Some comments left by Lady Grey on a few of the recent fiction chapters got me thinking more about things that have happened in my youth... well, to describe it more accurately, it feels like I discovered a hidden cache of repressed memories that decided the time was now to jump out and pay me a visit.
I have my hesitations on writing this, mostly from an "oh my god now everyone will see how pathetic and fucked up I am" place in my heart, but I've let it all hang out there, why stop now?
It's hard to sort these out as many of them are inter-related.
I have a sister. Like me, she was adopted. Unlike me, she was adopted while my parents still loved each other and she was the replacement "first born" which was given countless chances and opportunities to pave the way or block the path for me as I was growing up. I really have only been on good terms with my sister twice in my life: before I started elementary school and for a very brief period when we occasionally partied together in high school.
It's hard to really describe this relationship as I've never really been "resentful" of her. She was very average in a lot of ways while I excelled at the majority of what I set out to do. What frustrated me over the years was that apparently she held a lot of resentment towards me, which I found out years later because I was able to "figure things out" and didn't get "caught up in the game." She does still believe I was favored even though I was the one being punched and tossed around while they never laid a finger on her. I don't resent her for not being beaten, I resent her for not factoring child abuse into her evaluation of "favoritism."
The earliest negative feelings I can remember had nothing to do with her. While she had also experienced them on some level, young boys are way bigger fuckers than young girls. I can plainly recall my first suicidal impulse occurring at age 4 when I was being race bullied at my pre-school. "I wish I was dead" and "I wish I wasn't here" ran parallel to the voice saying "I wish I wasn't different." A pair of brothers decided to make my life hell because of the shape of my eyes, the shape of my nose, and that I wasn't circumcised (it's a bit disturbing to think they were actually stalking me while I pissed to get a look at my dick isn't it?).
I know that I couldn't deal with those feelings. I just absorbed this feeling of being some kind of fucking mutant that would be judged in those ways for the rest of my life. That's the thing about racism, there's not a fucking thing you can do about being born different, so there isn't really any way to come to peace with it. It just feels ugly in a bad way. The thing that followed is the theme of support... while I cried and didn't wish to return to that pre-school I was always forced to return... always shoved headfirst into the lion's mouth. There was no hand-holding... just sink or swim.
This next part will most likely come off as a whine... and maybe it is. It carries no resentment on my part, just acknowledging things that I had blocked from my memories for decades. During the phase where my parents were busy encouraging her with a violin, a piano, multiple bicycles, any sport she wanted, driving her wherever she wanted to go, I started feeling isolated. My mother's friends all had daughters around her age. If they had sons they were much older than me.
During this same stretch my parents bought my sister a rabbit fur coat. I wrote a bit about that first pelt in my reflections post. I was this lonely kid that like Lenny, just wanted to pet the fuzzies. When no one was around I would sometimes pet her coat. At some point, which I believe was her first year in elementary school, she caught me petting it. By this point she had become "socially aware" in regards to worrying about what other people thought. I hadn't reached that point... but I learned it that day when she shamed me for it until I was in tears and started to call me names about being girly because I liked the feel of fur and that everyone would think I was a freak.
When I went to my mother, still in tears, to tell on her, she responded that it was my sister's coat and I shouldn't have been touching it and if that was how she chose to punish me... that was fine.
As I reflect back that day impacted me greatly. In fact it was probably pivotal. Firstly, from then on I buried my feelings deep below the surface. Secondly, it brought me shame to appreciate anything of comfort from then on. I put on the tough guy facade. My true desires on that front became my best guarded secrets and I did not share them publicly for nearly 20 years.
The problem with shame of that sort is that it continuously reinforces curiosity... bordering on obsession, with no healthy outlet. I remember secretly looking through the Sunday paper's ads and if there was a woman in fur I would sometimes wait a few days until there were papers stacked up and then steal the ad and hide it in my room.
When M came along with her bondage games it was actually a liberating experience. The fact that I was her prisoner... helpless... and had to follow whatever she did allowed me to enjoy things without the guilt or shame. It also proved my sister wrong... M didn't think I was a freak. Once I reached the age of masturbating, my fantasies of M were often accompanied by looking at those ads that I kept hidden away. I always felt horribly ashamed after I came. Always. It made me want to die.
What I am about to write contains a series of events that I consider to be some of the most shameful moments of my life. At some point a cousin of ours came to visit and wore a pair of fur earmuffs. She wasn't all that organized or responsible for her things as she would just toss her coat, gloves, and earmuffs off into a corner when she came inside. I may have "accidentally" nudged them behind a chair leg a few inches away. They day after they left I checked the chair leg and they were there. I hid them under my shirt and sprinted to my room as fast as I could and locked the door. Guilt hit me in the chest like a truck... I was now indirectly a thief (I technically didn't take them, they were left behind, right?) but my shame of having this item made of fur secretly hidden away was the paramount of embarrassment. I was a freak.
A few years later, when my parents were supposed to be gone until late... and my sister was supposed to be gone until late, I used one of those precious times where I had the house to myself to watch TV in my parents room. I brought my collection of ads with me. I brought the earmuffs with me. I snuck out my grandmother's old mink scarf that I had found in one of my mother's drawers a year before and I watched TV with the scarf around my neck and the earmuffs on my ears while looking at my ads of fur Queens. I didn't lock the door. I still had at least three or four hours of alone time and I would make sure that everything was put back and hidden away with at least two hours to spare in case someone got home early. (and no, I wasn't masturbating or anything like that).
I don't know if the TV was too loud or if the earmuffs restricted my hearing that much but I noticed some motion in the mirror and turned around to see my sister standing there in the room staring at me with a puzzled look on her face. I immediately closed my eyes and shoved everything off the bed, tossing the fur off of me. I heard a laugh and then the door closed again and she was gone. I was so mortified that I honestly considered taking a razor blade to my wrists immediately afterward. I felt so fucked up and ashamed. The ache that I felt was no longer that I hated being different... I hated being me. This event was never spoken of again.
There were a couple of other things going on in my life at that time as well. I was skinny when I was young and would spend many days running around all over, biking wherever, etc. Around the age of 6 I started having problems with my lungs and it got progressively worse. I was soon diagnosed as being asthmatic and having a plethora of allergies. The available meds at that time were terrible compared to what is available today and were loaded with side effects (e.g. when I was 8 years old I had built up such a tolerance to benadryl that was having to take 5 pills at a time, 3 times a day... if you are familiar with how drowsy people get on benedryl). While I was still athletic, I was finding myself struggling for energy a lot of the time. I was taking 20-24 pills a day and two inhalers multiple times a day to manage the asthma/allergy combo. I also couldn't run for more than about a minute before my lungs would shut down. After about a year of this I started getting a little chubby.
Once I required husky sizes is when the body shaming started happening. I can understand that my mother didn't want a fat child, but I had built up a layer of fat that I couldn't shed. As my muscles began to develop the layer of fat remained. I was doing a LOT of sports... 4-6 nights a week of 2-3 hours of cardio. Also around that age, I became so lactose intolerant that eating cheese or drinking milk would make me vomit. I had never liked the taste, so my parents claimed I was faking it and would force me to eat/drink dairy. If you grew up in the mid-west and look at what traditionally constitutes "meals" here, you will know that nearly everything is served with cheese, cream sauce, etc. This had a horribly negative effect on the development of my palette and would affect my diet for the next decade. Not enough veggies. Too much meat and fat.
Even when I was in pristine shape... I still felt fat and disgusted with my bulky figure. It took me until today to realize just how deep my terrible self-image is rooted.
In sports while my coaches were (usually) supportive of my asthma, my father was less so. This led to me pushing myself to a point that was way beyond healthy... and a few times I collapsed due to lack of oxygen to my muscles.
My mother's disapproval of my appearance continues to this day. I'm still that disappointment.
My sister's words still linger with me. I'm still afraid everyone will think I'm a freak.
As much as I would have loved to have just grown out of these... they still haunt me, driven home in such a way that they left their mark. It does make total sense that I am the way that I am.
Showing posts with label Reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reflections. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
Sunday, October 23, 2016
More from the Early Years
Well for some reason I seem to snap out of writer's block whenever I
share something horribly embarrassing from my past... so here goes...
I wrote a bit about my play habits in my youth in my reflections posts and a few others. Something I tend to keep as a buried secret but falls important into my D/s development is closely tied to the G.I. Joe toys I played with as a child.
This is my fourth attempt at writing this so I will try to skip the history lesson but I will provide a
quick summary of the two sides.
The good guys: G.I. Joe. The heroes of the line. All unique and highly skilled individuals capable of great things against overwhelming odds. Diverse in race and gender.
The bad guys: Cobra. The villains of the line. With the exception of a few leadership characters they are all nameless rank and file with covered faces. While superior in numbers they are always defeated.
While this was a toy line, comic book, and cartoon series in my youth, it has haunted me a lot over the years. I mostly played as the Cobras since I thought they "looked cooler," but deep down I know that my own sense of being treated differently for my physical appearance made the idea of having a face hidden from the world was actually appealing.
In addition to her normal bondage games, M would occasionally play with me with my G.I. figures. She would choose to be the good guys and state openly that "the good guys always win." She would then proceed to defeat and capture my characters and then lead them around as her prisoners. M would tire of this (it usually took about 5 minutes to reduce things to this state) and would frequently return to the others at this point. On a handful of occasions she would decide she wanted to play it "for real" and she would tie a scarf over my face like a mask and bind my hands so I could be her prisoner.
As I continued to secretly crave attention from M, the play style that she started became common for me in private. The female characters in the toy line were all badasses. While I had to keep it secret to avoid ridicule from my friends, my Cobras were all commanded by the Baroness:
It's probably no secret that this ended up developing part of my Femdom allure as I grew up... being commanded by a powerful woman in a black leather catsuit. She would command absolute obedience but then sacrifice the others to escape when things went south.
What complicates matters even more is another character. I'm unable to pinpoint just exactly when the whole fur thing came in and made things even more complicated for me, but this didn't help:
I'm not really sure but this uniform just doesn't seem all that imposing. When I would play in private, this character was me. I would be bossed around by the Baroness until I would be captured by M:
This made me feel severely screwed up for a long, long time. I continued to secretly play with these for several years after "I quit playing with toys." It was a huge source of shame for me. To make things worse, it bled in as I continued to fantasize about M over the years.
I believe this is the source of my inner-henchman.
I wrote a bit about my play habits in my youth in my reflections posts and a few others. Something I tend to keep as a buried secret but falls important into my D/s development is closely tied to the G.I. Joe toys I played with as a child.
This is my fourth attempt at writing this so I will try to skip the history lesson but I will provide a
quick summary of the two sides.
The good guys: G.I. Joe. The heroes of the line. All unique and highly skilled individuals capable of great things against overwhelming odds. Diverse in race and gender.
The bad guys: Cobra. The villains of the line. With the exception of a few leadership characters they are all nameless rank and file with covered faces. While superior in numbers they are always defeated.
While this was a toy line, comic book, and cartoon series in my youth, it has haunted me a lot over the years. I mostly played as the Cobras since I thought they "looked cooler," but deep down I know that my own sense of being treated differently for my physical appearance made the idea of having a face hidden from the world was actually appealing.
In addition to her normal bondage games, M would occasionally play with me with my G.I. figures. She would choose to be the good guys and state openly that "the good guys always win." She would then proceed to defeat and capture my characters and then lead them around as her prisoners. M would tire of this (it usually took about 5 minutes to reduce things to this state) and would frequently return to the others at this point. On a handful of occasions she would decide she wanted to play it "for real" and she would tie a scarf over my face like a mask and bind my hands so I could be her prisoner.
As I continued to secretly crave attention from M, the play style that she started became common for me in private. The female characters in the toy line were all badasses. While I had to keep it secret to avoid ridicule from my friends, my Cobras were all commanded by the Baroness:
It's probably no secret that this ended up developing part of my Femdom allure as I grew up... being commanded by a powerful woman in a black leather catsuit. She would command absolute obedience but then sacrifice the others to escape when things went south.
What complicates matters even more is another character. I'm unable to pinpoint just exactly when the whole fur thing came in and made things even more complicated for me, but this didn't help:
I'm not really sure but this uniform just doesn't seem all that imposing. When I would play in private, this character was me. I would be bossed around by the Baroness until I would be captured by M:
This made me feel severely screwed up for a long, long time. I continued to secretly play with these for several years after "I quit playing with toys." It was a huge source of shame for me. To make things worse, it bled in as I continued to fantasize about M over the years.
I believe this is the source of my inner-henchman.
Friday, June 10, 2016
The Pains of Youth
This probably would have been best suited as part of my Reflections series but these were memories that hadn't surfaced until recently. My brain managed to block them out for a very, very long time. After sharing this with a D/s friend last night, I figured I may as well pour it out under the anonymity of the internet for all to see. Nothing quite like feeling awkward and vulnerable :)
Writing this will probably embarrass the hell out of me, but I'm better off getting it out of my system.
First off, I should probably start this out with 2 tidbits of info:
1. My adopted father was raised in a Puritanical religion that treated the Old Testament of the Bible like it was law. Basically, the longer you lived, the more certain it was that you were going to hell. Listen to music other than church hymns, bad. Have sex for anything other than procreation, bad. Any impure thoughts, bad. While he converted to a different religion later on, this basically meant that the majority of "father to son" talks never happened, nor could I ever ask about anything.
2. By the time I was 4 years old I had already experienced just about every racial insult imaginable. I was constantly made fun of for my facial features, skin color, and so on. I am also not circumcised. Also at 4 years old, a kid at my pre-school saw my penis in the bathroom and made fun of it. He also announced it in front of all the other kids while I was present. This would haunt me for most of my life.
When I look back, I realize that M was my sexual awakening. You can read about her in Reflections: Part 1B, Part 1X, and Part 1XX if you are interested. I didn't leave near any other kids around my age so I was fairly isolated unless I made plans well in advance. Also, I was a late bloomer into puberty. While I was always muscular and athletic, I was short and due to being asthmatic, what I could do as cardio exercise was somewhat limited. I got a bit chubby before my growth spurt. By the time I was the age when M started tying me up, I was already an emotional mess, feeling like some outcast but still attempting to win approval from my parents. I was top in my class in grades and one of the best athletes in my class, excelling in baseball, basketball, and soccer (football didn't start until later). I was also constantly bombarded with racial insults and didn't receive much approval at home.
By the time I had my first contact-based erection with M, I had already figured that no girls would ever be interested in someone who was fat, ugly, different, and with a weird penis. She always showed interest in me. She became my sex symbol, the dream that I didn't think I could ever have. I had mentioned once that M hit puberty early... the last few times she tied me up she was over a foot taller than me.
I believe I started masturbating when I was around 12. I don't really remember. To be honest, I didn't even realize I was masturbating. When I thought about M, I would rub myself through the top of a comforter. I believe I was probably stimulating the glans through the foreskin. It was so different from what masturbation was supposed to be, I didn't even know that's what I was doing. In an attempt to blend in I had all sorts of porno mags and the like by the time I was that age. I could look through the pages and feel nothing. When I thought about M, I felt something. We were in the same school for much of this time. I got watch her blossom into a beautiful woman. She was tall, blonde, athletic, had a killer body, and still maintained the friendly and outgoing personality that she always had.
The problem was that I really had no idea how to understand the emotions that were brewing inside of me... how all the self-hatred and disgust with myself would eventually play out. I just knew when I thought of M I felt happy and it made me want to touch myself. Where I realize things went askew is that I didn't think about M naked. I didn't think about sticking my penis inside of her or grabbing her breasts. I thought about M tying me up and mounting me, holding me down and telling me not to talk. It always came back to those events and often to the more extreme days.
The most extreme case I wrote about in depth in Part 1B, when M bound me and put another girl's coat on me backwards with my arms pinned inside instead of through the sleeve-holes. M wasn't a girlie girl. She wasn't really a tomboy, just athletic. Her clothing was mostly practical but still attractive. The coat she chose to imprison me in (out of the 5-6 to choose from) was from a girlie girl. It was frilly and trimmed with fur.
After the encounter, my sister and the girl whose coat it was were mortified that I had worn it... like I chose to wear it. My mother reamed me out for it as well. I felt really ashamed. When I told them that M made me do it, they piled it on and I felt even more ashamed. That shame would carry over with every successive interaction.
This must really be where it started... rubbing myself while thinking about M doing things to me that made me feel ashamed. That was the only way I knew how to do it... well, the only way I wanted to do it. By the time I got a bit older I realized that my sexual wiring had been severely fucked up. I kept this a secret and just hated myself for being so different. When I saw M I could wave, but I couldn't speak around her. I wanted to be with her but I was too embarrassed with who I was.
When my parents divorced my father's mild violence toward me (a punch here or there) turned into heavy violence. I became a ball of ticking rage that would fly off the handle about almost anything. I drove away friends. My father had a prominent role in the community and that led to bullying at school. My best friend ditched me because I wasn't cool enough to hang out with.
I finally snapped one day after my mother belittled me again and I just started downing bottles of pills. They tried to hold me down but I was stronger now, I broke free, punched and kicked through a few walls and windows, and ended up shrieking and bawling in a heap in the yard. I wanted to die. I ended up vomiting up blood and most of the pills.
The next few years I was forced to take meds and into therapy. Neither went anywhere. I was still top of my class in grades but now that I was a foot shorter than most of my classmates, I was still a very good athlete, but no longer dominant as I had been before. This evaporated my relationship with my father even more. I hated everyone and everything, hating myself most of all. The meds ended with another overdose attempt... on the meds. I wasn't aware that they were designed specifically to not be able to kill someone who tried that. Another vomit-fest followed. I learned to "fake it" from then on. Appearing well enough to get people to leave me alone.
By this time I was masturbating regularly, both in the "old way" and in the "normal way," but I still could only think about M... or someone else in M's role. This galvanized my self-hatred above all.
Finally, my growth spurt hit. I didn't get very tall (5'7") but no one could call me fat anymore. Everything pretty much came together at once and my body became a wrecking machine... a densely packed force of bulk and muscle. This made me interesting again to my father as I was being scouted by the varsity football and baseball coaches when I was still in Jr. High. It came crashing down when a freak football injury in the final 2 minutes of a hopeless game cost me everything. My foot almost got torn off and I had complete ligament damage throughout the foot, ankle, and lower leg as well as severe damage to the nerves and cartilage. Surgery wasn't available for that type of injury at that time and they treated it improperly. I rehabbed as best I could because that was what was expected of me if I wanted to earn parental love. I came back bigger and even stronger... but my heart wasn't in it anymore. I finally stood up to my father and told him I quit. This led to a brawl of rather epic proportions, but he wasn't able to beat me into submission anymore.
The emptiness that followed was a new experience. I already hated myself, but now I had no clue who I was. My long-standing identity was broken. I fell in with the drug crowd. For the next year and a half I missed maybe 3-4 days without getting messed up on something for the majority of the day. It was when the town ran dry for a spell and I ended up having seizures that I bit the bullet and suffered through the withdrawls. I turned to booze to ease the burden. This was harder since I couldn't be drunk all the time so I made up for it with binges when I could. As my tolerance built up I was soon downing a Liter of 80-100 proof hard alcohol over 2-4 hours in order to get sufficiently numb. When this wasn't enough it became drinking more of it, or drinking it faster, or both. I started blacking out. People started making sure I was still breathing and I was becoming a burden. I was still top in my class... that was part of the faking it that I never let go of. I was a mess. It came to a head on a night where I managed to overdose on codeine and get alcohol poisoning by drinking 750mL of bourbon in an hour on an empty stomach after taking enough codeine to kill most people. I woke up in the bathroom 20 hours later in a mess of dried vomited blood. By 17 I was an alcoholic recovering drug addict who hated everything about himself.
I was no longer masturbating about M. She was sufficiently out of my league by now. I kept on going with the things that M did to me and continued to feel ashamed about it.
I had a bit of a wake up call at some point. I had 8 friends die in 2 years from everything from suicide to being killed by drunk drivers. After the last one died from anorexia/depression/overdose, I got my shit together and sobered up. I was no good to anyone (even though people thought I was the life of the party). I made a decision to change. Even though I couldn't love myself I knew I could make an impact on the lives of others... a positive one. I knew I had been through hell emotionally and had managed to somehow get through it without dying. I sobered up completely. I started reaching out to people I knew that were hurting. I was their shoulder. Their listening ear. I gave advice where I could. I was there for them... 24 hours a day if needed.
I continued this path. I got used a lot. I got taken advantage of. If I ever fell in love with someone I was rejected. I buried my own feelings. I had become someone who was there for everyone but a person that no one cared enough about to keep around once life got better. I steered the course. I finally found love at 18 and we had plans to marry but it fell apart when her emotional condition took a severe turn for the worse. I steered the course. I kept failing. I kept revising, I kept improving myself. I still didn't love myself, but I kept on trying. Apparently this was my own training to become a submissive.
Eventually I met K (Reflections part 2). I took a chance on a woman who would probably die because that's the type of person I wanted to be... someone who would be there through good times and bad... I would be there until the end. It was through K that I learned that I did have worth and I finally started having that feeling some refer to as "self-esteem." I finally felt like it was a little bit okay to masturbate fantasizing about being tied up by a woman. It took half my life to get there but I finally did. The 8 years of intense suffering through sobriety finally paid off as well. I was the type of man she could love.
As I look back upon what I have just written... it's a big mess... but I guess that's sort of symbolic of how I was over that span. I don't know if reading this will benefit anyone, but I feel better about things now that I have written it.
Writing this will probably embarrass the hell out of me, but I'm better off getting it out of my system.
First off, I should probably start this out with 2 tidbits of info:
1. My adopted father was raised in a Puritanical religion that treated the Old Testament of the Bible like it was law. Basically, the longer you lived, the more certain it was that you were going to hell. Listen to music other than church hymns, bad. Have sex for anything other than procreation, bad. Any impure thoughts, bad. While he converted to a different religion later on, this basically meant that the majority of "father to son" talks never happened, nor could I ever ask about anything.
2. By the time I was 4 years old I had already experienced just about every racial insult imaginable. I was constantly made fun of for my facial features, skin color, and so on. I am also not circumcised. Also at 4 years old, a kid at my pre-school saw my penis in the bathroom and made fun of it. He also announced it in front of all the other kids while I was present. This would haunt me for most of my life.
When I look back, I realize that M was my sexual awakening. You can read about her in Reflections: Part 1B, Part 1X, and Part 1XX if you are interested. I didn't leave near any other kids around my age so I was fairly isolated unless I made plans well in advance. Also, I was a late bloomer into puberty. While I was always muscular and athletic, I was short and due to being asthmatic, what I could do as cardio exercise was somewhat limited. I got a bit chubby before my growth spurt. By the time I was the age when M started tying me up, I was already an emotional mess, feeling like some outcast but still attempting to win approval from my parents. I was top in my class in grades and one of the best athletes in my class, excelling in baseball, basketball, and soccer (football didn't start until later). I was also constantly bombarded with racial insults and didn't receive much approval at home.
By the time I had my first contact-based erection with M, I had already figured that no girls would ever be interested in someone who was fat, ugly, different, and with a weird penis. She always showed interest in me. She became my sex symbol, the dream that I didn't think I could ever have. I had mentioned once that M hit puberty early... the last few times she tied me up she was over a foot taller than me.
I believe I started masturbating when I was around 12. I don't really remember. To be honest, I didn't even realize I was masturbating. When I thought about M, I would rub myself through the top of a comforter. I believe I was probably stimulating the glans through the foreskin. It was so different from what masturbation was supposed to be, I didn't even know that's what I was doing. In an attempt to blend in I had all sorts of porno mags and the like by the time I was that age. I could look through the pages and feel nothing. When I thought about M, I felt something. We were in the same school for much of this time. I got watch her blossom into a beautiful woman. She was tall, blonde, athletic, had a killer body, and still maintained the friendly and outgoing personality that she always had.
The problem was that I really had no idea how to understand the emotions that were brewing inside of me... how all the self-hatred and disgust with myself would eventually play out. I just knew when I thought of M I felt happy and it made me want to touch myself. Where I realize things went askew is that I didn't think about M naked. I didn't think about sticking my penis inside of her or grabbing her breasts. I thought about M tying me up and mounting me, holding me down and telling me not to talk. It always came back to those events and often to the more extreme days.
The most extreme case I wrote about in depth in Part 1B, when M bound me and put another girl's coat on me backwards with my arms pinned inside instead of through the sleeve-holes. M wasn't a girlie girl. She wasn't really a tomboy, just athletic. Her clothing was mostly practical but still attractive. The coat she chose to imprison me in (out of the 5-6 to choose from) was from a girlie girl. It was frilly and trimmed with fur.
After the encounter, my sister and the girl whose coat it was were mortified that I had worn it... like I chose to wear it. My mother reamed me out for it as well. I felt really ashamed. When I told them that M made me do it, they piled it on and I felt even more ashamed. That shame would carry over with every successive interaction.
This must really be where it started... rubbing myself while thinking about M doing things to me that made me feel ashamed. That was the only way I knew how to do it... well, the only way I wanted to do it. By the time I got a bit older I realized that my sexual wiring had been severely fucked up. I kept this a secret and just hated myself for being so different. When I saw M I could wave, but I couldn't speak around her. I wanted to be with her but I was too embarrassed with who I was.
When my parents divorced my father's mild violence toward me (a punch here or there) turned into heavy violence. I became a ball of ticking rage that would fly off the handle about almost anything. I drove away friends. My father had a prominent role in the community and that led to bullying at school. My best friend ditched me because I wasn't cool enough to hang out with.
I finally snapped one day after my mother belittled me again and I just started downing bottles of pills. They tried to hold me down but I was stronger now, I broke free, punched and kicked through a few walls and windows, and ended up shrieking and bawling in a heap in the yard. I wanted to die. I ended up vomiting up blood and most of the pills.
The next few years I was forced to take meds and into therapy. Neither went anywhere. I was still top of my class in grades but now that I was a foot shorter than most of my classmates, I was still a very good athlete, but no longer dominant as I had been before. This evaporated my relationship with my father even more. I hated everyone and everything, hating myself most of all. The meds ended with another overdose attempt... on the meds. I wasn't aware that they were designed specifically to not be able to kill someone who tried that. Another vomit-fest followed. I learned to "fake it" from then on. Appearing well enough to get people to leave me alone.
By this time I was masturbating regularly, both in the "old way" and in the "normal way," but I still could only think about M... or someone else in M's role. This galvanized my self-hatred above all.
Finally, my growth spurt hit. I didn't get very tall (5'7") but no one could call me fat anymore. Everything pretty much came together at once and my body became a wrecking machine... a densely packed force of bulk and muscle. This made me interesting again to my father as I was being scouted by the varsity football and baseball coaches when I was still in Jr. High. It came crashing down when a freak football injury in the final 2 minutes of a hopeless game cost me everything. My foot almost got torn off and I had complete ligament damage throughout the foot, ankle, and lower leg as well as severe damage to the nerves and cartilage. Surgery wasn't available for that type of injury at that time and they treated it improperly. I rehabbed as best I could because that was what was expected of me if I wanted to earn parental love. I came back bigger and even stronger... but my heart wasn't in it anymore. I finally stood up to my father and told him I quit. This led to a brawl of rather epic proportions, but he wasn't able to beat me into submission anymore.
The emptiness that followed was a new experience. I already hated myself, but now I had no clue who I was. My long-standing identity was broken. I fell in with the drug crowd. For the next year and a half I missed maybe 3-4 days without getting messed up on something for the majority of the day. It was when the town ran dry for a spell and I ended up having seizures that I bit the bullet and suffered through the withdrawls. I turned to booze to ease the burden. This was harder since I couldn't be drunk all the time so I made up for it with binges when I could. As my tolerance built up I was soon downing a Liter of 80-100 proof hard alcohol over 2-4 hours in order to get sufficiently numb. When this wasn't enough it became drinking more of it, or drinking it faster, or both. I started blacking out. People started making sure I was still breathing and I was becoming a burden. I was still top in my class... that was part of the faking it that I never let go of. I was a mess. It came to a head on a night where I managed to overdose on codeine and get alcohol poisoning by drinking 750mL of bourbon in an hour on an empty stomach after taking enough codeine to kill most people. I woke up in the bathroom 20 hours later in a mess of dried vomited blood. By 17 I was an alcoholic recovering drug addict who hated everything about himself.
I was no longer masturbating about M. She was sufficiently out of my league by now. I kept on going with the things that M did to me and continued to feel ashamed about it.
I had a bit of a wake up call at some point. I had 8 friends die in 2 years from everything from suicide to being killed by drunk drivers. After the last one died from anorexia/depression/overdose, I got my shit together and sobered up. I was no good to anyone (even though people thought I was the life of the party). I made a decision to change. Even though I couldn't love myself I knew I could make an impact on the lives of others... a positive one. I knew I had been through hell emotionally and had managed to somehow get through it without dying. I sobered up completely. I started reaching out to people I knew that were hurting. I was their shoulder. Their listening ear. I gave advice where I could. I was there for them... 24 hours a day if needed.
I continued this path. I got used a lot. I got taken advantage of. If I ever fell in love with someone I was rejected. I buried my own feelings. I had become someone who was there for everyone but a person that no one cared enough about to keep around once life got better. I steered the course. I finally found love at 18 and we had plans to marry but it fell apart when her emotional condition took a severe turn for the worse. I steered the course. I kept failing. I kept revising, I kept improving myself. I still didn't love myself, but I kept on trying. Apparently this was my own training to become a submissive.
Eventually I met K (Reflections part 2). I took a chance on a woman who would probably die because that's the type of person I wanted to be... someone who would be there through good times and bad... I would be there until the end. It was through K that I learned that I did have worth and I finally started having that feeling some refer to as "self-esteem." I finally felt like it was a little bit okay to masturbate fantasizing about being tied up by a woman. It took half my life to get there but I finally did. The 8 years of intense suffering through sobriety finally paid off as well. I was the type of man she could love.
As I look back upon what I have just written... it's a big mess... but I guess that's sort of symbolic of how I was over that span. I don't know if reading this will benefit anyone, but I feel better about things now that I have written it.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Reflections - An Autobiographical Account of my Journey into D/s
I realized as things went on for far longer than I intended that the more things went out of order and the longer it got, the more difficult it would be to navigate it all.
Part 0 - Prologue
Part 1: The Early Years
Part 1A - Background
Part 1B - Early Experiences
Part 1X - Additional Reflections on M
Part 1XX - More Thoughts on M
Part 2: K and My Introduction to the Lifestyle
Part 2A: The Beginning
Part 2B: Learning and Training
Part 2C: Difficulties and Complications
Part 2D: Fur and Discoveries
Part 2E: slavespace and Feminization
Part 2F: The Painful Ending
Part 2X: More Thoughts on K
Part 3: Transitions
Part 4: F and Exploration
Part 4A: Connection
Part 4B: Dominance and an Assignment
Part 4C: Early Play
Part 4D: Losing My Virginity
Part 4E: Chastity and Orgasm Denial
Part 4F: Competence
Part 4G: Complications, Endings, and Changes
Part 4X: More about F
Part 5: T and Breaking Down Limits
Part 5A: Catching Up
Part 5B: Inadequacy and Overcoming
Reflections part 0
It feels natural to write a summary over all this... I don't know, sort of like the end of semester assignments in class or something like that. Upon completing it I feel it might work best as an introduction to the work as a whole.
I started writing these reflections upon Lady Grey's suggestion that I try to return to writing in a more personal way. I've been away from this side of myself for quite a while now and have a much firmer grasp of myself and better understanding of the D/s lifestyle dynamics than when I started this blog 6 years ago.
When I originally wrote my story in my early posts back in 2010, I labored over how to present myself and carefully composed an ultra-condensed version covering a span of about 5 years. I was still very insecure with my place in this world and subconsciously chose to skim over certain things to avoid really having to look at what had happened.
I figured looking back on the beginning and working my way forwards was as good of a place as any, looking to use all that I have learned over the past 6 years to shed insight upon the events of the past. I felt there was no reason to censor myself and I may as well let it all "hang out there," to be completely honest to both myself and anyone who may be reading. I originally anticipated writing ~500-600 words covering it all across maybe 3 or 4 total posts. Unlike before, I wanted to keep the majority of the writing "in the moment," and as I attempted to re-live the events in my head I felt a strong connection to the feelings I had at the time and tried to channel things from there.
I surely hope that this was able to come through in the writing, although I know for a fact there are several posts that I wasn't able to complete in 1 sitting due to time constraints, unplanned changes in arousal levels due to outside distractions, or having to regain my composure after stopping to cry. I apologize in advance for those moments where the writing may seem to abruptly change, almost like it was being written by two different people.
Little did I know that channeling my feelings would several thousand words' worth of material, much of it flowing naturally. The post splits were necessary to adequately flush out one aspect of my submission without diluting the the post with important, yet barely related events. In these cases I would often quickly begin a new draft, jotting down some notes for what would be the next section, and then continuing back upon the post I was working on. By the time I reached part 4 I had drafts of the next 6 parts ready to be filled in.
At times during the writing I felt my head completely spinning out of control. I wrote from my heart, reliving moments, recalling the fear, joy, shame, sadness, love, confusion, intimacy, curiosity, anger, desperation, and arousal that they entailed. As I approached the end of each primary part I dreaded what would come next, almost like I wanted to keep stretching out the good times forever in order to prevent the inevitable collapse.
Writing about the events leading up to and the eventual endings hurt. It hurt a lot. Several paragraphs took well over an hour to write 5 sentences because I couldn't stop crying and the guilt I felt about the choices I made in those situations returned at a very real level.
Usually when I write, it's with a goal of being informative and/or helpful: to educate people and provide a greater understanding some of the less tangible aspects of D/s, subspace, humiliation, fetishes, and the like. I have no clue whether this body of work as a whole will be able to do any of that, at least not directly. I'm sure in some ways there will be at least one person who can draw something that helps them from these words, even if it's just the knowledge that someone else out there has had similar feelings and experiences, and lets them know, "I'm not the only one, I'm not alone."
Thank you for reading.
I started writing these reflections upon Lady Grey's suggestion that I try to return to writing in a more personal way. I've been away from this side of myself for quite a while now and have a much firmer grasp of myself and better understanding of the D/s lifestyle dynamics than when I started this blog 6 years ago.
When I originally wrote my story in my early posts back in 2010, I labored over how to present myself and carefully composed an ultra-condensed version covering a span of about 5 years. I was still very insecure with my place in this world and subconsciously chose to skim over certain things to avoid really having to look at what had happened.
I figured looking back on the beginning and working my way forwards was as good of a place as any, looking to use all that I have learned over the past 6 years to shed insight upon the events of the past. I felt there was no reason to censor myself and I may as well let it all "hang out there," to be completely honest to both myself and anyone who may be reading. I originally anticipated writing ~500-600 words covering it all across maybe 3 or 4 total posts. Unlike before, I wanted to keep the majority of the writing "in the moment," and as I attempted to re-live the events in my head I felt a strong connection to the feelings I had at the time and tried to channel things from there.
I surely hope that this was able to come through in the writing, although I know for a fact there are several posts that I wasn't able to complete in 1 sitting due to time constraints, unplanned changes in arousal levels due to outside distractions, or having to regain my composure after stopping to cry. I apologize in advance for those moments where the writing may seem to abruptly change, almost like it was being written by two different people.
Little did I know that channeling my feelings would several thousand words' worth of material, much of it flowing naturally. The post splits were necessary to adequately flush out one aspect of my submission without diluting the the post with important, yet barely related events. In these cases I would often quickly begin a new draft, jotting down some notes for what would be the next section, and then continuing back upon the post I was working on. By the time I reached part 4 I had drafts of the next 6 parts ready to be filled in.
At times during the writing I felt my head completely spinning out of control. I wrote from my heart, reliving moments, recalling the fear, joy, shame, sadness, love, confusion, intimacy, curiosity, anger, desperation, and arousal that they entailed. As I approached the end of each primary part I dreaded what would come next, almost like I wanted to keep stretching out the good times forever in order to prevent the inevitable collapse.
Writing about the events leading up to and the eventual endings hurt. It hurt a lot. Several paragraphs took well over an hour to write 5 sentences because I couldn't stop crying and the guilt I felt about the choices I made in those situations returned at a very real level.
Usually when I write, it's with a goal of being informative and/or helpful: to educate people and provide a greater understanding some of the less tangible aspects of D/s, subspace, humiliation, fetishes, and the like. I have no clue whether this body of work as a whole will be able to do any of that, at least not directly. I'm sure in some ways there will be at least one person who can draw something that helps them from these words, even if it's just the knowledge that someone else out there has had similar feelings and experiences, and lets them know, "I'm not the only one, I'm not alone."
Thank you for reading.
Reflections part 1xx
I have one more thing I think is worth adding to this part, although I wish I would have thought of it before posting 1x.
It was about 3 years ago that I first remembered my experiences with M, well after I started this blog, and I had never really considered that she played a part in me becoming a submissive. These Reflections posts have involved a large amount of tearing down down defensive walls within me, my childhood being a very large one. Most of my pre-high school memories have been on lockdown for many years.
When I started writing part 1b, it was from an "oh yeah, I remember M used to tease and torment me a bit..." point of view. It wasn't until I started to really delve into the first experience that the rest of it came rushing back. They weren't isolated occurrences. They happened 5-15 times a year over the course of 4-6 years (I can't recall the exact age I was when they started). At some point during that stretch, girls stopped being "gross," and I think I was really taken by M. This just made me more shy and awkward around her since I didn't know how to deal with those feelings. The fact that she quit coming to see me after I had an erection with her was a source of great shame and I felt like I had driven her away (and was another big reason I had blocked this out).
What really stands out thematically for me is that she really made me feel like I was special in some way and in the moment, I felt very safe. My mother and sister did nothing to protect me from my father, and I believe I must have craved the feeling that M could provide when no one else could.
It was about 3 years ago that I first remembered my experiences with M, well after I started this blog, and I had never really considered that she played a part in me becoming a submissive. These Reflections posts have involved a large amount of tearing down down defensive walls within me, my childhood being a very large one. Most of my pre-high school memories have been on lockdown for many years.
When I started writing part 1b, it was from an "oh yeah, I remember M used to tease and torment me a bit..." point of view. It wasn't until I started to really delve into the first experience that the rest of it came rushing back. They weren't isolated occurrences. They happened 5-15 times a year over the course of 4-6 years (I can't recall the exact age I was when they started). At some point during that stretch, girls stopped being "gross," and I think I was really taken by M. This just made me more shy and awkward around her since I didn't know how to deal with those feelings. The fact that she quit coming to see me after I had an erection with her was a source of great shame and I felt like I had driven her away (and was another big reason I had blocked this out).
What really stands out thematically for me is that she really made me feel like I was special in some way and in the moment, I felt very safe. My mother and sister did nothing to protect me from my father, and I believe I must have craved the feeling that M could provide when no one else could.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Reflections 1x: The Aftermath
It realized yesterday that my experiences in 1b really did yield a large number of changes in me. These happened slowly over the course of my interactions with M and continued on from there. They seemed to plant a seed that was nurtured by my deeper fears and feelings although I was quite unaware of it at the time.
I was raised to win. To be excellent. To give my best all the time, overcome all obstacles, and win. Winning wasn't a reward, it was an expectation. It brought me no joy, only a break from the fear of losing... the fear of not being good enough... the fear of being ignored after I would disappoint.
I was also a supposed to be a "tough guy." Tough guys don't cry. They don't whine when they are cold. Tough guys don't bundle up. Gloves, hats, coats, etc. are all optional for a tough guy. If I wasn't a tough guy, I was a wuss, and a wuss wasn't a winner.
At a young age I had built up a front to match those expectations of me. M shattered those expectations. She overpowered me and I was soundly defeated. There was something different going on here though. When she took me, I felt safe. It was like she expected me to lose and losing to her felt pretty good. It was a stark contrast to losing to my father, which was very unpleasant. I think that I grew to like to losing to M to repeat the feelings of safety.
When I think back I realize that my play habits started to change after that. When playing with action figures and the like, I preferred associating with the losing side (the bad guys). No matter how great of an advantage in numbers, resources, planning, and firepower, they always lost. While there was the standard "it looks like they'll win this time," routine in cartoons and comics, the good guys were just vastly superior and would dominate them at every turn when things really mattered.
Most toy series had relatively few female characters but the ones that were there were generally badasses. The "good guy" women were extreme smart, prolific, ass-kickers. The "bad guy" women were usually competent, intelligent, and cruel. In most cases, the bad women would lead a cadre of incompetent bad men, lose due to their inferiority, and she would jet in the confusion leaving them to be completely defeated and captured. I replayed this scenario many times with toys, the good women defeating the inferior bad men and taking them prisoner. I felt a close bond with the inferior men.
In my actual life I ended up being quite smart and strong and usually won. When I would lose to M I felt better about myself. She was my badass and I felt that way about her for years.
M's bondage was really a perfect storm of events. Bad weather was at the root of a lot of it. Being stuck indoors. Loads of extra clothing. Multiple sets of it readily available. I don't know if it ever could have happened under other circumstances.
As I was raised to be a tough guy and was accustomed to going out in winter with barely a coat on. Boots were only used as a means to prevent ruining shoes. I never wore hats or scarves. Gloves only if it was really bad. If I had managed to get frost bite on my ears, the most I wore was a headband until they healed. When M bound me with scarves and a hat, the tough guy was utterly defeated.
I'm not a psychologist, but I would have to guess that these early experiences created some associations that I wasn't aware of. Losing to a strong woman = safety and protection. Girls winter clothing = surrender.
For most of my youth I found myself unavoidably drawn to strong women. In winter my eyes always managed to find girls that were bundled up, as much as I might try to avert them. I kept these secrets buried deep within me for as long as I could remember, terrified that anyone would ever find out about that part of me.
I was raised to win. To be excellent. To give my best all the time, overcome all obstacles, and win. Winning wasn't a reward, it was an expectation. It brought me no joy, only a break from the fear of losing... the fear of not being good enough... the fear of being ignored after I would disappoint.
I was also a supposed to be a "tough guy." Tough guys don't cry. They don't whine when they are cold. Tough guys don't bundle up. Gloves, hats, coats, etc. are all optional for a tough guy. If I wasn't a tough guy, I was a wuss, and a wuss wasn't a winner.
At a young age I had built up a front to match those expectations of me. M shattered those expectations. She overpowered me and I was soundly defeated. There was something different going on here though. When she took me, I felt safe. It was like she expected me to lose and losing to her felt pretty good. It was a stark contrast to losing to my father, which was very unpleasant. I think that I grew to like to losing to M to repeat the feelings of safety.
When I think back I realize that my play habits started to change after that. When playing with action figures and the like, I preferred associating with the losing side (the bad guys). No matter how great of an advantage in numbers, resources, planning, and firepower, they always lost. While there was the standard "it looks like they'll win this time," routine in cartoons and comics, the good guys were just vastly superior and would dominate them at every turn when things really mattered.
Most toy series had relatively few female characters but the ones that were there were generally badasses. The "good guy" women were extreme smart, prolific, ass-kickers. The "bad guy" women were usually competent, intelligent, and cruel. In most cases, the bad women would lead a cadre of incompetent bad men, lose due to their inferiority, and she would jet in the confusion leaving them to be completely defeated and captured. I replayed this scenario many times with toys, the good women defeating the inferior bad men and taking them prisoner. I felt a close bond with the inferior men.
In my actual life I ended up being quite smart and strong and usually won. When I would lose to M I felt better about myself. She was my badass and I felt that way about her for years.
M's bondage was really a perfect storm of events. Bad weather was at the root of a lot of it. Being stuck indoors. Loads of extra clothing. Multiple sets of it readily available. I don't know if it ever could have happened under other circumstances.
As I was raised to be a tough guy and was accustomed to going out in winter with barely a coat on. Boots were only used as a means to prevent ruining shoes. I never wore hats or scarves. Gloves only if it was really bad. If I had managed to get frost bite on my ears, the most I wore was a headband until they healed. When M bound me with scarves and a hat, the tough guy was utterly defeated.
I'm not a psychologist, but I would have to guess that these early experiences created some associations that I wasn't aware of. Losing to a strong woman = safety and protection. Girls winter clothing = surrender.
For most of my youth I found myself unavoidably drawn to strong women. In winter my eyes always managed to find girls that were bundled up, as much as I might try to avert them. I kept these secrets buried deep within me for as long as I could remember, terrified that anyone would ever find out about that part of me.
Reflections part 5b: Inadequacy and Overcoming
This will probably be the last reflections post. A big thank you to everyone has taken the time to read them. A big thank you to Lady Grey for giving me the inspiration to take on this endeavor.
There are two events I have shared with T that shook me on the same level that my early experiences did. One of them was a shopping trip where we bought some skirts, garters, and stockings at a local store that caters mostly to strippers. It's basically a repeat of awkwardness that I have recounted a couple of times already and not all that interesting.
The other event has a bit of history behind it. There were some things in D/s that I just didn't like the idea of or care to experience. While my initial list of hard limits I composed for K had shrunk by now to only a few things, those limits did still exist. T hadn't quite developed the tools to break me in those mattes, so we sort of just let them go. Basically, I agreed that with certain things, I was okay if she played with other subs to make them happen if they were important to her.
T had a couple of subs she had played with semi-regularly before I met her. They were not romantic interests and they were into things I didn't care for, so it let it go. As long as she didn't have intercourse with them or perform fellatio, I was pretty much fine with whatever and wasn't jealous about it.
One of the subs had two things he really enjoyed: cleaning with inspection and being badly beaten. It ended up being a win win for him, and a win win for T. e.g. When she moved, he helped do the cleaning in exchange for a beating. Unfortunately, his form of cleaning was more of a Femdom fantasy cleaning and less of a practical cleaning. She asked him to clean the bathroom. He got on his hands and knees with a toothbrush. 4 hours later, he had successfully thoroughly scrubbed about 1/10th of the bathroom and then had to leave with the remaining 9/10ths unfinished. I don't particularly enjoy cleaning or pain, so if he wanted to do that and she wanted to whip him until he bled, hey, better him than me.
However, T had another major fetish: pegging. This didn't really bode well for my nothing up the butt hard limit. A few years ago I started frequenting the Fur Fashion Guide forums, which was a VERY active fur fetish site with many fur Dommes and subs in the mix. I decided to put my location on my profile and after making an introduction post I was contacted by one of the admins who was also local. He had a very large fur collection and begged me to chain him to a horse and fuck him up the ass. I declined. He kept pressing. That type of interaction is of no interest to me and on top of it, I can't even get it up unless I'm the bottom. He continued and offered up a fur coat as payment for it. At this time T had gone several years without any form of anal play for my sake, so I took a shot in the dark and responded I might know a woman that would be interested in pegging you for a fur coat. I think he almost crapped his pants as that was what he actually wanted and was willing to have a man fuck him if that was his only outlet for it. He sent me pictures of the coats she would be allowed to choose from. I told him I would get back to him.
When I approached T I told her I didn't mean to pimp her out, but a local guy on a fur forum is offering a fur coat if you'll peg him. Her eyes lit up and she was very interested. We set up for a dinner meeting to get to know each other. We ate dinner and talked and had a pretty good time. He was a decently fun guy to spend time with, which made me question why he came off as strongly as he did via internet chat. We ended up going over to our place and he took a look at her furs (as well as mine).
We picked a date for the event that would happen at his home. He had the equipment and a brand new Feeldoe he had been saving for this day. T wanted to make a production out of it. So we planned things out a bit in advance.
When we arrived we went to a room to change. T put on her Domme clothing and fur (corset, stockings, boots, gloves, etc.). She had me dressed up in full (fur items, sweater, stripper skirt, stockings, garters, boots, a fur jock strap that left my ass exposed, and a black bondage mask) including a collar, cuffs, gag, and bondage belt. When we went downstairs he had porn going on the TV. T had secured my wrists to the side rings of the bondage belt, restrained my ankles, gagged me, and was leading me around by a leash. This was my first time ever being seen by an "outsider" while dressed, but he was wearing something so similar it didn't bother me. T plopped me down on the couch facing away from the horse, put a vibrating egg in my jock, and turned it on before walking away to "do the deed."
It must have been about an hour before she returned to me and turned off the egg. The nerves in my penis were so overstimulated that it hurt. She led me over to the horse, unlocked the chains and locked me to the horse. T ended up whipping me with a few things, spending most of her time with a crop but also a switch and paddle. Afterwards, we changed and when we got home we went at it voraciously in the shower. For a while, this improved our sex life. We had some play with the other guy a few more times before I started noticing some changes in her behavior.
T started being gone more often. She would "go to the store" and not return for 6 hours, telling me later she was with him. T is the type that easily loses track of time and will often forget to text saying when she is going to be late. Some days we would plan on going out for dinner but she wouldn't come home until 9:30pm because she was with him and lost track of time. Eventually we had less time together and he was getting the majority of her free time. I let her know it was bothering me but she replied that she was just doing what I said was okay to do.
This continued for several months. By then we were barely getting any time together and she was seeing him 2-4 times a week. It capped off one year on new year's day when I woke up and she wasn't there and didn't answer calls or respond to texts. She came home at 3:30pm. She had gone over to peg him at 6am and lost track of time. My feelings were hurt and I let her know that. I don't think she understood what it was doing to me. I hardened my resolve and decided to do something about it. I chose a day when I knew she wasn't working and asked her to save that day. After dinner I told her to come to the bedroom in 15 minutes and I went in and closed the door. I had to act fast as I wasn't sure just how logistically difficult it would be to get it all together.
I quickly stripped and put on a CB-6000. I followed with the entire "sissy whore" ensemble she had picked out: Thigh high stockings, garters, 4" heel knee boots with fur leg warmers over the top, a fur jock strap, a tiny micro-mini skirt, a prickly tight sweater, a cropped fur jacket, fur trimmed gloves, my collar, gag, fur pom pom hat, and earmuffs. A blindfold was in position to go and I had put in earplugs, which combined with the layer of the hat and earmuffs made me nearly deaf except for the sound of my own breathing and heartbeat. I buckled on the wrist and ankle restraints, quickly putting locks in each one's locking buckle along with the gag and collar. I put a leash on the collar and I attached an 18" spreader bar between the ankle restraints and stacked up some pillows on the bed and leaned over them as I climbed on. The last part was tricky. I pulled the blindfold over my eyes and proceeded to lock each wrist cuff directly to the ankle cuff.
My face was pressed on the bed, unable to see, speak, or hear. The pillows forced my butt up in the air. The spreader bar kept my legs from closing and I could barely move. I was completely vulnerable. I left a paper shopping bag in the middle of the floor and a note with big letters saying "PLEASE DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ME." I waited what felt like forever. T had lost track of time, but when she finally did arrive she was surprised. I'm sure she found the bag. Inside was her favorite crop and a paddle and a strap on harness.
I felt her hand caress my bare bottom. She slapped it a few times. I was breathing so hard that I couldn't hear anything else except the impact. Next came the crop. It struck my skin and I let out a grunt. Again and again it bit my flesh. I squealed from under the gag. I could feel my butt cheeks begin to heat up and swell. The strokes stopped for about a minute. They resumed but with a much sharper, more violent sting. I had guessed she changed devices over to a fiberglass switch that had a thin knotted rope at the tip. With each impact I felt a deeper bite into my skin. I could tell these were leaving marks and this was the hardest that T had ever hit me. I bit down on the gag and let out a muffled yelp with each strike. T continued to strike me for several minutes, moving the impact points around to give a large area of coverage. I began to cry. The impacts stopped. My entire buttocks region was burning, swollen, and covered in welts.
The next thing I felt were her hands on my waist. The tears were still flowing but I let out a whine. I felt her finger touch the crack of my ass and some fluid. She spread the fluid around. I cringed, closing my butt cheeks. My breathing became heavy and erratic. I began to sob and struggle but my movement was so limited by the restraints it didn't do much. I felt the tip of the dildo against my ass. Tears were flowing in full force by now. I tried to shout but the gag prevented the words from forming: "No, Stop!"
The tip entered me. "No, please stop! Stop!" I shouted against the gag. The earplugs translated it clearly back to me: "Mmmmmp! mm mm Mmmp!" She slid it in. I shrieked and wailed, fighting against my bonds. I was hyperventilating. "No!" She pressed on and stopped with it inside me. "Take it out! Please take it out!" I bawled. At that moment a new feeling appeared in me as I lay there with her dildo in my ass... the feeling of being ultimately violated.
She slid out and back in. I screamed and thrashed. Again in and out and back in, holding it there. I crumpled and went limp, completely defeated. T slowly pulled out from inside me. A few moments later I felt her undoing the gag. I wept and whimpered. "Please no more..."
I heard traces of her voice. "Earplugs," I gasped between sobs.
T pulled off the hat, earmuffs, and blindfold and removed the earplugs from my ears.
"Are you okay?"
"No... I'm broken..." I was breathing in gasps.
T undid the rest of the restraints and sat on the bed. I crumpled near her with my head on her lap. I couldn't stop crying. She ran her fingers through my hair and looked down at me with tears in her eyes.
"I shouldn't have done this..." she whispered.
"It's okay. I did this for you."
"But it's hurt you so badly..."
"I did this for you. So that I could be enough for you."
"I love you," she said with tears still in her eyes.
"I love you too. Did you like it?"
"I loved it."
We stayed like that for a while. I could tell that something inside me had changed. I now felt like I was willing to do anything to make her happy.
We took a shower together after that. She was covered in her own juices and I was covered in sweat and lube. In the shower I went down on her with a combination of fingers and tongue and made her cum until she didn't want to anymore. When it was time for my reward I placed my hands on the wall and spread my legs.
"Would this make you happy, Mistress?"
"Yes."
She inserted a finger inside of me. The feelings of violation returned and I began to weep.
"I don't like this, Mistress."
"Too bad, your ass belongs to me now."
She pulled my left arm behind my back and pinned it behind me with her body. She then moved her left arm around my neck and put me in a choke hold, while keeping her right hand's fingers in my ass.
"Now stroke it like a pathetic sissy whore who just got raped."
I did as instructed. My penis was already rock hard. I continued to cry.
"I love your tears, slut."
"Mistress, I don't like this..." I pleaded.
"Tough," she replied as she pressed her finger deeper.
"May I cum please, Mistress?" I sobbed.
"Yes."
I let out a wail as I came. T turned me around and held me close while I sobbed away. When I regained my composure I washed her body and hair and gave her a deep kiss.
In the aftermath, T asked me why I went so heavy on the bondage and the chastity device for that. I answered her honestly. If I had left any glimmer of daylight to escape it, I knew when faced with the situation I would have fought like hell to take it. By locking everything and being in an inescapable position, that choice was removed. The gag and blindfold were for her. I believed if she saw and heard just how upsetting it was for me that she would have stopped before her desires were fulfilled, and if that happened, there would have been no point in doing it in the first place. The CB was also for her. I knew T had a pretty strong fantasy for raping a man with a strap on and I figured removing any chance for sexual pleasure helped reinforce that fantasy.
After that, T started spending more and more time with me. While she would still visit him every so often, it was relatively infrequent and usually when I had made other plans as well. As painful as it was emotionally for me I felt good that I was able to be enough for her. In the time that followed, anal play became a regular part of our interactions. However, to this day, I still cry every time something gets put in my ass.
There are two events I have shared with T that shook me on the same level that my early experiences did. One of them was a shopping trip where we bought some skirts, garters, and stockings at a local store that caters mostly to strippers. It's basically a repeat of awkwardness that I have recounted a couple of times already and not all that interesting.
The other event has a bit of history behind it. There were some things in D/s that I just didn't like the idea of or care to experience. While my initial list of hard limits I composed for K had shrunk by now to only a few things, those limits did still exist. T hadn't quite developed the tools to break me in those mattes, so we sort of just let them go. Basically, I agreed that with certain things, I was okay if she played with other subs to make them happen if they were important to her.
T had a couple of subs she had played with semi-regularly before I met her. They were not romantic interests and they were into things I didn't care for, so it let it go. As long as she didn't have intercourse with them or perform fellatio, I was pretty much fine with whatever and wasn't jealous about it.
One of the subs had two things he really enjoyed: cleaning with inspection and being badly beaten. It ended up being a win win for him, and a win win for T. e.g. When she moved, he helped do the cleaning in exchange for a beating. Unfortunately, his form of cleaning was more of a Femdom fantasy cleaning and less of a practical cleaning. She asked him to clean the bathroom. He got on his hands and knees with a toothbrush. 4 hours later, he had successfully thoroughly scrubbed about 1/10th of the bathroom and then had to leave with the remaining 9/10ths unfinished. I don't particularly enjoy cleaning or pain, so if he wanted to do that and she wanted to whip him until he bled, hey, better him than me.
However, T had another major fetish: pegging. This didn't really bode well for my nothing up the butt hard limit. A few years ago I started frequenting the Fur Fashion Guide forums, which was a VERY active fur fetish site with many fur Dommes and subs in the mix. I decided to put my location on my profile and after making an introduction post I was contacted by one of the admins who was also local. He had a very large fur collection and begged me to chain him to a horse and fuck him up the ass. I declined. He kept pressing. That type of interaction is of no interest to me and on top of it, I can't even get it up unless I'm the bottom. He continued and offered up a fur coat as payment for it. At this time T had gone several years without any form of anal play for my sake, so I took a shot in the dark and responded I might know a woman that would be interested in pegging you for a fur coat. I think he almost crapped his pants as that was what he actually wanted and was willing to have a man fuck him if that was his only outlet for it. He sent me pictures of the coats she would be allowed to choose from. I told him I would get back to him.
When I approached T I told her I didn't mean to pimp her out, but a local guy on a fur forum is offering a fur coat if you'll peg him. Her eyes lit up and she was very interested. We set up for a dinner meeting to get to know each other. We ate dinner and talked and had a pretty good time. He was a decently fun guy to spend time with, which made me question why he came off as strongly as he did via internet chat. We ended up going over to our place and he took a look at her furs (as well as mine).
We picked a date for the event that would happen at his home. He had the equipment and a brand new Feeldoe he had been saving for this day. T wanted to make a production out of it. So we planned things out a bit in advance.
When we arrived we went to a room to change. T put on her Domme clothing and fur (corset, stockings, boots, gloves, etc.). She had me dressed up in full (fur items, sweater, stripper skirt, stockings, garters, boots, a fur jock strap that left my ass exposed, and a black bondage mask) including a collar, cuffs, gag, and bondage belt. When we went downstairs he had porn going on the TV. T had secured my wrists to the side rings of the bondage belt, restrained my ankles, gagged me, and was leading me around by a leash. This was my first time ever being seen by an "outsider" while dressed, but he was wearing something so similar it didn't bother me. T plopped me down on the couch facing away from the horse, put a vibrating egg in my jock, and turned it on before walking away to "do the deed."
It must have been about an hour before she returned to me and turned off the egg. The nerves in my penis were so overstimulated that it hurt. She led me over to the horse, unlocked the chains and locked me to the horse. T ended up whipping me with a few things, spending most of her time with a crop but also a switch and paddle. Afterwards, we changed and when we got home we went at it voraciously in the shower. For a while, this improved our sex life. We had some play with the other guy a few more times before I started noticing some changes in her behavior.
T started being gone more often. She would "go to the store" and not return for 6 hours, telling me later she was with him. T is the type that easily loses track of time and will often forget to text saying when she is going to be late. Some days we would plan on going out for dinner but she wouldn't come home until 9:30pm because she was with him and lost track of time. Eventually we had less time together and he was getting the majority of her free time. I let her know it was bothering me but she replied that she was just doing what I said was okay to do.
This continued for several months. By then we were barely getting any time together and she was seeing him 2-4 times a week. It capped off one year on new year's day when I woke up and she wasn't there and didn't answer calls or respond to texts. She came home at 3:30pm. She had gone over to peg him at 6am and lost track of time. My feelings were hurt and I let her know that. I don't think she understood what it was doing to me. I hardened my resolve and decided to do something about it. I chose a day when I knew she wasn't working and asked her to save that day. After dinner I told her to come to the bedroom in 15 minutes and I went in and closed the door. I had to act fast as I wasn't sure just how logistically difficult it would be to get it all together.
I quickly stripped and put on a CB-6000. I followed with the entire "sissy whore" ensemble she had picked out: Thigh high stockings, garters, 4" heel knee boots with fur leg warmers over the top, a fur jock strap, a tiny micro-mini skirt, a prickly tight sweater, a cropped fur jacket, fur trimmed gloves, my collar, gag, fur pom pom hat, and earmuffs. A blindfold was in position to go and I had put in earplugs, which combined with the layer of the hat and earmuffs made me nearly deaf except for the sound of my own breathing and heartbeat. I buckled on the wrist and ankle restraints, quickly putting locks in each one's locking buckle along with the gag and collar. I put a leash on the collar and I attached an 18" spreader bar between the ankle restraints and stacked up some pillows on the bed and leaned over them as I climbed on. The last part was tricky. I pulled the blindfold over my eyes and proceeded to lock each wrist cuff directly to the ankle cuff.
My face was pressed on the bed, unable to see, speak, or hear. The pillows forced my butt up in the air. The spreader bar kept my legs from closing and I could barely move. I was completely vulnerable. I left a paper shopping bag in the middle of the floor and a note with big letters saying "PLEASE DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ME." I waited what felt like forever. T had lost track of time, but when she finally did arrive she was surprised. I'm sure she found the bag. Inside was her favorite crop and a paddle and a strap on harness.
I felt her hand caress my bare bottom. She slapped it a few times. I was breathing so hard that I couldn't hear anything else except the impact. Next came the crop. It struck my skin and I let out a grunt. Again and again it bit my flesh. I squealed from under the gag. I could feel my butt cheeks begin to heat up and swell. The strokes stopped for about a minute. They resumed but with a much sharper, more violent sting. I had guessed she changed devices over to a fiberglass switch that had a thin knotted rope at the tip. With each impact I felt a deeper bite into my skin. I could tell these were leaving marks and this was the hardest that T had ever hit me. I bit down on the gag and let out a muffled yelp with each strike. T continued to strike me for several minutes, moving the impact points around to give a large area of coverage. I began to cry. The impacts stopped. My entire buttocks region was burning, swollen, and covered in welts.
The next thing I felt were her hands on my waist. The tears were still flowing but I let out a whine. I felt her finger touch the crack of my ass and some fluid. She spread the fluid around. I cringed, closing my butt cheeks. My breathing became heavy and erratic. I began to sob and struggle but my movement was so limited by the restraints it didn't do much. I felt the tip of the dildo against my ass. Tears were flowing in full force by now. I tried to shout but the gag prevented the words from forming: "No, Stop!"
The tip entered me. "No, please stop! Stop!" I shouted against the gag. The earplugs translated it clearly back to me: "Mmmmmp! mm mm Mmmp!" She slid it in. I shrieked and wailed, fighting against my bonds. I was hyperventilating. "No!" She pressed on and stopped with it inside me. "Take it out! Please take it out!" I bawled. At that moment a new feeling appeared in me as I lay there with her dildo in my ass... the feeling of being ultimately violated.
She slid out and back in. I screamed and thrashed. Again in and out and back in, holding it there. I crumpled and went limp, completely defeated. T slowly pulled out from inside me. A few moments later I felt her undoing the gag. I wept and whimpered. "Please no more..."
I heard traces of her voice. "Earplugs," I gasped between sobs.
T pulled off the hat, earmuffs, and blindfold and removed the earplugs from my ears.
"Are you okay?"
"No... I'm broken..." I was breathing in gasps.
T undid the rest of the restraints and sat on the bed. I crumpled near her with my head on her lap. I couldn't stop crying. She ran her fingers through my hair and looked down at me with tears in her eyes.
"I shouldn't have done this..." she whispered.
"It's okay. I did this for you."
"But it's hurt you so badly..."
"I did this for you. So that I could be enough for you."
"I love you," she said with tears still in her eyes.
"I love you too. Did you like it?"
"I loved it."
We stayed like that for a while. I could tell that something inside me had changed. I now felt like I was willing to do anything to make her happy.
We took a shower together after that. She was covered in her own juices and I was covered in sweat and lube. In the shower I went down on her with a combination of fingers and tongue and made her cum until she didn't want to anymore. When it was time for my reward I placed my hands on the wall and spread my legs.
"Would this make you happy, Mistress?"
"Yes."
She inserted a finger inside of me. The feelings of violation returned and I began to weep.
"I don't like this, Mistress."
"Too bad, your ass belongs to me now."
She pulled my left arm behind my back and pinned it behind me with her body. She then moved her left arm around my neck and put me in a choke hold, while keeping her right hand's fingers in my ass.
"Now stroke it like a pathetic sissy whore who just got raped."
I did as instructed. My penis was already rock hard. I continued to cry.
"I love your tears, slut."
"Mistress, I don't like this..." I pleaded.
"Tough," she replied as she pressed her finger deeper.
"May I cum please, Mistress?" I sobbed.
"Yes."
I let out a wail as I came. T turned me around and held me close while I sobbed away. When I regained my composure I washed her body and hair and gave her a deep kiss.
In the aftermath, T asked me why I went so heavy on the bondage and the chastity device for that. I answered her honestly. If I had left any glimmer of daylight to escape it, I knew when faced with the situation I would have fought like hell to take it. By locking everything and being in an inescapable position, that choice was removed. The gag and blindfold were for her. I believed if she saw and heard just how upsetting it was for me that she would have stopped before her desires were fulfilled, and if that happened, there would have been no point in doing it in the first place. The CB was also for her. I knew T had a pretty strong fantasy for raping a man with a strap on and I figured removing any chance for sexual pleasure helped reinforce that fantasy.
After that, T started spending more and more time with me. While she would still visit him every so often, it was relatively infrequent and usually when I had made other plans as well. As painful as it was emotionally for me I felt good that I was able to be enough for her. In the time that followed, anal play became a regular part of our interactions. However, to this day, I still cry every time something gets put in my ass.
Reflections Part 5: Catching up
T and I are still together after 8 years. We have had our ups and downs, good and bad. There have been periods with lots of D/s and periods with none. Seeing as how this chapter doesn't have an end, Part 5 will mostly include events that I deem notable as they have happened so far, although they may be in random order. This post will be shorter blurbs but the follow ups will likely be a bit more focused.
A few things that come to mind...
At one point I accidentally left my old collarme ad as "looking for a Domme" status even though I hadn't logged into it in over a year. A local pro Dominatrix and lifestyle Domme contacted me about my ad and was interested in a meet up. Her ad had been running since I joined that site (4+ years) and I remember reading it and badly failing her "You must:" and "You must not:" lists. I replied apologetically that the ad was old and I was no longer looking and she railed on me pretty badly about being irresponsible, discourteous, etc. It was an interesting experience. Search results are sorted by most recent logins and last logged in is displayed, so she must have really been struggling to find a good fit if she dug that far into the profiles when at the time there were about 20,000 male sub ads vs. 120 Domme ads in our metro area. Now that I see those numbers in front of me, it probably took her hours and hours to dig that far into the ads to get to my profile so she was probably a bit pissed.
T left her ad up with a "looking for friends only" status. She once showed me her inbox. When it was set to "looking for a sub," she would average 450 messages a day, 250 of which were dick pics and some request to sit on their face or some shit. With "looking for friends only" it cut things down to 250 messages a day, 200 of which were dick pics. I just don't get people sometimes. I couldn't even fathom sending a dick pic as a good idea unless I was at least 10", and even then wouldn't common sense be: "hrm, sending a dick pic as a first contact might make me look like a douche."
T is bisexual and doesn't mind playing with or having sexual relations with other women. When we were trying to spice things up a bit T decided to try to find another sub to engage in play. I told her I was okay with it if it was a woman, but I didn't really want to interact with another man and she enjoyed the thought of it. We had a scene in mind that we wanted to try:
T would dress me and the sub girl up in identical fur slut outfits (with me also in chastity and a gag). T would have the girl, who was seeing me dressed for the first time, inspect me and let her say her reactions about it. T would then chain me up and put me in the closet while she had her way with the girl and I could only listen and maybe peek through a crack.
T had me write the ad, which we posted on her collarme account:
Domme seeks sub girl for Lesdom play and humiliation of a male sub.
Must love fur.
No men.
She got 800 replies in the first day, ranging up to 2000 miles away. Filtering out everyone that wasn't local, dick pics, and men saying "I'm not a girl but I would do it," we got 1 response. The response was "I don't love fur but I'd be interested in trying it." T invited the woman over for a meet up. I prepared my best dish for dinner and served them. She seemed like a nice woman. She was married but had a "license to play" from her husband. T never got into specifics about the scene, they mostly just talked with me hovering in the background refilling drinks. The woman said she had a good time and would be seeing us again.
The next day T received a message from her saying she wasn't interested since she didn't find me physically attractive and had no desire to sleep with me. I really had to scratch my head about this one. The ad was 18 words and had no implication of any sort of sexual interaction with me and she didn't love fur either, so really? A week and a half later she wrote back saying she changed her mind and was interested. T kindly told her to go fuck herself. We took the ad down as T was getting 1000-1900 responses a day to it, all from men.
A few things that come to mind...
At one point I accidentally left my old collarme ad as "looking for a Domme" status even though I hadn't logged into it in over a year. A local pro Dominatrix and lifestyle Domme contacted me about my ad and was interested in a meet up. Her ad had been running since I joined that site (4+ years) and I remember reading it and badly failing her "You must:" and "You must not:" lists. I replied apologetically that the ad was old and I was no longer looking and she railed on me pretty badly about being irresponsible, discourteous, etc. It was an interesting experience. Search results are sorted by most recent logins and last logged in is displayed, so she must have really been struggling to find a good fit if she dug that far into the profiles when at the time there were about 20,000 male sub ads vs. 120 Domme ads in our metro area. Now that I see those numbers in front of me, it probably took her hours and hours to dig that far into the ads to get to my profile so she was probably a bit pissed.
T left her ad up with a "looking for friends only" status. She once showed me her inbox. When it was set to "looking for a sub," she would average 450 messages a day, 250 of which were dick pics and some request to sit on their face or some shit. With "looking for friends only" it cut things down to 250 messages a day, 200 of which were dick pics. I just don't get people sometimes. I couldn't even fathom sending a dick pic as a good idea unless I was at least 10", and even then wouldn't common sense be: "hrm, sending a dick pic as a first contact might make me look like a douche."
T is bisexual and doesn't mind playing with or having sexual relations with other women. When we were trying to spice things up a bit T decided to try to find another sub to engage in play. I told her I was okay with it if it was a woman, but I didn't really want to interact with another man and she enjoyed the thought of it. We had a scene in mind that we wanted to try:
T would dress me and the sub girl up in identical fur slut outfits (with me also in chastity and a gag). T would have the girl, who was seeing me dressed for the first time, inspect me and let her say her reactions about it. T would then chain me up and put me in the closet while she had her way with the girl and I could only listen and maybe peek through a crack.
T had me write the ad, which we posted on her collarme account:
Domme seeks sub girl for Lesdom play and humiliation of a male sub.
Must love fur.
No men.
She got 800 replies in the first day, ranging up to 2000 miles away. Filtering out everyone that wasn't local, dick pics, and men saying "I'm not a girl but I would do it," we got 1 response. The response was "I don't love fur but I'd be interested in trying it." T invited the woman over for a meet up. I prepared my best dish for dinner and served them. She seemed like a nice woman. She was married but had a "license to play" from her husband. T never got into specifics about the scene, they mostly just talked with me hovering in the background refilling drinks. The woman said she had a good time and would be seeing us again.
The next day T received a message from her saying she wasn't interested since she didn't find me physically attractive and had no desire to sleep with me. I really had to scratch my head about this one. The ad was 18 words and had no implication of any sort of sexual interaction with me and she didn't love fur either, so really? A week and a half later she wrote back saying she changed her mind and was interested. T kindly told her to go fuck herself. We took the ad down as T was getting 1000-1900 responses a day to it, all from men.
Reflections part 4g: Complications, Endings, and Changes
A lot of external difficulties plagued our relationship over most of its duration.
NOTE: This next paragraph is an edit. The original version revealed a few too many personal details and for the sake of anonymity for the parties involved, I have changed it to a briefer summary.
Many of the events were rooted in the local BDSM community. I continued attending munches for several months after F and I were together but kept our relationship a secret. F decided to display me at a local play party (our relationship had remained a secret in that circle up until that point) and this caused a bit of an uproar. A friend of mine from that scene put 2+2 together and deduced that F and I were together. What followed was a shit story of drama and catty backstabbing with some parties attempting to break up F and her husband out of spite, some attempting to break them up because they were interested in him as a sub, and some trying to break them (and us) up because they wanted to serve her instead. I was also smeared with nasty rumors as an attempt to hurt her, out of jealousy that I was chosen, and in defense of her husband. I started being a target of interest for a couple of Dommes and a handful of a subs who all of a sudden decided they were switches/Dommes now (apparently if F was interested in me, I must be good?).
F's husband confronted her about it before we even knew it was out. Apparently multiple people had told him already (within 24 hours of the first person finding out). She contacted me and was very upset. Later on she came over and I invited her to stay as long as she wanted to. I wept as I apologized but she assured me it would have happened sometime, it just happened now. We had a few nice days together, although both of us were still stressed out, we got to experience what a full 24-7 life would be like. The next day I told F she could live with me from now on if she wanted to and that I would support her. If she wanted to get married I would like that too. She told me she would think about it. The 3rd day I returned home from work to a note. F told me that she loved me and that she would love to live with me but it would create too many complications and she would have difficulty explaining it to her children (who were mostly my age or older).
She returned home and told her husband that she was happy and in love and that while they would continue to live together, her heart was with me and they would lead separate lives. I stopped attending munches from then on. F and I continued to see each other once a week, but our total in person contact was now down to ~4 times a month from 8-10.
As time passed, we continued on with our D/s but life started getting in the way. A string of events in her life caused her to start canceling her visits. 4 times a month became 3, 3 became 2, 2 became 1, and so on. I fell into a depression. I distrusted everyone I had met in the BDSM community. I had very few friends I could talk to, and no one I could talk to about everything. F and I continued to chat online and on the phone, but every missed visit and I started to lose hope. I started to act out a bit. She arrived one day and the doorbell woke me up. Nothing was ready. She asked me why and I said because I figured she would just cancel again.
I started spending more and more time alone. Holidays were the hardest since I knew I wouldn't see or talk to her at all for weeks at a time. I was so alone I didn't want to live anymore. I tried some traditional dating with people I knew from college with the same results as before: friend zone, not attractive enough, etc. It was clear to me that I needed D/s in my life, but I also just needed someone in my life. F and I started going very long stretches with no contact at all. Her daughter had moved in and we went 10 weeks without seeing each other and talked maybe 4 times. I spent my next birthday alone and I ended up breaking down and calling a suicide hotline when the pain in my chest wouldn't go away.
A little bit later, she invited me for coffee and she dropped some news on me. Her parents were needing care and she was moving 300 miles away. With a glimmer of hope I asked if I could move with her. She said no. I broke down and cried in the coffee shop. I drove home and cried for hours. As often as it has happened to me, that feeling of loss always hurts the same.
I don't know how to interpret the events that followed. I feel like kind of a dirt bag about it, but I also feel it was necessary. I don't know but it has made me hate myself.
After F moved we barely spoke. There were occasional emails but no real closeness. I wanted a friend. I hopped on collarme and started browsing. I found a newer profile of a local Domme that was fairly new to the lifestyle citing she was looking for kink-friendly friends and people to learn from about the lifestyle. By this time I had already had a bit of an internet presence giving advice to subs looking for Dommes and newer Dommes trying to understand subs, so I figured we could chat. I contacted her (who I shall refer to as T) and told her I could share information, resources and advice if she was interested in chatting. T replied and we started chatting and building a friendship.
I sent her all of the D/s resources I had accumulated over the years of assignments I had as well as more specialty resources on fringe interests. We both talked about our experiences. I told T about K and F. T informed me that she had been in training with a local TG Domme. When she started to explain the training I realized that this Domme had basically made T into a sub under the guise of training. IMO, learning by experience is usually by doing, not by being "done to." e.g. you learn to give a good foot rub by rubbing feet, not by having your feet rubbed, so you probably learn to spank by spanking someone, not by being spanked. Or at the very least, being spanked and then spanking someone else to put it into practice. I informed T of this and she wasn't all that happy with the Domme.
Soon we were talking on the phone. A little bit later, T asked if we could meet up and I agreed. We talked about a lot of things both BDSM and vanilla and had a very good time. It didn't take long to see that T was a bit taken with me. I made no advancements or flirtations, just kept on going down the friend path. Coffee became dinner. We were hitting it off and having a good time. I started to get confused over what I should do. I found her attractive but I didn't know what was the right course of action. After dinner and desert, T asked if she could come over to my place, which was about a 5 minute drive. I said that was fine, we went to my place, I made us coffee and we continued to talk. By now T's signals were no longer subtle (thankfully I was finally perceptive enough to see when a woman is turned on).
I wasn't completely over F yet (hell, I probably wasn't completely over K yet either). T was still a novice and wasn't going to be able to hop in where K or F left off. T offered something I hadn't had before: a real actual full time life. I decided to drop the bomb and see what happened. While we had talked about my attraction to women in fur before, now I was blunt, and I told her about my subspace, slavespace, and conditioning and that I pretty much needed to be humiliated in fur. I needed her to be okay with that part of me if things were going to go any farther. Her response was along the lines of "sure, why not?" We played into the night, she stayed over, and we spent every day and night together for the next few weeks.
About 3 weeks in I cut my hand. Badly. I was out and about when it happened. I called her and asked what I should do (she was a nurse and at work). She told me to stop by and she would take a look at it. I had taped it up with gauze and duct tape on the spot and kept it elevated on the drive. When she unwrapped it her immediate response was "This is serious, give me a minute." She told work she was leaving for an emergency and drove me to urgent care (I declined the ER since I had no insurance at the time). I was sort of freaking out, worrying about the cost of treatment and I am a musician, and it was my playing hand, well, and it was really starting to hurt. T helped me with the paperwork and when I was in getting treated she called my family that was in the area to let them know. She also lined up another driver to help pick up my car. I missed the next few days of work since my hand was useless and in pain. T helped me with meals, washing my hair, getting dressed, and so on. The next day I embraced her and told her I loved her. She was there for me when I needed her.
If you have read all of the posts up until now, may be curious why this is still in part 4 and not in part 5. About 5 months later I received an email from F that was a one line "hey how are you?" That's when it donned on me. She had never officially dismissed me as a sub. We had seen each other once in the past year and hadn't spoken since she moved. I was over-whelmed with guilt. I responded that I had met someone and that we were together. This started some dialogue and I realized that she still felt that I was her sub.
I was honest and told her about T and I. I linked her T's profile on collarme and they began to correspond together. I felt sick about it since I knew what was going to eventually happen. About 3 months later F came back to town for a few days. She asked me to meet for coffee and I did. We talked about our current lives. She smiled and said she was happy that T was able to give me a life. I admitted that my connection with T on a D/s level was never what F and I had together. I started to cry.
"I still love you. I love T as well."
"I'm not going to make you choose."
"It's not fair to either of you if I don't choose."
"I love you, slave, I always will. I want you to know that."
She had tears in her eyes. I began to weep.
"I'm sorry, but I need a life..."
"I understand, slave, and I can't give you that. I release you. But remember, you promised me that you would be there to close my eyes for me when I die."
We sat together and cried for several minutes. This was the same coffee shop where she had told me she was leaving.
F and I remained friends and probably talked more in the couple of years following than we had the previous year. She still lives far away but now has a stable of slaves that are kept in 24-7 chastity. Her cruelty continues to grow without bounds. She is still married and her husband changed over time and is currently one of her slaves.
I really wish writing these endings didn't hurt so much.
To be continued.
NOTE: This next paragraph is an edit. The original version revealed a few too many personal details and for the sake of anonymity for the parties involved, I have changed it to a briefer summary.
Many of the events were rooted in the local BDSM community. I continued attending munches for several months after F and I were together but kept our relationship a secret. F decided to display me at a local play party (our relationship had remained a secret in that circle up until that point) and this caused a bit of an uproar. A friend of mine from that scene put 2+2 together and deduced that F and I were together. What followed was a shit story of drama and catty backstabbing with some parties attempting to break up F and her husband out of spite, some attempting to break them up because they were interested in him as a sub, and some trying to break them (and us) up because they wanted to serve her instead. I was also smeared with nasty rumors as an attempt to hurt her, out of jealousy that I was chosen, and in defense of her husband. I started being a target of interest for a couple of Dommes and a handful of a subs who all of a sudden decided they were switches/Dommes now (apparently if F was interested in me, I must be good?).
F's husband confronted her about it before we even knew it was out. Apparently multiple people had told him already (within 24 hours of the first person finding out). She contacted me and was very upset. Later on she came over and I invited her to stay as long as she wanted to. I wept as I apologized but she assured me it would have happened sometime, it just happened now. We had a few nice days together, although both of us were still stressed out, we got to experience what a full 24-7 life would be like. The next day I told F she could live with me from now on if she wanted to and that I would support her. If she wanted to get married I would like that too. She told me she would think about it. The 3rd day I returned home from work to a note. F told me that she loved me and that she would love to live with me but it would create too many complications and she would have difficulty explaining it to her children (who were mostly my age or older).
She returned home and told her husband that she was happy and in love and that while they would continue to live together, her heart was with me and they would lead separate lives. I stopped attending munches from then on. F and I continued to see each other once a week, but our total in person contact was now down to ~4 times a month from 8-10.
As time passed, we continued on with our D/s but life started getting in the way. A string of events in her life caused her to start canceling her visits. 4 times a month became 3, 3 became 2, 2 became 1, and so on. I fell into a depression. I distrusted everyone I had met in the BDSM community. I had very few friends I could talk to, and no one I could talk to about everything. F and I continued to chat online and on the phone, but every missed visit and I started to lose hope. I started to act out a bit. She arrived one day and the doorbell woke me up. Nothing was ready. She asked me why and I said because I figured she would just cancel again.
I started spending more and more time alone. Holidays were the hardest since I knew I wouldn't see or talk to her at all for weeks at a time. I was so alone I didn't want to live anymore. I tried some traditional dating with people I knew from college with the same results as before: friend zone, not attractive enough, etc. It was clear to me that I needed D/s in my life, but I also just needed someone in my life. F and I started going very long stretches with no contact at all. Her daughter had moved in and we went 10 weeks without seeing each other and talked maybe 4 times. I spent my next birthday alone and I ended up breaking down and calling a suicide hotline when the pain in my chest wouldn't go away.
A little bit later, she invited me for coffee and she dropped some news on me. Her parents were needing care and she was moving 300 miles away. With a glimmer of hope I asked if I could move with her. She said no. I broke down and cried in the coffee shop. I drove home and cried for hours. As often as it has happened to me, that feeling of loss always hurts the same.
I don't know how to interpret the events that followed. I feel like kind of a dirt bag about it, but I also feel it was necessary. I don't know but it has made me hate myself.
After F moved we barely spoke. There were occasional emails but no real closeness. I wanted a friend. I hopped on collarme and started browsing. I found a newer profile of a local Domme that was fairly new to the lifestyle citing she was looking for kink-friendly friends and people to learn from about the lifestyle. By this time I had already had a bit of an internet presence giving advice to subs looking for Dommes and newer Dommes trying to understand subs, so I figured we could chat. I contacted her (who I shall refer to as T) and told her I could share information, resources and advice if she was interested in chatting. T replied and we started chatting and building a friendship.
I sent her all of the D/s resources I had accumulated over the years of assignments I had as well as more specialty resources on fringe interests. We both talked about our experiences. I told T about K and F. T informed me that she had been in training with a local TG Domme. When she started to explain the training I realized that this Domme had basically made T into a sub under the guise of training. IMO, learning by experience is usually by doing, not by being "done to." e.g. you learn to give a good foot rub by rubbing feet, not by having your feet rubbed, so you probably learn to spank by spanking someone, not by being spanked. Or at the very least, being spanked and then spanking someone else to put it into practice. I informed T of this and she wasn't all that happy with the Domme.
Soon we were talking on the phone. A little bit later, T asked if we could meet up and I agreed. We talked about a lot of things both BDSM and vanilla and had a very good time. It didn't take long to see that T was a bit taken with me. I made no advancements or flirtations, just kept on going down the friend path. Coffee became dinner. We were hitting it off and having a good time. I started to get confused over what I should do. I found her attractive but I didn't know what was the right course of action. After dinner and desert, T asked if she could come over to my place, which was about a 5 minute drive. I said that was fine, we went to my place, I made us coffee and we continued to talk. By now T's signals were no longer subtle (thankfully I was finally perceptive enough to see when a woman is turned on).
I wasn't completely over F yet (hell, I probably wasn't completely over K yet either). T was still a novice and wasn't going to be able to hop in where K or F left off. T offered something I hadn't had before: a real actual full time life. I decided to drop the bomb and see what happened. While we had talked about my attraction to women in fur before, now I was blunt, and I told her about my subspace, slavespace, and conditioning and that I pretty much needed to be humiliated in fur. I needed her to be okay with that part of me if things were going to go any farther. Her response was along the lines of "sure, why not?" We played into the night, she stayed over, and we spent every day and night together for the next few weeks.
About 3 weeks in I cut my hand. Badly. I was out and about when it happened. I called her and asked what I should do (she was a nurse and at work). She told me to stop by and she would take a look at it. I had taped it up with gauze and duct tape on the spot and kept it elevated on the drive. When she unwrapped it her immediate response was "This is serious, give me a minute." She told work she was leaving for an emergency and drove me to urgent care (I declined the ER since I had no insurance at the time). I was sort of freaking out, worrying about the cost of treatment and I am a musician, and it was my playing hand, well, and it was really starting to hurt. T helped me with the paperwork and when I was in getting treated she called my family that was in the area to let them know. She also lined up another driver to help pick up my car. I missed the next few days of work since my hand was useless and in pain. T helped me with meals, washing my hair, getting dressed, and so on. The next day I embraced her and told her I loved her. She was there for me when I needed her.
If you have read all of the posts up until now, may be curious why this is still in part 4 and not in part 5. About 5 months later I received an email from F that was a one line "hey how are you?" That's when it donned on me. She had never officially dismissed me as a sub. We had seen each other once in the past year and hadn't spoken since she moved. I was over-whelmed with guilt. I responded that I had met someone and that we were together. This started some dialogue and I realized that she still felt that I was her sub.
I was honest and told her about T and I. I linked her T's profile on collarme and they began to correspond together. I felt sick about it since I knew what was going to eventually happen. About 3 months later F came back to town for a few days. She asked me to meet for coffee and I did. We talked about our current lives. She smiled and said she was happy that T was able to give me a life. I admitted that my connection with T on a D/s level was never what F and I had together. I started to cry.
"I still love you. I love T as well."
"I'm not going to make you choose."
"It's not fair to either of you if I don't choose."
"I love you, slave, I always will. I want you to know that."
She had tears in her eyes. I began to weep.
"I'm sorry, but I need a life..."
"I understand, slave, and I can't give you that. I release you. But remember, you promised me that you would be there to close my eyes for me when I die."
We sat together and cried for several minutes. This was the same coffee shop where she had told me she was leaving.
F and I remained friends and probably talked more in the couple of years following than we had the previous year. She still lives far away but now has a stable of slaves that are kept in 24-7 chastity. Her cruelty continues to grow without bounds. She is still married and her husband changed over time and is currently one of her slaves.
I really wish writing these endings didn't hurt so much.
To be continued.
Reflections part 4f: Competence
Another semi-out-of-order post here... more of a "while everything else was happening, this also developed over time" deal again.
I think one of the biggest things that actually helped lead F towards the Domme she was to become was my competence as a submissive. F loved to punish and to come up with unique and unpleasant punishments. However, "punishing" implies a reason, and that reason is usually a mistake, shortcoming, or behavior that requires it. Basically, I just didn't screw up enough or make enough mistakes to allow F to unleash the array of punishments she wanted to.
One day I brought it up directly.
"I know you have a lot of things you'd like to do but it seems like you are holding them back. Am I right?"
"Yes, slave. You haven't done anything to deserve them yet."
"Do you think that I'll do something that will make me deserve them?"
"I don't know. Probably not, but it might happen."
"If you felt I deserved them, would you enjoy doing them?"
"Yes. A lot."
Do keep in mind that I do not like pain, but I could sense this was necessary for the D/s dynamic to have healthy growth in our relationship. I channeled my inner used car salesman.
"I can think of several reasons why you should feel okay doing whatever, whenever. Do you want to hear them?"
"Yes, slave."
"First reason, I'm a male. When does a male not deserve punishment?"
"Good point."
"Second reason, because you enjoy it. What's more important, your pleasure or my pain?"
"I see your point."
"Third reason, does a Queen need a reason to torture a slave?"
"No. She can do it whenever she wants to."
"Okay. Last reason, and I want you to really think about this one. Picture me bound and at your mercy, you're torturing me. I'm in tears, suffering at your mercy, and I look up and whimper, 'why are you doing this to me?' You look down and respond, 'Because I can.' Can you picture the look on my face and body language at that moment?"
"Yesssss," she hissed. I could tell I just made her very wet.
I knelt and kissed her feet before prostrating myself.
"Mistress, I give you my all and you may do as you please."
From then on F was a lot more liberal in what she chose to subject me to. I think she was able to view it as "just play" for her, even if it wasn't a good kind of play for me. I didn't mind, although some of it was quite unpleasant. I spent hours kneeling on uncooked rice on a hard floor with bells attached and was told not to move (and make the bell ring). I spent hours kneeling (with bells on) on a plastic computer chair carpet protector mat that was turned over so that the spikes faced up. Hog ties, sensory deprivation, chained to a shelf, the tight fitting sweater we bought with sand paper underneath on my nipples, clips, clamps, and clothes pins. Being hit with a quirt, hairbrush, slapper, flogger, crop, etc. I knew better than to ask, "why?"
Was this topping from the bottom or just giving a nudge? I didn't really care, it just made me happy that she seemed even more alive when she was doing these things.
To be continued.
I think one of the biggest things that actually helped lead F towards the Domme she was to become was my competence as a submissive. F loved to punish and to come up with unique and unpleasant punishments. However, "punishing" implies a reason, and that reason is usually a mistake, shortcoming, or behavior that requires it. Basically, I just didn't screw up enough or make enough mistakes to allow F to unleash the array of punishments she wanted to.
One day I brought it up directly.
"I know you have a lot of things you'd like to do but it seems like you are holding them back. Am I right?"
"Yes, slave. You haven't done anything to deserve them yet."
"Do you think that I'll do something that will make me deserve them?"
"I don't know. Probably not, but it might happen."
"If you felt I deserved them, would you enjoy doing them?"
"Yes. A lot."
Do keep in mind that I do not like pain, but I could sense this was necessary for the D/s dynamic to have healthy growth in our relationship. I channeled my inner used car salesman.
"I can think of several reasons why you should feel okay doing whatever, whenever. Do you want to hear them?"
"Yes, slave."
"First reason, I'm a male. When does a male not deserve punishment?"
"Good point."
"Second reason, because you enjoy it. What's more important, your pleasure or my pain?"
"I see your point."
"Third reason, does a Queen need a reason to torture a slave?"
"No. She can do it whenever she wants to."
"Okay. Last reason, and I want you to really think about this one. Picture me bound and at your mercy, you're torturing me. I'm in tears, suffering at your mercy, and I look up and whimper, 'why are you doing this to me?' You look down and respond, 'Because I can.' Can you picture the look on my face and body language at that moment?"
"Yesssss," she hissed. I could tell I just made her very wet.
I knelt and kissed her feet before prostrating myself.
"Mistress, I give you my all and you may do as you please."
From then on F was a lot more liberal in what she chose to subject me to. I think she was able to view it as "just play" for her, even if it wasn't a good kind of play for me. I didn't mind, although some of it was quite unpleasant. I spent hours kneeling on uncooked rice on a hard floor with bells attached and was told not to move (and make the bell ring). I spent hours kneeling (with bells on) on a plastic computer chair carpet protector mat that was turned over so that the spikes faced up. Hog ties, sensory deprivation, chained to a shelf, the tight fitting sweater we bought with sand paper underneath on my nipples, clips, clamps, and clothes pins. Being hit with a quirt, hairbrush, slapper, flogger, crop, etc. I knew better than to ask, "why?"
Was this topping from the bottom or just giving a nudge? I didn't really care, it just made me happy that she seemed even more alive when she was doing these things.
To be continued.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Reflections part 4e: Chastity and Orgasm Denial
For the most part, I was able to roll with pretty much anything that F could throw at me. As her hunger for increased dominance grew, F became very interested in chastity, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, and milking. Her take on it seemed a bit different than most chastity enthusiasts. F was slightly interested in the control aspects, especially since she began to feel that all males should be controlled in such a manner or they will only get themselves in trouble. This view meshed with who she was.
Her deeper interest revolved around removing any and all forms of sexual pleasure from a sub.
-Only the Domme deserves that type of pleasure, so the sub should be content if her needs are met.
-If the Domme gets another type of pleasure from denying her sub any form of sexual pleasure, and since her pleasure is the only one that matters, the sub should gladly sacrifice his pleasure in favor of hers.
F was starting to get a bit terrifying, but I continued to encourage her since I wanted her to keep growing as a Domme. I was very resistant to the idea of losing sexual pleasure, but it always made her happy to take something by force and watch the look on my face as it happened. Our journey down this path are the only times where I was unable to endure, but not for reasons other than the obvious ones.
I know that F was doing a lot of research on these topics both on the internet and by reaching out to local Femdom couples she knew that practiced it regularly. She would often share her findings with me and I could tell when something got her juices flowing. I was instructed to learn as much as I could as well. F wasn't really interested in KTB's, thankfully, heavily because of the chance for serious injury but also because if a sub could learn to control his erections, that's one less thing for her to take away.
Short term chastity is something I had no problem with the concept of. I thought it was hot and the fantasy turned me on to have Mistress literally holding the key to my sexual release. F was on another level completely.
"I read something that I liked. Most employees get 2 weeks of vacation a year. Since it's a sub's job to please his Mistress and since following an orgasm a sub loses focus for about a week, doesn't that mean a sub only deserves 2 orgasms a year?"
"A male orgasm is like Santa Claus."
"If you're good he brings you whatever you want?"
"Hah, good one. He comes once a year if you've been nice and gives you a lump of coal if you've been naughty. Have you been naughty or nice, slave?"
I received an email with a link that we would talk about later. It was to Mistress Lori's Chastity Tubes.
"Apparently the only really secure tube type chastity device is to have a piercing." I cringed.
"Really?" I feigned ignorance.
"Yes. These ones even have a break-off screw option where you can fill the hole with epoxy and the screws break off inside so they can't ever be removed. Isn't that great?"
"I don't know if I'd say, 'great.'"
Since F didn't have any experience with chastity, we decided to start small. I purchased a Houdini style device at first since I thought it would entertain F to use it in conjunction with the real fur handcuff covers we had.
Now for the TMI part of the post that is important for this segment:
1. I'm not circumcised. I would have to get circumcised to get most of the piercings used in chastity. This also requires more frequent device removal for cleaning and carries an increased risk of edema.
2. I'm a grower, not a shower. Shower penises stay relatively the same size flaccid vs. erect, but they get hard. Grower penises are small when flaccid and increase in both size and stiffness when erect, usually in the magnitude of 2-3x. Mine is probably in the realm of 3-4x.
3. I have a "high and tight" scrotum, rendering almost every tube style device a poor fit.
4. I have some baby fat on my upper crotch that just never went away. It basically gives a small pad between the surface layer of flesh and the true base of my penis.
5. My pubes grow at an angle. Keeping a cleanly shaved crotch inevitably leads to regular infected ingrown hairs. If you are wondering why this matter, just try putting on the majority of sub-$500 devices with medium to long pubes and you'll understand immediately after the hinges and joints have yanked out a dozen hairs or so. Having to stay cleanly shaven for a device and battling infected ingrown hairs was indeed a problem.
The Houdini was not a good choice as a first device. It weighed a ton. It was easy to pinch skin in the moving parts. It would cut off circulation when closed as tight as it had to be to stay on. The maximum amount of time I could wear it before I got some "there's something really wrong here" pain was about 20 minutes. That was the first of many expensive mistakes in regards to chastity.
Next up was the CB-2000. F had me order the pink one. This model had the solid ring design. If I went with a large ring, my scrotum wouldn't stretch far enough to avoid being pinched. If I went with a small ring, it would take me 10 minutes just to get my junk through it and it was too snug. We tried just about every combination of ring size, spacers, etc. The end result was not great. With a small ring and short spacer the friction would cause sores and pinching, even with lube involved. With a longer spacer it would work fine until a testicle would decide to pull itself through... VERY painfully. With a large ring and short spacer, it would crush a testicle. With the longer spacer, it again would be fine until a testicle would pull through. Our limit with this was approximately 2-4 hours depending upon the ring combo, number of arousal attempts, and the temperature.
Shortly after, the CB-3000 was available as a "cage only" option and we gave that a try. The base of the cage was a lot smaller, so it might work. We used it with the existing rings from the 2000. With this I could go 4-6 hours but then the cage would either rub open a sore at its base or a testicle would pull out. I ordered up the hinged rings that were standard on the 3000 and while it was a lot easier to get on, the exact same thing happened.
Thankfully, F was present when just about all of the failings happened, so she knew there wasn't any exaggeration on my part. One of the testicle pull-throughs happened while she was playing with it. She also saw the sores when she removed it once after I wore it on a 3 hours shopping trip. Unfortunately my ability to endure this just wasn't there.
This got her thinking about a full metal belt, but after spending nearly $500 on devices, it was a large leap of faith to drop $1000ish on something.
While all of this was happening she was aware that I would need to be milked for prostate health. Since having anything in my anus was on my list of hard limits, she scoured resources for other means. I found a method for a combination ruined orgasm/milking that expelled the prostate but didn't relieve any sexual frustration that was relatively simple. With her permission I tested it twice daily for a week. It was actually kind of amazing. After 3 days of a repeated tease and denial procedure I was able to get semen to just leak out with a soft flow (like a weak urine stream). I would drain everything and deflate my testicles but I would stay completely erect and just as frustrated. This may have been the magic answer.
On day 5 I was going to give it another test. As I worked my way up, all of a sudden my penis just started draining semen. There was no build up, no "I'm close" feeling, I couldn't even control the stream. It was like someone peeing with no bladder control. The muscles had forgotten how to build up tension and release. This scared the shit out of me. I shared the results with F.
"Mistress, I think this method will make it so that I can never have another orgasm ever again. Is that something you would want?" My mind raced, "please say no, please say no, please say no."
"I don't think you should do it anymore then, slave. If you can't have an orgasm, how is chastity supposed to scare you? I will keep it in mind though, in case I ever feel you deserve that in the future."
Bullet dodged. I received permission to try and "repair" what had been done. I'm not 100% certain, but I believe the method I had been experimenting with had caused an over-stress of whatever controlled the release of semen from the prostate. After repeating this several times over a short period of time, it responded by simply relaxing itself and allowed things to flow without requiring a pressure/force build up behind it. It took me 5 days to get things working correctly again, and 20+ attempts to finally get back to something that would qualify as an orgasm.
The next thing F tried was ice. This would be the second time I couldn't meet her expectations. I have a lot of muscle mass and the muscles are very tight. Couple that with a slew of injuries from sports, a car accident, etc. and my body just doesn't hold up very well. Some of F's Domme friends used ice to yield a pleasureless ejaculation for their method of milking. We tried this a few times, using ice to numb out the penis and testicles but continue to apply stimulation. I was never able to ejaculate in this state, but I did manage to end up having back spasms, leg cramps, and other miscellaneous painful ailments that led to an immediate break in the play.
We didn't ever go further, around this time things started to get complicated.
Her deeper interest revolved around removing any and all forms of sexual pleasure from a sub.
-Only the Domme deserves that type of pleasure, so the sub should be content if her needs are met.
-If the Domme gets another type of pleasure from denying her sub any form of sexual pleasure, and since her pleasure is the only one that matters, the sub should gladly sacrifice his pleasure in favor of hers.
F was starting to get a bit terrifying, but I continued to encourage her since I wanted her to keep growing as a Domme. I was very resistant to the idea of losing sexual pleasure, but it always made her happy to take something by force and watch the look on my face as it happened. Our journey down this path are the only times where I was unable to endure, but not for reasons other than the obvious ones.
I know that F was doing a lot of research on these topics both on the internet and by reaching out to local Femdom couples she knew that practiced it regularly. She would often share her findings with me and I could tell when something got her juices flowing. I was instructed to learn as much as I could as well. F wasn't really interested in KTB's, thankfully, heavily because of the chance for serious injury but also because if a sub could learn to control his erections, that's one less thing for her to take away.
Short term chastity is something I had no problem with the concept of. I thought it was hot and the fantasy turned me on to have Mistress literally holding the key to my sexual release. F was on another level completely.
"I read something that I liked. Most employees get 2 weeks of vacation a year. Since it's a sub's job to please his Mistress and since following an orgasm a sub loses focus for about a week, doesn't that mean a sub only deserves 2 orgasms a year?"
"A male orgasm is like Santa Claus."
"If you're good he brings you whatever you want?"
"Hah, good one. He comes once a year if you've been nice and gives you a lump of coal if you've been naughty. Have you been naughty or nice, slave?"
I received an email with a link that we would talk about later. It was to Mistress Lori's Chastity Tubes.
"Apparently the only really secure tube type chastity device is to have a piercing." I cringed.
"Really?" I feigned ignorance.
"Yes. These ones even have a break-off screw option where you can fill the hole with epoxy and the screws break off inside so they can't ever be removed. Isn't that great?"
"I don't know if I'd say, 'great.'"
Since F didn't have any experience with chastity, we decided to start small. I purchased a Houdini style device at first since I thought it would entertain F to use it in conjunction with the real fur handcuff covers we had.
Now for the TMI part of the post that is important for this segment:
1. I'm not circumcised. I would have to get circumcised to get most of the piercings used in chastity. This also requires more frequent device removal for cleaning and carries an increased risk of edema.
2. I'm a grower, not a shower. Shower penises stay relatively the same size flaccid vs. erect, but they get hard. Grower penises are small when flaccid and increase in both size and stiffness when erect, usually in the magnitude of 2-3x. Mine is probably in the realm of 3-4x.
3. I have a "high and tight" scrotum, rendering almost every tube style device a poor fit.
4. I have some baby fat on my upper crotch that just never went away. It basically gives a small pad between the surface layer of flesh and the true base of my penis.
5. My pubes grow at an angle. Keeping a cleanly shaved crotch inevitably leads to regular infected ingrown hairs. If you are wondering why this matter, just try putting on the majority of sub-$500 devices with medium to long pubes and you'll understand immediately after the hinges and joints have yanked out a dozen hairs or so. Having to stay cleanly shaven for a device and battling infected ingrown hairs was indeed a problem.
The Houdini was not a good choice as a first device. It weighed a ton. It was easy to pinch skin in the moving parts. It would cut off circulation when closed as tight as it had to be to stay on. The maximum amount of time I could wear it before I got some "there's something really wrong here" pain was about 20 minutes. That was the first of many expensive mistakes in regards to chastity.
Next up was the CB-2000. F had me order the pink one. This model had the solid ring design. If I went with a large ring, my scrotum wouldn't stretch far enough to avoid being pinched. If I went with a small ring, it would take me 10 minutes just to get my junk through it and it was too snug. We tried just about every combination of ring size, spacers, etc. The end result was not great. With a small ring and short spacer the friction would cause sores and pinching, even with lube involved. With a longer spacer it would work fine until a testicle would decide to pull itself through... VERY painfully. With a large ring and short spacer, it would crush a testicle. With the longer spacer, it again would be fine until a testicle would pull through. Our limit with this was approximately 2-4 hours depending upon the ring combo, number of arousal attempts, and the temperature.
Shortly after, the CB-3000 was available as a "cage only" option and we gave that a try. The base of the cage was a lot smaller, so it might work. We used it with the existing rings from the 2000. With this I could go 4-6 hours but then the cage would either rub open a sore at its base or a testicle would pull out. I ordered up the hinged rings that were standard on the 3000 and while it was a lot easier to get on, the exact same thing happened.
Thankfully, F was present when just about all of the failings happened, so she knew there wasn't any exaggeration on my part. One of the testicle pull-throughs happened while she was playing with it. She also saw the sores when she removed it once after I wore it on a 3 hours shopping trip. Unfortunately my ability to endure this just wasn't there.
This got her thinking about a full metal belt, but after spending nearly $500 on devices, it was a large leap of faith to drop $1000ish on something.
While all of this was happening she was aware that I would need to be milked for prostate health. Since having anything in my anus was on my list of hard limits, she scoured resources for other means. I found a method for a combination ruined orgasm/milking that expelled the prostate but didn't relieve any sexual frustration that was relatively simple. With her permission I tested it twice daily for a week. It was actually kind of amazing. After 3 days of a repeated tease and denial procedure I was able to get semen to just leak out with a soft flow (like a weak urine stream). I would drain everything and deflate my testicles but I would stay completely erect and just as frustrated. This may have been the magic answer.
On day 5 I was going to give it another test. As I worked my way up, all of a sudden my penis just started draining semen. There was no build up, no "I'm close" feeling, I couldn't even control the stream. It was like someone peeing with no bladder control. The muscles had forgotten how to build up tension and release. This scared the shit out of me. I shared the results with F.
"Mistress, I think this method will make it so that I can never have another orgasm ever again. Is that something you would want?" My mind raced, "please say no, please say no, please say no."
"I don't think you should do it anymore then, slave. If you can't have an orgasm, how is chastity supposed to scare you? I will keep it in mind though, in case I ever feel you deserve that in the future."
Bullet dodged. I received permission to try and "repair" what had been done. I'm not 100% certain, but I believe the method I had been experimenting with had caused an over-stress of whatever controlled the release of semen from the prostate. After repeating this several times over a short period of time, it responded by simply relaxing itself and allowed things to flow without requiring a pressure/force build up behind it. It took me 5 days to get things working correctly again, and 20+ attempts to finally get back to something that would qualify as an orgasm.
The next thing F tried was ice. This would be the second time I couldn't meet her expectations. I have a lot of muscle mass and the muscles are very tight. Couple that with a slew of injuries from sports, a car accident, etc. and my body just doesn't hold up very well. Some of F's Domme friends used ice to yield a pleasureless ejaculation for their method of milking. We tried this a few times, using ice to numb out the penis and testicles but continue to apply stimulation. I was never able to ejaculate in this state, but I did manage to end up having back spasms, leg cramps, and other miscellaneous painful ailments that led to an immediate break in the play.
We didn't ever go further, around this time things started to get complicated.
Reflections part 4d: Losing my Virginity
At this time I was still a virgin. I had pretty much done anything imaginable with the exception of traditional intercourse. After passing on dozens of potential one-night-stands throughout my youth and standing by the "waiting for marriage" thing it just hadn't happened yet. The December trip I was supposed to have with K was meant to be our time to elope and then have sex but that didn't pan out. My virginity was still a source of mild insecurity. It seems it was now an unattractive quality in most cases. After thinking about it for a bit I had come to remember that the reason I wanted to wait was so that I wasn't like the assholes I knew in high school and college who were chasing for tail non-stop, even if it meant getting someone drunk or high and taking advantage of them. I wanted to be nothing like them, so I gave myself that principle to stand by.
It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex. I just wanted it to be special, meaningful, and with a person I loved with all my heart. Between K and F I decided to change that principle from "waiting for marriage" to "when it is special, meaningful, and with a person I love."
That year my birthday approached and it happened to fall on our regular meet up day. My birthday generally falls on or near a holiday weekend and as my friends got older and married, I found myself pretty much alone most years as everyone else was out of town with their families. This year ended up being rather special. I took the day off work. It had been about 5 months since that day in the park.
F arrived and we completed our normal rituals of foot kissing and collaring. I also helped her into a pair of leather fingerless gloves with fur trim and a black fur headband. She had brought me a birthday card. I had prepped everything beforehand and F chose what she wanted to use. By now she knew all of what I had as well as where everything was located if she wanted something else. she started off by chaining my ankles together, securing my hands behind my back, buckled on my gag, and had me prostrate myself in front of her with my forehead pressed to the floor. She sat back and looked at me before she leaned back and placed her foot on the back of my head.
"Oh my little slave, what do we do with you," she said as she rhythmically pressed down with her foot. "I think you need some birthday spankings. Get up."
Attempting to stand from a kneeling position without the use of your hands and a 6 inch chain connecting your ankles isn't the easiest thing in the world to do. I got onto one foot and attempted to shift to the other but the chain stopped me and I toppled to the floor. F let out a small laugh. I tried again with the same result.
"I told you to stand up, slave."
This time I tried something new. From my knees I attempted to hop up to my feet. I landed with my feet too far apart and crashed face first onto the floor. F looked a little concerned for my well being but I just kept on trying. I rolled around attempting to get back onto my knees. When I finally did, I tried hopping up again and managed to get my feet together this time and stick the landing.
"Come here."
With tiny steps I shuffled towards her. Her fingers stroked my penis until it was fully erect and she attached a leash to my collar. She made a motion and positioned herself and I sprawled across her lap. Her hand yanked my genitals downward and she pressed them tightly between her thighs. She gave a tug on the leash pulling my head towards the floor and she held the end of the leash down with her foot. With paddle now in hand, she spoke to me.
"It's your birthday but you deserve this. You need this. You love to suffer for me."
I felt the paddle slam against my left butt cheek. Then the right check. The left again but in a different spot followed by the right in a different spot. I felt her hand caress me. She zeroed in on the right cheek. Smack, smack, smack.... Smack. I could feel the swelling begin. Smack, smack... Smack smack smack. I let out a whimper from behind the gag. She switched to the left. Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack... Smack, followed by a caress. Both sides were swollen now.
Two quick ones to the right. Two quick ones to the left. I felt her fingers touch the left and press on a specific spot. She lifted them and brought down the paddle, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. I was starting to struggle a bit as the pain began to throb. I felt her draw a small circle with the paddle before smack smack smack.... Smack, smack. Tears filled my eyes and my whimpers turned into light sobs. Her fingers pressed a spot on the right and smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. The paddle traced another circle and smack smack, smack. Tears were flowing and I was wailing. My body flailed. She grabbed the chain between my wrists and pulled my hands farther up my back.
"Stop struggling, slave," she scowled.
By now my entire buttocks was throbbing and I thought my penis was going to be scorched by the heat from her crotch. I was able to stop moving and just separate from the painful strokes that continued to rain down. The bruises would take a couple of weeks to heal.
When F finished she undid my leash, gag, and wrist chain and instructed me to kneel. I kissed her feet, prostrated myself with forehead to the floor and thanked her for watching over me. I raised my head and she lifted my chin and gave me a deep kiss. She handed me the keys to unlock the chain between my ankles.
"Put on your hat, earmuffs, and blindfold." These had to go on in a particular order to make this work and I was familiar with it. I kept the blindfold lowered so I could still see until I knew the time was right. F led me over to the bed and I climbed on, lining up my wrist and ankle cuffs with the chains before pulling the blindfold up and waiting. F locked the restraints in place and walked out of the room.
A short while later she climbed onto the bed and straddled me. I felt a condom slide onto my penis; this wasn't out of the ordinary, to prevent potential messes. F adjusted herself and then slid down onto my cock. My penis was enveloped in heat as she slowly moved herself up and down. I let out a soft moan and F kissed me on the mouth. I had readied myself for this moment for years. Finally a chance to turn my philosophies into actions. I focused all of my attention on F's body. From what I perceived, the angles weren't right to hit the G-spot. I tilted my hips forward under her, attempting to steer my penis more towards the front wall of her vagina. When she came down this time I felt a muscle twitch. F took a deeper breath and she let out a light moan. I locked my hips into that position.
F's vaginal muscles began to grip harder. She increased the pace of her motions and shifted her hands to my chest. As she slid down I raised my hips to meet her. The penetration went deeper and she made a sound while pressing harder on my chest. I was on the right track. Up and down she went, I improved my timing with each motion until our bodies met with a thumping sound on contact. The pace of her breathing increased. I could feel the grip of her muscles clasping the head of my cock as she moved. She started to move faster, up and down with almost a bounce to it, each breath she took was deeper and deeper and her sounds began to increase in frequency and volume. I could hear her exhale through her nose as she slowed for a forceful and deliberate plunge forcing me deeper inside her, again, again. I felt the muscles of her sex quiver and twitch around me. She let out a deep moan and I felt her juices flow out onto my crotch and torso. Her pace slowed to a crawl but she kept moving in light bobs up and down.
I tried to match her force, guessing things were a bit tender down there at the moment and needed to be worked up slowly again. I continued to raise and lower my hips, matching her motions so that we would meet for maximum penetration. I made some slow gyrations but focused my aim on her G-spot each time our crotches met. It didn't take long for her to increase the speed and range of her motions and I adjusted mine with her. We repeated a similar cycle. My hips tilted, rising and falling, opposite of her motions, meeting together, pressing deep. I was reaching the point where I could tell exactly where her body wanted my cock's touch and I tried to meet that spot with every motion.
I felt her clamp down again and I thought her vaginal muscles were going to tear my penis off. She slowed and again moved in a longer, more forceful manner. This time when we met I curled my hips up a little more, trying to provide more pressure to the front wall deep inside her. She let out a moan. This time, I moved in unison with her, holding the tip of my dick to that spot. On our down motion, an "oohhh" left her lips as my rear met the bed, pushing me even deeper as gravity helped her onto me. I heard her next breath and one more motion. As we met the bed my penis plunged the deepest it had gone, my hips leading it onto the G-spot. I felt her vaginal muscles spasm and her thighs quivering against mine. She moaned loudly. I was soaked again.
Someone may read this and think I'm full of shit that those were the things on my mind as we had sex, but it is the complete truth. My approach to sex was very clinical. I had done research and reading upon the women's pleasure zones. I was fully trained at holding back from cumming during very extended periods of intense stimulation. I had plenty of practice locating things with my fingers and "data" to support those findings. Lastly, I viewed sex as the means to grant a Domme intimacy and ultimate sexual pleasure... it was a privilege and I should respect that. My goal was to make her cum as hard and as frequent as possible.
I also had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about being able to perform for real. I didn't mention it earlier, but one of the things that the collarme Domme cited as another reason I wasn't a good match is that since I was a virgin, she was sure I wouldn't be able to meet her sexual needs since she had a heavy sexual appetite. Another time, at a BDSM gathering a few of us were talking and somehow my virginity got brought up and a couple of local Dommes that had overheard started talking loudly nearby about how pathetic virgin boys were and it wasn't worth training them because they knew "better ways to spend 10 seconds." I had my insecurities but wanted to do everything I could to prove people wrong.
After F's second orgasm I tried something new. I moved gently at the start and was firm at the G-spot. The first time I felt her muscles quiver. The second time I felt a spasm. The third they grabbed on and F began to speed up again. I was a bit more aggressive this time. I raised my hips and met her at the top of her motion and held them in place. Her down motion pressed against my stationary hips pushing my penis deep onto her G-spot. I thrust my hips higher, our crotches pressed together lifting her a few inches. She moaned as the penetration went even deeper. I stopped my motion, almost like I was "flinging" her upwards an extra inch, lowered and raised my hips and met her again as she came down. Her muscles gripped even tighter and she gasped. From there we moved in unison until my backside reached the bed and she slid onto me with tremendous force, "impaling" her G-spot with my cock. F let out a primal sound. Her vaginal muscles wanted to rip me apart and her insides felt like they were burning me.
I repeated this sequence of motions about 6 more times and the last time we reached the bottom she let out a loud moan, grabbed my chest and her juices flowed as I felt the muscles spasm around me. F slowed down her motions to recover. I tried something new. Following her recovery pacing but this time when I reached her G-spot, I used a firm abrupt motion and attempted to gently "bounce her" on her G with varying levels of pressure ranging from firm to hard and deep. After 3 of these she came again. The spasm was lighter, more of a quiver, but pronounced enough to feel along with the gush of her fluids.
I called this a "mini-gasm" since it was basically a small orgasm that happened within about 10 seconds of her previous large orgasm. In hindsight, calling it an "aftershock" probably would have been funnier. I repeated the same process during this recovery and it only took two cycles, then two more before she leaned back on my hips and forced me to stop. Later research found this to be referred to somewhere as a "chain orgasm," where a woman was capable of producing multiple orgasms in rapid sequence without any noticeable downtime.
F continued to move slowly until her breathing patterns returned to normal and we resumed a faster pace. This time I went right back into the "impaling" technique and her hands gripped my sides and I could feel the intent of her crotch meeting mine. Each time she plunged deep onto me when we reached the bed she let out a moan. It took 6 of them and she let out another full orgasm, ejaculated on my torso, and she slowed to her recovery pace. I tried something different this time, pressing our crotches together I moved with her and at the top of her motion, I tilted my hips towards me even more and pressed against her vagina's front wall. The angle of my lower body made it so I was almost "hooking" her with my cock, alternating between pressing deeper and then pulling against her G. This time around F's pace stayed the same but her motions met mine, increasing her force onto me during the upswing. The third motion and I felt her vaginal muscles release and quiver. She slowed on the down motion and when we returned to the top she applied pressure again. F let out a moan and another quiver, she stayed at the top this time and I bridged my hips to match her. She relaxed lightly and then moved downward forcing me deeper and she moaned and spasm'd again. A light pause, and then again, she let out a whimper and I felt her muscles shake wildly around me.
F then leaned back on my hips again, pressing them back to the bed. She slowly gyrated on me and leaned forward and gave me a kiss. We would resume to finish one more full orgasm and half a dozen mini-gasms before F slid off my penis and straddled my torso. She removed my blindfold and braced her hands over my shoulders, staring down at me. She was dripping with sweat, beaming, and had a wicked grin on her face. Her eyes pierced mine. I felt like a piece of meat.
"I love you, slave," she said before plunging her tongue into my mouth.
She lay next to me on the bed for a few minutes. We didn't speak, just just pressed up against me and traced motions on my chest with her fingers. F then unlocked my restraints. I tried to move and wow, the pain. A quick glance at the clock revealed 2 hours had passed. My shoulders felt like they had been ripped out of their sockets. My back burned and spiked pain with every movement. I could barely move my legs, my gluts and hamstrings were knotted up like iron and badly strained. She asked what was wrong. I replied, "I hurt all over."
After recovering enough to stand up, F led me to the bathroom where we completed my masturbate into the toilet routine. She whispered that cumming was my reward for making her proud of me. If I said it was a great orgasm I would be lying. My body was throbbing in pain and my pipes were so backed up by now that it was more of a relief than a pleasure. After I finished, F hugged me in silence for several minutes.
In the aftermath, this is what started my obsession with chain orgasms and I wanted to master this technique.
To be continued.
It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex. I just wanted it to be special, meaningful, and with a person I loved with all my heart. Between K and F I decided to change that principle from "waiting for marriage" to "when it is special, meaningful, and with a person I love."
That year my birthday approached and it happened to fall on our regular meet up day. My birthday generally falls on or near a holiday weekend and as my friends got older and married, I found myself pretty much alone most years as everyone else was out of town with their families. This year ended up being rather special. I took the day off work. It had been about 5 months since that day in the park.
F arrived and we completed our normal rituals of foot kissing and collaring. I also helped her into a pair of leather fingerless gloves with fur trim and a black fur headband. She had brought me a birthday card. I had prepped everything beforehand and F chose what she wanted to use. By now she knew all of what I had as well as where everything was located if she wanted something else. she started off by chaining my ankles together, securing my hands behind my back, buckled on my gag, and had me prostrate myself in front of her with my forehead pressed to the floor. She sat back and looked at me before she leaned back and placed her foot on the back of my head.
"Oh my little slave, what do we do with you," she said as she rhythmically pressed down with her foot. "I think you need some birthday spankings. Get up."
Attempting to stand from a kneeling position without the use of your hands and a 6 inch chain connecting your ankles isn't the easiest thing in the world to do. I got onto one foot and attempted to shift to the other but the chain stopped me and I toppled to the floor. F let out a small laugh. I tried again with the same result.
"I told you to stand up, slave."
This time I tried something new. From my knees I attempted to hop up to my feet. I landed with my feet too far apart and crashed face first onto the floor. F looked a little concerned for my well being but I just kept on trying. I rolled around attempting to get back onto my knees. When I finally did, I tried hopping up again and managed to get my feet together this time and stick the landing.
"Come here."
With tiny steps I shuffled towards her. Her fingers stroked my penis until it was fully erect and she attached a leash to my collar. She made a motion and positioned herself and I sprawled across her lap. Her hand yanked my genitals downward and she pressed them tightly between her thighs. She gave a tug on the leash pulling my head towards the floor and she held the end of the leash down with her foot. With paddle now in hand, she spoke to me.
"It's your birthday but you deserve this. You need this. You love to suffer for me."
I felt the paddle slam against my left butt cheek. Then the right check. The left again but in a different spot followed by the right in a different spot. I felt her hand caress me. She zeroed in on the right cheek. Smack, smack, smack.... Smack. I could feel the swelling begin. Smack, smack... Smack smack smack. I let out a whimper from behind the gag. She switched to the left. Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack... Smack, followed by a caress. Both sides were swollen now.
Two quick ones to the right. Two quick ones to the left. I felt her fingers touch the left and press on a specific spot. She lifted them and brought down the paddle, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. I was starting to struggle a bit as the pain began to throb. I felt her draw a small circle with the paddle before smack smack smack.... Smack, smack. Tears filled my eyes and my whimpers turned into light sobs. Her fingers pressed a spot on the right and smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. The paddle traced another circle and smack smack, smack. Tears were flowing and I was wailing. My body flailed. She grabbed the chain between my wrists and pulled my hands farther up my back.
"Stop struggling, slave," she scowled.
By now my entire buttocks was throbbing and I thought my penis was going to be scorched by the heat from her crotch. I was able to stop moving and just separate from the painful strokes that continued to rain down. The bruises would take a couple of weeks to heal.
When F finished she undid my leash, gag, and wrist chain and instructed me to kneel. I kissed her feet, prostrated myself with forehead to the floor and thanked her for watching over me. I raised my head and she lifted my chin and gave me a deep kiss. She handed me the keys to unlock the chain between my ankles.
"Put on your hat, earmuffs, and blindfold." These had to go on in a particular order to make this work and I was familiar with it. I kept the blindfold lowered so I could still see until I knew the time was right. F led me over to the bed and I climbed on, lining up my wrist and ankle cuffs with the chains before pulling the blindfold up and waiting. F locked the restraints in place and walked out of the room.
A short while later she climbed onto the bed and straddled me. I felt a condom slide onto my penis; this wasn't out of the ordinary, to prevent potential messes. F adjusted herself and then slid down onto my cock. My penis was enveloped in heat as she slowly moved herself up and down. I let out a soft moan and F kissed me on the mouth. I had readied myself for this moment for years. Finally a chance to turn my philosophies into actions. I focused all of my attention on F's body. From what I perceived, the angles weren't right to hit the G-spot. I tilted my hips forward under her, attempting to steer my penis more towards the front wall of her vagina. When she came down this time I felt a muscle twitch. F took a deeper breath and she let out a light moan. I locked my hips into that position.
F's vaginal muscles began to grip harder. She increased the pace of her motions and shifted her hands to my chest. As she slid down I raised my hips to meet her. The penetration went deeper and she made a sound while pressing harder on my chest. I was on the right track. Up and down she went, I improved my timing with each motion until our bodies met with a thumping sound on contact. The pace of her breathing increased. I could feel the grip of her muscles clasping the head of my cock as she moved. She started to move faster, up and down with almost a bounce to it, each breath she took was deeper and deeper and her sounds began to increase in frequency and volume. I could hear her exhale through her nose as she slowed for a forceful and deliberate plunge forcing me deeper inside her, again, again. I felt the muscles of her sex quiver and twitch around me. She let out a deep moan and I felt her juices flow out onto my crotch and torso. Her pace slowed to a crawl but she kept moving in light bobs up and down.
I tried to match her force, guessing things were a bit tender down there at the moment and needed to be worked up slowly again. I continued to raise and lower my hips, matching her motions so that we would meet for maximum penetration. I made some slow gyrations but focused my aim on her G-spot each time our crotches met. It didn't take long for her to increase the speed and range of her motions and I adjusted mine with her. We repeated a similar cycle. My hips tilted, rising and falling, opposite of her motions, meeting together, pressing deep. I was reaching the point where I could tell exactly where her body wanted my cock's touch and I tried to meet that spot with every motion.
I felt her clamp down again and I thought her vaginal muscles were going to tear my penis off. She slowed and again moved in a longer, more forceful manner. This time when we met I curled my hips up a little more, trying to provide more pressure to the front wall deep inside her. She let out a moan. This time, I moved in unison with her, holding the tip of my dick to that spot. On our down motion, an "oohhh" left her lips as my rear met the bed, pushing me even deeper as gravity helped her onto me. I heard her next breath and one more motion. As we met the bed my penis plunged the deepest it had gone, my hips leading it onto the G-spot. I felt her vaginal muscles spasm and her thighs quivering against mine. She moaned loudly. I was soaked again.
Someone may read this and think I'm full of shit that those were the things on my mind as we had sex, but it is the complete truth. My approach to sex was very clinical. I had done research and reading upon the women's pleasure zones. I was fully trained at holding back from cumming during very extended periods of intense stimulation. I had plenty of practice locating things with my fingers and "data" to support those findings. Lastly, I viewed sex as the means to grant a Domme intimacy and ultimate sexual pleasure... it was a privilege and I should respect that. My goal was to make her cum as hard and as frequent as possible.
I also had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about being able to perform for real. I didn't mention it earlier, but one of the things that the collarme Domme cited as another reason I wasn't a good match is that since I was a virgin, she was sure I wouldn't be able to meet her sexual needs since she had a heavy sexual appetite. Another time, at a BDSM gathering a few of us were talking and somehow my virginity got brought up and a couple of local Dommes that had overheard started talking loudly nearby about how pathetic virgin boys were and it wasn't worth training them because they knew "better ways to spend 10 seconds." I had my insecurities but wanted to do everything I could to prove people wrong.
After F's second orgasm I tried something new. I moved gently at the start and was firm at the G-spot. The first time I felt her muscles quiver. The second time I felt a spasm. The third they grabbed on and F began to speed up again. I was a bit more aggressive this time. I raised my hips and met her at the top of her motion and held them in place. Her down motion pressed against my stationary hips pushing my penis deep onto her G-spot. I thrust my hips higher, our crotches pressed together lifting her a few inches. She moaned as the penetration went even deeper. I stopped my motion, almost like I was "flinging" her upwards an extra inch, lowered and raised my hips and met her again as she came down. Her muscles gripped even tighter and she gasped. From there we moved in unison until my backside reached the bed and she slid onto me with tremendous force, "impaling" her G-spot with my cock. F let out a primal sound. Her vaginal muscles wanted to rip me apart and her insides felt like they were burning me.
I repeated this sequence of motions about 6 more times and the last time we reached the bottom she let out a loud moan, grabbed my chest and her juices flowed as I felt the muscles spasm around me. F slowed down her motions to recover. I tried something new. Following her recovery pacing but this time when I reached her G-spot, I used a firm abrupt motion and attempted to gently "bounce her" on her G with varying levels of pressure ranging from firm to hard and deep. After 3 of these she came again. The spasm was lighter, more of a quiver, but pronounced enough to feel along with the gush of her fluids.
I called this a "mini-gasm" since it was basically a small orgasm that happened within about 10 seconds of her previous large orgasm. In hindsight, calling it an "aftershock" probably would have been funnier. I repeated the same process during this recovery and it only took two cycles, then two more before she leaned back on my hips and forced me to stop. Later research found this to be referred to somewhere as a "chain orgasm," where a woman was capable of producing multiple orgasms in rapid sequence without any noticeable downtime.
F continued to move slowly until her breathing patterns returned to normal and we resumed a faster pace. This time I went right back into the "impaling" technique and her hands gripped my sides and I could feel the intent of her crotch meeting mine. Each time she plunged deep onto me when we reached the bed she let out a moan. It took 6 of them and she let out another full orgasm, ejaculated on my torso, and she slowed to her recovery pace. I tried something different this time, pressing our crotches together I moved with her and at the top of her motion, I tilted my hips towards me even more and pressed against her vagina's front wall. The angle of my lower body made it so I was almost "hooking" her with my cock, alternating between pressing deeper and then pulling against her G. This time around F's pace stayed the same but her motions met mine, increasing her force onto me during the upswing. The third motion and I felt her vaginal muscles release and quiver. She slowed on the down motion and when we returned to the top she applied pressure again. F let out a moan and another quiver, she stayed at the top this time and I bridged my hips to match her. She relaxed lightly and then moved downward forcing me deeper and she moaned and spasm'd again. A light pause, and then again, she let out a whimper and I felt her muscles shake wildly around me.
F then leaned back on my hips again, pressing them back to the bed. She slowly gyrated on me and leaned forward and gave me a kiss. We would resume to finish one more full orgasm and half a dozen mini-gasms before F slid off my penis and straddled my torso. She removed my blindfold and braced her hands over my shoulders, staring down at me. She was dripping with sweat, beaming, and had a wicked grin on her face. Her eyes pierced mine. I felt like a piece of meat.
"I love you, slave," she said before plunging her tongue into my mouth.
She lay next to me on the bed for a few minutes. We didn't speak, just just pressed up against me and traced motions on my chest with her fingers. F then unlocked my restraints. I tried to move and wow, the pain. A quick glance at the clock revealed 2 hours had passed. My shoulders felt like they had been ripped out of their sockets. My back burned and spiked pain with every movement. I could barely move my legs, my gluts and hamstrings were knotted up like iron and badly strained. She asked what was wrong. I replied, "I hurt all over."
After recovering enough to stand up, F led me to the bathroom where we completed my masturbate into the toilet routine. She whispered that cumming was my reward for making her proud of me. If I said it was a great orgasm I would be lying. My body was throbbing in pain and my pipes were so backed up by now that it was more of a relief than a pleasure. After I finished, F hugged me in silence for several minutes.
In the aftermath, this is what started my obsession with chain orgasms and I wanted to master this technique.
To be continued.
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