D/s, BDSM, and my sexuality

So I generally don’t do two posts in a day, but I’m ready to get back to the sex stuff.

Yay, sex!

I separate the the acronyms in BDSM, and use the term BDSM to reference general kink and fun stuff.  And how each acronym fits into my life is different.

BD: Bondage and Discipline

I like bondage, but it can be time-consuming.  Mental bondage is awesome, though, because it requires my submissive to make the choice, to actively choose to allow what is being done to him to happen.  And often, that can be worse than being tied up, helpless, and not having that choice.

Discipline is important.  I discipline my subs when I need to, I condition them, I mold them, I guide and lead them.  Discipline is also what I would call “funishment.”  Rough, intense (often painful) play that serves to remind them of their place, to give them a good reboot, but still has the light-hearted feel of all of my sessions.  It’s fun.

DS: Dominance and submission

This actually has absolutely nothing to do with my sexuality.  This is a relationship dynamic, and the only kind of relationship that has ever worked for me.

Although, to be fair, that’s not something that’s unique to me.  Studies have shown that relationships in which one partner is the more dominant tend to be more successful than relationships in which power is more balanced and equal.

And while the kink may ebb and flow as real life presents opportunities and obstacles, the relationship and the way I interact with my partners doesn’t change.  I run my relationships, and while my boys know they’re respected, they have a voice, and they have the right to have their voice heard, and their input genuinely considered, they also know that the final say of pretty much any decision is mine.

Is that fair?  No, not really.  But my boys are strong men.  They won’t suffer a relationship where they’re taken advantage of.  It’s on me to make sure they feel respected and heard.  I owe it to them as their Dominant, and I owe it to myself as a human being.

Granted, there are aspects of this dynamic that are very sexually charged, and send a happy little chill down my spine.  I like bringing my strong, assertive boys to heel.  It’s such a turn on bringing them to their knees and imposing my will on them.

The thrill I get from that is very sexual.  But in general, D/s isn’t inherently sexual for me.

I have had drops in my libido in the past, and I’m sure I’ll have them again.  Once in a great while, I’ll have a phase where I’m just not all that horny for a couple of weeks, or maybe even a couple of months.  It happens.  But when it does happen, the D/s doesn’t go away.  It’s not influenced by my libido at all.

SM: Sadomasochism

Oooh, the fun stuff.  Sadism is a very, very big part of my sexuality.

But it’s important to note that, in the scope of BDSM, anyway, sadism is not limited to physical pain.

Sounder can attest to that.  I haven’t seen him in awhile (that dry spell is ending tonight, thank fucking God), and he’s spent the last few days getting very well acquainted with the evil, sadistic, twisted bitch in me.

I haven’t touched him, and very little that I’ve said to him involves physical pain.  But “sadistic” is a pretty accurate descriptor of the mindfuckery I’ve put him through.

And it’s also worth noting that humiliation stimulates the same parts of the brain as physical pain.  So on a physiological level, it’s damn near the same.

Having Sounder gangbanged by six men, having each one finish on his face, then having them all stand around him and rinse their cum off his face by pissing on him, for example, wouldn’t cause physical pain.  But I would certainly call that sadistic.  I have a sneaking suspicion Sounder would agree with me.

Don’t get me wrong.  I thoroughly enjoy causing physical pain.  It’s all kinds of fun, and just as big a part of my sexuality.  But my sadism isn’t limited to the physical.

I think, if I had to pick one word to describe my sexuality, my sexual identity, and the way I relate to my partners in a sexual capacity, it would be sadistic.  

Hell, even when I give pleasure, it could possibly be described as sadistic.  Sounder doesn’t beg often, but when I pleasure his cock, he’s begging me to stop, begging me to hurt him, after a few minutes.

Which, of course, is massively entertaining.

Submissive doesn’t mean passive or inactive

So a series of recent, unrelated conversations led me to write this.

First, those who follow Steel will have read this on his most recent blog:

Here’s why: long before I met or even spoken to V, she’d conveyed valuable information about what appealed to her. If a submissive wants attention, begging or nuzzling will get them somewhere while an aggressive or neutral attitude yields nothing.

Two days (maybe?  Three?  I’m fuzzy there) prior to that, someone I’ve been conversing with asked:

Another aspect of lifestyle,  and I know everyone is different. … Do you allow your boys to initiate play?  Submissive doesn’t necessarily have to mean passive or inactive.

And then, about a week ago, I received an email from a gentleman who took issue with a comment I made some time ago, regarding my boys not having the right to touch me without permission.  He was polite and civil in his email, so I was happy to answer his questions.

I was just wondering how that works in a day to day relationship.  How would a sub know, at any given moment on any given day, what he’s allowed to do?  I feel like I’d be constantly worried about where “that line” is between what’s okay and what’s too far.

Yes, as Steel pointed out in his post, my boys are absolutely allowed to initiate play/ask for attention/touch me.  I like it when they do.

But yes, there is a right way and a wrong way.

I’ve never really put it into words (because I’ve never really had to), but a good rule of thumb when it comes to touching me is, “if in doubt, only touch what would be visible if I were wearing a bra and underwear.”

No, not a thong.  Think granny panties.

Oh, and generally, don’t touch my face (there are exceptions).  Ears and neck are fine, I like those.  But never the top of my head, I’m not a dog or a child.  Kissing the top of my head is usually alright, as is resting his head on top of mine (say, if we’re cuddling, and I’ve got my head on his shoulder or whatever).  But don’t pat my head, that’s annoying.  And I will actually punch someone if they pull my hair.

Playing with my hair is fine, and feels good, but I have swung at people who pulled it without me expecting it (when I was a martial arts instructor, I had long hair, so I was always the one who got to demonstrate for the women’s self defense classes what to do if an attacker grabs you by the hair.  I was fine-ish with that, because I knew it was happening).  And no, I’m not going to attempt to curb that reaction.  Don’t pull my fucking hair.

And that doesn’t mean that my boys are never allowed to touch me in the places that a bra and underwear cover.  But at some point, they just have to know me.  They have to know when and how.  Randomly coming up and slapping my ass while I’m doing the dishes will initiate a fun game of Dodge the Casserole Dish or Get a Concussion, while gentle touches while we’re cuddling are fantastic.

This is something all couples have to learn about each other, and my boys are no different.  I expect them to know when and how it’s okay to touch my tits.

But with the exception of one, I’ve never been with the kind of person who would try to touch me like that, anyway, so it really hasn’t ever come up, and I’ve never had to spell out what’s okay and what’s not.

Because even if a boy isn’t sure, and tries to grope me or whatever, and I’m not into it, I’ll usually just put my hand over his, move it to another part of my body (like my leg or waist or whatever) and gently say, “That’s not yours.”  There’s no anger, there’s no fighting, I don’t bite his head off for misinterpreting a situation.

The only thing that will immediately cause anger is pulling my hair, and I’ve literally never known a submissive man who would just reach up and do that to his Dominant, so even that has never really been spelled out, because it’s never needed to be spelled out.

It sounds complicated, it sounds like there’s this whole big road map, but again, there’s never been an issue.  Sounder touches me, Steel touches me, all of my exes have touched me, and I’ve never had a problem (again, with the exception of one, but I’ll get to that).

As far as getting my attention or initiating play, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do that, too.

The easiest way to get my attention?  Be submissive, sweet, and slutty.  One of the best ways if, for example, I’m sitting on the couch, on my computer, is to crawl up to me, kneel at my feet, and nuzzle my leg.  I had a boy who would simply crawl into my lap (which did blow up in his face once in awhile, but that was rare).  A masochist I owned would crawl up to me with his favorite paddle or flogger in his mouth.

The bravest/dumbest boy I ever owned (who was a morning person) would occasionally try to initiate play early in the morning.  He’d try to wake me up by worshiping my feet, and then kissing his way up my leg.  This was an insanely risky thing for him to do.  Usually, I’d just kick him away and tell him to fuck off (trust me, that was me being nice.  I’m not a morning person).  But once in awhile, it worked out in his favor.  To him, it was worth the risk.

So how do they know what I’ll react well to and what I won’t?

Here’s the thing:  I’m not a hugely difficult person to figure out.

Stop laughing.  In this area, I’m not a hugely difficult person to figure out.

This was actually a pretty massive and ongoing point of contention when Kazander and I were having our issues.  After his personality change, and after the periods where he’d go literally weeks without speaking to me, we tried to get back to where we had been before, but one obstacle in particular kept getting in the way.

He was angry because I wasn’t “mean enough,” and wouldn’t “force him” to do every little thing every second of every day, with little or no regard to what I wanted.  And honestly, after months of being ignored, of arguing when we did talk, and him telling me he didn’t me to be Dominant to him, I was just completely turned off and shut down, to the point that I wouldn’t still be with him now if Steel hadn’t convinced me to stay (I never claimed to be a good person, y’all… and I tend to want to run if I start feeling trapped.  Good or bad, that’s just me).

We were arguing one night, going back over the same things we’d been going over for the past few months, and he complained, as he had repeatedly over the past few months, that I had no sex drive with him, but had no problem playing with literally anyone else.

I explained (again) exactly why that was happening, and I told him (again) how to fix it.  I finally got frustrated and told him, “If you want me to be into you, then you’re going to have to make some kind of effort to turn me on.”

“Well apparently I don’t know how to do that.”

“Be submissive and slutty.”

“Yeah, but-”

End of list.”

He was making it more complicated than it needed to be.  And every time he’d try and get assertive or sexually aggressive, it would just shut me down more, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what he was doing wrong.

Which frustrated me, because while he had undergone an alarmingly massive personality change overnight, I had not.  He’d been living with me for the past five years, and suddenly it was as if he knew nothing about me.  He suddenly thought that I’d react well and would be turned on by him being sexually aggressive and all “Domly.”

Even out of the bedroom, he became obnoxiously aggressive and “Domly,” even in the way he spoke to me.  And he had a serious problem when I finally told him to either change it, or find someone else to be married to, and he said, “Alright, fine.  As long as the kid isn’t around.”

I said, “No.  Even when she’s around.  Especially when she’s around.”

He was pissed about that, until I spelled out for him that I would not tolerate being spoken to disrespectfully, regardless of who was in earshot and who wasn’t.  He’d never had a problem with being courteous and respectful before, so he would start doing it again, and I really didn’t give two shits whether he wanted to or not.

So that sort of solved some of our vanilla issues, but the sex thing was still a problem.  And no matter how many times I broke it down for him, step by step, in terms that our toddler could’ve understood, it just didn’t sink in.

Even my usual method of correcting him when he tried to touch me would piss him off.  He suddenly got into this habit of randomly reaching over and poking my boobs (dude, I know.  I couldn’t believe it, either).  I’d say, “That’s not yours.”

And he’d get massively pissed off.  Like, it took me by surprise the first couple of times it happened.  He’d say, “So what, I’m not allowed to touch you now?”

“Uh, no.  Not when I don’t want you to, and not in a way I don’t like being touched.  You don’t own me.  I’m not yours.  You cannot do whatever you want to my body, with no regard to what I want and what I’m comfortable with.  That’s not the way this works.  That’s never been the way this works.  Even I’m not that thoughtless with my subs.  What makes you think I’d let you do it to me?”

I found myself saying that to him quite a lot over that year.  About quite a lot more than physical touch.

And it seemed that the more I shut him out, the more aggressive he got, to the point that he’d randomly try to throw me on the bed, pin me down, and start kissing my neck as an attempt to turn me on and initiate play (I know, I don’t get it, either).

Which, as anyone who has known me more than a day could guess, did nothing but annoy me and make my skin crawl.  And push me farther away.

And he’d get offended when I’d roll my eyes and say, “Are you done?  I’ve got laundry to fold.”

I’m not a difficult person to figure out, y’all.  I have no problem whatsoever saying exactly what I like, exactly what I find hot, exactly what turns me on, or describing, in glorious detail, any images/scenes/fantasies that I think about while jerking off.

I’m quick to tell my boys when they’ve said or done something I like, and I’m quick to ask for clarification if there’s something I don’t understand.  I don’t really do subtle.  And I don’t love when people are subtle with me.  Be direct, be honest, and get to the damn point.

All this led to Steel knowing, before we even started talking, how to get my attention and keep it.  It all led to Sounder knowing how to approach me in his very first message to me.  It led to the gentleman who took issue with the subject of initiating touch knowing how to write his email in a way that invited conversation rather than started an argument.

If complete strangers can glean enough information off of a public blog to figure out how to approach me, then the people I own can figure out what’s okay and what’s not in terms of physical affection, initiating play, and asking for attention (or even asking for a specific type of attention or type of play).  And if they’re unsure, they know they can ask me.


Sounds like Jesse

Alright, cat’s out of the bag.  Sounder’s name (the name I call him, anyway, and his real name, as far as I’m concerned) is Jessica.  For convenience and to keep it discreet in public, I shorten it to Jesse.

About a week ago, I gave him an assignment.  Part of his training is to gradually lose his privilege of privacy.  That includes emotional and mental privacy, too.  I want to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.  I want to know what he wants, what he craves, his hopes, his fears, memories of the past and dreams for the future, literally everything.

Steel can attest to this desire to know everything, and he knows just how serious I am about it.

Jesse is no different.  If I could get a constant feed of every thought he has, every day of the week, including images and running synopses of his dreams at night, that would be almost enough to satisfy me.


How does one go about opening up a man who is very much not used to opening up?

Well, slowly.

Here’s the thing about training pretty much any submissive, particularly when you want to go as deep as I do.

They’re grown ass men.

They’re used to doing basically what they want, when they want.  They’re used to handling their shit, living their lives, all that stuff.  They have egos, they have autonomy, they have the ability to live their lives successfully without (or with minimal) interference.

They have a need, and they know how to meet it on their own.  Independence.  Autonomy.  Free will.  Whatnot.

So when you start taking away their rights and privileges, and start taking away their ability to meet their needs on their own, it forces them to confront the idea that they are no longer in control of having their own basic needs met, and must depend on their Owner for that.  The Owner gets to decide when (or if) and how those needs are met.

The thing is that being confronted with this type of loss of control, particularly when it comes to needs or privileges that are extremely important to that particular submissive, often creates a level of discomfort and anxiety in the submissive.  There’s usually an amount of pushback at first, and it’s natural.  Basic human psychology and all that.

Over time, as the trust deepens, and the submissive realizes that he will be taken care of, his needs will be met, and he has nothing to worry about, that anxiety is replaced with freedom and peace.  He doesn’t have to worry about all that bullshit anymore.

Still, it can be scary at first.

And, since I occasionally try to be a nice person, I do what I can to minimize the anxiety.  There are a couple of ways I do this.

First, I wait until the relationship is well-established, I’ve proven to the sub that he can trust me implicitly, and that I will put his needs above my desires and whims.  A great deal of trust has already been established.  So the sub doesn’t immediately freak the fuck out when I start taking stuff away.

Another thing I do is the exact opposite of what I’ve seen some Dominants do.

It is apparently relatively common to threaten to end the relationship, or discard the sub, if he doesn’t continue performing to the best of his abilities.

This idea is pure and utter bullshit, and people who play this kind of game are insecure children who are obviously not in control of themselves, and should therefore never be allowed to control another person.

Fear is a primitive emotion, and using it as a primary tool to control someone is ineffective as fuck.  Aside from needlessly stressing your sub the fuck out for literally no reason whatsoever, and dealing a pretty fucking heavy, damaging, long-lasting blow to their psyche (yeah, that’s a great way to take care of another human being), power gained through fear is not real power.

That power disappears as soon as the fear disappears.  So Dominants who engage in this type of relationship must find new ways to keep that fear alive, and foster that negative emotion.

But even then, the power rests with the partner who is most willing to walk away.  That isn’t always the Dominant.  And then, what happens when the Dominant finds herself (or himself) dependent on the submissive for one reason or another?

That power is gone, and the dynamic dissolves.

And on top of that, they’re denying a sub’s basic need from being met.  Every sub needs to feel secure with his Owner, and in his relationship, in order to give up his inner self, and expose that vulnerability.  They need to know that they’re loved, and cherished, and won’t be abandoned.  They need to know that their needs are being met, and will continue to be met, no matter what.

Power given through love and respect, rather than fear, is real power.  A sub who follows out of love and respect will always be happier, more loyal, more faithful, more eager to serve, more fulfilled, and more at peace than a sub who follows out of fear of abandonment or punishment.

So I don’t ever threaten to leave or abandon my boys.  I assure them, loudly and often, that they’re mine, and I’m going to take care of them, and I’m not going anywhere.  This security allows them to take a breath and get their bearings when that anxiety kicks in.  They know that I’m here for them, and I will continue being here for them.

The other thing I do is take things slowly, and give them time to adjust to each new thing I take away.  And it starts small.  For Sounder, it started with taking away his ability to wear men’s underwear.  Something relatively minor, in the grand scheme of things.  But it was a lot for him at first.

I’m in no rush.  I’ve got all the time in the world.  So I waited a year to start pushing him hard.

And even that is going to be taken slowly.  For example, talking about his feelings is not one of his strongest points, and he can be a difficult person to read.  This is something that will become an obstacle if I take him much deeper.  So the first big thing I want to take away from him is privacy.  I want to know what he’s thinking.  I want to know what’s in his head.

So I told him to start an online journal or blog.  Something I could read.  The subject matter was completely up to him, but I expected at least 2 entries in any given 7-day period, at least 500 words each.

He, being the obedient sissy that he is, quickly had the blog set up and his first entry written.

I gave him the option of keeping the blog private, if he wanted it, and at first, he did.  But he’s been in an oddly agreeable, slutty mood lately, so he made it public.

It can be found here (I’m also putting a link to it, as well as Steel’s blog, in the side bar on the left).  I’m sure the kinky masses will love it as much as I do.

Silk and steel

That’s something Steel says about me; that I’m soft as silk, and strong as steel (he’s an eloquent bitch, I tell you).  And it’s probably my favorite thing that any sub has said to describe me, followed closely by one of my exes telling me that my voice was like the purr of a lioness.

I don’t shriek, I don’t yell (Kazander has only ever heard me raise my voice once in six years, and it felt odd, getting that loud), none of that.  I stay quiet, even when I’m mad.  My ex said my voice made him think of a lioness, quiet and low, but terrifying, a strange and frightening mix between a purr and a growl.

Relentless.  That’s another word multiple people have used.  All three of my boys are intimately familiar with that trait.

And last night, Steel was sorta-kinda-pleasantly reminded why I never need to raise my voice to effectively get my point across, and why it would be a bad idea to ever piss me off (which made me laugh, when I was in the middle of tormenting him, and he whimpered, “Holy shit, remind me never to piss you off.”)

I spent the day with him yesterday, our first chance to play together since December.  And just like every other time we’re together, it’s just natural, neither of us have to force anything, it just flows.

We don’t even have to think about it.  We can immediately switch between a subdued, public dynamic (in which he still isn’t allowed to call me by my name, by the way), and the much more intense private one.  But even then, it’s just easy being with him.

At one point, we were ordering pizza from a place he liked.  He (being an east coast boy) said, “It’s about as close to New York style pizza as you can get here.”

I, being a west coast girl, and not usually a fan of pizza in general, looked at him and said, “Is there a difference between New York style and everything else?”


“Okay Ma’am, we need to rethink this relationship.”

Oh, but fun side note.  He suggested we get the tiramasu.  I’d never tried it, but oh my gawd, it’s like one of my favorite things ever.  Like, ever.

So yay for broadened horizons!


I loved how needy and clingy he was.  And how eager.  I knew he wanted to break for me, and that he was trying to push himself to that point.  Part of me wanted to give him that little extra push he needed, to cross that line, because I know he needs it.  And hell, I wanted it, too.

But then, I stopped, and held him back, instead.  As much trouble as he sometimes has with feeling needy, and with crashing when I get off the phone or computer, it’ll be so much worse once I’ve broken him.

No, that can’t happen until we’re no longer separated by a country, and can see each other more than twice a year.

When he gets in subspace, he can sometimes be a little on the self-destructive side, bounding ahead toward that line between fun and fucking dangerous.  If the one holding his leash isn’t careful, he can run right past that line, and keep going without hesitation.

I won’t let him do that.  I have no problem pulling him back and bringing him to heel.  So when he expressed his desire to break for me, I pulled him back and wouldn’t let him.

But just because I wouldn’t let him break didn’t mean I couldn’t push him hard, and give him something to remember me by for the next few days.

We started off the afternoon with him naked and collared on the bed, eagerly moaning and whimpering while I alternated between hurting him and caressing him.  He was so hungry, so needy.  He wrapped his arms around me and held on to me so tightly, begging to kiss me, and gasping when I bit down hard on his tongue.

And he really is so cute when he begs.  It almost sounds desperate once he gets going, and it always makes me smile.  When he begged to be on his hands and knees for me, to take whatever I wanted to put in him, how could I say no?

He hasn’t had anything inside him since the last time I saw him, so I started slow, just putting a single finger in him and savoring his reaction to finally being penetrated.

And he was so tight.  It felt amazing, being in him.

But he’s a slut, meant to be fucked, and his body quickly relaxed enough for me to put a second finger in.  And then a third.

The third was painful for him, and the way he whined was so intoxicating.  I wanted to make him whine more.

So I pulled out my strapon, a toy he hadn’t been able to take before.  I knew he was stretched out enough to take it without harming him or tearing him, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a bitch.

And, as Sounder will readily attest to, I’ve been in a bit of a sadistic mood lately.

Yesterday was no different.  I wanted to hurt Steel.  I’ve wanted to hurt the little masochistic bitch for months, but haven’t been able to.  I was going to make up for lost time.

I pushed the dildo into him smoothly, and he whined and whimpered so pretty as I filled him up.  I fucked him for a good long while, then just left the dildo in him, pushing him over so he was lying on his back.

I left it in him for awhile, then took it out and replaced it with a small plug designed to put pressure on his prostate.  That, I left in him for awhile, while he worshiped my body and fell deeper and deeper into subspace.  Somewhere around that point (chronology always gets fuzzy in my head the next day, I’m sure there are sessions I’ve written about with Sounder, where he raises an eyebrow because I’ve written things out of order) is when he expressed his desire to break, and I pulled him back.

I snapped him out of the subspace and gave him a break, right about then is when we ate dinner (I think).  Then, I pulled out my trusty prostate massager, put clothespins on his nipples and cock, lied him on his side, and held him close while I gave him a long, thorough fucking.

I wasn’t going to break him, but I knew he needed to feel the surrender that a big part of him tends to fight, no matter how much he may want it.  If I wasn’t going to let him break, I would definitely push him to that point of surrender.

For a long time, I did nothing but fuck him, kiss his neck and his ear, and tell him that he’s mine, my toy, and that he’s a good bitch who will take whatever I decide to put in him, whether he wants it or not.

And for a long time, he wanted it.  That hunger kept burning, and he whined and begged and squirmed against me.  Even once it started hurting, his masochism kicked in and he wanted it, wanted more.

After… Oh I don’t know, 45 minutes?  He suddenly started begging for me to fuck him with my strapon again, and that confused me at first, until I realized how much it was hurting.

But no, I didn’t feel like stopping.  And he has no safeword.  And I wanted to really drive that point home.

I do what I want with him, and he can’t stop me.  He doesn’t have that power.  And the more I fucked him, the more he gave himself up to that fact, the easier it became for him to handle it.

When I finally stopped, I lied down next to him and he immediately moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling close, burying his face against my neck.  Less than a minute later, he was begging me to fuck him with the strapon again.

I laughed, completely in love with his eagerness.  But no, his poor hole was throbbing and hurting and raw, and the size of the strapon wouldn’t be good for him.

When I told him no, he asked for the plug instead.  And the way he begged, the way he gazed up at me, I just couldn’t say no.  The plug is small, I knew it wouldn’t cause him any harm.

So I put it back in, and then pulled him back into my arms.  He went willingly, clinging hard to me and moaning softly.

Really, of all the things I did to him, of all the pain and pleasure and frustration and torment I put him through, the part that always seems to be my favorite is the way he clings to me.  I could literally lie there with him, or sit up with him curled up in my lap, for hours.

At one point, I needed to leave the room to get ice or run downstairs or something (I can’t remember which time it was), he didn’t want me to leave (he didn’t want me to leave any of the times I left the room, but there’s one specific time I’m talking about).  I stood next to the bed and leaned down to give him a reassuring hug before I left, and the way he hugged me made me never want to leave the bed again, for the rest of my life.

The last time anyone touched me like that was December, the last time I saw him.  Granted, I’m not usually an overly touchy-feely person, anyway, and I tend to gravitate toward men (and women) who are the same way.  Hell, Steel is that way with everyone else.

Except me.  The way he clings to me just makes me melt.

Sure, he’s mine, I own him, he wears my collar, and I greedily take every shred of control over his life that he offers up (and will continue to do so once he’s local and I can push him even harder), but if I’m really being honest with myself, that little slut has me wrapped around his finger.

One hell of a surprise

You know what’s really funny?  Scheduling a post to upload, and completely forgetting about it (including forgetting to finish it) until you see all the email notifications the next morning.  I’ve been a bit scatterbrained.

In other news, I’m out of Asheville and made the trip back to the bustling metropolis of Kernersville, North Carolina (population: 24,000).  But there’s reliable internet and air conditioning, and it’s reasonable to assume that, staying indoors, I’m safe from mosquitos and bugs eating me alive in the night.  So now I’m playing catch-up.  If you’re waiting for communication from me, I promise it’s coming.  Before I go to sleep tonight.

Yesterday was intense as fuck, and by the time I made it back to civilization, my first instinct was to find a way to get myself centered and balanced again.

I don’t know if any of you are aware of this, but there’s this adorable, awesome sissy I own, who is all kinds of awesomely awesome awesomeness.  From the very first text he sent me after I told him I’d finally finished with the hippies and was heading to a hotel for the night, he made me smile.

Before losing touch with technology, I’d given him an assignment.  I wanted him to fuck himself, and I wanted pictures.

This isn’t a unique assignment, I often have him do it.  I love the idea of something filling him up, and I’m a very visual person, and I love looking at porn.  So it’s not unusual for me to want pictures of my boys.  My very own personal porn stash, made just for me.

And Sounder has been fighting a cold, and wasn’t 100%, so I knew the pic(s) he sent me would be on the more mild side.

But hell, I wasn’t going to complain.  He’s fucking hawt, and seeing pictures of him naked or in lingerie, with something sticking out of him, never fails to make me happy.

I asked him about the pictures, and he told me that yes, he’d taken them, and asked if I was in a safe place for them.

Which immediately caused me to raise a brow.  He’d never asked that before.  But I shrugged that thought off and told him that I was alone-ish (my kid was in the room with me, but she was otherwise occupied), and that he could send them.

Over the next five minutes, my phone went off 9 times.  And literally, all I could do was sit there, staring at my screen, stunned, my jaw dropped.  I’m pretty sure I was drooling at some point.

Like, holyfuckingshit.

No, seriously, like holy.  fucking.  shit.

Three different toys, one outfit change, in three different rooms of his house.  Like, oh my gawd.

And every one was unbelievably fucking hot.  Like, I want to get them printed and frame these fucking things.

You guys don’t understand.  He even wore the bra I’d left him in one of the pictures.  Two pictures of him plugged, one of him sucking his massive dildo, three of him either on all fours or on his back, fucking himself with a slender blue vibe, and three of him squatting on the floor, fucking himself with the massive dildo, that was attached to the floor with the suction cup on the end (he told me that, because of the size, it’s much easier to manage when he can attach it to something and fuck himself that way, rather than using his hand to push it in).

It was beyond hot.  Like, holyfuckingshit.

He said, “I’m glad you like them, I figured you might need a distraction so I went a bit overboard.”

While he was still fighting a cold.

No seriously, I fucking love this girl.

The first picture he sent, one of the ones of him plugged, he told me he’d be comfortable with me sharing, as long as I blurred the background beyond recognition.




I love everything about it.  I love the way his back is arched, the way his ass sticks out, the way his posture accentuates his feminine curves, the way his hair (which he curled, himself) tumbles down his back, the way the plug peeks out from inside him, the contrast of the black lingerie against his pale, smooth skin (that I immediately want to bruise and mark up, as soon as I see it).

Jesus, there is nothing about this sissy that doesn’t just ooze fuckability.  No one would ever kick him out of bed.

This was the first picture he sent me, and as soon as I saw it, all I could do was suck my breath in a little and murmur under my breath, “Oh, Goddamn…”

So I know the position he’ll be in next time I fuck him.

Love struck teenagers

So I finally escaped the hippies and found a hotel room about 30 miles away, in grand old Tennessee.  With air conditioning.  And cell service.  And WiFi.

If you’re waiting for emails/responses from me, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another day.  I’ve only got this night to myself (well, my spawn is with me, but you know what I mean), and I’ll have to be back at the hippie compound at 8am in the morning (translation: 5am, Vegas time, ugh), and I wouldn’t even be posting this if it wasn’t already more than halfway finished.  The spare time that I do have before I collapse from exhaustion, I want to use to talk to the people I own.

The hippies are interesting.  And the people I’m not related to are really nice.  It’s an odd feeling, being surrounded by people who are so remarkably open and unguarded.  I spend most of my time learning about the walls that any given person has built up around themselves, and figuring out how to get around them, while simultaneously (and perhaps hypocritically) strengthening the ones around myself.

There are no walls here.  There is no hiding here.  I see these men and women who are just so open, who allow themselves to be so vulnerable, it’s disconcerting to be around.  All I can do is sit back and watch them interact with each other, uninhibited, unguarded, uncensored.

They laugh without reservation, they cry without reservation, they hug and kiss and touch the people they love without worrying about what other people may think.  Watching two straight, married men kiss and hold hands upon greeting was shocking to me the first time I saw it, but no one else seemed to think there was anything strange about it.

Which made me think about the way I see things like that.  I mean, when two people love and care about each other, why shouldn’t they show it?  It’s kind of beautiful.  I’m glad to have been here to see that.

But as much as I’ve enjoyed spending time with these people, seeing the incredible way they live their lives, so far my favorite part of the trip was the first day I arrived.

My daughter and I got off the plane, got our bags, and piled into Steel’s car.

I’d arranged to land in his city, rather than the closest city to where my mom lived, and arranged to land in the evening so he would be able to pick us up and spend some time with us before driving us to my mom’s house.

It had been months since we’d seen each other, and as soon as I made sure the spawn was safely buckled in the back seat, I threw my arms around him and hugged him, kissing the back of his neck and holding him tight.

I’d already pulled his collar out and locked it around his neck, kissing his ear as the lock clicked closed.


Moments later, I reluctantly peeled myself off him, and he was pulling out onto the road, toward a restaurant we’d gone to last time I’d gone to see him.

The spawn was shy at first, as she usually is around new people, but very quickly warmed up to him and was devastated when I told her at the restaurant that she’d have to settle for sitting next to him, that I wouldn’t let her sit on-fucking-top of him.

The poor dear.

All through dinner, it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my hands off of him.  And I wasn’t exactly 100% successful with that.

Afterward, I wasn’t ready to make the drive to my mom’s house yet, so we found a table outside where we could sit for a little while.  I tossed the spawn my phone, and she was quickly engrossed in a game, completely oblivious to us.

And right around that point was when I found out that he had brought a clothespin with him.  I discreetly pulled his cock out and attached the clothespin to it, savoring that quiet little gasp he gave, and the immediate, if subtle, surrender in his eyes as he met mine.

We were in public, and he was trying very hard not to give in to his desire to curl up in my lap right then and there.  And really, he resisted that urge pretty well.

It was fun, and made me feel like we were a couple of teenagers, whispering to each other, sneaking in the occasional kiss, hurriedly copping the occasional feel, when the parents  (ie, my kid) weren’t looking.

After so long of being hungry for him, but unable to touch him, it was heaven to be able to finally get a taste of the boy I’m going to fucking devour when I finally get him to myself.

It doesn’t matter how long we’re apart.  It never does.  The moment we’re back together, he melts right into me so perfectly.  It’s immediately clear to both of us that he belongs there, his face buried in my neck, his arms wrapped around me, whining and gasping and begging when I reached down to pull on the clip on his cock.

I would’ve loved to sit there all night, teasing him and tormenting him, but we did have to get going.  It’s a long drive from his city to my mom’s, and he would still have to drive all the way back after dropping us off.

So we headed out, and made pretty good time.  We had to sneak a goodnight kiss when my mom wasn’t looking.  I quickly (and reluctantly) unlocked his collar, groped him one last time, then hugged him and told him goodbye, with a promise that I would do brutal, terrible, evil things to him when I get him to myself.

Only a few days to go.

And now I’m pissed.

Well, it finally happened.  I finally got genuinely furious with a stranger on the internet, and the comment he left on my blog.

But first, to the gentleman who originally wrote to me about abuse, under the name, Poster.

I owe you an apology.  I told you that the reason you were met with indifference and hostility, and the reason you felt like the kink community considered what you went through as okay, or as acceptable, was because of your approach.  When you said,

They didn’t take one moment to show compassion or understanding when I first started to speak about this, when I was far more gentle and more willing to listen to what they had to say.

I didn’t really respond to it, specifically.

To be clear, I didn’t disbelieve you.  But at the same time, I didn’t want to believe that your experiences were immediately brushed off and swept under the rug.  But to me, that didn’t matter.  The fact that you believed they didn’t care, meant that no one stepped up to help you or support you, and even that is a failure on their part.

Now, I absolutely believe you, and am horrified, appalled, and furious that people like that exist, and that you were met with this indifferent attitude, with this mindset that “it’s not so bad,” or “it’s okay.”

Fuck, I am so, so sorry for not believing you.  I was planning on emailing you this privately, but now I’m putting it here:

I want to help you in any way I can.  I mean it, I want you to take me up on that.  Anything that’s in my ability to do, I am more than happy to help you.  I’m serious, tell me what I can do, and see it done.

Alright, so let’s take a look at what set me off.  It’s long, so don’t feel like you have to read the whole thing.  The important points will be highlighted.  You can go back and see our entire conversation, including my reply to him, on this post.

His original question was:

Would it be possible to get some specifics on how the non-consensual D/s relationship came about? I had a commenter on my blog suggest recently that his D/s relationship was “against his will,” but when I pressed for specifics, what he really seemed to mean was that he was given choices that he didn’t like. Deciding to do something because it is better than an alternative you have been presented with is still a choice.
I have seen real abuse in a relationship, and it took place because one party was physically stronger than the other and, through that, could in fact impose his will on the other, through plain old physical violence. But, the reality in most male-female relationships is, the man is physically stronger. I admit this reply may not seem particularly compassionate, but I’m just never clear on how a non-consensual D/s relationship comes about in the F/m context.

I answered, explaining why there is soso very much wrong with everything he said.  I explained, citing sources, that men are abused by women way more than we realize, and that there are no resources available to them, and that society as a whole doesn’t even react to female-on-male abuse.  Again, anyone who wants to see my full reply is more than welcome to.

My comment was long, as was his response. You’re welcome to check out the conversation on that post, but the highlights will be here.

His comment pissed me off.  But I was trying not to start internet drama, so I set the computer down and spent the evening with Sounder, who put a smile on my face the second I walked in the door.  I had a lot of fun with him, and I was pretty rough with him, and he took everything I threw at him.  It was a fun evening, and that’ll be the subject of my next post.

When I left his house, I was calm and balanced.  Until I checked my email, and saw this gem in my inbox, from (I assume) someone else.

You know there’s a special place in hell for any woman who puts down the abuse that millions of women go through every day. I hope you enjoy burning there.

You know what?  I’m not even going to address that.  Nope, not even going there.

I went for a long drive, trying to calm down.  My car is top-heavy (and leased) so I called up a friend who owns a sports car, and asked if I could run the fuck out of it.  Minutes later, I was pulling the cover off the car and speeding off down the road.

There’s just something so cathartic about driving like that.  Once you get above 100 miles per hour, something just happens.  The world shrinks.  You’re riding that edge between control and chaos, you can hear the engine screaming underneath the radio, you can feel the heat coming off it through the floorboards.

Then slamming on the brakes, twirling the wheel as fast as you can once the fishtailing starts, barely holding on to that control, riding through every movement the car makes.  Then, as soon as you regain control, slamming your foot down on the gas again, seeing those rpms go into the red, hearing the engine groan and whine as it obeys every command.

Shifting gears in a split second, slamming it into fourth, then fifth, then sixth, the car jumping forward as each gear catches, eager to climb, eager to go faster and faster.

The rest of the world fades away.  Even the radio, as loud as it is, fades away after awhile.  The desert around me fades away.  The only things that exist are me, the car, and the road I can see in the headlights.  And the line between me and the car starts to fade, too.

It’s the best feeling, and when I got back, I was at a point where I could address this like a sane person.

Let’s break it down, shall we?  We’ll use the example this commenter used, of a man who told him he was in a D/s relationship against his will.

Now, were his wife’s actions in demanding that kind of relationship “blackmail”? No. Did he have a choice to go along with her demands, or end the marriage if it was on terms he didn’t agree with? Yep. Is she an “abuser” and he a “victim” — that is a call that would be impossible to make without a lot more detail.

noun: blackmail
  1. 1.
    the action, treated as a criminal offense, of demanding money from a person in return for not revealing compromising or injurious information about that person.
    “they were acquitted of charges of blackmail”
    • money demanded from a person in return for not revealing injurious information.
      “we do not pay blackmail”
    • the use of threats or the manipulation of someone’s feelings to force them to do something.
      “out of fear, she submitted to Jim’s emotional blackmail”
verb: blackmail; 3rd person present: blackmails; past tense: blackmailed; past participle: blackmailed; gerund or present participle: blackmailing
  1. 1.
    demand money from (a person) in return for not revealing compromising or injurious information about that person.
    “trying to blackmail him for $400,000”
    • force (someone) to do something by using threats or manipulating their feelings.
      “he had blackmailed her into sailing with him”


YES, what that woman did to him was blackmail.  That is exactly the dictionary definition of blackmail.  YES, she is an abuser because of that.  The fact that she wouldn’t even tell him what he was signing is kind of a red flag, bro.

That’s not “making a choice.”  That’s not even consensual nonconsent.  That is straight-up blackmail and nonconsent, and it sickens me to think that people in the kink community think that’s okay.

And, honestly, equating the slap during an argument with a man physically overpowering and sending his wife to the hospital really trivializes the abuse suffered by those who have actually ended up in hospital ERs or the morgue due to acts of real and sustained physical violence.

I’m trivializing those who suffered abuse that put them in the hospital, huh?

Oh, you mean like me?

Like the physical abuse I suffered from my parents, my mom who would routinely hit me with her fists in parking lots and the car, to the point that the only place I could feel safe was directly behind her, where she couldn’t reach me?  The woman who threw me down our staircase (by my hair) when I was 8?  Or the fact that my dad routinely threw things at me, and blamed the occasional busted lip, black eye, or bruised cheek on our horses or softball?  Like the scars I still have on my back and the underside of my arm from when he threw me through a sliding glass door when I was 11?

Like the sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of my uncle, for three goddamn years, that culminated in rape, that I needed stitches to heal from, and the second rape that left me pregnant (and neither of those men ever saw the inside of a prison cell, by the way).

Like the recurring nightmares I still get, 12 years later?

You remember me saying that 13% of sexual abuse victims attempt suicide? 4 out of 76 women?  Sound familiar?

Yeah, I’m in that 13%.  Two attempts, spaced less than a year apart.

Fuck every goddamn thing about you, you insensitive, hateful, small-minded, asshole.  The fact that people like you exist is why I’m pro choice.

How does acknowledging a growing problem take away from other problems?  You’re one of those All-Lives-Matter assholes, aren’t you?  Because focusing on the growing problem of female-on-male abuse (and yes, it is growing.  The CDC found a slight increase in female-on-male abuse over the course of two years, while male-on-female abuse declined) obviously trivializes and takes away from other forms of abuse, right?

You think I don’t care about female abuse victims because I talk about male abuse victims, and the fact that they are largely ignored?

No really, what’s wrong with you?

And for the record, since there seems to be a lot of confusion in the kink community about this, it doesn’t fucking matter whether it’s a slap to the face or an injury that requires medical care, no form of domestic violence is okay.

So, it is just way too easy to say “abuse is abuse” and women are as likely to be abusers than men, because to get there you have to equate all acts of aggression (a slap to the face in the heat of an argument is the same as a boot to the kidneys or head of a prostrate victim) and the consequences (a reddening of the skin after a slap versus a broken and battered face, hospital admission, etc.) That alone may explain the study you raise regarding a male being yelled at and then hit on the street by a female and no one helping — because the risk of injury in male v. female and female v. male aggressive encounters is wholly different. Did any of the bystanders have reason to think that injury was likely?

Yes, you ignorant asshole.  A slap to the face is abuse.  Any time someone hits someone who doesn’t want to be hit, it’s abuse.  Saying that it’s okay for women to be violent because they’re probably not going to seriously injure their partner is fucking disgusting, and literally makes my skin crawl.

I mean, you do know that’s why the vanilla public hates us, right?  Why they all scream about BDSM relationships being abusive?

Because people like you apparently have no problem with any kind of abuse that doesn’t end in an ER visit.

Literally.  You disgust me.

So the 1 in 4 men across North America, Europe, and Australia who have been physically abused (slapped, pushed, shoved) is alright?  You don’t see anything wrong with that?

Alright, so what about the 1 in 7 men who have experienced severe physical violence from their partner (hit with a fist or hard object, kicked, slammed against something, choked, burned)?

That’s fine, because it happens more often to women?  It’s totally okay for men to continue to be hit, because women are hit harder?

And the 1 in 10 who deal with after-effects of abuse, like being fearful, concerned for safety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms, need for healthcare, injury, contacting a crisis hotline, need for housing services, need for victim’s advocate services, need for legal services, missed at least one day of work or school.

Or the 1 in 18 who are severely injured by an intimate partner, requiring medical care?

That’s completely acceptable to you?  You don’t see anything wrong with that?

Arresting women who are reaching out for help for domestic violence can be detrimental to survivors’ chances of receiving help. Research finds that battered women who have been incarcerated are significantly less likely to utilize the legal system for help with abuse (24), and that these women may be more likely to cope through substance abuse and become further involved with the criminal justice system…

In this data report, 25% of all domestic violence arrests were female (which is interesting, considering that 40% of domestic violence victims are male), and only 9% of all arrests were cases in which both parties were arrested.

It’s a broken system, I’m not arguing that, and I’m not arguing that arresting any victim of domestic violence, male or female, severely impacts that person’s mindset and ability to get help.

Still, even in those situations, when men call the police, asking for help, they are still 2.0 to 3.2 times more likely to be arrested than the female abuser.  And female abusers are 5 times less likely to be arrested than male abusers.

The article quotes another study in Boulder County, Colorado, that showed that male victims who called the police were more than three times as likely to be part of a dual-arrest couple than were those individuals identified as female victims.

Even in cases of dual violence, it was more likely for only the man to be arrested.

Even when a man was a victim, the woman was 5 times less likely to be arrested than a man in a similar situation. In addition, current organizational and political pressures may discourage officers from dual arrests when the incident could in fact be defined as mutually violent. For example, if a woman initiated violence by throwing an object at her partner, resulting in a bruise or cut, and the man retaliated violently, causing similar bruising, officers were found to make no arrest or simply to arrest the man.

Another study shows similar information.  With heterosexual men who called the police as victims of domestic abuse, they were the ones arrested 26% of the time, while the female abuser was only arrested 17% of the time.  Half the time, the police made no arrests, despite the abuse, and in 8%, both were arrested.

Even in those cases where the police did identify the abused man’s female partner as the aggressor, in 29% of cases, they refused to arrest the abusive woman. In 39% of these cases they said that there was nothing they could do and left.  The other 10%, the police arrested the male, even when they acknowledged he was the victim.

You said,

And if we define “abuse” in terms of the “acts” instead of taking a hard look at both the consequences AND the whole context of consent (which was what I was asking for in the question you responded to), then every BDSM act that you have engaged in would technically constitute an assault. But, when you hurt someone and they want it, then it really isn’t abuse, is it? Similarly, if you say your wife subjected you to D/s against your will, was it because she held a gun to your head, or blackmailed you, or because she gave you a choice to be a D/s relationship or to not have a relationship with her.

Uh, yeah.  Every BDSM act I engage in with my subs, in the state of Nevada, is assault.  In this state, you cannot consent to be hit, for any reason.

The difference, and the reason my relationships are not abusive, is because a) I don’t hit people who don’t want to be hit, and b) I don’t use emotional blackmail, coercive control, or threats to keep them in a relationship they don’t want to be in.

This is not the first time I’ve said this on this blog:  If a sub no longer wants to be in the relationship, and is being kept in the relationship against his will, it is no longer a D/s relationship.  It is an abusive one.

So would you be just as cavalier with a female abuse victim, who was subjected to D/s against her will, with the choice that she could either endure what her husband did, or file for divorce?

I know one of those, would you like to speak to her?  Because oh, man, she wants to speak to you.

Just to be safe, I asked her opinion first, before writing this.  I didn’t want to put words in her mouth.

Her response was to call you worse names than what I did, and demand to know your email address.  When I refused to give it, she read the comments herself and demanded to know the name of your blog.  I refused to give that to her, too.

If you want to share the name of your blog publicly, and talk to her yourself, then go right ahead.  Maybe she can get through to you in a way that I obviously can’t.

It took her four years to work up the courage to leave him and file for divorce (and a restraining order).

Have you ever tried divorcing a partner who doesn’t want to divorce you?  A partner who can afford a better lawyer than you can?  Do you even know what the fuck you’re talking about?

As it happens, her divorce put her in debt and destroyed her career.  And then her ex-husband sued her, accusing her of sleeping with other people (and he had pictures of his friends fucking her).  She can tell that story better than I can, should you decide to talk to her.

Man, she was an idiot for not choosing the divorce right away, wasn’t she?  She put up with that for four years, because she was too scared to leave, but she chose it, right?  She begged him, repeatedly, to stop, to stop letting his friends use her, to stop publicly humiliating her in front of her friends and coworkers, to stop beating her, but she didn’t divorce him, so she chose to allow that to happen to her, right?  So it’s not abuse, right?  She could’ve left whenever she wanted, right?

Oh and now that I think about it, the reason my uncle raped me was because I finally got the balls to tell him no, so he went after my little sister.  I stopped him, things escalated, and he told me I could either lie there and take it, or he’d do it to my sister instead.

So I guess that’s not really rape, is it?  It’s just an “uncomfortable choice” (wasn’t that the term you used?).  And I made the choice to protect my sister, so that’s the same as consent, right?

No, I’m serious.  You actually, literally repulse me.

I’m turning comment moderating back on.  There is literally nothing you could possibly say that I’m willing to listen to, and any comment you may write that is more than the name of your blog, should you decide to share it (I advise against that, actually) will be deleted without being read.  If I even suspect it might be you, using a different name, I’ll delete it.

I’m ashamed that people like you exist and share the same lifestyle I do.  I’m ashamed that people may see you or talk to you and think that you represent the BDSM community.

I think you’re a horrible, cruel, heartless person and I have no interest in anything you have to say.

Does that make me close-minded?  Maybe, but you know what?  I’m completely okay with that.