Sunday, December 25, 2016

Sunday, December 4, 2016

Shorctomings in domestic service

As a recent flood has caused our living situation into total disarray, I've found myself reflecting on a bit of the history with T and I as well as my role as a submissive within it.

When I was new to the lifestyle there were certain aspects that drew me in immediately (e.g. bondage) while others were completely foreign ideas as to why the hell someone would willingly subject themselves to them, let alone seek them out (e.g. chastity, domestic service, etc.).

As things accelerated quickly I began to adopt the mentality of "anything that makes her life easier and more pleasant is good."  Not long after it became very easy to swallow the concept of domestic service.  To put it bluntly, I hate cleaning.  I hate cleaning a lot.  There is something I hate more than cleaning: the thought of her having to clean in my place.

It wasn't long before I embraced this... and soon after (both with K and F) I began to look forward to all roles that displayed my submission, both sexual and not.  The status and interplay between a domestic servant and their Mistress is very arousing, even when thinking about it in non-sexual terms.  The servant's role is to exist for others.  They are (usually) treated as a human but not an equal... they are something less.  A servant is below a pet.  They are not lavished with attention, they are ignored unless needed.  Their thoughts and feelings are unimportant compared to the one they serve.  They enable their Mistress to live without being bogged down by the mundane.

When you think about it, outside of work, just how much time per week is spent running errands, performing chores, and tedious busywork?  For most of us, it is enough to keep our leisure time to a minimum, often choosing to relax and laze away simply to unwind from them.  If you think about the amount of motivation, ambition, and development of interests that falls by the wayside due to the mundane, it's rather disappointing.

While in most D/s situations there is some form of sharing done here, I believe most subs that are suited for lifestyle 24-7 are fine with the notion that the Domme should enjoy her time while the sub creates a situation that allows that to happen.  While sub burnout is possible, dynamics, rules, and consequences definitely help prevent that or at least slow its progress.

I won't lie though, even when T and I were practicing D/s, domestic service was something that really didn't work out for us.  A very huge part of this is her son... who, to be blunt, is quite the slob.  I don't mind cleaning up for her, but I would rather he learn to clean up after himself.

This caused a bit of friction over time, and after finding he was more comfortable tossing his dirty socks and garbage behind the couch rather than taking care of them properly, I began to protest.  Banana peels, yogurt containers, cups that had chocolate milk in them, etc. and yes, the couch was against a wall.  Too often it reminded me of that episode of the Simpsons where Marge polishes the living room to a shine, walks into the kitchen, forgets something, and back into the living room where it's trashed.  Six hours was the average before anything that I had cleaned up was in total disarray again.  After he decided it was more fun to piss into the bathtub rather than into the toilet (something he still does occasionally at age 17), I refused to clean the bathroom, citing that if he was going to do that, it should be his responsibility.  I continued to cook and clean in certain areas, but I stopped in any place that was prone to being destroyed in under a day.

It is strange that it was mostly my parental instincts that caused a breakdown in D/s on that front.  It is also something that caused me to lose some submissive pride over the years.  I'm not sure if this was reasonable on my part or one of my shortcomings, but it got to be too much to bear.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Early experiences struggling with sexuality.

Back when I was younger, before I entered the lifestyle my sexuality was a complete mess.  In the years between M and K, I was completely horrified by the fact that normal porn didn't do it for me.

When I first started touching myself, it was mostly rubbing my crotch through the top of my comforter.  It was so different from the ways people would joke about masturbating that I didn't even realize I was masturbating.  I just know that I was erect and that it felt good.  This progressed slowly over time and I would instinctively stop if I felt myself getting too excited.  I think it took a couple of years before I lost control and ejaculated.  I was always fantasizing about M, or about a scenario with an anonymous woman that partook in acts similar to what M would do with me. 

By the time I started ejaculating regularly, a few things terrified me.  First was that the type of masturbating I would do wasn't anything similar to the act of sex.  Second was that while my friends were becoming perverse horn dogs, I didn't get erect by the same types of things.

While I find a nude female figure to be very visually attractive, it wasn't just the breasts, the legs, or the ass that did it for me.  While I would play along with the "yeah, I'd hit that" or "nice tits" type of locker-room behavior, I knew deep down it was only an act.

I saw women as being a little bit intimidating.  While I was friends with many girls, I could never picture myself "ravaging" them... I respected them and wanted to care for them.  In my fantasies I never made the first move. 

This made dating very awkward as guys were supposed to make the first move.  Asking for permission to kiss them was a turn off... an attractive male would take them and kiss them.  I wasn't supposed to ask how it made her feel... or if it was the way she likes it.  I was supposed to mind read and know all of those things based upon signals.  I know much of the problems were related to the fact that deep down I couldn't believe that she would want that from me.

I really didn't have any serious sexual relations until K, so before that, it was maybe some kissing, light petting, and the like.  I always felt horrible that I didn't get an erection from kissing a girl.  The two things that "did it" for me were her smell or the fantasy that would swirl in my head.  I kept those thoughts to myself... as a buried secret that I never dreamed I would tell anyone about.

In the fantasy, she was M.  She would hold me down and have her way with me, guiding me in how she wanted me to behave.  I would love and cherish her for being there with me... noticing me... making me feel like I mattered... that I was okay... that she accepted me.

Somewhere in the midst of that internet worked its way in.  I remember early on searching for pictures of women in fur and envisioning them as M.  After I discovered NTCWeb everything went into disarray.  All of a sudden fur and Femdom were mixed... and even the pictures and stories that are read that were too extreme... I tried to ignore them... tried to pretend I never saw them.  If I collected any pictures, I would only save Femdom pictures if the Domme was wearing fur... I somehow could stomach that... "because she's in fur, and that's sexy."

My "fantasy M" evolved.  She became my whip cracking fur Goddess that did all the old things and more.  By this time, masturbating made me so ashamed that I wanted to die.  Standard porn did nothing for me.  Looking at women in bikinis did nothing sexual for me.  I felt broken... ruined... and if I managed to find a woman to love me, I would forever keep this buried secret.

I felt hopeless until I met K. 

Today's Blurb

I can't help but be frustrated at my inability to complete a coherent post.

I think a lot of it is stemming from how "starved" I feel at the moment.  I'm currently severely lacking in the emotional intimacy department in addition to craving kink that just isn't going to happen anywhere but my mind.

It all just ends up feeling like a mess inside. 

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Views on Acceptance

I had meant to write this yesterday but a water-based emergency in our living situation completely derailed my day.

Writing about identity the other day got me thinking about why and how varying identities conflict with what I am able to accept about myself.  I believe that a lot of this relates strongly to the D/s lifestyle in general but can affect each party in a different way.

From a mental health standpoint, I know that it is healthy to accept myself.  In a perfect world I would embrace the submissive parts of myself, cherish them, and be able to thrive with them.  Unfortunately our world is far from perfect.  Many of us have deep-rooted issues pounded into us over time that make accepting certain things about ourselves nearly impossible. 

e.g. I feel worthless.  Rationally, I know that I do indeed have at least some worth.  Deep in my core, the self-perception that I am worthless never really goes away... it merely fades away during moments when I am doing something that provides "worth" and it's gone in an instant.  There is nothing that anyone can say that will make my heart believe otherwise.  I know this is unhealthy and irrational, but it is for better or worse, ingrained into my psyche.  It provides motivation where I am intent on proving those feelings wrong... but when the days is done and I am alone in my thoughts, the doubts remain.

Somewhere along the line I came up with a solution to all of this that has had mixed results, but as an ideal it is something that I can live with.  I gave up on accepting myself.  I merely seek acceptance from the one that I love.  When I place such weight on the views of another it is calming because it always feels honest and true.  No matter what beliefs from society or myself may say, it's what she believes and feels that is my truth.

I will be the first to admit that this is probably a horrible way of thinking but it's about the only way I have found solace in this world and if not for it, I likely would have shuffled off this mortal coil years ago.  I don't really think I have to point these out but I will anyways but this train of thought is unfair:
-It is unfair to me because it gives her an unsafe amount of power over me.
-It is unfair to her because it puts undue pressure on her to take care of my emotional well-being.

That being said, if she accepts this willingly and incorporates it into our every day dynamics it works quite well.  While it is potentially unsafe for me to roll along with it, no one has ever questioned the depth or strength of my love.  While from the outside looking in it may appear unsafe, it actually fills my heart with gratitude.  She saves me from myself... from my demons... and becomes my angel.

I show her my thanks in everything I do. 

Going back to accepting identities... the world would not accept me as a sissy, I do not accept myself as a sissy, but if she accepts me as a sissy, everything is okay and I can manage with it guilt free.  As she accepts me and all of my magnificent flaws, I love her even more for it. 

In many ways I believe this sort of view creates a sense of dependence.  I won't comment on whether I believe this is good or bad, but I believe it drives power in favor of the Domme to make a sub feel like he is acceptable to her, but unacceptable in general.  e.g. "no one else would want you except for me." 

Personally I do not mind being trapped by this... as it drives me to behave as if she is the only one in the world that I am meant to be with.

As I have conversed upon this subject with other kinksters over the years I find it noteworthy that I hold a double-standard in my mind when it comes to this subject in regards to Dommes.  I always encourage Dommes to accept themselves and embrace all of the quirks and kinks that make them unique.  I often approach it from "this is the way things should be" point of view... as if the world should conform to their image. 

I'm not sure exactly why I do this, but it is probably partly because of how much self-acceptance affects self-confidence and self-esteem, which I consider to be core characteristics of a Domme.  Another part that definitely comes to mind as to why this works is that as I've written in the past, I believe that being dominant is wholly rational.  It is rational to get what you want.  It is rational to want others to do what you want.  It is rational to have freedom and choice. 

Now that I have written it out, it seems obvious to me as to why my feelings easily accept the differences. 

So many of my feelings are irrational or make sense only when looked at in the long-run.  It makes sense that I'm fucked up and my psyche is in shambles because of the experiences that I have had.  I guess the problem is that the long run is a result... and not something we can simply choose to change or have a simple event trigger a drastic shift.

I really hope this made some sense.  Yesterday I had an idea outline in mind for this but I feel like it deteriorated with my exhaustion today.  Normally I would trash this post without hitting publish but I'm not going to do that.

Monday, November 28, 2016

Recent Feelings

Around now is when I sort of wish I was able to get back to my old-style detached and analytical self.

For the time being I will continue to write and try to break through in some way.

Unfortunately my daily feelings as of late have been pretty terrible.  The demons are back, but the impulses are still mild at this time... maybe 5-8 times a day... which isn't enough to be worrisome but definitely enough of a factor to sap me of my energy and drive unless I have plans set in advance.

Basically, it's taking all of my energy to keep my head above water.

I'm continuing to blog as I can although the content will probably feel a bit lacking... as I figure it is better for me to keep trying regardless of what comes out as opposed to just going dark until this wave passes.

A big thank you to those of you who are continuing to read and leave comments.  If not for those I would be feeling quite isolated.

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Feeling closer

I do feel like I'm getting closer to being able to "write for real" again.  The feelings inside are starting to resonate in a harmonious way again but I'm struggling with the lack of privacy in the absence of D/s interaction with T.

When she doesn't take part I tend to feel guilty for still wishing to explore my submission.  I don't know exactly why this is but it is definitely this way for me. 

I have attempted some "body language" cues that haven't received a response and that is probably her way of saying "still not interested."

I probably shouldn't feel guilty if that is the case. 

In my mind I am chasing that next dynamic that I wish to explore in writing... I just haven't found it quite yet.

A sea of thoughts: Identity and Fetish

I have come to believe that some of the things that tend to push my submissive buttons the most have to do with identity... how I view myself and its place in the world.

Once I entered into the lifestyle everything proceeded at such a high speed that it wasn't long before these things came into light.  The reading and research I did for K at the start played a big part on this as well.  By the time I had just scraped the surface in my experiences I already had a full book of knowledge in regards to the lifestyle and its perceptions.

I believe most people entering the lifestyle (or dealing with fetishes) struggle with the concept of identity.  Some embrace things and thrive.  Others struggle with it and can be trapped by it.

submissive was the first term that was used to identify me.  I accepted this term from the outset and was okay with it.  It implies a lot but doesn't carry any severely negative connotations.  It acts as a base descriptor of who I am in a relationship.  Basically, I still feel relatively normal if I describe myself as a submissive.

The second term that began to flow into things was slave.  While old guard traditionalists may draw a distinct line between slave and submissive, I believe in many lifestyle relationships this identity occurs by way of the Domme moreso than the sub.  It can often be used as a term of endearment or "title" during play, but once the word slave creeps into a sub's head, it begins to change things.

The most obvious is the perception.  I have "outed" myself to many vanilla friends as a submissive and when I explain what that is, they do not bat an eye.  "Oh, interesting.  If that makes you happy, great."  If I were to change that to "I am a slave," I have to believe their view would change completely... all of a sudden this is something horribly abnormal rather than just slightly different but still within acceptable parameters.

Secondly, even if it isn't a symbol of TPE, being a submissive implies a voluntary role with the scales tipped in favor of the dominant.  Once slave is introduced, something symbolic kicks in inside my brain.  Gone is the idea of mutual pleasure.  As a slave you cease to exist as a human.  You now focus only on her and if she chooses to grant pleasure, you are a lucky slave indeed.  This was the first of several identity hurdles I had to clear over the years.  I can't say I've become perfectly comfortable with it... as this is something I might only use when speaking with someone that is "kink aware."  It is not for public consumption.   This greatly affects my mindset while serving.  As soon as "slave" pops up, I instinctively become more docile, more obedient, and a little bit afraid.

After K brought dressing into the mix, I was horrifically terrified to be labeled as a sissy.  My reading had brought the stigma to light and it was something I wished to avoid.  The term is still one that stirs me at the core of my being.  I do not wish to identify with it.  My blog and usernames were chosen in order to help me grow accustomed to this term.  6 years later and I am no closer in my quest to be more comfortable with this identity.

As the road that led me to this place seemed to parallel my interests with fur, while there is a lot of overlap, there are some interesting differences as well. These differences explain in some ways why there are many submissive fur fetishists out there that secretly relate to the related topics I have covered in the past as well as those that might seem similar from the outside but do not line up very well at all in reality.

One thing that startles me in a way is how comfortable people get with identifying themselves as fur fetishists but how uncomfortable they are identifying as submissives.  It's like... coming to terms with one used up all of their courage so that there was nothing left to confront the latter.  While not all fur fetishists are submissive, a very large percentage of them do share submissive desires that they keep hidden.  Personally, I find it harder to admit to being a fur fetishist than a submissive.

Another oddity is that sissies are rare in the fur fetish community.  It's not that they don't exist, it's just that those with that identity are a tiny minority, even among those heavily into dominant women, bondage, and humiliation.

As you may well know, somewhere in the realm of 90-95% of the fur clothing out there is designed for women, which inevitably means that unless a fur fetishist is rolling in money, they likely end up wearing a good number of women's fur items purchased as either accessories or coats on the 2nd hand market.  This in itself is a bit interesting as many are fine with this while others carry guilt over it and struggle to accept it.

The next identity line (the one that keeps the sissy descriptor limited in this scene) is that of a cross-dresser.  Technically, if a man wears women's clothes... that does imply they are a cross-dresser, but it seems that there are those that draw a firm line in the sand from an identity standpoint as to whether or not they choose to identify with this.

One stage deeper falls those who would go by transvestite, but there are far fewer of these than people who associate as cross-dressers.

I don't really mind labels or identities on anyone, I mostly find them interesting in how they affect us personally.  If anything was to strike me as odd from the fur fetish community it is the number of straight, non-submissive fur fetishists that actively wish to bottom in a kinky way regardless of the gender or sexual-orientation of the top.  It seems through fetish they are able to ignore the identities of bisexuality and submission and return to their "normal" state after completing a scene.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016


As my depression riddled brain continues to wander, I've been trying to come up with some ideas for where to go with fs01 if/when I get around to finishing Arc 6.

When I started writing it, I wanted to create something that felt believable.  I won't try to claim it's realistic, but I wanted to include a variety of factors that would create a situation that seemed reasonable if someone were faced with it.  This required including a lot of conditionals.

I know that in relationships conditionals are often seen as negative things.  People desire unconditional love.  They want to feel like there is full acceptance of things as they are and if people feel the need to interject conditionals, that it is somehow impure.

D/s opens a strange can of worms in that conditionals often serve as safety checks.  A horny sub can get into lots of trouble if these aren't in place, so concepts such as hard limits, safe words, and the like are conditionals that come into play, especially in newer relationships.

I think the majority of TPE relationships are formed upon either stated or implied conditionals, which oddly enough, goes against the idea of TPE.  If someone is truly a slave, they have no right or power to negotiate the terms of their slavery.  Once you are a slave, rights and power no longer apply.  With that in mind, conditionals serve as our "voice of reason" when making a conscious choice that puts us in an irrational position. 

I would have to believe that a male sub that agrees to be a slave, does so on the (at least implied) agreement that they will be cared for and kept by their owner.  Without this sort of basic protection it becomes much more difficult to give up your rights.

In fs01, a lot of my own personal requirements are on display.  What would I need in order to accept the conditions/lifestyle put forth by Cassandra? 
In the first arc this is rectified by their initial labor contract that binds them to each other.  While he cannot leave, she cannot leave him.  This is at the core of my own abandonment issues and along the lines of what I might require to give up my own livelihood and freedom.  

The idea that I'm tossing around for Arc 7 (or wrapping up to a finale) is Cassandra's understanding that fs isn't really a slave since he is protected.  Reaching the ultimate dynamic can only happen if fs's protections are stripped from the situation, which would involve a contract renegotiation in her favor, divorce, and the like.  I'm not sure I care to go down this path or "end it" under these terms but I have to say that it's on my mind.  I hate potentially spoiling the future storyline but I'm really trying to get myself back to a writing state of mind.

Analyzing the fantasy: Permanence

I'm pretty sure I've written about this at some point in time but here it goes again.

As I find myself looking for ways to motivate myself to get back to finishing up fs01, my mind has lingered around the fantasy land and continues to circle around the theme of permanence.

I find this theme is very common in D/s fiction, especially shorter works.  On its surface level it seems a bit odd that would crave or fantasize about irreversible events that either cannot be undone or imply some form of finality, but looking at it from a "wank fodder" perspective it becomes easier to see just what lies at its core.

While we may gloss over submission as something we do willingly and with enthusiasm, I have come to believe what what really taps into the nature of subspace is a bit contrary to that.  If everything a submissive did was something they truly wanted to do (e.g. they would choose this action ahead of an alternative), would there really be a need for power/status/dominance?

I believe that in many ways we portray D/s as more of a symbiotic relationship where actions from both parties run parallel with a predetermined focus (e.g. the Domme's pleasure/benefit).  While I agree much of what constitutes Femdom relationships consists of this and this is the foundation of "consent," I believe the differences in power/status bring about a completely different dynamic.

While many submissives (myself included) thoroughly enjoy serving and pampering a Domme, the key points that tug at my submissive heart strings are this:  She never has to do what she does not want to do.  She can make me do what I do not want to do.

That is not to say that a submissive cannot resist the Domme's wishes, it's that the sub faces consequences for their resistance.   At its basest level, I believe that is the essence of the power inequality, especially if the price for saying no is worse than going along with things.  This is the underlying tone that frequently goes unspoken... as it's just how things are.

Personally, I find that one of my strongest subspace triggers falls here; the idea that she can impose her will upon me and I may experience discomfort or displeasure that I cannot control.  This notion is where I find permanence to have its strongest pull.

If we list off some common permanent Femdom fantasies:
"You will NEVER have another orgasm."
"You will NEVER have another erection."
"You will NEVER be allowed inside me again."

In most Femdom relationships, none of these are very attractive realities for the Domme.  Having their sub lust for them is a big part of sexuality and feeling attractive.  Having him desperate to cum is frequently entertaining and a source of control.  None of these are really conducive to lifestyle D/s, but they do manage very well in the wank-fodder fantasy realm because they are intense themes that hit squarely in the heart of subspace. 

These are things that a sub (likely) holds very dear and would not want to lose.  Since fantasy doesn't have a long run, there's no need to dwell upon the long-run future, despair, and possible depression that results from it.  There's no need to worry about the deterioration of physical intimacy or loss of self-motivation.  In fantasy, all we need to look at is the emotional wound, the sense of immediate loss, and the drastic display of power that just occurred.  He is nothing.  She is everything. 

I think under those terms it can work as a short-run fantasy but it requires ignoring a lot of long-term ramifications.

Monday, November 21, 2016


Nothing kinky here...

With the holidays approaching I find myself balancing the double-edged sword that the holidays bring.

I love gift giving.  I enjoy the challenge of finding gifts that the receiver will truly enjoy within budgetary constraints.  I believe that giving a good gift is a sign that you can truly understand someone... what makes them tick... and why they like the things that they do.

The major downside I tend to find with holidays is dealing with family. I am not close to my family.  I despise the "game" of it all.  Seeing people that pretend to be nice knowing full well how they actually feel will differ from what they display.

I've been accused over the years of not being "nice," which I can agree with completely... but rarely are people able to say that I am not "good."  I'm the friend that will drop anything when a friend is in need.  I will be there through thick and thin, good and bad, and able to step up and be strong when they need me.  Growing up in the midwest... which is the hotbed of passive-aggressive behavior has always been rough on me.  I don't pretend to be nice.  I don't give false compliments.  I say what I mean and I mean what I say.  This catches many people off-guard, and it isn't long before very few people see me as "nice."

On the flip-side, I don't pretend to be nice to people I don't like.  If they ask me why I will give an honest answer.  I don't go on and on with empty praise, only to tear them down behind their back as soon as they leave the room.  This sort of behavior is one of the easiest ways for me to lose respect for someone because it leads me to believe that I can't trust their words at face value... and I also know that if they are talking shit about someone to me, they are talking shit about me to someone else. 

In some ways I tend to straddle the two coasts.  I'm east coast enough to be straight forward.  I'm west coast enough to only care when it's something important.  In either case, I will take "good" over "nice" any day of the week.

It is during the holidays that I get most acutely aware of this game.  In my day to day life I tend to avoid it as much as possible but knowing that this sort of interaction is inevitable tends to sour my mood even before it happens.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

Attempting seduction

In my shallower subspace I am a bit of a brat.  I tend to be a little bit of a tease and will occasionally attempt to turn her on and/or lose control.

This may be bad form on my part, but I've always felt if the dynamics weren't ramped up, there probably isn't any harm in letting the woman I love know that I'm attracted to her.

In regards to this, K was a bit different than F or T. 

With K, it was more of a sensual seduction.  I could rub up against her and nuzzle my face into her shoulder, gently kissing her.  If she looked at me I might make some small motions with my tongue.  If she was "into it" she would look away and pretend to ignore me, forcing my advances to get more aggressive.  At some point she might ask, "what's wrong pet?  I get the impression that you want me to put your tongue to work..." or something along those lines.  K was a bit of a voyeur, so her response was often to have me strip and tease my genitals or my nipples until I was whimpering for her attention.  That was her "warm up" process and it took a few cycles of her ordering me to do/stop doing something for her to get revved up.

F and T were similar in that the majority of what they wanted to do involved my rump.  If I was feeling adventurous I might wiggle my rump for them, "dropping things" and bending over to pick them up, and so on.

With F it was easy to see her progress.  As she would get turned on a grin would form on her face that wouldn't go away and her eyes became... predatory.  F didn't like getting too aroused when it wasn't her choice, so if I did this, I knew I was playing with fire.  This was the start of our sex though, so I will admit to being the guilty party in this.  If I tried to turn her on... she would use that to fuel her sadism... the insolent slave attempting to seduce his Mistress.  It wouldn't be long before I was writhing and squirming, sobbing and struggling within her grasp.  That was what she wanted... to make me cry out in pain and watch my tears flow.  That was her warm up.

With T, I knew that once I offered that up she would both hurt me and violate me, but unlike F, she preferred much more to violate me than to hurt me.  T required a lot less warm up than F or K.  Her arousal was often like a light switch... once it was on, it was on and things would start soon after.  It would only take her half a dozen swats to my rump before she was ready to take me.  I knew after she violated me and my tears subsided, that we would lie together and feel close and intimate. 

I know that in some situations, these attempts at seduction would be frowned upon.  I know that I could live without them but in my memories they are often quite happy times.

Interesting Advertising

Over the past 10+ years I have made a habit of collecting images of clothing that I find attractive.  These have often been used as models in my drawings.  For some odd reason most of what I follow happens during the winter months :P

A recent trend (over the past few years) that has bothered me lately is that the majority of upper end department stores are now cutting off the pictures so that the models aren't visible in the shot... it makes me feel like they may as well have used mannequins.  Most of this is disappointment on my end since I just don't like looking at clothing unless it's on a woman.

While "making the rounds" this year, I randomly stumbled across a collection I had saved years ago  from the Bebe advertising campaign that I managed to save and found it to be rather interesting.  While Bebe designs are often somewhat froufrou, their ads are interesting in that they often seem to push the sexy = powerful type of vibe.

Some years it's a little more blatant than others:

A little CFNM:

I can't lie... this one caters to my Lesbian fantasy:

I stumbled upon this about 2 minutes after making this post. Didn't anticipate them going "this far":

First Snow

It snowed here yesterday, which basically means that winter has started and the weather will likely be shitty until around... May.

I've written about it before, but I was raised to tough it out.  I wear a pair of gloves when it gets cold out, but I rarely zip my coat and I never wear hats, scarves, etc.  This greatly seems to impact the humiliation of my previous experiences with being forced to wear what I have worn.

This past year the ache has grown stronger.  The need for attention in this part of my life is ever-present and very little happens to appease the hunger. 

Over the past few weeks I've mulled over the idea of wearing a pair of fur earmuffs on my way to and home from work.  Nothing outrageously bad, probably something dark colored but probably just past the edge of unisex.  The thought of it makes me squirm a bit and I would have to wonder if this would help.

Self-induced humiliation always feels a bit wrong... but is it better than just feeling desire?  Or would it just be a reminder of how sad I feel on a daily basis?  I don't know.

Some random "What ifs"

Depression has hit me full on these past couple of weeks... I will keep writing in hope that I will see some light at the end of the tunnel.

Some recent events and interactions within the kink realm have gotten me thinking about something again. They are more thoughts than serious considerations but I will go ahead and put them out there.

I have known a handful of male Doms out there that aren't naturally dominant.  They were in fact subs, but due to their enjoyment of kink and inability to attract a Domme (over the course of several years), they switched roles and reclassified themselves as Doms in order to make it easier to find a partner or partners.  This change shuffled their spot on the hierarchy and led to an almost immediate shift in their success.  Basically, they went from being one of the man to one of the few... one of the overlooked to one of the desired. 

I won't lie, at times I've felt this was a bit of a "cheap out."  Instead of working to better oneself as a submissive, to merely flip to a different role in order to make things easier... sort of like giving up the guitar in order to become a bassist or drummer simply to find a band.  My pride as a sub had never allowed me to consider that before, but as I sit here with a heavy and aching heart, what is my pride truly worth?

The other reason I am thinking about this is after hearing from a submissive friend that they discovered their Dom had been looking at a lot of Femdom porn.  I've never considered it "wrong" for a femsub to change roles and become a Domme.  In fact, I've always considered femsubs to simply be those lacking in confidence or self-esteem, and if those factors were present, I have often felt their dominant tendencies would surface quickly.  I'm not sure why I hold this sort of double-standard, feeling like male subs that become Doms are "fakers" while femsubs that become Dommes are "confident and healthy."

It has always been my pride that blocked me from anything other than "dabbling" with what it would be like if I ever switched.  I have been told by a few that they felt I would be a good Dom.  In a lot of ways, my meticulous personality and understanding of how human emotions work within an environmental system probably would make me a responsible Dom.  I doubt that I would ever leave a sub wanting for more strictness.   I am a natural tease and I know how to get into a person's head.  I also know for a fact that with the level that I care for others that I would be able to sustain an environment that could make a sub happy. 

Something that has always puzzled me is why people with strong fetishes are mostly submissive.  e.g. why does someone with a shoe fetish associate as a submissive and often alienate their partners by being drawn more to shoes than to the person?  Wouldn't it be easier for them to be a Dom and order their sub to wear the styles of shoes they fancy? 

With that in mind, would it not be easier for someone like myself to order a sub to wear fur/leather/boots/gloves that I find attractive rather than hope to find someone who enjoys wearing those things?  Probably.  I also know from conversations that most women would be horrified to dress in the way that I have been forced to, so many of the humiliation aspects would carry over. 

Why then do I choose the hard route? 

I know in my heart that this choice isn't for me.  Two major factors come into play.  The first is that I cannot physically hurt a woman, so that pain play and/or corporal punishment is off the table.  I am emotionally incapable of doing such things.  If her face shows suffering my instinct is to make her smile.  The second is that I am sexually incapable of responding from the top role.  I would not be able to perform in that way and I think that would probably be hurtful on many levels.

Beyond that, I know in my heart I do not deserve it.  I am the one who suffers.  I am the one who must earn approval and affection.  I am the one who endures, ever grateful that someone took notice of me. 

I know deep down that if I were to ever attempt a switch that I would be a faker.  I do know that I should probably stop feeling that way about others.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

More blogger changes

I noticed today they made more changes to the dashboard and have removed the "followers" display from the basic interface.  It's still visible if you enter your stats page but seriously...

I know google doesn't seem to give a damn about blogger anymore, but I have to wonder why they persist on making changes that make things worse... rather than just leaving them the same as what they were.  They had to pay someone to make the change... so why this?

The Speed of Time

I remember someone once telling me that time passes as a snail's crawl while you are younger and flies when you get older.

If I delve back into my youth I remember being impatient, slowly counting the days until there was something I was really looking forward to.  It almost felt like time was standing still.  Time seemed to move at a similar type of speed throughout school and until I was done with college.  I have come to believe that having a constant set of responsibilities and time constraints kept it moving that way.  If I have a paper due Friday and an exam on Tuesday, the time from now until will move slowly.

Post-college and in a vanilla life I found time began to fly.  Days pass without notice.  Holidays and the like arrive quickly and without warning.  I feel this happens because there isn't a lot to differentiate one day from the next.  Same shit, different day.

I have frequently been accused of not being able to live in the moment.  This is true in some regards, mostly because I worry about consequences.  The most recent person to tell me this was a local friend (that I have since purged from my life) that on a whim drove to Las Vegas with his wife and blew through their entire savings on booze, drugs, whores (3-ways), and gambling in a week.  They returned broke, asking for loans, and she was pregnant with their third.

I can't say I'm the type to do anything like that.  If I spend money on myself, it is likely on something that can be resold for most of (if not all of) what I have invested in it.  It isn't fleeting.  It will be there tomorrow.  I'm not sure if this makes me boring or not.  It's just how I am wired.

The closest I come to living in the moment is during D/s-related play. It is a break from my other thoughts and stresses and I try to appreciate it for what it is and not "cheapen it" by bringing distractions into the mix.  That being said, even in play I am thinking about the long haul.  While the activity may bring pleasure, it is the bigger picture that really touches my soul.  The play is part of the dynamic.  The dynamic is what I live for.

Since I got out of school, the dynamic is the other factor that has the ability to slow time for me.  A strict dynamic returns about those feelings of responsibility and constraints.  The twinge of fear in the back of the mind... carrying with it the weight of wanting to make her proud, not wanting to be punished, and wanting to feel good about myself as a submissive is a powerful tool.  It is the series of moments within the dynamic that brings it all into perspective.  My desires are no longer my own.  My thoughts drift between the now and the near future as I mull over ideas for new ways in which I can please her.  

Altogether I find it interesting... how "same shit, different day" has such a different impact upon ourselves when it is a life that we would want to live forever.  It's almost like... how we perceive the meaning of our lives determines how quickly time seems to pass. 

I hope some of this makes sense... these are just some thoughts that stir in my heart.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

How this is changing me

On some levels I have to wonder if the lack of dynamics in real life actually push me farther down the rabbit hole.

Denying my submission is fruitless.  Manifesting it in ways that I can is potentially dangerous at the rate it can change me.

Dynamics eventually grow stale, but it takes a lot of trial and error, guessing and checking, and the like in a lifestyle situation to reach the point of stability and then time and repetition to make it feel stale.  As I remain limited to fantasy and writing fiction, I am finding that I naturally delve into some rather intense and deep/dark versions of the dynamics and scenarios.  The problem I see here is that my mind goes through them without stumbling.  There is no learning curve.  There is no checking in and mutual feedback to ensure things are progressing in a positive way.  All of that gets bypassed immediately into its final form... a form that can be scary enough that it might take five years to reach that in real life.

My brain takes me there in an instant and it doesn't take long for that to become stale.  It evolves.  The problem is that there isn't that process of growing and building... in fantasy it happens in leaps and bounds... it reaches the next plateau without the pleasure of the journey and the climb.

I terrify myself in some ways as to where this takes me and the speed with which it happens.

Monday, November 7, 2016

Analyzing the Fantasy: Ski Trips

I know that I'm currently "stuck" in arc 7 on a ski trip.  I've also been a part of a handful of Femdom ski/cabin trips that didn't quite pan out as expected but they were fun to plan nonetheless.

Aside from the obvious allure of my attraction to women in fur, I believe there's quite a bit going on in this type of fantasy.

I've never really flushed it out before but the ski trip fantasy tends to hit on quite a few Femdom fantasy levels for me and since I'm awake and feel like writing I figure it wouldn't hurt to take a deeper look at it.  A few things that come to mind:

1.  Fur.  I'm not going to elaborate here, but I can't write about this without it.

2.  Skiing is for the most part, a rich person's sport.  While just about every northern area will have a hill of some sort they allow people to ski down, in general, resorts and resort towns tend to be fairly secluded and expensive.  For someone to say, rent a cabin in Aspen for a week with friends would require a lot of disposable income and a lot of disposable income tends to play very well into Femdom fantasies.

3. Excess.   With #2 in mind and based upon my personal experiences with family members and others that have the disposable income to take said vacations, in the days before strict baggage restrictions (and/or if driving is the method of transportation), ski trips tend(ed) to be full of excess.  Not only is there the equipment involved, but also the clothing.  Again, drawing from experience, I've found it isn't uncommon for someone taking said trip to want to bring an absurd amount of luggage.  With one real life example in mind, I can envision a person that doesn't want to be seen skiing in the same clothing two days in a row as well as having specific ideas for what they will wear while going out, relaxing in, bedtime/mornings, as well as travel days.  So for a 7-day trip with 5 days of skiing, it doesn't seem too far-fetched to picture someone with 2-3 ski outfits, 5 sets of accessories, 3-4 warm but fashionable afternoon shopping in town outfits, 5-6 evening outfits, 5-7 warm/comfortable lounging outfits, robe/pj's/slippers, and 2 travel day outfits that are meant to show off yet be comfortable at the same time.  That is a lot of luggage for the sub/slave to handle as he caters to her whims/desires.

I do know most women aren't this way, but this is fantasy.

4. Comfort extremes.  She lounges in front of the fireplace sipping wine.  He freezes outside shoveling snow and chopping firewood.  Isn't that the way it should be?

To make it even more daunting, she can make the extremes more/less bearable.  Is he allowed a coat?  Gloves?  Hat?  Boots?  Take away any of those and it can be made incrementally worse very easily.

5. Isolation.  When you are out in the middle of nowhere and the sun goes down, what is left to do?  This scenario is prime for sex and play.  If it's an isolated cabin you don't have to worry about neighbors.  If it's far away from home there is a lot safer potential for public exposure. 

I'm sure I've missed a few things but it just seems like this fantasy seems to play very well in a Femdom context.

I can't say I've been big on helmets...

I grew up in the last generation of kids that didn't wear helmets and climbed around on rusty and jagged metal playground equipment and I have the scars to prove it.

With that in mind, I've never been big on helmets... until I stumbled across these.  I enjoy the idea quite a bit and it's almost enough for me to preach safety.


Nothing New

I would love to say that things are different.  I am finding ways to get by but I'm still "out of tune" with this side of myself.  I am still trying and will hopefully find my way back soon.

As a random note, now that I'm not making regular posts the RSS feeds seems to update almost instantaneously.   Yay for technology.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

More from the Early Years

Well for some reason I seem to snap out of writer's block whenever I share something horribly embarrassing from my past... so here goes...

I wrote a bit about my play habits in my youth in my reflections posts and a few others.  Something I tend to keep as a buried secret but falls important into my D/s development is closely tied to the G.I. Joe toys I played with as a child.

This is my fourth attempt at writing this so I will try to skip the history lesson but I will provide a
quick summary of the two sides.

The good guys: G.I. Joe.  The heroes of the line.  All unique and highly skilled individuals capable of great things against overwhelming odds.  Diverse in race and gender. 

The bad guys: Cobra.  The villains of the line.  With the exception of a few leadership characters they are all nameless rank and file with covered faces.  While superior in numbers they are always defeated.

While this was a toy line, comic book, and cartoon series in my youth, it has haunted me a lot over the years.  I mostly played as the Cobras since I thought they "looked cooler," but deep down I know that my own sense of being treated differently for my physical appearance made the idea of having a face hidden from the world was actually appealing.

In addition to her normal bondage games, M would occasionally play with me with my G.I. figures.  She would choose to be the good guys and state openly that "the good guys always win."  She would then proceed to defeat and capture my characters and then lead them around as her prisoners.  M would tire of this (it usually took about 5 minutes to reduce things to this state) and would frequently return to the others at this point.  On a handful of occasions she would decide she wanted to play it "for real" and she would tie a scarf over my face like a mask and bind my hands so I could be her prisoner. 

As I continued to secretly crave attention from M, the play style that she started became common for me in private.  The female characters in the toy line were all badasses.  While I had to keep it secret to avoid ridicule from my friends, my Cobras were all commanded by the Baroness:

It's probably no secret that this ended up developing part of my Femdom allure as I grew up... being commanded by a powerful woman in a black leather catsuit.  She would command absolute obedience but then sacrifice the others to escape when things went south. 

What complicates matters even more is another character.  I'm unable to pinpoint just exactly when the whole fur thing came in and made things even more complicated for me, but this didn't help:

I'm not really sure but this uniform just doesn't seem all that imposing.  When I would play in private, this character was me.  I would be bossed around by the Baroness until I would be captured by M:

This made me feel severely screwed up for a long, long time.  I continued to secretly play with these for several years after "I quit playing with toys."   It was a huge source of shame for me.  To make things worse, it bled in as I continued to fantasize about M over the years. 

I believe this is the source of my inner-henchman.

Friday, October 21, 2016


I'm really trying to break down this barrier that is blocking my writing.  Unfortunately my head is extremely cloudy... and I feel disconnected from my heart at this time.  I'm going to keep trying rather than just avoiding my blog.  I apologize in advance if I make a string of shitty posts in that process as my thoughts don't seem to really get anywhere.  I'd rather write badly than not write.  Hopefully this will help.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

A Sea of Thoughts The Blurry Lines of Arousal

Sometimes it seems as a submissive that we are supposed to feel guilty if we have desires of our own.  The idea of us selflessly giving and serving is the ideal.  If you wish for things beyond the privilege of being allowed to submit... it's often seen as bad.  That makes you a "do me" sub.  etc.

All in all that is part of the game.  There are enough terrible sub-wannabes out there that make Dommes jaded and bring about this hard-line stance. 

I'm not going to really debate the merits of the game.  As I've stated in the past I believe that submission provides "something more" for a sub... usually some mix of emotional and sexual fulfillment that makes submission worth doing. 

Fairy tales are full of sympathetic protagonists, living destitute lives of abuse and labor and carrying hopes and dreams of a better life.  It is only the submissive that longs for the reverse... they are usually in a functional life with too much freedom.  It is the submissive that longs to be taken from their free life and driven back to the beginning of the fairy tale. 

Blurred lines upon lines... convoluted ideas... where does the boundary between submission and "do me" fall?

When you look at the sexuality of a submissive I think it is important to remember that subs tend to be heavily fueled by the psychological side of things.  While they will surely respond to direct physical stimulation, they are also very likely to respond to dynamics and environment.  If we consider an erection (or attempted erection) to be the most basic form of arousal, I believe the answer to the question may fall in with the depth of arousal.

To look at the extreme end first, I believe the tipping point for a sub happens when they reach the state you could describe as "horny."  At this point they have been aroused to the point where they desire physical stimulus in order to ejaculate.  Their brain no longer functions rationally as they seek physical gratification, despite their beliefs or best intentions.  I classify this state as overstimulated.

It is in this overstimulated state where a sub can become "do me."

I tend to strongly equate the depth of my own subspace with my level of arousal.  I must be aroused to reach subspace, and "sufficiently" aroused to reach deep subspace.  This becomes a bit trickier as it relies heavily on the idea of sexual frustration.  The sweet spot is then to be stimulated enough to where the chemicals and hormones allow for my psychological submission but not stimulated enough to where I become horny. 

Thus it becomes a game of tease & denial, keeping a sub aroused enough to feel submissive but never permitting enough stimulation to push them into their base mental state. 

I do have to say that a Domme that is able to keep their sub off-balance and wanting in such a way truly has a fearsome skill. 

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

A Sea of Thoughts: The henchman

I'll be the first to admit that this post might be a bit odd.  Just some thoughts swirling around.

Lifestyle D/s is often described with comparison to known relationships throughout history.  The Queen and the Knight.  The Goddess and the devotee.  The Mistress and the slave, etc.  Each of these seems to describe an idealized relationship that loosely describes the dynamics of the situation.

Something odd about these comparisons are that the Domme's role is rooted in an established status.  The elevated status generally implies a level of responsibility and type of conduct that is befitting of the role.  While this works in some ways, it can be an adjustment for woman that do not regularly view themselves in this way.

Over the years I've thought about something new... that is a bit different.

I'm not sure when exactly, but early on in my life, but in most fiction (TV/Cartoons, Comics/novels, etc.) I often found myself more fascinated by villains than by heroes.  Although there are a handful of exceptions, in many cases it is the villains who are complicated and interesting... that have good in them but have life experiences that have shaped their view of the world... and are driven by their own ambitions in light of those experiences.

If I envision myself in such a world, I do not relate with hero... nor with villain.  If anything, I see myself as a henchman.  If you take the average villain, they often have a cadre of henchmen, but one of them usually stands above the rest... the "alpha" so to speak.

The alpha henchman is rather fascinating.  They are usually trustworthy, very capable/resourceful, and have a fanatical devotion to the one they serve.  Basically, in terms of their raw capacities, they are often on par with the hero/villain, but they are missing something important:  self-ambition.

If you have been exposed to a good amount of media you have probably encountered at least one situation where someone in power made a statement like, "I don't care what you have to do, just make it happen!" The henchman looks up with a fearful glance and leaves the room and through their own creativity they manage to make it happen without the assistance of a master plan or unlimited resources.

The story of the henchman is rarely told so much of the relationship between villain and henchman must be inferred.  I see the henchman as a flawed individual.  They do not have a clear-cut vision.  They view right and wrong as the will of the one they serve.  They are loyal to a fault.  They devote themselves totally to someone else's dream, often without recognition, appreciation, or praise.  They are motivated partly by fear but also by love, loyalty, and the desire not to disappoint.  They willingly sacrifice themselves to protect the one they serve.  Another important aspect is that they serve by choice.

In most fiction the alpha henchman is leaned upon heavily.  The villain takes them for granted but has the utmost faith in their abilities.  You get the feeling that failure is punished severely.  The villain does not see the henchman as an equal, even if the henchman's greatest wish is to be special to them.  In regards to pecking order, the lesser pawns are sacrificed first, but the villain will throw the alpha henchman to the wolves without hesitation if it will be of benefit.

For some reason this seems to resonate with me more than the other common D/s comparisons.  I think part of it is that core of the Domme's status is not determined by divine birth, royal lineage, or wealth.  The Domme villain only requires a strong will and ambition.  She may be a bit volatile.  Her demands may be unreasonable.  The rules may not be fair or just.  Her desires drive her to be strong.

This might seem strange but I find myself able to relate to this.  I am loyal and capable.  I will move the Earth if that is what she desires.  I bind myself to her dreams. 

I know that this isn't the most romantic ideal, but for some reason it speaks to me.

Monday, October 3, 2016

Forgot to mention this...

I will be going back and replying to comments soon*. 

*Hoping soon means actual soon and not sometime next spring soon after ignoring my blog all fall/winter. 

Definition of a submissive

In my bottom vs. submissive post, Uxorious Mate asked about my definition of a submissive.

I don't plan to write anything long here... but I do wish it to be asterisk free, without the need for special cases, conditionals, additional terms, or things of that nature.

On its most basic level, I believe a submissive is someone that willingly accepts a recognized role of inferior status in a personal relationship.  Inversely, I believe on its most basic level that a Dominant is someone that willingly accepts a recognized role of superior status in a personal relationship.

I hope this is enough to work from.  I think this tends to cover most specialized relationship types as well as separates it from non-consensual abusive relationships as well. 

Standing on the edge

I have a lot that I want to say.  There are a lot of things I want to feel.  I want to write more.  I want to continue my fiction.

Right now I am in a bad place.  I can feel the demons gnawing away.  I feel a little bit frustrated.  I mostly feel numb.  I lost my footing in the place that feels dear to my heart and I've watched myself slowly backslide into a bad place.

Some recent dialogue with someone has given me a bit of insight on where this process is breaking down.  Writing my reflections posts earlier this year and a few of the follow up posts have allowed me to see just how this is happening.

The best I can really describe it is that at my core... I just do not feel like I have any worth.

I am good at things.  I am smart.  I have tremendous work ethic and focus.  I am competent and responsible.  I am loving and caring. 

I can tell when depression is rearing its head because when I look back upon every positive thing I have done on a given day... it doesn't bring about any positive feelings.  All that echoes in me is, "what's next?"

I can't help but see how this dates back to my childhood.  The home runs... scoring goals... the 100%'s... A after A... what's next?  I feel judgement being passed on whatever it is that I am doing.  Once I am done there is no time to rest... no time to relax... no time to enjoy... no time to feel good.  Move onto what's next.  A constant state of being judged.  While success may breed confidence, never experiencing the joys of the fruits of my labor... doesn't bring about self-esteem or self-worth. 

When I look back at a completed task or a completed project any joy is squashed under the weight of the ever-changing present.  "What I just did is so 5 minutes ago... that has nothing to do with right now."

The drive... push myself harder... keep pushing... never stop.  It will never be enough.  It will never feel right.  This is just what I do.  This is how I am.  I do not know if it can be changed... and if so... I don't know how.  I don't know how to mend what is broken.

There's that pivotal scene in the movie "Good Will Hunting" where Robin Williams 'fixes' Matt Damon by giving him a hug and telling him repeatedly that it wasn't his fault.  I wish.  I wish it was that easy.  I wish that the magic words would change who I am at my core... purge me of my demons.  Maybe I'm just jaded but that scene ends up feeling like fantasy on par with Game of Thrones. 

I believe this is why I crave such a strict set of D/s dynamics.  Judge me.  Trap me in the moment.  Keep me busy.  Keep me doing.  No reward... just focus on what I'm doing... knowing there is always what's next.  Punish me for slipping.  Expect too much of me... more than is humanly possible.  Treat me like I'm not good enough (I will never believe that I am). 

I can't help feeling a bit fucked up knowing that will make me feel normal... that is where I find peace.  Being "all in" all the time... trying harder... needing to be perfect.  Judge me.  It is impossible to be harsher than the demons that reside in my soul. 

Strip me of my sense of self.  Take away my dignity.  Crush my ego.  Step on my pride.  Deny me pleasure.  Those are unnecessary; they merely cloud my judgement.  Hit me when I've been bad... or whenever you feel like it.  Please... keep me.  I promise I'll be good.  I promise I'll be perfect. 

Nothing can hurt me beyond what already hurts.  Please... keep me. 

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Bottom vs. Submissive

I apologize for the delay in replying to blog comments.  I will try to get to those soon.  I haven't been in a very good mental space but had someone ask a question to me as a possible blog topic and I will write about it.

The request was to get my thoughts on a bottom vs. a submissive.

In many ways the two are similar, especially when it comes to styles of play/sex but I believe the differences make the distinction rather crucial.

I believe that most males that associate themselves with being submissive are actually bottoms.  There are a good number that are submissive, but this term often gets used loosely in regards to a "requested role during ______" vs. "lifestyle."

To start out with a basic definition, I consider the role of being a bottom is someone who likes to be in the submissive/passive/bottom role during sexual or kink-related activities.  They are the receiver.  The catcher to the top's pitcher.  They react to the top's lead.

I always hate trying to describe a bottom in a sentence or two because there are always words/terms used that aren't adequate descriptors (e.g. I hate the use of the word "passive" in regards to being a bottom/submissive).

If you are reading here you probably have some idea of all this so I probably don't need to beat it into the ground.

To start the next part I should probably say that "All submissives are bottoms, not all bottoms are submissives."

In my opinion a handful of factors push a bottom into the realm of submission:
1. Control
2. Freedom
3. Pleasure

1. The first factor that changes the dynamics is relinquishing control. A non-submissive bottom may wish to have certain control over what is going on.  A submissive understands they have given up this control and they can hope that they will enjoy what is going on.

2. The second factor is freedom.  I believe that a non-submissive bottom sees their actions as free.  While they may temporarily give up some of this freedom in the heat of the moment, they still see themselves as someone with full freedom.  A submissive loses at least part of their freedom when they submit, the extent of which is determined by the Domme.

3. While ideally, kink-overlap will lead to mutual pleasure, there is a fundamentally different view here.  A non-submissive bottom will expect the experience to be mutually pleasurable.  A submissive gains satisfaction from submission, but whether an activity is pleasurable to them is up to the Domme.  For a submissive there are cases where pleasure will be purposefully withheld, times when pleasure may be used as a reward, and times when the sub's pleasure is a byproduct of the activity and not the focal point.  To state it more simply, I believe a non-submissive bottom's pleasure is more physical, while a submissive's pleasure is heavily rooted in the mental realm.

I guess I see these things as being the key differentiating characteristics.

Any thoughts?

Tuesday, September 13, 2016


I hate this feeling... like I'm trapped between states.  I'm blocked from subspace and having to turn to hobby obsession to fill the void... which makes the daily grind bearable but also keeps me distant from where I would like to be in  my head. 

I crave the feelings that fuel my writing.  I crave to write since it means I have those feelings.  The knot in my chest is starting to build. 

Sorry for this pointless ramble.

I have the rest of Arc 7 and the start of Arc 8 in my head... I just can't seem to get into actually writing it.

A Sea of Thoughts: Self-consciousness

The thoughts swirl...

The idea of self-consciousness is fascinating to me.  I think this is because self-consciousness can be both extremely positive and extremely negative things depending upon how you look at it.

From a positive standpoint, self-consciousness can often resemble thoughtfulness.  If you are aware of your own behavior and how it affects others there are certain ways you might adapt your behavior to maintain harmony with others.  This is often the "be on your best behavior" thing... or simply trying to avoid swearing around children and the like.  You know how you would like to present yourself and what kind of an impact that might have.  I tend to file these under self-awareness... but I believe it becomes self-consciousness as soon as we attempt to modify our behavior because of it.  I don't think this is a bad thing and you probably find yourself obeying "better judgement" on a regular basis.

Unfortunately there seem to be more cases where self-consciousness can be viewed negatively than positively. 

There are tons of ways that self-consciousness motivates people to deceive, behave selfishly, display arrogance, and the like.  This tends to happen when we believe ourselves to matter more to others than we actually do.  In some cases, it is rational to believe this, such as courting/dating, job interviews, and the like.  We want to present a special and idealized form of ourselves... exaggerate the good, hide the bad.  I think this is rational in many ways, but it's also often far from our "true selves." 

In many cases where people are ruled by their self-consciousness it's because people decide that how others perceive them is more important than how they would choose to be in their absence.  That is to say, the motivation is external.

In other cases, self-consciousness comes from a more internal cause.  A lack of confidence... fear... a shaky sense of worth... these feelings can derail a person on the inside. 

D/s often uses self-consciousness as a weapon and I believe that how it is wielded affects the outcome.  A sub can reach a rather peaceful mental state where they simply thrive as they please their Domme.  They know what is expected of them and they can perform with confidence, knowing full well that good service will most likely be met with a positive reaction.  It seems fairly common for a Domme to willingly disturb this peace, pushing the sub into a state of emotional disarray.  Making them feel self-conscious is an easy means of doing this, taking a sub who isn't thinking of themselves... and forcing a sense of self in an unpleasant way.

I believe humiliation is the end result of forcing self-consciousness about external factors.  Exposing the sub to another, threatening to have them do something embarrassing in public, or looking at their set of kinks can lead the sub to fear the eyes of the outside world.

Looking internally, I feel that shame is what results from self-consciousness rooted from internal fears.  If a sub feels unworthy or worried about the quality of their service this forces them to view themselves from the outside looking in as their own harsh critic.  This can also happen each time the sub is ordered to do something they do not wish to do and they acknowledge their own helplessness.

As I finish this I'm feeling my own self-consciousness as I'm not sure if I should post it... but I know that writing is my best way of getting back to writing... so here goes.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

In my Downtime

EDIT: added another streaming source

A few weeks ago I wrote a bit about my means of coping.  As I've felt my mood crash lately and pulled away from writing a bit I thought I would share a bit more in my process.

When the demons begin to surface it always starts small.  Little negative ticks that seem to make me feel like I'm slowly being pulled under.  This is usually accompanied by a breakdown in my normal quest of experiencing joy daily.

The past couple of weeks I have changed up my entire life schedule and been working a lot more.  In combination with T's recent schedule change I have basically lost 95% of my private time to think and to write. When I get home from work I'm exhausted mentally and that's the only time I have to myself.  After that I'm really dependent upon feeling numb or distracting myself.

Distraction is another way I seek joy but it really takes me out of my writing mindset.  My mind space shifts from feelings to whatever I have chosen to focus on and it removes me from the vulnerable state.  While I know this is part of my coping process, I still seek to have strong and meaningful feelings.

Where media steps in is that I shift into a state of experiencing feelings vicariously.  I seek out things that will affect me deeply and feel like my life is being enriched by exposing myself to it.  I do this with music, literature, movies, and TV series.  It is an endless process of seeking.  It is rare that something is good enough to where it can reach me on a deep level... less than 1%.  It does, however, make finding those rarities very special in both internal and external ways.  While the feelings manage to touch me deeply, my natural instinct is then to share it with the people that are close to me.

This past fall an anime series aired and I watched it on one of my streaming programs.  I have seen a lot of anime.  If you count series (and not movies) I have seen in their entirety over 500 shows and another 500 that I have watched but didn't care to finish.  When I watched this show over the winter I knew immediately that it was one of the strongest shows I had ever seen.  I was able to share it with a couple of friends then.  Last week I was able to convince T to watch it and while she was resistant at first it ended up drawing her in and we watched it in two sittings and it reminded me just how much I enjoy this show.  I know that anime is a bit of a niche genre but I wanted to share a bit about this show here (I will do my best to talk about it without spoilers).

The title of the show is "Erased."  The main character is a 29 year old failed manga artist that has shut down emotionally.  When he was in 5th grade, three children from his grade (two of whom were in his class) were abducted and murdered.  He saw the first child alone in a park ~30 minutes before they were abducted and thought about reaching out to them but chose to just walk on by.  In the aftermath of the murders, one of his good friends, an awkward but friendly young adult was arrested, convicted, and sentenced to death for the crimes even though he claimed to be innocent (in Japan most people confess after being convicted).  Over time he has put a block on his heart since he's constantly haunted by the regret of not reaching out to his classmate to save them and being unable to prevent his good friend from being convicted.

Through his regret he has developed a special power.  When something bad is about to happen around him he has a deja vu moment where he jumps back in time (usually 1-5 minutes).  Since he knows this means something bad will happen, he frantically assesses what is going on around him in order to prevent the unknown negative event that will occur if he doesn't act.  This doesn't always put him in a good situation.

After foiling a would-be crime, it sets into play a series of events that leads him to being framed for something terrible.  While fleeing from the police his power kicks in and he jumps back in time 19 years to his 5th grade self, a few days before the first kidnapping occurred.  He realizes that the present day events all stem back to those events and if he wishes to prevent that future from happening he has to change the terrible events of the past.

Erased is 12 episodes long.  If you fast-forward through the intro and skip the outro it pulls in at ~20 minutes per episode (~4 hours total) which is a quick little jaunt that can be easily taken down in a day or two.  The show puts you through the entire gambit of emotions... sweetness, despair, hope, pain, desperation, etc.  It is strong enough to where even people who are not anime fans but enjoy a good drama should be able to appreciate.  It is very rare for any media to touch me on a deep emotional level but this one definitely does.

It can be streamed for free with commercials at:

Crunchyroll has apps for tablet, Roku, Xbox, and Playstation.  They also have a free 2-week trial that will get rid of commercials.  Otherwise their standard rate for commercial-free is $7 a month or $60 a year.

Funimation has apps for tablets, Xbox, and Playstation. They just launched a new app and I'm not sure if you need an account to use it.  It can stream through a tablet web-browser though.   I believe they just dropped their premium rate to $4 a month.

It is also available on Hulu (subscription required):

This is one of my ways of handling my downtime.  If anyone decides to check out Erased please let me know.  I would be curious of your thoughts on it. 

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Is submission a gift?

I am writing to try and break myself out of this rut...

A couple of weeks ago Misty was kind enough to share with me some ideas for blog topics when I had asked for ideas on a post.  I can't seem to come up with any other ideas that motivate me to write so here goes. 

One potential topic that was brought up is:  Is submission a gift?

When I first read this topic idea my initial reaction was, "holy shit this is a huge can of worms."  There are so many ways to approach this, so many points of view that come into play, and also the great gap between what I actually feel vs. how I would want others to see it.

If I look at this with my "truest voice," I do not view my submission as a gift.  A gift can be given lightly.  A gift can be presented to someone that doesn't wish to receive it.  A gift feels like an exchange between equals.  People often use the term charity to describe a gift from the affluent to the poor.  Can the inferior give a gift to a superior?

If I had to choose a term to describe my submission, I would say it as an offering.  She does not need it.  She chooses to lay claim to it.  Part of it involves what I give.  The other part involves what she takes.

She does not claim my submission as a rigid form.  She shapes it and molds its form.  She may take more from it than originally offered.  I see this as being far more interactive than the idea of a gift may imply. 

Offering submission is a choice performed out of our free will.  That choice carries with it the idea of willingly giving up that freedom. 

I think my view is heavily shaped in that I feel so grateful that she claims my offering.  I see that act as being far more important than presenting my offering in the first place.  The glorious feeling of being chosen... I can't imagine that my offering of submission could make her feel as wonderful as that. 

I am very aware that my own views on this are biased.  I could easily be mistaken and it is likely that a Domme may see submission as a gift.  I tend to skew my own views to always feel like the lucky one; it tends to keep me more focused when I feel like what I offer is less important than what she chooses to provide.

Current Reflections

I've been in a bit of a rut for a couple of weeks now and far removed from the mind-space that I usually write from.  I've been thinking about why this is and what about it has caused me to tumble.

It was my birthday recently and it really shifted my life around a bit.  I used to buy a lot of things.  Over the past few years I've limited my consumerism to very basic things... food, daily use items such as deodorant, shampoo, tooth paste, gasoline, etc.  Any time I have to start thinking about actually wanting something that is the first step in pulling me out of my more submissive self.  Basically, I think I've trained myself to want very little... then when I have to want something it derails everything.

I've also noticed that I tend to get really down around my birthday most years.  When looking back as to why... I think I'm finally starting to understand just why this tends to push me into a little bit of a depression.  It's closely linked to why the D/s side of my relationship with T didn't work out as well as with K or F. 

"Most years," my birthday leaves me feeling empty.  I enjoy the company and attention it brings... but it seems to mostly reinforce that most of the time I feel pretty much unappreciated.

I do not need constant affirmation of each and every thing that I do.  I do need to feel like... my existence... my body of work as a whole... the fact that I am there... is important and valued by someone.  At some point in our relationship those feelings went away. 

I know this is a bit selfish and probably undervalues the one day a year when I am told that I am special and appreciated.  It just hurts that it makes the other 364 days stand out so much in contrast.

It is also odd that as a submissive, I completely enjoy celebrating a birthday for my Mistress.  While each and every day I seek to make her feel like the world, it requires a significant amount of planning and effort to make her birthday a day that is more special and "worthy" of her.  I would usually spend weeks working out gifts, guests, meals, and special activities centered around a 3-4 days span around her birthday. 

I know in my role that I do not ever really feel worthy of anything like that... I guess I just miss feeling valued.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Milestone: 1,000,000 hits

I sort of hate that I limped through the gate without a new post over the past few days but I finally hit 1,000,000 page views today.

I'm in a little bit of a writing rut but hopefully I'll be back up with the next chapter of fs01 soon.

Thank you everyone that reads here, especially those that comment.

Take care.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Random Morning Ramblings

It's been about a month since T had a major schedule change that has changed up my sleeping hours and available privacy.  I've also been working more lately by going in a couple of hours early. 
The end result is that I've been getting up a lot earlier and going to be significantly earlier than I have over the past few years.  I'm exhausted a lot earlier in the day and if I wait until my previous "normal" times to write (11pm-2am), I'm too tired to write anything.

I'm definitely getting more sleep.  I have a lot less time to reflect and write.  I have far fewer thoughts.  I can't tell if this is a good thing or not.  On the upside, I'm not up during the normal times where I feel my emotions peak... these are the times when the bad feelings can rise up but they are also when I really feel and understand the joy of the day.  It feels a bit like I've stopped feeling as sad but the byproduct is that I'm no longer feeling as happy either. 

When my thoughts don't swirl around over various topics my mind doesn't really seem to reach the places that were the source of my analytical writing.  When I don't reach the depth of my emotions I don't resonate with the feeling that are at the root of my personal writing. 

I won't comment as to whether this is good or bad.  I'm sure to the outside world it seems healthier to get normal hours of sleep and not think about what swirls in my heart.  Inside things feel a bit strange. 

In case you were wondering why I've cut the majority of my writing to fiction with the occasional emotional outburst (such as early last week)... the thoughts and feelings behind it all just aren't there for me to draw from.  The Sea of Thoughts isn't calling to me. 

I know that many care not for fiction or fantasy but that currently is what drives me in my writing and this past arc has REALLY challenged me to explore my thoughts and feelings in regards to the content. 

On a side note, it only took blogger 12+ hours for my last 2 posts to show up in the reader...

I wouldn't mind going back to making other types of posts... but I will probably need some inspiration to do so.  e.g. if anyone has any ideas they would like me to write about feel free to leave a comment or drop me a line. 

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Fiction: fs01 - Part 54.2 - Christmas Past

Author’s note:  This takes place 15-20 years in the past and accompanies parts 50 and 54.

Arc 7 Part 54.2 - Bonus Chapter - Christmas Past

My eyes open to the blare of the alarm above my head.  I flail my arm and slap its top until the beeping stops.  I sit up and feel the circulation flow through my body.  My head throbs.  I can’t believe I am waking up so early on Christmas morning.  Mother is out of town with her boyfriend.  I stayed up too late watching TV.  My tired eyes spot the pager lying on the dresser.  I am up because I have no idea when ‘she’ will contact me and I should be ready or I’ll face ‘her’ wrath. 

I get myself ready quickly with a brief shower, shave, and tooth brushing.  A quick peek out the window tells me all I need to know.  I hunt for layers but I don’t have many to speak of and make do with what I have.  After dressing I clip the pager onto my belt and head downstairs.

I eat a bowl of cereal and drink a glass of juice while sitting at the table.  It snowed again last night.  Mother’s words echo through my head. 
“Make sure to keep the walkway and driveway shoveled.  I don’t want the neighbors to think we’re lazy.  I’m going to ask them about it when I get back and I’ll cut off your allowance if you don’t keep up with it.  If you got off your ass and got a job to chip in we could get the snow blower fixed but for now the shovel will have to do.”

My thoughts twitch with a bit of resentment.  Yes, what the neighbors think is important enough to threaten my $5 a week.  I want to get a job but ‘she’ won’t allow it.  I have to be on call 24-7.  I have no choice. 

I finish eating and walk over toward the sad looking plastic tree adorned with a string of half-functioning lights.  I retrieve the two packages from under the tree.  I mouth the words out loud to no one.
“Yes, I promise not to open them until Christmas day.”

I take a seat on the couch with the presents stacked on my lap. 
“To: F
From: Mother”

I love that she writes herself as Mother but can’t even take the time to write out my name.  Before tearing open the paper I secretly hope for a new pair of gloves and a hat.  To my disappointment the box houses a pair of brown corduroy pants that I will never wear or I would probably get my ass-kicked.  The small package is a pair of black socks.  I know it’s the thought that counts… but is that why it hurts so much when the only thought that comes to mind is, “you really don’t know me at all”?

I crumple up the paper and throw it in the trash. 
“Merry Christmas.”

I take a deep breath.  The snow won’t shovel itself.  As I pull on my coat I scour the closet for gloves or a hat.  It’s bursting with mother’s coats that manage to slide off their hangers and frustrate me as I attempt to hang them back up.  All these coats but I asked for a second pair of gloves and a hat and she unloaded on me about how she’s not made of money.  Everything I find is mother’s and she would kill me if I got anything dirty or sweaty that matches with her outfits.  Finally in the back corner of the closet, wedged under a pair of her boots sits an old pink hat, a pair of pink earmuffs, and a pair of purple mittens.  I pick them up and stare at them in quiet contemplation.  A second later I toss them back in.  Someone might see me.  It’s not worth it.  I’ll be a man and tough it out. 

The shovel is a piece of shit but I make do.  The wind bites with a bitter cold so the easiest way to stay warm is to keep moving.  There is a lot of snow but it’s light and moves easily.  I manage to finish the driveway and walkway without exhausting myself. 

I feel the pager vibrate on my belt.  I hurry inside, struggling with the door that sticks whenever it gets cold.  I quickly discard my shoes, sprint to the phone and dial ‘her’ number.

‘She’ answers on the first ring. 

“57 seconds, gayboy.  Cutting it close, are we?”
“Hello, Miss Brittany.”
“Get over here and make me breakfast.  You have 20 minutes.”
“But, Miss…”
The dial tone interrupts me before I can finish.

I put down the phone, grab the small box on the counter, and step into my shoes in a flash.  I will never make it 6 miles in 20 minutes, especially in the snow.  I trudge through the snow with difficulty.  The sidewalks are full and no one is in a hurry to clear them.  I blow on my hands, the warm air reducing their sting before I hold them over my frozen ears.  It’s nearly an hour and a half before I arrive at her door.  I ring twice and shove the snow away with my shoes.  Once exposed, I lift the mat and use the hidden key to unlock the door before entering. 

I discard my shoes and head up the stairs to her room, rubbing my hands together as I go to warm them up.  I knock at her door.  She waits to answer me.
“You’re late, gayboy.”

I slowly open the door and walk inside with my head down.
“I’m sorry I am late, Miss Brittany.”
“What pathetic excuse do you have this time?”
“I was late because I am worthless, useless, and stupid, Miss Brittany.”

I look up after she doesn’t respond.  She sprawls on her bed in her nightgown and a large fur coat as she reads a fashion magazine.  She closes the magazine and tosses it on the floor.
“You’ll need to be punished, gayboy.  Strip.”

My face burns red in embarrassment.
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

I slowly remove my clothes, unable to look in her direction due to the shame.  She laughs as I slide off my boxers.  The cold doesn’t bode well for my shrinkage. 
“Come here.”

I slowly approach the bed as she rolls over and pulls something out of a drawer.  A click and the familiar fumes of the marker soon enter my nose.  I place my hands behind my back as I feel its cold wet touch on my naval.  “Tiny Penis” soon appears with an arrow pointing down. 
“Against the wall.”

I take a few steps back and keep my eyes on the floor.  My eyes shut with the flash that accompanies the click and the whir of the Polaroid camera.  She shakes the ejected photo and watches as its image appears.  Another flash pops with a click and a whir.  I want to cry.  The mechanical sound of dignity being stripped away is always painful.  I’m sure these will end up in her locked safe with the others by the end of the night. 

“Put your clothes on and get started on my food.  I’m starving to death here.”

She slides back upon the bed, sitting upright against the headboard.  I get dressed in front of her.  We make eye contact once and her lips form a smirk.  She notices my erection before I can get my pants all the way on. 

“So do you like my new coat, gayboy?”  I swallow and feel my temperature rise.
“You look very pretty in it, Miss Brittany.” 
“It is sexy.  I’m guessing my Mom picked this one out.  My step-dad has awful taste.”

My hand feels the box that I hastily jammed in my pocket before I left the house.  I swallow and take a deep breath as I build up my courage.
“I have a Christmas present for you, Miss Brittany.”
“Oh, really?  That’s sweet of you, gayboy.”

I retrieve the wrapped box from my pocket and approach the bed.  I kneel before her and extend my hands to her.  She takes it from me and wastes no time tearing off the paper.  I watch as she opens the box and lifts the chain and the silver heart pendant, holding it up in front of her face.

I lower my head and I crack a small smile.  It quickly shifts to a frown as her laughter fills the room.
“Really, gayboy?  Did you really think I would wear something so cheap?”

Tears well up in my eyes as I watch her toss it across the room into the corner by the bed. 

“Food.  Now.”

I quickly turn away so that she cannot see me.  I contain the tears until I’m out of her room.  My feelings spiral in a glorious mess.  11 weeks worth of allowance to buy a gift for the girl that has terrorized me for 3 years all because of a snide remark made about me on her 18th birthday.  I can’t tell if I’m fucked up or just a loser. 

I cook her a large breakfast; their well-stocked kitchen always has an abundance of food.  I make her French toast, eggs, and bacon with a small dish of strawberries and bananas and a glass of juice.  I pull a rose from the bouquet on the counter and place it on the serving tray with her dishes. 

I don’t know why I do what I do.  I know that she can ruin my life but do I really have a life to ruin? 

As I pass through the entryway I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.  My eyes are red and puffy.  The shame washes over me, I don’t want her to know that she made me cry. 

I enter her room and find her seated and dressed.  In the time I cooked breakfast she had time to get ready and do her make-up.  Her new coat sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Took you long enough, gayboy.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Brittany.  I’m useless.”

I lower the legs on the edges of the serving tray so that she can eat while sitting in bed.  I lean over her and place the tray in its position.  Her perfume enters my nose… that sweet smell… my eyes quickly dart to her cleavage before looking down.  I blush, realizing I have another erection.

She takes the first bite of her food.

“Quit looking at me.  I hate it when people watch me eat.  Go make yourself useful and shovel the driveway and walking paths.  You’re an eyesore.”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.” 

I lower my head and depart the room. 
“Don’t forget to clean the snow off my car.”
Her words reach me as I walk away.

Why am I here?  Why does she have to fuck with me on Christmas of all days?  The questions circle in my head as I push the large shovel across the long driveway.  The labor clears my head.  The ugly answers soon start rolling in.  I have no place better to be.  There is no one waiting for me at home.  The only person that talks to me also hates me.  I feel a pain build in my chest. 

Their house is huge.  The driveway is huge.  The walkways are needlessly elaborate.  My hands, nose, and ears devolve into two feelings: stinging or numb.  Relief fills me as I finally finish the job. 

As I return into the house, Brittany stands near the door.  She wraps her new fur coat around her as she looks in the mirror.  I watch her hands in their lavender leather gloves adjust the purple beanie on her head. 

She clears her throat and extends her foot.  I kneel in front of her and lace up her boots.  So many eyelets, the stinging in my fingers makes this a difficult task. 

“Why were you out shoveling without gloves or a hat?”
“I don’t have those, Miss Brittany.”  She lets out a giggle.
“Why not, gayboy?”
“Don’t you remember, Miss Brittany?  You took them from me in November and told me to ‘man-up.’  You never gave them back.”
“Oh!  So that’s what those gloves and hat were on the floor in the back.  I threw those out, they were disgusting and covered in slush after a few weeks back there.  Why didn’t you just buy another set?”
“I didn’t have any money, Miss Brittany.  I was saving it for something.”
“Hah.  Don’t tell me that instead of buying new gloves and a hat you spent your money on that pathetic little necklace for me?”

A frown covers my face and I shut my eyes while facing the floor.
She lets out a hearty laugh. 
“That decision must really sting just about now.  You really are stupid, gayboy.  Besides, you’re 18, you could have just sold plasma.”

I look up and our eyes meet as I fight back the tears.  As they well up she scoffs and is the first to look away.  She walks to the front closet and begins to dig around.  She retrieves an intricately adorned cardboard box and sets it on the table next to the door. 

“I can’t believe my step-dad got this for me last year.  How old does he think I am, 5?  Put these on.” 

She passes me a set of pink knit mittens with a red heart design on the back of the hand and fur trim at the cuff and fur pom poms dangling on a short elastic cord.  I remain motionless.  She waves her hand around in disapproval.

“Did gayboy grow a spine?  Take them and put them on, NOW.”

I accept them from her hand and slowly pull them on.  My face burns red with shame.  The next item is a matching pink hat with a Red heart design on the front and a fur pom pom on the top.  I slowly pull it onto my head.  The scarf has a series of hearts and pom poms and it finds its way around my neck.  Last is a pair of fur earmuffs with the heart designs on the headband.  I swallow as my pulse sky rockets.  If I was going to do this, I should have just worn the ones that I found at home.

She approaches me and with her eyes piercing mine she smirks while adjusting the hat and earmuffs on my head.  The Polaroid makes its way from her purse like she’s some sort of quick draw export.  The pop, click, and whirr leave my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach as she shakes the photo before stashing it in her purse.

“I’m bored and want to go for a drive.  You’ll be coming with me.  It’s hilarious, but I think this will be the first time in my car.”  
“I need to finish the dishes and pans first or else they’ll…”
“Or else the food will stick and you’ll have to scrub them extra hard to get them clean?  I don’t see how this is any of my concern.”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

The familiar feeling of defeat sets in.  I start to unwrap the scarf from my neck.
“What do you think you’re doing, gayboy?  Did I give you permission to take that off?”

I stop in my tracks and feed it back around my neck.
“That color makes your name even more fitting, doesn’t it, gayboy?”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

We head out to her SUV.  Brittany is right, this is my first time riding with her.  I slump low in the front seat, trying to be as small as possible and nearly invisible from the outside.  Neither of us speaks as she handles the car around familiar parts of town before turning onto a road that leads to its outskirts.  I watch the familiar scenery fade away as the lights and buildings thing out.  Trees and fields sprawl as far as I can see. 

Brittany makes a turn onto a small side road and after a short ride she pulls the vehicle to a stop.  She departs and I follow after her.  I watch as she takes a few steps before raising her arms and twirling in circles with her face looking up at the gray sky.  A few light flakes descend upon her as the sun sags low in the horizon.  This place… is like a well-kept secret.  A small clearing in the woods… nothing but this little open patch surrounded by trees for as far as the eye can see. 

She walks a ways in and clears the snow off of a stump before sitting and crossing her legs.  She closes her eyes and lifts her face like she’s listening to something that only she can hear.  I guess that it must be solitude.  I stand at a distance admiring her.  She is still so beautiful… just like I remember her from our youth.  She’s different now but I still long for her in my heart.  Her voice breaks the silence.

“Why do you do what I tell you to do?”  My face blushes red with her abrupt question.
“Because, Miss Brittany, you are blackmailing me.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

I lie.  I want to tell her that I love her… that I have always loved her.  I want to tell her how lonely I am and how much I missed her.  I want to tell her that I will be there for her no matter what, even if she abuses me.  I lie because it’s too pathetic to admit the truth.  I lie because I don’t want to believe that I’m this sad or desperate.  I lie because I don’t know what else to do… if I tell her the truth, I feel like my heart will explode and I will die with it.

She stands and walks back toward me.  She doesn’t make eye contact as she heads straight for the car.  As she passes me her voice cuts into my heart.
“I only talk to you because you do what I tell you to do.  If I couldn’t use you I wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a loser like you.”

I am slow returning to the car.  She is already inside with the engine running by the time I make it back.  I open the passenger door.  She cuts me down.
“Get in the back, gayboy.” 

I shut the door and get in the back seat.  We do not speak on the ride home.  She speeds.  My head races around in confusion, battling with the pangs in my heart.  I don’t understand her.  I don’t understand myself. 

We arrive back at her house.  She kicks off her boots in the entryway and runs up the stairs into her room.  I collect them and place them neatly by the door, brushing off any residual snow onto the mat.  I calmly remove my shoes and follow her.  She stands in front of her bed, her hands hidden from view.  I watch her lip quiver but I cannot read her expression.  I begin to unzip my coat.

“Did I tell you to take your coat off?”  I zip it back up.
“No, Miss Brittany.”
“Put your hands on the wall.”  

I take a breath and comply, knowing what will happen next.  She takes my wrist in her hand and pulls my arm behind me. I feel the metal cuff close and lock around my wrist.  It clicks several times as it tightens, she continues until there is no give around my wrist.  The other hand follows.  She does it police-style, palms out.  I’m sure the keyholes are facing the elbow.  The cuffs are on over the mittens, preventing me from removing them. 

In a quick motion she pulls the hat down over my eyes and nose.  I open my mouth and the pantyhose stretches and pulls tight gagging me uncomfortably as she ties it behind my head. 

“Face down in the closet.” 

I can still see some faint outlines through the knit hat over my eyes.  I make my way clumsily, bumping things outside of my view. 

“Why do you have a fucking erection, you pervert?  You’re so fucked up.”
I lay down in the closet like so many times before.  I feel her wrap another pair of pantyhose around my ankles and knot them.  A set around my knees follows.  Lastly I feel her fiddle with my ankles and she pulls them, forcing my knees to bend before she secures me into a hog-tie position with my ankles tied to the handcuff chain.  The closet door closes behind me. 

What did I do?  I hear the television in her room turn on and the volume blares.  I’m sorry, Miss Brittany.  I sob gently before retreating into nothingness. 

The abrupt silencing of the television stirs me into a conscious state.  The closet door opens, peeking a ray of light into the darkness.  I hear the pop, click, and whir of the camera.  Moments later the pantyhose binding my ankles to my wrists loosens and I can finally relax my legs.  Her knee digs into my thigh as she removes them one by one.  The handcuffs and gag follow.  She pulls the hat and earmuffs off my head.  My eyes blink rapidly as they adjust to the light. 

“Take off your winter clothes and lay on the bed.”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

I pull off the mittens I rub my wrists as circulation returns to my hands before removing my coat and the scarf.  I place my coat neatly on the floor and place her items on the dresser.  I walk over to the bed and lay down on my back.  She opens the fastener on her coat, letting it fall open.  Underneath she wears black panties with a matching bra and stockings.  I swallow and feel my pulse rise.  I pitch a tent in my pants.  She notices, scoffs, and rolls her eyes. 

“Keep it in your pants, gayboy,” she snarls as she approaches the same side of the bed. 

She takes my wrist and handcuffs it to the bedpost.  I watch as she retrieves her lavender hat from the nightstand.  To my dismay she pulls it onto my head, covering my eyes and nose.  It smells of her shampoo and perfume, the sweet scent fills my nose.  I feel her climb over me and she sprawls out on the bed, next to me. 

She takes my hand in hers and she shapes it so that my index and middle fingers are together.  I feel them enter her mouth.  She guides my hand as I feel the base of my palm glide across her naked flesh.  My tent stiffens.  She pulls it over her body.  I feel it creep below the silky touch of her panties.  Her hands guide it from outside of the soft fabric, guiding my fingers in gentle circles over her clit. 

I hear her take a deep breath as her body squirms under my touch.  Her hands continue to lead me until I find a motion that yields positive results.  She moans and her hands leave mine.  I continue the motion and gradually speed up.  Before long her breaths heave while she grinds her crotch against my touch.  I feel her body squirming around against mine.  This is the closest I’ve been to sex.  The excitement in my heart keeps my body in a state of hyper-awareness. 

I continue rubbing, gradually moving faster.  Small circles.  Firm but gentle.  Around and around.  I feel her knee against my thigh.  Her hand grips my shirt and makes a fist.  She moans and writhes as my fingers continue their work.  Around and around… faster… the pace of her breathing increases.  Her moans become cries.  Her body thrashes on the bed.  I keep moving, faster, firmer. 

“Oh Fuck!”

She cries out, her arms shakes against my body.  I feel her hips pulse once… twice… again.  She yanks my hand out of her panties and her body slumps limp on the bed. 

My head continues to spin with the reality of what just happened.  I just gave the girl that I love an orgasm.  She speaks and interrupts my euphoria.  The tone of her voice soothes me.  The contents of her words tear at my heart.

“You know… gayboy… if it weren’t for me you would be completely worthless.  If I didn’t use you, you would be completely useless.  You’re invisible unless I choose to see you… and no one cares about you.”

I begin to sniffle as the ache in my heart takes over.  My face contorts under the cover of the hat.  The pain of acceptance… I know that everything she said to me is completely true. 

“I’ll ask you again.  Why do you do what I tell you to do?”

I bury the truth in my heart and spit out lies.
“Because you are blackmailing me, Miss Brittany.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”

She scoffs and grits her teeth, pulling the hat from my face as she rises to her knees on the bed. 

“I fucking hate you.  You tell anyone about what we just did and I will ruin your life.  They wouldn’t believe you anyways.  No one gives a shit about you.  You are nothing.”

She reaches out and quickly unlocks my wrist from the bedpost. 

“Make me a pizza, finish the dishes, and get out.”

I use all of my strength to fight back the tears.  I’m such a coward.
“Yes, Miss Brittany.”
I leave the room and go downstairs.  As the pizza cooks I finish scrubbing the pans and cleaning the dishes from earlier.  I’m so confused. 

I prep the serving tray with her pizza, a soda, and a side of carrots and celery with some ranch dressing.  I place another rose from the bouquet onto the tray.  I don’t know what I’m feeling… this mix of warmth and pain eats me from the inside.

At her bedroom door my coat sits outside with a note:
“Leave the food and get the fuck out!”

I set the tray down carefully and give a couple of gentle knocks on the door.  I lean my face close.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Brittany.”

I don’t expect a response nor does she provide one.  The walk home feels colder than the walk there.  I can’t make sense of what happened, her tone, or what we shared today.  I think I must have hurt her but I don’t understand what she wanted from me today.  She hurts me all the time.

My stomach growls as I enter my empty house.  I open the fridge and grab a cold piece of fried chicken that I eat alone at the table.  Out the window the snow starts to fall again.  More shoveling tomorrow. 

In my room I lie on my bed and close my eyes, replaying the events of today.  An erection soon follows.  I slide out of my pants and relieve myself with a few pumps.  I’m so fucked up.  Her words echo through my heart.  I’m worthless without her.  I’m useless unless she uses me.  No one cares. 

I curl up into a ball and weep quietly.  I’m sorry, Miss Brittany.  Merry Christmas.