

How long have you been a service Top?

8 or 9 years

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

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

How do you negotiate?

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

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

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

Do you prefer in depth/longer scenes or tastings?

Depends on my mindset.

Do you develop favorites to play with?

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

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

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

Why do you service top?

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

What do you get out of it?

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

Is the drop different when you service top?

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

What do you wish people knew about service topping?

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

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

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

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

Erotica: The Marionette

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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I need you to leave me.

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

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

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

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

Probably not.

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

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

I should be panicking.

But, I’m not.

Because good girls wait for when they are needed.

Isn’t that right Sir?

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

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

Here is what I see:

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

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

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

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

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

Mistake number one.

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

“Up and Present”

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

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

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

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

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds and I have worked myself into a panic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten Seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

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

And so, it begins.

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

Please Sir, let me open my eyes.

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

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

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

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

“Did you have something to say piggie?”

I growled again.

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

“Good little piggies oink.”

Silence.

I refuse to give you what you are asking.

Try Me. Push Me. Make Me.

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

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

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

You are ready to watch me suffer.

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

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

“yes.”

You push down harder. “Yes, Sir.”

“Up.”

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

I need this.

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

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

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

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

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

Then again.

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

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

I bet that was your intention.

Six. I think so anyway.

Seven. A sob is caught in my throat.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please Sir. It hurts so bad.

You move to my other piercing. It burns.

Please Sir.

Please.

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

I just want your comfort now.

Please Sir.

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

I’m sobbing again.

But I know how to end this.

I must give myself over to your control again.

You are waiting for me to willingly do so.

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

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

Brokenly, I end it.

“OINK.”

Joji Sada

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