The Risks We Accept

I was asked by a friend of ours recently, "how do you engage in polyamory without having your heart broken?" The simple answer is, you don't. There is no way, in my experience, to open yourself up so significantly to someone, invite them into the very essence of yourself, and not risk that potential for heartache. 

You can ride the highs, delight in the laughter, and become drunk on the passion. But for every peak, there is an equivalent valley. Two sides of the same coin every participant chooses as currency. Trust, caring, desire, even love: all things that have their shadow selves. These are the things we risk when we engage in this life style. 

We hope and trust that the people we choose are what they say they are, and that they care for us in kind. The only recourse we really have is to be ourselves; to give as we would, to care as we always would, and to trust. And in this, we can build incredible relationships that span years or more. Or not...

Just because we are faced with the potential for pain and heartache, doesn't mean we have to be victims of it. If we accept both the highs and the lows, face the realization that with one comes the potential for the other, we are better able to choose how we face it. To choose to care for someone when trust has been betrayed, to forgive and show compassion... It is in no way an easy thing. Succumbing to bitterness and anger, that is easy. But the right thing is never easy and the easy thing is never worth doing. 

And, sometimes, the connection we make, no matter how long or how brief, is worth that risk...

You Are So Nice...

The other day I went to have some work done on my vehicle. Though I usually prefer to do as much of my own maintenance on my car, the weather made it necessary to take it in. I went to the local Walmart auto center, giving me a chance to do some holiday shopping as well. Where I also prefer to have my slave do most of the shopping errands, I can't very well have her do her own holiday shopping now can I? 

But, I digress, I checked my car into the system with a nice young lady who greeted me when I entered. She asked me the usual service questions; what type of oil, any additional services, etc. She then checked in the garage with her colleagues, who appeared to all be on break. She returned to let me know that it should take about 45 minutes, hopefully less. I never take my car in when I'm pressed for time so I was not concerned about how long it would take. I smiled and let her know that would be fine and off shopping I went. 

I should take this moment to mention that I strive to be quite mannerly in my public interactions, one thing I've always aspired to since I was young. Always the gentleman. 

Silent Too Long...

I find myself being too easily drawn into my own silence. That inner belief that what I have to say often doesn't matter, a self defeating expression of opinion. Opinions get a bad rep. Largely be cause they so often are too easily taken as fact or the way it is. I have an opinion. Hell, I have lots of opinions and I try to keep them honest to themselves. 

They are the expressions of how I see the world and how I carry my self within it. They are as important as the opinions of others, no more, no less. I've had the chance recently to have a couple of friendly debates regarding belief and such. It was refreshing to remind myself that there is always the chance to express your opinions without having to wield them like weapons with which to beat ones opponent down. To listen to the ideas and opinions of others without feeling like they are trying to reprogram oneself.

As a result, I have found my voice again. My desire to share my opinion with all of you. As many of you who have followed us over the years may have noticed, I sometimes go through periods of this silence. I thank you for sticking with us. 

I wanted to take this opportunity to once again publicly express my deep appreciation for my creature. Owned slave and property, artist, mother of two, and more... And yet she always serves with such a smile, no matter what I subject her to. Don't get me wrong, there is a fair amount of whining too. After all, what is a torture without a fair amount of begging and sobbing? And, as I've mentioned before, my slave is the type where the true reward, the pay off, is not necessarily in the action, but being helplessly forced into and through the situation. There is a lot of fun to be had in that. 

Rambling rambles...

It has been a little while since I have posted an entry, and I wanted to share some of the fun we have had. I try to focus this blog upon our kinky adventures, but we also try to show the reality of the Owner/property lifestyle, the good and the bad. The bumps in the road and the moments of smooth sailing.

Recently there has been quite a bit of good, and I am very grateful for it. As we have posted recently, we have been joined by my willinglittlepet, my collared second slave. It has been a very delightful and rewarding experience for all of us thus far. Oh, the kids have kept us from having much play time together as a group, but we have had at least one night all together to play in a hotel room. The connection between the three of us runs deeper than just the shared interest in kink, play, and my ownership of them. My girls share interests in common in reading, spirituality, interest in rocks and stones, food (though not the patience for more time intensive recipes), etc. Delightful and beyond my hopes.

Since that night in the hotel, the pet has spent the night in my bed twice now. Bound both times, of course. In chains. The first night, we were all together; me, my creature, and my pet. The second time was this past weekend, the night of her first trip to the Sanctuary, and that time it was just the two of us. What a fun night was that. Such a cute little pet of mine. I bound her for the ride down, a short chain locked under the car seat, shackles and handcuffs padlocked to the chain. As an added bonus, a pair of painted in sun glasses, a public blindfold. We had a great conversation and the occasional reach over grope. 

Owning her has been quite a pleasure. Given that she lives in a near by town, there is a component of distance but also frequent visits to allow for training, play, corrections, or what have you. For the distance aspect, the pet is required to text me, as creature does, whenever she leaves one location and is headed for another. Additionally she is required to text me at bed time and when she wakes. There are certain rules she must follow throughout her day, but for the most part, I have not dictated much regarding her schedule or day. My pet is young and in college, has friends and family and as such has some degree of autonomy, however, she is always to consider how her actions would reflect upon me. Sort of a guideline in lieu of specific rules.The pet wears her collar, an identical metal ring to creature's, each day but I allow her constant access to the key if it needs to be removed for family or functions.

The pet's friends have been supportive of our situation, even those that are not inclined themselves. Either through curiosity or just friendly caring, they have come to understand and accept that she is my property and what that basically entails. Some have even been kind enough to take pictures of the marks I have left on her, and oh have there been some marks. A couple of her friends have their own interest and have been talking about putting up a Fetlife page of their own. I keep eagerly anticipating this, though have not seen one yet. 

Even the logistics have worked out beautifully, better than I had thought. From the beginning, pet was introduced to the whole family. As far as the children are concerned, she is another family friend that comes over on occasion. The creature will take the children out on errands or visits when the pet comes over for play. However, my eldest has begun to ask questions of her visits; "What is she doing with daddy? Why are we leaving and she's coming over?" The curiosity of babes. As a result, we have had to adjust. When the pet came over this past weekend, she had to text me when she arrived and wait outside for me to come down. When we came back, and she spent the night, the next morning we had to sequester the children in their room so that we could say our goodbyes. It was hard and felt wrong. The whole point was to avoid her having to be a secret. I know it is temporary and the creature is right when she says that more opportunities to have the pet over for dinner and just hanging out time will make it easier on him. 

Still, given all the potential complications and challenges, this has been an incredible adventure and I am so grateful. Here is to many, many more adventures! Stay tuned, dear reader...

First Meeting, her Perspective

 I wanted to introduce my sweet willinglittlepet. This is her first, but definitely not last, blog entry here at RolesDefiningRules. Here, she discusses her perspective on our first meeting together...

Walking to the front door of the restaurant, I was nervous. Trying to trick myself into being confident and then I rounded the corner and spotted Master-Reaper. Upon seeing the man who had been delighting my mind I was still nervous, but it was a richer feeling… I wanted to give into the fear. The initial meeting was exactly as our online conversations had been, comfortable and open. Soon Master-Reaper decided it was time we go back to his home to get to know each other even better.

I was able to meet his entire, wonderful family whom welcomed me with open arms. We all talked together, I delighting at the time to finally see the beautiful woman who graced all the photos I had stalked on Master-Reaper’s FetLife page. The meeting smoothly transitioned into just Master-Reaper and I in his bedroom. I got down on my knees to wait for him to retrieve the camera that lay downstairs, just out of our reach. When he turned the knob, I felt my face erupt into a smile at his return.

Master requested I move closer to him and I happily did feeling his hands gentling touching my face. His hands on my drove me wild and I felt myself tremble as he explored my clothed body. After he was satisfied, I removed my clothing for him. I lay down on the floor as he tease my pussy still covered by the thing cloth of underwear. Master told me some other positions he wanted me to use and I practiced and showed him them. 

New Little pet...

So a few posts ago I wrote an entry called "Interesting Times" in which I mentioned how I was contacted by a dominant who wanted me to train his long distance submissive. I had mentioned that our first encounter had not taken place as a result of illness, but that I was very interested in meeting this young lady. 

A couple weeks later, and I had considered that the arrangement had fallen through and I didn't expect to hear from either of them again. However, just this passed Sunday, I did get a message from this lovely young lady. She had parted ways from her dominant at the time, the one who had contacted me for the arrangement previously mentioned, and that she still really wanted to have the chance to meet.

Well, I have to say I was a bit surprised, but I was extremely interested in meeting her and seeing what there might as far as opportunities between us. I wrote her back and within a day we were chatting up a storm. It was delightful talking about all the things she wanted to experience, what she had done up to this point, and even a little bit about where she wanted to end up. As a college student, the amount of time she could safely consider dedicating to any arrangement would be tied to her degree program. But that gives us the potential for up to two years of opportunities! How can I pass that up?

Up to that point, she had not been introduced to Fetlife. So I had her create a profile, willinglittlepet on Fetlife. We agreed to meet, much as we had discussed before, at a local diner. A public, safe setting for us both to get comfortable and enjoy a nice meal and get to know each other. Should everything go okay, which it definitely did, we would then head back to my place so she could meet my slave, our kids, and then share our first foray into fun. Just as planned, we met mid week, shared a lovely meal, and, as we were both comfortable with each other thus far, we did go back to my place. 

The Milking

I suppose it has been a long time coming. Little hints along the way, pointing to the obvious culmination of all our little lactation jokes cresting on the horizon. I've kept her producing, even though our little one no longer breastfeeds. The tits are all mine again! And I keep them hard, firm, and full of milk. 

It fuels her thoughts and desires to be a simple animal, kept and of use. The slave wrote a bit of fiction, a story of being reduced to nothing more than a cow. Placed on all fours, her voice stolen by a gag, hands wrapped tightly into hooves. He places a pail under her udders, telling her of the coming humiliation. He wraps his hands around her breast and works her engorged flesh. The milk sprays into the pail with an audible hiss. He laughs as her body reddens at the sound, a blush of humiliation from head to toe. A deep, long moan escapes the gag. He continues, forcing the milk out of her, spraying it into the growing puddle at the bottom of the pail. 

His unforgiving grip elicited uncontrolled mewing, her bosom heaving with her growing desire. Milky moisture building at the gateway of her wagging sex as he milked her dry. Her udders grew more and more tender with each crushing caress, bringing tears to her eyes as the final droplets fell with a resounding plink.

I had enjoyed reading her story quite a bit. It struck me every bit as the the culmination of our animal play and constant breast engorgement efforts! It started as we were laying around in the living room together, the children playing games, my hand down my slave's shirt massaging her tender tits, the first droplets of milk soaking between my fingers. I worked the tender nipples, causing little sprays of white cream to lance out. It delighted me, twisting them to spray her in the face, watching her lick up the mess from my hands. That sealed it. 

As soon as the kiddos were tucked securely in bed, I brought my cow to the room and began the transformation. On her knees, I wrapped her hands in Vet wrap to seal her fingers into helpless hooves. The slave had placed her recently purple dyed hair into delightful pig tails and they swayed enticingly as I finished the application of the wrap. Next, a tender kiss to her trembling lips before forcing the large, soft ball of the leather panel gag into her mouth, buckling it closed around her head. I forced a test moan or two from her packed mouth with a squeeze of the dangling nipples. The metal rings around her wrists and ankles were bound together with double ended clips. The final touch, a bell attached to her collar rang out with each struggling  movement as I pulled her into position over the metal dog dish, my substitute pail. 

Her udders dangled beautifully over the glint of the awaiting metal dish. I took them into my hand, working my fingers down the length of the tit. I enjoyed her whimpering at my touch. The first droplets began to fall, dripping into the dish. My fingers worked her swollen glands, deeply massaging the tissues as milk began flowing into the bowl. Oh how she moaned, that deep longing groan. 

      "Such a cow!" I teased her. My slave's hips bucked. I reached back around her ass, slipping an exploring finger into her puffy lips. I was not surprised in the least to find her dripping wet and hot to the touch. "Just a beast," I chided. Again, she mooed her desperate need. But we still had a long way to go. I worked her nipple between my fingers, the flow growing to a heavy spray, ringing into the metal dish. My cow quivered as I brought her attention to the sound. Again and again, the spray shot into the dish, occasionally overshooting the edge and soaking into the carpet. 

Eventually, the flow on the first tit ebbed and my grinding touch brought the last, tentative drops into the bowl. The cow whimpered piteously, thumping into me with her hips. 
     "I'll let you know when I'm done, cow," I told her, rolling her nipple between my finger tips. My slave sobbed as I pressed on.

With the last of the secretions drained from her reddened flesh, I allowed her a moment to rest before we started the next side. The cute bell jingling as she pulled eagerly away from the bowl. I enjoyed the noticeable difference in her udders, the worked tit sagged in comparison to her unmolested breast. I teased her bell, flicking it with my finger, enjoying the blush in her cheeks, bound beneath the gag strap.  



The break came to an end and I instructed my cow to return to her position. Instantly, she obeyed, crawling back over the bowl as her bell cried out at her hobbled movements. My fingers found her eager flesh and I began the milking on the other side. My cow slave mooed and moaned as milk poured from her tit. 

Hot cream filled the bottom of the dish, the level rising as time passed. Eventually, the milk began to run dry in the other side as well and her hip grinding and moaning were having such a delicious effect on me. As was the sight of her being milked like a heifer at my feet. Just my little animal, thoughtless and humping; a creature. 

I flicked her nipple, sending the last droplets spattering into the bowl. My cow whimpered and twisted her hips, trying to escape. With a final slap, I let her collapse to the side of the dish, trying to sooth her well worked udders against the carpet. The defeated groan that escaped her trapped, compressed lips was delicious. I turned my attention to the bottom of the dish, enjoying the sight of her cream sloshing in the bowl. It would make a nice treat for the cow. 

But first, it was time for me to get some use out of her. I pulled her onto the bed and had my way with her until I was satisfied. During that time, the cream had had a chance to cool under 

the constant blowing of the AC. It was time for my cow to enjoy her treat. The gag had been removed while using her, and she licked her lips while looking at her secretions. 

"Are you ready for your treat, cow?" I asked, placing my hand on her neck, the bell ringing at my touch. She smiled, and I pulled her down, bringing her face to the bowl.
"May I," she asked, and I nodded. There was no hesitation in her tongue as it lapped at the cooled cream. Lick after lick, her milk was consumed until she was licking the bowl clean, pushing it around with her effort to get every last drop. Finished, she looked up at me with a wet smile and a smudge of white cream on her nose. 
"My good cow," I said, patting her back side. My slave beamed up at me with her broad, moist smile before wiping her face on the carpet. 
"How are these?" I asked, gripping her dangling udders. She groaned, pulling her arms in tight. "Well used?" I added, and she nodded. 

Spent, she turned and collapsed at my feet with a final jingle of her bell. My sweet cow slave, drained in so many ways, cuddled up to my legs and sighed her contentment at being used. After all, she is just an animal...

The Box...

The following is an original work of fiction. Given my propensity for creating such works, I have a surplus. It dawns on me that I should probably seek a publisher and make these writings work for me (to feed my kinky addictions). If any of you dear readers have any suggestions for publishing options, please email my slave at junderb at g mail dot com.

Out in the middle of nowhere, along a long stretch of a all-but-forsaken highway, lies a farmer's field. It stretches out under the scorching sun for what must be miles in each direction. The ground is flat and dry and hot under the constant pounding of the sun. It is between the growing seasons and the crops have all been long harvested, the new seeds yet to be planted. Occasional clouds of dust would be kicked up by the wind and dance its cyclonic dance before dissipating as suddenly as it started.

In this field, there stands a lone, solitary, single box. Nearly four feet tall and nearly as wide on both sides, with a peaked roof, it is a wooden box with sheets of metal tacked to it. What paint there might have been has long been dried and sand blasted off by the wind; the wood looks faded and as dry as the dirt around it. The sun glints off the metal plates, shining for miles in all directions. For those driving along the forsaken highway, it must stand as a momentary curiosity. What is the purpose of this box out in the middle of this field? Who would build such a box? Why would they tack metal sheets to its sides?

But the box would just as quickly be forgotten as the horizon stretched on for the weary, hot travelers. Forgotten, but ever vigilant over the fields on either side, a lone centurion. Very few would ever guess the true purpose of the box, and even those that would dream up its cruel purpose would scarcely believe that anyone would actually use it for such a purpose. “Who would really do that sort of thing anyway?” they would likely think to themselves.

Along the only stretch of road the divides the two fields, comes an old pickup truck. The antiquated metal springs that serves as the shocks of this truck squeak and screech as it bumps along the old dirt road. It is the only sound of significance on a day like today beside the occasional call of a hunting falcon. A cloud of dirt and dust fills the air behind the truck like a wake, blown gently by the late morning breeze. The truck heads toward the lone box with some intent.

Ten Minute Touch Therapy...

So I found myself home unexpectedly the last two days and, unlike yesterday, our littlest one decided to take a nap. Now, when I say take a nap, I mean my poor slave took the little one upstairs and placed her into the baby jail and let her scream until she finally fell asleep. Not exactly soothing. 

So when the text came that she was down, I went up quickly hoping to capitalize on the moment. My poor slave has been so frazzled the last few days and all that wear and stress showed in her form. Now, last night there was the faintest hope that we would have the chance together. A hope that was, as usual, not fulfilled. I know the slave had intentions, be it bondage and sex or what have you. But today, as she knelt there on the floor looking numbly up at me there was no intent and very little hope, just need. I know how the depression of stress can taint the mind. I asked her what it was she wanted or needed to have. Bondage? Sex? Torment? Being bound and hooded, left without little hands pawing at her or screaming in her ears? 

My slave responded with one word. Well more of an implication of a word that she had used the night before. Touch. Simple moments being reduced to an object in my hands, feeling the heat of my body pressed against her. This was communicated by her burring her head in my chest and remain unmoving. We had little time so I ordered her to strip and get into the bed. Oh fantastic side note, the slave surprised me after a shopping trip last week or so with black satin sheets. Normally, items purchased outside the list sent with her make me raise an eyebrow and often a swat or two to her bum. This, on the other hand was a most welcome treat. Earlier today she had cleaned upstairs and placed these new sheets on the bed. I intend to get a few shots of them, with some lovey garnish of course. I digress. 

Onto the bed she climbed, immediately burying herself into her blanket. I laughed, and retrieved the blindfold from the drawer and a length of rope from the shelf. I pulled the blanket from her and slipped into my bed, caught instantly by the surprising feel of satin against my naked body. Cold but so soft like liquid metal. So delicious. I ordered my slave to sit up and face the other direction as I bound her hands behind her back. The blind fold was pulled over her eyes next, sealing her into a world of feeling and sound. I pulled her down next to me and she fell into my arms, pressing her naked body against mine. We lay like that for a while, entwined, her helpless in my grasp. It was heavenly, an instant of just the two of us. I love the feel of a naked woman, grinding against me without the use of her hands. Making love with every part of her body in the absence of the most prominent appendage of touch. I, of course, had every intention to spread her legs and mine my pleasure from her. My fingers found her wet and hot, an eager tremble coursed through her. Just a perfect moment. 

A moment that ended with the sound of our stirring little one. A depressed sigh in unison is an interesting thing and something that my slave and I share more and more often. The little one's nap lasted no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish and our unity less than ten. However, it helped. We could both feel it. Another brief stimulant to get us through this drought. Now, to repeat this therapy for two or three sessions a day every day and we might just find our selves being okay again...

Public Service Announcement

And now for a word on addictive habits: I do not have many vices. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs and have no interest in doing so. I don't gamble. I don't participate in the destruction of public or private property, and I don't revel in antiestablishmentarianism. Even I have to ask, just what the hell do I do? Am I some kind of straight-laced, white bread, goody-two-shoes? A stick in the mud? Of course not. Despite the fact that my laces, when I have them, are indeed straight (a trait governed by my OCD thank you very much), and I do, in fact, prefer white bread over wheat. And yes, I do have two good shoes (why would I put up with anything less?). And I have, on occasion, been stuck in the mud. 

So where, exactly, do I allow my self to cut loose and exercise the darker aspects of my soul? I'm sure the answer is no surprise to you, dear reader. Sex. That glorious and varied playground of physical and psychological wonderment. The vice that exercises nearly every aspect of the entirety of a person, and provides a development unlike any vice mentioned above. And I am an addict, utterly obsessed.

Lust, that most potent of vices. Driving desire, heightening the senses, altering the perception of time and space. My drug of choice. The high that keeps on giving. I have spent hours chasing that dragon; lost in a multitude of my own scenes, downloading porn videos, reading erotica, sifting through picture after picture on Fet, blogs, tumbler, and favorite sites across the web. I live it every day, when the kids allow. I see it everywhere I go.

Honestly, spending time in public is painful. When I see a pretty little thing walk by and my mind wonders at her talents. I envision rope wrapped around her frame and chains hanging from cuffs around her wrists. Imagining her following at the tug of a leash behind me. I have to look away, only to see another and another and yet more. A sweet misery, and as is appropriate, I have to share with the slave. It's fun to see her reactions and know that she is just as afflicted as I. Together we have moaned our way through many a store, or park... or restaurant... or bank lobby... or... Come to think about it, just about everywhere. Oddly, not at the Department of Motor Vehicles though. But, I digress. 

One of the most difficult aspects of this addiction for me is work. I have a rule, I do not play at work. It causes too many potential issues, too much gossip, and a mess that is not worth it, no matter how delicious or obviously interested or likely a perspective play partner may be. Which is hard, of course, for two reasons. With our kiddos I don't get out much for socializing or play and as such work is really the only place I spend enough time with other people to get a feel for who they are. The other reason is that a friend of mine from the local scene also works in the same building and, knowing my interests, will introduce me to others in her department who share our predilections. Being polite to a fault (I don't even partake in rude behavior as a vice), I smile and talk a bit about their interests, all the while the rule screams in my mind like a siren. Who knows what fun I am denying myself, loosing out on that one vice that I crave, because of that rule? And yet, I still feel it is best to keep it intact... No matter how much it pains me.

Even now while writing this, I am perving pictures on my phone, like an IV drip sustaining me throughout the day. A necessity as without it I am likely to drag my slave up stairs by a handful of hair, bind her in metal cuffs, and relieve my desires with her again and again. A scenario that is well within my purview as her owner but not with regards to our children. And so I am relegated to sating my cravings in what small ways I can, usually multiple times a day... locked behind closed doors... alone. And it is never enough. As my girl tells me, even if we had a whole week without the kids, dedicated to these desires, it would not sate me. Maybe she's right, but how can I be sure until we try?

I have considered pursing a career in porn, but then I just laugh and laugh to my self. It is hard enough at the moment to get a couple of quick snapshots with my phone in the scattered and brief moments I do get to use my slave, never mind the planned and involved scenes I aspire to. Then there's having children. Take your kids to work day would be a nightmare and require years of counseling. Taking my work home with me would result in much the same. As it is, I cannot have friends over for a simple meet-and-bind because of them. Hell, our friends won't even come over for simple gatherings. The isolation of parenthood I suppose. 

All that, and I hardly have the abs of a porn star. Cock, yes. Abs, no. Also, you know what they say, when you take a passion and turn it into a career, it becomes a job and why would I ever want to tarnish such a perfect obsession? So yes, I have considered it. I put that in the same category at the moment as astronaut and pirate as likely career goals at this stage in my life. I do hold some small hope of becoming more of a figure in the kink world, a presenter or what have you. But porn star, not so much. 

So, for now I suppose that I will have to keep taking what opportunities I can and suffer through the withdraws. As our little one ages, I am sure that things will normalize. I was even all set to go down to Denver for last night's Sanctuary club get together, and had the slave not just had her molar removed (see my previous post) I probably would have. That is something I could not have considered just a few months ago and next month I am definitely going. So, there is hope on the horizon, even if only the faintest hint. 

This has been a Public Service Announcment...

slave Maintenance...

As with all possessions, sometimes a slave needs a bit of maintenance. For some time now we have been planning a trip to the dentist for the girl and now that our little one is weening off of breast feeding (yes, I'm finally getting my tits back), it was time to take her in. The slave was quite nervous, she hates the dental experience and I have to admit, this made me eager to see her squirm. 

Yesterday I took her in and we began the process. An imaging scan and initial exam let us know just how she has been doing. There was a trouble-some molar that needed to come out and some other work that needed to be seen to. All in all, not bad. They scheduled an extraction for her this morning. Oh you should have seen the anticipation roiling just under the flesh. How anxious she became as time drew nearer and nearer. Now I usually will drop her to her knees and shove her face to the floor is she gets uppity with me, but in moments like this when it is obviously the result of nervous fear, I tend to cut her more slack. Though, admittedly, I will subtly add to her concern by mentioning little things here and there. I enjoy the fear in her eyes, flickering like a wind blown candle. 

I had every desire to bind her, strap her down to the dentist's chair and watch her squirm and whimper as they went to work. Sadly, our dentist does not allow for that option. Besides, someone had to stay with the baby, after all. So, no comfort found in the helplessness of bonds. Also, given the very small chance that something went wrong, her collar needed to be removed before both trips, to be returned to her neck the moment we returned home. Not even the comfort of her collar to be had in the face of dental work. Poor slave. 

When the moment came, she was quite the trooper and followed her would-be tormentor willingly to the back room. I also had a tooth removed some short time ago and as such am intimately familiar with the process and the recovery. To my surprise, however, her extraction was not near as difficult as mine. The dentist did not need to drill into the side of the tooth to get a good grasp. No needles were broken in the effort to numb the tooth's nerve. Nor did the dentist need to all but place a knee upon her chest to yank the bastard tooth from it's bed. It also took a fraction of the overall time to remove her trouble-some molar. 

The slave returned from the back room with even a hint of a smile on her lips. Masochist. The localized anesthetic used creates such a false sense of pain management. It wears off slowly, letting the pain soak into the very bone. Not sharp pricks or pangs but a throbbing, dull ache that drills itself into your consciousness. You become fatigued as if sitting up straight is too much to manage and sitting still is near impossible. It hurts too much to get up and walk about, but your legs don't seem to get the hint as they work restlessly beneath you. The slave's smiles and energy began to drain from her as we risked a trip to the store after the procedure. The first droning of pain began to hit her as we wrapped up and headed out of the store. By the time we were home, it was really beginning to show. Still, ever my trooper and eager to serve, she spent the rest of the evening going back and forth between laying on the couch, with kind permission of yours truly, and managing the house and kids. 

Despite the weeks of healing to come, and the fact that those coveted stolen blow jobs between naps are not in our immediate future, the tooth's removal has already improved my slave's mouth and she feels a significant degree of relief. And I, though again sacrificing my beloved blow jobs to the pyre of maintenance, feel that same degree of satisfaction one would have after taking a car in to have the brakes replaced or the oil changed. Relief and satisfaction. My property properly maintained...

Rope Demo #1

Master-Reaper had a friend who asked Him to do a breakdown and explanation of a picture found on FetLife. As Master tends to be mechanically minded, it was easier for Him to record a demo of the process. 

We both had a lot of fun doing this for our friend, and would be happy to do this as requested, for any tie we've done or found elsewhere online. Either drop us a note in a comment, or over on FetLife, and we'll see if we can't demo the tie!

The picture in question was found on Clover's FetLife profile. The model in the photo is Scarlot-Rose, the rope done by WykD_Dave, and the photography by Clover. (Beautiful!)

It's In the Bag...

Warning: Breath Play related post, read at your own insatiable curiosity...

A week or so ago, the girl admitted to me that she had been on the edge of asking to be bagged, and would have had we had a chance. I was floored. Breath play being one of my favorite things to do to the slave, and bagging being one of the top three options, I love it. The girl, on the other hand, would normally place being bagged in the same category as being anally raped by a cactus. So for her to willing request it of her own volition and without previous mention... Again, I was floored. 

In the standard cruel nature of timing and child rearing, we have not had so much as an opportunity since she mentioned her interest. That is, until this weekend. Last night, we had a long list of highly enticing ideas rolling around our mutual brains and bagging was definitely on my list. When the child finally went down, we took our chance. However, having such a long list, the opportunity to pull the plastic bag over her head didn't arise during the night. I tortured her, I fucked her, we both felt more like ourselves. 

Feel the Burn...

So something happened to us that has not happened in... Well, ever as far as I can remember. Certainly not since the very early days of our play. Rope burn. Honest to god, rope burn. Now I have had the girl in literally hundreds of rope harnesses and different bondage positions and I don't remember any of them ever giving her rope burn. I've had her bound in sisal a dozen times at least and still! Pin pricks that bled, but not rope burn. 

This was the culprit harness in question. The best part about this harness in particular was that it was tied on while we were fucking. Every morning when we awake before the kiddo, and we're with it enough, it becomes a race against time. On so many occasions, we'll be in the middle or even just starting to get it on when suddenly there are little eyes at the door. So yesterday, having been deprived of a chance to do anything with rope for a while, and following the very mean admission from the girl that she had actually considered offering herself up to me to be bagged a couple of nights previous, we were in the mood for more than just sex. I made the girl climb out of bed and retrieve two lengths of rope and I quickly set to work. Starting with her arms, I bound them behind her back in an alternate hojojutsu type harness. As opposed to going around the neck, though I love that, I went over the shoulders and back down to the hands. It was quick and highly effective. 

Then I lay the girl down and sank my member into her, much to her eager desire. While riding her, I continued with the next section of rope. Binding it to the loops around her shoulders to start, I drew it down and wound around her middle a couple of times before bringing it back up the center and tying it off in a sort of handle between her breasts.The sex was fantastic and the whole experience was delightful. I want to explore more into quick bondage that can be completed while using the girl, as often we normally finish a tie before doing anything more. 

The Ethics of Kink...

No, I'm not going to be so presumptuous as to lecture on all aspects or the full range of ethics within the community. I did, however, want to discuss certain things that have come more and more to my attention.


In this lifestyle we live personas, versions of ourselves that are kinky, subby, domly, etc. Even if these things are at the very core of our being and we feel that what we are really doing is stripping away the layers upon layers of societal obligation to become our true selves, what manifests is still a persona. Is there anything wrong with that? No. Am I implying that this somehow implies that people are not living a real D/s relationship? Not in the least. 


What I am saying is simply this. Manifesting the persona of our true selves does not excuse us completely from the social obligation of politeness and manners. I think we all accept that being by nature a submissive does not entitle everyone around that person to then dominate them, right? So why then does it seem that a dominant nature somehow implies that everyone around that individual is therefore inferior by nature? I am Master and Owner to my girl, and at the moment she is the only one to whom I hold those titles. I try very hard not to allow that nature to spill over onto others, in scene or out. I know that sometimes it does, but almost never by intent.


It does not make me any less masterly, if indeed that term could be applied to me in the first place, to step out of the way of someone as they pass by, to open a door for someone if they have their hands full, or let someone go before me on the stairs. Even if that person is someone else's property and clearly lower in status in a hierarchical sense, it does not make me less of a dom to be polite.


Obviously I have a high regard for manners and politeness and I feel that these have suffered within our shared lifestyle. Specifically, as many, many things have, under the pressure to conform to D/s sub-culture stereotypes. 'Oh so-and-so is not a real slave, she has limits,' or 'he's not a real Master, he hasn't attained perfect zen like personal control.' Rubbish. It is paradoxical to assume a persona, even one exemplifying our inner selves, and on the one hand ignore certain social conventions in an attempt to free ourselves while on the other hand conforming to an entirely different, and equally restrictive set of social expectations. 


Be who and what you want to be. Be the type of slave/sub/sadomasochist or Master/dom/sadist you wish. The only definition that matters is your partner's and your own. And remember, just because you may be a very dominant sort doesn't mean that being so doesn't make you any less of a jackass when you are impolite.

Fun with Friends...

As you know, we moved recently to an area where things are a bit better for us. That includes the chance to be closer to friends who share our proclivities. Last night we had two of our good friends over for a chance to play. It was more of an impromptu thing, but we all had a great time.


Our friends, I'll refer to them as M&m (who are not a couple I should specify), have been over before at our old place for an impromptu rope bondage demonstration. I had the pleasure of binding m in a couple of different harnesses on that occasion. Since then I have been looking forward to a chance to do so again. 

M&m have been over several times since we moved in, yet an opportunity hasn't presented itself, until last night. M came over first and I continued my monolog on our time at the big event this passed weekend from the night before. While discussing, I placed the pink ribbon back around the girl's neck and allowed her to lay on the floor drawing and conversing while occasionally commenting upon how cute she looked. It was delightful to watch the effect it had on her, a tremble in her breathing, her down cast eyes, and the shifting in her hips.