Fiction: fs01 - Part 34

Author’s Note:  This takes place the day after Part 33

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XXXIV

I wake the next morning to a locked cage.  Mistress was here.  I force a smile behind the gag as I wait patiently for Mistress.  Our upcoming separation leaves me anxious.  I want to be with her.  I want to protect her.  I want to be of use to her.  Time passes. 

I hear the dungeon gate open.  Mistress’s boots click across the floor.  She comes into view, fully dressed and in her robe.  Disappointment lingers within me.  I enjoy helping her dress and her robe ritual.  This event is special to me and it has been denied.  She approaches and unlocks my cage.  I crawl out, bow, and kiss her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.  I kneel at attention, my hands together in the muff.

“Prepare my breakfast, slave.  No food for you today.  While I am eating you will wash yourself and shave.  Present yourself when you have finished.”

I wait for her to exit before I rise.  I follow her at a distance, up the stairs, and continue to the kitchen.  I prepare Mistress bacon, eggs, toast, juice, and coffee.  My stomach growls.   I forgot to eat dinner last night.  I feel my brain tipping into slavespace.  I have not earned the privilege to eat yet today.  I place her food on the table and head to the living room.

I bow.  She waves me over and I approach her.  Mistress removes the padlocks from my uniform one by one.  She turns forward the cuffs, unbuckles them, and turns them back. She unlocks my collar.  The locks clink together in a bowl on the table.  She releases my nipple harness.  My head harness and gag.  The belted muff. The locking plug.  I lie on my back and present my feet.  She removes the locks, buckles, and ankle chain.  I return to my knees, bow, and kiss her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.  She departs without a word.  She feels miles away.

I quickly retreat to the basement and start the cold shower.  I wash and shave.  My teeth chatter as I brush them with care.  I return to her and stand at attention in the kitchen, naked except for my chastity belt.  She finishes eating, leaving half a piece of toast and some scrambled eggs on her plate.  I clear her place and under her watchful eye, I dump the remaining food into the trash.  It pains me to watch the lid close.  I’m so hungry.  I bring her dishes to the sink.

“Leave the dirty dishes, slave.  Report to my room for inspection.”  I bow and rinse her dishes in the sink.  I follow a few steps behind her as she departs.  In her room I stand with my legs spread and my hands behind my head.  My eyes stay on the floor.  She drags her fingers over me as she inspects me. 

“slave, you will be serving my colleague in uniform.  You will not wear the gag, plug, or nipple harness.  They will be included if she deems them necessary.  She will have the keys to your locks.  You will bring an additional bag that will be locked and a change of uniform.  Get dressed, warm up my car, and carry my suitcases to it.”

I quickly don my uniform that sits on the table.  I buckle myself in.  I finish quickly and present myself to Mistress and she applies the locks.  My feelings spiral out of control and I furrow my brow.  Smack.  Her hand slaps me across the cheek.  My lip quivers.

“Don’t you dare present that attitude in front of her, slave.”  I feel instant remorse.  It lingers.

I go poker-faced as she finishes securing the locks.  I kneel, bow, and kiss her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.  I rise and tend to Mistress’s luggage.  The bags are heavy and require multiple trips.  I load them into her vehicle and start it, turning up the heat so that it will be warm for her. 

I stand at attention near the coat closet.  Mistress appears shortly.  I unfasten her robe and gently slide it off her body.  I hang it in the closet and stand before her. 

“3/4 length black fur with headband and gloves.” 

I return from the closet.  She turns and holds out her arm.  I slide her arm into the coat sleeve.  I wrap it around her body.  I do up the fasteners.  Her perfume fills my nose.  My sex strains against the belt.  I place the headband gently over her head and adjust it into place.  I slide the gloves onto her hands.  I want to look at her.  My Goddess.  My Venus in Furs.  My face shows my disappointment. 

Smack.  Her hand strikes my cheek hard.  Tears well up in my eyes due to the physical pain and her disapproval.

“Attitude, slave.  Show that face to my colleague and you will regret being born.” 

I lower my face in shame.  I’m sorry Mistress.  I escort her to the car, opening every door for her.  She climbs in and pops the rear gate.  I crawl in the back into the pet carrier and the gate slowly closes behind me.  The vehicle moves.  We drive for a while and I lose track of time. 

The vehicle slows to a stop.  I hear Mistress’s door open and the suspension bounces.  I wait in anticipation.  Several minutes pass.  Her door opens and she gets back in.  The back gate opens.

“slave, don’t dawdle.  She is expecting you.” 

I climb out of the vehicle and the gate closes behind me.  I take a step towards her door, hoping to wish her farewell.  The SUV pulls away and leaves me without a parting glance.  My heart aches.  I love you, Mistress.  Please be safe.

I turn and look at the medium-sized house before me.  I quickly realize that I am in my uniform on a sidewalk of a city street.  My face burns red.  A burst of self-consciousness clears my mind of my longing.  I hastily make my way up the stairs and enter the front door.  I slowly walk down the hall. 

“In here.”  A voice calls out to me.  I follow its trail to the living room.

I present myself on my knees before her.  My eyes quickly take in her form.  I dare not look her in the face.  She is a petite woman.  She lies on the couch, her left leg elevated by pillows.  I have never seen her before in my life.  My nerves race.  I know she judges me.

Her voice breaks the silence.

“So this is Cassandra’s slave boy.”  I swallow.

“How would you like me to address you, ma’am?”

“The boy will call me Madam.  Get on all fours.”

“Yes, Madam.”

I lower my upper body and hold it upright with my arms.  The hairs on my neck tingle.

“I see Cassandra never completed your training.  This weekend will have to suffice.  Move forward a little.  Just like when she was my student, leaving things unfinished.”

My stomach turns.  She frightens me.

“The boy will answer my questions.”  I hear small rattle as she picks up a leather belt that was hidden on the far side of her body on the couch.

“Why is the boy dressed like that?”

“This is my uniform provided for me by Mistress Cassandra, Madam.”

Smack.  The belt slaps down hard on my rear.  I wince and let out a small grunt.

“Unsatisfactory, slave.  Why is the boy dressed like that?”

“This is my uniform, Madam.”

Smack.  The belt lands again, harder.  My body recoils and I whimper.  Anxiety builds.  I do not understand.

“It appears Cassandra’s slave still thinks it is a person.  This amuses me.  ‘I,’ ‘me,’ and ‘my’ are terms used by people to describe themselves.  The boy here is chattel.  Property.  An object.  If the slave makes this mistake again, it will be beaten.  Why is the boy dressed like that?”

My spirit falls.  The brief sink is quickly interrupted by fear and desperation.

“The slave wears the uniform provided by Mistress Cassandra, Madam.”  She lightly taps the belt against her hand.

“It makes the boy look like a cock-sucker.  Does the boy suck cock?”

“I don’t suck cock, Madam.”

Smack.  I cry out and wobble.

“The slave doesn’t suck cock, Madam.”

Smack.  Harder.  I squeal.  Tears fill my eyes.

“I don’t know how Cassandra can deal with such an insolent and ill-mannered servant.”  She laughs.

“A slave telling me what it won’t do.  How preposterous.”  She clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

“Why does Cassandra dress the boy like that?”

“Madam, Mistress Cassandra dresses the slave this way for discomfort and humiliation.”

“Does the boy feel humiliated right now?”  I pause to think.  Her words guide me.

“No, Madam.  A slave’s emotions are useless beyond its ability to provide service.”

“The boy learns quickly.  I should have the slave serve me naked but the uniform does amuse me, so it will stay.”

She makes me readily aware of my outfit and how it must appear to a stranger.  I blush but bury my feelings deep.  Being on all fours exaggerates my vulnerability and exposure. 

“Tell me about the boy’s Mistress.”

“Yes, Madam.  Mistress Cassandra is the love of my life.”

Smack.  The belt bites into my skin.  I made another mistake.  The mental adjustment is difficult.

“The slave loves Mistress Cassandra with all of its heart.  She is wonderful.  Mistress Cassandra is beautiful and intelligent, caring and compassionate.  She is thoughtful.  Mistress Cassandra is strict but she is fair.  The slave worships and serves her.  She is the slave’s Goddess.”

“The boy answers adequately.  Why does the boy suppose that Cassandra would lend its services out so easily, to someone she hadn’t seen or spoken to in years?”

My body tenses.  She leans forward on the couch.  Her words expose the fears within my heart.  I cannot answer.

“Maybe the boy fails to understand Cassandra’s feelings.  Maybe the boy is just an object to her.  Maybe she loves the boy as she loves her favorite coat, but nothing more.”

My body trembles.  I cannot tell if I feel fear or anger.  My heart screams. 

“That’s not true, Madam.  Mistress Cassandra loves the slave.  She has to love the slave.  The slave would do anything for her.  Mistress respects you.  She entrusts you with the slave’s care.  The slave serves you under her direction.”

Tears flow from my eyes. 

“The boy certainly has a lot of faith in its Mistress.  So if I were to beat the boy without mercy, what would it do?”

“The slave would suffer at your hands, Madam.”

“If I were to violate the boy, would it resist?”

“The slave would suffer at your hands, Madam.”

“If I were to spread my legs and order the boy to pleasure me, would it comply?”

“The slave would pleasure you to the best of its abilities, Madam.”

She pauses.  The words flow so easily from my mouth, my mind takes time to process what I said.

“I think the boy should think about this.  Is the boy faithful to its Mistress if it so eagerly agrees to the demands of another?”

I sob.  I don’t understand what I feel.  Am I unfaithful if I do something unfaithful in order to obey Mistress?  I weep.

She places her hand on my back.

“Little Cassie really did find an interesting one.  I almost feel bad toying with the boy.  The boy should know that Cassandra forbade me from using its lips and tongue in that way.”

She pats my back and rubs her hand back and forth.  My tears slowly subside as her hand comforts me.

“Kneel in front of me, slave.”

I shift positions and kneel in front of her. 

“Cassandra told me I would have to give the boy instructions.  Here are the rules.  First, the boy may look at me.  The boy will not speak unless spoken to.  If the boy must speak, it should raise its hand and wait to be acknowledged.  The boy will never refer to itself as ‘me’ or ‘I’ or anything of that nature while here in my presence.  The boy will kneel while not in use.  Failure to follow these rules will be punished.  Does the boy understand?”

“Yes, Madam, the slave understands the rules.”

“Good.  Does the boy know who I am?”

“No, Madam.  Mistress told the slave nothing about you.”

She extends her hand and lifts my chin.  Our eyes meet.  She smiles.  Her face radiates warmth.  I smile back at her.  She is a pretty lady and looks to be a bit older than Mistress. 

“My name is Amanda.  I was Cassandra’s professor and faculty advisor during her undergrad days.  I helped steer her into abnormal psychology that eventually led to her practice.  We reconnected through social media last year and I was surprised to find out details about her current life.  It made me quite curious, especially when I found out she was married.  Pass me my drink, boy.” 

I nod and lift her glass from the coffee table.  I present it to her.  She takes it in her hands, takes a drink, and returns it to me.  I continue holding it within her reach. 

“I am not a Femdom, or whatever it’s called, but I do know some of the basics.  Cassandra and I really got back in touch with each other a while ago when she reached out about some problems she was having involving the boy and Tristan.  Since then she has kept me updated with the changes and progression in the relationship.  I find it quite fascinating.”

She takes the glass from my hand, drinks again, and replaces it.

“Now that I’ve seen the boy, I understand a little bit more.  This isn’t just some kind of game.  The boy honestly sees Cassandra as its Goddess, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“And the boy would do anything she asks of it?”

“Yes, Madam.”

She smiles and shakes her head.  Her blonde hair dances across her shoulders. 

“I have a hard time absorbing this, boy.  Cassandra told me that you were once a fairly smart man with lots of interests.  What I see before me is a fairly smart slave with only one interest.  Cassandra told me she keeps the boy’s penis locked up in chastity.  Are you okay with that?” 

“Yes, Madam, the slave’s penis can get the slave in trouble.  The slave is happy that Mistress holds the key.”

She smiles again and sighs. 

“If only my ex-husband was smart enough to know that.  Why is the boy so comfortable talking about this with a stranger?”

“Madam, the slave has spoken about this before with others.  The slave is transparent and Mistress Cassandra grants it no privacy from the curiosity of others.”

“Well, the boy piques my interest.  I have not known many people who could keep their sanity in this environment, but it seems to make Cassandra and the boy happy.  I will warn the boy of this, I was able to condition it to depersonalize itself in 20 minutes.  The boy’s ability to adapt may actually be a danger.”

Her words haunt me.  We do not speak of these matters beyond this.  I attend to her needs.  I cook for her, assist her in bathing, dressing, fetching her medication, changing her leg’s wrap, ice, and other matters.  She keeps me close even though I feel I would be of better use performing household duties.  I can tell that she enjoys the company.

We small talk to pass the time.  I make her laugh.  The pronoun game affects me deeply, my mind slips deeper and deeper away from myself.  Amanda keeps me distracted enough to avoid thinking about Mistress.  I believe she sees what is happening inside of me and this is her favor to me. 

The days pass quickly.  By the third day Amanda is able to walk with crutches.  This is our last day together.  I help Amanda bathe and dress.  I prepare her breakfast and we eat together.  She provides me a small stool to sit on next to her.  It is a kind gesture that makes me feel warm inside. 

Mistress arrives in the early afternoon.  I greet her at the door with a bow and kiss her feet.  She wears her silver fox jacket and matching hat.  I inhale her perfume and my sex strains against the belt.  I love her, my Mistress.  My Queen.  My Goddess.  I escort her to the living room where she sits opposite Amanda.  I kneel next to her chair, facing Amanda.  Mistress’s hand pets my head.  I close my eyes and smile.

“You really are all grown up, Cassie.”

They both laugh.  I guess that Mistress is blushing. 

“Your slave was delightful.  It served me quite well these past few days.  I’m rather impressed.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Amanda.  I’m sure his ass is happy to hear that as well or he would have had quite the beating coming.  Make sure you don’t say too many positive things about him in his presence or that little ego just might sprout up.  It would be a waste after I worked so hard to crush it.”

“You really haven’t changed that much, Cassandra.  You’re still so stubborn and confident.  I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of breaking your slave a little farther.  It shouldn’t be able to put up any more mental resistance”

“Interesting, I’ll have to ask ‘it’ what happened later.”

“I have one more question for you, Cassandra.  I have a couple of graduate students working on their thesis project.  I’m sure they could use your assistance.  Would you be willing to meet with them?”

“You aren’t going to tell me more about it, are you Amanda?  I should know better than to even ask.  I’m free on Thursday, would 7pm work?”

“That should be fine.  I will let them know and contact you if there are any problems.”

They exchange small talk for a while.  As we depart Mistress orders me to kiss Amanda’s feet for the privilege of serving her.  I kneel and bow; my lips find their mark.  First the right foot, then the left.  I raise my head and she places her hand on it.  I look up.  She smiles down at me. 

On the ride home Mistress has me sit in the back seat.  My hands are locked inside the muff and she straps me in with a seat belt.  She asks me about the pronoun game and I explain it to her.  She processes her thoughts in silence. 

I smile.  I am simply happy to be near her.  My Mistress.  I love her.   She breaks the silence.

“slave, when permitted to speak it will continue as instructed by Amanda.  Does it understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. The slave understands.”

“Speech privileges removed.”

END ACT

More thoughts on Arc 6

I will be honest... I'm actually kind of scared that Arc 6 is not going to be of the same quality as previous arcs.  While I've made good progress on the story, my emotions while writing are a bit messy.  This is partly due to my own emotional state but partly due to writing Cassandra and fs in a "tweener" state.  I find myself bouncing around emotionally as I go and I can't tell if it's due to me or the content.  Some scenes make me want to cry and others make me go numb.  I might just be insecure after the other arcs flowed so easily, but I hope that these next parts don't suck.

I am currently writing part 34.  Parts 35 and 36 are done and I have ideas on where to go beyond that. 

Fiction: fs01 - Part 33

Author’s Note:  This follows Part 32.

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XXXIII

With each passing day, Mistress glows brighter.  Her fire burns hotter. She orgasms faster.  More frequently.  More intense.  Her pleasure cries are primal.  Violent.

She grows.  She embraces more of herself.  It's beautiful.  She is beautiful.

I love her.  I love watching her flourish.  I love feeding her fire.  Any conflicts I have inside about the new rules are overshadowed by the promises I made her: I would make her happy.  I would encourage her growth.  I would endure. With each day she glows brighter.

I kneel in front of Mistress as she sits on her throne in the bedroom.  My knees ache from the rice. My back is to her.  I feel her hands wander over me from behind.  She runs her fingers through the fur of my collar.  She pets my head.  Her finger traces across my cheek.  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  The scent of her perfume surrounds me.  It intoxicates me.  My sex strains against the metal.

"slave, I will be taking a trip for the long weekend.  Normally I would have someone come and stay with you but a former colleague of mine injured her leg skiing and requires an attendant.  I took the liberty of volunteering you for the task."

I start to turn my shoulders.  She places her hands on my upper arms and turns me back.  My heart is uneasy.  I don’t like it when we are separated.  Involving someone new only adds to the growing anxiety.

"This will be your first time serving a stranger.   You are to wait on her and assist her in any way while I am gone.  She is aware of our lifestyle and wants you in your maid form.  I have given her instructions on how to manage you, so you should expect her to wield the same power that Theresa, Lisa, or anyone else would have as your overseer.  Do you understand?"

I nod.  My mind races with dozens of questions.  Who is she?  Is she dominant?  How close is she to Mistress?  Even without the gag, I know I would not be permitted to ask.  My shoulders tense.

"Don't worry, she's nothing like Dominique."  Her hand returns to petting my head.  I let out a sigh of relief.

“I respect her a lot.  Your behavior will be a direct reflection of me.  If you make me look bad or reflect negatively on me in any way I will not hesitate to hurt you.  If that happens you will wish that Dominique were here to protect you.”

I lower my eyes. 

“I leave tomorrow, slave.  Place your head on my lap.  I wish to touch you.”

I turn to face her on my knees.  The posture collar prevents me from tilting my head in the normal way.  I lean forward and place my face on her lap.  The robe feels nice on my face.  Her perfume surrounds me.  Her fingers caress the fur on my earmuffs.  I close my eyes.  I want to see her face.  I want to see her eyes right now.  I no longer possess that privilege.  A sense of longing stirs in my heart.

I relish this intimacy.  My love for her burns deeply.  Her hands glide across my head.  She pets me.  Her finger strokes my cheek.  I love you, Mistress.  A touch from my Goddess is so precious.  It happens so infrequently now that I do not take it for granted.

I inhale deeply through my nose.  Her hand plays with the pom pom on my hat.  I feel her expanding heat on my cheeks.  I snuggle my face into her thighs. 

“That’s a little ambitious for a slave.”

Her voice carries disgust.  She shoves my head off of her lap and stands.  My heart aches a little at the rejection.  It is my own fault.

“Kiss my feet.”  I bow my head and kiss them, first the right foot, then the left.

“Retrieve the large suitcase, 2 rollers, and a large garment bag and place them outside my door.  I do not wish to be disturbed.  Finish your chores.  I will summon you if needed.”

I sulk in silence for the next few hours.  Chores drag.  I hear Mistress’s pleasure cries from across the house.  It fills me with longing.  I wish to lay with her.  I want to feel her arms around me.  I need to hear her voice turn cute and call me, ‘pet.’  How long has it been?  Weeks?

The bell rings over the intercom.  My body perks up.  I set the duster on the table and head for her room.  Her voice stops me in my tracks. 

“slave, prepare a light dinner for me.  A salad.  Serve it to me in my room.”

I retreat to the kitchen.  I prepare her salad with love.  Leafy greens, fresh vegetables, cheese, some shredded chicken, croutons, and a medium amount of dressing.  I place it on a silver tray along with a glass of wine. 

I carefully deliver the meal to Mistress’s bedroom.  I knock on the door.

“Enter, slave.”

I carefully open the door and enter.  Open suitcases line her floor.  Each is half-packed.  Mistress sprawls upon the bed.  Her robe sits open exposing her naked form.  A light glow of sweat glistens on her skin.  Various toys are strewn about the bed and floor.

I approach her with the tray.

“slave, place the tray on the nightstand and respect my privacy.” 

I set the tray down.  I turn and bow.  I depart the room, closing the door behind me.  My heart aches to be with her.  I return to the kitchen and clean the knives and cutting boards.  I finish my dusting. 

I stand at the stairs.  My eyes on the floor.  My hands in the muff.  I wait for her.  Time passes slowly.  Mistress, please need me. 

My eyes grow heavy.  My spirits grow weak.  I retreat to the basement dungeon.  The cage awaits me.  I crawl in and curl up into a ball.  I close my eyes.  I doze off.

END ACT

I had a little help from my friends

I wanted to say thank you, everyone, for the support.  It really means a lot to me for people to leave comments and keep my spirits up when I am feeling drained.  It had been about 10 days since I was able to reach subspace.  That might not seem like a long time, but after reaching it nearly every day for 7+ weeks it was a bit jarring to find myself blocked from it. 

Yesterday a friend went above and beyond and helped give me that last little nudge I needed to find subspace.  I was able to write last night.  I took an idea from a different fiction idea that I had and was able to integrate it into fs01.  I have backburnered the original ideas I had for Arc 6.  That being said, part 32 and the next section do not flow as of yet so it is very likely that I will finish the later parts of Arc 6 before writing the transition between the two.  The end result will likely be 3-5 chapters going live at the same time. 

I will warn in advance that these later chapters may require some future edits in order to add in "sufficient thoughts," but the plot itself should be there as well as basic emotional responses.

A Bad Block

I apologize for not posting any new fs01 chapters in a while.

A little over a week ago T and I got into a pretty bad argument.  It was enough to throw my sleep out of whack and hurt me deeply.  During my normal writing times I felt exhausted and my brain just wasn't able to get into it.  We patched things up where I communicated a lot of my feelings over the past month or two... one of which was that I am okay with continuing to wait for her to put things in her life in order and not expect any D/s for the time being.  I did let her know that submission is still a need for me and that I am using writing as my outlet for those needs.  Things seemed good but it took me a while to start settling down emotionally from this and I wasn't able to initiate a self-induced subspace to write from.

The other night T flew off the handle.  I am somewhat of a night owl and it has been fairly common over the years for her to fall asleep early and for me to stay up on the computer until I can fall asleep.  She generally sleeps heavily (e.g. she can fall asleep with the lights on and a movie playing loudly) and/or will use a sleep aid to assist.  Lately she has been a bit stressed and has avoided using said sleep aids.

I came into the room quietly and turned on my computer (no sound, just the monitor).  Apparently the light woke her up and she immediately started lashing out.  She attacked my need to write, calling it my "writing pathetic jerk-off fantasies."  I have to say this hurt me pretty deeply.  I did not sleep well and I'm feeling pretty screwed up inside.  This is kind of a symbol of how things deteriorated years before... I would share intimate and vulnerable details of my feelings only to have her use those in a specific attempt to hurt me later.

While I have made a few posts since then... I have not been able to get into subspace or write with any warmth in my heart.  It is a shitty feeling, especially when I wrote so strongly for about 6-7 weeks.

A little bit about my process for writing fs01... I have been told some of the writing feels fairly realistic.  Part of this stems from the fact that I have written the majority of the work from subspace.  I get into a bit of a trance and immerse in a world of mental images, acting, thinking, and reacting as if I was actually there.  Once I define the parameters of an external character, I can envision how they would think, react, and grow from the interactions. In this trance, the work almost writes itself.  It is exciting and I spend much of my day with ideas flowing into my head.  I have to make lots of notes in order to catch them all.

Now that I have been blocked from reaching this state... it is very frustrating.  I am also feeling wounds on my heart from the events that led to this.  In the past few days I have sat down to write part 33 four separate times.  I just can't come up with an idea that is strong enough to induce a subspace.  I'm not sure if the ideas aren't good or if it's just my emotions aren't allowing me to get there.  It is a bit of a bummer.

If I keep writing and the posts seem to be of random or odd topics, it's because I'm trying to get the subspace related feelings to kick back in.  I want to feel invigorated and joy from writing.  For the time being I'm searching for a way to get back there.

Staying Grounded

Well, I have to say that it was a pleasant surprise to have my last Sea of Thoughts post generate a lot of discussion.  Whenever I write on a fairly extreme subject I generally later feel a bit of remorse for isolating something in a petri dish and completely out of a lifestyle context.

That being said, this is my time now to re-center myself about said topics and try to move them back to within a context that is more meaningful.

When I first started in the lifestyle, K was very clear that she wanted me to have a big list of limits in order to keep my imagination from running wild and putting myself into a position for potential harm.  She was also fairly new to the dominant role and I think it also helped give her a framework to build upon.

The way she laid out the difference between hard and soft limits were:
-Hard limits should not be broken under any circumstance.
-Soft limits were things that provided significant mental/emotional resistance for the Domme to be aware of.  She felt breaking a soft limit should have a "good reason" for doing so.

Originally I started off with roughly 10 hard limits and 12-15 soft limits.  As time has passed, relationships have grown, and I have acclimated more in my submission.  Soft limits are rare.  Hard limits are few and far between, but represent things that are important to me.

Some of these hard limits are common sense:
-Nothing illegal.
-Nothing involving animals or children.
-Nothing "life ruining."  Basically, nothing that would prevent being able to live a normal life if the relationship were to end.

One of these hard limits is for safety's sake:
-Nothing that would prevent exercising proper hygiene.

One of these is for my own mental/emotional well-being:
-No sexual contact with other men.

I will not partake in relationships where these limits will not be respected.

I have come to think upon soft limits as being conditional limits.  My willingness to partake in these would be heavily dependent upon the relationship and situation.  Without the security of marriage, some activities would be considered hard limits of mine, e.g. cuckolding.  I still consider public humiliation to be a soft limit, but it is one that has been broken several times over.

Chastity and forced feminization started out as soft limits.   Those limits have since been lifted for the most part and they both originated with behavioral correction/control in mind.  The logical battle easily overpowered my mental resistance and I accepted them.  Anal play was a hard limit of mine for 7 years.  I relaxed it willingly, but it was my attempt to salvage a relationship that was drifting apart.  

Another thing worthy of note is that I do not submit to just anyone.  I do not submit to just any woman.  For me to truly submit and be vulnerable, it requires love.  I have to love.  There must be a relationship that it is built around.  It is not just sex or play.  Submission isn't casual to me.  It is a lifestyle.  Without love and trust in place, it just doesn't happen for me.

To be with a woman and give her my all... that is what drives me.  To cherish her, love her, and please her, those are my goals.  I want to be worthy of her love even if that is never truly possible.  I'm actually a pretty hopeless romantic.

I really do love watching a Domme grow over time.  Watching her desires change, escalate, and intensify exhilarates me.  As D/s increases, so does the intimacy and strength of our bond.  The farther I am pushed, the closer I feel... the more special things feel... the more irreplaceable her love becomes.

I won't lie, submission intoxicates me.  I love it.  I need it.  But I do stay grounded.  I need love.  I need trust.  There are times where I need tenderness and closeness more than D/s dynamics. What really separates reality from fantasy for me is love.

I hope this makes some sense. 

A Sea of Thoughts: Because I Hate it

Lady Grey's comments really got my mental gears turning on this.  This is one of those cases where I feel like trying to understand the D/s dynamic and submissive response is buried under many complicated layers.

I've scraped the surface of this in the past and my tears post after Reflections covered it a bit.

If I had to describe my greatest submissive need, I would say it is subspace.  Not the masochistic high  that is sometimes described after pain or impact play, but straight up "mental bondage."  I crave to be forced into the deep end of the pool.  To sink into its depths and feel my ego die and persona shift catering entirely to her.

Unfortunately with subspace, our triggers eventually become ordinary.  If we are no longer bothered by them to the same extent mentally/emotionally and if we have confidence in our abilities to endure and perform with those triggers present, they just don't sting in the same way.  Our emotional capacity adapts.  It requires something else to "get us there."

Now don't get me wrong, simple sets of rules, rituals, and behaviors are enough to push me into subspace and enjoy waiting on a woman hand and foot, pleasuring her, worshipping her, and loving her with my entire being.  Here I am referring to that place where I mentally adhere to the ideas that she determines what is right or wrong, deserved or undeserved, and so on.  This is the place where she truly becomes a Goddess.

Over the years I have noticed a few trends in dynamics that often get treated as being the same, when they are in fact a little bit different.  Namely, there is a difference between doing something you don't want to do vs. doing something you have said you don't want to do.

An easy example of this is ordering a sub to wear panties.  This will likely embarrass him a bit, make him self-conscious, and while wearing them, he is likely to be more docile and obedient.  I believe the resulting change in behavior and attitude/demeanor are his mind coping with doing something he did not want to do.  He didn't ask to wear panties, the choice was forced on him.  He doesn't want to wear panties, but the thought of being disobedient is worse.  While he accepts this rationally, it affects him internally, pushing him into a new form of subspace.  At its root, I believe this is an example of what happens when you are forced to do something you do not want to do.  The reasons may differ, avoiding punishment, wanting to please her, etc. but it does require coping. 

There is a deeper level of this and I think this is what tends to "do it" for my subspace the most.  Taking that same example, let's say that at the beginning of the relationship the sub stated outright that any type of feminization was a soft limit.  That is, panties would be something they would not reject, but it is something they wished to avoid unless she REALLY wanted it or had a very good reason for it.  If she orders him to wear panties under these terms, the sub has to deal with the same emotional hurdles as the previous example, but it's magnified by the fact that he overtly stated it was something he did not want. 

From my experiences this forces the brain into an even more difficult position.  "She knew I didn't want this and she did it anyways."  This is fairly jarring emotionally.  It stings worse than the previous case.  It has a stronger effect on a sub and their space. 

What can follow is also very critical in how this affects the sub.  In most cases, I believe if a Domme chooses to push a sub past known soft limits, she will generally share a reason  as to why (he may ask or she may share it openly).  The reason given can dull or increase the sting.  If she responds with "I wanted to increase the power of my dominance and the depth of your submission," or "I want you to be more docile," these are reasons that a submissive can process logically and agree with. 

There are an entire spectrum of responses that reinforce the D/s dynamic and vary the intensity of feelings within a sub.  The "better" the reason she provides, the easier it is to bear.  The more the sub can use logic to agree to it, the less it will torture him inside.
"Because it amuses me." -> I bear with it because I would not want to deprive her pleasure.
"Because it's cute when you blush." -> I bear with it because it touches her and feeds her dominance.
"Because I like to see you squirm." -> I bear with it because it feeds her dominance.

At some point of increasing intensity we reach a line in the sand where it requires more emotional sacrifice to handle it.
"Because I felt like it."
"Because I can."
"Because I was bored."
"There is no reason."

As this continues we approach the final line in the sand.  At this point a sub can no longer rationalize it. 
"Because you don't want to do it."
"Because it makes you uncomfortable."

And at the very bottom lies: "I'm making you do this because I know that you hate it."

I can't think of a reason that would sting worse than this.  This reason alone is enough to push things deep into subspace, no matter what the activity is, hell it could be eating badly prepared lima beans.  It just leaves you feeling completely defeated. 

Looking back upon why pegging is showing up in fs01 when I/he hates it... I think it's in order to live vicariously as I write and remember the feeling of my spirit being crushed as I endured something that was a hard limit of mine for 7 years.  I hated it, it felt terrible, it made me feel terrible inside... but it also pushed me so far into the deep end that I felt... completely 100% owned.

A few Questions about Milking

I'm trying to solidify my ideas for the progression of Arc 6.  I was wondering if there is anyone out there with enough experience with prostate milking that might be able to answer some questions for me.  I don't want to spoil it before I write it but I want to make sure something is logistically possible before I try to write it and this is beyond my scope of experience.

If there is anyone who might be able to answer some questions on this subject via email I would appreciate it a lot.

Thanks in advance.

A Sea of Thoughts: Blog Reading

I did something I haven't done in a while yesterday: I read an entire Domme blog from start to finish.  I realized that I had only read a handful of posts there before, it was a blog that I discovered during my down years and hadn't gone back to give it a thorough read.

I should note that I really enjoy doing this but it can be a bit daunting if the blog has more than 50 posts.  It is a pleasure to watch someone grow as a blogger and how this often parallels growth in D/s.  Those early posts are often so carefully crafted and selective.  What they choose to share and show us.  What ideas and philosophies they want their initial foray into the web to see.  We get a snapshot of them as a starting point.  A reference point to watch change and expand.

I have to admit, reading early posts from a Domme usually make me feel self-conscious.  I think "wow, I must seems like some crazy freakazoid if they are reading my stuff."  Those initial feelings are often put to rest as the blog progresses.  I watch them change.  I watch those principles and ideals that were shown at the start morph.  This eases my own feelings as I watch them grow.

This often happens with a beginning of "I can't understand why someone would want ______," and a year later, "I got curious about _______ and I like it."    It is a joy to watch someone unlock the merits of a new fetish or activity and see how it speaks to them.  It makes me feel confident that my own views and ideas about how people evolve in D/s are fairly accurate.  It also makes me believe that people can reach a point where they can understand me.

I find very little out there about deep submission.  The kind where a sub just gives all of themselves and feels their psyche prodded and pushed and driven to a very intense level of love, obedience, and devotion.  I half-believe that most subs in this position simply aren't granted computer privileges.  I think others just don't feel the need to write about or share these feelings with the world.  At times this makes me feel a bit invisible but I know there are others out there like me.

I think it is this side of myself that leads to the biggest feelings of self-consciousness when reading Domme blogs.  I'm not a door mat, but I will submit to almost anything in the dynamic when I love the woman I serve.  The submission is rooted in love and not fantasy.  The love is deep and real.  Intense D/s amplifies the feelings of both submission and love.  At times it seems like the idea of this goes beyond what people are willing to believe, but I see enough of it out there to know I am not alone.

A Sea of Thoughts: The Value of Fantasy

I feel a bit like a hypocrite... but it seems the easiest way for me to have random ideas pop into my head is to actually write that I'm out of ideas or don't feel like writing.

Over the past few weeks I have read a lot of blogs and comments that downplay fantasy.  They want real life.  Current thoughts.  Current experiences.  At first this made me a bit self-conscious but after letting it stew for some time I realized something.

While I can understand someone's desire to only expose themselves to reality, I think in many ways fantasy gets devalued too much.

I think it's safe to say that the majority of exposure to D/s for us started with exploring fantasy through porn, fiction, writing, and the like.  Our minds take the plunge into a world where our hearts and bodies aren't yet ready to go.

I read a lot about the struggle with getting a submissive male to "spill their guts" about the present.  Attempts to pry what makes them tick are often met with resistance, difficulty communicating, and the like.  I think in some cases the root is vulnerability and in others, he often just doesn't know.

fs01 and a few entries on other blogs got me thinking a lot about K's early assignments in our relationship.  She wanted me to compose a new fantasy every day for a month that had to relate to my fantasies, things I was curious about, and things I thought she would enjoy.  Back then I thought she just wanted to understand how to guide things but in hindsight I think there was a lot more value to this.

After about 5 fantasies it was probably clear just what made me tick as a submissive.  After about 10 it was probably clear which soft limits I wanted to stretch and/or break.  After a few more she probably knew which parts of this fed her Domspace.

I can fully admit it was easier for me to write about something I thought I might want in a fully open and honest way.  It was just curiosity.  It was a lot smaller of a mental hurdle than trying to accept my needs when I wasn't even comfortable about having them.  It allowed me to show more of myself than I would have by just talking about the now.

It is VERY easy to read a fantasy written by a sub and tell which things get them going.  The detail level is just too great in certain areas.  You'll find a paragraph and a half describing her shoes... guess what, they have a shoe fetish.  Great detail about a certain mental game, a lot can be learned here.  Fantasy gives a road map on how to easily connect with a sub's subspace and how to properly/easily manipulate it.    I find this quite interesting.

On another level, I think that fantasy serves a meaningful role for both Dommes and subs.  When we allow for the growth of the relationship as well as evolution of ourselves as Dominants and submissives, we inherently change.  Fantasy gives us an idea of what that might be like or who we might want to be when that process occurs.  This can be on a small or large level.  If a sub fantasizes about his name taken away and replaced with a "pet name" to be used whenever privacy allows, why not?  If a Domme fantasizes about taking that next level of control and wants to inject chastity into the situation, why not?

Ideas of what we might like fuel where we go to next.  They aren't always successful or work with real logistics, but they give some form of direction.  This is easier than flying blind.

I think there is a tendency for people to get a bit psyched out by fantasy when it reaches an intense level.  I believe a key here is to avoid comparing yourself to someone's fantasy.  Do not focus upon how you differ from a character in the fantasy, but look at what parts of that character you connect with or might like to be.  When someone shares a fantasy their intent isn't to make someone else feel self-conscious or lesser, they are communicating in a very honest way and displaying the workings of their space.

I guess I just see fantasy as something intimate, valuable, and a tool for providing insight into how people work and what can be in the future.  It is a safe way to explore "what ifs?" without risking emotional or physical harm.  It is a safe way to share thoughts, ideas, and needs, without worrying about someone rejecting the current you.

I will add this.  There is a point where fantasy can be unhealthy and obsessive.  It can create unrealistic expectations and make unreasonable demands.  One of the keys here is to talk about fantasies with your partner.  Communicate about what you see as being the draws and themes.  Find which parts are necessary and which are fluff.   Talk about what you enjoy from their fantasies.  Hear about what they enjoy about yours.  Communication is at the root of all of this, as with most things that involve relationships.  As long as things stay open, fantasy can be a very valuable tool for understanding one another.

Looking back on the past few weeks...

Sorry for the waste of a post here.  I'm very tired right now but letting my fingers wander upon the keys.

I'm looking back and realizing that I made 171 blog posts since May 9th.  Seeing that fs01 is currently at over 91k words (41 posts) and Reflections pulled in at 34k words (23 posts), that is a lot of writing. 

It is probably obvious to some that since I have returned this blog has filled a major hole in my life.  I wrote in lieu of social contact.  I attempted on several levels to reach out to others with extremely mixed results.  Thankfully things are changing a bit.

I have managed to rebuild a bit of a support system.  There are a handful of people I have been corresponding with in private fairly regularly.  This has provided a good outlet to converse in and has helped me feel a lot more stable and comfortable with myself.  The contact I was seeking is now present and it calms my heart a lot.  I no longer get the frantic urge to write.  The downside (or upside) of this is that I probably will not be writing as much.  I want to continue with fs01 and will probably pop in with a few other posts now and then as the urge arises, but that huge wave of feelings that I was riding has faded out quite a bit.

I will still take requests if people would like me to talk about a topic or if anyone has questions about experiences that I have had over the years.  Overall, fewer posts probably means I'm in a better mental and emotional state.

I know that every time I have written that I'm slowing down I end up making like 5 posts the next day, but this time I feel like it is real unless something manages to inspire me in a way that I can't currently anticipate.

fs01 Arc 6 thoughts before I get too deep.

After writing part 32 (and starting 33) I have to feel a bit guilty at amping up the D/s intensity again.  My idea for arc 6 is a bit more event/environment based vs concept based.  I seem to feel the need to evolve the characters and dynamics based upon their previous experiences.  I truly hope that this doesn't end up eroding the emotional intimacy between Cassandra and fs or put it too far into the realm of fantasy for people to digest.

It does, however, feel more realistic to let the dynamics of the relationship change over time.  Static is doable, but seems less likely to happen in a D/s relationship that has some very intense dynamics... constant change feels closer to how things have been in my own experiences and the experiences I have read from others.  e.g. if Cassandra felt her dark side awaken by the events of Arc 5, but in conflict with her emotional and rational self, increasing the intensity to a happy medium feels closer to how she might form a compromise: gradually unleash the darkness without completely destroying fs's sense of self or jeopardizing their meaningful intimacy. 

Does anyone agree with any of this?  Disagree?  I guess I'm just looking for some feedback before I get 5,000 words into the arc.

I have already found at least one item I plan to "undo" at the end of the arc but I will let it fester as Cass builds up her desire to restore it over time.

Fiction: fs01 - Part 32

Author's Note:
Start of Arc 6.

-------------------------------
XXXII

Mistress paces back and forth before me.  Her boots click on the floor.  I hear the crop tap against her glove.  I bend slightly at the waist.  My back aches from this position.  I do not dare to look at her.  Her aura intimidates me.

It has been over a month since our "slave weekend" experiment.  Things did not return to normal.  Normal evolves.  Mistress evolves.  Our one day was enough to change her.  The core of her dominance hungers for more.  Her mind keeps it lightly in check.  She knows the boundaries and treads the lines carefully.  The scars and brand on my back were removed with plastic surgery.  It took some time to heal.  Mistress deems me well enough.

I model the newly designed uniform version 2.0 for her.  Mistress evolves Kimmy's original designs to her liking.  The punishment lining returns.  It's just as uncomfortable as I remember it.  It fights tighter and more restricting, contributing to more itching and chafing.  The external fur is thicker and more obtrusive.  It makes me clumsier and more self-conscious.  The collar is new.  It sits taller and hides a stiff posture collar beneath the surface.  I cannot turn my head and it permits only minor tilting up and down.  Also new are snug-fitting rubber gloves that buckle inside the sleeve.  These are very slick and reduce my coordination.  Anything glass must be held with both hands.  I can tell the material leans heavily toward comfort in sexual contact.  The original belt has been replaced by the bondage muff that Mistress had me wear in the park.  It feeds through the dress's belt loops and locks at the back.  .

The head-wear features new designs as well.  The hat is thicker with its lower brim contoured to cover the ears more.  The fur pom is larger and heavier than before, it shakes and wobbles with every motion, providing additional distraction.  The front brim has a patch on it that can be embroidered with different phrases or designs.  Mistress showed me several hats before settling in on the current one.  "sissy maid," "fur sissy," "pet," and "slave," were bypassed in favor of a male symbol.  The earmuff harness is new as well.  The fur is larger and more absurd looking.  The strap angles and widths have changed, they fit tighter now, connect to the collar, and provide constant discomfort on my jaw and neck.  The peripheral blinders are permanent on this version.  The gag is still locking and a penis gag finds its way into my mouth the majority of the day.  She releases it only for meals, when she wishes to put my tongue to use, or some of the times we talk late at night. 

My ankles are nearly always connected with a 12 inch chain.  Thankfully there are no restrictions on chain rattling.  The higher connection point on the boots keeps them from dragging on the floor.  The stockings are a new version.  I was excited at first as these include some thin knee padding to reduce the wear and tear from kneeling.  I now abhor them, the inner layer of "padding" is actually packed with dry rice that painfully digs into my knees when I kneel... and I kneel a lot now.

Another change is the chastity belt.  The new penis tube is coated in pointy rubber studs.  They aren't painful, but they do make erection attempts more uncomfortable as the rubber digs into the skin and drags.  I can't picture the mind of the people who design these.  Mistress decided to bring the locking plug back.  This one is a bit smaller but also has a bunny tail on the end.  It makes me even more self-conscious about being filled in.  She removes it before bedtime and I am permitted bathroom breaks before bed and in the morning before she locks it back into place.   

The final touch is slightly familiar but different at the same time.  It is the same type of harness as the nipple stimulators that I tested in the Adult department at Mistress's shop.  This design is not for pleasure.  Four metal pincers coated in studded rubber clamp down on my nipples like a drill bit and lock in place.  A chain connects the two.  If the chain is pulled, the clamps ratchet tighter.  Mistress starts them at a pressure I would describe as "discomfort."  With an earlier test she showed me their pain potential.  I never want to experience that ever again.  She playfully calls them my nipple cuffs.

Mistress continues to pace.  My knees ache from the rice.  My back throbs from holding a position that keeps my face lowered.  My hands fidget together within the muff.

"Today, slave, I will inform you of the new rules." 

I nod by forcing my body to move at the waist. 

"From now on there will be no eye contact.  If I want eye contact I will order it or force your face to look at mine."

My heart sinks a little.  I love Mistress's eyes.  That is where I see her love.  I have taken it for granted. 

"There will be no speaking unless instructed to do so.  That should be obvious with the gag.  This restriction will continue even if the gag is removed."

This doesn't instill a reaction in me.  It's similar to our current speech protocols and no different to how things were when Kimmy was around.  It occurs to me that this may affect our conversations while spooning.  I feel a twinge of disappointment.  I fight it off, not wanting to jump to conclusions.  Time will tell.

"You will no longer be permitted to sit.  Your pet bed has been donated to Goodwill.  If you aren't performing chores, you will stand at attention or kneel."

Mistress turns and takes a step.  The front of her robe flows open as she turns.  Her scent is strong.  My beautiful Mistress.  She embraces more of herself.  She grows.

"The size of your anal plug will vary based upon your obedience from the previous week.  You are wearing a size 1 plug.  They go all the way to 5, increasing in both length and girth.  The size will be chosen at my discretion.  I may simply get bored or wish to stretch you out."

I shudder.  I hate being plugged.  She knows this.

"Keep your hands in the muff when they are not in use unless instructed otherwise."

I feel agitation brewing.  I anticipate greater humiliation on the horizon.

"Finally, slave.  I have decided.  Since it is not protected by your contract, I have decided to get rid of your yearly orgasm.  It just seems silly for a slave to feel entitled to something that I do not wish to grant.  You may as well accept that now."

My breathing becomes uneven.  I close my eyes.  The gag hides my frown.  My sex strains uncomfortably within the tube.  My mind spins.  Why does this turn me on?

"All of these rules will supersede any orders given by others in my stead.  You have gotten too familiar and casual with some of my friends, slave.  It reflects poorly on me.  They hold the right to beat you for disobedience.  I can promise you that what I do to you will be worse."

I hang my head. 

"Bow, slave, and "kiss" my feet."

I lower my forehead to the ground.  She approaches.  I raise my head slightly and press the front of the gag to her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.  I smell her.  Her sex hungers. 

She terrifies me.  The sadism blends into her.  Her new normal.  I love her.  She would not put me through this unless she knew I could endure.

"Do you have any questions, slave?"

I nod by moving at the waist.  I tap my finger to the front plate of the belt.  I make a cupping motion with my hands.  I place my left palm facing up and my right palm on top of it.  I raise my right hand and gesture "full." 

Mistress smirks. 

"I see you have noticed that I haven't milked you in a month."

I nod and make another cupping motion.  I ache. 

"What do you want me to do about it, slave?"

I blush.  I hang my head in shame.  My fingers fidget inside the muff.

"If you don't answer in 5 seconds I will assume it's fine."

I quickly retrieve my hands and signal "stop."  I curl my fingers into a loose fist and make a jerking motion in front of the plate.

Mistress howls with laughter.  My face burns red.  I feel my emotions battle within me.

"That's cute, slave.  Guess again."

Tears fill my eyes.  I climb onto all fours and raise my behind.  I reach back with one hand and simulate the same motion at my anus.  I whimper.

"Convince me, slave."
I cry.  I continue, exaggerating the motions in both length and speed.

"So are you begging me, slave?  Do you want something up your ass like a little slut?"
I sob and nod.  The humiliation kills me.  It's easier when it just happens.  It's harder to have to ask for it.

"Ass slut, I like that.  I think I will have a hat embroidered with that just for you."
My face is on fire.  Tears stream down.  I feel the limit shatter in my soul.  I don't want to admit it.

"Get on the horse, slave.  I have a new toy just for this."
I bow and crawl across the floor to the horse.  I climb on and line my wrists up with the eyelets.  Mistress locks my wrists to the horse and secures the ankle chain.  She unlocks and removes my plug.  I wince. 

I hear rustling behind me.  A few minutes pass.  My tears continue to flow.  Mistress's steps approach.  She stops in front of me, showing off her new toy.  It's a new version of the Reverb, secured to her with a harness.  Its base is thick and it extends outward.  The tip of the dildo changes in shape and resembles a prostate wand. 

Mistress takes it in her hand and jerks it around.  She moans.  She turns her hips and bangs the tip against my cheek.  She traces it along my cheeks, circling under my eyes.  She rubs it from the tip down the shaft while she laughs.

"Using tears as lube, what could be more perfect?!"

I struggle against my bonds.  She terrifies me. 

"You are a joy to tease, slave.  It makes me so wet." 
I hear her moan again. 

The cold silicon spreads my cheeks.  A trickle of gel on my skin. I tense.  I sob.  She enters me.  She plunges deep.  I wail behind the gag.

Mistress laughs and moans.

"Take it like an ass slut, slave."
She goes in and out.  Her hips slap against my rear in rhythm.  I squeal.  She pants and speeds up.  Her skin slaps mine.  Her hands tighten against my waist. 

It hurts.  I close my eyes tight.  Tears stream.  She violates me.  It's not rape if I begged for it, right?

My face burns with shame.  I feel her hot juices trickle down my thighs.

Mistress continues with her thrusts.  I slump and take it.  My tears continue.  My body can't fight it.

Her laughs fade as her moans continue.  I feel my penis tube fill with warm liquid and drain.  I am relieved.  Mistress continues her onslaught.

I'm her fuck hole.  In and out she goes.  Harder, faster, deeper.  Her hips slam hard against my thighs.  Her panting tells me she's close.  She plunges deep.  Deeper.  Deeper.  She lets out a cry.  Her fingers dig into my sides.  I feel the Reverb shake within me. 

She pulls out.  I lay and sob. 

I hear the unbuckling of straps behind me.  A clatter on the floor.  Her boots click away.  The gate closes behind her.

I'm too exhausted to move.  My mind clears up for a single thought.  Thank you for milking me, Mistress.

END ACT

fs01 edits coming

Some recent correspondence with a reader of fs01 has confirmed my fears that I have lacked a bit of consistency in adequately communicating fs's feelings in some of the chapters.  A lot of this has to do with the level of privacy I have had while writing as well as the ability to write in one sitting vs. having to stop and pick up later.

Basically, when I haven't been able to write in subspace I am able to paint the images of the events, but not provide enough emotional reaction to connect with some of the submissive readers.  I am currently brainstorming ideas for Arc 6 and will probably be doing the edits to previous chapters as I go.

The edits will likely be small, similar to the 7-10 added thoughts/emotions I put into part 1 after its original posting.  If you are enjoying it as is, there may not be a reason to reread, but I know rewrites are a part of the process of improving.

A Sea of Thoughts: Emotional Flow

Sometimes it's hard being emotional. It's even harder when depression is in the mix as it's often unclear what the "appropriate" level of emotion is at any given time.

I do not mind feeling sad if there is a good reason for it.  The defining line for depression is often sadness vs. crippling sadness.  Feeling hurt when things that are dear to you turn sour or when you lose a loved one is natural to me.  Often in order to get by we will defer the pain, spread it out over time.  There will inevitably be a "breaking point" where we have to let the full intensity of emotions loose, but with practice, it can be done when it will not destroy other good things in life.

Something that has been heavily on my mind lately is respecting how we influence the feelings of others.  It's very easy to have a positive influence on someone's emotional well-being.  It doesn't require a lot of work or effort.  It's often just letting out what you think or feel without holding back.

At the same time, it is just as easy to damage others emotionally.  This also requires very little work or effort.  It's so easy that many people do it thoughtlessly.  To trigger someone else to sadness, defensiveness, insecurity, or despair is just far too easy to do.  The saddest thing about this is that people don't even do it out of malice.  They do it out of boredom, self-righteousness, to feed their ego, or any number of other reasons rooted in a self-centered view of the world.


The negativity it spreads has no source.  The bad feelings it gives to others have no meaning, but they are real nonetheless.  No matter how hard I try I can never view this as a "good" form of sadness.  

I find it very disappointing that kindness takes practice but negativity often happens as naturally as breathing. 

This experience of emotional flow is just a part of our every day life.  It picks us up and knocks us down regularly.  It affects our willingness to be vulnerable and intimate.

A submissive inherently spends a great deal of time feeling vulnerable.  If you are pursuing it as a lifestyle, that is pretty much what a sub signs up for: asymmetric vulnerability where we are the most vulnerable party.

I don't think that vulnerability responds on command.  I don't think it's possible to be around 2 other people and be truly vulnerable to one but not the other.  If it is possible, I just don't have enough emotional tools to pull it off.

When the gate to my heart is open, anything can make it through.  When the gate is closed, nothing makes it through.  Is this wrong?  I don't really know.  It's just the thoughts spiraling in my head in a quest to find a balanced state if being.

Fiction: fs01 - Arc 5 Bonus Chapter - Lisa

Author's Note:
This takes place at any time after part 31.

--------------------------------------------------
Lisa

Mistress is away for business overnight.  Lisa is to serve as house-sitter and to be my caretaker for the night.  She is very kind.  She is special to me in that way.

Mistress doesn't talk much to me about Lisa's private life.  What I do know is that our first talk together (Part 4) seemed to get the gears turning in her head and she's been curious ever since.   She seems to have worked her way into Mistress's ever-growing group of Domme friends and she's been present at most of their group gatherings and outings.  During our last private encounter she explored things a little further but she plays her cards close to the chest.

I see headlights flash across the windows and I spring to my feet.  I open the door before the bell even rings.  Lisa arrives at the door with an overnight bag and a large plastic bag.  I take them from her and escort her inside.

"Hello, fur."
"Hello, Miss Lisa.  I hope you are doing well today."

She smiles at me.  I blush a little.  A scent fills the room.  My mouth waters.  Fried chicken.  Lisa approaches the walk in closet area.  She turns and extends her arm.  I help her from her coat and hang it up in the closet.

"Guest robe, headband, and slippers, fur."

Her words are decisive.  It surprises me a little.  I quickly retrieve a robe.  She extends her arm.  I slide it into the sleeve and wrap the robe around her body.  I adjust the collar and then cinch the robe at the waist.  I stand on my toes and place the headband on her head.

I drop to my knees.  I help her out of her first boot and slide her foot into a slipper.  I repeat this with the other foot.  She taps her foot.  I do a double take.

I lean down and kiss her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.

She grabs the collar of the robe in her hands and twists her upper body back and forth with a smile on her face.

"I love that so much, fur.  I really do.  Please take my bag to her bedroom.  Miss Cassandra said I could sleep there tonight.  I'll be in the kitchen."

I pick up her bag and run up the stairs to the bedroom.  I deposit it at the foot of the bed and return downstairs.  I feel giddy.  I have to restrain myself from running to the kitchen.  As I enter I see the large white and red bucket sitting on the counter. 

Lisa has set up her plate with a couple of pieces of chicken, a load of mashed potatoes, and a biscuit.

"I'll have white wine and water to drink, fur."  Her directness is a pleasant surprise.  Usually it feels like a game of tug of war with me trying to serve and her trying to relieve me from serving.  I quickly fetch the wine and water and present them to her on the table.

"I've got you some dinner here, too, fur, would you care to join me while I eat?"

Lisa reaches into her pocket, retrieves a granola bar and holds it out to me.  The joy fades from my face.

Lisa blushes a little.  Her face soon forms into a huge grin.  Laughter follows.  She lowers her face and holds her sides.  She spits out words between breaths.

"Miss Cassandra told me to do that and that you would react exactly like that.  I didn't believe her."

She continues to laugh for another minute.  I lower my head.

"I'm only teasing, fur.  Miss Cassandra said you can have 1 drumstick, 1 wing, 1 biscuit, and a little bit of mashed potatoes."
"Thank you, Miss Lisa.  Thank you so much."
"fur, I order you to eat at the table."

 I load up my plate.  I show the portions to Lisa for verification.  She nods in agreement.  I take my plate to the table and sit.

"When is the last time you had fried chicken, fur?  Miss Cassandra said you were having some colonel cravings."
"I can't remember, Miss Lisa.  Maybe 5 years ago?"
"Silly, fur, you act like it's such a privilege to eat normal food.  Miss Cassandra always has you eat crap."
"Oh, no, Miss Lisa.  It is a privilege to eat this food.  I'm always grateful to Mistress for allowing me to eat enough.  What I eat is just a symbol... that we are not equals."
"You still blow my mind, fur.  I can't understand how you handle this like it's normal.  You don't have to answer, let me guess, 'love and trust.'"

I nod.  We begin eating.  I savor every bite, every morsel. 

"Do you see me as an equal, fur?"
"Of course not, Miss Lisa.  You are my superior."
"And that's just how it is?"
"Not quite, Miss Lisa.  You are special to me.  You are an angel."

Lisa blushes.  She chugs down her glass of wine.  She talks while I fetch her a refill.

"You know, fur, one of these times I will have you make dinner for me.  Every time you cook it's so good."

I smile.  I enjoy cooking for Mistress and her friends.  It feels very rewarding.  The meal slowly winds down.  I've gnawed my bones clean.  The plate is clean.  Every drop of potatoes and gravy gone.  Every piece of breading, gone.

Lisa finishes her second glass of wine.  Her water remains full.  She picks at the food on her plate.  She finished a wing and part of a breast.  Plenty of meat remains.  My fingers fidget.  My eyes fixate on her plate.

Without a word, Lisa rises.  She carries her plate with her.  She stops.  Our eyes meet.  Her cheeks are flushed from the wine but her expression has gone cold.  She holds the plate over the garbage.  My eyes fill with longing.  She tips her plate and its contents slide into the can.  I frown and lower my eyes.

"Put the leftovers in the fridge.  They are for Miss Cassandra.  Do the dishes and bring me more wine in the living room."
"Yes, Miss Lisa."  I bow.  My voice is tiny.

I put away the food.  I quickly and thoroughly wash the dishes.  I place the bottle of wine and a fresh glass on a silver serving tray and move to the living room.  Lisa slumps into the couch.  She seems a bit conflicted.  I steady the tray and pour another glass of wine.  I kneel in front of her, holding the tray before her.

Lisa takes the wine in hand and swallows a huge gulp.

"Are you okay, Miss Lisa?"  She rapidly shakes her head, like she's clearing the cobwebs.
"Rub my feet, fur."

I nod.  I set the tray on the coffee table.  She parts the robe below the waist.  I slowly remove the slipper from her right foot, raise the ankle of her blue jeans, and slide her sock off her foot.

"Kiss it."

I lower my face and kiss the top of her foot.  She wiggles her toes as my lips part.

I caress her foot between my hands.  I rub the sole.  I work to her arch.  Gently but with pressure.  No tickling.  She moans as my thumbs do their work.  My hands work their way towards her heel.  I rub and press, rub and press.  I work the outline of her foot.  I've practiced this routine to perfection.  Press and rub.  Rub and press.  Her moans increase in frequency and length.  I can smell her.  I am doing well.

I rub the top of her foot.  Ankle to toes.  A motion that stimulates circulation.  I can hear her upper body shifting back and forth on the couch.  I work each toe.  Gently, rubbing, moving it individually.  Her moans increase.  I work my way down from big to small.  I finish the pinky last.  I release my hands and start for the left foot.

"Suck my toes."

I freeze for a second.  She wiggles her foot.  I take it again in my hands.  I lower my head.  My lips encase her big toe.  I form a suction.  I press my tongue against the pad and gently rub in circles, gradually widening to get the sides and tip.  Lisa continues to moan and writhe on the couch.  Her scent is strong now.  One hand holds the wine.  The other rubs back and forth across her stomach and waistline.  I can tell she fights the urge to touch herself.  I smile.

I move down to the next toe.  Suction.  Pressure with my tongue.  I vary the motions and the pull of my lips.  I press my thumbs against her arch and rub.  She arches her back, lifting her pelvis up.  The way her body dances brings me joy.  My tongue circles the toe.  My hands continue working various parts of her foot.  Her hand makes a long motion.  It grazes her crotch.  Her moans shift up a pitch.

She repeats the motion several times.  I grin as best I can.  I give a playful little nibble with my teeth.  She squeals.  I move to the next toe.  I hear her gulp down the remaining wine in the glass.  She leans forward and sets it on the tray.  Her hands dig into the couch, searching for a handle.  Suck.  Lick.  Rub.  Press.  She continues to move her hand in long motions.  From naval to the tip of her crotch.  Up and down, up and down.  Her moans are wonderful.

I'm confident enough to think playful thoughts. 'Oh you better save yourself, Miss Lisa, we still have 7 toes to go,' floats in my head.

I move down a toe.  Her scent fills the room.  Her hand motions aren't long anymore, her hand barely leaves her crotch.  I continue to suck, rub, lick, press.  Her body thrashes around.  Her moans are mixed with pants.  Her hand moves faster.  She cries out.  Her body shakes and convulses.  Women's orgasms are wonderful.  I smile and release my lips from her toe.

"Don't you fucking dare stop!"

Her moans continue.  I move down a toe.  I repeat the process.  Her reload time surprises me.  Her hand is already up to full speed again.  I finish the final toe on the foot.  I release my lips and kiss the top of her foot.  She rubs herself vigorously.  She gently kicks my hands away and lifts her pant leg with her foot.  Her toes grip her sock and yank it off.

"Other foot."

I kiss the top of the foot.  My hands find their positions and begin to work.  She lets out a grunt.

"Don't just rub, suck."

Her noises evoke anticipation.  My lips encase her big toe.  Her body erupts with another orgasm.

She pulls her foot from my hands and mouth.

"More wine."

I turn and pour her another glass.  I present it to her on the tray.  Lisa grabs the glass and gulps it down.  She returns it empty to the tray.  I place the tray on the coffee table.

"On your back.  Hands at your sides."

I lay back on the floor.  Her eyes look through me.  Her cheeks flush red.  Lisa takes a deep breath.  She closes her eyes and pauses.  They open again.  She steps out with her foot and sets it on my chest.  She presses off the floor.  Her weight sinks onto me.  I wince a little.  Her other foot finds its way to my torso.

She wobbles a little.  I flex my abdominal muscles.  She extends her arms and steadies, gradually adapting to her footing.  She walks across my chest in tiny steps.  Her lips part into a smile.  Back and forth, up and down.  She turns about.  Lisa smirks and lets out a squee.  I'm surprised but I think she is as well.  This is obviously an adventure for her.

She walks on my shoulders, my sternum, my ribs.  She places one foot just below my waist.  Her legs straddle over me.  I feel her toes flex and grip at my uniform.  She jockeys her weight back and forth between her feet.  She continues to smile.  It's uncomfortable but I endure.

She continues for a few minutes.  She moves her feet up and down like a little march.  Soon she laughs.  It's not a normal laugh... it reminds me a bit more of... Dominique.  She continues marching and turning in circles.  Her laughs border on cackles.  Finally, she steps off, placing a foot on either side of my head.  I breathe deep, thankful for the weight off my chest.

Lisa drops to her knees.  Her crotch falls directly onto my face.  I feel the denim dig into my chin.  Her pants are quite wet.  Her scent soon covers my face.  She wiggles around a little and makes some tiny grinds.  I lose myself.  My sex strains against the belt.  I miss you, Mistress.

She inhales a deep breath and blows it out with a scoff.

"My husband would kill me."  She's speaking to no one.  Thoughts out loud.

She climbs up off of me.  I gaze up at her.  Her hair is a mess.  Her face is flushed.  I roll over and get on my knees.  I lean down and kiss her feet.  First the right foot, then the left.

"Thank you, Miss Lisa, for allowing me the privilege of pleasing you."

I look up.  Our eyes meet.  I smile.  She smiles back.

"fur, why is there only 1 of you?"

I blush and close my eyes.  Compliments still feel strange.

"fur, Miss Cassandra's bathroom has a hand-held shower head right?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Good.  I'm off to the shower and then skype with my husband.  You have free time until 10pm.  Then I want you to wash up and sleep on the cot downstairs.  Make sure to lock your collar to the chain.  I'll check on you in the morning."
 "Thank you, Miss Lisa."

She takes a few steps towards the bedroom and pauses.

"fur, why did you let me do all that?"
"Miss Lisa, I assumed that Mistress gave you permission to use me."
"Well, yes, but I never mentioned that."

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"Love and trust, right?"
I nod.

"fur, if Miss Cassandra never told you that you had to obey me, would you still have done all of that?"
"Yes, Miss Lisa."
"Why?"
"Because you're special to me, Miss Lisa.  You are an angel."

She blushes heavily but lets a smile slip through.

"fur, do dominant women always feel this guilty at the start?"
"I don't know about all, Miss Lisa, but many do."
"How do they get past it?"

I pause for a minute.

"That is a good question, Miss Lisa.  I can think of a couple of things.  I think as time goes on a woman has to believe she deserves to get what she wants.  If you deserve it, then why feel guilty about getting it?"
"What is the second one, fur?"
"That is a bit more complicated, Miss Lisa.  You either need a sub that will enjoy what you are doing so you can say it's for both of you.  Or... you need a sub that will enjoy enduring what you are doing even if he hates the act." 
"That is more complicated, fur.  How do you know if a sub is either of those?"
"It's easy, Miss Lisa.  If he pitches a tent, then yes."

Lisa blushes and covers her hands with her face.  It's still cute to watch her lose her composure.

"Thank you, fur.  I'm going to the shower.  I want you to have another piece of chicken before bed.  A drumstick.  I'll tell Miss Cassandra I ate it."

She smiles at me.  I return the smile.  I try to keep my thoughts pure and avoid thinking about Lisa in the shower.  I head to the kitchen.  The colonel is calling me. 

END ACT