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The Slutatic Adventures Of Eve

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It’s essential to have goals. My slut goals vary. For the past six months, geography has been fun. At first, it was a match with places I had been, which extended into areas I wanted to go or know about. Being curious is a neat way to learn and make my way through the male population of my corner of the world. Not every message gets a response, but the profile was packed with details and interests that matched the reality of my luscious curves and sultry desire. Loving good sex is one thing, but knowing someone is into what you have to offer can be motivating.

“Love your pictures” was his opening foray. Hardly something to swoon over, but I don’t fuck for poetry, so I figured what the hell. The banter was intriguing. He was young and anxious to learn about my twisted little world of domination and submission. A weird little world of my knowledge and experience for him and a youthful cock and passion for my orgasm for me was enough to make him a regular. His full lips and generous mouth, athletic body, and desire for a heightened sexual experience solidified our mutual passion. 

“We can meet at my place. I have roommates, but they won’t be an issue. I want you so bad.” That was the message the morning after our first meet. “I would love to see you in heels and stocking.” Quickly followed. 

I was happy to oblige the following Tuesday. I slipped into a barely decent little black dress, low cut in the back and skimming the edge of my thigh, black sheer stay-ups, and black suede heels with shiny metal spike heels. The porch light was a bare light bulb. The starkness was notable was in such stark contrast to the Aladdin’s cave of treasure and pleasure I hoped to find beyond that bare bulb. 

I paid little attention to the terrain as I climbed the stairs and stepped onto the grass. My hell sunk, and I fell forward onto my hands and knees. I looked up as he stepped out of his door. I righted myself and passed him my tote bag, and I brushed off the dead leaf and pulled my dress back in place. In some weird way, it was the perfect ice breaker. He whisked me to his room and fussed my wet, bruised knee. The niceties of a first meet were swamped by the adrenaline pumping through my system. He was talking, and I was watching his mouth, those full pillow lips I longed to suck and nibble. I nibbled my own lower lip as I waited for him to stop talking. My clit twitched, and his hands smoothed and caressed my legs and thighs. His fingers found the edge of the stay-ups, and my breath hitched in my throat, a small moan of pleasure escaped. I checked myself. We made eye contact, I fought the urge to speak, he dropped to his knees in front of me. He brought my face to his and kissed me. “This isn’t very sadistic” my thought was halted by the wakening of my sex, my clit twitched, and I was instantly wet.

His mouth kissed and suckled my inner thigh. His teeth grazed over the stocking, and his hand found my ankles and put them behind his neck. I lay back on the bed, still dressed and enjoying the hunger of his mouth on my thighs. My panties are soaked. The burgundy satin would be dark with my wetness. I stretched and writhed as he pulled the panties to the side and opened me with his strong ample tongue. He was out of my reach, and not a word had passed between us. I fought my desire to create social interaction. Instead, I emptied my mind and stayed in my body. He had found the spot, the holy grail of the squirt spot. He surprised himself and was delighted with himself. 

As I moaned in pleasure, I interjected, “you might want to grab a towel,” ever the practical slut. I broke the spell. He stood in front of me; I sat up facing his cock. It’s stretched against his body-hugging boxers. I trace his cock’s outline with my long, manicured nails. I continue to fondle and careless until his hand instinctually lands on my head. I look into his eyes with my fingers stroking the outside of his boxers. I finally speak. 

“ask for what you want.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s firm. His eyes bulge. My power shift is subtle, and I wait for him. His eyes bulge, and he motions towards his cock, unwilling to say the words. I hold his eyes, occasionally blinking, smiling softly—my hand retreats. 

“Babe,” his tone is pleading and weak. With that. I stand, kiss his mouth, adjust my stockings. And get ready to leave. “Seriously, you’re going to leave me like this?” The pussy is almost whimpering. With that, I picked up my bag. 

“Next time when I tell you to do something, you will do it. Shame really, you have a beautiful cock.” I walked out the door, stayed on my toes, and left.

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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***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.

Piggie’s Day Out

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

You have talked about this trip for months.

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

I was excited for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like watching you play Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

I was wrong.

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

You stare me down and get close to my face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

“What’s a matter sweetie?”

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

“Awww, poor little piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

You are impossible, Sir.

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

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

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

“What took you so long sweetie?”  

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

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

“Sir, may I remove the clamps?”

“When we reach city limits.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you may.  You did good.”

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

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

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

I should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.  I understand, Sir.”

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

Thank you for knowing me as you do.

I think I am ready now.

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

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

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

I can do anything you ask of me, Sir.  

“Come here piggie.”

I turn and crawl the few feet to you.

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

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

“Tonight, we are going to have company.”

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

But now, I am extremely nervous.

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir”

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

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

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

Your voice is soft behind me.

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

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

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My body is shaking.  I am cold now.

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

“You did good, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

“Ok.”  I sighed.  

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

You always know what I need, Sir.

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

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

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

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

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

You will always keep me safe.  

I can rest now.

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.

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

Erotica: Alex And Her Master-Chapter 4-An N/C Fantasy

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**all pieces of erotica are based on fictional scenarios. We never condone anything that is NOT consensual, sane, or safe.

Click here to read Chapter 3!

From last time: 

He carried her inside.  Alex tried to see around her, but the way she was carried, just about all she could see was the stone floor, and then the carpet as they moved deeper into the house.  Down a flight of stairs they went, into a dark room.  Twisting, turning, through several doorways he walked, until he reached a particular door.  He set Alex on her feet, leaning her against the wall.

“Can you stand now?”

Alex nodded.

He reached through the doorway and pulled a chain dangling from the ceiling; the clicking switch triggered a light.  Alex looked down and saw a small cuff, linked to a heavy chain.

“No…  Please…” she begged.  “Don’t do this…  Please!” she wailed.

Instead of telling her to shut up, or worse, he simply picked Alex up and set her on the floor, locking the soft leather cuff snugly around her right ankle.

Alex began crying.

“Gccckkh!”

The man stuffed a penis-shaped gag in her mouth.  When Alex parted her lips instinctively, he pressed it home until the ball-part of the gag popped past her teeth.  He buckled the straps tightly at the base of her neck, tugging the gag deeper as Alex choked and gurgled.

“I told you to shut up, girl.  So you get a gag.”

Pulling Alex back a couple of feet from the door as she fought the gag, trying futilely to dislodge it with her tongue, he laughed softly.

“And now you can have the hood, too.”

Alex sputtered and gurgled.  The elasticized fabric slid over her head and constricted around her throat.

“Just hold still, and breathe calmly.  You’ll be all right.”

Certain that she would be anything but all right, Alex sobbed and wailed as she heard the light-switch click again, and the door to the closet close with an ominous click of its own.

Alex had no idea how much time passed before the racking sobs subsided.  Coughing and choking around the gag because of her unfettered crying, she finally regained control.  The closet, dark and musty, surrounded her.  She wondered how she would ever escape captivity.  Finally, she decided to roll onto her side, even though she couldn’t see anything.  She landed without any extra pain, relieved at what suddenly seemed great fortune.

And after a time, she remembered her bonds.  It had been so long since she could move her arms, she had forgotten even to try.  A few twists and squirms, all of which tugged hard at the knotted crotch-rope buried deep in her wet folds, gave her the answer: no escape possible…

So she waited.  And waited.  And waited.

Torrents of her own drool rolled from her lips, uncontrollably.  The hood only made things worse, as it kept the wetness against her lips, cheeks, and chin.  For a time she tried to slurp her saliva back in around the gag, finally deciding that the cure was worse than the disease.  Hoping to sit back up so that the drooling would be diminished, she abandoned all hope when she realized she couldn’t do it.  Suddenly, having rolled over seemed a very bad idea…

And then…  Footsteps.

Alex mewed pathetically.  She didn’t even care if it was her captor whom she heard: she needed attention.

The door opened and the chain clicked.  Alex’s hood still blocked almost all light.

“Ready to behave, slave?”

Alex nodded.  The hood came off in a rapid tug and the light glared into her eyes: Alex squinted at the sudden change.

He lifted her up to a sitting position.  She felt the ropes fall away as the unseen knife-blade sliced through them.  Alex whimpered as her arms moved forward, the circulation returning fully.  Her arms and fingers tingled slightly.

“If you promise to behave, the gag will come out, too…”

Before he could speak further, Alex nodded furiously, drool flying from her lips, dripping on her bulging breasts.  Without a word, he pushed her head down toward her knees, as if to make her bow in her seated position on the floor, pressing her breasts against her thighs.  The buckle came open, and the gag came out with some difficulty; Alex slobbered uncontrollably over her boobs.

Taking her by her hair, he pulled her back to an erect sitting position, then pulled her head back so she had no choice but to look at him.

“Move your arms, slave.”

“Why are you calling me slave?” she croaked.

He raised his hand as if to slap her face with his knuckles.  Alex cringed and whimpered in fear.

“That’s your one and only warning, slave.  That’s your new name.  Get used to it.  Fast!”

Alex cowered as she nodded her compliance.

“Please don’t hit me,” she whispered, her head turning away as the words trickled out.

Her captor seized her face by the jaw in a single powerful hand, yanking her head up so that she looked at him.

“Speak when I speak to you.  Or you may ask permission to speak.  In any other situation, keep our mouth shut, slave.  Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

The slap was not so hard as it was shocking.  Alex, her head leaning away, still turned her eyes to look up at him.  Her eyes asked the question silently.

“I hit you, and far from hard, slave, because you will address me as Master.  If I give you a command, your only answer is ‘Yes, Master.’  Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“And you will do exactly as I say at all times.  Your only questions will be for clarification when you don’t understand an order.”

“Yes, Master.  I understand.”

Alex’s mind raced as she heard the words to which she agreed.  She tried to tell herself it was only survival.  She wanted to live, and she wanted to escape.  At the same time, she dreaded being locked in the closet again, yet somehow, when she considered it deeply, she wondered if it would be all that bad, as long as he didn’t tie her up so tightly.

She noticed then that she was still wet between her legs.


To be continued…

I’ve been writing erotica–niche adult fantasy (C/NC and N/C)–for the enjoyment of my readers for a number of years.  My greatest reward comes from knowing the pleasure my words bring to my readers.  If you want to let me know how you liked this story, feel free to drop me a line here: j.s.phoenix.1975@gmail.com

Please also visit me at: https://tinyurl.com/yycvsgr6

Low Protocol And Power Exchange

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It began in baby steps.  Our dynamic was very much an experiment, with each movement forward and each step of the way tested before the full weight of the relationship was brought to bear upon it. 

It was a scary amount of power to give up.  I came into the relationship a business owner, and began a second venture about a year in.  Handing the metaphorical reins over to another when my hard work of years was on the line was a truly terrifying thing to even contemplate.   It came part and parcel of our TPE, however, and I had to trust that he would allow me to continue to make decisions without his interference.

Part of owning a business is having to interact with others in various ways, be it as the customer service representative who is discussing a potential order, as the cashier handling payment, as the scheduler booking classes, as the manager attending to someone’s satisfaction, as the artisan building product and providing updates, or in educational capacities, both online and in-person.  That’s a lot of hats, and they require a certain amount of freedom of action on my part.  It has necessitated trust on his part that I would make decisions and behave in ways of which he would approve without having to have specific protocols in place to govern those actions.

As someone who has grown to become firmly embedded in my local community, I see an incredibly wide variety of levels of protocol.  Some are required to ask prior to leaving the presence of their master, some are required to follow protocols which govern their interactions with others in various settings.  Perhaps it is a set protocol involving carrying packages or interacting with waitstaff or asking permission prior to speaking and touching friends or strangers within kink settings.  Interestingly enough (and this is a conversation I have had with friends on occasion, because many of us are fascinated by the differences in how relationships are built), many of the dynamics I have observed which involve a small business seem to run with a lower degree of formality and protocol, perhaps out of that same necessity.

If I must receive permission to speak to individuals prior to doing so, even ones of specified gender, and my partner is away from our vendor table, I would quickly become ineffective as a merchant.  I would be unable to answer questions or complete a sale.  The same holds true of online interactions.  It would effectively make the business I run hobbled during his regular work hours until he could handle the aspects I was not permitted to attend to without him.  That would lead to additional stress, and I ask a great deal of him as my business partner already.  While he does make those decisions, he has chosen to leave many of the finer details up to me, limiting the majority of his participation to financial decisions such as inventory purchases, and to customer interactions in order to keep me from using my energy and focus up in those areas rather than in completing projects.

The leaves much of our dynamic very informal, from a protocol standpoint.  Fortunately, that works well for our personalities and the way we fit together.  While I sometimes feel that our low protocol interactions can be mistaken for a more casual relationship, which can bring with it a feeling of being less than, I remind myself that some of those stares may be from envy for what may appear to be a higher level of freedom. 

Make no mistake, however.  He holds full authority over me, regardless of the appearance of casualness our low protocol level may give outsiders.  It is so important for us all to remember that each relationship, each dynamic forms as it works best for the individuals in question.  For some, that may mean there are specific rituals and protocols dictating large portions of their actions.  For others, such as us, that total power exchange may rely more on the granted authority of the top-of-slash rather than any formalized behaviors.  We all have to determine what works best for us as individuals and as couples or relationship groups, and build from that foundation.

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Consensual, BSDM Psychological Torture

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It’s said that torture is an unreliable way to get information, that people will tell you anything to get it to stop. Back in 2004 we discovered that torture was being used on prisoners at the Guantanamo Bay Interment Camp. It was a huge scandal; The American people were very upset that we would do something so blatantly against the Geneva Convention’s rules on the treatment of prisoners. That’s the sort of thing our enemies do, not us.

So yeah, using torture to extract information from someone is bad. Let’s just get that out of the way right here at the beginning.

But there are some times where torture is good, particularly when you use it to tease, torment, and tantalize a willing submissive. Because it’s not just about causing them physical pain, but emotional pain as well. But, y’know, in a good way.

It’s certainly not for everyone. Many people wouldn’t want to inflict this sort of torment on someone, whether they consent or not, Others wouldn’t want it done to them, for a variety of reasons.

But when done right, with the right people, they can make for a truly intense, emotionally fulfilling scene. It’s like a roller coaster, that thrill of danger without it being actually dangerous, only safer (seriously, do a search on roller coaster accidents and deaths; you’ll probably never get on one again).

So what constitutes this sort of scene?

Generally, it’s any scene that has as much of a psychological component as a physical one. Many Doms do this to some degree during a scene; think of a blindfolded girl who doesn’t know what toy’s going to be used on her next, a Dom tormeting her with one she’s especially afraid of, or threatening to hit where he knows she hates getting hit (but isn’t a hard limit).

Then there’s what’s generally known as predicament bondage; a tied-up girl made to send a certain text message, a gagged one having to make herself understood by Alexa, or being made to stand on your toes while nipple clamps are attached above her (forcing her to choose between the pain in her feet and calves or that in her nipples).

But a full-blown torture/torment/psychological scene involves more than that. It involves getting inside a girl’s head and using her fears, anxiety, dread and, sometimes, triggers against them, but all within the bounds of consent and negotiation.

Obviously this qualifies as advanced play, and should never be done with someone you don’t know well. When done wrong you can inflict some serious damage on someone’s psyche, and those wounds don’t have a tendency to fade away like a bad bruise.

Y’know, rather than just continue with broad vagaries, I’m simply going to describe a good psych scene I had recently with a girl I’ve known for a long, long time and add notes along the way. Sound good? Okay, here goes…

The four of us (my household) myself, my girl, my dear friend, and his girl (who’s also a dear friend) decided to escape our COVID 19 quarantime by renting a house on the ocean for a week, to eat bad food, drink lots of wine, enjoy the ambiance and (oh yeah) engage in more than a bit of debauchery.

Midway through the week my friend’s girl (MFG) had the scene in question.

We’ve played together several times, so I know what she likes and, more importantly, what she likes that her top isn’t inclined towards (which is generally the reason why you have a scene with another). She loves impact play, loves bruises, but also enjoys being controlled and (more specifically) enjoys being tied up very tightly.

I also know that she has a number of physical limitations that need to be taken into account; she can’t stand for long periods of time, nor can her joints take any of the more extreme bondage positions, particularly her arms.

So my checklist is; secure, tight bondage; domination and control, impact play that will leave bruises; no standing.

I began by telling her to strip. “Completely?” she asked.

“What else does strip mean?” I responded, knowing she hated being entirely nude (although it was not hard limit). She has a beautiful body, so this was pure pleasure from my perspective, particularly as I knew it made her feel particularly vulnerable.

Realizing there are a number of stout kitchen chairs available, I decided to utilize one. Over the next 20 minutes or so I proceeded to secure her to it, hands at her sides. I used leather mittens to secure her hands under the chair, straps to secure her to the side rungs, straps above-and-below her breasts, another at her waist. I use another to secure her hips to the seat, two more to secure her ankles to the legs and, finally, two at her upper thighs attached to the back of the chair, keeping her legs spread very wide and leaving her very exposed.

Ahead of this I’d placed a very efficient padded blindfold, and finished by buckling a ballgag (not a terribly severe one as she can’t wear that; still, it muffled her speaking delightfully).

Oh wait, I forgot; we’d worked out safe words and gestures that she could effectively communicate while secured like this. Since this sort of bondage is my thing, I’ve got that part down pat.

I next proceeded to sit down on the very comfortable couch, put my feet up, pull out my phone and tell her, “Okay, you’ve got five minutes to get loose. If you don’t, that means you want my worst, right?”

As she muttered something incomprehensible I split my attention between the New York Times and her, watching as she … well… essentially sat still. Oh, her head moved around a lot, and her right foot wriggled around (I’d not secured it as well as I should have) but, ultimately, she could barely move. At all.

This, she told me later, made her feel extremely helpless, as it was very clear that I could do anything I wanted and she had no way to stop me… not even to move out of the way. She was both utterly terrified and thrilled at the same time.

For my main implement of destruction I’d chosen a thin wooden paddle, about 4 cm wide and 38 cm long. I’ve found it’s extremely painful and I’m able to use it with pinpoint accuracy. It also leaves wonderful bruises.

I began by running the paddle over her body, threatening different body parts. “If you don’t want to get hit there, simply move it out of the way,” I taunted.

After a few minutes of this I began to follow through, actually smacking her in the places I was threatening (starting lighter of course, before working my way up in intensity). Several minutes later I stopped. 

I sat down and played on my phone again. I knew she didn’t have a clue when I might be back or even if I was still in the room. She struggled around some more, this time with more than a bit more desperation.

I repeated this several more times, each time more with more intense and harder smacks. I began to increasingly taunt her, threatening to hit a given area, telling her to prepare, then doing nothing. Or I’d threaten one area then engage in a fusillade of smacks to everywhere but that area… before pausing and finishing at the initial place I’d threatened.

After 20 minutes of this her right leg was shaking uncontrollably. She had, of course, been acting increasingly terrified as the scene progressed. Meanwhile, I’d checked in regularly and she always gave me a clear, encouraging nod, as well as a gagged “uh-huh”. 

Which is, of course, the heart of the matter. She was allowing herself to be terrified precisely because she knew she was absolutely safe. It was the theme park thrill ride, only with bondage and beatings. Her catharsis was palpable.

After a little over a half hour I’d decided she’d had enough; she’s notorious for never tapping out, and I can read her pretty well. I went with my general rule of thumb that it’s better to leave someone wanting more than going too far. 

While I removed her blindfold and gag first, I untied her from the chair slowly, letting her relax as well as relish the return of her mobility to each limb. Afterwards, I helped her over to the couch, wrapped her in a blanket, and held her as she recovered. She was in a state of bliss, completely wrung out like a wet noodle, but in a good way.

The next day she proudly showed off the many, many bruises I’d left her with, some of which were rather pronounced. Many pictures were taken.

All in all it was a very successful scene, bringing together those necessary elements of negotiation, understanding, preparedness, and improvisation. In particular, those elements of torment or “mind fuckery” were carefully plotted out, designed to bring her to a place of maximum psychological torment.

Of course, what worked with her may not work with someone else. I’ve done many such scenes with a variety of gals, some more successful than others. The better you know the person you’re topping, and the more creative you are, the better the scene.

This sort of psychological torture scene isn’t for everyone. But for those who enjoy and appreciate them, they can be quite the satisfyingly heady brew.

PirateStan has been involved in his local BDSM community since 2007, after having had a lifelong inclination towards it. He currently lives a contented life in Southeastern Virginia with his girl, zeirah, while working by day for a Major Metropolitan Publication.