Fiction: fs01 - Part 44

Author’s Note:  This takes place the morning after Part 43.

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XLIV

I feel her breath on the back of my neck.  The warmth of her body graces me, her arms around me; I am the little spoon.  I close my eyes and soak in all that is her.  The hint of her perfume surrounds me, her sweet smell, familiar and gentle.  The faint whistle of the air as it enters her nose makes me blush.  She is cute without even trying to be.  This woman, my Mistress, the love of my life.  I cling to this moment in time and feel the wave of my love rush over me; this is dear to me… precious… 

She lets out a soft moan as her back arches slightly.  She rubs her feet together and slides them up and down the backs of my legs.  I feel her heat radiating from her sex, my hands secure behind me, so close to her, I long to touch her; I wouldn’t dare without permission. 

She takes a deep breath and her diaphragm expands forcing her breasts against my back.  The cool rush of air tickles the back of my ear as she delicately blows while she exhales.  A small sound leaves her mouth, something between a smirk and a sigh, she teases me.   The hairs of my body stand on end responding to her, I love her entirely, completely, the words of my heart resound so clearly.  She coos as her hands slide up my sides; her fingers quickly find my nipples.  She engages them gently and with a calm familiarity, they soon dance for her.  I exhale a small sound from between my teeth as my sex strains against its metal prison.

Her breathing changes again, I can tell she notices… and she must be smiling.  A vision of her face appears in my head, her loving eyes on display, the gentle posture of her lips, the curves of her cheeks.  I inhale deeply, basking in her sweet scent and the warmth of her heart.  Her hand moves up and caresses my cheek.  I tilt my head to meet her touch, this pleasure is a privilege, one that I deeply enjoy. 

I am hers.  Her pet.  Her lover.  I allow her to possess me and she thrives.  She owns me.  She keeps me.  She resides deeply within me.  She lowers her hands and squeezes me tight around the waist.  Her sex presses against my rear, the heat nearly scorching my skin.  I cannot imagine a feeling better than this.  My fingers graze her abdomen.  I feel the muscles contract beneath them as she exhales abruptly, I picture her grin. 

She raises her hand again, the fur cuff from her robe glides across my neck and cheek.  I plant a small kiss on her hand.  She presses her cheek against the base of my neck, the breath from her nostrils forces its way across my skin in rhythm.  I burn this moment into my mind.  I embrace these feelings.  This is the proof of my existence.  My love for her is all that I need. 

She breaks our silence in a voice barely above a whisper.

“My pet.  My pet.  You… are… mine.”

She grinds herself against me.  She hungers.  I know that soon I will taste her.  She stokes her own fire, the flames will rage out of control; she will exert the privileges of ownership.  A smile parts my lips.  My Mistress, my Queen, my Goddess.  Soon she will take me, use me, and dominate my soul.  If she is the Sun, I am the Moon, I meet her brilliance and compliment her with my gentle glow. 

I feel her nails drag across my skin.  She grinds.  She hungers.  My Mistress.  The love of my life. 

END ACT

An Uncomfortable Experience

Recalling some events I remember reading about on the defunct blog Forever Hers brought up a few memories that I have never written about.  In many ways I like to envision myself as being able to "roll with anything."  I am very aware that I do have limits to my capacity to handle certain things... things that press my limits too far... where the only options are to have them stop or be broken.

K started the trend of humiliating shopping trips.  F took them farther.  T is the one that pushed my feminization the farthest and that led to some of the more difficult and intense public experiences.  When I met T, my experiences with forced fem were somewhat incomplete.  F had occasionally dressed me in a bra and panties, or the typical fur ensemble with some sweaters and skirts.  T wanted to go all the way.  She wanted to dress me like a whore and take me with a strap on.

I have a very muscular build, so finding items isn't always the easiest.  After dabbling at some mild sex shops, T ended up asking an employee where less costume-based items were available locally and they mentioned a store that was "where the local strippers shop for their clothes."  It was a small independently owned store that catered almost exclusively to women which was a bit strange since we have a large CD/TG/TV population here.

We went there because she had a vision for what she wanted.  Mini/micro skirt, stockings and garters, boots, slutty tops, and so on and the other stores didn't really have their selection and this store had a lot of spandex which would still work with my build.  We chose a day that we both had off and went earlier in the day in order to avoid a large number of customers.  T drove and I experienced my usual amounts of high anxiety as we got closer.

Upon entering the store we were the only ones there except for the employee working the counter.  The shop had a lot of items that you don't find available at most online stores.  A huge variety of brands and things that aren't available in the majority of the local shops as well.  It was clear why it was so popular among their local client base.

T and I browsed together with me pretty much glued to her arm.  My face was bright red and I was pretty much unable to speak. She tested the employee with a few questions that implied the nature of our visit, such as if there were larger sizes available, what waist size items would stretch to, how large of size did their shoes go, and so on.  It became very clear that the salesgirl wanted no part in things.  She answered reluctantly but didn't elaborate on anything and her facial expression was one of disgust.

It was around now that I felt my chest become increasingly tight and the anxiety began to take its toll.  I started feeling light-headed.  I felt like I was going to pass out.  I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cry.  T continued to take her time and was a bit surprised at how agitated it made me.   She would pick out an item, hold it in front of my body like she was eyeing it up and how it would fit, and eventually she settled in on a few items.  We purchased them and I could not make eye contact with the salesgirl when we paid. 

Upon returning to the car I burst into tears.  T was quite confused by this.  I was a bit hysterical and unable to convey my thoughts clearly.  Later on when we talked about it I was still unable to grasp what pushed me over the edge in this case.  I threw up when we got home.  T felt guilty and I did my best to convince her that it was not her fault, I just had no clue how I would respond to the experience.  I think it was probably the attitude of the employee that made the experience unbearable for me.  To be fair, dragging her into our play isn't something she consented to and her attitude was understandable. 

We did manage to buy the skirt that became a key part of my "whore" outfit.  It had built in garters and its fit was such that it just barely covered my privates when standing in a natural position.  If I leaned in any way it left me completely exposed. 

T would later use these events as part of some verbal humiliation play, citing that "her disgust was how most women would feel about you if they knew your dirty little secrets."  This is a case where the fantasy aspects still turned me on but I knew the reality of it was horribly unpleasant. 

The Dominant Learning Curve

The comments from Lady Grey, Miss Lily, and others have been invaluable to me in attempting to understand the long-run evolution of sadism in a relationship.

It would be safe to say that all of my relationships were with Dommes that were somewhere "along the learning curve."  While I do believe that individuals will continue to evolve, change, and develop in their roles, I think it is different when the "end product" changes as opposed to people who have yet to experience the multitude of plateaus that will inevitably occur over time.  To put it simply, a veteran who has done nearly everything she has wanted to try is significantly different from a novice who has dabbled but yet to experience the bulk of their fantasies and interests.

I have only encountered a handful of Dommes that I would call a "finished product."  That is, they have an extremely strong sense of self and have enough experiences before their long-term loving relationship to have figured out exactly what fuels their Domspace.  I do not know if this is always the case, but a few of them had quite a bit of non-romantic D/s interaction before performing it in a loving long-term relationship.  These women are confident enough to have the "nope, doesn't do it for me" mentality towards activities and not because they do not understand the dynamics... they understand the dynamics just fine, it just isn't an interest.  This can occur due to a thorough understanding of the mental dynamics or from first-hand experience.

Less experienced Dommes are "works in progress."  They likely have fueled many ideas through fantasy but just have not had the experiences to clearly define their limits and boundaries.  Many ideas are intriguing, and assuming they can find something that taps into their Domspace, they are often wanting to try a lot of different things... to see what reaches them.  These are the Dommes that often start slow but then progress at a frightening rate.  In many cases, once they embrace the "lust for power" it becomes a major driving factor and occasionally the symbolism behind an activity will speak to them more strongly than the activity itself.  e.g. "It makes me feel more powerful" or "It reinforces the D/s dynamics".

My first-hand experiences have taught me that left unchecked, the work in progress Domme can often just keep on pushing... going further and further until things just "don't feel right anymore."  The scope and limits of their Dominance are often a result of hindsight rather than foresight.

In the blogging sphere, "Forever Hers" is a blog that comes to mind of this type.  I'm guessing only a handful of readers will remember them (and I certainly hope I am recalling the correct blog here).  It began as a male sub blog and within a few months both parties were blogging.  After about a year she was the only one blogging and I got the distinct impression that he wasn't allowed on the internet anymore.  Within a few more months we were getting stories of her taking him out in a pair of Daisy Dukes and sending him into the store with the assignment of buying Playgirl magazines.  My first impression was "what the hell?  Is this the same couple that was dipping toes into the water six months ago?"

Over time I've come to realize that my own experiences mirrored this.  If I try to picture the mind of F (or K or T to lesser extents) I picture something along these lines playing on a loop in her Domspace:
"Oh, you could handle that.  Now try this.  Oh, you could handle that.  Now try this."  Every push farther... every shove deeper... and it got her more and more aroused at the symbolism of what she was doing with me.  I was dragged along for the ride but managed to always adapt... and even come to crave this interplay.  I could only imagine what she would become... and as of the last time we spoke she had multiple subs serving her, they were all kept naked except for collars and cuffs, and all locked in long-term chastity with zero orgasm privileges.  She ruled over them with a whip.  Oh, you could handle that.  Now try this.

I'm really trying to wrap my mind around the contrasts and differences but a lot of things are becoming more clear.  If F had the opportunity and safety to experiment over the course of her life... instead of allowing 20 years of fantasy to fester and burn... would she have turned out differently?

I know that my own submissive response to her "loop" is something along the lines of: "Yes, I can handle that.  I love you even more.  Yes, I can handle that.  I love you even more."  It is quite frightening to know that is the pattern of my inner-workings.

I also hope that this makes more sense in regards to where things have gone in fs01.  In Arc 5 I started writing Cassandra as a "work in progress" and fs01 was getting dragged along for the ride knowing... Yes, I can handle that.  I love you even more. 

Random Thoughts on Wordpress

I've started trying to take advantage of Wordpress in order to have more blogs to read. I've noticed a few striking differences with the blogging community there as well as just the logistics of the platform.

The "Like" button is nice but not super.  While I would prefer to get replies to my comments and blog posts, a Like is better than feeling ignored.

There are a whole hell of a lot of European/Australian bloggers there.  It feels like the majority of them are.

There are a whole lot more poly blogs.  It feels like most of the Femdom blogs are poly.

People there don't split FLR and Femdom into separate entities like people try to do here.

The search tags are nice.  It doesn't just search your blog... you can search other blogs with those tags.

There is a mobile interface and mobile app for managing things.  e.g. The app has a reader mode that allows you to read, comment, and like blogs from within the interface without having to actually visit the site and get to the bottom of the post.  Also, you can post from a phone without it screwing up.

There is a "notifications" tab that lets you know when someone does anything to do with your stuff.  comments, likes, etc.

When someone follows you it sends you a notification and allows you to follow them back.

Blogs feel a lot less specialized.  e.g. "this is a chastity blog."  "this is a cuckold blog" "this is a sissy blog"  "this is an FLR blog" etc.  People seem to just blog... without really conforming to or advertising themselves as any one label... which seems very different from Blogger.  

The bad:

The way the reader interface displays it buries posts so easily and makes it difficult as hell to scroll through and find them.

Also the interface can be super clunky for navigating to the actual pages... instead of just loading them within the reader.

I made the mistake of flagging my blog as "mature," which basically means I will not show up in any type of search through their interface (tags, keywords, etc.). I wasn't aware as to how bad this was and that most bloggers never get reported or flagged for this.  I don't think this can be undone once done.  Apparently this is a bad idea and you just wait for someone to report you if it does happen. 



These are just a few observations in case anyone is looking at tinkering over there. 

FINALLY done with Part 43 (Potential spoilers, do not read until you have finished 43)

I finally wrote fs01 out of (the) prison (experiment).   Oh my God this was an undertaking.  A handful of real life issues and conflicts with T didn't help the process.  I've also noticed that at some point I became much worse at "passing time" in the story... and began writing in much greater detail.  These didn't help either.

To give some background to this, I wrote part 32 with a basic idea in mind for the arc.  This first idea  didn't end up inspiring me so I scrapped it and attempted something else.  I scrapped it and just sat there lost.  I tried another attempt... and scrapped it, feeling like it couldn't carry an entire arc without already having a lot of the ideas in place.

1. After Arc 5, Dominique invites Cassandra to visit a local secret Femdom Society type social group.
2. Do a very brief version of #1 and meet some new people.  One new contact is a college professor and asks to borrow fs for a class example on abnormal psychology and sexuality.
3. A vacation.

Some of these will probably turn up at some point... but probably in bonus chapter form. 

The prison experiment is actually a long-standing fantasy of mine.  Originally I had ideas for two stories: Arc 1 (Kimmy) and a "real" version of Arc 6.  Both of these were meant to be comics and mostly visual.  I ended up writing Arc 1 instead of Arc 6 and enjoyed it quite a bit. 

I already had many ideas for Arc 6 in mind so I set it up in the plot for Cassandra to reconnect with her former professor and volunteer fs for some graduate students prison experiment.  It started out smooth but the actual writing (instead of drawing) took its toll.  Did I really write a couple of thousand words on carrying sandbags out in the snow?  Really?

The original version of the fantasy was mostly fantasy.  The new prisoners were taken out as a chained/harnessed convoy and they would move blocks of ice... for like 6+ months.  

I tried to come up with something more reasonable in this story and came up with the sandbag idea and used a time frame that was based upon my asshole football coach's punishment when a few players dogged it during our wind sprints in 100 degree heat two-a-days.  We actually had to carry 80 lb. tackling bags in full pads/equipment 100 yards back and forth as fast as possible for several hours, denied water in the process.  I actually felt like the method I chose to write was almost "too easy." 

I had come up with several benchmarks for fs's emotional state that would trigger the next stage of the experiment.  Originally he was going to spend 5-7 days on bags with guards tormenting him and preventing him from meeting his quotas.  After the first chapter of this I decided to speed it up.  The stage 2 conditioning was originally going to be more elaborate and I brainstormed with a reader on what type of methods would work for this.  I ended up settling for something much more simple: sexual pleasure at submission, pain and trauma at any aggression towards women.  I cut this short because it was going to seem too brutal if I wrote it out over days and fs didn't even need the conditioning. 

My eventual idea was that Dominique would be the one perceptive enough to see fs's mental state and accelerate breaking him.  As screwed up as her character may seem at some times, I think she is always the least conflicted and most experienced character in the story.  This would make her easily see small personality cues that other people would miss while they deal with their own spiraling internal feelings.

In this Arc Cassandra is supposed to be in a state of flux, uncertain of herself and testing the limits of her sadistic side.  I didn't think I would surpass the expectations of my readers to such a great extent here.

Lauren's betrayal was part of the original fantasy.  She would act in a Lisa-type role and then put fs into his worst experience of the entire ordeal, ripping his emotions to shreds.

I left a lot of the details out during the project discussion that I had in the original fantasy idea.  That story was going to be about a guy that gets framed and railroaded by a corrupt judge, prosecutor, and public defender that get a kickback from the company running the prison.  His defense basically rolls over and tells him to take a plea deal or face a worse prison sentence in a worse prison.  Go to the new one and it's all women, no inmate on inmate rape, and you'll probably be out within a year.  Once there, I had planned to follow 3-5 prisoners but the main one would eventually fall in love with a guard who torments him and uses him sexually.  The other details of the prison were that all men who went there were forced to get a divorce. 

After completing three stages of rehabilitation they would be eligible for parole and the parole board would toy with them.  If they were paroled, that status would not be lifted until they managed to pay back their debt accumulation (the cost of their incarceration) and their chastity belts would remain locked on until they were "free."  To leave the prison they would need a woman to act as an overseer for them, either at a halfway house or by an individual (they would receive $ in exchange for being caregivers).  Those who were not chosen would work off their debt as prison employees.  If a woman chose to marry them it would clear their debt and she would determine when his parole period would end, granting him a release from chastity.  There were some story ideas for these scenarios as well. 

Now that I read this I realize just how screwed up some of my fantasies probably seem :)

I normally write these posts after the Arc is done... but in this place I just felt an immense amount of relief at being able to write some scenes that will speak to me more as the Arc winds down.  I use this story to live vicariously through fs01 and bring about the emotions I want to have... and unfortunately the bulk of this arc took me farther away from them rather than closer to them. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 43

Author’s note: This takes place following part 42.

I will apologize in advance if this chapter doesn’t flow very well.  It took me upwards of 20 sittings to complete it.  I will try to clean up any oddities with a future edit.

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XLIII

“It’s finally my turn, little one.  This set up really brings back memories.”

I feel the hairs on my neck stand on end.  She glides her hands over my buttocks.  Even with the moments we’ve shared she still terrifies me.

“I still haven’t forgotten, you know… I wasn’t able to break you.  What do you think that does to a woman like me?”

I feel her cup my balls in her hand.  My eyes widen and my breathing gets heavy.  She gives them a gentle squeeze and I moan.

“Are you still in there, fur?” She surprises me; Dominique has never called me fur before.

“Yes, Miss Dominique.”

“How much of you is left?” 

“Not enough, Miss Dominique.” 

I begin to cry.  She places her hand on my back. 

“Do you want to leave?”  I nod as the tears flow.

“What are you willing to go through?”

“Anything, Miss Dominique.”

“Are you absolutely, positively sure that you know what that means?”

“Yes, Miss Dominique.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, little one.”

I swallow, grasping her intentions.  I shut my eyes tight, fearing I may regret this.  I just gave her my consent to break me.  She slaps away my balls and lets out a cackle.  I wince and grunt.  I hear her pacing back and forth, her voice booms laughter that fills the room. 

She doesn’t even change the image on the wall.  Her part in the experiment is over.  I feel the metal clip bite into the skin on my cock.  I shriek as it digs into the skin.

“Yes!  That’s the sound.” 

Dominique’s laughs continue.  Another clip, this one on my scrotum.  I wail and thrash as it closes and the pain dominates my mind.  A clip bites my inner thigh.  My screams continue as I struggle in vain.  Another clip on the other thigh.  A clip at base of my penis.  I howl in agony while she increases the pace.  A clip bites into my cock just below the head followed by another on my scrotum.  My body spasms, unable to focus on anything but the pain. 

The number of clips continues to mount.  The skin on my crotch, the flesh below my buttocks, various points on the thighs, Dominique lines the clips up and continues adding more.  I can barely keep the breath in me.  My throat is hoarse and raw but I can’t stop my panged cries. 

“Yes, little one, you have me so wet.”

She smears her fingers on my mask under my nose.  Her scent sends panic through my limbs.  My body remembers.  The clips continue finding her favorite spots… the places that bring pain.  The clips surround my nipples, biting the skin through my uniform.  She saves the nipple tips for last.  The clip closes on the first nipple.  I throw my head back and a primal cry leaves my mouth.  I have no reason left in my brain, just please make it stop.  The other nipple leaves my entire body thrashing and twitching. 

Dominique laughs and wipes a fresh smudge of juice under my nose. 

“Little one, your screams are glorious.”

I grow weak as I fight to stay conscious.  Her laughs change to moans as I hear the sound of rubbing and friction. 

“Just one more, little one.  Stick out your tongue.”

I obey without a second thought as I flail helpless and in agony.  The metal bites into my tongue giving it a painful throb as it digs in.

“How silly of me, this was supposed to happen first.”

I feel the cold hard plastic part my ass cheeks.  I shut my eyes and emit a squealed scream that barely resembles human.  The clip on my tongue blocks me from forming words.  I’m still sore from their gang rape.  I feel her violate me.  She cackles and shoves it deep inside.  I feel it twist and it begins to vibrate; it hurts. 

My mind blanks as pain ripples through my body.  The agonizing throbs, the stings of the clips, all I know is suffering.  My body drips with sweat as my sounds are reduced to animalistic groans and whimpers.  I feel my joints weaken and a teeter and shake before slumping limp in the wooden frame.

“Oh little one, did you think I would let you escape that easily?”  She laughs and refreshes her scent on my mask. 

Smack smack.  The strap lands in quick succession stinging each butt cheek.  I cry out and recoil under the blows.  Smack smack.  I wail and shriek, flailing in my restrained state. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, little one.  How ever do you expect to last… 37 more minutes if this little warm-up makes you cry?  I do love that you so willingly sing my favorite soundtrack, you know how it puts me in the mood.”

She lays down a continuous rain of blows across my body with the strap.  Conscious thought leaves my mind, while a flow of pain takes its place.  I merely exist and suffer.  Smack smack. Smack smack.  Her laughs fill the room above my cries; she pauses only to refresh her scent on my face. 

I lose all sense of time.  Eventually my cries cease and my body hangs limp.  My breathing slows.  I feel the light slip away. 

My eyes jolt open.  Disorientation briefly outweighs the throbbing pain.  The burn of the smelling salts in my nose briefly overwhelms the scent of Dominique’s sex.  I clench my teeth as the stings and throbbing of my entire body pulses through my nerves and overwhelms my brain.  The vibrator is gone but the clips remain in place.

Mistress stands in front of me.  She reaches out and removes the clip from my tongue. 

“I don’t remember anyone giving you permission to sleep, inmate.”

She drags her glove across my cheek.  I raise my head and glance up, hoping to see a sign of life… a sign of warmth.  My bloodshot eyes reflect back at me from the lenses of her goggles.  A slap to my cheek crushes all hope.

“I honestly think this conditioning process is a waste of time on an inmate such as yourself.  I can see that lust in your eyes.  It’s disgusting.  I’ll bet you get an erection doing the dishes.  That’s the sign of a nasty, submissive slut.”

I shut my eyes as her words poke and prod my heart.  I somehow manage to ‘quiet’ the pain of the clips a little bit.

“I really do think I’ll skip the slide show and take a page from Dominique’s book.  I learned last night just how wet it makes me to hear you scream, plead, and beg.  I don’t think Dom would forgive me if I beat you until you were broken before her next go at you.  I’ll bet you didn’t know that with a little knowledge of pressure points, nerve centers, and trigger points, it’s rather simple to deliver excruciating amounts of pain without causing serious physical damage.  With the amount of physical labor you have performed over the past few days, I’m guessing your body will give me everything I need.”

My body tenses a bit in fear.  This is something entirely new to me… a secret she has kept hidden.  She caresses my cheek with her hand and I rub my face against its touch.  Her mask hides her expression.  From the corner of my eye I watch as her other hand retrieves the baton from her belt.  I shut my eyes tight and brace my body.  She glides her palm along my torso, gently massaging the muscles in small circles. 

Mistress stops and lets out a small laugh.  I feel the baton dig into my side just below my armpit.  The pressure isn’t much but the nerves ignite into blinding pain.  I shriek and shift my body against the stocks in a futile attempt to lessen the pain.  She presses harder and moves it from side to side.  I scream and wail as tears fill my eyes and sweat forms on my skin.  I feel my muscles waver and my body sways under its own weight.  She continues the pressure and abruptly stops. 

My breathing heaves as I whimper quietly.  The sound of her rubbing, the friction of the leather, she moans softly, taking pleasure in my agony. 

“I think I could do this all day, inmate.  The pain is rather exquisite, isn’t it?  The body has dozens of points that hurt just as much.  If you’re lucky I can teach you all of them.”

She laughs again as she continues to pleasure herself.  My tears flow; I don’t even recognize this woman.  I sniffle as she moves around to the other side of the pillory.  She slides her palm around, repeating the earlier process.  The baton digs in.  My brain spikes, completely consumed with pain.  I wail and shake as she moves the pressure around; I feel like I’m going to die.  She releases the pressure and my body slumps within the wooden frame, a low groan emanates from my lungs.  My throat is raw and hoarse and I slowly regain my bearings.

“I don’t know how you expect to last another 40 minutes, inmate.  Obviously we haven’t toughened you up enough yet.  Remember that this is for your own benefit.”

Her laugh that follows is wicked… demonic… terrifying.

“I’ll make you a deal, inmate.  If your delicious screams can make me cum before the time is up, I’ll let you rest.” 

My brain surrenders without resistance.  I am alone… isolated… helpless.  I lose all concept of time.  Mistress continues to alternate sides; the agonizing pain keeps off-balance and me desperate.  Eventually a miracle happens.  I feel the muscles beneath the baton spasm and release.  She continues to dig around but my body slowly ceases to react and my screams curtail. 

Mistress works the other side and eventually ends with the same result.  I’m too exhausted to scream, my body reduces itself to twitches and animalistic groans.  She moves her work to my inner thigh.  I can’t even open my eyes.  By the end I slump completely limp while drool dribbles off my chin.  I want to go away.

They dump me back in my cell with my hands cuffed behind me.  I lean against the sidewall, my body motionless, my thoughts are empty.  Lunch comes and goes; I do not move nor eat.  They drag me to my feet for headcount.  I feel empty… like there is nothing left in me. 

The afternoon session follows and the cycle repeats itself.  Lauren and Tabitha continue with their image conditioning; Dominique and Mistress continue to inflict pain.  My reactions dull with each session.  I do not eat at dinner; my stomach growls but my spirit lacks the will to move. 

They transport me to the interview room after the evening headcount.  I sit on the stool, blinded by the lights and stare into the camera lens; my eyes fixate on the blinking red light. 

“Inmate 001, how do you feel?”

I sit in silence, burying the emotions deep within me.  I do not allow myself to feel anything.

“Inmate, answer the question or you’ll be punished.”

I clench my fists.  I feel my chest heave as my body throbs in reaction to today’s sessions.   I force myself to feel nothing.

“Inmate, you have five seconds to answer.” 

I shut my eyes and press my palms to my head.  My body rocks back and forth.  I hear the batons slide from their leather holsters.  I hear them tapping against the leather of their gloves.  My chest tightens and I feel my insides welling up. 

“Tune him up.”

I hear their footsteps on the floor.  I clench my hands into fists against my head.  My face contorts as the dam in my heart breaks, spilling forth the emotions I battled to keep at bay.  Tears fill my eyes and I scream.

My words spill out frantically.  Panic, fear, and pain fly forth.

“Mistress, where are you?  Mistress, your pet is here.  Your pet is here waiting for you.  Mistress, please come and take your pet away.”

I shriek and sob without restraint.  My hands pound against my head.  I feel broken.

“Mistress, your pet is lost.  Take your pet away.  Please, Mistress, your pet loves you.  Where are you?”

The footsteps stop in their tracks.  Her voice booms above me.

“This experiment is over.”

I feel her arms close around me.  She pulls my head against her chest and pets it gently with her palm.  I sob and take in her familiar scent.  I hear the mask hit the floor and I open my eyes.  She looks down at me, our eyes meet; a warm smile.  Her eyes twinkle with moisture.  She’s beautiful. 

“I’m here, pet.  You’re okay.  Let’s go home.  I’m so proud of you.”

“Your pet loves you, Mistress.  Your pet loves you so much.”

“I love you, too, pet.”

END ACT

A Sea of Thoughts: D-Bags in Fetish Communities

I'm trying to find a way to write this without it coming off as an all out rant.  I'm guessing the people I am frustrated with probably won't ever read these words but here goes.

I'm currently watching a few fetish communities I am a part of go through some difficulties because of a demographic that has been a problem for as long as I can remember in any and every type of fetish community that I have ever been a part of.  The problem revolves around men that harass women.

Not every medium of social interaction is a place for finding a date or partner.  A random woman that a man approaches is not responsible for providing masturbation material for that man.  If she isn't posting in the personal ads, assume she is not interested.  Don't be creepy.  I don't understand why it is so common for men to bury their head deeply in their ass and forget about any type of courtesy, manners, and appropriate behavior whem confronted with kink or fetish.  This is ugly and reinforces awful stereotypes and stigmas.

Logic gets so ass-backwards that it's like people don't even realize that they have no chance in hell of impressing a woman in this way.  It will push her away. If whatever you are doing would get a drink thrown in your face in a bar, why would it work on the internet?   I just don't get it.

Driving away the thing you want the most is just stupid.  Making women so uncomfortable they want nothing to do with the community is just stupid.  Internet communities shouldn't have to be police states to be successful.

End rant.

Summer?

It seems a bit odd this year in that the entire internet feels like it has slowed way down in the past few weeks.  I know that summer often means more time outdoors, vacations,  and less time on the computer but I am surprised at the huge decline in blog posts and comments happening almost everywhere.

I guess it just feels a bit strange.  I have fallen into a rut with writing mostly due to some life stuff but it is odd to me that reader traffic is only down by ~20-30% but it feels like blog posts, comments, and forum posts are down by more like 75%.

Am I wrong or does this seem to be the case?
It never felt this severe to me before.

I should have Part 43 done by Sunday.  I will make the time and hopefully be able to find the mindset by then as well.

A Sea of Thoughts: Loving Submission (submission with love)

EDIT: I changed this post title to include a Sea of Thoughts... I had intended to write this in a more organized way but after I let my thoughts spiral... it sort of just went all over.

After spending a lot of time writing about some of the more extreme D/s mental dynamics I figure it's a good time to get back to more realistic and general assessments of my submission.

I tend to always look at my own submission through the eyes of love.  I don't want to submit to just anyone, I want to submit to the one I love.  While on occasion I may have played or been trained by someone I was not in love with, that felt more like "just sex".  The deep emotional bonds and connections weren't present, nor was the emotional and internal reward.

Loving submission is a complicated and ever-evolving idea.  While fetishes may come into play, the act of surrender is a deeper symbol.  To love with the entirety of your being.  To give with your all.  To allow for ultimate vulnerability and hide nothing from her eyes, mind, or heart.  This is not a cowardly act.  To submit through love is not a simple action without thought, it is not giving up control to be a drone.  To submit through love is not a sacrifice or a compromise, it is a focus, a priority, a goal, and a way of thinking.

Lifestyle submission requires ultimate flexibility and adaptability for a sub.  Can you be exactly what she needs at any given time?  Do you know the right words to make her smile when she is feeling down?  Can you sense when she needs a warm embrace?  Can you be a man she is interested when she wants to enjoy the company of her companion?  Many of these are vanilla acts that that are a part of a woman's long-term happiness.  Being able to balance the feelings of a man with the feelings of a sub are a part of the life.

Much of loving submission is the ability to act.  It is common for people to think that submission is mostly reaction.  While there are times that reaction and obedience are important, impressing her with the man that you are goes beyond being a remote control toy.  That is not to say that obedience doesn't have its value but to be worthy of her (or as close to worthy as possible) requires giving more than the minimum.  An animal can be obedient. While we are not necessarily supposed to understand her dominance, I believe she does want us to understand her as a woman.  Our acts, words, and our minds behind them show her that we can be truly in tune with her without the need for her to constantly bark orders.

Action involves thought.  Through loving submission these thoughts flow naturally. Some of these thoughts try to touch her deeply.  What would make her happy?  What would make her smile?  What would make her feel loved?  What would warm her heart?  Other thoughts are more momentary.  It is hot outside, maybe she would like a cool drink.  It is cold outside, I should warm up a towel and her bath robe in the dryer so that she is comfortable when she gets out of the shower.  If traffic/work is bad, maybe I should cook her favorite meal for dinner and hope that it makes her smile.  I believe that simple gestures like these can say a lot about our mindset when they are unsolicited and motivated purely out of our love and concern for her comfort and happiness.  I want these thoughts in my mind all the time. 

It is common for the benefits of submission to reflect the idea of "meeting her needs."  I agree with this basic expectation.  I do not agree that a sub's mind should stop there.  I am not content with merely meeting her needs; I wish to exceed them.  I long to meet her dreams.  To be more than she requires... to surpass what she could even imagine asking for.  That is the depth of the love I desire to display through submission.

I would love to lie and say that I can maintain this perfectly all the time.  I am not perfect, far from it.  These are the ideas and ideals I aspire to be.  The more they exist in my mind and in my heart the closer I can be to reaching them.  Ultimately flexible.  Ultimately complimenting.  To be her perfect fit... perfect match... at any time.  I want to touch her heart so deeply that she cannot picture life without me... just as I cannot picture life without her. 

It is not an easy task.  Can I be her knight when she needs protecting?  Can I be her lover when she needs tenderness?  Can I be her plaything when her fire burns inside her?  Can I be her servant to free her from the stress of the mundane?  Can I be her confidant when she needs an ear?  Can I be her escort when she wants to have fun?  Can I be her jester when she wants to laugh?  Can I be her shoulder when she needs to cry?  Can I be her pillar when she needs my strength?

To answer yes to all these questions... and any more that may exist, I must never stop aspiring to be more.  This is my loving submission.  This is how my heart yearns for the one I love.