Authenticity

The Thinking Dominant, offers up thought provoking questions from time to time. Their subtext says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...." I say, Amen to that.

They recently asked about Authenticity.

• What are your thoughts regarding those who primarily are attracted to BDSM because of its “transgressive” nature?
• Are dominants who embrace BDSM more as a fun, taboo way to explore sexuality any less authentic than those who have committed to the philosophy of BDSM/ base their relationships on power exchange regardless of the sexual elements?

Is an ethical Top less Authentic than an ethical Dominant? I don't think so. The notion seems to imply a kind of elitism, "my dominance is better because it fits into some predefined framework". After all, the definitions even tend to suggest that:

authenticity - the truthfulness of origins, attributions, commitments, sincerity, devotion, and intentions.

authentic - entitled to acceptance or belief because of agreement with known facts or experience.

There are any number of forums, particularly across the width and breadth of the Internet that seek to define peoples roles and kinks into finer and finer layers. I think that if people are truthful with themselves and their partners - then it doesn't really matter which side of the coin the Dominant falls on. At some point we get into too much parsing of roles and characteristics.

As in many other venues in life, people ought to celebrate their similarities, not their differences. Think of the differences as the flavorings, or toppings, or decorations on the lovely cakes that we all are.

It is certainly my personal opinion that developing a strong and deep and abiding relationship with someone I do such intimate things with is far more fulfilling and intense that just doing a scene on a stage for others to watch. However, that is true of nearly every connection with another human being, regardless of the activity.

Friday Fiction: Meal: Mango and Sticky Rice

Friday Fiction: Meal - - Write a brief bit of fiction involving a meal.







I would love to feed it to you, by hand, my hand; not yours, not permitted.

1. Four portions for each mango slice, first bite the end off, chewed thirteen times, swallow.
2. Then turned, and bite the other end off, chewed thirteen times again, and swallow, show me your mouth is clean.
3. Break the remaining center in half and place one piece in your mouth, behind your lower teeth, chew and swallow.
4. Use my fingers to mash/squish the final piece and let you take it off my fingers with your lips, and then clean the juice off my fingers, chew and swallow.
5. Repeat 1. through 4. for a second slice.
6. Pour a sip of water into the palm of my hand for you to drink.
7. Use my fingers to wipe the corners of your mouth and across your lips.
8. Then I scoop up a nice sized bite of sticky rice between my fingers and thumb, placing it in your mouth, wiping my fingers clean on your lower lip.
9. Then a smaller bite of rice, on two fingers, placed behind your lower teeth, and your lips clean my fingers.
10. Repeat 1. through 9. until full, or . . .
    

Inspiration compliments of The One-Minute Writer

Book Store and Brussels Sprouts

The Consensual Stalker

She was looking through the racks of old novels when suddenly she felt someone pressed up behind her, leaning against her shoulders, and then, hands on her waist. "It's nice to see you again". When she heard his voice, she knew, and she stiffened. He had told her she would be "seeing him again soon", though, she had never actually seen him. Her only contact with him had been on Yahoo chat, off and on for the past few months, and that first and only encounter at the vegetable market while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner last November. She had come to think that all they would ever do again was chat. She felt him lean forward and whisper into her ear, "It is so nice to see you, and feel you, and smell you." As he talked, she flashed back to their one other encounter.

She had been standing at the produce counter picking out Brussels sprouts, when she'd felt a man come up from behind and press himself against her. She heard, "Be still", from above her head. By the voice and angle, she knew it was that tall man she had been chatting with; he had said he would be around soon. She stirred and he said, "Stay, close your eyes."

He'd reached around and put his hand on her throat up under her chin, pushing her head back against his shoulder. He whispered into her ear, in that soft deep guttural voice, "When I let go of your throat, keep your eyes closed, stand up straight, and make no attempt to interfere."

While still holding her neck, he'd used his other hand and reached up under the waist of her sweater, and loosened the buckle of her belt. Then he had undone the button of her jeans, and lowered the zipper.

Then he'd released her neck and she stood passively in front of the bins, and her whole body tensed as felt his hand slipping down the back of her jeans, sliding across her skin, down into the slack space he had created, his hand had slipped deeper into the back of her jeans. His finger tips were pressed into her cleft, further and further down as his fingers parted her cheeks.

Just then she felt him once again wrapping his arms around her, lifting her t-shirt and unbuckling her belt, deja vu. And then, he undid her jean's button and zipper. As he was ministering to her jeans, she had the strangest sense of, almost, comfort. She felt strangely at ease with the feel of him leaning against her back, being pulled back against him, feeling very short and fragile, seemingly surrounded by him, wrapped in his height and size, and long arms and big hands, impossibly close. She felt herself relaxing.

Then, as if reading her mind, he said, "This makes you feel very small and submissive, doesn't it? Being enveloped by a man, not a known lover, but a man who understands that he can do whatever he wants with you, and you will acquiesce." She knew he was right, but felt her head shaking, denying what he said, but remaining absolutely still as he had instructed.

While she realized he had undone her jeans, she had been so preoccupied with her conflicting thoughts, she was barely conscious of him slowly rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, gently caressing her from her navel to the fringe of her pubic area, realizing she had worn a very skimpy pair of bikini panties. She instinctively moved her hand and put it on top of his, wanting to stop him, but also wanting to press his hand more firmly against her skin. But just as she was taking hold of his hand, he removed it, and took hold of each of her wrists and moved her hands around behind her, stuffing them down between the slack of her leather belt and the denim of her jeans. Once her wrists were inside the belt, he leaned forward to trap her hands in place, reached around and fastened her belt again, very tight, pinning her wrists against her back with the tightening of the belt, binding her so tightly she could not pull her hands out. She suddenly felt very much trapped. And then she felt the scarf being placed over her eyes and tied at the back of her head.

She felt him leaning harder against her back again; felt his growing arousal pressed against her wrists and his jeans filling the palms and fingers of her trapped hands. She heard his rough, raspy breathing in her ear, his hot breath, his faint guttural whisper, "Holding you like this, my nose buried in your hair, smelling you, I can sense your surrender to my touch and control, you are so lovely. Holding you this way, drinking you in, feeling your breathing grow longer and deeper, your surrender and submission is intoxicating. I'm glad we met." She shivered, struggling to steady her breathing.

Then, his hand was back on her stomach, sliding up under her t-shirt, pushing her bra up, his hand surrounded her breast, squeezing, massaging, pulling, pinching, grasping. And just as she was about to speak, to ask him to stop (did she really want him to stop?) his other hand moved to cover her mouth, and she heard someone walk by a couple of aisles over. He held tightly, and they were both completely still, except for his slightest movement, steadily working her breast and nipple. After the person passed, she expected his hand over her mouth to move, but instead she felt him slowly, methodically, sensually tracing her lips with the faintest touch of his fingertips. And then, his hand was clamped over her mouth, firmly. He was holding her in such a way that she could not breathe and she feared a lack of oxygen. But his grip over her mouth loosened and she was able to take several long, deep gulps of air, catching her breath as he continued fondling and groping her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple so roughly, almost painfully.

Suddenly she felt his hand move away from her mouth, and almost feared what might come next, he was continuing to roll and pinch her nipple, making her arch her back and squirm. But she was worried; she remembered where he had moved his hand last time. Moments later, she was almost relieved when she felt his fingers on her neck; he was pulling her hair back, and brushing his fingers across the side of your neck and jaw, tilting her head to the side as he did. And then she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, sensed his head moving down toward her, then a kiss at the base of her neck. In combination with her aching stiff nipple, the pressure of his mouth on her neck and shoulder made her shrink aside and try to move away, but he grasped her more tightly and held her in place. She began again to ask him to stop, but could not draw the breath to speak the words. Still she felt herself instinctively trying to shrink away from his grip, but her arousal was overpowering her resistance.

She felt his kiss open more and more, his teeth scrapping across her neck, and then the pressure of him slowly but deliberately biting down, and the movement of his tongue, working her skin between them. As he is moving his teeth up her neck, his tongue is moving rapidly. And then his teeth were clenching down on her neck, just below her ear. Hard, hot, tight, his mouth closed down on her neck, and still, his fingers were incessantly working her tender, aching hard nipple. Her back arched and again she reacted by shrinking down, moving away from his mouth. His hand grabbed her neck from the side and pushed her back up against his mouth, harder.

The quiet struggle was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors and hurried foot steps. She felt his grip loosen, his mouth relax and pull back, and his hand withdraw from under her shirt. Still the sound of footsteps somewhere on the floor and she is suddenly afraid of being discovered, like this, restrained and blindfolded, in the clutches of this stranger.

His hands moved, firmly gripping her biceps just above her elbows as he whispered to her to walk forward, after several steps he slowed her down, and she felt her shoulders bump up against something solid. He pushed her forward even more and she felt almost wedged in. He let go of her arms and she felt his hand on the back of her neck, fingers pushing up into her hair, and her head leaned forward until it felt something solid on both sides also. She guessed he had placed her facing into a corner, with her head leaned forward against the wall, his hand pushed firmly forward, fingers laced in her hair. Then suddenly his hand was gone, and she felt suddenly alone, still and quiet. Wondering if she should move, she started to straighten up, but immediately there was a finger pressing her head forward, so her forehead was pinned back into the corner, "Be still, stay right there", he said.

And then she could felt his arms around her sides as he reached around and unbuckled her belt, and she could feel the tension being relieved around her waist and her wrists at her back. Then again, his touch was gone, but she could hear his breathing behind her. "Count down from 10." She counted slowly down from 10, to 1, and then stood there, in the quiet. She stood up straight tentatively, and there was no reaction. She pulled her hands out from under her belt, no reprimand. She pulled the scarf down off her eyes, turned around slowly, and she was alone, in the corner, alone in the room.

grand Father's Day

It was a Father's Day, 13 or 14 years ago, and most of the family and friends had come by, with a barbecue planned for later in the day. I remember I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, some kind of auto race. Tracy's husband was sitting with me, he was an auto racing fan also. Krista, Tracy's daughter, and her cousin Leslie were running around and playing, like 5 or 6 year old kids would do. Krista was always rambunctious and energetic, often seen as hard to handle, willfulness was a term used often. However, she was always calm and attentive when she would hang out with me, always helpful and cooperative.

On that particular day, from time to time, Tracy would come out of the kitchen and tell Krista, "Be quiet." "Settle down." "Go play in the family room.", and other various attempts at trying to create calm and quiet. Finally, after too long, with little or no result, I called Krista over to me, and said, "Krista, you and Leslie go back and play in the family room unless you want to sit down here and be quiet." Her response was simply, "Okay. Leslie, let's go."

As she was walking out of the room, her mother stopped her and asked, "Why is it that when I ask you to do something, you argue, or ignore me, and go right back to doing what you were doing, as if I hadn't even said anything? But when Grandpa asks you to do something, you just go do it?" Krista looked at me, smiled, and then back at her mother, and answered, "Because when poo-paw says it, he means it." Then, she and Leslie took off down the hall toward the family room.

It had nothing to do with punishment or consequences; it was always about intention, and consistency, and purpose. Her connection to me was very different from others in the family.

W I I F M

What is it about being a dominant that satisfies and fulfills?

If it was a six word meme, my answers would be; closeness, affection, trust, respect, pride, appreciation

The relationship between a dominant and a submissive is first and foremost, simply, a relationship between two people. It has all of those feelings of affection, friendship, closeness, loving and caring, in both directions, as does any other relationship. Creating a safe space for a submissive girl to be herself, recognizing the depths of a girls feelings, you will likely bring out sadness, fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and shame, all of these feelings that are often hidden away and considered negative, you open up a huge vulnerability. But, when you acknowledge those feelings, make it okay to have those feelings, it is liberating. Creating a safe place to explore how they can fit in her life, to let her know that it really is absolutely OK to be needy and lonely and afraid, and to have the light of that realization and it's comfort shine back on you, how can you not get something out of that?

There is an affection that is returned that can have an overwhelming intensity and depth. I receive a great deal of satisfaction from being able to make a positive contribution in someones life. I relish the respect and appreciation that I am given in return for the guidance, direction and support. Here I am, a man who has recognized a girl's special needs/desires and not only do I not think she is crazy, I nurture and feed those new feelings, making her feel all the more special. This only magnifies her affection and passion for him.

I think it is that connection to the core of submissiveness within her and there is a greater appreciation and affection returned, there is a feeling of power at having unleashed those intense inner feeling within her, recognizing their acceptability, and having that glow directed back onto me. It is overwhelming in intensity at times; breathtaking, awe-inspiring and humbling all at the same time.

Providing the structure and control - routines that address positive changes, and routines that provide reinforcement and connection throughout her day, to know that I am there in her life, in her daily activities and that I am an ongoing influence, available, active, present and caring. An overwhelming gratitude spills back onto me for having unlocked and found, or notice and nurtured, those feelings she has never been allowed to expose and cultivate, and there is a joy to seeing the warm glow in her eyes, to hear it in her words and to feel it in her touch.

I recognize, sometimes just in flashes, the depth and wealth of what I have given to her, and what I get back from it are feelings of thankfulness, of affection, of joy and pleasure, of admiration, of loving and caring,that makes my heart float. Frankly, there are times that the glow back is overwhelming, frightening, and magnificent. Then, I stop and recognize that I have opened up something very special in her. And, I recognize that I am different, that I do evoke an emotional, psychological and even physical response in her that few ever have, and from her feedback, I am pleased, touched, and humbled.

That's what's in it for me.

Happy Mother's Day

For all of you out there, who day in and day out, offer the love, and care, and affection only a mother can to her children; please know, there are little boys in all of us, of all ages, that can never do or say enough to share back the love, and affection, and care you have, and do, provide to us.

Bless you all.

On this Mother's Day, I am reminded of a post that gave me a new insight on mothers. It is not specifically about Mother's Day, but it struck me in a profound way. I think it is a wonderful statement about what mothers mean to daughters, and their children in general.

Since I first read this, it has become increasingly meaningful to me.

She used to say, when she was quite little, that she and I were the same person. “I am you, mama,” she would say, tiny hands on my cheeks. When she was a little older she began to self-correct that statement: “well, I am – I am like you, mama.”

Now she laughs a bit, “Remember when I used to think I was you?” and she shrugs, as if embarrassed. “Of course, I know we’re not the same person, mama.”

Under a Daughter's Gaze

Happy Mother's Day

Public Play/Exposure

In my most recent story line post, Getting out of Town, I was challenged by a reader about the public nature of a scene or scenario I described. I was very happy to receive the challenge, the question:

I truly don't have a problem with the bondage in the car, but I draw the line at exposing myself in public, or any displays of a blatantly sexual nature such as inserting a bullet.
Can you explain how you determine what's healthy for the sub, as well as what you deem is acceptable for public viewing, and in the presence of whom?

"I suspect I draw the line very near where you do. You can imagine that not a lot is exposed pulling a pair of panties up over her legs, lifting her bottom slightly off the seat, and sliding them up under her dress. She is sitting down in the seat and the man is knelt down beside her."

"The simple and slight action of slipping a small vibrator down inside her panties is completely obscured by the car, the tinted windows, her hands, her clothing and such. I did not conceive of it as a blatantly sexual act, but rather a clandestine, private moment."

"Do I think it has potential for embarrassment or humiliation? I most certainly do, and counted on it for the energy between them, for the embarrassed excitement she would feel from it, and for him."


This has stuck in my mind and I have been thinking about public play. Not the kind of public play you encounter at a dungeon or BDSM play party, but the kind of interaction between people, that takes place out there in the world. There is a subtle, or not so subtle, intimacy between two people that can be enhanced by the potential for exposure, or discovery, or observation. A kind of play or interaction that is not blatantly obvious to others, but places the submissive in a situation where they are being treated in a very private way in a very public venue.

I recall a story of a girl who was being so obstinate, and so unwilling to disconnect from her upset about an event, that she could not be in the moment with her owner. He was wanting her to let go of the matter, set it aside, and to enjoy a lovely evening out on the town. Even though she knew she was acting that way, she chose to continue. She eventually earned herself a spanking, and it was administered then and there, on the sidewalk, in a mixed residential/restaurant neighborhood, and was observed by, others. At least one person actually was standing on their front porch, watching her get a fairly sound spanking, and I recall distinctly her humiliation and embarrassment that this would be carried out in front of "ordinary people". (I tried to go back and find the exact details, but I think my memory serves well enough).

Many months ago I wrote about an actual event, Hand Controls, where a girl exposed her breasts in a casino, in front of many people, controlled by a man near by. One comment suggested that it was inappropriate. I confess I certainly enjoyed the sight of that beautiful young Asian girl, but I would not conduct myself in that manner in real life. I have a high regard for public decency, and am quite conservative regarding what I would allow to be viewed in public.

But, these examples raise the question, Where are the boundaries? Certainly, there is excitement, arousal, titillation, pleasure, fun, any number of feelings and emotions to be explored by adding an element of casual observation by uninvolved onlookers. There is embarrassment, humility, Humiliation, and excitement that grows from that public exposure. But there is also risk of ridicule, censure, perhaps even arrest for indecent behavior in public.

There is a great opportunity for enhancing the experience of dominance and submission by taking it outside, into the public arena, or on the edge of the public arena. There are any number of small, or large, but still a subtlety of control/action a dominant can require of a girl in a semi-public way, but somewhere there is a line that can be crossed where you go beyond public decency, but where is that line? Who decides?

I Read The News Today - Oh Boy

Imagine my surprise, wonder and glee at reading of all the places through out this great country where there would be teabagging today. Thoughts of google maps and travel plans filled my head.

And then, my disappointment when I read further, and discovered these people don't have any real idea about teabagging.

One Day Visit - Getting out of Town

Continued from the bar
Having settled the bar tab, he got down off his stool and offered her his hand. She climbed down, stepped into the aisle way and he gestured, indicating the way to the main doors. "Let's go," he said. As she started walking, he dropped in behind her, watching her walk, noticing how the back of her dress flipped up against her bottom with every step. "She is so lovely," he thought to himself, "and mine." He opened the door and guided her back out onto Fremont Street. They stood and waited for the light to change so they could cross over to the next section. While they waiting, he put his arm around her shoulder, then pull it back slightly so his hand was on the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.

As they crossed the street and headed down the lane, he used that grip on her hair to guide her around and through the pedestrians and other obstructions. Then a small vendor stand caught his eye and he guided her in that direction. As they stepped up he saw that it was a street artist drawing the likeness of a pretty young girl, sitting in a chair. He told the artist they would like to be next. She looked very surprised, started to protest, and he put his hand over her mouth, and said, "Shhhhh, it will be something special for you, to remember." Again, he stopped her as she started to protest again. "Stand here and wait, he should be done in a few minutes. I will be right back." While she stood and waited, he drifted over to another vendor stand, and was looking over bracelets, and necklaces and anklets. He made a quick purchase, and returned to find her just sitting down in the artist’s subject chair, as he was clearing his sketch pad to begin.

As she sat there still, he leaned over from behind her and told her to adjust her posture. He whispered into her ear, "Cross your ankles, and tuck your feet back under the chair, to one side." She moved as he instructed. "Cross your wrists, and rest them on your lap." She did as asked, and he could tell by the way she looked back at him and down at her wrists, that she fully expected he was going to bind them. When he did not do so, she let out a sigh that he interpreted as relief, thankful that he would not embarrass her so in public. He stood patiently behind her as the artist went about his work. From time to time, he would whisper things in her ear. "Do you think he knows you are naked under your dress?" "Think about what we are likely to be doing two hours from now." "Smile for him, I want him to capture that slutty look in your eyes." "Think about how wet you are now, do you think he has any idea what you are feeling?" "Do you think he finds you as sexy and appealing as I do?" "I think he wants you."

The artist said he had finished the portrait, and the man went around, looking at the results. She started to get up, but he gestured to her to remain still in her seat while he went and discussed it with the artist. While she remained seated he went and looked at the result. He was very pleased with the beautiful way he had captured the profile of her face, the way her hair fell onto her cheeks and her slightly sardonic grin. He told the artist he was very happy with it, and asked that he roll it up and put it in one of the mailing tube he had stacked under his little work table. The artist asked if she did not want to see it first, and the man said he would show it too her later, that it was intended to be a surprise of sorts, and paid and thanked him. With the tube under his arm, he put his hand out to her and helped her up out of the seat. She kept looking at the tube, but he said, "I will show it to you later; we need to get on with our day for now." He took hold of her wrist and they walked back to the parking garage to get the car.

When they got back to the Fitzgerald's parking garage, the same 20-something valet was there to take their ticket. He could see that the boy was very happy to see her again, and that she seemed embarrassed by the boy’s attention. The man handed the boy the valet ticket and some folded bills, and the boy went off to get the car. While they stood in the crowd, waiting for the car, the man reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a delicate gold chain anklet. He knelt down, rubbed his hand down the calf of her left leg so that she moved it slightly forward, resting her hand on his shoulder, and he fastened the bracelet around her ankle. He continued to hold onto her leg, and admired it. He looked around and was pleased to notice that several other men also appreciated the look of her leg, and perhaps the anklet also.

When the car arrived, the valet got out of the drivers seat, came around and opened the passenger door. He looked at the girl expectantly, extending his hand to help her into the seat. The man took her hand, led her up to the car and guided her into the seat. He placed the drawing tube onto the back seat. He turned, and took hold of the valet’s outstretched hand and shook it, "Thank you, very much." He turn back to the girl, noticed she was reaching for the seat belt, and put out his hand and stopped her. "Just a moment sweetheart", he reached under the passenger seat and pulled out the cotton bikini panties he had stuffed under the seat earlier. "Put these back on." She looked around at the crowd of people standing waiting for their cars and hesitated. "Put them on", he repeated. She sloughed off her shoes, reached down, put her feet through the leg holes and pulled the panties up her legs. "That's it, just lift your bottom up off the seat and pull them all the way up." She did as he instructed, and it left her skirt gathered up around her lap, with some of the panties plainly visible as she sat there. She started to straighten her dress, but he touched her arm to indicate she should just stay still, exactly as she was.

The man got up and turned, to find the valet boy still standing at the door, clearly intent on the show he was seeing. The man thanked him again, and took control of the car door and closed it. Leaving the boy standing there beside the car, he went around and got into the driver's seat, and closed the door. However, instead of starting the car, he reached into his pocket and took out the small satin bag. He opened the bag, took out the little bullet vibrator, plugged in the remote control wire and handed it to the girl. "Put this into your panties, like you did earlier this morning." She took it in her hand but did not move to place it as he instructed. He saw that she was glancing over to her right, and there stood the valet, still looking down into the car. "Don't be bashful now sweetheart. Put the vibrator in place." As she slowly complied, he reached under his seat and retrieved the rope he had tied her ankles with earlier in the day. When she had the vibrator in place he reached over, and wrapped the rope around her legs, just above her knees, and tied a knot to hold her thighs and knees together. He took hold of the remote control and set it in the center console. He leaned over and kissed her, and then looked out the window, and waved good bye to the valet boy, who was still standing beside the car, slack jawed, with a look of bewilderment on his face. He started the car and drove off.

As they turned out of the parking garage and pulled up to the first red light, he turned to the girl and saw an odd look on her face. It seemed a combination of arousal and confusion at the same time. He put his hand up to the side of her head, combed his fingers through her hair, and heard her make a little humming sound, and then a moan of satisfaction. She leaned her head against the palm of his hand as he rubbed her cheek, and he slipped his thumb into her mouth. He felt her tongue slowly swirl around his thumb, and heard her soft moaning sound. He looked up and saw that the light had turned green. He withdrew his hand from her face, put the car in gear, and fingered the remote control switch to Medium. He heard her squeal over the sound of the car’s motor, he smiled, and once again they headed off into the Las Vegas Boulevard tourist traffic.

A New Master

She was beginning to be comfortable with this new man in her life. However, she was still guarded, still fearful of being abandoned, again. Her last master had cared for her, for several years. She had been faithful and true, and loyal, and he had loved her completely; at least she had always felt he had, until that day. Seemingly for no reason, he was gone. He had not said anything, no explanation, no indication that something was wrong, or different, or unusual. Just one day, he was not there anymore, and she was alone.

And then, here she was with this new man, with a new collar and new ways. Unlike her previous master, this man seemed to always say to her, "Good girl." with such pride in his voice. She loved how small, and cared for, and appreciated it made her feel. It gave her a warm glow all over; made her want to do anything, and everything for this man.

But, deep down inside she wondered if he would someday disappear, just as her previous master had. Every time she thought back on that, her heart ached. When he noticed her looking at the door, with that longing in her eyes, he seemed to completely understand. He would run his fingers through her wavy red hair, and tell her, "Everything is going to be fine. It will not happen again, not this time." It was as if he knew how she was feeling, even if she did not, or could not, say so.

This new man was so caring and warm. Sometimes in the night, she would wake up cuddled against him, and she would feel his touch. Often he would simply take her chin in his hand, lift her face up, look into her eyes and tell her what a beautiful girl she was. Then he would put his arm around her, rubbed her back, and they would both drift off, back to sleep.

Each week, each month, as her trust grew, more assured and deeper, she found herself beginning to forget about her previous master, more and more. She did not feel the longings nearly as often, and not for nearly as long when they did come to her. She compared the two men less and less as time went on. She realized she was trying to figure out if this man was going to treat her as the first one had; loving her, wanting her, caring for her, wondering and afraid that suddenly one day it would be over again, just like the last time. She began to see just how vulnerable a girl was to the whims of her owner. But, they were different in many ways; this new owner was much more gregarious. He took her out with him much more often, introduced her to his friends, and they were all so friendly, too. He took great pride in her, enjoyed showing her off in public. They always told her how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was to have such a lovely girl; with such a trim lithe body, and gorgeous red hair, and a charming smile.

Another thing she began to realize was the difference in her training. Her old master had always used punishment to reinforce lessons, to correct bad behavior or missteps when trying to follow directions. This new man would patiently correct her, repeating his instruction, showing her the proper posture or action, explaining very clear what his expectations were. And, when she would respond correctly, there would be that praise, "Good girl". It amazed her how much she loved to hear that, more and more she realized how different masters had different ways, and how much they affected her.

She truly hoped that this new master would be forever.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

From The Thinking Dominant - Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too....

Is love different in D/s relationships compared to vanilla ones?

The obvious answer at first blush is, love is love, and it is true. Two people caring for each other, drawn together through common interests and affection. However, I think at times there is a greater intensity. Perhaps even infatuation, leading to a strong love and affection. Here is a man who has recognized a girl's special needs/desires and not only does he not think she is crazy, he nurtures and feeds these new and wonderful feelings, making her feel all the more special. This in turn magnifies her affection and passion for him.

Do Dominants and submissives love differently?

Love differently than each other? Or, love differently than other men and women? I suspect not, in either case. Setting aside my comments about intensity or infatuation, I think love is love. But I also think that because of the inherent communications within a D/s relationship, the love is more deeply rooted. I think there are differences in the way men love women compared to how women love men, and their dominant or submissive natures do not fundamentally affect that.

Have you experienced submissives falling in love faster than Dominants?

As I said, I think there is often an intensity you don't find as often in other relationships. Additionally, the submissive might well develop a strong infatuation early on in the relationship.

Are there types of love in D/s?

I think of D/s as the relationship between people. They may be involved in some kind of BDSM relationship, from the most extreme sadomasochistic bonding to the much more vanilla-ish head of household pairings, but ultimately, it is still two people caring for each other, drawn together through common interests and affection.

You can see what others had to say at: http://thinkingdom.the-iron-gate.com/2009/02/10/love/

Nothing to Fear, but Fear Itself

Are you afraid to be who you feel you really are? Stuck being the person everyone expects you to be?

Have you been allowing fear to dominate your life, why you do what you do, and even where you do it? I'm not talking about day-to-day fears of things like spiders, heights, and public speaking; we all have those.

. . .

I'm talking about the fact that you make decisions because you're scared to death of what might happen if you don't take the safe way out.

. . .

Rather than possibly standing alone or having to fight for what you truly wanted, dreamed of, or hoped for, you went along with the crowd or let somebody else -- maybe your spouse, parents, friends, or employers -- tell you what you should like, want, or do. Peer pressure, unfortunately, is not an adolescent-only phenomenon. The dangerous thing about a fear-based mind-set is that it paralyzes you and puts you in a comfort zone that's safe and predictable, but causes you to waste precious time in your life on things you don't really want. You've stayed in that comfort zone, scared to death that you would be rejected . . .

I think that this is particularly true of submissive women, who have discovered these new and overwhelming feelings - but cannot see how to express themselves, to overcome their history and step into that new darkness.

Does this resonate with you? Want to understand more? Interested in a strategy that will help you free yourself? Take some time to learn more, Free Yourself from Fear, at Emergence into Submission. You will thank yourself.

Morning Dream, recalled

Curled up close, spooning behind you, legs bent at the hips, like sitting on my lap, laying down, deep inside you,

quiet, still, deep breathing, head on my bicep, arm curled across holding shoulder, right arm flat against tummy, hand between breasts,

feeling your insides contracting, squeezing me, milking me, throbbing and then relaxing, so hot and slick wet,

gripping a nipple, between thumb and side of index finger, rolling back and forth, pinching down tighter and tighter, squirming,

triggering more contractions and pushing back, reflexive pushing deeper, no stroking, just in you, tight, fully engaged, blending,

flexing, then lightly rocking hips, up and back, up and back, hearing gasping, moaning, deeper breathing, soft squeaking,

angling my cock up against your g-spot, slowing rubbing it, rubbing, building, deep gasp, breath held, letting go, letting flow,

spurting, filling, you so wet, slick, contracting, cumming for me, with me, clutching tightly to each other, holding close, deep,

twitching, contracting, staying, settling down, holding fully engaged.

Happy Valentine's Day

I remember when I was a boy, in elementary school, on Valentine's Day, the teacher would hand out cards to everyone, perhaps one or two each. They had simple little colorful drawings on them, of boys and girls, and hearts and cupid, et al. They were plain light card stock, not even fold over cards, and little small envelopes, barely 2 or 3 inches square. With nervous laughter and tittering, we would look around conspiratorially, and write Susie or Sally on the little envelope, and put our name at the bottom of the card. Then she would collect the envelopes from everyone in a big basket. Later she would spread them all on her desk up in front of the room, and call recess, and we would all gather and look for our names.

We would collect our little love messages, go out and read them, and smile, and peek, and look around, and perhaps even be so bold as to approach our secret admirers and say those magical words:

Will you be my valentine?

It was all so simple and sweet.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

One Day Visit - the Car/the Bar

"The true Man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Continued from Breakfast
Holding her arm, he escorted her out the doors of the Gold Coast to the courtyard, and on toward the parking garage. He shifted his hold from her arm back to her wrist, and he felt her bristle for a moment. He glanced down at her with a questioning look in his eyes. He saw her expression change and she settled into stride as they walked out to the car. He unlocked the passenger door for her, and was thinking about using the ropes to bind her again, but grinned as another idea took over.

He opened her door, but before she could get in, he pulled her back slightly and moved past her. He sat down on the edge of the seat himself, with his legs out of the car, and taking her hands, pulled her close, up between his knees. He put his hands on the outsides of her thighs and moved them up under her dress until he felt her cotton-covered hips. He looked up at her and smiled, and hooked his fingers into the elastic of the leg bands, twisted them in his grip and pulled her panties down over her thighs, past her calves and down to her ankles. Instinctively, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and lifted first one foot, and then the other - so he could remove them completely. He placed them under the passenger seat, looked out at her and could clearly see her, silhouetted through her dress with the sun back-lighting her.

Taking her hands to balance himself, he rose up out of the seat, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, moved a hand on the back of her head and held her to him. He felt her arms move around his waist and onto the small of his back and they stood in a quiet embrace, while his hands felt the now smooth and unclad contours of her bottom.

After a couple minutes he turned, guided her into the car seat, helped her with the seat belt and closed the door. He went around and got into the car also. He reached over and hooked his hand in the back of her far knee, pulled and twisted her in the seat so her knees were facing him, half up on the cushion, semi-sideways. He pushed his hand well up between her thighs, and she moved her legs to accommodate his presence.

He pulled out of the hotel, crossed over the freeway and drove up the strip slowly, enjoying the scenery. He continued to play with her legs, teasing and tempting her, moving his hand further up between her thighs, particularly when they were stopped at a light and there was a swirl of pedestrians around the car, many of them looking in and staring at the scene within. Several times she urged him to move his hand, but he was intent on tempting the glances of pedestrians at crowded intersections. Several times she shivered and moaned as his rough finger pressed all the way up onto her.

When they finally covered the distance up the strip, crossing over into the old downtown area, nearly an hour had passed. He could see she clearly was feeling the effects of his constant touch, the teasing, and the embarrassment and humiliation of having had so many onlookers glancing in on their seemingly private activities in such a public way. Finally, they pulled into the Fitzgerald's valet parking, and he went around to help her out of the car, to see she had turned in her seat and had her legs half out of the car, her dress still hiked up as he had pushed it, and her knees were an unladylike distance apart. A 20-something valet was standing in front of her gawking. Yes, he thought, she is gorgeous, and sultry looking, and she was being very provocative with the boy. He stood and watched for a minute, then stepped between them, offered her his hand, and lifted her out of the car.

He once again took her by the wrist and they walked through the first casino, out onto, and up the length of Fremont Street, to the Golden Nugget. The entire distance, as had been the case at breakfast, they drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost be pulled along.

They walked into the casino, past the barkers and players club hustlers and found their way to the bar, a beautiful old massive, dark wood bar back and marble bar top. He pulled out one of the bar stools for her, gave her a hand up onto the stool and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh. She immediately responded by letting his hand in and she adjusted the hem of her dress up further and further as his hand measured the spot for her, far beyond where she was comfortable, but she complied. He stood beside her until the bartender arrived; he ordered her a gin and tonic, and then asked for directions to the restrooms. "Wait here, very quietly," he said, as he excused himself. He went off in the direction of the mens room, and looking back, he noticed the middle aged man sitting on the other side of her giving her several glances, and he seemed to be looking to start a conversation.

He grinned to himself, imagining her discomfort with the attention from this stranger, and turned and walked away. When he came out he decided to kill a few minutes, looking in at the blackjack tables, but from a position where he can oversee, and the man’s efforts to start a conversation. He could see she glanced around nervously from time to time, but by and large sat still, slowly sipping her drink, seeming to try and ignore the man's attempts to strike up a conversation, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was looking her up and down.

When he returned, he walked up behind her, pushed his hands into her hair at the back of her head, pressing it forward and kissed and nibbled roughly at the back of her neck. She purred her approval and appreciation. He raised his head up, buried his nose in her hair, and moved his hands to her shoulders. She reached over and moved her pocketbook from the stool next to her, where she had placed it to save him a seat, and put it up on the bar. He stood up straight, and walked further down the bar and took a seat. He sat down three stools over, settled in, and looked back at a very confused and frustrated little girl. He turned sideways in his seat, so his legs and body faced her, and she moved in her seat as if to start to get up and come to him. He put his hand up and gestured to her to stay put where she was; he just continued to look her over. He noticed her frustration, but also how exposed she was in her short dress, tucked up even further than comfortable, how his hands had tousled her hair, and the rosy bright pink glow of arousal and embarrassment on her cheeks. He got the attention of the bartender and ordered a drink.

As he sat there, a man came up to the bar and moved to one of the stools between the two of them. He was amused at the potential predicament that would be created when the man sat down at one of the stools, effectively blocking/breaking the connection between the two of them. The man stood there, looking from one side to the other, seeming to notice the connection between them, puzzled by the distance. As it turned out, he was simply asking for change for a phone call and within a couple minutes had moved on, leaving the open space and emptiness between them.

When the man left, he picked up his drink and moved back down to the stool beside her and sat down, and she reached over and hugged him, clearly happy to leave those disconnected moments in the past. He turned toward her, and she turned full toward him, and they sat sideways in their stools, with their knees interlaced with each other. He continued to move his hand idly up and down her thighs as they talked and felt the warm of her legs against his palm. He noticed that his continuous attention and the effects of the alcohol were showing more and more in her eyes, the smile on her face and the tempo of her breathing. It was evident that her arousal was growing. He leaned over to her and asked, "Where would you like to go next?" Her reply was simple and straight forward, "Anywhere, away from all of these people, somewhere we can be alone." He laughed, and called the bartender over to settle the tab. And off they went.

Responsibilities of a Submissive

I received this list in email from one of the local BDSM clubs, and share it for your consideration. Perhaps they are all just common sense:

Spend adequate time exploring yourself, your needs and desires. Learn what your needs, desires and goals are; define them adequately. Make a list.

Learn the difference between what you need and what you want. Sometimes you cannot have both. Be careful what you wish for . . . you may just get it.

Educate yourself - make the most of the resources that are available, but don't believe everything you hear or read. Trust reputable sources, but make your own mind up about what is the truth.

Learn and understand your limitations, in depth.

Remember you have the right to "ask". Remember common sense, and use it.

Remember the choice to submit is not a sign of weakness it is an adult choice.

Be aware of the difference between consensual BDSM and abuse. Do not suffer abuse from anyone. If it is not consensual on behalf of both parties, it is abuse.

Learn how to negotiate. Don't be afraid to ask, question and communicate. Be honest with yourself.

Respect yourself and be respectful of others who deserve of it.

Recognize that your submission is given freely and that it is not something to be taken by force. Choose wisely to whom you give.

Accept responsibility for your own happiness and welfare.

Balance your submission with the other areas of your life.

Remember that you have the right to say "No".

Never let anyone take your self-dignity away. Like yourself, love yourself, be your own best friend.

Remember others also have agendas and they may not be the same as yours. Don't allow yourself to be used, unless of course, that is part of your kink.

Communicate your needs to your partner, ask for what you desire (do not demand or expect).

Because you choose to submit to a partner does not mean you are submissive to anyone else.

Communicate your limits to your partner. Expect them to be respected. Refuse to participate in any activity outside of your limits or that you are not ready for. Accept your partner’s limits. (Yes, Dominants have limits too.) They also have the right to say "No".

Communicate your feelings without blame or guilt. Be as interested in what your partner feels and says as you are in yourself. Remember that you and your partner are human and entitled to understanding, compassion and support.

Refuse to allow yourself to be abused, be it emotionally, physically, or psychologically.

Forgive yourself and your partner for mistakes.

Ask your partner for help when you need it.

Expect respect from your partner. Respect your partner.

Be appreciative of the gift of Domination that your partner gives to you.

Take pride and strive for excellence in your submission as you do in everyday life.
Take pride in your appearance.

It is your responsibility to be of good health and to advise your partner of any change in that regard.

Listen to your partner and His/Her needs and desires.

Be willing to consider, with an open mind, what your partner suggests or requests.

Understand that it takes two to make a partnership work. Be willing to accept your share of the blame when things go wrong.

Remember that before D/s, basic humanness comes first. Know when it is time to set aside D/s and be a helper, friend, lover, husband, mother, wife or whatever.

Be patient. Growth takes time.

One Day Visit - Breakfast

Continued from Gather/Contain

Reluctant and shy, she walked along at his side, mostly comfortable with his grip firmly on her wrist, but embarrassed by with the glances from passersby, as he led her up the stairs to the main doors to the hotel. He opened the first set of doors for her, and moved his hand to the small of her back to guide her through the doorway. She waited while he moved to open the second set of doors. Again he ushered her through, and she stopped to wait for him. He caught up with her, took hold of her again and they walked down the short flight of stairs to the main floor of the Gold Coast hotel/casino, toward the back to the restaurant. As the turned the corner, they were confronted by construction barriers and a sign, the restaurant was being remodeled.

He walked back to the bar and asked the bartender if there wasn't a place to have breakfast? The bartender said the restaurant was temporarily relocated to the other side of the casino. They walked across the open space, weaving their way through the various gaming tables and slot machines. They drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost being pulled along, but not.

When they got to the restaurant and the hostess greeted them, he asked for the location of the ladies room. He turned to the girl and said, "I will wait here for you." He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her, a small satin bag. He took her purse, and she headed off in the indicated direction. The hostess started to leave but he said, "She will be right back, wait here with me", and made small talk about the construction as they waited. Momentarily she came back across the open space and he indicated to the hostess that they were ready to be seated, and placed his hand in the small of her back to guide her. As they walked, she handed him back the bag, empty.

Once seated, he placed her purse aside and the hostess offered her a menu, which he took hold of, with a surprised glance from the hostess. She offered the second menu to the girl and he said, "One is all we will need, thank you." The hostess glanced at the girl and she simply smiled back and said, "Thank you", and the hostess left. As he looked over the menu, the waitress arrived, and he ordered coffee for her, with cream and sugar, and orange juice for himself. He noticed the girl was fidgeting occasionally, and moving around, adjusting how she was sitting, but he could not hear the hum of the vibrator. "Low?" he asked, and she smiled sheepishly, and nodded her head.

When the drinks arrived, he asked, "How many sugars?" "Two," she answered. He challenged her, "I beg your pardon?" She replied, "Two Sir, two sugars please." "And cream?" he asked, "Yes, Thank you." He prepared her coffee, and set the spoon aside. As she took the cup of coffee, he reached across the table, opened her napkin for her and she placed it on her lap. They talked about what they were hungry for, and he found selections on the menu.

When the waitress arrived to take their orders, she said, "Oh, you don't have a menu." "She does not need one, thank you. She will have the fruit bowl, with yogurt and an English muffin, toasted, with butter." The waitress turned to her wanting to confirm the order, but the girl did not look up or respond. He spoke, and drew back the waitress's attention, "And I will have the same. Thank you, and more coffee please." The waitress glanced at her again, but then turned and left the table.

They made plans for the rest of the day while they waited for the food to arrive. At one point the busy boy brought a refill for the coffee, and then later he came again and freshened up their water glasses. She said she would like to see the old downtown area and then would like to get out away from the city at some point, and see some of the surrounding hills. He said they would head downtown after breakfast, and visit a couple of the old casinos. Then later drive out to Red Rock Park, which offered a wonderful view of the city, and was a beautiful place to see the stark contrasts of the desert landscape. Each time one of the wait people approached the table, she fell silent and cast her glance down toward her lap, shivering slightly. As they talked he reached across the table, gathered up her silverware, and set it aside.

The waitress brought the food, placed it in front of each of them, and asked if there would be anything else? She noticed the girl had no silverware and asked if there was a problem, he said, "Nothing is wrong, we are fine, thank you," and she left. The girl started to reach for her spoon, for the fruit salad and yogurt, and he quietly said, "No." He picked up the silverware and alternately offered her spoonfuls, which she leaned forward and ate. Between bites, when he was eating his own breakfast, she would sip on her coffee and eat the muffin. They ate in silence; as she finished each portion offered, and drank some coffee, he would give her more.

On a couple of occasions the waitress checked back to see how everything was, and would look at her with some bewilderment as they ate, but he assured her that everything was fine, exactly as it should be, and thanked her. When they finished eating, they finalized their plans for the rest of the day, and just enjoyed sitting and talking while the waitress settled the check. She seemed embarrassed at having been fed and was still nervous and slightly on edge. She appeared particularly uncomfortable when the waitress or busboy would stop by the table for something, and attempt to address her in some way.

When they were finished and about to get up and leave, he handed the empty satin bag back to her, and she left for the ladies room. When she returned, she stood at the end of the table, sat the bag down and said, "Sir?" He glanced at her, smiled, and returned the bag to his pocket. He finished his juice, got up, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her deeply. He felt her stiffen and shake, then shudder, almost trembling, and he pulled back and gave her a concerned look. She smiled back at him, and said, "Oh yes, I am fine, thank you". He stared for a moment to be sure, then took hold of her arm and they walked out of the hotel and out to the car . . .

One Day Visit - Gather/Contain

He had driven down to the strip early to find a meeting place, near to the Wynn hotel. The Fashion Show Mall is directly across from the hotel and offered a convenient valet stand at the north-east corner. Having extra time, he decided to drive down the strip and wait for her phone call. Just as he was reaching the south end of the strip, his phone rang, it was her. She asked if he was familiar with the valet stand at the north-east corner of the mall; he smiled to himself, and said he would be there in 10 minutes.

When he pulled in, she came walking in his direction, a nervous smile on her face. He got out of the car, went around and opened the passenger door, took her hand and eased her down into the passenger seat. She was shorter than he had expected, prettier and younger looking, with a sweet girlish smile he could not have imagined. He leaned down on one knee, reached in and fastened her seat belt; carefully making sure the belt was comfortable between her breasts. He put his hand on her shoulder, his forearm pressed across her chest, and gave her a soft, slow, welcoming kiss, to help melt away any formality or discomfort. He reached under the seat for the rope he had place there earlier, and slowly wrapped it around her ankles, pulling them together and cinching a quick knot.

He turned his head back and looked into her eyes, noticing a small bit of concern/worry, overshadowed by a sardonic twinkle. He took the other piece of rope and slipped the prepared loop around her wrist, and moved her arm around the back of the seat, "Hold that there." He leaned in and covered her mouth with his again; feeling her tongue, tentatively move toward his, lightly moving across the back of his lips. He let the kiss linger this time, stealing her breath. Finally, he broke off the kiss, got up, closed the door and went back around to the driver’s seat, and settled in. He took her free arm and moved it around the back of the seat also, and slipped the other rope loop around her wrist and cinched up the slack. "Comfortable?" she nodded her head and smiled. He placed his hand on her knee and moved it up her thigh, moving the hem of her dress up her leg, feeling her tender flesh of her inner thigh. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her shiver.

He reached under his seat and pulled out the spring loaded spreader bar and pressed it between her knees, pushing them apart nearly from the console to the door. He sat back and admired his handiwork, noticed her smile, and said, "Let's go find some breakfast." As he drove, they talked about her visit so far, and how she was enjoying the shopping, gambling, and shows. She seemed completely at ease even though she was bound and trussed, by this man; who was both a stranger and a close friend. He was flattered and aroused by her innate level of trust in him.

When they pulled into the parking garage at the hotel for breakfast, he removed the spreader bar, and released her arms from behind the seat. While she bent down and untied her ankles, he combed his fingers through her hair, feeling the shape and texture of the back of her had. She handed him the rope, and reached across and embraced him as best she could in the uncomfortable seating of the car. He got out, came around and opened her door. He gave her his hand and helped her out of the car. Then, taking hold of her wrist, he led her toward the hotel in search of breakfast . . .

366 days, 8800 hours, half a million minutes

While I have been browsing around online services and the Internet for more than a dozen years, this past year blogging has been the most enriching and satisfying year ever. I have gotten to know many new and interesting people. A few have come and gone, but certainly are not forgotten. Some have retired, others have found other direction in their lives. They will be missed, I am better for having met them, and shared a small slice of life.

When I started a year ago, I had really only intended to recapture a list of links to other blogs that I had been reading from a source that had disappeared. I could not have imagined how this would turn out.

I have been visited by readers from all around the world, literally, very humbling. In just the last month, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Egypt, France, Germany, India, Ireland, Korea, Mexico, Netherlands, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Sweden, Switzerland, Tanzania, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, and 36 of the United States.

The statistics counter shows well over 20,000 visits, it boggles my mind.

I have received wonderful and supportive feedback from so many people. In the middle of the year I decided to try something different, and seem to have stumbled onto an interest in writing fiction, or imagineering. I had never tried that before, and frankly have been startled by the acceptance and response.

It has been a wonderful year.

Thank you all, thank you very much.

The Gift, the Giver, and the Stranger

I was searching for an old and "gone" web page in the Way Back Machine yesterday. I came across this old parable, perhaps an overly romanticized notion of the "gift of submission", but it brought back fond memories, I have not seen it in many years, and now share it.

The Gift, the Giver, the Rebel, the Thief, and the Stranger and his Glue

author unknown

The Giver was alone, and the Gift unused: the Giver felt lonely, and sought to find someone worthy of the Gift.

The Rebel came along and saw the Gift the Giver possessed, and desired the Gift for himself. Rather than ask the Giver for the Gift, or ask what the Giver wanted for the Gift, the Rebel decided that social rules did not apply to him, and simply said "Give me the gift."

The Giver knew that the Gift was fragile and would be destroyed if mistreated, and did not trust the Rebel; for how many of those who are impolite are also delicate? But the Giver did not wish to offend, and so said to the Rebel "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else."

The Rebel grew angry and blustered "But I deserve the Gift. I am special and I deserve that things be given to me."

The Giver, glad to have trusted her first instinct, merely repeated: "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else." And the Rebel, still complaining, went his way.

The Giver sat under a willow tree, contemplating the Gift and wondering about the qualities needed to really appreciate the Gift; as she was sitting there the sun and the breeze and the sound of the creek below lulled her into a doze.

The Thief, who had overheard the Rebel and the Giver, was waiting for just this moment. Dashing out from behind a nearby bush, he made a grab for the Gift; grasping it he started to run away. However, the Giver was awakened by this and reached out to stop the Thief.

"Give that back!" cried the Giver. "It is not yours! You have no right!" So saying, she reached out, trying to retrieve the Gift.

The Thief said "I do not care if it was not mine, I have possession of it so it is now my property." And so saying, he pulled again at the Gift, hoping to wrench it from the Giver.

In the ensuing struggle, the Gift was fouled, battered, and broken. The Thief, deciding he did not want a damaged Gift, finally let go and said "You keep it; it is now worthless."

The Giver cried at the state of the Gift, which she had hoped to find someone worthy of; it was dirty, pieces were missing and scattered in the grass around her, and the intact parts were bent and dented. She began to believe the Thief's assessment of the Gift: perhaps it no longer mattered who it belonged to, worthless as it was.

But then she noticed that her tears made clean streaks on the Gift as they fell, and she thought that perhaps if some of it could be cleaned, all of it could; perhaps she could make her Gift have worth once again. She took the Gift and its broken pieces to the creek, where she began to wash them.

The Gift was easy to clean, but in trying to wash the pieces that had been broken from it, the Giver lost one. She began to lose hope again. Yet she was still determined to try to repair the Gift.

Hours passed as she fit pieces back together where they would stay. Some pieces she could not make stay, however. From behind her, a voice: "Perhaps this Glue could help you mend your Gift". She turned to see a Stranger, holding a small tube of Glue. She took the Glue and thanked the Stranger, then finished repairing her Gift with the Stranger's Glue.

When she turned to give the Glue back to the Stranger, he was gone. She thought to herself that this Stranger had thought her Gift worthy enough to donate his Glue, and not even demand payment, nor even ask for the Glue to be returned. Perhaps her Gift had worth after all.

And as she sat and contemplated her Gift, she realized that the Stranger was the type of person who would neither ask nor demand a Gift, nor would he take, but rather he would give. And she thought to herself that the Stranger was a Giver too. And who better to appreciate a Gift but a Giver?

So she sought out the Stranger, and when she found him, she tried to return the Glue to him. He thanked her, but said that she should keep the Glue, in case the Gift should break again.

And the Giver said "In that case, you should accept the Glue, for I wish to give the Gift to you." And so saying, she placed the Gift in the Stranger's hands.

The Stranger looked at the Gift, and said "This is too precious; I do not know if I can take care of this Gift." The Giver said "I believe that you can, and I will stay with you and help you care for the Gift when you falter."

So the Stranger and the Giver took the Gift together, sharing in it and sharing it, and held it as an example for all to see.

Allowing Submissives to Vote

There is a web blog called "The Thinking Dominant, Growth Through Mental Exercise" that offers up thought provoking questions from time to time, I have come to think of them as sort of Dom-me-me's. In fact their About says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...."

They recently asked about Voting.

Their entry was posted on Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 at Noon and is filed under Relationships.

I am just getting around to responding because frankly, I initially thought it was a pretty silly question. But the more I thought about it, I decided to give it some attention, perhaps because while I am astonished by the question, if they are asking the question, then there might actually be people who thought this way. Or, perhaps that is part of what a Master/slave commitment might include? I would argue against such a defaulting.

Here are their questions, and my answers.

The right to vote, a privilege to everyone in the US. To those in a D/s relationship, it may have been gifted along with the submissive.

Will you be voting today?

Actually, I voted within two hours of the start of early voting here in Nevada, on October 20th.

Do you allow your submissive to vote?

In the context of this post/question, if I had "owned property" I would insist that she studied the issues, the candidates and participated in the process as an informed active voter. I think of voting much more as a duty for every citizen, not just a privilege, and my direction would be to exercise that duty or right.

Are they able to vote for themselves or do you tell them who to vote for?

I would provide my thinking as part of the study and understanding process; however, I would expect that she decide for herself. I suppose that choosing not to vote would be a possibility, but I would be insistent on a knowledgeable and informed decision. And would counsel vehemently for voting.

Why do you feel this is a sensitive topic amongst the community?

I did not realize it was a sensitive topic in the community but can imagine it might be if the perspective offered by even asking the question has any legs. I see my role as a dominant as providing for her betterment, and for me that is enhancing her abilities in intellectual matters, not substituting mine for hers.

Later That Morning

Continued from here
He collapsed forward, holding himself hovering over her, supporting his torso with his hands on either side of her hips, still in her mouth. She had relaxed into a quiet daze, moving her tongue around, back and forth, rolling him from cheek to cheek. He hooked his hand under her left knee and pulled it up close, kissing and licking her inner thigh, gently teasing the soft smooth flesh of her inner leg. They both were slow and woozy.

Finally he pushed himself up to a standing position, leaving her prone on the bed, and pulled his pants up and fastened them. He seated himself next to her head and smoothed her hair back, wiping the dampness from her forehead and brow, smiling at the look of contentment on her face. But he also noticed that smirk on her face as she took hold of his hand and took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it again. Rather than take the chance she might bite him again, he pried her jaw open and removed his thumb, he said, "No, if you are going to bite, it is not going to be my thumb this time." He reached over into the pile of implements and pulled out the piece of hardwood dowel, one inch in diameter and five inches long. He rolled it around in his hand, loving the feel of the smooth finished texture, imagining how it would feel with her tooth marks in it. "Open wide sweetheart", as he pushed it into the back of her mouth, stretching her cheeks back slightly and lodging it between her molars. "Hold it tightly".

Once he was assured the gag was in place and she was settled, he told her to stay exactly where she was, on the bed, while he went down to Starbucks for their morning coffee. He took the elevator to the parking garage, went out to the car to get the second bag of implements, and then he took a leisurely walk around the casino. Then, he proceeded to Starbucks for coffee and orange juice.

When he returned to the room she was as he had left her, although she had moved back up onto the bed, resting, with her head on a single pillow and all of the bedding pushed back off to the side. She was stretched out with her arms just over the top of her head, left wrist crossed over her right, as if they were bound, but weren't. Her head was turned slightly to the left, tucked against her arm. She was stretched out, completely uncovered and naked, completely exposed to him. Her breasts heaved with her breathing, floating above her ribcage, nipples erect. He looked down her body, past her ribcage, her smooth stomach and navel, and noticed that her hips were twisted just slightly to her right, and for all of her nakedness and openness, her left thigh and knee was just over her right, not crossed, but enough to provide the smallest bit of modesty. She had the slightest smile on her face, looking content, despite the discomfort of the bit gag in her mouth.

He took hold of both wrists in his left hand and took the bit gag out of her mouth. She sighed and moved her mouth around, trying to get her lips and cheeks limbered back up. He had brought a towel, and used it to wipe drool from the side of her mouth, cheek and neck, roughly but baby talking her and teasing her about the mess. She took the teasing with good nature.

Then suddenly he let go of her wrists and placed his hand so it completely covered her mouth. His hand covered her mouth so she could not breathe or speak, and so that the heel of his palm was also blocking both of her nostrils. He looked intently into her eyes and could see the first signs of concern reflecting back as she realized she was not able to breathe and that he was not moving to let her. He kept his hand in place as she took hold of his arm and tried to move his hand. As she started to squirm more, he lifted his hand and she sucked in a large breath, and looked at him questioningly. After she took a couple deep breaths, he pushed his hand back down over her mouth and nostrils again, holding it there. He maintained strong eye contact, holding the smothering posture to a point just beyond "please stop". And he released his hand again.

Again she took deep breathes, and it appeared her trust in him might be faltering. For a third time, he moved his hand into place, and she immediately started to squirm and wiggle, and he grabbed tight onto right nipple, holding on tightly and keeping his hand over her mouth. And then, he lifted his hand off her mouth, let go her nipple, and sat back and let her catch her breath. She had a look in her eyes that was a mixture of startled, scared and very, very aroused. He smiled down at her to reassure her and his palm cupped the side of her face and his thumb roughly traced her lips, telling her, "Relax, it is okay." She was not sure that she believed him, but she trusted him.

He lifted her up into a sitting position and gave her the coffee. She sipped it and relaxed, calming herself, resting her head against his chest. They talked about her impending departure, confirmed her flight time, and held each other, hugging, knowing that their time would soon be over. She assured him that she was packed and had set the alarm for the time he would have to take her to the airport. They both avoided the words neither of them wanted to hear.

When she finished her coffee he took the cup and put it back on the nightstand, and told her to lie back down again. He climbed up onto the bed, and squatting above her, her head between his thighs, his knees at her shoulders. He reached into the bag he had brought and put the leather cuffs onto her wrists, holding her head snuggly between his thighs. He pulled her arms up to his sides and hooked the clips of the cuffs to his belt loops on each side of his jeans. He playfully and leisurely began swatting her breast with his hand, and then a little harder, and then more, watching her face for reaction. He again tightly gripped her right nipple; modulate her responsiveness by his intensity on the nipple and the slow but firm pace of swatting her breast. He finally could see in her eyes and breathing that she was worked up to the degree of arousal he was hoping for. He caressed her chest and rubbed his hands down to her stomach, rubbing her and feeling the warmth of her skin.

Again he reached into the bag and took out the small suede flogger, and saw her eyes light up. He started to slowly swish in back and forth across her breasts, first just grazing her nipples, working back and forth across her chest. She made small whimpering sounds, and her breathing began to deepen. Steadily he increased the force and lowered his aim, striking more and more of her breasts as he continued working the flogger back and forth across her chest. Slowly he worked his way down from her breasts onto her ribcage and changed from a side to side stroke to a circular swatting motion, moving from one side of her torso to the other and back. He worked his way down her body, watching her breathing and listening to the noises she made, judging when she was reaching her tolerance for each area. As he worked down from her chest, to her ribs, across her stomach, to her hips, her breathing was becoming more and more sharp, and her growing arousal was more and more obvious. Her responses to his words of reassurance were becoming more and more staccato and less coherent. She pulled her arms, trying to move them but the cuffs attached to his belt loops kept her arms in place and up out of the way.

As he worked the flogger across her hips and lower stomach, she reflexively opened her thighs more and more. He began to strike her inner thighs on each pass, and moved to striking her mound between her thighs. She began to writhe from side to side as the intensity rose within her. "Open", he repeated each time her reflexes tended to pull her thighs together and he continued to work her closer and closer to the edge, until her legs stiffened straight out, and she cried out, so loudly he placed his hand over her mouth this time, but did not obstruct her breathing and continued to steadily but more gently play the flogger onto her as she quivered deeper and deeper into her release.

And then she went completely limp, and he laid the flogger down over her so that the strands both covered her and still continued to touch her as she shivered and twitched her way down through the orgasm. He unhooked the cuffs from her wrists, letting her arms loose and lifted her up and hugged her, kissed her and let her breath. As her breathing began to settle, as her body started to relax and release the accumulated tension, they were both startled and jumped as the clock radio alarm rang out so loud and interrupted the quiet of the moment. He reached over and pressed the off button to silence the alarm. They laid there staring at each other, sadly, knowing that the visit was at its end.

Eventually, he gathered her bags, took her out to his car, and drove her to the airport for her journey back to reality.

Also mentoring?

Previously, I talked about Mentoring (with a capital M) and the traditional rules and practices relative to the Dominants who Mentor and the submissives they teach. Several comments revolved around the formality of the relationship and the defined separation between the Mentor and the student/mentee/protégé, and rightly so. That is, that there should be no intimacy and/or play between the Mentor and the submissive, and the construct of the Mentoring relationship was discussed.

There are certainly unscrupulous people who will take advantage of a girl in such a "mentoring" situation, to wit:
"I now have a mentor/protector the trouble is i feel He is treating me more like a sub. He asked me to shave myself, i just trimmed it, then He wanted photos. (he is supposedly an on line so called mentor) I've not taken these yet. The thing that worries me most is He asked me to go without panties for seven days. This terrifies me as i may be soon working in an area of child care. I emailed Him with these concerns and still haven't heard. I thought a mentor was meant to guide and support someone and not set tasks that i believe are too much for me."

This sounds like an example of exactly what I was talking about when I said, these rules are intended to create a sense of safety for the submissive, which "the community" deemed as perhaps young, and naive, and inexperienced, and susceptible to undue or unethical influence. In other words, the rule was created to protect the submissive from the Dominant. But perhaps the act of defining such roles and structures leads to the confusion and expectations this girl felt; that she would even question if it was possibly proper, if there were not some construct in place that suggested this man might have some sort of power over her. I cannot believe that any of the women I know would fall for this sort of treatment.

I think there are different constructs within the formality of these "communities", and the relationships that are formed within those communities or groups, can be different than the relationships that are formed between individuals. In general discussions, the terms, "mentor" and "mentoring" are used rather loosely to describe a wide range of roles and activities, and so the words have come to mean different things to different people. The formality of the role of Mentor in the leather community is a different than the role I, as a dominant, might fulfill answering questions from a submissive that reads my blog and sends me an email with questions, although she might very well consider it mentoring. And, if that correspondence continues on an ongoing basis, I might well be considered a mentor (with a small m), but that is certainly different from a Mentor.

And as that relationship develops, and she continues to think of him as her mentor, there is a likelihood that some affection and caring might develop, some intimacy. As many of you said, it seems that intimacy is inherent in the development and growth of the relationship. That the term mentor is used to describe the dominant in this kind of fledgling relationship might be a misnomer, but it is the word used by many people when forming a relationship. These submissives have not said, I want to go out and learn things from a teacher, I am going to find a mentor.

Perhaps the notion that a dominant/mentor that plays with a submissive is automatically being inappropriate is incorrect. And worse, I think it can be interpreted as insulting by implying that the submissive is too fragile or ignorant to be able to tell the difference between a learning experience and an experience of more emotional depth. I think it also paints the dominant as predatory and self-serving. Some people may be all those things, but I think making that general assumption is incorrect. In many cases it is just the natural evolution of a dominant and submissive relationship.

Every time I try to write about this I think I get stuck between the formal BDSM-D/s that is what communities are formed around, and the informal BDSM-D/s that is the personal thing that many of us feel is part and parcel of how we relate to a partner, as part of our routine day to day interactions, as part of foreplay and sex play, part of our emotional make-up.

I certainly appreciate the comments everyone provided previously, thank you all very much. I think both perspectives were well represented; the formal community-based notion that a Mentor is a teacher with limitations and boundaries constricting their role, and the more personal notion of a forming a relationship with a dominant who will be teaching them things about themselves and about BDSM-D/s, who they identify as a mentor.

There seems to be a lot of discussion of this topic out there in "the cloud", or perhaps it is just that since I have been thinking about it, I have somehow figuratively, stepped into the conversation stream.

Mentoring

The topic of being a Mentor, or Mentorship, comes up from time to time, and I always struggle with the answer. When I first became aware of BDSM and D/s, I also discovered that there were actual "communities" and the first thing you find out about communities is that they have rules, there were rituals, routines, laws, protocols and established practices that people are expected to abide by. That is true for both online communities and real life local communities or clubs, all having rules.

One of the cardinal rules that I learned early on from these communities, both online and local, had to do with Mentors. My understanding of a Mentor was that is was a Dominant who took a submissive(s) under his wing and was essentially a teacher or advisor. He was someone the submissive could turn to when she had questions, an authority, who got to know her and could provide proper perspective. Perhaps it was a question about protocol, or relationships, or BDSM techniques, anything really. But the cardinal rule was, there was to be no intimacy between the Mentor and the charge.

I am sure this rule is intended to create a sense of safety for the submissive, which "the community" deemed as perhaps young, and naive, and inexperienced, and susceptible to undue or unethical influence. In other words, the rule was created to protect the submissive from the Dominant. This has always been the definition of Mentor that I had always recognized, and accepted.

However, having never really "joined up" with any communities, it really didn't matter much to me, one way or the other, and acceptance of that definition seemed fine. And then I started this blog, and people started asking me questions. So, in an effort to be smart(er) I undertook to research the matter, and sure enough, those communities are out there still, and they still have their rules. And what I found was, everyone's rules are different, not really surprising.

----------------------------

In read through many message boards and discussions groups, and I found that most who considered themselves "old guard" or "old school" had strict prohibitions about intimacy with a Mentor.

However, in searching through "published" sources, this was more typical:

"The submissive petitions the Dominant Mentor to train them while they are searching for the Dominant that they will serve the rest of their lives with. The submissive should be treated as if collared by the Dominant for life, until they are released to their formal Dominant. Usually if this type of training has taken place, the Dominant Mentor will assist the submissive in searching out and accepting the formal Dominant that they will serve." - Vixen Rose, Collars and Traditions

To her credit, her article says, "Includes: A special concern about the dilution of old traditions."

So, according to this definition, not only can the Mentor play with the submissive, he should essentially treat her as his collared submissive. That is certainly a dilution of the old tradition I learned.

----------------------------

Another source I turned to is a woman I have known for over a decade, someone who is considered an Elder in the greater Leather community. From an FAQ she published:

Q. What about intimacy (physical, sexual, emotional, etc.) in the mentoring relationship? Do mentor's and mentee's work SM together? Is sex OK between mentor and mentee?

A. To play or not to play? is a question that the mentor and mentee will discuss when they set the ground rules for the mentoring relationship.

So, I thought, it seems that the old rule I learned has pretty much been turned on its head, but then:

Q. Are there limits on a mentor's control?

A. An SM mentoring relationship is not an SM relationship per se, that is, power exchange and role-play is not appropriate in the mentoring relationship. The mentor and mentee are equals, one is not dominant and the other submissive in the relationship. Both are equals, sharing a common leather journey together.

Clearly, this kind of relationship is in a completely different ballpark.

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And the deeper I dug, the more I kept running into varying definitions. Frankly it only led to even greater confusion on my part. So, I tucked all this research away for a while and thought about it, and forgot about it, and then thought some more, and have come to the following conclusion:

I do not agree that the Mentor's charge should be considered collared or owned by him, but I do agree that intimacy is okay between them if they agree to it. The thing that bothers me about the Vixen Rose definition is that seems to imply that if she accepts the mentorship, then she accepts the play/sex permission quid pro quo as well. That is the part I do not agree with.

In fact, I was talking to someone about this recently, and I said, it sounds like a friendship thing, almost "mentor with benefits". She said, "That doesn't sound that different from many relationships in this scene (blogosphere) that i've heard about? i mean, that's kind of what it's like in my life".

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I am coming to think that intimacy between a Mentor and his charge is not as uncommon as I once thought, particularly for those who are not in a Master/slave, collared or owned situation. And I think that is a good thing, it seems an aftificial and unnecessary barrier beween two people who are sharing a powerful and growing experience together. Perhaps I was stuck in those old community rules and roles learned so long ago.

Good Night, Good Bye, Paul Newman

A wonderful man passed today, he was 83 years old. He was simply a man, an actor, a race car driver, philanthropist, father, husband, a caring being, the kind of dominant man I aspire to be. I had the good fortune to spend time in his company on three occasions, at car race weekends; I knew people who knew him.

I will simply affirm what two others have said about him - Robert Redford, "My life - and this country - is better for his being in it." And, George Clooney, "He set the bar too high for the rest of us. Not just actors, but all of us. He will be greatly missed."

The Next Morning - Morning Wood

derived from

Eventually she stopped shuddering, and relaxed, and he untied her ankles and wrists. They left the meeting room and went out into the day. They went down the stairs and onto the main casino floor to the early morning Starbucks for a coffee and orange juice. He took her out to a sitting area in a little plaza and they sat and talked, and looked at each other, finally, really for the first time. Another hour passed all too quickly and they had to part, and return to their respective lives.


The next morning, very early, he walked into the hotel, through the lobby to the elevator foyer and rode up to the 23rd floor. He walked down the hall, clicked the card key and let himself into the room where she was sleeping. He sat the small bag he was carrying on the foot of the bed. He sat down, and reached across her body, put his hand on her cheek, and brushed the hair back off her face. Finally she stirred a bit and began to wake up. Seeing him there, she pulled herself closer and pressed her face against his leg. She smiled and whispered softly, "Good morning." He smiled back at her, and sunk his fingers deep into her hair.

He pulled her head up off the bed. She closed her eyes, smiled, and made a soft noise. He leaned forward, placed his mouth over hers, both of their mouths opened to the other. He felt her tongue start dancing against his, slowly, tentatively at first. He forced his mouth harder onto hers, moving his tongue back and forth against hers. As he pulled her even closer against him, he felt her body pressing hard against the side of his leg. The kiss lingered on and on, so long desired, not wanting to end it. Finally, overwhelmed with passion and desire, he pulled back.

He stood up, fingers still tightly tangled in her hair; he pulled and guided her around, crosswise. She was kicking with her feet to help spin around, until she was lying across the width of the bed. She had her knees bent, feet up on the bed. She was stretched across the bed, head against his legs. He let go of her hair, and looked down the length of her naked body, thanking god for the inadequacy of hotel A/C in the summer, it had been so warm she had been comfortable sleeping naked as he had instructed.

He moved his hand along her jaw bone and chin, put his thumb against her lips. She opened her mouth and let it in, licking slowly with her tongue, and closed her lips around it. She sucked harder on his thumb, moved it slightly in and out of her mouth, he pushed it deeper into her mouth against the corner of her mouth, and she gripping it with her teeth. His other hand he moved across her breasts feeling the slight dampness of perspiration on her cool skin, brushing repeatedly over her swelling nipples, teasing them, feeling them stiffen. He toyed with them, bending and pushing them, listening to the sound of her sucking on his thumb and moaning in response to his touch.

Suddenly, she took hold above the knuckle and bit down. "No!" he said. He took hold of a nipple hard between his thumb and the side of his index finger and twisted when she did not respond to his voice. Still she did not respond and in fact it felt like her bite tightened even more. He let go her nipple and gave her a startling slap on the cheek, and moved his hand to her forehead. Her eyes flashed open, showing some shock and puzzlement.

With his hand on her forehead, he curled his fingers under her chin, gripped and pried her jaw open just enough to break her concentration and she loosened her bite on his thumb. He repeated, "No!" She let go her grip, got a coy smile in her eyes, and returned to caressing his thumb with her tongue, closed her eyes and returned to sucking in earnest. "Good girl".

While she continued, he reached over and picked up the bag he had dropped on the foot of the bed earlier, and dumped out it contents. They made a clattering sound as they fell into a heap on the bed. He told her to keep her eyes closed and that he was going to remove his thumb from her mouth, she mumbled a little grumble, kept her eyes closed and relaxed her mouth as he pulled his thumb out.

"Relax and be still". He rummaged through the items and picked up the sleeping mask and placed it over her eyes, and pulled the elastic around the back of her had. "Do you trust me baby?" and she nodded again, and a smile covered her face. "Good girl."

He reached back into the pile and took up a long handled wooden kitchen spoon. He leaned forward and repeatedly tapped the inside of her thighs with the cupped part of the spoon. The harder he struck it the louder was the popping sound the cup of the spoon made as it slapped against her thighs. She winced a little, and reached up and took a grip on the legs of his pants, squeezing handfuls of the denim, to help her steady herself. She started making a murmuring sound punctuated with little gasps of air as the implement would strike her tender inner thighs.

She continued to make gasping noises, and he continued to smack her. He would stop for a few moments, watch her face to be sure she was okay, and seeing her nod, would resume, a little more firmly each time. He smiled, knowing she was enjoying the sensations. Then he would stop and check again. After several cycles of this, he let the spoon slide down between her thighs, rubbing the back side of the spoon over her swollen lips, noticing how smoothly it slide up and down over her growing wetness. He pressed down more firmly, and she shivered. He slowly moved it up and down, noticing her hips move, lifting up, and pressing back against the sensations. Then he stopped and laid the cup of the spoon on the bed below her hips, and positioned it so that the long wooden handle lay against her swollen mound, and left it there.

He reached down and caressed her cheeks, noticed her breathing was more relaxed, and saw her smile as he touched her. He tried to remove her hands from their grip on the legs of his pants, but she held her grip and shook her head. Clearly she wanted to continue holding onto the denim, he assumed to help her steady herself.

He ran his hand up and down the front of her torso, feeling more perspiration on her skin; no longer as cool as it had been when he started. He reached into the pile and took a wooden clothespin, and clamped it on her nipple. Her body stiffened and she took a sharp breath, then whimpered softly and worked at steadying her breathing. As she settled into the sensation, he picked up the second clothespin and placed it onto her other nipple. Again she whimpered and it took a couple minutes for her breathing to settle back down again. He had become accustomed to hearing those wonderfully sexy, achy sounds she made when she was pinned like that. He leaned forward over her body, and rubbed and caressed her stomach, helping her calm down and feel more centered in her body.

She started pushing with her feet and sliding herself on the bed more, scooting up a bit on the sheets until her head was slightly tilted off the edge of the bed. She reached up and fumbled with his button and zipper, got them undone and pulled down on his pants, and they slide down off his hips and fell to a puddle around his ankles. She reached for his boxers and realized he was not wearing any, and laughed. She reached up and took a hold and moved him into her mouth. He was still leaning forward, rubbing her stomach. Balancing himself with one hand on the bed at her hip, he reached down and took hold of the wooden spoon and pulled it up across her and set it aside in the heap of implements. She continued to suck on him as he moved about. He was responding and growing harder and harder in her mouth.

He rubbed his fingers over her swollen mound, feeling her heat and dampness, and feeling her arousal. He reached over to the pile, picked up a third clothespin, and clamped it well up onto her hood. She shook with the sensation of the pressure but her attention was concentrated elsewhere. He picked up the wooden handled, stiff bristled pastry brush and began stroking it up and down across her clit. Her body started to shiver as if she was cold, and he knew she was close. He moved the brush faster and faster, increasing the pressure, and could feel her reaction in her mouth, as she drove him closer and closer to the edge, right along with her.

Her whole body stiffened and her back arched. He grabbed hold of the clothespin and pulled it off of her hood, her neck straining back. He yanked the pins off of her nipples and her head shook. Her legs stiffened and stretched out straight. He let loose his own orgasm, and growled, "Oh Yes. Now baby. Now."

and finally the ending

What is shi-shi-toi?

Like the mark in Part 2 of the story about The Meeting, Part 3 contained a phrase that raised questions from some readers as well. He leaned in close, smiled at her and kissed her ear, then whisperspoke, "Now, baby, shi-shi-toi." So, what is this shi-shi-toi? It is a made up word, one not used in everyday speech that is used as a trigger, "a nonsensical word composed of bits of other words, or a foreign word, or a word pronounced backwards." This command or trigger word is the only way a girl trained in orgasm control or orgasm on command is permitted release.

Orgasm on command does not happen over night. It's the end result of a process that first makes orgasm much easier to achieve. It takes practice, with the right teacher, to make the kind of mental connection that is necessary. And there's one subtle, yet vitally important, aspect of orgasm control and/or delayed orgasm (delayed orgasm is substantially different than orgasm denial) that makes achieving orgasms easier and orgasm on command possible. The essence of orgasm on command is training such that the focus is shifted from HAVING an orgasm, and the anxiety that ensues, to NOT having an orgasm. That's a substantial and essential part of orgasm control and/or delayed orgasm as well as an underlying foundation for orgasm on command. The "fear" of not being able to orgasm is replaced by "fear" that you will orgasm without permission.

More about this concept and training can be found at Orgasm On Command - Not Just for BDSMers! There are links below the video that discuss the topic in much greater detail.

The essence of the information used here came from the first article - Orgasm Control - Nice explanatory/how-to article

Dominant and submissive

Pearls of wisdom? Perhaps not, but nice words to read. I received both of these pieces in emails from the local BDSM club, I liked them enough to share them. While they use specific words, Master and slave, I think they are generally applicable to most BDSM relationships or any relationship perhaps? (I do not know their origins):

Master/Dominant
A Man who displays sensitivity will be a Master who is sensitive to you.
A Man who displays humility will be a Master who will show you respect.
A Man who is quiet will be a Master who will hear your quietest whisper.
A Man who knows fear will be a Master who will not leave you to face yours alone.
A Man who will listen to a child will be a Master who will always work to understand your words.
A Man who can stand alone will be a Master who will not crush you under His weight.
A Man who controls Himself with ease will be a Master with the ability to control you in the same way.
A Man who does not have to prove His point will be a Master with many worthwhile points to share.
A Man who never makes demands will be a Master who treasures anything you give.
A Man who doesn't run after you will be a Master you will never need to run away from.
A Man who is calm will be a Master who can weather your storms.
A Man who has walked the path to peace will be a Master able to guide you along that path.
A Man who does not shout will be a Master who will never deafen you.
A Man who knows Himself will be a Master who will have time to know you.
A Man with an open mind will be a Master who never stops learning.
A Man who never stops learning will be a Master who never stops growing.
A Man who always seeks to be the best He can be for you is the only Man truly worthy of being called your Master.

slave/submissive
slavery is not about suffering . . . it is about service.
slavery is not about humiliation . . . it is about humility.
slavery is not about being used . . . it is about being of use.
slavery is not about control . . . it is about letting go.
slavery is not about proving anything . . . it is about being real.
slavery is not about contempt . . . it is about respect.
slavery is not about how you look . . . it is about how you care.
slavery is not about punishment . . . it is about discipline.
slavery is not about being unable to escape . . . it is about being committed.
slavery is not about fear . . . it is about trust.
slavery is not about sex . . . it is about love!!!

. . . one of the hardest things about slavery is the fine line separating communication and obedience . . .

Meeting, Come to Order

This is Part 3 - - - Part 2 - - - Part 1

Her bound hands remained in place, over his, pressing him against herself. He barely moved his hand, slowly working his fingers, he squeezed and pressed against her sex, even harder and then said, "Now, more." And more she did, and again she did, a third time.

Then, there was a quiet and timeless few minutes with her head buried in the crook of his neck, against his shoulder, and it muffled her whimpering, taking long, deep ragged breaths. He held her in place with his arm around her shoulder, around the back of her neck, she was weak and limp from the exertion. He held her against him, wrapped up in him, her wonderfully curved body.

It felt good to hold her against his chest; finally she began to regain her composure. He lifted her chin and smiled at her and kissed her still closed eyes. He brought both hands up to hold her face, and stared at her. She slowly opened her eyes, and looked at him, eyes glazed with pleasure. She struggled to keep them open; sensations were still racing through her body, showing in her face. Finally, she focused her eyes and smiled. He put his still damp fingers against her lips; she seemed confused until he parted her lips slightly. She grinned and moved her tongue against his fingers, licking the moisture from them, slowly cleaning them, and he pushed his fingers into her mouth.

When she paused and opened her lips in a smile, he moved his hands to the back of her head, pulled her forward and whispered into her ear, "Lie back", and he cupped the back of her neck and leaned forward, supported the weight of her torso and he let her lay back. He gently placing her head in the table and hold her cheek in his palm, smiling into her eyes. He leaned down over her and kissed her. She relaxed, caught her breath, smiled back up at him. He raised his hand, gestured for her to be still. Slowly he moved back toward a standing position, and slowly traced his hands down her cheeks, to the sides of her neck, and tickled her playfully in the little hollows above her collarbones. He loved that little shy smile. He spent some time scrapping her nipples with his fingernails through the light material of her dress as they continued to stiffen and grow with arousal, she smiled and murmured softly. When she started squirming, he stood up and rubbed his hand on her tummy. He felt her stomach muscles tense at his touch.

He reached down and hooked his hand under the back of each of her knees and lifted, lifted her legs up and bent her knees, and placed her feet on the edge of the table. He leaned over and kissed one of her knees, as he ran his hands up and down her thigh. Then he did the same to her other leg. He rose up and looked at her, "Relax sweetheart".

He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second length of rope and tied it around one ankle, and then laced it through her wrists, over the bindings that were already in place. Then he brought the rope back down to her other foot and pushed her ankles back until her heels were against her bottom, he tied the rope around her second ankle. He put his hands on her knees, spread them slightly, and smiled down at her. She struggled to test the bindings, and found that all she could do was move her hands, and any movement of her feet just pulled her hand tighter down against the damp material. She moved her hands and felt herself, looked at him and said, "Swollen." He smiled back and said, "Yes, press harder, and rub side to side across it. Build it up like I taught you." And he walked away.

He walked around the room looking to see what else might be in the room. There was nothing in the room, nothing but the narrow conference table and the chairs along each side, and her. He walked back over to the side of table, pulled out a chair and sat down right beside her head. He leaned in toward her and she started to tilt her head to look at him, and he said, "Look straight ahead, concentrate." Her breathing was getting more and more ragged, with occasional long, deep breaths. He put his mouth to her ear, "Keep rubbing yourself, back and forth baby." "Whose girl are you?" She just laughed and smiled, still trying to take in more air than she was able.

"Whose?" he asked again?
"I am yours." she whispered.
"Good girl. You remember your training? You remember our word?"
"Yes." she gasped.
"Keep rubbing."

Her swollen nipples showed prominently through the light cotton jersey dress, he rolled the top down, exposing her full breasts and oh so hard nipples. He reached up and took hold of one, rolled it between his thumb and and the side of his index finger. He took a tighter grip and squeezed/rolled, as she wiggled and arched her back. He kept pulling on her nipple; she gasped and moaned even more.

"Ready baby?"
"Yes, oh yes.", barely audible.
Her body started to shiver as if she was cold, chilled, and he knew.

"Three."

"Two."

Her whole body stiffened, back arched, neck straining back. Her head rocked from side to side. Her legs straining against the bindings, wanting to stretch out straight, unable to budge, pulling at her hands, down tighter.

"One."

He leaned in close, smiled at her and kissed her ear, then whisperspoke, "Now, baby, shi-shi-toi."

Resumed anew

The Mark, and more?

People have asked about "the mark -- --" in the recent story. What does it mean, what was the purpose, including "I look forward to learning more with regards to the mark made upon her neck". and "I like the pen mark on the back of her neck, and I hope you address the significance of that.'

When I wrote the draft I made a margin note, Possession Taken. A declaration in the story, of his temporary ownership, and her willingness and compliance. The symbol used for the mark is Yin. "Yin represents the passive, receiving, recipient, malleable, matter, and is symbolized by the broken horizontal line, -- -- ." Online Encyclopedia of Western Signs and Ideograms

You can find no end of information on markings on the Internet, but coincidentally a fellow blogger recently made a post, being marked - which I think covers the more specific nature I am describing in a nutshell, although I think he finds some discomfort about the action, and the desire and motivations.

In the context of this story, it is the celebration of an on-going relationship, when they finally have their first face to face meeting. He memorializes that moment with a mark of possession. His possession is answered with her smile, [“Are you ready now?” she smiled slightly, and he knew.]

and more? for me, more is not two, more can be three, or more; but more is never two.

First Meeting, Meeting Room

This is Part 2 - - - Part 1

He whispered into her ear, "Come with me sweetheart." and they went up the long flight of stairs. At the top they stood at the end of a long wide lobby with doors to meeting rooms along each side, and floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end. In a few hours the area would be teeming with conventioneers, but for now it was as if they were in a private personal place, quiet, elegant, lavish, just the two of them.

He took her by the wrist, and started walking toward the windows. In response to his grip on her wrist she fell quiet and calm, walked slowly, and lowered her gaze. When they reached the windows, he moved and stood behind her. He put his face into her hair and breathed in her scent, fresh and clean. He pushed his hands up her neck and moved her hair aside, she tilted her head forward in response to the pressure. He took his pen and made the mark -- -- on the back of her neck just below her hairline, then let his hands slide down so they rested on her shoulders. He tilted his head and kissed and then bit the nape of her neck – he felt her shiver, then a slight shake. He savored the feel of her skin on his lips, skin he had imagined for so long, finally present, under his touch, it stirred him to hear her soft murmuring sounds.

She lifted her head up slightly and broke his concentration. He moved his arms so they were wrapped around her, enveloping her arms/torso, with one arm under and one on top of her breasts. He moved his arms and squeezed them together, clamped her breasts between them. He longed to pull the top of her dress down and take a breast in each hand, clenching each between the heel of his hand and his fingers, massaging and tormenting. But again, he fought against the urgency of his desire, and loosened his hold on her. He let his arms down and took hold of a wrist with each hand, brought them behind her back and crossed her wrists at the small of her back. He held her wrists/hands there long enough that she understood to hold that posture, leaned to her ear and said, “Wait here.”

He walked down the rooms on the right side, reading meeting announcements and times, down to the end, across and back up the other side until he found one of the smaller rooms, not scheduled until 1:00 pm. He opened the door, looked in and saw a conference table, surrounded by chairs, but otherwise empty. He walked back to her where she stood as still as a statue, her wrists crossed behind her back, head down and hair over the sides of her face, humming a soft and soothing unrecognizable tune. He stepped back in front of her, lifted her chin with his fingers until she looked at him. Her gaze faltered from his and he lifted her chin again. “Are you ready now?” she smiled slightly, and he knew.


He let go of her chin, put his hand on the back of her neck and guided her to the room, opened the door. She walked in, and stopped. “Give me your hand.” and he led her to the far end of the room. He boosted her up and seated her on the end of the long conference table, legs dangling, her knees slightly apart. He stepped up to her, pushed the hem of her dress up her thighs, his legs against the end of the table between hers and pressed his thumbs into the tender flesh where her thighs met her hips, she winced. He leaned in and kissed her, biting at her lower lip until she flinched and pulled back.

He took hold of her wrists and placed her hands between her thighs. He took the thin black rope out of his back pocket, lifted her wrists up, and held her hands together. She held her wrists crossed and stared intently as he wrapped the rope around her wrists, then around itself, and tied the ends together. He let her hands back down, resting between her thighs. She looked up at him, and he saw tears in her eyes.

He stepped in close again and moved her bound hands so they were pressed up against the front of her bikinis, and held her hands in his and worked their fingers against the damp fabric. He moved his free hand to her cheek, tilted her face up more towards his. His lips moved very gently against hers, softly touched his lips to hers, and felt her breathing become more and more ragged.

His other hand pulled at the waist band of her bikinis and slipped down into the warmth and wetness. Her bound hands pressed hard against his, forcing him further and deeper. His hand cupped her pelvis, fingers forced deeper inside her. Her breathing becomes more and more ragged as she gasped for more air. He moved his mouth slightly to let her grab a bigger breath, then pressed back against her mouth and muffled her scream. Their hands remained in place, he pressed even harder and told her, “Now, more.”

Continued at Part 3

Waiting, Watching, Wanting, Willing

He had arrived early, walked around the lobby, familiarized himself with the layout of the space. The hotel lobby was nice and open, furnished with conversation nooks opposite the front desk. He sat down in one of the big chairs, where he could see the elevator foyer, where she would see him when she came out of the elevator and walked toward the front desk.

He envisioned her walking slowly across the lobby, approaching him, and putting out her hands. He would take hold of them and help her maintain her balance as she placed each knee between the outside of his thigh and the arm of the chair. Then, settle back and place her weight on his knees, sliding up closer against him, knees slipping deeper into the cushions, alongside his hips.

However, as he saw her approach he pushed that image up off his lap and out of his mind. He got up from the chair, and fell in stride beside her, taking hold of her hand and smiled down at her, locked in a gaze with those eyes he had imagined for so long, now so real, no longer flat images in photographs. She smiled back at him; he caught his breath in his throat and silently led her down the corridor of gift shops, toward the meeting rooms and the walkway to the parking garage.

Turning a corner they started up the stairway to the meeting rooms, as she took one step up, he pulled her hand back to spin her around. She turned to face him, standing one step up on the stairs, partially equalizing the height difference between them. He stood before her, looking squarely into her eyes and said, "I cannot believe you are really here." He reached out his hand and tenderly touched her cheek, and his hand slid back across her cheek, over her ear and pushed his fingers into her hair and took a firm grip. Her free hand moved up and hooked hold of the bend in his elbow.

They stood there still, her eyes locked onto his, and he heard her breathing deepen and falter. His body just barely touched hers, and as he held tight onto that grip of her hair, he pulled her head over to the side. She closed her eyes, smiled, and made a soft noise. He leaned forward, placed his mouth over hers, both of their mouths opened to the other. Steadily he sucked breath from her, and he felt her tongue start dancing against his, slowly, tentatively at first.

He let go of her hand and placed his on her hip, slip up under her shirt, and felt the soft warm curve of her waist. He pulled her closer, and moved his hand around across the muscles in the small of her back. He wrapped his arm around her back to the other side of her waist and pulled her firmly up against his stomach and chest.

He re-tightened his grip on her hair, pulled her head back slightly and forced his mouth harder onto and over hers, moving his tongue back and forth across her lips and teeth. As he pulled her even closer against him, he felt her pushing her pelvis forward, pressed hard against his hip, moving from side to side rubbing herself against him. He held her against him imagining they would blend into one.

Fighting against his building passion, and the immediacy of his desires, he pulled back from the kiss. He leaned back slightly, removed his hand from her hair, and moved it to her throat, pushed up and lifted her gaze, and stared into her eyes. Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Come with me sweetheart." and he led her up the stairs.

Continued at Part 2

One Foot in Each World

I discovered this blogosphere realm from a dominants site, I was Googling for some information and found a particularly good blog and it led me to a couple of blogs that attracted my further interest and attention, I read them for a while, and was inspired to begin my own. More and more my reading expanded, and over time I began to recognize a couple of distinctly different styles of blogs. I originally thought of them as the sex blogs and the BDSM blogs, although I don't know that those generalizations are wholly accurate. I guess I will just use the styles set by Love Boudoir to avoid making up my own semantics, Erotica and Kink. What follows are generalizations:

Erotica, featuring straight, vanilla, sometime edgy, but always delicious erotic pleasure..., I think these folks generally refer to themselves as sex bloggers, generally have a very open attitude toward sexual encounters, in fact the majority of their posts are centered on real or imagined/fantasized sexual encounters. Their posts are beautifully written prose or poetry describing the events, their feelings about them, and both their physical and emotional responses during and after those encounters. They are very sexy, very sensual and very erotic. The nature of the relationships ranged from married couples, to lovers, to casual encounters with total strangers, to even phone or Internet chat sex play.

Kink, gratification is just one fetish away, lust dances with a master and his slave, and pleasure stings like a whip..., often as not written by submissives describing their relationships and service with their master, owner(s) or play dominants. Their posts are also beautifully written and appear to be roughly a 50-50 mix of sensual descriptions of "scenes" or encounters, and discussions of the joys or tribulations of their service and submission. The nature of the relationships range from Master/slave couplings, to marriages with kink, to submissives collared to dominants, to dom/sub in long distance relationships.

I don't remember exactly how it was that I found myself in the sex blogger realm, most likely I followed the profile link of a commenter, and followed a link on their page and then another and then another. Sometimes I forgot to follow the bread crumbs back and lost my way. Slowly I got to widening my range of sites further and further, and went off on tangents that took me to a number of (what I would call) bizarre fetish blogs, like diapers, and baby bottles and other less than mainstream interests. Most often I followed the bread crumb trails back from there.

But also, the more I read some of the erotic/sex blogs I discovered some very strong submissive themes to the exploits being discussed. Some, who probably started out just exploring their sexuality, happened across some kink along the way and recognized a submissive interest, or a submissiveness within themselves that had been dormant or simply unobserved. There seems to be an undercurrent of sex bloggers who have a tendency toward bottoming, but still to a larger audience of partners.

Interestingly though, I do not find the same degree of cross over from the submissive blogs, no corresponding interest in exploring a variety of partners through a variety of sexual encounters. There are a number of slave/subs who find pleasure in being shared, or are positioned by their dominant or master where their sexuality is displayed or available to others. However, there does seem to be a greater tendency toward fidelity/commitment to one partner.

For the past couple weeks I have been paying particular attention to the blog rolls when I visit someone's page and find there is usually a pretty fair mix of links offered for others to explore. There does seem to be the 80-20 rule in effect though. I suppose that is as expected, although the other 20% of the links offers a surprising insight into their other interests, the amount of cross over seems to be growing, or is it just that my perception has changed?

I can certainly understand why a dominant/submissive would enjoy reading the blogs of sexually promiscuous/adventurous women with submissive tendencies, and vice verse. And why sexually adventurous women would enjoy the intensity of some of the kink they read on those others blogs. As a dominant I certainly enjoy reading the blog of a sexually adventurous women with submissive tendencies.

If you have gotten this far, and don't want to make any comment, I would appreciate it if you would take a minute to answer the poll over in the right side bar - if for no other reason than to assuage my curiosity about the kind of people that pass by. Thank you.

And thank you for taking part in my poll:

Total Votes 24
Erotica 2 (8%)
Kink 8 (34%)
Erotically Kinky 11 (47%)
Dominant 0 (0%) I didn't vote
Just Visiting 3 (13%)

Hand Controls

'What, you think you're some kind of Jedi? Waving Your hand around like that'. ~ Watto to Qui-Gon, The Phantom Menace

It was a very busy Saturday night and I was sitting at the final seat at the blackjack table, another man next to me and then seat 4 was empty, the barstool like seat pushed up against the rail, and the other 3 seats were occupied as well. The pit area at the Suncoast casino was busy; there was nearly a row of people behind the players watching the action. It was jovial night, everyone was having a good time, the cards were generally going the player’s way, and everyone was up a little bit.

As we played I began to notice the man next to me kept looking to his right, not paying the attention he had been, seeming distracted. I also noticed that the blackjack dealer seemed to have his attention drawn as well. After a few minutes, I leaned forward to see what was distracting them so. A player had stepped up to the vacant seat and placed chips on the edge of the table, waiting to get into the next round of play.

Standing behind the vacant fourth seat was a quite attractive, fairly tall Asian girl, typical long straight black hair and pretty oval eyes. Then I noticed what had been distracting the other men (and now me) at the table. This attractive 20-something girl was wearing a short black flip skirt and a cream colored button up V-neck sweater, unbuttoned nearly down to her navel. The edges of the sweater were taut, just barely covered the nipples on her small conical breasts. Like many Asian girls she had very small breasts, probably barely A cups, and seemed to be fidgety about the way the sweater barely covered them.

She held a drink in her left hand and played cards with her right, and between hands she would fuss with the edges of the sweater, alternately covering more of her breasts and then moving it back to where it just barely covered her nipples again, all done in a nervous sort of way.

As I alternated between watching and leering, I noticed she would glance back over her left shoulder frequently, as if she might be expecting someone to come walking up at any minute. I looked around a couple times and finally notice a nice looking late 30s man standing about 10 feet back from the table, leaning against the end of a bank of slot machines. He was nicely dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, and was watching the girl, very intently, with no expression on his face.

Just about then the girl adjusted the right edge of the sweater so that it was now lying outside of her right breast, so that it was completely uncovered. It was quite a sight in a crowded casino, a lovely girl with bare breast showing in the midst of crowd. I looked back at the man and notice he was making a hand gesture, waving it slightly to the right, indicating the same direction she had moved the sweater. As I watched him he then moved his hand in a pushing forward manner and the girl moved in closer to the table and leaned forward, making herself even more visible to the people on either side of her. Over the half-hour or so, she moved the sweater edge off of and back on and then off again from her breasts probably a half dozen times, mostly leaving them and her erase-like nipples open and exposed, responding to the gestures of the man behind her.

Every time he would give her another gesture, she would grimace slightly but comply. Her gaze was always on the man, or the cards in front of her, but never to one side or the other, acutely aware that she was being watched, the blackjack dealer directly in front of her and also some half dozen people on either side of her. People would come and go, not sure of what they were seeing, or leave out of embarrassment, except for those of us engaged in the game, sitting at the table, caught up in the play.

I am fairly confident that I am the only one who saw the man and his hand signals, and understood the control being exerted over her. Clearly she was acting as directed within a previously scripted scenario. She was embarrassed in that very shy, demure and quiet way that Asian girls can react, but was obviously enjoying the control and exhibition as evidenced by her skin flushing and arousal. Then as quietly and unobtrusively as she had arrived, with a come hither gesture, she turned and walked away, placed her hand on his arm and they walked off into the crowd.

It was a very interesting convergence of domination/control, exhibition and voyeurism, if only for a fleeting few minutes.

Humiliation, the good, the bad, the ugly

We’d had this conversation a while ago, but I had forgotten, and I asked:

“Would you think about something for me?”
“Of course.”
“We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“OK.”
“Humiliation, is it good or bad? Not a politically or kink correct answer, but a gut feel. In the sense of ‘I was totally humiliated.’ your attitude about it, not feelings.”
“I think this is a hard question for me to understand, given the limitations, but I'll try and make sense out of it.”
“Okay, then forget the limitations, I did not mean it to be limiting, just the whole range of those things call humiliation; you are right, that is better and a more fair question.”
"'I was totally humiliated' - I'll think about what that statement brings up for me... is that what you mean, more or less?"
"Yes that is what I mean, not to your submission particularly, just as a person."
"Yes, OK."

And the next day:

"I thought about humiliation."
"Oh yes?"
"I should email, I think."
"Okay, I would love to have your feelings on it."

And then the email:

I think you've made a case that humiliating and humbling are the same. I can't say I see it that way.

If I say humiliated, I mean embarrassed and brought down to a point below ones true worth. Where humbled, I see as settling to one's proper place.

Humiliation is an experience of shame.

Does this answer?

Yes, it did, so, there is one perspective on the matter of Humiliation and Humbling/Humility, and on the other hand:

"it was humiliating. But i didn't resist . . . moving my body into a rhythm . . . i felt aroused by the stimulation, and aroused by the humiliation. i felt my little place so acutely... it felt so right that i should be in this space of humility; . . . it felt right that we all acknowledged that it was part of my place to have lower status and higher humility."

A third perspective is:

I feel that some humiliation is necessary to reduce me to that deep submissive state I long to be in. Humiliation, as in wearing a collar or leash, submitting to an inspection, being made to crawl, etc., helps to put my mind into the "powerless" state and allows me to "feel" the authority that my Dom/Dad/Master has over me. I do not, however, much enjoy the more extreme forms of humiliation such as being urinated on......that, to me, is overkill.

So, these three have differing opinions, perhaps a Dominant has it figured out:

Humiliation. "The word itself can cause even hard-core players to recoil. In the BDSM community, where consensual, well-intentioned humiliation games are commonly practiced, players routinely disavow participation. I myself would vehemently declare that if a Sub wanted humiliation, then find another, I simply was not into that. Why would I want to dominate someone I didn't respect?
That was how I saw humiliation. Disrespectful. Degrading. Debasing. Insulting. As abuse, pure and simple. The idea of what I perceived as emotional cruelty. The idea of verbally harming my Submissives nauseated me."

So, then perhaps we turn to the dictionaries and definitions, to get some clarity, to find the essential relationship between Humiliation and Humility.

Definitions of Humiliation:

• state of disgrace or loss of self-respect
• chagrin: strong feelings of embarrassment
• an instance in which you are caused to lose your prestige or self-respect; "he had to undergo one humiliation after another"
• depriving one of self-esteem
  wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Humiliation is bad . . .

Definitions of humility:

• a disposition to be humble; a lack of false pride; "not everyone regards humility as a virtue"
• a humble feeling; "he was filled with humility at the sight of the Pope"
  wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Humility is good, being humble . . .

From Wikipedia: Humiliation is the abasement of pride; mortification. The state of being humbled or reduced to lowliness or submission. It is thus the process of being made humble. It can be brought about through bullying, intimidation, physical or mental mistreatment or trickery and embarrassment.

Humiliation is being humble, humility, which is good . . .

No wonder everyone is confused and afraid.

So, perhaps it is all just semantics, which I would agree with, an unimportant distinction, except I think there are many submissives that miss out on opportunities for growth, arousal, bonding and excitement, a chance to truly move forward because they are afraid of being humiliated and embarrassed, demeaned?

They are afraid of being embarrassed and brought down to a point below ones true worth.

They do not find humiliation as settling to one's proper place.

Clearly humiliation is used for a variety of reasons.

There are those dominants that use humiliation to totally debase a submissive, tear her down, belittle her, strip her of any self esteem or self respect to build her back up "his way".

Others use humiliation to overcome excess pride, to make their submissive more humble, to create a sense of self worth in their submission, subordinate to the dominant, respectful.

There does not seem to be a hard and fast result from humiliation, let alone a common perception of what it really constitutes.

Service-oriented Submission/Submissive

This post has been sitting as a Pending post since mid-March; I drag it out and think about it, make some notes, but have never been able to bring it forward into the light of day. Over the weekend a convergence of recent reading and discussions with a girl online seems to have been the lightening bolt that finally helped me focus when she said, "Please don't be confused, I am not a masochist, I was trained as a service-oriented submissive."

Some of that material includes:

• Persephone’s discussion of her new tea party style of submission
• Alice talked about This thing that we do
• MJ's slave nik, who is all about service, writes about it on a very regular basis, check her label, slaves musings.

In this sector of the blog realm, so often the quality of dominance is tied to the degree of sadism/physicality involved/exhibited, and it is much less common to find discussions of the mental aspects of control, in ways that incorporate all aspects of the submissive’s daily lives. But in fact, the essence of dominance is control; it is not hard, but perhaps not likely, to imagine a D/s relationship where there are no sexual or sadistic components, but pure and straight forward control. This control can be exerted over every aspect of the submissive’s daily life; how she dresses, when she sleeps and awakens, what she eats and when, how she conducts herself in interactions with other people. Clearly, in many relationships, while there are heavy levels of BDSM and S&M, there is also a more broad reaching control, perhaps with the exception of sexual submissives, or bedroom submissives.

In Persephone's recent post about tea party, she talks about her owner wanting “. . . light and enjoyable interactions between us . . . he prefers the twee 'tea party' to describe what he envisions . . . really different because of its absence of most-- if not all-- of the usual bdsm trappings.”

A Google search for “service-oriented submissive” includes a Wikipedia reference:

Service-oriented (sexuality)

In human sexuality, Service-oriented is a term used in the BDSM community to refer relationship dynamic.

In a service-oriented relationship, the focus is on how the submissive can contribute resources to the dominant partner, provide for some of their needs or advance their goals. These relationships may or may not also include romantic feelings.

A common example of such a relationship would be one in which the submissive and dominant were romantically attracted and the submissive is collared to the dominant, indicating that they are "in service" to that dominant. The collar may well be predicated on certain performance levels or the usefulness of that submissive in specific areas. If those things were to change or dissipate the couple may remain romantically linked but often the collar will be removed.

For the submissive in such a relationship, the collar is seen as a status symbol signifying the approval and acknowledgement of a person they wish to serve. They often take great pleasure and pride in their status and relationship.

For the dominant, the benefits are practical as well as emotional. Many take great pleasure in being 'served' in this manner, and of course having the additional resources available is of immense utility.

Categories: Sex stubs BDSM Human sexuality

While this Wikipedia article is titled Service-oriented (sexuality), the content sounds like a domestic arrangement, or an administrator or secretary, perhaps they were not willing to delve into the deeper inter-personal aspects.

It occurs to me that the Daddy dom/little girl dynamic may very well be a clear example of this service-oriented D/s relationship. Another flavor is Domestic Discipline, a special form of dominance and submission. And I am reminded of The Submissive Wife Project that I stumbled across last year. I am sure there are others.

There seems to be so much more depth in the nature of D/s or service-oriented submission than just BDSM, but so often it is all wrapped in the same blanket.

Ten Pretty Good Rules

These rules have no specific purpose, but will serve you well as humor, and are not a bad perspective to use when dealing with the vagaries of daily life.

1. Never wrestle with a pig; you both get dirty and the pig likes it.
2. Never argue with an idiot; people watching may not be able to tell the difference.
3. Observe everything; admire nothing.
4. It's easier to obtain forgiveness than it is permission.
5. Rarely resist the opportunity to keep your mouth shut.
6. Don't ask the question if you cannot live with the answer.
7. If you want a new idea, read an old book.
8. If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there.
9. Never have a philosophy which supports a lack of courage.
10. Never look back unless you intend to go that way.

More on Ignoring

Ignoring in the context of the previous question about submission is not intended to be the kind of ignoring as you would a precocious child, or shunning.

In the original statement is the phrase "her desires unimportant - being ignored", meaning her desires being ignored, not her. Actively ignored, knowing exactly what she wants, at that moment, more than anything else, and withholding it. Some times there are incidences that are a response to bad or shady behavior, which she employs specifically to draw a reaction. Perhaps she is being sassy to provoke discipline, punishment, or a spanking. Active ignoring might well respond to that desire for a spanking with a much less palpable activity, such as prolonged corner time. But this is not the kind of ignoring that raised the initial question.

I think the way I posted the question was unclear. There's a stated question in the text, but that's not really the question that was asked. The question was more about needs being ignored overall, rather than about incidences involving purposeful ignoring. A submissive being told she is an object, her desires unimportant versus the intense attention and care that many dominants clearly give.

As she says in the question, she is, ". . . drawn to D/s by the quality of attention described. Punishments or pleasure given with care, responses noted" and notes that clearly the dominant knowing what she wants, and is giving it to her, but perhaps on his own terms, and in his own fashion? But so often she reads in the blogs the dominant saying, "what you want doesn't matter, your needs don't matter," but it's a thing that's said to have an effect, in some ways true, but also not at all.

This is the disconnect that appears to create the confusion, and hence the question.

Perhaps the clarification is embodied in, "The needs of my Master are more important than my own, because I trust my Master to meet and care for my needs, that leaves me free to focus on his needs."

Do you have an inclination for BDSM? - a quiz

You scored as a Dominant
Sex is about power and you like to be powerful. It's nice to be in charge and get what you want. And being in a position where people will do what you say is exciting.

93% - Dominant
64% - Experimental
57% - Sadist
46% - Exhibitionist/Voyeur
25% - Switch
21% - Bondage
18% - Degradation Lover

14% - Vanilla
7% - Submissive
7% - Masochist

Take me to the Quiz

(Note from the quiz author: This quiz doesn't cover all aspects of BDSM due to the length that such a comprehensive quiz would be. It is sex-based because the psychological reasons behind fetishes are complex and different for everyone to some degree.)

Questions about submission

We have been talking about her growing awareness of her submissive desires, how more and more, she feels like something is missing. I suggested a blog to read.

After a some reading, she said: "It brought back to mind one of my key questions . . . not so clearly a question really . . . I'm drawn to D/s by the quality of attention described. Punishments or pleasure given with care, responses noted, limits noticed and pushed. And then the contrasting idea - a sub being an object, her desires unimportant - being ignored. (Being purposefully ignored by someone who knows how you respond to that neglect - is that really being ignored?)"

"These things confuse me."

It occurs to me, that as a dominant, I will provide my point of view on this, but I think it would be worthwhile to hear something other than a man's point of view.

Experiencing her submissiveness

Marie had noticed men who looked at her "that way", who recognized the way she responds to their gaze, transfixed. These are not just horny men looking at a pretty girl; they knew something about her she barely knew herself, they were those men.

She had come to recognize her submissive nature, but still was conflicted at times because that feeling and desire in her is so vastly different from how she acts in her day to day life.

We talked for a long time about her feelings, and the unsettled feeling she had about what had happened, not that she was traumatized by being forced but how the sex of it had felt, and how she felt about the sex. She talked about wanting to have those feelings again, how she wanted to please men, to feel them in her like that. But she didn't know anyone she could have that kind of a relationship with, and how it was so outside of her “real life”.

However, there were men, there was Brett who operates a custom upholstery shop, Tim who runs the T-Shirt shop, and the man at the gas station/snack shop - - all of them were men she noticed looking at her “that way”. After a time, I suggested that if she wanted to pursue this that Brett seemed the best choice from everything she had said about them.

She developed a sexual submissive relationship with Brett over the next several months. She would stop and spend an hour or two with him, once or twice a week, and he led her deeper and deeper into her submission. One of her favorite things was being leaned over the back of a low couch, and having her wrists attached to restraints positioned down between the back cushion and seat. In this position she could barely move, was nearly impossible to see behind herself and was totally vulnerable. At first he blindfolded her, but eventually simply forbid her to look back, to keep her face buried between the cushions.

One day we were discussing her feelings about all of this and she commented on how erotic it was, amazed at his staying power, being able to engage her 4 and 5 and 6 times - - I expressed skepticism. She swore it was in fact what was happening. I began to ask more probing questions and suggested to her that it would be an amazing, if not super, man who could perform that way. To make a long story short, the next time she was there, she forced herself to look back and it was not Brett, but Tim. This was a total violation of her trust. She freed herself and left. She stopped in and spoke to him a couple times, expressing her outrage, but that was it. Bravo for her – clearly a violation of the trust and nature of their relationship.

Over the next year, she had fleeting relationships with others, young men closer to her own age, but they did not treat her the way she had become accustomed to with Brett. After long periods of consternation and discussions, she told me she was going to start seeing Brett again. She went and had a long discussion with him about how he has violated her trust in the past. They started up again and she enjoyed the time she spent with him. He is the only dominant man she has been able to establish that connection with.

Lately she had been talking about what happened with the two of them having her. She talked about how she missed that feeling and how she wanted it again. She decided that if she knew, in advance, and agreed to what was happening it would be okay.

Last week, she did again. She said, "But it is really a little scary, how it makes me feel." I didn't understand and asked what she meant? She said, "I just really like how it makes me feel. Not just how it feels, but how i feel letting them. Just being there to let them, because it feels so good. But it does scare me that I like how I feel. You don’t hear how my friends talk about other girls they think are sluts, but I am a total slut."

Not looking for this Daddy

In my previous post, I paraphrased a conversation with a girl named Joy, who seemed to be looking for a Daddy, was intended to be illustrative of a typical kind of conversation. Joy claimed a need for “someone who will watch over me, keep me in line, and make me accountable for myself and my actions. I’d want him to give me rules, chores and a curfew and enforce them”. Because of comments attached to the posting as well as questions I received via email and chat, this “typical” interaction seemed to take on a certain life of its own. One reader, ~L, asked a number of interesting probing questions and made me look at Joy in a different light.

In an effort to give the benefit of the doubt, overcome some skepticism on my part and to just satisfy a curiosity, I continued to have conversations with Joy and further learn what it was she really was seeking, if in fact she was seeking anything at all. Further discussions lead to some very clear conclusions; 1) Joy is looking for an older man to fulfill a daddy role in her life, but the definition is a very fuzzy mix between Daddy and father image, a point that ~L brought out during our comments back and forth, 2) Joy wants someone to spank her not just for transgressions or rule breaking, “I’ve thought a lot about going over your knee lately”, every day, “even if there is no punishment really needed for anything”, 3) she wants to be living with someone who will impose this discipline on her on a daily basis, and finally, 4) it is to be non-sexual, “this is not about a sex partner”, although on more than one occasion she would ask if I would mind if all she wore around the house was just a t-shirt or tank-top.

However, any attempts to steer the conversation to the need for watching over, keeping in line, accountability, rules, chores, curfew and enforcement, always focused on enforcement and spanking. Clearly Joy has spanking fetish.

Finally I declared that this arrangement was not going to work out, because frankly, “I cannot imagine having an attractive “young little-girl daughter” running around in nothing but a t-shirt, who I lay across my lap bare bottomed and spank each night at bedtime, and not have any sexual response”. (I am sure there are those who could conduct that kind of a spanking discipline on a regular basis, but frankly I am not that kind of a sadist but God bless them that can.) She countered by a suggestion that maybe she could be a maid, or housekeeper, some position where she would feel okay about some sexual interaction, not being someone’s “daughter”, and maybe only oral, “all you would ever want”, and then a couple of other postulations but finally, we agreed that I was probably not the right Daddy.

It very well could be that Joy is looking for a father figure, a disciplinarian to guide her into young adulthood as ~L suggested. But, I am inclined to agree with Alice who commented, I think that many of these young women are craving dominance, but I am sure many are just exploring and dabbling. "Playing" at submissiveness and truly submitting are two (very) different things.

Am I wrong?

Looking for a Daddy

I was "interviewed" the other day, excerpts follow:

Hello, I am Joy, age 23 and I love tall men, may I ask your name please?
My name is David, joy, how are you?
I am well thank you David, may I ask your age? Are you interested in daddy/daughter relationships?
I am 61, and yes, I might be.
Great so am I. So tell me what you are seeking?
Not seeking anything specifically, but it would be a girl who needs the attention, discipline and guidance of an adult male in her life, one who understands the importance of compliance, willingness and discipline.
Perfect, I feel I need someone who will watch over me, keep me in line, and make me accountable for myself and my actions. I’d want him to give me rules, chores and a curfew and enforce them.
Very good joy, it is what a young girl often needs in her life.
It is what I need for sure.
Do you live with your family still?
No, my mom was a teen mom who never grew up and I never knew my dad.
What about your husband, or boy friend?
I am not married, and I broke up with my boyfriend about a month ago, because he was cheating on me. Do you work? Or are you retired?
I work, semi retired technical systems support for casino management services, I am a former data processing manager. And what about you joy?
I am a cashier at two different jobs one full time, one part time.
Then you are a busy girl, which is good, obviously you are responsible. So, you want more discipline and structure in your life. Did you have discipline and now it is gone, or you are discovering this need now?
No. I never had it.
You sound like a girl who would benefit from the attention and structure, I would get to know more about you, have you tell me that long story, learn your habits, routine, special needs and would set up rules for you, daily structure.
How would I be disciplined? I think I would need reinforcing discipline on a regular basis.
Through loss of privileges, special tasks, special behaviors, spankings, physical discipline, etc. My age does not concern you?
Not at all, I want a father figure you’d be perfect.
Okay, you are a young girl and I want to me sure. If I were to take control of you it would entail all facets of your life, you understand that? What and how you eat, generally, schedules, chores, manner of dress, dating, how you spend your time, not micromanaged but structured.
No problem.
To start with I want you to write me sort of an essay, take me through your week, day by day, and tell me what you do, what you do you want to stop and generally give me a picture of your life/routine. Now, if you work at noon, you need to get ready.
Ok, take care great chatting with you Daddy! May I call you that?
Yes.

Being online frequently, I have a fair number of conversations with a posers, players, role players, cyber prowlers and general goofballs. Most conversations last maybe 15 minutes, which seems to be their attention span. But I am surprised by the number of young women, like this one, seemingly serious, who are seeking and craving "adult supervision" and dominance.

Can You Spot a Dominant or submissive

Do you believe in the notion that a dominant can spot a submissive? And, that a submissive can spot a dominant? I mean, can you just tell by looking at someone? People talk about a deer in the headlights look, but I am not sure it is exactly that. A submissive woman I know describes it thus, “I see a man looking at me, and I cannot look away, and I just know, he is one of those men.”

A few years ago, I was in a local hotel/casino, at a blackjack table playing cards, and had been there for a couple of hours. I was chatting with the floor person in the middle of the pit. Over his shoulder I glanced at another table about 20 feet away and locked eye contact with a woman playing at that other table. I smiled at her; she dropped her gaze slightly and smiled, but kept eye contact. We looked back and forth at each other several times over the next hour, but never spoke, just eye contact and smiles.

Full of confidence/hope, I made dinner reservations, at the steak house in the hotel. After another half hour passed, I got up to cash out, looked over at her and nodded to her, and she did the same. I walked over, said hello to the dealer while he was coloring her out, and took hold of her wrist and said, let’s go have dinner.

When we sat down for dinner, I ordered Chateaubriand; we had dinner and made small talk. She was in town visiting family, and would be here through the weekend. As we finished dinner, I said, let’s go dancing, and we went to Larry’s Hideaway, a small country and western lounge with a band and smallish dance floor.

When we arrived the crowd was small, we got settled, and went onto the dance floor. In country western dancing the man’s left hand and woman’s right are held as usual in dancing, but the man’s right hand/wrist is rested on the woman’s left shoulder and her hand holds the hook of his elbow. As we started dancing around the floor, I reached my hand up under her hair and grabbed a hand full at the back of her neck and held it tightly. She looked up at me, and as I held tight onto that grip of her hair, pulling her head back just the slightest, she closed her eyes, smiled, made a soft noise, and in that moment the question was asked and answered; "Are you? Yes, and yes I am".

Discovering Submissiveness 2

I do not know what happens or happened in someones development or genetics that results in that thing we call submissiveness, or dominance for that matter. However, over the years I have observed different circumstances that seem to create an awareness or awakening and lead people to discover these things about themselves.

Late last year, I posted about a young friend, marie, and her discovery of her submissiveness through a surreal event on a camping trip.

I met marie in an online rape survivors chat room. In addition to those survivors rooms, there are rooms about early experiences, and I have talked to many girls who began their sexual experiences at the hands of older men, often family members. I am sure many of these things develop out of originally innocent laps sitting, knee bouncing, tickling, wrestling, and other playfulness. Certainly not through what would be considered forced rape or assault, but expressions of caring, affection, comforting, cajoling, and conspiring. Make no mistake, these are inappropriate relationships, these girls are not of an age of consent, but the result is often much different than the rape victims discussed earlier. There is a bond and affection that develops between the young girl and the older, usually male, family member.

These relationships are most often ongoing, secretive, clandestine, conspiratorial, and non-violent. She learns how to be cute, joyful, flirtatious, how to produce a smile, she learns to develop those feminine wiles. She learns to please this man, learns pleasure from him; it begins an expression of some inherent personality bent toward submissiveness, or this experience introduces her to submissive behavior which she adopts. She becomes daddy's or grandpa's good little girl. That desire to please, and receive that mature affection, guides and influences the development of her relationships with men as she matures.

Who's your Daddy?

"Who's your daddy?" is a slang expression that takes the form of a rhetorical question. Use of the phrase implies a boastful claim of physical or sexual dominance over the intended listener. Comedians suggest that the phrase is frequently spoken by men in a Freudian outburst during sexual intercourse.

Origins

The phrase itself stands out as a noteworthy lyric from the 1968 song Time of the Season by The Zombies: "What's your name? Who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?"

Widespread provocative use of the phrase began as early as the late 1980's, largely due to its frequent use in sexually suggestive skits broadcast by a popular syndicated radio shock jock known as "The Greaseman".

Source: http://www.answers.com/topic/who-s-your-daddy-phrase?cat=entertainment

girl/girl

A great many girls had some of their earliest sexual experiences at slumber parties and other all-girl gatherings, playing games such as Truth or Dare, or some variation of these adolescent sensual socialization games. I suspect that a lot of girls first discover their sense of submissiveness (or domme-ness) through these kissing and party games that girls play late into the night.

I have read about girls who recall themselves in those games, "always wanting to be the girl/bottom" or "how embarrassed I was having all the other girls watching me" or "they made me rub between my legs until I felt like I needed to pee", many other expressions of how they felt being exposed, or involved, or placed in an embarrassing or aroused situation. I don't think these early teen or even preteen experiences necessarily lead to, or foster, either lesbian or bisexual orientations in girls, but I think there are many, many girls who get their first taste of their submissive nature during one of these slumber party games, or afternoon parties. Their first taste of sensuality comes at the hand of their friends who are equally naive, or are more brave/brazen (domme?), and they learn how it feels to do someone else's bidding, to perform in a way that pleases someone else.

Many girls have their first experiences of masturbation, or mutual masturbation or even girl on girl sexual activity "forced on them" in one of these group activities. These games go by many names:

Truth or Dare
Truth, Dare or Torture (Australian); with torture being simply for more embarrassing dares.
Lies or Play it Safe
Truth Dare, Double Dare, Promise or Repeat
Truth, Dare, Situation, Stare (India)
Tell or Torture

For the submissive girls, they were strangely attracted to these new and forbidden/taboo sensations, they felt the attraction of the entire thing, the involvement of other girls, they liked being watched, watching, they were so excited about the whole thing, often privately, because they were too embarrassed or shy to make any overt moves. They are left to wonder, how do I fulfill these feelings.

Daddy/little girl

In many discussions of the Daddy/little girl relationship, it is surprising how often some people have the idea tied to infantilization, or a perverse interest in underage girls. It is not viewed that way by those involved, but by others.

I have heard it said,

"At the extreme, the subs wear or are dressed in diapers and may use them, suck pacifiers and thumbs, play with dolls. They are bathed and tucked in. In less extreme cases, there is still an implied infantilization."

"They are sexually aroused by intimate contact with a little girl or possibly even with a daughter."

"The other motivation I imagine is that some daddy doms are relatively weak - and I don't mean that pejoratively. They have a dominant streak, but the only context in which they can safely express it is with a sub infantalized."

It has been my experience, both personally and by observation of others, that most Daddy and little girl relationships are not so different from other D/s relationships. He ties her up, he spanks her, she serves him, she gets release if he gives permission, and so on. Maybe the Daddy is older than his little girl, maybe quite a bit older. Maybe the Dom is more experienced or more mature or somehow has more authority or confidence; and the submissive defers to him. Often the overriding desires of the little girl are to be nurtured, and cared for and controlled, taught, and protected, perhaps different that the desires of other submissives and slaves who crave use and service.

But perhaps when he is Daddy it's more than just deference. It's more like he has a kind of infallibility. His authority is unchallengeable. It's not the same as the sheer power with which the slave-master asserts his will. The Daddy has a special aura of authority, in the face of which she becomes small, loses her grown-up faculties of self-determination and free will. In exchange she finds total security. I think in some cases, she is revisiting a relationship with an early authority figure in her life, perhaps one that never was completed or consumated.

It is a sense of he "he knows what is best" for his little girl and she, knowing he has her best interests at heart, will obey her Daddy and feel comfortable and secure in "knowing" his love for her and the fact that she can please him by doing his bidding. It all sounds pretty much the same as most any submissive with her Dominant. I am not sure what the definitive difference is, often the more it is discussed, the more it sounds the same.

State Stat Stuff, with apologies

One of my readers stopped by and left a comment, innocent enough, but it struck me right up side the head. I realized that in my last post, I had gotten so enamoured with the exotic nature of my visitors home locations that I inadvertently had slighted, or ignored those visitors from right here in the U.S. So with my apologies, your visits and thoughts and comments are certainly no less valued or appreciated. During that same one week period I had the good fortune to be visited by more than half of the states:

Alaska, Arizona, California, District Of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Texas, Virginia, Washington, and Wisconsin

Thank you one and all, no matter where you are.

Stat Stuff

I have read the blogs of others and the interesting discoveries they have made while slogging through their stats. Today I was hit with a smiliar "revelation". In just the first 5 days of this month I have had the honor of being visited by people from the following cities/countries. Even for someone who lives in a social hub city like Las Vegas, this is moderately amazing:

Australia, Bundaberg, Queensland
Australia, Melbourne, Victoria
Australia, Perth, Western Australia
Belgium, Mortsel, Antwerpen
Belgium, Brussels, Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest
Canada, Calgary, Alberta
Canada, Surrey, British Columbia
Canada, Barrie, Ontario
Canada, Brampton, Ontario
Canada, Montreal, Quebec
Croatia, Zagreb, Grad Zagreb
Egypt
France, Paris, Ile-de-france
Germany, Berlin, Berlin
Italy, Spoleto, Umbria
Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, Wilayah Persekutuan
Netherlands, Amsterdam, Noord-holland
Republic of Korea, Seoul, Kyonggi-do
Russian Federation, Moscow, Moskva
Spain, Santander, Cantabria
Spain, Barcelona, Catalonia
Stockholm, Stockholms Lan
United Kingdom, Bath, England
United Kingdom, Brighton, England
United Kingdom, Coventry, England
United Kingdom, London, England

Things like this serve as a reminder of how pervasive the Internet is, some little blog about the ramblings of a dirty old man (isn't that with Dom means?) is scattered all of the globe. If any of you distant travelers/visitors would offer a simple comment/hello it would be interesting to have your feedback.

I guess I better be a little more careful about the things I say, (yea, right).

Becca on D/s

Becca is a young college girl who started a conversation with me about an early experience she had with an older man who touched her and gotten very familiar with her. Over time and discussions, it turned out that she had not been molested as she said, it has been a rouse to start a conversation. As we talked over time she asked about my screen name, DSinVegas. I told her that it was a reference to Dominance and submission. I asked her to write me a little essay about what Dominance and submission meant to her.

Dominance and submission were only words to me prior to meeting my on-line friend David. Although now that I have a limited sense of what they mean, I recognize that I have had those types of thoughts for some time.

My thoughts in the past have often involved a submissive aspect I suppose. I remember, so many years ago, when I first began to masturbate, about age 12, even then that I would put myself in imaginary situations. Ones over which I had no control. Ones in which I imagined being told to take off my clothes by some make-believe bad man. A man who wanted to see what I looked like. I imagined having to completely undress. Which I knew even at that age was a naughty thing. In bed in my darkened room I imagined the embarrassment of having to do so. It was make believe so I was really not scared, but imagined being scared. Like a kidnapped girl would be, totally helpless. Required to do as he said or I might never be let go. Yet there was a very excited feeling that came over me as I imagined undressing in front of him. Watching as he looked at my developing body. As I did so, I would rub and touch myself. Further imagining the man was watching me play. Ordering me not to stop touching. I thought of the embarrassment of being in that situation. The fear a girl my age would feel. But yet the excitement of this imaginary situation caused me to have my first orgasms.

My recent visit to Lover's Lane (an adult toy store), and seeing the ankle and wrist bands, realizing how they're intended to be used, only fed fuel to the fire in my imagination. I was further able to imagine the embarrassment and helplessness one would feel being naked and tied down. Not able to cover up. Not able to even close one's legs together to hide one's most private parts. Last night I imagined my self being submissive, tied naked to a table, legs and arms pulled tight in four different directions. Embarrassed to be in that situation, yet excited at the thought.

Deviance - C M N F

A frequent theme on submissive blogs is objectification and exhibitionism, two somewhat related activities. An interesting manifestation of this is CMNF (Clothed Male, Naked Female), involving one or more females in the presence of several or many clothed men.

(There is a corresponding CFNM. Some quick Googling actually produces more “mainstream” examples of CFNM).

For quite a while I was a regular visitor to a website (http://cmnf.co.uk/) that offered a free and open exchange of photos and videos of this kind of activity. That site became a pay site about a year ago and recent attempts to access the front page now return a blank Index page. Clearly many of the pictures were posed, but some were genuine examples and it was obvious that there was considerable embarrassment, humiliation and shame, as well as arousal and eroticism for the girls involved. This kind of activity is much too “out there” for most of America, and virtually all of the examples I have seen appear to be in England, France or Scandinavian countries. I wouldn’t be surprised to find this kind of activity going on at college campuses, fraternities and so on, but not much elsewhere, certainly not as openly as it seems to be in Europe.

I have participated in small examples of this, such as Super Bowl parties with lifestyle friends where one or more submissives acted as servers to the assembled party guests. I have also attended dinner parties where wife of the host was naked, and acting quite normally but obviously compelled by her Master.

I always love the way Wikipedia describes perversions; so, CMNF is a term for a paraphilia (look that one up sometime) involving one or more nude women and one or more clothed men. It is generally used as a label for pictorial erotica or pornography, or a sexual fantasy depicting such a scenario; however, CMNF gatherings of men and women interested in this type of erotic pursuit do occur as well. CMNF is also a type of sexual objectification of women by men.

The general category of "CMNF" is fairly broad, encompassing several different types of scenario. The most common subdivisions of the genre involve either an activity under the rubric of male domination, exhibitionism or entertainment; combination of all categories is somewhat rare, although several web sites cater to the subgenres separately. See also Erotic humiliation.

Please Visit, Read, and Comment

Please take a couple minutes out of your day to visit Luna_lux and read this post, and take an additional moment to add a comment: Repost: homophobia.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

I came across a list of favorites at the Thinking Dominant Blog, suggesting you define your favorite activities in the context of what you like best in a D/s relationship. I found that type of information might well energize a discussion going with others, as we are often asked what we like or don't like. Thanks for providing a handy reference.

Getting to Know Yourself

A couple of bloggers I have read recently, have identified/labeled themselves in the context of the Myer-Briggs or Keirsey Temperaments. It reminded me that I had taken this temperament sorter several years ago and refreshed it fairly recently.

This is particularly interesting for those of us, like me, who love to analyze and think things through. Or, for anyone interesting in knowing more about why people do what they do, and react the way they react. It is particularly good to identifying feeling types, or thinkers, giving insight into how people perceived and react to experiences.

The Keirsey Temperament Sorter is the most widely used personality instrument in the world. This information has helped many people have a better understanding of each other.

As it turns out, I scored out as a Mastermind (a Rational), an iNTj.

Have some fun, learn a little, take the Keirsey Temperament Sorter Enjoy!

Fall baby, fall apart

Oh look, there you go again
Putting on that smile again
Even though I know you've had a bad day.

Doing this and doing that
Always putting yourself last
A whole lotta give and not enough take.

But you can only be strong so long before you break
So fall, go on and fall apart
Fall into these arms of mine
and I’ll catch you, every time you fall.

Go on and lose it all
Every doubt, every fear, every worry, every tear
I’m right here, baby fall
And if you wanna let go baby, its okay.
Fall into these arms of mine
and I’ll catch you.

- Fall by Clay Walker

The Submissive Wife Project

I ran across an interesting website while browsing around and wonder if anyone has any experience with or knowledge of it? I know from limited reading that it is not a public forum and is passionate about guarding the privacy and content. You can start at their CommunityBlog which then has links to the rest of their public content.

It seems an interesting premise and I am curious if anyone knows or is involved?

Discovering submissiveness

I came across marie in a chat room. As we talked she told me she recently had a sexual encounter with a man that troubled her; partially because it was uninvited but much more so because of how she reacted and how she felt, both at the time and her desires ever since. She went on to explain.

About 4 months before, she had been camping with family friends, and had gotten up to go to pee just before getting into her sleeping bag for the night. It was a public campground and so had permanent, plumbed bathrooms. When she came out of the stall, there was a man there. He told her to go stand facing the wall and to put her hands against the wall. He then proceeded to reach up under her t-shirt and fondled her breasts and nipples while he took himself out and slowly stroked. She looked over to see what he was doing and he told her to keep looking straight ahead at the wall. After some time, he moved his hand down across her tummy and then slid it into the waist band of her shorts, and inside her panties and proceeded to finger her. She said she was embarrassed by how wet she got, standing there with a stranger's hand in her panties, not moving in any way to object, breathing heavier and heavier.

He then told her to get down on her knees and lean forward over the end of the bench. He knelt down behind her, and pulled down short/panties, and remarked repeatedly how wet she was, as he entered her from behind. After a while he came in her, got up and left. As he was leaving he told her to stay there over the bench until he was gone. After he left she reached down and fingered herself to an orgasm, still there bending over the bench. She then cleaned her self up, got her clothes all back in place, and went back and got into her sleeping bag, and went to sleep.

During that entire time no one came in, she never thought to cry out, she never protested, and said the main thought in her mind was that she hoped no one would come in and see what she was letting him do. A complete stranger, an older man, having his way with her in a campground bathroom, in the middle of the night; fondling her breasts and nipples, fingering her, taking her from behind.


That first chat room "meeting" with marie was just over two years ago, and we have continued to talk regularly ever since. We have spent a lot of time discussing that rape, and how it led to or fostered her feelings of submissiveness, or if there was really any connection between the two at all. Sometimes we talk a couple times a day, and there are times when we do not talk for weeks. But, I am always there for her, and she always seeks my counsel about changes in her life.

She was very confused by her behavior during that whole event, and by her feelings toward men afterwards. She had noticed men who looked at her "that way", dominant men who recognize that look about her, the way she responds to their gaze, transfixed. These are not just horny men looking at a pretty girl; it is like they know what kind of girl she is. She had noticed them some before that camping trip, and was noticing them much more now, in the few months after. She has come to recognize and enjoy her submissive nature, but still is conflicted at times because that slut in her is so vastly different from how she acts in her day to day life.

Does the recognition of submissiveness come from early stirrings, or meeting a dominant man and a relationship is formed that is mutually agreeable, or someone courts you and draws you out? Or, does submission sometimes flash upon you in the face out of some kind of adversity? How did you come to recognize your submissive nature?

Everyone Has to Start Somewhere, Here is for Me

I had followed the blog of the English Gentleman, Roper, for quite some time and while I did not agree with some of his views, I find myself to be generally of the same ilk. Most of the dominant writings you find seem to focus on heavy, S&M, slave relations, and that was why Roper always appealed to my more sensuality based, broad range control style.

Other that the obvious loss of Roper's content, one of the valuable things lost were the wonderful links to other blogs he displayed. I have found some of the links by googling "english gentleman roper blog" which led me to littlegirlyone and her lament about his disappearance. From her I have collected a few of the good ones he had listed also, and will be adding more.

For now this will be a repository for links rediscovered, and read and appreciated. I have roamed the AOL online community for almost 13 years and confess I am new to this Blogger community, but like very much what I have seen so far.

Thank you all.