Submissive Aspects

About this account

2006-01-02T13:15:00.000-08:00

I'm reviving this old account so I can leave comments on Blogger blogs that only allow comments from Blogger members. My real pages are at http://www.downonmyknees.com/ Richard

Comic interlude

2004-11-27T16:34:00.000-08:00

I was busily typing away at my computer when she walked in. “Hon. I thought you told me that you’d stopped reading these things.” Glancing up I saw copies of Cruella and Whap in her hand. “Really I have I just didn’t want to throw them away.” If you’d paid as much as I had you wouldn’t either. I hadn’t looked at them since I bought them but felt like a little boy caught doing something naughty. “Sentimental favorites, eh?” I strove to just sit in silent innocence. She was flipping through the pages. “That poor man … And this one … Why I’d never – “ she looked up at me all her teeth showing. “Well, maybe, just maybe I would.” I heard the Domina irony. Silently I prayed to myself “Not now, please not now.” Still flipping through the pages she walked up to me and kissed my earlobe. Then bit it. My spasm was held in check fearing what would come next. “Oh, you just go back to what you are doing. We’ll get together later. I see months and months of inspiration in the magazines you hid in the closet.” As I admired her retreating heels I wondered if there had been. If she put her mind to it she’d convince me that purple was green. She might put the magazines back where she found the, toss them in the trash or really be planning many evenings to come. Torn between fear and hope I sighed. Best to go back to work and wait.

The toy game

2004-11-26T14:34:00.000-08:00

(That I like this one says something about me I'm sure.) That night started out a little differently. She’d put the spandex hood over me. Aside from the built-in blindfolds it was too thin and porous to block sound or air. She told me that with the hood over m head she could forget that it was me. I might be any stranger at her mercy. I could almost see the neurons running across my spine flicker at this subtle touch of dehumanization. I shuddered “beautifully” she told me later. The hood was rarely brought out the better to preserve its power. I felt her wrap and tie my neck with rope. It was so soft I kind of melted. Normally she used the rope only when she felt gentle. I relaxed a bit. I should’ve known better. Mixing signals was one of her favorite ways of manipulating me. A gentle tug pulled me to my feet and she led me away from where I’d kneeled. A couple of times I bumped my shin and stubbed my toe. Though the mask I cursed. That she said nothing at all should’ve warned me. Speaking out of turn might’ve brought a slap or a whap. She merely laughed. Stopping she maneuvered my body into the position she wanted. For a few minutes I stood there waiting. At last she spoke: “Who is it under that mask? Is it an old and faithful slave or some new toy?” “It’s me.” I said quite stupidly. “I’m sure it is, whoever you are. Shh. Don’t say another word. I know we’ll play a little game. A nice new game.” She had only one game. I thought of it as Herdom. There would always be one winner and one loser. My body helplessly tingled with anticipation. Her games could be very cruel and exhausting. I never knew what to expect. Often they took a very long time to play. After they were over I might marvel at her ingenuity. When they began I would’ve prayed had anyone other than her to pray to. “I a nice collection of toys here. If you know me you’ll know my toys. If you don’t know me then you’ll need a long, hard education if you are to please me.” I held my silence. No point in making things worse. “I’m going to touch you with a toy. If you can tell me what it is then we’ll just move on to another toy. If you can’t then your forfeit will be to become familiar with the toy. Fair enough isn’t it? “ She had so many toys. More than she wanted she said some days. Sometimes my masochism would drive me to offer her new devilish devices. More than once I’d wished I could control myself. But only she could control me. Her voice came from behind me. “Look at that butt. Looks like someone has been playing everything from tic-tac-toe to hopscotch on it.” Often felt like it as well. I felt a thin, solid object slice into it. “Which toy was that my anonymous slave?” I knew it was a cane. She had three. I called them Bad, Mad and Dangerous. Dangerous cut into me only when she was at her cruelest. It was the only thing in her bag of toys that I felt could simply knock unconscious if she ever felt that ruthless. It hurt but if a cane strikes you only mildly you can’t tell one from another. “Need help?” Another blow, more force. I felt a burning line across my bottom and hoped I was right in thinking it was “Bad.” She had her own names for the canes. “That was your easy cane.” Another blow with the cane. “Answer the question properly.” “That was your easy cane Mistress.” “Probably just a lucky guess, we’ll find out soon enough.” A flat surface slapped my cock back and forth a few times. “Slave, identify my toy.” Really I couldn’t guess. It wasn’t her palm nrt that she would’ve called that a toy. When she just slapped at my cock she liked to use her riding crop most often. “That was your riding crop, Mistress.” “Wrong! Just an ordinary wooden ruler. Now for your forfeit.” The ruler went back and forth, back and forth across my cock. The blows weren’t that hard but they didn’t need to be. As the number mounted so did the pain. Suddenly there were two strong strikes then nothing. I stood there blind and waiting for a few minutes. Suddenly several small hard bits crashed into my back. My butt and thighs knew that one all too well. It took little effort for her to reduce me to an elemental begging, whimpering slave with it. “That was your spiked whip, Mistress.” It cut back into my back. “Had I asked you?” I wilted. She was a capricious Goddess, in a strict mood tonight. That her sense of protocol so often varied kept things fresh and exciting. “But your answer was correct.” She didn’t pause this time. Each of my nipples felt something crushing them. When my mind cleared from the surprise I remembered to keep my mouth shut until bidden. I was confident I knew these all too familiar instruments of her entertainment. “Those are your clothespins, Mistress.” “My black, rubber-coated clothespins. I’m beginning to think you are just some stranger in a mask That’ll be just too bad for you.” She began twisting and pulling the pins. My own body betrayed me when I tired to pull away only increasing the pain. She had many toys and there was no telling how long tonight’s game would last.

Chastity and crushing

2004-11-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

(Not really satisfied with this one. The idea was to have several days of progressive crushing.) There are some things we wary of trying because it is hard to make sure it doesn’t interfere with our overall life together. On and off we’ve talked about living as slave and owner 24/7 for two or three days. Just to discover how deeply we might come to know our respective sexual spaces. But have thought it’d be best tried somewhere away from home. Where, we’ve never figured out. Enforced chastity we tried only once before. It was in the very early days and served a very specific purpose. Several days ago we decided to try chastity again, both curious to see how it might effect my sometimes very strong need to surrender to her. Knowing I was physically under her control wherever I was didn’t displease her. Don’t know if I’ll be up for a third time. The last few days have been very intense. What we didn’t anticipate that having me at home already partly in bondage would bring out her pleasure in dominance every day. Day 1 At work I hadn’t thought much about the chastity belt except when I needed to pee. Back home knowing I couldn’t have her left me wanting her badly. She could tell and softly brought me to my hands and knees to worship her boots. Placing me on my back on the floor she bound me and removed the chastity belt. Then she ordered me to bring my knees up and slide until my feet touched a wall. A small segment of then plywood went under my cock. After putting a CD in the player she sat on that bit of wood. Having her sit on me brought out all my desire for her. Without standing she started moving to the music. One movement would arouse me, the next crush my cock into the wood. Thankfully one CD was enough, She put the belt back in place and let me up. The mix of pain from mild crushing and strong arousal left me drained. Day 2 This was hardly the first time I sat bound in a chair as she sat on my lap. She teased me sweetly and cruelly. She knew every trick that would arouse me. And had long mastered many ways of making me whimper. Between feeling her tongue in my ear and her mildly painful operations on other parts of my body she slowly left me drained but hopelessly hungry for her. Long after she lay softly snoring beside me I started at the ceiling feeling I’d accept anything if only it were from her. Day 3 I found myself again on my back. The friction of her shoes was gentle and arousing. She’d been long disappointed that she couldn’t bring me to orgasm with her feet. Still I didn’t respond. “You say you love me, you say you worship me.” I guess she hoped my pent up frustration would finally make me please her in this way. She started cursing me. I wilted into myself, as both man and slave I was disappointing her. Her shoes rubbed with increasing speed and friction. My cock was very raw when she finally stopped. Day 4 “Why are you so stubborn?” This after many minutes of arousing me with her shoes without seeing me move toward orgasm. The front of her foot pressed down and down crushing my cock. That was just her warm-up. Her heel dug in and began to twistingly work its way up. I lay back moaning under her merciless attack. Day 5 I lay there helplessly enjoying her shoes caress my cock. Even as I sighed with pleasure I knew that I wouldn’t be able to go where she wanted me. She brought out a too familiar bit of wood with a hole in it. With it and a cock ring in place I watched her. She looked down pityingly. “Oh, I know you want to. But I can’t forgive you for not being able to.” After a few minutes even gentle kicks with a pointed shoe begging and pleading Day 6 Again she was angry at my failure. But she knew my cock was really too sore for more. I shuddered when I saw her bend down with a little brown bottle. A tap with a swab and she didn’t need to do another thing. The wintergreen oil worked as brutally as her shoes. I sweated and squirmed. She stepped on my scrotal sac. She just stood there. My body did all of her work for her as the oil left me writhing. Tonight there wasn’t any pity, hardly any recognition. She just watched. Day 7 This is the seventh day. I’m at work. Sometime tonight I’ll be free. But before I am I’ll be given another chance to perform. What will she do if I don’t. And I won’t. She could be kind and just let me free. But I don’t think she will. Tonight I think she’ll need to make rougher than the nights before. Tomorrow she’ll be loving again. Will she crush me, kick me? Will it be like that night she composed her “Polyphony of Pain” and used every whip, flogger and strap in the house at least once? She’s had plenty of time to weigh her options, make her choices. She could just forgive and forget. But something deep inside me says she won’t.

Two on one

2004-11-26T04:43:00.000-08:00

He was on his knees before me gagged, with his arms bound to his side. I saw in front of him; she was standing behind me her fingers gently massaging the base of my neck. He stared into my eyes as I’d ordered him to. I’d sat there staring back, saying nothing for not quite a minute. The subtle shifts of his body showed the seconds were weighing heavily on him. “Sit still, focus on me not yourself.” His eyes widened a little as he strove to not move a muscle. I reached out to him and took each nipple in my hands. I watched his anticipation for a few moments before I crushed his nipples between thumb and forefinger. Involuntarily he pulled away only increasing his pain. “I told you to sit still.” You could see the confused turmoil in his eyes. How could he not move in response to the pain yet disobedience would surely bring worse pain. Behind me she laughed softly. When his eyes moved to her I grabbed his balls and squeezed. Not very tightly but nothing refocuses the male attention more easily. “Sit still and look at me.” My grip tightened. He whimpered and tried his best to comply. “If you can’t sit still how can you be her rug?” His profile had said his greatest wish was to have a woman walk on him. “If you can’t lie flat you might make her stumble. I wouldn’t like that.” I brought a mousetrap up and held it in front of his eyes. I pulled the trap back and let it snap in front of him. “What works for a mouse works for man’s cock.” I snapped it again. A little fear lit up his eyes. “If you don’t please her as rug I might decide to play cock trap with you. Do you understand?” He nodded. “And there’s no telling what she might do to you. The trap works on a man’s balls as well. I’m the nice one you see.” It was time to lay him out for her.

Don't bargain

2004-11-23T13:35:00.000-08:00

Not long after she’d taught me to lie on the floor and accept her feet working over my body as her boot was crushing my crotch I suddenly yelled, “Please don’t I’ll do anything.” She stopped in an instant and gave me a look that left me feeling like a dissected frog. I wished I could shove myself under the floor. “You? You will do anything if I stop? What will you do if I don’t?” “I’m sorry I didn’t mean – “ Indeed I had no idea what random bit of panic made me foolish enough to try to bargain. Angrily she told me to shut up. “What are you?” Dimly I knew the distant Goddess above me was the woman I loved but this was my first meeting with her wrath. “You slave … “ I didn’t feel the sentence was finished but there didn’t seem any way to finish it. “What are you?” She kicked me. “This slave is your … property?” “Don’t say it like that!” Another kick. “Who I am?” Another. “My Mistress?” “Say it right, all of it!” Another. “This slave is its Mistress’ property.” “And you are stupid enough to bargain with me? Look at you a sniveling little man on the floor! You don’t make deals! You obey, no reservations, no hesitations.” “Shut up!” I’d started to apologize again. I’d yet to learn what unwanted apologies would earn me. “All of you is mine. What dangles between your legs in mine. You gave it all to me of your own free will. And promised to trust my use of it. Once I get you strapped into place we’ll see what use I can make of it.” A few minutes later I found myself bound to a chair my legs helplessly apart. She’d left the room. When she returned her hands were full of things she picked up from around the house. I recognized a plastic ruler and a toothbrush. Some things were from the kitchen, I wasn’t sure what their original purpose was. And for what seemed an awfully long time I begged without trying to bargain as she revealed a genius for improvisational cbt.

Her feet

2004-11-23T05:41:00.000-08:00

I love her feet. Before her I sometimes noticed a nice ankle or pretty toes but didn’t give them much thought. But with her there were times I could take my eyes away or I’d see shoes and wonder how they’d look on her feet. Sometimes I sit down on the floor in front of her, take off her shoes and rub them. Even kiss and lick them a little. She never minded the attention. Many times we’d kiss and cuddle. Other times I drifted into sub space. If only mildly I’d sit next to her legs, lean my head on them, maybe massage her ankles. She’d always allow this for at least a few minutes. Though there was a small danger my actions would send her into Domme space. Every now and then I’d be unable to stop myself from kneeling down and licking her shoes and feet. Almost always she’d accept a few moments of tribute. But if she weren’t in the mood it wouldn’t be long before she made me stop. This was a bit more likely to bring out the Domme. But not that often. At my worst I would fall to my belly able to raise my lips only high enough to lick her shoes. She said this was begging. I knew it, when I’d do it I couldn’t stop myself. She might allow me my need or shove me away or get up and leave. If my hunger suddenly urged to assume the role of Domme she would be merciless. Seeing me needy on the floor brought out contempt and she’d use me roughly.

On my stomach

2004-11-21T15:27:00.000-08:00

“What a nice firm place for me to stand and look at you.” She was talking about my stomach into which her flat platform shoes where crushing. “Though it was kind of nice when it was so soft, sort of a big sponge, had bit of bounce to it.” Naturally she bounced. Justly slightly but I winced. “You were such a silly fool back then.” She paused and sort of looked into herself for a moment. “Not that you aren’t now. But you were afraid you’d go – pop! – like a big balloon. I had such a good laugh.” And she did again. She walked a bit forward. I groaned but just a little. “Well there’s still your ass. A girl can really dig into that.” She, or rather her shoes, often had.

Quiet submission

2004-11-21T15:11:00.000-08:00

I knelt next to her chair. She was working at the computer. With my head bowed I couldn’t say at what. I did my best to make no noise, to not move. When I did the riding crop in her lap or her hand reminded me to remain silent and still. Other times he hand reached out to caress or pet me. I hadn’t been down there long. Hopefully I would be allowed to move freely soon. My needy masochism wouldn’t be satisfied this afternoon. If I were lucky she might allow me to polish her shoes with my tongue. No chains or cuffs bound me. My only restraints were her pleasure and her will. Taller and physically stronger I could’ve risen anytime I wanted to. To be honest part of me wanted to get up and go amuse myself. More deeply I strove to only worship her with quite obedience. I was there to only be humble and admit that she owned me.

What a way to wake up

2004-11-21T15:06:00.000-08:00

“Wake up my pet.” I felt her fingers rifling my hair. I smiled then opened my eyes. The clock showed I’d slept much later than usual. Looking up at her beside me on the bed I caught the crooked smile on her parted lips and what I think of as That Look. It was if she were looking through me. She tried to explain it to me once. I looked barely six inches tall sometimes she said. “I’m almost sorry to need you right now.” She neither looked nor sounded apologetic. I shivered. Not first thing in the day. Now I had the right to get on my knees and very humbly beg her to accept my inability. And she would’ve. But I was awake, no demands on my time and didn’t feel bad just worried. I could say I swallowed my pride but I was already seeing her as my Goddess, no pride was left. I just swallowed air. And nodded. “Roll onto your hands and knees. Bring your feet over the edge of the bed. I obeyed. Her palm smacked into my buttocks until I could feel but not see their blush. This was just the warm-up. Athletes warm-up so do masochists’ butts. Then there was the wait. Whatever instrument was about to strike me she’d have chosen before waking me. I was being allowed to worry. Would it be that cat o’ nine tales that I could barely tolerate? I’d barely thought of that when one of her crueler floggers cut into my skin. My response was somewhere between “yeep!” and “ow!” and several other meaningless sounds. “Legs down!” The flogger hit the back of my calves. I’d forgotten to hold my legs flat against the bed. I’d do my best to comply. Displeasing her would only earn me more lashes. But how many lashes? She hadn’t told me. She wasn’t counting. I certainly wasn’t. Given what that flogger could do she was relatively restrained. Not that a single stroke left me silent. Once I unintentionally started to move up and it slice into my back. I fought to hold myself still, except for my tongue. There was no controlling that without a gag. Really it probably didn’t last that long. But when it was over all I knew was the successive burning stings that had cut into my ass. It wasn’t until I felt the vastly milder burn of an antiseptic spray that I knew she was done. “Now that is the way to start the day.” I didn’t quite agree but I relaxed. I could tell that she was done. For all I knew that had only been the beginning. Once again I felt her fingernails gently move through my hair. My normal pleasure at this was mixed with a mortifying gratitude that he need to see me suffer was satisfied for now. “You just relax, hon. I’ll fix a nice breakfast for you.” This morning I’d be eating standing up.

Goddess of pain

2004-11-17T04:52:00.000-08:00

I was resting in bed reading I don’t remember what. She came in, climbed over me and snatched it away. “Hey lover, I was just thinking about you.” She seemed so alive she almost made the air crackle and spark. Her fingers followed the outline of my lips then bent and kissed them. As I so often did I fell back in love with her again. Astride me she was looking at me smiling. I smiled back. “I need my man right now.” I felt part of me rise and her reach back to hold it under my jeans. “No I don’t need you that way.” Her hold tightened so I hardened. I looked at her more closely and it really was as if sparks came from her eyes. Then I caught the force of the air coming through her flared nostrils. “Oh, I’ll deal with that in my own good time and in my own way.” Her grip was too tight but her words only made me harden. She laughed. “I’m hungry.” Somehow I knew she didn’t want me to order pizza. “To hell with that collar. I want to see you get up and give that body to me knowing that tonight I want to watch you beg, see the despair in your eyes while I take you where you’ve so often told me you wanted to go. You talk so much about pain, my love, let me see you live through it.” There had been nights when she’d ask me to ‘scream prettily’ for her. Not many, nor for long. But she relished my surrender more than my suffering. I’d rarely seen her like this. Tonight she wanted the suffering. Already I’d surrendered. Trembling with a confusion of desire and fear, I didn’t feel as if I could move except by her command. My throat felt so dry and constricted I knew I couldn’t even speak unless bidden. All I could to was to obsequiously nod my assent. ---- My upper body was trapped in a harness, my ankles at each side of the open cage. Using a harness or sling was rare. It meant that before she was done I wouldn’t be up to supporting my own weight. “It’ll take me at least two hours my loving little slave to do to you all that I plan, maybe longer. Ask me to do it.” “Please.” I could barely get it out. “Not a very eloquent plea my man who normally has so many words.” She brought out a box of clothespins. “Only the first round.” I felt thankful she’d learned to use them so carefully (if painfully), with luck I’d be able to wear sweater that week. With the first few I groaned loudly. My groans softened. The 20th pin didn’t hurt less than the 10th. Already I was adjusting to the inevitable. Not that my acceptance would last. “When I get your nipple clamps tight enough we’ll move elsewhere.” Like an engineer she slowly tightened the clamps. Often pausing to watch me wince, listen to my dismal “ahs.” ---- “Say it again.” I did, “Your slave thanks its Mistress for its pain.” And again her knee crashed into my groin. She’d been below my navel for not that long but I hardly knew where the pains were coming from. “Floorshow is over.” A blindfold went over my eyes. Lost in blackness I know longer had visual cues. I heard her set a chair in front of me and took my cock into a hand. At first it was a gentle caress. My penis responded not to the warnings I was silently screaming at it but to her touch. She clenched her fist tightly and twist then yanked and twisted again. Having that part of me so roughly manipulated left me feeling even more powerless. The opening of her hand fooled me until she began punching it into her palm. When the punches became hard slaps I tried to move away and her nails dug in. Then she moved to my scrotum. This time the yanking did hurt. She pinched and slowly pushed her nails in. When she squeezed I shuddered. The pressure wasn’t nearly as much as it could’ve been but nothing leaves a man feeling more impotent. ---- My back must’ve been coated with wax by now. Even though I knew she’d mastered dropping hot candle wax along my body being there trapped and feeling something very warm splash into my skin was fearful. She was scraping it off gently but my skin was so sensitized that made me quiver. “Are you still there?” I nodded my head. If I hadn’t she might’ve stopped. I’d have liked to play dead. I was too deeply reduced, feeling myself nothing but an extension of her will. “Maybe a little music will make it easier for you?” I knew the music would do anything but. It was as if all the devils in Hell were banging on drums. My ears started to ache.. Then I felt her boots hitting my buttocks. My body would shoot forward in response only to return for another kick. ---- The headphones came off. “Do you hear me?” “Thank you?” I wasn’t sure whom I was asking. “I hold a whip in my hand. What should I do with it?” Far away from my body lost in masochistic ecstasy and pain I was too foggy at first to know what to say. Then I did. “Please, on me, please.” The rawhide cut into me and I shuddered. I begged her to stop. She didn’t. Finally I drove so deeply into my trance that while my mouth begged my body felt things that sadly I’d wouldn’t be able remember the next day. ---- I felt her slapping my face. My eyes opened at I saw her looking at me like a sweet little girl, arctic queen all gone. She let me down and then carried me to another room. I felt her rub antiseptics and creams into my skin. They did sting but I felt my muscles unkink. Dreamily I looked up at her. Her smile made me so happy. “Oh my dear man when you give you do give all. Sometimes I fear you love me too much.” I felt her fingers caress the back of my neck. Tomorrow I might not be out of bed much. She’d be much at my side, making sure I was as comfortable as I could be, insuring that I ate. A kindly goddess replenishing me after the dark goddess took so much away. Limp, aching I passed out blissfully in her arms.

A dog's life

2004-11-15T13:25:00.000-08:00

She came out on the porch where I was reading. “Get your fucking worthless ass in the house now!” I must’ve blinked at her a few times wondering what the hell had broken loose. “Don’t bat your eyes at me. Inside, on all fours this instant.” What your response to that outburst might be I can’t speculate. Mine was to get my fucking worthless ass in the house on all fours as quickly as I could. “Put this on!” Around my neck went a plain ugly looking leather collar, not the one I usually wore when I gave myself to her. There was no giving this afternoon. It was all taking. “Spread you legs!” After I did I felt manipulations that I couldn’t understand. “Stand up!” When I tried I couldn’t. My balls were locked in a way that stopped me. “You can’t lie down either.” Experimentally I tried. Obviously I was trapped on my knees. “Whining, needy little slave, don’t you think I don’t know your mind?” Really I hardly knew it myself. But I knew she could play it like a virtuoso. “You think you want to be a pet do you?” Oh dear, I’d said something about that long ago. She hadn’t any interest so I’d never referred to it again. If I were a fool I’d fear that somehow my wish had lay festering in her mind. But as far as I knew since we’d been together she’d become happier. What I couldn’t know was if she’d remembered my old fantasy and though to be kind through cruelty to me or if one day lying back and thinking she felt there’d be nothing better than reducing me to a creature with four paws. “You’ll be my pet today. No you won’t, you’ll be a barnyard animal. Don’t expect the kindness I show the dog. I’ll show you your place.” She grabbed the weekly shopper and slapped my head a few times. I couldn’t have anticipated how deeply that reduced me. Hoping only to please her I knelt to one of her shoes to lick it. She kicked me away. “Don’t try that trick with me!” I cringed trying to curl into myself. “In the kitchen you’ll find I’ve left you a nice mix of cold mashed potatoes and liver in a bowl. In another bowl there’s some specially flavored water. Human food is quite a treat for dog don’t you think?” Cold liver and mashed potatoes sounded pretty inhuman to me. “Eat and drink it all, don’t leave anything behind and crawl to the corner I’ve prepared for you. Stay there and be silent. If you need to pee hold it in like any proper dog. Be bad and be punished.” “Later I’ll instruct you in proper begging and fetching.” Completely humbled I crawled my way to the kitchen to eat the foul mixtures prepared for me. Whether the treat or training was worse would wait until later. When would I learn to keep my mouth shut when talking to her. Probably never. Her voiced called after me, “But if you are a good puppy I’ll let you beg for a few treats.”

Movie Night

2004-11-15T13:20:00.000-08:00

“Pity you said you didn’t want to watch this movie with me. But nice of you to make me comfy.” One person’s comfy is another person’s – well in this case we’ll call it service. I was cuffed spread-eagled – who wants to lie on something that moves about. She had just stuck a DVD in the player and was spreading a thick comforter I’d bought across me. I felt her butt crush into my crotch and seemingly dig deeper as she turned to rest on her hip. As long as that sharp hipbone was pressing down there I wouldn’t do much moving. I winced a bit as that hip found the most comfortable angle. And as her elbow dug into my chest as the best place of support. I relaxed as best I could when she seemed settled in. I knew of course she’d be up and down, getting a cola, going to the bathroom. I’d feel her weight rise and shove back into me while she watched her movie. I wondered if I should’ve expressed false interest in it. Probably didn’t matter. When the mood hit her I’d be down under her in some fashion or another. Hoped it wasn’t a long movie.

Protocols

2004-11-14T05:48:00.000-08:00

It'd been weeks since she'd taken control of me. In the back of my mind was a sense of need (yeah the need manifested itself elsewhere, what a dirty mind you have reader). Sometimes I could seduce her into it, though it might seem odd that you'd slyly adjust your voice and behavior to see if you could get yourself slapped silly. And given my generally attentive nature it took lots of finesse to try to evoke that side of her. I flat out had no luck with any of my gambits. Nor did I really feel that deprived, the love of a good woman, in any fashion, should be enough for any man.

That day I was relaxing in chair doing nothing with my eyes closed, an art at which I was a master. I felt her nails gently move through my hair and shivered. Opening my eyes I saw she had my collar in he hand. Another hand's finger was on her lips telling me to not say a single word.

"Do you remember my little toy man the hoops I used to make you jump through."

Sure did. Fairly early on when she would don the role of owner she decided to set up protocols that defined my every movement and act. Partly she did it because it clearly separated my times as property. Partly it gave her an excuse to punish me. Not that she really need an excuse to play the Devil Woman. At times she relished giving me a lecture and letting me know it was all my 'fault.' I'd wilt and blush before her sternness but I'd also sink ever deeper into an erotic space that thrilled me.

"Full protocol tonight, bet you can't remember. But I'll give you a good remedial education." She left the room. I stripped, put my collar on and crawled to where I knew she'd be.

Finding her feet I brushed me cheek against each one, then kissed it. Then still on my knees I bowed, arms extended forward holding me up. And said: "This slave awaits the command of [sorry you don't get to know what I called her]."

We eventually grew tired of this. But it had been long enough that I was feeling as subdued by it as I first had. I just knelt there, waiting. Waiting was sometimes the worst part. Would I be there a minute or five? Had I don't it to her specifications or made an error. What would she do to me when she chose to acknowledge my presence?

"Grovel!" She was using a curt tone of pure command. Thankfully I knew exactly what she wished. I licked her shoes and between each stroke I thanked her. This is tougher than it sounds. In this kind of worship I could easily forget to thank her and would feel a whap across my backside.

She didn't hold me there long before I heard her say "Present!"

I hated this one. I knelt upright before her. My hands on my knees my palms out and looked her straight in the face. She made it terrible. She was wearing the silver glasses again. Do you know what it is like to see yourself naked and humbled? Unable to read her I had no way to know if I'd done it right. The usually sardonic smile was replaced with tightly compressed lips. Part of me wanted to ask if she were pleased but experience had taught me to never speak without permission when she was like this.

"On your back!"

I was there too often to forget; besides there weren't any trick words like kowtow. She stood over me and pressed one shoe, then the other into my face wiping the bottoms against my cheerk.

"Extend!"

I stretched my arms and legs out. She pulled her chair to my side the back of it facing me.

Then one shoe pressed into my thigh. Another shoe into the other thigh. One of her hands was one the chair.

One of the shoes moved to my belly and ground in a bit. I raised a hand. I stopped it from reaching out to her but …

She slapped it down with a cane.

"You forgot your protocol. Yes, I know I've consented to tie you up. But you know the rules, slave man. Tonight if you raise an arm or leg you'll pay for it. And not just being corrected with my cane. That useless bit of pink meat I see between your legs will remind you of the rules. I'll remember your every infraction and then will stroll across you and … you know what happens to a bad slave's cock don't you?"

She bent down and slapped me.

"I've stepped on you twice, what did you forget." I had. With each step I was to thank her. As much as she liked walking on me I knew I'd need to be very thankful this night.

Worship

2004-11-13T04:00:00.000-08:00

You know, she is always a goddess to me. Reading, puttering about, whatever she does she is the sole focus of my affections and worship. Knowing that no matter what happens she'll be there gets me through the days I'd just as soon lie down and forget about it all.

Worship has at least two connotations. Back in the days of courtly loved the men loved their 'maiden faire.' And while maidenhood is a quaint idea in the 21st century at best she'll always be that for me. Since you are reading this blog you know there's another kind. When you surrender to her as a divinity.

I enjoy both sides and don't much worry about where one begins and the other ends. She is much more alive to the distinctions but I happily let her decide the emotional space for me. As a masculine man and a surrendered man I'm happy.

Let me put it in terms of feet. In bed on her back I may sit riveted by the shape of her ankles. (It could be the curve of her shoulders but won't work for this example.) Or having given myself to her on one of those (for me too) rare evening when she wants that I discern every detail of each toe. Man or slave I'm a silly romantic and I'd shoot you if you tried to take it away from me.

When her mood is just so she lets me treat her as Goddess. The Goddess if you will. I only worship one.

Usually I find a note. What it says I shan't share with you. But I understand.

On those nights I switch to a white t-shirt and shorts. Opening the door of the room I know she will be in I fall quietly to my hands and knees and crawl in. She is resting stretched out, relaxed.

I crawl over and light sticks of incense on each side of her, over to the stereo and press the play button to start the music she wishes to hear.

Then I crawl in front of her and bend until my forehead touches the floor and thank her for setting aside time for me to worship her. I hold myself there for a bit but if she says nothing I bend back up on my knees.

Her feet rest on a low cushioned stool. I caress, then lick each one in turn. In each action I strive to be slow and silent but not linger too long.

Taking an aromatic oil of her selection I gingerly massage it into her feet, between her toes and along her legs.

That done I put my head on the cushion between her feet to await her pleasure. This is the most intense period. I never know how long she will rest. Only a few minutes some time. Others long enough for my body to ache to move.

But it is the best of times. She may arise to be a sweet lover or a cruel owner. The uncertainty excites me, ministering to her satisfies me.

Words

2004-11-11T14:13:00.000-08:00

It is hard to explain how she talks to me when she owns me. To see her words typed here it looks like ordinary conversation. To hear her tone of artic irony mixed with distant affection always reaches deep into my heart and mind squeezing it into something she can mold to her desire.

When I discovered that I needed to worship a woman I read lots of Femdom and female supremacist stories on the web. Reluctantly I had to stop. The dialogue was often something like a bad old historical novel, worse even than a cheap movie.

I think maybe it was spitting that shaped the way things worked out for us.

I'll never forget the first time she spat on me. I'd only been on my knees before her a few times. I'd just become able to serve her without shivering.

She told me that when the spit hit my face she could almost visibly see my mind move into slave space. My memory is so hard to share. I know my body flushed hotly, I shook so deeply humiliated that I wanted to crawl inside myself. Humiliation, yes it sounds awful to you perhaps. It did feel awful but at the same time I felt there was nothing more important in my life than to be hers.

A much worse day came. She spit on me and it just felt like moist goo on my face. Nothing more. So she stopped.

And it made her think. Mostly she had addressed me with contempt, called me dirty names.

Over time her contempt became subtler. Rarely explicitly stated. As did the worst epithets.

She came to mock me almost lovingly. Or even openly sweetly. Feeling both her power and her love at the same moments made me worship her more, ever more willing to suffer to please her.

She still spits on my face on rare occasions. No longer used to it I cringe within myself again.

And there are plenty of nights when she's curt or cuttingly nasty. But not every night. On those nights those words alone are enough to make me need to beg and crawl. Being not always heard they lash into my brain.

Do I honor her with a title? It was her own wise decision that in our times of power exchange I address her (rarely, mostly she prefers me silent when not whimpering) with an honorific. What is it you may ask. I'm not going to cheapen it by publishing it here.

Unfaithful worm

2004-11-11T14:08:00.000-08:00

"You! Come here now!" Damn she sounded mad.

"I don't have time to put your collar on. Kowtow!"

That was maybe the third time she used that word. I wished she'd never read it. I dropped to my knees and bowed extending my hands in front of me crossing them at the wrist, not allowing them to touch the floor. I could hold the posture for thirty seconds if I was lucky.

It was probably less than fifteen before I fell on my hands. She stomped on them.

"You incompetent slave! Can't obey a simple instruction. Bend up and look at me."

Kneeling upright I did. What I saw through me. I saw a funny reflection of myself. She was wearing mirrored glasses. For the first time ever I couldn't get feedback from her eyes. I froze without seeing her eyes I didn't know what to do. All I saw was myself on my knees looking pathetic.

"Tell me you worthless piece of shit is there something wrong with the way I look?" She kicked my knees.

"I - " More kicks.

"Aren't you satisfied with me? Don't I do enough for you?"

I didn't try to say anything. Lost and confused I started to tremble.

"Don't try that trick with me you unfaithful little worm!"

I was actually getting dizzy. She was the only star in my galaxy, I wouldn't know how to be unfaithful. I just looked up at her hurt and silent.

"Look what I found on your computer."

Oh. It was a photo of a Playboy centerfold I once fancied. In an idle moment of recollection I'd found it. Maybe I'd spent five seconds looking at it. An expensive five seconds it seemed.

"But I just … "

"Shut up!" her voice was so loud and harsh it cut into me like a whip. I had no idea she'd care. She knew other women had become invisible to me after I found her.

"You're just a worm aren't you? Get on your belly and look like one."

She lashed my arms and legs together tightly. From where she stood I probably did like a worm.

"Since you are just a worm I'm going to teach you the worm game."

"I have my cat o nine tails in my hand. Being a worm you'll try to squirm away when it hits you. By the time my arm gets tired you won't think about naked women anymore will you."

I wished I really was a worm and could burrow out of site. With her cat and angry I had no idea what she might do to me.

"You just lie there and wonder fish bait when the first lash will come."

Just barely I heard her snicker softly to herself. She wasn't mad. But she had played me like a worm on a hook.

I might've relaxed but given what she had in her hand I knew that I'd deeply hate the 'worm game.'

Skateboarding

2004-11-11T04:41:00.000-08:00

I was reading the paper when she got home.

"Hiya honey there are a couple of heavy things in the car would you go get them for me?"

They proved to be two large triangular blocks of wood. There was a unfamiliar wooden plank as well I lugged them all it.

I looked up to see my collar. What devilment could the bit of wood mean? Well mine wasn't to ask why but to lie down and let her put straps around me. The triangles went to my sides and the plank across them.

She went back out. She returned with a bright purple skateboard in her arms. Everything was explained. Once again she'd found a way to make me a poor little grape at the bottom of a wine press (thankfully she'd never managed to find one of those).

"An old hobby I thought I'd pick back up. You've been such a good doormat, carpet, mattress and pillow I knew you'd be happy to be my skating platform. You wait right there, I'll be right back."

She was so fetching when she returned - black halter and shorts - that I could almost feel it was worth it. But I knew shortly I wouldn't quite be able to keep my admiring eyes on her.

There wasn't much distance for her to go but she made the most of it as she hurtled at and over me. The board squashed into me knocking my breath out.

She looked at me over her shoulder and dismounted.

"Already out of breath? We can't have that. Let me move it." As she slid the wood down to cover my crotch I was sure the first placement hadn't be an accident. Some things you only do once, a man's crotch is a Domme's joy forever.

I winced as the wood crushed into my cock.

The Leg Leash

2004-11-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

This is an early female domination fantasy I once had. Just remembered it. Not very practical but thought I'd share it with you.

She'd already collared me. On my hands and knees I looked up at her.

"Foot treat day for you, I know you'll be so happy. Look at my ankle."

There was a bracelet around one of them. She bent and locked a chain in place then stretched over to me and locked it on me. Now I had a hint why I was wearing a choke collar today.

"I move you follow, wherever I go. You get slow and you may find yourself short of breath."

A polite way to say choking, not that I was in any position to argue.

"If I stop you are to crawl up and lick my boots. When I move away you will follow silently. If the boots slam into your teeth you will learn to pay more attention."

I guess I'd certainly try. What was I going to do, call the slaves union and report unfair practices?

She moved away, the choke collar yanked me and I scrambled after her hoping I could keep up.

Down Memory Lane From the Future

2004-11-10T05:35:00.000-08:00

What might it be like after, say, a year together? How would we have bonded, what mistakes made and deep satisfactions achieved? A visit to an imaginary future.

Her knees pinioned my shoulders while her butt pressed against my face. The air that passed through the fabric of her dress (sadly you can't breathe through PVC) was rich with the scent of her. A scent I'd come to cherish.

"Oh my little pillow when you wrote all those little sketches for me you had no idea how many of them you'd come to live."

True enough and there were some of them I came to wish I'd never written.

Tonight her fingernails were gently moving across my upper body. Even though I knew at a pace only she knew they'd become progressively less gentle I tingled with pleasure.

"Now I can manipulate every part of you, shape and finesse you."

While slaves shouldn't have pride I took great pride in how she was both Mistress and Master Artist. With a cunning eye she'd cataloged my every response. Whether motivated by sadism or whim she could play me to perfection. Sometimes with quick savagery, others - and perhaps more cruelly - lingeringly, weaving complex patterns of emotional and physical response.

Her nails were pressing more deeply, lines of light sharp pain traced themselves along my torso.

"You were a willing little beggar from the beginning. Very timid and shy for such a big man."

I'll never forget those first few times she allowed me to lick her boots and feet. I had so much raw helpless need that just being on my knees before her made me shake. After we'd been together for a while she admitted that she found herself holding back at first. Not out of kindness. It seemed a waste to press my confessed hot buttons until I became more habituated - then they'd give her a more gratifying response.

Two nails cut into a nipple, I flinched.

"Though not as cooperative as I'd expected."

A fair evaluation. Some of her needs scared me. However much my conscious mind strove to please her I'd still retreat and my exaggerated response, the terrified looks made it nearly impossible for her to gauge things.

Loving me she with more patience than she really wanted to give she brought me along. Greatly irked when she felt blocked she was a bit bloodthirsty in punishing me for my reluctance. And she'd taunt me that many of the punishments had been suggested by me in my blog.

With time trust overcame many fears.

All ten nails bit into me and yanked. My scream was muffled by her body.

She stood up and turned around.

"Having you yell into my butt feels just plain weird."

She knelt back down sitting on my chest and lit a joint.

"Ashtray."

When she brought the joint down to flick the ash I opened my mouth to swallow it.

"I used to be peeved with you when you'd order things without asking me first."

For a time I'd been addicted to ordering S&M toys. Embarrassed I wouldn't always show them to her but she'd eventually ask what I'd bought or find something in a drawer. Many of them she dismissed as gimmicks.

And she'd accused me of trying to top from the bottom in buying them. So I might find one of them being used on me with barely restrained brutality by way of a lesson.

She finished the joint and I ate the roach.

"How your skin has changed. So many tiny marks of my ownership cover it now."

The gimmicks after a time she came to see as special effects devices. As she mastered me she became a restless artist looking for new and subtle ways to lead me from one response to the next. There were long evenings as she compared the welt left by a tawse with that of a quirt. Sometimes I'd regret my purchases more than any blog entry. By then she'd given me a wish list that I slowly filled.

"And how you've learned to take it, you little pain whore." I think she'd come to take something akin to pride in the depth of my masochism, my need for her cruelty.

Helplessly I'd watch her sadistic grin as she carefully found one of my limits and patiently work me past it. It took almost a year of microscopic adjustments before she hit my nipples absolute limit.

"Poor thing, sometimes I was too rough on you in those early months."

Once I panicked so badly I fainted. That scared her. But we've always been good at talking and didn't have much trouble getting past it.

A couple of mornings my joints had been so stressed I could barely walk. She was a loving and caring nurse. And a few other unintended injuries. But you shouldn't play certain games if you don't know these things will happen. There was only one thing that I knew she still felt some guilt about. It was my fault really. I'd pressed as subtly and indirectly for hard pet play. It was one time my neediness created an appetite in her. She'd chained me in a dark corner of the yard one night. Then she went to take a shower. As bad luck would have it started raining outside. By the time she was able to rush out and bring me in I was crying uncontrollably. It took all of her kindness and empathy to rally me back to normality. We'd both learned a hard lesson. Sometimes I really didn't know my emotional limits and she'd have to protect me from myself.

And I learned that when she told me that some of my fantasies were best left as such to just agree and shut up. Overall we bonded over our mistakes with a deeper sense of who each other was.

My attention was brought back to her as she pinched my earlobes.

"My little slave's mind is wandering isn't it? Forgetting his every thought should be on me. Well I have a special treat for you."

Something warned me this wouldn't be like the time she made me beg for doggie treats that I loathed eating.

"Crawl over to the kneeler and get yourself in position."

She strapped me in.

"I bet you forgot you told me about this fantasy of yours." She held a black rubber coated clothespin in front of me. I was baffled until I felt her clamping to my butt and thighs.

"Wonder how long it'll take me to win this game?"

She'd win when she managed to remove all the pins by kicking them. There was only one possible winner in these games: her. But that was as it should be.

Three days of 24/7

2004-11-09T15:29:00.000-08:00

As God (who doesn't exist) is my witness I was sore, I was exhausted and I couldn't sleep.

This was long ago. You can't see it here but there far more to my life with the woman I love than hours as owner and property. There are really more hours where I care, tend, and help in the normal ways of man. But you wouldn't be here if you wanted to read about those would you?

But we know our special hungers and are able to talk about them frankly. When she first came to live with me I wondered if years of frustration hadn't left her needing a clear freedom to exercise her needs. She rejected it. Then not much later she took it.

My offer? To let her direct and control every minute of three days of my life. Use me, abuse me, do whatever she would with me. On her terms. No reservations. Understand I trusted her.

When I came home that day I knew that I'd be surrendering my rights, my independence to her. Promises among lovers and friends are contracts. I always honor mine. Better to beg and whine that be a liar.

That day I'd spent hours under her control, licking, hurting, whimpering. She blazed like a glorious comet. Myself, you are wondering what of this human doormat? I'd discovered pleasure, satisfaction and I'm sure it will astound you - peace - I'd only hypothetically existed.

So I found myself locked to a cold bare floor unable to sleep. Two more days would pass before I own myself again. I'd rather have been in my own comfortable bed beside her. I had doubts and fears. But on a deeper level I'd given myself to her and felt content.

Naked on Roller Skates

2004-11-09T14:59:00.000-08:00

I'd always wondered why she wanted that long rubber mat. I bought it but she left it in the garage for weeks. Until one day.

She asked me to haul it in and spread it across the floor. When I stood up from getting it just right I saw my collar in her hand.

I lay on the floor and she strapped my arms to my side. There was a short-lived flash of pleasure as she tucked my balls out of site but my penis above before strapping my legs together.

"The family jewels need to be protected I agree dear but the rest is fair game."

Game? When she said game I felt like someone who landed on Go to Jail every time they played Monopoly.

She pulled the rubber matt over me covering mostly my thighs but just a tiny bit of my groin. I equally damned myself for buying it and congratulated my back brain for having made sure it was thick and stiff.

I heard her cheerfully whistling in another room. Normally I'd be glad to hear her so happy. But I knew it meant I wouldn't be.

The odd noise I heard coming toward me made no sense until I realized she was on roller skates.

"You've been so useful my little man. Always ready to be my shoeshine boy. Tonight you get to be my skating ramp. And I'm even going to give you a special treat dear. Tonight I'm not wearing any underwear so keep your eyes open."

Normally that'd be quite a treat. But I suspected keeping my eyes open would be the least of my concerns.

With a giddy "Wheee … " she flashed across me crushing my thighs.

Groin Kicking

2004-11-09T14:20:00.000-08:00

"Worthless little slave toy on his knees."

Hogtied in the corner of my room it was impossible for me stand. Though with the smelly old nylon wrapped around my head gagging me I could offer my agreement.

"Do you remember my helpless toy that you once confessed there were times you wished I would make you cry?"

I did and right now wished I could take those words back. I was very scared. I'd never seen her stand over me looking so remote and deadly. Or spoke so harshly.

"I think I need to see those tears tonight. If you can't give me what I want I might as well castrate you and toss you in a ditch."

I almost fainted. She'd never been this harsh before.

"Don't look at me like a helpless lamb being led to slaughter your rigid cock tells me how excited you are. Tonight my slave, perhaps, you will learn the truth of your words."

I was shaking.

"When I hear or see what I need I'll stop but only then."

She reached behind me and I felt my collar locked to the wall.

"And don't try to fake tears or pain. You know that I can read you like a favorite book. We'll learn your real limits for once."

One of the black stilettos I'd so admired hit my groin. A quick shift and the sharp heel followed. She had me so frightened I barely felt the pain.

"Just a warm-up. Once I get limber I'll get down to work in earnest. How long do you think it will take? Half an hour, two hours? I'm in no rush."

Satanic Seductress

2004-11-09T13:58:00.000-08:00

Her hot breath on my ear, could anything be sexier. When I turned to look she had on those lovely white stockings and frilly short dress. School girl godesss incarnate she was.

"Hey there, why don't you come follow me." No man could've refused.

She led me to the bedroom and pointed at chair, "Why don't you see down and relax." Sitting at my feet she reached up and caressed my crotch. "Feel good, handsome." It felt so good all I could do was look at her mouth and wait for an invitation to drop my pants.

She got up and walked behind me. As her soft palms rubbed the back of my neck I felt every skin cell in my body flash to battle stations ready.

She licked an ear and asked, "You ready lover?" Before I could find enough voice to say yes I felt something slip around my neck. A choke collar.

She laughed as straps locked my arms and leg into place.

"I can play you any day of the week can't I? You are one natural born sucker hoping that I am."

She unbuttoned my shirt, unzipped my pants and pulled them down.

A rarely used ball parachute encircled my scrotum.

"Please don't do that to me tonight." I was fool to plead. She only laughed again.

"Why lover man, because you are man and I'm a woman? You have needs is that it? Well honey tonight you are going to get it."

She added a couple of weights to the parachute. They barely hurt, just holding that part of me taut.

"Oh yeah, you won't forget tonight." Then a couple more of the little weights. Just enough to provoke a momentary whimper.

Her hands ran along my legs. I tried to sit still but my hormones betrayed me. When I moved the weights moved as well. I moaned helplessly.

"You need it don't you, baby." I felt like I was trapped in a bad porn movie made in hell.

"Let me help you out."

The top of her shoe rubbed across my penis. It felt good. I relaxed, enjoying it. Silly fool. She crushed it into the wooden bottom of the chair. I couldn't choke down the sob.

"You having as much fun as I am?" Er, no but I wasn't fool enough to say so.

She stood in front of me slowly weaving her hips. As I recovered my eyes fastened on those hips and the belly button above. She was like a snake charmer.

"I forgot to tell you that I added a Cialis to your handful of vitamins. Makes a man long lasting they say. I want my lover man to last a long time tonight."

From a side table she picked up a Watertenberg Pinwheel. As she gently rolled it across my chest and belly I felt more randy than ever. More so as it ran up and down my cock. Until she applied a tiny bit more pressure, then one winced merged into another. No one prick hurt that badly but cumulatively it was agonizing. Once again my mind was off in a different space, time went away and her chuckles seem to come from very far away. Then it stopped.

"What a mess and so unsanitary. You wait right there." She was gone and back quickly. "You know I've read that lemon juice is a great disinfectant." It is but I knew that wasn't why she'd brought it.

"Plaything you are getting too noisy. What will the neighbors think?" I'd often wondered why they'd never called the police. She grabbed a dirty old sock, shoved most of it into my mouth and used a bit brace to keep me from spitting it out. The stench was almost as bad as the pain.

As drops of lemon juice dripped on me from base to glans I shut my eyes. Each little bruise left by the pinwheel seemed to burst into flame.

"Oh, what a lovely purple but I'd prefer a darker shade." For a moment as I opened my eyes I thought I saw a pretty panther stalking her prey.

From a side table she picked up a tiny flogger.

"How does this strike you?" Normally that little flogger never felt like much but with every nerve sensitized it hurt as badly as her steel tipped whip.

"Tell you what, if you can take me you can have me. About a half an hour from now."

The Very Long Day

2004-11-09T06:26:00.000-08:00

Just out of bed I walked into the kitchen, "Morning dear" I greeted the woman who made my days worth getting through.

"Hello hon." She reached behind her. "Remember you asked for this." She handed me a plain metal bracelet. Engraved was the word "Slave."

Oh my. It was to be a day when I'd be expected to stop anything I was doing at anytime and do whatever I was ordered until she was ready for bed or as she put it was "sick of having to bother" with me.

Well, I didn't think I'd asked for it. I guess I'd talked about, around it. Maybe too much for her patience. In certain parts of our lives together when I got too complicated or wishy-washy she was often ready to make up my mind for me.

Really in the selfish part of my little slavish heart I wanted a day when she used and abused me all day long. Now, could I really handle that? I don't know, thought about it more than I should. But on many days we had too many things to do and I suspected that she'd get a bigger kick out of yanking my chain at random when I least expected it.

"I made your breakfast" she picked up a frying pan. Cold scrambled eggs. She knew how little I'd enjoy them. Especially when as she did the contents were dumped on the floor. Then she pressed the front of her shoes into them.

"On your back, clean that mess off my shoes." I complied.

When I finished she stood up.

"Now that you've had your pathetic little thrill eat your breakfast, don't you dare leave a single crumb on the floor or use anything other than your tongue. Then go do something useful and don't pester me." She left the room.

Lapping and sucking up my dirty breakfast took a while.

****

I was at work at my computer when she walked in.

"Dear" I turned. She backhanded me in the face.

"Oh this is fun" she giggled. Maybe you can't imagine a merciless giggle. I've come to know it well. Much crueler than the haughty formal stuff you'll find online.

She kissed me on the top of the head, yanked my hair and left the room.

Wondering if she'd be back in five, fifteen or fifty minutes for more 'fun' make it hard to concentrate on my work.

****

Getting ready to go out shopping she walked up to me.

"Open your shirt." Her favorite adjustable nipple clamps went on.

"I won't make them very tight for now. I don't want you to embarrass me with your wriggling."

And they only just hurt. But I knew that as I moved around I'd often get a gently wincing reminder they were there.

"Only for now, wait for later, pet. Now drop your pants."

On went the gates of hell.

"Maybe we'll stop at a magazine stand and you can look at some of those centerfold girl photos you used to download."

Whatever we did out in the world there'd be I wouldn't be able to forget who owned me.

****

We stopped to grab lunch. I'd been good about my diet and ordered some fries. She looked up at the waitress.

"No he can't have those and he knows better than to ask for them. At least he gets to eat out of plate."

With seeming fascination I fixed my eyes on a saltshaker. I could feel the blood rushing through my cheeks and ears. I've never mentioned but she is much younger than I. The waitress probably thought I was some old man out with my keeper.

She ordered little and was done well before me. Under the table I felt her shoe crush into my crotch. My appetite vanished but …

"Make sure you eat every bit of what is on your plate." Her shoe dug in again.

****

We were walking in the park, coming to a deserted part she opened her shoulder bag and brought out a leash and collar.

"Down on all fours, I'm going to take you for a little walk."

You can imagine how I felt about that part of our stroll, thankfully it didn't last long. We came to a set of stone steps and she sat down.

"Damn, look how dirty my shoes are."

Understanding the unstated command I knelt down and began cleaning them with my tongue.

****

Back at home she kissed me on the cheek as I closed the door. Then kneed me in the groin.

"To think I didn't know how much fun today would be."

Looking at my watch I saw it was only 2:00 p.m.

Running board

2004-11-08T14:22:00.000-08:00

I was finished a weblog entry when she came in the room.

"You. Now." Looking up I saw my collar in her hand. I put it snugly around my neck in the fashion I knew she preferred.

"Follow me. Crawl." I'd never known her to be so curt before. But had learned to bend with her moods. Wasn't sure it was easier that way but it wasn't worse.

"Spread eagle board. Get." I was getting worried. She was reducing me to a mere tool more quickly than she ever had before.

I got the board and laid it on the floor. At her instruction I lay down on it and she locked me into position. Then she pulled in a shorter and narrower board I'd never seen before and lay it across me. It stretched to my crotch to just below my neck.

"I'm getting too thick in the tummy don't you think?" Even when I'm tied down and helpless I know when to keep my mouth shut.

"So I'm taking up running. Running in place is boring. Running on the streets is annoying." I had no idea what she was talking about. Soon I would.

When she jumped on the bottom end of the board it crushed into my crotch. As she traveled up various parts of myself were squashed by her weight. I probably wouldn't' have been able to breathe when she got to the top but she was instantly headed back down to the bottom again.

Back and forth she went crushing parts of me flat as she went along. Luckily she wasn't that athletic or I might not have survived the night.

Smart Assed Masochist

2004-11-08T04:15:00.000-08:00

She has a gentle face, when she smiles it dazzles me. But let her dark lashes lower a little, her lips compress into a stern line the sneer makes me want to crawl under her boots and hide.

The look on her face that night all but toasted me. With her hand tightly on my leash barely a foot from my head there was no way for me to crawl away.

"Stupid little man, do you realize how lucky you are that I allow you to worship me?"

Her other hand flew swiftly from one cheek to the other.

"Do you?" another pair of slaps.

I opened my mouth trying to think of what to say.

"Don't speak, there's nothing you can say I want to hear" two more slap.

Her voice and the slaps made me flush, even my ears burned. I was just a helpless little puppet.

"You are nothing more than a doormat, a human shoeshine. Yet you dare to maintain the proper respect a slave owes its Owner." Amazing how she can talk in capital letters.

I should've known this would be coming. I'd been a bit SAMish lately. I had a streak of Smart Assed Masochist. Unlike most SAMs I wasn't trying to provoke her to get more punishment. Trust me, she never made that a desire. I'm a strongly analytical man whose entire approach to life is colored by irony. Her greatest gift to me when she takes control is shutting that down. In serving her and suffering for her my mind quiets, my detachment surrenders to pure feeling.

The irony had broken through a few times recently when serving her. It would just come out involuntarily. Mostly she'd laugh with good grace, though she always made me pay dearly for my flippancy. Either my SAMishness had come to greatly irk her or she was using it as a pretext. I knew she'd tell me later.

"Tonight a slave gets reeducated in his role in life." Four or was it six more slaps followed in rapid succession. I could feel how brightly I must be blushing. My head felt like a pink balloon ready to pop.

I didn't notice that my penis had become a pink balloon as well until she locked a cock ring around it. Already cringing from her words I shrunk a little deeper inside myself. Few things are more sensitive than a stiffly erect cock: erection play can be brutal.

"Slide your knees under my chair, you know the position."

She pulled out a 16" x 16" bit of plywood with a hold in it, my penis went through the hole. Although I couldn't steel myself for what was about to happen I tried. Equally I tried to beg with my eyes: foolish effort the look would only egg her on.

She placed a boot on my cock and shoved it down and started tapping and pressing on it. Locked into full erection it wasn't very flexible and hurt very badly. I lay there and whimpered. Slowly very deliberately she pushed down until she pinched my foreskin against the board. Few things hurt worse than that, it was a punishment she used sparingly. It would hurt for days acting almost like a built in chastity collar.

Boot firmly back on top she used it to shove herself up from the chair. I swooned.

"That was the introductory course. Now we get to your real lesson."

She moved the chair aside.

The sharp point of her boot hit my penis. It probably wasn't even that hard a blow. But erect, having been crushed it was a tiny point of pure agony. From the corner of my eye I saw the next swing begin.

In the back yard

2004-11-07T05:14:00.000-08:00

The most expensive gift I've given her is a 10' fence surrounding most of our backyard. Helicopters aside nobody can see what goes on back there. I did it so she could go for pony rides. Not that we own a horse. Well, you see, she does: me.

It had taken me lots of hard work to become a good pony. We started in the house. The longer I could carry her the less I was punished when I collapsed. The formula and form of my punishments varied with her whim but as I got better she really did lessen. Even with that inducement pony training was slow and laborious.

Finally I was able to give her a complete tour of the yard as I crawled along with her sitting astride me. If my pace got too slow the sharp heels she always wore for her rides sped me back up. A quick yank on the choke collar told me when to stop. Tugs on my ears directed me left and right.

She has her cruel moods and her very cruel moods. I'd come to recognize her 'suffer for me' look. I saw it in here eyes one afternoon as she prepared me for a ride. Looking at her feet I was surprised to see a pair of athletic shoes she didn't really like and almost never wore.

It was a long ride. Every joint ached and I knew the next day I'd do little other than recover.

When we got to the shallow pit I'd dug for her sometime back and had since maintained she dismounted me. Kicking me into the pit, I fell on my back only to be shoved over onto my belly.

It had rained the night before and the red North Carolina clay was moist. Part of my face sunk in.

"A girl needs her exercise." It was only a second before her choice of soft soles became clear.

I felt the sole of a shoe slam into the side of my but. Then the other side. From the movement of her shadow and the constant hammer I realized by buttocks and thighs were being used as an aerobics platform. She didn't go at it for very long but the consistent pounding of a small area left me very sore.

When I felt her shoe slide across the back of my head I realized she was using it like you would a doormat to wipe off the mud.

Then she stood in front of me. "Now crawl over and clean my shoes."

Barely able to move, I shoved myself forward. It'd be a miserable job. Unlike her other footwear the sports shoes had a rough surface. They were harder to clean and the fabric scraped against my tongue.

Evening in the attic

2004-11-06T11:34:00.000-08:00

I climbed the attic ladder and knelt in my assigned corner. That she'd placed a small blanket for me to kneel on gave me pause. She only did that when I would be on one position for a comparatively long time.

The attic was pitch black except for a small red light that glowed from the ceiling, a wireless camera.

Her voice came from the house intercom, "Lock your ball cage to the ring in the floor."

Feeling about I found a bit of short metal chain next to me. When the little lock clicked into place I bowed my head to show that I'd obeyed and hand rendered myself unable to rise from my knees.

"Now, slave, lock your arms behind your balls."

I looped another chain behind the first and closed two little locks. Now I could move my hands only a few inches forward. Again I bowed my head.

"Now I have you out of my way but still under my eye."

The intercom fell silent and I sat there in the dark wondering. There are times when her dominant side is ascendant but she's too tired or distracted to want to work me over. On those occasions she would often seek to expand my tolerance for bondage. That my restraints left me some freedom of movement suddenly seemed an ominous sign. It meant I wasn't in danger of becoming too cramped or straining a joint. I could be left alone in the dark for a very long time.

And she knew me too well. She knew I'd speculate about it and, given my nature, assume the worst. Several variations of worst. It was the kind of refined mental torture only an Owner who knew her slave well could practice.

She could sit downstairs watching me fidget, enjoying the various expressions that crossed my face.

It doesn't take long for your sense of time to become confused when you are alone. I relaxed as I heard her ascending footsteps.

"Would you like to come down and worship my shoes?"

My "Yes, Mistress" was emphatic. That she was going to let me be near her made me happy.

Then I saw her hands reach to a shelf pull something down that I realized was a very strict posture collar as it went around my neck. My head was locked into place pointing directly at the camera.

She followed this with a special pair of nipple clamps with a chain that fastened to the ball cage. If I started to fidget the chain would pull on my nipples. As they did when she gave my hair a yank.

"Now you sit there and be still" - as if I had much choice - "and if you're lucky I'll remember you are up here."

Bait and switch! No matter how often she did that I was never prepared. Serenely, haughtily she smiled down at my increased misery.

She left me amid the blackness wondering how long before she'd come back to release me.

Sweet suffering

2004-11-06T02:58:00.000-08:00

Really I'm quite terrified at the idea of testicle torture but a small metal device in the Stockroom catalog inspired the second half.

For a long time she said she had no interest in testicle torture. But always fresh with energy to explore what she sometimes called 'compositions in pain' (mine) her enthusiasm tended to branch beyond her original expectations. Not that she called it torture. No, it was testicle manipulation, part of her larger body of work, male manipulation. We got to it by a complicated route.

On the night I'm recalling she began by making me suffer very sweetly.

Some days I come home to find her look especially fetching. It may just be how she feels like looking, a loving desire to please my fancy or, well, a very different kind of loving. On that afternoon she looked a bit of the tart. Understand, I had a weakness for her in hot pants and little too much makeup. What hopes her stunning appearance inspired were modified when she handed me my collar. Willingly I dropped into my role as property, lucky if I were merely a pet for the rest of the day or perhaps a slightly abused toy

On my knees and humble I followed the pull of my leash as she led me to a big wooden chair and strapped me into place. I shuddered slightly as the metal bands known as the Seven Gates of Hell were locked into place along what at this point could only laughingly be called my 'manhood.'

She sat in my lap and, well, wriggled. My now imprisoned manhood sought to expand as my favorite part of her body touched mine. Only to find itself crushing into the rings. And her weight crushed the rings down. My penis might've quickly surrendered but she gently caressed my cheek with her fingers. I groaned and sighed, no way to tell when one started and the other left off.

She pulled out a joint, lit it and shoved her lips against mine and exhaled. Her lips and the marijuana conspired to keep me greatly aroused. Her shifting weight made my body fight two wars, neither of which it could win. The pot left me wanting her badly but feeling as if I'd become something she'd happily smother into oblivion. Bending me with her sexual power was crueler really than lashes with a whip.

She sat on me, alternately chiding me for wanting her and laughing at my helpless need. And it was very helpless. After the combined pressure of the gates and her body even if she were to let me free and offer herself to me I wouldn't be able to do anything.

As the high faded I grew weary. I saw a quick flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

Then she brought in the small set of steel bars.

Having reduced me to impotent neediness she was ready push me down abject helplessness. That shining instrument was for my balls.

My testicles are hopelessly sensitive. She'd never been happy about that but understood. One night a swift kick had moved too low. I savagely cursed her in a way I've never done before or since. It isn't smart to curse your Owner. But the wise Owner knows when it is time to quickly put you back into freedom and protect you. She held an nursed me until I'd recovered.

After that night she'd been careful to confine herself to soft taps. They were enough to make me whimper. Ten of them were enough to make me beg.

But she wanted more.

So she made The Deal. I'd sometimes admitted I'd love to see what she'd look like as a redhead. She had no desire to color her hair.

One day she told me she'd try a bit of henna if I'd consent to six months with the little steel bars. I could pretend that I just wanted to please her. But very selfishly I wanted to see her with reddish hair. Funny isn't it what you'll do to satisfy even the most vanilla fixation?

She used the ball crusher with great care. She'd lock my testicles snug with it. Then she'd just tap lightly.

By the night I write of she'd mastered the crusher. I don't know if you could've seen the lever move each time she touched it. But I was visibly moved. Maybe each tap was only a millimeter. But each one brought a new whimper from me. Sometimes she'd tell me to "sing pretty" for her.

Caringly she'd strap me tightly in the chair so my writhings wouldn't cause me more pain. Since the tiniest adjustment would leave me begging for a few minutes she could work me for a long, long time. When my quavering "please please please" were satisfactory enough she'd stop.

On that night I she took it just one infinitesimal point further. A blend of vamp and vampire she grinned at me.

"Do you remember that this clamp came with little magnets that work as weighs? Time for us to try one, don't you think?"

I didn't. Much less as that tiny extra downward pull left me begging to do any other horrible thing she wanted if only she would let me go.

Too many canes

2004-11-03T02:45:00.000-08:00

"You've wasted far too much money on these. Tonight I'll give you a chance to get your money's worth."

She was referring to the four canes I'd bought. Having watched an impatient stamp to her feet when I bought the last one I should've expected this. But she'd never once complained when a new blouse or skirt arrived.

"I'm going to give you a chance to sing about them to me."

I wasn't gagged. My arms and legs were bound to one of those very short stepladders you can buy at Home Depot. She'd tied me tightly down in front and carefully pointed my bottom upwards.

Tonight she wanted a full audio stream of my pain.

"Poor foolish toy, you've told me they are each different. Tonight you'll get a chance to prove it to me."

Cane one was very flexible. Slowly, carefully she traced a route from just above my knee to just below my kidney. With a cane like that she couldn't do more than make me "Oh" and "Ah" without breaking it.

"You liked that didn't you?" Truth be told I did. It hurt but not too much.

Cane two was only a bit less flexible. When I wasn't flinching another part of my mind was admiring her controlled technique. She didn't hit me harder because the tougher cane hurt worse. My"Ohs" were louder but not too much so.

"Now I think you'll begin to understand I'm serious."

She was right. Cane three was tough. I yelped a little more loudly with each blow.

I heard her boots trail out of the room. Then back.

"You remember that warm cream you bought? I've never seen much use for it, but may be tonight it will help you learn."

The cream wasn't much more than Vaseline with a few hot spices. As she lathered it over my wounded thighs and buttocks I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

When I quieted down the room was silent except for the deep breathing of her nostrils.

"Now little worthless man let us see how this cane strikes you."

She didn't have to hit harder than she did the first time. My wounded flesh would've flinched under anything. And this cane bent not at all and hurt as badly as the three prior canes combined.

"Hmm, I love to watch you try to wriggle away." The more cheerfully she gloated the nastier it seemed.

With each stroke I found myself promising to "do anything," saying "please," guaranteeing I'd "behave.' She loved to listen to me beg. Not that I was doing it to please here. Once you pass a certain point of pain you beg even though you know it won't help. You can't stop yourself. Once I'd shouted for 'mommie' - well it worked when I was six. I never did again. For some reason that angered her and earned me an extra ten vicious lashes with her most brutal flogger.

"That was ten."

I relaxed. When the stinging surprise of another blow slammed into my buttocks I screamed. Only three more followed. Having thought my punishment had ended and not knowing how many more were coming made them seem worse than the forty that proceeded them.

"Sometimes a girl just can't stop herself from having a good time."

Shoe sadism

2004-11-02T13:43:00.000-08:00

Nothing clever. Just needed to get this out of my system.
1

She'd bound my arms and legs so snugly at that I looked like nothing more than a worm that had crawled over. Totally humbled I lifted my head to lick her shoes.

Every now and then her whip cut into my back as she urged me to "Show some speed!"

On my hands and knees hoping hopelessly to please her my tongue traveled up and down the sides of her boots. As much as I strived to pace myself I never seemed to do what she wished. The riding crop cut into my skin as I was told to "Don't rush you fool, do a good job!"

Bound helplessly before one of her crossed legs I was striving to perform what I hoped she would find a satisfactory job of polishing her boots with my tongue. But every so often she'd grab my hair, slap me in the face and tell me to stop "drooling" on her.

On my back I strived to remove and swallow every bit of filth from the bottom her flat shoes. Whether my tongue moved in circles, or in lines, it never seemed to follow the route she wished.

"Show some enthusiasm in your service," she tell me just before her flogger ground into my groin. However much I tried she never seemed satisfied.

Kick chase

2004-11-02T10:20:00.000-08:00

"Toys aren't supposed to act as if they have wills of their own." For once she seemed genuinely annoyed. The shoes crushing my fingers against the floor were almost as harsh as her voice.

"You promised that when I wished you would submit yourself to me completely, no reservations, no second thoughts didn't you?"

Gagged all I could do was nod.

"But you demand, demand, little man, that I bind you tightly before I use you as you offered yourself for use. Is that submitting?"

Best I could I tried to look like a baffled innocent. She would have none of that.

"Don't try your 'I'm sorry' look. Not that you aren't sorry. A sorry slave. A bad slave."

Even though I knew it wouldn't do any good I bent my head to the floor, hoping to look penitent. You get scared enough and you'll always try the futile.

"You told me this pair of stilettos are the shoes you fear most. Before I'm done you'll learn to fear not just them but me. And maybe focus your mind more clearly on pleasing me."

"I'm going to kick you. You will scurry away. I will follow and kick you again and keep kicking you. But if you fail to move quickly enough my shoes will hit you harder."

"The faster you run - if you are lucky - the less you'll be hurt. Well, maybe. Be slow and you'll wish you were faster."

"Got the rules? Once you are black and blue and if you beg prettily enough I'll stop. I don't care. I'm not the one that'll be in a hurry."

I sat there frozen. Then a sharp point hit me in the rear. I ran but another followed.

I didn't mean to say "Please I'll be good, I'll do whatever you want." I just heard the words come out of my mouth.

And I heard the reply, "I'm sure you will. But we're just warming up." Her voice harshened, "By the time I'm done with you my worthless little bit of slave trash you'll be ready to jump over the house if I order you to."

A shoe pierced me sharply in the side of a thigh. As I tried to scurry out of target range another slammed into my side. I collapsed and rolled over. Looking up I saw the heartless smile of the woman I loved, her every feeling now concentrated on her toes.

When the next blow hit my stomach I'd already lost the ability to distinguish sharp front from sharp heel. I only wanted to flee but I knew that there was nowhere I could go where another wouldn't follow.

I tried to drag myself away anyway.

Genital sex (more of a note than anything else)

2004-11-01T13:21:00.000-08:00

Not really a story but I couldn't quite get myself to make this into an email. Since you've sometimes expressed the idea that you would like to be on top I mostly wanted to contribute this bit of advice that many men get wrong in an erroneous attempt to be kind (my major mistake when I was young).

In my BDSM fantasies when I've thought of myself as an anal bottom I've normally pictured it happening what is unhappily called doggie style (which as I've later learned is supposedly the easiest: wish I'd known that when I was young). Often I've thought of the top as pulling my hair or having me on a leash. If we are facing then he slaps my face.

But what I wanted to pass along: kinky or vanilla the best way to enter a guy is by just shoving it in. The more reluctant the bottom the more important speed and force is. Being gentle or hesitant only makes it harder for the bottom to open and will often cause irritation or outright pain. Once you are inside it may take a moment or two for him to adjust but the hard part is over with. In being kind you are being unacceptably cruel (learned in real life long ago).

Sketch:

"Please me." My Master's command was clear and direct. I crawled over to his open knees. * My tongue worked his inner thighs then went on to lick and caress his scrotum and penis. Kisses alternated with the licks. * Just before he orgasmed he shoved my head down and rammed into the back of my throat.

More commonly I've thought of BDSM oral sex in terms of being fucked in the mouth. Did it once to a guy, never had it done to me.

* The portions between the asterisks are how I see non-D/s fellatio. Outside of D/s I think of myself as fellatio 'top' because I get to set the pace. Same as an anal top, whole goal is to please my partner. In the sense of old fashioned dancing you might say what I like about being a 'top' is getting to take the lead.

Under the mattress

2004-11-01T05:34:00.000-08:00

I've often thought my old futon frame might have interesting possibilities.

I'd had the old metal futon couch frame long before I met her. As instructed I'd brought it from the garage. Across the bottom of the frame I'd placed a thick sheet of plywood that I covered with a thick blanket. The futon mattress I'd folded across the back.

Once it was ready she came in with a handful of luggage straps. My arms were bound snugly at my side, my legs together. Taped in my hand was an emergency noisemaker.

She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork.

"Now, my plaything, you are ready to begin your life as a cushion. Into place with you."

Clumsily I had on the futon and lay down. She had that sometimes-terrifying look of sardonic glee on her face.

"You lie there and be still, if you move too much, well … you'll find yourself very sorry later." She pulled the mattress over the back and on top of me. "Goodbye, I'll try to remember you're down there."

I winced as she sat down directly above my crotch, then felt the cushion crush into me as she stretched out.

Either I made a lump bottom mattress or she was in a fidgety mood. I felt her moving around, the futon mattress shoving to different part of my body.

Then she settled in and I lay there wondering how long it would be before she released me.

Poking

2004-10-28T15:24:00.000-07:00

She poked, I moved. She poked again and I tried to get away. Given that I had no room in which to move everything was in her favor. As she wanted it.

I never had the extra cash for a proper metal cage. Out of four by fours I'd built the wood equivalent.

It was about as tall as her knee. When I crawled in I couldn't do more than kneel.

My wrists were fastened behind me.

On her next to worst nights I'd slept in it, managing to work my way to my side.

On her worst nights I didn't get to sleep in it because I didn't stay there. My time in my wooden prison was just warm-up.

Tonight was the worst among worst. Blindfolded I couldn't see it but I knew that in her hands was what I called her "cruelty cane."

She'd warmed up with an ordinary walking stick. Poke, poke, poke: I'd retreat but it would follow. She was wearing me down.

Then she switched to the stick with a tiny bit of tack sticking out the end. With the regular sticks I'd suffer in silence.

With her cruelty cane I'd yelp and ouch. She called it singing for her.

I called it a warm-up. Maybe a softening-up gets the spirit right.

It wasn't as if she couldn't do whatever she wanted. But if she poked at me long enough I'd feel so helpless and impotent that I'd beg for anything. Even if they pain were greater.

The poking made my will crumble. An hour of it and I'd have agreed to walk across hot coals. Or eaten anything she commanded me to.

There were evenings she wanted nothing more than to see me reduced to begging and pleading for acts I'd ordinarily flinch from.

By now I was sure she knew my will had been completely trashed. But my total surrender some nights was too sweet to her to resist driving me more deeply into.

I had no idea what would follow. Perhaps she'd let me out and kick me from one side of the room to the other. I'd only thank her for releasing me from my present bondage.

Anal worship

2004-10-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

Not much, meant to be more but the phone range. You'll get the idea.

"More tongue!" she yelled happily and yanked.

When she yanked my balls were squeezed mighty tightly and my tongue went more feverishly to work.

She had on a oval seat I'd carefully cushioned and built into a stool. To be honest the seat, which came from, a hardware store normally would've gone on a toilet.

Instead it was her smothering throne.

Some nights I silently serviced her and see used the handy cord as a means to ensure that should my enthusiasm flag she could rev it back up in an instant.

Fingernails

2004-10-28T15:00:00.000-07:00

"Poor little thing, I know you must be sore but sometimes a girl just can't help herself."

Last night her boots had worked me over so thoroughly that it was a testimony to my will power that I'd managed to look physically able at work. Usually that was enough for a time. That I was tied and trussed like poultry meant she had the urge.

She sat beside me in a chair.

"This will be a new one for me. You've said you like long nails and that my fingers are so pretty. Aren't you just a dear?"

Yeah, I liked her nails. But they were growing rapidly longer. She was applying those attachable artificial nails that you'd assume only Dracula's daughter would really want.

All ten attached she looked over at me, smiled and sat beside my incarcerated body on the bed.

At first it was wonderful. The nails traveled gently across my flesh. I writhed in pleasure like a puppy.

It wasn't long before she pressed harder. An arousing friction became a slightly painful, then really painful scratch.

"Don't be such a sissy. I'm just getting warmed up."

She grabbed one of my nipples, twisted, tightened and I tried to scream through the gag.

"Dear, dear, I'm just getting started. Save your applause."

I'd say her progress was like a machine. But she was always so careful to vary things. Inch by inch I felt skin grabbed in tiny sharp claws, lifted up and let fall back. Sometimes quickly, others slowly. Some with a twist, some without.

She looked at me reproachfully. "If you really loved me you'd soundproof this room. I could enjoy the next step so much more if I knew no one but you and I would hear."

Five sharp forceps clenched about my penis. Really it might've been two or ten. They dug in. My foreskin stretch forward then snapped back like a rubber band. We'd have needed lots of soundproofing to keep my response from being heard down the block.

A little warmth

2004-10-28T14:00:00.000-07:00

I've had heat torture fantasies for many years. Hot wax, water, oils: here's one variation.

My arms and legs were tightly bound to the arms and legs of the heavy wooden chair she'd strapped me to.

"There's my little toy, so nice of you to sit there for me." Not that I had a choice.

"I sometimes wondered if I treat you warmly enough" and she left the room.

She'd left behind one of those coils you use to heat up water for a glass of tea or instant coffee. As much as I was sure she wasn't planning to place it between my thighs I'd never been more frightened. It wasn't big enough but how else was she planning to 'warm up' our relationship.

Back in she came with a large black cup and a few forks. She plugged the heating coil in.

Steadily for a few minutes she looked at me like a wolf must at fresh prey

"I think we're ready, don't you?"

A bit of steam arose as she pulled a fork out of the cup. She moved so quickly to my chest I barely had time to catch what it was.

If the chair hadn't been so sturdy I'd have shoved my back into it as the hot fork touched my skin.

"What lovely delicate pink marks it leaves." You might've thought my chest was a bolt of fabric.

Another fork came out as the first one went back into the smoldering cup.

"Maybe if I place this at a different angle it'll look like a nice plaid."

I was too tightly gagged to scream as fork number two went to the exact same place as number one.

For what - thirty minutes? - ten? - how would I know the hot metal worked its patterns into my flesh as he kept up a running commentary on how it looked.

She looked at me with a simulation of sympathy. "Dear, I think you'll be needing to sit when you pee."

The fork came down straight between my legs and I really wished I could faint.

Choked and beaten

2004-10-28T05:36:00.000-07:00

I'd long since stopped thinking. If it didn't hurt so much I'd have thought I'd left my body.

My Owner almost kindly had told me that my training had progressed far enough for me to learn about real S&M.

I suspected I looked like the image of a demon's human toy in Hell.

Blindfolded, gagged, earplugged I was deaf, dumb and blind.

The chain from my choke collar leg to the spreader bar holding my wrists in place.

Symmetrically there was a choke collar attached to a wide spreader bar between my ankles.

Finally a chain between the two spreader bars left me wholly helpless, vulnerable. I was left with just enough freedom of movement to add to my pain.

I was wishing I could keep track of the strokes of the whip. But I could barely remember I'd been promised ten sets of lashes with the whip consisting of ten blows each.

Vinegar let me know when each set hand ended. Vinegar is an antiseptic. It also makes welts sting. I never was prepared for the next set.

The pause between each round of ten might sound merciful. It wasn't. The breaks assured I'd be able to suffer longer. And as my nerves readjusted the beginning of each set hurt even worse as whip cut into fresh wounds.

I'd learned to try to not move. But involuntarily I'd flinch and as I tried hopelessly to move out of the way I'd only tighten one or both of the choke collars.

Kneeling there helplessly I wished I knew if there were twenty or forty or however many more lashes to come.

Attic Stairs

2004-10-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

My love is an inventive woman.

You and I see attic stairs and think of hauling boxes up and down.

She saw them and well …

Once again I was on my knees. The rest of me was stretched out at an angle. Straps had made me a part of our attic stairs, my pulled pulled tightly above my head.

"Oh my little plaything, as something for me to walk on you've found your true role in life."

Walk she had, sometimes on the wooden steps, others on the pinky and squish parts. My thighs sore from her pauses just before she shoved herself up another step.

I don't know why but it hurt more when she came back down.

"Well that is just too exhausting. I need to do some aerobics to get my wind back up to par, don't you think."

Honestly I didn't. I knew what aerobics meant.

She'd blindfolded me with an old stocking. Dimly I could see a shadow move forward. Her first kick hit one of the already sore spots on my legs. I yelped. As I did with each that followed until she felt she'd had enough exercise.

My Perineum

2004-10-28T05:06:00.000-07:00

"Perineum is the area of skin rich in nerve endings that is located between the anus and testicles." Like most men I didn't know the name much less give the area any thought. But I've often suspected that she that I live with has consulted anatomy textbooks, searching the indexes for "Male body, vulnerable areas of ."

When she'd locked my ankle cuffs to a wide spreader bar I'd wondered what she was up to. I was startled when she returned. Her dress was made of a few layers of white, gauzy cloth. As she walked a little bit of flesh would peek through only to vanish as her movement continued. Continually teasing the eye it was very sexy.

Never before had she dressed like this with me in bondage. I knew that sweet smile aside she was in a devilish mood. The thin board in her hand was clue enough.

"Doesn't your little man want to come out and play?"

No, my penis had grown excited by the dress but the board sent it into retreat. She bent down.

"Maybe if I kiss it'll … " she didn't need to say more. My penis is even more of a fool than coward. It flashed back up. Quickly she locked a cock ring I hadn't seen into place. My penis couldn't retreat now.

With practiced speed she put a penis collar in place and locked it down across the board now resting on my belly.

"You know dear I don't think I've left you enough room for expression at times like these."

For the first time I found myself gagged with a damaged nylon. As I'd learn she decided it was keep me from disturbing the neighbors but let her more clearly enjoy my moans and whimpers.

After a few moments if smilingly admiring her handiwork she stepped back and gave my perineum a gentle kick. After a lifetime of peace the poor body part didn't need much to discover a whole new world of sensation. At first it was mostly odd, unpleasant - worse than pain in a way I'd never known before.

It wasn't long before the discomfort became pain. Weird pain that branched out into parts of me she hadn't touched at all. I whimpered. How long it last? You lose track, unable to tell five minutes from fifteen.

Eventually she stopped and sat down. I didn't know I'd broken into a sweat until I felt it evaporate cooling me.

"Your little man likes this dress doesn't he?" Even if I hadn't been gagged it would've been hard to know what to say.

My 'little man' flattened under her shoe. She rubbed back and forward as if she were trying to scrap something off. The friction made my penis warm. For a second my mind flickered back to the evening she'd shown me what a 'hand job' using a sheet of sandpaper felt like. That she'd never repeated that (yet) might've been a comfort but I knew that soon my bruised phallus would be feeling her heels.

Contentment

2004-10-25T15:00:00.000-07:00

I'd fallen asleep. My eyes flickered open and I saw her shoes not far away.

I stretched over and lapped along their edges for a bit.

She reached down ran her fingers through my hair, gave me a quick gentle scratch behind my ear.

"What a good little plaything" she murmured absently. I knew her attention was elsewhere.

I went back to sleep.

I'd been there how long? An hour, maybe two.

Time didn't matter. Some evenings as she worked I was happy to be able to lie beneath her and let her know how happy I was to be there.

Brutal whipping fantasy

2004-10-25T14:52:00.000-07:00

Not really a story. It wouldn't make one. This is how my most basic brutal whipping fantasy begins. Again I chose to use a male sadist.

He put a microphone not too far from my mouth.

"You offered yourself to me as a human whipping post."

"While I've trained you to serve me with your pain I wonder if you've truly learned to."

"Tonight we'll find out if you can live up to your promises. I hope to make you regret every one of them. And on the recording I make I'll let you revisit this evening for a long time to come."

I was strapped tightly over his custom-made whipping platform. My anus was up, my legs spread a part and my back was also angled for easy access.

Slowly he brought out each object and laid in on a tray where I could see.

Flogger. "For your back."

Ordinary belt. "For your butt."

Thick leather strap: "For your thighs."

Light but brutal whip: "Back to your back."

Cat o nine tails: "Back to your butt. You won't be sitting down for a few days."

Bamboo cane: "Your thighs will bleed."

Simple switch: "All of you. Light, rough. Long and slow. Cry for me."

Vinegar spray: to make sure each welt gives me as much pleasure as possible.

"About two hours. If you are lucky."

How to end a quarrel

2004-10-25T14:39:00.000-07:00

Not the smartest idea in the world but the image stayed with me so I put it here.

Not uncomfortable, I was used to it, I knelt loosely bound at my wrists in a corner.

One of the commonplaces of BDSM is that you don't take your daily problems into D/s. We agreed. But we'd made an exception. I guess it was my fault.

If you live with someone for more than a few months, after the romantic glow has to blend with the day-to-day business you have quarrels. She may sulk and think about leaving while you in another room are wondering if she'll let you help pack.

It can drag on for hours. Maybe even into the next day. What a waste of time.

In domestic battles I've always been more of a peacemaker than a warrior. I'd rather calm down and go to sleep.

One day when she was cursing me about I don't know what offense I told her if she really felt that way she should just lock me in a closet and forget about me.

She did.

Then penitent and loving she came and let me out.

We didn't do it often, neither of us really thought it wise. But sometimes when we fought I'd agree to be bound and put in corner or closet or wherever she wished me.

Within fifteen or maybe thirty minutes at the outside she'd feel sorry for me and release me. Then we'd having a loving evening making up. Not something I'd recommend that you try but it was odd how well it worked for us.

Slave initiation

2004-10-25T14:27:00.000-07:00

I wanted to try to stick on a couple of my more common, basic S&M fantasies. Though this is hardly as brutal as they've been. I chose to make it a master since I suspect it is harsher than anything you've thought about.

I'd looked long and hard for a Master. Finally I found one I could accept who would accept me.

My wrists were attached to my ankles; a gag was tight in my mouth. I was naked and completely available to the man that sat on the huge chair before me.

His voice was like some earth grinding machine. Unpitying, relentless:

"You think you have what it takes to be a slave? A slave submits, asks no questions, exists only to please and serve. There are no hesitations. There is no right or wrong, a slave is a creature of its master's will. Never anything more."

"You will serve by being always available, as you are now. Just an object, ready to be manipulated."

I cringed as he attached nipple clamps.

He pulled my hair back tightly.

"You. Will. Obey. Always. You. Serve. You. Submit."

His hand cracked across my face with each word.

"You exist only to be used."

He all but lifted me from the floor by my earlobes.

"I will do whatever I wish to you."

He pinched my nose, covered my mouth and a few moments I panicked until allowed to breathe again.

"You will serve by obeying. You will serve by downing whatever degrading thing I demand. Maybe later you'll clean my floor with my tongue while I beat you every time you miss a single particle of dust."

He grabbed my balls and twisted them back and forth.

"I am a sadist. Above all you will submit to me in your whimpering. I'll enjoy watching your eyes plead."

He yanked and yanked until I thought I'd pass out.

"Normally I'd leave your gag off so I could enjoy your begging. But tonight you will listen and learn your first lessons."

"Now to give you your first lesson in slavery. You will submit to me with your pain."

Much to my surprise he caressed my cock, it hardened. Quickly he put on what I realized was a cock ring.

"The harder you are, the more it hurts."

He brought out a simple ruler and began tapping the head of my penis. At first I was surprised. But as the taps continued the pain began. He sat there smiling. Every now and then the tap became a swat. I'd pull at my bonds to no use.

A pair of clamps came out. One was attached to each side of my foreskin.

"We've only just started. You won't be using this anymore for anything but pissing."

The taps made the clamps move, all of it was agonizing. Then he switched the ruler to its side. As the sharp end hit I wished the gag didn't keep me from screaming. A short scream would've been a relief.

"Now you are just beginning to learn about giving yourself to another."

The clamps came off more painfully than they went on.

Surprisingly a hairbrush was in his hand.

"Now you are ready to really entertain me. This won't add to your injury. But I can go on for a very long time with it. That is the trick of a master. You prepare your work area. Then slowly and lingeringly you enjoy yourself."

The bristles hurt even worse than the more brutal punishments. Gentle strokes really but the tender flesh couldn't have tolerated the touch of a feather.

"Maybe I'll take off your gag and let you beg for awhile. Slaves offer to do anything. But what can someone in chains promise that can't be taken

"One day you when you've learned to thank me for the pain, then you'll really be a slave."

When I was Her rug

2004-10-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

Ah, there I was flat on my back again. No, I wasn't in bed. I was a rug. I'd been a rug often of late.

The lady I loved liked me that way some evenings. For a time. Really I didn't enjoy it much. I'd get bored. Though being down there with her legs resting on me had its varied ways. At first she'd used a gag, blindfold and a pair of earplugs to make me a very quite floor covering. The gag came and went. Sometimes we'd chat just as normally as if I were sitting beside her. Took me a few tries to get used to having a conversation down there.

My remarks were often interrupted by tiny yelps. She wanted me to lose weight. And said that as long as I was going to look like I was carrying a big pin cushion in front of me I might as well be used like one.

Atop my stomach rested what I thought of as her vampire shoes. Her sharpest heels that dug in like teeth. She rarely walked in them. They were reserved for me. She told me that once I proved a less comfortable resting spot - lost weight - she wouldn't want them there.

I'd learned my lesson but these things take time.

I was lashed snugly but not too tightly in many places. And little hooks held me down to the platform I was attached to. Who wants a rug that wriggles. While I'd liked more room for movement I didn't complain. The night she got devilishly clever with old inner tube scraps and staple gun taught me all I wanted to know about immobility.

My cushion would be gone in a few months. And as I lay there I wondered what novel form of keeping me under foot she'd come up with next.

My Fashion Mistakes

2004-10-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

As the cane landed on my backside for what I thought was the eleventh stroke I heard a girlish giggle behind me say that she'd lost the count.

I'd come home from work to find her in the bedroom finishing a glass of wine.

That she looked something like a third world dictator was my fault. Some time back I'd ordered a vaguely military jacket: broad shoulders, epaulets, it came with a cap and riding crop. She didn't like it and said I'd confused her with Ilsa She-Wolf of the SS. Normally the outfit stayed buried in the back of the closet save for the rare times when she felt like vamping up a bit to please me.

That she was looking like a wicked warden now meant that hadn't been her first glass of wine.

Holding out the glass, "Hello trifle why don't you serve me another glass."

I bent to the bottle on the bed stand.

"I said serve me."

I dropped all thoughts of work from my mind and to my knees. She'd moved away so I had to walk/crawl on my knees to offer her the refreshed glass. Feeling better safe than sorry I kept head titled down just a little. I was surprised to realize her legs and feet were clad only in stockings. Black and thigh high, she must be a very good mood to be obliging what she had once called my "cheap, obvious" tastes. To be fair I try to keep things interesting for her but sometimes am just a commonplace old perv.

"Be a good boy and get the black boots at the end of the bed. No hands."

Crawling over I picked up one boot with my teeth. Very gently, I knew how she felt about tooth marks.

Once I had the pair at her side, "Now put them on me and try to do it right for once."

Practice is supposed to make perfect but I'd never really gotten good at this. She usually didn't ask anymore and when she did it was just a pretext for what she called "training."

Surprisingly this time I didn't bollix it.

I knelt there admiring her legs.

"You are just a little boot whore aren't you? Are you licking your tongue?"

True enough, I didn't need to be on my knees or she in a costume. We could've been sitting together in the living room, she in her pretty green ensemble. I never got tired of how she looked in boots. Any boots, any time.

"You're an ungrateful little boot whore though. You wish I was in those awful thigh highs."

Another on of my fashion mistakes. Even though I knew she didn't care for those I bought a pair anyway. She rarely wore them. When she did they all but said "On your knees slave" and I knew that I'd spend a couple of days recovering from what she'd do while wearing them. Yes, I'd have been happy to see them on her but when you are on your knees you aren't being asked for an honest exchange of opinion.

"Before I allow you to lick them clean I think you need another lesson in appreciation. Get on the bed, drop your pants and bend over."

As I knelt there while she meditated along on whether to use cane, whip or riding crop I thought back to the time she told me I looked my best in pink and red stripes. Her mood made clear I'd be getting a few now.

That was how I found myself waiting for the next stroke wondering whether she'd decide it was the first or the eleventh. The number of stokes is never as important as the hand that deals them.

She knows my needs better than I do

2004-10-20T05:17:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking about the transition from one emotional state to another and the image of my inadvertently starting things came to mind.

We'd been sitting side-by-side watching a movie. After I popped the DVD out of the player I sat down on the floor wanting to rest my head on her knee. I wasn't planning anything more. Nice knee, very relaxing place to sit and daydream if only for a few minutes.

Absently I stroked one of her feet thinking about what I needed to do tomorrow at work. I bent and gave a toe a quick peck. When I arose instead of leaning back against her leg or getting back up on the couch my eyes seemed unable to stop looking at her feet.

Maybe I sighed, I must've made some sort of noise because she asked, "Are you OK, hon.?"

My "Yeah, I'm fine" sounded odd even to me. I felt a little dazed.

She rifled my hair, "I think I understand, you wait right there for a minute." I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes and let my mind drift along focusing on nothing.

Opening them as she returned I noticed she'd put on a pair of black heels. Then I saw my collar and leash. I felt giddy.

"I know what my little man needs." Sometimes you can hear her transition into Domina emotional space.

"Crawl over like a good plaything."

On collaring me she said, "Show me your gratitude."

I bent down and started licking one of her shoes. After a bit the leash pulled me to the side, telling me to go to her other foot.

Tugging me up and leading me to another room she asked, "Did I tell you that I bought a second box of clothespins?

Fun with food

2004-10-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

I could barely crawl fast enough to keep up with her as she pulled my leashed self to the kitchen. Ordering me to stay on my hands and knees she stood in front of me.

"I think we need to work on your diet." She put a fat, unquestionably phallic sour pickle on the floor in front of me.

"It reminds me of you, dear." Her boot poised on top it. Squeezing it gently, releasing it, finally bearing down on it. It flattened, juice squiring out. Repeatedly her heel chopped into it, fragmenting it.

"Now eat it up like a good boy."

That I didn't like big sour pickles had as much to do with her choice as the pickle's shape. As dirt and lint came in with the green mess I knew why the kitchen hadn't been swept recently. She plans ahead.

When I started to lift my head her boot shoved my lips to the floor. "Lick up the juice."

I took in as much filth as juice.

Two more pickles followed.

Then cherry tomatoes, two at a time. She didn't bother to point out the part of my anatomy they resembled.

"Now for some protein."

Oh, god, a boiled egg.

It crunched as she crushed it and ground it into the floor.

Getting every bit of boiled yoke up from the floor was a long, nasty process.

"Look at this." I did it was a banana.

"Flatters you I think." It was a big banana. My stomach knotted. If she ground that into the floor, licking it up would be more disgusting than everything prior combined.

"First I'm going to work a bit on your banana. Then I'll let you have this for desert."

The trample platform

2004-10-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

I was lying down.

My resting spot was unusual in that it was a heavy sheet of plywood. My ankles and wrists were cuffed to the wood. My only cushion was under my ass. About that more anon.

Above me was something that looked like a big heavy wooden fence. 2x4s were spaced several inches apart. It was held on cinder blocks giving what felt like a very low but large cage a snug fit.

On top, sitting in a chair was the love of my life. She had been leafing through a shoe catalog chatting with me amiably. Being gagged I was unable to reply. She didn't seem to miss my conversation. She threw the catalog aside, stood up and stretched. Moving the chair she looked at me, eyes veiled by thick lashes she grinned.

"My little toy man, you look like you belong there. Maybe I should let you live there, always ready for me. But I'd have to feed and exercise you. And you couldn't to go work and earn money to by me shiny new boots. I guess you do have your uses."

"I need my own exercise. I fancy a bit of footwork, some kickboxing maybe."

I forgot to mention my head was on a small pillow. Not for my comfort, to keep my head forward so I could have a better view.

She walked to the far end of the platform. I clenched my teeth as she lifted her leg. Her long sharp heel cut into my shin. Today she alternated from leg to leg. Sometimes just a quick jab, others she'd pause to twist and bear down. I tried to move but the restrains were too tight. Otherwise I'd bang myself against the wood. As she once told me, she'd never let anything hurt me. Except of course herself.

And hurting I was.

At the top of my thighs she jumped off. When she came back she had a long wooden stick. Thankfully it was only her bamboo cane, not what I called the 'cruelty cane.'

She was standing just below my neck. For a long time she just looked me in the eye, letting me know she had all the time in the world.

Then she began anew. But she was working me harder. The hole shoe came through with a quick stomp. The front of her boot listed up while the heel buried in and twisted. Sometimes she'd pause to jab me with the cane.

Once below my belly button she bent down to pick up a leash. It held me cock and testicles. The pillow under my ass kept them lifted up for ready availability. The leash was to give her more control over her target.

She looked at me again.

"Now for the best part." As sometimes was the case when the worst was about to happen her voice was a tender sigh.

Had I hadn't been gagged my voice would've made the neighbors call the cops.

Finding the high note

2004-10-17T15:51:00.000-07:00

Not many basements have a picnic table in them. Certainly not like hours. It has many hooks, straps and hooks attached so you can hold things however you desire.

Like me.

I was spread out awaiting her as yet unspecified pleasure. This was one of those times she'd put me in place and wandered off. Giving me a chance to wonder what would be happening to me that night.

She look radiantly happy when she returned. Sounds nice doesn't it? The larger her smile the greater my trepidation at what new devilment I'd experience.

She had a white box in her hand.

"There you are plaything." As if I could possibly be anywhere else.

"You remember that I told you that I didn't think clothespins would be much fun? I started wondering if I was being close-minded and thought we'd give them a try."

She lifted the box lid to reveal a collect of pale wooden clamps.

"I think I'll start with the classic … target."

Quick as one two I winced as my nipples were pinched tight.

She paced about me looking as if she couldn't decided which part of my body's geography would be serve her purpose. Slowly she selected on spot after another about my chest and belly always giving me enough time to get used to one pin before planting another. Mercy? No. She loves to get the most out of anything she does.

"Damn, only two left. I should've bought two boxes, don't you think? Ah, I think I know where they should go."

I writhed as they cut into my foreskin.

She stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"You look like some sort of musical instruments, they look like keys"

Her hands ran above my body brushing against the 'keys.'

"I guess these are knobs."

She twisted the pins on my nipples back and forth as if she were tuning in a radio station. After much working I guess she found her channel.

"I bet I know how to get the high note."

I was surprised when she pulled the gag out of my mouth. Even though I knew she wouldn't give a damn I whimpered, maybe one day that would work.

When I felt her tug on the pins attached to my penis I screamed. She pinched my nose and shoved the gag back in.

"I thought that would hit the high note."

"I've read that taking closepins off is even more stimulating than putting them on."

I lived through the truth of that twenty-odd times as the pins came off.

Kneeling at the door

2004-10-16T06:15:00.000-07:00

I was listening to the rain when the phone rang.

It was she: "Door. Knees. Clean. Now."

When she uses her tone of command "knees" and "clean" have certain meanings. I understood door and now easily enough.

Excited I went and kneeled near the front door with my head bowed.

She must've been round the corner, her car pulled into the drive a few moments later.

After she'd closed the door I knelt to lick the mud from her shoes. My hair brushed against her leg.

"Clumsy fool, look at me."

"Don't you know better than to bump into me?" Every other word was accompanied with a slap to my cheeks. I'd learned long ago to not point out that strictly speaking I hadn't."

She stalked off, telling me to lick up the trail of mud she was leaving before I crawled over to show that I knew how to clean her shoes properly.

So many shoes

2004-10-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

It was no surprise that her favorite old song was Nancy Sinatra's Boots.

That afternoon she'd collared me and I found myself kneeling before her favorite chair with a cushion sitting mysteriously on the floor between us. Equally mysterious was a large shopping bag at her side.

She spoke: "You used to be such a good little shoe worshipping toy. Lately I've come to feel you don't shoe my shoes proper reverence. Since they are a part of me that means you aren't showing me due reverence."

Ouch. I hadn't felt I'd slacked off. Probably she didn't really. She may have wanted only to instill a little fear. For if she did think I was remiss with her shoes and boots what she called "attitude adjustment" would be very severe. She was speaking in a flat monotone that could make asking you what you wanted for dessert sound like an accusation of crime.

"The Salvation Army Store was having a clearance sale. I decided that perhaps you'd learn to show my shoes proper honor if you spent an afternoon licking strangers' shoes, sandals and boots."

She uncovered the bag it was pack full with footwear. I thought I might have even spotted a forbiddingly tall Army boot.

"Who knows what nasty people wore them? Imagine how disgusted they'd be by a little slave like you who crawls on his knees and begs to be beaten?"

She took out a black high heel and placed it on the pillow.

"Pick it up, clean it. When you think you are done put it back down."

My mind couldn't distinguish arousal from embarrassment. The shoe tasked vile and was filthy. She knew how gross and shaming this would feel.

She picked up the shoe with a par of forceps. As she gazed at it critically I trembled a little. What happened if she weren't satisfied?

"It'll do. But I want to see you work on the others with more passion. Don't miss a particle of dirt or dust."

"A slave like you needs more incentive than pleasing his owner doesn't he."

I wasn't stupid enough to say anything. The forceps reached out and pinched a nipple it hurt but not too harshly.

"If you fail to clean a shoe properly you'll have to lick it all over again."

"You'll know how well you've done by what I do with this." The clamps grabbed another nipple.

"The poorer your work the more tightly I'll squeeze and the lower I'll go.

I'd be very diligent. She'd proven before what she could do to my foreskin.

Confused and kicked

2004-10-16T06:01:00.000-07:00

On the silly side perhaps. Complete disorientation was the idea.

Funny thing about finding yourself unable to see or hear: you can't distinguish between two minutes and five minutes. Time gets loopy.

She'd put an elastic hood over my head; the only opening was for my nose. Before that she'd inserted earplugs. Then she'd locked my wrist cuffs to my collar; my ankles together with a short chain.

Faint vibrations told me she was in the room. Where I couldn't tell.

Until the tip of her boot slammed into my groin. And again. I bent over trying to protect myself.

Her next blow went into my armpit. I'd never been hit there. It didn't take much force at all. When her boot hit my elbow I fell flat.

There was no way for me to anticipate her kicks. But reflex action made me flinch from the seeming source. Sometimes directly into her oncoming boot.

The kicks weren't very painful. I think she was just trying to keep my moving. The effects of my scrambling often hurt more than what she was doing to me.

I'd never felt more disoriented and helpless.

Boot spanking

2004-10-16T05:57:00.000-07:00

One corner of our bedroom is a little different than most. The walls and floor have hitching rings. Plenty of them. There's almost no place you can't lock something into place. Or lock me.

I was locked into several of them so tightly I couldn't really move. She stood behind me sounding very angry. I had no idea why.

"How could you be so stupid, so rude?" Even without the gag in place I don't think I'd have admitted I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Well my little toy you are about to get an education. You once told me you wondered what it would be like to be punished to tears. And I'm tired of you being such a quiet stoic sufferer."

I was scared and very worried. My penis told me that I was also excited.

Her heel bore into the bottom of my thigh. Slowly it worked its way up. Sometimes she'd stop and dig into a spot, twisting the heel back and forth. Jabbing and jabbing until she reached the top of my buttocks. I hurt like hell. The jabs started their slow progression down the back of my other cheek and thigh.

As badly as I hurt I was still baffled. She'd worked me this hard before but never over such a limited area. But the back of the thighs and buttocks can stand the most punishment. She was working them slowly and very deliberately.

Suddenly she'd stopped.

She walked up close to me and bent down. Her voice was icy, "That was just the warm-up."

I could hear her stilettos hitting the floor as she moved back in forth doing I don't know what. Admiring her work? I was wondering what the hard part would be.

Then I found out. It hadn't registered that she'd only been using her heel. She hadn't kicked me once.

Now she did. The tip of her boot moved up only a fraction of an inch with each blow as if to make sure not a centimeter of flesh was missed. And the strength of her kicks varies. Several by no means soft but followed by a few unequivocally hard.

If I hadn't been gagged I'd have welcome the relief of screaming; the pain begin to creep past my limit.

Muddy boots

2004-10-16T05:50:00.000-07:00

We were in the garage. She sat on a stool, a tub of muddy water at her side. She was wearing a pair of very low cut boots.

I was on my knees. A leather rope was wrapped around my balls, holding them behind me. The wire ran to a pulley and then down, tied to a post at her side.

"We're going to have a little contest."

I groaned inwardly. Her contest only had one participant: me. And winning was more a matter of doing the best I could to minimize my losses.

"While I like my little toy man to offer his worship slowly and lovingly I'd like to see how fast you could learn to clean these boots."

She held up a stopwatch.

"The rules a very simple, simple enough even for you. After I pull my boots from the water you will bend down. On my 'mark' you will begin licking my right boot. On 'switch' you move to the left. At 'stop' sit back."

"I'll give you thirty seconds for each boot. You'll know how well you did by how hard I pull on this." She gave the cord three quick tugs each producing a stifled yelp from me.

"There's plenty of mud so you'll have plenty of practice."

Thirty seconds each? It would be a very losing game.

Chastity

2004-10-15T07:39:00.000-07:00

She'd had me tied to a chair for what seemed like a very long time indeed.

She'd been at her most subtly cruel.

Slowly she had caressed my cheek only to slap it.

After yanking my chest hair she bent and kissed where she'd hurt me.

And she alternated between rubbing my leg gently to slapping me with a riding crop.

I was very aroused.

When she took my penis into her hand I hoped she was going to offer the mercy of an orgasm.

Then the metal slid along my shaft, a leather strap around my balls and I heard a tiny lock click into place.

Duct tape was all that kept me from asking what he was doing to me. No need, she smiled and started to tell me.

"My pet I've just put your penis in a little prison."

"I've come to feel that you don't appreciate me and could be more attentive."

"A week or two of chastity may be just what you need to help you learn to be more focused in pleasing me."

"Or do you think it might take a month?"

"Three months?"

"We'll see won't we my pet?"

Short chains

2004-10-15T06:39:00.000-07:00

The chains connecting my ankle and wrists cuffs were barely a foot long.

We'd gone off to spend a weekend in a reasonably isolated cabin a friend owned. This gave us a chance to try a small dose of 24/7, something we didn't really want to do on a long-term basis.

It might be only for the first day. If she grew tired of it we'd end it either before bed or in the morning. If she were enjoying it she would still give me the chance I wasn't up to continuing.

She said the short terms would mean that with every step, every time I need to use my hands I'd remember that for now I was wholly under her control.

For now she was in another room reading a book. I'd been left on my knees in a corner. Facing me was a mirror. She said it would let me see myself as a man who has surrendered himself to the woman he loves.

Name?

2004-10-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

Probably a bit carried away. Just a scrap of thinking of submission that is pervasive, subtle (maybe a bit wacked)and not harmful.

On my knees before her for the first time what I saw was a distorted image of myself before her. She'd donned reflective glasses, not being able to try to gauge her mood by seeing her eyes left me feeling more helpless than I'd expected. My only restraint was a tiny pair of thumb cuffs that seemed to hold my arms in place far more severely than full cuffs: I had to keep carefully still.

"What is your name?" was surprisingly the first thing she said. Her tone was dry, uninvolved: she might be a math teacher asking a student for the thousandth time how much was ten times ten.

"Richard … ?" Knowing it couldn't be that simple I let my answer dissolve into a question.

As she sighed and shook her head she reached out took one of my nipples between her fingers and seemingly absently twisted it. Not enough to really hurt but my reflexes made me try to bring my hands forward, pulling against the thumb cuffs which did hurt a bit.

Five or fifteen seconds later she - I thought but had no way to know - stared at me.

"A chair doesn't have a name. When you wear my collar you are just another possession. Not even as valuable as a good chair."

"No, you have no name unless I give it to you. You'll know when I'm addressing you you." Putting quite a dose of contempt in those last three letters.

"A slave doesn't even merit a pronoun. For there is no longer an 'I,' 'me,' or 'mine'"

"As a collared slave you will always refer to yourself as my property."

"If you need to pee you will not say 'May I go to the restroom' but 'May your slave go to the restroom.'"

Trampling and kicking

2004-10-14T14:50:00.000-07:00

Straps bound me tightly above and below my elbows and knees and just above my ankles. Instead of the usual ball gag duct tape sealed my lips. I'm sure she looked forward to ripping it off. Being silenced was always a clue she was in a brutal mood, normally she was very keen to listen to me beg.

She had my lying flat on my belly. Grabbing my hair she pulled my head up slightly so I could see her feet.

"My new stilettos arrived, you were such a good boy to buy them for me. Now you can help me break them in." She let my head drop.

A heel poked in my back just below the shoulder blades, then dragged itself downward. She's pledged that she'll hurt me but never harm me and prizes her gift for controlling intensity and timing to insure my humiliation lasts as long as she wishes.

At the small of my back she skipped past my butt. When it came to my legs her strategy was mostly to repeatedly jab into my flesh. After grinding into my knees for a time she stopped. Feeling plenty sore I hoped she'd satisfied herself. When the toe of her shoes slammed into my buttocks I knew better. It seemed she spent as much time kicking my cheeks as she had on her slow trip to them. I don't know. I'd finally started to slip into submissive space and felt elated even as I hurt.

Saying "Halftime" she left the room. I drifted off. Eventually I felt her foot shove me over onto my back.

I looked up into a womanly face that looked almost feral. And now I could watch as the pokes and scratching that traversed my back began anew across my chest. She was quicker now. But when she came to my knees and started kicking them I understood why. Inflexibly, almost mathematically her path went back up my body but now she was kicking, with cunning carefulness my legs and arms in the side.

Finally at my shoulders she paused. Her eyes seemed so bright I might've thought she was drunk if I didn't know that was something she never did before working me over. When she licked her lips I knew that I'd not felt the worst but soon would.

Firmly, slowly her heel shoved into my penis. Never hard enough to wound it but I feared for it anyway. She knew that nothing made me feel more helpless.

But it really wasn't that long before she dropped down a few inches. She began to work on my balls. Pressure. Tap. Again and again. Never hard. Knowing my weird sensitivity she understood perfectly that harmless movement would leave me aching. It wasn't long before my mind fled to masochist's heaven. I think she knew since she then stopped.

Human Pet?

2004-10-14T05:18:00.000-07:00

I awoke just as she finished fastening the collar she'd placed around my neck. I felt very confused; she'd never done anything like that before. Opening my eyes and looking up I saw her put her finger to her lips enjoining silence.

"On your knees, on the floor." After I slid down she ordered me "Hold out your hands."

As she fitted gloves on me I realized they had no spaces for fingers or thumb, each glove made the hand one continuous object. I'd never seen them before.

"On your hands and knees." From experience I knew she was using a ball collar to fix it so I couldn't stand up.

"Follow." I crawled after her to the bathroom.

"I know you must be thirsty why don't you lap up some water." She meant from the toilet, which thankfully was kept scrupulously clean.

"Follow me to my chair, kneel at my side and remain silent."

She sat reading a magazine, once briefly scratching the back of my head. I was getting a little bored.

"Close your eyes, open your mouth." I felt something dry fall on my tongue and was encouraged to chew it like a "good boy." From the taste I knew it must be a dog biscuit. I had a small inkling where she was going. Her next words confirmed it.

"Now my pet we'll need to go about housebreaking you."

I felt confused. "My pet" was her code word for giving me an order in public. The orders were never anything that I wouldn't have willingly done. It was more of a private joke, sharing a touch of our D/s play invisibly in front of others.

I wondered what she'd want from me as a house pet.

Mistress?

2004-10-14T04:41:00.000-07:00

Manipulating the honorific willfully appeals to my fantasies of being treated capriciously.

One my knees, hands and feet hogtied together behind me. It was the first time I submitted to Her. Sitting in Her chair looking at me, I felt I was being examined with an eye to being improved like a bit of hardware that required tuning.

I didn't see her sudden slap against the side of my face coming.

"Do you know why I slapped you?"

"No … " not sure what to say I concluded " … Mistress."

The second slap seemed faster and harder.

"The first slap was because I can and I like to. The second was for addressing me as Mistress. Did I give you permission to use that word?"

"No … ?" confused I let the word peter out, half a question.

She grabbed an ear lobe between her fingers and bent down.

"Every slave has made common with his fantasies!"

"I … " Didn't finish because one of her nails cut into my captive lobe.

"Shut up, never speak without permission. Never make an assumption. I may instruct you to call me My Lady, Goddess, M'am or even Mistress. I may change the words you address me every day. If you forget and use the wrong one you'll be punished. Not that I need an excuse. But I'll enjoy your knowing that you might've escaped a beating if only you'd been more careful."

"For now I think you should say nothing." And she reached for the ball gag on the table.

No Collar That Night

2004-10-14T04:13:00.000-07:00

An example of inserting a short dose of D/s play in an otherwise vanilla day.

Home early from work I found A___ sitting in the bedroom. A___ shot me a concentrated look I'd learned to not try to interpret. The first time I saw it I felt it was a command to drop to my knees only to earn a sound whipping for my presumption.

Sometimes I think it meant only that A___ had been lost in thought and needed a moment to focus on something in the outer world. Other times I'm sure it is a form of flirtation, though tantalization might be a better word. It could be followed by anything from being tossed my collar to being warmly asked how my day had been.

Today A___ glanced footward. "My shoes are dirty, why don't you come clean them for me." The ambiguity in the soft but firm tone always excited me. It gave no clue to what might happen next. Being invited but not commanded to clean A___s shoes had no ambiguity.

I knelt down and began licking them. Once I was sure their luster had been restored I remained on my hands and knees. I might find myself on my back cleaning the bottoms, put in my collar.

A___ reached down and stroked my hair. Then pulled it tautly but not hard enough to really hurt. The petting and tugging continued for a short while. I wondered if A___'s own mood was undecided or my uncertainty was being enjoyed.

Finally: "You did such a good job that I'm going to let you take me to dinner."

We'd be a vanilla couple that evening.