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Do You Need to Earn the Right to Submit?

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

I got a note this morning from a dominant friend of mine, sharing the frustrations she, and many  dominant women, have when taking on new subs. Her question was whether subs should have to prove  themselves to be worthy of being allowed to submit, or be put in a position of submission and then  prove their ability within the role. 

From my days in management (outside of D/s dynamics), I can tell you that, most of the time, people  prove their ability to do a higher-level job before they’re assigned to it. It is a much less frequent  practice to give someone a “chance to succeed” at a position. It’s done…but not nearly as often. This is  usually because positions are often coveted and highly competitive and there’s no need to take the risk  associated with having the wrong person in a position of responsibility.  

If I take the analogy back to D/s dynamics, the reasons for qualifying an individual before allowing them  to submit to you, boil down to the risks associated with them not being able to perform as expected.  What are the risks associated with taking a chance on a submissive?  

The risks boil down to the amount of work that will end up on the dominant. The downside puts the  dominant to the task of identifying flaws in the sub’s efforts, determining how to communicate and  correct them, and then following up to make sure the corrections are made. Even worse, they may find  themselves needing to “motivate” the submissive…to create the energy to get them to serve. They can  easily then lose confidence that the submissive will perform other tasks to the level of performance  that’s acceptable and need to make constant judgements regarding whether to trust a submissive with a  particular task, or not. 

As those of you who have read my books and other posts and essays know, I’m a firm believer that  having a submissive makes my life EASIER. If having a submissive makes my life more complicated, gives  me less time to do what I want to do, or forces me to do things I don’t want to do, then something is very wrong. 

My friend brought up the point that often submissives want to be given the position and then be  ‘trained’. The whole “Training” thing is something I’m particularly against. I don’t train my submissives,  but I do educate them. I want them to understand my preferences and expectations and to internalize  them, so that they become their own. When they act, they act in concert with fulfilling those expectations. 

A quick web lookup on the differences between training and educating highlights this well: 

Training refers to an act of inculcating specific skills in a person. Education is all  about gaining theoretical knowledge in the classroom or any institution. Training is a way to develop specific skills, whereas education is a typical system of learning.

I am all for communicating to a submissive and teaching them general terms of how to be my  submissive, but I’m not interested training them like an animal. The skills they need to serve me, they  either come to the table with – or are able to develop based on their understanding of the objective and  their ability to learn. 

So, no…I’m not going to pick a submissive and try to train them to serve me. They’re going to have  opportunity to prove they’re a good learner and have the ability to apply general principles to develop specific skills. 

Does a prospective submissive possess the intelligence, empathy, awareness, self-awareness,  dedication, and energy needed to be good at it? That seems to me to be an awful lot to expect to just  blossom in front of you. Sure, it’s possible – but are you willing to put up with the effort required to  discover it can’t? 

For me, I would rather get to know a prospective submissive before allowing them to submit to me.  During that time, I’m assessing a lot about their personality, their real interests, their ability to be  dominant-centric, and their intelligence. I’m qualifying them to be a submissive, not based on any  particular skill, but rather based on the qualities that make learning happen. Are they going to be a good  student? Are they driven by a passion to serve? Are they going to be able to exhibit the self-control to  maintain their dedication – without burdening me with the need to force, or enforce, it? 

Therefore, from my viewpoint, you don’t get to submit and then prove you can do it. You also don’t  prove you can submit – you exhibit your natural abilities to learn and adapt and you exhibit your internal  desire to serve. You show me why, in particular, you want to serve ME – and not just any woman. Then,  I can feel comfortable with the discussion that leads to your submission. 

I would love to hear your opinions! 

Overcoming Obstacles to General Acceptance Requires Focus on the D/s in BDSM

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

I am confident that there will come a time, when relationships with power dynamics will be commonly  accepted in our culture. We are already seeing signs of it in popular media: BDSM has become a bit  more “mainstream”; moving beyond its presence in fashion and showing up in more real ways. Power  dynamics are plots and sub-plots in the shows we view at home, in the movie theaters, and in books. 

BDSM is arriving, but not “all of it”. B&D and S&M are being depicted, but D/s is lagging far behind! In  many ways, it’s easier to depict BDSM without D/s. It’s relatively easy to have actors “do things to each  other” than to pull off the deeper character development needed to portray a committed D/s dynamic  convincingly and so, for impact value, ease of production, and perhaps out of lack of understanding,  media has embraced S&M and B&D and foregone the emotional commitment of D/s. 

This creates some issues, not the least of which is that the imagery of B&D and S&M, particularly as  portrayed within the media, is very closely aligned with the imagery of abuse, biker-outlaws, Nazism,  and psychotics! As someone who just wants to engage in consensual healthy power dynamics, this is quite troublesome. 

As I’ve pointed out previously, power dynamics in media, which is a critical first step in acceptance in  culture, is in its infancy. We are barely beginning to be introduced to characters of substance, who have a healthy interest in D/s; who do not have to be damaged by childhood trauma, or psychotic drive as an  excuse to enjoy open power exchange. Only barely…for most of the characters still suffer from some  aspect of that excuse, or are portrayed as comedic shills – wild, out-there characters who will push any  norm. We have not yet seen a character within a power dynamic, who does not require a “reason” for  being involved in it. It is not “normal” yet – and therefore needs an explanation to be believable. 

This is going to change. Much the way interracial relationships used to be verboten – then accepted with  excuse – and now presented everywhere, without calling any attention to itself; power dynamics will  eventually be portrayed as a matter of course – a sub-text – and nothing out of the ordinary. We will  eventually relate to the characters in such a way that they will be able to accept their interests without  need for explanation. We will get to the point where we won’t need to understand Joe and Mary’s  childhood experiences to accept that they are a happily married couple – and Mary chooses to serve Joe  as his submissive”. We’ll just accept that and be focused on the real plot of the show. 

I hope to live long enough to see the day…but I do believe it WILL happen. 

What are the obstacles standing in the way of making this happen? The first problem to overcome is to  establish that people can choose to be dominant or submissive without it reflecting a weakness or a flaw  in their character. We still seem to need an explanation – a reason why someone would want to stray from the perceived norm. The assumption is that there HAS to be something lacking or damaged in the personalities. 

There is a learned resistance to power dynamics that stems from society’s proactive attempts to  criminalize abuse. Due to the abolition of slavery, the emancipation of women, and the movement  against discrimination of all types – there is an overarching sensitivity to repression and imbalance. We  naturally want to repel any unfairness. However, conflating consensual power dynamics with these  examples of non-consensual abuse is misleading, and harmful.  

Even once we can clarify the difference between consensual power dynamics and non-consensual  abuse, there are still other obstacles to overcome. Gender bias very much sways acceptance. The  generalization is that men tend to be dominant and women tend to be submissive. Intellectually, we  know how wrong that stereotype is. It has been a high obstacle for rebellion in women’s rights activists  who have had to fight it. Even though our young generations are being raised without that assumption,  it’s still present and impacts the way media portrays the dynamics. 

If I were to present a show where Joe is Mary’s master, the audience would accept the premise. Of  course, the feminist mentality in all of us would challenge the producers with claims that the  relationship is setting back women’s independence by many years and there would be flack for allowing  the stereotype to be perpetuated, but no one would challenge the nature of the arrangement. The  audience would never challenge why Joe wants to be the dominant. They would even accept that Mary  is submissive. Dominance=masculinity…submission=femininity. 

But turn it around: Joe is Mary’s submissive. Suddenly, the audience will seek to find a rationale: WHY  does he want to be submissive? What is lacking from his masculinity? Is he “pussy-whipped”? Is he a  “mama’s boy” or Is he compensating for some childhood trauma? Is he looking for a release from the pressures of his otherwise dominant life? Furthermore, why would Mary want to be dominant? Is she a  radical feminist? Does she hate men? The audience will struggle figure out what’s driving these two to  make such a diversion. It’s viewed as “Role-Reversal” because the popular beliefs have been challenged. Gender bias is a huge obstacle. 

It’s also interesting that BDSM submission seems easier for the public to accept than dominance.  Dominance is viewed as the one “doing the doing”. This is the BDSM-mentality of doing things TO the  submissive. That’s the imagery. Under this assumption, people will “excuse” a submissive, by attributing  their acceptance as weakness in the presence of the power and persuasion of a determined dominant.  But the motivations of a dominant are immediately suspect and have no excuse. They are evil, power hungry Bond-villains, out to take over the world. They are psychotic sadists, who have to hurt to be whole. 

How does this change? How do we find BDSM relationships to be acceptable regardless of gender, and  be brought out from behind closed doors? How do we get to a point where submission and dominance are equally acceptable? 

I believe that a focus on D/s as the primary motivation for a couple, without the necessity of the imagery  of S&M and B&D, will begin to bridge acceptance. Establishing an emotional bond between two partners  in which one chooses to serve the other, will be more easily digested by the public. Most people have  felt the desire to serve another and most people will accept that allowing someone to serve you (who WANTS to serve you) can be a natural response. Most people will accept that you don’t have to be  psychotic to feel and desire consensual power dynamics. 

As we all know, B&D and S&M are OPTIONAL ACTIVITIES in a relationship with D/s power dynamics.  They are elected within the context of the power agreement. They will likely not be the only activities.  Portray this in the media, even though it’s much harder to do, and we will see a change in perception  and acceptance. Once the emotional bond is established in the minds of the viewers, they will accept it  as the motivation for any physical bondage that follows. So long as the D/s is the primary motivation,  the practices of B&D and S&M will be more readily acceptable and the public will not be dreaming up  more destructive rationale for the actions. And if they are not present at all, more people will be  exposed to, and understand, pure D/s dynamics…that can’t be a bad thing! 

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

Last But Not Least…

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It had been hours since the night had begun. Her head was bowed ad her eyes closed. Did she know she was a fairy?  A mess of amber waves sprung from her head. I imagined it all pulled back for a day job in a downtown office tower. A curvy goddess disguised and contained in a white blouse and black pencil skirt every day. And when the moon was waning, the goddess emerged. 

“She is fucking ethereal,” I commented to no one in particular. I watched the others as they cheered and jeered at Beanpole’s performance. It was the strangest thing all of a sudden. I could smell food. At the bottom of the stairs was a small table with a selection of vegetables, fruit an assortment of hor d’oeuvres. I had to contain my urge to laugh here. I was in the middle of an erotic rollercoaster, watching things unfold, and there were snacks. Was the plan to stop and have a break before the final slave was auctioned for the evening. It struck me as odd that no one else seemed to notice that food had appeared. On the far wall, she stood and fidgeted, stretching her feet as though she was about to go up onto her toes. She was utterly indifferent to the funky music and dancing Sissy just six feet away from her. It seemed like she was separate somehow in a world all her own unaffected by the evening events. She didn’t look around the room, hoping to catch anyone’s eye. She didn’t play with her clothing or flick nervously with her fingers. Her makeup was still creating a mask and holding her most authentic self behind shiny blushed cheeks, long eyelashes and rosy lips. Her skin tone was muted, and she grabbed the last sun-kissed freckles of summer. Her tan lines we’re from a modest bathing suit but defined enough that you could have drawn an outline for some version of the emperor’s new clothes. She was comfortable in her own skin and indifferent to those around her. She was very unusual and carried herself considering she had agreed to be a sex slave for the evening. 

Lotti was the only one left to be bid on for the evening.  It has been an entirely civil night of sensual and sexual indulgence. Not a bawdy orgy of arms, legs, sweat and bodily fluids choreographed o pleasure. I had no information about her in my book. Unlike the others who were a caller, she had a 2-inch green satin ribbon tied in a bow at the back of her neck. She didn’t have a curd with her “hard no” list attached to it. 

A pair of soft green panties looked so odd in this cavern of dim light and sensuality. It was just panties, but these panties told a story. Her being told the story of being wise enough to not sell it but coy sufficient to be enticing. This was a woman who knew how to get her way without saying a word.  The green shimmer of mother of pearl captured in satin and threads of silver through the lace complimented her smooth, taut skin. The lace detail dipped to the top of her pubis, drawing the eye to the Aladdin’s cave of wonder, veiled behind the flawless green satin. The satin was gathered, not tight or worn, almost as though it floated above her skin.  My sex twitched with the thought of running a nail along the edge of those panties.  Imaging my face against her thigh, blowing cool air over the satin until I raised goose pimples on her creamy sun-tanned skin or a moan of pleasure from her throat.

I was happily doodling in the margin when the auctioneer came to the centre of the room. 

“Slaves and Masters, tonight or cave of indulgence offers a rare treat indeed.” He walked over to the wall, slid his hand behind Lotti’s back and escorted her to the centre of the room. She walked. He spoke, “this tantalizing being offers a unique and special opportunity for everyone here this evening. Lotti is here to fulfill a fantasy.  Not to be taken lightly, I have assured her of the ultimate erotic journey. Lotti has entrusted me to invite you to heighten her senses and bring her to rapture.”

The crowd was audible in its delight. With all master’s permission, we would like the slaves to be released to participate freely. However, if a master cares to choreograph and direct a particular slave to participate in what is to be offered, that is acceptable. The hard limits are no marks, no toys, check-in before penetration and safe words green, yellow, and red.

“the fantasy is simple. Our darling Lottie would like to be restrained, blindfolded and delighted. She has been pampered, oiled and made ready for a banquet of delights which we offer to you. All I could think was he has to stop talking this way because it’s way too weird. However, when I looked around the room, it was apparent, he was spinning a web that would draw in every willing participant. The question was, what Ds would play or who would run free?

He motioned me to come to him. The caftan-wearing auctioneer squeezed Lottie’s bottom. She squeaked and hopped a little. Quietly I was told to take the two male slaves to the other side bring the double bed to the middle of the room, placing the casters and their wooden blocks. Ensure the four-point restraints were easily accessible and that a clean satin sheet was placed over the waterproof covering. I was to put a black satin scarf, a hair elastic, massage oil, lube, 2 sizes of condoms and an assortment of arousal items on the folded table draped with a heavy carpet. I took the two male slaves by their lead and escorted them to the other side. I undid their leads and gave them a set of instructions. Leaving them to their own devices, I went up to the fridge and grabbed a case of water. Without prompting, I grabbed a tray of ice, a small bowl, and a clean dish towel as well. The ice was because I wanted the opportunity to torture and pleasure those beautiful blush nipples. The mere thought of tracing her areola with the ice followed by my warm, soft tongue encircling her nipple as it rose made me blush. I envisioned her in my mouth and sucked wantonly. The vision of her drawing away from the cold and then arching upwards silently asking for more as the ice melted away and my hot mouth feasted on her luscious mound. I longed to have her for myself to open her wide and taste her sweetness. To let my tongue moisten and massage her sex, sucking her hard clit into my mouth and wildly flicking her to orgasm with my tongue. The mere thought of it made my nipples hard, and my cunt twitch. 

Adjusting my clothing and taking a moment to bring myself back, I went back to the basement and distributed the water to everyone. Our host had explained that the same rules applied as always. Safe, sane, and consensual whether it’s a party of 1 or 10, everyone is safe, everyone is trusted, and no one crosses the line. This was an experienced group of BDSM aficionados; so, I wasn’t too worried about things going wrong. Everyone except Lotte was hydrating and nibbling on snacks. In my absence, a small stool was placed near the auctioneer. He was holding the black scarf in his hand. 

“Lotti has asked that no one speak, that this be a completely tactile experience and what loti wants, Lotti gets. I’m going to blindfold our voluptuous treat.  Each of you will use hand signals to let me know your bid. Remember, you are not bidding for exclusive access but to share in the pleasure. There will be no talking, but there can be utterances of fun and divine ecstasy that lift your senses and engage your thoughts. What do you want to do to help this woman fall into herself to experience freedom like only we can offer. No judgement, no reprisal, just fucking great sex. 

Lotte sat blindfolded on the stool with nobody touching her. The house-made itself known with the blowing of the furnace and the creaking of the walls. I momentarily closed my eyes to try and imagine what it felt like to be naked, blindfolded and surrounded by a group of strangers. I played with almost every member of this club and thought nothing of stripping and joining in the fun. The slaves stood together between the Doms and me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the masters got more joy from controlling someone from afar or if they wanted the salt of her skin in their tongues.  I had never seen an auction night be so orderly, civilized, and incredibly sensual now build towards a potential orgy. Every other time this group had played together by the 2nd or definitely the third slave, the entire room would be actively playing. Those who had not bid Would toss money at the auctioneer and allow for a free for. Often times padded sawhorses held a girl or two readies to suck and be fucked. Without fail, at least one man would be turned into a pet or a Sissy and at the side of one of the Doms for the night. The rules of no booze and safe words were always present, but it was just wilder than this. This pace and control built the intensity. Everyone was still enticed to play and fantasize right to the very end of the night. No one wanted to go home early from this final act. The bidding head finished, and Lotte was satisfied with the amount she had raised. I was told to record $2200 in the book but with no specific name next to it.

All we’re welcome to play as they saw fit. I jotted the information down and placed the book on its’ shelf. Several people were undressing. I  stepped forward and raised my hand, waiting to have Lottie’s hand put into mine. I brought her close to me.  My arm around her back, hoping to make her feel protected. I steadied her as we walked towards the bed. I whispered instructions. I directed her to the center of the bed, secured her blindfold, and placed both her hands and ankles in the four-point restraints. I kissed her on the forehead and told her she was a very good girl. I resisted the urge to nip at her erect nipples as she maneuvered herself into a comfortable position.

Beanpole’s Humiliation

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Beanpole was over six foot and the palest man I had ever seen. There was something very typical about Beanpole. He had that awkward, geeky look of a full-grown man that had never quite reached the level of cool that he saw himself as in his own mind. He wore heavy framed glasses that were a bit too scratched. He had probably shaved that morning but made little effort to appear polished or desirable to his awaited Doms. Even his body here seemed too uninterested in life to bother to curl around it, laid flat and flaccid like his penis. He really was the beige list most uninteresting person I had never wanted to meet. I knew that someone in the room had to have recommended and okayed his presence for him to be there. Our tight little community protected its secrets and treasured its privacy too much to bring someone in with a question mark above their head. As the auctioneer got Beanpole to the auction block, I had to bite my lip to not laugh out loud. The auctioneer had covered every inch, including his hair in golden glitter. My immediate thought went to the amount of glitter that he would have to explain away when he went home that night. 

He reminded me of a bad high school version of the guy in the Rocky Horror picture show. As he stood on the box, his gangly arms laid in front of his stomach, and his fingers extended in an attempt to cover himself. I seriously questioned what this was going to play out like. Somewhere in the background, music had begun to play again, but it was much less intrusive this time. And I wondered what was in store for our sad, awkward Oscar. 

I had to call him Oscar. Here was a gold statue of a man going to be an object or prize to some of our best Doms. I had played with several of these men but did not know who the cloaked one was. I couldn’t help but wonder how this one was going to play out. As with the previous slaves, the bidding began with a bit of a sales pitch. 

“This sparkling specimen of a man comes with a cock that swells to the most pleasurable size you can possibly imagine. He comes with a request for safe words but no other limits. He asked nothing except to be the pleasure doll of someone here this evening.” With the mention of the word doll, I could see Oscar’s penis. The auctioneer used his cane to tap Oscar’s hands away and display the semi-erect cock, which was now nearly double in size but not completely erect. The auctioneer wanted everybody aware of what was on offer. He grabbed the last slave for the evening, a female and forced her in front of Oscar. Without a word, she understood what she was to do.  Her presence Made it very obvious that he would be brought to full attention before the auction began. The auctioneer held the female’s hair back so that everyone got a clear view of the growing member and her exemplary sucking, licking and teasing technique. I could feel my own *** begin to swell as I watched this luscious display of sensual engagement. The Doms slowly gathered around, inspecting the female’s technique and the response that Oscar could not control. Within a few short minutes, the flaccid penis was now a thick 9 inch, deep Crimson pulsating cock. 

“That’s enough now- starts the bidding!” called one of the Doms. Obviously, the Doms had done a little bit of talking about who wanted what because almost immediately, KennyD tapped the cloaked D and came back and sat next to me. The other two stayed put, circling and touching our Golden statue. The girl was permitted to move from Oscar and assume her position back against the wall. Two of the Doms fondled his balls, tweaked his nipples, and his bottom to see what sort of reaction they would get. Ask her winced at the ball squeeze made no noise after the nipple tweak or attention to his backside.  The two slowly circled and played with the offering without making eye contact or considering the third Dom. 

“If you are entirely done with your inspection, I would like to start the bidding at $200. As you can see, this glittering specimen will reward you with a willing mouth and exemplary member. His references are all too delighted to say never touch a book by its cover. 

The first D obsessed with Oscar’s bottom gave the nod to accept the 200. The other used a leather tongue to tap the erect **** and watch for a reaction. When Oscar barely grimaced pickle Dee said, “I figure he might be worth 3.”

The two men I’d each other and volleyed the bid back and forth in $25 increments until the price was $500. Both hesitated at 500 when the cloaked D simply said 750 final offer! To my surprise, it was a female voice under the cloak that still had not revealed itself. 

The auctioneer said nothing but made direct eye contact with the other two bidders. They both smiled, bowed their heads and took a step back from the bidding circle. “Sold for $750 1 Golden statue requiring only safe words.“ The cloaked D clipped a lead onto her gold-coloured slave and promptly led him upstairs. As they went upstairs, the other 3Doms gathered in the basement’s far end and engaged in conversation. The slaves that had been auctioned were near the sofa recovered and cared for after their adventures. Still on display, kneeling with their hand on their knees and their collars attached to the wall by a relatively heavy-looking chain. Both had their eyes down and almost looked like they were sleeping.

When Oscar and his master returned, she was wearing a white tank top leather vest and a pair of loose-fitting jeans. She had a crop and a tongue clipped to one of her belt loops. Oscar had been wholly transformed into the prettiest ugly Sissy I had ever seen.  As they decent the stairs, CloakD yanked to force a stumble by the slave. He teetered in a pair of red patent peek-a-boo heels. Black fishnet stockings, a pink corset,  a pair of ill-fitted pink lace panties that left his cock protruding out the side and barely contained his balls. A sheer wrap dress didn’t really provide the illusion of a complete outfit. The entire look made me uncomfortable, and my gut twisted as I watched him struggle to walk in the heels down the stairs. A blonde curly wig, deep red lips stopped me cold.  The whole look had been exaggerated and make-up that was heavy and hurriedly applied. In all honesty, the make-up looked like melted crayons.  I didn’t even need to look around the room to gauge others’ reactions. Giant belly laughs erupted from the Dom group as Oscar came into full view in all of his feminine glory. Cloak D took two steps up. She was now as tall as the shimmering Beanpole.  Mistress tossed some sort of MP3 at the auctioneer and asked him to play the third track on the first list. 

“This evening, our darling Sissy slut is going to entertain you with a little bit of a dance before we begin the festivities. Feel free to encourage her to share her feminine wiles and seduce all those worthy of her sad existence. This week’s sad excuse over human is so useless and unworthy that he must pretend to be a woman to even be worthy of being in my presence.” As she spoke, she had removed the crop from her belt and wiggled it under the dress so that she could smack his semi-erect member until he attempted to pull away. 

As she used the crop, the conversation and laughter continued at the far edge of the basement. Cloak D asked Sissy if he liked the attention she was giving his pathetic cock. He nodded and grumbled some sort of affirmation. When he mumbled, she quickly drew a hand full force across his face and admonished him for his discourteous response. He immediately spoke up, apologized and thanked her for the correction. 

As our Sissy was led to where the auction block stood, he was told to get on his knees and move the box with his face. Sissy awkwardly used his forehead and chin to maneuver the box up and over to the edge of the room. The entire time, Cloak D taunted and remarked about his lack of grace. She smacked and  tapped his balls from between his legs, ensuring he was thoroughly mortified by the exposure and the lack of elegance. After moving the box, he returned to the room’s centre, staying on all fours with his head bowed. Using a cane that had been leaning next to the unauctioned slave, Cloak D used a variety of smacks and taps to bring Sissy Oscar to his full height. Wobbling and trying to stand elegantly, the Sissy was crimson with embarrassment and completely erect. 

His thumping engorged member brought the humiliation to a new level as Cloak D unleashed a string of insults. She explained how he was the weaker sex,  men’s inability to create and sustain life like a woman.  Pathetically using fear and brute strength to keep women down. Moreover, men could serve no real purpose beyond being sperm donors. She finished with a tirade about how men could do nothing in life without their mothers, lovers, and wives showing them the way. She then directed the Sissy to dance and show her worthiness to be in the presence of others.  She was to pay homage to women and demonstrate her feminine side to deem herself acceptable as a vessel for discipline time and attention from Cloak D. 

With a flick of the head, the auctioneer started the music. Cloak D undid the leash and pointed to where Sissy was to dance. Sissy began the humiliating process of demonstrating his feminine Wilds with knees bent and arms awkwardly moving in snake-like circles. Tears filled his eyes as a Boo was heard from the shadows. Cloak D admonished her Sissy for a poor showing. Cloak D stepped forward and immediately brought the Sissy to its knees in front of her. The DS tone was calm and forceful. She offered this Sissy one final chance to demonstrate worthiness by beginning a striptease. Sissy Oscar thanked the D for the opportunity and asked permission to kiss her feet. Permission was granted as we all watched the humiliation of this man. He was genuinely grateful for the chance to make things right for his master. The song had ended by this time as she asked the auctioneer to start it again. This time Mistress stepped back and said nothing until the music began when she acknowledged his existence by saying, don’t disappoint me. 

This time Sissy Oscar closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders, sang along to the lyrics and slowly removed his dress. With the final move laying the dress at the feet of his D. As the song ended, he continued to slowly gyrate and caress his own body, bending forward slowly, removing the panties and exposing his ass to the room. Where for the first time, we could see a large blue gem had been placed. He stepped out of the panties, opened his legs and brought his ass up and down from the floor. Proud and humbled by the opportunity to represent his master when he finished, he knelt on the floor with his hands in front of him, waiting for commands.  His floor work would have made any stripper proud. His ass was indeed his money makers. He bounced and shook his ass to the music, momentarily forgetting who and what he was. By the time the song’s intense bass had died down and bled into the next one, Beanpole had transformed into Oscar, the Sissy. He didn’t look for the approval of his moves. His erect penis had moved to the music as he sensually touched himself, knowing he was on complete display for everyone to see.

When the second song stopped, Cloak D walked forward, Oscar dropped to his knees and knelt forward.   Master stepped on his fingers and simply stated that wasn’t so bad. Go wait against the wall with the others. There would be no sexual satisfaction for Golden Oscar, just further humiliation as the night went on. 

Tink Was Next Off The Auction Block

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

Tink was next off the auction block. I knew everyone here was there freely. I did do a double take when I saw her in the line. She wasn’t a woman you missed, Her short wavy hair shimmered with a green hue. I wondered if anyone here knew she was a cop. She’s the cop that goes around to the schools to talk about street smart. The most distinguishing thing about her was her back tattoo it was the tree of life filled with versions of cartoon characters. There was something very twisted about a cop named tink with the love of all things childlike. As I watched her step onto the block I couldn’t help but wonder what she had warned that evening. Her makeup illuminated her face her manicure and pedicure were like punctuation marks on the points of her body and her athletic body was tanned to the most perfect Hue of Carmel. I looked at her and thought I could worship that mouth and those thighs for days. But that’s not what she was here for tonight. She was here to let go to release to be a slave to her own pleasure and pain. 

Her nipples stayed taught as the handler used a riding crop to force her to turn around. He slid the crop in front of her sex and forced a Yelp as he smacked it. One of the Ds forced her to bend over and slid a firm thumb across her anus pulsating ever so slightly to see if you could get a reaction. He slid his fingers through to her sex and she winced with his roughness. The handler called, “gentlemen nobody likes secondhand merchandise, eyes and inspection touch only. Alright girl assumed the position. She stood with her feet shoulder with apart her fingers laced behind her head and her head dropped so that all who wanted to, could, inspect her in her exposed natural beauty. 

“This exquisite slut is here for tonight only. She has chosen the charity which she will submit for starting bids are $550 and that will get you two hours.”

The Doms looked at each other, and raised eyebrows at the starting price and limit of time. While the other three were considering their options leather D got up from the couch and walked towards the diminutive powerhouse. “I don’t know, but I think I might like to see if I can break this little doll. She looks like she could be a lot of fun and worth the time and money. “

The older D with a beard like Kenny Rogers spoke up, “now hold on there leather we let you have your phone we stayed and played quietly and watched perspective now it’s our turn those were the rules one at a time.”

“I’m not saying anything disrespectful I’m just saying I think Little Miss tank here might be worth the money handler would you say the opening bid was again? “

Handler tapped Tink on the ass, so that she would stick her tits out more. He murmured something quietly to her and a broad smile came across her face. “all right boys there’s enough of me to go around double the price double your pleasure.” The handler looked at the gentleman and said, “you heard her boys she knows the money is going to a good cause. You can share but you both pay the same no deals not like Fuckwad got stuck with.”

KennyD quipped, “I’d be good with getting in on that share and share alike after all.” He stood in front of her watching as the coloured lights made her hair shimmer and her face luminescent. “So what are what are her heard nos?” he picked up the tag and read it out loud, “no ball gag and no hair pulling. Now that’s a new one never met a slave who had an issue with having their hair pulled, but alright sounds good. I’ll start 550.”

“Now let’s be clear here. For 550.00 you got’ta share ‘er there has to be another bidder- if you want to keep her to yourself 1100 disturbed that’s what she’s offering.”

The shortest of the four Doms in the oversized hoodie with his face hidden waved a hand and withdrew from the circle. KennyD, LeatherD, and DeadheadD were still in. The were stroking and grabbing their crotches, while the handler talked about the smoothness of her skin the perkiness of her breasts and the firmness of her ass. He took the crop along the bottom of her ass a tap to make it jiggle. She perked her ass as though asking for the smack. But the smack never came. “OK gentlemen we have 550 is it 550 alone or do we have a pair?” Deadhead D looked down the line at the three other slaves and then back at her, he didn’t say anything, but it was easy to tell he had something else in mind. In the corner of my eye I could see Fuckwad kneeling next to the couch and his cock was growing hard. He had just been used and taken for over an hour while the others watched and now, he was excited and wanting more. 

Leather looked at Kenny, “What do you say Bud you want to share?” Can you took a step back and put his hands in his front pockets with his thumbs hung out I never noticed that he was wearing cowboy boots before that very moment it made my nickname from all the funnier the next thing he was going to start singing Lucille. Well leather I’m thinking I might like to just do this piece of *** myself I think she needs some serious training not a whole lot of nose but their bodies got a whole lot of yes isn’t it, don’t darling I think I want to see if I can make this one squiggle just a little bit. Alright handler $1200 and she’s mine for two hours. Start the Clock I want my money’s worth.”

“Yes Sir.” Handler tipped his head to me I picked up the stop watch hit start and hung it on the nail next to where I was sitting. I didn’t speak I made a note in my book and gave a thumbs up. This was my purpose I was the keeper of things and Holder of secrets. 

Kennedi wasted no time switching into D mode. He yanked her by her collar and said knees. She was on all four and waiting for commands. he took the crop from the handler and smacked her on the thigh indicating forward movement she began to crawl, and he hit her again forcing her to speed up. “Move it skank, you’re the one who said time was money I want my money’s worth get your fucking ass over there and in the air.” Tink scurry to cross the carpets with her head down and moving as quickly as she could. A Ping pong ball bounced off the far wall and Kenny called fetch. Tink scampered towards the ball and picked it up in her mouth. Her knees had to be burning. She hesitated but a moment before she made her way back to him. she held her chin up presenting her Master for the night with the ball she had just retrieved.

“Let’s try that again and with feeling this time he tossed the ball and it ricocheted from one wall to the other forcing tank to turn quickly and temporarily lose her balance. 

“You are the most ungraceful cow I have ever seen in my entire life. I’m not very pleased. Obviously, you need some training come heal. She retrieved the ball and made her way back to his side holding her face up to give him the ball. her face was red from exertion. 

If you are going to act like a dumb bitch, that’s what I am going to treat you like. Get that ass of yours in the air, he said, and he swatted her thigh with the crop he had taken from the handler. 

He squat down and looked her in the eye, “Are you a bitch?” His words were hard and deep, not playful.

“Yes, sir,” Smack then a booger in her face. 

“Dogs can’t talk, now let’s give you your first reminder of your natural state, “bark if you understand.” 

She barked a slight noise, but it was barely audible.

Smack on the other cheek, “I said bark”

It was louder this time. 

Maybe this will help inspire a nice bitch bark. He had a large anal plug with a tail. He spit in his hand and lubed up her ass. He used his finger to wake her sex while pressing is thumb on her but hole waiting for it to loosen. He smoothed and massaged her ass until he could feel her clit swell. All the while he spoke to her like he was prepping a bitch in heat to breed. When a moan was emitted from her throat, he stopped and grabbed her by the throat. “how fucking dumb are you? Dogs don’t moan, they bark. 

He lifted her by the jaw until she was standing up. Spread those check before I punish you for forgetting your place. She bent forward and opened her ass to him. He lubed up the plug and slid it in. The fur tail hung between her legs and she continued to hold her cheeks open. She yapped when he smacked her ass with his open hand. The impact actually made her hop forward. That was a mistake. 

“Stupid bitch,” a rolled up new paper appeared out of nowhere. I scanned the area and could remember seeing it before. KennyD adjusted his cock, you could see it fill the front of his pants pushing to escape its fabric prison. I couldn’t help but wonder of he was going to rub her nose in his crotch and say, look what you did, bad puppy.

With the rolled-up newspaper he swatter her behind at least a half dozen times. She fought to not move but he was strong, and she was fighting gravity. She stayed in character and yipped like a dog with each smack. With the final smack he said, “let’s try this again,” he tosses the ball and she scampered as fast as she could chasing the ball until it came to rest, she picked it up with her mouth and brought it back heel, so the tail laid across the bottoms of her feet. KennyD patted the top of her head and unzipped his trousers. A thick 7 -inch member unfolded and stood at full attention. I stopped chatting with the others and gave that beautiful piece of manhood the respect it deserved. “Oh! I would be so ok with that sliding down the back of my throat.” I said to no one in particular. LeatherD laughed and smacked Fuckwad in the head for laughing too.

KennyD cooed at her, come get your treat, pup.” I figure she must have impressed him; he had softened ever so slightly. She rose up on her knees and put she hand up like paws and stuck out her tongue await his cock. 

“Good girl he said as he slid the tip along her tongue and filled her mouth. She sucked him hard, you could see her check draw in and the sucking and gagging noises filled the air.  He face -fucked her and the pace was vicious, she chocked, but kept her paws up. His hand held the top of her head and he rocked his hips while she gagged and salivated. Just as his gyrations were staccato, he stopped. He pushed her back by the forehead, careful not to grab her hair. He looked her in the eyes as saliva ran down her chin, “Green?”

She yapped and smiled. He reached behind and grabbed a leash and clipped it on. He led her to the cross. He had two straps and a cordless wand. He arranged the wand to be against her clitoris  and then He strapped her ankles and wrists to the Saint Andrews cross with her pert little *** in all its glory holding a puppy dog tail. 

“Alright you ***** let’s see what you’re really made of. Don’t come without my permission. She yapped in response and nodded her head to show she understood. he stood close and used his hands to caress her from tip to toe. he massaged her ass and played with her sex until she whimpered. he turned the wand on its lowest setting and retrieved the floggers with 18-inch falls. He dragged the falls across her back and over her sides awakening her flesh in anticipation of what was to come. He asked the handler to double check that the wand was in place. The handler melt on the other side of the cross and double checked Kenny D’s handiwork. The wand was barely pressed against her clitoris and labia. The handler nodded in approval and stepped back out of the scene. He asked Tink for her safe words and he began to slap the air with the paired of floggers.

“I’m going to do 10 impacts aside and then increase the intensity for five if you want me to stop say so.” The floggers impact was slow and each one covered the entire T of her back from opposite directions. She whimpered and urged into the awaiting falls after the 8th she rose on her toes in the first attempt to escape the impact. Her back was red and slightly striped. He approached kissed her shoulders and rubbed the awakened flesh. He had laid one flogger across her shoulder in order to inspect her pussy. he whispered in her ear as though there was no one else in the world. Asoft long kiss sat on her shoulder as he heightened her pleasure and awakened her orgasm . After several minutes, He retrieved the flogger looked at the crowd and said she wants another 20, but this time it will be her entire back. KennyD began rotating the floggers again filling the air with their whistling. The first few impacts barely touched her skin but you could feel the sting even from across the room he slowly worked his way with the first 5 aside up her back for the next 5 he varied his approach so that the entire 18 inches wrapped across her back from either direction. As he did this you could watch her sexual intensity increase. 

“do you want to come ??”

The puppy whimpered and shook its tail in order to indicate that sexual gratification was wanted. 

“If you do I have to stop and there won’t be any cock, “he said laughing.

she forgot herself, and said, “no thank you please keep going.”

“What was that ?”

a series of yaps and barks were heard as Kenny’s laughter filled the room. They were in the zone there was nobody else there as far as they were concerned. 

“You still have 10 more?”

She said nothing.

Smack the flogger whipped across her back, she arced and drew a deep breath with the shock.

“Let’s try that again, you have 10 more! “

She yapped in agreement. He drew close wrapping his arm around to the wand and increasing the intensity. She rose to escape the sexual torture. He used the weight of his body to hold her in place and ensure her body was still responding to the exotic attention. He backed away and told her to bark out the final 10. she did as she was told as the wand distracted the lashings intensified the building of her orgasm just as her body had wanted to begin to move in response to her sexual awakening the flogging was done and he had turned off the wand. She had been left on the edge of orgasm and completely unaware of the world around her. He undid the straps lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed in the dark corner of the basement where they stayed well after the two hours were up .

Collars And Rings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, neither one of these things are remotely alike.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no comparing the two.

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.

How To Be A Better Dominant

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Do you identify as a D-type?

Do you want to improve your power exchange relationships?

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

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

How to Be a Better Dominant

Piggie Learns A Lesson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I understand your worry now.

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

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

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

“Good morning Sir.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you doing?  Honestly.” 

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

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

“Always, Sir.”

“Good Girl.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”  

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

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

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

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

The fear.  The struggle.  The adrenaline.

“Mmm, thank you, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your safeword?”

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

“Piggie.”  I jerk out of my thoughts.

“I apologize Sir.  My word is Red.”

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

It is about accepting and honoring Your Dominance.

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

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

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

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

So, I watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

“I know Sir.  I am just nervous.”

“Good.  You should be.”

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

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

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

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

Then, I saw them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep breath.  That is what I tell myself.

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

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

I don’t need it yet.

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

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

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

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

Then I feel it again.

And again.

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

Another hit.  

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

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

Damn you and your observations. Sir.  

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

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

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

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

Two snaps.

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

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

Asshole.

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

Jesus, did I say that out loud.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lipstick.

What the fuck are you planning to do with lipstick?

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

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

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

You…you backhanded me, Sir.

My head snaps back into place.

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

I do not like this.  

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

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

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

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

Dirty. Slut. Whore. Just a hole. 

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

Fat.  Brat.  Defiant.

Those are harder.  I disagree with them.

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

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

I blink back the tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may finally have taken my words to heart.

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

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

“That’s my good girl.”

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

Thank you for not taking me through the lobby.

We get back into the room without running into anyone.

“Strip down and into the tub.”

I comply.  I sit down on the cold porcelain.  

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

“Turn and face me, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sit down on the bed and I kneel down.

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

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

Then I kneel up and work to remove your boots.

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

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

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

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

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sexy Domme with whip
via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spread your legs.”

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

“Good. Very nice.”

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

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

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

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

“You may speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good slave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mistress, no Mistress.”

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

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

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

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

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

To Be Continued…

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

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

Routine Task Lists In Power Exchange Dynamics

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blonde sexy Domme with male submissive in straitjacket
via stock.adobe.com

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

This week, I’d like to focus in on a technique that I introduced in my first book, “Uniquely Rika” – The  Routine Task List exercise. This exercise has brought a great deal of success for many couples through the years. It originated as a way to help couples establish the activities they would utilize within a  Dominant-centric dynamic. The exercise was originally established to accomplish three things: 

1) Establish a “To-Do” list of tasks that truly serve the dominant and can be executed without the  need for the dominant to ensure, order, and follow up on assignments 

2) Ensure that what is being done for a dominant is actually FOR a dominant 

3) Share the responsibility of creativity between the partners so that the dominant is not solely  burdened with the need to come up with and create things for the submissive to do 

As it turns out, the Routine Task List exercise has a couple of far more valuable side-benefits: It teaches  the submissive to identify the dominant’s preferences; gives the submissive an understanding of why  something is, or isn’t, considered to be submission to their particular partner; and helps the submissive  think about their activities in terms of what the dominant wants. In short, it establishes a structured  communication method, within which the submissive learns how to serve their unique dominant. Because of these, it’s a great exercise for beginners and seasoned players alike. In my second book,  “Uniquely Us”, you see how several couples have implemented the technique within their dynamics with great results! 

The Routine Task List Exercise 

The exercise is best described in the books, but here goes the abridged version: 

1) The sub is to prepare a list of 10 items that the sub believes the dominant will feel are service to them. 

• The list should be prepared on a regular schedule. Many couples start at once a week. It’s  best to establish a set time to prepare a written list. 

• The list should contain things that the submissive feels is going to be received by the  dominant as submission to them. It’s not a list of things that the sub wants to do, it’s a list  of things that the sub thinks the dominant would want. This caveat is what makes the  exercise so useful for establishing the definition of submission for that dominant – because  the submissive is forced to think like the dominant. 

• The submissive should create this list on their own, based on their understanding of the  dominant’s preferences. 

2) The dominant reviews the list and triages it into three categories and explains why each item fell  into each category: 

• Things that the dominant feels are really submission to them – that they would want to  have done on a regular basis

• Things that the dominant feels are really more for the submissive – and although the  dominant likes to see the submissive happy and will get pleasure from making the sub  happy, are not actually submission for them 

• Things that the dominant does not like and does not want to do 

The important part of all of this, is that dominant needs to take the time to explain  WHY each item from the list ends up in the bucket it does. It’s equally important to  explain to the sub what it is about a specific task that is submission to the dominant  and made it to the list – as it is to explain why something did not make the task list. 

3) The dominant assigns the triaged items that meet the criteria: 

• The things that make the first category, are given a frequency and are added to the  submissive’s “Task List”. The frequency can be something like, “Every day”, “Once a week”,  “Whenever I shower”, “At meals”, “When I enter the room”, etc. These items are put on the  submissives list and the submissive is to execute the tasks on the scheduled times without  the need for provocation, reminder, etc. It’s the sub’s responsibility to meet the schedule. 

• Things in the second category are taken under advisement by the dominant as things that  can be given as treats/gifts during playtime. They do not make the task list. The dominant  should be quite particular about what makes it to the task list…if it’s not really service to the  dominant…that is, if it’s not FOR the dominant, then it doesn’t make the list. 

• Things that are in the third category are removed and will not be done. 

If the submissive gets 5 or more items accepted to the list, they’ve done a good job. The goal, of course,  is to get a perfect 10 for 10. If the sub gets less than 5 items on the list, then they should go back and try  again that same week…armed with the understanding they’ve accumulated via the feedback. Otherwise,  the sub executes the (now grown) task list and begins to think of things for the next week’s list. 

After a few weeks of this, the sub gets pretty good at understanding what is and what isn’t considered  to be submission to this dominant…and should begin to get better at predicting and getting more and  more items added to the list. The end result is an increasing list of pre-scheduled tasks that the sub is  performing on a regular basis, that truly provide submission to the unique dominant. 

The list is designed to contain routine tasks – to be executed according to the schedule, by the  submissive, without the need for the dominant to monitor or command execution. This simplifies the  dominant’s life – while providing services that meet their needs. 

John’s Attestation 

As I mentioned, many couples with whom I’ve worked, have used this technique with a great deal of  success. Earlier in 2020, the submissive of one of those couples posted his account in my FetLife Rika’s  Lair discussion group. I’ve reproduced it here with his permission: 

Hi folks! I wanted to chime in here to talk about the Task List Exercise. For those of you  who don’t know me, I’m John – of Liz and John in Rika’s second book. We started the Task  List Exercise when Liz introduced me to Rika’s methodology. I was a bit skeptical at first  (with the whole methodology, as well as the exercise), but Liz was into it…and to see her excited by anything having to do with being my dominant was, as the song goes, simply  irresistible! 

I remember how I thought my first list was perfection…and it turned out to be AWFUL. In  it, I spelled out what I felt submission was, being sure to list the kinky activities that Liz  and I had done in our previous playtime that she liked. Turns out, she enjoyed my reaction  to those kinds of things, but serving her – in her mind – was a much different experience. It  was, looking back, all about me: What I would allow her to do to me. Only one item from  my first list made it to the routine list. 

She sat me down and explained why these things, although enjoyable, were not going to  be considered to be submission to her. That we will likely do some of those things, because  they’re fun, but they were not making their way to the list – which was to define service TO HER. 

I remember feeling that she had been fed a dose of poison and that we were losing every  chance of having a deep D/s dynamic. I was pretty pissed at Rika, frankly. But Liz was not  moving. She would not budge from what she wanted. She sets expectations in a way that  wasn’t asking me, it was telling me. She basically said I was doing this, or I wasn’t doing  anything – that to serve her meant she got to set what service means. In other words, she  was being dominant! On the surface, I didn’t like where she was taking this – but at my  core, I loved that she was demanding that I comply. I did. 

Fast forward about 6 months: I was 10 for 10 on my task list almost every week and had  a routine list of over 200 items. They were small items, but there were a lot of them! It  was more than I could handle, frankly. We both recognized that we were fast approaching  my limit. Rika advised us to prune the list. To remove things that Liz could live without. She  also recommended that we review the list monthly, rather than weekly. We got the list to  [a] manageable 160 items, some of them daily, some weekly, some in certain  circumstances. 

Around two months into this process, I started to realize that I FELT MORE submissive than  I had ever felt in our playtime. I was truly serving Liz and Liz was feeling truly dominant.  She was also giving me lots of treats. I didn’t feel like I was going without what I enjoyed  – I just knew that when Liz gave me something that she knew I liked, it was not submission,  but rather a gift – and I was so very thankful for it. 

We’re many years into our dynamic now – we don’t visit the task list on a regular basis  anymore. It changes when Liz wants it to change. It is, however, always in play. I am her  servant, heart and soul, and love every moment of it. I find that my tastes and desires have  changed and are almost in complete lock step with Liz’s. It’s not that I can read her mind,  but I’m thinking like her now. I’ve embodied her tastes and preferences and find myself  acting in accordance with them, without having to try. 

Rika’s system works. This task list is just the beginning, but it’s an important first  component. Try it out…I strongly recommend it. And to the dominants: Be REALLY strict about what makes it onto your list. Make sure it REALLY serves YOU if you allow it. The  other things you can still do, but not as part of this list. This list is about YOU. 

Wrapping it Up 

Communication is, by far, the most important element of success for couples establishing, or continuing  their D/s dynamics. The Routine Task List exercise provides an excellent vehicle to enable greater  communication. It’s particularly effective because it engages the submissive’s mind – challenging the  submissive to internalize the dominant’s definition of submission. When submissives begin to consistently create lists that triage a perfect 10 for 10, the couple can be certain that the submissive has  truly embraced the dominant’s definition of submission. Over time, that definition can change – and the Routine Task List assures that the submissive stays with the course. 

Try the technique. For more info, read the books. I think you’ll find that they will help your dynamic  regardless of how “seasoned” or “newbie” yours is! 

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