An undignified title...

In other words: "squee!!" 

After Master and i attended Thunder in the Mountains last July, we realized (again) just how much we missed being part of the community. When we started out, we were regular attendees of the local PEP (People Exchanging Power), and loved it. We met great people, we had a lot of fun, and we really had the space to experiment with our play. We committed ourselves to finding a way to make ourselves part of the closest local scene again, and this month, we managed to fulfill our early 2012 resolution. The timing all worked out, and though we got lost in our once familiar haunt, we found ourselves at the door.

Inside, we saw familiar faces, and though the traffic and getting lost had left a smudge on our initial moods, watching others engaging in their own scenes lifted our spirits and our excitement and we started looking for a place to play. Master and i really were looking for space to play with the Victor Tella signal whips we picked up at Thunder, and of course, some room for some serious martial arts inspired impact play. It was pretty crowded, so we weren't sure we'd find just the right spot.

It worked out that as soon as Master and i were really ready to get the ball rolling, one scene wrapped up (and was unwrapped - a little rope-pun) and Master and i experimented with the available space. Though many people comment on our pictures over on FetLife about how sexy i am, and many people tell me in person, i admit i have body-hang-ups. Master talked me through them, and pretty soon, i was happily cuffed and Master was whipping away. He started out with the flogger, and though i know it, i don't really remember it clearly. i fell into the scene fast. Nothing remains but the memory of movement, a bite of the tails of the pretty floggers, and Master's gloves. But the Dragon Tongue i do remember; it's pretty red tail biting and "cutting" into my flesh, the way it would lovingly wrap around my ribs to bite the flesh of my breasts, licked around my hips, and landed on my calves. i remember stomping my feet, sometimes turning around to look at Master as the tongue licked at whatever new target i gave Him. i was deep into the sensations of it all. Deep into the energy changing hands between Master and i. He took my pain and devoured it. i took His cruelty and lapped it up.

Even though Master and i have found that i do appreciate the sting of the whips far more than i appreciate more of a thud against me; there is one thud that i cannot get enough of... The feeling of Master using His limbs upon me as weapons. i begged Him to skip the whips, to kick me. As He is ever so kind, He agreed, and re-positioned me so there would be ample room for His intentions. i remember counting two sets of ten, but Master wasn't done with just 20. When i couldn't remember how to keep counting, i was on the verge of good tears. As much as i would have enjoyed crying for Him, i enjoyed what came next at least as much. Now that there was no counting, i was just a punching bag. There was no time to cry, and all i could do was laugh and howl with the joy of the pain Master gave me. Master kicked me, front kicks, side kicks, round kicks...and His fists were a flurry as well. Punches, slaps, and i think i felt a few well placed ridge-hands, landed upon my back, ribs and thighs. my legs crumpled under me as Master used His knowledge of pressure points against me. Left with quivering legs, kneeling upon the floor, held upright only by the cuffs, Master landed a few more blows upon me.

He brought me water (we learned from Thunder...we had it in our scene bag, along with some emergency chocolate and one of my favorite blankets), and we cleared the space for the next players. Initially, i thought i'd want to just curl up somewhere and nurse my sore legs, but once i was following Master i realized that moving felt far better, and we wandered around to watch a few other players.  A good friend, one of our fist friends from the scene, was there and had his claws out. On my already sore body, they were almost like little single jolts of electricity.

Before long, Master and i were set up again, with His jute quickly wrapping around me. There's not a lot from this part that i remember well, either, because i was really just a happy puddle of lovely neurotransmitter goop. Master asked me if i wanted to walk around, but that was pretty beyond my coordination levels, so He bound me down and ripped a couple of orgasms out of my body.

When He'd let me loose, i was pretty quick to bounce back to being frisky, and running away after He'd threatened to spray cold water all over me...

Being there was really, truly great. Fulfilling. We met people, old friends and new friends; had great scenes, connected with our inner Sadist and masochist (well - His Sadist, my masochist) in a way we haven't been able to for a while, and had a grand time indulging in our desires...

It was absolutely, spectacularly, awesome.

The sex at the hotel after the event and the next morning was pretty awesome, too.

And. i who almost never bears marks on my legs, ass or back... Have marks lingering from the event, and a lovely, lingering soreness...

We're seriously looking forward to our next chance!

(taps fingers...)

The show begins...

Over the semester break, Master and i have had lots of things to do. Lots. We looked at the list and thought "four weeks should be long enough." We definitely got pretty close. Especially since we managed to score two nights of kid-free time. Even more awesome, it's been two nights in a row. 48+ hours of kid free time, during which, i've been kept naked, as pleases Master, and frequently bound, frequently taken and tortured.

Bliss!

We started off the kid-free time easy, seeing a movie Master and i wanted to see, during which Master infrequently threatened me with the thumb cuffs He was keeping in his pocket. When He wasn't threatening me, He had a firm grip on both my hands and frequently squeezed them in excitement and glee. As we left the theatre and began the trek home, Master slipped the handcuffs out of the center console and slapped them on my wrists, nicely pulling my sweater down to cover them, after which He also added the thumb cuffs. We laughed, i whined about the thumb cuffs, and Master laughed at me. He received some texts from a friend, and while He drove, i read them, and replied through dictation. It was pretty awesome. Then i discovered i could pop my right thumb out of the thumb cuffs. After a bit of joking, i slipped my thumb back in them so Master could snap a quick picture, and then the meanie reached over and squished the cuff down. By the time we arrived home, my thumbs were a bit purple. Master and i planned to play all night - after all, He's been staying up to play Skyrim until 5 am or so - there was no reason we couldn't play until at least that time.

Master graciously allowed me a shower while He rearranged some furniture to make the most of the mid-week "vacation" and when i emerged, wet, slippery and smooth, He said socks were the only clothes i could have - so i put on one of the warmest pairs i have - men's work socks (don't make fun - they are warm and they, too, make me feel small). While we watched one of our favorite TV shows, Master wrapped the rope we'd gotten at 2011 Thunder in the Mountains around me, and i actually was really able to sink into the bondage. Since i've been working on my flexibility, Master got my arms bound behind me in the same position as a monoglove. It was hot, hurt just a little, and i was already feeling small and submissive. With a second chunk of rope, Master bound my feet up and tied them to my hands, creating a deliciously tight hogtie. While i was bound, He teased me with our Lelo toy, GiGi, before allowing me to cum.

When He was done teasing me, He untied my feet and threw the Liberator Flip Ramp i'd won from Eden Fantasies next to my head. That was a deliciously scary sound, because i wasn't able to see what He was doing where i was. Master then ever so kindly (not) picked me up by the chest harness that was binding my arms and threw me on top of the flip ramp so He could fuck me. i was feeling deliciously small and objectified.

Master sent me off to the shower again to clean up (i stupidly have an allergic reaction and swelling after sex, with or without lube, these days), and allowed me to warm up, naked, under blankets, bound at His feet.

It wasn't even nine in the evening yet, and the show was just getting started.

Finally!

Well, it has been too long, again. I'm sorry for that, things got crazy during the last weeks. But we are finally free and clear of this semester! Thank the gods, it was almost too much to handle. We are no strangers to the opposing schedule, having done it several times in the past. But this time, with the addition of our child, it was murder on our dynamic. Things slipped through the cracks as if they were the grand canyon. Too many opportunities were missed, feelings were hurt on both sides.

Teh Ebils ov teh Intarwebz

Warning: This is a girlie rant.

Not having internet for so long was an interesting experience. And having internet again is just as interesting. i forgot how persnickity the online community can be, i forgot how much people can get wrapped up in their own rules and rituals and when people who are unfamiliar with them might miss one little thing, they come unglued.

Where's the community in that?

Where's the line between "I want to meet new people" and "you're a fucktard for sending me a message?" Why are those two statements so often intertwined?

Why can't we treat each other with some amount of courtesy?

i don't approve random friend requests on any social networking sites. Master and i talk about who i'm going to add and why they want to be added. If people don't send me a message about who they are and why they're interested in being friends, generally, i don't add them as friends -- but that doesn't mean that i don't spend some time engaging in conversation with them. If they send me a polite message, i generally make an effort to be polite in exchange for their politeness.

When did it start to matter what public community we were involved in?

When did that become a sign of knowledge?

When did that become a symbol of "honor?"

How can honor be questioned at all when you don't know someone from Adam?

Do people think that ten years is nothing?

Do they think that i would blindly choose someone without honor to be my Owner?

i don't know -- it all seems so arbitrary. We ask people to accept us as we are, let us be who we are, with the interests we all have, but we automatically attack someone for not doing things our way, the "right" way.

Ethnocentrism at its finest.

girlie rant over....

The Nature of Sharring that which is Precious...

Sharing. It's something that parents try to instill in their children from a young age. The virtues of sharing and being generous with what you have fill many tales and parables. And yet... Sharing that which is most precious is such a challenge.

As many of you may have read elsewhere, my slave has returned to school. A full load of course work coupled with our lovely, precocious child has very effectively eaten up most of the time that I get with my pet.

A few years ago she was a full time career woman, working in an office, and dressed in professional/casual attire. At the end of her day, she would come home to strip down and fall to her knees as the carnal slave she is. I enjoyed this secret double life to some extent. However the stresses of the day often got in the way of her sliding easily back into the mindset of being a collared beast.

Then came the day when our beautiful baby came into the picture. Suddenly my career slave found herself a full time mother. Quite the shift in lifestyle as you can probably imagine, or know from personal experience. A mommy slave. With this miracle came a whole new set of difficulties and challenges to our dynamic. First of all, the physical recovery of having a child cut from one's belly. It takes a long time for things to heal well enough to pound the hell out of a cunt, one way or another. Then the complete loss of time that goes into the care of an infant. All of these can be expected and therefore considered and even planned around.

But then came something that was completely unexpected, at least for me at that point. It was what I refer to as the Mommy Factor. Suddenly my sweet little obedient slave who barks, laps up piss, and drinks cum was dictating to me the appropriateness of things I wanted her to do. This became a very annoying and regular hindrance that was eventually dispelled.

Now we have this complete drain on our time to deal with. As with all college classes the course work starts to pile up at the end of the semester and my darling pet is under the gun this week. We haven't had a chance to take advantage of the normal narrow windows of opportunity that we get during our child's nap times and bed times. Even the off handed mention of needing a quick blow job is met with rolling eyes and a flurry typing.

Now I am a dominant that believes in bettering one's property. Whether that be through the pursuit of Yoga, belly dancing, martial arts, continued education, whatever. I believe that she should be at her best for me and that her accomplishments and achievements reflect on me as her Master. As a result if I have to share her with the world and allow that small bit of time I have to enjoy her to be eaten away that much more, then so be it. It's not easy, but then, as we always say around here, If it were easy, we wouldn't want it. But good gods am I looking forward to her winter break...

Symmetry of Semantics...

I would like to talk now about semantics. It is interesting to me that so much of our world is divided by the semantics of people. Where a topic has a specific definition to be found in the dictionary, there also is the personal definition of a group of people to be considered. I find semantics to be a vital yet smaller part of self identity, it is how we personally find distinctions unique to us within a larger community view. However, when these subtle differences become the fuel for personal attacks and constant bickering, as is so often the case on Fetlife, they become mindless and superfluous.

One of the easiest to pick on would be the distinctions of the terms Master or slave. Everyone in our community seems to have different views on what these two terms actually encompass. Some are of the view that a Master is someone who has spend some specific yet arbitrary amount of time into the study of some facet of BDSM. Others believe that a person can only hold the title of Master if another Master in the community grants them the title, a very old world Greek Scholar approach. Then there are those, such as myself, that believe a Master is the title one takes when they collar a slave. As human beings, we all grow and evolve, learn and develop, and as such it seems needless to reserve the title of Master purely for the esoteric elite in the community.

So too with the title of slave, there are a great many different definitions and views on what a slave is that it becomes somewhat dizzying. I personally define a slave as a collared and possessed individual. I believe consensual slavery to be the personal acceptance of slavery and ownership of another person over one's self. They freely and willingly commit themselves to being owned property of the Master, and as such give up their right to decide from that point on. It is not something that should be done lightly in my mind, for it is binding. The contract, if one is used, can be for some specific amount of time such as a year or in our case as we are married, a life time.

It puzzles me some that our community, and I speak here of the window into our community that Fetlife specifically provides, would be so divided at times as to border on dichotomy. Kaya, from Under His Hand, not to long ago posted on Fetlife, and I'm paraphrasing here, why should the BDSM community at large be any more tolerant than any other community? This got me thinking. The old guard system of BDSM, which basically founded the principles of the Leather Community, was very specific and strict. It was their way or the high way in essence.

Now that the world of BDSM has become something of a subculture, and a widely accepted one at that, the old rules no long hold as much dominion as they once did. People practice as they wish to practice, which is fine an grand, but what is truly amusing to me is the idea that our once very tight and nearly ritualized world of BDSM has become as fractured as the Christian faith.

The old notion that people band together when they have something larger to fight seems to be very pertinent to our community. As long as BDSM was under attack from the moral right, the members of the community celebrated the opportunities to come together and share their arts. Now that this attack has subsided largely, people seem to get together more and more to fight amongst themselves about the differences of their craft. Like the Christian faith historically, while they were persecuted, it was unified, but when it became widely accepted, smaller camps of the faith, baptists, protestants, Lutherans, etc. began to break away from the main faith to establish their own little specific faiths. And please understand that I am not attacking the Christian faith at this time, but their historic example runs a parallel in my mind to the apparent and continued fracturing of the BDSM community.

Now, is it necessarily a bad thing that the community as a whole has been so largely accepted by the normal world? Not even remotely. If the only thing holding the people together to begin with was the crushing pressure of outside criticism, then like the fall of Communism and the splintering of eastern Europe, people will find smaller things to bicker about and this will result in people going their own way.

So often I hear about or see arguments taking place on Fetlife that are petty little semantic disagreements. Safe words, titles, legal issues, whether a slave is truly property or not. It seems to me that the only response one can make in most of the threads anymore is that somethings don't work for everyone and that it is up to each person to find what works for them. That is it, because how can one argue legitimately the righteousness of an opinion?

It is nearly staggering to me how quickly the opportunity for community involvement provided by sites like Fetlife degenerate so quickly and completely into line in the sand type battlefields. Do I feel that the BDSM community should be more tolerant and accepting than other communities? Yes I do, for no better reasons than the fact that our sub-society encompasses so diverse a population and because our new found acceptance and popularity in normal society is still relatively new and as such we should not be as jaded as we seem.

All of that being said, perhaps the level of acceptance that is needed is purely to accept that what works for one person does not necessarily work for someone else and that there is nothing wrong with that. For instance, I don't hold with cross-dressing, it affronts me personally. Does that mean that I should shun the person who gets off on it? No, I don't believe so. At worst I believe that I would avoid the situation to the best of my ability and if confronted with it, tolerate as much as is realistic. I would not tolerate the cross-dressing individual trying to get me in drag but that is no different in my mind than someone trying to pick my pocket or cutting me off, at that point it is intended to be an affront and therefore is intolerable.

As a more real world and practical example, I loath gum. I hate it with every fiber of my being. A sickening chill runs through me at the very thought of it. Yet it is such a prevalent part of everyday society that I cannot help but run afoul of it. I would certainly like to shun the individuals who so inconsiderately smack their disgusting substance near me, but would that even remotely seem practical? To them I would appear to be an unreasonable freak with issues because of my very real and strong dislike. Why is it then that such similar behavior should be defended or even applauded when it comes to the bickering I see on Fetlife or other such places?

At any rate, I realize the subtle irony of making a semantic argument about semantic arguments. And you, dear reader, are as always welcome to take it or leave it as the case may be. Just know that whatever view you may take on any issue, there is likely to be at least one and probably more differing views to the one you choose, and as they are opinions based upon personal values and judgments, none are more correct or more worthy than the others. They are what they are, simply that and no more just like the people who cling to them.

Thank you, dear reader, and good night...

A Note on Families

Recent events bring to light a thought that has long troubled my mind. What part does family play in this life we choose to lead? Becoming a slave or even a Master does not absolve oneself from ones lineage. Those inescapable ties that while loose and conforming can ensnare one so completely with the slightest of effort. A true jealousy to any proclaimed rope Master.

Yes, it is this bond of family that I speak of now and that indeed has once again impressed itself so wholly upon my property that her heart grows heavy with worry and concern. It is curious to see the years of training and conditioning flutter so insignificantly next to the weight of that concern. Despite the nature of the troubles, of which I'll not utter here, suffice it to say that it is an issue that I'm sure is no stranger to the whole world of families.

The issue I wish to discuss here is the very notion of family and how that bond effects a Master/slave relationship. As we are all very aware, a slave is no less human than the next person, with the same wants, needs, desires. Much like a nun accepting the habit, they simply choose a different way of living, swearing their love and allegiance to something or someone else. And as I mentioned above, accepting the collar does not make one less someone's son or daughter. So how do we deal with this? Do some simply run away from family, ignoring their calls and living their own life as their Master's see fit? Do they pretend that their lives are no different from anyone else, keeping their darker desires secret and hidden from family? Do they come out, hoping for the love and understanding of their families?

I'm sure all are ways that people choose to deal with the issue of family. I myself have no strong attachments to family and no claim to fatherly or motherly intrusion. I find my interest in family to be a close one, involving only my slave and my child as the family I concern myself with. This works for me in a way that I am sure it would not for others. As indeed it does not work well for my slave who is by her nature deeply invested in her family. What if they find out and are disapproving? Would they ostracize their daughter? Certainly we have all heard of that happening to someone at some point. Would they demand a separation, pending upon divorce? Certainly they wouldn't be able to legally insist, but again those ties to family run so bloody deep. Could you handle it if your mother thought you a monster?

I have also put a lot of thought into this question when it comes to the notion of adding a second slave to the dynamic. How would their family impact our relationship or my ownership? What level of family interested should I look for in a slave? Is it at all feasible that I might get a knock on my door from a disgruntled father looking to drag his twenty something little girl back home kicking and screaming? Even more disturbing, should I one day find the father of my slave patting my back complimenting me on my whipping technique demonstrated on his daughter's ass?

How do you handle this? How does it work for you? I admit a great deal of interest in how others deal with the question of family. Are they any couples out there that come from lifestyle families? How about multiple slave households, how does family play a part? Please share...

Thoughts on a Long Night...

It seems befitting of me to mention certain aspects of this life we have chosen for ourselves. I have a long held love for seeing fear upon the face of a beautiful woman. Indeed, if I had my choice between a sweet and heart felt smile gracing the lips of a tender woman and the wide eyed, raised eyebrows of mortal fear, I would choose the latter. Terror seems more fitting for a slave girl than contented happiness, on occasion at any rate.

Imagine that look of abject terror as, while bound and completely at her Master's mercy, she watches helpless as her Master approaches her. In his hands he wields an implement, be it an electric prod or a cutting cane. Her eyes widen, fixed on the implement. Little squeaks, pleading noises, escape from behind her gag. Perhaps she struggles against her bonds, but to no avail. As a slave, as property, she knows that it is not for her to decide her own fate. If her Master wishes it, said implement will indeed be used upon her. And what a curious and wondrous thing, that a slave could find genuine happiness in the grip of such fear. That she could find contentment facing such frightful uncertainty.

Another note of my personal view is the nature of slaves to be objects, toys; possessions. I know that there is a great wide world of differing opinions within our community and I am of the school of persons who believe that a slave is property, wholly and completely. As an object, it is beyond them to decide for themselves. In the case of my slave, my permission must be sought for any and all activities, i.e. using the restroom, eating, drinking (apart from water or milk for hydration and health issues), using any piece of furniture, etc.

All this must now be well known to our dear readers, as this subject is the focus of many of our posts. However, recently I have put much thought into the extent of this view. Our now average daily lives, consisting of college classes for the slave, child rearing, and work for me, have given us little opportunity to dabble as it were in the arts of torture, objectification, bondage and such. Leaving only the refuge of our average days to utilize my slave in the ways that I will.

The focus for her submission as of late has been directed more toward service; laundry, dishes, house cleaning, meals, etc. It has been a delicate balancing act, given the complexity of our combined schedules. I order her to keep constant contact, texting or calling regularly to update me as to her situation while at school or fulfilling some chore. I order her food when we dine out, giving little regard for her desires prior nor her enjoyment following lest such things please me.

I delight in reminding her often that I allow her less regard than I would for a pet dog. I am equally delighted in the effect that such reminders have upon her. Just the other day for example, we were sitting down to some delivered dinner and my pet gave me the imploring eye of a beast desiring a bite of my food. I smiled and after several moments of leaving her hanging upon my answer, I offered her a bite. Instead she requested only the scraps left within the container. So delighted was I that I finished my meal and placed the opened box upon the floor, snapping my fingers and pointing at the box so that she might partake in the scraps from my meal. It is excessively pleasing to me that it was by her own suggestion that such a degrading action fell upon her. And she was so eager in its execution, she fell upon her knees and fed upon the scraps immediately upon my order.

Her desire for the hated plastic spoon that has sadly disappeared from my assortment of tantalizing tools also informs me of her deep seeded needs and desires. Sadly it yet eludes me, undiscovered and still hidden. Also her increased abilities and enjoyment of cock sucking, how she will come to me offering to suck me off. With the addition of regular pineapple, she has even come to enjoy and to some extent crave the taste of my cum. My recent post about tit fucking mentioned how my sweet slave mistook my intentions and offered the notion of fucking her tits.

It pleases me greatly to see that my slave's heart and mind is so focused upon her submission and that she willingly and eagerly serves my whims, whether they have been directly expressed or not. Such is the life of a slave, and a slave she most definitely is...