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How To Be A Better Dominant

February 14, 2021 By Evie Lupine 2 Comments

Do you identify as a D-type?

Do you want to improve your power exchange relationships?

Do you realize that there’s always room for improvement?

Then, check out this awesome video by Evie Lupine on how to improve your Domming/Dommeing skills!

How to Be a Better Dominant

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bottom, dominant, femdom, fetish, kink, master, mistress, power exchange, slave, submissive, Top, topping from the bottom

Topping From The Bottom

February 7, 2021 By Baadmaster 2 Comments

lesbian collar bdsm play
via stock.adobe.com

If you were wondering about the #9357, it refers to the fact that there are likely 9357 lifestylers debating “Where does topping from the bottom start and where does it end?’ This is the bondage equivalent of debating, “Who is better Tom Brady or Drew Brees?”  Or, “Who is the better singer, Adele or the late Whitney Houston?”  (Brady, Houston!)  These are unanswerable, subjective opinion questions that can entertain you for hours, but there really is no definitive answer,  Similarly, this week’s “Ask BaadMaster” question lacks a definitive answer – it does have within it many opinions as answers that will give your BDSM journey some great signposts.  So, here it is:  

Reader:  I am a collared female submissive.  Every time I ask my Dom for something, like a McDonald’s hamburger, or make any of my “wants” known, he tells me I am “topping from the bottom,” and punishes me.  Is he right?

Before I can hazard a guess, I would have to know certain details of your relationship. At the very least, is this is a negotiated relationship or a less formal D/s union.  (There are many articles on “Negotiation” here on kinkweekly.com . Just search “Negotiation” and many great articles come up.  And not are all mine!) The beauty of D/s is that you can negotiate in advance the structure of the relationship.   For example, if a “slave contract” were signed in a high protocol union, (again, see the “Slave Contract” piece), most times the contract begins with something like, “The slave agrees to obey her Master in all respects. Her mind, body, heart and time belong to Him.”  If this is the case, the way the slave asked for her hamburger is the determinant whether the Dom is right or wrong.  If she said, “There’s a MickeyD’s, pull in, I’m hungry” she might have been “topping from the bottom” depending on the terms in the contract.  On the other hand, it is the Master’s obligation (also in many contracts) “to feed her if she is hungry.” So, if he was not feeding her and, out of hunger and frustration, she said “get me a burger,” the Master is not only at fault, he is also an idiot.  “Feed your slave” is commandment number one!

Most Doms can not read minds (although many act as though they can), so there must always be a way for a slave to express her needs.  This is called protocol, as in “Master, or Sir, may I…?”  Now if the slave says “Master, may slave have a cheeseburger?” and he calls this topping from the bottom, he is dead wrong.  

Most times, these kinds of problems arise when people jump into a D/s relationship without the proper understanding or expectations.  For example, a relatively new “slave” signs her first contract and after a while, she gets sick of asking, “Master, may I…?” and longs for her vanilla ways. “Gimme a Big Mac” seems a much easier way to get what she wants.  It is up to the Master to correct these habits – or give the slave off time where she can talk in a less formal way.  But even with a lot of free time she  finds all this structure a drag, it is time for her to give up the slave routine. 

In a Master/slave or Dom/sub relationship, protocol and communication are paramount.  Wants must be made known, using the proper protocol of a negotiated D/s relationship.  The Dom should not have to read his sub’s mind.  The sub cannot be expected to be a silent statue waiting for her Dom to figure out what she needs.  If she is hungry, she must be able to let him know other than by looking malnourished.

On the other hand, many new Doms think they are Lord and Master and any request made by their sub is “topping from the bottom.”  Wrong – on two counts.  One, it is wrong, duh!  Two, keep this up long enough and slave will become ex-slave.


After a ten year run as head writer for the legendary bondage.com, and an equally long run as the host of the hit internet show “Baadmaster’s Dungeon,” we are pleased to welcome the one and only Baadmaster to KinkWeekly. His thoughts about all things BDSM will now appear regularly on these pages. From the mental aspects of D/s to the nuts and bolts of S&M play, Baadmaster will cover every facet of this ever expanding lifestyle.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm relationship, dominant, fetish, kink, power dynamic, submissive, topping from the bottom

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.


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.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, bottom, dominant, femdom, fetish, kink, master, mistress, power exchange, slave, submissive, Top

The Barbie Analogy From Submissives

February 7, 2021 By Ms. Rika 3 Comments

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

I hope you have been enjoying Rika’s Lair, my monthly column dedicated to thoughts and experiences  regarding power dynamics in Service-Oriented D/s relationships. Look up “Ms. Rika” in the search box  for links to all of my articles in KinkWeekly!  

This morning, I was participating in a discussion regarding the observations by some dominant women  that submissives do not show attraction well. The reasons for why this was the case isn’t as important as that the dominants in the discussion were lamenting about how they enjoy being the target of attraction  and how they feel limited to the submissive’s submissive acts as the means for recognizing that  attraction. They felt pressure to accept acts of submission as the only indicator of desire. There were  many comments that started with, “I’m not insecure, but…”. In general, when you start a sentence with  “I’m not xxxx, but…” – it means you know you ARE xxxx, and you don’t want to be. I know some of these  people well …These really aren’t insecure people, but they are PEOPLE – and people have insecurities. 

One dominant said, “This is a real struggle for me. I understand that I am the Dom and it is down to me  to make all the moves and be the lead. Which is obviously something I enjoy. But then the human in me  wants to feel wanted. Needed. I need to feel attractive for some reason other than my whip.” 

There’s a poison at work here; a recurring theme that drags us down. There is an insidious belief that  dominance can only be defined by a consistent standard to which we all aspire: Dominants are “All  powerful” … “Impenetrable” … “Demanding” … “Untouchable”. 

I began to think of my Barbie doll.  

We are fed this imagery of dominance from the very beginning. It is either something that we read, or  something that our partners told us: “Dominants are like Gods”. They are “Worthy of worship”. “They  have an impenetrable shield of confidence”. Bullshit. Newsflash: We’re not Gods; we’re mere mortals. 

This imagery is designed by submissives to serve the submissive mind. They want to feel subjugated to a  more powerful authority. They want to feel irresistibly compelled to submit. They want to be helpless – and to have that helplessness leveraged by an uncaring, unyielding, task master. The imagery is very  clear – and it spells out a standard you must support to be “A Dominant”. 

I repeat, it’s poison. The analogy to Barbie is strong: Barbie represents an image of female perfection  that can never be achieved – and yet, was held as a standard to which all women should strive. The  pressure to achieve the unachievable is established in the very core of the image. Worse, it’s an image  that mothers passed to their daughters. It’s a destructive process. 

For dominants, we’re facing a similar dilemma; male and female dominants alike; to appear and act like an archetype…to present the complement personality to what the submissive wants to see themselves  as. The submissive is defining what dominance looks like – in order to provide a framework that supports the imagery of themselves that they prefer. The result is a lot of pressure on the dominant – the one  supposedly being served. Worse, like mothers passing Barbie to their daughters, dominants often pass  that requirement to new dominants just entering dynamics. They transmit that which they themselves  were unable to attain; perhaps in an effort to avoid admitting their own inability to do so.

I won’t buy in to that imagery. I choose to define dominance by my own terms. I’m a dominant…which  means, I’m a person who has allowed people who want to serve me, to serve me. I didn’t force them to  serve me, I don’t expect them to fall to their knees because I’m some irresistible deity…I’m just a  person; with needs, desires, and yes, insecurities. 

This notion that a dominant must lead and make all the decisions: I don’t agree. Rather, the dominant is  the partner whose preferences set the direction of a power dynamic – whatever those preferences are.  We don’t have to make all the decisions – UNLESS it serves us to do so. We don’t have to lead, unless we want to. Our sub’s job is to serve us in whatever way we want to be served. Believing that it all falls on you is a tremendous amount of pressure to put on yourself – unless you enjoy being in that situation all  the time. Most of us enjoy leading most of the time – but there are times when we just want to follow,  or be held, or be vulnerable…and that doesn’t make us any less dominant.

What makes us dominant is that, when we feel like following – and having someone else “make the moves”, or be hugged, or  understood…they do it dutifully, with our best interests in their minds, motivated by their desire to do things FOR us, as our submissives. 

My advice: Don’t get hung up with that “dominant=perfection” stigma…it’s analogous to the pressure of  the perfect figure, the perfect skin, the perfect hair…Remember: Barbie is a killer. Don’t let those  pressures force you to be someone you’re not. Be yourself, teach your submissive who you are and what  you prefer, and let your submissive serve the unique YOU that you are. 


Ms. Rika is a lifestyle dominant, educator, and author; living in the suburbs of NYC with her  husband/slave. She has written several popular books on her approach to adding Dominant-Centric,  Service-Oriented D/s to relationships. You can find her books (in both print and eBook formats) at  Lulu.com (http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/msrika), or at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the iStore, Books-A Million, Kobo.com, or anywhere books are sold. Search for “Ms. Rika”.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm relationship, dominant, fetish, kink, power exchange, submissive

The Company You Keep Matters-Even In The BDSM Scene

January 30, 2021 By Ms. Rika 2 Comments

sexy feet in fishnets
via stock.adobe.com

I hope you have been enjoying Rika’s Lair, my monthly column dedicated to thoughts and experiences  regarding power dynamics in Service-Oriented D/s relationships. Look up “Ms. Rika” in the search box  for links to all of my articles in KinkWeekly!  

“You are not responsible for what your friends do, but you will be judged by the company you  keep. The key is to keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best.” – Colin Powell (and several others) 

“Tell me what company you keep and I’ll tell you what you are.” – Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra 

“Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in  fact, just surrounding yourself with assholes.” – William Gibson 

Aesop is credited as the first to have said it. Others have repeated it in various flavors. “You are the  company you keep”. Now, let’s consider these other interesting quotes from actual dominants (who will  go unnamed): 

“My subs are the lowest of the low…” 

“He’s not worthy to lick the soles of my boots…” 

“He’s a pig, wallowing in my waste…” 

“She’s an idiot, a moron, an imbecile. She can’t do anything right […] Look at the way she bows before  me…” 

I get it…it’s a fantasy. It’s play. It’s a “scene”. And, it has a place there. I certainly understand why  submissives might be excited by having to accept such insults and even might want the humiliation of  being treated like the grime beneath a boot, but I find it harder to understand they, and some dominants, choose to extend that “scene” to real life. Over the years, I’ve met a number of dominants  who openly speak lowly of their submissives, not just insulting them to their faces, but complaining  about them when they’re not even around. Not just during playtime…but as part of their everyday existence.  

Last week, I had my first consultation with a new dominant; a middle-aged man, who has been in the  scene for several years. He has a small stable of three female submissives. He had read “Uniquely  Dominant” and reached out to ask me a few questions about my methodology. 

He started to describe his submissives. There was pride in his voice…but there wasn’t a single thing complimentary, or even positive, in his description. He spoke of them in terms of their faults and weaknesses. He discussed them as if they were broken, faulted, and inept.  

I could tell that, in his mind, he was trying to make himself appear “above it all” in my eyes. He was  trying to impress me; by showing me how critical he was of his “property”. I tried to look through the  façade, but it was actually very difficult.

I asked him what he does to correct them; since he was constantly disappointed with them. He detailed  the punishments he doles out. I asked him if those punishments helped, and he responded by telling me  how afraid of the punishments they were…but that they were “so stupid” it doesn’t seem to change anything. 

… And the definition of insanity is? 

I questioned if he thought his methods were effective…or if there might be a better way. That question hadn’t ever crossed his mind. After a few minutes of probing that thought, it became quite clear he had  no interest in improving his situation. He wanted to complain about them, and flat-out wasn’t looking to actually correct anything. 

In my eyes, this man lost a great deal of respect. It’s just fantasy, right? Well, this was this guy’s  life…and he was surrounding himself with people who he wanted to feel were the lowest of the low,  incompetent, and inept. Far from being impressive, the message his attitude conveyed to me was that  he was highly insecure regarding his own strengths and intelligence, and likely even doubted his own  abilities as a dominant in the first place! 

Then, he made the mistake of asking me how I “keep my submissives in line”…which opened up the  door for me to share a bit of my approach – since, I don’t keep my subs in line. I explained that my subs keep themselves in line. They are intelligent, capable, competent people – and I go out of my way to  make sure they not only know I feel that way, but that I RELY on it: I fully expect them to put those  wonderful traits into service for me. I want them to accomplish their objective: To be the very best  submissive they can be – as measured by my assessment of their efforts and how well their efforts  please me. How can they please me if they’re unable to service competently? 

What does it say about a dominant who openly denigrates their submissives in front of others? What  does it say about a person who CHOOSES to keep people who do not satisfy them around? Aren’t we  the company we keep? With whom do we choose to surround ourselves? 

I’m a lifestyle dominant. I spend an awful lot of time with my submissives. They are around me all the  time. I have an extremely high level of power and control over the select people who dedicate  themselves to me – and I have a choice as to who I allow to be in my presence: Why in the world would I  choose to have low, sub-human, stupid, or inept people serving me? 

I choose my submissives based on how well they can learn to serve me. I work with them to improve their skills, increase their understanding of my preferences and expectations, and determine how and  when to convert that into service. I ENABLE them to serve me better. We share the common objective  of them being the best submissive for me that they can be. The level of dedication that this requires  from a submissive is not something that an imbecile is going to grasp.  

In fantasy…in scene…in playtime: They can be beneath the dirt on my sole. But to be my submissive…to  serve me…to submit to me: They need to bring their “A-Game” to the table, put their abilities on display,  and serve to the best of their ability! 


 Ms. Rika is a lifestyle dominant, educator, and author; living in the suburbs of NYC with her  husband/slave. She has written several popular books on her approach to adding Dominant-Centric, Service-Oriented D/s to relationships. You can find her books (in both print and eBook formats) at  Lulu.com (http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/msrika), or at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, the iStore, Books-A Million, Kobo.com, or anywhere books are sold. Search for “Ms. Rika”.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, dominant, power dynamic, power exchange, submissive

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


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.

Tagged With: bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, bottom, boundaries, consent, dominant, hard limits, limits, negotiation, power dynamic, power exchange, safeword, soft limits, submissive, Top

An Excerpt From Mira O’Hart’s Erotic Novel “Master & Slave” – Book 1 The Sale

January 30, 2021 By Mira OHart 2 Comments

sexy Domme with whip
via stock.adobe.com

***This work takes place in a fictional world where slavery is legal (sort of like Gor). This work is for fantasy purposes only and is not an accurate portrayal of a BDSM relationship.

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

***Click here to read part 1


Oh, please don’t make me do this part.” Steven looked alternately at brian who knelt before him and john who waited patiently by the kitchen doorway. He watched as the pair exchanged glances and silently agreed that john should speak.

            “We beg your pardon, Sir. I’m afraid neither of us understand. What is it in this exchange that you dislike?” john glanced at brian for approval of his wording. Though he would have preferred that his more experienced counterpart ask the question, he understood that brian faced a greater risk if his Master’s anger were to be kindled. brian gave the slightest of nods that only a slave would notice.

            “I don’t want to hit him. Why is this necessary?”

            “Sir, I submit myself to whatever method of introduction you prefer, Sir. A gentleman should not have to pain his hand on a slave, Sir.” brian bowed his head.

            “Sir? You would prefer to use something on him, Sir?” john raised questioning eyes to his Master.

            “No. I would prefer if we sit here as friends, as equals and enjoy some television.”

            “Sir, I would never presume to be your equal, Sir.” brian took a deep breath and continued cautiously, “However, if I may, Sir…” he paused and awaited rebuke. Steven said nothing but gestured for him to continue. “If your intent is to show kindness, Sir, it is possible to complete the ceremony… with compassion, Sir.”

            “Oh, good. Show me.” Steven got clumsily down on his knees, mirroring brian.

             john heard the relief in his Master’s voice, and he saw the unspoken horror in brian’s eyes when he realized that the free man wanted to play the slave in this exchange. If the thought of being lifted to equal status was uncomfortable- this – putting a gentleman below himself- was unimaginable.

            “Sir,” john walked hastily to his Master’s side and quickly knelt beside him, as standing over him felt vastly inappropriate. “It may be more beneficial, Sir, for you both to stay in your accustomed roles, and brian can walk you through the exchange as it would normally take place. After all, it wouldn’t do you much good to know what to do in our position. It is the gentleman’s choice that dictates the exchange. All we do is acquiesce.”

            john watched the relief on his friend’s face as his Master rose again to his feet. Thankfully, his Master was rather easily persuaded- though john vowed to never take advantage of this as some slaves might- it was useful in such cases where Steven was compelled to stand social propriety on its head.

            “Okay. What should I do?”

            “Sir, first, it would be helpful if I knew that I could speak freely throughout this… charade…. exchange…. production… exercise…endeavor, Sir.”

            “Yes, brian, of course.”

            “Sir, Thank you, Sir. Now, if it happens that you’re being introduced to a slave and you wish to be compassionate- it’s all right, Sir- reach your hand toward my face.”

            Steven extended his arm eagerly toward brian, who flinched. “Sorry. You know I’m not going to hit you, right?”

            “Sir, yes, Sir. Certain reflexes are difficult to unlearn, Sir. A hint, Sir, slow and measured movements will be appreciated by any slave, Sir.”

            Steven reached forward with a slow and steady calm. When his fingers reached brian’s face he halted.

            “Sir, lovely Sir. Now, Sir, cup my face.”

            “How?”

            “Reach out, slowly. Your ring finger will rest slightly below my earlobe. Your palm is pressed against the line of my jaw. Your thumb will rest over my mouth.”

            “Is this right?’

            “Yes, Sir. You’re doing splendidly, Sir.”

            “Is this method always an option?”

            ‘Sir, yes Sir. We are accustomed to being cuffed, Sir. But it is most appreciated when a gentleman chooses to be gracious.”

            “I guess most men prefer a brute display of strength.”

            “Sir, press your palm against my cheek,” brian allowed his head to be tilted easily at Steven’s touch. “The control is entirely in your hands, Sir. Sometimes the most potent display of force, is in its absence.”

            “How do I know when we’re finished?”

            “Slide your palm further up on my face, covering my cheek. Now, bring your hand down and forward until it is in front of my mouth. Once you allow me to kiss your hand, the interaction is complete.”

            Steven did as brian instructed. He’d gotten slightly more comfortable with the hand kissing, due to weekly interaction with john.  He felt the soft press of brian’s lips. Steven ran his thumb over brian’s mouth and the slave placed a kiss there as well. He turned his hand and allowed brian a third kiss to the back of his hand.

            “Sir, thank you, Sir.”


Mira O’Hart credits her life long love of words, books and language to her Mom, who read to her every day. “Bookie” was one of her first words and publishing her own novel became a goal by age 10. Mira studied Journalism and Psychology at Penn State and later returned for a Master’s Degree in Education. Her varied career has included journalism, community mental health and school counseling.

Her passions include reading, writing, animals and travel. Italy and Greece are two of her favorite places visited so far. Her love of the written word has inspired her to study ancient languages including Latin, Egyptian Hieroglyphs and Summarian. She lives in North Eastern Pa with her cats, Tilly and Chloe.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, bottom, dominant, power dynamic, power exchange, submissive, Top

An Excerpt From Mira O’Hart’s Erotic Novel “Master & Slave” – Book 1 The Sale

January 24, 2021 By Mira OHart 2 Comments

sexy Domme with whip
via stock.adobe.com

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

***This work takes place in a fictional world where slavery is legal (sort of like Gor). This work is for fantasy purposes only and is not an accurate portrayal of a BDSM relationship.


What surprised him was the feel of cold metal around his wrist. Shackled. She was chaining him. This was going to be bad. He gripped the headboard more tightly. When she closed the second cuff he buried his head in the goose down pillow. He would bite it if he had to. Punishment should be suffered with grace, dignity and humility. What exactly he was being punished for he couldn’t hazard a guess.

By the fifth stroke he was biting the pillow – to keep from laughing with relief. It was not the club, but a leather riding crop. Yes, it stung; he would have marks, but it was so much better than the club. He would gladly kneel for her after this and kiss her tiny feet for this small gesture of mercy.

She stopped abruptly. He thought maybe it was over. She came up beside him. Jessie ran her hand lightly over his back, over the red marks and welts. She slipped her hand under him and pulled at the fastening of his jeans. He lifted himself to assist her. The sturdy denim was not the defense against the lash that she must assume it to be, but if she insisted on whipping him naked, it was not his place to refuse. He saw no purpose in her removing his underwear as well, except perhaps to humiliate him. His face was burning almost as much as his back; he thanked Them for the small mercy of being able to hide in the pillow.

The strokes fell faster. They stung and he could feel welts rising. Perhaps the jeans were more protection than he had realized. He let his breathing fall into sync with the lashes. The familiar heady feeling found him. Blessed endorphins, adrenaline and other chemicals that put a soft haze over the pain and turned it into pleasure. If her goal was to make him suffer, she was failing. He could endure this for at least an hour. She varied the strokes and the area inflicted. It had melted into a warm tingling from the bottom of his thighs to just below his hips. He would probably feel it for a day or two, he hoped. A little reminder from a proper beating kept a slave humble, obedient. He still couldn’t imagine what he had done to offend her. Perhaps nothing. There had been guards like that, and Instructors. Those who would summon you to kneel under their lash purely to amuse them. Granted, his friendship with Brutus had protected him, from the guards at least.

It was the silence in the room that let him know that the beating was over. He could no longer tell if the blows were falling, nerves fired randomly and pain signals collided off one another in the race to his brain. john drifted in the familiar post beating delirium. He was ready to beg and thank her for his punishment, but he was cognizant enough to await her orders.

He felt the mattress move and realized she had climbed onto the bed with him. Her leg pressed against his and the touch of her skirt fabric reminded him of his nakedness. She straddled him. Perhaps she was going to inspect his marks, or unchain him, although it seemed an awkward position to accomplish either of these tasks. 

“Spread your legs.”

Noting to himself that this would be easier to do if she were not on top of him, john struggled to obey. He could not brag of any great flexibility. He realized she was probably going to whip the insides of his thighs, and he prayed that his lack of physical dexterity would not be interpreted as disobedience or a refusal to submit to discipline. He pushed his legs a little farther.

“Good. Very nice.”

A compliment? And she actually sounded pleased. He cursed his rigid muscular body, that the first task he had struggled with would be one apparently important to her. Perhaps she was pleased by his overall submission to the beating. It did seem to make her happy to beat him. It would be nice if she derived such enjoyment from his duties about the house, but he would endeavor to please her where he could.

“You were very good. Very good.” She gently stroked his hair and allowed him to kiss her hand.

“Mistress, thank you, Mistress.” He awaited a command or permission to beg her forgiveness.

She petted his hair and lightly rubbed his shoulders. It was the most gentle touch he’d ever received from her. She had rolled to the side and was lying next to him. He felt her lips press against his shoulder. She continued to kiss along his shoulders and his back. john lay quietly, perplexed and uncertain. He almost opened his mouth to speak to ask what this meant and what behavior would be appropriate on his part. No. It was better to remain silent. If she gave a command he would obey. If she permitted him to beg, he would confess his wrong-doing- probably misaddress- and hope that his acceptance of his punishment had pleased her.

“You may speak.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for your correction and guiding me in my service to you. I sincerely beg your pardon for my continual misaddress, Mistress. I have been disrespectful and disobedient. I was greatly in need of your correction and am indebted to you for such. I can only hope that my submission to my punishment has pleased you and beg your mercy that you might forgive me.”

Jessie gave a noticeable shiver beside him. She made a small moan and he expected her to speak. More precisely to lecture him on his misconduct and detail what punishment future disobedience would bring. Her knowledge of at least some slave etiquette was comforting. Not that he relished being punished, but he had deserved it. She had told him repeatedly to address her as ‘Mistress” and he had disobeyed. His reasons were irrelevant. She gave orders and she punished; she had acted more like a Master than his Master had. She had earned his respect.

“You want me to forgive you?” Jessie ran her fingers lightly over john’s welted ass and thighs.

“Mistress, yes Mistress. This slave understands that more punishment may be required to satisfy forgiveness. This slave will suffer as silently as possible and endure whatever discipline Mistress deems appropriate.” 

His Mistress shuddered again. Was she getting ill? The room was not cold and she was still fully clothed.

“I forgive you. I am even going to reward you.”

“I am hardly deserving of any reward, Mistress.”

“But you are going to lay there and let me do anything I want to you, aren’t you?”

“Mistress, I submit myself to your hand, Mistress.” 

“And you won’t mention this to Steven?”

“Mistress, punishment is generally considered private, Mistress. If you have forgiven me there is no need to discuss it further with my Master.”

“Just to be clear, you are forgiven. This is not punishment. This is just something I’ve wanted to do to you for a while, simply because I will enjoy it.”

“I submit myself to your hand, Mistress.” The rush of endorphins was starting to ebb and sleepiness pulled at him. His ass and thighs were warm and ached from clenching them. The welts stung. Punished and forgiven. He hoped she would be finished with him soon so he could retreat downstairs to his couch and sleep.

She laughed softly. “Funny you should phrase it that way.” She caressed his thigh and ran her nails over the reddened flesh. 

john writhed. It wasn’t exactly pain, but he did not have a word for the sensation. Her fingernails felt like knives on his tender skin. Submit. Submit. Be still. Be silent. He sighed and forced himself to be rigid under her hands.

“It’s all right, john. I told you. This is not punishment. I don’t mind if you move around or make a little noise. I enjoy it. Now, I’m going to rub some lotion on you. This should feel nice.”

It stung a little at first, the lotion finding the numerous abrasions on his skin. But then it cooled, it soothed his skin. They had used something like this at school, though he hadn’t had anyone else rub it on him since he was a child. Brutus had always cleaned any lash marks that drew blood, but this was different. He had no frame of reference for the sensations this stirred in him. john was painfully aware of his nakedness and his involuntary reaction to the gentle caress of his Mistress. 

“Good slave.”

He shuddered this time. With that, some quiet tears flowed. As hard as john fought to be perfect he never felt so at peace as when he had failed, was truly punished and truly forgiven. To be accepted, to be called good even when he had disobeyed. He thought he was quiet, but she must have heard him. She stopped caressing his thighs and put her hands back on his shoulders.

“Shh, shh, ssshhh. It’s all right. You’re good, john. You’re a very good slave. Shh, shh, shh.” She massaged his shoulders, stroked his hair and finally turned his head so that she could kiss his cheek. And then she found his mouth.

When they finally parted lips they were breathless. john averted his eyes, certain that this had not been proper. And yet, it felt so assuredly right. He fought the urge to force his mouth back onto hers. While he struggled to make sense of everything, she leaned back into him. Her mouth found his lips; she grabbed a fist full of his hair with her left hand and she slid her right hand down to cup his ass.

Her fingers were invading the most private part of him. Everything tensed. Muscles deep inside him fought to push the intruder out, but they could not. He felt her slide her fingers further inside of him. He tried to pull free of the kiss and free of her prying fingers. She tightened her grip on his hair, pulling painfully. 

“Shh. I’m not hurting you. Be good. Just be good. Be still, relax. This won’t hurt if you relax. I promise, this will feel nice.”

“Mistress, please. Mistress, I don’t understand.”

“Shh. Don’t think. Just feel. Just lay there and focus on what you feel.”

“This is the remainder of my punishment, Mistress?”

She kissed his lips, softly. “No. This is simply how I chose to use you. You would not question your Mistress’s use of you, would you?”

“Mistress, no Mistress.”

“Good. Good slave. Now, just relax. You may speak or scream or cry or express any feelings you may have.”

His Master never would have thought to grant him such permission. He wanted to thank her, but she crushed his mouth into another kiss and he was swept under. Her tongue explored his mouth and her fingers explored a more intimate cavity. The life of a slave is an exercise in vulnerability, but john experienced a previously undiscovered level of submission. No one had ever owned inside of him before. Vulnerable. Owned. These were feelings he understood. In this unfamiliar context he took comfort in those feelings. She was his Mistress. She was using him as she wished. He was a good slave; he would submit.

Submission was his core, his essence. After each trial, each punishment, each moment of redemption or forgiveness he felt his core grow, expand, brighten. It brightened now. His very soul expounded and glowed, until it was a white-hot sun. The warmth inside of him spread until it matched and surpassed the warmth of his welted skin. The warmth and pressure built until all that was left of him was the glowing hot sun of submission burning inside him. And then the sun exploded. He screamed, but it was drowned in her kiss. 

She pulled away. He was panting, gasping for air. She was smiling at him. 

“Good. Good slave.” She stroked his hair.

To Be Continued…


Mira O’Hart credits her life long love of words, books and language to her Mom, who read to her every day. “Bookie” was one of her first words and publishing her own novel became a goal by age 10. Mira studied Journalism and Psychology at Penn State and later returned for a Master’s Degree in Education. Her varied career has included journalism, community mental health and school counseling.

Her passions include reading, writing, animals and travel. Italy and Greece are two of her favorite places visited so far. Her love of the written word has inspired her to study ancient languages including Latin, Egyptian Hieroglyphs and Summarian. She lives in North Eastern Pa with her cats, Tilly and Chloe.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, dominant, femdom, fetish, kink, mistress, power dynamic, power exchange, sex, slave, submissive

Kat Blaque Watches 50 Shades of Grey

January 24, 2021 By Kat Blaque 2 Comments

The film, 50 Shades Of Grey, has been widely debated and commented on within the Kink Community.

This week, BDSMer Kat Blaque gives her opinion of this movie and how it represents those in the lifestyle.

Click below to find out more!

Actual BDSMer Watches Fifty Shades of Grey | Kat Blaque

Tagged With: 50 shades of grey, bdsm, bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, dominant, fetish, kink, Kink Community, power exchange, submissive

Transitioning To The BDSM Lifestyle

January 10, 2021 By Baadmaster 2 Comments

naked male sub bound
via stock.adobe.com

I was speaking to a woman who said she wanted to explore BDSM.  She claimed to be a total newbie, although I doubted it.  Nevertheless, she asked me a question that I thought would be great for the ASK BAADMASTER series here on kinkweekly.com . So without any covid-19 talk for a change, here is her question.

Reader:  I AM A VANILLA WHO HAS BEEN READING A LOT ABOUT BDSM.  IT EXCITES AND INTRIGUES ME.  BUT WHEN I ACTUALLY TRY ANYTHING – EVEN THE MOST RUDEMENTARY SELF BONDAGE — I GET VERY DEPRESSED.  FURTHERMORE, I MET A REAL TIME DOMME ONLINE AND WHEN SHE TRIED TO INSTRUCT ME AND PERFORM SOME ROPE TIES, I STARTED TO CRY. SHE LIVES NEAR ME BUT I HAVE AVOIDED RE-MEETING HER. AM I JUST A WRONGF FIT FOR BDSM?  AM I DOOMED TO LIVE IN THE VANILLA WORLD.  HELPPPP!

They say everything has a purpose. Surely your internal being (for want of a better term) wants you to “improve” on your vanilla life.  And it appears that you want to “transition” from your vanilla lifestyle to one that appeals to you.  Most of us here have had to make that transition; very few of us are born “Oh great and wonderful Master or Mistress.”

And many here have not made this transition without some pain or doubt.  Fortunately, most of us were able to interact with lifestylers in the many social events that most cities offer.  Instead of social events, we have social distancing.  Not a good formula for making a smooth journey from vanilla to BDSM.  Add into that, you have given me little information as to your vanilla situation; I know not whether you are single or married, whether you have freedom to explore and other important life factors.  But I can give you some general advice that you can build on, so when the social aspects of this lifestyle return, you will be ready and not crying. (Unless crying is part of a scene or play.)  I will offer a half dozen essential questions that you should answer to facilitate your entrance into the real time world of BDSM.

  1. Are you depending on BDSM to be an escape from your current malaise?  Answer: I would not put all your escape eggs in one basket.  Examine your vanilla life and try to see the good in it so that you don’t approach BDSM out of  a sense of desperation.
  1. Don’t ask your vanilla friends for advice nor tell them you are going “bondage.” I once told an acquaintance that I was exploring BDSM.  He replied, “So you beat up your girlfriend?” Misconceptions abound, especially about this kinky world.  Best to keep it to yourself unless you find a vanilla friend of a similar mindset to you.  I might add that your soaking up all these misconceptions that fill the media could surface when someone flogs you or ties you up.  This could be the reason for your tears.
  1. Why throw away my support system? In this hypothetical example, you are not; you are merely electing to not use your vanilla friends (except for the occasional one who understands you deeply) as your support system.  Over time, you will find like minded people to emotionally ground you.  Best adage/advice: “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”  This transition will take time.
  1. Use this “no fun” respite to study as much as you can.  Learn about yourself.  Are you a Domme or a sub or a switch?  What play  excites you the most?  Are you into pain?  As Socrates wrote, “Know thyself.”  As BaadMaster opines, “Use Google.”  
  1. Important: analyze the play that brought you to tears.  For example, you might have had a bad experience in “vanilla choking”, thus being choked in a scene might bring out bad – or even unconscious — memories that make you cry.  Go over all the scenes you plan and avoid activities that make you uncomfortable.  You are under no obligation to try everything nor do things against your judgment – whether you are a Domme or sub.
  1. Finally, in the “I can’t believe BaadMaster recommends” advice, I would ask you to rent “Fifty Shades of Grey”  Granted it is very fanciful; the BDSM is often idiotic.  But it will put you in the mood for your new bondage adventures.  And it is always good for a laugh or two.

In closing, being a woman navigating a new lifestyle is tough enough, even if you have a support system.  And soon, I hope, when the dungeons and the socials re-open, you will find new friends and a new support system.  For now, following my six principles should make your transition a smooth one.


After a ten year run as head writer for the legendary bondage.com, and an equally long run as the host of the hit internet show “Baadmaster’s Dungeon,” we are pleased to welcome the one and only Baadmaster to KinkWeekly. His thoughts about all things BDSM will now appear regularly on these pages. From the mental aspects of D/s to the nuts and bolts of S&M play, Baadmaster will cover every facet of this ever expanding lifestyle.

Tagged With: bdsm, bdsm community, bdsm play, bdsm relationship, bdsm scene, bdsm toys, bottom, breath play, dominant, fetish, impact play, kink, power exchange, Spanking, submissive, Top

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