How do rules affect your mindset?

The very lovely miss emdimensional wrote a post asking about rules a couple days ago, and I loved the way she asked.  I love those questions that encourage you to probe deeper for a complete answer.

I’ve always been a bit more laid back than most of the Dominants I’ve known in person.  Sure, I’ve got rules, but real life gets in the way.  At the end of the day, I’m more concerned about having a healthy relationship than a list of rules.

I don’t sit down at the beginning of a relationship and set out my rules.  I’ve learned, through years of poly relationships, that every relationship is different, every dynamic is different, and what fits one may not necessarily be right for another.

My subs are people.  I celebrate their individuality.  When I begin a relationship, I want to see what develops organically, rather than lay out a map.  That works better for me.  I feel like it means more, it’s more intimate.

So the rules come as the relationship progresses.

But rules are good.  They make expectations clear.  Most submissives excel within that structure.  It provides a sense of security.  A step-by-step guide to what to do and how to act.

And there are times when rules and protocols can be healing.  When shit hits the fan, sometimes even the strongest stumble and fall.  I have seen men and women I’ve owned fall under the weight of the burden they’re carrying.

I’m not a fan of empty words.  When someone I love is hurting, I want to be there to help them.  But words and pity and allowing them to continue turning that pain over and over in their head does nothing to help.  When they’re that deep in the pain, they struggle to pull themselves out.

When this happens to a friend, there’s very little I can do.  When this happens to a submissive I own, I can stop that tailspin and pull them out.

How do I do that?

With rules.

I was informally trained by a member of an Old Guard leather family (and for the sake of not turning this into a 5,000-word hostile bitch-fest, I deleted the paragraphs I started to write talking about the sad disaster Old Guard turned in to.  As bitter as I am about it, I wasn’t even a member of a Leather House.  My mentor was, and the subculture was dying when I met him, with all these people jumping up and screaming, “Look at me, I’m Old Guard!  It’s so special!  But what’s all this about leather and the military?  And where are all the chicks?”  Hell yeah he was bitter).

Anyway, one thing that is true is that the Old Guard communities often had huge lists of very strict rules.  Some of those rules were grouped into Protocols.  There was Low Protocol, Mid Protocol, and High Protocol.

They were different for every community, every House, and some didn’t even have them at all.  But they were a useful tool.  When a sub and Dominant both know those rules, all it takes is one word from the Dominant, and the submissive immediately knows what to do, what the general tone of the day/night/whatever will be, and what will be expected of him.  Just one word was all it takes to pull a submissive’s focus and plant him firmly wherever his Owner wants him.

I’m rambling.  I said all that to share the most extreme example of this; a story about a man I owned when I was younger.  I’ve mentioned him briefly before, he was the veteran who suffered from manic depression and being bipolar.  Throw a healthy dose of PTSD (he even had a service dog) into the mix, and navigating his mind challenged every skill I had learned up to that point.

It was about six or eight months into our relationship, I’d only recently collared him, when he called me at 5am, hysterical.

As it happens, that particular day was the anniversary of the deaths of two of his friends, and the injuries he’d received that ended up getting him discharged.  I still am not clear on the details, he was never able to remain calm enough to tell me the whole story, and I stopped pressing when I realized he just wasn’t capable of saying it.

He never told me about the anniversary because he thought he could handle it on his own.  Supposedly the previous year hadn’t been all that bad.  But 5 hours into that attempt, he was smart enough to realize he was in over his head and needed help.

I called in sick to work and drove to his house, using my key to let myself in.  His poor dog was losing her fucking mind, the sweet dumb thing, and he was lying in a puddle of tears and alcohol in his hallway.

My first thought, after I got over the initial shock of seeing him like that, was, “Nope, we’re not doing this today.  Not today.”

Which may sound cruel.  But hear me out.

Trying to talk to him about that, trying to sort out his feelings wasn’t going to work.  Telling him how sorry I was that he went through that wasn’t going to work.  He was too deep in that hole, and he just wasn’t capable of handling it that day.

So what do you do, when you see the person you love writhing on the floor, suffering from a pain you can’t save them from?  What do you do when nothing you could ever say could ease what they’re going through?

You shift their focus, you narrow their vision, and you shrink their world.  You take them out of their world and put them in yours, bring them to a place where they can reach emotional neutrality, where they can rest and reset, and step back from the chaos threatening to swallow them whole.  To a place where they can quiet their minds long enough to take a breath without feeling the weight of their burden crushing down on their chest.

I slammed into full-on Dominatrix mode and told him, in a tone that brooked no argument or hesitation, to get off the floor.  It took him a moment, but he stumbled to his feet, mumbling an apology and a string of self pity and self hate.

I didn’t listen.  I interrupted him by saying, in that same tone, “Stop.”  The next words out of my mouth were, “High Protocol.”

I could tell he was confused, and even seemed a little angry at those words.  And I could understand that.  He was wallowing in his own personal hell, it’s very likely he thought I was an ass for treating him like a slave instead of a man who was hurting.

But one thing he always did very well was trust me, so after that split-second hesitation, he adopted the position I’d taught him, lowering his eyes with a heavy sigh, resigning himself to obey me, even though I’m sure he didn’t want to.

After all, if being a submissive meant submitting only when you wanted to, it wouldn’t mean anything at all.

Another thing I quickly learned was that, to more effectively take him out of his world, I needed to take him out of his home.  That was his turf, his environment.  And right then, his environment was toxic as fuck.  I needed to erase it from the forefront of his mind and take him somewhere else.  Since I was going to college and still lived with my parents, my place wasn’t an option.

So I called a friend of mine, who owned a cabin boat on Lake Mead.  It took some convincing and lots of promises, but I finally convinced him to let me borrow it (FYI, I’d only ever driven a boat three times in my life at that point).  We got some things together, drove to his house, I picked up the keys to the boat, and we headed out to Lake Mead.

And honestly, I was worried about the drive.  It’s a good 45 minutes, and I obviously couldn’t do much with him, since I needed to keep the car on the road and not up a pole.  But I needed to keep his mind and his focus on me.  I couldn’t let his mind wander.  I hadn’t had a chance yet to really put him deep in subspace, and if I didn’t control his thoughts, I’d lose him.

So I did something most people would consider reckless (and most people would be right).  I put him in the backseat, told him to strip, lie down, and fuck himself with a vibrating dildo (it was his car, so I wasn’t worried about having to try and hide any potential messes from my parents, who were often in mine).  He could touch himself with permission, but could not cum.

I tilted the rearview mirror back so I could see him and talked down to him, humiliating and objectifying him, the entire time, while he moaned and gasped and squirmed all over the backseat.  Then, I let him put his clothes back on, parked the car in the lot, he grabbed our things, and we headed to the boat.

I had literally never pulled a boat out of the marina before, and was very tempted to ask someone for help.  But it was still crazy early, and no one was around, and he was already a puddle of adorable subby goo, so I decided that was the day I was going to learn.

I sent him downstairs to get all the food, drinks, and toys we’d brought organized and unpacked, and spent an embarrassingly long time inching the boat out of its little stall thingy and through the docks until I got it out into the open water.  Then I brought him up with me, and just explored the lake for a bit.  I found a secluded spot, dropped the anchor, and told him to strip once again.

This time, I took his clothes from him and hid them under the bed when he wasn’t looking.

We spent the entire day there, and he spent the entire day in High Protocol, following those strict rules.  When he wasn’t doing something, he was expected to kneel in a specific position (back straight, knees spread, hands resting on thighs, palms up) at my feet, watching me, either waiting for me to give him a command, or to anticipate a need and act on it.

He was not to speak without first kissing my feet.  He was also allowed, if his knees started to bother him to the point that it pulled his focus, to lie on his back, spread-eagle, his arms and legs spread wide, his cock and ass exposed.  That, moving to kiss my feet, and when he would anticipate a need (such as noticing my glass was empty, and going to refill my drink) were the only times he was allowed to break the position without permission or a direct command from me.

He was to answer every command with “Yes, Mistress,” or “No, Mistress.”  He was to refer to himself as “slave.”  For example, if he needed to pee, he could break position, kiss my feet, I’d give him permission to speak (most of the time.  Once or twice I told him to wait, just for shits and giggles), and he’d say, “Mistress, may this slave use the restroom?”

I didn’t keep him in that position for very long throughout the day, though.  I wanted to keep him distracted, keep his vanilla brain shut down.  I did that by tormenting him, beating him, fucking him, edging him, making him give me oral, making him lie on the front of the boat naked, making him tell me what dirty, depraved things he hoped I’d do to him.

It was fucking exhausting, man.  But it was so worth it.  I still kept him in that headspace when I inched the boat back into its spot, and he fucked himself again on the drive home.

Once I got him back to his house, I kept him in High Protocol for awhile, then released him to Mid, then Low Protocol over the course of a couple hours, giving him time to gradually, gently start turning his mind back on again.  When I finally released him completely, 16-ish hours after I’d found him lying on the floor, he was stable, and calm, and balanced.  He curled up next to me on the couch, resting his head in my lap, and watched TV with me while I ran my fingertips up and down his back.

Those insane rules, that extreme level of control was a tool I used to shut down the part of his brain that had become poisonous, until he could find that neutrality, that balance, again.  If I hadn’t, that poison would’ve just continued to spread, until he passed out in a drunken stupor, or done something very stupid.

I’m much better now than I was then.  I don’t need High Protocol to achieve that effect.  But back then, I relied heavily on it to keep him in the environment I created for him.

And it worked.  Not that it totally fixed the problem, mind you.  He still had to process the pain he was feeling, he still had to find coping mechanisms for his grief.  I couldn’t keep him in High Protocol forever.  At some point, he needed to face it.

But he needed to face it with a calmness, neutrality, and balance that he couldn’t achieve on his own, not that day.  He needed to face it constructively, with emotional stability, and with the ability to see past his very strong emotions.  I used rules and distractions and a new environment to help him do that.

So yes, rules can have a profound impact on someone’s mindset.

And even just having some stricter rules for an evening, or a weekend, or even a week, is fun.  It’s hot, having that level of control.

Just not 24/7.  I’m not a disciplinarian, I’m not a micromanager, I’m not a control freak (stop laughing).  That level of management, over a long period of time, starts to feel like work.  And (I’m just speculating here) after long enough, the submissive may start to feel suffocated, unable to express him/herself, and unable to have their voice heard.

Kazander and I don’t have the spawn this week.  She’s staying with the inlaws.  So I wrote up a few basic rules for him to follow, rules that aren’t usually in place with the kid around.

And really, even that is simple.  He has to strip down to his panties as soon as he walks into the house.  He has to call me Mistress and answer all questions with “Yes, Mistress,” or “No, Mistress.”  He has to ask permission to use the furniture.  He has to ask permission to put clothes on.

Simple stuff, nothing too crazy.  It’s enough that it’s a near-constant reminder of who he is and who he belongs to, but it’s not so much that I’m exhausted and he’s annoyed.  It’s that happy medium for us.

Squee!!! Fire!!!

 

It all started with a text from Sadie two days ago.

Want to help with some light sub torture?

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You have my attention…

She was planning on having two subs blindfolded and tied up, groped and tormented, and ending with one giving the other a blowjob.

Why yes, yes I can.

So I was already excited when I got there, knowing that I’d be able to do vicious things to helpless boys. But that wouldn’t start until later, and in the meantime, her husband Mal was going to set a pretty sub girl on fire.

So naturally, I was all up in his face.

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Oh, did you need some personal space? Are you sure?

And he talked me through the whole process, from making the fire wands to actually setting someone on fire.

It was amazing, I loved it.

Soooo awesome. I was stoked to learn.

Until he said:

I won’t teach you unless I can do it to you first, so you can experience it yourself.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How badly do I want to learn? Maybe I don’t need to learn after all. I’ve gone 30 years without knowing how to do it, right?

Ugh, I really, really want to learn. And he’s right, it can be extremely dangerous, and I do need to understand it from both sides. And the other 3 girls he did it to all said it felt amazing, and didn’t hurt at all.

Fine. Goddammit.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

So I shed my dress and bra (for the second time that night, incidentally) and climbed up onto the table, my blood pressure skyrocketing, with a promise that I’d set his clothes on fire if he tried anything.

He believed I’d make good on that threat, and assured me I’d be fine.

My heart was pounding. I am soooo not a masochist, and pain pisses me off. I didn’t want to deal with all that.

But he was great, and the girls were right, it didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt really, really good.

I couldn’t let myself relax, though, because I never can when I’ve been in that bottom role, and I’ve never bottomed for anyone but Kazander.

And I’m just naturally distrustful of male Doms, anyway. I almost said no, that I’d rather wait until Kazander or Sounder were there with me. Having one of them standing by to make sure no lines were crossed would’ve made me more comfortable.

But I don’t really do the “patience” thing well. And while he did make me nervous with a comment about how he had to catch himself from slapping my ass, he didn’t cross any lines, and it was fine.

He did let the fire burn for a bit longer once, so that I’d feel what that felt like. And it hurt, but not too bad. He put it out before it got too bad, and explained the difference, about how letting the fire burn longer would burn off the alcohol and start burning skin. Which could definitely be used to a Dominant’s advantage, but caution needs to be used, or it’ll blister.

So it was a learning experience. When he let me up, I was more than ready to jump off the table and get dressed. Even though I agree that I needed to understand what fire play is from both sides, bottoming made me angsty and nervous, especially since the only people I knew there were female and tiny.

Not that I thought Mal would do anything from a rational standpoint, it’s just one of those irrational, illogical things. Bottoming makes me uncomfortable, and bottoming for a male Dom was a struggle to keep from freaking out.

Remember, until tonight, even scening as a Top with a male Dom was a hard limit. Bottoming for one was an exercise in shutting off my emotions so I wouldn’t lose my fucking shit.

But I’m a big girl, I survived, he was great about it, and I’d just zipped my dress back up when Sadie called me to the front room.

I walked in to see the two boys, hooded, their hands cuffed and chained above their heads.

Ooooooh…

Sadie gave me the smaller one, an adorable little young thing who made the cutest noises when he was in pain. I tortured his nipples with clamps, completely loving the way he squirmed, gasped, and moaned. Especially when Sadie hit his ass with the cane while I tugged on the clamps.

Masochists are so much fun.

But then I found the bag of clothespins, and Sadie said, “You can do a zipper, if you want.”

Why yes, I think I will.

And even just putting the clothespins on him got some adorable little gasps and whimpers. When I was done, I stood back, holding the two ends of the rope together. I imagine he’s glad he was blindfolded, so he couldn’t see the look on my face.

I pulled them off, feeling that uniquely satisfying resistance as each pin was pulled off, hearing the incredibly addictive sound of the pins snapping shut. And the even-more addicting sound of him crying out.

God, it was fucking hot. And his reaction was just beautiful.

I wanted to do it again.

Luckily, just at that moment, Sadie asked if I would do it to the other boy. And I was more than happy to comply.

After that, the violet wands came out, and both of them reacted so wonderfully to it. It was so much fun.

And when the little one (we’ll call him Pet) was pushed to his knees to suck the other one’s cock, it was amazing.

Just lots of amazingness all the way around.

So after that, we all socialized, and hung out, and had fun. Pet’s ride needed to leave, and he wasn’t ready to go, so I offered to take him home (he’s 18 years old!! Still in high school!! Like, an actual has-to-go-to-school-on-Monday, homework-having high school student! I had helped torture a high school boy!).

And he blushed and got the sweetest little smile when I told him later that he makes cute noises when people do mean things to him.

Then, right around midnight, when the majority of the people had left, Mal, Pet, Sonic and I were all sitting outside, when I commented that I couldn’t wait to try fire play for myself.

Mal said, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

I was surprised. He originally said that he wanted my first time to be with an experienced sub, who was knowledgeable about being on the receiving end of fire play. And no one present fit that bill.

Moreover, Mal is as straight as they come. And while fire play isn’t inherently sexual, I’d still never seen him Top to a boy, and I’d assumed he would want to teach me on one of his female play partners.

But I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain.

Sonic currently cannot participate in any play, so I looked to Pet. “Can I set you on fire?”

He grinned and said, “Sure.”

Which, to be honest, surprised me. Because we’d only just met that night (and weren’t formally introduced until after I’d made him whimper and moan, which was funny. “Oh, you already met her.” “I did?” “Yeah, when you were naked and blindfolded, she was the one torturing you.” “Oh, well cool.” Gotta love those conversations), and he’d never done fire play, and he knew that I’d never done fire play, and what is it with these incredibly trusting boys Sadie has that let me use them as guinea pigs for some pretty risky edge play the first day I meet them?

I mean, I know I’m amazing, but damn.

So he took his shirt off and lied down on the table while Mal went back over everything with me, making sure I had it all down. He stood right beside me, the damp cloth within reach, as I held the fire wand in my right hand, and the alcohol wand in the other.

I was going to set something on fire!

Holy fucking shit!

Up until this point, I was squealing and jumping up and down, and basically acting like a 12-year-girl about to meet Justin Bieber.

No, y’all don’t understand. I have a thing with fire. I’ve wanted to do this for decades, but never had someone to teach me how.

But now, it was the moment of truth. I was literally going to set an actual living person (and a high school student, lest we forget) on fire.

Like, holyfuckingshit.

I used the alcohol wand to draw a straight line across his back, then tapped the fire wand to it.

And I about came all over the floor.

Holy.  Fucking.  Shit.

Mal was there the entire time, making sure that I did everything right, that everything was going the way it was supposed to, offering advice and suggestions.

But Pet was practically falling asleep. He’d already been through one session, and I’m serious, y’all. Fire play feels pretty good.

He was quite relaxed.

There were a couple of times that I let it burn for just a fraction of a second too long (not long enough to burn, but long enough to hurt), but that’s the awesome thing about doing it on a masochist. He loved it.

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The very first time I hit him with the fire, the moment I went from “No, I’ve never done fire play,” to “Yes, I’ve totally set someone on fire.” You can just make out Mal’s hand to my left, ready to step in if he needed to. And of course, these photos are posted with Pet’s permission and blessing, he assured me that I didn’t need to crop or edit them.

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After you make the line or pattern with the alcohol wand, you have to set it down and use that hand to smother the flame once you ignite the alcohol. And you have to be quick, the alcohol burns off fast.

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This is my favorite of the pictures that were taken. You can see the fire on his skin really well. And his expression is adorable. That’s the face of a very relaxed boy.

So it was beyond, beyond amazing. I loved every minute of it. And by the end, Mal was standing back, while I did it all. All he did was switch out the wands when I needed new ones. It was soooo amazing.

After we finished, Pet got up, got dressed, and we hung out for a bit longer before he had to be home.

He got in the car, and surprised me again when he started singing along to a Green Day song that came on the radio.

“So you have good taste in music,” I observed.

And as it turns out, he’s like me. I have very eclectic tastes in music. Green Day may come on over my Milk Music account, then Marilyn Manson, then 3 Doors Down, then Sublime, then Idina Menzel, then Renee Fleming, then Flogging Molly, then Rise Against.

So the car ride to his place wasn’t boring. He’s fun to talk to.

So yeah, the night was incredibly, amazingly, terrifically, epically awesome.

And now I know how to set people on fire.

Fucking yay!

Murphy makes an appearance

Southern was back in town this week, so obviously I was eager to see him.  We had originally planned to have him come over to my house to play here, and I’d get to fuck his ass, which I haven’t been able to do since I moved back to Vegas.

But my recent hospital stay meant that Kazander’s parents came into town a couple of weeks early to help take care of the spawn, and we had no privacy.

Ugh…

But that was okay, we could do the same thing we did last time he was in town, and have a lot of fun.  I really enjoyed teasing him and being cruel to him, and was looking forward to doing it again.

So we were set to meet on Monday, and on Sunday night, I went to get the things I’d need together.  I grabbed the vibrating egg he’d gotten me, and the remote.  And just for fun, I decided to test it out.

The batteries were dead.

And of course, the toy doesn’t take AAs or AAAs.  It takes weird batteries that nobody sells.

I was supposed to meet him the next day, and we had no batteries.

Ugh…

But I figured, it’s the Strip.  People from all over the world come to the Strip.  There’s got to be a place in the mall we went to that would have the batteries we needed.

After walking the entire length of the mall, every floor, we were at a loss.  No one had even heard of the batteries we needed.  There was nothing we could do.

So we gave up, and arranged to meet for breakfast on Wednesday.  There’s a battery store in town, and I was planning on heading there Tuesday to pick up the batteries.  The store says they sell “every type of battery,” so we’d be fine.

And in the meantime, we decided to go to Chipotle for lunch.  Neither of us had been there before, so we were standing in line, looking up at the menu, and I discreetly reached down behind him, running my fingers down his ass, completely shattering his focus.  And of course, I did it just as he was about to give the lady his order.

I love the effect groping him has on him.  It completely derails his train of thought, completely destroys his concentration.  It’s beyond entertaining to do that to him in public, and watch him get all flushed and try to deal with it.  Watching him try to carry on a conversation with someone else is especially amusing.

And I hadn’t touched him up to that point, so it was completely unexpected, and totally threw him off guard.

Such a little thing, and it has such a big effect.

It’s addicting, it really is.

After lunch, I drove him back to the other mall on the Strip (I find it hilarious that he knows more about where things are on the Strip than I do, and I have to ask him for directions).  And once we got in the car, the groping continued.

He has this adorable habit of thrusting his hips whenever I play with his cock or his ass, and as we were driving, he was squirming all over the place.

I have to say, I didn’t mind the traffic in the least.

So I dropped him off and went home.  The next day, I went to the battery store, and was stunned to find out that they didn’t carry the batteries I needed.  They could order them, but they wouldn’t be in until Friday.

UGH!!!!

Every possible thing that could have gone wrong was going wrong.  It was unbelievably frustrating.

But we would still meet for breakfast.  I’d bring the egg with me, and at least he could have it inside him, even without it vibrating.  So I drove to the mall, met him, and we went into one of the family bathrooms.

The poor boy hasn’t had his ass played with in so long, and it was so very tight.  I’d thought about bringing a plug with me, but the only one I have that he’d be able to take has the habit of falling out of Kazander, and the mall just wasn’t the place for that particular experiment.

So I stuck with the egg.  But, as it turns out, Southern had forgotten just how big the egg is.  He was squirming and moaning, and I could tell he was seconds away from telling me to take it back out.

But I’m not the most patient of people.

I pushed it in, gently but quickly, before he had the chance to say anything.  He gasped, then sighed once it passed his entrance.  It was so cute.

While we were at breakfast, he said he could still feel it inside him, especially while he was sitting down, so that was good.  It’s still a bummer that I couldn’t use the remote, but it was better than nothing.

And that’s one thing I like about Southern.  He’s a fun toy to play with, and I love doing mean things to him, but we can sit and talk about anything and everything.  One moment, we could be talking about all of the kinky, twisted things I want to do to him, and in the next, we could be talking about music (we’re both musicians) or family or the economy or literally anything.

We finished breakfast, and we happened to be right next to a theater that he was going to see a show at later.  So we went to stand in line to get his ticket, and I took every advantage I could to discreetly grope and distract him.

And really, his reaction is so great, I just can’t help myself.  I feel like I have to do it.

He got the tickets, and we went back to the bathroom to take the egg out.  I knew it was going to be a little painful for him (he’d mentioned that he was mere seconds away from telling me that he needed a break when I put it in, confirming what I thought).  So I decided to use the Band-Aid approach and pull it out smoothly and quickly.

He damn near screamed, and it was awesome.

We got in the car and took the scenic route back to his hotel, to give us time to grope some more in the car.  I found a somewhat secluded corner of the mall parking garage, parked, and played with him a bit.

Man, I want to do mean things to his cock.  It’s so pretty, I want to hurt it.

But he needed to get back, so I drove him to his hotel, dropped him off, and went home.

It was so great being able to see him again, especially so soon.  He usually only comes to Vegas once a year.  But next time, I’ll make sure that I have batteries a couple of weeks before he gets here.  If we can’t swing a private place to ourselves, I’ll at least be able to use that on him again.

Language, dammit

So I was talking to the Body this evening, specifically about his new wife (dude, don’t ask) and why saying things like “Maybe we can play with your rack” is inappropriate.

Like seriously, we had to have that conversation.  It started with this:

Body: Maybe we can play with that awesome rack of yours.

Me: (paraphrased) Maybe instead I can bend you over, tie you down, and let my subs take turns fucking you.

Body: Are you being sarcastic?

Me: I’m making a point.  Feels kinda uncomfortable when someone talks about doing things to your body like that, right?  I don’t even let the men closest to me talk to me like that.

Body:  Point taken.  Sorry.  I was just under the impression you enjoyed it when I played with your tits.  I just thought it’d be fun.  I am sorry.

(Which, for the record, is a pretty big change from the defensive, condescending shithead he used to turn into whenever I told him he was being a dick, so apparently that new wife of his is calming him down quite a bit)

So I explained that tact, and respectful language, goes a long way.  I suggested he instead say something like, “How would you feel about the possibility of us playing together?”

And of course, because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, this happened later.

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Like seriously, he makes my head hurt. Badly.

But we started talking about male Doms and why I generally avoid them as a rule, and why I will never again enter into a relationship with a vanilla man.

Why I avoid male Doms is easy enough to explain.  They have the annoying tendency to push boundaries and say inappropriate things.  They’re super-aggressive in the way they talk, especially about sex, and it gets on my nerves.  And they always, always do or say something that makes me think, “Oh yeah, that’s why I avoid the species.”

Am I making a blanket statement and lumping together an entire group of people?  Yeah, I suppose I am.  But whenever I meet a new one, and think, “Maybe I am being a smidge prejudiced,” I’m reminded once again why I feel the way I do.  So until I find one who doesn’t give me an “Oh-yeah-that’s-why-I-avoid-the-species” moment, after, say, a year, the statement stands.

Because what they don’t seem to understand is that the way they speak is disrespectful as fuck.  Sure, submissive women may love being spoken to that way.  But not all women are submissive.

Say it with me.  Not all women are submissive.

A good rule for any Dom when speaking to me is to ask yourself this question:  Would you say something like that to another male Dom?  No?  Then don’t fucking say it to me.

100% of the male Doms I’ve known (not counting my mentor) have broken that rule with me at some point.  And it’s been frustrating, because it seems like that shouldn’t have to be spelled out.

Does that mean I hate them?  Absolutely not.  There’s only one that I currently actually like, and even he has given me a couple of those “oh-yeah” moments, but I don’t hate any of the others.  I just avoid them.  Simple as that.

And really, submissive men are so much more fun, more fascinating, more…. I don’t know, just more.

What is more?  That’s kind of tough to describe, and I think it’ll be the topic of my next post.

But I damn sure don’t have to worry about being spoken to like that by a submissive.  Even submissives I don’t own have usually been respectful in the way they speak.  And, while I’m sure they exist, I have never met a Domme who felt the need to “assert her Dominance” over me, as if me being Dominant threatened her in some way.

Wait, is that it?  Is that why Dominant men get so verbally aggressive?  Do they feel the need to reassert the fact that they’re Dominant, because the idea of a Dominant woman makes them feel threatened or uncomfortable?

I mean, vanilla men generally just don’t know any better, and vanilla women generally just brush off those kinds of comments.  But a Dominant should know better.  So why do Doms insist on crossing that line?

I really don’t want to think that it’s because they don’t respect women, or any of that sexist nonsense.  So is that it, then?  Is it because they’re intimidated and don’t know how to react to a woman with exactly zero submissive tendencies?  Does just being a Dominant woman challenge a Dominant man in some way that I’m missing?

But then that doesn’t make sense, either, because it would imply that 100% of the Doms I’ve met are insecure, which I don’t think is true.

I don’t know.  I’m just going to continue avoiding them.  It’s worked well enough up to this point.  And as for the Body, ugh, I think he’s just hopeless.

Blast From the Past

Alright, so I feel like I should be on an episode of House.  I’ve apparently got some crazy, exotic, rare disease that no one can figure out (don’t worry, I’m not contagious, they checked for all of those).

I’m home, with an appointment to see a lung specialist, a blood specialist, an infectious disease specialist (because of the unexplainable [why does WordPress’ client say that’s spelled wrong?  It’s not spelled wrong] absurdly high white blood cell count, not because of something gross, like the words “infectious disease” tend to imply).  Oh, and then I’ve got to see a psychiatrist, just for the fuck of it, apparently.  I know there’s a list somewhere of kink-friendly medical professionals, including psychiatrists, but I want to find the most conservative, vanilla one in town.  That’ll be a fucking entertaining hour, and totally worth the $20 copay.

So I got home on Saturday, slept for 29 hours, and feel a hell of a lot better.  Hospitals tend to not understand the concept of sleep deprivation.

And what did I find in my Fetlife inbox upon waking up?  A message entitled, “I know I’m the last one you want to talk to.”

Ooooh, this could be entertaining.

Then I saw who sent it.

Well, hello again, Ash.  Dammit, and I thought it would be some crazy, interesting, juicy drama.

Miss Jen,

Because I flaked twice already but I now have a disciplinarian but she lives in Canada. She is trying to find someone to help carry out punishments. Is there any chance you’d consider talking to me again?

I see I even made your blog and that you were looking forward to me serving you until I flaked.

Please let me know if you will hear me out

Oh yeah, because messaging me out of the blue after two years to ask me for something is a great way to get what you want.

And mentioning the blog, and that I was looking forward to him serving me was supposed to serve what purpose, exactly?  Sure, I was looking forward to it.  He’s hot, insanely tall, and made great noises when I did mean things him.  Oh, and he was going to pay me.  Uh, yeah I was looking forward to it.

The sky is blue.  I’m bored with this conversation.  Men who message me out of the blue, asking for shit, are idiots.

Wait, are we not pointing out obvious things?  I thought that’s what we were doing.  Are we not doing that?

Alrighty-then.

I thought about ignoring him, but I couldn’t help it.  I replied.  But hey, I was nice-ish.

Three times. You’ve flaked three times.

And what exactly are you asking me to do? To randomly punish someone I don’t own based on rules that someone else laid out? To do the grunt work for someone who lives in another country? To do all the work and get none of the benefit?

Yeah, I’m not hugely eager to do that. Particularly with you. I’ve got 3 reliable subs now. Any free time I have, I’d rather spend with them. And I’m not about be at the beck and call of another Dominant thousands of miles away.

And yeah, I was looking forward to you serving me. But the same thing happened that’s happened every other time. You flaked. On top of that, you got all butthurt when you weren’t the center of my world. And when I didn’t “discipline” you exactly the way you wanted. I’m a Dominant. Not your personal fetish delivery system. You serve me. Not the other way around.

So no thanks, I’d rather not.

Pretty clear, right?  Pretty cut-and-dry, yes?  Precision of language, and all that?

This was his reply.

Fair enough. I just was hoping you’d give me a few minutes to talk with you. Like 15 minutes to lay out what she had in mind.

I’m sorry I flaked. I got scared and was immature. Hopefully at the very least you forgive me for that

First of all, there’s nothing to forgive.  I’m not angry with him, I don’t hate him.  I haven’t even thought about him in two years.

Secondly, didn’t I just say no?  That I’m not interested?  That I have no desire to get in the middle of their two-week-old relationship?

Didn’t that happen?  I mean, I know I’ve been on a surprising amount of medication, but I could’ve sworn that happened.

An hour later, I guess he decided he didn’t want to wait for me to say no again.  He wrote another message.

She’s going to put me in chastity, make me wear panties 247, and make me into a sissy turning my bottom hole into a vagina.

She wants me to follow rules and then wants someone to come over and do the physical punishments. Id be allowed to serve them domestically as well as worship them sexually as well.

If you aren’t interested which you made clear you are not would you be able to advise me how to approach someone about this? Or am I looking for something that isn’t possible.

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Why are you still talking?

Okay, dude….

Seriously, first of all,  he lives here.  Vegas is nowhere near the Canadian border.

So he entered into a disciplinarian “relationship” where the discipline can’t be enforced in any way?  She can’t punish him, she can’t enforce the rules she sets out for him (and he has been known to be disobedient).  There’s absolutely nothing she can do.  So being in a relationship with her still requires being with someone local.

How is that supposed to work?  Logistically, I mean.  What was the thought process behind that?  Behind entering into a remote disciplinarian relationship, a dynamic based solely on a metric fuckton of rules and a level of control I don’t even exert over my collared submissives, much less someone who doesn’t wear my collar?  Who thought that was a good idea?

Now, I’m a possessive Dominant.  My boys are mine.  I’ll often have them play with others, but on my terms, and I’m still in control of the situation.  Every other Domme I’ve played with has known this, has known that the boy we’re playing with is mine, and that my word is goddamn law when it comes to what happens to him during the session.  And it’s the same with me when I’m playing with someone else’s sub.  It’s one of those unwritten rules between Dominants.  You don’t fuck with things that don’t belong to you.

So the idea of entering into a relationship in which I’d have to rely on someone else to do 98% of the interaction would bother the fuck out of me.  I wouldn’t want him submitting on a regular basis to someone who is not me.  I sure as hell wouldn’t want to enter into a situation where that is not only encouraged, but required by the specific dynamic.

And yeah, I’m kind of thinking he’s asking for something impossible.  I sure as hell don’t know any Domme who would want to do all the grunt work, doing exactly as she’s told by another Dominant, basically being nothing but a fetish delivery system for someone else.  She can’t make any decisions, she can’t use her own judgement to guide or correct him, she can’t change or adjust his rules, she basically can’t do a damn thing without getting the okay from his Owner.

Granted, I obviously don’t speak for every Dominant woman in Vegas, but I know a few of them, and there isn’t a single one I can think of that would be okay with a situation like that.  I mean, domestic and sexual service is all well and good, but you can’t develop a relationship with a submissive that belongs to someone else, where someone else dictates what your relationship can and cannot be.

Who would want that?  Especially when, as a Dominant woman, you can get sexual and domestic service basically at the drop of a hat.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that this guy is a proven flake.  Who would want to waste their time with someone who is, in all likelihood, going to flake out again?

So, my dear Ash, no, I am not going to help you approach other women with this ridiculous little proposal.  I think you were an idiot to enter into a relationship like this to begin with.  I do not have the words to adequately express how little I care about your situation and your dynamic.

I also do not have the words to adequately express how thankful I am that my number has been changed since the last time we chatted.  Oh, but every message or email you send me will be posted here on the blog and publicly ridiculed (because really, you just make it too easy).  So have fun, and I’m sure we’ll talk again in another year or two, when you’re still single and unable to find what you’re looking for.  No reason to deviate from the current pattern, right?  It’s worked so well for us for the past what, six years?  Wow, almost seven years.  Almost as long as the average American marriage.

Is it just me, or is that “Definition of Insanity” cliche getting harder and harder to resist quoting?

Learning is Fun!

M’kay, this post is gonna contain pictures of needle play, sutures, and staples. If that sort of thing bothers you, it may be a good idea to skip over this one.

This weekend was seriously fucking awesome. On Friday night, I went to a play party at Sadie’s house.  And last night was the party with Sounder, Sadie, and Kiki.

Amazing stuff.  But we’ll start with the play party.  The ClubFem debacle was a big topic of conversation, since Sadie went, as well as another Domme and sub that were at the play party.  Kiki was fighting a headache and exhaustion (she’s been working a lot), so she stayed home.

Thankfully, their opinion was the same as mine and it was such a relief to know that I wasn’t the only one who thought it was such a joke. It was such a relief when I walked in and one of the first things Sadie did was give me an amused look and ask, “So what did you think of the ClubFem meeting?”

And the way she asked it, I was immediately relieved.

I mean, I knew she would think it was just as ridiculous as I did.  I knew this because I know her well enough to know that she’s not bigoted or stupid.  But there’s always that tiny bit of irrational worry.

So it was awesome that she had to keep herself from laughing through the meeting, and that she thought it was just as ridiculous as I did.

So that was awesome.

And if there’s one thing about Sadie, it’s that she’s extremely knowledgeable about pretty much everything sadistic.  And for me, who has much less experience with things like fire play, needle play, knife play, and all of that, she’s a fantastic teacher.

We had talked about doing needle play or fire play with Sounder at the party, and the possibility of her teaching me there at his house.  But one of her playmates was coming to her party, and she asked if I’d be okay practicing on him, and she could teach me that night, and then I could do it more or less on my own, while she supervised, the next night with Sounder.

Yay!!!!

Why yes, yes I would.

So she got everything prepped and showed me how she goes through that process, and what all needs to be done.  She put him on the table, showed me how to sterilize the area, and we were ready.

The first few times, I watched, and she went slow, going through it step-by-step.  We were doing it on the back of his shoulder, which is a relatively easy area to work with for beginners.

And then, it was my turn.  I put the gloves on, grabbed the needle, and bent over him, getting ready to stab someone I’d just met that night.

And really, I hadn’t felt an adrenaline rush like that in awhile.  I was nervous, excited, and completely stoked.  I began pushing the needle into him, and feeling that very unique resistance, seeing it sliding through his skin and coming out the other side, was seriously fucking incredible.

Like, I love needle play.  It was awesome.

It's so pretty!!

It’s so pretty!!

Seriously awesome.  And pretty easy, one I got the hang of it.  The only real things are to make sure you don’t go too deep (which took a little bit of practice), and to make sure you don’t prick yourself with the needle once it’s already gone into him.  It’s not too difficult to figure out.

So needle play supplies are now at the top of my wish list.  It does take kind of a lot.  Not just needles and gloves, but all of the prep equipment, sterilization equipment, biohazard bags and sharps containers, etc.  It’s labor intensive, but definitely worth it.

Okay, so once I got the hang of that, it was time to move on to something a little more difficult.  We moved down to his ass, she cleaned and sterilized the area, and showed me how to do sutures.

And holy crap, y’all, sutures are way more difficult than needles.  That took some time to figure out.  And then of course, once I got the curved needle in and through, getting the clamps to release was a pain in the ass.  And then, tying the goddamn thread off was incredibly awkward, and took longer than the suture itself.

But I figured it out, and the poor guy I was practicing on took it like a champ, and was very patient with me as I figured it out, and was basically just a huge sweetheart.

So I definitely need more practice with sutures.  And I’m seriously looking forward to getting more practice with sutures.

Yay, sutures!

Yay, sutures!

So after we did that, she showed me how to take them all out, and we turned him over onto his stomach, where she showed me how to do staples.

Now, staples are incredibly easy.  There’s no real skill involved there.  It’s just a matter of having the little staple gun, pushing the tip against the skin, and pressing the trigger.  It’s also much, much less painful than sutures and needles, so it’s a good starting point for subs who may be a little nervous about venturing into needle play or suture play (hint, hint, cough, cough).

And because it doesn’t actually puncture the skin, more just pinches it, it’s easier for people to handle, when they’d have problems watching needles or sutures, or have problems with blood.  A couple of the guests were on the other side of the house for the needles and the sutures, and came in to see if staples had the same effect, and were much more comfortable watching the staples.

The staple does still go into the skin, just a little bit, so you still need the gloves and the sharps container and all of that stuff, and you need a special tool to remove the staples, but it’s way, way more mild.

And they’re fun because you can thread a thin ribbon through them, and create patterns.  We did a simple arrow, just so she could show me what it is.

Pretty arrow.

Pretty arrow.

So the staples were simple, and easy, and a lot of fun, and extremely versatile.  I’m definitely looking forward to getting myself some of those.  That’s also really high up on my wish list.

Along with a massage table.  How do I not have a massage table?  They’re awesome, they keep the boy at the perfect height, they’re sturdy, they’re portable, and they’re surprisingly light.

I must have one.

So yeah, staples are awesome, and ribbon is awesome.  And just for fun, Sadie decided to pull out her clothespins.

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That frenum piercing is seriously convenient, too….

After awhile, there were so many, it started to look like a hedgehog.

And because Sadie is just that damn awesome, she drew a face on the head of his dick to make it look more like a hedgehog.

And the result is seriously fucking cute.

And the result is seriously fucking cute.

Finally, we took all the clothespins off.  And even once they were off, it still looked pretty cool.

Seriously cool, right?

Seriously cool, right?

So we let him up, and that’s when the violet wands came out.  Because that’s what happens when you put four sadists in a room together.

And the subs were fascinated with the violet wands, so that was a lot of fun.  We turned down the lights, and I was able to get a couple of really nice shots of the arcing.

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The subs wanted to see if you could hit one with the wand, and the other would feel it. You know, for science.

The subs wanted to see if you could hit one with the wand, and the other would feel it. You know, for science.

So yeah, it was a ridiculous amount of fun.  A violet wand is also high on my want-list, especially because Kazander really likes electrical play.  We need a violet want immediately.

And I was seriously looking forward to using the violet wand on Sounder then next night.  He made the mistake of telling me that electricity never really had much of an effect on him.  And of course, I told Sadie that, and of course, she took that as a challenge.  So I was definitely looking forward to having an effect on him.

Greetings from a tattoo chair

Holy shit, I’ve been busy.

So busy, in fact, that I’m writing this post on my phone as I’m getting a 12-hour tattoo done. But luckily it’s on my left arm, and I’m right-handed, so it frees me up to type. You know I made damn sure to bring my phone charger with me.

Seriously, what did people do before smartphones? The idea of sitting here all damn day, with nothing to help me tune out the pain not to mention the fucking boredom) would drive me nuts.

The last seven days or so have been awesome. It started with bending Sounder over his kitchen island and fucking him senseless (which was awesome, and deserves a post of its own. But he discovered his inner slut. It was great), and then continued with bending Kazander over and doing wicked, awful things to him (which deserves a post of its own, but was awesome), and continued again with me playing with a boy (we’ll call him Southern) in a mall on the Strip.

I met Southern when I was a Pro Domme in Alabama. He started as a regular customer, and we bonded. And he comes out to Vegas every year. So whenever he comes in town, we see each other.

Well, except for last time he came. Last time, there was some kind of fucking epidemic tearing its way through Vegas. Everyone was sick. It was like a cold, but a thousand times worse, and lasted for weeks (if you were lucky. Lots of people were sick for a month or two). I was practically bed-ridden, so I couldn’t see him.

But this time, I was healthy. Usually we just have lunch or hang out in a vanilla setting. There’s no play involved, because we don’t have anywhere to play.

But this time, we found a way around that. He bought a wireless remote-controlled vibrating egg, and had it shipped to me. So when I went to meet him at the mall, I brought it, as well as a condom and lube.

Now, you know that I’m not into excessive public play. So I wasn’t going to beat him or do anything obvious. But a vibrating egg would be a lot of fun.

So we found a family bathroom, where I could put it in him. And funny story: of course the women’s bathroom was closed for cleaning at right that moment, so there was a line of women who gave us some funny looks when we went into the bathroom together.

So I got the egg in him, and we went back out into the mall. For a minute, we just strolled, then decided to get lunch at one of the restaurants there.

I didn’t turn the egg on right away. And he said that when it’s off, he could almost forget it was in him.

So we walked a bit, making our way through the mall. We were just talking about vanilla things. Just casual conversation. But then, as he was in the middle of a sentence, I pressed the button on the remote, and the egg buzzed to life inside of him.

And his reaction was everything I’d hoped it would be. He stopped mid-sentence and his hands balled into fists, twitching as he tried not to react. And to his credit, he did a decent job of keeping it together. He kept walking, he walked normally, and other than his hands and his facial expression, you wouldn’t have known by looking at him that anything was going on.

So that was awesome, and I just couldn’t help but giggle. But I was merciful and turned it off after 20 seconds or so, and let him regain his composure.

We got the the restaurant and were seated at our table. Moments later, the waitress came to take our drink order. I gave her mine, and of course I turned the egg on as soon as he started to give her his.

He did a really, really good job of hiding it. She had no idea. But I could see the little signs. The fingers that started frantically tapping the table, the little tremor in his voice, the short hesitation when I first turned it on.

And my grin stretched from ear to ear.

When she walked away, and I turned the egg off, he sighed, then leaned forward and whispered, “You’re evil!”

I laughed and said, “I have never once claimed to be a good person.”

When the waitress came back with our drinks, I decided to be nice, and didn’t turn the egg back on. But she looked at us and said, “You two have been smiling ever since you walked in here.”

And I only grinned wider. If she only knew the reason why…

But as it turns out, the remote was even meaner than I am. At one point, I turned the egg back on, and couldn’t get it to turn off. So he was sitting there, subtly squirming, getting hornier and hornier.

Full disclosure: I wasn’t all that sympathetic to his plight.

We finally left the restaurant and headed back out into the mall. And I think the metal underneath the table must’ve messed with the remote signal or something (I held the remote under the table). As soon as we left the restaurant, it started working perfectly again.

He needed to head to another mall on the Strip to buy a pair of pants, so I drove him there. And once we were in the car, and he didn’t have to worry about hiding his reaction, it was even better. He was squirming and twitching and moaning in the cutest way. It was adorable.

And then, I left it off from the time we got to the mall to the time he was looking at the pants. He bent over to look through a stack on a low shelf, and as soon as he did, I turned the egg back on.

Which was hilarious.

And then I turned it on again as he was talking to the employees, making him deal with it whirring away inside of him as he was trying to carry on a conversation. It was great.

I drove him back to the first mall, and we headed back to the family restroom to take the egg out of him. Luckily, this time, there was no line.

I took the egg out, he walked me to my car, and we hugged and said goodbye. It was a fantastic afternoon.

I can’t wait to see him again. With any luck, next time he comes out, we’ll be able to play privately. That’ll be fun.

So now, I’m about three hours in to my tattoo, and tomorrow night, I’m jumping on a plane to go to the other side of the country to visit my mom’s side of the family.

Oh and it’s cold there. I’ll need a jacket. I’ll need to put a jacket on over a two-day-old, 12-hour tattoo. When I got 6-hour tattoo last year, just the sun shining on it the next morning hurt like a bitch.

That’s not an exaggeration. The sun shining on it literally burned like hell. And it took me completely by surprise, since all my other tattoos are small and didn’t take long. I didn’t know it was even possible for sunlight to be painful, much less that painful. It was nuts.

And now I’m getting a tattoo that’s twice as big (and painful as fuck, by the way), stretching from my shoulder to my elbow, and I’m going to have to put a jacket on over it day after tomorrow.

Fuck me, man.

And I’m not looking forward to spending another week with my mom, and having to deal with my sister. But there is one bright spot during the visit that’ll make my immediate family more bearable. And I seriously love flying, even when it’s coach.

And this’ll be the spawn’s very first plane ride. She’s a little nervous, but I went out and bought her a bunch of new, super-special toys to keep her occupied on the plane. And it’s a red-eye flight, so she should sleep through most of it.

Yeah, so it’ll be fun.