Joji Sada

Erotica: The Marionette

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

sexy submissive hair pulling toilet slut — via stock.adobe.com

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.”

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

The BDSM Vetting Process

November 14, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

two beautiful slave girls lying in bed awaiting their master — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

Category 1) Hell No.

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

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

Category 4) I would like to get to know you

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

So, what is vetting?

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

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

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

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

There are a few ways to start the vetting process.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erotica: The Fight Within

November 7, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

hot sexy male submissive with leather harness — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want you to make me angry Sir.

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

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

I want to fight you.

I want to growl and scream and cry.

I want you to take me down without mercy.

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

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

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

Tonight, I want that to change.

Please, Sir?

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

You know how much I hate making decisions.

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

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

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

I knew the two fastest ways to anger without conflict.

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

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

Step two: Handcuffs

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

This time, you were smarter.

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

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

You snap your fingers.

I Breathe deeply. We are about to begin.

You want me immersed.

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

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

I look up at you. I am scared Sir.

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

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

We’ve started.

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

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

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

Those thoughts cross my mind all the time.

So, let’s see what happens Sir.

Are you ready?

I am waiting for the music to start.

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

You are giving me an out.

I inhale deeply. I don’t want it.

“Press play” I state firmly.

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

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

Then, you leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My thoughts are dark Sir; and sneaky.

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

I am going to bruise.

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

I can do it.

I smirk.

If not, I will go down fighting.

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

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

Why would you hide Sir?

Are you scared of me?

Won’t you let me free Sir?

I can do such wondrous things to you.

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

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

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

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

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

I’ve just declared war.

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

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

I am going to pass out.

Then, you let me breathe.

Or so I thought.

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

Good.

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

Sir.

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

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

Then the blows start.

A firm smack right onto my ass.

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

Two. Three. Four.

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

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

Fuck. I guarantee you heard that through the gag.

Six. Seven. Eight.

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

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

God Dammit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You finally unsheathed the knife you were hitting me with.

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

And it is my chance to end it.

Not a chance in hell Sir.

Is that all you’ve got?

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

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

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

I am not amused!

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

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

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

But I want more Sir.

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

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

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

Your hand is rubbing my ass. It feels nice.

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

This is new.

And then I understand why you turned the music down.

POP

Fuck.

It is the fucking cattle prod.

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

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

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

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

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

One. Two.

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

Three.

POP.

Four. Five.

POP. This time I hear it behind my neck

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

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

I cannot hold back the cries anymore.

Smack.

POP.

Silence.

Where am I Sir?

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

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

My heart has slowed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is waiting for an answer.

I know the question.

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

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

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

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

When Your Poly Feels Like A House Of Cards

October 17, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

I simply spent my life trying to be useful.

Why?

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

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

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

I just do not have the tools to change it.

Yet.

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

That which grows must be cultivated.

That which you neglect, will wither.

That which withers cannot always be saved.

My house is built on a foundation of four.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three is less than four.

So, where is number four?

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

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

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

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

And the floodgates opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But we all consented.

So, what the hell, why not?

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

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

We have been together ever since.

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

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

But, she’s still Master’s wife.

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

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

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

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

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

Because I was scared.

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

Would I be considered “useless” if I failed?

Useless things get thrown out.

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

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

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

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

And the silence between is has become the Berlin Wall.

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

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

But we are strangers.

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

I think, that is why we are struggling.

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

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

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

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

And reflect.

And change.

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

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

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

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

I know one thing for sure.

I am not looking for nor expecting an apology.

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

The Emotional Side Of Masochism

September 26, 2020 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

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

I am an emotional masochist.

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

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

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

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

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

Essentially, I did not understand BDSM.

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

After all, no one throws out something useful.

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

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

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

I can change the things I don’t like.

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

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

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

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

But I love being mind-fucked more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I am proudly an emotional masochist.

Does A Slave Have Autonomy?

September 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 4 Comments

male dom having a conversation with his female submissive — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Regardless of title, both require trust and communication.

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

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

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

I think that is bullshit.

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

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

I trust him with my life and my mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, I view it differently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have all the rights granted to everyone.

I just choose to gift them to someone else.

Journaling While Under Consideration

September 5, 2020 By Joji Sada 4 Comments

sexy tatted vixen with collar — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 13

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

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

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

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

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

Is that wrong?

Day 17

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

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

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

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

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

Day 37

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows me better than I know myself.

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

I can watch myself change and learn.

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

You just have to be honest.

With your Dom, always.

But, most importantly, with yourself.

The Skinny On The Hanky Code

August 30, 2020 By Joji Sada 6 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Black- S/M

Dark Blue- Anal Sex

Light Blue– Oral Sex

Brown– Scat

Green– Hustler/Prostitution

Grey– Bondage

Orange– Anything Goes

Purple– Piercing

Red– Fisting

Yellow– Watersports

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

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

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

Erotica: A Touch of Trepidation

August 3, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

woman tied to chair splashed with water — via stock.adobe.com

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

I trust you Sir.

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

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

Because that’s how we are.

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

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

You’ve kept it cold on purpose.

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

I’m too distracted.

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

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

Just as you planned.

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

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

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

I feel sluggish. Like everything is in slow motion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve left me in a state of shock.

You’ve left me…

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

It’s so cold and so dark.

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

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

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

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

*Thwack*

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

*Thwack**Thwack*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broken.

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

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

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

And I sob.

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

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

I asked you to make me afraid.

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

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

That’s a promise.

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

Journey of a Wayward Sub

June 28, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

female sub tied suspended upside down with marks — via stock.adobe.com

**This Started out as a very odd dream. When the dream ended, I was asked by my Dom to continue the story to its natural end. This is the result**

* *

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

****

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

****

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

****

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

One night down Sir. Thirteen to go.

****

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

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

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

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

****

Rule 2: I will always respect my betters.

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

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

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

****

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

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

We are toys Sir.

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

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

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

I’m beginning to wonder.

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

****

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

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

I hope so.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

Are you proud Sir?

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

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

Rule 4: No biting

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

Then they drew blood on me.

****

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

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

So why is it so hard to accept?

That’s easy. Because it isn’t You.

****

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

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

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

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

“Lick them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He drops my head and left me kneeling there alone.

Then the tears start.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

Four. Five. Six.

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

Seven. Eight.

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

Nine.

Ten.

Fuck.

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

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

Self control.

“Cum.” and all my control disappeared.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

I am to tune it out.

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

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

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

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

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

Right Sir?

****

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

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

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

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

I’ve been writing these rules for hours.

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

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

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

This is tailored to my rebellions.

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

This is torture.

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

I hope this means I get to go home soon.

I miss you.

I hope you can say the same.

****

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

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

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

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

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

I’m worried.

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t move.

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

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

My heart sinks.

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

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

I see it. My collar.

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

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

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

THE END

About the Author

Joji Sada

Footer