Grasping Sadism

Over the course of my recent writing and the feedback I have received, especially in regards to fs01, I feel like I am starting to get a better grasp of sadism.  It is quite fascinating to me since I'm finding a ton of "middle ground" and seeing just where certain lines disconnect.  For the sake of this post I will assume a sadist has to let their sadism out to play on some level and doesn't just keep it buried inside. 

I believe for most, he term sadist seems to bring about certain images and associations that we have of what we believe a "sadist does" even if we have no understanding of what it does to them inside as the driving force for why.  I think to the general populace, they view most sadism as a physical act.  To obtain joy from inflicting pain and suffering.  I think it is mostly within the BDSM community that we understand on some level that sadism extends to the mental/emotional level as well. 

If you think of a teenage bully, passing boredom by terrorizing a victim with physical and/or mental harm, rarely does the term "sadist" come to mind.  I believe the difference is the factor of control.  The bully is out of control and uncertain of why he does what he does while the sadistic Domme is completely in control, carefully crafting events and behaviors that cause the victim to suffer in an exquisite way. 

What keeps the sadist from being anti-social (in a clinical sense) is consent.  The thought of kidnapping and torturing someone is not something she would actually perform, although she may be willing to pretend to kidnap a consenting individual and act out this fantasy in a controlled way.  Acknowledging this difference is what keeps them falling into the realm of the negative words that end in ____path.  Consent is what makes it okay and guilt free.  A willing partner craving her sadism is no more weird than her desire to wield it. 

The reactions to some of the events in my fiction have left me a little bit confused.  I don't quite understand why some events spoke to readers while others provide a fairly drastic split: namely, some events did nothing for the Dominant readers but the same events drove the submissive readers wild.

To be honest, when I began to first write overt sadism into the story it was with F in mind.  She had kind of a straight-forward way in which it affected her arousal... a "general sadist" so to speak.  The more it hurts him, the more he suffers, the more he struggles... the more she liked it.  This applied to both external and internal suffering.  I understood her mind and as she spread her wings she was fearsome.  I have read about women similar to F and had guessed this was sort of... how things often were.  Most subs that crave sadists tend to like this idea of general sadism.  The more she exerts her power the more attractive it is... the deeper into subspace they tumble.

What I am finding out is that F was more of a special case than a general rule.  Most sadists are quite a bit more complex... they have areas that speak to them strongly and others that are of no appeal at all.  I still feel like things are incredibly hit or miss as I do not fully grasp the extent of the limits and boundaries within their own fantasies (or realities) and I believe each has specific factors that are their own unique triggers setting this off. 

In many ways it is probably better for a sub to not understand all of its intricacies... that keeps this interesting... a guessing game... the possibility for surprise.  Predictable gets boring. 

The Quiet Storm

I type this mostly as an exercise.  It is my attempt at an honest assessment of myself and partly some of the reasons why I make the choices that I do and on some levels feel such large amounts of anxiety or fear at the prospect of major change.  This reveals a mix of the strength and weakness in my heart. 

-Loyalty.  I have had so many people over the years that have gotten what they could out of me and bailed.  This may have been something superficial like me usually being able to find a party or a good time, having access to recreational drugs or booze in my youth, or even those who used me as a self-esteem stepping stool... getting close to me and I would build them up only to be abandoned when I wasn't needed.  Many people are fair weather friends.  They are there in the good but as soon as I would need them they wouldn't be bothered and were no where to be found.  My family life growing up betrayed me on so many levels that I chose who I wanted to invest in and treated them like my family.  It hasn't always worked out.  T had been there for me like no one else has in my life.  While things haven't always been smooth, I could always count on her being there.  In turn, she could always count on me.  She never left me due to my depression, I do not wish to leave her alone with her conditions. She didn't choose to have them... similarly it is a bit of a choice for her to not deal with them but I hope for the day when she will sort it all out.

-External factors.  T has a son.  I have never mentioned this before at all in our blog writings.  He used to be with his father 4 months a year which would give us plenty of time to play openly.  When he was present we kept things hidden although I would still openly practice chivalry and do many of the chores and cooking.  I have never been someone that wanted children but I have made sure to never be anything like my parents.  I have not always made the best choices in my role as father-figure but I made sure to never do some of the things that my parents did that pretty much severed any chance at forgiveness.  I have helped watch over him and raise him from age 6 to 16, trying to be a symbol of consistency in his life and trying to be a friend and guide him away from the pitfalls in life.  He also suffers from depression and anxiety and I do my best to keep him from destroying his future opportunities.  If I walked away... I would be walking away from two people and not just one. 

-My own failure.  I am a national authority in a specialized field and have been since my 20's.  Unfortunately there isn't a lot of rewarding career opportunities for this at this time (mostly freelance) and I was comfortable in the job I took after things ended with K.  I took on a business venture in the time between F and T that blew up on me badly.  I cut back on my primary job's hours as I pursued this dream.  Everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong.  It hurt me financially quite a bit.  I met T during the tail end of this process.  She has a good career and was okay with me as I was.  My hours allowed me to be there when her son got home from school as he was prone to forgetting his keys and I was able to have dinner ready and waiting when she got home.  When I would attempt to bring my hours back to full time I would inevitably get summoned by her to leave work and let him in.  This was a chronic problem until this past year.  Over time the work situation caught up with me and I am not in a great place with money at this time.  I am in the process of working to improve this.

-Cold, Harsh, Reality.  I am not young and full of potential like I once was.  While I am very smart, my own anxiety issues and constant battle with depression make certain things more difficult than they should be.  I am weak in many ways.  My love for others is strong, my love for myself... not as strong.  In the past month or two I have written about the terrible odds for subs approaching Dommes as this is something that has been on my mind.  The mix of factors that I am going through in addition to my fetish set make me feel horribly unattractive.  If you do a quick browse through profiles on adult sites it is easy to see why the idea of being alone terrifies me.  For most people looking for a long-term relationship I do not pass their "screening process."  On some levels it motivates me to make some changes but nothing is immediate and there are some things I cannot change:  I am short and I am a sissy.  As long as those things are more important than my personality, the depth of my love, the depth of my submission, my wit and humor, I cannot help but feel the way that I do: unattractive.  Given time I am often able to win someone's heart through my personality and affection.  I am not often given time.


I sort of hate dumping all of this out there.  I fear that people will read this and think "man, this guy is weak as fuck."  I am not comfortable exposing all of this but I should probably hit publish before I change my mind. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 42

Author's note: 

This takes place the day after Part 41

--------------------------------

XLII

Day 04

I don’t know if I have slept.  I hurt all over, inside and out.  Pain is the only reminder that I even exist.  Empty.  Alone.  I retreat to nothingness to prevent my heart from unraveling.  The darkness seems fitting.  I have no thoughts except for the audio loop playing back into my ears. 

An image of Mistress’s smiling face flashes in my head.  I respond with tears and longing. 

Breakfast arrives but I do not eat.  At headcount I do not move, they drag me out of my cage and force me to my feet.  I slump limp in their arms.  A series of hard smacks to my buttocks and a series of threats get me to stand on my own power.  I don’t care; I just want to fade away.

Today I begin stage 2 of rehabilitation.  They lead me by the transport collar to the interview room.  Dominique’s pillory sits in the middle of the room.  I learn that I still have feelings and they managed to sink even lower.  My wrists, neck, and ankles get locked into place.  I face the far wall.

The door closes and I hear footsteps approach.  The scent of perfume tells me it is Lauren.  My body stiffens and I shut my eyes tight.  The ache in my heart pulls to the surface.  The building anxiety makes my body shake.  I open my eyes as she unlocks and removes my gag.  Her masked face sits directly in front of mine; I feel her inspecting me.  My nostrils flare as my breaths heave through my nose. 

“I still see some signs of life in those eyes.  We haven’t totally broken you… yet.”

I cringe and whimper as a rush of agony penetrates my brain.  No one will save me.  I am alone.

She makes her way behind me and yanks down my tights.  To my surprise I feel her turn the key to my chastity belt.  The front plate slides off freeing my sex from its metal prison.  It twitches in its newfound freedom. 

“Wow, I can see why she keeps that thing locked up.  I don’t consider myself a size Queen or anything, but a woman should have standards.”

My face flushes red as a wave of shame hits me.  I feel my penis come to life under the sting of humiliation.  My brain naturally resists for a moment, excuses spin through my head.  It’s cold.  It’s always shriveled up like that after being locked up for so long.  This is an embarrassment I am not accustomed to.  It dawns on me that her triggering my self-consciousness restored my sense of self.  I can no longer hide in nothingness. 

The audio loop in my headset stops abruptly.  I feel Lauren’s hands lift the back of the uniform’s dress and tuck it into my belt leaving my rear fully exposed. 

“Inmate, upon completing stage 1 of your rehabilitation, you have earned the privilege of entering stage 2.  In this stage we will train your body and mind to react appropriately so that you can become a productive member of society.”

She dims the lights and I hear the hum of the projector as it powers up.  An image appears on the wall.

“Inmate, describe what you see.”

“A man and a woman.”

Smack.  The strap bites against my skin.  I wince on impact. 

“Be more specific.”

“A man holding a woman down.”

Smack.  I let out a small grunt.

“What else?”

“He’s hurting her.”

Smack.

“Tell me more.”

“He’s over-powering her.”

Smack.

“Why?”

“He wants to have sex with her.”

Smack.

“Does she want this?”

“No.”

Smack.

“What will he do to her?”

“He’s going to rape her.”

Smack.  

Lauren pauses and forces her hand between my legs.  I feel a sharp pinch on my penis.  I shriek in pain as the clip crushes and crimps the skin.  Tears fill my eyes.  My body shakes against the wooden frame.  The pain throbs and spikes, clouding my brain.

“Do you like this image?”

“No!”

Smack.

“Why don’t you like it?”

“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”

Smack.

She pauses again and attaches a second clip.  I throw my head back and wail as tears soak my mask. 

“Is this good or bad?”

“It’s bad!”

Smack.

“Why is it bad?”

“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”

Smack.

Another clip keeps me bawling as I thrash against the restraints. 

“Tell me again.”

“A man shouldn’t hurt a woman!”

Smack.

“Do you want this to stop?”

“Yes, please stop it!”

Smack.

“If you even think about hurting another woman this is what awaits you.”

Smack.  I cry out and shake.  Smack. Smack. Smack.  I sob and bawl.  Smack. 

The blows finally stop.  My body quivers and twitches from the pain of the clips.  She releases them one by one.  I cry out again and fall limp, held up by the stocks. 

“You’re lucky, inmate.  These were supposed to be electric shocks delivered to your penis and scrotum.  We ended up going with something a little more primitive.”

My chest heaves as I catch my breath.  I’m given several minutes to rest.

The image on the wall changes. 

“Inmate, tell me what you see?”

“A man kneeling and bowing before a woman.”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s worshipping her.”

I feel one of her hands caress the bare skin on my rear as it still throbs from the strap’s blows.  Her other hand lightly massages my tender cock.  It flicks to life under her touch and rises as she takes it in her hand. 

“Why is he worshipping her?”

“Because he loves her, he adores her.”

Her hands continue moving, they are gentle and they feel good.

“What does he want?”

“He wants to make her happy.  He wants to love her.”

“Does he deserve her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is inferior.”

She continues to massage my tender parts.  I moan as she moves farther up my penis.  I will dribble soon.

“So the inferior man should worship and love the woman?”

“Yes.”

I gyrate my hips as she continues to stroke it.  My head spins with arousal.  Her hands abruptly stop.  I let out a whimper and try to hump the air.  A quick slap to my cock makes me squeal and it falls limp in its response.  The sting stops my desperation in its tracks. 

A new image flashes on the wall.

“Inmate, tell me what you see?”

“A man scaring a woman.”

Smack. 

“What else?”

“He’s threatening her… she’s terrified.”

Smack.

She reaches between my legs and attaches a clip at the base of the head.  I shriek and flail against the restraints.  Smack.

“Do you like this image?”

“No!”

Smack.  She adds a clip to my scrotum.  I howl in pain. 

“Why don’t you like it?”

“A man shouldn’t threaten a woman!”

Smack.  Another clip bites into the tender skin on my scrotum.  My scream is long and horrific. Tears flow freely from my red eyes.

“Is this good or bad?”

“Bad!”

Smack. 

“Why is it bad?”

“A man shouldn’t hurt or scare a woman!”

Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack. 

I recoil under every blow, my brain spikes with pain that leaves me dizzy.  I gasp for air.  Sweat beads on my skin. 

“If men didn’t hurt women, you wouldn’t be suffering like this, inmate.”

I thrash in pain, struggling anywhere I can move.  Lauren slowly removes the clips while I sob o myself.

A new image appears.

“Inmate, describe what you see.”

“A woman sitting on a man’s face.”

She gently rubs my swollen buttocks, soothing its tender skin.  She teases my cock and it springs to attention.

“What is he doing?”

“He’s pleasuring her, submitting to her will.”

Her hand grips my cock and begins to stroke.  I let out a low moan even though I still haven’t recovered from the pain. 

“What does he want?”

“He wants her to orgasm.  He wants her to experience pleasure and joy.  He loves her.”

Her hand moves faster as I pump it into her hand with as much strength as I can muster. 

“When a man submits, he gets rewarded, inmate.”

I pound and pound as the stimulation builds.  She tightens her grip and I moan. 

“When a man submits he gets rewarded.”

I feel my muscles tighten.  My mouth opens as my lungs heave for air.  Her hand stops.  I feel it dribble.  She slaps my cock hard and it drops limp between my legs.

After 4 images Lauren gives me a break while she departs without a word.   It is painfully obvious what is going on; the goal is to create associations.  I just want this to stop.  I want to go home.  I want to be with Mistress. 

Tabitha replaces Lauren in the conditioning process. She continues the cycle of alternating pain and pleasure. 

The torture continues with another “pain” image; another woman being terrorized by a man.  Tabitha drives this lesson home with more strokes of the strap and adds a fourth clip to the others on my penis and scrotum.  She guides me to describe to her what is wrong with the picture.  I scream, wail, and cry in agony.  I am helpless; no one will save me.

What follows is another “pleasure” image displaying a man submitting to a woman or being helpless before her.  While I describe what is right with the picture Tabitha performs gentle aftercare and strokes my penis.  My body and brain run wild with confusion.  The back and forth extremes slowly wear me down. 

By the time she concludes the 4^th and final image I am a quivering mess dangling from my bonds.  Mistress, where are you?  Please take me away.

END ACT

A Sea of Thoughts: Submissive Types

This post is in reference to this blog post:
https://emdimensional.wordpress.com/2016/07/13/submissive-types/

I recently read a blog posting on types of submissives.  It was a thorough list and well-written.  Reading it brought me back to my early days in the lifestyle... when everything felt new and like a discovery and also to my early blogging days when a lot of my attempts at understanding my place in this world was rooted in definitions, classifications, and putting things in order.

It's safe to say that early on in the lifestyle I more closely related to a specific sub type.  I also found in some ways there was a small divide between the submissive that I wanted to be and the submissive that I actually was.

As time has passed and my experiences have grown, I realize now that I don't even know what I would classify myself as anymore.  I can associate with many types but I tend to flow between them fairly easily, but it's not so much a hybrid of multiple roles, more like identifying with one role at a time at any given time.  It's almost like I have a primary type and a bunch of secondary types underneath that.  e.g. I would relate most closely to the slave but be able to resemble many of the other types depending upon the dynamics going on in any given situation. 

When thinking about it I've noticed a bit of a divide in how/when/where this type of situation happens.  I'm not sure if it's something unique to F/m as I don't tend to see it as often in M/f relationships.  I'm not sure if there's an inherent difference on dominance... but sometimes it feels that way. 

I state these things as observations.  They are not meant to be hard conclusions or stereotypes.  I will say they are generalizations but I do not mean them to be done in a negative way, they are simply a reflection of my experiences and the people I have known over the years both on the web and in life.

-Lifestyle Femdom seems to have a tendency to reach a point of consensual non-consent over the course of several years.  A sub may have entered as a bondage enthusiast or someone who enjoys domestic discipline... but after a while, a good number of male subs end up as some fluctuating mix of types where you fill many different roles.  Another oddity is that male subs who have gone through this process often start to identify with some roles mostly due to the D/s dynamic.  e.g. They hate scrubbing the toilet but love the idea of being forced/ordered/expected to scrub the toilet.

-To be fair, I have only known a handful of M/f couples that have been together for say 4-5+ years.  The ones that I have known (or read about) it often seems that there is a lot more common ground in the relationship.  e.g. He likes activity X, she likes activity X, their relationship was built around their shared love of activity X, and to this day they still most closely identify with X.  Basically, it seems like the Maledoms and femsubs I have known tend to relate more strongly to a certain identity over a span of years.  They may delve and explore into other activities but it doesn't seem to change the core quite as often as I see in Femdom.  To summarize the main point, I feel like it is more common in M/f relationships for a sub to retain the submissive identity they most closely relate to.  If I am completely wrong here, please let me know.

As a contrast, it just seems very different for a couple to start with a shared enjoyment of X but to later go into Y and Z regardless of how the submissive feels about them.  That trend of compromise seems to change a submissive's thought process to where it seems natural to be completely at the mercy of the Domme.  Looking back at the submissive types, it seems natural in Femdom for a Domme to push a sub to the slave state.  If this is common in M/f relationships, I don't see it documented very much and I know in groups following common BDSM rules, the idea of this is rather frowned upon.

I'm not saying that either of these is more correct than the other, I just find it a bit interesting to think about.

Any thoughts?

A Sudden Crash

I apologize for the lack of posts over the past couple of days.  fs01 Part 42 is half done.  A couple of nights ago T went at me again and it did a number on me emotionally.  It's very difficult and painful when this happens.  I feel a bit like a boxer who has to weather out a rain of blows from their opponent, hoping to block, dodge, duck, and defend against the onslaught, waiting for it to stop and hoping that you don't get knocked down in the process.

When it finally ends I reach out and try to see if there is some humanity present... a point to connect and bond... that will be open to receiving my feelings.  This last time there wasn't one and I have felt pretty terrible the last few days.  No motivation to write... and it feels quite ugly inside.  Last night as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep the feelings I had were incredibly intense in a bad way... namely, they are the thoughts and feelings I have when depression grips me.  It felt helpless and awful.

I reached out again last night even though I was terrified to do so, but keeping myself out of a backslide into the mess that I was trapped in for the past few years outweighed the present tense risk: it couldn't really make me feel any worse.  It wasn't too bad and we seemed to find an understanding point for now... but after 3 attacks in 2 weeks I'm still a bit scared.

Hopefully I will be able to snap myself out of it soon.

Wordpress

So... I started a Wordpress blog a couple of weeks ago as sort of a "backup plan" in case blogger ever goes south.  I also have used this as an experiment by using a more benign site title, color scheme, and avatar to see if that has an impact upon things.  Originally I simply reposted my tips for courting a Domme and let it sit for a couple of weeks.  Someone ended up finding it and I started mirroring the majority of my new blog posts in both locations.  I may in time trickle out some older reposts on that other blog.

The Wordpress blog community seems quite a bit different from Blogger although it is being much more difficult to find blogs to follow.  I have been pleasantly surprised by the blogs I have come across. 

In case anyone is interested in it: https://furcissy.wordpress.com/

Pleasant insecurity?

Over the past few days I have finally found some nooks and crannies on the web that make me feel a bit more comfortable and safer with interacting and sharing thoughts, feelings, and ideas.  Something has felt a bit strange though and I'm having trouble putting my finger on it. 

I have often prided myself as being an open-minded thinker with a capacity to empathize, analyze, and discuss complicated personal and emotional topics.  Recently I've felt something that I haven't felt since I was a newbie in the lifestyle and digging around for information and ideas... I'm finding a lot of people that have "better" thoughts than I do and are far more eloquent at conveying these thoughts and ideas than I have ever been.

I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing, it's just a new and different feeling that I'm not accustomed to having.  Since I returned from my extended blogging break I have found myself a lot more relaxed in my points of view.  I am a lot more tolerant and open about how things differ from my own feelings.  I am a lot less likely to try and impose viewpoints upon others.  This has shown up in my writing quite a bit as I am now more apt to make a "sea of thoughts" post and float ideas around rather than my old method of writing an outline-based "article" that defines and justifies some ideas with a conclusion at the end.

I can't tell if this is a sign of maturity or if I've just gotten dumber.  It could also be a sign that I'm writing from a set of ideas and memories rather than reflecting on feelings that I experienced earlier in the day.  In any case it makes me want to step up and get back to a point where I feel like I'm someone who can write something interesting to say. 

While I do know there are merits to simply making comments that are of a "thank you" or "good luck" nature, I think I am defaulting to these too often and not delving deeper into the thoughts and emotions that made me feel good about writing in the first place. 

Just some food for thought I guess.

Thoughts on Vulnerability

Getting back on track with a good set of thoughts has been rough since my argument with T a couple of weeks ago.  This past weekend I had I had a conversation with some somewhat estranged family and when they asked, I shared with them the process I have been going through since writing my Reflections posts.

What I ultimately crave through submission is "safe" vulnerability.  So much is spent in our lives guarding our deepest and most sincere versions of ourselves from the pains of the outside world.   Allowing my heart to be fully exposed brings out my truest feelings and the only part of myself that I think is beautiful.

The idea of safe vulnerability might seem odd since I am seeking something that is inherently unsafe.  Though loving submission I trust her to protect the parts of me that are dear to the both of us.  T violated that trust and it caused me to shut that part down for a bit and it is also the reason that we stopped practicing D/s on a lifestyle 24-7 basis.  This trust can't be built overnight... but unfortunately it can come crumbling down in a heartbeat. 

I seek the times when I show her everything.  I cannot hide.  I am exposed.  I feel her eyes piercing into and exploring my soul.  I am afraid but my love gives me strength.  My desire to give her my all consumes me; I will do anything to see her smile and see the warmth of her eyes.  We can linger in the moment or plunge even deeper, twisting me with trials and tests, challenging my obedience.  I offer myself to her freely, some days she accepts it graciously, other days she seizes it and pries it from me even though I do not resist.  While she possesses me I overflow with my love for her, she is my Queen, my Goddess, the one who keeps my soul.  I hide nothing and fear cannot hold me back.  This is my ultimate vulnerability. 

I cannot say why I long to have my vulnerability poked, prodded, and in some ways exploited.  I do know there is a line that should never be crossed; I never wish to be severely damaged in a purposeful or hurtful way.

In the past week or so I have come to realize that writing my fs01 story is not so much my exploration of subspace, but it is actually my attempt to experience and explore the my own vulnerability through the eyes of the main character.  While the events may seem a bit extreme at times, I explore the limits of my heart and project the tension and release that makes the D/s bonds so intense. As in real life there are parts that have made me laugh, others have brought me to tears, and most importantly I have again felt the deep love that falls at the core of my submission.  I sometimes wish that the feelings were real but for the time being it is what I have to work with and I try to make the best of it while I wait for a time when I can feel safely vulnerable once again.

In many ways I think our willingness to be vulnerable dictates the limits of our submission.  It affects how deeply we allow ourselves to love and the bonds we creates.  It compliments her dominance and allows me love freely and create the intimacy we both desire.  I really do miss it. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 41

Author’s note: 

This takes place the morning after Part 40.

----------------------------

XLI

Day 03

Morning brings pain.  My body still aches from the day before, I’m unable to tell which is worse, the muscle aches from moving sandbags or the beating after the interview.  I feel like I’m becoming a ghost; Lauren has been my lifeline.  I feel detached from Mistress.  I want to believe it is just an act and that it is intentional to keep me from leaning on her but I can’t tell.  It feels like a month since we were close but I know that is my brain playing tricks on me. 

Feeding followed by headcount followed by transport.  I have adapted quickly to the routine.  The audio loop wears on me, its words seeming more real, more believable, and more honest as time passes.  Mistress and Lauren tug at my psyche in opposite directions.  Mistress fills me with longing, I want to embrace her and feel her warmth; her behavior keeps me at arm’s length.  I feel distant and rejected.  Lauren warms my soul with her kindness.  I want to please her.  I want her to think well of me.  I feel conflicted and guilty and I wonder if Mistress will think my heart is unfaithful.

The day passes more easily than the last.  The coat isn’t much but it is far better than nothing.  The snow is easier to navigate having been trampled down for the past 2 days.  Today Mistress is more aloof than aggressive; she barely looks at me.  Lauren continues to cheer me on.  I pass every quota with ease, earning lunch along the way, and Lauren greets me with a hug upon finishing the last pile.  The scent of her perfume fills my nose.  She is very sweet.  I relax my mind with feelings of accomplishment and relief.  My tired joints ache and throb but this stage of hell is finally over. 

Dinner and headcounts follow.  I rest with one eye open, anticipating the interview and ensuing nightmare that will surely follow.  Time passes slowly.  The final headcount before lights out comes and goes without incident.  The fear that they will be coming for me lingers.  I think of Mistress but begin to feel sad.  I shift my thoughts to Lauren and cling to the hope she will be with me tonight.

I wake from my light sleep the sound of footsteps.  She approaches in the dark without a flashlight; her scent tells me it is Lauren.  My body perks up in anticipation. My angel is here to comfort me. 

“Will you lay with me tonight?”

She parts her coat and taps the end of her Reverb strap-on against the bars.  I shuffle to the front of the cage and nod furiously.  She leads me across the dark building to her room.  Lauren opens the door.  The lights are out and it’s completely dark.  She takes me by the arm and pulls me inside.  The door closes behind us and I hear the lock click.  The audio loops in my headset stops.  Another click and the ceiling light illuminates the room. 

My eyes go wide with shock.  Mistress sits on a chair on the far end of the room.  The desk has been moved to the middle.  Tabitha and Dominique stand on either side of me, their coats parted displaying their Reverbs, shining and dripping with lube.  I turn to Lauren and she motions to the others with the movement of her head.  They grip my arms, force me around, and slam my chest down on the desk. 

A metal collar is placed around my neck and locked to a metal ring mounted on the far side of the desk.  I break into a panic-induced struggle.  Their hands hold me firmly in place.  I look up at Mistress.  She sits motionless, my panic-stricken eyes reflect back at me from the tinted lenses of her mask.  I hear Lauren’s voice behind me.

“Hey Cass, I think you owe me that case of beer.”

“I concede my defeat, Lauren.  You were right, kindness was more effective than cruelty at motivating him through stage 1.”

“I’ll take a case of honey wheat, something micro preferred.  I’m sure by now he’s figuring out that it was all just an act to gain his trust, motivate him, and now it’s time to crush him. What do you think is going through his mind right now?”

My eyes tear up with her words.  I feel my heart rip in two.  Tears well up in my eyes.

“Why don’t you take off his gag and find out for sure?”

She roughly unlocks the straps and yanks the gag from my mouth.  My words come out in a mix of frantic sobs. 

“Miss Lauren?  This isn’t you, right?  Miss Lauren?”

“Mith Lauren, Mith Lauren.”  She mocks me with her tone.  “Yes, this is me.”

I struggle again to rise but the collar lock holds me in place.  Tabitha and Dominique’s hands prevent me from shuffling around.  I flex my hands, fidgeting my fingers wildly behind my back. 

“What are you going to do to me?”

“What do you think I’m going to do?  I am going to rape you.”

“Please don’t do this, Miss Lauren.  Please don’t do this.  You were so kind to me before.  Please, no, stop.”

“It’s just like I remember it.  You see, I was raped once.  My freshman year I met a football player at a party.  He was a junior and a starter.  He was so nice and sweet, he took me out and showed me a good time.  I trusted him.  When he invited me to his room to watch a DVD he was borrowing I was excited.  A chance to connect, a chance to bond, a chance to snuggle together and be close.  It was all lies.  He locked his door, threw me down on the bed and raped me.  I begged and pleaded, crying out for the boy he was the day before.  They school refused to do anything about it.  The betrayal hurts doesn’t it? Knowing that no one is there to save you.  It hurts almost as much as what I’m about to do to you, but since there are 3 of us, this probably will hurt even more.  I can’t wait to defile you.”

I cry.  I scream.  I buck wildly.  I beg.  I plead.  Stop.  Please stop. 

She enters me.  Violated.  I shriek and wail, my neck cranes, my eyes turn to Mistress.  Lauren thrusts into me, pumping her hips in rhythm.  My words slur into the wails and sobs.  My eyes plead with Mistress to act, to save me, to protect me.  She takes a deep breath and parts the lower half of her coat.  She uncrosses her legs.  I watch in vain as her fingers find her crotch and begin to rub.  I shut my eyes tight and bawl. 

The pain in my soul tears me apart from the inside.  It hurts far worse than her thrusts and pumps.  I slump my head down on the desk and sob.  I am broken.  I feel myself detach.  I no longer resist as Lauren has her way with me.  Eventually she stops, I assume she had an orgasm.  She trades places with Tabitha.  Tabitha’s voice enters my headset.

“I don’t have a fancy story like Lauren.  My rape was awful.  It hurt me.  It terrified me.  I refuse to be weak ever again.”

My body lies limp.  I barely feel her enter me.  This isn’t happening to me, it’s someone else… please let it be someone else.  My eyes glaze over.  I’m not me.

Tabitha switches with Dominique.  If not for the headset, I doubt I would hear Dominique’s voice at all. 

“Hello, little one.  I’ve waited a year for this.  Your precious Mistress prevented it the first time but she gave me her blessing today.  How does it feel knowing that she’s getting off to this?”

My sobs intensify.

“Oh, little one.  I’m so disappointed you’ve already used up all your screams before it was my turn, but I’m already wet enough to make it work.”

I’m not me.  With dead eyes I shift my gaze to Mistress.  She rubs herself furiously while squirming around In the chair.  I cease to exist.  When they finish they depart the room and leave me locked to the desk in the dark.  A while later the door opens again.  Mistress holds the camera in her hand and points it at my face.  Tabitha’s voice reaches me.

“Inmate 001, how do you feel?”

I sob, chest heaving, pausing only to choke on my tears.

The camera beeps. 

“He’s ready for stage 2.”

END ACT

The Backlash of Resistance

Some recent back and forth with Watson and Lady Grey have really gotten me thinking more heavily upon the process of breaking a sub to deeper levels of subspace.  In some ways I feel like I should talk about more day to day things, but seeing as I don't have a current day to day and the lack of writing on topics like these it seems okay.

The back and forth, push and pull of sadism and the way that submission adapts to it is definitely fascinating to me.  Thinking back over the years, I probably have around 7-10 events/activities that really broke me in such a way... they expanded the deep end of my subspace pool, making it both wider and deeper.

There was one common theme among everything:  They were all things that I had a strong mental aversion to in the first place.  I don't think our reasons for wanting to avoid something are always good ones.  Some of them make total sense and most of these fall into the category of hard limits.  Not wanting to do anything illegal, nothing that involves animals, no children, nothing that could ruin your life, and so on.  These SHOULD have a strong mental resistance.  Not all of these things are quite so simple.

A lot of things that I wished to avoid were rooted in fear, pride, or confusion. With K, I did not want to be feminized.  I found it crushing and its aftermath left me a different submissive than I was before.  Why did I want to avoid this?  It would change the definition of who I was.  While she had me doing research on the BDSM lifestyle, it took me all of about five minutes to realize that there was a tremendous amount of prejudice, disgust, and disdain for "sissies."  At the time I was fine being a submissive.  I was fine being her toy.  I was fine being a lot of things.  I did not want to be a sissy.  I did not want to carry that stigma.  On some level, I think I was afraid I would like it.  The mental barrier was very strong.

Once she set her mind to it I knew she would never budge.  I resisted at first but it was soon clear that she would try to break me until I accepted it.  She knew my fears.  She felt my obedience was more important.  When it happened, the defensive barriers I had assembled were knocked down in an instant.  The fears and insecurities were now true and I hated feeling this way.  When she first put the scarf on me and the hat on my head and made me look in the mirror, it was obvious to the both of us that the depth of my submission had changed forever.  I cried at knowing that I was different now.  She drove the message home by calling me "sissy slave" instead of "pet" whenever I was wearing something she ordered me to wear.

This was my first significant D/s event over the course of my life.  The event that had the greatest impact on my subspace happened with T.

Anal play had been on my hard limits since I entered the lifestyle.  About seven years in, I had experienced almost everything I could imagine.  I had been restrained in almost every way imaginable, used as a sex toy and held to nearly impossible standards for endurance, I had spent time in chastity, I had experienced forced feminization, I had been beaten or spanked with 30+ different objects, I had been humiliated in public, restrained in public, outed to vanilla friends, used by other Dommes, spent entire days as a servant without speaking, put through extreme pain/torture, and so on.  Anything up my butt was a hard limit.  I didn't have a "good" reason except almost a PTSD level of distrust towards men and a huge aversion to anything resembling a penis entering me.

This was pretty much an insurmountable barrier.  After my relationship with T started to deteriorate and she began spending (most of her free) time with other subs so that she could peg them, I swallowed my pride and released my hard limit.  I knew that I would resist.  I knew that I would use any out possible.  We resolved this by locking a gag in my mouth, locking my wrists to my ankles, and a spreader bar.  T was gentle.  I bawled, sobbed, and screamed from behind the gag.  My tears soaked the bed.  I thrashed and bucked and fought to get away.  There was no escape.  In its aftermath I fell limp on the bed in a heap while she undid the locks.  I wept for an hour, unable to move.  She pressed her body against me and comforted me.  It broke me completely.  It was the first time that I knew I would never be able to resist her again.  The next night I asked her if she wanted to do it again.

Looking back I see that these two events affected me so profoundly since I did NOT want to do them.  I don't think they were enough to get me to want to leave the relationship, but within the relationship they were just things that I had my mind made up about... I never wanted them to happen.

I see now that the strength of my resistance affected the amount of backlash each provided.  There are things that we would rather not do, things we do not like to do, and so on.  The resistance is minor in most cases, it's easier to scrub a toilet than it is to have a disappointed Mistress.  While the thought of "I'm doing something I dislike" may help some mild subspace, there is not enough of a recoil to do anything significant. The way I see it is that the amount of resistance to the act ends being reflected in the depth of subspace it can push us to.  The more of a mental/emotional struggle we undergo, the more it changes us.  

I have a fairly vivid imagination and can "simulate" how I would probably react in subspace to many ideas and fantasies.  There aren't many activities left (outside of standard sane hard limits) that could affect me so deeply.  Thankfully many of them are of very limited appeal (scat, blood, mutilation, etc.).  The others are fairly real fears.  A brief list:
-Permanent chastity (currently a hard limit but a chance of it becoming soft)
-Cuckolding (a hard limit with men, open for Lesbian cuck)
-Forced bi (a hard limit)
-Being loaned to a Maledom (a hard limit)
-Complete humiliation outing (possibly covered under the "nothing life ruining" hard limit)
-Being branded

Another odd observation is that I have gone through many things that I thought were no big deal but often affect others profoundly.  These had little if any effect on my subspace.

It really is strange how the mind works.  The more reasons we have for not wanting to do something, the more painful it is when we actually do it.  Some of these are illusions and exist only in our mind.  Others are more serious and painful. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 40

Author's Note:
This takes place the morning after Part 39

------------------------

XL

Day 02

I wake for the morning feeding feeling peaceful and rested.  Lauren’s warmth and comforts soothed me and calmed the conflicted storm of my feelings of my first day in prison.  She reminded me of how much I still need closeness and intimacy.

Only 2 guards show up for the morning’s activities, Mistress and Lauren.  Their uniforms are different today, each wears an extra fur vest over their coats and I see a pair of leather chaps covering their legs and boots.  Knowing Mistress I would guess they are fur-lined, which leads me to believe that today will be colder than yesterday.  My heart sinks a little, knowing that Mistress’s actions yesterday denied my privilege of a coat. 

They perform the head count with the humiliating bathroom break soon after.  I don’t know exactly why it makes me feel so embarrassed, probably because it’s 1 more example of them stripping my dignity away.  Mistress releases my handcuffs and orders me to strip.  As I undress I feel myself blushing, which puzzles me since I have stripped for Mistress and others hundreds of times.  The difference is Lauren; she has worked her way into my thoughts and feelings.  I feel ashamed that she will see me this way.

She chains me to the wall in the far corner while Lauren hoses me down with cold water.  It chills me to my core; I thrash about unable to avoid its stream.  I am truly helpless in this hell.  Mistress unchains me and presents me with a very small, rough, and not very absorbent towel.  I wipe the water off but it doesn’t do anything for warming my body.  After they permit me to brush my teeth and they present me with a clean uniform. 

Today’s uniform has some slight changes.  The mask covering my face is different.  Its front is tapered so that it doesn’t cover my mouth or chin.  An earmuff harness similar to my home uniform is locked onto my head.  A gag with a dildo ring on the front is the final touch; it still has an air hole but this time it is buckled and locked on over the mask.  In other circumstances I would hate the earmuff harness.  Today I welcome anything that will help keep me warm. 

My hands are cuffed behind me and the metal collar closes around my neck for transport.  Mistress presses a button on a device.  A voice enters my ears through speakers in the earmuffs; it is Tabitha’s voice.

The voice plays back random phrases, too numerous for me to remember them all.

“You are worthless.”

“Your life is meaningless without her guidance.”

“Women are to be obeyed and cherished.”

“You deserve to suffer.”

“You must earn the right to contribute to society.”

“Disobedience will be punished.”

“Pain is the best teaching tool.”

Over and over they continue; the words are too loud to tune out, too true for me to disagree with. 

Mistress’s voice comes through the speakers, quieting the looping voice.

“Inmate, your lack of compliance with the rules and poor attitude has caused us to introduce something that was originally slated for stage 2.  You will memorize every line verbatim.  They are a part of your rehabilitation and will be necessary for your parole.”

The words become my inner mantra.  My mind speaks along with them, over and over, loop after loop.  They make me feel like a criminal. 

The sandbags go faster today even though my muscles still ache from the day before.  Mistress and Lauren alternate each cycle.  Lauren sneaks me some warming packs at the start of her shift and removes them before she switches out with Mistress.  She whispers to me over my headset while I trek, she keeps my spirits up with positive words. 

Mistress frisks me thoroughly at every shift change.  She walks with me as I go, landing random blows with the strap at random intervals to keep me ‘motivated.’  She doesn’t speak to me, all I can hear are Tabitha’s words repeating.  A strong wind and snow flurries makes it impossible for me to see the details of her mask, let alone trying to see her face or eyes.  She feels like a stranger and I feel cold and alone.  I wish she wasn’t a guard.  The thought makes me sick to my stomach. 

I earn lunch today and I eagerly suck down the foul taste. My average pace with Lauren is almost 10 bags ahead of the shifts with Mistress.  I stay well ahead of the quota now that Dominique and Tabitha aren’t on duty.  They must have gotten bored and asked out of this role. 

I finish all 480 bags 50 minutes ahead of schedule.  I smile behind the gag knowing that tomorrow I will have a coat and I am 1 day closer to completing stage 1. 

Lauren’s voice enters my ears. 

“Good job today, I’m so proud of you.” 

I blush a little and smile; my heart warms at her words.  My ‘reward’ for finishing early is the unpleasant news that I must continue moving bags for the entire 12 hours.  I shake it off basking in the glow of today’s accomplishments.

The routine continues the same as the previous day.  Dinner is a full bottle of the foul liquid.  A head count follows soon after.  My brain no longer questions the need for a count.  It’s part of the suffering I must endure.  The daily interview comes next.  The audio loop through my headset goes silent for the first time today.

“Inmate 001, how do you feel?”  My mind reacts on its own.

“001 is worthless.  001 deserves to suffer.  001’s life is meaningless without your guidance.”

“How did you feel moving the bags?”

“001 was glad for the opportunity to earn the right to contribute to society.”

“Does the inmate feel like he deserves this?”

“001 deserves to suffer.  001 is a criminal.”

The camera beeps and the red light goes dark.  Voices cycle from behind the lights.

“I think the inmate has a bad case of lip service, don’t you agree?”

“Definitely.  I think today was too easy for him.”

“Way too easy.  I think we should teach him a lesson.  All in favor?”

A chorus of voices echo “Aye.”

“All opposed?”

Silence.

“Inmate, up against the wall.” 

I rise from the stool and press my chest against the back wall.  Fear consumes me and I tremble uncontrollably.  I hear their boots click against the floor.  The sound of leather on leather comes from multiple directions as they tap the straps against their gloved hands.  I begin to weep. 

“Crying already?  What a pussy.”

I can’t resist.  My voice squeaks as I speak.

“Please don’t hurt me…”

“Can you believe the balls on this one?  He still has the nerve to talk out of turn.”

The straps rain down on me one after another.  My back, my arms, my legs, my hands, my buttocks… all sting and burn under their blows.  They are merciless, over and over, again and again.  I cry out and wail under the pain.  Mistress?  Lauren?  Please save me. 

They beat me until they are exhausted.  They beat me until I am limp on the floor.  My body throbs with swelling and pain; I will be covered in bruises.  I spend what’s left of my energy whimpering.  The gag puts a stop to that. 

Mistress and Tabitha drag me back to my cage.  They shove me in and the door closes behind me.  I slump on the floor, unable to move without pain.  The last natural sound I hear is Mistress’s voice.

“Fuck, I was going to use him tonight but I doubt he’ll be able to even get me off.”

I lay motionless, sniffling to myself.  The audio loop starts again. 

“You are worthless.”

“You deserve to suffer.”

“Pain is the best teaching tool.”

The lights go out and I lay in the dark, my ears full of the reminders of why I should be here.  I can’t sleep due to the pain. 

A flashlight reaches my eyes forcing me to squint.  I hear my cage open followed by Lauren’s voice through my headset.

“Are you okay?  I’m here for you.”  My ears perk up even if my body is broken. 

I slide myself out of the cage, slithering like a worm on my stomach.  Lauren sits down on the ground and I slide my way to her.  She props up my upper body and holds me in her arms, pressing my face against her breasts.  She wraps a blanket around us.  She shares her heat with me and my body slowly warms to her.  I rub my nose back and forth against her fur vest.  She pets my head and rocks my back and forth.  It soothes my heart. Her perfume fills my nose.  She smells sweet.

“You’ll be okay.  I will take care of you.  Everything will be okay.  Just keep making me proud.” 

I close my eyes and snuggle up against her.  Lauren you are an angel. 

END ACT

Fiction: fs01 - Part 39

Author’s Note:

This takes place several hours after Part 38

---------

XXXIX

It was Lauren that releases me from the chains outside.  I do not know how long I knelt there alone, in the dark.  She helps me to my feet and tells me that next time, I should make sure to purge the heat packs before Cassandra’s shift.  Lauren is kind.  Handcuffs restrain my hands behind my back and she leads me back to the prison building by the metal collar.

She places me in my cell.  Shortly after dinner arrives.  The bottle is almost full this time.  I’m happy just to finally eat.  I choke down the awful liquid as fast as I can.  I feel it enter my stomach, showing me just how hungry and dehydrated I am.  They perform a head count a short while later.  I figure they do this to keep me moving and to give things a ‘prison feel.’

After the headcount, Tabitha leads me to one of the building’s side rooms.  Before we enter she releases my gag.

“Do not speak unless instructed to, inmate.”  I nod.

I sit on a small stool in one of the side rooms of the building.  I’m grateful to rest my legs, although my hands are handcuffed behind my back.  The room is warm; apparently the side rooms have heat while the main area with the cages does not.  I’m guessing this was done on purpose. 

Several bright lights shine in my eyes.  I squint against them but they successfully blind me from anything behind them in the room.  I see the faint outlines of bodies along the far wall.  A video camera stands on a tripod off to the side; its red light blinks, they are filming me.

“Inmate 001, look at the camera.”

I shift on the stool and face the blinking red light.  My anxiety builds as a nervous feeling enters my body.  My fingers fidget behind my back.

“Inmate 001, how do you feel?”

“I am exhausted, Ma’am.”

“Unacceptable, inmate.  You shall describe yourself as 001, the inmate, or the prisoner.  How do you feel?”

I swallow hard.  My training with Amanda will make this easier.

“001 is exhausted, Ma’am.”

“That is physical, inmate.  What are your feelings?”

“001 is scared, Ma’am.  Scared and lonely.  001 wants to leave.”

“How did you feel moving the bags?”

“001 didn’t like it, Ma’am.  001 felt like it had no purpose other than to make the inmate suffer.  001 just wants to go home.”

“Does the inmate feel like he deserves this?”

“No Ma’am, 001 didn’t do anything wrong.  001 doesn’t deserve this.”

I sit in silence for several seconds.  I immediately regret saying that.

“Inmate, the terms of your incarceration are as such that WE decide when you can leave.  From how things look now, you will be here a very… long… time.  Only when you comply to our will and submit to the punishment you deserve do you have any hope of release.”

I sniffle and begin to cry.

“I don’t like this…”

The camera beeps and the red light shuts off.  I hear the click of boots on the floor.  Hands grip my arms and force me to my feet.  They slam my chest onto a table; I feel a strong grip on the back of my neck pinning me down.  I don’t resist them.  My tears continue to flow.

A body forces my legs apart as far as the chains allow them.  I feel a torso press against my rear.

“You are a criminal.  You deserve to be here.  Say it.”  I sob.

“001 is a criminal.  001 deserves to be here.”

“You need this punishment.  You must comply.  Say it.”

“001 needs this punishment.  001 must comply.”

I sob in between words.  They terrify me.  A guard leans down, the mask stops inches from my face.  It is Mistress. 

“If you think this is a game, they have my permission to keep you here as long as it takes.”

She returns the gag to my mouth, pulling the straps tight and locking it in place.  I continue to cry.  I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m so sorry.

Minutes later I’m back in my cage for lights out.  My muscles ache all over; today was an extreme work out.  I don’t even try to sleep.  They will come for me soon.  I see three flashlights coming from across the room.  Anxiety is crushed by hopelessness.  I accept the inevitable. 

The flashlights find my eyes and blind me. 

“Look at our well-behaved little inmate.  He waited up just for us.”

The cage opens and I shuffle out to meet them.  The metal transport collar closes around my neck.  They lead me across the room back to the table where I was first processed and violated.  The ceiling light clicks on, illuminating the table. 

I glance over and notice their open coats.  Fear grips my heart.  My hands twitch behind my back.  I see them pass something back and forth.  A squirting sound, almost like a ketchup bottle.  Their coats part one after another, their hands rub, lubricating the strap-ons that are now in full view. 

I take a step back.  My collar chain is yanked tight, keeping me in place.  Dominique steps forward, rubbing her hand back and forth across a gigantic dildo that is covered in ribs and studs.   

“I have waited a very long time for this, little one.  No one can save you.”  She laughs her evil laugh as she twists the dildo back and forth.

Tabitha and Lauren each grab my arms and drag me to the table, slamming me down firmly on my chest.  

“Remove his gag.  This inmate has such a glorious scream.”

I feel the buckle release and the gag is ripped from my mouth.  I struggle in vain against their grip.  Someone save me. 

“Who’s ready for a train bang?!” shouts Dominique.

“Please don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Please don’t do this.  Please don’t do this!”

“Yes, little one!  Your fear is beautiful!”

I weep.  She pulls down my tights and I feel her lubed finger trace around my anus.  My sobs interrupt my words.

“Please stop.  Please don’t do this.  Please no.  Someone please save me.  Mistress!”

I continue to struggle.  I feel its knobby head press up against my flesh.  I wail. And sob.  My chest heaves, I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Stop stop stop stop.  No no no no no no.  Don’t rape me!”

Lauren’s voice booms out.

“Stop it!  Seriously Dom, what are we doing?”

“It’s our turn, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mean that, why are we doing this?”

“Because abusing power is fun?”

“What’s wrong with you?  Are you some kind of psychopath?  He’s been here a day and a half and already you’re going all Stanford prison experiment on him.” 

I feel the dildo back away from my flesh. 

“You’re really questioning this now, Lauren?  15 minutes ago you couldn’t contain your excitement.  ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to rape a boy’s ass’ were your exact words I believe.”

“Well I changed my mind.  He’s a human being.  He has rights and dignity.  This isn’t right.  Tell her, Tabitha.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Lauren on this one, Dom.  I wanted to do it too but to watch him screaming and crying like that I just can’t do it.”

“I swear.  Both of you are killjoys.  I hate getting cock-blocked.  I’m horny and all lubed up and ready to go.  Sammy and Gordon will have to suffice.  Care to join me, Tabitha?”

“Hell yes.”

They release their grip on me.  I breathe a sigh of relief.  Lauren saved me again.  My muscles relax but I feel a pain in my heart knowing that Mistress would allow this.  I lay on the table as their footsteps move away; Lauren’s hands stay on my arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Thank you, Miss Lauren.  You are very kind.”

“Are you cold?”  I nod.

“Follow me.”  Her voice is gentle and warm.  I feel myself drawn to her.  She is my savior. 

I rise slowly from the table and she leads me by the transport collar to a door on the side of the room.  The inside of the room surprises me as my eyes scan it from wall to wall.  A bed, a large television mounted on the wall, a desk with a computer, a recliner, a dresser, a mini-fridge, and a bookshelf are present.  The room is heated as well.  My brain’s sarcasm kicks up with thoughts of ‘this must be rough.’

“Do you want to lay with me?”

I nod while looking at the floor.  I feel sharp pangs of guilt, like I am betraying Mistress. 

“It’s okay, Cassandra gave me permission to do whatever I wished with you.”

Lauren is rather perceptive.  She can sense my hesitation and reads me accordingly.  I watch her lay on her side on the bed.  She pulls off her mask and throws it on the floor.  She smiles at me and pats the bed in front of her.  My nerves flash with uncertainty.  I swallow and climb onto the bed, tipping onto my side.  She slides up against my back; I feel the strap-on press against my rear.  She whispers in my ear.

“Spread your legs.  Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”  

 I part my thighs and feel the fake dong slide between them.  She doesn’t penetrate me and she remains gentle; I exhale in relief.  She wraps her arm around me and pulls me tight.  The warmth of her body calms me.  My breathing slows and I feel her breath on the back of my neck.  Her finger slides across my chest and finds my nipple through the front of the uniform.  She rubs it gently until it goes erect and then teases it between her fingers.  I let out a low moan and my sex strains against the belt.  Her perfume fills my nose; it is different than Mistress’s but very pleasant.  She slowly grinds her hips, moving the dildo back and forth between my thighs.  Her breathing tells me that it is a Reverb and this motion gives her pleasure.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Miss Lauren.  Anything.”

“Why aren’t you completely freaked out by now?  I had thought you were going to be a broken mess by now and aside from Dominique wanting to gang rape you, you seem to be taking everything in stride.”

“Well Miss Lauren, this is very hard, but it’s honestly not too different than my regular life.”

“Huh…”

Her response is what I picture as a common shock.  Her breathing shifts while she processes.  I feel like she is holding back a laugh and is probably smiling. 

“That is so crazy, I just can’t believe it.”

“There is one big difference, Miss Lauren.”

“Let me guess, Cassandra?”

I pause realizing that she understands more than I had thought.

“Yes, Miss Lauren.  Mistress frightens me in this state.  It makes me uncomfortable when she feels so distant.”

“You must really love her, huh?”

“Yes, Miss Lauren.  Mistress is the love of my life.  I would do anything for her.”

“I’m a little jealous.  Do you think I’ll ever meet someone that can love me that much?”

“Definitely, Miss Lauren.  You are pretty, I can tell you are very smart, and you are an angel.” 

She squeezes me tight and exhales slowly through her nose into the fur on my collar.

“Thank you.  Is it okay if I pretend that you are mine just for tonight?”

“Yes, Miss Lauren.  That would be lovely.”

She throws the top edge of her coat over me and curls her body against mine.  Her hips grind the Reverb back and forth in a longer and faster motion.  I gently squeeze my hips together, providing some ‘tightness’ for her.  I press my cuffed hands against her abdomen and rub.  She increases her pace, pumping it back and forth.  Her heavy breaths pelt my neck.  Her lower arm pushes over my shoulder and her palm presses against my chest as she continues her thrusts.  Her top hand continues to tease my nipples with pulls, pinches, and twists.

She moans loudly, her hips gyrating faster as she goes. I tighten my thighs and grind my hips against her thrusts.  She lets out a small cry of pleasure.  She pumps into me harder and harder. Her moans erupt with each panting breath.  I want her to cum.  I do my best to help, matching her motions and driving the inner portion of the dildo against her G-spot. 

She slams her hips against me several times with powerful thrusts.  She cries out as her body shakes against mine.  Pump, pump, pump, relax.  Her breathing slows against my neck. 

“I really did want to feel what it was like to be inside you,” she whispers with a giggle at the end.  Her arms squeeze me tight. 

“Thank you for allowing me the privilege of assisting in your pleasure, Miss Lauren.”

She rapidly exhales, making a small grinding sound from her throat while her arms hug me.  This feels nice.  Lauren warms up my body and my soul. 

END ACT