Saturday, August 6, 2016

Fiction: fs01 - Part 47

Author’s Note:  This take’s place sometime after Part 46. 

Changed to Arc 7, Part 47.  Originally posted as Arc 6 Bonus Chapter - Wine II.
Start of Arc 7.


I kneel in the room and fidget.  Mistress is out with the Domme group at the BDSM club tonight.  She left me at home as I was behind on my chores this week after being ordered to wash the inside of all of the windows in addition to my normal duties.  I finished up an hour ago and now I wait for her return.

I anticipate she will arrive, a little tipsy from the booze and probably in the mood to play.  My pulse quickens at the thought.  I try to calm myself but my nerves awaken, the anticipation overpowers my attempts at self-control.  My face grows warm and I feel my heart, my Mistress will be home soon.

She gave me permission to watch an episode or two of the show we are watching but that is the furthest thing from my mind.  I'm anxious.  She will let me taste her and take from me everything that I offer.  I long for her touch.

The door swings open and slams against its stopper.  My body springs to its feet on pure reflex.  The door swings shut with a thud.  I move as quickly as I can, following the sounds of clumsy movement.  I approach the entry and my eyes react.  Mistress's back is to me.  A blonde stands against the wall, held in place by Mistress.  Their legs intertwine, hands groping.  Wet kisses across her face and neck.  Their bodies writhe together.  Moans from hungry lips, they twist and turn in a glorious mess.

The blonde's eyes spot me and go wide open.  She clears her throat.  Mistress's neck arches back but she doesn't look in my direction.  She calls out in a fervor, her words staccato between kisses and gasps.

"slave... wine... bottle... bedroom."

I watch as she takes the blonde by the wrist and pulls her up the stairs.  I feel my heart twinge.  Mistress is enjoying herself; I can't help but wish that it was with me.  I shake the thoughts from my head although disappointment creeps into my heart.  I retreat the the kitchen and fetch the silver tray, glasses, and a bottle of wine.  I polish each glass to a shine and carefully remove the cork from the bottle.  I place them each on the tray and make my way to Mistress's bedroom.

I enter her room quietly.  A mess of clothes lay in heaps on the floor.  The smell of sex, alcohol, and perfume fills the room.  As the bed comes into view I see them.  Mistress wears her red robe over her club outfit is on her knees on the bed.  The blonde lays on her back, the purple guest robe falls open displaying her naked form.  A sea of hands, hair falls back and forth, their eyes locked on each other, their mouths stay open through the moans and barrage of kisses.

I move to the dresser and carefully pour the wine.  I raise the tray and park myself several feet from the bed.  I glue my eyes to a point on the floor.  This is not for me to see.  Mistress knows this and it is part of the torture.  The sound of the bed and friction grow louder.  Gasps for air mix with kisses, moans become cries. I feel my sex strain against the belt.  I swallow hard and grip the tray more tightly.  I feel my face blush... the guilt of my desire to watch. 

The sounds cue me in, I've been present at enough orgasms to know when one occurs.  I know that it wasn't Mistress.  I hear the bed creak and pressure against the tray.  I glance up and see Mistress holding both glasses of wine.  Her face is flushed, her lipstick is a mess, her hair is all over the place... and she looks radiant.  Our eyes meet.  She smirks.  Disappointment washes over my face.  She can't contain her smile as she shakes her head. 

I watch her slide onto the bed with care and pass one glass to the blonde.  My eyes pan to the right to this new woman.  She quickly pulls her robe around her and cinches at the waist. 

"There's no need to be shy, he's very well-trained."
"So is this your slave you were telling me about?"
"Yes, it is dear.  slave, say hello to Barbie."
"I told you to stop calling me Barbie.  It's Bar-bar-a."
"Would you prefer Babs?"  The blonde exhales, sounding defeated.
"Fuck, Barbie is fine."

I lower my eyes and take a step forward.  My voice is small.
"It's nice to meet you, Miss Barbie."

Barbie doesn't respond, she turns to Mistress.
"I thought your slave was going to be another girl."
"I don't think I implied anything of that sort.  Besides, the slave is chaste and I can assure you I have no intention of unlocking him.  If he's involved in any type of sex I can assure you it will be a strap-on up his ass."

I squeeze the tray's handles tight as my body stiffens.  I feel a pit form in my chest.  Mistress pauses long enough to watch my expression change.

"I'm certain that he's absolutely terrified of you, Barbie.  If you want I can tell you about what my last sub did to him."

I take a cautious step back.  Barbie giggles. 
"Is this your first time seeing a sissy up close?"
"That outfit is terrible."
"What if I had a duplicate made for you?"
"Uh-uh, no way.  Fuck that." 

They enjoy a laugh together.  I wish I was invisible.

"So does he do anything you tell him to?"
"Of course.  He'll also do anything that YOU tell him to."
"Hah.  I don't believe you."
"Give it a try."
"slave, stand on one leg."

I lift my left leg and cautiously balance on my right.  I teeter back and forth, trying my best to keep the tray from tipping.  Mistress steps in.

"put your leg down, slave.  I don't want you spilling wine on the carpet." 
"Can I touch him?"
"Can he touch me?"
"Only if you want him to.  We can lock his hands behind his back if you would prefer."
"Of course." 

Mistress chugs her wine.  I approach her and she places the empty glass on the tray.  Barbie does the same. 

"slave, put the tray on the dresser and bring a lock."
"Yes, Mistress."

I do as I'm instructed, returning to her with a medium sized padlock.  I place the lock in her hands and turn away, placing my hands behind my back.  I feel tension on the bondage rings, pulling my wrists even tighter and a click.  She swats my rear.  I respond with a light grunt.

A hand on my shoulder turns me.  Barbie faces me.  She appears to be slightly younger than Mistress, she is attractive with prominent cheekbones and plenty of curves.  I feel her hand press against the front plate of my belt.  A smirk forms across her lips. 

"So I can tease him and he won't be able to get hard or cum?"
"Have at it, he just loves to be driven insane with desire and sexual frustration and he never gets to cum, isn't that right, slave?"

I nod.  The presence of this stranger brings a shame I haven't felt in a while.  Barbie glides her hands over my uniform, feeling out every contour and bondage ring she can find.  Her fingers glide through the fur collar.  Small moans and quiet laughs flow from her mouth as she exhales.  Her finger twists my nipple.  My body stiffens and my mouth falls open. 

She grabs the ring on my collar and plunges her tongue into my mouth with a long, wet kiss.  I feel my chest heave as my pulse rises.  My penis attempts an erection that is quickly blocked.  Barbie's lips leave mine.  Our eyes meet and a wicked grin parts her lips showing her white teeth as her tongue piercing clacks against them.

Barbie presses herself against me.  I can feel her breasts against my torso and the heat of her breath on my cheek. 
"I'll bet you'd just love to be a part of this, wouldn't you?" she whispers to me in a breathy tone.

I swallow, unable to respond.  Her eyes pierce me, seduce me, I feel myself slipping away with lust. My eyes do not hide my feelings.  She extends her tongue and licks my cheek.  I hear Mistress emit a low moan from the bed. 

Barbie's face quivers.  Her eyes close.  She bends at the waist and a violent laugh erupts from within.  My face burns red with embarrassment.  I am truly stupid when confronted by a woman.  She regains her composure enough to turn toward Mistress.

"I think I'd rather just be with you, Cass."
"That's fine, doll, I can send him to bed.  Do you want him in the cage in the basement or in here?"
"Up here is good, he might be useful later.  But I don't want him to watch.  The thought of him hearing us when he wants to take part so badly... is kind of hot."

Mistress lets out a hearty laugh before shuffling forward on the bed.  She strolls gracefully to the dresser and retrieves my blindfold and gag.  Mistress stands before me. 

"Make sure you thank Barbie for giving you such special attention, slave."
I turn and bow my head to her.
"Thank you Miss Barbie for teasing me."

As I rise Mistress grabs the ring on my collar and pulls me close.  She presses her mouth over mine and plunges her tongue deep into my mouth.  Her perfume fills my nose and I moan as my sex strains against the metal tube.  After several seconds she bites my lip and abruptly pulls away.  The gag and blindfold follow, securely locked into place.  Her voice whispers to me.
"I will have to punish you for getting turned on so easily by another woman."  The hairs on my neck stand up in response to her words.

She guides me in the direction of the cage.  As she stops I drop to my knees, lower my head and shuffle forward.  I feel her foot on my rear and she gives me a shove.  I sprawl forward, my face pressing against the bars.  I hear the gate close and the lock click. 

I slump to my side in an attempt to get comfortable.  The sounds of sex soon drown out my breathing. The flesh on flesh... moans and gasps... the friction of hands... the torture is glorious.  My heart warms with thoughts of Mistress.  She knows this was my fantasy.  She did this for me.  I love her.  My Queen.  My Goddess.  My Mistress. 


Evaluating the Demise of Femdom Blogging

I'm not going to say that Femdom blogging is dead.  It has fallen off in the past couple of years.  Most of the blogs I followed regularly have either been deleted, haven't been updated in 3+ years, or switched to private when google sent out their censorship warning earlier in the year (that was later reversed). 

In years past I remembered there being a (somewhat) active community where about 20 bloggers were regularly visible in their comments on other blogs.  A handful of bloggers tend to keep up heavily on newer blogs and by searching their "blogs I follow" lists it was easy to track down the newer writers.  So what exactly happened? 

The primary answer is a really easy one.  More Domme-authored Femdom blogs have shut down or gone dark than new Domme-authored Femdom blogs have been created.  This conclusion is slightly less impressive than discovering the polio vaccine and ranks up there with "traffic jams occur because there are too many cars on the road at the same time."

Aside from this obvious observation, I feel this is part of a wave of happenings that when taken in conjunction with one another, have added up to a fracturing of the F/m blogging scene as a whole.

Another major obvious deduction is the change in the internet as a whole.  Instant-gratification social media has taken over.  The popular online networking sites have become behemoths.  Blogging is just less popular now.  People do a lot of questionable things under their real names.  Yahoo got rid of their member profiles and want you to input your real phone number so that people can find you. 

I will never post any of this stuff under my real name.  I feel okay sharing things because no one will know who I am unless I specifically tell them.  I have specific accounts set up to do all of my kink-related activities.  Multiple accounts.  Route everything under your real name with Google+.  Input your phone number and picture into Yahoo.  Let's force you to create duplicate profiles for the majority of social media which then must be logged in and out of every time you want to switch over.  How about you just shove a needle in my dick so that I can have a major pain because that's what it feels like.  I don't know too many people that enjoy having to shuffle around their accounts to keep up on their kink, especially when more people spend time on smart phones and tablets than on PC's.   How fun does it sound to have a different facebook, twitter, tumblr, etc. account for every version of your online persona?  It sucks.  Some people have the balls to be their kink selves on their public profiles.  Some people will be unable to get a job at the place they want to work because of it. 

Going back to the others.  Fetlife is a behemoth.  I believe there's one major chastity site going.  Each major fetish probably has some site that acts as the primary hub and turns it into an impersonal zoo where being an asshole is the standard method of interaction.  So... when you combine the change in the net making it harder to easily interact in the way you choose to, the centralized hub form of interaction, and fewer blogs, there are just less people interacting on blogs. 

There's really not much that can be done about this except to remind people as to how easy it is to create an email address and load it into your smart phone.  You can filter it or download another app to monitor that so it stays separate from your standard email.  Hell, you can even create a blogger account so that you aren't commenting as anonymous.  Subscribe by mail to blogs, boom.  You can see it all without having to keep checking back.

This next factor is an odd one as it hits on several fronts.  People are voluntarily splitting up the F/m scene in ways that I have never seen before.  In a lot of ways this reminds me of why liberalism often gets defeated by conservatism. The F/m community is fractured.  We are split.  You aren't like me.  You're into ____?  Fuck that, stay away from me.  I'm more normal than you are.  I'm only into _____, which yes, is definitely more normal than someone who likes _____. 

No one really says this up front but among male sub bloggers it has always felt this way.  Now it seems to be even worse than I ever remember it.  MKINYK (my kink is not your kink) is fine, but at least admit that it's a kink, if not, I'll think you are full of shit.  M/f blogging doesn't split like this.  They don't want to separate themselves from others.  I don't really get it. 

F/m sub bloggers have generally fallen into something along these categories:
-Lifestyle theorists.
-Chastity enthusiasts.
-I'm submissive and my wife is not.
-Caption Pictures.  
-Anyone I missed.

To be honest, there isn't a lot of sub to sub interaction.  If it was, it was "hey, your blog title and username are very similar to my blog title and username, let's be friends."  The difference was that a ton of us would assemble at many of the popular Domme-authored blogs.  That is where we would see each other, learn about each other's blogs, and sometimes get some cross-following going. 

Many people who associate with the term FLR have seemingly wanted to separate themselves from everyone else.  Look Ma, Femdom without the amazing and kinky sex!  My first impression is WTF?  My second impression is "why are they following all of these F/m and M/f domestic discipline blogs that are always loaded with pictures?"  My third impression is, "ah, they just want to feel like they aren't a sexual deviant."  Years ago I followed a lot of blogs that associated with FLR but the new breed I have completely pulled away from.  Once I detect one ounce of hostility from them I just leave and stop following because I'm too damn old to get pissed off by what someone else wrote on the internet.  I've resorted to leaving comments under anonymous on blogs where I may face off with them, emailing the authors directly with my comments, or just not leaving comments at all. 

While people can choose to disassociate with the community that is fine but once they start to fuck up my experience I pull away.  I can't be the only one that feels this way and if there are others that share my sentiments it is indeed "part of the problem."

To be honest though, there has always been extremely limited sub to sub interaction on F/m blogs.  I think it's that most male subs want to interact with Dommes and not with other subs.  It's kind of a shame that so many do not want to learn from each other unless they already have identical tastes in kinks.  You learn the most from people that are different and don't hold exactly the same views.

The last factor... laziness.  It's easy to shut down when you feel like no one gives a shit if you are writing.  It feels sort of fucked up when you get MORE RESPONSE from posting something highly disagreeable.  e.g. If I made a post and said "ALL SUBS ARE WANKERS," I would probably get more comments than I have ever received before from people claiming I am wrong.  I don't know why it's so easy for people to get fired up to disagree but so difficult to get them fired up to agree. 

To anyone that thinks that leaving the comment: "hey, I like this," seems like a waste and isn't productive, you are very very very wrong.  That can be done in 10 seconds on your phone while taking a piss at work but it does a LOT to fuel a blog author.  Simply knowing that there are readers out there reading and liking what we write... is very motivating.  Blogger blogs have a very good mobile version that is probably even easier to navigate than the actual web-version (the same can't be said for the back end interface).  If you don't want to have Femdom shit in your browser history, download Mercury or Chrome or Opera in addition to your primary browser and fire up an anonymous window or set a password for it. 

Keep in mind I'm not begging people to comment here, it's just in the community as a whole.  Support the authors you like to read.  They are doing this by choice.  They are doing this for free.  Let them know you care. 

Now that I've started reading M/f sub blogs... you'll visit one of those and the post is a picture of a unicorn crapping a rainbow out of its ass and it has 35 comments.  I can't say anything negative about it because I'm fucking jealous. 

Friday, August 5, 2016

Balancing the alpha and the sub

I have been thinking about the balance between my alpha and sub.  It probably appears that I spend a lot of time in submissive head space but in actuality, aside from my writing and a few brief periods of privacy I am stuck in my alpha mode the majority if the time.

It is an interesting feeling for me to desire to bury the alpha side of myself so deeply.  It is the fun part of me, the one that makes (vanilla) people interested in talking to me.  It's where I'm funny and occasionally a little bit crazy.  That space is where my hobbies reside.

Some comments from Misty on my broken post helped me put a few things into perspective.  It's not that I don't value my alpha side.  It has the potential for a lot of good, it is strong, it is fiercely loyal and protective of the ones I care about.  I think it's that my alpha was born out of factors that were beyond my control... it became my default face for survival... coping... my learned way to exist spawned from years of wanting to die. 

I think it is that I hate that it was necessary.  I hate that I was so love-starved for many years that I had to be strong enough to live without it.  I hate that people hurt me so deeply that I had to be able to tell them "fuck you" directly to their face.  I can only imagine what I might have become if I didn't have to waste so much energy on simply surviving a miserable existence. 

If I could be in submissive mode 24-7 I would love that.  I could let all of the "interesting" parts of my personality go with ease, but I also know that its absence isn't the best version of myself.  There are dozens of things that my alpha can do but my sub cannot. 

If it was gone I could no longer teach others (I do this quite a bit outside of my blog).  If it was gone I could not rise up in the face of adversity when the chips are down.  If it was gone I could not be the protector or the "fun" in her life.  In those ways I should probably value it more.

Maybe it's that I spent so many years being invulnerable that it took much greater effort... more courage... more strength to be vulnerable.  I've never been one to value the things that came easily, I always preferred the reward of becoming good at something that I was originally bad at. 

These thoughts are just more pieces to the puzzle that I am slowly putting together.  At the end of this journey I might even feel like a whole person. 

My Need to Write

Today I am realizing just how badly I need to write in order to maintain my emotional balance.  When I write regularly it keeps me from being overwhelmed by the aching and longing.  When I take a day off I really start to feel things build up. 

I'm not really sure why this happens, but I believe much of it has to do with how it forces me to think.  I try (not always successfully) to make sure I have something worth saying.  I think it ends up being both cathartic and a boost to my self-confidence. 

Part of why I get so frustrated with the blogger feed lag is that it has become part of my daily routine to wake up and read and respond to comments.  It fuels my day.  When it doesn't update in a timely manner, e.g. I post at 11pm and it goes live at 10am, I miss out on my morning crew.  I miss out on waking up to comments and having to stimulate my mind right out of the gate. It feels good and I feel the support of many people in that way.

On another note, if you enjoy Lady Grey's blog as much as I do please make sure to leave some comments on her Vacation posts (or other posts).  Those didn't receive nearly the response they should have gotten. 

Thursday, August 4, 2016

A Quick Fiction D/s Fantasy: Breakfast

So here's a little fiction I wrote for someone yesterday to try to illustrate the power of D/s dynamics and how they can turn an ordinary every day activity into something erotic.  I specifically left out any references to the sub's arousal, so as you read feel free to insert them in your mind if you have them.


I wake early.  She still sleeps soundly. This is our routine.  I slide quietly from the bed, careful not to disturb her.  I’m naked, as she likes me, wearing only the leather collar, wrist, and ankle cuffs that mark me as hers.  They remind me of my place.

I steal one last glance of her peaceful form from the doorway.  It makes me smile.  Downstairs I prepare her breakfast.  Two eggs crafted into an omelet.  Two strips of bacon fried to a crisp.  A slice of wheat toast with butter and jam.  A small bowl of berries and sliced melon.   Orange juice.  A fresh pot of coffee.

I pour some coffee into a mug and carefully mix in 1 cream and 2 sugars.    I set it out to cool.  The temperature is crucial.  While I always cook with love, she has taken the time to train me to perfection.  Every item is prepared with impeccable care and attention to detail.  Sloppiness gets punished with the belt.  I rarely require it; my desire to see her smile is enough motivation to be perfect for her.

I hear the creak of the steps and my heart races.  I quickly transfer the food to the plate in a neat and presentable manner.  I have the table properly arranged before she reaches the kitchen.  I hear her slippers on the kitchen floor.  I instantly turn to face her and drop to my knees, head bowed.

"Rise, pet."
My face flushes red and a smile parts my lips.  It always feels special when she calls me that.

I spring to my feet and hustle around the table, pulling out her chair for her.    She takes her position and I adjust her seat.  I stand to her side without hovering, ready to meet her requests.  I anxiously look up at her face as she takes the first bite.

"It needs more pepper, pet.  This isn't like you."
I nod and quickly retrieve the pepper grinder, twisting it a few times over her omelet.  I hide my self-disgust.  She won't let me linger there for long.

A few bites later I receive my next instructions.
"You may have a slice of white toast, dry, and a glass of water.  If I'm going to eat bland food for breakfast, so will you."

I nod and quickly prepare my meal.  I continue to glance back to make sure her cups are at least half full.  As the bread toasts I top off her coffee.  I linger while she takes a sip, wondering if it needs more cream or sugar.  She sets the cup down without a word.

The toaster pops and I place it on a small plate and fill a glass with water off the tap.  As I approach the table she merely points at the floor.  I nod and kneel on the floor near her as I eat my toast.  I hate the floor because I cannot see her face.  I accept it as part of my punishment for serving her bland eggs.

I rise and rinse my plate in the sink before returning to my place standing near her.  A few minutes later she sets down her fork.

"I’m finished, pet.  It was delicious.  No leftovers for you today.  I expect you will not make the same mistake tomorrow."
The end of breakfast is my cue that the speech restrictions are over.

"Thank you, Mistress.  It makes me so happy to serve you.  I love you."
"I love you, too, pet."

I assist with her chair.  She stands and I kneel before her.  She places her hand on my head and smiles.  I feel my heart fill up with love until it wants to burst.

She departs the kitchen.  I clear her plate and feel a bit disappointed as I feed the leftovers down the garbage disposal.  As the food disappears from view my punishment is complete.  The meager and bland breakfast, I will be hungry later.  That hunger will motivate me to try harder tomorrow.  Missing the joy of seeing her face while she ate, I will be aching for her approval the rest of the day.  The guilt of failure is gone, replaced by the drive to be better.  She is kind to grant me this release.  Repeat this mistake tomorrow and the belt will follow.

As I wash the dishes I think about how I can do better.  I want to see her smile.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016


This is not a depression post.  I'm feeling just fine.   I'm merely throwing some thoughts and observations out there.  Over the past week or so I've been doing a lot of thinking about what type of submissive I am.  I have met two others that are like me.  Our type has no name.  You will not find us in any descriptions.  I have been trying to find where everything fits together... the edges... the pieces to the puzzle... I want to put them together.


I am broken.  I'm not even ashamed to say it.  I am a broken person.  I am actually proud that I can function on the level that I do without dependence on medications, drugs of abuse, or alcohol to get by.  I have achieved excellence.  I am great at what I do.  Even when I am at my worst I have no trouble holding a job or maintaining ties to my friends.  I reach out when I am in trouble.  When I'm in the pit of despair I calculate.  Am I strong enough to climb back out or do I need to find a way to pass time in a non-harmful way while I regain my strength?

I have seen people throw their lives away.  I do not do this.  While I may not have a tremendous amount of ambition, I know that my life has meaning.  When I do something, I give it my all.  When I love, I love with all of myself.  I do not shy away from intimacy or the vulnerability of the heart.  While I often feel weak, those are my strengths.  I keep it together through the darkest of nights.  I stay true to my loyalty and self-respect.  I will never be hopeless, even if I feel hopeless.  I can persevere.

I am broken.  I will never truly believe that I have worth, that I am important, or that I inherently deserve to be happy.  Those ideas were stripped away from me when I was far too young.  I have no faith except that love is the greatest feeling in the world.  I do not feel I deserve it.  I believe deep down in my heart that I can earn it by giving all of myself.  If I ever stop, it feels like it will all slip away.

The only thing I have ever needed was for someone to allow this.  Someone to allow me to love them with my all.  Someone to appreciate the depth and intensity of my heart.  Someone to love more than I love myself.

I truly believe that what others might view as my greatest weakness is actually my source of strength. I have complete confidence that I can make the one I love smile with all of her heart, even if I cannot make myself smile.  It is through the warmth on her face, the love in her eyes that I smile... that I feel complete... that it doesn't matter if I am broken.

Does it make me so bad to want to dedicate myself to making the one I love happy?  Does it make me weak to care little for myself?  I don't really know as logic and the feelings within my heart don't always work together.  What I do know is that I have seen the face of those that live only for themselves.  I have seen the face of the betrayers, the liars, the cheaters, the thieves, and the bullies.  I do not see strength. 

The doctors tell me I am broken.  That my emptiness is a flaw.  If I had to choose between myself or the one I love, is it really so bad to choose them instead?

The only confusion I have is if I should see myself as strong or weak.  When I think about myself in relation to my love, I am a rock.  I do not fail.  I am everything she asks, everything she needs.  In relation to my love I am amazing.  I cannot do it solely for myself... I feel like I am worth so little by myself that it just doesn't matter.  I can do anything and everything for her.  This happens so easily and naturally. 

I am proud of who I am through my love... through my submission.  I can be anything... I can be everything... but only for her. 

Is this good or bad?  I do not know.

I do know that it feels good to have found others like me.  To know that I am not alone on this road.   To know that I am not the only one that is broken.

I never asked to be this way but I accept that it is what I am. I feel like I should stop being ashamed and just be. 

The harder thought is if someone could magically fix me, would I let them?  I don't know if I want to let these loving feelings go.  Would I still have them if I changed?  The thought of losing the source of my strength scares me more than I care to admit.  I cannot see the world any other way. 

If I could change anything, it would be to help people understand the ways that I need help when I do reach out.  Trying to fix me only makes me feel more broken and more fucked up about being broken.  I just need to know someone is there for me when I do reach out... and accepts me in all of my broken glory.  

Wordpress Blogs I enjoy

I have pretty much put my Wordpress blog on ice.  I do still read blogs there and their app makes tracking and commenting quite easy.

There are two blogs there that I strongly recommend.

One I have linked to before.  It is a femsub blog that covers a good mix of personal and philosophical D/s topics:

Another blog that I have enjoyed reading quite a bit is from a lifestyle poly Domme that has a lot of experience, a lot of knowledge, and a fiery personality that makes some very long and well-thought posts that are fun to read as well:

Good ol Blogger Lag

I have come to know that most of my readers visit quite early in the day. I do most of my writing and reading at night.  I've also come to know that if blogger's RSS feeds lag and the posts don't show up in the feed before 6am that it reduces my blog traffic by ~25% for the day.

I published 46 last night at 11:15pm and tried every method kown to man to get it to appear but of course the posts didn't show up until 8:15am.  A 9 hour delay is fairly irritating.  The posts even showed up in my wordpress fed by midnight.  Just sort of irritating.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Afterthoughts on Arc 6 (possible spoilers, do not read unless you have completed part 46)

Well... holy crap.  I finally managed to wrap up this arc.  Arc 6 ended up having the most fantasy elements out of any of the Arcs except for Arc 1.  It also ended up nearly as long (Arc 1 pulled in ~37k words, Arc 6 being ~31k).  The work as a whole now sits at 120k+ words. 

I whined about writing this arc quite a bit.  I know for a fact that I wrote and deleted Part 33 at least 5 times.  Drama on the home front crippled my muse.  I got stuck in a rut when the "warmth" between the characters got taken away due to the plot events and those were the feelings that I needed to have at the time in my real life.  Thankfully, by the time I wrote fs out of prison, I was able to recover emotionally well enough to write 44 and 45 directly from my heart. 

A few things struck me as odd throughout the process of this Arc.  There was a definitive difference in response to the middle parts.  95% of my feedback for this work comes from four readers and a chunk of it happens via email or private chat. The striking contrast was that my submissive readers seemed to really like the prison parts while my Dominant readers did not.  There was enough positive feedback to where I do not regret choosing this theme for the Arc but I can say it got VERY difficult to write after a while.  It sort of felt like writing Part 5 or Part 7 for several weeks. 

The response to Part 45 was the best response I have had to any single chapter that I have written.  This made me incredibly happy because writing this chapter felt very dear to me.  I'm glad that it seemed to translate well onto the page.

It also gave me enough confidence to extrapolate Cassandra's thoughts for part 46.  I have mixed feelings on 46, mostly because I included some things that I hope to be true, but I can never feel certain of.  Even though I created these characters I still struggle to get into the mind of a Domme.  I hope Cassandra's feelings here are reasonable and accurate.  It's sort of funny that my personal insecurities bleed into how a fictional character would feel.  It's easier for me to understand Dominique, Theresa, Lisa, etc.because there is no romantic involvement, they can simply see fs's merits and evaluate them objectively. 

I do not currently have any ideas for a 7th Arc.  I do have some mini-ideas for some bonus chapters.  In my mind I feel like this is the closest I am going to get to grasping Cassandra. 

I want to thank everyone again for the feedback, and I hope this Arc as a whole was able to meet the standards that you have come to expect as readers. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 46


Mistress has kept me off balance for the past few weeks.  Her behavior and expectations for me flow back and forth with her mood.  I’ve learned to read her attitude based upon her mannerisms and her clothing.  Much of our time feels “normal,” while she dons her favorite robe and our interactions with the accustomed dynamics she has fine-tuned over the years.  She shows more of her sweet and tender side to me, sometimes on date nights, others in the bedroom.  Our passion for each other burns as strong as it did during our first weeks together. 

Some days Mistress becomes Wanda.  She dresses in the way that makes her feel the sexiest; she loves her leather and fur.  By the 3rd time it was clear she settled into her “uniform” for these days, leather pants, knee high boots, bustier, gloves, and a fox fur stroller with matching hat.  She created a ritual from it; the slave places “the crown upon the Goddess” before kneeling to kiss her feet.  On these days I know I will be cold.  Her cruelty will know no bounds.  On these days I will suffer and hurt by her whims.

My heart holds true to the promises I made.  I love her no matter which side of her she shows me.  My heart grows even stronger knowing that she believes in me enough to do this.  I feel even more resilient. 

Today is a new day.  Uniform version 3.0 is here, finding Mistress’s happy medium between 1.0 and 2.0.  The punishment lining, tighter fit, and more outlandish appearance remains.  The posture collar, nipple cuffs have thankfully been removed.  The blinders return to optional status.  The gloves, muff, rice filled kneepads, and headwear carry over the same as 2.0.  Mistress likes my discomfort but this discomfort is apparently more functional to her needs. 

Today’s hat displays “sissy boi” embroidered on the front.  My face flushes red as she locks my head harness in place.  I always hate to be called “boi.”  Mistress knows this and chose it because of that.  My nose crinkles a little in displeasure.  She kisses her fingertip and pats it on the tip of my nose with a sly grin.  With the locks fully in place she departs to her room while I attend to my daily chores.

The doorbell rings.  I make my way to the entry and answer it.  A familiar scent of perfume enters my nose sending my pulse into a frenzy.  My breathing heaves and sweat beads on my face.  The door swings open, my terrified eyes reflect back at me in the goggles.  Those masks.  My body trembles.  I crouch into a ball and topple to the floor, my hands grip my head; I weep.  Pain and anguish fill my brain and logic is nowhere to be found. 

“We’ve found the inmate, get him ready for transport.  He has 6-more weeks of rehabilitation to serve.”

My mouth rambles on without reason or control.  “No no no no no no no no no.”
“You’re such a bitch, Tabitha.  Can’t you see he’s full on PTSD?”
“Cass!  You should get over here now, the little one is having a meltdown.” 

The next few minutes are a blur.  The voices are familiar but my brain is unable to process.  I regain my bearings on the love seat.  Mistress holds me in her arms, my face against her chest.  She is warm and I can feel her heart beat. 

I look up at her.  The mask.  My body flees on its own and I struggle against her grasp.  I shut my eyes tight and sobs spill out from my lips. 

“Stop, pet.  It’s okay.” 
A string of gibberish and whines leave my mouth.  I feel her hand on my head.  I rub against it out of instinct. 

“Silence, slave, your Mistress commands it.” 
My lips close abruptly, responding to her call.  My body tenses, the flailing stops.  I open my eyes slowly and look upon her.  The mask is gone, the warmth of her eyes guides me. 
“Calm down now, pet.  You’re okay.”

She smiles at me.  My eyes continue to tear. 
“I’m proud of you, pet.  I love you so much.”

I slump into her arms, my eyes focus only on Mistress.  I calm my breathing as best I can. 
“Please remove your masks.”

Mistress’s voice is calm and confident.  I hear an array of voices in the background but I do not dare look away from Mistress.  I feel like a frightened child clinging to a parent. 

A less familiar voice enters.
“It seems that your little prison experiment was quite effective if the reaction was that strong after only 4 days.”
It must be Amanda.

“We worked him over pretty good.” 
“I didn’t expect him to freak out that bad when we walked in the door.”

After several minutes I relax enough to look at Mistress without tunnel vision.  She is quite beautiful in her guard uniform.  The coat fits her well, accenting her body’s curves.  The fur collar dances off of her chin and cheeks as she moves her head.  The hat makes her look serious and “official.” 

She notices the change in my expression.  She snaps her fingers and points at the floor.  I nod and climb off of the love seat, parking myself on my knees on the floor next to her.  Her hand pets my head.  I slowly scan the room.  Dominique, Lauren, and Tabitha are seated around us.  Amanda is present as well. 

“pet, today we will be filming the exit interviews for the prison experiment.  You will participate in them as well.”

I turn to her and nod.  My mind flashes to memories of Intro to Psych in college and the grainy post-experiment interviews that were part of our cast study on the Stanford Prison Experiment. 

“They want you in your prison uniform for the interviews, pet.”

Lauren places a bag on the coffee table. 

“Would any of you girls like to strip him?”

My eyes open wide.  My face flushes red with embarrassment and my body becomes rigid. 

“Yes, please,” replies Lauren.  I swallow hard; the anxiety builds again within me.
“They’ve all seen you naked, pet, no reason to get all bashful now.”

Mistress tosses the keys to Lauren.  I rise slowly and present myself.  Lauren guides my body as Mistress describes the location of all of the locks on my uniform.  After a couple of minutes I stand naked except for my chastity belt in the center of the room, feeling their eyes on me. 

“He keeps himself nicely groomed, Cass.”  Amanda’s voice breaks the silence.

I fidget my fingers hoping time will somehow move faster.  Lauren opens the bag and presents my prison uniform.  I dress for her, it feels familiar and surreal at the same time.  The mask goes on without a gag and she buckles the head harness in place.  Leg irons soon follow with handcuffs as the finishing touch, securing my wrists behind my back.

“May I, Cassandra?”
“Of course.”

Lauren steps behind me and I quickly feel the bite of the leather strap across my rear.  I yelp and hop a little at its impact.  I feel the skin burn hot; a second blow doesn’t follow.  Lauren sits and the women converse around me.  They quickly clear the small talk and soon the camera is set up on its tripod facing a chair and table. 

Mistress sits and is the first to be on camera.  Amanda asks the questions.

“Cassandra, how did it feel to take on the role of a prison guard?”
“Hrm, I’m not sure how to describe it exactly… empowered… powerful… superior.  After a few hours I stopped seeing the inmate as a person.”

“How did you see him?”
“Like he deserved this… like he didn’t deserve to have any rights… like he was garbage… that this experience should be as bad as possible since it was a punishment.”

“Interesting.  Do you feel your prior relationship to the experiment affected you in any way?  Did you give him any preferential treatment?”
“Definitely not.  I actually felt like I was worse to him because of our relationship.  Like I had to prove that I could be as hard as everyone else.”

“Did it bother you hurting him?”
“Yes and no.  It seemed my mind found a place rather quickly… where I found great joy in his suffering.  I started looking forward to harassing him and watching the others do it in their own way.”

“Did it bother you to realize that?”
“Yes.  Definitely.  It scared me but the feeling was addictive.  Now that it is over I feel like I can understand the balance better.  Just because something is a part of me doesn’t mean it is the only part of me that has a voice.”

“If you could do it over again, would you still want to take part in this experiment?”
“Definitely.  I learned so much about myself, I would do it again in a heart beat.”

The camera beeps and Mistress returns to her spot on the love seat.  My heart calms a bit as my assumptions about Mistress were verified.  I love her.  I would do anything for her.  Dominique is up next. 

“Dominique, how did you feel in the role of prison guard?”
“Bored.  All these rules to follow… they were suffocating.”

“Did it bother you hurting the prisoner?”  Dominique bursts out into a violent laugh.  Her smile is true and pure.  She regains her composure.
“I wasn’t sure if you were serious.  It didn’t bother me at all.  I got tired of holding back.”

“So you wanted to hurt him?”
“I live to hear the little one scream.  I’ve had him in my grasp before but I wasn’t allowed to go all the way.  I had been waiting for this for months.  I got to cross another few things off my bucket list for him.”

“I was informed that you broke protocol during stage 2 of his rehabilitation.  Why did you do that?”
“Seriously?  I make no apologies for my behavior.  I am a sadist and many would probably call me a psychopath.  The little one is special.  Was I the only one who could see that he was on the verge of a complete collapse?  I did what I did to save him.  When I’m the voice of reason, it’s safe the say the train is well off the track.” 

“Interesting.  How did you know he had reached that point?”
“Simple.  Experience.  There’s no substitute for seeing and doing.  You get a feel for thing, especially after you take them too far.  It wasn’t fair to the little one to be the one that taught the others that lesson.”

“If you could do it over again, would you?”  She exhales deeply.  I’ve never Dominique so deep in thought.
“I wouldn’t want to, but if it was the little one again as the prisoner, I suppose I would.”

“Why is that?”
“I’ve seen him at his weakest.  He needs someone to protect him.  His devotion can betray him.  He forces himself to endure even if it will break him.  Like I said before, the little one is special.”

The camera beeps and stops.  As Dominique rises our eyes meet.  I smile bashfully at her.  Her lips part in an evil grin.  She continues to save me when I need her, although I still find her utterly terrifying. 

Tabitha is next in the chair. 

“How did it feel to take on the role as a prison guard?”
“I was excited at first but as time went on… I didn’t care for it so much.”

“Why is that?”
“I had a lot of anger built up.  The rush at first was great.  As I saw the effects of what we were doing… what I was doing… I was able to let go of a lot.  He isn’t the one I was angry at.  I tried to play the role but my heart just wasn’t in it.”

“Is that why you avoided taking on personal guard duty after the first day?”
“I would like to say yes, but honestly, it was mostly because it was boring and I was cold.”

“Do you harbor any feelings about the way you behaved toward the prisoner?”
“A little bit.  I was just doing my job.  I was surprised that he managed to put up with all of it.”

“If you could do it over again, would you still take part in this?”
“Good question.  I think if I still felt the way I did at the start, yes.  It was worth it to get rid of those feelings.  If it was right now, no.”

The camera beeps and Tabitha stands.  She doesn’t look at me.  I can sense that she doesn’t want to. 

Lauren gets up from her chair and moves across the room.  As she passes her perfume sets my nerves aflame, my entire body quivers.  The sense of terror disturbs my soul and takes all of my self-control to suppress it.  Sweat beads on my face. 

“How did it feel to take on the role as a guard?”
“Amazing.  Empowering.  I felt more alive than I had in a long time.  It was addictive.”

“Why do you think it felt that way?”
“I had been living in fear for so long, ever since I was raped.  Reversing the roles… the power, I felt strong again… no… stronger.”

“Do you think that kind of empowerment made you abusive?”
“Not really.  Everything was consensual to our little prisoner wasn’t it?  I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“I heard that you had a little wager on methods, can you elaborate on them?”
“Cassandra thought that cruelty would be more motivating.  I thought that the appearance of kindness would be more effective.  I won the bet and it wasn’t even close.”

“Did that use of kindness give you any kind of moral dilemma?”
“Not at all.  If he was na├»ve enough to fall for it, then he deserved to be tricked.”

“You don’t seem to think too highly of the prisoner I take it?”  Lauren laughs.  It unnerves me.
“I don’t see how he can even think of himself as a real person.  He’s just a peon that gets bossed around by a woman all the time, isn’t he?  How am I supposed to respect that?  I have shoes that are worth more.”

“If you could do it over, would you still take part in the experiment?”
“Definitely yes.  I would do it again and again and again.  The power felt amazing.”

The camera beeps.

“pet, you’re up next.” 

I turn to Mistress and nod.  I take a deep breath and shuffle my way across the room, the chains clinking gently with each step.  I sit down in the chair facing the camera.  I have to sit forward to keep the handcuffs from digging into my wrists.   I look at the ground, I feel embarrassed.

“What kind of feelings did you have during the experiment?”  I stutter a little bit with my reply.
“Ma’am… I… felt helpless… hopeless… scared…”

“How long did it take you to feel hopeless?”
“About 1 day, Ma’am.”

“You felt this way even though you knew this was only temporary?”
“Yes, Ma’am.  I couldn’t see a way out.” 

”Do you believe this would be an effective rehabilitation program for criminals who committed crimes against women?”
“Yes, Ma’am.  I don’t think they could go through this without being ‘changed.’”

“Could you imagine serving 5 years under these conditions?”  Something in my chest grips me.  I have to force the words to come out.
“No, Ma’am.”

“Why not?”
“I don’t think anyone could last 5 years without breaking.” 
I feel my eyes tear up.  I can’t stop them, their reaction is beyond my control.

“Was there anything that affected you the most?”
I cover my face with my hands and weep.  My head nods slowly in the direction of the camera lens.

“What would that be?”
I can’t speak.  The memories overwhelm me.  Amanda is patient, she does not rush me.  I slowly regain my composure.  I don’t want to speak.  I don’t want to say it.  I sniffle and cough.  My mouth feels dry.
“I thought that Miss Lauren was kind.”

I sob again.  I want this to stop.
“How did that affect you the most?”  I spit the words out between cries.
“It hurt my heart.”

“Thank you, that will be all.”
“Hold on.  You forgot the last question.”  Mistress’s voice interjects.
“Do you really think we need to ask that, Cass?”
“Trust me.”

Amanda faces to me again and speaks.
“If you could go back and do it over, would you?”  My response is brief.  I do not waver.
“Yes.  I would.”

The camera beeps. 

“pet, go lay in the corner.”
I nod without looking up.  I shuffle to the far corner of the room, drop to my knees, and slump onto my side.  I am exhausted.  I close my eyes.  Their voices fill the room behind me.  I hear their words but do not focus on the voices behind them.  I do not wish to.  I just want to disappear.

“That’s bullshit, I can’t believe he would do it over again.”
“I believe most of you each owe me a bottle of wine.  This was actually a fantasy of his.  The thought of it turned him on.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask Theresa about what Femdom legal talk does to him.”
“I just don’t get it.” 
“fs is a special one.”
“Yeah, special like mentally ill.”

The voices eventually trail off.  They slowly decrease in number.  Mistress permits me to rest.  She understands when my emotions have hit their limit.  Only two voices remain. 

“pet, get back in your uniform.  We have company.” 

My ears perk up instinctively at the sound of Mistress’s voice.  I quickly rise and return to the center of the room.  Lauren unlocks my handcuffs, leg irons, and head harness and helps me get back into my maid’s uniform.  She is rough with the buckles.  She feels distant… so different from the woman I thought I knew.  Her eyes are cold and emotionless.  The locks click one by one.  A final lock secures my wrists together behind my back. 

“I’m going to take a bath.  Lauren wishes to speak with you.”
I turn to Mistress and nod and watch her as she departs down the hall.  Lauren is close to me, her perfume sets my nerves ablaze. 

She sits in a chair in front of me. 
I nod and drop to my knees.
“Move closer.” 
I shuffle to her.  She leans forward while I divert my eyes.  I can feel her breath on my cheek, our faces are separated by inches. 

“So this is what a sissy looks like.”  Her voice cuts into me with a mix of disgust and hostility.  I feel the temperature in my face rise.  This shame penetrates my heart.  I close my eyes.

“It must turn you on to be controlled and get bossed around.  Isn’t that a little pathetic?  I’ll bet most women would be disgusted by you.”

She taps her foot on the front of my belt.  The metal ping rings clear over the sound of my breath. 

“How ever did you manage to con a woman as beautiful as Cassandra to choose you?  You don’t deserve her, but I think you already know that.”

Tears form in my eyes.  The sting in my heart grows stronger.

“Why don’t you say anything?  Tell me that I’m wrong.  I dare you.  Show me that you have a spine.” 
“I have a spine.”  I blurt out my reply without thought.  My own voice surprises me.  I hear her scoff under her breath.

“Why do you just accept this then?”
“Because it’s all true.”  The floodgates open and my eyes rain.  I speak out from my heart.
“It’s all true.  I don’t deserve Mistress.  She is too beautiful, too smart, too amazing for someone like me.  I love her.  I do my best for her.  I am lucky that she accepts me.  I cherish every day that I spend with her.”

“That’s enough, pet.”  Mistress’s voice instantly grabs my attention.  I twist my body and see her in the entry. 
“Normally I would let him just be himself and you would understand, but I think you have are missing something here, Lauren.  Something critical.”

Mistress paces across the room and sits on the love seat.  I continue to kneel, unable to contain my smile. 
“Please enlighten me, Cassandra.”
“I get the distinct impression that you believe my slave is weak.”
“Isn’t he?  He just follows whatever you say.”
“Not in the slightest.  I just left him in a room with a woman who spent days torturing him, raped him, and violated his body and his trust.  I’m sure his feelings are being torn to shreds inside listening to you.”
“But he just takes it.”
“He endures, Lauren.  He knows what I expect of him.  He maintains his composure and manners in situations that would crush an ordinary person.  How can you think this is weak?”

Lauren sits back in her chair.  The sound of her breath tells me she is flustered. 
“Why would you put him through this?  If you supposedly love him, why would you do that?”
“Because I have unwavering faith that he is strong enough to handle it.  I believe with absolute certainty his desire to please me will triumph over any hardship in his path.  Do you think that is weak?  A coward would have turned and run years ago.”

Mistress’s words fill my heart with joy.  I find peace in her.  She is the love of my life.  Mistress continues before Lauren can reply.

“He does have one quality that makes him absolutely dear to me.  He has no idea what he is worth.  After literally thousands of men, he was the only one I found deserving of me.  If he’s broken it’s in such a way where he will never truly believe that.  It keeps him trying so hard… like he’s on a never-ending quest to make me happy.  He will never stop trying, never feel like he’s enough.  He is the strongest man I have ever met.”

I look up at Lauren.  She sits slumped back, her head tilted so that her face points to the ceiling. 

“Lauren, I know that somewhere down the line you must have lost your belief in love.  Lost the desire to trust.  To love freely, openly, to expose your vulnerability, that is not weak at all.  If anything I think you could learn that from my slave.”

I shuffle closer to the chair, close my eyes and place my head sideways on Lauren’s lap.  I feel her hands pet my head.  I hope to sooth her.  I think this is what Mistress wants as well.  We sit in silence.  I feel her fingers run through the fur on my hat and earmuff.  I want to sooth her and mend her heart.  I want her to feel safe being kind.

We part ways not long after.  Lauren remains quiet, I can sense that she is processing her thoughts and her heart.  Later that night I lay with Mistress.  She has changed into her robe and I stay in my uniform.  I am the little spoon. 

“Yes, pet?”
“Did you really mean all of those things you said today?”
“Yes, pet, every single one.”
“Thank you, Mistress.  I love you.  You make me so happy.”
“I love you too, pet.”

I smile from deep in my heart.  I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck.

“Yes, pet?”
“How many bottles of wine did you win in your bet today?”
“3 bottles, pet.  Can you guess who wouldn’t take the bet?” 
“Was it Miss Dominique, Mistress?”
“That’s what I love about you, pet.  You’re not only strong, but you’re also smart.”
“Thank you, Mistress.  I love you so much it makes my heart hurt.”

I feel her arms tighten around me and she squeezes.
“Speech privileges removed.”


Thoughts on my Body

I feel really self-conscious posting this as well.  I had originally written something to go along with writing about my rotator cuff but I deleted it before publishing it.

I have kind of a hate-hate relationship with my body.  My build falls so far outside the realm of standard that it's almost comical.  I'm short, 5'7", but hell, I'm Asian.  For my race/nationality I'm above average height.  What makes things weird is that I am built big. 

My ribcage is huge.  I am "barrel chested."  I also carry an absurd amount of muscle mass.  During my athletic prime (age 15-16) my playing weights ranged from 225-250 lbs depending upon the sport, and yes, it was muscle.  I am strong.  I am built for burst power.  I am quick with fast reflexes.  I was fast and could jump high before my leg joints exploded.  I am coordinated and have excellent balance and body control.  I am awkwardly large in appearance.

There were eras when muscles and being built like a He-Man figure was considered good.  I was a teen in the 90's when they wanted you to look like Kurt Cobain or Eddie Vedder... skinny, unathletic... where a girl and guy could share jeans if they wanted to.  Muscles were bleh.

The nature of my size makes things even more odd.  Clothes fit terribly.  They don't make clothes for people with muscles.  Big and tall clothing = Big, tall, and probably fat.   There is no "Big, short, and muscular" clothing.  From age 15-17 my chest was 56-60" around.  My waist was 30-33" around.  A "sport cut" suit jacket has an 8" difference between the chest and waist while standard cut is 6".  Nothing exists designed for 20"+.  I had an 18.5" neck.  For clothes to fit my chest and neck, they made me look fat.  My calves and biceps were also over 20" around, ensuring struggles with pant legs and shirt sleeves for my entire life.

I'm not young anymore but my proportions aren't that far off from what they were then.  At some point I traded a 6-pack for a keg, but hey, I'm workin on it.  No matter how I eat or what type of exercise I do, everything still consistently reaches points that ensure that I look like shit unless I were to have every piece of clothing I own tailored and adjusted by drastic amounts. 

It's kind of disappointing.

The process of reaching those measurements was rooted in the "need" for me to be excellent at sports.  I was built to crush.  Built to kill.  Built to destroy.  I was the guy that would hit someone cleanly and knock them out of the game, towering over them as they lay motionless, snot and spit dripping from the inside of their facemask.  It was what was expected of me. 

I was a slow developer.  I didn't really hit puberty until I was almost 15.  My legs had always been strong but when the growth spurt set in, my upper body exploded and my strength went off the charts for my age.  I was 15 years old when I first cleared 10 reps of 300 lbs. on the bench press.  I could do 60 pull-ups and squat 800 lbs.  I still looked like shit.

After my injuries it became a struggle to stay in shape.  The muscle mass stayed but it became much harder to burn all the fat off.  It made things even worse.  

This has remained a complex of mine for my entire life.  I feel horribly unattractive.  I'm too short.  I'm too big.  No one wants this.  Any time I go to a gym, sporting goods store, or exercise equipment shop there's always some personal trainer that comes up and wishes he had my _____ (insert muscles).  I'd fucking trade him in a heart beat. 

If there's any upside is that I can be in shape or out of shape and not really look too different unless I'm naked.  The downside is that it always makes me feel ugly. 

I've known guys who felt too skinny or ones that were pear-shaped.  I've never known anyone who struggled with having too much muscle the way that I do.  It is part of what has contributed to my negative self-image over the years.  It lingers with me to this day.  I've never once had anyone approach me thinking that I was physically attractive.

Something I never thought I'd do but I'm actually posting a picture of (part of) me.  I grey-scaled it since the scratched mosquito bites and cat bite scars are an eyesore, and no, I don't shave my legs, my body is pretty much hairless.  These are my calves, and most pant legs will not fit over them without significant work.

I better hit publish before I chicken out.  I feel odd for even posting this.

A Fan Letter

I feel a bit self-conscious posting this... but seeing as how my last post was about things that make me smile and to respect the author who took the time to write it, I will post it.  I'm not usually good at receiving compliments.  Every so often I receive some words from others that really touch my heart.  They make me feel good for keeping this blog going over the years, even when I felt lonely.

This morning I received a message from a reader (with their permission to post this) as they didn't want it to get lost or buried in the comments of an older post.  It makes me very glad that I chose to show more of my inner-self this year... my fears, insecurities, and pains. 

Thank you, Jessica.  Your words mean the world to me and when I read them this morning, I felt warm in my heart.

A fangirl love letter!

Hey fs!

I considered a subject line for this message and I think what I said is most appropriate :) I'm writing to unabashedly gush about you and this is a love letter of sorts, albeit not a romantic love letter. I have a love for of the parts of you that you share with us (the readers) and your writing itself! This message has been a long time coming, but I've decided to write it to you now after giving much thought to this post in particular:

There are so many things I want to say about you, your blog and your writing. But this post in particular is a microcosm of how raw, emotional and open you are with your readers. It is also a testament that you can be open and honest with yourself and your readers and are willing to use your own blog for personal growth.

For me, the two most important factors that I look for in a personal blog are:

1) A willingness to express ones self without holding back. The blogger must be willing to be as open and raw as possible to give the reader a true sense of what's happening in the blogger's life.

2) The ability to express those thoughts in a thought provoking, articulate way and have a unique "voice".

Let me tell you about you :)

Many bloggers out there have one of those things or the other but not both. I subscribe to many, many blogs and many of them are written by bloggers that are extremely open and raw with their feelings. Those bloggers leave little left on the table, they share openly and are honest with their readers...they are as real as it comes. However, they don't write well from a technical standpoint and they have difficulty expressing their thoughts because of some, writing ability, truly knowing themselves, etc.

And there are bloggers are out there that write beautifully, but they carefully only let you see the sides of them that they want you to see. Sometimes they hold back their fears, dreams or thoughts. Sometimes they withhold information that would paint themselves in a negative light (or paint others in a negative light). There are many, many ways that a writer can be withholding, these are just a few examples. The point I'm trying to make is that it's obvious (to me anyway) that they're holding things back and that leads to a less honest and open experience for the reader.

However, fursissy is the total package :)

I subscribe to many, many femdom/bdsm themed blogs---100's! Of course I haven't read every single blog being currently published out there, but I say with great confidence that your blog is the GOLD STANDARD by which every other blog in this genre should be judged.

There is simply no other blogger out there that is as emotionally open as you are. You are so emotionally raw and splayed open at times on your blog that I can feel your emotions dripping off the pages as I read them. You're so honest with yourself and your readers that I can sense the bravery that it took to convey some of the thoughts that you've presented to us. Yes, you keep your anonymity behind the keyboard, but the parts of "your world" that you let the reader in to is at times astonishing and there simply is no other blogger out there that does what you do and to the extent that you do it. And you do it to not only share with us, you do it for self reflection and personal growth. You're obviously a very sensitive person and you still do it even though you're opening yourself up to criticism and being rejected. You take emotional risks that others simply aren't willing to take, all in the name of honesty, transparency and personal growth. There are few very bloggers out there that take the risks that you do :)

But there are even fewer who do that AND can write like you can (the total is one: you!). You give us everything that I described above, but you're able to do it through your beautifully written words. You are articulate, thoughtful, mechanically sound and have a beautiful flow to your posts. You're obviously very smart and highly educated and your posts often read like having a conversation with Socrates at times. You're easily able to convey your innermost thoughts and questions and I never feel slowed down by how you write or the words you use. I have two degrees in English and I often get frustrated by bloggers' mechanical errors, misuse of the language and the inability to convey their true thoughts/meaning. I've never had that issue with you, you're as technically sound as they come!

You need to know that I consider you to be the absolute best femdom blogger out there and that every blogger out there should read your blog to know what a fantastic blog looks like! I know that your life has been very difficult at times and that you have anxiety and fear that you're not worthy in many aspects of your life. But if there is one thing I want you to take away from this love letter is that your blog is not one of those aspects: no matter what criticism anyone ever hands down to you about your blog, know that you give so much to me and your other readers and we absolutely adore what you're willing to share with us and how you share it.

Thank you for being so wonderful!!!



P.S. I considered just posting this letter as a comment on your blog. But I didn't for two reasons:

1) I didn't want it to get lost in the minutiae of the comments of any one particular post. If you want to ensure your readers see this letter you should make it a separate post and you have my permission to use this letter however you like.

2) This is a highly personal letter and I didn't know if you'd be embarrassed to have it posted publicly. I know how humble you are and how careful you are to not come across as patting yourself on the back.

Just know that I'm happy for the world to see what I've written and I'm leaving it up to you about whether or not to share what I've written. I'm perfectly happy for this to be a private moment between the two of us if that is what you choose to do.

You are truly a special person and writer and I needed you to know that.