Author's Note:
Start of Arc 6.
-------------------------------
XXXII
Mistress paces back and forth before me. Her boots click on the floor. I hear the crop tap against her glove. I bend slightly at the waist. My back aches from this position. I do not dare to look at her. Her aura intimidates me.
It has been over a month since our "slave weekend" experiment. Things did not return to normal. Normal evolves. Mistress evolves. Our one day was enough to change her. The core of her dominance hungers for more. Her mind keeps it lightly in check. She knows the boundaries and treads the lines carefully. The scars and brand on my back were removed with plastic surgery. It took some time to heal. Mistress deems me well enough.
I model the newly designed uniform version 2.0 for her. Mistress evolves Kimmy's original designs to her liking. The punishment lining returns. It's just as uncomfortable as I remember it. It fights tighter and more restricting, contributing to more itching and chafing. The external fur is thicker and more obtrusive. It makes me clumsier and more self-conscious. The collar is new. It sits taller and hides a stiff posture collar beneath the surface. I cannot turn my head and it permits only minor tilting up and down. Also new are snug-fitting rubber gloves that buckle inside the sleeve. These are very slick and reduce my coordination. Anything glass must be held with both hands. I can tell the material leans heavily toward comfort in sexual contact. The original belt has been replaced by the bondage muff that Mistress had me wear in the park. It feeds through the dress's belt loops and locks at the back. .
The head-wear features new designs as well. The hat is thicker with its lower brim contoured to cover the ears more. The fur pom is larger and heavier than before, it shakes and wobbles with every motion, providing additional distraction. The front brim has a patch on it that can be embroidered with different phrases or designs. Mistress showed me several hats before settling in on the current one. "sissy maid," "fur sissy," "pet," and "slave," were bypassed in favor of a male symbol. The earmuff harness is new as well. The fur is larger and more absurd looking. The strap angles and widths have changed, they fit tighter now, connect to the collar, and provide constant discomfort on my jaw and neck. The peripheral blinders are permanent on this version. The gag is still locking and a penis gag finds its way into my mouth the majority of the day. She releases it only for meals, when she wishes to put my tongue to use, or some of the times we talk late at night.
My ankles are nearly always connected with a 12 inch chain. Thankfully there are no restrictions on chain rattling. The higher connection point on the boots keeps them from dragging on the floor. The stockings are a new version. I was excited at first as these include some thin knee padding to reduce the wear and tear from kneeling. I now abhor them, the inner layer of "padding" is actually packed with dry rice that painfully digs into my knees when I kneel... and I kneel a lot now.
Another change is the chastity belt. The new penis tube is coated in pointy rubber studs. They aren't painful, but they do make erection attempts more uncomfortable as the rubber digs into the skin and drags. I can't picture the mind of the people who design these. Mistress decided to bring the locking plug back. This one is a bit smaller but also has a bunny tail on the end. It makes me even more self-conscious about being filled in. She removes it before bedtime and I am permitted bathroom breaks before bed and in the morning before she locks it back into place.
The final touch is slightly familiar but different at the same time. It is the same type of harness as the nipple stimulators that I tested in the Adult department at Mistress's shop. This design is not for pleasure. Four metal pincers coated in studded rubber clamp down on my nipples like a drill bit and lock in place. A chain connects the two. If the chain is pulled, the clamps ratchet tighter. Mistress starts them at a pressure I would describe as "discomfort." With an earlier test she showed me their pain potential. I never want to experience that ever again. She playfully calls them my nipple cuffs.
Mistress continues to pace. My knees ache from the rice. My back throbs from holding a position that keeps my face lowered. My hands fidget together within the muff.
"Today, slave, I will inform you of the new rules."
I nod by forcing my body to move at the waist.
"From now on there will be no eye contact. If I want eye contact I will order it or force your face to look at mine."
My heart sinks a little. I love Mistress's eyes. That is where I see her love. I have taken it for granted.
"There will be no speaking unless instructed to do so. That should be obvious with the gag. This restriction will continue even if the gag is removed."
This doesn't instill a reaction in me. It's similar to our current speech protocols and no different to how things were when Kimmy was around. It occurs to me that this may affect our conversations while spooning. I feel a twinge of disappointment. I fight it off, not wanting to jump to conclusions. Time will tell.
"You will no longer be permitted to sit. Your pet bed has been donated to Goodwill. If you aren't performing chores, you will stand at attention or kneel."
Mistress turns and takes a step. The front of her robe flows open as she turns. Her scent is strong. My beautiful Mistress. She embraces more of herself. She grows.
"The size of your anal plug will vary based upon your obedience from the previous week. You are wearing a size 1 plug. They go all the way to 5, increasing in both length and girth. The size will be chosen at my discretion. I may simply get bored or wish to stretch you out."
I shudder. I hate being plugged. She knows this.
"Keep your hands in the muff when they are not in use unless instructed otherwise."
I feel agitation brewing. I anticipate greater humiliation on the horizon.
"Finally, slave. I have decided. Since it is not protected by your contract, I have decided to get rid of your yearly orgasm. It just seems silly for a slave to feel entitled to something that I do not wish to grant. You may as well accept that now."
My breathing becomes uneven. I close my eyes. The gag hides my frown. My sex strains uncomfortably within the tube. My mind spins. Why does this turn me on?
"All of these rules will supersede any orders given by others in my stead. You have gotten too familiar and casual with some of my friends, slave. It reflects poorly on me. They hold the right to beat you for disobedience. I can promise you that what I do to you will be worse."
I hang my head.
"Bow, slave, and "kiss" my feet."
I lower my forehead to the ground. She approaches. I raise my head slightly and press the front of the gag to her feet. First the right foot, then the left. I smell her. Her sex hungers.
She terrifies me. The sadism blends into her. Her new normal. I love her. She would not put me through this unless she knew I could endure.
"Do you have any questions, slave?"
I nod by moving at the waist. I tap my finger to the front plate of the belt. I make a cupping motion with my hands. I place my left palm facing up and my right palm on top of it. I raise my right hand and gesture "full."
Mistress smirks.
"I see you have noticed that I haven't milked you in a month."
I nod and make another cupping motion. I ache.
"What do you want me to do about it, slave?"
I blush. I hang my head in shame. My fingers fidget inside the muff.
"If you don't answer in 5 seconds I will assume it's fine."
I quickly retrieve my hands and signal "stop." I curl my fingers into a loose fist and make a jerking motion in front of the plate.
Mistress howls with laughter. My face burns red. I feel my emotions battle within me.
"That's cute, slave. Guess again."
Tears fill my eyes. I climb onto all fours and raise my behind. I reach back with one hand and simulate the same motion at my anus. I whimper.
"Convince me, slave."
I cry. I continue, exaggerating the motions in both length and speed.
"So are you begging me, slave? Do you want something up your ass like a little slut?"
I sob and nod. The humiliation kills me. It's easier when it just happens. It's harder to have to ask for it.
"Ass slut, I like that. I think I will have a hat embroidered with that just for you."
My face is on fire. Tears stream down. I feel the limit shatter in my soul. I don't want to admit it.
"Get on the horse, slave. I have a new toy just for this."
I bow and crawl across the floor to the horse. I climb on and line my wrists up with the eyelets. Mistress locks my wrists to the horse and secures the ankle chain. She unlocks and removes my plug. I wince.
I hear rustling behind me. A few minutes pass. My tears continue to flow. Mistress's steps approach. She stops in front of me, showing off her new toy. It's a new version of the Reverb, secured to her with a harness. Its base is thick and it extends outward. The tip of the dildo changes in shape and resembles a prostate wand.
Mistress takes it in her hand and jerks it around. She moans. She turns her hips and bangs the tip against my cheek. She traces it along my cheeks, circling under my eyes. She rubs it from the tip down the shaft while she laughs.
"Using tears as lube, what could be more perfect?!"
I struggle against my bonds. She terrifies me.
"You are a joy to tease, slave. It makes me so wet."
I hear her moan again.
The cold silicon spreads my cheeks. A trickle of gel on my skin. I tense. I sob. She enters me. She plunges deep. I wail behind the gag.
Mistress laughs and moans.
"Take it like an ass slut, slave."
She goes in and out. Her hips slap against my rear in rhythm. I squeal. She pants and speeds up. Her skin slaps mine. Her hands tighten against my waist.
It hurts. I close my eyes tight. Tears stream. She violates me. It's not rape if I begged for it, right?
My face burns with shame. I feel her hot juices trickle down my thighs.
Mistress continues with her thrusts. I slump and take it. My tears continue. My body can't fight it.
Her laughs fade as her moans continue. I feel my penis tube fill with warm liquid and drain. I am relieved. Mistress continues her onslaught.
I'm her fuck hole. In and out she goes. Harder, faster, deeper. Her hips slam hard against my thighs. Her panting tells me she's close. She plunges deep. Deeper. Deeper. She lets out a cry. Her fingers dig into my sides. I feel the Reverb shake within me.
She pulls out. I lay and sob.
I hear the unbuckling of straps behind me. A clatter on the floor. Her boots click away. The gate closes behind her.
I'm too exhausted to move. My mind clears up for a single thought. Thank you for milking me, Mistress.
END ACT
Saturday, June 25, 2016
Friday, June 24, 2016
fs01 edits coming
Some recent correspondence with a reader of fs01 has confirmed my fears that I have lacked a bit of consistency in adequately communicating fs's feelings in some of the chapters. A lot of this has to do with the level of privacy I have had while writing as well as the ability to write in one sitting vs. having to stop and pick up later.
Basically, when I haven't been able to write in subspace I am able to paint the images of the events, but not provide enough emotional reaction to connect with some of the submissive readers. I am currently brainstorming ideas for Arc 6 and will probably be doing the edits to previous chapters as I go.
The edits will likely be small, similar to the 7-10 added thoughts/emotions I put into part 1 after its original posting. If you are enjoying it as is, there may not be a reason to reread, but I know rewrites are a part of the process of improving.
Basically, when I haven't been able to write in subspace I am able to paint the images of the events, but not provide enough emotional reaction to connect with some of the submissive readers. I am currently brainstorming ideas for Arc 6 and will probably be doing the edits to previous chapters as I go.
The edits will likely be small, similar to the 7-10 added thoughts/emotions I put into part 1 after its original posting. If you are enjoying it as is, there may not be a reason to reread, but I know rewrites are a part of the process of improving.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
A Sea of Thoughts: Emotional Flow
Sometimes it's hard being emotional. It's even harder when depression is in the mix as it's often unclear what the "appropriate" level of emotion is at any given time.
I do not mind feeling sad if there is a good reason for it. The defining line for depression is often sadness vs. crippling sadness. Feeling hurt when things that are dear to you turn sour or when you lose a loved one is natural to me. Often in order to get by we will defer the pain, spread it out over time. There will inevitably be a "breaking point" where we have to let the full intensity of emotions loose, but with practice, it can be done when it will not destroy other good things in life.
Something that has been heavily on my mind lately is respecting how we influence the feelings of others. It's very easy to have a positive influence on someone's emotional well-being. It doesn't require a lot of work or effort. It's often just letting out what you think or feel without holding back.
At the same time, it is just as easy to damage others emotionally. This also requires very little work or effort. It's so easy that many people do it thoughtlessly. To trigger someone else to sadness, defensiveness, insecurity, or despair is just far too easy to do. The saddest thing about this is that people don't even do it out of malice. They do it out of boredom, self-righteousness, to feed their ego, or any number of other reasons rooted in a self-centered view of the world.
The negativity it spreads has no source. The bad feelings it gives to others have no meaning, but they are real nonetheless. No matter how hard I try I can never view this as a "good" form of sadness.
I find it very disappointing that kindness takes practice but negativity often happens as naturally as breathing.
This experience of emotional flow is just a part of our every day life. It picks us up and knocks us down regularly. It affects our willingness to be vulnerable and intimate.
A submissive inherently spends a great deal of time feeling vulnerable. If you are pursuing it as a lifestyle, that is pretty much what a sub signs up for: asymmetric vulnerability where we are the most vulnerable party.
I don't think that vulnerability responds on command. I don't think it's possible to be around 2 other people and be truly vulnerable to one but not the other. If it is possible, I just don't have enough emotional tools to pull it off.
When the gate to my heart is open, anything can make it through. When the gate is closed, nothing makes it through. Is this wrong? I don't really know. It's just the thoughts spiraling in my head in a quest to find a balanced state if being.
I do not mind feeling sad if there is a good reason for it. The defining line for depression is often sadness vs. crippling sadness. Feeling hurt when things that are dear to you turn sour or when you lose a loved one is natural to me. Often in order to get by we will defer the pain, spread it out over time. There will inevitably be a "breaking point" where we have to let the full intensity of emotions loose, but with practice, it can be done when it will not destroy other good things in life.
Something that has been heavily on my mind lately is respecting how we influence the feelings of others. It's very easy to have a positive influence on someone's emotional well-being. It doesn't require a lot of work or effort. It's often just letting out what you think or feel without holding back.
At the same time, it is just as easy to damage others emotionally. This also requires very little work or effort. It's so easy that many people do it thoughtlessly. To trigger someone else to sadness, defensiveness, insecurity, or despair is just far too easy to do. The saddest thing about this is that people don't even do it out of malice. They do it out of boredom, self-righteousness, to feed their ego, or any number of other reasons rooted in a self-centered view of the world.
The negativity it spreads has no source. The bad feelings it gives to others have no meaning, but they are real nonetheless. No matter how hard I try I can never view this as a "good" form of sadness.
I find it very disappointing that kindness takes practice but negativity often happens as naturally as breathing.
This experience of emotional flow is just a part of our every day life. It picks us up and knocks us down regularly. It affects our willingness to be vulnerable and intimate.
A submissive inherently spends a great deal of time feeling vulnerable. If you are pursuing it as a lifestyle, that is pretty much what a sub signs up for: asymmetric vulnerability where we are the most vulnerable party.
I don't think that vulnerability responds on command. I don't think it's possible to be around 2 other people and be truly vulnerable to one but not the other. If it is possible, I just don't have enough emotional tools to pull it off.
When the gate to my heart is open, anything can make it through. When the gate is closed, nothing makes it through. Is this wrong? I don't really know. It's just the thoughts spiraling in my head in a quest to find a balanced state if being.
Fiction: fs01 - Arc 5 Bonus Chapter - Lisa
Author's Note:
This takes place at any time after part 31.
--------------------------------------------------
Lisa
Mistress is away for business overnight. Lisa is to serve as house-sitter and to be my caretaker for the night. She is very kind. She is special to me in that way.
Mistress doesn't talk much to me about Lisa's private life. What I do know is that our first talk together (Part 4) seemed to get the gears turning in her head and she's been curious ever since. She seems to have worked her way into Mistress's ever-growing group of Domme friends and she's been present at most of their group gatherings and outings. During our last private encounter she explored things a little further but she plays her cards close to the chest.
I see headlights flash across the windows and I spring to my feet. I open the door before the bell even rings. Lisa arrives at the door with an overnight bag and a large plastic bag. I take them from her and escort her inside.
"Hello, fur."
"Hello, Miss Lisa. I hope you are doing well today."
She smiles at me. I blush a little. A scent fills the room. My mouth waters. Fried chicken. Lisa approaches the walk in closet area. She turns and extends her arm. I help her from her coat and hang it up in the closet.
"Guest robe, headband, and slippers, fur."
Her words are decisive. It surprises me a little. I quickly retrieve a robe. She extends her arm. I slide it into the sleeve and wrap the robe around her body. I adjust the collar and then cinch the robe at the waist. I stand on my toes and place the headband on her head.
I drop to my knees. I help her out of her first boot and slide her foot into a slipper. I repeat this with the other foot. She taps her foot. I do a double take.
I lean down and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
She grabs the collar of the robe in her hands and twists her upper body back and forth with a smile on her face.
"I love that so much, fur. I really do. Please take my bag to her bedroom. Miss Cassandra said I could sleep there tonight. I'll be in the kitchen."
I pick up her bag and run up the stairs to the bedroom. I deposit it at the foot of the bed and return downstairs. I feel giddy. I have to restrain myself from running to the kitchen. As I enter I see the large white and red bucket sitting on the counter.
Lisa has set up her plate with a couple of pieces of chicken, a load of mashed potatoes, and a biscuit.
"I'll have white wine and water to drink, fur." Her directness is a pleasant surprise. Usually it feels like a game of tug of war with me trying to serve and her trying to relieve me from serving. I quickly fetch the wine and water and present them to her on the table.
"I've got you some dinner here, too, fur, would you care to join me while I eat?"
Lisa reaches into her pocket, retrieves a granola bar and holds it out to me. The joy fades from my face.
Lisa blushes a little. Her face soon forms into a huge grin. Laughter follows. She lowers her face and holds her sides. She spits out words between breaths.
"Miss Cassandra told me to do that and that you would react exactly like that. I didn't believe her."
She continues to laugh for another minute. I lower my head.
"I'm only teasing, fur. Miss Cassandra said you can have 1 drumstick, 1 wing, 1 biscuit, and a little bit of mashed potatoes."
"Thank you, Miss Lisa. Thank you so much."
"fur, I order you to eat at the table."
I load up my plate. I show the portions to Lisa for verification. She nods in agreement. I take my plate to the table and sit.
"When is the last time you had fried chicken, fur? Miss Cassandra said you were having some colonel cravings."
"I can't remember, Miss Lisa. Maybe 5 years ago?"
"Silly, fur, you act like it's such a privilege to eat normal food. Miss Cassandra always has you eat crap."
"Oh, no, Miss Lisa. It is a privilege to eat this food. I'm always grateful to Mistress for allowing me to eat enough. What I eat is just a symbol... that we are not equals."
"You still blow my mind, fur. I can't understand how you handle this like it's normal. You don't have to answer, let me guess, 'love and trust.'"
I nod. We begin eating. I savor every bite, every morsel.
"Do you see me as an equal, fur?"
"Of course not, Miss Lisa. You are my superior."
"And that's just how it is?"
"Not quite, Miss Lisa. You are special to me. You are an angel."
Lisa blushes. She chugs down her glass of wine. She talks while I fetch her a refill.
"You know, fur, one of these times I will have you make dinner for me. Every time you cook it's so good."
I smile. I enjoy cooking for Mistress and her friends. It feels very rewarding. The meal slowly winds down. I've gnawed my bones clean. The plate is clean. Every drop of potatoes and gravy gone. Every piece of breading, gone.
Lisa finishes her second glass of wine. Her water remains full. She picks at the food on her plate. She finished a wing and part of a breast. Plenty of meat remains. My fingers fidget. My eyes fixate on her plate.
Without a word, Lisa rises. She carries her plate with her. She stops. Our eyes meet. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine but her expression has gone cold. She holds the plate over the garbage. My eyes fill with longing. She tips her plate and its contents slide into the can. I frown and lower my eyes.
"Put the leftovers in the fridge. They are for Miss Cassandra. Do the dishes and bring me more wine in the living room."
"Yes, Miss Lisa." I bow. My voice is tiny.
I put away the food. I quickly and thoroughly wash the dishes. I place the bottle of wine and a fresh glass on a silver serving tray and move to the living room. Lisa slumps into the couch. She seems a bit conflicted. I steady the tray and pour another glass of wine. I kneel in front of her, holding the tray before her.
Lisa takes the wine in hand and swallows a huge gulp.
"Are you okay, Miss Lisa?" She rapidly shakes her head, like she's clearing the cobwebs.
"Rub my feet, fur."
I nod. I set the tray on the coffee table. She parts the robe below the waist. I slowly remove the slipper from her right foot, raise the ankle of her blue jeans, and slide her sock off her foot.
"Kiss it."
I lower my face and kiss the top of her foot. She wiggles her toes as my lips part.
I caress her foot between my hands. I rub the sole. I work to her arch. Gently but with pressure. No tickling. She moans as my thumbs do their work. My hands work their way towards her heel. I rub and press, rub and press. I work the outline of her foot. I've practiced this routine to perfection. Press and rub. Rub and press. Her moans increase in frequency and length. I can smell her. I am doing well.
I rub the top of her foot. Ankle to toes. A motion that stimulates circulation. I can hear her upper body shifting back and forth on the couch. I work each toe. Gently, rubbing, moving it individually. Her moans increase. I work my way down from big to small. I finish the pinky last. I release my hands and start for the left foot.
"Suck my toes."
I freeze for a second. She wiggles her foot. I take it again in my hands. I lower my head. My lips encase her big toe. I form a suction. I press my tongue against the pad and gently rub in circles, gradually widening to get the sides and tip. Lisa continues to moan and writhe on the couch. Her scent is strong now. One hand holds the wine. The other rubs back and forth across her stomach and waistline. I can tell she fights the urge to touch herself. I smile.
I move down to the next toe. Suction. Pressure with my tongue. I vary the motions and the pull of my lips. I press my thumbs against her arch and rub. She arches her back, lifting her pelvis up. The way her body dances brings me joy. My tongue circles the toe. My hands continue working various parts of her foot. Her hand makes a long motion. It grazes her crotch. Her moans shift up a pitch.
She repeats the motion several times. I grin as best I can. I give a playful little nibble with my teeth. She squeals. I move to the next toe. I hear her gulp down the remaining wine in the glass. She leans forward and sets it on the tray. Her hands dig into the couch, searching for a handle. Suck. Lick. Rub. Press. She continues to move her hand in long motions. From naval to the tip of her crotch. Up and down, up and down. Her moans are wonderful.
I'm confident enough to think playful thoughts. 'Oh you better save yourself, Miss Lisa, we still have 7 toes to go,' floats in my head.
I move down a toe. Her scent fills the room. Her hand motions aren't long anymore, her hand barely leaves her crotch. I continue to suck, rub, lick, press. Her body thrashes around. Her moans are mixed with pants. Her hand moves faster. She cries out. Her body shakes and convulses. Women's orgasms are wonderful. I smile and release my lips from her toe.
"Don't you fucking dare stop!"
Her moans continue. I move down a toe. I repeat the process. Her reload time surprises me. Her hand is already up to full speed again. I finish the final toe on the foot. I release my lips and kiss the top of her foot. She rubs herself vigorously. She gently kicks my hands away and lifts her pant leg with her foot. Her toes grip her sock and yank it off.
"Other foot."
I kiss the top of the foot. My hands find their positions and begin to work. She lets out a grunt.
"Don't just rub, suck."
Her noises evoke anticipation. My lips encase her big toe. Her body erupts with another orgasm.
She pulls her foot from my hands and mouth.
"More wine."
I turn and pour her another glass. I present it to her on the tray. Lisa grabs the glass and gulps it down. She returns it empty to the tray. I place the tray on the coffee table.
"On your back. Hands at your sides."
I lay back on the floor. Her eyes look through me. Her cheeks flush red. Lisa takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and pauses. They open again. She steps out with her foot and sets it on my chest. She presses off the floor. Her weight sinks onto me. I wince a little. Her other foot finds its way to my torso.
She wobbles a little. I flex my abdominal muscles. She extends her arms and steadies, gradually adapting to her footing. She walks across my chest in tiny steps. Her lips part into a smile. Back and forth, up and down. She turns about. Lisa smirks and lets out a squee. I'm surprised but I think she is as well. This is obviously an adventure for her.
She walks on my shoulders, my sternum, my ribs. She places one foot just below my waist. Her legs straddle over me. I feel her toes flex and grip at my uniform. She jockeys her weight back and forth between her feet. She continues to smile. It's uncomfortable but I endure.
She continues for a few minutes. She moves her feet up and down like a little march. Soon she laughs. It's not a normal laugh... it reminds me a bit more of... Dominique. She continues marching and turning in circles. Her laughs border on cackles. Finally, she steps off, placing a foot on either side of my head. I breathe deep, thankful for the weight off my chest.
Lisa drops to her knees. Her crotch falls directly onto my face. I feel the denim dig into my chin. Her pants are quite wet. Her scent soon covers my face. She wiggles around a little and makes some tiny grinds. I lose myself. My sex strains against the belt. I miss you, Mistress.
She inhales a deep breath and blows it out with a scoff.
"My husband would kill me." She's speaking to no one. Thoughts out loud.
She climbs up off of me. I gaze up at her. Her hair is a mess. Her face is flushed. I roll over and get on my knees. I lean down and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
"Thank you, Miss Lisa, for allowing me the privilege of pleasing you."
I look up. Our eyes meet. I smile. She smiles back.
"fur, why is there only 1 of you?"
I blush and close my eyes. Compliments still feel strange.
"fur, Miss Cassandra's bathroom has a hand-held shower head right?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Good. I'm off to the shower and then skype with my husband. You have free time until 10pm. Then I want you to wash up and sleep on the cot downstairs. Make sure to lock your collar to the chain. I'll check on you in the morning."
"Thank you, Miss Lisa."
She takes a few steps towards the bedroom and pauses.
"fur, why did you let me do all that?"
"Miss Lisa, I assumed that Mistress gave you permission to use me."
"Well, yes, but I never mentioned that."
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"Love and trust, right?"
I nod.
"fur, if Miss Cassandra never told you that you had to obey me, would you still have done all of that?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Why?"
"Because you're special to me, Miss Lisa. You are an angel."
She blushes heavily but lets a smile slip through.
"fur, do dominant women always feel this guilty at the start?"
"I don't know about all, Miss Lisa, but many do."
"How do they get past it?"
I pause for a minute.
"That is a good question, Miss Lisa. I can think of a couple of things. I think as time goes on a woman has to believe she deserves to get what she wants. If you deserve it, then why feel guilty about getting it?"
"What is the second one, fur?"
"That is a bit more complicated, Miss Lisa. You either need a sub that will enjoy what you are doing so you can say it's for both of you. Or... you need a sub that will enjoy enduring what you are doing even if he hates the act."
"That is more complicated, fur. How do you know if a sub is either of those?"
"It's easy, Miss Lisa. If he pitches a tent, then yes."
Lisa blushes and covers her hands with her face. It's still cute to watch her lose her composure.
"Thank you, fur. I'm going to the shower. I want you to have another piece of chicken before bed. A drumstick. I'll tell Miss Cassandra I ate it."
She smiles at me. I return the smile. I try to keep my thoughts pure and avoid thinking about Lisa in the shower. I head to the kitchen. The colonel is calling me.
END ACT
This takes place at any time after part 31.
--------------------------------------------------
Lisa
Mistress is away for business overnight. Lisa is to serve as house-sitter and to be my caretaker for the night. She is very kind. She is special to me in that way.
Mistress doesn't talk much to me about Lisa's private life. What I do know is that our first talk together (Part 4) seemed to get the gears turning in her head and she's been curious ever since. She seems to have worked her way into Mistress's ever-growing group of Domme friends and she's been present at most of their group gatherings and outings. During our last private encounter she explored things a little further but she plays her cards close to the chest.
I see headlights flash across the windows and I spring to my feet. I open the door before the bell even rings. Lisa arrives at the door with an overnight bag and a large plastic bag. I take them from her and escort her inside.
"Hello, fur."
"Hello, Miss Lisa. I hope you are doing well today."
She smiles at me. I blush a little. A scent fills the room. My mouth waters. Fried chicken. Lisa approaches the walk in closet area. She turns and extends her arm. I help her from her coat and hang it up in the closet.
"Guest robe, headband, and slippers, fur."
Her words are decisive. It surprises me a little. I quickly retrieve a robe. She extends her arm. I slide it into the sleeve and wrap the robe around her body. I adjust the collar and then cinch the robe at the waist. I stand on my toes and place the headband on her head.
I drop to my knees. I help her out of her first boot and slide her foot into a slipper. I repeat this with the other foot. She taps her foot. I do a double take.
I lean down and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
She grabs the collar of the robe in her hands and twists her upper body back and forth with a smile on her face.
"I love that so much, fur. I really do. Please take my bag to her bedroom. Miss Cassandra said I could sleep there tonight. I'll be in the kitchen."
I pick up her bag and run up the stairs to the bedroom. I deposit it at the foot of the bed and return downstairs. I feel giddy. I have to restrain myself from running to the kitchen. As I enter I see the large white and red bucket sitting on the counter.
Lisa has set up her plate with a couple of pieces of chicken, a load of mashed potatoes, and a biscuit.
"I'll have white wine and water to drink, fur." Her directness is a pleasant surprise. Usually it feels like a game of tug of war with me trying to serve and her trying to relieve me from serving. I quickly fetch the wine and water and present them to her on the table.
"I've got you some dinner here, too, fur, would you care to join me while I eat?"
Lisa reaches into her pocket, retrieves a granola bar and holds it out to me. The joy fades from my face.
Lisa blushes a little. Her face soon forms into a huge grin. Laughter follows. She lowers her face and holds her sides. She spits out words between breaths.
"Miss Cassandra told me to do that and that you would react exactly like that. I didn't believe her."
She continues to laugh for another minute. I lower my head.
"I'm only teasing, fur. Miss Cassandra said you can have 1 drumstick, 1 wing, 1 biscuit, and a little bit of mashed potatoes."
"Thank you, Miss Lisa. Thank you so much."
"fur, I order you to eat at the table."
I load up my plate. I show the portions to Lisa for verification. She nods in agreement. I take my plate to the table and sit.
"When is the last time you had fried chicken, fur? Miss Cassandra said you were having some colonel cravings."
"I can't remember, Miss Lisa. Maybe 5 years ago?"
"Silly, fur, you act like it's such a privilege to eat normal food. Miss Cassandra always has you eat crap."
"Oh, no, Miss Lisa. It is a privilege to eat this food. I'm always grateful to Mistress for allowing me to eat enough. What I eat is just a symbol... that we are not equals."
"You still blow my mind, fur. I can't understand how you handle this like it's normal. You don't have to answer, let me guess, 'love and trust.'"
I nod. We begin eating. I savor every bite, every morsel.
"Do you see me as an equal, fur?"
"Of course not, Miss Lisa. You are my superior."
"And that's just how it is?"
"Not quite, Miss Lisa. You are special to me. You are an angel."
Lisa blushes. She chugs down her glass of wine. She talks while I fetch her a refill.
"You know, fur, one of these times I will have you make dinner for me. Every time you cook it's so good."
I smile. I enjoy cooking for Mistress and her friends. It feels very rewarding. The meal slowly winds down. I've gnawed my bones clean. The plate is clean. Every drop of potatoes and gravy gone. Every piece of breading, gone.
Lisa finishes her second glass of wine. Her water remains full. She picks at the food on her plate. She finished a wing and part of a breast. Plenty of meat remains. My fingers fidget. My eyes fixate on her plate.
Without a word, Lisa rises. She carries her plate with her. She stops. Our eyes meet. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine but her expression has gone cold. She holds the plate over the garbage. My eyes fill with longing. She tips her plate and its contents slide into the can. I frown and lower my eyes.
"Put the leftovers in the fridge. They are for Miss Cassandra. Do the dishes and bring me more wine in the living room."
"Yes, Miss Lisa." I bow. My voice is tiny.
I put away the food. I quickly and thoroughly wash the dishes. I place the bottle of wine and a fresh glass on a silver serving tray and move to the living room. Lisa slumps into the couch. She seems a bit conflicted. I steady the tray and pour another glass of wine. I kneel in front of her, holding the tray before her.
Lisa takes the wine in hand and swallows a huge gulp.
"Are you okay, Miss Lisa?" She rapidly shakes her head, like she's clearing the cobwebs.
"Rub my feet, fur."
I nod. I set the tray on the coffee table. She parts the robe below the waist. I slowly remove the slipper from her right foot, raise the ankle of her blue jeans, and slide her sock off her foot.
"Kiss it."
I lower my face and kiss the top of her foot. She wiggles her toes as my lips part.
I caress her foot between my hands. I rub the sole. I work to her arch. Gently but with pressure. No tickling. She moans as my thumbs do their work. My hands work their way towards her heel. I rub and press, rub and press. I work the outline of her foot. I've practiced this routine to perfection. Press and rub. Rub and press. Her moans increase in frequency and length. I can smell her. I am doing well.
I rub the top of her foot. Ankle to toes. A motion that stimulates circulation. I can hear her upper body shifting back and forth on the couch. I work each toe. Gently, rubbing, moving it individually. Her moans increase. I work my way down from big to small. I finish the pinky last. I release my hands and start for the left foot.
"Suck my toes."
I freeze for a second. She wiggles her foot. I take it again in my hands. I lower my head. My lips encase her big toe. I form a suction. I press my tongue against the pad and gently rub in circles, gradually widening to get the sides and tip. Lisa continues to moan and writhe on the couch. Her scent is strong now. One hand holds the wine. The other rubs back and forth across her stomach and waistline. I can tell she fights the urge to touch herself. I smile.
I move down to the next toe. Suction. Pressure with my tongue. I vary the motions and the pull of my lips. I press my thumbs against her arch and rub. She arches her back, lifting her pelvis up. The way her body dances brings me joy. My tongue circles the toe. My hands continue working various parts of her foot. Her hand makes a long motion. It grazes her crotch. Her moans shift up a pitch.
She repeats the motion several times. I grin as best I can. I give a playful little nibble with my teeth. She squeals. I move to the next toe. I hear her gulp down the remaining wine in the glass. She leans forward and sets it on the tray. Her hands dig into the couch, searching for a handle. Suck. Lick. Rub. Press. She continues to move her hand in long motions. From naval to the tip of her crotch. Up and down, up and down. Her moans are wonderful.
I'm confident enough to think playful thoughts. 'Oh you better save yourself, Miss Lisa, we still have 7 toes to go,' floats in my head.
I move down a toe. Her scent fills the room. Her hand motions aren't long anymore, her hand barely leaves her crotch. I continue to suck, rub, lick, press. Her body thrashes around. Her moans are mixed with pants. Her hand moves faster. She cries out. Her body shakes and convulses. Women's orgasms are wonderful. I smile and release my lips from her toe.
"Don't you fucking dare stop!"
Her moans continue. I move down a toe. I repeat the process. Her reload time surprises me. Her hand is already up to full speed again. I finish the final toe on the foot. I release my lips and kiss the top of her foot. She rubs herself vigorously. She gently kicks my hands away and lifts her pant leg with her foot. Her toes grip her sock and yank it off.
"Other foot."
I kiss the top of the foot. My hands find their positions and begin to work. She lets out a grunt.
"Don't just rub, suck."
Her noises evoke anticipation. My lips encase her big toe. Her body erupts with another orgasm.
She pulls her foot from my hands and mouth.
"More wine."
I turn and pour her another glass. I present it to her on the tray. Lisa grabs the glass and gulps it down. She returns it empty to the tray. I place the tray on the coffee table.
"On your back. Hands at your sides."
I lay back on the floor. Her eyes look through me. Her cheeks flush red. Lisa takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and pauses. They open again. She steps out with her foot and sets it on my chest. She presses off the floor. Her weight sinks onto me. I wince a little. Her other foot finds its way to my torso.
She wobbles a little. I flex my abdominal muscles. She extends her arms and steadies, gradually adapting to her footing. She walks across my chest in tiny steps. Her lips part into a smile. Back and forth, up and down. She turns about. Lisa smirks and lets out a squee. I'm surprised but I think she is as well. This is obviously an adventure for her.
She walks on my shoulders, my sternum, my ribs. She places one foot just below my waist. Her legs straddle over me. I feel her toes flex and grip at my uniform. She jockeys her weight back and forth between her feet. She continues to smile. It's uncomfortable but I endure.
She continues for a few minutes. She moves her feet up and down like a little march. Soon she laughs. It's not a normal laugh... it reminds me a bit more of... Dominique. She continues marching and turning in circles. Her laughs border on cackles. Finally, she steps off, placing a foot on either side of my head. I breathe deep, thankful for the weight off my chest.
Lisa drops to her knees. Her crotch falls directly onto my face. I feel the denim dig into my chin. Her pants are quite wet. Her scent soon covers my face. She wiggles around a little and makes some tiny grinds. I lose myself. My sex strains against the belt. I miss you, Mistress.
She inhales a deep breath and blows it out with a scoff.
"My husband would kill me." She's speaking to no one. Thoughts out loud.
She climbs up off of me. I gaze up at her. Her hair is a mess. Her face is flushed. I roll over and get on my knees. I lean down and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
"Thank you, Miss Lisa, for allowing me the privilege of pleasing you."
I look up. Our eyes meet. I smile. She smiles back.
"fur, why is there only 1 of you?"
I blush and close my eyes. Compliments still feel strange.
"fur, Miss Cassandra's bathroom has a hand-held shower head right?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Good. I'm off to the shower and then skype with my husband. You have free time until 10pm. Then I want you to wash up and sleep on the cot downstairs. Make sure to lock your collar to the chain. I'll check on you in the morning."
"Thank you, Miss Lisa."
She takes a few steps towards the bedroom and pauses.
"fur, why did you let me do all that?"
"Miss Lisa, I assumed that Mistress gave you permission to use me."
"Well, yes, but I never mentioned that."
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"Love and trust, right?"
I nod.
"fur, if Miss Cassandra never told you that you had to obey me, would you still have done all of that?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Why?"
"Because you're special to me, Miss Lisa. You are an angel."
She blushes heavily but lets a smile slip through.
"fur, do dominant women always feel this guilty at the start?"
"I don't know about all, Miss Lisa, but many do."
"How do they get past it?"
I pause for a minute.
"That is a good question, Miss Lisa. I can think of a couple of things. I think as time goes on a woman has to believe she deserves to get what she wants. If you deserve it, then why feel guilty about getting it?"
"What is the second one, fur?"
"That is a bit more complicated, Miss Lisa. You either need a sub that will enjoy what you are doing so you can say it's for both of you. Or... you need a sub that will enjoy enduring what you are doing even if he hates the act."
"That is more complicated, fur. How do you know if a sub is either of those?"
"It's easy, Miss Lisa. If he pitches a tent, then yes."
Lisa blushes and covers her hands with her face. It's still cute to watch her lose her composure.
"Thank you, fur. I'm going to the shower. I want you to have another piece of chicken before bed. A drumstick. I'll tell Miss Cassandra I ate it."
She smiles at me. I return the smile. I try to keep my thoughts pure and avoid thinking about Lisa in the shower. I head to the kitchen. The colonel is calling me.
END ACT
Fur Femdom, a cage and...
I stumbled upon this picture a couple of weeks ago. It's from Opulentfetish.com
It plays right into a couple of my major kinks: A Domme in fur and a cage. Except... I have trouble keeping a straight face when I look at this one.
It plays right into a couple of my major kinks: A Domme in fur and a cage. Except... I have trouble keeping a straight face when I look at this one.
I keep picturing F laughing or getting upset about it like she did with the sub outdoors in shoes.
I mean... a slight crop would have helped this so much. Those wall brackets just don't really seem all that secure for imprisoning say... a fully grown man.
Clarifications on my alpha rant
I let my alpha out a little hard yesterday.
Based upon some reactions I figured I should write a follow up post to clarify some things.
First thing I will mention is that I am Asian. I've mentioned that I'm a minority but had never explicitly stated which race. This is a first for me. And no, I'm not the "fur sissy" that is out there in porn pics. I rarely allow myself to be photographed and try to avoid it at all costs. I've been that way for 20+ years and I can assure you that I would never pose for pics on the internet. The area that I grew up in had less than a 1% minority population until I had already moved away.
The thing that I was trying to get at yesterday was basically me giving up on hope that more people will be accepting and open as people. It just doesn't really happen that way and I don't know why I expected them to be otherwise. I guess I allowed myself hope because I wanted to.
I really hate it when people speak in absolutes. I dislike it greatly when people attempt to be exclusive rather than inclusive.
There are a handful of things that I will flat out admit I am intolerant of. I'll gladly list a few of them here:
Racism
Sexism
Classism
Homophobia
Religious Persecution
Child abuse
Rape
Spousal abuse
Exploitation (labor, resources, laws, etc.)
Profiling (race, age, sex, religion, etc.)
Mob mentality
(there are many more things I hate)
A lot of these things exist because people want to perpetuate stereotypes. These people often form these stereotypes without ever truly knowing anyone who falls into the category they project their bias/hate towards. If they meet someone that disproves the stereotype they consider them a special case and they don't consider that "proof" that the stereotype shouldn't exist.
I will fully admit that I get pretty upset when people do behaviors like these around me. I also have no desire to interact with or invest myself in people who harbor these types of beliefs. In my youth I thought I could change people's way of thinking. As I've gotten older I've stopped trying. I don't bother sticking around to fight. I wash my hands of them and walk away.
As silly as it is, I am intolerant of intolerance :)
Generally speaking I am quite open-minded to a lot of things. Even if I don't agree with someone I will hear them out and respect their views if they have non-destructive reasons behind them. It's even better if they are willing to have discussions back and forth and if they can appreciate different points of view. I think we can learn a lot from interacting with people that are different from ourselves. It can help expand our view of the world and what types of things we take into consideration in the future.
It's the hardest when people are completely closed. It's even worse when they are proud of it.
I experienced a LOT of racism growing up. Hell, after 9/11 the city I lived in was publicly warning Asians to stay indoors because they were being beaten up by angry mobs who couldn't tell the difference between the Middle East and Far East.
If I hopped on the internet somewhere and read someone posting "All white people are racist," I would probably make a minor comment that "some white people are racist, not all white people." If those words were ignored and followed by a bandwagon of agreement to the original statement... I would say "fuck 'em" in my head and just leave, realizing that I had no desire to be there.
When it comes to kink topics I generally hope to believe that people have a bit more of an open mind. That I'll hear fewer absolute statements and less perpetuation of stereotypes. I hope that people are more open to dialogue and learning from others.
By being interested in Femdom, FLR, or whatever you want to call it, this makes us a minority. No matter how you slice it, we are a minority. The standard established societal norms and values will look upon us with scorn. We are doing it wrong. This isn't the "traditional household of family values." Before the terminology got so divided, there were basically two types of Femdom: 1. Bedroom. 2. Lifestyle.
While each group might not have agreed with the other, there was often a "that's just not for me" reason but overt hostility was pretty minimal. We were all in the same boat. Back in 2012 I never felt like things were this divided. Things are different now. There's a whole new batch of terminology in order to provide the differences between us. In some ways it feels an awful lot like the "isms" I am so opposed to.
A looks down on B.
B and A look down on C.
C, B, and A look down on D.
D, C, B, and A look down on E.
I don't think this sort of thing really benefits anyone, and it's even worse when you are part of E. Has a caste system ever been a positive thing?
The people I like the most do not partake in that hierarchy of discrimination. They don't see E, they see Bill. They don't see D, they see John. They don't see C, they see Jane. etc.
What left me feeling hurt and disappointed is that I was a bit blindsided by this. I honestly didn't expect it. I didn't anticipate people wanting to divide themselves. I didn't believe someone would willingly be proud of a stance like "well, I'm a minority, but you're more of a minority than I am, so fuck off."
I have to hand it to the homosexual community for their unity. I remember when it was just LGB. Then LGBT. Now it's LGBTQIAPK (or LGBTQIAPKAH if you want to get technical). That's a lot of unity. The desire for unity. The desire to come together as a minority in order to be stronger as a whole.
The other day I read a post claiming FLR was real and that Femdom was fake. It made me sick to my stomach that someone wanted to put that much effort into making sure people saw there was a difference. A case for A to look down on B. It doesn't really matter because I'm E. I walked away without saying a word.
I hope this clarifies things a bit and comes off as less angry than yesterday's post.
Based upon some reactions I figured I should write a follow up post to clarify some things.
First thing I will mention is that I am Asian. I've mentioned that I'm a minority but had never explicitly stated which race. This is a first for me. And no, I'm not the "fur sissy" that is out there in porn pics. I rarely allow myself to be photographed and try to avoid it at all costs. I've been that way for 20+ years and I can assure you that I would never pose for pics on the internet. The area that I grew up in had less than a 1% minority population until I had already moved away.
The thing that I was trying to get at yesterday was basically me giving up on hope that more people will be accepting and open as people. It just doesn't really happen that way and I don't know why I expected them to be otherwise. I guess I allowed myself hope because I wanted to.
I really hate it when people speak in absolutes. I dislike it greatly when people attempt to be exclusive rather than inclusive.
There are a handful of things that I will flat out admit I am intolerant of. I'll gladly list a few of them here:
Racism
Sexism
Classism
Homophobia
Religious Persecution
Child abuse
Rape
Spousal abuse
Exploitation (labor, resources, laws, etc.)
Profiling (race, age, sex, religion, etc.)
Mob mentality
(there are many more things I hate)
A lot of these things exist because people want to perpetuate stereotypes. These people often form these stereotypes without ever truly knowing anyone who falls into the category they project their bias/hate towards. If they meet someone that disproves the stereotype they consider them a special case and they don't consider that "proof" that the stereotype shouldn't exist.
I will fully admit that I get pretty upset when people do behaviors like these around me. I also have no desire to interact with or invest myself in people who harbor these types of beliefs. In my youth I thought I could change people's way of thinking. As I've gotten older I've stopped trying. I don't bother sticking around to fight. I wash my hands of them and walk away.
As silly as it is, I am intolerant of intolerance :)
Generally speaking I am quite open-minded to a lot of things. Even if I don't agree with someone I will hear them out and respect their views if they have non-destructive reasons behind them. It's even better if they are willing to have discussions back and forth and if they can appreciate different points of view. I think we can learn a lot from interacting with people that are different from ourselves. It can help expand our view of the world and what types of things we take into consideration in the future.
It's the hardest when people are completely closed. It's even worse when they are proud of it.
I experienced a LOT of racism growing up. Hell, after 9/11 the city I lived in was publicly warning Asians to stay indoors because they were being beaten up by angry mobs who couldn't tell the difference between the Middle East and Far East.
If I hopped on the internet somewhere and read someone posting "All white people are racist," I would probably make a minor comment that "some white people are racist, not all white people." If those words were ignored and followed by a bandwagon of agreement to the original statement... I would say "fuck 'em" in my head and just leave, realizing that I had no desire to be there.
When it comes to kink topics I generally hope to believe that people have a bit more of an open mind. That I'll hear fewer absolute statements and less perpetuation of stereotypes. I hope that people are more open to dialogue and learning from others.
By being interested in Femdom, FLR, or whatever you want to call it, this makes us a minority. No matter how you slice it, we are a minority. The standard established societal norms and values will look upon us with scorn. We are doing it wrong. This isn't the "traditional household of family values." Before the terminology got so divided, there were basically two types of Femdom: 1. Bedroom. 2. Lifestyle.
While each group might not have agreed with the other, there was often a "that's just not for me" reason but overt hostility was pretty minimal. We were all in the same boat. Back in 2012 I never felt like things were this divided. Things are different now. There's a whole new batch of terminology in order to provide the differences between us. In some ways it feels an awful lot like the "isms" I am so opposed to.
A looks down on B.
B and A look down on C.
C, B, and A look down on D.
D, C, B, and A look down on E.
I don't think this sort of thing really benefits anyone, and it's even worse when you are part of E. Has a caste system ever been a positive thing?
The people I like the most do not partake in that hierarchy of discrimination. They don't see E, they see Bill. They don't see D, they see John. They don't see C, they see Jane. etc.
What left me feeling hurt and disappointed is that I was a bit blindsided by this. I honestly didn't expect it. I didn't anticipate people wanting to divide themselves. I didn't believe someone would willingly be proud of a stance like "well, I'm a minority, but you're more of a minority than I am, so fuck off."
I have to hand it to the homosexual community for their unity. I remember when it was just LGB. Then LGBT. Now it's LGBTQIAPK (or LGBTQIAPKAH if you want to get technical). That's a lot of unity. The desire for unity. The desire to come together as a minority in order to be stronger as a whole.
The other day I read a post claiming FLR was real and that Femdom was fake. It made me sick to my stomach that someone wanted to put that much effort into making sure people saw there was a difference. A case for A to look down on B. It doesn't really matter because I'm E. I walked away without saying a word.
I hope this clarifies things a bit and comes off as less angry than yesterday's post.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
fs01 Character Question - Lisa
Well, it seems like every time I make a post that my inspiration is fading something comes along and spurs me forward.
I'm in the process of brainstorming ideas for a possible Arc 6.
After keeping Arcs 3 and 5 a lot smaller in scope, keeping outside interactions to a minimum, I'm finding I have a lot more fun writing when fs01 interacts with multiple characters across the arc.
I think I need another bonus chapter (or the first post of arc 6) to instigate a change in a character or two. The most likely candidate is Lisa. She's been in and out of the story, mostly playing a fairly minor supporting role. I wasn't really sure where I was going to take her in the story but she definitely has the most room for change, being mostly vanilla while dabbling a little bit in the bedroom.
If I do go forward with things, I want her to be a bit unique and different compared to the others in the story so far.
Does anyone have any ideas on things they might like to see her be "into" or at least curious about?
I already have an idea for how to go about this... I just don't have the details to fill in yet.
If anyone has any input it would be much appreciated.
I'm in the process of brainstorming ideas for a possible Arc 6.
After keeping Arcs 3 and 5 a lot smaller in scope, keeping outside interactions to a minimum, I'm finding I have a lot more fun writing when fs01 interacts with multiple characters across the arc.
I think I need another bonus chapter (or the first post of arc 6) to instigate a change in a character or two. The most likely candidate is Lisa. She's been in and out of the story, mostly playing a fairly minor supporting role. I wasn't really sure where I was going to take her in the story but she definitely has the most room for change, being mostly vanilla while dabbling a little bit in the bedroom.
If I do go forward with things, I want her to be a bit unique and different compared to the others in the story so far.
Does anyone have any ideas on things they might like to see her be "into" or at least curious about?
I already have an idea for how to go about this... I just don't have the details to fill in yet.
If anyone has any input it would be much appreciated.
Fiction: fs01 - Arc 5 Bonus Chapter - Teasing
Author's note:
This takes place at some point after Part 31.
--------------------------------------
Teasing
Mistress sits on the couch. Theresa is on the love seat. It has been rare for the two of them to be "alone" together lately. B is at home napping. I kneel near Mistress, ready to refill their wine or serve them more cheese.
I try my best not to eavesdrop. Sometimes it's unavoidable. Their conversation up to this point has focused on Theresa and B. The topic changes. My ears perk up unintentionally. It feels like the wine is talking.
"I still can't believe you haven't done more with fur's power of attorney, Cass. That's so boring."
"What would you want me to do with it, T? I think I've done plenty."
" I think you should have his name changed."
"What did you have in mind, T?"
"Well, you started calling him fs. We all started calling him fur sissy. Why not make that his legal name?"
Theresa laughs. I squirm a little inside.
I feel Mistress's hand on my head. It calms me a little.
"I don't think he'd like it very much, T."
"So what, Cass? You like making him do things he hates. Besides, you could always change it to something else later. Live a little."
I feel her fingers tap on my head through my hat.
"What do you think, slave? Would you like it if you were named fur sissy?"
My cheeks flush red. I vigorously shake my head 'no.'
"Don't be such a prude, fur. That would be so cute." Theresa giggles again.
"Think about it, Cass, you could make him buy drinks at the bar and hope that they card him! That would be hilarious."
My chest tightens at the thought. Mistress grins and shakes her head.
"I'll give it some thought, T."
"Think hard about it, Cass. It would be amazing. I could start calling you 'Mrs. Sissy.'"
Mistress laughs.
"Damnit, T, you know he took my last name when we got married."
"It's good to see you blush, Cass."
They both pause to drink more wine.
"So Cass, are you really having the doc remove his scars?"
"That's the plan, T. I don't like seeing him covered in scars that weren't left by me."
"Do you plan to brand him again?"
"I'm thinking about it. The whole idea of branding seems so barbaric though. I'm leaning more towards a tattoo."
My eyebrows rise. This is the first I'd heard of this.
"Like what, Cass, a big C on his butt?"
"Actually, T, that's what I was thinking."
"You should get a C on each cheek. Then I can start calling you Cici."
Mistress sighs and rolls her eyes.
"You wouldn't dare, T."
"How about a tramp stamp that says 'Property of Mistress Cassandra?'"
"I actually kind of like that, T."
Theresa laughs.
"I'm sure when he's getting it he'll wish you had a shorter name!"
It's rare to see this. Mistress is usually the one baiting Theresa. Theresa must be a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.
"Cass, you could get him a tattoo above his junk that says 'fur sissy,' too. I'm sure he'd love that."
I fidget. My face burns up. Mistress pets my head.
"Tattoo parlors do piercings, too. I did some reading on chastity, Cass. Why don't you get him a chastity piercing while you're at it?"
I shudder at the thought.
"I'll give it some thought, T. I've considered it before."
My heart races. Her hand pets the fur on my collar.
"You should get his nipples pierced, too, Cass. I saw these cute little heart-shaped padlocks. You could even use those instead of nipple rings."
They both laugh together.
"You're too much today, T. I suppose it if it was up to you he'd end up with a scrotum piercing for a leash and his butt cheeks pierced together."
"Can they really do that, Cass? I'd so pay to see that."
Mistress taps me on the shoulder. Our eyes meet. Her brow is arched. Her wine glass is empty. I rise and fill it. I'll be punished later for letting it go empty.
My insides are a mess.
"So, T, do you tease B this much?"
Theresa leans forward on the love seat with a serious expression.
"Of course not, Cass. She's too sweet to tease. I save it all up and vent it on fur. He's so much fun to tease."
Theresa's expression shifts to a smirk. I blush. Mistress pets my head.
"It is quite addicting, isn't it, T... quite addicting."
This takes place at some point after Part 31.
--------------------------------------
Teasing
Mistress sits on the couch. Theresa is on the love seat. It has been rare for the two of them to be "alone" together lately. B is at home napping. I kneel near Mistress, ready to refill their wine or serve them more cheese.
I try my best not to eavesdrop. Sometimes it's unavoidable. Their conversation up to this point has focused on Theresa and B. The topic changes. My ears perk up unintentionally. It feels like the wine is talking.
"I still can't believe you haven't done more with fur's power of attorney, Cass. That's so boring."
"What would you want me to do with it, T? I think I've done plenty."
" I think you should have his name changed."
"What did you have in mind, T?"
"Well, you started calling him fs. We all started calling him fur sissy. Why not make that his legal name?"
Theresa laughs. I squirm a little inside.
I feel Mistress's hand on my head. It calms me a little.
"I don't think he'd like it very much, T."
"So what, Cass? You like making him do things he hates. Besides, you could always change it to something else later. Live a little."
I feel her fingers tap on my head through my hat.
"What do you think, slave? Would you like it if you were named fur sissy?"
My cheeks flush red. I vigorously shake my head 'no.'
"Don't be such a prude, fur. That would be so cute." Theresa giggles again.
"Think about it, Cass, you could make him buy drinks at the bar and hope that they card him! That would be hilarious."
My chest tightens at the thought. Mistress grins and shakes her head.
"I'll give it some thought, T."
"Think hard about it, Cass. It would be amazing. I could start calling you 'Mrs. Sissy.'"
Mistress laughs.
"Damnit, T, you know he took my last name when we got married."
"It's good to see you blush, Cass."
They both pause to drink more wine.
"So Cass, are you really having the doc remove his scars?"
"That's the plan, T. I don't like seeing him covered in scars that weren't left by me."
"Do you plan to brand him again?"
"I'm thinking about it. The whole idea of branding seems so barbaric though. I'm leaning more towards a tattoo."
My eyebrows rise. This is the first I'd heard of this.
"Like what, Cass, a big C on his butt?"
"Actually, T, that's what I was thinking."
"You should get a C on each cheek. Then I can start calling you Cici."
Mistress sighs and rolls her eyes.
"You wouldn't dare, T."
"How about a tramp stamp that says 'Property of Mistress Cassandra?'"
"I actually kind of like that, T."
Theresa laughs.
"I'm sure when he's getting it he'll wish you had a shorter name!"
It's rare to see this. Mistress is usually the one baiting Theresa. Theresa must be a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.
"Cass, you could get him a tattoo above his junk that says 'fur sissy,' too. I'm sure he'd love that."
I fidget. My face burns up. Mistress pets my head.
"Tattoo parlors do piercings, too. I did some reading on chastity, Cass. Why don't you get him a chastity piercing while you're at it?"
I shudder at the thought.
"I'll give it some thought, T. I've considered it before."
My heart races. Her hand pets the fur on my collar.
"You should get his nipples pierced, too, Cass. I saw these cute little heart-shaped padlocks. You could even use those instead of nipple rings."
They both laugh together.
"You're too much today, T. I suppose it if it was up to you he'd end up with a scrotum piercing for a leash and his butt cheeks pierced together."
"Can they really do that, Cass? I'd so pay to see that."
Mistress taps me on the shoulder. Our eyes meet. Her brow is arched. Her wine glass is empty. I rise and fill it. I'll be punished later for letting it go empty.
My insides are a mess.
"So, T, do you tease B this much?"
Theresa leans forward on the love seat with a serious expression.
"Of course not, Cass. She's too sweet to tease. I save it all up and vent it on fur. He's so much fun to tease."
Theresa's expression shifts to a smirk. I blush. Mistress pets my head.
"It is quite addicting, isn't it, T... quite addicting."
The Myth of the "True submissive"
It strikes a nerve whenever I hear someone use the phrase "true submissive." It's partly that it's almost always used in hostility and partly at how narrow and arrogant it is to use such a phrase.
I have learned one great truth over my time in the lifestyle: submission is a life of its own, constantly learning, evolving, and growing. It changes over time. A person's form of submission is merely a snapshot, frozen in time. A month from now it will be different, just as the snapshot was different from the month that preceded it.
Intensity is a mentality. Experiences and reflection shape us into who we are. Submission has its own spectrum. At one end falls the bedroom bottom. At the other, the TPE slave. Most of us fall somewhere in between, constantly shifting back and forth along the spectrum.
Submissive evolution primarily stems from two roots: Dominant expectations and our own self-imposed limits on vulnerability.
That is to say, submissives do not directly choose who they are, they merely control what they allow themselves to become.
If I let my arrogance run wild, a concept of perfect submission does appear. When I picture it, I see an abstract idea of submission that forms an ideal symbiotic relationship with a Domme's dominance.
It is important to acknowledge that dominance is an ever-changing organism as well. It grows under a different set of constraints but holds a similar spectrum of extremes from the bedroom top to the whip cracking owner of a stable of slaves. Again most fall somewhere in between, learning, growing, and evolving as they go.
There are no absolutes, just an ideal that your submission and her dominance can work well together and compliment one another on a deep level.
It makes me cringe when I hear a claim of "true submission" that doesn't take any of this into account.
I have learned one great truth over my time in the lifestyle: submission is a life of its own, constantly learning, evolving, and growing. It changes over time. A person's form of submission is merely a snapshot, frozen in time. A month from now it will be different, just as the snapshot was different from the month that preceded it.
Intensity is a mentality. Experiences and reflection shape us into who we are. Submission has its own spectrum. At one end falls the bedroom bottom. At the other, the TPE slave. Most of us fall somewhere in between, constantly shifting back and forth along the spectrum.
Submissive evolution primarily stems from two roots: Dominant expectations and our own self-imposed limits on vulnerability.
That is to say, submissives do not directly choose who they are, they merely control what they allow themselves to become.
If I let my arrogance run wild, a concept of perfect submission does appear. When I picture it, I see an abstract idea of submission that forms an ideal symbiotic relationship with a Domme's dominance.
It is important to acknowledge that dominance is an ever-changing organism as well. It grows under a different set of constraints but holds a similar spectrum of extremes from the bedroom top to the whip cracking owner of a stable of slaves. Again most fall somewhere in between, learning, growing, and evolving as they go.
There are no absolutes, just an ideal that your submission and her dominance can work well together and compliment one another on a deep level.
It makes me cringe when I hear a claim of "true submission" that doesn't take any of this into account.
Monday, June 20, 2016
Breaking Through - Letting the alpha back out
First off I wanted to say thank you to everyone that has been supportive lately. I've written a lot of very open/exposing blog entries and some experiences with interaction that left me feeling really off. Miss Lily and Tina (lawyer), your comments today on my sensitivity post really helped a lot for me to shake off the feelings I was having.
I realized today that, as Wendy from Billions would probably tell me, I'm listening to the wrong voice. In an effort to suppress my alpha, I have mistakenly shed its protection and held hopes and believes for humans that I never would have had otherwise. My alpha has 30+ years of experience and well-sharpened fangs designed to ward off adversity and hostility and keep me moving through it all. I believe I have to find a balance in knowing when to show each face, and not letting one or the other completely take over.
So... in the voice of my alpha... I'm not sure why I got a lot of hopes up this time around. The internet has changed. This has happened in every forum for every hobby that I follow. 99% of people end up in one place and everywhere else is left a ghost town. Those who remain are those who are loyal enough to tough it out. In the flavor of the month meeting zone is where the ugliness really shines. The current forms of social media and ways that people present themselves leads to an endless pissing contest about who can be the biggest asshole in 120 characters or less. Who can recite the most commonly accepted snobbery and posturing... and reject anyone that dares to think differently.
I used to feel that kink generally brought people together since we are all "abnormals." The consolidation of forces seems to have just increased the density of the lowest common denominator. Maybe I'm just getting old.
It dawned on me this morning that how the hell is this different from life in general? It's not. The majority of people are set in their beliefs. They will maintain them without basis and shut out or shun views that differ from their own. In many ways it feels like the ugliest part of human nature. Don't think, don't listen, don't consider ideas, just spew your own version of right and reject those that disagree.
I can't even remember when I thought the majority of the human race was inherently decent and good. I just know when it stopped. It was somewhere around age 4 when kids at my pre-school and in my friends' neighborhoods would call me nigger and make faces at me (I'm not even black, not that that would make it okay). Around that time was also the episode of Diff'rent Strokes where Arnold and Dudley go over to the candy store or toy store owner's house where he showed them porno cartoons and the guy molested Dudley. After that episode my parents had the talk about not trusting people. Somewhere between these two life changing events I stopped believing in the "majority." (Yes, growing up without cable meant network TV shows were life changing at that age).
I toughened my skin. I fed my alpha. How did I deal with these people? Simple. Fuck 'em. They don't matter. My feelings could still get hurt, but fuck 'em. They don't matter. When I was younger I was aggressive in my defense. You hit me, I'll fucking kill you (not literally). As I matured I began to pick my battles. It's not hard to spot when someone is just closed-minded. They aren't open to conversation, they won't even consider thinking about things in any other way. Fuck 'em. Ignore 'em. They don't matter. Put forth effort when it can lead to something good.
I think I despise my alpha so much because I have to spend so much time with it. I waited 20+ years of my life to find one person that I could truly be open with. I finally found that with K. That's when I realized that the "rest of the world" didn't matter. As long as there was one person I could truly connect with, that's all I needed to feel okay. I learned the joys of being able to bury my alpha.
The uncertainty and insecurity that have plagued me lately are because I so dearly want to connect with others. I put myself out there, open, exposed, and honest. I'm met with the ugliest parts of society.
Yesterday I made my first real foray onto Fetlife. Over the years I've had a handful of people ask me if I was on there, this year I finally took the plunge. I entered one discussion where a Domme was ranting about how pissed they were that "all submissives want to be feminized" and they were asking why. I spent 10 minutes typing a reply that would try to explain the what/when/why of things. 50 replies later yielded a bunch of hateful posturing. Talk about "true submissives," disgust towards anyone that partakes in any form of feminizing, even people stating how infuriated they were at how sexist feminization is since they equated femininity with submissive behavior. I spent 20 minutes typing another reply, explaining how the actual root of "forced feminization" is making a sub do something they do not want to do and would not have chosen to do otherwise and that I didn't believe that was sexist at all. After about reply #75 I realized something important. No one there actually wanted to think about anything. They wanted to soap box. They wanted to posture. They wanted to hack people down they didn't agree with. Be an asshole in 120 characters or less. Show your personal superiority. Degrade those you look down on. Out of all the hate and pissing, not a single person referenced anything that I wrote, nor was there any true discussion between posts, only knocking people down for having the "wrong" opinion.
I wrote my Sensitivity blog post somewhere between my first and second entry on that discussion. I woke up this morning to a very kind reply from Tina and soon after another from Miss Lily. Those comments kept my spirits up.
A little while later I realized something else. When in the hell would I ever tolerate being around people who behaved like those people on Fetlife? The answer... NEVER. I would never waste my time with a bunch of assholes like that in person, so why would I give a shit about what they say on the internet?. Fuck 'em. The same goes for bloggers who ignore me or carry a rude attitude. Fuck 'em. I'll save my effort for when it can lead to something good.
I'm slowly rebuilding my support system through this blog. The connections feel meaningful and I cherish them deeply. There's no need to rush things.
Now I just need to find a way to balance... to be able to call upon both without letting one take over.
I realized today that, as Wendy from Billions would probably tell me, I'm listening to the wrong voice. In an effort to suppress my alpha, I have mistakenly shed its protection and held hopes and believes for humans that I never would have had otherwise. My alpha has 30+ years of experience and well-sharpened fangs designed to ward off adversity and hostility and keep me moving through it all. I believe I have to find a balance in knowing when to show each face, and not letting one or the other completely take over.
So... in the voice of my alpha... I'm not sure why I got a lot of hopes up this time around. The internet has changed. This has happened in every forum for every hobby that I follow. 99% of people end up in one place and everywhere else is left a ghost town. Those who remain are those who are loyal enough to tough it out. In the flavor of the month meeting zone is where the ugliness really shines. The current forms of social media and ways that people present themselves leads to an endless pissing contest about who can be the biggest asshole in 120 characters or less. Who can recite the most commonly accepted snobbery and posturing... and reject anyone that dares to think differently.
I used to feel that kink generally brought people together since we are all "abnormals." The consolidation of forces seems to have just increased the density of the lowest common denominator. Maybe I'm just getting old.
It dawned on me this morning that how the hell is this different from life in general? It's not. The majority of people are set in their beliefs. They will maintain them without basis and shut out or shun views that differ from their own. In many ways it feels like the ugliest part of human nature. Don't think, don't listen, don't consider ideas, just spew your own version of right and reject those that disagree.
I can't even remember when I thought the majority of the human race was inherently decent and good. I just know when it stopped. It was somewhere around age 4 when kids at my pre-school and in my friends' neighborhoods would call me nigger and make faces at me (I'm not even black, not that that would make it okay). Around that time was also the episode of Diff'rent Strokes where Arnold and Dudley go over to the candy store or toy store owner's house where he showed them porno cartoons and the guy molested Dudley. After that episode my parents had the talk about not trusting people. Somewhere between these two life changing events I stopped believing in the "majority." (Yes, growing up without cable meant network TV shows were life changing at that age).
I toughened my skin. I fed my alpha. How did I deal with these people? Simple. Fuck 'em. They don't matter. My feelings could still get hurt, but fuck 'em. They don't matter. When I was younger I was aggressive in my defense. You hit me, I'll fucking kill you (not literally). As I matured I began to pick my battles. It's not hard to spot when someone is just closed-minded. They aren't open to conversation, they won't even consider thinking about things in any other way. Fuck 'em. Ignore 'em. They don't matter. Put forth effort when it can lead to something good.
I think I despise my alpha so much because I have to spend so much time with it. I waited 20+ years of my life to find one person that I could truly be open with. I finally found that with K. That's when I realized that the "rest of the world" didn't matter. As long as there was one person I could truly connect with, that's all I needed to feel okay. I learned the joys of being able to bury my alpha.
The uncertainty and insecurity that have plagued me lately are because I so dearly want to connect with others. I put myself out there, open, exposed, and honest. I'm met with the ugliest parts of society.
Yesterday I made my first real foray onto Fetlife. Over the years I've had a handful of people ask me if I was on there, this year I finally took the plunge. I entered one discussion where a Domme was ranting about how pissed they were that "all submissives want to be feminized" and they were asking why. I spent 10 minutes typing a reply that would try to explain the what/when/why of things. 50 replies later yielded a bunch of hateful posturing. Talk about "true submissives," disgust towards anyone that partakes in any form of feminizing, even people stating how infuriated they were at how sexist feminization is since they equated femininity with submissive behavior. I spent 20 minutes typing another reply, explaining how the actual root of "forced feminization" is making a sub do something they do not want to do and would not have chosen to do otherwise and that I didn't believe that was sexist at all. After about reply #75 I realized something important. No one there actually wanted to think about anything. They wanted to soap box. They wanted to posture. They wanted to hack people down they didn't agree with. Be an asshole in 120 characters or less. Show your personal superiority. Degrade those you look down on. Out of all the hate and pissing, not a single person referenced anything that I wrote, nor was there any true discussion between posts, only knocking people down for having the "wrong" opinion.
I wrote my Sensitivity blog post somewhere between my first and second entry on that discussion. I woke up this morning to a very kind reply from Tina and soon after another from Miss Lily. Those comments kept my spirits up.
A little while later I realized something else. When in the hell would I ever tolerate being around people who behaved like those people on Fetlife? The answer... NEVER. I would never waste my time with a bunch of assholes like that in person, so why would I give a shit about what they say on the internet?. Fuck 'em. The same goes for bloggers who ignore me or carry a rude attitude. Fuck 'em. I'll save my effort for when it can lead to something good.
I'm slowly rebuilding my support system through this blog. The connections feel meaningful and I cherish them deeply. There's no need to rush things.
Now I just need to find a way to balance... to be able to call upon both without letting one take over.
A Sea of Thoughts: Sense of Humor
With some of the personal posts I've made lately I almost feel like I should rename the blog "Sentiments from an Insecure submissive." In an effort to avoid coming off as a sad sack I should probably write about something other than things that are bothering me.
I get kind of bummed out that the majority of my writing seems to be either cold analysis, incredibly personal details, or some form of ranting or acknowledging of hurt feelings. What often gets lost in the sea of D/s, over-looked when subs think about themselves as subs, men, or potential mates, etc. is sense of humor.
Beyond everything, I think one of the "sticking points" that led to my D/s relationships (and vanilla relationships for that matter) is my sense of humor. I'm actually a pretty funny guy that enjoys making everyone around me laugh or smile. I love sharp wit that flies off the cuff, dry humor, satire and the like. I have a big book of funny quotes from shows that can apply to nearly any situation. I enjoy sarcasm as long as it isn't coming from a "complete dick" place. Randomness is a plus.
On occasion this humor has gotten me in a bit of trouble for being a brat, but at the same time I believe it's one of the factors that has kept my personality from ever getting completely squished out of existence. I could be wrong but I've come to believe that a sense of humor is probably one of the key components when it comes to seeing a sub as a life companion.
Sometimes I wish there were more opportunities for me to show that part of myself here.
I get kind of bummed out that the majority of my writing seems to be either cold analysis, incredibly personal details, or some form of ranting or acknowledging of hurt feelings. What often gets lost in the sea of D/s, over-looked when subs think about themselves as subs, men, or potential mates, etc. is sense of humor.
Beyond everything, I think one of the "sticking points" that led to my D/s relationships (and vanilla relationships for that matter) is my sense of humor. I'm actually a pretty funny guy that enjoys making everyone around me laugh or smile. I love sharp wit that flies off the cuff, dry humor, satire and the like. I have a big book of funny quotes from shows that can apply to nearly any situation. I enjoy sarcasm as long as it isn't coming from a "complete dick" place. Randomness is a plus.
On occasion this humor has gotten me in a bit of trouble for being a brat, but at the same time I believe it's one of the factors that has kept my personality from ever getting completely squished out of existence. I could be wrong but I've come to believe that a sense of humor is probably one of the key components when it comes to seeing a sub as a life companion.
Sometimes I wish there were more opportunities for me to show that part of myself here.
Line Writing Punishments - Fond of Writing
I have read a few things lately from Dommes that use writing lines as a punishment. I thought I might share this just for fun.
While I know that a hand written version is probably the best and most personal method, about 10 years ago I stumbled across a program called "Fond of Writing." This program was a little typing-based torture device that could be used as a digital form of punishment.
While it might not seem quite as "fun" as writing the punishment by hand, it was designed to be useful for distance and online relationships as well.
The basic idea is that a Domme can use the "task editor" to create an assignment. This could include 1 line or multiple lines for the sub to type. If multiple lines are chosen it could be set to progress through them in order or at random. The number of repetitions or time duration can be set to the task. Penalties can be set for incorrect entries, involving additional lines or additional time added to the duration.
What makes this program very evil are the additional options.
-Replace the typed text with *'s, making the sub unable to see what they are typing.
-Force them to type the line backwards. This is especially harsh if used in conjunction with the *'s and if there are lots of switching between capital and lower-case letters.
-Random popups. This option can be set for varying time intervals. Within that interval it will cause a random window to pop up on the screen and block text from being entered until the sub clicks a tiny button on the pop up window to close it. On its most difficult setting the pop up happens every 4-6 seconds. It can also be set to pop up at fixed or random locations.
The tasks can be easily sent as an email attachment. They can be locked by password preventing them from being edited. The sub loads the task into their own copy of the program and works on the task (copy/paste functions do not work with it).
Upon completing (or failing to complete) the task, the sub can generate a report that gives the statistics of time required, lines completed, successful/failed attempts, etc. It also includes a checksum value that is unique to the available data. The report has a copy to clipboard function allowing them to paste the report into an email to send it back to the Domme. The Domme then copies/pastes the report into the program which will verify the report. If the sub attempts to modify the report in an attempt to cheat, the check will fail.
Honestly I can't believe someone wrote this program. On it's most difficult settings it is nearly impossible, especially if there are any penalty lines added. I've never heard of people actually using it. That being said, it did turn me on a bit to think about being forced to use it for a punishment.
Just figured I'd throw it out there.
While I know that a hand written version is probably the best and most personal method, about 10 years ago I stumbled across a program called "Fond of Writing." This program was a little typing-based torture device that could be used as a digital form of punishment.
The basic idea is that a Domme can use the "task editor" to create an assignment. This could include 1 line or multiple lines for the sub to type. If multiple lines are chosen it could be set to progress through them in order or at random. The number of repetitions or time duration can be set to the task. Penalties can be set for incorrect entries, involving additional lines or additional time added to the duration.
What makes this program very evil are the additional options.
-Replace the typed text with *'s, making the sub unable to see what they are typing.
-Force them to type the line backwards. This is especially harsh if used in conjunction with the *'s and if there are lots of switching between capital and lower-case letters.
-Random popups. This option can be set for varying time intervals. Within that interval it will cause a random window to pop up on the screen and block text from being entered until the sub clicks a tiny button on the pop up window to close it. On its most difficult setting the pop up happens every 4-6 seconds. It can also be set to pop up at fixed or random locations.
The tasks can be easily sent as an email attachment. They can be locked by password preventing them from being edited. The sub loads the task into their own copy of the program and works on the task (copy/paste functions do not work with it).
Upon completing (or failing to complete) the task, the sub can generate a report that gives the statistics of time required, lines completed, successful/failed attempts, etc. It also includes a checksum value that is unique to the available data. The report has a copy to clipboard function allowing them to paste the report into an email to send it back to the Domme. The Domme then copies/pastes the report into the program which will verify the report. If the sub attempts to modify the report in an attempt to cheat, the check will fail.
Honestly I can't believe someone wrote this program. On it's most difficult settings it is nearly impossible, especially if there are any penalty lines added. I've never heard of people actually using it. That being said, it did turn me on a bit to think about being forced to use it for a punishment.
Just figured I'd throw it out there.
A Sea of Thoughts: What D/s is to me
I know I rattled a similar list off in an earlier post from a few weeks ago but this is something important to me.
It's kind of odd that I've been both rejected and cherished for the submissive that I am. D/s was the driving force of my life for 10 years.
In a relationship, D/s to me is:
-A relationship
-A symbol of my love
-A second career
-Therapy
-A drug addiction
-A moral code
-A source of self-esteem
-Sex
-My meaning of life
-The future
I guess in a lot of ways it's like my love, hopes, dreams, and a religion all wrapped into one.
Now that I think about it, I can understand how this could freak someone out if they weren't ready and willing to accept what that means. With that being said, that is the way I choose to love.
What is D/s to you?
(random note, I guess this was another mini-milestone at post #600)
It's kind of odd that I've been both rejected and cherished for the submissive that I am. D/s was the driving force of my life for 10 years.
In a relationship, D/s to me is:
-A relationship
-A symbol of my love
-A second career
-Therapy
-A drug addiction
-A moral code
-A source of self-esteem
-Sex
-My meaning of life
-The future
I guess in a lot of ways it's like my love, hopes, dreams, and a religion all wrapped into one.
Now that I think about it, I can understand how this could freak someone out if they weren't ready and willing to accept what that means. With that being said, that is the way I choose to love.
What is D/s to you?
(random note, I guess this was another mini-milestone at post #600)
Sunday, June 19, 2016
A Sea of Thoughts: Sensitivity
I'm finding one of those difficult parts of things lately is sensitivity and the underlying vulnerability that accompanies it.
I grew up in a home where emotions were a guessing game. Guess wrong and it blew up. Develop mind-reading skills. Interpret complex situations based upon very little. Search for meaning behind words. Almost my entire family turned out this way.
When I really discovered myself I vowed not to be this way. While insecurity and fear dictated many of my actions, I wanted to be a good listener. I worked hard to hone those skills. To empathize with others. To understand complex human emotions and feelings. My learning started internally, figuring out my own responses to situations and relating them to similar internal reactions from my past. I was able to then verbalize those feelings and help people through their tough times.
When I finally found love... love that I believed in... love that made me believe that life was worth living, I learned how to be truly sensitive. It was only then that I could be vulnerable and give all of myself.
Early on in blogging I guarded this part of myself. I kept it clinical and safe. I kept people at arm's length. If I was rejected it was because of what I chose to show them. Now that I am opening parts of myself that I had never told another human up until this past month, I find myself feeling vulnerable a lot more often.
Attempts to reach out aren't always met favorably. I no longer have that safety net to fall back on. When I'm rejected it's a rejection of all of me. My true self. Even if the reasons are shallow or empty, it still hurts in a way that is different than before. It's difficult for anyone to feel like they don't matter. It's even more difficult for people who have a history of feeling like they don't matter.
I'm not trying to be some emo sob story here... it's just a general sense of emotional discomfort that is building. I feel awkward in a way that I hate. Even just seeking some more internet friends... it just hurts. I know that I can't close off or I will simply run off into another hobby and lose myself. I'm trying to tough it out but I'm wearing down.
I don't know... maybe I'm just too sensitive.
I grew up in a home where emotions were a guessing game. Guess wrong and it blew up. Develop mind-reading skills. Interpret complex situations based upon very little. Search for meaning behind words. Almost my entire family turned out this way.
When I really discovered myself I vowed not to be this way. While insecurity and fear dictated many of my actions, I wanted to be a good listener. I worked hard to hone those skills. To empathize with others. To understand complex human emotions and feelings. My learning started internally, figuring out my own responses to situations and relating them to similar internal reactions from my past. I was able to then verbalize those feelings and help people through their tough times.
When I finally found love... love that I believed in... love that made me believe that life was worth living, I learned how to be truly sensitive. It was only then that I could be vulnerable and give all of myself.
Early on in blogging I guarded this part of myself. I kept it clinical and safe. I kept people at arm's length. If I was rejected it was because of what I chose to show them. Now that I am opening parts of myself that I had never told another human up until this past month, I find myself feeling vulnerable a lot more often.
Attempts to reach out aren't always met favorably. I no longer have that safety net to fall back on. When I'm rejected it's a rejection of all of me. My true self. Even if the reasons are shallow or empty, it still hurts in a way that is different than before. It's difficult for anyone to feel like they don't matter. It's even more difficult for people who have a history of feeling like they don't matter.
I'm not trying to be some emo sob story here... it's just a general sense of emotional discomfort that is building. I feel awkward in a way that I hate. Even just seeking some more internet friends... it just hurts. I know that I can't close off or I will simply run off into another hobby and lose myself. I'm trying to tough it out but I'm wearing down.
I don't know... maybe I'm just too sensitive.
Thoughts on Arc 5 (possible spoilers, do not read unless you have completed Part 31)
I just completed Arc 5.
This was the most difficult arc for me to complete, probably because this past week or so I have had very limited privacy and a few RL factors that limited normal sleeping patterns.
While Arc's 3 and 4 were centered around an underlying theme, Arc 5 was another "situation" based arc but of a much smaller period of time than Arcs 1 and 2.
This was based upon Lady Grey's blog entries writing about Karl's slave weekend(s).
Overall I feel pretty okay with how this Arc turned out. The only downside of it is that I knew it was going to have some pacing issues after I completed the early parts. I tried to make sure that an event worth reading about was present in each part but it was very clear that I would have had to pull some cheese like "2 more days that were exactly like this one happened" in order to avoid it dragging. The climax was originally intended to happen at the end of Day 2 or Day 3. I pushed it up until Day 1 and tried to have a powerful enough "trigger" to force an ending. I hope that it doesn't suffer too badly from this.
The branding idea came from Miss Lily's blog entry on mind fucks.
The other major problem I ran into is that I don't understand how the mind and sex of a Dominant woman really work in this way. I just worked under the idea that "more intense = good."
I do hope that I was able to catch the shift of the sub's thought patterns when newly entering such a state. I know they could probably be conditioned to get past the initial differences, but I felt it would be a bit of an abrupt shock to someone like fs01 that has been living in a certain way for 5 years.
Any feedback would be much appreciated. I'm currently stuck and without ideas for a sixth arc.
This was the most difficult arc for me to complete, probably because this past week or so I have had very limited privacy and a few RL factors that limited normal sleeping patterns.
While Arc's 3 and 4 were centered around an underlying theme, Arc 5 was another "situation" based arc but of a much smaller period of time than Arcs 1 and 2.
This was based upon Lady Grey's blog entries writing about Karl's slave weekend(s).
Overall I feel pretty okay with how this Arc turned out. The only downside of it is that I knew it was going to have some pacing issues after I completed the early parts. I tried to make sure that an event worth reading about was present in each part but it was very clear that I would have had to pull some cheese like "2 more days that were exactly like this one happened" in order to avoid it dragging. The climax was originally intended to happen at the end of Day 2 or Day 3. I pushed it up until Day 1 and tried to have a powerful enough "trigger" to force an ending. I hope that it doesn't suffer too badly from this.
The branding idea came from Miss Lily's blog entry on mind fucks.
The other major problem I ran into is that I don't understand how the mind and sex of a Dominant woman really work in this way. I just worked under the idea that "more intense = good."
I do hope that I was able to catch the shift of the sub's thought patterns when newly entering such a state. I know they could probably be conditioned to get past the initial differences, but I felt it would be a bit of an abrupt shock to someone like fs01 that has been living in a certain way for 5 years.
Any feedback would be much appreciated. I'm currently stuck and without ideas for a sixth arc.
Fiction: fs01 - Part 31
Author's Note:
This takes place an hour or so after Part 30.
----------------------------------------------
XXXI
I wake abruptly to a boot to the ribs. My eyes dart open. The light hurts. I squint. It's cold. Disorienting. I glimpse Mistress through the bars. She stands over me in the full-length fur coat she wore earlier. The lock releases and the cage door opens. I don't know what time it is. I don't know what day it is.
"Move to the marks, slave."
I crawl across the room, moving gingerly. My body is badly bruised. My wrists and ankles ache from the rub of the shackles. I kneel at the marks.
"Chain over the hook."
I stand and lift the chain onto the hook. The motor whirs. It pulls me up. My hands throb. It lifts me a few inches off the floor. I hear Mistress approach behind me. Her boots click with each step. She locks the ankle chain to a ring bolted to the floor. It stops me from swaying. I feel broken.
She walks away and I hear the squeaky wheels of a cart approach behind me.
"You've served me adequately today, slave. You've earned the right to carry my mark."
My mind races. My body stiffens. I hear some noise on the cart behind me. She reaches an arm around carrying a long metal rod with a handle and a flat end. I recognize it immediately as a brand. She removes it from view. I feel a tug at the burlap on my back. A tearing sound. The cloth is ripped from my body. The twine falls loosely to the floor.
Her hand rubs my swollen buttocks. The left cheek. I wince beneath her touch.
"This spot should work nicely." She pats her hand.
Another device comes into view. A butane torch. She sparks the flame and I hear it gently roar. She kills the flame as she moves it behind me. The brand clanks off the table. The torch roars again. On and on.
My breathing is erratic. My cold skin manages to sweat. I've known this pain before. I'm helpless to stop her. My fingers twitch. I close my eyes. The smell of burning ozone overwhelms her perfume. Tears well up in anticipation.
The torch stops.
"Any last words before you're marked as mine, slave?"
I sniffle and whimper.
"Thank you, Mistress. I love you."
The brand finds my skin. It burns on my swollen skin. I shriek and buck against the pain. I cry. The brand moves off my skin. My leg twitches. I hear it clatter against the floor.
A crash. The cart squeals and clatters. The ankle shackles release. The pace is torrid and frantic. She appears before me. She reaches up and unlocks the first wrist shackle. It releases and I fall to the ground, stumbling as I land. Her arm catches me. She throws her arms around me and her body against mine. She takes my head in her hands. Our eyes meet. Her eyes are full of tears. Her lips attack mine. Her tongues forces my mouth open. A deep kiss. She breathes heavily through her nose. Our tongues twist. She consumes me.
Our lips finally part. She unlocks the other shackle and throws it to the floor. The nipple clamps release and fly across the room. The metal collar on my neck opens and soon joins them. The front plate on my belt opens. She carefully slides it off my tender sex. It clangs on the floor. Mistress embraces me with her whole body. I sink into the fur. It feels nice after a long day of torture. She pulls my face to her chest. I inhale her perfume. My cheeks feel the contours of her bosom. Her hand strokes my head. My sex springs to life and presses against her.
She whispers in my ear.
"pet."
I collapse to my knees. She folds her body over mine.
"My pet..."
I cry into her shoulder. She pets my back with her sleeve.
"I love you, pet."
We share this moment. I love her with all my heart. She has returned to me. My Mistress. My Queen. My Goddess.
My breathing returns to normal. She takes deep breaths, exhaling her warmth onto my shoulder.
"pet, I need to feel your lips."
She lowers herself and lays on her back on the floor. She parts the coat below her waist. I crawl forward into the opening. Her scent is strong. Mistress aches. I gently kiss her inner thighs. I place my hands on her sides. She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands onto her breasts. I trace out the humps and massage them through the fur coat. My lips find her clit. She moans. Her hands hold mine in place.
I flatten my tongue against her clit. Her back arches and she raises her hips to meet my face. I suck gently with my lips. I lick. I press. Circles. She moans. I don't tease her. That would ruin the mood. My tongue swirls in the motions I have been trained to know. This is the way she likes it. I breathe deeply and inhale her scent. My Mistress.
I move it faster. More suction. More pressure. Flatter, harder. Around and around. Across. Back and forth. She presses her thighs around my head. Her heels find my back. It's not intentional but they aren't gentle. More tongue. Faster, harder. Lick. Press. Her hips grind against my face. Her thighs tighten their grip.
"Oh, fuck, pet..."
She grinds harder. I keep moving. My tongue. Faster, flatter, firmer. More pressure. Back and forth, up and down. Circles. I find the sweet spot. The perfect angle. Her thighs quiver against me. Her breaths, staccato. She moans and cries out in brief pulses. Rhythmic. I force the pressure back and forth back and forth. She's dripping. I tighten my grip on her breasts. Her thighs pull my head tighter. Back and forth back and forth. My tongue works. She inhales in quick pulses. Her nails dig into my wrists. She cries out. Her pelvis spasms, hips shaking against me. I feel her juices flow down my face.
Mistress releases her grip. Her thighs. Her hands. Our eyes meet. She smiles. Her warmth surrounds me. I love her.
She rolls onto her side and pats her lap. I curl up against her. She puts her hand around my waist and pulls me close. Our naked flesh on flesh. Her breasts on my back. I am the little spoon. Her hand grazes me erect sex. She pulls the edge of her coat up and throws it over me. She hugs me from the outside. Warmth cocoons me. I close my eyes. Mistress.
"pet?"
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Did you know I didn't really brand you?"
My eyes dart open. My body stiffens. She giggles.
"I had the brand in the deep freezer. What you felt was just the cold metal. I'm sure your ass was so swollen that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference in the burn."
I blush.
"pet?"
"Yes, Mistress.?"
"Would you have really been okay with that? With me branding you?"
"Yes, Mistress. I wish your mark was the only one I had."
She hugs me. I feel some moisture on the back of my neck. She sniffles.
"pet. I'm going to have you meet with a plastic surgeon I knew in college. I want you to have your scars and that awful R removed. Are you okay with that?"
"If that is how you would prefer me, Mistress, that is what I want."
"Of course, pet. It makes me mad every time I see them. I only want you covered in scars that I give you! I still think a big C would look nice on your left butt cheek."
She giggles and rubs my nipples through the front of the coat. I smile and shudder at the same time.
We lay together for several minutes. She pets my head and strokes my body through the coat. I feel her heat building again against my back.
"Let's go upstairs, pet."
I remove myself from her warmth, kneel, and scoop her up in my arms. She laughs as I lift her. I walk toward the gate. She stops me.
"Aren't you forgetting something, pet?"
She points over to the wall. I groan. She laughs. I carry her over to the wall and lower her. She picks up the front plate to my chastity belt and flips it around in her hands. I feel relief. It's the normal one and not the spiked tube.
I carry her up the stairs and to the bedroom. I gently set her down on the bed. She removes the anal plug locking bracket from the belt and tosses it across the room. She takes my erect cock in her hand. I close my eyes and clench my teeth. She slaps the head. I yelp. Mission accomplished. She slides my flaccid sex back into the tube and locks the plate in place.
"Draw a bath, pet."
I nod and start the bath tub and return to her. She stands and raises her arm. I help her out of her coat and place it on the chair. I kneel before her and slowly remove her boots. Her stockings follow. She smiles down at me. I love her. Her stockings follow. I bow my head and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left. I hold out my hand and help Mistress to her feet. I follow her into the bathroom. She climbs into the tub. Her naked body is beautiful.
"pet, join me." I'm shocked. This is a first.
I slowly climb into the tub next to her. The water stings upon entry. My body slowly acclimates. The tender skin and wounds sting at first but gradually adapt. I slowly sit down. She leans her head on my chest. I reach and stop the water.
"pet. The slave weekend ends today. I don't need any more for now."
I smile. She traces her finger along the ridge of my shoulder.
"How did it make you feel, pet?"
"It was different, Mistress. I didn't like it."
"Why not, pet?"
"Mistress, normally when I do things I think about how happy I want to make you. Doing them makes me happy. Today was different... by mid-day I only thought about being afraid. Doing them so that you wouldn't hit me. I didn't like that."
"Thank you, pet. What I guessed was true. I could choose to 'break you' to another level. Then you would feel happy just being useful. I don't think I want to do that to you, pet. At least not for now."
My mind spins a bit. She taps her finger rhythmically on my shoulder as she speaks.
"I. Like. You. Just. The. Way. You. Are."
She smiles. I smile.
"Mistress?"
"yes, pet?"
"Did you like it?" She takes a deep breath.
"Yes, pet. I did. It touched a part of me that I do not spend much time with. Drunk with power. I'm guessing this is how Dom must feel most of the time. It was... liberating... exciting... wonderful."
"Why do you want to end it, Mistress?"
"pet... when I was branding you and your last words... touched my heart. In that moment I realized that my love for you as a companion was stronger than my love of the moment."
My heart warms at her words.
"I love you, Mistress. I love you more than anything."
"I love you, too, pet."
She kisses my chest. We relax together. The water gradually cools. I depart first and fetch a towel for Mistress.
I help Mistress from the tub and gently towel her off before giving myself a quick rub down. The towel stings on my back and legs. I fetch her robe. She turns and raises her arm. I slide her arm into the robe and pull it around her body. I straighten the collar. I cinch the belt around her waist. It's only been a day but I do miss this. I kneel before her and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
Mistress has me sit at her makeup station. She gently applies ointment to my wounds. My wrists and ankles are raw and red. The wounds on my back and buttocks from her whip.
We retreat to the bedroom. Mistress picks up the white remote from the dresser and presses some buttons. It beeps a few times. I feel the heat kick on from the vent.
She sits on the bed and lays on top of the covers. She pulls the fur throw from the foot of the bed on top of her. She pats the bed. I climb on next to her.
"I want to spoon, pet."
"But Mistress, the ointment will soil your robe."
"It can be cleaned pet, or I can get a new one. Come here, now."
I curl up against her under the throw. I wedge my body close to hers. I'm exhausted. I'm sure she is, too.
"pet, is there anything you miss from before we got together?"
I pause to think. I crack a grin. Sometimes honesty is funny.
"I miss blow jobs, Mistress."
"pet, I didn't know you were so fond of giving blow jobs."
I furrow my brow. She laughs.
"I miss getting blow jobs, Mistress."
"Well, pet, maybe on your birthday I can get you a hooker..."
My eyes open wide. She laughs again.
"You're so easy to tease, pet, you know those don't belong in a woman's mouth. Is there anything else you miss?"
I blush. She smiles.
"I miss good food, Mistress."
"But pet, slaves don't deserve good food. You wouldn't trade our dynamic for food would you?"
I shake my head no.
"Maybe on our date night, pet. If you're good I might let you pick something next time. Name a food you have been craving."
"I miss fried chicken, Mistress."
"Do you have a fondness for the colonel?"
I nod.
She tickles my cheek with her finger and smiles.
"Miss anything else, pet?"
I nod.
"Mistress, I miss being able to tell you that I love you whenever I want to."
She hugs me and whispers in my ear.
"You know pet, I prefer it when you show me. Actions speak louder than words."
I blush. I grin from ear to ear.
I whisper back to her.
"Mistress, is there anything that you miss about life before me?"
I feel her shift and she raises her shoulders over me. Our eyes meet. I expect her to tease me. Her eyes radiate her warmth.
"No, pet, I like things just the way they are."
My eyes tear up. I love you, Mistress. She returns to her side and hugs me tightly.
END ACT / END ARC
This takes place an hour or so after Part 30.
----------------------------------------------
XXXI
I wake abruptly to a boot to the ribs. My eyes dart open. The light hurts. I squint. It's cold. Disorienting. I glimpse Mistress through the bars. She stands over me in the full-length fur coat she wore earlier. The lock releases and the cage door opens. I don't know what time it is. I don't know what day it is.
"Move to the marks, slave."
I crawl across the room, moving gingerly. My body is badly bruised. My wrists and ankles ache from the rub of the shackles. I kneel at the marks.
"Chain over the hook."
I stand and lift the chain onto the hook. The motor whirs. It pulls me up. My hands throb. It lifts me a few inches off the floor. I hear Mistress approach behind me. Her boots click with each step. She locks the ankle chain to a ring bolted to the floor. It stops me from swaying. I feel broken.
She walks away and I hear the squeaky wheels of a cart approach behind me.
"You've served me adequately today, slave. You've earned the right to carry my mark."
My mind races. My body stiffens. I hear some noise on the cart behind me. She reaches an arm around carrying a long metal rod with a handle and a flat end. I recognize it immediately as a brand. She removes it from view. I feel a tug at the burlap on my back. A tearing sound. The cloth is ripped from my body. The twine falls loosely to the floor.
Her hand rubs my swollen buttocks. The left cheek. I wince beneath her touch.
"This spot should work nicely." She pats her hand.
Another device comes into view. A butane torch. She sparks the flame and I hear it gently roar. She kills the flame as she moves it behind me. The brand clanks off the table. The torch roars again. On and on.
My breathing is erratic. My cold skin manages to sweat. I've known this pain before. I'm helpless to stop her. My fingers twitch. I close my eyes. The smell of burning ozone overwhelms her perfume. Tears well up in anticipation.
The torch stops.
"Any last words before you're marked as mine, slave?"
I sniffle and whimper.
"Thank you, Mistress. I love you."
The brand finds my skin. It burns on my swollen skin. I shriek and buck against the pain. I cry. The brand moves off my skin. My leg twitches. I hear it clatter against the floor.
A crash. The cart squeals and clatters. The ankle shackles release. The pace is torrid and frantic. She appears before me. She reaches up and unlocks the first wrist shackle. It releases and I fall to the ground, stumbling as I land. Her arm catches me. She throws her arms around me and her body against mine. She takes my head in her hands. Our eyes meet. Her eyes are full of tears. Her lips attack mine. Her tongues forces my mouth open. A deep kiss. She breathes heavily through her nose. Our tongues twist. She consumes me.
Our lips finally part. She unlocks the other shackle and throws it to the floor. The nipple clamps release and fly across the room. The metal collar on my neck opens and soon joins them. The front plate on my belt opens. She carefully slides it off my tender sex. It clangs on the floor. Mistress embraces me with her whole body. I sink into the fur. It feels nice after a long day of torture. She pulls my face to her chest. I inhale her perfume. My cheeks feel the contours of her bosom. Her hand strokes my head. My sex springs to life and presses against her.
She whispers in my ear.
"pet."
I collapse to my knees. She folds her body over mine.
"My pet..."
I cry into her shoulder. She pets my back with her sleeve.
"I love you, pet."
We share this moment. I love her with all my heart. She has returned to me. My Mistress. My Queen. My Goddess.
My breathing returns to normal. She takes deep breaths, exhaling her warmth onto my shoulder.
"pet, I need to feel your lips."
She lowers herself and lays on her back on the floor. She parts the coat below her waist. I crawl forward into the opening. Her scent is strong. Mistress aches. I gently kiss her inner thighs. I place my hands on her sides. She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands onto her breasts. I trace out the humps and massage them through the fur coat. My lips find her clit. She moans. Her hands hold mine in place.
I flatten my tongue against her clit. Her back arches and she raises her hips to meet my face. I suck gently with my lips. I lick. I press. Circles. She moans. I don't tease her. That would ruin the mood. My tongue swirls in the motions I have been trained to know. This is the way she likes it. I breathe deeply and inhale her scent. My Mistress.
I move it faster. More suction. More pressure. Flatter, harder. Around and around. Across. Back and forth. She presses her thighs around my head. Her heels find my back. It's not intentional but they aren't gentle. More tongue. Faster, harder. Lick. Press. Her hips grind against my face. Her thighs tighten their grip.
"Oh, fuck, pet..."
She grinds harder. I keep moving. My tongue. Faster, flatter, firmer. More pressure. Back and forth, up and down. Circles. I find the sweet spot. The perfect angle. Her thighs quiver against me. Her breaths, staccato. She moans and cries out in brief pulses. Rhythmic. I force the pressure back and forth back and forth. She's dripping. I tighten my grip on her breasts. Her thighs pull my head tighter. Back and forth back and forth. My tongue works. She inhales in quick pulses. Her nails dig into my wrists. She cries out. Her pelvis spasms, hips shaking against me. I feel her juices flow down my face.
Mistress releases her grip. Her thighs. Her hands. Our eyes meet. She smiles. Her warmth surrounds me. I love her.
She rolls onto her side and pats her lap. I curl up against her. She puts her hand around my waist and pulls me close. Our naked flesh on flesh. Her breasts on my back. I am the little spoon. Her hand grazes me erect sex. She pulls the edge of her coat up and throws it over me. She hugs me from the outside. Warmth cocoons me. I close my eyes. Mistress.
"pet?"
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Did you know I didn't really brand you?"
My eyes dart open. My body stiffens. She giggles.
"I had the brand in the deep freezer. What you felt was just the cold metal. I'm sure your ass was so swollen that you wouldn't be able to tell the difference in the burn."
I blush.
"pet?"
"Yes, Mistress.?"
"Would you have really been okay with that? With me branding you?"
"Yes, Mistress. I wish your mark was the only one I had."
She hugs me. I feel some moisture on the back of my neck. She sniffles.
"pet. I'm going to have you meet with a plastic surgeon I knew in college. I want you to have your scars and that awful R removed. Are you okay with that?"
"If that is how you would prefer me, Mistress, that is what I want."
"Of course, pet. It makes me mad every time I see them. I only want you covered in scars that I give you! I still think a big C would look nice on your left butt cheek."
She giggles and rubs my nipples through the front of the coat. I smile and shudder at the same time.
We lay together for several minutes. She pets my head and strokes my body through the coat. I feel her heat building again against my back.
"Let's go upstairs, pet."
I remove myself from her warmth, kneel, and scoop her up in my arms. She laughs as I lift her. I walk toward the gate. She stops me.
"Aren't you forgetting something, pet?"
She points over to the wall. I groan. She laughs. I carry her over to the wall and lower her. She picks up the front plate to my chastity belt and flips it around in her hands. I feel relief. It's the normal one and not the spiked tube.
I carry her up the stairs and to the bedroom. I gently set her down on the bed. She removes the anal plug locking bracket from the belt and tosses it across the room. She takes my erect cock in her hand. I close my eyes and clench my teeth. She slaps the head. I yelp. Mission accomplished. She slides my flaccid sex back into the tube and locks the plate in place.
"Draw a bath, pet."
I nod and start the bath tub and return to her. She stands and raises her arm. I help her out of her coat and place it on the chair. I kneel before her and slowly remove her boots. Her stockings follow. She smiles down at me. I love her. Her stockings follow. I bow my head and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left. I hold out my hand and help Mistress to her feet. I follow her into the bathroom. She climbs into the tub. Her naked body is beautiful.
"pet, join me." I'm shocked. This is a first.
I slowly climb into the tub next to her. The water stings upon entry. My body slowly acclimates. The tender skin and wounds sting at first but gradually adapt. I slowly sit down. She leans her head on my chest. I reach and stop the water.
"pet. The slave weekend ends today. I don't need any more for now."
I smile. She traces her finger along the ridge of my shoulder.
"How did it make you feel, pet?"
"It was different, Mistress. I didn't like it."
"Why not, pet?"
"Mistress, normally when I do things I think about how happy I want to make you. Doing them makes me happy. Today was different... by mid-day I only thought about being afraid. Doing them so that you wouldn't hit me. I didn't like that."
"Thank you, pet. What I guessed was true. I could choose to 'break you' to another level. Then you would feel happy just being useful. I don't think I want to do that to you, pet. At least not for now."
My mind spins a bit. She taps her finger rhythmically on my shoulder as she speaks.
"I. Like. You. Just. The. Way. You. Are."
She smiles. I smile.
"Mistress?"
"yes, pet?"
"Did you like it?" She takes a deep breath.
"Yes, pet. I did. It touched a part of me that I do not spend much time with. Drunk with power. I'm guessing this is how Dom must feel most of the time. It was... liberating... exciting... wonderful."
"Why do you want to end it, Mistress?"
"pet... when I was branding you and your last words... touched my heart. In that moment I realized that my love for you as a companion was stronger than my love of the moment."
My heart warms at her words.
"I love you, Mistress. I love you more than anything."
"I love you, too, pet."
She kisses my chest. We relax together. The water gradually cools. I depart first and fetch a towel for Mistress.
I help Mistress from the tub and gently towel her off before giving myself a quick rub down. The towel stings on my back and legs. I fetch her robe. She turns and raises her arm. I slide her arm into the robe and pull it around her body. I straighten the collar. I cinch the belt around her waist. It's only been a day but I do miss this. I kneel before her and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left.
Mistress has me sit at her makeup station. She gently applies ointment to my wounds. My wrists and ankles are raw and red. The wounds on my back and buttocks from her whip.
We retreat to the bedroom. Mistress picks up the white remote from the dresser and presses some buttons. It beeps a few times. I feel the heat kick on from the vent.
She sits on the bed and lays on top of the covers. She pulls the fur throw from the foot of the bed on top of her. She pats the bed. I climb on next to her.
"I want to spoon, pet."
"But Mistress, the ointment will soil your robe."
"It can be cleaned pet, or I can get a new one. Come here, now."
I curl up against her under the throw. I wedge my body close to hers. I'm exhausted. I'm sure she is, too.
"pet, is there anything you miss from before we got together?"
I pause to think. I crack a grin. Sometimes honesty is funny.
"I miss blow jobs, Mistress."
"pet, I didn't know you were so fond of giving blow jobs."
I furrow my brow. She laughs.
"I miss getting blow jobs, Mistress."
"Well, pet, maybe on your birthday I can get you a hooker..."
My eyes open wide. She laughs again.
"You're so easy to tease, pet, you know those don't belong in a woman's mouth. Is there anything else you miss?"
I blush. She smiles.
"I miss good food, Mistress."
"But pet, slaves don't deserve good food. You wouldn't trade our dynamic for food would you?"
I shake my head no.
"Maybe on our date night, pet. If you're good I might let you pick something next time. Name a food you have been craving."
"I miss fried chicken, Mistress."
"Do you have a fondness for the colonel?"
I nod.
She tickles my cheek with her finger and smiles.
"Miss anything else, pet?"
I nod.
"Mistress, I miss being able to tell you that I love you whenever I want to."
She hugs me and whispers in my ear.
"You know pet, I prefer it when you show me. Actions speak louder than words."
I blush. I grin from ear to ear.
I whisper back to her.
"Mistress, is there anything that you miss about life before me?"
I feel her shift and she raises her shoulders over me. Our eyes meet. I expect her to tease me. Her eyes radiate her warmth.
"No, pet, I like things just the way they are."
My eyes tear up. I love you, Mistress. She returns to her side and hugs me tightly.
END ACT / END ARC
The Tank is Running Low
The good news: I should finish Arc 5 of fs01 sometime tonight.
The bad news: The fire that burned so brightly upon my return is starting to fade.
Part of this is my own doing. 150+ posts in 6 weeks... I would have been better off scheduling them to go off once per day but that would take half a year and my thoughts change and evolve so much through writing that half of them wouldn't be a relevant reflection of the "current" me by the time they went live.
Part of it is just being a little bit discouraged. The current internet definitely isn't the same beast that it was when I left in 2012. I seem to remember years ago when everyone was just so excited to find others that were "abnormal." It didn't matter so much the specifics, more that they were happy to just connect and learn about others and see what was going on in different situations. Things just feel a lot more cliquey now. I don't think the cliques are intentional, just more the mindset that people aren't as open. "You aren't like me. They are like me. I will talk to them and not to you."
I've always felt really fucking different from everyone... both in real life and on the web. Just how different has grown increasingly clear to me lately. I guess it just makes my heart hurt a little and it's tough to "power through" that feeling.
There is another blog author out there that has been special and supportive to me through this. They have been my life line over the past couple of weeks and helped me keep my head straight. I am immensely grateful for this. A good number of my posts have been spawned from our back and forth communications via email. This has helped me a ton.
I know that I write more than is healthy. All of my submissive energy and desire to submit gets funneled and channeled through this blog. I have taken my own advice and things have been better with T lately, but a return to D/s is nowhere in sight.
If anyone... anyone at all has some ideas or would like to contact me... please do. I have no ideas in the bank for an Arc 6 of fs01. I can barely bring myself to comment on other blogs anymore.
This might seem like a cheesy cry for help on some levels and I guess it sort of is.
The bad news: The fire that burned so brightly upon my return is starting to fade.
Part of this is my own doing. 150+ posts in 6 weeks... I would have been better off scheduling them to go off once per day but that would take half a year and my thoughts change and evolve so much through writing that half of them wouldn't be a relevant reflection of the "current" me by the time they went live.
Part of it is just being a little bit discouraged. The current internet definitely isn't the same beast that it was when I left in 2012. I seem to remember years ago when everyone was just so excited to find others that were "abnormal." It didn't matter so much the specifics, more that they were happy to just connect and learn about others and see what was going on in different situations. Things just feel a lot more cliquey now. I don't think the cliques are intentional, just more the mindset that people aren't as open. "You aren't like me. They are like me. I will talk to them and not to you."
I've always felt really fucking different from everyone... both in real life and on the web. Just how different has grown increasingly clear to me lately. I guess it just makes my heart hurt a little and it's tough to "power through" that feeling.
There is another blog author out there that has been special and supportive to me through this. They have been my life line over the past couple of weeks and helped me keep my head straight. I am immensely grateful for this. A good number of my posts have been spawned from our back and forth communications via email. This has helped me a ton.
I know that I write more than is healthy. All of my submissive energy and desire to submit gets funneled and channeled through this blog. I have taken my own advice and things have been better with T lately, but a return to D/s is nowhere in sight.
If anyone... anyone at all has some ideas or would like to contact me... please do. I have no ideas in the bank for an Arc 6 of fs01. I can barely bring myself to comment on other blogs anymore.
This might seem like a cheesy cry for help on some levels and I guess it sort of is.
Fiction: fs01 - Part 30
Author's note:
This follows after Part 29.
--------------------------------------
XXX
The bell. I drop the duster and move as fast as my shackled legs will carry me. As I approach the living room I pull the ankle chains taut and waddle in. I drop to my knees, bow my head and extend my arms. 1, 2, 3. I rise, move and drop to my knees in front of her at the couch, repeating the position. I brace myself for the crop. It doesn't fall. Relief. I must have been on time.
"Wine. Red."
I retreat to the pantry, making sure to kneel and bow at the edge of the room. I head to the pantry and retrieve a bottle. I pop the cork. I shine a glass with a cloth. I fill the glass and place it and the bottle on a silver tray. I carefully navigate the room, careful not to spill. I kneel before her. I turn my upper body to set the tray on the coffee table.
"slave, position 1 is not necessary when presenting me something. It wastes my time."
I turn the tray to her and serve as her table. She takes the glass and drinks. I breathe a sigh of relief. In my haste I forgot to bow when entering. She notices but lets me off the hook. I take note. When Mistress requests something, speed trumps ritual. When I am summoned, both are equally important.
I keep my eyes on the floor. I hear her. She smirks. She moans. She giggles. Noises flow from the tablet's speaker. Mistress watches Femdom videos. I remember her mentioning to me while at work that their adult division supplies some of the more popular Femdom video sites with fur and leather fetish gear in exchange for links and ads to her shop's adult site.
Mistress clears her throat. Her hand shakes her empty glass from side to side. She sets the glass on the tray. Slap. Her hand slaps my cheek. I wince as I balance the tray to keep it from tipping. I deserve that. Punishment for letting my mind wander. Punishment for insolence.
I continue kneeling. I try to block the pain. I keep the corner of my eye fixated on her glass. Her scent grows stronger. She drinks the last sip of wine. I balance the tray on 1 hand and reach for the bottle. She sets the glass on the tray.
"I want lunch."
I bow my head, careful not to tip the tray. I rise and head for the kitchen. At the edge of the room I turn and kneel. I set the tray down. I bow my head and extend my hands. 1, 2, 3. I rise, pick up the tray and depart.
As the food cooks my stomach growls repeatedly. My mouth waters. I debate sneaking a bite. That will bring the prison strap or worse. Mistress will know. She always knows. I clear my head of such thoughts. I transfer the food to her plate and I place it on the table with her utensils, napkin, and beverages. I approach the living room. I enter, kneel, and bow. I hold this position.
I hear the leather of the couch creak as Mistress rises. I slowly raise my body and stand. I back to the edge of the wall and keep my head down. Mistress passes me. Her perfume leaves a trail behind her. I fight the urge for arousal. I follow her to the table and help her into her chair.
"Position 5."
I bend at the waist, gripping both chains in my hands. I brace myself. She giggles. This position provides discomfort. She knows this. Mistress eats slowly. My body shifts and teeters slightly under the strain. I hear the knife and fork fall to the plate. I hold my position. The blood rush to my head clouds my thoughts.
Her chair slides against the floor. Her boots click across the kitchen. The pantry door. A plate clatters on the counter. The faucet runs. I hear her steps clack away across the room. Dishes clatter lightly on the floor.
Mistress approaches. Her hand slaps my buttocks.
"The slave has earned some food."
I release my position, kneel, and bow. I rise and waddle across the room, keeping the chains silent. There is a plate and a small dish in the corner. I kneel. 2 saltines and some water. I inhale the first and gulp down some water. My stomach turns. I was unaware of the level of dehydration. I savor the second cracker. Small bites. Chew. I lick the crumbs from the plate. I finish the water, draining every drop into my mouth.
I wash the dishes. I continue with my chores. Mistress continues watching her tablet on the couch. I am afraid. Distracted. Ready to run at a moment's notice. The afternoon passes without interruption. I finish my standard chore set. My body aches and throbs. I shiver in the cold. My stomach growls.
The bell rings. I stay close. Prepared. I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room. 1,2 3,. I approach her, kneel, and bow.
"I want dinner."
I return to the kitchen, kneeling and bowing before I leave. I cook. My mouth waters. The smells fill my nose. I'm hungry. I prepare everything in a single course for Mistress. I hope and fear that this is the right choice. I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room. She moans on the couch. After a couple of minutes I hear the tablet on the coffee table and the creak of the couch's leather. I rise as she approaches and move aside.
I follow and help her into her chair.
"Position 5."
I bend over and grab chain, careful not to let them rattle. She eats very slowly. My nose perks at the various aromas drifting in the room. The food smells wonderful. Her perfume is delightful. The scent of her sex is strong. Pain and discomfort prevent my arousal. With each bite she reacts. Mistress savors her food. She chews and eats slowly. This game amuses her.
Her fork and knife reach the plate. A last gulp of drink. The glass on the table. Her chair slides on the floor. She rises. The pantry. The fridge. A dish clanks on the counter. The faucet. Her boots click on the floor. She paces away. The dishes rattle on the floor in the corner.
"The slave has earned food."
She walks past me. The edge of her fur coat grazes my frozen skin. It tingles in a good way. My sex twitches. I press my hands to my mouth as I rise. The spikes dig into the flesh. I mute my scream. The pain forces me to my knees before it subsides. I crawl to my food. My mouth waters.
3 grapes. 2 saltines. A small water dish. I eat a saltine first. Bite by bite. The food enters my stomach. It feels great. The second saltine dries my mouth. I wash it down with a sip of water. The chilled grapes are cold and I shiver as the first one enters my mouth. I bite in and relish the sweet liquid of its juices. I chew slowly, with purpose. I let the flavor linger in my mouth before swallowing. I enjoy this privilege. Am I broken already?
I finish the grapes and slowly guzzle the water. My body invigorates slightly. I gather up the dishes and utensils and wash them. I return to the living room, kneeling and bowing at the entrance. Mistress sits on the couch. I hear her tap the crop against its armrest.
"A slow slave can be replaced with a faster one."
Her words are cold. I shudder beneath them. I feel her eyes trace over me. Admiring her work. The welts. The swelling. I remain face down and await her next command.
"To the dungeon, slave."
I rise and head across the room. I kneel and bow before I leave. 1, 2, 3. I rise and descend the stairs to the basement. It's colder down here than upstairs. I shiver as I cross the gate. I kneel at the marks and place my hands behind my head. I wait.
Several minutes pass. My knees ache on the hard floor. My ears perk. In the distance. Footsteps on the stairs. Heels click on the floor. They approach.
"Chain on the hook."
I stand and raise my arms, feeding the chain over the hook. The motor whirs. My arms pull upwards. It raises me to my toes. Heels click behind me. Her breath on my back. My body stiffens. A gloved hand finds my chest. The fur on her sleeve drags along my side. I glance down. Mistress wears a different coat. Her hand tugs the chain between the clamps. I yelp and throw my head back.
I feel something cold drag along the skin on my back. It's firm and rough. A light scratching sound comes up from the floor. My mind races. It's a whip. My breathing gets heavy. My chest heaves. The hairs on my neck stand up. She's only used this once before. Years ago. Early on. It did too much damage and was buried away since then.
Her steps click back and forth behind me.
"In case you are wondering, slave, this isn't a punishment. I'm merely bored."
I hear a hard clack on the floor. The air whizzes. Crack. The leather bites into the skin on my buttocks. My breath leaves with a grunt. It stings and burns. My body bucks in recoil. I whimper. Crack. The whip bites my other cheek. I cry out as tears fill my eyes.
A hard step. I brace myself. Crack. The whip hits lower. I shriek and sob.
"Yes! That's it."
I slump against the shackles. A faint sound. She's rubbing herself. Another firm step. Crack. The other cheek. I wail and shake against the chains. She approaches. I feel her hand trace the lines on my skin. She rubs. It stings. The skin swells and throbs. I wince under her touch. She coos.
Her steps move away. A hard click on the floor. Crack. I shriek as the whip lands on my back. Step. Crack. Tears flow. I cry out to no one. I dare not beg for mercy. Do not invite more pain.
Crack. I thrash under the strain. Crack. I yell, collapse, and dangle. I continue to sob.
I hear the whip hit the floor. Mistress paces away. I hear rattling on the cart. The flow of clothing. She mutters under her breath.
"Too many fucking straps. Fuck."
The motor whirs. The hook descends relieving the strain on my wrists.
"On the horse, slave."
I waddle gingerly. Each step is a chore. My body throbs and pulses. I struggle to climb onto the bondage horse. I hear her approach. She pulls my ankle chain down. Click. It's held taut. She moves around me. I close my eyes. She pulls my wrist chain down. Click. I open one eye and steal a glance. Mistress's full length fur coat hangs open. She wears boots and nothing underneath except her Reverb harness. I shut my eyes.
I feel her breath on my cheek. She whispers.
"Dom was right, you do like to seduce us women, don't you?"
I feel pressure on my rear. A click. She slides the plug out from inside of me. I hear it rattle and slide across the floor, coming to a rest after it hits the wall.
Her hands find my hips. Pressure. I tense. More pressure. I let out a sob as she penetrates me. She rubs her hands up and down. My skin stings under her touch. She thrusts deep. My head arches back. I wail.
"Scream for me, slave. Scream!"
She pinches the skin on my sides and thrusts again. I feel the harness against my rear. Tears flow freely from my eyes. Her hands find my back. Her fingers press into the bruises. She thrusts. I scream for her. It hurts. I scream and scream again. She moans and laughs, her hips slapping against my thighs. She digs her fingers into the skin on my rear and drags her hands. I shriek and wail. She laughs and thrusts. Where are you, Mistress? I don't recognize this woman.
She continues to violate me. Her moans and cries mix with laughs. I scream until my voice is hoarse. In and out, in and out. My brain knows nothing but pain. She increases her pace like a jack-rabbit. My head slumps. My eyes continue to flow. Drool drips from my lip. In and out, in and out. Mistress cries out with a primal shout. I feel her hips pulse as she cums. She slowly guides the Reverb out of me. I hear the movement of straps. She lets out slow moan. Crash. The sound of straps and buckles hitting the ground.
I feel the ankle chains release from their connector. The strain on my legs decreases. She walks around me and repeats with the wrist chain. My eyes zone out and do not close. Her coat is closed around her.
"Position 1."
I gingerly climb down from the horse. My butt hurts. My body hurts. My heart hurts. I kneel before her, press my forehead to the floor and extend my arms, palms down.
"I'm feeling kind, slave. I shall grant you some warmth."
She walks over to the cart and returns. I feel some cloth fall on my back.
"Dress yourself."
I rise and remove the cloth. It's a burlap potato sack. The side have been sliced along its length and there is a hole at the top. I place my head through the hole and slide my arms up the side slits. She throws a length of twine at my feet. I pick it up and tie it around my waist. The burlap stings and itches my skin, but it is warmer than nothing. It's almost a shirt, extending slightly below my waist.
"In the cage, slave."
I crawl into the cage, keeping the chains taut. She closes the gate behind me and closes the lock. Mistress walks away. She reaches the gate and shuts off the lights. The gate closes. I hear it lock as well. Her steps drain away. Up the stairs. The lights go out completely. I shiver. I weep. Alone. My body aches. Mistress. Where are you?
END ACT
This follows after Part 29.
--------------------------------------
XXX
The bell. I drop the duster and move as fast as my shackled legs will carry me. As I approach the living room I pull the ankle chains taut and waddle in. I drop to my knees, bow my head and extend my arms. 1, 2, 3. I rise, move and drop to my knees in front of her at the couch, repeating the position. I brace myself for the crop. It doesn't fall. Relief. I must have been on time.
"Wine. Red."
I retreat to the pantry, making sure to kneel and bow at the edge of the room. I head to the pantry and retrieve a bottle. I pop the cork. I shine a glass with a cloth. I fill the glass and place it and the bottle on a silver tray. I carefully navigate the room, careful not to spill. I kneel before her. I turn my upper body to set the tray on the coffee table.
"slave, position 1 is not necessary when presenting me something. It wastes my time."
I turn the tray to her and serve as her table. She takes the glass and drinks. I breathe a sigh of relief. In my haste I forgot to bow when entering. She notices but lets me off the hook. I take note. When Mistress requests something, speed trumps ritual. When I am summoned, both are equally important.
I keep my eyes on the floor. I hear her. She smirks. She moans. She giggles. Noises flow from the tablet's speaker. Mistress watches Femdom videos. I remember her mentioning to me while at work that their adult division supplies some of the more popular Femdom video sites with fur and leather fetish gear in exchange for links and ads to her shop's adult site.
Mistress clears her throat. Her hand shakes her empty glass from side to side. She sets the glass on the tray. Slap. Her hand slaps my cheek. I wince as I balance the tray to keep it from tipping. I deserve that. Punishment for letting my mind wander. Punishment for insolence.
I continue kneeling. I try to block the pain. I keep the corner of my eye fixated on her glass. Her scent grows stronger. She drinks the last sip of wine. I balance the tray on 1 hand and reach for the bottle. She sets the glass on the tray.
"I want lunch."
I bow my head, careful not to tip the tray. I rise and head for the kitchen. At the edge of the room I turn and kneel. I set the tray down. I bow my head and extend my hands. 1, 2, 3. I rise, pick up the tray and depart.
As the food cooks my stomach growls repeatedly. My mouth waters. I debate sneaking a bite. That will bring the prison strap or worse. Mistress will know. She always knows. I clear my head of such thoughts. I transfer the food to her plate and I place it on the table with her utensils, napkin, and beverages. I approach the living room. I enter, kneel, and bow. I hold this position.
I hear the leather of the couch creak as Mistress rises. I slowly raise my body and stand. I back to the edge of the wall and keep my head down. Mistress passes me. Her perfume leaves a trail behind her. I fight the urge for arousal. I follow her to the table and help her into her chair.
"Position 5."
I bend at the waist, gripping both chains in my hands. I brace myself. She giggles. This position provides discomfort. She knows this. Mistress eats slowly. My body shifts and teeters slightly under the strain. I hear the knife and fork fall to the plate. I hold my position. The blood rush to my head clouds my thoughts.
Her chair slides against the floor. Her boots click across the kitchen. The pantry door. A plate clatters on the counter. The faucet runs. I hear her steps clack away across the room. Dishes clatter lightly on the floor.
Mistress approaches. Her hand slaps my buttocks.
"The slave has earned some food."
I release my position, kneel, and bow. I rise and waddle across the room, keeping the chains silent. There is a plate and a small dish in the corner. I kneel. 2 saltines and some water. I inhale the first and gulp down some water. My stomach turns. I was unaware of the level of dehydration. I savor the second cracker. Small bites. Chew. I lick the crumbs from the plate. I finish the water, draining every drop into my mouth.
I wash the dishes. I continue with my chores. Mistress continues watching her tablet on the couch. I am afraid. Distracted. Ready to run at a moment's notice. The afternoon passes without interruption. I finish my standard chore set. My body aches and throbs. I shiver in the cold. My stomach growls.
The bell rings. I stay close. Prepared. I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room. 1,2 3,. I approach her, kneel, and bow.
"I want dinner."
I return to the kitchen, kneeling and bowing before I leave. I cook. My mouth waters. The smells fill my nose. I'm hungry. I prepare everything in a single course for Mistress. I hope and fear that this is the right choice. I kneel and bow at the entrance to the living room. She moans on the couch. After a couple of minutes I hear the tablet on the coffee table and the creak of the couch's leather. I rise as she approaches and move aside.
I follow and help her into her chair.
"Position 5."
I bend over and grab chain, careful not to let them rattle. She eats very slowly. My nose perks at the various aromas drifting in the room. The food smells wonderful. Her perfume is delightful. The scent of her sex is strong. Pain and discomfort prevent my arousal. With each bite she reacts. Mistress savors her food. She chews and eats slowly. This game amuses her.
Her fork and knife reach the plate. A last gulp of drink. The glass on the table. Her chair slides on the floor. She rises. The pantry. The fridge. A dish clanks on the counter. The faucet. Her boots click on the floor. She paces away. The dishes rattle on the floor in the corner.
"The slave has earned food."
She walks past me. The edge of her fur coat grazes my frozen skin. It tingles in a good way. My sex twitches. I press my hands to my mouth as I rise. The spikes dig into the flesh. I mute my scream. The pain forces me to my knees before it subsides. I crawl to my food. My mouth waters.
3 grapes. 2 saltines. A small water dish. I eat a saltine first. Bite by bite. The food enters my stomach. It feels great. The second saltine dries my mouth. I wash it down with a sip of water. The chilled grapes are cold and I shiver as the first one enters my mouth. I bite in and relish the sweet liquid of its juices. I chew slowly, with purpose. I let the flavor linger in my mouth before swallowing. I enjoy this privilege. Am I broken already?
I finish the grapes and slowly guzzle the water. My body invigorates slightly. I gather up the dishes and utensils and wash them. I return to the living room, kneeling and bowing at the entrance. Mistress sits on the couch. I hear her tap the crop against its armrest.
"A slow slave can be replaced with a faster one."
Her words are cold. I shudder beneath them. I feel her eyes trace over me. Admiring her work. The welts. The swelling. I remain face down and await her next command.
"To the dungeon, slave."
I rise and head across the room. I kneel and bow before I leave. 1, 2, 3. I rise and descend the stairs to the basement. It's colder down here than upstairs. I shiver as I cross the gate. I kneel at the marks and place my hands behind my head. I wait.
Several minutes pass. My knees ache on the hard floor. My ears perk. In the distance. Footsteps on the stairs. Heels click on the floor. They approach.
"Chain on the hook."
I stand and raise my arms, feeding the chain over the hook. The motor whirs. My arms pull upwards. It raises me to my toes. Heels click behind me. Her breath on my back. My body stiffens. A gloved hand finds my chest. The fur on her sleeve drags along my side. I glance down. Mistress wears a different coat. Her hand tugs the chain between the clamps. I yelp and throw my head back.
I feel something cold drag along the skin on my back. It's firm and rough. A light scratching sound comes up from the floor. My mind races. It's a whip. My breathing gets heavy. My chest heaves. The hairs on my neck stand up. She's only used this once before. Years ago. Early on. It did too much damage and was buried away since then.
Her steps click back and forth behind me.
"In case you are wondering, slave, this isn't a punishment. I'm merely bored."
I hear a hard clack on the floor. The air whizzes. Crack. The leather bites into the skin on my buttocks. My breath leaves with a grunt. It stings and burns. My body bucks in recoil. I whimper. Crack. The whip bites my other cheek. I cry out as tears fill my eyes.
A hard step. I brace myself. Crack. The whip hits lower. I shriek and sob.
"Yes! That's it."
I slump against the shackles. A faint sound. She's rubbing herself. Another firm step. Crack. The other cheek. I wail and shake against the chains. She approaches. I feel her hand trace the lines on my skin. She rubs. It stings. The skin swells and throbs. I wince under her touch. She coos.
Her steps move away. A hard click on the floor. Crack. I shriek as the whip lands on my back. Step. Crack. Tears flow. I cry out to no one. I dare not beg for mercy. Do not invite more pain.
Crack. I thrash under the strain. Crack. I yell, collapse, and dangle. I continue to sob.
I hear the whip hit the floor. Mistress paces away. I hear rattling on the cart. The flow of clothing. She mutters under her breath.
"Too many fucking straps. Fuck."
The motor whirs. The hook descends relieving the strain on my wrists.
"On the horse, slave."
I waddle gingerly. Each step is a chore. My body throbs and pulses. I struggle to climb onto the bondage horse. I hear her approach. She pulls my ankle chain down. Click. It's held taut. She moves around me. I close my eyes. She pulls my wrist chain down. Click. I open one eye and steal a glance. Mistress's full length fur coat hangs open. She wears boots and nothing underneath except her Reverb harness. I shut my eyes.
I feel her breath on my cheek. She whispers.
"Dom was right, you do like to seduce us women, don't you?"
I feel pressure on my rear. A click. She slides the plug out from inside of me. I hear it rattle and slide across the floor, coming to a rest after it hits the wall.
Her hands find my hips. Pressure. I tense. More pressure. I let out a sob as she penetrates me. She rubs her hands up and down. My skin stings under her touch. She thrusts deep. My head arches back. I wail.
"Scream for me, slave. Scream!"
She pinches the skin on my sides and thrusts again. I feel the harness against my rear. Tears flow freely from my eyes. Her hands find my back. Her fingers press into the bruises. She thrusts. I scream for her. It hurts. I scream and scream again. She moans and laughs, her hips slapping against my thighs. She digs her fingers into the skin on my rear and drags her hands. I shriek and wail. She laughs and thrusts. Where are you, Mistress? I don't recognize this woman.
She continues to violate me. Her moans and cries mix with laughs. I scream until my voice is hoarse. In and out, in and out. My brain knows nothing but pain. She increases her pace like a jack-rabbit. My head slumps. My eyes continue to flow. Drool drips from my lip. In and out, in and out. Mistress cries out with a primal shout. I feel her hips pulse as she cums. She slowly guides the Reverb out of me. I hear the movement of straps. She lets out slow moan. Crash. The sound of straps and buckles hitting the ground.
I feel the ankle chains release from their connector. The strain on my legs decreases. She walks around me and repeats with the wrist chain. My eyes zone out and do not close. Her coat is closed around her.
"Position 1."
I gingerly climb down from the horse. My butt hurts. My body hurts. My heart hurts. I kneel before her, press my forehead to the floor and extend my arms, palms down.
"I'm feeling kind, slave. I shall grant you some warmth."
She walks over to the cart and returns. I feel some cloth fall on my back.
"Dress yourself."
I rise and remove the cloth. It's a burlap potato sack. The side have been sliced along its length and there is a hole at the top. I place my head through the hole and slide my arms up the side slits. She throws a length of twine at my feet. I pick it up and tie it around my waist. The burlap stings and itches my skin, but it is warmer than nothing. It's almost a shirt, extending slightly below my waist.
"In the cage, slave."
I crawl into the cage, keeping the chains taut. She closes the gate behind me and closes the lock. Mistress walks away. She reaches the gate and shuts off the lights. The gate closes. I hear it lock as well. Her steps drain away. Up the stairs. The lights go out completely. I shiver. I weep. Alone. My body aches. Mistress. Where are you?
END ACT
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