August 27, 2008

What is shi-shi-toi?

Like the mark in Part 2 of the story about The Meeting, Part 3 contained a phrase that raised questions from some readers as well. He leaned in close, smiled at her and kissed her ear, then whisperspoke, "Now, baby, shi-shi-toi." So, what is this shi-shi-toi? It is a made up word, one not used in everyday speech that is used as a trigger, "a nonsensical word composed of bits of other words, or a foreign word, or a word pronounced backwards." This command or trigger word is the only way a girl trained in orgasm control or orgasm on command is permitted release.

Orgasm on command does not happen over night. It's the end result of a process that first makes orgasm much easier to achieve. It takes practice, with the right teacher, to make the kind of mental connection that is necessary. And there's one subtle, yet vitally important, aspect of orgasm control and/or delayed orgasm (delayed orgasm is substantially different than orgasm denial) that makes achieving orgasms easier and orgasm on command possible. The essence of orgasm on command is training such that the focus is shifted from HAVING an orgasm, and the anxiety that ensues, to NOT having an orgasm. That's a substantial and essential part of orgasm control and/or delayed orgasm as well as an underlying foundation for orgasm on command. The "fear" of not being able to orgasm is replaced by "fear" that you will orgasm without permission.

More about this concept and training can be found at Orgasm On Command - Not Just for BDSMers! There are links below the video that discuss the topic in much greater detail.

The essence of the information used here came from the first article - Orgasm Control - Nice explanatory/how-to article

August 19, 2008

Dominant and submissive

Pearls of wisdom? Perhaps not, but nice words to read. I received both of these pieces in emails from the local BDSM club, I liked them enough to share them. While they use specific words, Master and slave, I think they are generally applicable to most BDSM relationships or any relationship perhaps? (I do not know their origins):

A Man who displays sensitivity will be a Master who is sensitive to you.
A Man who displays humility will be a Master who will show you respect.
A Man who is quiet will be a Master who will hear your quietest whisper.
A Man who knows fear will be a Master who will not leave you to face yours alone.
A Man who will listen to a child will be a Master who will always work to understand your words.
A Man who can stand alone will be a Master who will not crush you under His weight.
A Man who controls Himself with ease will be a Master with the ability to control you in the same way.
A Man who does not have to prove His point will be a Master with many worthwhile points to share.
A Man who never makes demands will be a Master who treasures anything you give.
A Man who doesn't run after you will be a Master you will never need to run away from.
A Man who is calm will be a Master who can weather your storms.
A Man who has walked the path to peace will be a Master able to guide you along that path.
A Man who does not shout will be a Master who will never deafen you.
A Man who knows Himself will be a Master who will have time to know you.
A Man with an open mind will be a Master who never stops learning.
A Man who never stops learning will be a Master who never stops growing.
A Man who always seeks to be the best He can be for you is the only Man truly worthy of being called your Master.

slavery is not about suffering . . . it is about service.
slavery is not about humiliation . . . it is about humility.
slavery is not about being used . . . it is about being of use.
slavery is not about control . . . it is about letting go.
slavery is not about proving anything . . . it is about being real.
slavery is not about contempt . . . it is about respect.
slavery is not about how you look . . . it is about how you care.
slavery is not about punishment . . . it is about discipline.
slavery is not about being unable to escape . . . it is about being committed.
slavery is not about fear . . . it is about trust.
slavery is not about sex . . . it is about love!!!
. . . one of the hardest things about slavery is the fine line separating communication and obedience . . .

August 15, 2008

Meeting, Come to Order

This is Part 3 - - - Part 2 - - - Part 1
Her bound hands remained in place, over his, pressing him against herself. He barely moved his hand, slowly working his fingers, he squeezed and pressed against her sex, even harder and then said, "Now, more." And more she did, and again she did, a third time.

Then, there was a quiet and timeless few minutes with her head buried in the crook of his neck, against his shoulder, and it muffled her whimpering, taking long, deep ragged breaths. He held her in place with his arm around her shoulder, around the back of her neck, she was weak and limp from the exertion. He held her against him, wrapped up in him, her wonderfully curved body.

It felt good to hold her against his chest; finally she began to regain her composure. He lifted her chin and smiled at her and kissed her still closed eyes. He brought both hands up to hold her face, and stared at her. She slowly opened her eyes, and looked at him, eyes glazed with pleasure. She struggled to keep them open; sensations were still racing through her body, showing in her face. Finally, she focused her eyes and smiled. He put his still damp fingers against her lips; she seemed confused until he parted her lips slightly. She grinned and moved her tongue against his fingers, licking the moisture from them, slowly cleaning them, and he pushed his fingers into her mouth.

When she paused and opened her lips in a smile, he moved his hands to the back of her head, pulled her forward and whispered into her ear, "Lie back", and he cupped the back of her neck and leaned forward, supported the weight of her torso and he let her lay back. He gently placing her head in the table and hold her cheek in his palm, smiling into her eyes. He leaned down over her and kissed her. She relaxed, caught her breath, smiled back up at him. He raised his hand, gestured for her to be still. Slowly he moved back toward a standing position, and slowly traced his hands down her cheeks, to the sides of her neck, and tickled her playfully in the little hollows above her collarbones. He loved that little shy smile. He spent some time scrapping her nipples with his fingernails through the light material of her dress as they continued to stiffen and grow with arousal, she smiled and murmured softly. When she started squirming, he stood up and rubbed his hand on her tummy. He felt her stomach muscles tense at his touch.

He reached down and hooked his hand under the back of each of her knees and lifted, lifted her legs up and bent her knees, and placed her feet on the edge of the table. He leaned over and kissed one of her knees, as he ran his hands up and down her thigh. Then he did the same to her other leg. He rose up and looked at her, "Relax sweetheart".

He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second length of rope and tied it around one ankle, and then laced it through her wrists, over the bindings that were already in place. Then he brought the rope back down to her other foot and pushed her ankles back until her heels were against her bottom, he tied the rope around her second ankle. He put his hands on her knees, spread them slightly, and smiled down at her. She struggled to test the bindings, and found that all she could do was move her hands, and any movement of her feet just pulled her hand tighter down against the damp material. She moved her hands and felt herself, looked at him and said, "Swollen." He smiled back and said, "Yes, press harder, and rub side to side across it. Build it up like I taught you." And he walked away.

He walked around the room looking to see what else might be in the room. There was nothing in the room, nothing but the narrow conference table and the chairs along each side, and her. He walked back over to the side of table, pulled out a chair and sat down right beside her head. He leaned in toward her and she started to tilt her head to look at him, and he said, "Look straight ahead, concentrate." Her breathing was getting more and more ragged, with occasional long, deep breaths. He put his mouth to her ear, "Keep rubbing yourself, back and forth baby." "Whose girl are you?" She just laughed and smiled, still trying to take in more air than she was able.

"Whose?" he asked again?
"I am yours." she whispered.
"Good girl. You remember your training? You remember our word?"
"Yes." she gasped.
"Keep rubbing."

Her swollen nipples showed prominently through the light cotton jersey dress, he rolled the top down, exposing her full breasts and oh so hard nipples. He reached up and took hold of one, rolled it between his thumb and and the side of his index finger. He took a tighter grip and squeezed/rolled, as she wiggled and arched her back. He kept pulling on her nipple; she gasped and moaned even more.

"Ready baby?"
"Yes, oh yes.", barely audible.
Her body started to shiver as if she was cold, chilled, and he knew.



Her whole body stiffened, back arched, neck straining back. Her head rocked from side to side. Her legs straining against the bindings, wanting to stretch out straight, unable to budge, pulling at her hands, down tighter.


He leaned in close, smiled at her and kissed her ear, then whisperspoke, "Now, baby, shi-shi-toi."

August 8, 2008

The Mark, and more?

People have asked about "the mark -- --" in the recent story. What does it mean, what was the purpose, including "I look forward to learning more with regards to the mark made upon her neck". and "I like the pen mark on the back of her neck, and I hope you address the significance of that.'

When I wrote the draft I made a margin note, Possession Taken. A declaration in the story, of his temporary ownership, and her willingness and compliance. The symbol used for the mark is Yin. "Yin represents the passive, receiving, recipient, malleable, matter, and is symbolized by the broken horizontal line, -- -- ." Online Encyclopedia of Western Signs and Ideograms

You can find no end of information on markings on the Internet, but coincidentally a fellow blogger recently made a post, being marked - which I think covers the more specific nature I am describing in a nutshell, although I think he finds some discomfort about the action, and the desire and motivations.

In the context of this story, it is the celebration of an on-going relationship, when they finally have their first face to face meeting. He memorializes that moment with a mark of possession. His possession is answered with her smile, [“Are you ready now?” she smiled slightly, and he knew.]

and more? for me, more is not two, more can be three, or more; but more is never two.

August 3, 2008

First Meeting, Meeting Room

This is Part 2 - - - Part 1
He whispered into her ear, "Come with me sweetheart." and they went up the long flight of stairs. At the top they stood at the end of a long wide lobby with doors to meeting rooms along each side, and floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end. In a few hours the area would be teeming with conventioneers, but for now it was as if they were in a private personal place, quiet, elegant, lavish, just the two of them.

He took her by the wrist, and started walking toward the windows. In response to his grip on her wrist she fell quiet and calm, walked slowly, and lowered her gaze. When they reached the windows, he moved and stood behind her. He put his face into her hair and breathed in her scent, fresh and clean. He pushed his hands up her neck and moved her hair aside, she tilted her head forward in response to the pressure. He took his pen and made the mark -- -- on the back of her neck just below her hairline, then let his hands slide down so they rested on her shoulders. He tilted his head and kissed and then bit the nape of her neck – he felt her shiver, then a slight shake. He savored the feel of her skin on his lips, skin he had imagined for so long, finally present, under his touch, it stirred him to hear her soft murmuring sounds.

She lifted her head up slightly and broke his concentration. He moved his arms so they were wrapped around her, enveloping her arms/torso, with one arm under and one on top of her breasts. He moved his arms and squeezed them together, clamped her breasts between them. He longed to pull the top of her dress down and take a breast in each hand, clenching each between the heel of his hand and his fingers, massaging and tormenting. But again, he fought against the urgency of his desire, and loosened his hold on her. He let his arms down and took hold of a wrist with each hand, brought them behind her back and crossed her wrists at the small of her back. He held her wrists/hands there long enough that she understood to hold that posture, leaned to her ear and said, “Wait here.”

He walked down the rooms on the right side, reading meeting announcements and times, down to the end, across and back up the other side until he found one of the smaller rooms, not scheduled until 1:00 pm. He opened the door, looked in and saw a conference table, surrounded by chairs, but otherwise empty. He walked back to her where she stood as still as a statue, her wrists crossed behind her back, head down and hair over the sides of her face, humming a soft and soothing unrecognizable tune. He stepped back in front of her, lifted her chin with his fingers until she looked at him. Her gaze faltered from his and he lifted her chin again. “Are you ready now?” she smiled slightly, and he knew.

He let go of her chin, put his hand on the back of her neck and guided her to the room, opened the door. She walked in, and stopped. “Give me your hand.” and he led her to the far end of the room. He boosted her up and seated her on the end of the long conference table, legs dangling, her knees slightly apart. He stepped up to her, pushed the hem of her dress up her thighs, his legs against the end of the table between hers and pressed his thumbs into the tender flesh where her thighs met her hips, she winced. He leaned in and kissed her, biting at her lower lip until she flinched and pulled back.

He took hold of her wrists and placed her hands between her thighs. He took the thin black rope out of his back pocket, lifted her wrists up, and held her hands together. She held her wrists crossed and stared intently as he wrapped the rope around her wrists, then around itself, and tied the ends together. He let her hands back down, resting between her thighs. She looked up at him, and he saw tears in her eyes.

He stepped in close again and moved her bound hands so they were pressed up against the front of her bikinis, and held her hands in his and worked their fingers against the damp fabric. He moved his free hand to her cheek, tilted her face up more towards his. His lips moved very gently against hers, softly touched his lips to hers, and felt her breathing become more and more ragged.

His other hand pulled at the waist band of her bikinis and slipped down into the warmth and wetness. Her bound hands pressed hard against his, forcing him further and deeper. His hand cupped her pelvis, fingers forced deeper inside her. Her breathing becomes more and more ragged as she gasped for more air. He moved his mouth slightly to let her grab a bigger breath, then pressed back against her mouth and muffled her scream. Their hands remained in place, he pressed even harder and told her, “Now, more.”
Continued at Part 3