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Joji Sada

A Letter To Sir

September 22, 2019 By Joji Sada 3 Comments


I have openly written about being in a closed poly unit.  I’ve spoken of my wife of a decade now who has split personality and the subsequent babygirl I got from that.  I probably have droned on endlessly about both of my wives and my husband.

They are the center of my world; both in kink and outside of it.  Everything I do is for them.  In turn, they keep me sane.  It is hard to explain a dynamic like ours when it is so heavily intertwined in poly, D/s, and traditional marriage.  

So, here is a gentle reminder of my break down:

Master and his wife “A”

Myself and my wife “B”

Funnily enough, those are their real initials; which is why I find it so amusing to break it down like that.  It seems as though I am marking them like items on a shelf, when really I am just giving them privacy…as I lay our life bare in this article.

The four of us are together as a unit.  Master holds Head of Household rights with all of us.  He is my Dominant.  He is my babygirl’s drampa.  Wife “A” is Grandma to my babygirl.  And the rest is up for exploration and communication.  

Don’t worry if you are confused…we find ourselves in the same boat often.  We will save you a seat.

Now that I’ve given a gently confusing reminder of my Dynamics, we can continue with the show.

I am writing about the responsibilities, rights, rules, and hardships Dominants must deal with.  I’ve been told, and seen plenty of internet pictures, about submission being a gift. I’m not entirely disagreeing with that statement.  I was very selective on who I gave my submission to. And it was hard fought. But, in return, I seek guidance, advice, pain, pleasure, and emotional stability.  Submission doesn’t seem quite like a gift when I add on all the requirements that are attached to it, now does it?

My Dictionary

Previously., I’ve written extremely personal articles because experience is what helps me explain why I live the way I do.  It allows me to show you, with both my own words and your imagination, how my dictionary was written.

My dictionary is filled with words like 

“Blanket Consent”

“Diddy”

“Drampa” 

“Dealer’s Choice”

“Power Trip”

“Your Dragon”

“Beast”

And so many more. 

These are words that matter in my life.  Each one is defined in my dictionary but has probably never existed in yours.  And that’s ok. 

I also have three words I define uniquely from you.  I know that for a fact.

“Mister” — This started as an inside joke that my wife made about my Master.  It then generically moved to an acceptable form of address in a vanilla setting.  Now, it is both a term of endearment and has probably replaced his name in the minds of those closest to us.  

“Sir” –. This is an action word to me.  It is the form of address that I use when I need something.  It is what I use when I want to try something, get advice, or am answering in punishment.  It is my acknowledgement that I am still in the real world, still present, and still fucking needy.

“Master” –. This is the culmination of peace.  I use this address when I speak to others.  It stands as evidence of what we have both committed to.  It is what I say when I have centered or sunk into sub space (for what little I say at that point anyway).  It is simply a statement of where I am and who he is to me.

In any of these roles, He must govern himself and me.  For the record, I despise the term “role” because it implies, he is acting or taking up a character.  Regardless of what I call him, he is simply himself.  

Reflection of Behaviours

You get told that, as a sub, my behavior is reflective of my Dom and his discipline style.  This has never been more accurate than it was a few days ago. As a part of my service, I act as a secretary and go-between for our local BDSM community.  That means, that when someone wants advice or has a question, I get a message.

I am fairly well behaved.  I don’t think I’ve been in serious trouble in more than a year at this point.  I may joke a little too far or not move fast enough or even forget my pills a time or two.  Small bits that need a single reminder and I’m good to go. But, because of how heavily masochistic I am, people seem to think I am always in trouble.  When, in reality, those marks are from fun times, not punishment.

So, I get a message that asks me, “How can I be a terrible person?  Sir hasn’t touched me in awhile and I need to play cuz I’m on edge. I need to know what you would do.”  

Funnily enough, I would never act out like that unless I was out of my ever-loving mind.  While we have many brats in our community, I am not one of them. I detest being labeled as one and I do not understand the mindset to be one.  But, to each their own.

I answered honestly.  I told her she needed to talk to her Sir and explain her edginess.  She needed to use her big girl words and explain that she felt neglected.

She did not do that.

I did not understand.

Everyone is convinced that I am mouthy, and outspoken, and terrible, and always in trouble.  I should specify that in my vanilla life, I am more outspoken and headstrong.  I am completely different at home. But the community is also aware that Master has high standards and doesn’t put up with that kind of bullshit.

If I ever acted like that, I’d be drawing from my jar as well as counting the hits to my ass in clear, concise words.

Apparently, as I’ve been told, Master has to be a hard task master because I am so bad.  I’ve had to learn to not let those words hurt me. They still do from time to time. But, if He doesn’t see me that way, everything stays right in the world.  It just bothers me that he is sometimes seen as harsh when I get to see his softer side (and his Sadistic side…I like that side the most…)

Master bears the weight of my actions, my words, my successes, and my fuck-ups.  I would say failing, but he has managed to get it into my thick skull that failure is simply a learning opportunity.

Therapist

Dominants also must be strong enough to hold their submissive above water.  I can’t speak for anyone else, but I am a certified headcase. There are few days that go by that don’t involve a text message to Master that my anxiety is high, I’m having a panic attack, or I’m overwhelmed.  In those moments, there is nothing he can do for me. I work and live in two different cities, I am gone often, and he physically can’t be there.

Yet, he finds little ways to help me.

He built me a room.  It is a landscape inside my head that He helped me build.  I know every crack in the stone, every engraving on the winged back chair, and every crumb of brick around the fireplace.  The furnishings are cherrywood and brass. The ceilings are 20 feet high and the room locks so only we can see it. It is where I kneel before him, place my head on his knees, and simply breathe.  It is how I can calm down when I am not home and I need Him.

He simply tells me to go to our room.

I can build it in thirty seconds or less now.  I use it often.

During the days I am home, if I am stressed, I stretch out on the floor at Master’s and our wives’ feet.  It gives me comfort and reinforces my place in the house.

When I can’t sleep because the nightmares are too strong or I am emotional, and I don’t have my wife to curl up to, one sentence helps me.

I ask, ever so timidly, “may I sleep at your feet Sir?”  It is a figurative question at bedtime.  We both have our own wives, who we curl to, and cuddle with.  But, when he tells me yes, it gives me the comfort of his Dominance, even when we are apart.  

Sometimes I cry, simply because I feel the need to.  Sometimes I apologize for things I had no control over.  

Most of the time, I ask his weird, off the wall questions, that make him think “how the fuck do I answer this?”

And He must remember it all. He needs to know my medications, my appointments, my triggers, my code words, my dictionary, and everything involved in my life.  He knows my job at work, my wife’s needs and wants, my babygirl’s needs and wants, and then everything involved with himself, his wife, and all the lovely gremlins we call kids.

That’s a hell of a lot to take on, simply for the “gift of my submission.” 

Drop

I know I’ve rambled on for a long time now, but I hope you are understanding why.  It is always important to remember that just because Dominants usually have fantastic self-control and stand solid, doesn’t mean they aren’t human too.  Though I doubt you will ever hear them admit it, they get sick, overworked, tired, underappreciated, and everything in between. 

My Master is lucky enough to also be a Service Top.  He spends nearly every event we host having a multitude of people on his table.  We’ve got negotiations down pat and while he scenes, I monitor him. Because, up and down headspace that comes from doing sessions with a multitude of people, comes with a hard crash.

In my experience, it has been referred to as Dom Drop and/or Event Drop.  When you get all those happy chemicals from play, and you are surrounded by all these others that do, and then it stops.  The party ends, the car is loaded, you head home, and BAM! – out of commission for a few days. Everyone is different. My Master simply needs bedrest, natural sugars (like fruit), and some cuddles with his puppy.  

Do you know that even when he is walking dead on his feet, he takes care of “his girls” first?  He makes sure I’m in a good headspace, that my wife and babygirl are settled, and that his wife is resting peacefully before he even thinks of taking care of himself.  That’s what good Dom’s do.  At least, that’s what he tells me anyway.

I figure he isn’t the only one.  Everyone forgets that subs aren’t the only ones with needs.  It is just as much my responsibility to take care of him, yet he is always two steps ahead.

Headspace

I’ve talked about this portion in the past.  I am a “catatonic” submissive (as I recently heard it coined).  Basically, it means that when I reach sub space (that deep, all consuming euphoria), I lose everything.  I forget how to speak, I lose the ability to remember my name, my body just reacts but my mind is gone. I have moments of blackout, where the scenes become jumbled and half missing in my head.  Most importantly, I lose my ability to safe word.

I’ve never found this to be a problem because I trust my Master implicitly.  However, who has to watch me for the signs? Master does. Even through his own headspace, all the chaos around us (if we are in a public play space), the energy of the room, He has to watch me close enough to know when to call the scene.  I’ve fallen off dungeon furniture a couple of times, because my body is just reacting, and he has had to catch me. He has to know, that once I’m in headspace, he can’t leave me until I come back. Why? Because coming out of headspace, for me, is an extreme sensory overload.  Everything is too loud, too bright, and too cold. His touch, skin to skin, is what keeps me grounded and helps me reconcile my mind and my body.  

I don’t know your thoughts on the matter, but I believe that is a lot of fucking responsibility to lay at someone’s feet.    –Pun intended—

Earning the Right

The last examples I am going to share with you are going to make me look like an asshole.  And I am fine with that.  

These are real moments that I went through, and put my Master through, that shaped our dynamic.  

They shaped my service. 

They sealed my trust.

When I first met Master, he was my friend’s husband.  Yes, I was friend’s with wife “A” long before I met her husband.  I had also been married to wife “B” for nearly 7 years at that point.  Over time, we got to talking. He was knowledgeable and I found that to be quite a likeable quality.  Then, when we discussed our kinks, we had several things in common and it led to more in depth conversation.

One of the very first things I ever told him was, “I will bow to no man and I sure as fuck won’t call you Sir.”

Funny thing about these kinds of declarations, you believe them whole-heartedly.  I meant it. I still meant it when I asked him to take me under consideration. It took me six months to not mean it anymore.  I struggled every single day and for the first couple months, I just omitted saying anything at the end of my sentences. I was generally quiet anyway.

He told me he could see the fight in my eyes any time he pushed me to address him correctly.  However, he never forced it outside of a scene. And he would only ever ask once. Then, it would be up to me to respond as I chose.  One time, I refused to answer him at all. So, he left me alone. He didn’t say a word as he left. He didn’t dismiss me. He simply walked out.  I knelt there for nearly a half hour before he came back, my head buried in the duvet, feeling like complete disgrace. He never said a word. When he came back, he sat down, put his hand in my hair (just for comfort), and didn’t object when I turned to put my head in his lap and apologize.  That was a turning moment for me. He knew it as well. But it was more important that I realize it on my own. That’s why he left. When I whispered a broken “I’m sorry Sir,” we changed.

It took me another six months before I would crawl for him.  I still struggle with that today. Most of my issues deal directly with self esteem issues.  I also struggle with the fact that I feel fucking ridiculous crawling on the floor like I am two.  

The hardest battle, however, came with the take downs.  About every four months or so, I would push. I would get edgy and snappy and perma-pms.  It meant I needed a full, physical, wrestling match. I needed to fight tooth and nail and I needed him to win.  Keep in mind, I never said I would try to lose. It would start with a pinning, and lead to kicking, hitting, choke holds, and anything else required to win my submission.  

Then during the fourth or fifth time I initiated a take down, I gave up.  We were in the third room we’d moved to, he had me pinned on the kitchen floor, and I simply didn’t understand why I was fighting.  See, I’ve always fought. I’ve always pushed to be the best, to win, to compete.  

This time, I didn’t want to anymore.

I laid there, sobbing, by myself, for almost an hour.  I stayed in the same position he left me. I couldn’t be touched after a takedown.  I needed the processing time. This time, I wanted him to break my rule. I wanted him to pick me up and tell me it was ok.  But, he didn’t.

Because I had to learn to trust him.  I had to learn to ask for what I needed without the fight.

I needed to allow myself to submit.  

It was only after that realization, that I earned my collar.  It wasn’t immediate, no, but it was a turning point.

Those are probably the most influential moments.  I have rules set up, and moments where we’ve had to adjust them, but the fighting is what changed us the most.

So, when I talk about giving my submission to someone, it has gone to a man who let me take my time and learn who I was.  He didn’t label me as bad or disrespectful because I hesitated in my service or fought the expectations of what BDSM looks like to most people.

He’s never called me a brat.  He’s never told me he is disappointed.  He’s never asked me not to be myself.  

All he ever did was ask me to come to him.  He asked that I talk to him when I am confused, have questions, learn something, or realize something about myself.

I can say, that takes a whole lot of confidence and even more patience.

He’s not perfect.  But he is perfect for me.

**** **** ****

Mostly, I want you to remember that we are people first, dynamic second.  At least, in my world, that has worked best. Take a moment to observe your D-type.  Do you see the strain of responsibility? No? You probably won’t. I find they hide it well.  Just remember, Dominants are human too.

**** **** ****

The last portion of this article is extremely personal.  It is a letter I have written to my Master as a reflection of where I have been, whom I’ve become, and the gratitude I feel for him.  If you choose not to read this, I understand. If you wish to stay, you are more than welcome. I am far from perfect, and honestly, pretty fucked up in my own head.  But, Master has taught me a lot about myself and he deserves a chance to hear it from me.

**** **** ****

The Letter

Master,

There are moments in my life where I find myself to be at a loss for words.  Its not because I don’t have any, it is merely because I don’t know how to convey them in a way that they would be understood with perfect clarity.

I’ve thought long and hard about how to tell you how much I appreciate you.  Thank you has never seemed quite powerful enough to describe the positive changes you have helped me achieve.  So, I’m going to simply talk to you, as I do in my head most days, and hopefully, you get to see yourself from my point of view for a change.

You have taught me a copious amount of things.  I have started learning how to care for your leather.  I have started learning your trades, both electricity and leather work.  I’ve learned that, in the privacy of our home, you are a giant teddy bear.  I’ve learned you believe you can never get sick, orange juice and pepto bismol can cure anything, and that you are a busy body.  You’ve helped me learn to be more social and taught me how to flog my wife without hurting her.

Yet, do you know what I’ve learned from you most Sir?  I’ve learned myself.

Sure, I’ve learned how to kneel for you.  I’ve learned how to bite my tongue and remain respectful as a mode of self-control.  I’ve learned how you like your coffee, your favorite pass times, and the little things that make you smile.  I’ve learned to take care of you and our family.

I’ve learned, that to do this, I have an obligation to take care of me.

When I discovered the world of BDSM, I knew instinctively I was submissive.  In fact, I was positive I would be happy as more of a slave.  And like many, I had to explore it alone.  I didn’t have anyone who knew what they were doing.  So, I never experienced the clarity of definition that I have now.

When I met my wife, I was a doormat.  I was so shy and quiet.  My opinions were never vocalized, and I feared that upsetting my partner meant she would leave.  I apologized for everything.  I figured if I apologized enough, it would mean I could stay another day.  That I wouldn’t be left alone.

Looking back, I was apologizing for existing.  I felt I didn’t deserve anything.  I was well versed in self-flagellation.

–when I would upset my partner, I would wait until she was asleep, crawl out of bed, and start searching.  I was searching for the coldest, darkest, most uncomfortable place to sleep.  I didn’t allow myself a blanket or pillow.  After all, I was punishing myself.

–I used to cut.  I still bare those scars.  They sit like white chalk lines, describing the worst of my teenage years.  Only one is completely legible anymore.  It says “Anger”. I look at it when I’m feeling down.  I use it as a reminder that it’s ok to be upset.  It’s ok to stand up for myself.  It’s ok to feel things.  But, to never allow them to overwhelm me.

That was a hard lesson.  It was hard to learn that, like my chalk marks, they need to fade.  They are never meant to be reopened but to always sit on the edges of my memory.

I never learned to ask for help.  My wife has been trying to teach me that for ten years.  I thought asking for help brought out an obligatory attitude in people.  If I ask for something, how do I know they aren’t just saying yes to appease me.  If I ask for something, and they say no, they must not care enough.  I didn’t want to know the answer if they really didn’t care.

But do you know what question I never asked?  It never crossed my mind to ask how they could read minds.  I am an observant person.  I notice when your mood is off.  I watch when you are sick, when you are stressed, and when you are tired.  I know every movement of your body in the days leading up to a party.  So, I always assumed people could notice that for me.

It never dawned on me that 1) they may or may not notice, but I’m too much of a control freak to allow myself the help.  2) sometimes, I don’t know what I need.  When you see my withdrawal, my energy, my everything… you come up behind me and just give me a hug because you know I need grounding.  Those are the moments I have denied myself and my wife for so long.  I’ve denied myself the chance to be…human.

Submissives are one of two things on the interweb.  They are either perfection–delectible, soft spoken, mannered, beautiful, and a walking sex kitten– or they are fuck ups.  If you’ve ever encountered some of the darker CNC interactions, rape culture, and/or the patriarchy movement in BDSM, you have an idea of what I mean.  If you don’t…well, I can always show you my Tumblr.  Thankfully, your darkness compliments mine.

No one tells you how to get to the perfection part.  So, as a newbie, and even further along, I always assumed I must be a fuck up.  Well, I can’t fix what’s wrong with me medically and physically.  However, I can hide the emotional damage.  I call that compartmentalizing.  I can keep quiet, so I am not seen or heard, but I am always on hand when needed.  I can learn your mannerisms so that when you get upset, I can soothe you.  I can always smile, always tell you I’m fine.  If I believe it, I know you will.

But, you didn’t.

You looked at me with the most heartbreaking expression. 

–I was crying.  We were wrestling and I struggled.  I tweaked your shoulder.  I toughened my voice, asked if you were ok, and excused myself.  I knew what was going to happen.  You were going to get rid of me.  There wasn’t any other choice.  I had hurt you.  I had laid my hands on you and hurt you.  So, I held myself against the farthest door in the hallway, closed my eyes, and started to cry.  I had a full-blown panic attack within seconds.  I cried quietly.  After all, I shouldn’t be heard.  I knew that.  I was there when needed, then packed away when I’m not.  

Then you came after me.  Above everything else, you made me look you in the eye and asked me what was wrong.  You wanted to know if you had hurt me, why did I run, why was I crying?  All I could do was say sorry.  I probably said it five or six times before you shushed me and asked me my rules.  

“Rule number 6: I will only apologize when I have a valid reason and must state such reason at the time I apologize. “

Sounds silly, I know.  But, when my wife instituted that rule, years before you assimilated it, I could apologize for hours for forgetting to wash a couple dishes.  Apparently, limiting makes me remember things better.

I had nine fundamentals my wife instituted for my mental health…and probably her sanity.  I am stubborn. Then again, you know that well.  You’ve watched those rules dwindle to three. You’ve reminded me that, when I get overwhelmed, I have more than just you watching out for me.  You’ve reminded me that I must remember to appreciate my wife as well. Because whether I agreed with my rules or not, each of them was necessary for my journey to be a better person.  

That gentle reminder, that solid expectation, shut down my panic attack.  You were able to save my sanity with a single question.

Then you hugged me.

I never wanted to see you look so saddened again.  It was the first time I ever realized that my demons, my holdbacks and hangups, my ill feelings toward myself, bled into my relationships.  

How can I believe anyone is telling me the truth when I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I am not a disease?  

I’m not fixed.  Not by any means.  But I’m not broken either.  Not anymore.

I have been able to realize those moments when I speak ill of myself.  I can recognize that someone’s differing opinions about kink doesn’t mean I’m bad at being a submissive.  It doesn’t mean I’m not wanted nor important.

I have learned what the internet never told me; that I will never be a perfect submissive.

But, that doesn’t mean I am automatically a fuck up.

Why?  Because I don’t need to be a perfect submissive.

I just need to be Your submissive.  That means that I have permission to be broken and run down sometimes.  I have permission to have doubts and short comings and moments of absolutely ridiculous decision making.  I have permission to cry (out loud), to scream, to be angry, and jittery, and happy, and excited.  I have permission to be human.

Why?  Because asking for help means I’m learning.  

Asking for help means I am discovering sides to myself that I didn’t know existed.  Asking for help means I recognize that I have moments of absolute panic and sensory overload and anxiety.  Asking for help means I can teach another person the things I didn’t get to know when I started.

Why?  Because there is no deeper connection than when I look in your eyes and see the promise to teach, the promise to love, and the promise to trust me as deeply as I have you.

By learning, and asking, and trusting, we will always have a connection and trust so deep I never have room to doubt you.

Only when I learned that, could I allow myself to let go.  It was the first time I went catatonic in sub space.  The first time I didn’t know my own name.  The first time I told you that I didn’t want to negotiate our life.  I trusted you so deeply, I never had to second guess anything.  I’ve never had to worry about you not taking care of me.  I don’t need to worry when I forget how to talk.  Because you read my body and know my mind.

I’ve placed a great burden upon your shoulders and a greater burden at your feet.  Regardless of the trials you deal with personally, you have never buckled under the weight of my trust.

So, what I am trying to say, is…

Thank you.

Thank you for being a wonderful Mister.

Thank you for being an indulgent and loving Sir.

Thank you for being a strict and knowledgeable Master.

With the deepest respect,

Love,

Your Little Pain Slut

Tagged With: bdsm, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

Self Care vs Self Aware

September 15, 2019 By Joji Sada 4 Comments


I find the best way to help people understand my point of view is to be painfully honest.  With that being said, I’m going to share some deeply personal mental health experiences.  At one time, many years ago, I would have apologized for the possibility that I may upset someone.  I have learned, over the last ten years or so, that it is ok to be broken sometimes.  It is ok to crack under pressure and question myself and most of all, it is ok to cry.
That sounds like common sense.  I know it feels like it when I comfort a friend.  I tell them all these things that I know, logically, will help them.  Logistics that I have always felt I am not allowed to partake in.
I have to be perfect.  So, I have told myself for about twenty-two years now.  Perfection, to me, is not functioning without mistakes.  Perfection means that I can cope with your short-comings without detriment to my performance.  If you are having a bad day, I will soothe you, cuddle you, and tuck you in.  I will make sure you only have to worry about getting a good night’s rest.  If you are in pain, I will cater to your every whim.  I will serve you dinner, mow the lawn, run errands, and anything else that eases the stress on you.  If you are stressed, I will massage you until your body turns to jello and your eyes close in relaxation.  I will do all of this…and everything else on my list.
I sound crazy, don’t I?  I’ve been told I am.  I’ve also been told I am a dream submissive.  I disagree with both of these.  But, let me come back to that later.
I have severe OCD.  Everything I do happens in threes–right down to those lovely kisses I get each night from my spouses.  I will compulsively ask you the same question, even when I already know the answer.  I will focus so closely on what I am doing, that I won’t notice when my body is ready to collapse.
I have severe panic attacks.  Some days, they are so bad, my collar has to be moved to my wrist to prevent me from suffocating in my sleep.  There is nothing more intense than the failure I feel when I have to ask for the relocation of my collar.  Though I am aware it is a medical necessity at those points, it is hard for me to see it as anything else.
The worst of my detriments, is the toxicity of my core values.  I have three ideals that I have never been able to shake.
      1) My feelings don’t matter as long as my partner is happy (i.e. never speak up in disagreement)
      2) I get what I get and I’m happy for it (i.e. never ask for anything)
      3) My worth is measured in my usefulness (i.e. broken things get thrown out)
Still thinking I am crazy?  Reading about me on paper sure reinforces that thought.  And, honestly, there are days where I am curled half naked on the living room floor staring off into space that I would probably agree with you.
But, my wives and my Master disagree.
As Master says, “the answer is always, Yes, Sir.”  I said it once in play and now it has become a mantra.  When He asks me the questions I find so hard to answer, such as:
                          “Am I worthy?”
                          “What am I feeling?”
                          “What do I want?”
    My Favorite:  “Why am I apologizing?”
If you have never suffered anxiety, you may be staring at these questions and find yourself completely baffled.  For those whose heads are as chaotic as mine, I can see you nodding along.  It took me a very long time to learn I wasn’t alone–to learn that mental health is not an automatic death sentence.
I’ve used the examples I have because my mental health heavily influences the way I submit.  If I’m having an off day, Master may tell me we cannot play.  He has to weigh the benefits of cathartic pain play and the ramifications that come with drop.
When I started out as a submissive, I always leaned towards slave.  I never understood why.  Then I discovered that some of my own core values (which I discuss further down) are the reason I have the views I do.  In my own relationship, Master has blanket consent.  I’ve heard it referred to as consensual non-consent as well.  It basically means that as long as I have not used Red (to which so far I never have) against something, He can add it in to our Dynamic without prior discussion or negotiation.
Knowing the things about me that Master does (and which you will be privy too soon enough), He has to balance my need for a Total Power Exchange (TPE) with the mental health aspect of keeping me safe, sane, and self-aware.
With what I am have laid out below, you will probably never envy the man who has collared, kept, and cared for me.  But, that’s alright.  Mental Health is a hard battle for those of us who suffer from the imbalance.  It is even harder for those who love us.
****     ****    ****
Now, that I have given you background, I am going to bring up the hardest lesson I have ever had to learn: the definition of self-care.
According to Google, self care is the practice of taking action to preserve or improve one’s own health; the practice of taking an active role in protecting one’s own well-being and happiness, in particular during periods of stress.
One of my best friend’s is a guru at this concept.  She does things like yoga, stretching, swimming, Brazilian waxes, takes “me time,” trains her dogs, and more.  She does this with a full time job, a full college course load, a long distance relationship, and still finds time for hobbies.  Its like those miracle stories you hear about single moms who work 15 jobs and still make it to school functions for their kids.  She’s told me that because her life is so busy, she considers her self care to be non-negotiable.  She forces herself to make time because if she doesn’t take care of herself, how can she care for her partner?  
 
She makes a very valid point.  One, that I should mention, my wife has been trying to drill into my head for ten years.  
 
Well, when the bestie starts talking to Master and Master starts talking to the wife, I get the short end of that stick.  Mostly, because it means I don’t really get a chance to refuse whatever scheme/idea/rule has been concocted.
 
Here’s the best part of this–turns out, I have a very different definition of self-care than my people.
 
Self-Care (according to Master):  
I need to take time just for myself.  This means that I should go hang out with friends in a non-kink related environment.
I need to have my own interests outside of my submission.  This means that at least some of my hobbies should not include boot blacking and whip making.
I need to prioritize my time and learn how to say no.  This means that i should never promise to do more than I can honestly manage and it is not my job to fix every problem.
 
Though our conversation was much longer, that was the most important “self care” rules he wanted to see happen.
 
Because (and I quote), I do not practice self-care.
 
I was almost offended.  But, mostly, I was baffled.  I stared at Master with the most gobsmacked look on my face and imitated a fish for a good minute before I stuttered out that I did not understand.  I’m pretty sure I sounded less than intelligent.  Master was understanding.  He gave me cuddles and explained the recommendations above and why he believed I did not take care of myself with the same vigor I did my people.  (For the record, I say “my people” because even as dedicated as I am to Master, we do have a family that is priority beyond our relationship).
 
Here is where that wonderful thing called communication comes into play.  I mulled over his words for a few days.  It bothered me that he believed I did not care about myself.  To me, I did.  I never missed work.  I took care of the family to the best of my ability.  I made my doctor’s appointments, reminded him of meetings we had, worked with out local kink community, and so forth.  I functioned pretty well.
 
That’s when I learned I am a high-functioning ball of anxiety.  According to my therapist, it is my OCD flaring up in the form of itemized mental lists that help me feel like I am in control of my environment.
 
But, what it also made me realize is that Master and I have different definitions of self care.
 
Now, this is why I gave you some background about the fucked up things mental health has done to me.  Building on that, I am going to explain, as best as my mind will allow, my anti-Google definition.
 
–At two different times this year, I was able to walk away from cleaning house.  In January of 2018, I stressed myself to the point that I cleaned until I disassociated and worked myself into a cold sweat.  When I was forcibly removed from my kitchen and prevented from continuing, I had a complete meltdown.  I sobbed for hours and it was days before we could turn the light on in the kitchen while I was home because even a single cup in the sink would push my anxiety through the roof.  Now, with medication, strategic rules in my Dynamic, and that mantra mentality I referenced earlier, I can feel those episodes coming and can remove myself from the environment before they happen.
 
–I don’t zone out and hurt myself anymore.  To be specific, I have fits of unconscious scratching.  When I am stressed, I will scratch myself bloody.  I have scars on my shin when my nails cut so deep it didn’t heal cleanly.  I am able to separate itchy scratching from stressed scratching.  I am able to ball my fists up, put them at my side, and repeat the mantra that “I am not allowed to scratch” until the need passes.
 
–I can, to a degree, ask for love.  I am a very tactile person.  Hugs, kisses, and cuddles are my lifeline.  When life is rough, when my anxiety is drowning me, when I am stressed, those moments bring me peace.  As I mentioned earlier, that need violates my toxic core values about not asking for things.  But, now, I can face the possibility of the other person saying no, and ask for those simple things.  I know, logically, that they would never be withheld from me.  But, forcing myself to ask, and facing that possible rejection, is a huge step forward for me.
 
These are but a few examples of the strides I have made in my journey of self-discovery and self care.  But, they don’t match up with the traditional definition of those terms.  Once I realized that, I had to figure out how to put those thoughts into words and express them in a way that showed how proud I was of myself.  
 
I came to the conclusion that self care is the steps you take to correct a behavior toxic to your health.  But, being self aware, helps you identify those behaviors to begin with.  
****    ****    ****
I would not be surprised if you are reading this and wondering how I can function.  I wouldn’t even be offended if you find me to be a difficult submissive and partner.  I come with a lot of baggage and a lot of unusual mental health issues.
I’ve asked both Master and my wife why they “put up with me.”  They simply tell me they love me.
I find my peace in my submission.  I find my happiness in being a service-oriented person.  I find my comfort in the little things that makes life easier for my family.  But, mostly, I found myself in my suffering.
I found strength in admitting I am not strong all the time.  I found relief in being told I was allowed to cry.  I found that I am a better submissive because of my problems.  While I fight the belief that I am a burden to my Master, I have learned that in order for me to trust Him with my body, I had to trust him with my mind and my soul as well.
Submission might be a gift, but self-discovery within my dynamic is my reward.

About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

A Little Fascination With Rope

July 27, 2019 By Joji Sada 3 Comments


I have always had a fascination with rope.  It is such a versatile medium to explore kink.  It can be used as a fashion statement, to lead someone, to bind them in place, or even to make them feel comfortable.  

My own journey started with a class entitled “Basic Bondage and Shibari,” given by Magick42.  I have been blessed to have him help me with my knots and correct my ties with my own Little. 

There are hundreds of ways to use rope.  There are a few things you need to know first.

There are three types of bondage associate with rope play.  

Shibari– This literally translates as “to tie beautifully.”  While it can include the binding of various body parts, it is more focused on the beauty of the ties.  This can even include rope braided and shaped around the body to mimic clothing.

Bondage– This is the restriction of body parts with the use of rope.  This can include body parts tie to each other, to another person, or to an inanimate object.

Suspension– This is rope work in mid-air.  This can be either bondage or shibari but often includes elements of both types of ties.

*** *** ***

There are several types of rope that can be used.  Each one has their own care regiment and their own comfort level for those involved.

Hemp, Jute, Nylon, Cotton, and occasionally paracord are the most common.  I do not recommend paracord because the smaller the rope diameter, the more likely it can cut off blood supply.  However, it can be woven in with other types of rope to either connect several pieces together or to create a contrast of color.

I personally use Cotton.  It is easy to dye if I want different colors.  It is easy to wash and soften. It is comfortable for long term wear and fits nicely under clothing.

Hemp and Jute are often used because the knots tied with them are very secure.  They do have a more intense upkeep but depending on your goals, it can be the right rope for you.

**Regardless of the type of Rope you use, remember to keep safety scissors (like EMT Sheers) on hand in case of emergency.  It will take far too long to release someone who is panicking without them. Rope can be replaced; People Cannot.

*** *** ***

Rope is a wonderful tool.  This can be especially true with Age players.  Often using the term Little, rope can be used for pleasure of discipline.  

I told you our story first because when people think of littles, they think only of girls and usually in a sexual Daddy Dom/little girl scenario.  In truth, for most of us, that is a much different category. I’ve had to struggle through finding definitions and distinctions for the last few years, so I wanted to give you something to make it easier to understand.

Little: A person who finds it more comfortable to be taken care of.  Often times, the most important thing is the reassurance of your love and the comfort of cuddles.  Littles can be any gender, any color, and a variety of ages. I know some who range from age 1 – age 6.

Middle: This is more of an age range definition.  Middles tend to be from roughly age 7 to age 12.  It is not set in stone but more of a generic age range based on the types of behaviors they exhibit.

Teen:  These are people who range from ages 13-17.  Typically, teens are seen more with age-players and it is far more often for ages 15-17 to exhibit the sexual behavior that is attributed to Daddy Dom relationships.

Big: This is an umbrella term for the “adults.”  Mommies, Daddies, Caregivers, Babysitters, Grandmas, Grandpas, Aunties, and Uncles.  The labels for an adult will vary with each Little based on the type of relationship you have or the way they relate to others in your life.

Caregiver (CG): A Caregiver is someone who makes the decisions for the littles.  They are often part of the outer role of adults that the little trusts.  

Babysitter: A Babysitter is someone who temporarily watches over a little when the CG cannot. 

There are four types of littles.  They all share characteristics but are decidedly different.  

For the following two types, it is important to note that the mindset present is that of a child.  Most often, they are not in a mindset to consent to anything beyond what you may ask a Toddler. There is absolutely no sexual interaction with either of these two nor is there an expectation of consent.

Regressive: This type of little is someone who’s mind regresses to the age they are representing.  For many, they are unaware that they are in adult bodies. Some may lose the ability to walk or require the use of diapers simply because their mind does not know how to do these things.  Often, the time that they are in the “little” mindset ends up being a blackout for the adult mind.  

Split: These are individuals who have Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder).  This is a change from one person to another where the secondary personality is a young child. The personality may or may not be aware that they are one part of a whole.

For the next two types, there tends to be a headspace associated with these.  From what I have been told, it is like sub space. It is a space that allows you to give up control and forget about adult responsibilities for a time.  

Age Player: These are adults who are fully aware that they are pretending to be a different age.  Usually there is no sexual aspects to this relationship.

Sexual Age Player: This is where you tend to find Daddy/Mommy Doms and Little girl/boys.  Often shortened to DD/lg (Daddy Dom/little girl), this is a subset of BDSM.  There is a D/s relationship that is built around comfort and Domestic Discipline.  The little often has rules that the DD/MD enforces and corrects willful disobedience.  The most common punishments are spankings, corner time/time outs, and grounding.  

** I specified the various types of Littles because some of the rope types need explicit consent that Regressive and Split Littles are not capable of giving.  Since neither of these types of littles are able to recall their actual age, they cannot consent any more than an actual child. As such, the rope work I use with these individuals is usually limited to a basic harness, that does not restrict any part of the body, and a wrist leash.  These are like the Monkey backpacks and Monkey leashes sold for toddlers.**

Knots and Ties

I know, it is a lot of general information.  However, it is always to distinguish the difference between the different abilities to consent.

This is a Waist Tie I originally found on thedutchy.com when I started getting into rope.  It is wonderful for keeping underwear or diapers on your Little. After all, some of them thoroughly love to run around without clothes on.  It can be used for punishment to keep toys in or stop them from playing without permission.  

Front Back

You can vary this tie and secure their wrists to the sides of the tie (or behind their back) as well.

This is a tie I favor for punishment.  It works well if your Little needs to be placed in the corner or if you are trying to teach them to keep their hands to themselves.  Its quite frustrating for those with a lot of energy or brats who enjoy pushing your buttons.

*** *** ***

This is probably the most common Harness Tie I see in my community.  Though this example shows the restriction of the arms, you can do the same harness without the restriction if you simply enjoy the look of it or if your Little has issues with bondage.

From my experience, these ties are the basis for almost any basic rope that you will try.  Once you master these, the world is at your fingertips.

Rope can be as broad as your imagination.  I am going to include basic ties to get you started.  The Google, Fetlife.com, Youtube.com, and your fellow kinksters can be a wealth of information to help you grow and learn.


 About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

Don’t Scream- Part 1

July 6, 2019 By Joji Sada 3 Comments


You told me not to scream.  That thought plays in my head constantly.  What would have happened had I not listened?  Honestly, I’m not even sure it’s not just a coincidence.

Maybe I should back up a little.

I was headed out.  I’ve taken to nightly walks after work.  After I got home, I went down to my room, changed into shorts, a tank top, and a pair of running shoes.

I came upstairs to kiss you goodbye.  Just like I always do.

You gave me my kisses, three to be exact.  Because kisses always come in threes.

I told you I love you.  You smiled at me with the most curious eyes.  When I smiled back, you replied that you loved me to.

I was almost out the door when I heard you say, “Don’t scream.”. I stopped and turned for a second, seeing you standing in the doorway.  

My eyebrows furrowed and I looked at you.  Looking back, I can’t promise that’s what you actually said.  But I didn’t ask for clarification.

I know how much you hate repeating yourself.

So, I left.  

I took off down the block.  Our town is small, maybe ten city blocks.  It’s quiet and everyone says it is a nice place to live.

I’ve met very few of our neighbors, but I feel comfortable walking to the library by myself.  It’s a quick walk and gives me some time to distress after the long day.

I made it to the library, if it could be called that.  It’s more like an office with a few bookcases, but beggars can’t be choosers.  

I didn’t find anything of interest this time.  As I left, I decided to keep walking.  I headed back home but curved off a block early, veering towards one of the back roads.  It doesn’t lead to much.  A few recycle spots, but I admit to a curiosity.  I enjoy dumpster diving; provided I don’t get caught.

I was about halfway there when the darkness came.  A solid cloth, almost like a thicker pillowcase, was thrown over my head and my body was heaved into something.  

Is it bad to admit that in that moment, I was more focused on the fact that someone picked me up so easily than I was about the fact I was being abducted?

I can only assume it was a van.  The way my body hit the side without touching a seat, meant it had to be an open space.  For the record, Sir, it hurts.  

I didn’t scream.

My hands are frantically trying to get the cloth off.  I’m feel like I’m going to suffocate.  

My wrists were grabbed and pulled away.  My arms are straight out, holding at shoulder height.  I’m struggling and pulling and kicking as my hands are held in place by some type of contraption.  

Why can’t I move Sir?  How are they doing this?  Why aren’t you here?

Whoever is near me, or has me, slaps me hard enough to turn my head.  They can’t see it, but I’ve bit my lip.

But I don’t scream.

I need to bide my time Sir.  I wonder how long until you realize I’m gone.  Will you believe I’ve taken off?  Will you wait for hours before you seek me out?  

Or are you behind this?  Are you the reason I am restrained in this darkness?  Are you the reason all I can hear is he gravel under the tires as I’m driven far from home?  Do you know these people?  I know there are at least two.  One is driving and one is the one who trapped me.  How many are here?  Will there be more wherever we stop?

I’ve been silent so far.  I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.  But, it’s automatic Sir.  When I’m home, with You, and the hood comes out, I lose my ability to speak.  It calms my mind so quickly.  

When the hood is on, all I am to do is listen.

Here, my lessons are mixing with the unknown.  Will I be in trouble because I didn’t fight back?  Will you be mad that my rules unconsciously applied to a situation outside Your control?  I’ve trusted you with my whole being Sir. I’ve given You the rights to do as you please without needing my active consent. Is that what is happening? Have you conditioned me for this type of play?  Have you given me away?  

Have you…?

My mind is wandering Sir.  I’m finding it hard to focus now.  The makeshift hood is fucking with my mind.  I’m trying hard to pay attention. I’m trying to take in as much as I can. My body is relaxing Sir.  I’ve been conditioned to this.  

What is happening to me?

The hardest part is when something presses against my ears.  Suddenly, the sound of the gravel has disappeared.  So has the hum of the vehicle.  

My heartbeat is louder.  Blood rushes through my ears like white water rapids.  I’m panicking Sir.  But I don’t know how to respond.  I’m trying to breathe through it. I’m building the safe room in my head Sir. Every fine detail is etched into my mind. I keep waiting for your hand to grip my hair.  I want your fingertips to run across my jaw before you smack me. I want your comfort Sir.  

But You aren’t here.

The hood keeps me quiet, even when I shouldn’t be.  The silence makes me afraid.  I’ve always been open about my fear.  I talk so much because I am afraid of the in between.  I don’t like the quiet.  It hurts.  

Still, I do not scream.

I’m ashamed of myself Sir.

I fell asleep.  While being abducted.  By strangers.

I fucking fell asleep.

I only wish I could explain it to you.  For you to understand how much I fight my narcolepsy each day and how much I think I’m broken when I can’t.

It was a perfect mix of conditions.  I sat in the dark, surrounded by the vibrations of a moving car, and exhausted by the attempts to keep my panic at bay.  So, my body retreated to a safe place.  It went to sleep.

I didn’t know this of course Sir.  See, when I sleep, it’s like blinking.  I close my eyes and open them and somehow in those few seconds, hours have passed.  There is no rest.  No relief.  No dreams.

Course, blinking hurts a lot more when it is mixed with a few smacks to the face.  After all, I don’t expect kindness.  I don’t really expect anything from these strangers.

My cheek burns.  The person, who I am going to assume is male by the force of his slaps, favors my right side.  He has a fascination with backhanding me.  The hood mutes some of the pain, but it’s still there.

He woke me for a reason a least.  He wants me to walk.  Correction, he wants me to crawl.  As if I’m not angry enough I’m in this situation.  

I find it funny that the very things I do for you Sir, are being used against me here.

I hope the stranger didn’t expect me to go easy.  It took me months before I would even think about crawling for you.  He’s not getting something so precious.

It’s odd to me that the things that scare me most aren’t the obvious.  I’m not afraid of the possibility of being sexually used and abused.  I’m afraid of losing the precious moments of my submission.  The things I made you work for, the things I struggled with, and the things that took all your patience to let me succeed.  

I once told you I would crawl to no man.  It took nearly a year before I sank to my knees, the O ring on my collar between my teeth, as I followed you around the room at your whim.  I don’t want that tainted.  

I don’t want to lose myself because someone ignorant has taken leave with me.

The vehicle stopped.  He unhooked my wrist and I swung it towards him.  He caught it easily.  One palm holding my wrist and one around my neck, pinning me against the car wall.

“Try it again and I break it.”

He let me go and I gasped for breath.

They are going to break me Sir.  I may come back to You as little more than a box of broken glass…if I come back at all.  

To be continued…


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

A Sensual Massage

June 23, 2019 By Joji Sada 6 Comments


I wonder if you understand the amount I enjoy touching you.  The feel of your skin, so soft and smooth, gives me goosebumps most times.  I can feel your heat against my palm.  It is quite the treat to touch you, even in the most innocent of ways.

 

I can see you laid out on your stomach, the strong lines of your back standing prominent as you rest your head on your arms.  They line down your shoulder blades and my hands ache to follow the path.  My eyes trail down your spine, resting for just a moment on your ass.  It’s rare I get to see it.

 

I’m kneeling between your legs.  The strong citrus scent of the oil let’s you know I am about to start.  I slick my hands up and rub them together to warm the oil.  I place my palms flat between your shoulder blades, following the curve, before sliding up your sides and across to your neck.

 

Your shoulders are tight.  I imagine it’s from the stress of the last few weeks.  Its been a long time since we’ve been able to do this.  I use my thumbs to push, looking for the knots.  I can always tell when I’ve found them.  

 

Though they are firm beneath my fingers, it’s the slight hiss you give and the rolling of your shoulders that gives them away.  You try to stay quiet.  Most of the time, you succeed.  But I watch you.  I know every movement your body makes when I have you beneath me.

 

It’s relaxing to massage you Sir.  It’s one of the few times the silence doesn’t bother me.  Often, I think of the strangest of things.  Usually, I want to trail kisses down your back.  To follow behind my hands, to worship your body.  I’m a very tactile person.  I want you to feel the sweet pleasures you bestow on the rest of us.

 

But I refrain.  I know better.

 

You see, you are a unique individual.  It burns in my mind constantly to lick, just a little.  It’s crossed my mind that maybe I can relax you enough you won’t notice.

 

But, you always notice Sir.

 

This time though, you’ve given me leave to serve you.  To relax you and worship you in any way I believe you will enjoy.

 

I’m pretty sure this is a test.

 

But I’m not one to waste an opportunity.

 

Your skin always shines so brightly with the oil.  I like it.  

 

I raise myself up on my knees and lean forward so I can reach your shoulders better.  My hands are resting on your sides as I place three small kisses to the base of your neck.

 

I move down a few inches and place three more.  Then, as though nothing happened, I resumed massaging down your spine and settle back on the bed.  

 

Over the next half hour, I repeat the process.  Random kisses, always in sets of three, are placed across your back and shoulders.  Each time I have finished a part of your back.  It is a reverence I pay and a respect for the gift you give me.  

 

You let me take care of you.  You let me see you unguarded and vulnerable.  You trust me.

 

When I finish your back, I hesitate ever so slightly.  I’m not sure if you will enjoy my initiative.  

 

I shift my body further down the bed and then I place three kisses at the base of your spine, just below the mass.  I slide my hands up and down your hips, applying oil as needed until your skin is warmed again.  I run my thumbs across the top of your ass before sliding slowly down the cheeks.  

 

You tense ever so slightly when my thumbs part your cheeks.  I can see the tightness in your thighs.  But when I look up, you still have your head pillowed on your arms.  I take that as a keep going.

 

I lean down slowly and blow softly across your hole.  I simply wanted to see it contract.  It is an odd fascination I have that I’ve never told anyone.  

 

Then I lick.  I swipe my tongue across your hole at first.  The smell is musky and wholly you.  I spread your cheeks a little wider so I can bury myself deeper.  I roll my tongue together and push against your resistance.  Just the tip slips inside at first.   But I spear it in and out slowly.  I want you to squirm.

 

Is that bad Sir?  The desire to see you squirm?  I enjoy pleasing you.  I like knowing when I have.  You haven’t said anything but you push back against me.  It could be my imagination.  But I refuse to stop just yet.  You haven’t told me to so I’m going to continue.

 

I did promise you a massage Sir.  Reluctantly, I pull back.  I know my face shows my disappointment but I must continue.  I grab the oil and pour more on my hands.  I start on your left leg, continuing the massage as though I didn’t just rim you.

 

Your muscles are tight in your legs.  Is that because it’s been a long week?  Or is it because of me?  I hope I haven’t made you this tense Sir.  That would defeat the purpose of relaxing you.

 

I have decided to massage your feet this time.  I know better than to touch your toes.  But the arch of your.foot can use some attention, especially as long as you spend in your boots.

 

I sit on the bed and pull one foot into my lap.  I massage your ankle and your arch.  I rub the oil in and slowly slide my hands up and down.  The rhythm is hypnotizing.  

 

Did you know your legs get antsy during a massage?  You enjoy it but it is one of the most tender parts to you.  Your thigh muscles are the most tender but your feet are a close second.

 

I feel you shifting so I place three kisses to the arch of your foot and repeat the process with your other one.

 

As I lay them back on the bed, I shift down to the floor and kneel by your head.  Your eyes are closed and I have no wish to disturb you.

 

I run my fingers through your hair for a minute before I look down and meet your eyes.

 

I ask you how you feel and you simply say “relaxed.”

 

As always, I ask if you wish to continue.  You say yes.

 

As you position into your back, I wonder if I can get away with the same liberties for this half of the massage.

 

****  **** **** ****

Part 2

 

I stay kneeling by the bed as you move.  You shift up just slightly, to prop yourself up.  I am unsure as to why but you seem comfortable.

 

My forehead is resting on the mattress.  I can smell the citrus oil so strongly.  I’m distracted until your fingers thread through my hair for a couple minutes.  You can’t see it, but I am smiling.  I always do when you touch me.

 

I turn and start massaging your arm.  I start with your hand, running my hands down your fingers and applying slight pressure to your palm.  I rotate your wrist slightly, allowing the time to stretch the muscles in your wrists.  Inch by inch, I move up your right arm.  

 

If you could hear the thoughts in my head, you’d more than likely tease me until my face is bright red.  

 

I love the feel of your skin.  I love the freedom to touch you.  And I’m bouncing between wishing I was sucking your thumb and wanting you to shove your fingers down my throat and gag me with them.

 

I shake my head softly and readjust my stance.  This is affecting me heavily Sir.  Though you aren’t looking at me, I’m positive you are aware of the effect you have on me.

 

Once I reach your shoulder, I know I’m going to have to readjust.  It is simply too difficult to reach you otherwise.

 

I crawl onto the bed, intending to straddle on of your thighs.  It will give me leverage and comfort while I massage your front.  But you won’t adjust yourself for me.  You refuse to move when I tap your thigh. 

 

I looked into your eyes and asked “please?”

 

I can see you understand what I’m asking.  Instead, you simply tell me to get back to it.

 

Frustrated, I grumpily straddle your waist.  High enough that your legs remain free, but low enough that I can feel your heat against my pussy.  I can only imagine you can feel how wet I am.  This thin strip of material hides nothing.

 

I oil up my hands again.  We will need a new bottle soon if you wish a repeat of this performance.

 

I slide my hands across your chest, carful to avoid your nipples.  I know how tender they are.  I lean forward To my hands up your neck, a comforting jesture for me.  Instead, as I lean, you buck your hips up and I lose my balance.  I manage to find purchase as my hand hits the bed.  

 

I look up and glare at you.  You simply raise and eyebrow.  I know better than to vocalize what I am thinking.  I pick myself up  and move back to where I was, pushing my hips down roughly to grind down on you.

 

This is going to be a battle of the wills.  Let’s see who will win.

 

**** **** **** ****

 

I’m enjoying softly running my hands over your chest.  There is not much to massage on this side, with mostly bone being present, but you say nothing as I continue.  

 

Periodically, you buck.  I think you are simply finding it amusing to keep me off balance.  

 

I grab your left hand and begin massaging it as I did your other one.  Rubbing my thumbs into your palm and running my hands over each finger.  This time, I manage to keep the images at Bay and focus on what I am doing. 

 

I lean forward to reach your upper arm and shoulder and you prove how wicked you are.  I should have been paying attention.  Your fingers snag my nipples and pinch.  It’s enough to get my attention but not enough to hurt…yet.  

 

You tug them and my body shifts back to facing you.  My thighs are gripping your hips because I am trying very hard to stop from getting in trouble.  I know my eyes are wide and my pupils dilated.  

 

This is the effect you have on me every time I massage you.  Usually, I can keep it hidden far better.  But being given leave to serve you more freely has made the tether on my self control weak.

 

You tug a little harder.  I’m barely breathing, trying to hold in the whimpers.  It hurts.  We both know it.  I’m not warmed up enough for it not to.  But, it’s a delicious feeling.

 

My eyes meet yours.  You are smirking.  I think you are reminding me that you are still in charge.  

 

“Is there a problem, my little pain slut?”. Your voice is quiet but I can hear you clearly.

 

“N-no Sir”. I stuttered.  I thought I’d gotten over that years ago.  Sometimes it still gets me.

 

“Then, I suggest you continue.”. 

 

You are evil Sir.  I cannot move without bringing myself great agony.  But I know you will not allow me to stop early either.  

 

I promised you a massage.  You will make sure I finish it.

 

**** **** **** ****

 

My eyes water slightly and my breath hitches.  It hurts Sir.  You’ve told me more than once that if I don’t pull it won’t hurt.  I am unsure of what your plan is.  

 

You tug a little harder and I lean forward, bracing myself on your chest.  You suddenly let go, and my balance is knocked.  The blood rushes back into my nipples and into my head as I have great breaths.  My body is so sensitive now.  Just touching you makes my skin tingle.

 

Then you surprised me.

 

“Offer.” A single word that I am unsure of its meaning.  I stare you down, trying to determine the answer.

 

Then it clicks.

 

I lean forward again and lift my boobs towards you.  They look much fuller as I support them.  My nipples are still throbbing and swollen.  I know you can see that. 

 

You latched your teeth onto my nipple.  I hiss at the pain.  I know you are only pressing lightly.  You are teasing me.  

 

My pussy is pulsing Sir.  Can you feel it slick against you?  It’s wet and all I can think about through the haze of pain is how much I want to be filled.

 

You release my nipple and latch onto the other one.  I secretly hope you will suck on them.  I don’t have a lot of feeling outside of pain receptors but I enjoy watching someone suck.  Maybe it’s a breastfeeding kink.  Who knows?

 

You release me again and simply look me in the eyes as I’m trying to catch my breath.    “I believe I told you to continue.”

 

Damn you Sir.  My focus is shot but I recognize your tone.  It’s half teasing and half serious.  

 

I reluctantly move off your waist.  I skip your thighs and start down at your ankles.  This time, I will be moving from the bottom up.

 

After all, you aren’t the only one allowed to tease.

 

**** **** **** ****

 

I can see the war on your face Sir.  You are dissatisfied with me moving from my position.  However, you are also not inclined to influence my decisions currently.  I think you are patiently waiting to see where my mind goes as I touch you.

 

I can tell you, it’s a wonderful place.

 

I massage your legs slowly.  The rest of your body should be relaxed now.  But really, I’m trying to get control over myself.  

 

I can feel knots in your calves, but they are few and far between.  It is more your thighs that are tight.  The muscles in the back are flexed tight, even as you lay here quietly.

 

As I lay your legs flat again, we come to the end of the regular massage.  Now, I have to guess whether you will let me massage you fully or not.

 

I lightly trail my fingers up your thighs.  The skin twitches slightly as I work my way up to you.

 

You are still soft currently.  I can’t figure out if you have even enjoyed my touch.  Considering how turned on I am, it is hard to understand.

 

I kneel up so you can see what I am doing.  I have the oil I can use but I err on the side of caution…and maybe, just maybe, allow myself a divulgence.

 

I am about to break two rules Sir.  I side my fingers down my stomach, your eyes following there trail.  I slide them down until they are inserted in me.

 

Rule number one broken.  I touched myself without permission.

 

You are watching my hand a it moves.  You’ve yet to chastise me.

 

Once I’ve soaked my fingers, I pull them out and wrap them around your cock.  

 

Rule number two broken.  I’ve now touched you without permission.

 

I keep my hand around the base and lean down to kiss the head of your cock.  I swirl my piercing around, just under the tip.

 

I slide my hand up and down, using my juices to slick you up.  

 

I don’t know if I’ve ever told you some of my quirks.  I enjoy using my partner’s cum (or juices) as lube.  I enjoy the mixing of flavors.

 

I also enjoy the pressure of a soft cock against my tongue.  I like to feel it slowly get hard.  And after all is said and done, I love to feel it soften again.  If I could simply lay there, my head pillowed on your thigh, holding your soft cock in my mouth, without other intentions, I’d be quite content.

 

But I know you.

 

You are waiting for my throat to close around your cock.  You are waiting for me to swallow around you and choose you over breathing.  You want to feel me gag against you as I try to take you deeper and deeper.

 

So I do.

 

Now I’m waiting for what I really want Sir.  

 

I want you to pull me off your cock, tell me to spread my legs and straddle you, and to slowly lower myself onto your cock.

 

I want to ride you.  I’m desperate to feel you inside me.  I need you.

 

I need your cock to split me open and fill me up Sir.  I need to feel your heat and the satisfaction of you watching me struggle to take you into my tight hole.

 

I need you Master.  I crave you.


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

My Little Warrior

April 21, 2019 By Joji Sada 4 Comments


I’m very open about how long I’ve been exploring Kink.  It has taken me several different places, and often, it is somewhere I never expect.  In fact, at the age of 25, I became a Daddy. More accurately, I became “Diddy.” At least, that’s what she calls me.

I have never been interested in Ageplay or DD/lg or Littles.  Other than occasionally being called Daddy in the bedroom, it held very little interest for me.  

I have been with my primary (my wife) for ten years this April.  She comes from a very abusive background and our journey has been one with a lot of curves and forks in the road.  For the first few years, I attributed her “high energy” moments to her bipolar disorder. She would be super happy, full of energy, and feeling fantastic.  For those unaware, these are classic signs of a Bipolar Manic Episode, especially in those who are not normally that way.

Then, one night, I woke her from a nightmare.  Well, I thought I had. I spoke to her to calm her terrors and when I spoke her name, she froze.  She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, and told me that her name was not “B.” So, I asked her what her name was.  She said she wasn’t sure, but she knew it was not “B.” She told me all about herself. She was four years old and lost in the dark.  For nearly an hour, she spoke to me. Then she fell back asleep.

When I asked her the following morning about it, she had no recollection of what had happened.

I chalked it up to a weird “Sleep talking” episode and let it go.  Then it happened again.

This time, she told me her name was “Callie Ann, tank you berry much.”  

I’ve been her Diddy ever since.

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I told you our story first because when people think of littles, they think only of girls and usually in a sexual Daddy Dom/little girl scenario.  In truth, for most of us, that is a much different category. I’ve had to struggle through finding definitions and distinctions for the last few years, so I wanted to give you something to make it easier to understand.

Little: A person who finds it more comfortable to be taken care of.  Often times, the most important thing is the reassurance of your love and the comfort of cuddles.  Littles can be any gender, any color, and a variety of ages. I know some who range from age 1 – age 6.

Middle: This is more of an age range definition.  Middles tend to be from roughly age 7 to age 12.  It is not set in stone but more of a generic age range based on the types of behaviors they exhibit.

Teen:  These are people who range from ages 13-17.  Typically, teens are seen more with age-players and it is far more often for ages 15-17 to exhibit the sexual behavior that is attributed to Daddy Dom relationships.

Big: This is an umbrella term for the “adults.”  Mommies, Daddies, Caregivers, Babysitters, Grandmas, Grandpas, Aunties, and Uncles.  The labels for an adult will vary with each Little based on the type of relationship you have or the way they relate to others in your life.

Caregiver (CG): A Caregiver is someone who makes the decisions for the littles.  They are often part of the outer role of adults that the little trusts.  For example, when my babygirl stays with Grandpa (or as she lovingly calls him, Drampa), he would be her caregiver.

Babysitter: A Babysitter is someone who temporarily watches over a little when the CG cannot.

  • I babysit for two little girls who don’t have a permanent caregiver currently.  

Stuffie:  For most of the littles that I interact with (and there are several of them), their stuffies are their best friend.  They most often have one who is the most important.

  • In Callie’s world, Evil Dark Lord Bunny Foofoo is her Best Friend.  She is a Rainbow Bunny with Tattoos, piercings, and a long backstory that I am required to remember.
  • Each stuffie has its own personality, its own history, and a family tree that must also be committed to memory.  Don’t worry. Its exactly as hard as it sounds.

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Types of Littles:

There are four types of littles.  They all share characteristics but are decidedly different.  

For the following two types, it is important to note that the mindset present is that of a child.  Most often, they are not in a mindset to consent to anything beyond what you may ask a Toddler. There is absolutely no sexual interaction with either of these two nor is there an expectation of consent.

Regressive: This type of little is someone who’s mind regresses to the age they are representing.  For many, they are unaware that they are in adult bodies. Some may lose the ability to walk or require the use of diapers simply because their mind does not know how to do these things.  Often, the time that they are in the “little” mindset ends up being a blackout for the adult mind.

Split: These are individuals who have Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder).  This is a change from one person to another where the secondary personality is a young child. The personality may or may not be aware that they are one part of a whole.

  • This is the type of little Callie Ann is.  She was born from a traumatic experience when my wife was four.  Since that was her age when Callie formed, Callie will forever be four.
  • She is like any other child.  We celebrate her birthday, she counts down for the Easter Bunny (her favorite being ever), and she writes to Santa every Christmas.
  • Because she is trauma born, she suffers from nightmares.  She doesn’t remember much but mostly it is a strong feeling of fear.  To soothe her, I sing her to sleep. Her favorite song for that is “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid.
  • After about three years, we were able to set up a system to allow myself (and four others she considers family) to call her out.  We picked a single word and when it is repeated three times, she takes over. Out of respect for her privacy, I will not reveal the word she chose.  But we do jokingly refer to it as “beetlejuicing.”
  • As a split, it is often easier to see her as a little than age players.  For Callie, she is left-handed. My wife is right-handed. One has a higher voice, one speaks in a lower tone.  One likes Swiss Cheese, one doesn’t. One’s favorite color is pink, and the other’s is purple. They are two different people in the same body.
  • When Callie is out, my wife simply has “missing time.”  She doesn’t remember anything that happens unless Callie shows her.  She has told me it is as though Callie shows her a movie in her head, which gives snippets of important things to remember.  Most often, My partners and I just explain the highlights so she does not feel left out.

**Important Note: Split personality littles are full functional people.  The way they relate to people is up to them. My wife and I are part of a closed poly unit.  We live as husbands and wives. Callie refers to my husband and my other wife as Dramma (Grandma) and Drampa (Grandpa).  It is a mindset change that took some getting used to. Never forget that they are two separate people.

For the next two types, there tends to be a headspace associated with these.  From what I have been told, it is similar to sub space. It is a space that allows you to give up control and forget about adult responsibilities for a time.  For some, it helps with anxiety. For others, they want the comfort they are unable to get anywhere else or have never received growing up. Some use darker Age Play to rewire memories of abuse.  Each person has their own reasons for wanting to be little.

Age Player: These are adults who are fully aware that they are pretending to be a different age.  

  • Though this article is focusing on littles, age players can be any individual acting as a different age.  This includes senior ages as well.
  • Usually, there is no sexual aspect to these individuals.  
  • It is more common to find middles and teens in this category.

Sexual Age Player: This is where you tend to find Daddy/Mommy Doms and Little girl/boys.  Often shortened to DD/lg (Daddy Dom/little girl), this is a subset of BDSM.  There is a D/s relationship that is built around comfort and Domestic Discipline.  The little often has rules that the DD/MD enforces and corrects willful disobedience.  The most common punishments are spankings, corner time/time outs, and grounding.

**Important Note: I have found that littles tend to respond best to those who talk to them as little adults.  While it is important to remember to use smaller words (and less cursing), baby talk will often have them just staring at you like you are stupid.  

Like anything else, communication is key.  I never force my little to meet anyone she does not want to.  If she is overwhelmed, we leave or go somewhere private to help her calm down.  In BDSM play, I use the Stoplight system. That means Green=Good to Go, Yellow=Slow Down/Check in, and Red=Stop Immediately.  My little does not understand this system. She knows that she has one word that she can say and it will stop anything she doesn’t like.

She picked the word Alligator.  If I tickle her too much and she needs it to stop, she will clearly use her word.  If she doesn’t want to be near someone, she will tell me her word quietly and I will steer her away from the situation.  If there are too many people in the mall and she is overwhelmed, she knows Alligator will have us stepping outside for air.  She knows that no matter what, Alligator will make everything better.

Because she is a split, and four, it took several gentle reminders that it was ok to use her word.  It took several times of telling her she could use it whenever she needed it and we would talk about it after.  It took showing her even more times for her to trust the power her word had.

Please remember that patience is the cornerstone of being any kind of Big.  It is the ability to crouch down to her level, to talk clearly, to answer any and all questions, and to show them that you do have their best interests at heart.  Unlike with Age players, negotiating is nigh impossible with a Regressive or Split Little. The most you can do is general negotiations with their “adult” side and remain flexible for anything that happens.

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Rules

It can be difficult to set up rules for a little, especially when the ages and types can vary so widely.  I applied the same rule making process that I would for a submissive. I tailored each rule to her needs and then added a few scapegoat options to accommodate for health issues.

  1. Bedtime is Midnight.  Everything is to be shut off (though music is allowed).  If you cannot fall asleep within 2 hours, you may turn the tv back on and are not required to go back to bed.
    1. She is a diagnosed insomniac.  Very few sleep medications work for her and her tolerance is high.  So, instead of her constantly getting in trouble for a medical condition she cannot control, we set a back up plan.  This way, Diddy can sleep until the alarms go off for work and she is situated.
  2. You will eat at least two times a day.  It does not matter if it is 2 ounces of nuts, twice a day, or 2 bowls of ice cream—as long as you eat.  If you have sicked up food, you are only required to drink water as often as your stomach allows.
    1. She has a condition called Gastroperesis.  This is a side-effect of a surgery she had.  As such, food can be sicked up for up to 48 hours after she eats.  This makes her a high risk for malnutrition. Therefore, as long as she is able to eat, she is allowed to eat whatever will stay down.
  3. No Cursing
    1. This one is simply a preference.  Four-year-olds are not allowed to cuss.  The only word I allow her to use is shit.  So her favorite alternative are “potato balls” and “Potato Pancakes.”
  4. You are to ask for help if you need it.
    1. As a split, she does not entirely understand the disabilities that “B” suffers.  So, sometimes she will ask me why she hurts or why it is hard to walk. Therefore, we wanted her to know that if her body didn’t feel right, then she needed to ask for help.  This is the rule she finds the hardest to follow because she does not feel disabled and does not understand degenerative disorders.
  5. Diddy is not a mind reader.  You can always talk to Diddy.
    1. Sometimes she doesn’t feel that Diddy spends enough time with her.  I work, split my time between three spouses, a kid, and her, help run a BDSM group, and I have hobbies as well.  If she ever feels neglected, I have made it mandatory that she talks to myself, Grandma, or Grandpa so that I can remedy the situation.  She needs to always know that she is just as important as my other partners.

Those are some of her rules.  She has very few. It is important that she can remember them.  We have them written down and hanging on the wall.

Story Time

Some of the brightest times in my life involve Callie Ann.  I think any person who takes care of a little would agree on the amount of joy they bring to your life. To demonstrate that, I am going to tell you a recent story of what it means to be flexible.

**Preface: I am biologically female, though my little calls me Diddy (Her version of Daddy).  

Callie: I don’t understand you Diddy.

Me: What confuses you babygirl?

C: why do you have a period?  You’re a boy! (She overheard me talking to one of my other spouses about why I wasn’t feeling good.)

M: *I stared at her with wide eyes* (I had no idea what to say to answer her).  It’s part of life babygirl. May I ask you a question?

C: Sure, Diddy.

M: You’ve seen Diddy’s bra before but never asked about that.  Why?

C: Cuz boobs are made of fat.  Diddy’s fat. Diddy needs a bra.  But only girls get periods.

I’m not going to lie.  I fell over laughing because I had absolutely no answer for that.  This is that moment where you ask yourself silently what you have gotten yourself into.  She then asked me where babies come from and that led to a conversation about boys and girls.  Her answer was probably the best acceptance of gender I have ever heard.

C: I’m confused Diddy.  You have girl parts but are a boy.  And (insert friend who shall remain nameless) is a girl with boy parts.  I don’t get it. But, I guess you can be whatever you want. I, mean, sometimes I’m a coonicorn (her version of a unicorn), sometimes I’m a bunny, and sometimes I’m a dragon—ROAR.

If that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what will.

**** **** ****

Never force your little into things they aren’t comfortable with.  Each little is unique. The most common things that come to mind for most is that all littles use pacifiers, wear diapers, drink from sippy cups, love to color, and watch nothing but Disney.  But, its not true. Here are some common myth busters for Littles.

  • Littles come in every shape and size.  Boys, girls, transgender, genderfluid, and more.  They can be 6 ft tall or 4’11”. They can be skinny or large.  They can be any color of the rainbow. Little is a mindset or an age, not a body type.
  • Some littles like to paint, do puzzles, or play war with Green Army Men.  They can be picky about what movies they watch. They can be obsessed with My Little Pony or the Addams Family.  Some like cute things, covered in glitters and bows. Others like coffins, and skeletons, and the color black.
  • Some littles like diapers.  Others do not. Some use pacifiers and sippy cups, others do not.  Allow your little to explore their likes and dislikes.
  • Just because they are a girl, doesn’t mean they want to be a princess.  My babygirl prefers to be a pirate by the name of Cutthroat Callie. She even has her own Swashbuckling Bunnies.  She only likes one princess and that is Merida from Disney’s Brave. When I asked her why, she replied “Cuz she don’t need no man.”
  • Some littles are territorial of their Caregivers.  Mine allows me to babysit and care for other littles for short periods of time.  However, she has openly stated I am not allowed to be a “Daddy” to anyone else. She also knows that Drampa has his own babygirl and she recognizes that his babygirl will come first to him and Callie does to me.  Other littles are fine having more than one little per Caregiver. It is all about preference.

Having a little will test your patience.  They will push your buttons and are likely to cry if you react with anger.  They will have tired days where they are grumpy or sad and cannot explain to you why.  They will have days where they have so much energy its hard to sleep. They will have days where they have trouble switching from Adult to little because they are stressed.

However, I wouldn’t trade a single day that I’ve had with Callie.  She lights up my world in a way I never expected. She is joy in human form.  She is my babygirl, my pirate, and my warrior.

There is so much information about Littles and Bigs and everything in between.  Hopefully, this has given you a better understanding of the vast world of Age Play.

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As a bonus, Callie answered a few questions about being a little.  I have written her answers as she spoke them. Anything in italics is my clarification of her answer.

 

What are the most important things people should know about littles?

That not all littles know they are little.  Like, I know I am cuz I am a split but others don’t.  And not all littles are babies—we don’t all use diapers, and sippys and pacis.  In her view of things, she is a “Big Girl.”  In her mind, Big Girls do not use pacifiers or sippy cups.  So she prefers to use cups with lids and straws.

Do you know what an ageplayer is?

Like Beffie. She is more comfy as a little but she knows she is an adult. I edited out the name of her friend for privacy reasons.

Are littles sexual?

I don’t think they are.  They shouldn’t be. That’s illegal Diddy!!  Callie has trouble understanding the idea of a teen.  To her, everyone older than 6 is old. However, she does understand that no one can touch her sexually or in any way without her permission.  

What do you enjoy doing with your Daddy?

Cuddles, shopping, coloring, puzzles, and telling knock-knock jokes, telling puns.  She also loves watching Dragon Tales and Disney Movies.  She loves singing Disney Karaoke and writing her own songs.  She likes playing Minecraft with her Bestie and makes sure that Foofoo (Her stuffie Bestie) is always with her.

Do you have more than just a Daddy?

I have a Drampa and a Dramma and a Best friend “V” and Foofoo, and a “T”.  Again, I have shortened her friend’s names to the first letter of their name for privacy reasons.

Is there a difference between a brat and a little?

Yes.  Littles throw temper tantrums cuz they can’t explain how they feel.  Brats do it to get attention and see how far they can push their care givers.  She is adamant that she is never a brat.  She’s just grumpy sometimes.

Are all littles brats?

No.  We try to do what we are told but sometimes we are super tired or grumpy.

Do you have a favorite animal?

Foofoo—Bunnies and cunicorns and dragons and penguins. Oh, and puppies.  I has to have my Tig and my Suki. Tig and Suki are dogs that help her emotionally and she simply loves them to death.  Her and Drampa love penguins and Dragons. She often tells me she is Drampa’s Little Dragon.

If you could tell everyone something important about littles, what would it be?

Littles are not for sex.  We just want comfort. You should feel special if they show themselves to you because that means they feel comfy to you.  She tried really hard to explain to me that it’s not the same as the bad guys who like kids (pedophiles).  She said its about comfort and being loved and taken care of.

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Callie is laying here next to me sleeping as I write this.  She was so excited to tell her side of the story. I can here her snoring softly and I know she is going to wake up in about an hour, needing some juice and some cuddles from Diddy.  She will be here through the night until she has to relinquish control to “B” so that she can attend her college classes.

I know she is going to excitedly tell me about how the Easter Bunny is going to visit her next month and leave eggs for her to find.  I know she is going to want to curl up in a couple of days when I am off of work, and ask to watch “Christopher Robin.” She’s going to hug Foofoo, cuddle Diddy, and tell me why she loves Eeyore.  She’s going to tell me that Winnie the Pooh has the best friends because they are all mental in their own way but everyone just accepts you as you are.

Didn’t you know, that’s how it is supposed to be.

I will spend the rest of my days reminding her that even on her Eeyore days, we love her as she is.  On days she feels disabled, we will always be there to pick her up. Because whether I am talking to “B” or “Callie Ann,” they will never have a reason to doubt that her family stands behind her.

So if you ever make the decision to care for a Little or find yourself in a similar situation to me, think long and hard about what you want to do.  It takes a very brave and special person to embrace their inner little.

It takes an even braver one to care for them.


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

The Punishment Jar

April 14, 2019 By Joji Sada 5 Comments


Admit it, you opened this expecting to read a dirty story.  In truth, the only dirty story I will be telling you is mine.

I discovered kink about eighteen years ago.  Through some dirty stories on the internet and a couple dirty magazines my mother hid in her dresser.  However, I didn’t actively begin to see it out until three years later. I devoured every little bit of information I could find on kink, BDSM, and, more specifically, the Dominate/submissive dynamic.  Though information was difficult to find, I discovered the basics. I found out what a contract was, negotiations, collars, and punishments.

For those of you who are just starting out:

Contract: Traditionally, a contract is a written agreement between two (or more) parties entering a Power Exchange relationship.  This can include (but not limited to) a time limit, basic rules regarding behavior and punishments, expectations, soft limits, hard limits, a renegotiation time period, medical information that affects play, protocol, and so much more.  They can vary in length as well.

  • One example is a Protocol Handbook that I keep on my nightstand.  Protocol Handbook for the Leather Slave: Theory and Practice by Robert J. Rubel is a book that started out as a handbook for his own slave.  It holds a variety of information, especially for those leaning more towards a Total Power Exchange (TPE)

Negotiations:  This is an honest and vulnerable conversation when it comes to long term partners.  It is a conversation, preferably in person, where you discuss everything you hope to get out of a relationship, what you can offer into the relationship, your limits, your desires, your wants, your needs, your history, and so forth.  I personally recommend doing this in person because I know that I can easily misunderstand the tone of a text message or email.

Collars:  For the longest time when I started out, I connected collars with the visual sign of ownership.  In truth, it is a physical marking that you belong to someone. However, with anything, there are many ways and many more meanings to what a collar is.  There is a variety of types: Consideration, day, pet, and play collars are only a few of the options. I learned much later in my journey that a collar is much more of a spiritual experience and even when I am not wearing it (though it rarely comes off) it is never really gone.

Lastly,

Punishments:  I had always believed that punishments were physical deterrents to correct improper behavior.  And, as I speak from experience, they can be. A few swats of the belt can leave a firm reminder of what not to do.  But, more so, punishments are a time for self-reflection.  

I am always harder on myself than my Master ever is.  His corrections are swift and firm. But, the most important part, is He will always make sure I understand why I am in trouble.  There are times I feel as though I’ve failed Him. Even stronger, I often feel I have failed myself. Master never hesitates to affirm that once a punishment is done, all is forgiven.  He keeps the balance.

**** ****

Like most, I did not find my Master in my very first relationship.  In fact, I found a beautiful person who was just as kinky, and just as new, as myself.  Two newbies do not make a seasoned player.  With both of us learning, it was a lot of trial and error.  I knew I was submissive. The idea of being a Top was off-putting.  But, as my partner came from an abusive background, punishments for my misbehavior was a major struggle.  There was nothing I could do to convince her that I was fine with being physically corrected.

So, I offered a compromise.

I offered the idea of a Punishment Jar.

It started out as a cookie jar that sat innocently on the fridge.  When you opened the lid, there were ten white pieces of paper, all folded tightly to hide their contents.  Each was numbered. The numbers corresponded to previously negotiated punishments. From that point on, if my behavior warranted punishment, the burden fell from her shoulders and into mine.  My partner no longer stressed that her choice of punishment was too harsh (because we had already agreed on these) and she did not have to worry that my behavior would not be corrected if she was having a mental health day.  

In all honesty, it also opened my mind to the idea of enjoying mind-fuckery.  Half the internal battle is wondering how severe my punishment would be. Would it match the infraction?  Would I be up into the wee hours of the night writing lines? Would I be sleeping on my stomach because my ass was too sore?  Would I have to sleep alone?

Twelve years, and two additional partners later, and those questions only get harder to answer.

My Jar has grown in the last twelve years.  When I mentioned it to Master during one of our negotiations, He decided he liked the idea.  The uncertainty I felt as I had to draw my numbers appealed to the Sadist in Him.

It was very easy instructions.  I was to pick one punishment for each day of the longest month of the year plus one to grow on.  Each punishment had to be personal to me. It had to push me in some form. I was given three days to complete the task.  After which, I presented Him with the list, and He decided those which met the requirements and removed those that did not.  Then I labeled 32 pieces of white paper with numbers, folded them tightly, and placed them in a mason jar. When I draw from my jar, I never know the punishment until I get my book.  It contains the list of what each one means.

I’ve been told that He can see my face fall when I start looking for the number(s) I need.  After all, the point of mind-fuckery is to keep you on your toes.

I have typed up my current list to give an idea of how to create your own jar should you so wish.  I will add bits and pieces of clarification and why they are personal to me.

Disclaimer:  Some of these are about mental mind-fuckery.  They sound both callous and cruel; or so I’ve been told by other individuals.  It is important to note that I selected each and every one of these and then had to explain them to Master as I am about to explain them to you.  These are punishments that push my limits but never cross them. Please do not apply them as a standard. Some of these can be considered cruel.

The Punishments

  1. 250 lines
    • If you have never written lines, I can assure you they are painful as can be.  Add the aspect that each line must be written one at a time, with proper grammar, and a sentence of Master’s choice (not always limited to one written line), you will regret drawing this one.  Especially if they are due by dinner the following night and you work a full-time job.
  2. 6 smacks—barehanded spanking
    • For a masochist, I have always found bare-handed spankings to be the most difficult to bear.  Implements were far easier to take and in this, I wanted the ability to both increase my tolerance and push my pain threshold while also knowing that it was not something I enjoyed.
  3. 15 minutes in corner
    • Simply stated, it is humiliating.
  4. 1 day –suspension of right to serve
    • I am a service-oriented submissive.  I find my peace in taking care of my household.  
  5. 4 hours—no kneeling, centering, or sitting on floor
    • Furniture is the Devil, didn’t you know?
  6. 2 hours—no kisses, no hugs, no cuddles
    • I am a tactile human being.  If withheld long enough, I can shut down emotionally.  I chose this as a motivator. Knowing this is in the jar, and never knowing if it will be chosen, helps me think twice about misbehaving.
  7. 3 hours—no talking beyond Yes/No Sir/Ma’am
    • I have a severe phobia of silence.  If there is silence, I will fill it.  I will talk until I’m blue in the face just to avoid such silence.  Having a limitation on that pushes me.
  8. Public Apology in Group/at munch
    • It is hard enough to make amends in private, it is even harder to do it in public.
  9. 30 minutes–Physical Restraint of Dom’s choice
    • Surprises are a great toll in mind-fuckery.
  10. No wearing of cuffs to next munch
    • I have a pair of custom leather cuffs that Master made.  I can wear them to munches and parties. I struggle when they are taken from me.
  11. 1 hour—blindfolded
    • Vulnerability is a good reminder that Master takes care of me and an exercise of trust.
  12. Shine Master’s Boots
    • While I enjoy taking care of Master, when I wrote this, I despised shining shoes.  As that has changed since then, this will more than likely be replaced soon.
  13. 10 minutes—hold coin to wall with nose, no matter what
    • If you have never been tickled within an inch of your life while trying to stay still, you will never know this pain.
  14. 2 days—not allowed to give massages
    • Body worship is a kink of mine.
  15. 24 hours—no licking, no suckling, no sucking
    • I have an oral fixation to the point of addiction.
  16. 20 minutes—sensory deprivation and left alone
    • This is the conquering of a fear while being punished
  17. Handcuffed to furniture during dinner—no service allowed
    • Removal of right to serve is one of my least favorite on this list.  Handcuffing requires someone else to serve me. It is salt to a wound.
  18. 400 lines
    • Death to writing hand.
  19. 3 hours— no skin to skin contact
    • Skin to Skin contact is how I relax and deal with anxiety.  Removal of that comfort helps the lesson stick better.
  20. 10 Smacks—barehanded spanking
    • Still don’t like spankings.
  21. 6 Smacks—with belt
    • I’m pretty sure the sound of a belt through its loops is playing through your head as you read this.  Enough said.
  22. 15 Minutes—Silent treatment from Core
    • Being in a poly relationship, I have three partners.  I refer to them as my “Core.” Silence is a fear. Silence from partners can be unbearable.
  23. 100 lines
    • Don’t worry, my hand cramps fifteen sentences in.
  24. 10 Minutes—nose to wall, no moving–no matter what
    • “No Matter What” implies that Master gets to mess with me in his uniquely Sadistic way while I try to complete my punishment.
  25. 5 Minutes tickle torture
    • I hate being tickled.  Master loves to tickle.
  26. 6 Smacks—Dom’s choice of implements
    • Giving a Sadist choices is an exercise in mind-fuckery.
  27. 30 Minutes—No talking/no signing
    • This is to give me time to reflect within myself’.
  28. 3 Minutes—kneeling on rice
    • Little bullets of death
  29. No bedtime hugs and kisses
    • Removal of tactile affection causes anxiety.  It also makes it more memorable.
  30. 1 work shift—No texting
    • I live by routine due to OCD.  Changing my routine and leaving me in the dark about what is happening at home is an exercise in self-control
  31. 6 Smacks—with crop
    • Done right, the crop makes quite the statement.
  32. 13 Smacks—With Tigger
    • Lastly, is Tigger.  He is reserved for punishment and I feel him even as I write this.  Tigger is exactly as he sounds. He is the character, wearing a birthday hat, on a stick.  He leaves the most beautiful bruises, in the most painful way.

There it is.  A glimpse into my world—my jar.  It sits ever so innocently on the living room shelf, waiting for the signal that I have earned the punishments held within its glass walls.

I dislike failure, as I said before.  I do my best to behave because to do any lest undermines my relationship with Master.  However, I am human, and mistakes happen. Whether Master decides to correct me with punishments from the depths of his imagination or has me draw from my Jar, the point always gets across.


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

Creating Anna-Part 1

March 3, 2019 By Joji Sada 2 Comments


*My name is Anna and this is the story of how I became Master’s slave*

I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I’m being watched.  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up constantly.  At first, it only happened when I was outside of my apartment.   But over the last couple of months, I feel the seeds of unease even at home. 

I’ve taken to leaving the lights on.  They are the round clapper like lights that I’ve been able to place in various parts of my tiny apartments.   But these just seems to increase the shadows looming over me. 

I’ve woken in a cold sweat twice this week.  It’s as though there is someone touching me as I sleep.  I feel pressure when I’m sleeping, and it terrifies me.

My mother tells me I’m simply overworked.  Maybe it is time for a vacation.  A place bright and sunny, full of museums and libraries that i can peruse at leisure.

Maybe I just need to up my pills.  Anxiety is a tricky thing after all

There is a storm outside tonight.  I can hear the wind whipping against my windows.  I fear they may shatter all around me.

The sky is a dark torrent, barely visible through the torrential downpour. 

I used to love these types of storms.  I could spend my nights walking through it, getting soaked to the bone a d loving every minute of it.  Now, they frighten me. 

I don’t feel safe anymore.  I think I am losing my mind.  I’ve come home, and things have moved.  I swear I’ve left a cup in the sink and I come home to find it missing.  I’ve left my house darkened and come home to the soft hum of music from my radio.  Everything is locked.  I don’t understand what is happening.

I live alone.

At least, I used to.

Do you ever just close your eyes and imagine that if you can’t see something then it shouldn’t be able to see you?

I didn’t used to.  I mean, honestly, it is almost as childish as believing that if you are under a blanket then nothing can get you.  That’s just not reality and I prefer to live in reality.

But my reality has been changing.  I’m being stalked…At least, I think I am.  Things are moving in my apartment when no one is home.  I feel as though I am being watched.

Of course, today just confirmed my suspicions.  I came home to a gift. 

There is was, lying on the pillows in my bedroom.  It was a brilliant silver wrapping, with an emerald green bow.  My favorite colors.  My name was written delicately on a small white tag.

I wasn’t sure what to do.  I shouldn’t open it.  It could be dangerous.  It could be a trap.  I should report what’s happening.  But I doubt they wouldn’t just laugh at me and think I need some mental help.

So, against my better judgement, I peek inside.

There is tissue paper folded neatly beneath the lid with a note nestled on top.  My hands are shaking as I read the delicate scrawl.

“My pets should always look pretty for Me.”  The words taunt me.  I am unsure what it even means.  A pet?  Like a dog?  Who says that?

My curiosity still gets the better of me as I move aside the creepy note and unwrap my gift.  Inside is a beautiful green lace babydoll.  It’s a dark emerald.  There are matching garters and black, sheer stockings–the ones with the solid seam line up the back.

They are my size.

I feel my breath catch.  They are beautiful and creepy.  I want to know who is there.  Why won’t they just talk to me like a normal person?  Why won’t they leave me alone?

The next week brought three more gifts.  All wrapped in the same boxes and all with the now familiar scrawl that taunted me.

“You will never be far from Me, pet.”  That note rested atop a dog leash.  I was quite surprised at that.  I don’t like these games. 

“I always know where My pets are.”  That came with a stack of pictures.  All of them were of myself, snippets of my everyday life.

The last was the worst. 

“It’s better if you don’t scream, pet.”  As I stared at the gag lying before me, I felt the worst shocking sensation and the world went black.

My head is throbbing, and my eyes are heavy.  I blink slowly, trying to get my barring.  I shift and am surprised to find my legs and arms are free.  I see a door across the room and I try to bolt as the memories assault me.  I don’t even manage to kneel up from my seated position before I am stopped.  A thick metal collar is locked around my neck and a chain leads down to a ring in the floor.  I’m sure I only miss it due to my panic and need to escape.

I close my eyes and suddenly I hear a dark, almost haunting chuckle behind me.  The hairs on my neck stand on end and I try to turn to see you.  The hands that wrote such sweet words to me.  The voice that taunted me.  The man who kidnapped me.

You have the patience of a saint and it bothers me greatly.  I’ve screamed at you from my position on the floor and you simply smiled at me.  I’ve called you names so vulgar I’m sure my mother would disown me if she heard them.  I’ve pounded on the floor and tried more than once to yank the chain from its ring.  Nothing has worked.  Still, you simply watch.  Youve said nothing.  All I’ve heard is that dark chuckle and it infuriates me.

All that can be heard is my heavy on breathing.  The blood is rushing through my ears and my hands are raw and torn from pounding on the wood floor.  What little light there was coming through the window has all but dissipated.  We must have been here for hours.

I want to make you angry.  I want to go home.  If I can make you angry you will probably hurt me.  But you are also more likely to make a mistake.

“Are you ready to listen, pet?”

I refuse to look at you.  I’m not playing your game.

I don’t hear anything else, but I am surprised when your hand grips my jaw and forces my head up.  I hadn’t even heard you move.

“When I ask you a question, you will give me a verbal answer.  Is that clear?”

I stared deep into your eyes and spit at you.

I’ve succeeded in angering you.  That was my first mistake.

Your eyes flashed.  Your grip on my chin tightened harshly.  You wiped the spit from your chin and smeared it across my own face.  I closed my eyes in disgust.  I shouldn’t have.  Then I may have seen the back of your hand coming.  The pain blossomed immediately, and the force turned my head to the far right.  My eyes watered but I am determined not to cry.

I felt my collar being tugged and you lifted me like a rag doll.  The chain wad long enough to let you bend me over the bed but i knew it would not allow it for long.  The metal was pushing into my throat and I struggled to hold my head up to shift the pressure from my windpipe to the back of my neck.  I could feel the strain in my shoulders even before you yanked my hands behind by my back.  I felt the cold metal of handcuffs biting into each wrist.

You yanked my hair and pulled my body until I was on my knees.  You leaned in and whispered, “You will not move, pet.  I will leave you to think about whether you want this to be easy or difficult?  Choose carefully.” 

You stood, your fist still wrapped tightly in my long hair.  You pulled me head back further, my eyes watering again.  You wrenched my jaw open with your other hand.  I couldn’t close it if I tried. As I had done to you, you spit in my open mouth.  Now I had dried spit on my forehead and cheeks, and a fresh set in my mouth.

“Be lucky I’m bothering to give you a choice at all.  You certainly do not deserve it.”  You threw me down and walked away.  The only confirmation was the closing of the door. 

I clambered back to my knees and rested my forehead against the bed linens.  I started to cry quietly.  I’ve learned an important lesson today.  Making you angry will not bring me freedom. 

Does that mean I have any hope of ever being free?

I’ve been here in this room three days now.  You’ve let me up only a few times to relieve myself.  But you’ve never left me alone.  You watch every move I make. 

I’ve given up trying to talk to you.  You simply stare at me until I am quiet and then simply pretend as though I’ve never spoken.  I am to the point where I simply talk to myself when you leave me alone.  It keeps the shadows away.

You removed the handcuffs from me only an hour ago.  My wrists are swollen and shredded.  I tried all night to get out of them when you didn’t come back.  I don’t like being bound.  It makes me feel vulnerable.

I didn’t even bother to look up when I heard you enter.  Your footfalls are so light, if the door didn’t catch slightly on the floor boards, I’d never know you were here.

I wonder what you want this time.  I know I want a shower.  I want a moment to myself.  I doubt either will come soon, but I’m coming to the realization that I am not going home anytime soon.

Now, I just need to figure out what you want with me.

I find it almost humourous that I do not know your name.  There is nothing in this room that hints to your identity, nor really anything about you.  I can see the opulence in your choices and some obvious wealth, though I am unsure if it is old money or new money based on the furnishings.

I don’t know what to call you when I think about you.  Because, as much as I am determined to not give you any of my time, there is little to do beyond think with all the hours you have gifted me. 

The hours torment me, as I’m sure you know.  You watched me long enough to know the silence is deafening.  It mocks me.

I’ve screamed myself raw but still the door remains closed.  Have you silenced this room to the outside world?  Do you have guests over who remain ignorant to my captivity?  Does it make you smile ever so twistedly to watch me squirm and cry and struggle?

Maybe I can bargain with you.  Maybe you will give me a taste of freedom, to lengthen my chain, for a piece of my soul.

I finally dozed off for a few minutes.  I leaned back against the side of the bed and closed my eyes.  No sooner did I succeed in sleep were you opening the door to my cell.  All I want to do is sleep, to forget about you and me and this situation.  But you won’t let me.

I’m to the point of seeing things in the corners of my eyes, lurking in the dark.  The edges around you are fuzzy with my exhaustion.  I’m not sure I could even fight you at this point.  I’ve not eaten since I’ve been here, and you’ve limited my water to leave me weak.

“Kneel up.” You’ve left the door open this time.  I’m sure you are taunting me.  I’m smaller than you, I’m sure I could slide beside you and out the door, but I’m not sure how far freedom is from this door. 

“Do not make me tell you twice, pet”.

I turned slowly, pushing your patience I’m sure.  But you’ve taken me unwillingly, I will be damned before I bow to your will.

I kneel up and boldly look you in the eye.  I’m not going to let the double vision allow me to be intimidated.

You move towards me with a grace I want to deny.  I wonder for a split second if you will hurt me again.  But, then again, so far you have only been reactive to my own rebellion. 

Tell me, are you kinder when I do as I’m told?

A continuation of your story:

I stared you down defiantly but even I recognize how comical it must be to see such determination from a captive….pet. That’s what you keep calling me.  I’ve almost forgotten my own name at this point, so desperate am I to hear it.  To hear my mother scold me over the phone for being paranoid, to hear my coworkers say my name as they ask for help with the broken copier only I seem to be able to fix.  I simply want to be more than your prisoner.

You told me to present myself by placing my face on the floor and keeping my ass in the air.  I slowly complied, I am tired.

My forehead was touching the duvet where it meets the floor, allowing my face to remain hidden.  You must have read my thoughts, as you simply grabbed my hips and pulled me back far enough the all of me was exposed and you could circle a full 360 around me. 

The cool leather of your boots nudged my pussy lips, causing me to jerk a little.  You chuckled and used the side of your boots to push my legs apart: shoulder width, that’s what you expect.

“Show me what you have pet” You casually commanded. 

I was flummoxed.  I did not understand what you meant.  I moved to roll over and show you my front but your boot on my back stopped that chain of action.

“I did not tell you to break rank.  Bring your hands back pet, and spread your cheeks.  I want to see what treasures you keep hidden.”

Humiliated, I did as I was told.  I closed my eyes and breathed deliberately through my nose.  I didn’t think it could get worse.  Until you said something that, I didn’t know I would soon be very familiar with.

“Wink for me.”

It is the weirdest thing to be told.  I’ve never thought about anything with my ass before.  After all, only immoral girls let men near there.  That’s what momma taught me. 

I was unsure of your demand, but when you dragged a finger across my pucker and it spasmed involuntarily, I understood what you wanted.  And it humiliated me even more than just hearing you say it.

I felt something cold run down my crack and instinctively I went to move.  You out your hand on my lower back to still me.

“Do not move.  If you fight me, I will make this as painful as possible pet.”

I hate when you talk to me like that; like I am an animal. 

I felt something cold push against me.  It felt so big and blunt.  It hurt.  I tried to pull away but you held me still.  It was being pushed further and further in.  My muscles felt torn and my back had jolts of pain shooting up it. 

“Please…”. I let out a small sob.  I’m not even sure what I am asking.

As soon as it started, it stopped.  I felt so full and pulled so taunt.

“You may kneel up pet.  You will wear that plug unless I remove it.  Right now it is simply sitting there.  Try to remove it and I will make the next one bigger and lock into place.  Is that understood?”

I kept my head down and refused to answer.  I was still trying to acclimate to what had just happened.

You gripped my hair and pulled my head back to look at you.  “You will answer when I ask you a direct question pet.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”. You gripped tighter.  “Yes Sir.”

“Good girl.”

It is Incredibly awkward to sleep with something inside of me.  I constantly feel like I have to go and the pressure never seems to let up. Everytime I move, it shifts.  Sometimes I feel almost a small jolt of pleasure, sometimes it just annoys the hell out of me.

I was severely tempted to try and remove it.  But, if what I felt the first time was you going easy, I do not want to feel what you consider painful. 

You’ve checked on me a few times.  I always feel your presence.  You carry yourself so well, like it has been bred into you.

I think my imagination has run wild about what you are capable of.  I half expect you to drag me into a concrete room, chain me up, and torture me with car cables. 

I’ve also been expecting you to take what you want from my body.  But you seem to be waiting for something.  Even with the plug I’m wearing, you were gentler than I feel you should have been, considering you have already kidnapped me and are holding me here as a prisoner.

I just wish I understood you.

“You did very good pet.  You made it all night without trying to remove your plug.”. You are chuckling again.  I’ve decided that laugh is evil and only means trouble for me.

“I think I’m going to reward you pet.  We are going to play a game.”.

Those words fill me with dread. 

You wander over to me and grip my hair.  Then you unlock the metal collar that has kept me tied here for so long.  It feels weird not to have it.  Like I’m missing something.

I shake my head.  Those are bad thoughts to have.  I need to be relieved that I am no longer restricted so tightly.

You trade my metal collar for a leather one.  It is a plain band.  It reminds me of your belt.  I’m not sure why I noticed such a thing.  Maybe it’s to help me to stop from going crazy.

I know I cannot overpower you.  You have shown me as much.  I wonder if you merely keep me tied for your enjoyment or simply because it helps break down who I am quicker.

Around my upper arms, you clasp a metal band.  They don’t connect to anything, nor do they have rings to hook me to anything else.  They baffle me.

The same type of band goes around each of my thighs.  And then I feel you push your thumb against my clit and rub quickly.  I can’t help but gasp and I try to wiggle away.  It does nothing but frustrate me more.

You slide two fingers none to gently inside my pussy and I know you can feel my shame.  You have made me wet.  As much as I desire to be free, you have managed to turn me on better than anyone before.  Then again, you’ve hurt me more than any other man ever has.

I feel you clip something to my clit.  It is applying light pressure that is sure to keep me shamefully wet.  I’m not sure what it is but I can feel it is a long bar that extends past my outer lips.

I shift when you tell me to stand and I hear the most ridiculous sound.  A bell.  You have fucking tagged me with a bell.

I swear to God that one day I will pay you back in kind.

“Are you ready for your reward pet?” You asked mockingly. 

“Yes Sir”. I hope it involves wringing your neck, I think silently.

“You are going to run.  If you can out run me for the next thirty minutes, you will go free.”. You stopped for a minute.  I am waiting for the catch.  “If you do not, you stop fighting me and you start learning.  If I win, you will stay, of your own free will.  Are the rules understood?”

My eyes light up.  “Yes Sir”.  All I have to do is outrun you.  You look athletic Sir, but I am far smaller.  I should be able to slip past you.

“I will give you a sixty second head start.”. You pulled a small round object from your pocket.  I expect it is a stopwatch.  “Go.”

I took off.  That ridiculous bell echoing throughout the house.  You said I had to outrun you, not that I do it silently.

I flew as fast as I could to the nearest door.  But when I grabbed the handle, I felt electrical shocks spasm through my muscles.  I screamed.

You stood at the top of the stairs smirking.

“I should have warned you pet.  Those bands you wear are part of a shock system that has boundaries.  Only one spot that leads outdoors does not have the boundary shockers. Every time you touch one, the shocks will increase by one.  They will become stronger.  You better get moving girl.  Twenty-four minutes to go”

I struggle to stand.  I will not give you the satisfaction of watching me give up.  You can shock me a hundred times, but I will keep trying.

The bathroom window was not the exit.  Twenty-one minutes and some very shaky legs are what I am left with.

Did you know there is a secret exit through the pantry?  Of course, you do; it shocked me after all.

“Seventeen minutes pet.  You might want to try recovering faster.”

You make no move to go near me.  My body is full of tremors now.  I’m not stopping. 

A little more slowly I move through to these beautiful French doors, surprised when I can push them open without being shocked.

Then I find myself disappointed to realize they do not lead outdoors.  They lead to a Master bedroom.  At least, I believe it is if the King size bed is anything to go by.

I’m distracted.  You are so kind to inform me as such.  Nine minutes left.  I fear I may have to stay here willingly or spend the rest of my days tied up.

Three more doors and enough shocks to tame a lion.

Three minutes left.

I refuse to beg for my freedom.  I will not give you the satisfaction.

Two minutes.

I’m limping badly, and I feel like my skin is burned.  I hurt so bad.

One minute.

I grip the kitchen door and turn the knob.  There are no shocks.  I open it with you counting down the seconds.

I come face to face with a brick wall.  It was a door to nowhere.

The exact place I will be going.

I collapsed to the floor with a sob.  I am stuck here, by choice no less.  Foolishly I agreed to your entertainment, I hoped I could outrun or outwit you.  I failed.

I could care less if you see me cry.  You have taken everything from me.  You’ve taken my family, my home, and even my companionship.  I am a caged animal to you.

When my sobs settled, I felt your hands on my shoulders.  You lifted me and I gave up trying to resist.  You made your point.

You surprised me when you picked me up and carried me back up the stairs. 

You laid me down on the bed, the same one I’ve spent so long chained to.  I felt one of the metal band shift down a couple inches and something cool placed on my skin.  You repeated the process three more times until each spot was adjusted and coated.

“I prefer my marks be less permanent pet.  We will take care of these burns.”.  You sound almost kind.  But you do not fool me.  You are a wolf. 

“I am going to leave you untethered pet.  You will join me for meal times.  If you are good, you may eat.  Your bands will stay on.  You are not to leave this room unless otherwise told.  If you choose to ignore the warnings, look down and see your burns.  I have turned up the intensity of the boundary.  I doubt you will be conscious afterwards.  You will be punished in addition to that as well.  Do not push my good will nor mistake my kindness for weakness.  I will enjoy this either way.  In fact, I enjoy it far more when you rebel.”

With those words you left me laying there, with the door open.  You are testing me.  You are waiting for me to make a mistake again.

For tonight, I find I am too exhausted to even think about it.  Maybe Dawn will bring a decision to mind.

You came to my door again.  It doesn’t feel like it has been that long since you left me. 

I don’t say anything as you walk over.  I’m stretched out on my back on the bed, my arms at my side.  My fists are curled tightly. 

I flinch slightly when your fingers touch my face.  I’m expecting you to slap me.  But you don’t.  Your fingers slide down my cheek, across my throat and down through my collarbone.

Your fingers trail between my breasts and across my stomach.  You skip down my thighs and trace down my legs.  First the left and then the right.  I feel your fingertips on my inner thigh and my body tenses.  You flick your finger against that bell, the small ching sound mocking me.

Without reservation, you grab the bell and tug.  It pulls at my clit but snaps off cleanly.

Instantly I am throbbing as the blood rushes back through my body.  My body spasms around the plug still in me.  I am ashamed to admit you have made me wet.

I never realized how sensitive I am.  I was never like this before.

You push two fingers against my clit, the pressure unbearable.  I just want you to move.

As though you can hear me, you rub my clit back and forth rapidly.  It is so overwhelming.  I can feel my muscles contracting rapidly and I cannot help the gasps that are escaping me. 

My orgasm is building.  I’m conflicted at how I feel but I am a slave to my own reactions.  Suddenly you still your hand.

“Arms above your head pet.”

I complied.  You handcuffed me to a ring in the wall.

You went back to playing with me.  Anytime I felt close, you would change the rhythm or the spot.  You have made me so sensitive and frustrated.

After a few minutes you put a green dildo to my lips.  I stubbornly kept them closed.

“Suck.”

No response.

“I’m going to make this very easy. How ever wet you get this, is the amount of lube you receive.  Your choice.”

I turned my head from you.  I’m not ready to give in to you.  I hope you do not follow through with your threat.  Then again, the burns on my body tell me you mean business.

“Very well”. You sigh softly.

You stop playing with me and place the toy next to me.  I feel the bed bounce back as you lift yourself from it.  I follow your movements and start to curl my legs toward my body when I see you reach for them. 

You yanked my right ankle harshly and stretched it firmly to the corner of the bed and handcuff my ankle to the bedpost.  Regardless of me trying to kick you, you quickly repeated the process with my left.

My body writhed against the bonds.  I can feel the metal digging in fiercely.  There are sure to be marks tomorrow.

You wrestle a blindfold onto me.  It leaves me vulnerable.  I cannot see what you will do nor if you have people with you.  I hate it.

I feel something blunt at my opening.  I can only assume it is the toy I refused to suck.  True to your word, it was pushed in in one harsh thrust.  I let out a pained groan as I felt the tears well in the corner of my eyes.

Did you know I was a virgin?  You must have for all you followed me.  I’ve never had a kind relationship with a man. 

Maybe this is just my luck.

I felt the toy start to move.  I’m not sure what is happening other than the toy is fucking me.  After a few moments, I feel something vibrating against my clit.  I try to maneuver away from it.  It feels so good, but the vibration is so strong against my swollen bits. 

I hear you chuckle again.  “You chose this pet.”. I felt a strap go across my hips, effectively preventing me from moving.  “You are being fucked by a machine.  It will never bend to your begging or crying.  So please feel free to scream.  You will be at it’s mercy until I decide otherwise.  Enjoy it pet.  I plan to.”

I tried to keep quiet.  I’m not sure where you are but I have the feeling you are watching.  Your footfalls are silent when I can see you, let alone when I can’t.  I can feel my own juices dripping.  My pussy is so swollen, but the dildo gives me no room to breathe, to adjust, to escape.  I can feel tears at the corners of my eyes.

I can’t take much more of this.  I’ve cum twice already and there is no indication this is coming to an end.  I can barely string together a thought. 

“Please…”. I sob out.  I receive no answer.  I didn’t really expect one though.

The vibrations are making my whole-body shake.  It is almost painful.  My clit is so sensitive it is causing my stomach to cramp.  Sharp lines of pleasure were shooting up my back.  I was tugging harshly at the handcuffs.  There are sure to be marks for days.  I can feel how swollen they are, even as I continually try to slide my hand through the metal.

I need to be free.

“Please…”. I’m sure I’ve screamed it loud.  My sobs are broken.  I’ve never felt this overwhelmed before.  This is more torturous than when you left me alone, leashed to the bed.

“Please what, pet?”. Your voice startled me.  I should’ve known you were there but I am long beyond logical thought.

“Please stop the machine.  Please…”

That fuckin chuckle.  I swear you know it drives me batty.  It never means good things for me.

“Tell me.  Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I–I”. I inhaled sharply.  It hurts so bad.  “I need f-free.”

If I had to bet, I’d say you were smiling.  You are a Sadistic bastard.

“That’s not what you need.  That’s what you want.  Do I need to ask you again pet?”

The blindfold is sticking to my skin.  I’m sweating more than I can ever remember. 

“W-why? Why are you doing this?”. I managed to gasp out.  I need to know.

“Because I can.”

“Please….please stop it from fucking me.  I can’t take anymore. Please.”. I tried again.  I don’t know how much longer I can take this.  It feels as though it has been going for hours. 

I feel a hand on my stomach.  Finger tips traced around my tummy, pushing harshly on my side.  The pads of the fingers quickly turned to nails, dragging roughly across my skin.  It felt like I was being sliced.  After a particularly vicious swipe of the nails, my nipples were suddenly pulled tight and twisted.

I screamed.

It was so unexpected, and it hurt so bad.  My nipples were instantly hard.  My attention was split between the ruthless fucking and the tenderness in my nipples.

I felt the blindfold being removed but my position did not change.

“I think you need something to distract you pet.  So, I’ve decided to help.”. You moved back from me and I turned my head to try and see what you are planning.

I see you hold up a long, thick needle.  Now I’m worried.  Are you planning to drug me?  What else could it be for?

Then I see the ice.

I renew my efforts to struggle away.  I can really only move my arms very slightly, enough to damage myself but not much else.  It doesn’t matter.  I’m not letting you poke me with that needle.

“Aww, is my poor little whore scared?  It’s alright pet, I will take care of you.”. You press the ice against my nipples.  It is so cold against my overheated skin.  It starts to melt quickly.

You tug one nipple out and stretch it.  I’m sure the tautness is more for your pleasure than mine.

“Hold your breath and don’t move.”. Not really having a choice, I bear down as best I can and try to minimize the movement caused by the fucking machine.  “Ready?”

One.

Two.

Fuuuuuuuccccccck.  One down.  For the record, I am a bleeder.  You seem far to happy about that.

Now the other one.

One.

Two.

Exhale.  Fuck.  That hurts.

The metal is cold as you screw it into place.  When you are done, I feel both the vibrator and the machine turned off.

I lay there panting.  You undo my wrists and ankles and I collapse where I am.  I am a sticky, sweaty mess but I have no energy to care.

I just need to sleep.

“Do not touch your nipples.  You may also not touch yourself unless I give you leave.  If you choose to disregard that rule, we will see what the shock with do when routed through your pussy.”

I groaned but made no other move as you left.

This is only the beginning.

The beginning of the end.

I’ve been here somewhere near a month now.  That’s what the notches on the underside of my bed tell me.  I’m sure you would be angry if you knew I was defiling your furniture.  Then again, you’re defiling me.  So it’s a fair trade.

My nipples are still healing but the pain of your piercing have lessened.  I struggle not to touch them, even lightly to ease the shock they feel.  They are extra sensitive now.  The slightest breeze is enough to make them ache for hours.

To your credit, you take care of them well.  You wash them, disinfect them, and soothe them with ice. 

You are my very own Dr. Jekell/Mr. Hyde.  Sometimes you are clinical and semi-concerned about my wellbeing.  Other times, you are a Sadistic monster who takes such delights in watching my body bow from your electrical boundaries.  You seem to delight in my tears as well.  You often ask me if I will cry for you.  I’ve gotten more resilient.  I can last longer without crying, but you get more inventive every time I do.

You have told me I am to answer you with a Yes, Sir and No Sir only.  I’ve told you to keep dreaming.

We will see who breaks first.

You came into my room today.  I probably should call it what it is, a cell, but I can fool myself out of sorrow if I refer to it as a room.

For the first time since your game, you have told me I am leaving my room.  You snap your fingers and point to the spot next to you.  I understand you now, even though you speak so little.  You want me to kneel.  I hesitate for a second, but long enough for the look in your eyes to change.

I move to your side and down to my knees.  You attach a leash to my collar and outline the rules for my “outing”. I am to crawl when moving.  I am to move only when you command.  I am to stay where I am put.  I am not to speak unless asked a direct question or given permission.  I am not to ask any questions.

At this point, I think all I can do is breathe.  And that honestly depends on how happy I keep you–of that I am positive.

You have left my nipples alone for the most part.  I figure you are allowing them to heal so you can be crueler to them later.  But as I leaned forward onto all fours, I felt your hands near my pussy.  You pinched my clit and I jerked forward a little when you clipped something to it.  No words were spoken but as I moved my knee forward, I heard the telltale jingle of that fucking bell.

I breathe deeply, knowing that sound is going to haunt my dreams tonight.

The pressure isn’t too bad anymore.  I think I’ve gotten used to have my tender bits pinched and tugged by now.  I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

But it’s the sound that bothers me.  It’s the inability to remain invisible.  I know that when sounds are heard, people look.  I’m still not convinced you aren’t planning to bring me downstairs into a room full of people as cruel as you.

I keep pace with you, though I noticed you’ve slowed your gate.  Is that for my benefit?

We make it down the stairs, rather easily to my surprise.  We move through the foyer and into what looks like an office.  There is a brick fireplace in the corner, unlit this time of year.  There is carpet in here.  It’s so strange considering the rest of the house is wood or marble.  And there in front of me are two French doors, painted a stark white.  They look brand new.

You beckon me through the door as you ease it open, but I refuse to move.  I’ve no interest in being shocked today.

Your hand comes down on my ass hard, and I bite my lip in surprise.

You tug the leash forward and I rear back.  I feel like a horse facing a rattlesnake.  Your hand comes down twice more.

“I will not tell you again.”

I’m aware that I will be going through that door whether I like it or not.  I hold my breath and move to the barrier. 

There are no shocks.

I look up in surprise.

You simply stare at me.  “You will learn to obey without hesitation pet.”

You’ve taken me out to a very grassy patch behind the house.  There are no fences, no visible barriers.  But there are also no neighbors, no shops, no people.  All I can see is dense forest.

Even if I were to try to run, I doubt I would get very far. 

You traded my leash for a chain and hooked it to a stake in the ground.  It reminds me of a dog lead.  But far more durable.  I could probably spend hours trying to remove it from the ground and I doubt I would be successful.  You have thought this out very well.

It makes me wonder.

Was this all done for me?  Or am I not the first?

I’m not sure I want to know

You told me to present.  My face went to the ground, the grass cold against my skin.  My hands reach back and spread my cheeks as you’ve had me do previously.  I almost forget I have the plug inside me until my finger grazes across it by accident.  It is a near constant companion to me now.  I wonder if I would miss it if you took it from me.

I feel your boot resting across my mouth and pushing onto my cheek.  The pressure is pushing me into the dirt.  I close my mouth tightly to avoid eating any of it.

I know what I did.  I did not put my forehead to the ground and keep my eyes averted.  Is that sad?  I’m not sure I am proud of myself for adapting and knowing what I did wrong or upset I have become accepting that this is now my reality.

I almost want to apologize but you explicitly told me talking was off limits.  So, I wait for you to make your point and see what happens next.

You finally let back, and I can feel the dirt on my face.  I’m sure you’ve left a tread impression.  I turn my forehead down but otherwise I do not move.

I feel your thumb push against the plug and it sends a jolt up my back.  I know you saw my reaction.

My mom always warned me that I was too easy to read.  She was worried I would be taken advantage of because of it.  I wonder how she would feel to know she was right.

“For every strike I give, you will count and thank me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes” I said quietly.  I felt your weight settle on my back and you tugged my hair.  My head tilted back, slightly restricting my breathing.

“Now, now pet.  Are we going to have to learn this all over again? I obviously need to push you further, so my lessons stay in your mind.”

“No Sir.”. I choked out.  I have no desire for your lessons to become more intense.

You chuckled.  “So, you were just choosing to be defiant.  We know how defiance is handled, don’t we sweetie?”

Your words of endearment always give me mixed signals.  You treat me like a pet, a slave to use at your whim.  Yet, your kindness comes at varied times and you gladly taunt me with it.

I think you are trying to mess with my head.

It’s working.

You told me to place my hands out in front of me, above my head, crossed at the wrist.  I did so, knowing I would struggle to keep my balance once the strikes started.

The first one took me off guard.  But it always does.  You are so deliberate in your actions.  You remain quiet, so I cannot anticipate your actions. 

“One.  Thank you, Sir.”

I waited for another.  A solid minute passed before you struck again, on the low side of my ass.

“Two.  Thank you, Sir.”

There is bile in my throat from thanking you.  I want to turn your twisted game around on you.  I want you at my mercy. 

Two more strikes rapidly hit my left cheek.

“Three. Four.  Thank you, Sir.”

I am starting to feel a heavy sting on my ass.  You are holding back.  I’m unsure why you would do so.  Are you afraid to break me?  Or are you just wanting to draw out the pleasure of beating me?

Thirteen times you brought the implement down.  Thirteen times I felt the sting and grudgingly thanked you.  My teeth are grinding together and I’m trying to control my breathing.  My fists are balled up and I’m quite happily imagining decking you.

“You did well on the warm up.  You do not need to count the next set.  I want you to feel it and accept it as my will.”

Thuds rained down on my back.  Crisscrossing from my shoulders to my ass.  It is oddly relaxing and slightly painful as well.  This seems more like the warm up than the previous round.

You changed implements to something much more painful.  It snapped against my back like a wet towel.  It makes my body bow and my eyes burn.  My forehead is digging in the cool Earth looking for a slight reprieve. 

Please Sir….Don’t make me beg.

I’m starting to lose track of life outside of your commands.  I constantly think about where you are, what you are doing, and what it means for me.  I analyze every move you make and every word you say.  I’ve even started wondering about your life.  I worry about the day I no longer need to know the answer to one question: what is your name?

I’ve figured that the day I stop asking that is the day I’ve given up.  It’s the day where I accept that you are only Sir.

If I do that, there is no hope, no chance of escape. 

Then again, what do I have to escape back to?  I have a mother who thinks I’m a fuck up.  I will never be as good, as talented, or as pretty as my sister.  I have a dead-end job that works me sixty hours a week for little pay.  They’ve probably replaced me by now.  My best friends are a remote and a houseplant that I whine to on occasion.

Maybe that’s why you picked me.  No one would miss me therefore no one would look for me. 

It’s bad when I’m a safety net for a kidnapper.  Was I your last resort?

I’ve lost count of the strikes.  You didn’t stop until I cried.  I’m sure I am black and blue and I am not looking forward to the crawl back to my room.  It is going to be a very long trek.

“Release”. You said quietly.

I collapsed to my stomach.  I cried heavily into the grass.  There are no words right now.  It felt oddly cathartic, compared to the other rounds.

I think I’ve cracked.  I’m not broken yet.  I’ve still got some life left to me but I think less about leaving and more about avoiding pain now. 

Leaving means pain. 

You’ve left me to my release.  I am still chained up but you’ve left me outside for now, in a shaded area.  It’s nice to be outdoors.  At this point, I don’t even mind that I’m naked.

I curl up carefully on my side.  I can’t see how bad the damage is but I can feel it.  I’m going to sleep while I wait for you to come back.

I think I’ve had enough taste of freedom for now

When I next awoke, I was in your arms.  You are carrying me.  I’m not sure why.  I can feel your arms pressing against me back as you cradle me, and it makes my body burn.  I’ve still not seen the damage you’ve left on me but I’m sure it is bad.

You carefully move up the stairs, my body barely shifting.  My eyes are half open, I find myself staring at your jaw.  I close them again.  I’m still exhausted.

We make it to my room and I open my eyes once more, in time to see you pass the bed.  You move me into the bathroom and lower me into warm water.  The bath smells like oranges and menthol.  Such a sweet smell.

You leave me there, telling me to relax.  Apparently, I have earned a reward.  Is this what they feel like?  It stings, but it is the most relaxed I’ve ever been.  My eyes drifted closed and I simply relished the heat.

I’m aware how dirty my body is and I long to scrub my skin clean.  But my limbs feel like lead.  I know I will have to wait for you.  Maybe you will let me wash before you take me back outside.

After all, I’m not foolish enough to believe that was our only time out there.  I saw what my beating did to you Sir.  I saw the bulge in your trousers and I could hear the delight in your voice.

It is only a matter of time.

**** **** **** ****

I felt your hands long before I saw them.  The warm water had obviously lulled me to sleep.  But as I felt your hands across my tummy, I could also feel the chill of the water creeping up. 

You are surprisingly gentle.  You soap my entire front, paying extra attention to my nipples.  I’m beginning to believe you are in love with the metal, as often as you touch it.

You tugged my body down and tipped my head back.   For a moment, I thought you would drown me. 

For a moment, it terrified me. 

I fear I’m growing fond of you.  As cruel as you are, and as confused as you make me, you pay more attention to me than anyone I’ve ever met.

Do you think, if I had cooperated, all those weeks ago, I would have suffered less?

I know you won’t tell me even if I asked.  So, I don’t.

I close my eyes and lay still as you wash the knots and dirt from my locks.  You rinsed me down and snapped for me to kneel up.  You wash my back just as tenderly.

I hate you when you do this.  I hate when you treat me like a treasure, like a lover.  I am neither to you.  At least when you are cruel, I feel justified in my hatred.  Moments like this though, leave me confused.

They fuck with my mind far more than your cruelty does.  Do you know that?  Is this a calculated move to throw me off guard?  Or, is this just a part of who you are?

**** **** ****
I’ve finally lost track of the days I’ve been here.  I used to keep diligent track.  There are notches carved into the floor under my bed to attest to that.  But I’ve stopped counting.  If I had to guess, we are somewhere around 9 months now. 

Nine months and you’ve near broken me.

You’ve still never spoke to me outside of a command.  I hum to myself to keep the silence at bay. 

You’ve given me some freedom.  I am allowed to leave my room for chores.  You leave a silent list every night by my door, and every morning I retrieve it. 

It changes daily, and most tasks are entirely mundane.  In this vast house with only us, there is very little that doesn’t shine already.  But you are determined to keep me busy.  I rarely see you during chore time, but I know you monitor me.  The first time I tried to cut corners, you caught me.  I learned that lesson well.  Now, I make sure the chores are done to your high standard, whether you are present or not.

Is it bad that I like feeling useful?  


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

Mental Health and Consent

February 17, 2019 By Joji Sada 2 Comments


Consent, beyond all else, is what separates abuse and BDSM.  Consent allows each side of the slash a place to safely live out our fantasies.  But what happens when consent ends? For most of us, that is an easy answer. When consent ends, so does everything else.  

I personally use both the standard colors of Green, Yellow, and Red for general play and a safe word with my wife.  Green, for us, means everything is fine. Yellow means that I need a breather. It means I need to reposition, or try a new implement, or simply just need to feel the touch of my Dominant.  Red, means everything stops because something is seriously wrong. I use these colors and I teach them to anyone I play with as well. It helps to keep things consistent and easier to remember in the moment when play is intense.  

The reason I use a safe word with my wife is because she feels more comfortable using it in non-play activities.  If crowds are too intense at the store, she may use the word, so I know to get her into the open air immediately. She finds it easier to use when she gets spooked or frightened.  

Then again, one word is far easier to remember when her mood drops, her senses heighten, the hair stands up on her neck, and when she looks at me with a blank stare and sees her past.  My wife is a trauma survivor and suffers from both PTSD and bipolar disorder. Each of those comes with their own set of rules and consent.

For many, they wonder why we play.  Why would I subject either of us to acts that could possibly trigger my wife into a flashback?  Simply said, because she has asked me to.

For many, myself included, BDSM is cathartic.  Some use it to reclaim a sense of lost innocence, some see it as a way to rewrite their own traumatic histories, some use it to help with anxiety, and so forth.  The reasons people get into BDSM are as varied as the kinks that fall underneath its umbrella. However, it is important to understand your partner and their reasons because there are going to be times where consent is going to come into question.

Here are a few things I have learned over the years about playing with someone who deals with mental health issues:

 

  • Consent can change in an instant and they may not be able to tell you that.

 

  • The first time I triggered my wife during play, we were playing mildly.  We were wrestling, and I pinned her arms down and straddled her thighs. She went still.  I thought she was fine because she was looking at me. Except, she wasn’t. Her eyes were glossy, and she flinched when I moved.  She thought I was going to beat her (in an abusive way). So, I spoke softly and let her know that I was going to move away and step back.  I kept my hands where she could see them and backed away until I was against the wall. I slowly sat down and waited out until she came back to me.  
  • There have been several times I have triggered my partner.  It can be as simple as a look given in a half-lit room to as traumatic as having them hit you in defense to a ghost only they can see.  Patience is your greatest weapon. You partner will probably be ashamed that they triggered. They will be upset that they harmed you or, as they see it, inconvenienced/burdened you.  They need to be reassured that you are alright and that you are not upset that play was interrupted. If you are, you should probably find another partner. Most of all, do not lie to them.  If you are upset, then discuss it with them after they are in a better mindset.

 

  • Triggers are a real thing and should be kept track of.

 

  • I have found that most people have more than one trigger related to trauma.  Even more so, they often have no idea what they are. So, as you inevitably discover them, write them down.  It doesn’t matter if “it won’t happen again.” We all make mistakes, get overwhelmed, forget things, get busy, and such.  If they have only been affected once or twice by a certain trigger and you’ve been together the better part of a decade, you may honestly forget.  So, keep both a written list, and a set of rules to avoid it.
  • Compromise.  In our house, wire hangers are forbidden.  It is a trigger for my wife to see them. Therefore, we only keep plastic ones.  She can also never be touched by any type of hanger without her looking directly at me and taking it from my hand to her hand.  Nothing else is acceptable. The same goes for blindfolds. I can use only items that are not knotted and slip off easily. She cannot be restrained while blindfolded.  The door must remain open and I am always to continue touching her body that she cannot see. As I am sure you can understand, this impacts play. It does not mean we are not able to play, it just means we make changes to the scenes.
  • Adapt.   Let’s use my blindfold example.  It seems to stump people when I explain the rules of blindfolds with my wife.  They ask how we can still use them. I tell them to get creative. I blindfold her and lay her out, her arms folded under her head for comfort.  Then I straddle only one leg, so she has recourse if she gets frightened. Then I pour oil down her spine and I start slowly massaging her, to both relax and delight her.  Then I move slowly to kisses and so forth. There is still plenty I can do to entice her other senses without feeling restricted.
  • Consent changes day to day.
  • To be fair, this seems like common sense, but I am going to spell it out for you.  Just because she said something was alright last week, yesterday, three hours ago, does not mean it is alright now.  You should always reverify. That means that communication is super important—which is why it is a fundamental of BDSM.  
  • My wife used to get frustrated with herself because she was answering the same questions constantly, so I could assure myself that I had her consent to play, especially if I wanted to try something new.  So, we came up with a code. When I get home from work, I look for the three magnets on my fridge. If the purple magnet has moved from the fridge portion to the freezer, I know that she is having a very even day with her Bipolar and I can initiate play without prior discussion (this does not negate her safe-words in any way).  If the green magnet is up, her mental health has her in a bad headspace. If the blue one is up, then her mental health is fine but her physical health is not. These allow us greater communication while simultaneously lowering the frustration and allowing more spontaneity in life.
  • Have more than one option for communication
  • As we do with safe-words, always make sure your partner has an option that fits the situation.  If you were to gag your partner, you may use a bell, colored scarf, or other object that your partner can drop if they need to safe out.  The same is true for dealing with mental health. It will depend on your partner’s needs and abilities. For my wife, if we are around people she doesn’t know well, such as a play party, she will sign to me using American Sign Language (ASL).  That means that I always leave her hands free when at events because I know she is most likely to talk to me that way. It not only helps with her anxiety, but it gives her a sense of privacy around those she may not know well enough to trust. We’ve also used text messaging or written communication in a group of people to help her out.  
  • Have a code word or sentence.  While I don’t believe BDSM needs to be hidden in the vanilla world, there are many times it needs to be discrete.  As such, if my wife needs to discuss something BDSM related with me, she will say “May we text instead?” If I feel it is a topic she isn’t comfortable with, I may just outright give her the option by saying, “Would you like to text?”  This allows her both privacy and opportunity to talk, no matter the time or place.
  • Don’t Fix them, they aren’t broken.
  • The most important lesson I’ve ever learned is to never treat your partner like they need to be fixed.  There is no WD-40 or Craftsman Wrench that can change the way they are. They are beautiful people who have a chemical imbalance.  It might make them paranoid, moody, frighten easily, indecisive, or a hundred other variations. It will take patience, communication, trust, and a little bit of creativity to fulfill both your and your partner’s kinky needs, but I’ve found its worth every bit of time and effort.

About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

A Place Within The Silence: Part 1

December 30, 2018 By Joji Sada 3 Comments

Model: Domina Mara
Taken by: Domina Mara

You were the last thing I expected to see.  Even kneeled with my eyes on the floor, I could feel your presence.  I could see your red boots, a shiny leather looking heel that clearly traveled the mile of your legs. 

I cheat slightly and glance up further through my lashes.  I know it is improper, but I also know that there is a minimal chance you will catch my misconduct, as far across the room as you are.  I watch you mingle throughout the crowds, smiling softly.  Your eyes are piercing, blazing with a fierce heat, even being as blue as ice. 

The dark lace covers most of your face, but I can see the slight flush the heat of the room has bought to your cheeks.  Your bodice is tight, the ivory inside showing firm curves that leave me wanting to get a closer look at.  Your skirt is short, showing several inches between the top of your boots and the seam of your skirt.  It is both classy and teasing.

Your eyes meet mine and I drop them quickly.  I was too confident you would not see me.  I’ve been relegated to the corner of the room, the shadows hiding the sheer gauze crisscrossing my body.

I am unaware if you know I am up for sale…again.  This is the third time in two years.  I have no hope that you would show interest in me. 

But, as I hear the click of your heels across the floor, I wonder if you will take me to task before the auction.  I hold my breath as I feel the telltale firmness of a crop underneath my chin as you apply pressure and bring my head up to meet your eyes once more.

“What is your name, lil one?”

I shake my head at you.

“I will not ask again.”

Once more I shake my head.  I cannot speak but with my hands bound to my knees I cannot even begin to tell you such.  I close my eyes as I hear the gruff voice of my former Master.

“She is a lame one.  Can’t speak for the life of her…always wavin’ her hands.  I taught her in the end.  Tis better to just keep her hands bound and not have to deal with it.  A good slave is better seen, not heard.”

He laughed cruelly. 

“We shall see.”  You said no more as you let my face drop.  I am used to such cruelties.  Nobody wants a lame slave.  Everyone here wants a beauty, not a beast.

I’m the last of the slaves to be presented.  The other girls are painted gold with glitter, the sheer gypsy outfits are sequined to draw your eyes to their curves.  Their eyes are smokey with kohl, making the colors of their irises sparkle in the lights.  They sold for thousands. 

Then there is me.  I’m barely wrapped in a sheer curtain, my body pale and cold.  I’m sure to keep my head down.  I can hear the snickers of those on the floor before the stage.  You would think having been here before, I’d be used to it. 

I know I’m not much to look at, and I know I will be here again.  I doubt anyone will buy me tonight.  We all know what happens to unwanted slaves.  They fill the whore houses for those who can’t afford their own. 

I’ve never wanted to go their again.

“Three thousand.” I close my eyes in disbelief.  Your voice is steely as it cuts through the jeers. 

“That is well above the starting bid.”  The Master auctioneer is nearly stuttering in surprise.  I’ve never fetched that much.

“Do you accept my bid or not?”  I can only imagine your eyebrow is raised behind your mask.

“Sold.” 

I am grabbed by my collar and yanked to my feet.  I’m shoved forward and nearly fall off the stage.  Your hand on my chest steadies me and you help me down gently.  I can hear you giving the money to the auctioneer and quite harshly let him know his manners need improving.

It’s all I can do not to smile as you turn your back on him.  You snap your fingers and I follow, two steps behind and slightly to the left. 

I’m as ready to be rid of this hell as I am to find out who my new Mistress is.

Your heels echo through the house as we take our leave.  I barely hesitate when we reach the front door and I am faced with a gravel driveway.  It is a large circular space full of luxury cars.  Even without turning back to look at the house, I know it screams of wealth and privilege.   After all, who else could house so many slaves?

I’m used to being barefoot.  It’s been several years since I’ve been allowed shoes.  After the second time I tried to run, they were taken away permanently.  I feel the sharp rocks digging into my flesh, but I am just trying to stay caught up with you.  I fear if I lag too much you will change your mind and leave me here.

We reach your car, a black so shiny I can almost see myself.  You open the door and gesture for me to get in.  I sidle in quickly and you shut the door behind me.  I can hear you tell the driver to head out and you pull my head into your lap.  I can feel your nails running through my hair.  Sooner than I would like, I feel my eyes drifting closed.  It’s almost as if you’ve drugged me.

Of course, maybe I’m just not used to the kindness of strangers.

I tense slightly as I wake.  I’m not sure how long I have been asleep, but you do not overly seem to mind.  Your hand is resting on my shoulder but as you feel me shift, you caress my arm and ask me gently to sit up.  Apparently, we are almost to your home.

I know better to think of it as my home.  I am a slave.  I own nothing.  I have nothing.  I am nothing.  Those were lessons I learned quickly.

It is probably another twenty minutes of silence before we turn down a long dirt road.  It winds back and forth, enough to almost make me nauseous.  I’ve always wondered what is so appealing about living outside civilization. What is so appealing about having no neighbors and only the company of trees for miles?  Then again, it may be because I look it as an additional obstacle course and you probably look at it as more freedom to torture.

You have seemed so gentle so far.  It will change…it always does.  But I’m going to relish it for as long as I can.

It is a beautiful night.  The stars are bright against the darkness.  That little bit of light I want to carry with me for when the dark gets to be too much.

The grass is cool and wet beneath my feet.  The chill is a welcome change of the auction house.  Where there it was stifling and oppressive, here I can almost feel myself floating with the breeze.

I follow you, stretching my legs as you’ve yet to revoke my walking privileges.  Your house is vast.  The double oak doors open wide, almost swallowing us as they swing shut only a breath or two behind us.  The floor is marble.  As is the staircase, narrow at the base and widened at the top.  The banisters are wrought iron.  I already dread the amount of cleaning and polishing just the front foray is going to need.  I’m also dreading the pain I am going to suffer when you require, I crawl for you as all the others have.

I wonder how long your patience will hold.

Up the stairs we go, your heels loud on the marble.  You are still in your travelling cloak and I am surprised no servants have greeted you at the door.  Do you really live here all alone?

At the top of stairs is a winding set of hallways.  I’m sure I will get lost the first few times I wander, if I’m allowed to leave my space.

We pass a dozen rooms with different colored doors, all closed and presumably locked.  I’m curious if the color-coding is for a reason or you merely had a colorblind decorator. 

Finally, we reach these cherrywood French doors.  They are ornate and well cared for.  I can only assume this is the Master bedroom.  You enter, and I stop at the doorway.  I have not been given leave to enter and I’m not foolish enough to repeat that mistake again.

You sit on the edge of the bed and your eyes turn to me.  I do all I can to not squirm under your gaze.  You are very hard to read Ma’am.

“Enter.”

You’ve not told me otherwise, but I kneel in your doorway.  I slowly go to my hands and knees and make my way to you.  This is your space and whether you allow me in here often or not, I will do my best to follow the etiquette I know and adjust from there. 

I reach you quickly and drop my body, my forehead on the floor only an inch or so from your boots.  My right hand is gripping my left wrist behind my back. 

“Rise.”  You’ve spoken so softly that for a second, I am unsure if I heard you.  You nudge my head with your foot and I hasten to obey.

I stand, my legs are shoulder width apart.  My hands are laced behind my head with my arms out.  My eyes are down, and my breathing is methodic.  I don’t want you to know I am nervous. 

Your nails trail down my cheek and across my chest.  Slowly, up and over my shoulders and down my back.  You are circling me like a predator.  I can feel you slowing at times.  I know you are tracing my scars.  I have so many.  I wonder what you think of them.

You come back to my front and lift my chin up.

“We are going to establish your rules tomorrow.  Tonight, I am giving you leave to use the restroom and wash up.  You have twenty minutes.  Then you will kneel next to the right side of my bed and wait for me.  Is that clear?”

I nodded, trying my best to show I was paying attention.

“Then get to it.”

I don’t remember the last time I was given hot water to use.  I know better than to waste it.  I discard the flimsy gauze I have on, folding it neatly and placing it next to the tub.  I am unsure what is going to be done with it as of yet. 

I relieve myself and turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it before climbing in.  I can see my skin reddening under the pressure, but I don’t particularly feel it.

I wash down using the small bottle left for me.  I feel cleaner already.  I scrub and scrub until the water runs clear.

I turn off the water and step out, feeling the plush rug beneath my feet.  I shiver a little bit from the cool air and reach for a towel on the counter.  I don’t remember it being there before.  I must have been lost in thought to not have heard anyone.

I hang the towel and head back into the bedroom.  I assume the position you required.

Do you know how long three minutes can feel like?  Three complete minutes of You simply staring at me.

I was late.  I was occupied for exactly twenty-three minutes before my knees hit the floor.  At least, that’s what you have told me.

I’ve never learned to tell time.  I also cannot read nor write beyond my name.  Everything I know, I’ve picked up from listening and repeating.

I have no way to tell you why I am lame.  I have no way to express that no one has seen fit to teach me.  After all, I’ve only ever been good for one thing: sex.

I’m simply a hole to be used when needed.

That’s why my first Master did not care what happened to me.  That’s why when I spoke out one too many times, he crushed my windpipe by sheer force.  I still remember the black edges around my vision, the struggle to get free.  I clawed at him to free me.  I kicked and fought with all I had.

I don’t remember what happened after.  I woke several days later bandaged up, unable to talk, and locked in my cage.

I’ve been silent ever since.

I’m kneeling here in resignation.  Youve told me I am late.  I’m just as stupid as the men at the auction house said.  One order and I cannot behave.  I wonder what comes next.

I’ve started counting in my head.  If I keep counting, then I can zone out the punishment.  I can count very high Ma’am.  I learned that through punishment.

“I want to make something very clear.”  Your voice is just as quiet and confident as it was at the auction.  “When I give you an order, you will do your best to follow it to the letter.  You failed to do that tonight.”

I can hear you ticking your tongue.  I’m curious what that tick means.  Everyone has one.  Some warn me of danger.  Some are almost amusing.

You stand and step over my prone form.  I can hear a drawer open and some items are shifting.  Metal is dragging against the wood.  I’m sure you are doing that on purpose.

My breathing accelerates slightly.  Metal means pain and a long healing time. 

Each type of medium has a different meaning to me.  Metal is not the most dreaded.

Leather means you are planning a long torture session.  Skin can hold up well to its pliability.

Wood means you are planning a short, concise lesson.  One that most likely will see my hands broken again.

Anything else means I will probably scar because you will be experimenting with what your toy can take.  I don’t need to know you to understand the cycle of cruelty I was born to.

I can hear you to my left.  You are near the end of the bed.  You snap twice.

“When I snap twice you will come to me.  If I snap once you will present yourself as you did at my bed.  When you understand my instructions, you will tap your thigh.  Once for clarification, twice for yes Ma’am.  Do you understand me?” 

I tapped my thigh twice

“Good girl.”

You snapped twice more, and I crawled to you and stopped at your feet.  You bent down and wrapped a metal chain around my neck.  You were able to fit two fingers between my neck and the leash.  You clipped it so it would not tighten.  Then you hooked it into a ring at the foot of the bed, tugging me up at the same time.

“Tonight, you sleep at the foot of my bed.  You will be available to me anytime day or night.  Now curl up and sleep.  You will need to be rested for tomorrow.”

I tried to make myself as small as possible at the foot of your bed.  I even tried to sleep.  But, I couldn’t.  I simply stared into the darkness as I listened to your evened breathing.

I’m thinking of how quiet the house is.  I half expected a harem or at least a few house slaves around.  Yet, you seem to be here by yourself, surrounded only by marble and glass.  Such a sad existence.

I’m unsure of what you want from me.  Youve made very few demands and have yet to touch me for anything other than comfort.  I’m nervous for tomorrow.  Youve told me you have plans.  Those are dangerous words.

I breath slowly through my panic.  It cannot be worse than I have endured previously.  I close my eyes.  I’m determined to do as you ordered and get some shut eye.  Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad.  Then again, does it matter either way?  I’m still at your mercy.

I slept relatively comfortably where you left me.  Once I did finally drift off, I am pretty sure I stayed curled in the same small ball.  I don’t know if it because I am used to the small space of a cage or because I was afraid that if I nudged you, even accidentally, you would push me to the floor.

I’m shamelessly taking advantage of your generosity.  I hope you don’t notice.  Then again, you are quite intelligent.

I laid there quietly, trying to keep my breathing even so as not to arouse you.  I’m surprised you trust me this close to you when you are sleeping.  Then again, as I run my fingers across the chain link of the leash, I realize it is too short for me to properly reach you.  The sound of me struggling would wake you.

I wonder what it is to see you mad.  Is that terrible Ma’am?  To wonder what you look like flushed with anger? I’m sure you’d be curious why that’s the first thing I would like to see. 

One, I think you would be quite the sight, so beautiful in such a deep red.  But mostly, I would like to know what type of angry you are.  If I know, I can prepare myself for what is to come when you tire of me.  For when you realize I am as stupid as the others have warned.

After all, it may have been foolish for you to not recognize their warnings.

I am a beast Ma’am.  And all beasts have claws.

I laid there for a long while Ma’am, simply listening to you breathing.  When you started to stir, I swiftly knelt up and waited for your instructions.  The chain was too short for me to kneel on the floor, so the bed was my next option.

You slid from under your duvet without so much as a glance.  I could hear the water and see the barest hint of steam from beneath your bathroom door. 

I was sure I could hear you humming, and I desperately wanted to get closer to hear you better, but I did not even try.

I simply waited.

You came out minutes later, though I’m not honestly sure of how long I’ve been kneeling.  I know my knees are a touch numb, but that’s nothing new.

My eyes were tracing the paisley pattern on your covers when I felt your fingers in my hair.

“Such a good girl. So quiet and properly waiting.”. You seemed genuinely proud.  That is an unfamiliar feeling for me.  “I think today I shall take you outside, lil one.  Let you stretch out so prettily in the sun for me to admire.”. You gently tug me back by my hair.  “How does that sound?”.

I smiled brightly up at you and you smiled back, just in time as you heard two taps.

You instructed me to sit crisscross on my hands.  I felt very much like a child who was being chastised for touching things.   But, dutifully, I sat as instructed. 

You warned me you were going to remove the chain from my collar.  It would still leave the heavy metal on my delicate neck but would leave me untethered from the bed.  I waited, almost mocking you in my head, to warn me not to move.  However, you remained silent as you worked the key into its lock.  I felt the chain drop into my lap, cold against my bare thighs.  I held my breath as you slowly pulled it across my skin.

I am determined not to let you know how much of a turn on cold chain can be when used by skilled hands.

You step away from me for a moment and come back with clamps.  It is a three chain.  Two are for my nipples and one is for my clit.  I am very familiar with this decoration.  Of course, they are usually weighted down and pull painfully.  My previous Master enjoyed having me clipped and weighted while I crawled behind Him.  He took great pleasure in hitting those spots with the crop.

I will never confess this to you Ma’am without a direct question.  I do enjoy a fair share of pain.  Maybe it’s because it is what I am used to.  Maybe it is because I do try my best to please my Master and continually try to push myself.  Maybe it is simply mind-bending to feel the creativity of your Master. 

I’m not entirely sure Ma’am. 

But my confession stays the same.  I enjoy pain of many kinds.

I just don’t enjoy anger-laced pain.

You rolled my nipples between your fingers until they were hard and sensitive.  Then you placed the two small metal bars on the top and bottom of my nipple and screwed them down tight.  I felt squished but not in pain, yet.  I know this kind of thing builds and builds until I am writhing on the floor.

After both nipples where taken care of, you pulled the chain down my tummy until it reached my pussy.  You clicked your tongue a couple of times, looking for something.  Finally, I figured you were shortening the chain, pulling my nipples down and my clit upwards. 

I could feel my inner walls clenching and unclenching rapidly.  If I could breathe properly without tugging the chain, you would probably here the shudder in my breath.

I am too far in my head.  How do I know?  Because I missed you grabbing another toy.  When the crop came down on my nipple, my body spasmed from the unexpected blow.  Pain blossomed in my breast and my nipple from the crop, and in my pussy from the tugging of the chain. 

Then you brought another down on the other breast.  Twelve times your crop made my body move.  Twelve times I held my breath as the leather connected to my skin.

If this is the warm up, I’m almost afraid of what you have planned when we get outside.

You teased me so gently.  You kissed the warmed, reddened skin of my breast.  One soft kiss to each before you’ve snapped your fingers twice.

I’m learning.  I move tenderly to the floor, trying very hard not to pull any which way that will tug the chain.

“Today, you will stay on all fours, kneeling, or sitting.  There will be no standing and no using furniture.  If you need to catch my attention, you will kneel with your forehead to the floor and your arms crossed above your head.  Is that clear?”

Two taps.

“Good girl.  Now get moving.  I will direct you as we go.”

I started crawling.  The hardwood floors were not the most comfortable but not near as bad as gravel.  I could deal with the cherrywood.

I made it about four doors from the Master when you told me to turn.  Your command to go left was punctuated with your crop thwacking my clit.  My arms shook slightly.  Damn you.

Three more doors and I was told to take a right, two thwacks this time. 

I’m wet.  I desperately want to hide my state from you but I’m sure you can see my juices glistening.  If this continues, I may make a mess of your beautiful floors.

We made it to the top of the stairs.  I hesitated slightly, unsure of how to keep my balance.  This time I got your bare hand to my ass.  The smack propelled my body forward and it took all I have not to crash down the marble staircase.

“Turn around and back down if you are so afraid.  I will not have you hold up my plans pet”. Such cold words from you Ma’am.   But I understand.  I am for your pleasure, not for you to coddle.

I did as you suggested and near slid down the stairs.  As I backed down to the main floor, I felt something slide between my legs.  I backed up to a kneeling position and placed my head to the floor.  I could see a glimpse of a toy, but I did not wish to upset you by analyzing instead of asking.

“Yes girl.  This is something else you will wear for me today.  You may lift your head to see your toy.”

I looked up to see a rubber dildo.  It was flesh colored with slight veins to make it more lifelike.  I’ve never had one like that used on my before.

“Grab it pet.  Then I want your head back down.  That’s right, now spread your legs.  Slide your hand between your legs and play.”

I moved the tip of the dildo to my pussy lips and slowly pushed it in.  Just the tip, I ran up and down, across my clit.  I could feel my wetness dripping down the toy.

I made sure it was nice and wet.  Then you told me to push the head in.  Stretch myself.

After a couple of minutes, you told me to fuck myself.  To push the toy deep, even if it hurt.

As I did so, I could hear the telltale clicks of a camera.  My hand stilled.

“I didn’t say you could stop pet.  If you are wondering about the pictures, you best get used to it.  I plan to make a very dirty scrapbook of my very own dirty whore.”

My cheeks burned with your admission.  I don’t know what is worse: people witnessing this humiliation once or having to relive it over and over every time the pictures are shown.

I knew better than to fight.  Year ago, when I was more naive, I would have staged a riot in response.  Now, I simply tried to swallow my tears and continue with my orders.

I moved the head of the toy up and down a few more times before pushing it deep inside me.  I held my breath as I moved the toy in and out.  I didn’t want to make a sound for you.

I heard you tick your tongue.  “You obviously need assistance pet if you are able to play so silently.  I expect you to put on a show for me.”

“Let us continue on since you seem to be disappointed with your surprises pet.  You will keep the toy in you.  You will be punished if it falls out.”

I grimaced against the floor.  As slick as I am currently, it will be a miracle if I can clench enough to keep it inside me.  But you are already upset with me.  It’s been two days and I’ve already disappointed you.

You had me turn around and face the massive windows at the front of the house.

I quickly looked down. You never mentioned guests. 

And I know they saw it all.

You smacked the crop against my ass, a reminder to continue outside.  I am struggling to maintain my balance and keep the toy inside of me. 

I keep my head down, grimacing slightly as the finished wood floor changed to concrete stairs.  They bit into my knees slightly.

This time I opted to go down head first.  Six stairs later I was successful.  I continued forward until I heard the two snaps.  I stopped dead.  With only a couple of strides you were standing beside me.

“I want you to curl up by the tree over there pet.  I am going to greet our guests.”

I crawled across the damp grass to the Willow tree you had indicated.  I curled up in a small ball in hopes your guests would forget my presence and, in an effort, to relieve the ache the chain was causing me. 

All I want to do is play.  To relieve the pressure and the tension.  But I know better.

After all, patience is a virtue…even to a slave.

I’m not sure what you are saying to your guests Ma’am.  I see them gesture over here where I am curled but yet, no one has called me to service nor have I been approached.

I’m mentally preparing myself for what you may ask of me.  This would not be the first time I have been the entertainment to a group.  I honestly can’t say it will be the last.

I am startled awake by a hand on my shoulder.  I jerk away, my eyes large and bright and my breathing laboured.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

As my senses come back to me, I hang my head.

Today is not my day

“Stand.”. I do as you ask, my body protesting as the chain tugs my nipples down and my clit up.  It is scarcely long enough when I stand.  Somehow, I bet that is what you were counting on.

You release the nipple clamps and let them fall to the ground, adding weight to the lower clip.  You immediately smack your palm against my breast, snagging the nipple brutally as you pull back.  My mouth opens in a silent scream.

You repeat the process and I am trying to stand still for you.  I can’t help the flinching Ma’am.  It’s been bred into me.

I can feel the toy in me shifting and I close my legs tight to keep it in.  I don’t want to get in trouble or have you brought back your friends.

I’m not sure where they are, but they aren’t here and that is what I care about.

You must have seen the relief on my face because you made sure I looked you in the eye when you spoke.

“You are mine girl.  Mine to use and abuse anywhere I please.  I can give you to others simply for entertainment or I can invite them to watch you be my whore.  It’s is my will that determines who you are and when.  Had I wanted an audience, we would still have one.  Is that clear?”

I tap my thigh twice.  I understand what you mean.  And the warning is clear.

You instruct me to place my hands behind my head and interlock my fingers.

“Should I ask for an answer you may not or shake your head.  Do you understand?”. As often as you verify your orders, I wonder if you believe I am slow.  After all, that’s what the others warned you about.

“We are going to play.  I’ve decided to decorate you.  I will see your skin blush before we are done.”

I can understand your love of the crop Ma’am.  It gives a clear, concise motivation when used correctly.  It also has quite a bit of bite for being so small.  You seem to delight in teasing me with it however.

“Spread your legs.”. I do so slowly, the toy threatening to fall with each movement.  I’ve clenched as hard as I can.  I hope you will show me mercy soon.

You take the tip of the crop and tap it against the chain on my clit.  The shaking of the chain weighs on it heavily.  I have to clench my muscles to stay still.  You slide it lewdly between my pussy lips.  When you pull it back to inspect it, I can see it glistening with my juices.

“You got my crop dirty.”. I shake my head in denial even though the proof is right in front of me.  You tap my lips with the small piece of leather and tell me to open and clean it.  I can taste myself mingling with the leather and it is a weird taste I’ve not experienced before. 

When it is clean, you pull it back and bring it down firmly on my swollen left nipple.  My body rocks under the force.  It burns, and the pain is instantons.  I’m sure you will live up to your words.  I will have marks for days before you are sated.


About the Author

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, fetish, Joji Sada, kink

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