It’s pink!

So, as I may have alluded to previously, I recently got to do some amazingly fun, super awesome shopping for my darling sissy slut.

And I picked out the loveliest of lacy pink bedsets, and eagerly awaited the delivery.

The original plan was to not tell him when it got in, and go to his house while he was at work, set it all up on his bed, then leave so he’d never know I was there.  He’d come home, just like any other day, and walk into his room to see it there waiting for him.

He’d know it was coming, of course.  I mean, I’ve only been talking about it for weeks.  Of course he knew it was coming.

But he didn’t know when.  So it would be a fantastic mindfuck.  Not only would there be the shock of the bed itself, but also everything it represents.  It’s the first step in sissifying his entire house, I’ll have him gangbanged on it, when he sucks his friend’s cock, it’ll be on it, every night it’ll be the last thought he has, and every morning it’ll be the first.

That was the plan.  And it was a good plan.  I liked the plan.

However, there’s something about me that my subs know, but my readers likely don’t.

I am a total child when I’m excited about something.

In a good way, mind you.

“Giddy” is definitely an accurate descriptor.  And, for as much as I work to cultivate my super-intimidating-totally-terrifying-evil-bitch persona, “giggly” is just as accurate.  I have literally been known to squeal like a little girl at a Justin Bieber concert (is he still a thing?  Or is that reference obsolete?  Nevermind, I don’t care).

And this applies to every part of my life.  For example, I think there’s been once that I’ve managed to wait until the appropriate gift giving occasion to give something I was excited to give.  And I realized early I had to give Kazander the authority to keep me from giving the spawn her Christmas/birthday/whatever presents early.

Waiting for a particular date or something is easier, because there’s nothing I can do.  I’m excited to go to Cancun this fall, but it’s easy to wait because I can’t just up and go earlier.

Dates are easy.  Things are hard.  Secrets are hard.

Seriously, I’m like a kid on Christmas morning.  Total child.

And I’ve been beyond freaking excited about the bed.  I was checking the tracking info like every twenty minutes.

When it finally got in, I tore into it immediately, saw how unbelievably pretty it was in person, and my excitement went through the roof.

Christmas morning and Justin Bieber concert all rolled into one.

And I couldn’t wait.  I told Sounder right then that it had gotten in.

And man, it is pink.  My sister in law saw it as I put it in the washing machine and said, “What is that?  That is really, really pink.”

Which, naturally, I had to relay to Sounder.

I went to his house with the bedset in the original bag it came in (but I’d taken the picture and label off.  I didn’t want him seeing what it looked like).  Even though I couldn’t keep the surprise, I still wasn’t going to let him see it until it was all set up and beautiful.

I took it upstairs, told him to stay downstairs, and stripped his bed.  And began the thoroughly enjoyable process of transforming his bed from something any masculine man would feel comfortable sleeping in to something indescribably pink, frilly, lacy, and delightfully feminine.

And I’m usually not a perfectionist, but I certainly was that night.  I wanted every pillow perfectly placed, every piece of lace trim meticulously positioned, every detail just so.

So that when he walked in, and saw it for the first time, the image would be forever seared into his mind.

I think I achieved that goal.  Truly, it was spectacular.  I was beaming when I finally told him he could come up, and I watched him walk (much more slowly than he usually walks) into the bedroom.

He looked at it, sitting there in all its pink glory, then took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, that’s worse than I expected.”

I think I squealed out loud.  I know I definitely did in my head.

And he, being the sweet, obedient bitch that he is, picked out a new lingerie outfit to commemorate his new bed.  Something pink and frilly and equally humiliating to match the bed.

So he put it on, and goddamn, it was so fucking hot.  It was definitely the most feminine, delicate, girly thing I’ve seen him in.

And he picked it out all by himself.

Or, perhaps more accurately, herself.

It was time to christen the new sissy bed.  I put him on all fours in the center of the bed, his back arched and his boy pussy out and ready.  It was an incredible view.

I didn’t waste any time, and slid a big cock in him.  His soft moans were so cute as I fucked him.  And then he came with my cock in his ass and his face pressed down in the pink sheets.

It wasn’t my strapon, though.  I didn’t touch him at all as I fucked him.  The only sensations he felt were the the pink bedset under him, the soft lingerie against his skin, and the cock inside him.

And he came, hard and often, like a horny little slut.

Then, when his ass was raw and throbbing, I fingered him to a couple more, grinning as he squirmed and writhed on the bed.

It was every bit as hot and humiliating as I wanted it to be.  And now he has a gorgeous sissy bed.  And I can’t wait to take the next step in sissifying his entire house.

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…..

Pretty little housewife

With scheduling conflicts and illnesses making for annoying obstacles, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to spend some time with Sounder.  Tonight, that changed.

And man, I was feeling sadistic, the poor boy.

After a glass of wine, I told him to take his clothes off, and noticed that his chest was red.  He explained that he’d waxed earlier, and didn’t expect it to react that much.

It’s only the second time he’s ever been waxed, so the reaction wasn’t surprising.  Still, I need to get a new wax kit of my own here soon, and I’ll look and see if I can find anything for sensitive skin.  Maybe that’ll help.

The really fun part, though, was just how sensitive the whole area was.  I reached out to touch him super softly, and he flinched away.

That hurts?” I asked.


I grinned.  Oooh, this would be fun.

Oh, and as it turns out, my nails, which I usually keep short, were much longer than usual.  So running my nails across his chest was a lot of fun, and his reactions were so cute.  He squirmed and gasped so nicely.

I love bending him over the island in his kitchen and groping him.  It’s a lot of fun, and he makes the most adorable sounds.  Some pleasure, mixed with some pain, and he’s basically (to quote him) a puppy dressed as a baby duck.  It’s that cute.

We went upstairs, and I saw his new dress lying on the bed.  He hadn’t tried it on yet, and I was so excited to see it on him.

And he looks awesome in it.  It’s a lovely retro, pin-up style dress, pink with black polka dots with a halter top.  It’s so cute, and he looks so good in it.  I think I like it even more than the sexy black bodycon dress he has.

After putting the dress on, I told him to put his makeup on, and we both noticed that the makeup looked off.

“I look like Skeletor,” he said.

“You’ve been out in the sun, haven’t you?”

“Well, it is 130 degrees out.”

Pfft.  I don’t even think it cracked 110 today.  But he’s gotten tan.  The foundation is too pale for him.

So I know what shade he needs, and I’ll pick that up.  But we made do with what we had, and he continued putting it on, while I lifted up the dress and set about seeing how well he could keep his focus while being teased, stroked, and fingered.

His reactions were beyond adorable, and as it turns out, fingering him is enough to shatter his focus.  Which, of course, is one of those incredibly useful bits of information that you just store away for some particular scenario that may or may not happen in the future.

No, there’s nothing ominous about that at all.

I made him wear a wig earlier in the day, and he mentioned how hot it was, so I let him go without.  He looked cute enough without it.

But here’s the thing.  I’ve always loved pin-up clothes, makeup, and hair.  Whenever I go out, that’s my own preferred style.  And I think Sounder would look amazing with that style.

He mentioned wanting to cook me dinner, and that’s immediately where my mind went.  He would look so cute in the kitchen, wearing that dress with a retro, frilly apron, with the full pin-up hair and makeup.  Just like a 50’s housewife.

My darling little housewife.  He’d cook for me, and then I’d bend him over the sink while he’s doing the dishes and fuck him raw.  That’s a fabulous idea.

Speaking of fucking him raw, I sure did that tonight.  The poor boy hasn’t been fucked in so long, and his pussy was so tight, I could barely get my cock inside him.  He’ll make whatever man I give/sell his virginity to very happy.

But really, it was the pain I was the most interested in.  And I love how hard he gets whenever I hurt him, I love how he squirms, how he gasps, I love his facial expressions when I hurt him, I love making him scream.

So I backed him into the corner and turned my attention to his nipples and his chest, and I think it’s safe to assume he’s not a fan of me having long nails, particularly when his skin is red and irritated.

Oh, but it was sooo much fun.

Then I told him to lie down.  I took out my wand, plugged it in, and held it against his clit, stroking it, teasing it until it was ultra sensitive, then torturing him with it.

Which is always fun.  And he’s so cute when he begs me to stop.  Really, lots of cuteness all around.

I had to laugh, though.  When I finally stopped with the wand, after, I dunno, maybe half an hour (he still can’t cum like a man), I started pinching and twisting his dick, and didn’t get a reaction.

“Really?” I asked.  “Nothing?”

“Oh, that is so much better,” he replied.  I had to laugh.  He prefers being hurt to being pleasured.  He was completely soft almost the entire time I pleasured him, but it sprang to life when I started hurting it.

So between that, and not being able to cum, vanilla sex is pretty much out of the question.

Oh darn, poor thing.  I guess he’ll just have to get his pleasure from being fucked like the little bitch he is.  Like a pretty little housewife.



Okay here goes. I finally decided to ask you a question. As you know I am submissive. One of my favorite kinks is humiliation. Basically I think I am addicted to it. My question is how far is too far to take this addiction?

I recently posted myself to two various expose cheater sites. With a made up story but real pics of me. The sites have my real name, location as well. There are exposure pics of me on tumblr and Facebook under my sissy name. I know taking it to far could lead to me being connected to these pics. But I can’t seem to stop. Some of my friends or acquaintances know about this and encourage me to do so. To post more go further.

Parts of me want to stop, the other part wants to make it worse on myself. I almost sent you the links and pics so you could see for yourself just how far I am going. I am curious as to what you think of it.




My first reaction is to quote the Wiccan golden rule:  An it harm none, do what ye will.

But that’s not really a complete answer.  Because at some point, is this addiction going to harm you?

It’s entirely possible.  If you’re connected to the photos, how would that affect your life?  That’s something you need to think about every time you post a pic of your face, or your real name.  You need to ask yourself if the rush is worth the risk.

And I mean, I get it.  Humiliation, in its various forms, is fucking amazing.  Granted, I’ve always experienced it from the opposite side of the whip as you, but I understand the draw, I understand that rush.  I can understand becoming addicted to that rush, that particular combination of chemicals released in your brain.

And, as with any other event/substance/whatever that affects your brain chemistry, it becomes an addiction (and a problem) if it starts interfering with your everyday life.  For example, if a regular old background check for a new job brings up a bunch of those photos and sites, you may find yourself having trouble.  Once something is on the internet, it’s there forever.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t do what you love doing.  You’re a grown ass man, and you’re capable of weighing those options and making those decisions.

If you feel like the addiction may be messing with your decision-making ability, it might be a good idea to seek out a humiliatrix to help keep your impulses under control.  And that’s not something that necessarily has to be local to you.

If that’s not feasible, then you’ll have to reign that in on your own.  It may be difficult, but just keep in mind that the difference between a nice rush and a problematic addiction is your ability to control it.

You may always want more.  And you absolutely wouldn’t be the only one to feel that way.  I’ve known quite a few men with humiliation fetishes (or blackmail fetishes) who never feel that kink truly satisfied, no matter how far they go (and yes, I once watched a man completely sabotage his own life, irreparably, and there was nothing anyone could say to stop him from doing it).

But that’s the difference between fantasy and reality, and there may come a point where the level of humiliation you crave would be better left in the realm of fantasy.  I have plenty of fantasies that will never be fulfilled, simply because the reality wouldn’t work/isn’t feasible/would have unacceptable repercussions/etc.  I know I’m not the only one.

So in summation, I can’t really tell you what’s “too far.”  You have to be the one to decide that.  You have to take a good, long look at the possible repercussions of posting that information, and the likelihood of those repercussions coming to fruition.  You may decide that the risk is completely acceptable, and you’re willing to accept the possible repercussions, and if that’s the case, then more power to you.

I can’t tell you how far you can take the addiction.  But if you take a good, long look at yourself, and you decide that maybe this is a problem, and you need help, then you can reach out to people capable of helping you, whether that be a professional, or trusted (level-headed) friend, or someone whose advice and wisdom you respect.

And when I say “friend,” I do not mean the people who will egg you on, no matter the consequences.  I’ve been around enough drunk and rowdy people to know that egging someone on rarely ends well.  Your friends and acquaintances have nothing to lose if you’re connected to those pictures.  You do.

If you’re at a point where you truly feel like you can’t stop, and that this addiction is controlling you, then of course I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.

But, a) I’m not a psychologist, and b) you and I live nowhere near each other.  That may severely limit any truly practical help I could offer.  You may need a local, kink-friendly addiction specialist to help you out.

And keep in mind that I highly doubt you’d have to stop completely.  That’s your kink, that’s the rush you crave, and I’m totally for you being able to satisfy it.  I know how the other side of that rush feels, and I can absolutely understand the craving.  Just make sure that satisfying the craving doesn’t have far-reaching consequences.

“Fun” Erotica

First, some backstory.

Alright, so after a month of not having a computer (alright, so more like a few days, but Jesus, it felt like a month), I’m so relieved to have a computer again.

Man, I do not like being that out of touch.  And it’s only when I don’t have a computer that I realize what a pain in the ass trying to do anything on a smart phone can be.

And Sounder really became my knight in shining armor by letting me borrow his.  In more ways than he realizes, he swooped in and saved the day.

When I first start talking to a potential sub, one of the things I ask is for him to write me an erotic story.  There’s no word count minimum, there’s no subject requirement, there’s nothing like that.  That’s the only direction I give.  Just write me a story.

And there are a few reasons I do this.  First of all, I’m fully aware that a great number of men, upon hearing that instruction, will think it’s dumb, or won’t see the point of doing it.  That’s done intentionally.  I want them to think that it’s a dumb request, because I want to see how they respond to a request they don’t understand or don’t see the point of.

I have a questionnaire (hopefully I still have it, assuming I can get it off my hard drive) that I also give to potential subs as soon as they message me that I ask them to fill out before moving any further.  And again, one of the reasons I do that is because, if they think it’s dumb, I want to see how they respond.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten what appeared to be a well-constructed, genuine message from a sub, only for him to disappear when I send him the questionnaire and ask that he complete it.

The questionnaire also helps me very quickly see what sort of relationship he’s looking for, what his expectations are, what his general perception of a D/s relationship is, any limitations or triggers I need to be aware of, etc.  It’s a lot of information, that would normally take weeks’ worth of conversations, all at once, all in one place.  The answers from the questionnaire help me learn a lot about a potential sub early on.

The story serves a similar purpose.  I want to see how seriously he takes a command, how quickly he gets it done (i.e., how big of a priority he chooses to make it), and how he responds to something he may not fully understand.

Aside from that, the story gives me a hint of what turns him on, where his head goes when given free reign, and which aspects of a session speak to him the most.

I gave Sounder that assignment, and he delivered an intriguing story that I thoroughly enjoyed reading (and read repeatedly).  It was through reading that story that I realized a good mindfuck was a very effective tool to use with him, that it was something that would hit him deeply, that he would respond favorably (well, favorably for me, anyway) to.

I’ve been toying around with the idea of writing a story of my own, very loosely based on the one he wrote for me.  The specific type of mindfuck he wrote about appealed to me from the very beginning, and the more I got to know him, the more my mind took that and ran with it.

As he very well knows, I can always make it worse.

My original plan was to take at least a few days, if not a week or two, to put the story together.  There was no rush, and it wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities.

But now, I think I’ll write it here.  It’ll give Sounder something “fun” (yeah, we’ll go with “fun“) to think about while he’s at work.

Oh, and just so you know, little sissy… I offer you no guarantees that this will remain completely in the realm of fiction…


A text message with an address and a command to show up at 7:00 pm was all the communication he’d received from his Domina that day.  His questions had been answered with four short words; “Do as you’re told.”

So he pulled up to the large, unfamiliar house, his nervousness rising.  But he took comfort in seeing his Domina’s car parked in the driveway.

He’d barely rung the doorbell when the front door swung open, revealing his Domina.  The grin she wore was one he’d seen many times, and he felt his heart skip a beat.  She was planning something evil, something sadistic and cruel, something she was barely able to contain her excitement about.

“Come on, hurry up,” she urged, taking his hand and pulling him inside.  She led him through the house and into a guest bedroom, where he was surprised to see one of her Domme friends laying out a number of implements on the bed.

He stared down at the ominous array of toys, his pulse quickening.

His Domina didn’t waste any time.  “Strip,” she commanded, stepping away from him to grab a pair of leather wrist cuffs from the bed.

His heart pounding, he did as he was told, removing his shirt and pants and setting them neatly in the corner of the room.  He straightened up, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a pair of thigh-high stockings.

It’s all he had to wear, since she had tied him to the bed and made him watch as she went through his room, grabbing all of his men’s underwear and throwing them away.  She’d made a point to sit in front of him with a pair of scissors, cutting up and completely destroying every pair he owned.

She’d replaced them with the panties, taking his spare key and promising that she would randomly come by unannounced to go through his clothes again, to make sure he hadn’t bought any more.  Twice in the six months since then, she’d made good on that promise.  And twice, she’d been satisfied to find that he’d submitted completely to her will, and obeyed her even when she wasn’t around.

“Those, too,” she said, gesturing to the panties and the stockings.

He obeyed, slowly removing the last of his clothing and standing before them completely naked.

His Domina approached him with the cuffs and buckled one around each wrist.  She and her friend occasionally spoke to each other, but neither of them spoke to him as they fastened the wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs, followed by a thick leather harness that went over his shoulders to buckle at his waist.

She surprised him then, when she removed the chastity cage he always wore.

She only took that off when she wanted to tease him, to edge him, to hurt him, or to clean him.  What did she have planned?

The next thing she grabbed made his heart rate double.

It was a sensory deprivation hood, made of thick, padded leather.  He’d never worn one before.  One of the things he loved most was watching her prepare to use him, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop what she was about to do to him.

She knew this, and often used it to her advantage, so she very rarely ever blindfolded him.  Much less remove his hearing, as well.

He was very still as she pulled it over his head and buckled it, effectively removing his sight.  Once she’d completely fastened and tightened it, the soft leather pressed against his ears, and he couldn’t hear a thing.

There was a hole at his mouth and two smaller ones at his nose for him to breathe through, but with the hood fitting so snugly against his face, even those holes didn’t allow him the ability to hear what was going on around him.

He felt her clip a padlock onto the strap that buckled around his neck, then she took his hand and moved it up to let him feel for himself that indeed, he was locked into the hood, and could not get it off.

She moved to his side, standing close to him, her left hand going to his arm and her right hand around his waist.  With firm, steady pressure, she urged him forward.

Oh, god, she expected him to walk?  He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, he felt completely isolated and out of touch with his surroundings.  Trying to walk like that was unnerving, to say the least.

But he trusted her, and hesitantly allowed her to lead him wherever she wanted.

He was very aware of the fact that he was completely naked, completely helpless, in unfamiliar surroundings, and had no idea what was going on.  The realization was as terrifying as it was exhilarating, and he couldn’t hide his erect, dripping cock.

Progress was slow, but her touch was constant, patient, and gentle.  It helped ease his nerves a bit.  Following her lead was familiar.  Doing what she wanted was calming.  She’d always taken care of him.  He knew that whatever she had planned, she would make sure nothing bad happened.

Those thoughts helped, but did little to calm his racing heart as she continued leading him slowly through the house.

Finally, she stopped, and stepped away.

And the sudden lack of touch brought all the nervousness and anxiety back.  He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and had no idea where he was, or where she was.  That isolation began pressing down on him.  He stood still, waiting for her to come back.  It was all he could do.

He didn’t have to wait long.  He felt the familiar touch on his shoulder, then down his arm.  Gently, she lifted his arm up and clipped his wrist cuff to something that kept his arm in place.  She did the same thing with his other arm, then urged him to spread his legs, and clipped his ankles.

When she was done, he was standing upright, spread-eagle, his legs and arms spread wide and held in place.

He felt extremely vulnerable as she trailed her fingertips down his chest and stomach, stopping just short of his throbbing cock.

In the next moment, she slapped his cock lightly, causing him to jump and flinch.  Another slap, harder this time, brought a gasp and a grunt of pain.

But he was acutely aware that there was nowhere he could go.  He was completely immobilized, completely exposed, completely at her mercy.

Her touch became gentle again, caressing his thighs and stomach.  She brought both hands up and rested them against his chest just as he felt another pair of hands behind him, starting at his shoulders and moving down toward his butt.

Another hand came from the side, starting at his hip and running lightly across his lower stomach.  Yet another came from the other side, moving up the inside of his thigh, brushing lightly against his cock.

His Domina’s hands disappeared, and were quickly replaced by unfamiliar fingers teasing his nipples.

He gasped, squirming, as he was touched all over.  The part of his mind still capable of coherent thought tried desperately to count the pairs of hands, but he couldn’t.  It had to be at least three, probably four.

And his ability to form a coherent thought was completely obliterated when he felt a slick, wet finger reach down between his legs, lightly rubbing against his hole.  He squirmed, gasping, chills running down his spine.

The finger teased him for just a moment before slowly entering him, eliciting a shuddering moan.

It was quickly joined by a second wet finger, and he knew that it was from a different hand.

The two fingers slid in and out of him, exploring him, sometimes moving together, sometimes not.  After a few moments, a third finger entered him, and he had no idea whether it was from a different hand or not.  He couldn’t tell anymore.

It seemed like he was being touched everywhere, every inch of his body.  Hands stroked his cock, fondled his balls, caressed his thighs, teased his nipples.  He couldn’t count them anymore, and he didn’t want to.  He was lost in the sensations.

Suddenly, he felt the restraints holding his arms lower and move forward, pulling him over.  He had no choice but to follow, and was relieved to find that someone had put some sort of stool or bench or small padded table in front of him.  As he was forced to bend over, he rested on the table.

And he felt more vulnerable than he had when he’d been standing up.  His legs were still spread wide, his ass still exposed and full of fingers, his cock still teased and stroked.

Then, the fingers inside him abruptly left, and he was surprised to find himself disappointed.  He wanted the feeling of being filled and stuffed.

He wasn’t disappointed for long, though.  A moment later, he gasped and tensed as a strap-on dildo was thrust smoothly into him, all the way to the hilt.  It was bigger than he was expecting, and his muscles throbbed as they stretched to accommodate it.

More hands teased and stroked his cock, lightly tapping his balls, making him clench his muscles around the dildo that fucked him.

He moaned, pushing his weight back on his heels to meet each thrust, wanting to be fucked deeper, harder.  Strong hands gripped his hips as the cock was pounded into him again and again.  The hands on his cock continued the endless tease, keeping him hard, but not giving him enough to reach an edge.

Then, the thrusting got quicker, harder, more animalistic.  The hands holding his hips dug into him with strong, big fingers.  And then, there was one final, deep thrust, as the cock was pushed as far into him as it would go.  Once again, his muscles throbbed around it.


It wasn’t his muscles that were throbbing.

The cock inside him was throbbing.

The cock inside him was real.

He’d been fucked by a man.  And that man had just cum inside him.

He cried out, struggling, pulling desperately against the restraints, but they were too tight.  He couldn’t move.

The cock inside him was pulled out and immediately replaced with another one.  Another real one.  Before he could react, he felt his head pushed down, and a cock was shoved through the hole in his hood and into his mouth.

He gagged, sputtering, trying to pull away.  But the hands that held him were firm, and kept him in place.

He struggled for a moment longer before the sensations began to overwhelm him again, and his mind once again grew fuzzy.

Practically since they’d met, his Domina had talked about wanting him gangbanged, wanting both his holes stuffed.  Her words had always turned him on, and a big part of him looked forward to it, but he’d never been fucked by a man before.

He hadn’t expected his first time to be like this.

But after a moment, he let go and surrendered to her will, drifting in subspace, fueled by his humiliation and objectification as both his holes were violated for a man’s cheap thrill.  Without his sense of sight or hearing, the sensations seemed to become more intense, and he found himself overwhelmed and unable to put a clear thought together.

The man in his mouth came first.  It surprised him, and he gagged once before swallowing, knowing his Domina well enough to know that she was somewhere nearby, watching, and that’s what she would want him to do.

The cock in his mouth was replaced by another one, and once again, his face was brutally and mercilessly fucked.

Time seemed to get blurry after that.  He had no idea how long he was kept there, bent over a bench or a stool, completely violated and humiliated, completely exposed and open for anyone who wanted to use him.

He had no idea how many men had fucked him.  He knew he swallowed at least two more loads of cum.  Trying to keep track of how many had cum in his ass was harder.

It seemed like hours had passed.  His ass was raw and throbbing, his jaw was sore and stiff, and he had no way of knowing how much longer this would continue.

But finally, the cock in his mouth came, but wasn’t replaced with another one.  Shortly after, the cock in his ass quivered and throbbed as it came inside him.  It wasn’t replaced with another one, either.

Was it finally over?

For what seemed like a long time, he stayed there, bent over, alone.

Then, he felt the cuffs on his ankles removed, allowing him to move his legs.  Familiar, gentle hands moved up his back, to his arms, and unbuckled the wrist cuffs.

Finally released, he collapsed, lowering himself to the carpeted floor, completely exhausted, completely degraded.

She was there, pulling him into her lap, running her hands soothingly over his body as he lied against her.  He took a deep breath and sighed, relaxing.  He couldn’t see her, he couldn’t hear her, but he knew that she was proud of him.

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.


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.


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.


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.

Questions from Stan: Round One

A reader, Stan, commented on this post, and asked the following question:

“…making him doubt who and what he is, breaking him down completely and utterly, and building him back up.” How does one completely break down someone and then build them up? How can you tell someone they are worthless and an hour later tell them they are worthy?

This has been edited for grammar, because it was bothering me.


First of all, this quote has been taken rather obnoxiously out of context.

I’m wondering if that’s part of the reason why the question was posed in a different post, rather than the one containing the quote you used.  You did this both with this question, and with the other question you asked about a different quote (which will be answered in another post).

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?  Did you think I wouldn’t realize that you’d taken half a sentence from an 800-word post and tried to make it about something else?

There is no “reading between the lines” on my blog.  There is no insinuation, innuendo, intimation, or any other “in-” words you can think of.  I’m blunt as fuck, and I’m very deliberate in meaning what I say.  Don’t put words in my mouth.  That half a sentence (and the sentences before and after it) had nothing to do with humiliation and degradation.


In this particular case, the quote is taken from this post.  And here’s the entire quote, along with the paragraph above it, for, you know, context:

I love a good mind-fuck.  Especially when a sub is in that moment, where he’s nice and overwhelmed, his senses overloaded, in the middle of being beaten or fucked, or just generally distracted.  In that moment, I love asking complicated questions, trick questions, or anything he’ll have trouble answering.  I love making him flustered, watching him get himself into trouble, and basically just talking himself into a corner.  That’s awesome.

More than that, though, I love just getting into a boy’s head, making him doubt who and what he is, breaking him down completely and utterly, and building him back up.  That’s such a rush.

There is nothing about humiliation or degradation here.  That was covered far earlier (and in glorious detail, because humiliation is fucking awesome) in the post.

But, in the interest of educating the masses, I’ll answer the two questions you posed here.  Because this quote was taken out of context, the two questions you asked are asking about different things, and therefore have different answers.

How does one completely break down someone and then build them up?

To answer this, you first need to understand subspace and what it is. Subspace is a psychological state that submissives often experience during a scene. It’s difficult to really pin down a unified definition, because every submissive experiences it differently, and the same sub can have different experiences from one session to another.

But it’s caused by the release of a number of chemicals into the body, along with emotional and mental triggers that create a physiological response. You’ve got epinephrine/adrenaline (your fight-or-flight response), endorphins (shit that makes you feel good), serotonin (which is partly responsible for arousal and sexual desire), enkephalins (shit that’s released to help deal with pain), and a rash of other hormones that interact to create a euphoric, floating psychological state.

Many subs have talked about feeling hyper-focused, the Dominant and the session becoming the objects of that focus, and the rest of the world melts away.

It’s very complex, fascinating mental and emotional ride. But, with a little bit of knowledge and a metric fuckton of practice, a Dominant can learn how to manipulate the subspace, manipulate that ride, taking subs deeper, or keeping them out of it completely.

And there is so much about my particular brand of BDSM and D/s that is emotional and mental.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoy beating the fuck out of boys.

Like, a lot.

But anyone can beat someone. Anyone can take a paddle or a crop or a cane or a flogger or insert-impact-toy-here and use it to hit someone else. Anyone can tie someone up and do mean things to them. There’s nothing special about that.

But a boy’s emotional and mental state? That’s where the real fun comes in. And that’s where the real power comes from. That’s what I love, and I use a variety of tools to get the reaction I want.

My goal with any boy is to learn as much about him as I can, as soon as I can.  From the very first message he sends, I look at his grammar, vocabulary, tone and mood of writing, I look at his approach, I look at how he addresses me.  I look at his profile, I look at how he describes himself, what he feels is important enough to include on it, how he sells himself to potential partners.  If he has pictures, I look at those.  You can learn a lot about a guy from the pictures he posts (or doesn’t post) on his profile.

When we meet in person, I’m still paying attention.  I’m looking at his posture, speech patterns, how he dresses, how he carries himself, how he interacts with bartenders/wait staff, I’m looking at his body language, I’m looking at what he does with his hands, I’m looking at whether or not he fidgets.  I’m looking at how he interacts with me in a vanilla conversation.  I’m looking at his sense of humor.

Most of the time, I’ll allow him to guide the conversation, allow him to pick the topics.  And I’m looking at what he wants to talk about, what he’s knowledgeable about.  I’m looking at how he presents himself when talking about something he knows a lot about.  I’m looking at how he talks about his job, his family, his friends.  I’m looking at the stories he chooses to share.

I do all of this to get a basic understanding of the way he acts and reacts, and his general “default” emotional and mental state.  Once I’ve got a pretty good idea of what that is, I can start looking for things that trigger a response that falls outside of that “default” state.

And once that happens, I’m in.

Because I’ve already learned so much about him, I’m able to predict what kind of manipulation he’ll react best to, how to quickly and efficiently take hold of his mind, how to get into his head.

And that’s where my fun starts.

I push him farther into my BDSM world, I push him deeper, I push him darker.  I deliberately keep him off-balance, keep him unstable, keep him from gaining any kind of leverage.  I find out what scares him and use that against him.  I push him (sometimes brutally-fucking-shove him) out of his comfort zone and don’t let him back in.  I keep him uncomfortable.

As time goes on, and I push harder and harder, and get deeper and deeper into his head, my control of him increases exponentially.  And at some point, I will break him.

How I do that varies from person to person.  It’s a very intimate moment, something I’ve been working toward for weeks, months, maybe even years.  It’s tailored specifically to the boy I’m with.  What would break one boy may be quite enjoyable to another.  But there is some act involved, usually after a period of a few days of constant torment, pain, humiliation, bondage, constant mental and emotional manipulation, constant manipulation of the subspace (and subdrop), that utterly breaks him.

Now, this is the point where Dominants can really cause some serious fucking mental and emotional damage.  I’ve heard a lot of horror stories, and it can take subs years to untangle their minds from the Dominant’s influence.

But I’m not that kind of sadist.  I care about my boys.  I respect and cherish my boys.  I have no desire to hurt them in that way.  The very idea of it repulses and angers me.  The fact that some people can be so irresponsible with that power is infuriating.

I don’t do that.

By the time I break a boy, I know him very intimately.  I know his hopes, his dreams, his fears, his insecurities, his strengths and his weaknesses.  I know what worries him, I know what frightens him, I know what he has trouble accepting about himself and about others.  I know his faults, his demons, I know all of those little chinks in his armor.

I use what I know about him to build him back up.  And I use his own strengths to do it.  I use his strengths to conquer his weaknesses.  If he happens to be weak in an area where I’m strong, I’ll use my strength to fill that particular hole.

Again, the process is very different for each person.  There’s no real step-by-step guide I can write out.  It’s something that must be felt, must be experienced.  It’s something intensely intimate, something very private.

But in the end, he’s stronger than he was before.  He has fewer demons than he did before.  He’s been broken, he’s been brought low, he’s been made to confront the parts of himself that he doesn’t like or is uncomfortable with, maybe even afraid of, and he’s survived.

And it doesn’t “end” there.  The relationship doesn’t fizzle once that particular goal has been reached.  It’s a whole new level of trust, a whole new level of intensity that makes everything I’ve done to him before seem innocent.  Once he’s been broken and built back up, there’s even more of his mind I can explore.

It’s never-ending, and it’s fucking awesome.  So that’s how one completely breaks down someone and then builds them up.

Now, for your second question:

How can you tell someone they are worthless and an hour later tell them they are worthy?

Again, much of my particular brand of BDSM is mental and emotional, and I use a variety of tools to put a boy mentally where I want him to be.

Humiliation is one of my favorite tools in that particular toolbox.

But to understand why, you first have to understand how humiliation works.

Humiliation stimulates the same areas of the brain as physical pain. On top of that, humiliation releases a very specific set of chemicals into our bodies that gives us that uncomfortable “embarrassed” feeling. Eroticizing that is no different than eroticizing pain, from a strictly physical standpoint.

But it’s the emotional side that is just so fucking awesome. Everyone reacts to humiliation differently, but at its simplest, eroticized humiliation is consensual humiliation, within agreed-upon limits and boundaries, that is used to create a specific emotional state in both the Domme and the sub.

And those limits are different with everyone. I had one boy who absolutely adored being called things like “slut,” or “bitch,” or “whore,” but didn’t react well at all to things like “worthless” or “pathetic.” I had a boy who loved being made to stay off of furniture or made to eat from a dog bowl, but wasn’t so much into the verbal side. I’ve known boys who didn’t react well to having their masculinity attacked, boys who didn’t react well to having physical characteristics attacked (such as small-penis humiliation), boys who didn’t react well to certain things because of issues of in the past, etc.

Just as limits and boundaries are set with physical pain, they are set with humiliation as well.

But, for those that condemn humiliation play, a) fuck off, because this is my blog and I can say that, and b) while humiliation is generally considered “edge play” because of the intense emotional response, and potential risk for emotional harm, it’s in pretty much every fucking aspect of kink.

Foot fetish?  That falls under the category of humiliation play. Cuckolding, feminization, supervised masturbation, eye contact or speech restrictions, wearing a collar, age play and pet roleplay, calling your sub names like “boy,” “slave,” etc., chastity, objectification, and literally thousands of other things fall under the category of humiliation play.

For those of you that insist on people you don’t own calling you by a title or using an honorific, a) fuck off, because this is my blog and I can say that, and b) that’s humiliation play.  Hell, even with a boy you own, making him use a title is humiliation play.  Once I own a boy, I want him to use a title when addressing me, rather than my first name.  I want him to say, “Yes, Mistress,” or “Yes, Domina,” or “Yes, Ma’am,” rather than “Yeah.”

And that’s a pretty fucking common thing.  And it’s humiliation play.  Using humiliation with sexual stimulation is one of the easiest ways to get a sub into subspace, due to the emotional release that so often accompanies humiliation play.

That’s like, BDSM 101.

So how does that translate to verbal degradation, such as calling a boy worthless?  Humiliation and degradation are very large (and fucking awesome) categories, but because you asked specifically about calling a boy worthless, we’ll stick to that.

I thoroughly enjoy humiliating a boy, in pretty much any way, shape, or form.  But it’s important to understand that what I’m doing is eroticized and consensual.  When I call a boy worthless, it is not because I actually think he’s worthless.  It’s because both he and I understand that it’s eroticized, and we both enjoy the emotional responses we get from it.

It’s similar to a sub with a play rape fetish (which, as it happens, also falls under the humiliation category).  Eroticized, consensual play-rape scenarios have been carefully constructed to adhere to the boundaries agreed upon by the “victim” and the “attacker.”  Often, there’s a safeword.  The victim may feel actual fear, may experience a real fight-or-flight response, and may react on some level as if the scene were real.  But make no mistake, the victim enjoys the rush they get from that scenario.  It’s hot.  It’s sexy.  The victim is turned-the-fuck-on and wants the scene to continue.

Take away the consent, and now you’ve got something completely different.  It’s not hot anymore.  It’s fucking damaging.

That’s humiliation play, in a nutshell.  Consensual, erotic humiliation is hot.  Humiliating and degrading someone who doesn’t want to be humiliated or degraded is absolutely not.

The quote you pulled here is recent, but the other quote you mentioned in another question is from one of my very earliest entries, which leads me to believe you’ve read my entire blog.

Having read my entire blog, do you honestly think I’d play with anyone I didn’t respect? If I genuinely thought someone was worthless, I certainly wouldn’t play with him.  And every boy I play with knows that.

I will call a boy worthless because of the emotional and psychological triggers it hits, both in me and the consenting boy I’m playing with. It’s because I know him well enough to know the mental and emotional reaction he’ll have to being called worthless, and I’ll use that to put him in the headspace I want him in.

And, because this is eroticized humiliation, he knows that I don’t actually think he’s worthless. That’s the way it is with all moderate to extreme humiliation, and part of the reason why it’s such an intimate practice.

So, once that knowledge is there and understood, it frees up both parties to be able to sort of suspend their intellectual side and simply enjoy the emotional ride.  Kazander can enjoy the emotional response he gets from being humiliated and degraded, and I can enjoy using that emotional response to achieve my own goals.

And it’s important to remember that the act is consensual.  Everyone’s brain is wired differently, and humiliation hits on some pretty deep emotional triggers.  So different forms of humiliation have different effects on different people.  It’s important to at least have a basic understanding of your sub’s psyche before engaging in that kind of play.

If I’m playing with a boy, and I know he won’t react well to being called worthless, I won’t call him worthless.  If I do, it will push a deep emotional button in a bad way, rather than a hot, sexy way.  It’ll cause him emotional harm, and I don’t want to do that.  I care about the boys I play with.  I don’t want to harm them.

Some boys simply aren’t wired to enjoy that particular word being directed at them.  And because they’re not, I have absolutely no desire to say it to them.

But some, like kazander, thoroughly and truly enjoy the emotional response it triggers.

And I enjoy the effect it has on him, so I will call him worthless.  I’ll call him pathetic.  I’ll tell him he has no hope of ever being a real man. I’ll tell him he’s a useless piece of shit, and a waste of space, and I don’t know why I married him, and he should be grateful that I allow such a pitiful loser to touch me.

And he loves every fucking minute of it, and begs for more.  That’s why it’s hot, because he loves it, because I can use it to manipulate his headspace.  If he didn’t love it, if it actually made him feel bad, it obviously wouldn’t be hot, and I’d feel like shit for saying it.

Calling him worthless doesn’t tear him down.  It doesn’t break him.  It doesn’t harm him.

That’s the way it is for all verbal humiliation.  As long as the boy enjoys it, and it’s consensual, everything is awesome.

Because it's my blog, and if I have to have this song stuck in my head for the rest of the night, so do you.

Because it’s my blog, and if I have to have this song stuck in my head for the rest of the night, so do you.

So that’s how I can call a boy worthless, and then tell him an hour later that he’s worthy.  Because I understand his mind and his emotional response to the word.  Because I know my boys.