Joji Sada

Erotica: The Master and The Monster

June 9, 2021 By Joji Sada 6 Comments

sexy Asian slave bound — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I simply exist.

I exist for Master’s pleasure.

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

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

It…hurts.

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

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

But I don’t say a word.

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

So, I wait.

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

Maybe.

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

And they fall all over Him.

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

Not one of them will come near me.

But he draws them in like moths to a flame.

He is intoxicating.

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

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

It amuses me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two snaps.

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

“I have a gift for you.”

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

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

“It will be delivered shortly.”

Two snaps.

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

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

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

He is a good Master.

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

Do I get to play?

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

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

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

But she is worth mine.

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

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

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

It’s delicious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Master returns to his seat.

Two snaps.

I kneel back up.

“Entertain me, pet.”

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

I hope she tries to run.

She is shaking.

It is delightful.

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

Is it bad I wanted a fight, Master?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I click my tongue. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

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

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

It is much better play when the prey fights back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I watch her shudder.

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

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

Master said I should entertain him.

An idea pops into my head.

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

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

She made her choice.

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

“Stand. Or I will make you.”

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

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

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

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

The blood is glistening. It excites me.

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

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

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

Two snaps.

I am kneeling upright again.

Two snaps.

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

Two snaps.

My eyes move to meet his.

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

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

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

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

Master really is intoxicating.

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

She is interrupting my bliss.

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

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

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

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

He’s going to play with her.

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

She won’t know what hit her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I flinch. I know that feeling.

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

They all break for him in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you want is more.

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

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

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

She will be fine in a little while.

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

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

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

He locks the door.

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

Rebuilding After Trauma

May 27, 2021 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

Shibari male submissive bound — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is an individual experience and recovery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In my mind, it does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erotica: The Laughter Of Kink

May 27, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

sexy male Dom with crop — via stock.adobe.com

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

“I want to hear you laugh.”

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

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

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

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

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

You have decided on tickle torture.

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

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

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

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

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

“Head up sweetie.”

I complied.

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

“How does that feel?”

“Good, Master. Thank you.”

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

There is that feeling again. The nervous anticipation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game has begun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am positive you see it.

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

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

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

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

I needed a handle.

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

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

I can smell your arousal Sir. It excites me.

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

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

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

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

Then I hear it.

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

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

I must have teased you a little too much.

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

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

You wait a few seconds more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is so quiet.

Where are you, Sir?

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

Your hands are like fire as they caress my skin.

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

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

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

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

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

I hope my laughter has pleased you, Sir.

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

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

An Inside Look At Pet Play

March 13, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

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

Naturally, someone asked why.

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

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

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

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

There are two defining reasons for this distinction.

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

The second are my own experiences growing up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, let me start back at the beginning.

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

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

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

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

Pet play is when someone roleplays as a domesticated animal.

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

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

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

Most often, Pet Play varies from animal to animal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s break this down a little bit further:

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

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

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

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

Then there is Piggie.

Piggie is born of humiliation.

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

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

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

Then it showed up in a scene.

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

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

I asked again.

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

I considered it a compliment at that point.

Then came the oink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Master says I become catatonic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being Piggie is not a headspace that I must achieve.

Piggie just is.

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

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

Collars And Rings

February 14, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

bdsm leather submissive collar — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, neither one of these things are remotely alike.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no comparing the two.

Piggie Learns A Lesson

February 7, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

hot Domme ass with crop — via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I understand your worry now.

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

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

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

“Good morning Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you doing? Honestly.”

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

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

“Always, Sir.”

“Good Girl.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

The fear. The struggle. The adrenaline.

“Mmm, thank you, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your safeword?”

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

“Piggie.” I jerk out of my thoughts.

“I apologize Sir. My word is Red.”

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

It is about accepting and honoring Your Dominance.

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

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

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

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

So, I watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

“I know Sir. I am just nervous.”

“Good. You should be.”

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

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

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

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

Then, I saw them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep breath. That is what I tell myself.

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

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

I don’t need it yet.

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

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

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

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

Then I feel it again.

And again.

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

Another hit.

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

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

Damn you and your observations. Sir.

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

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

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

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

Two snaps.

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

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

Asshole.

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

Jesus, did I say that out loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lipstick.

What the fuck are you planning to do with lipstick?

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

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

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

You…you backhanded me, Sir.

My head snaps back into place.

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

I do not like this.

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

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

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

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

Dirty. Slut. Whore. Just a hole.

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

Fat. Brat. Defiant.

Those are harder. I disagree with them.

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

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

I blink back the tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may finally have taken my words to heart.

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

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

“That’s my good girl.”

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

Thank you for not taking me through the lobby.

We get back into the room without running into anyone.

“Strip down and into the tub.”

I comply. I sit down on the cold porcelain.

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

“Turn and face me, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sit down on the bed and I kneel down.

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

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

Then I kneel up and work to remove your boots.

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

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

The Evolution Of Safewords

January 30, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I am having a crisis of definition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Green – Go

Yellow/Orange/Tan/Amber- Slow down

Red- Stop your current activity/ End scene

Black- End everything immediately

Blue- I need water/I need comfort

Communications Methods For Kinksters

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

Communicate. Communicate. Communicate.

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

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

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

What happens if you don’t know how?

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

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

How do you communicate?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Example:

I’m glad you did this but…

Thank you for that but….

You are such a good girl but….

I know you tried but…

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

An Alternative Example:

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

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

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

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

Piggie’s Day Out

January 17, 2021 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

You have talked about this trip for months.

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

I was excited for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like watching you play Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

I was wrong.

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

You stare me down and get close to my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

“What’s a matter sweetie?”

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

“Awww, poor little piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

You are impossible, Sir.

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

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

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

“What took you so long sweetie?”

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

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

“Sir, may I remove the clamps?”

“When we reach city limits.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you may. You did good.”

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

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

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

I should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir.”

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

Thank you for knowing me as you do.

I think I am ready now.

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

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

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

I can do anything you ask of me, Sir.

“Come here piggie.”

I turn and crawl the few feet to you.

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

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

“Tonight, we are going to have company.”

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

But now, I am extremely nervous.

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

Your voice is soft behind me.

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

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

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body is shaking. I am cold now.

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

“You did good, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

“Ok.” I sighed.

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

You always know what I need, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

You will always keep me safe.

I can rest now.

Erotica: Piggie Tails

December 19, 2020 By Joji Sada 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now comes the hard part.

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

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

Am I ready for this?

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

I can do this.

I want this.

I need this.

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

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

And you love it.

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

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

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

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

I forgot.

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

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

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

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

Five minutes.

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

Four minutes.

I think I have forgotten how to breath.

Three minutes.

This shouldn’t be this hard.

Two minutes.

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

One minute.

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

It’s time.

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

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

The silence is all consuming as I wait.

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

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

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

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

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

I can finally breathe.

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

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

“Kneel up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Then game has begun.

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

“Too tight?” you ask.

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

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

“Yes, Sir. This ends when piggie oinks”

“Good Girl.”

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

“Stay still, head up.”

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

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

You are taking pictures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that all you have, Sir?

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

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

Then I feel it.

One quick tap to my ass.

It’s the cane.

Thwack. Thwack.

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

Thwack.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad piggie.”

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

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

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

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

Damn you. Damn you Sir for indulging me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

I need grounding, Sir.

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

“Come here piggie. Come to Master.”

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

You stand and tug on the leash.

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

Almost mechanically, I crawl forward.

You won’t open the door. You can’t.

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

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

Please Sir. Please don’t do this.

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

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

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

But I cannot do this, Sir.

Not yet.

Please.

“Oink.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am proud of you.”

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

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

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

Joji Sada

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