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The Awakening

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***All pieces of erotica are fiction. We NEVER condone anything that is not safe and consensual.

She came to in a bit of a fog. Opening her eyes in the half-light, she reached up idly to scratch her nose, snapping to attention when her hand disobeyed the command and she realized it was bound to her side. She felt the panic attack kind of fear begin to swell and heard a deep voice resonate out of the shadow.

“Well hello, there, little one,” the voice intoned, “here I thought you might sleep the day away.” The bass voice spoke teasingly, with a hint of familiarity, as if he knew her intimately already, faint wisps of a drawl in some of his vowels. She tried to place the voice – surely she’d heard it before somewhere. Surely a man calling her ‘little one’ had to have spoken to her before enough to tickle her memory. Maybe work…the thought began, suddenly evaporating mid-stream as he stepped into the light.

Surely she would have remembered a man such as this. He towered above her, broad shouldered in the half-light, looming over her as she lay in a nest of cushions and blankets. How had she not noticed that either? She was beginning to seriously question her powers of oberservance, given how little she seemed to notice until it was forced upon her. Was she dressed? Panic began its rise again, fading some when she realized she was still dressed in her pajamas. Or, at least they felt like her pajamas, she mentally amended herself, her baseline emotion still complete terror at having woken somewhere other than the bed she fell asleep in.

A large hand reached out as if to touch her securely bound ankle, hesitating for a moment before making some adjustments to her bindings, flicking a rope here and there. She felt her bladder stir and desperately hoped he was arranging for her to use a restroom. She became aware of whatever he was doing, as he began to tug at various ropes connecting her limbs to his hand. He slowly and gently arranged her into a sitting position all without ever touching a finger to her body. She felt like the oddest, most lifelike puppet all of the sudden, and had an odd thought that it must be peaceful to be a puppet, with no bills, no cares, just to be taken out to serve a purpose and then put away. The thought chilled her, and she glanced at her captor nervously. She had not spoken since her awakening, and was afraid to break the still peace with the gutteral utterance of voice.

Manipulating her bindings as if he were an expert puppetmaster, he directed her towards a small room in the corner. She opened her mouth to ask, hesitating when she saw him loop the ropes in his hands across some metal braces on the wall and pass them to himself through an opening at the top of the braces.

“You will use taps to communicate your needs,” he said coldly. The fear in her stomach warned her not to disobey. He pointed to a chart on the wall detailing a system of knocking and stomping designed to indicate basic function. “When my eyes are upon you,” he continued, “you may use head gestures to respond to questions. Is that understood?” She nodded slowly, fear asking her how many others had taken this test and failed, and what might have become of them.

Do You Need to Earn the Right to Submit?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would love to hear your opinions! 

Beanpole’s Humiliation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Online BDSM Dynamics

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Over the years, sexting and cybersex have definitively become a thing, as they offer a sense of anonymity otherwise not found in a face-to-face conversation. This allows people to open up faster, enhancing the feeling of emotional closeness to the person they’re interacting with, and strengthening the mental bond to the other person. This bond can be a very real thing to the one who feels it.

It can be difficult to find kink-related social events outside of the internet. If you’re into anything considered socially taboo, or something not discussed in polite society, you might find it rather difficult to bring up kink-related things, or your involvement in them, over a drink with a near-stranger. On the internet, however, you can explore whatever you feel society wouldn’t otherwise allow.

Because of these factors, online BDSM relationships are starting to become a common, as they can allow one to experiment with what they may believe their place in this lifestyle, or explore their sexual psyche, with very low physical risk. It’s not difficult to download an app, or go to website and find someone to eventually establish and explore a temporary, or longer term relationship.

Why Do People Choose to Be in an Online BDSM Dynamic?

A lot of people enter online BDSM dynamics because they live in a community where the BDSM lifestyle has little to no presence. Some people do so because they are in real-life relationships with a vanilla partner that has no inclination of, or interest in, wanting to explore BDSM in any shape or form at all. Some use an online D/s relationship to learn more about Dominance and submission, to see if it’s something that they may be interested in, before getting real-life experience. This isn’t always a good idea, if you don’t make your intentions known before starting, or at the beginning of, the relationship.

Honestly speaking, as long as the Dominant or submissive is fully honest with all of their partners, these types of relationships can be quite successful.

And finally, there are people that enter online BDSM relationships because they’re predators, or just fucking creepy, and want to see what they can get away with before someone calls them on their bullshit. Buuuut I’m trying to stay positive with this article, so… Let’s move on.

Progression in Online BDSM Dynamics

Most online BDSM relationships start out being primarily about mental exploration, without the intimacy of physical contact. For a sustainable relationship, it’s about knowing each other, and developing the trust to explore things within the dynamic.

Power exchange relationships require a lot of focus and attention by both parties, being a process of continual negotiation and adaptation. The Dominant can maintain a feeling of submission, using certain rituals, rules, and the like. The submissive can do their part via dedication and obedience. As in any relationship, imagination, creativity and attention become extremely important here.

A Dominant or submissive who neglects their partner simply because they’re in an online dynamic or long-distance relationship, will find themselves without said partner.

Here are a couple of things to keep in mind:

·         As the mental space in an online dynamic can be an intense thing, there may (read: WILL) be times where you find yourself doubting your relationship. Because of this, you may find yourself wondering things like ‘how real is my partner?’ or ‘how serious am I in my relationship versus my partner?’

·         It can be difficult to shift between your online dynamic and real-file, which can take a toll on you. At the extreme end, it could start to feel like dissociation, where you find yourself feeling like you’re mentally breaking away from your partner. But even if it doesn’t become extremely difficult, it can still feel draining to regularly switch mental states.

With these things said, if you start feeling off at all, you should definitely discuss it with your partner.

Fake Dominants Abound

Earlier I mentioned that there are people that enter online BDSM relationships because they’re just fucking creepy. This is definitely something you want to pay attention to, as you will no doubt attract an absolute onslaught of fake, or wannabe Dominants — especially if you’re newer to this lifestyle. Keep your wits about you, as submissive frenzy is a very real thing, and can land you in a dynamic you’d rather not be in.

In case you were wondering, yes, Dominants can come across fake submissives as well, but it happens far less than it does submissives. In most cases, these so-called submissives are simply kinky people that want to experience just that, kink. They’ve typically no desire to be a submissive, and will prove to be a total waste of your efforts.

To continue, online BDSM relationships can present their own unique sets of challenges — and dangers. While these dangers may be more mental than physical, it doesn’t make them any less risky.

For example:

·         How would submissive rebound, also known as sub-drop, be handled online?

·         How would anything disciplinary be handled online?

·         Do you really know anything about your online partner at all?

   Knowing their family history and other intimate information isn’t really an immediately important thing (it can be over time, if your relationship progresses in that direction). However, knowing certain things about their past relationships, the length of time they’ve been part of this lifestyle, knowledge-base etc.

·         Is your online dynamic simply a form of escape from your everyday life, or does the relationship have more meaning than that?

·         Could your partner potentially have mental health issues?

 If so, is it something you can be supportive of, or is it something potentially dangerous to you?

From what I’ve found over the years, a lot of the people who would rather be in an online BDSM dynamic either don’t have access to public spaces or communities, or have had identity issues in regards to self and social acceptance, leaving no other choice for them except to explore these parts of their identities online.

When Disaster Strikes…

Online relationships can be intense, and becoming highly connected to someone who’s not physically there is a very real thing. However, when conflict happens, the stability of that connection begins to fall apart. It can suddenly seem to switch off, like a light, and everything can begin to feel like hard work, with the technological tools we initially thought so efficient, appearing to become rather ineffective. All the rituals and daily protocols that have been established over time can quickly be broken.

Hopefully this will never happen to you, but if/when it does, it’s important that you have a support system you can rely on. Online relationships can start fast and end even faster. This, of course, can be applied to any online relationship. But online BDSM dynamics can be a particularly intense, and the tough times can be very tough for some.

Now, you might be able to cope with this alone, but it’ll always be a lot easier if you have support. Friends who can listen to, and comfort you, are always going to be the best support. However, if your BDSM relationship is something that you don’t share with your friends, then it might help to have an online community to defer to. FetLife is a good place to start, as the site has groups you can join, and there are groups on Facebook that you can join as well.

Whatever you decide to do, be sure to have someone to talk to in place. Don’t ever isolate yourself — it’s not a good idea.

Online BDSM Dynamics vs Real Life BDSM

An online relationship can indeed feel very real, in my experience. Online interactions deal directly with the mind, and because of this, one can create a mental and emotional bond much faster online. This can also happen with newer submissives that are experiencing submissive frenzy.

But, it’s an important thing to keep the fantasy part of online interactions separated from real life. It can be quite easy to get lost in the fantasy that is invariably part of online BDSM dynamics. It’s equally easy (and dangerous) to believe that everything that happens during online sexting or scenes, are an exact replica of what would happen in real life.

For example, just because you’re willing to kneel in an online dynamic, doesn’t mean you can do it in real life. Or just because someone typed that they flogged you, doesn’t mean they’ve the knowledge or experience to actually do it in real life. Anyone can put on a facade of ability, in real life or in an online dynamic. But until it’s actually proven in person, it’s nothing more than that — a facade.

If you have little or no experience with aspects of BDSM in real life, then it’d be rather difficult to discuss how you might react to something. This lack of experience should be made known to your partner. By hiding your lack of experience, you’re setting up both yourself and your partner for some serious hurt. Being yourself, and not creating a fake world or background, is an absolute necessity to make an online BDSM dynamic work.

In Conclusion

As in any relationship, online BDSM dynamics require an active imagination, commitment, honesty, and time from everyone involved. With a bit of effort, an online BDSM dynamic can be a rewarding and enjoyable experience. Keeping these things firmly in mind will make the aforementioned rewards and enjoyment even greater.

Rajan Dominari is an educator, consultant, and author on the subject of BDSM and other relationships. He is the founder of Dominant Desires, a website that focuses primarily on BDSM education and advice, and the author of Welcome to the Darkside: A BDSM Primer.

How Do Submissives “Enjoy” Physical and/or Emotional Discomfort?

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

This entry, I’d like to share some thoughts from a FetLife conversation that revolved around the notion  that submissives “Enjoy” punishment, pain, and denial…and the question of how they deal with doing  something they don’t really enjoy. 

I brought up the point that I’ve shared here in previous columns in Kinkweekly: That feeling compelled  to do (or endure) something you normally wouldn’t, forces the submissive to rationalize why they are  allowing it (or going along with it) …and that the popular rationalization is that they are out of control  and under the command of their partner – that they are “Forced” to accept the discomfort. This serves to build the façade of power that allows both partners to obfuscate the reality of consent and enjoy  their dynamic despite the continued existence of free-will. 

I’ve used this point to argue why punishment isn’t actually the most effective tool in changing behavior  in submissives, since, although the submissive might dislike the punishment itself, they crave the  concept that their partner has the authority to punish them. The more distasteful the punishment, the  greater the perceived authority of the dominant, the more ‘enjoyment’ for the submissive. Obviously  counter-productive to actual behavior modification. 

During the conversation, one friend, who goes by the auspicious username of 000-298-237 (his friends  call him ‘7’…jk ) posted an interesting point of view regarding the use of the word ‘enjoyment’. With  his permission, I’m quoting him here: 

“Enjoy” has become a difficult word over the years. There is a great deal that goes  on, no matter the relationship or the context, that isn’t “enjoyable”. I still do things. 

I have pursued the craft of blacksmithing for more than two decades now. There is a  saying “Blacksmithing without burns is like expecting to swim without getting wet.”  I’ve had my share of burns, thankfully, through care and luck I’ve not had any that  required serious medical attention. I did reach the place where I let the burn sizzle so  as to not spoil the weld. (It’s not masochism in such circumstances, trust me.) I  haven’t stopped my smithing due to burns. I do not enjoy burns. Particularly the ones  on the inside of the hand where there is no nursing them if the work needs to continue. I still don’t stop smithing. 

About the same time, I came to hear “swimming without getting wet” I was in about  my third year of chastity with a full belt. (A Goenthals for the curious.) That’s when  “enjoy” started becoming an awkward word. “You must really enjoy chastity to be in  that belt so much.” Most were surprised to hear me say “no”. And later, “‘Enjoy’ has  nothing to do with it, but it’s not a hair shirt, either.” The side that gets little press  about such things is the work of it. It wasn’t discomfort or denial. Even if it had become easy routine, the level of maintenance of belt and body requires dedication  and effort. I’d explain this. 

“But if you don’t enjoy it, why do you do it?” My reasons were several, and several  were my own. It was not completely the whim and insistence of a Superior, and even  when it was it wasn’t about what either of us “enjoyed”. Most of my specific reasons  I don’t care to share here. Really, the specific reasons aren’t germaine. 

“I appreciate it.” 

Changing one word makes a world of difference, at least for me. My world has a lot  of joy in it. My relationships have had a great deal of joy too. Sometimes the greatest joy has come when there was the least to be enjoyed. Maybe it’s age, but even younger I was little moved to do something simply because I might enjoy it.  That’s for decisions like “I think I’ll pick up a candy bar when I stop for gas and milk.  I’ll enjoy the ride home a little more with a candy bar to munch on.” 

There’s much I don’t enjoy in service or submission. There’s much I don’t enjoy about  being a father, or when I was a husband, or sub, or slave, or employee, or employer.  I’ve appreciated and more than appreciated all of that. My love and appreciation has  not diminished when dealing with dirty diapers or the considerably greater quantities of manure a horse can produce. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed the blood or vomitus or any of the several other less than pleasant substances and experiences of  tending to people who are ill. I still do it. And I appreciate them, and the relationship,  and the circumstances and environment and more. I’m profoundly grateful for them. 

Joy does not mean enjoy. 

I love this last phrase, “Joy does not mean enjoy”. In a nutshell, this is it. We can like the fact that we  do things, even though we don’t like the things we’re doing. The price we pay for joy often comes at the  cost of ‘enjoy’. Submissives derive pleasure from unpleasurable things…it’s not a paradox…it’s a fact of  natural human life. We all have experienced this. 

At the end of the day, power dynamics are just extensions of our other natural desires. There isn’t  anything unique or puzzling about sacrifice for devotion and caring. We can find pleasure in enduring  the unpleasurable. “Love hurts”.  

I found this an interesting perspective and wanted to share it with you. I Hope you find it thought-provoking as well! 

 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”.

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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hot Domme ass with crop
via stock.adobe.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I understand your worry now.

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

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

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

“Good morning Sir.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you doing?  Honestly.” 

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

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

“Always, Sir.”

“Good Girl.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”  

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

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

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

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

The fear.  The struggle.  The adrenaline.

“Mmm, thank you, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your safeword?”

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

“Piggie.”  I jerk out of my thoughts.

“I apologize Sir.  My word is Red.”

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

It is about accepting and honoring Your Dominance.

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

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

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

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

So, I watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

“I know Sir.  I am just nervous.”

“Good.  You should be.”

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

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

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

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

Then, I saw them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep breath.  That is what I tell myself.

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

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

I don’t need it yet.

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

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

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

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

Then I feel it again.

And again.

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

Another hit.  

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

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

Damn you and your observations. Sir.  

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

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

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

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

Two snaps.

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

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

Asshole.

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

Jesus, did I say that out loud.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lipstick.

What the fuck are you planning to do with lipstick?

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

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

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

You…you backhanded me, Sir.

My head snaps back into place.

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

I do not like this.  

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

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

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

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

Dirty. Slut. Whore. Just a hole. 

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

Fat.  Brat.  Defiant.

Those are harder.  I disagree with them.

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

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

I blink back the tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You may finally have taken my words to heart.

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

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go home sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir.”

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

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

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

“That’s my good girl.”

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

Thank you for not taking me through the lobby.

We get back into the room without running into anyone.

“Strip down and into the tub.”

I comply.  I sit down on the cold porcelain.  

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

“Turn and face me, piggie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sit down on the bed and I kneel down.

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

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

Then I kneel up and work to remove your boots.

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

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

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

Metal Bondage 101

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In spite of the community’s attempts otherwise, the universal symbol for BDSM/bondage for most is a pair of handcuffs. In the vanilla world, handcuffs are a thing. I can’t even begin to count the number of people I’ve anecdotally encountered who have handcuffs hanging from their rear-view mirror. Then there are those who wear handcuff earrings, necklaces, and other jewelry who’re otherwise entirely vanilla. 

Which is crazy because, in so many ways, handcuffs suck; certainly they’re not a very good entry-point type for BDSM restraint. I’d generally consider them advanced play, as they have many disadvantages which could well turn people away from bedroom bondage play forever.

I’m as guilty as anyone who’s begun heir bondage activities by securing a girl with handcuffs. I acquired a pair of “real” handcuffs at one those pseudo headshops so prevalent in the ’80s. I played around with them, understanding the principle of double-locks, and even figured out how easy it was to open them with a paper clip. They were fascinating, an implacable way to bind someone, securely and inescapably.

A few days later I used them on my girlfriend and she had nothing good to say about them. I’d cuffed her hands behind her, gagged her with four strips of duct tape (even then I’d figured out  that duct tape gags required more than the single strip shown so popularly in movies and television) and began to enjoy some mutual fun. But, unlike the rope we’d used previously, she was not happy with these bonds.

The problem was, of course, lying down, they were horribly uncomfortable, pressing into both her wrists and  back. Additionally, they had virtually zero “wiggle room”; that is, there was no way to make herself anything resembling comfortable. And escaping was impossible.

Of course, it’s precisely that utter implacable inescapablity that can be the appeal for handcuffs and other metal restraints. There’s no chance of wriggling free; you’re locked up, utterly and completely fucked. You’re going to need to dance to your top’s tune or you’ll be staying this way, forever.

If you want to start with handcuff bondage, then it’s easy and safe to start your journey at WalMart, where they sell metal handcuffs in the toy department for $3.99. While these certainly aren’t secure, they’re a good entry point as they mimic the real deal pretty well. For more fun, buy a couple of pairs, maybe even a half-dozen, and lock them all on at once. 

If you find that appealing, then it might be time to move on to the real deal. While you may have any number of local merchants peddling them (those pseudo head shops still exist, and adult toy stores carry them as well; last I checked Spencer Gifts carries them as well), my personal go-to is HandcuffWarehouse.com. There you’ll find a mind-boggling array of cuffs, many of which you probably didn’t know existed.

They have the “normal” sort of cuffs you associate with police, but they also have any number of “hinged” or “solid” cuffs. Neither has the chain between them; the former have a hinge, and the latter are simply two loops which close over the wrists. Both offer a greater level of security than regular cuffs. But the fact that they’re so inflexible can offer an array of potential problems and dangers you should certainly consider before purchasing.

And then there are thumb cuffs, which can also be repurposed as toe cuffs. And any number of leg irons, waist chains, and antique-styled historical cuffs if you want to subject someone to the indignities of the past.

It should also be pointed out that they have a number of cuffs available in a variety of colors, and even offer free engraving!

There are a few basic rules for using metal restraints. First, keep keys handy at all times.  The majority of cuffs use the same universal key, and you can purchase extras very inexpensively. Many of the speciality or historic cuffs utilize a unique key. Do not lose this! 

Regardless of the cuffs, you do not want to have to release someone without keys. While you can, indeed, open regular cuffs with a paper clip, it can be difficult and time consuming. Meanwhile, speciality cuffs can be much trickier to jimmy. So, really, do not lose the keys!

Next, always double lock the cuffs. A regular cuff closes via a one-way ratchet; that is, it can be tightened easily, but not loosened. The double-lock prevents them from getting tighter. If someone’s wriggling around in a scene, the potential for them to accidentally tighten is great, and this will put an end to things very quickly. So you’ll want to double lock.

Finally, one of the best things about cuffs is their weight. It can be fun to collect a series of cuffs and stack them, leaving someone shackled in literally pounds of metal. It can be a heady experience, and a visually appealing one as well. But if you do this, do not leave the keyholes facing each other; stack them bottom to top. Trust me, if you leave the keyholes facing each other, you’re going to have a very difficult time unlocking them, and your sub will (wisely) never let you use cuffs on them again.

Damn, this article is already too long and I haven’t even gotten into more exotic metal restraints, such as fiddles, yokes, even gag-types such as branks or scolds bridles. Perhaps another article is warranted?

Regardless, metal restraints (or cuffs) can be a fun addition to your intimate playtime. As always, utilize common-sense safety precautions, but enjoy yourself while you explore consensual kink!

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. 

The Evolution Of Safewords

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

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

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

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

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

But I am having a crisis of definition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Green – Go

Yellow/Orange/Tan/Amber- Slow down

Red- Stop your current activity/ End scene

Black- End everything immediately

Blue- I need water/I need comfort

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

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

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

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

***Click here to read part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Okay. What should I do?”

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

            “Yes, brian, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

            “How?”

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

            “Is this right?’

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

            “Is this method always an option?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

            “Sir, thank you, Sir.”

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

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