Monday, May 15, 2017

Anniversary: What a Strange, Submissive, Kinky, Sissy Year It's Been

You don’t know me, but I’ve had a big year.

Around the middle of May, 2016, after a lot of nervous planning and building up courage, and after one particularly frustrating delay, I stepped inside the front door of a professional Dominant’s dungeon.

Before that day, it had been around 10 years since I had submitted in person. During those intervening years, I had tried everything from attempting a life without kink, I’d scened online on websites and IRC, I’d found varying success with online Dommes, serving over distance with such real life implementation as I could.

Eventually, I just needed to feel it. It’s different.

There are a lot of things you can do on your own, with the guidance and control of someone else. You can even be subjected to providing proof of your compliance via emailed photos (which is a hell of a lot easier now than it was 10 years ago, I can promise you).

You can’t really be helpless though. You can’t feel yourself completely given over to the control of someone else. You can’t have those sensations while you feel them inches from you, or grazing against you with teasing intention.

This isn’t the place where I tell you what happened in that session a year ago. This isn’t the post where I give the details of the two other consultations and two other sessions that happened after them. This isn’t where I recount that I’ve been wonderfully guided to submit wonderful dominants and even crossed one big threshold for me. I’ve written those, and there are on this blog already.

I can’t believe it’s all just been in one year though. There may be some among those that read this who get to serve every week, who have the freedom to kneel and offer up their submission as a constant part of their lives, but that isn’t me.

Other things have happened too. I’ve written before about how interaction between myself and another male sub online got to feel like teasing, like flirting, and how that led my mind to wider expressions of submission. Perhaps just as surprising, I’ve had interactions between myself and other male subs lead to friendship. Actually get together for lunch and beer friendship. It’s a joy to talk to others who understand the bliss of when things work out and the frustrations when they don’t. I truly look forward to the future these friendships will have.

But an anniversary needs a celebration, and a blog post needs a point.

And so, what better way could I mark this anniversary than to be knocking on the door of a Domme’s dungeon?

Once again I felt those nerves, that excitement. I was welcomed in, with a playful and knowing smile. I felt that almost giddy helplessness at her control, as she instructed me on the proper way one should strip before one’s instructor, and how then one should re-dress with all the grace one can muster.

Those exquisite emotions of having a sissifying outfit be composed upon my body, of being given pretty things to wear and new curves to caress, and to have the look be completed with her choice of wig and the gentle and intimate completion of my makeup. These may not be the moments that get captured in fetish photography, but they are seared into my memory - eyelids heavy with false eyelashes, held softly closed as they dry, with my lips parted, feeling the individual strokes of her lipstick brush.

It’s easy to feel awkward when you’re stumbling across the floor in an attempt to stay upright on heels - but with her outstretched fingers she gave me balance and acceptance and safety. Her voice, her pleasure expressed even in soft laughter, allowed me to know that in her eyes and control I was sexy. I was the sissy student in her Finishing School, being so carefully taught how to move for the pleasure of those eyes upon me. How to communicate with a new confidence that new creature in the mirror could be alluring, could be attractive, could even be taught to move and dance like a trainee stripper to the music filling the room. My hands, guided over the lace and silk, over the panties and bra, squeezing and caressing these new breasts, aroused me and inspired the presence of the imposing rubber cock that soon filled my field of vision, then my mouth. Being taught to suck and even how to moan and gasp as a proper sissy slut should.

I was led, with such wonderful care and wickedness, to these new heights of sensation, yes, but even more powerfully of emotion. Helpless, trapped, spread and displayed, I was transported beyond myself. I felt the leather cuffs holding my wrists over my head, I felt the bar between my ankles holding me helpless, but really I just felt myself lifted somewhere new. I can honestly say that I’ve never been as close to orgasm and tears at the same time before.

I don’t think you can know what will stick in your memory after an experience like this. Does it make sense that I know exactly how it felt to to feel the panties stretched across my ass as leaned forward with instructions to move my body to amuse her, but that I’m not quite sure how often I was naked in front of her? How do I explain the memory of the safety and joy I felt in her eyes when she smiled at me, but when asked I’m no longer sure of what she was wearing?

What I do know is this: like any good anniversary celebration, it made me look back at the year with profound thanks, and look forward to many more in the future.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Schedules: A FemDom Erotic Story of Taking Control

He hadn't seen her in too long and he missed her control acutely, as if he were missing a limb. There hadn't been any falling out, just a battle of schedules, and it was frustrating them both.

Finally, an opening had materialized, and they were both going to be free and in-town on Sunday. He begged, and she agreed to see him. He took her out to dinner at a wonderful new restaurant of her choosing. As usual, she signaled that she was ready to go when she asked for his wallet. He didn't hesitate before sliding it out of his jacket and sliding it across the table to her. She placed the pair of pink frilly panties over it, and he took them into his hand. He wasn't allowed to move too quickly, as she loved the idea that the waitress might see them before he could slide them back to his side of the table and into his trouser pocket.

While she settled up the tab, he left quietly to go the washroom. He had to put on the thong she had chosen and simply discard the boxers he had worn. It was a ritual by now while it had really embarrassed him the first time, making him frightfully aware of the possibility of panty lines under his suit pants, now it was a welcome signal that a powerful evening was beginning.

It was a powerful evening, to be sure. She started with teasing him and moved on to restraining him in order to tease him even more. When he was ready to burst, she switched to torment, and she reddened his ass thoroughly, made his nipples pulse and swell in pain and used his mouth and ass roughly. Next she allowed him to touch her with his tongue and lips, commanding him to bring her to slow, satisfying release. Finally, as she was feeling gracious, she pushed him back and rode his rigid cock hungrily. She pulled off of him before his own release, and he was reduced to licking up his own mess from the hardwood floor.

He fetched them both drinks, and was sent into the washroom to clean up and perfume his body. He returned to sit at her feet they drank and chatted together, reliving those moments they had both particularly enjoyed. That was the last he remembered until he awoke.

It was strange to wake up standing. Though, to be accurate, he wasn't really standing so much as he was suspended. His wrists were held in cuffs, and pulled up towards the ceiling. His feet could feel a thick carpet beneath them, but something was holding them wide, likely a spreader bar from his experience. Since attempting to open his eyes didn't get him anywhere, he could tell he was blindfolded effectively. Speaking was out of the question too, as he became uncomfortable aware of a rubber dildo gag stuffed into his mouth and buckled tightly.

He felt air moving over his body, but could also feel the tightness of some soft fabrics on him as well he was wearing something, just not much.

He moaned a bit, to at least feel the satisfaction of making some noise. He heard her voice from behind him and turned his head toward the source.

"Finally, you're awake. Nod if you feel okay."

He nodded, as her version of "okay" meant "not bleeding, not suffocating and not in blinding pain."

"Good," she said and sounded like she meant it. Her hands were moving softly and lovingly over him. "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed last night, and how it made me confirm a decision I'd been thinking about regarding you."

Her phrase "last night" made him realize just how long he'd been asleep, but he didn't have time to think much about it, since she was continuing.

"I think we've both been frustrated by how your work had gotten between your tongue and my pussy. I know I've been annoyed that I can't simply have you when I want. So, I decided that, since I wanted it, I wouldn't be a very good Mistress if I didn't insist on it. But, since I'm compassionate, I'm going to help you give me what I want."

At that, she moved around him and pulled down what he now recognized as panties, exposing his cock and ass. She massaged his shaft and he grew quickly hard. Once his size satisfied her, she buckled a tight leather harness around his member, trapping his balls as well. Since he couldn't really bend over, trapped as he was, she gave him the gift of generous lubrication before she pushed the sizable plug up into his ass. He moaned deeply behind the gag, and she giggled as she tucked him all back into the panties. She moved upwards on his body, and she had to release one wrist at a time to get him into what he realized was a bra. With it strapped onto his chest, and him back fully in restraints, she tucked in molded breast forms into the cups, filling them perfectly.

As he was sinking into the helplessness of his situation, feeling all the strange sensations, his body jumped a bit when she spoke again.

"You see, your boss, Amanda, has been experiencing the most frustrating occurrences. It seems every time she goes to her gym, someone breaks into her locker and steals her most expensive lingerie. It's an exclusive gym, so she's quite upset, as you can imagine. She'll be even more upset if she finds out you're currently wearing it, don't you think?"

He could hear her giggling from behind him when she removed his blindfold. He wanted to scream and run when he realized where he was but that was, of course, impossible.

"Silly of you to get yourself tied up in her very own office then, slut."

He was panicking, wanting to scream. His was shaking and writhing, even though he knew he could never pull himself free of the wooden frame that she had set up in the middle of Amanda's large and luxurious office. He was set up right in front of her desk, and facing the door that could open at any time to his doom.

She leaned up close, still behind him, and whispered into his ear. "You are going to get fired so wonderfully, it will be a legend here for years to come, my slut."

He heard her gathering up her things as his writhing was turning into a kind of acceptance.

"Oh, and don't worry, I'll be right here when she calls."

He was confused for a moment, wondering how his boss might know to call his Mistress, but as she turned back to blow him a kiss as she slid out of the office, he saw her dressed in a perfect police uniform.

He could only wait now, for his world to end.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Confessions of a Hotel Sissy

It felt like a long day already, especially given that it had started around 5am in a time zone three hours earlier than the current one. Since then there had been the waiting, the flight, the train, the work meetings broken up only by the work lunch, and then the obligatory but much appreciated drink at the hotel bar.

But now, now was when the day began for me. Now was the start of what I’d been looking forward to from the moment my latest work trip was confirmed. I was alone in my hotel room, finally getting a chance to read Domina’s instructions.

Anticipation had been delicious. Questions had been asked, like just what might a submissive man who is more than happy to be and obedient sissy be able to find for Her use, teasing and torment of him in a downtown pharmacy? After all the suggestions, I was finally looking at the definitive list of Her choices. Oh, and added to that list: a nice dildo from that lovely adult toy store that just happened to also be right downtown.

Reality doesn’t feel like fantasy, but it can be add so much in all its gritty reality. The clerk at the pharmacy doesn’t really look knowingly at you when the parade of strange products is rung in. Even the wonderfully kind and knowledgeable staff at Honey’s doesn’t start to tease as She describes how some people the  sensation of the molded cock head popping past their lips. Reality means you’re walking these blocks with heavy bags with only the personal and secret anticipation of what is to come.

My heart was pounding from the moment the door closed behind me.

There were limitations. Realities. But She is so adept at moving beyond them, even using them to Her advantage.

Her first simple instruction: Strip. Remove ever stick of current clothing. Then lay out all the purchases on the hotel bed and send Her the photo.

While She inspected them all, I was sent to the tub with the bubble bath. I was to relax and soak and prepare my mind as the lovely lavender scent sunk into my flesh. I felt the work day sink away from me as the soft scent took me over.

Next up, after this period of relaxation, rinse off, and with the pretty pink lady razor, I was to make my sissy clit and balls smooth and ready for Her. What was I to wear after this intimate task? Just the black sheer nylons.

When I was first commanded into panties or stockings or even high heels, I felt silly. Teasing humiliation was the primary power. That still exists for me, of course, as a man of my generation and upbringing is hard pressed to feel another way at first. But I have learned. In that hotel room, I was starting to be dressed for Her. As Her sissy, yes, but as She desired.

She took a break to eat while I took the next commanded steps. I stumbled my way through affixing the pretty pink press-on nails onto my fingers. The feeling of newness to this, the difficulty of it for a first-timer - these were experiences given to me on purpose. The most surprising and effective - I was going to be typing much of my interaction with Her, and now I felt those nails with every awkward click of my fingers on the keyboard.

Applying mascara onto my eyelashes was so easy by comparison. The pink blush was a bit more difficult, as I’d neglected to get proper application tools. But why, oh why, had no one told me until now how hot even my own lips would look pursed and glossy with liquid lipstick?

I was now becoming the image of Her true sissy slut.

She started to build up my physical sensations. Those little spring loaded hair clips, one then two, applied onto my sissy clitty to build on the ache that over 75 days of commanded chastity had given me. Then three pretty pink hair elastics around my balls for just enough grip to tease them. Three at first, and then more, more, until not more could be fit above my tight, smooth balls.

What do we think of, as submissive men, when we hear the title, “sissy slut”? Does “slut” mean wanton, shameless, promiscuous? I felt that way as upon command I pulled back the curtains and sheers to the city lights and walked back and forth on display, seen by the recording for Domina as well as by any unknown eyes that watched.

Beyond the clothing, is “sissy” always followed by “cocksucker”? I felt that it must, as I obeyed and pressed the suction cup of the pink silicone dildo against the window, judging just what height my mouth would be as I would kneel before it.

The camera stared at me as I obeyed. I had practice and preparation to from as I performed. Sucking, moaning, slurping, worshipping the rubber toy. Sometimes I wanted to look past the glass to see if anyone really was looking back at me, but in other moments I wanted them closed in denial, as I pushed as deep as I could, to that edge of gagging, while my hands roamed over my chest and pinched at my nipples.

Something like that can maybe feel like a long time when you’re doing it. It’s strange, it’s embarrassing. It plays on those same taboos as the panties, with even more power. But then, you stop and check, and it’s been about 45 seconds.

Domina knew this. Domina knew how to use the power of this to make me feel Her control over these emotions and sensations even more powerfully.

Set up the camera first.
Have the easy release first aid tape within reach.
Start the timer.
Kneel before the dildo, still mounted obscenely from the floor-to-ceiling window.
With the tape, wrap around my head until I am simply and effectively blindfolded.
Suck. Worship. Moan. Deep throat. Caress and pinch and tease.

It was no longer my choice to look and see if I was being watched. It was no longer my choice when to stop.

It was just mine to obey. To worship the toy in obedient performance. To feel how it’s different as time goes on and you start to drool a bit more. To start to think about how being on the 5th floor means possible visibility from the other towers as well as the street perhaps. To think, as it feels like it’s been so long, that maybe you’ve messed up and the timer isn’t working or it’s on silent. But you just keeps sucking and licking and slurping away in trust and obedience. In submission. Because I’m Her sissy slut plaything and this is what She wanted. What She demands. What will please Her.

The timer did sound. With red cheeks and a used mouth I stood and peeled the tape to see again.

Her reassurance, Her joy, before even seeing the evidence is like a drug. It’s bliss. I had done it. I had succeeded and She was giggling and growling in appreciation.

She feeds me with Her reassurance and joy.

Then it’s time for the dildo to move onto the seat of my chair. It’s time for my nylons to be tugged down to the tops of my thighs. It’s time for another bit of evidence of how I look aching and tormented for Her and by Her.
It’s time for just enough Icy Hot to have me squirming in anticipation and then in tingling warmth. It’s time for the lube to coat the pink cock. It’s time for Her blissful subspaced sissy to slowly lower himself down and impale himself upon it.

It’s time for me to moan and shudder and feel Her knowledge that every bit of this is for Her and that She’s proud of me for doing it.  It’s time for the clamps to removed, one by one from my sissy clit. It’s time for the band to be teased off with a snap, each of them, realizing only as I take them off that there have been 12.

It’s time to be surprised by Domina’s command to use that first aid tape to trap those teased balls in a wrapped cocoon. Denying them any more sensation except ache.

It’s time to rise up and down and ride that dildo and edge my denied cock once more, as I know She’s watching the video of my blindfolded rubber cock sucking. It’s time for one of the flavoured condoms to be put on so that not one drop of precum is wasted. I’m teased by the tiny bubbles forming inside its pink enclosure.

And then it’s Really time. Her words of teasing control and ownership and appreciation are making me swoon. Physical sensations are almost overwhelming.

Permission is a command.

I stroke and moan and gasp and shudder. She wants it ruined, an additional tease after all these days of chastity, so that once the threshold is passed, I’m allowed no contact, but that doesn’t stop this climax from being one of the most intense and overwhelming ones in my history.

I grip the arms of the chair as I look down and watch myself spurt and fill up the condom.

She’s with me. Bringing me down. Calming me. Caring for me.

She’s with me as I truly complete this release, devouring every drop.

I can feel Her with me as I’m guided to unwrap the tape. As I’m allowed to lift myself up off the toy inside me. I can almost feel Her touch as She receives my emotions and tells me how proud She is of me.

We talk and share, and I’m Hers even as I start to soak the fake fingernails off.

Relaxing, once again wearing just the nylons, I send Her my voice in heartfelt thanks.

I sleep naked, with just these amazing memories and sensations to warm me.

She’s fulfilled the best of my dreams and anticipations in ways beyond what I could have guessed. Domina has made me feel sissy, slutty and depraved, but at the same time desired, sexy and arousing. I’m proud to be Hers and She’s proud to have me.

Bliss.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Her Pleasure


My wife and Mistress has a way about talking about topics or situations in general with me, a mix of sounding me out and laying out her desires. It shows her care, but she also makes it clear each time that the rules of our relationship are still in place. She is Mistress and I am hers. Another aspect of these talks is that once the talk is complete, the ideas in her head may percolate for days or weeks before they are translated into action.

So there was no reason to suspect anything was different when she gave me my morning instructions. After preparing her meal in just the apron, serving her and cleaning up, I was sent off to fully clean myself. “Fully” had its own meaning for us, and it meant I was not to reappear until I was groomed, shaved and cleaned, inside and out.

When I emerged, spotless and soft and smooth, everything had been laid out for me. Perhaps the completeness of my wardrobe should have been a hint, but it was not so unusual to have raised any flags for me.

The plug was one of the larger ones, and it took some deep breathing to wriggle all the way inside and home. In contrast, the pink silicone cage was rather snug, especially with the ordeal of preparation already making me tingle.

I rolled the stockings up my legs carefully and and centred the belt around my hips before tugging up and clipping the garters. The tiny lace panties were small enough to seem mostly a decoration to frame the bulge of the chastity cage. High heels this time as well, the locking ones.

The matching bra, complete with the stuffing of the newest breast forms she’d had me purchase in person - the large DD pair. Mistress had to help me with the corset, just to make sure it was laced tight enough for her satisfaction. Next the blush, the lipstick and the lip gloss. Even the blonde wig this time.

She’d put out the leather wrist and ankles cuffs as well. One pair for my wrists and the other for my ankles. Maybe I would have started to ask a few questions soon, but she had me open up for the ring gag, the one with the pink silicone lips, the one that made my mouth look a pair of pillows spread for cock.

We have a large bedroom, though Mistress has made it clear that it is now her bedroom that I’m allowed to share. “My” bedroom is what used to be the spare bedroom - now all made out in princess pinks. In Mistress’s large bedroom, there are a few bondage points, and today she pulled a chain down from the ceiling ring located a few feet from the foot of the large bed. My wrists were led up over my head and locked to the chain, stretching me up almost to my toes. The spreader bar locked between my ankles removed the “almost.”

“I told you, sissy,” she whispered breathlessly into my ear, “that when I took a bull, that I might let you watch.”

The doorbell chimed, and she was gone.

There was a lot to process. There was a man here. He was going to fuck my wife. He was going to see me, like this. As a bound and caged and gagged sissy. Submissive to and subjugated to his wife. Not only aware, but forced to watch. What kind of man is willing to fuck a woman with an audience? With another man, albeit a sissy, watching?

There was the pop of a champagne cork. There was laughter. There was clinking of glasses.

There was me drooling on my own fake tits.

Before long, the stumbled into the bedroom, neither of them sparing me more than a glance. He was big, fit, muscular. His hands seemed so large as they pawed at my wife’s body. He was pretty much tearing her clothes from her, and she was keeping pace. She pushed him against the foot of the bed as she knelt down to tug his jeans from him, then his boxers. His fingers dragged through her long hair as she started to moan around him. He smiled at me and actually winked as her mouth became full of his cock.

She moaned and slurped and gasped, getting him on edge enough so that he forgot me once more. He actually growled before he pulled back, lifting her up into his arms and dropped her onto the bed on all fours. Her panties had somehow remained on until now, and he tore them from her, tossing them back in my direction.

He fucked her. He Fucked her. His cock was hard and big and they were both boiling with lust. He grunted and thrust and ground into her. She pushed back, her ass slapping against him as her moans turned into screams of pleasure beyond words.

She’d never made those sounds with me.

She never cum so many times with me as she did then. A few times on all fours, a few more when he rolled her onto her back and crawled over her. She even had another rolling set of orgasms as she sucked his cock again while fingering herself.

She’d never let me fuck her ass, as he did with her on all fours once more, turned a bit to the side, so my view could be complete.

He fucked her unconscious. She quite literally passed out from the pleasure and exhaustion. He took this moment to get up to relieve himself, heading into the en suite. My arms ached, my ass ached, my caged cock ached, and I blushed, looking down at her, ravaged and pleased in a way I’d never been able to satisfy her. I realized then that she deserved this - deserved more that I could give her as her sissy slave.

Lost in these thoughts, I was surprised when he slapped my ass as he returned. He stood right in front of me, reaching out to pull the front of my panties out and down. He looked down at my caged member, the stroked his own.

“No wonder she needed more,” he laughed.

I blushed a deep, fresh red.

He walked over to her, two fingers tracing the red, warm, wet lips of her satisfied sex. She stirred but didn’t wake. He pushed the fingers into my gagged open mouth. I couldn’t help but taste them both.

“Maybe next time she’ll let you taste it too, slut.”

Being in control as she is, Mistress keeps my wallet on her bedside table. He seemed to know it would be there. He picked it up, opened it, and helped himself to what seemed to be a hundred or so. He dressed and passed close to me again as he left.

“She knows, don’t worry. She made it VERY clear that you were paying.”

He laughed as he left, turning out the lights. I heard that laugh right up to the sound of the door slam.

Mistress didn’t wake until morning. I may have passed out a few times, suspended there, but my dreams were mixed with memories. In time, after sunrise lit the room, she awoke with a warm smile. She seemed sore and ginger as she rose. She left me there as she showered. She freed the bondage, but I stayed dressed while I cleaned the room and changed the sheets. I was almost glad of the gag, truly not yet knowing what to say.

Monday, January 16, 2017

The First Meeting (sub)

as seen on twitter, as inspired by https://twitter.com/omgadomme/status/820389251124723712

The First Meeting (sub)


She picked the restaurant and of course I’m early. I can't wait in the cafe any longer so I circle the block on foot until it's time.

Her beauty, perfectly accentuated by every detail of her chosen outfit, makes it nearly impossible for me to think clearly. 

I thrive on stolen glances until her generous permission allows me to raise my eyes to her... to her beauty and to her smile. 

She enjoys how her appearance and stature makes me powerless. The smile that transforms her face makes my heart soar. 

The wine delights and loosens my tongue, the meal is delicious and flavourful, and time flies by as we talk and laugh. 

Walking out of the restaurant, her hand on my lower back is strength and guidance. With a touch she takes hold of my will and mobility.

My voice trembles as I try to speak. “I trust you,” comes out quietly and she smiles once more. I feel my lip between my teeth.

At her car, she turns me, her hands on my hips, and presses me back against it. My heart flutters as I feel her body against mine.

Her breath against my ear. Her breasts against my chest. Her close body now beyond doubt makes her aware of my arousal.

Though I can’t form words, there is no doubt I’ll be the good boy she demands. I feel her hands move up, to find my shoulders. 

I feel grit at my knees as I kneel here, in the space between parked cars, face level with her expert touch at her strap on harness.

“Open your mouth, sweet thing,” She commands, and in the moment my eyes dart about, in the too quiet parking lot, and fear prods me.

I feel myself shaking, my eyes water, but my mouth opens in obedience now, not complaint or resistance. Her wicked smile is reward enough. 

The rubber cock, all too realistically molded, is guided into my mouth. I try to remember, to worship with my lips and tongue, not teeth.

Her words reassure me and warm my soul as she fills my mouth, teases my throat, and makes me drool and moan and gasp around the toy. 

I feel the pressure, the newness, the erotic shame, and the pressure of her thrusting body against the dildo’s base. 

My eyes water and my chin is wet with drool when she slides back, granting me relief, allows me to stand, and praises my efforts. 

My arousal, my visible bulge, only makes me feel more helpless. My mind is begging, and I think I hear myself plead aloud. 

Her hands are strong and guiding. I feel beyond fear, and the world around us seems to fade away, even as I feel her hands on my clothing. 

The fear, the realization of how exposed I am, the awareness of the risk of discovery; they are all there but they dim compared to her will.

There are so many sensations. The car hood beneath me. The cold of the lube. The mixture of ache and pain and joy as I’m filled.

It feels so raw. So wild. I feel her enthusiasm and pleasure as she takes me deep and fast and hard and with abandon. The car shakes. 

It is only as she pulls out of me and I blushingly recover myself that I see the spray of my cum across the gleaming hood of her car. 

We sit, backs against her car, and as we talk and laugh, I try to remember if I truly said those things out loud as she fucked me.

Was I overheard? Were we observed? Is there cellphone video of me being pegged in public being shared online right now? I don’t care. 

I’m blissful in the passenger seat as she drives me home, feeling the memory of her presence in my ass. Her kindness and generosity melt me.

As she pulls away, I reach up and touch were her lips touched my cheek. I can’t recall when I last felt this purely joyful and satisfied. 

...end

Monday, November 28, 2016

Domestic

This past week, something completely new happened to me.

If you know me, which I’m sure you don’t, you know I’m in that category of men who practice their kinks and fetishes discretely and secretly. You know, kinky guys with vanilla lives. If you want to judge me for that, I guess that is okay, but it’s not relevant to this post, other that I need to set the scene that my real life play in any kind of recent way has been with professionals.

That is a relationship dynamic that I feel like I’m getting some kind of understanding of, but it’s a process.

Anyways, this past week I was offered the gift of the opportunity to give domestic service to a Domme whom I’ve served before. This is, to me at least, a BIG DEAL.

Why? So many reasons. It means that a Domme actually thought that I might be able to provide some kind of service to Her, be of use to Her,  outside the scope of a traditional scene. It means that a Domme trusted me enough to open up some small part of Her life and allow me to be close to it while I served. It means a Domme was willing to let me be useful to Her.

This isn’t just that feeling of hoping and wishing that a Domme is getting some personal satisfaction or pleasure out of a scene that is generated by an interpretation of my kinks and interests and where they might mesh with Hers. No, this is Her actually thinking of me and thinking that I might actually be of use, even in some small simple way.

This isn’t that feeling that a Domme has chosen to wear something that She thinks would tease or affect me perfectly in the context of a scene. No, this is a Domme feeling that she can express Her dominance over me wearing whatever she feels like wearing to be comfortable.

It is a gift.

Life being what is it, I was able to serve Her for only about an hour. That I felt called away by the rest of my life too soon is a touch of sourness for me on this, but all of those who serve like I do must find a space to carve for this expression of themselves, and it rarely seems like a perfect balance.

I knew one thing going in. Being allowed to offer domestic service is NOT a scene. It is NOT: “Oh Mistress, please dress me up as a French maid and make me use the feather duster in front of you while you laugh and taunt me.” I think if you want to try to get your mind into this, think of yourself being given a list of chores, brief instructions, and an expectation that you’ll be able to complete them well, as efficiently as possible, with as little needed interaction as possible. If you don’t think that the abstract idea that you’ve lifted some tiny weight off a Domme’s shoulders is satisfaction enough for you, well then this isn’t for you, and you’re not me.

As it was, I was also given the gift of being teased a little by how She wanted me presented, and it was amazing to hear her laugh, but in the reflection that floated over me on my way home, I wondered if, on balance, I would have traded the time it took me to get prepared for Her for that time in simple service -- to get one more task crossed off the list.

In my mind, I was prepared, but in reality afterwards, I found myself slightly taunted by the idea that I could have done each task just a little better. Maybe that is the feeling I need to have to keep me driven, I don’t know. I generally am not the kind of sub who thrives on a sensation of inadequacy, but that doesn’t mean I want to feel like I’m an expert either.

My life being what it is, there are challenges in the way of serving this way as much as I might like, and only time will tell if my attempts at this are deemed to be truly useful, but I shall try all I can to do more, to do better.

Much like a certain tank engine, I want to be found useful, and to earn the gift that has been presented me.

Thank you, Mistress.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Taking Steps Forward

If you've read my previous post about submission beyond gendered attraction, you know some of what I've been able to express about my own personal and mental history when it comes to the idea of being submissive before another man. You may even have wondered, at the open-ended conclusion of that post, what might be next. If you did, well, this post is for you. 

Of late, I've been very blessed. After a mess of my own making, I was found and "taken" by a wonderful Domina online. It has been a joy to serve her, to rededicate myself to the simple focus of making another person happy through my actions and obedience. It helps immensely that She and i are in sync when it comes to our approach, our natures, and when it comes to the way we balance real life with expression fetish and kink. 

Opportunities for me to serve in real life, physically and in person, don't come along all that often. They are a complicated dance of real life schedules, finances, possibility and opportunity. There are to be cherished and milked of all potential and possibility. I think I may have tweeted out once that those opportunities make me have contemplate the choice between trying to repeat some past pleasure and exploring some new desire. 

And so an opportunity arose. I discussed the opportunity and all these thoughts with my Domina. Her response? To tell me without hesitation that I would be going to see and serve a Dom. A man. 

(Oh, and by the way, despite teasing and serving and toys, I would NOT be cumming in the days between that announcement and the appointment, which turned out to be a month.)

From the moment of that decision I was nervous and excited and buzzing with disbelief. I was overjoyed that above everything else, I could be doing this for her, and the idea and every detail of it so clearly pleased Her. 

I need to be clear, of course, that as an appointment with a professional there would be limits to the kinds of physical erotic content that might fill fantasies and dreams, but there would still be more than enough power in the submissive possibilities to fill my thoughts, waking and sleeping. 

In time, the day came. Nerves and all the rest had been built up rather effectively. 

It's not my goal here to recount every experience, but rather to try to continue to reflect on and evaluate how it all affected me and taught me. 

I arrived, was well greeted, and was immediately aware that yes, this man was Dominant. He was stronger than me, though I was taller. He needed no costume to reinforce his role, just the way he spoke and the way he used touch to make a connection, to read my mood and self and reaction. 

After not very long, I was standing before him wearing nothing but the panties and stockings that I'd been instructed to be wearing under my street clothes. I felt controlled and exposed and submissive. I did not feel feminine or humiliated as such, but rather I was displayed and decorated. No, never before had I been before another man in anything near this kind of clothing, but it was the submission I wore that was much more powerfully on my mind. 

He knew me threw the introduction I'd given him, having tried to be as complete and honest as possible, and he knew the way I'd been sent to him. But as the time moved forward it became evident that he also knew me in the way an experienced Dom knows those shared natures that perhaps all submissives have at their core. 

In addition to being as completely obedient as I could be, I was made his and I was made helpless. I wore a training collar around my neck, and restraints controlled my movement and held my body exposed for his use. It was an exposure that was freeing for me, as I was also blindfolded - making every touch a surprise but also helping to free me from issues I might have with the appearance and fitness of my own body.

I felt his touch, still nearly constant, reassuring and controlling and using percussion to express his power and strength. I felt his open hand. I felt the grip of nipple clamps, at times weighted. I felt his flogger. I felt the raw expression of his control as he cut and ripped and tore away my stockings. I felt him use my pain to express my submission and his Dominance, as he expertly built it up and cultivated it. In time I was moaning around the makeshift gag he'd made of one of my ruined stockings, knotted around my head. I was straining against the leather cuffs, using that tension to express myself. 

When he decided it was time, he also used powerful vibration to tease my body with denied pleasure. I recalled that I hadn't mentioned to him the month of chastity, so perhaps he just knew as second nature how to use the ache of my full balls and leaking cock against me.

At the end, I felt his touch change, as he used it bring me back to a gentle landing, helping me transition from the bound and tingling slut naked and moaning around his own cum soaked panties back to something close to the man I was when I entered. When he sent me off with a hug, it was not so different that a hug any two men might share, but there was more knowing in it. 

What do I know now that I didn't before? I know that there truly is a powerful, real life, expression of submission for me that goes beyond the gender of whom I'm serving. I learned how different it feels when arousal or attraction is removed from that Dom/sub relationship. I know a bit more about my own reaction when pain is the primary tool used to make me feel that submission. 

Yes, there were things I didn't "like," at least not as much as other things. There are perhaps part of the experience that I won't search out as part of my next experience. But I judge it all as an unqualified success. I did it. I felt good about it, before, during, and after. The Dom spoke to me of my success as a submissive to him, and I truly believe in his sincerity when he expressed the enjoyment he received from me as a Dominant. 

As details fade or blur, lost in the maze that is one's memory of a time spend blindfolded while taken to extremes, I feel true joy in knowing that I served Him and pleased Him. I feel bliss in the reactions of my Domina to my undertaking this, for her and for me (aided in no small part by the generosity of this Dom in taking a few photos of me at my most helpless, that I might share them with her).

I'm thankful for an experience that will teach me lasting lessons, and that will inform my future submission of all kinds, be those over distance or in person. 

Thank you Sir. Thank you Xia. 

(ps. please feel free to share your own respectful and adult reflections or questions in the comments)