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.

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.

The sadist and the sissy

I probably could’ve been in a better mood when I arrived at Sounder’s house and knocked on his door.

He opened it, purposely staying behind it, out of sight, as I walked in.  I figured he was wearing his lingerie, or maybe his wig, or something equally cute to surprise me.

When I saw him step out as he closed the door, I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face as all the shit that had been clinging to me instantly just fell away.  I gasped, and I think I might have even squealed.  I know I squealed inside my head, I can’t remember if that was out loud or not.

He was fully dressed, head to toe, with his wig, makeup done, wearing one of his amazingly sexy outfits, a black blouse with incredibly sexy, figure-hugging, super-tight white jeans that hugged his butt in that seriously sexy way.  He was even wearing his adorable, strappy sandals.

I hurried to put my things down and turned back to him, holding my hands out to him.  “Come here, let me see you!”

I looked him up and down, appraising his makeup, and was wholly impressed.  “You look amazing!”

“I think it’s a disaster,” he replied.


“This took like two hours.”

I giggled (shut up, I can giggle and still be super severe and intimidating and all that).  “You’ll get faster with practice.”

And seriously, I felt like an idiot, I couldn’t look at him without smiling.  And it occurred to me that I didn’t care if I looked like an idiot.  Fucking hell, but he is one goddamn sexy sissy.

It didn’t take long for my lust to get the better of me, and I walked behind him, cupping his perfect, perky ass through those deliciously tight jeans and reaching further down, between his legs, to rub against the hole I was planning on annihilating later.

A moment later, I reached my hand down his pants, grabbing his ass and groping him like a horny teenage boy.  It didn’t take me long to get his pants undone and down around his ankles, along with the white, lacy panties he wore underneath.

I pressed the tip of a slick finger against him, then pushed it in, a chill going down my spine at the sound of his adorable little gasp at being penetrated.

Seriously, like holy fucking shit, this little girl is hot.

“Take your pants off,” I told him.  Then, after just a second’s hesitation, “The shirt and wig, too.”

Because as good as he looked with it on, I wanted to be rough with him, and didn’t want to mess it up, or have it get in my way.

Once he was naked, I stood behind him, grabbed him around his shoulders, and yanked him back against me, completely off balance, and the way he just yielded to it was even hotter.

For a moment, I kissed and teased his ear, then turned him, without letting him regain his balance, flipping him over and lowering him down to his hands and knees.  I kept it mostly mild, we were still in the living room, and he has windows.  But I couldn’t resist a little slap here, or a little spank there.

I had a specific plan for him, and due to the logistics of it, we decided that his downstairs bathroom would be the place for it.  I wasn’t going to do that quite yet, though, so we went to the downstairs guest room instead.

Once we were there, I buckled a sturdy leather collar around his neck, pulled out a new dildo and shoved it unceremoniously in his mouth, slapping him around a bit.

I kept it mild with the slapping though.  He doesn’t dislike being slapped (and was surprisingly eager and enthusiastic about it when I first broached the subject), but I have to be careful about leaving marks on his face, and he’s prone to migraines, and causing one from hitting him too hard wasn’t all that high on my list of things to do that night.

That’s one of those things we’ll have to be super careful, and super slow, about raising the intensity.  And since that wasn’t the primary focus of the night, I preferred to err on the side of caution.  We’ll work on figuring out how hard I can safely slap him soon, though.  Hitting him is ten kinds of fucking amazing.

And really, he was so fucking cute, gagging on the cock in his mouth, and choking when I shoved it in deep.

I was impressed, though.  I figured out that, when he’s given the chance to control it, he actually has some really good deepthroating skills.  There was one moment in particular when he, eager to please me, pushed forward hard against my hand, taking the cock as far as it would go, and holding it there, pushing even harder, until I felt that unique change in pressure as it slid far past the point that should’ve stimulated his gag reflex, and down his throat.

He pushed himself to take it farther, to keep it there longer, until, coughing and sputtering, he pulled back, lowering his head as he gagged.

In the next moment, he took a deep breath, lifting his head back up, his lips parted as he waited for me to push the cock back into his mouth.

He really is an excellent cocksucker when he’s given the freedom to do it on his own.  When I fuck his mouth, however, he has a little bit more trouble suppressing his gag reflex.

Which is something I’m going to have a ridiculous amount of fun breaking him of.  I want more than him sucking cock.  I want his face thoroughly and relentlessly fucked by men who will further degrade and objectify him, reducing him to nothing but a pair of holes to take their pleasure from.

Before long, his eyes started watering, smearing his makeup in that particular way that happens when women (or sissies) are made to choke on cock.  And it only made him hotter.

I was relentless with him, forcing it into his mouth, down his throat, grinning when his eyes watered and tears fell, his body convulsing as he tried hard not to throw up, and calmly and quietly enduring every slap that landed on his face.

He really is such a good boy, and he works so hard to please me.  A boy that good deserves a reward.

Finally, I released him, telling him “Stay,” tossing the dildo on the bed and rummaging through my bag again, looking for something specific.

One of my favorite toys to use on any boy is a long, slender prostate massager, a kind that’s surprisingly cheap and common to find literally anywhere, which makes how effective it is even more amazing.  Most people would say it’s the most basic kind of massager out there, but sometimes the most basic kind is the best kind.

I lubed it up and sat on the edge of the bed, while he knelt on all fours in front of me, his ass to me.

“This is a fantastic view,” I told him, sliding the massager smoothly into him, using the angled bulb at the end to put pressure on his prostate.

He gave a low, shuddering moan and eased back, urging the massager deeper into him.  I grinned.  My darling, eager slut.  He loves it deep, and hard, and fast.

I kept the pressure steady, thrusting it smoothly in and out of him, until his moans intensified and I knew he’d had his first orgasm.

Oh, one of many, I thought, grinning, as I kept the pressure up, fucking him through his orgasm.

The second (or maybe the third) orgasm, he fell forward, the massager momentarily falling out of him.  I didn’t hesitate, pushing it immediately back in, keeping that intensity up.

Relentlessly, I fucked him with it, as orgasm after orgasm wracked his body.  More than once, he felt the carpet beneath him, expecting to feel his cum there.

But no, he cums like a girl now.  Not a man.

The sounds coming from him grew increasingly desperate as he was more and more overwhelmed.  And still, I didn’t stop.

After the tenth-ish (I think), I twisted the bottom of the massager, turning on the vibration.  He gasped and moaned with the unexpected sensation, and his orgasms started coming faster and harder.  I almost didn’t even have to move it.  All I had to do was keep that vibrating bulb against his prostate.

He lowered his head, whimpering, still subconsciously moving forward, trying to get away.  I just moved with him, eventually rising up off the bed and standing beside him, keeping that pressure there.

It was getting harder and harder for him to stay still, and he buried his face in the carpet, his hands gripping his ankles in what I assume was an attempt to keep from squirming away, his adorable cries getting louder, longer, and higher as he lost himself in the sensation.

I didn’t speak much during any of this, allowing him the freedom to lose himself in his head, to focus only on the pleasure rolling through him, free from distraction.  And really, he gave me such a lovely show.

He wasn’t pushing back against me anymore, trying to fuck himself on whatever was inside him, like he usually did.  Pinned against the wall, he couldn’t squirm any farther forward, could do nothing but whimper and whine and moan while I thoroughly, relentlessly fucked him.

Finally, after his…. Oh hell, I don’t even know.  20th, maybe?… orgasm, his body finally went slack, and he slid to the side, collapsing onto his stomach, panting and gasping.

I grinned, momentarily considering moving with him and continuing my use of his hole, but decided against it.  This was supposed to be a reward, after all.

I knelt down next to him, running my hands soothingly along his body as he rolled over, completely spent, onto his back.

“Feel good?” I asked, smiling.

“Holy fuck,” he replied, still squirming involuntarily, just a bit.

After a moment, he deliberately moved his leg across the area of the carpet he’d been kneeling over.

I laughed.  “You thought you squirted?”

“I could’ve sworn I did,” he replied.  “I swear at one point I looked back and saw a stream.”

“I think that was precum,” I told him.  “You were dripping quite a bit.”

He nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath.  I was still smiling.

“You do know I’m not done with you yet, right?”

“I know.”

“Then roll over.”

He obediently rolled onto his stomach, and I pulled a paddle out of the bag, hitting him hard with it.  Shortly after, I switched to my hand, spanking his ass, thoroughly reddening it, and mixing that with a few long strokes of raking my nails painfully down his back.

But then, I rose to my feet and told him to stand up, too.  I walked into the bathroom, surveying the tub, and quickly figured out the logistics.

I turned to him.

“I need the tub filled with cool water, I need something soft on the floor that you can kneel on, that you don’t mind getting wet, and I need an extra towel.  And wash all your makeup off.”

He nodded, hurrying to fulfill my commands.  By the time he was done, I sat on the toilet seat beside the tub, two lengths of rope in my hands.

I told him to come stand in front of me, positioned him the way I wanted him, and began tying the rope around his thighs, binding his wrists to them.

Once I was satisfied it would hold him, but wouldn’t be too tight, I had him kneel down, facing the tub, and stood behind him.

“How’s your ass?” I asked.  “Is it sore?”

He shrugged, shaking his head.  “Not really.”

“Oh good.”  I bent him over and slid a lubed plug into his ass.  Judging by his grunts as I pushed it in, I guessed he was maybe a little more sore than he thought.

The tub was full, so I turned off the water, then grabbed him by the leash attached to his collar, pulling him back against me.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” I asked, gently caressing his neck, shoulders, and chest.


“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

I grinned.  Only a little?

I had the dildo nearby, along with a long, thin cane, but I wasn’t going to use those quite yet.

I pushed him down until his chest was resting on the edge of the tub, his face over the water.  And then, with a firm hand on the back of his neck, I pushed down further, until his face was submerged.

For a moment, he was still, obeying the unspoken command that was the pressure of my hand on his neck.

And then, once his lungs began burning, he began struggling, pushing up against me.  I held him down only a second longer before releasing him, letting him up.  I gave him a moment to catch his breath, then pushed him under again.

This time, I held him down a fraction of a second longer before letting him up, pulling him upright by his collar, his head against my chest, and shoved the cock in his mouth, gagging him.  When he coughed and sputtered, I slapped him and pushed him back down into the water.

The longer this went on, the longer I held him down once he started struggling, the harder I made him push back against me before releasing him and shoving the cock back down his throat.

At one point, I bent him back over, but didn’t push him under, instead turning my attention to the cane, and his reddened, spanked ass.

It didn’t take long before his grunts of pain told me he was reaching his pain threshold, and I grinned, setting the cane down.  I knew each sting of the cane would cause him to clench his sore, raw muscles on the plug in him.

And just to prove my point, I reached down and tugged on the plug, loving the sounds he makes when he’s in pain.

The longer I went on, the more tired and worn out he seemed to get (what a shock).  Finally, he said, “Okay, I need this taken out.”

I kept him bent over, resting his weight on the edge of the tub, and hooked my fingers firmly around the plug.  It wasn’t overly big, but he was already sore, and his skin was already irritated to the point that just having it in had become unbearable.

It was going to hurt coming out.

“Are you ready?” I asked him, one hand on the small of his back to steady him.

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth.

With one smooth, quick motion, I pulled it all the way out.  And his scream was every kind of delicious.

Exhausted and in pain, he fell to the side, leaning against the tub, resting his head on the edge, trembling and panting.  I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving him the time he needed to recover.

After a few moments, he sighed and straightened up, and I pulled him back against me, gently this time, and again ran my fingers along his body.  I quickly untied his hands and stepped back as he staggered to his feet, bent over, his hands on his knees.

I took the opportunity to remove his collar, and the relief of having that tension gone was audible in his voice.

When he straightened up, I smiled at him.  “How do you feel?” I asked him.

He gestured with his hands, a movement I translated as “shaky,” so I said, “Come on, come lie down.”

We went back to the bed, and he sat down on the edge, sighing and panting as he tried to get his head right again.

After a few minutes, he sighed and said, “Was that shorter than you wanted?”

“No,” I told him quickly, rubbing his shoulder.  I was sitting behind him, so he didn’t see me smile.

He’d just been pushed to the point of screaming in pain, barely able to stand upright, and five minutes later, he was asking if I was happy with him, or if he’d somehow disappointed me.

That’s where his head was.  That’s what was important to him in that moment.

My sweet, darling, obedient little sissy.

I pulled him back to lie down on the bed, grabbed the lube, and began stroking his cock.  I knew it wouldn’t make him cum (and I doubted he’d be up for another orgasm at that point, even if he could), but I wanted something that would feel mostly good to him.

I mean, of course I worked it once he got sensitive, making him squirm.  I couldn’t be too nice to him.

But I didn’t torture him too much, or for too long.  He’d had a long evening.

I told him to get up and get dressed, and I got all my things together and put them back in my bag.  We went back into the living room, where he poured us both glasses of water, and we sat down on the couch.

I pulled him to me immediately, and we sat for a few moments, watching TV.  Then, I kissed the top of his head and pushed him up.

“I’m going to head out,” I told him.  The poor boy needed to rest, after what I’d put him through.  And I actually didn’t keep him up later than he was used to staying up, for a change.  He needed sleep.

He walked me to my car, hugged me, and I drove off.

It definitely gave me plenty of awesome memories to help get me through the next few days of dealing with my psychotic mother.

BDSM and D/s Relationships vs Abuse

I received this comment on my post on female supremacy.

It’s a good read, but I think that what should be spoken about is when FLR/Dominance is used as abuse. There are cases where a person who has serious abuse in his past can be placed into a submissive state by female on male abuse, rationalized as female supremacy.
These women do not know, or more accurately, do not care of the outcome when the guy finally realized what he has been made to do. This is nothing short (when talking about the supremacy mindset) of stockholm syndrome and trauma bonding.
I see nothing wrong with consensual agreements with boundaries and limits and safewords. With that being said, BDSM as abuse allows zero recourse and it is traumatic when it has been long term. Edge play can create Complex-PTSD, and that’s what we’re talking about. Slave training is part of the extremes of FLR and female supremacy.
Imagine waking up one day and realizing that you were subjected to mental and physical torture, sexual assault, non-consensual cuckolding, massive amounts of betrayal and cheating. Realizing that your free will was taken at some point, not even knowing exactly when. That you were being totally humiliated in certain circles without your knowledge. There is video recorded of you in a humiliating way that was shared publicly when you escaped.
Then, to have female supremacists continue to ruin your reputation for two years following your escape from abuse. Having a divorce lawyer continue the abuse by using the legal system to continue inflicting emotional pain and stress through unneeded depositions, subpoenas of mental health records, employment records and falsifying financial documents. That’s enough to make anyone have mental issues. Put all that on top of when that man was a child and was molested by his own family, raped while in a boy’s home and had parents who are severely emotionally disturbed.
No one will really speak out about this. When I have, I have been laughed at, humiliated, degraded and told by others that I have made all of this up.
I have not.
I am glad you are against this type of mindset, but you do not seem to understand the reality of the extremes of female supremacy mindsets and the resulting damage that I have been working for three years (and continuing) to resolve. The BDSM community as a whole seems to turn a blind eye to this. It almost seems acceptable, or possibly seen as collateral damage to the community. It is unacceptable to me.
It is torture and she should be in prison for what she has done to me and her first ex-husband. But they get away with it, and I believe until this is brought to light, they will continue to do so.

First of all, whoa….

I want to take a moment to acknowledge what you went through and the strength it took to get away.  Leaving an abusive relationship is never easy, regardless of the circumstances, and many people do not have the strength it takes to escape, particularly when there are very real repercussions for leaving.  I commend you for that, and admire you for it.

That being said, it’s not difficult to discern why you’ve been met with the attitude you’ve been met with.  I am in no way defending the people who laughed at you, humiliated and degraded you, or implied that you made it all up.  Those people obviously do not possess the emotional intelligence or emotional maturity to really register what you were saying, rather than the (misguided) way you said it.

You deserve better from the kink community, but the issues with the kink community and the close-minded intolerance that runs rampant there is a whole different post.

I’m going to explain to you why the way you’re going about spreading this awareness isn’t working.  When I do, I want you to understand that I am in no way attacking you or trivializing what you went through.  This is something you’re obviously very passionate about, and I want you to know that I respect that.  Tone can sometimes be misinterpreted through text, so I want to point out now that nothing I am going to say is meant with any degree of hostility.

But seriously, stop doing what you’re doing.

First of all, I absolutely understand the very real potential to cause permanent physical and psychological damage to a submissive (which is something I have talked about, repeatedly, on the blog).  Outright telling me that I don’t, based on one post, has the potential to put someone on the defensive and shut them down to the point that they no longer wish to hear anything you have to say about it.  Saying something like that to someone you do not know comes across as close-minded and self-righteous.  And the person you’re speaking to will care more about the feeling that you’ve insulted them and implied that they don’t understand anything than the message you’re trying to spread.

You do not know me.  You do not know what I understand about the capacity for abuse within any given dynamic expressed through D/s relationships.  That mindset needs to leave your mind forever.  It’s not helping you in any way.  In fact, by putting people on the defensive, it’s hindering you, because their irritation with you will make them immediately discount anything you have to say.

And in situations like this one, where you’re talking to a woman who was raped by a family member, and understands better than many what you went through growing up (which you would know, had you read the blog), it has the potential to do more than put them on the defensive, it has the potential to piss them the fuck off.  Especially when, if you had taken the time to read their blog before making assumptions like that one, you would have already known that.  Those people would be completely justified in being pissed at you.

That alone is enough for me to completely understand why no one has listened to you.  But that’s not the only thing you’re doing wrong.

Here’s the thing about abusive relationships.  They’re bad, through and through.  Regardless of whether you put BDSM or D/s in the mix.  Abusive people are deplorable and cruel and evil.  Regardless of whether they call themselves Dominants or not.

But you cannot lump abusive relationships in with consensual D/s ones.  This is something many people within the kink community have had to fight for years.  There are a great many people who run around shouting that all BDSM relationships are abusive, and that it’s not okay to want to hit the people you care about, or that it’s not okay to want to be hit by someone you care about.

Let’s use a specific example.  The gentleman I spoke about in that post is a submissive in a female supremacist relationship.  He very enthusiastically follows his wife, yields to her, and obeys her.  He also feels fulfilled in that relationship.  He wants it.  He enjoys it.  He enjoys it to the point that he runs a blog about it, singing the praises of the dynamic.

If you wrote this same message to him, attacking the relationship dynamic that he loves, then you become just another naysayer that tells him he shouldn’t want it.  You become background noise.  Hell no, he’s not going to pay attention to anything you have to say.

I don’t believe the same things he does, and there are a lot of things that seem “too extreme” to me, but at the end of the day, he’s happy, and if that’s the relationship both he and his wife want, then that’s the relationship they should have.

And then there’s this:

I see nothing wrong with consensual agreements with boundaries and limits and safewords. With that being said, BDSM as abuse allows zero recourse and it is traumatic when it has been long term. Edge play can create Complex-PTSD, and that’s what we’re talking about. Slave training is part of the extremes of FLR and female supremacy.

I’m sure it’s unintentional, but you’re kind of saying, “I see nothing wrong with BDSM relationships, but BDSM relationships are bad and cause harm.”

Abuse is traumatic, whether it’s short term or long term.  But you’re not making enough of a distinction between D/s relationships and abusive ones.  And when you say that to someone who is in a happy, healthy, mutually consensual BDSM relationship, they’re going to take offense, and they will care more about that than what you’re trying to say.

So I need you to say this to yourself.  Out loud.  Multiple times a day.

There is a difference between BDSM relationships and abusive relationships.

Because, fun fact: you do know that all three of my relationships are FLR relationships, with a total power exchange as the eventual goal, right?  You do know that I often engage in edge play, right?

How much of my blog have you actually read?  How much effort did you take to get to know me before lecturing me?

This is your problem.  You’re so busy trying to shout from the rooftops about the small number of abusive relationships parading as D/s ones, and trying to make people understand the (very real) dangers of such relationships, that you’re not taking the time to listen, get to know, or care about the people you’re talking to.  You’re not talking to people, you’re talking at them.

No, people are not going to respond well to that.

By lumping all FLRs in with abusive ones parading as female supremacy relationships, and making blanket statements about edge play and “slave training” typical of most FLRs, you are unintentionally, but very effectively, attacking my relationships.

For the record, I am fully aware of the damage I can cause to my subs should I lose my control.  This is something I have talked about, in great length, here on the blog (which is yet another thing you would know if you opened your mind before opening your mouth… I’m repeating this because I’m hoping it registers with you, and you realize why it’s such a big issue, and why it would cause someone to immediately discount anything you try to tell them).  I, and most people in healthy BDSM relationships, are fully aware of the difference between BDSM and abuse.

But because I get the feeling from your message that the line between them is a bit fuzzy for you, and because I’m getting the impression that you have never been in a mutually consensual BDSM relationship, and therefore do not know what that looks like, here’s a cheat sheet.


Female-led relationships are not abusive relationships.  Female supremacist relationships are not abusive relationships.

Abusive relationships are abusive relationships.  It doesn’t matter what you call them or what an abuser uses to justify them, they are abusive relationships.

Is there potential for a BDSM relationship to become abusive?  Yes.  Is it important for people like you to share their experiences so other people are aware of the warning signs?  Yes, absolutely.

But when you need people to listen to what you’re saying, you have to make them want to listen to you.  You’ve got to talk in a way that engages them and enables them to relate to you.  None of the comment you wrote to me even remotely conveys that sentiment, or makes me think that you have any interest in me or the relationship dynamic I represent.  Even the first sentence comes across as condescending.

No one is going to listen to anything you have to say, regardless of the validity of your message, if you don’t pay attention to the way you’re coming across.  Tact and diplomacy, especially in text, is unbelievably important.

Hopefully this helps, and hopefully you’re able to get your message across more effectively.  I absolutely think you should continue to talk about the warning signs of an abusive relationship, and spread awareness to people who may find themselves questioning their relationship is healthy or abusive.  It may be enough to save someone from an abusive partner parading as a Dominant.

And part 2

For years, forced bi was a hard limit for Kazander.

Then the idea of cuckolding was introduced.  And at first, it was never thought of as something we’d actually do.  It was just something we talked about for fun.  With that in mind, Kazander felt more comfortable getting into the fantasy of it when we were playing.

Humiliation is his biggest kink, so humiliating him by telling him that I’d never let his cock enter me again, that I would find a real man to fuck me, and make him watch, became one of his favorite things.

Eventually that escalated to me humiliating him by telling him I wanted to make him suck cock, and then to humiliating him by telling him that I would make him get fucked by a man, to know what it feels like to be fucked by a real man.

But of course, we both knew that this was just fantasy.  Hard limits and all.  I don’t fuck with those.

But what he didn’t realize at the time was that, by talking about it in the “heat of the moment,” to turn him on, I was actually conditioning him to actually want it.

Now again, this was a hard limit, so I didn’t initiate that.  That was his choice, he was the one who told me he was comfortable with it.  I, being the sweet, innocent, obliging person that I am, took that and ran with it.

As I am occasionally wont to do.

Fast forward…. Oh I dunno… 4-ish years, maybe?

Forced bi became a soft limit.  Something he was willing to do for me, but reluctant as fuck about it.  That’s the way he was the first time Sounder sucked his dick.  He was really almost at a freak-out level leading up to that, and it took every bit of the control and influence I have over him to keep him calm-ish.

But he discovered that night that maybe he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would.  Oh, he still didn’t like it, that’s for fucking sure, but he realized it wasn’t really worth the anxiety he felt leading up to it, and sure, he’d be willing to do it again.

I’m serious, y’all.  It is exhausting being right all the time.

So good, that’s something I can work with.  And ever since then, I’ve been subtly working on him, training and conditioning him to becoming a man who would not only be eager to have his dick sucked by Sounder, but would take on a Top-ish role with him, and help me humiliate him.

Basic behavioral modification.  Super easy stuff.  Something I learned working with autistic kids, and it works just as well on grown men.  Kazander never even knew I was doing it.

So this time, there would be no reluctance, no hesitation, he would be perfectly willing to grab Sounder by his hair and force his cock into his mouth.  He even had a couple ideas of his own to humiliate him.

And in that respect, he’s actually meaner than I am.  Like, I had to hold him back on a couple things, to ensure we wouldn’t give Sounder a heart attack.

Fast forward to this past weekend.  After spending the first part of the afternoon feminizing Sounder, I was ready for Kazander to arrive and do his part.

Kazander got there, and we spent a few minutes chatting.  I asked him what he thought of Sounder’s appearance, and he said, “Very pretty.  Turn her around, I want to see her ass.”

Which, of course, I was delighted to do.  I turned Sounder around and pulled his dress up, exposing his black, lacy panties.  And then of course, I told Sounder to turn back around so Kazander could see the front.

It was an awesome night.  We went into the bedroom, and I pushed Sounder to his knees and stuffed Kazander’s cock in his mouth.  Both Kazander and I humiliated him while he sucked, and I got some lovely pictures and a great video.

And I feel it’s important to point out the fact that Sounder was rock hard and dripping during that.

But as hot as that was (and dude, it was fucking hot), the absolute hottest part of the night actually happened before.

I wanted to sit on the couch.  We all sat down, with Kazander and Sounder on either side of me.

For a moment, Kazander and I just talked about how feminine and pretty Sounder was, and when I mentioned Sounder’s growing breasts, he didn’t hesitate at all in reaching across me to grab one.

Then, Kazander turned to Sounder and said, “I want to see you in something sexy.  Go take off the dress and put on some lingerie.”

Sounder got up and asked me which he should wear (he has a collection of sexy, feminine lingerie).  I told him to surprise us, and he turned to obey.  When he came back, he was wearing a sexy, lacy little number that I love seeing on him.

Which was awesome, because it matched his panties.

I told him I wanted him to lie across Kazander’s and my laps.  We adjusted our position, and then he did as he was told, with his head on Kazander’s side, and his feet on mine.  I pulled his panties down, moved my leg so he couldn’t brace his weight on his knees, and spread his ass, exposing that tight little hole I love abusing.

“Look at her pussy,” I said.

“Looks nice and tight,” Kazander said, grabbing a handful of Sounder’s ass.

“It is,” I replied, getting a finger wet and pushing it inside him.  He gasped and moaned softly as I fingered him.  It was so hot.  “You should feel,” I told Kazander.

The only hesitation in him that night came at that moment, when I told him to put a finger in Sounder.  But all it took was a smile from me and a hand over his, and I guided his finger where I wanted it.

And then Kazander was fingering Sounder’s ass.  And really, once he got it in, the hesitation disappeared again, and he was right back to where I wanted him to be.  We started comparing Sounder’s ass to his girlfriend’s, wondering which would be tighter.  I pulled Sounder’s cock out from under him and started teasing it.

He looked so cute, sprawled across our laps like that, half naked, with his panties around his ankles and a man’s finger inside him. And Kazander was so damn hot, getting into his role with enthusiasm and being every bit as mean and degrading to Sounder as I was.

That was the hottest part of an incredibly hot day, and I cannot wait to do it again.

Sissy slut

I’d been wanting to have Sounder’s makeup professionally done for awhile.  The transformation I could see in my head just exceeds my own skills.

So we set an appointment for this past weekend.  And, as I’m sure you all know, I had lots and lots and lots of fun in the days and hours leading up to that appointment.  The poor sissy’s blood pressure was probably off the charts.

He was so nervous and flustered.  It was adorable.

I went to his house, grinning when I saw that he’d moved both his truck and his motorcycle so I could park in the garage.

Clever girl, thinking ahead like that.  Can’t have the neighbors thinking that I’m bringing random sluts to his house.

We had a few minutes before we had to leave, so we made sure we had everything we’d need, and spent a bit chatting.  He poured me a glass of wine, and refilled his own glass.  I couldn’t help but laugh when he pulled a small bottle of liquor out of a cabinet and put it in his pocket.

“You know that’s not going to help you, right?” I asked.

“Oh, I know.”

We got into my car and I drove to the place.  The woman greeted us, and told us that it would be just a few minutes, and she’d be right with us.  I entertained myself by looking at her massive wall-o-pictures, pointing out some of the better ones to Sounder.

Because as nervous as he was about being made into a feminine sissy, and what he would have to do later (oh I had plans for him), there was one thing he was significantly more nervous about:

What if it doesn’t look good?

For weeks, we’d been going around and around about it.  He was wholly unimpressed by the pictures he found on her website and facebook page, and was nervous that she would do a terrible job and he’d look awful.

I pointed out that, if someone isn’t an attractive man, they’re not going to make an attractive woman.  Also, quite a few of the pictures posted were of people who were a bit older than Sounder.

A 65-year-old man is not going to get his makeup done and come out looking like Emilia Clarke.  He’ll come out looking like a 65-year-old woman.  Which, of course, is fucking awesome.

But when you’re a 40-year-old, with just the teensiest tendency to worry awholefuckinglot, and with no “before” pictures to compare, all those somewhat-manly-looking pictures aren’t super reassuring.

More than the humiliation of having to endure it, more than being seen by more than one person that way, more than yet another piece of his masculinity being taken from him, that was what worried him the most.

But I’ve done makeup (mostly on myself) for awhile now.  I’m no professional, but I’m pretty good at it.  And no one has ever studied his face the way I have. He’s got a good face shape, striking blue eyes, and dark hair (which would be covered by the wig anyway).  He’s an attractive man, and I knew, just because I know these things, that he would look amazing as a woman, too.

He still wasn’t convinced by the pictures on the wall, and soon it was time for us to go back.  She told us to get him completely dressed from the neck down.

And that’s when we realized that the fashion choice I made wasn’t the best option.  I told him to bring a short, black bodycon dress that he looks fucking amazing in.  I forgot how heavy and thick it is, I forgot about the long sleeves, and I wasn’t expecting her to have practically no air conditioning.

Because it’s only 111 degrees outside.  Why would you want your place of business to have air conditioning?

Yeah, so oops.  I told him he could change as soon as we got back to his place.  He put the dress on and sat in the chair, facing the mirror.  A moment later, the woman came back and asked me what kind of makeup I wanted.

“Do you want sweet?  Sultry?  Day?  Night?  Glamour?”

“Let’s go with sweet and innocent,” I told her, with a very not-sweet-and-innocent grin at Sounder.

I had to laugh, though.  A minute in, she paused and turned to me, and asked, “Do you want his eyebrows gone?  I have wax, do you want them gone?”

And my immediate thought was, do not wax his fucking eyebrows off, you psycho!  Seriously, I think my heart rate almost doubled.

But no, she meant covering them up with eyebrow wax and drawing a more feminine brow on him.  Which was way better.  She assured me that the wax would come off with soap and water, and he’d be able to be fully back in “guy mode” (or, more accurately, “pseudo-guy mode”) the next day.

She could tell from the beginning that I was running the show.  She directed all her questions to me, she asked my opinion instead of his, and I was the one she primarily spoke to.  But both Sounder and I picked up on the fact that our particular dynamic was not her normal clientele, and that she wasn’t particularly into it.

Which was a bummer, because when I first talked to her (at least, I assume it was her.  I don’t think there’s anyone else), she seemed so into it.  She giggled when I gave her Sounder’s sissy name, instead of his legal one.  She seemed intrigued when I explained what I wanted to do with him afterward.

I’m thinking she might have been fascinated by the idea, but the reality may have been a little jarring for her.  She’s used to men who want the makeup, who are already somewhat feminine in their voice/movements/body language/demeanor/whatever, who are eager and excited to do it.  Sounder was far from eager and excited, there’s very little about his demeanor anyone could call feminine, and he was so nervous about it not looking good, that may have translated into perceived reluctance to get it done.

Oh, well.  So she wasn’t the humiliatrix I’d hoped she’d be.

Less than an hour later, she stepped back and asked Sounder what he thought.  He turned to me, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

He looked pretty.  Downright pretty.

But I knew he was dying in that dress.  So we grabbed our things together and got in the car, where I turned up the ac as high as it would go.

Still, I couldn’t help but pull up his dress in the car and stroke him through his panties.  I drive an SUV, and he pulled his dress back down when we pulled up at a stop light next to another SUV.

“High car,” he said, pointing out that they could look over and see us clearly.

I took my hand away, patting his leg.  “Alright.  But it’ll just look like I’m fingering my girlfriend.”

We got back to his place and I let him take the wig and the dress off.  He hesitated at taking the wig off, because he didn’t want me to feel cheated out of the experience.  But I assured him that I was happy, that he’d be wearing the wig plenty, and right then I was more concerned about him not passing out from heat stroke before I had the chance to completely abuse and degrade him.

And actually, his makeup looked even better without the wig.  Multiple times throughout the afternoon, I’d look at him and just be struck by how much younger he looked.  But the wig aged him.  She had styled it in a way that made him look older.

We’ll have to fix that for next time.

He changed into his pretty, 50s housewife dress and a pair of more comfortable heels.  After pouring another glass of wine for each of us, he went to work in the kitchen, fixing us something to eat.

You know, like a good little housewife.

I didn’t realize that he hadn’t even looked at himself yet, until he’d had a chance to cool down and relax, and we put the wig back on.

The eyebrow wax had come off a bit, but the makeup lady had warned us that was possible if he got too hot.  And I couldn’t fix it.

But even with that, he looked pretty.  He walked down the hall to his bathroom, and came back a moment later.

“I think, as long as we can fix the eyebrows, I’d be comfortable going out in public like this.”

Which seriously made my week.  “Really?” I asked, smiling like a crazy person.

“Are you serious?  I look like a completely different person.”

“You look good.”

“It looks better than I thought it would.”

I was still grinning like an idiot, and shamelessly gloating.  “I told you that you’d look amazing.”

“I just didn’t want to think that anyone could be better than you at anything.”


He can be pretty damn smooth sometimes.

But hell yeah she was better at it than I am.  She does offer a tutorial session, though, and that’s going to be the next appointment.  I’m going to learn how to do that.

And, of course, Sounder is going to learn how to do it.  Every girl needs to know how to do her own makeup.

My phone went off, and I looked down to see a text from Kazander.

“He’ll be here in about twenty minutes,” I told Sounder.

Sounder nodded, immediately downing the rest of his wine.  I laughed.

“That’s still not going to help you.”

“It’s going to try.”

To be continued…..

Submissive men are more attractive

A study in Prague surveyed one thousand average (vanilla) women.  Over 25% of them agreed that a more submissive man is more attractive than a dominant one.  Wayyy less than 25% thought a dominant man was attractive.

That’s huge.  You can’t get 25% of women to agree on anything.  The study also found that relationships are more successful if one partner is the more dominant, and one is more submissive, although it doesn’t matter which partner “wears the pants.”

So if submissive men are so widely coveted, and are so common, why are they so stigmatized?

It’s like herpes.  90% of the world has some form of herpes, but one study found that a majority of Americans think it’s worse than HIV.

Which is insane.  I don’t care if someone has herpes.  Kazander and I are in the 10% that doesn’t have it, but that hasn’t stopped me from playing with people who have it.

Hell, Kazander’s girlfriend gets cold sores.  He still plays with her.  And thankfully, she’s just as paranoid about him catching it from her as I am, so she’s quick to let him know if she thinks she feels one coming on.

But people don’t realize that 90% of the world has it, so it carries a stigma.

Just like people don’t realize that more than a quarter of women prefer a submissive man over a dominant one.  And that significantly less women wanted a more dominant man.

Now, it is important to note that this study wasn’t talking about BDSM or D/s relationships.  This was talking about vanilla dominance and submission, and the power dynamics one can expect to find in a more traditional relationship.

But the principle is the same.  Relationships with an unequal power dynamic do better than relationships where both partners are “equal.”  And quite a few women prefer their man to have a more submissive role in the relationship.

Statistically, submissive men are more attractive to women than dominant men, and are in higher demand.