Public Play/Exposure

In my most recent story line post, Getting out of Town, I was challenged by a reader about the public nature of a scene or scenario I described. I was very happy to receive the challenge, the question:

I truly don't have a problem with the bondage in the car, but I draw the line at exposing myself in public, or any displays of a blatantly sexual nature such as inserting a bullet.
Can you explain how you determine what's healthy for the sub, as well as what you deem is acceptable for public viewing, and in the presence of whom?

"I suspect I draw the line very near where you do. You can imagine that not a lot is exposed pulling a pair of panties up over her legs, lifting her bottom slightly off the seat, and sliding them up under her dress. She is sitting down in the seat and the man is knelt down beside her."

"The simple and slight action of slipping a small vibrator down inside her panties is completely obscured by the car, the tinted windows, her hands, her clothing and such. I did not conceive of it as a blatantly sexual act, but rather a clandestine, private moment."

"Do I think it has potential for embarrassment or humiliation? I most certainly do, and counted on it for the energy between them, for the embarrassed excitement she would feel from it, and for him."


This has stuck in my mind and I have been thinking about public play. Not the kind of public play you encounter at a dungeon or BDSM play party, but the kind of interaction between people, that takes place out there in the world. There is a subtle, or not so subtle, intimacy between two people that can be enhanced by the potential for exposure, or discovery, or observation. A kind of play or interaction that is not blatantly obvious to others, but places the submissive in a situation where they are being treated in a very private way in a very public venue.

I recall a story of a girl who was being so obstinate, and so unwilling to disconnect from her upset about an event, that she could not be in the moment with her owner. He was wanting her to let go of the matter, set it aside, and to enjoy a lovely evening out on the town. Even though she knew she was acting that way, she chose to continue. She eventually earned herself a spanking, and it was administered then and there, on the sidewalk, in a mixed residential/restaurant neighborhood, and was observed by, others. At least one person actually was standing on their front porch, watching her get a fairly sound spanking, and I recall distinctly her humiliation and embarrassment that this would be carried out in front of "ordinary people". (I tried to go back and find the exact details, but I think my memory serves well enough).

Many months ago I wrote about an actual event, Hand Controls, where a girl exposed her breasts in a casino, in front of many people, controlled by a man near by. One comment suggested that it was inappropriate. I confess I certainly enjoyed the sight of that beautiful young Asian girl, but I would not conduct myself in that manner in real life. I have a high regard for public decency, and am quite conservative regarding what I would allow to be viewed in public.

But, these examples raise the question, Where are the boundaries? Certainly, there is excitement, arousal, titillation, pleasure, fun, any number of feelings and emotions to be explored by adding an element of casual observation by uninvolved onlookers. There is embarrassment, humility, Humiliation, and excitement that grows from that public exposure. But there is also risk of ridicule, censure, perhaps even arrest for indecent behavior in public.

There is a great opportunity for enhancing the experience of dominance and submission by taking it outside, into the public arena, or on the edge of the public arena. There are any number of small, or large, but still a subtlety of control/action a dominant can require of a girl in a semi-public way, but somewhere there is a line that can be crossed where you go beyond public decency, but where is that line? Who decides?

I Read The News Today - Oh Boy

Imagine my surprise, wonder and glee at reading of all the places through out this great country where there would be teabagging today. Thoughts of google maps and travel plans filled my head.

And then, my disappointment when I read further, and discovered these people don't have any real idea about teabagging.

One Day Visit - Getting out of Town

Continued from the bar
Having settled the bar tab, he got down off his stool and offered her his hand. She climbed down, stepped into the aisle way and he gestured, indicating the way to the main doors. "Let's go," he said. As she started walking, he dropped in behind her, watching her walk, noticing how the back of her dress flipped up against her bottom with every step. "She is so lovely," he thought to himself, "and mine." He opened the door and guided her back out onto Fremont Street. They stood and waited for the light to change so they could cross over to the next section. While they waiting, he put his arm around her shoulder, then pull it back slightly so his hand was on the back of her neck, tangling in her hair.

As they crossed the street and headed down the lane, he used that grip on her hair to guide her around and through the pedestrians and other obstructions. Then a small vendor stand caught his eye and he guided her in that direction. As they stepped up he saw that it was a street artist drawing the likeness of a pretty young girl, sitting in a chair. He told the artist they would like to be next. She looked very surprised, started to protest, and he put his hand over her mouth, and said, "Shhhhh, it will be something special for you, to remember." Again, he stopped her as she started to protest again. "Stand here and wait, he should be done in a few minutes. I will be right back." While she stood and waited, he drifted over to another vendor stand, and was looking over bracelets, and necklaces and anklets. He made a quick purchase, and returned to find her just sitting down in the artist’s subject chair, as he was clearing his sketch pad to begin.

As she sat there still, he leaned over from behind her and told her to adjust her posture. He whispered into her ear, "Cross your ankles, and tuck your feet back under the chair, to one side." She moved as he instructed. "Cross your wrists, and rest them on your lap." She did as asked, and he could tell by the way she looked back at him and down at her wrists, that she fully expected he was going to bind them. When he did not do so, she let out a sigh that he interpreted as relief, thankful that he would not embarrass her so in public. He stood patiently behind her as the artist went about his work. From time to time, he would whisper things in her ear. "Do you think he knows you are naked under your dress?" "Think about what we are likely to be doing two hours from now." "Smile for him, I want him to capture that slutty look in your eyes." "Think about how wet you are now, do you think he has any idea what you are feeling?" "Do you think he finds you as sexy and appealing as I do?" "I think he wants you."

The artist said he had finished the portrait, and the man went around, looking at the results. She started to get up, but he gestured to her to remain still in her seat while he went and discussed it with the artist. While she remained seated he went and looked at the result. He was very pleased with the beautiful way he had captured the profile of her face, the way her hair fell onto her cheeks and her slightly sardonic grin. He told the artist he was very happy with it, and asked that he roll it up and put it in one of the mailing tube he had stacked under his little work table. The artist asked if she did not want to see it first, and the man said he would show it too her later, that it was intended to be a surprise of sorts, and paid and thanked him. With the tube under his arm, he put his hand out to her and helped her up out of the seat. She kept looking at the tube, but he said, "I will show it to you later; we need to get on with our day for now." He took hold of her wrist and they walked back to the parking garage to get the car.

When they got back to the Fitzgerald's parking garage, the same 20-something valet was there to take their ticket. He could see that the boy was very happy to see her again, and that she seemed embarrassed by the boy’s attention. The man handed the boy the valet ticket and some folded bills, and the boy went off to get the car. While they stood in the crowd, waiting for the car, the man reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a delicate gold chain anklet. He knelt down, rubbed his hand down the calf of her left leg so that she moved it slightly forward, resting her hand on his shoulder, and he fastened the bracelet around her ankle. He continued to hold onto her leg, and admired it. He looked around and was pleased to notice that several other men also appreciated the look of her leg, and perhaps the anklet also.

When the car arrived, the valet got out of the drivers seat, came around and opened the passenger door. He looked at the girl expectantly, extending his hand to help her into the seat. The man took her hand, led her up to the car and guided her into the seat. He placed the drawing tube onto the back seat. He turned, and took hold of the valet’s outstretched hand and shook it, "Thank you, very much." He turn back to the girl, noticed she was reaching for the seat belt, and put out his hand and stopped her. "Just a moment sweetheart", he reached under the passenger seat and pulled out the cotton bikini panties he had stuffed under the seat earlier. "Put these back on." She looked around at the crowd of people standing waiting for their cars and hesitated. "Put them on", he repeated. She sloughed off her shoes, reached down, put her feet through the leg holes and pulled the panties up her legs. "That's it, just lift your bottom up off the seat and pull them all the way up." She did as he instructed, and it left her skirt gathered up around her lap, with some of the panties plainly visible as she sat there. She started to straighten her dress, but he touched her arm to indicate she should just stay still, exactly as she was.

The man got up and turned, to find the valet boy still standing at the door, clearly intent on the show he was seeing. The man thanked him again, and took control of the car door and closed it. Leaving the boy standing there beside the car, he went around and got into the driver's seat, and closed the door. However, instead of starting the car, he reached into his pocket and took out the small satin bag. He opened the bag, took out the little bullet vibrator, plugged in the remote control wire and handed it to the girl. "Put this into your panties, like you did earlier this morning." She took it in her hand but did not move to place it as he instructed. He saw that she was glancing over to her right, and there stood the valet, still looking down into the car. "Don't be bashful now sweetheart. Put the vibrator in place." As she slowly complied, he reached under his seat and retrieved the rope he had tied her ankles with earlier in the day. When she had the vibrator in place he reached over, and wrapped the rope around her legs, just above her knees, and tied a knot to hold her thighs and knees together. He took hold of the remote control and set it in the center console. He leaned over and kissed her, and then looked out the window, and waved good bye to the valet boy, who was still standing beside the car, slack jawed, with a look of bewilderment on his face. He started the car and drove off.

As they turned out of the parking garage and pulled up to the first red light, he turned to the girl and saw an odd look on her face. It seemed a combination of arousal and confusion at the same time. He put his hand up to the side of her head, combed his fingers through her hair, and heard her make a little humming sound, and then a moan of satisfaction. She leaned her head against the palm of his hand as he rubbed her cheek, and he slipped his thumb into her mouth. He felt her tongue slowly swirl around his thumb, and heard her soft moaning sound. He looked up and saw that the light had turned green. He withdrew his hand from her face, put the car in gear, and fingered the remote control switch to Medium. He heard her squeal over the sound of the car’s motor, he smiled, and once again they headed off into the Las Vegas Boulevard tourist traffic.

He traveled south on  Las Vegas Boulevard, looking for the road that led out of town, the road that would take them to quiet and solitude.  As he blended into traffic he lowered the remote to Low.  After a few short blocks he found the turn that headed out toward Red Rock Canyon.

A New Master

She was beginning to be comfortable with this new man in her life. However, she was still guarded, still fearful of being abandoned, again. Her last master had cared for her, for several years. She had been faithful and true, and loyal, and he had loved her completely; at least she had always felt he had, until that day. Seemingly for no reason, he was gone. He had not said anything, no explanation, no indication that something was wrong, or different, or unusual. Just one day, he was not there anymore, and she was alone.

And then, here she was with this new man, with a new collar and new ways. Unlike her previous master, this man seemed to always say to her, "Good girl." with such pride in his voice. She loved how small, and cared for, and appreciated it made her feel. It gave her a warm glow all over; made her want to do anything, and everything for this man.

But, deep down inside she wondered if he would someday disappear, just as her previous master had. Every time she thought back on that, her heart ached. When he noticed her looking at the door, with that longing in her eyes, he seemed to completely understand. He would run his fingers through her wavy red hair, and tell her, "Everything is going to be fine. It will not happen again, not this time." It was as if he knew how she was feeling, even if she did not, or could not, say so.

This new man was so caring and warm. Sometimes in the night, she would wake up cuddled against him, and she would feel his touch. Often he would simply take her chin in his hand, lift her face up, look into her eyes and tell her what a beautiful girl she was. Then he would put his arm around her, rubbed her back, and they would both drift off, back to sleep.

Each week, each month, as her trust grew, more assured and deeper, she found herself beginning to forget about her previous master, more and more. She did not feel the longings nearly as often, and not for nearly as long when they did come to her. She compared the two men less and less as time went on. She realized she was trying to figure out if this man was going to treat her as the first one had; loving her, wanting her, caring for her, wondering and afraid that suddenly one day it would be over again, just like the last time. She began to see just how vulnerable a girl was to the whims of her owner. But, they were different in many ways; this new owner was much more gregarious. He took her out with him much more often, introduced her to his friends, and they were all so friendly, too. He took great pride in her, enjoyed showing her off in public. They always told her how beautiful she was, and how lucky he was to have such a lovely girl; with such a trim lithe body, and gorgeous red hair, and a charming smile.

Another thing she began to realize was the difference in her training. Her old master had always used punishment to reinforce lessons, to correct bad behavior or missteps when trying to follow directions. This new man would patiently correct her, repeating his instruction, showing her the proper posture or action, explaining very clear what his expectations were. And, when she would respond correctly, there would be that praise, "Good girl". It amazed her how much she loved to hear that, more and more she realized how different masters had different ways, and how much they affected her.

She truly hoped that this new master would be forever.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Nothing to Fear, but Fear Itself

Are you afraid to be who you feel you really are? Stuck being the person everyone expects you to be?

Have you been allowing fear to dominate your life, why you do what you do, and even where you do it? I'm not talking about day-to-day fears of things like spiders, heights, and public speaking; we all have those.

. . .

I'm talking about the fact that you make decisions because you're scared to death of what might happen if you don't take the safe way out.

. . .

Rather than possibly standing alone or having to fight for what you truly wanted, dreamed of, or hoped for, you went along with the crowd or let somebody else -- maybe your spouse, parents, friends, or employers -- tell you what you should like, want, or do. Peer pressure, unfortunately, is not an adolescent-only phenomenon. The dangerous thing about a fear-based mind-set is that it paralyzes you and puts you in a comfort zone that's safe and predictable, but causes you to waste precious time in your life on things you don't really want. You've stayed in that comfort zone, scared to death that you would be rejected . . .

I think that this is particularly true of submissive women, who have discovered these new and overwhelming feelings - but cannot see how to express themselves, to overcome their history and step into that new darkness.

Does this resonate with you? Want to understand more? Interested in a strategy that will help you free yourself? Take some time to learn more, Free Yourself from Fear, at Emergence into Submission. You will thank yourself.

Morning Dream, recalled

Curled up close, spooning behind you, legs bent at the hips, like sitting on my lap, laying down, deep inside you,

quiet, still, deep breathing, head on my bicep, arm curled across holding shoulder, right arm flat against tummy, hand between breasts,

feeling your insides contracting, squeezing me, milking me, throbbing and then relaxing, so hot and slick wet,

gripping a nipple, between thumb and side of index finger, rolling back and forth, pinching down tighter and tighter, squirming,

triggering more contractions and pushing back, reflexive pushing deeper, no stroking, just in you, tight, fully engaged, blending,

flexing, then lightly rocking hips, up and back, up and back, hearing gasping, moaning, deeper breathing, soft squeaking,

angling upward against your spot, slowing rubbing it, rubbing, building, deep gasping, breath held, letting go, letting flow,

spurting, filling, you so wet, slick, contracting, cumming for me, with me, clutching tightly to each other, holding close, deep,

twitching, contracting, staying, settling down, holding fully engaged.

Happy Valentine's Day

I remember when I was a boy, in elementary school, on Valentine's Day, the teacher would hand out cards to everyone, perhaps one or two each. They had simple little colorful drawings on them, of boys and girls, and hearts and cupid, et al. They were plain light card stock, not even fold over cards, and little small envelopes, barely 2 or 3 inches square. With nervous laughter and tittering, we would look around conspiratorially, and write Susie or Sally on the little envelope, and put our name at the bottom of the card. Then she would collect the envelopes from everyone in a big basket. Later she would spread them all on her desk up in front of the room, and call recess, and we would all gather and look for our names.

We would collect our little love messages, go out and read them, and smile, and peek, and look around, and perhaps even be so bold as to approach our secret admirers and say those magical words:

Will you be my valentine?

It was all so simple and sweet.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

One Day Visit - the Car/the Bar

"The true Man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Continued from Breakfast
Holding her arm, he escorted her out the doors of the Gold Coast to the courtyard, and on toward the parking garage. He shifted his hold from her arm back to her wrist, and he felt her bristle for a moment. He glanced down at her with a questioning look in his eyes. He saw her expression change and she settled into stride as they walked out to the car. He unlocked the passenger door for her, and was thinking about using the ropes to bind her again, but grinned as another idea took over.

He opened her door, but before she could get in, he pulled her back slightly and moved past her. He sat down on the edge of the seat himself, with his legs out of the car, and taking her hands, pulled her close, up between his knees. He put his hands on the outsides of her thighs and moved them up under her dress until he felt her cotton-covered hips. He looked up at her and smiled, and hooked his fingers into the elastic of the leg bands, twisted them in his grip and pulled her panties down over her thighs, past her calves and down to her ankles. Instinctively, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder and lifted first one foot, and then the other - so he could remove them completely. He placed them under the passenger seat, looked out at her and could clearly see her, silhouetted through her dress with the sun back-lighting her.

Taking her hands to balance himself, he rose up out of the seat, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, moved a hand on the back of her head and held her to him. He felt her arms move around his waist and onto the small of his back and they stood in a quiet embrace, while his hands felt the now smooth and unclad contours of her bottom.

After a couple minutes he turned, guided her into the car seat, helped her with the seat belt and closed the door. He went around and got into the car also. He reached over and hooked his hand in the back of her far knee, pulled and twisted her in the seat so her knees were facing him, half up on the cushion, semi-sideways. He pushed his hand well up between her thighs, and she moved her legs to accommodate his presence.

He pulled out of the hotel, crossed over the freeway and drove up the strip slowly, enjoying the scenery. He continued to play with her legs, teasing and tempting her, moving his hand further up between her thighs, particularly when they were stopped at a light and there was a swirl of pedestrians around the car, many of them looking in and staring at the scene within. Several times she urged him to move his hand, but he was intent on tempting the glances of pedestrians at crowded intersections. Several times she shivered and moaned as his rough finger pressed all the way up onto her.

When they finally covered the distance up the strip, crossing over into the old downtown area, nearly an hour had passed. He could see she clearly was feeling the effects of his constant touch, the teasing, and the embarrassment and humiliation of having had so many onlookers glancing in on their seemingly private activities in such a public way. Finally, they pulled into the Fitzgerald's valet parking, and he went around to help her out of the car, to see she had turned in her seat and had her legs half out of the car, her dress still hiked up as he had pushed it, and her knees were an unladylike distance apart. A 20-something valet was standing in front of her gawking. Yes, he thought, she is gorgeous, and sultry looking, and she was being very provocative with the boy. He stood and watched for a minute, then stepped between them, offered her his hand, and lifted her out of the car.

He once again took her by the wrist and they walked through the first casino, out onto, and up the length of Fremont Street, to the Golden Nugget. The entire distance, as had been the case at breakfast, they drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost be pulled along.

They walked into the casino, past the barkers and players club hustlers and found their way to the bar, a beautiful old massive, dark wood bar back and marble bar top. He pulled out one of the bar stools for her, gave her a hand up onto the stool and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh. She immediately responded by letting his hand in and she adjusted the hem of her dress up further and further as his hand measured the spot for her, far beyond where she was comfortable, but she complied. He stood beside her until the bartender arrived; he ordered her a gin and tonic, and then asked for directions to the restrooms. "Wait here, very quietly," he said, as he excused himself. He went off in the direction of the mens room, and looking back, he noticed the middle aged man sitting on the other side of her giving her several glances, and he seemed to be looking to start a conversation.

He grinned to himself, imagining her discomfort with the attention from this stranger, and turned and walked away. When he came out he decided to kill a few minutes, looking in at the blackjack tables, but from a position where he can oversee, and the man’s efforts to start a conversation. He could see she glanced around nervously from time to time, but by and large sat still, slowly sipping her drink, seeming to try and ignore the man's attempts to strike up a conversation, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was looking her up and down.

When he returned, he walked up behind her, pushed his hands into her hair at the back of her head, pressing it forward and kissed and nibbled roughly at the back of her neck. She purred her approval and appreciation. He raised his head up, buried his nose in her hair, and moved his hands to her shoulders. She reached over and moved her pocketbook from the stool next to her, where she had placed it to save him a seat, and put it up on the bar. He stood up straight, and walked further down the bar and took a seat. He sat down three stools over, settled in, and looked back at a very confused and frustrated little girl. He turned sideways in his seat, so his legs and body faced her, and she moved in her seat as if to start to get up and come to him. He put his hand up and gestured to her to stay put where she was; he just continued to look her over. He noticed her frustration, but also how exposed she was in her short dress, tucked up even further than comfortable, how his hands had tousled her hair, and the rosy bright pink glow of arousal and embarrassment on her cheeks. He got the attention of the bartender and ordered a drink.

As he sat there, a man came up to the bar and moved to one of the stools between the two of them. He was amused at the potential predicament that would be created when the man sat down at one of the stools, effectively blocking/breaking the connection between the two of them. The man stood there, looking from one side to the other, seeming to notice the connection between them, puzzled by the distance. As it turned out, he was simply asking for change for a phone call and within a couple minutes had moved on, leaving the open space and emptiness between them.

When the man left, he picked up his drink and moved back down to the stool beside her and sat down, and she reached over and hugged him, clearly happy to leave those disconnected moments in the past. He turned toward her, and she turned full toward him, and they sat sideways in their stools, with their knees interlaced with each other. He continued to move his hand idly up and down her thighs as they talked and felt the warm of her legs against his palm. He noticed that his continuous attention and the effects of the alcohol were showing more and more in her eyes, the smile on her face and the tempo of her breathing. It was evident that her arousal was growing. He leaned over to her and asked, "Where would you like to go next?" Her reply was simple and straight forward, "Anywhere, away from all of these people, somewhere we can be alone." He laughed, and called the bartender over to settle the tab. And off they went.

Responsibilities of a Submissive

I received this list in email from one of the local BDSM clubs, and share it for your consideration. Perhaps they are all just common sense:

Spend adequate time exploring yourself, your needs and desires. Learn what your needs, desires and goals are; define them adequately. Make a list.

Learn the difference between what you need and what you want. Sometimes you cannot have both. Be careful what you wish for . . . you may just get it.

Educate yourself - make the most of the resources that are available, but don't believe everything you hear or read. Trust reputable sources, but make your own mind up about what is the truth.

Learn and understand your limitations, in depth.

Remember you have the right to "ask". Remember common sense, and use it.

Remember the choice to submit is not a sign of weakness it is an adult choice.

Be aware of the difference between consensual BDSM and abuse. Do not suffer abuse from anyone. If it is not consensual on behalf of both parties, it is abuse.

Learn how to negotiate. Don't be afraid to ask, question and communicate. Be honest with yourself.

Respect yourself and be respectful of others who deserve of it.

Recognize that your submission is given freely and that it is not something to be taken by force. Choose wisely to whom you give.

Accept responsibility for your own happiness and welfare.

Balance your submission with the other areas of your life.

Remember that you have the right to say "No".

Never let anyone take your self-dignity away. Like yourself, love yourself, be your own best friend.

Remember others also have agendas and they may not be the same as yours. Don't allow yourself to be used, unless of course, that is part of your kink.

Communicate your needs to your partner, ask for what you desire (do not demand or expect).

Because you choose to submit to a partner does not mean you are submissive to anyone else.

Communicate your limits to your partner. Expect them to be respected. Refuse to participate in any activity outside of your limits or that you are not ready for. Accept your partner’s limits. (Yes, Dominants have limits too.) They also have the right to say "No".

Communicate your feelings without blame or guilt. Be as interested in what your partner feels and says as you are in yourself. Remember that you and your partner are human and entitled to understanding, compassion and support.

Refuse to allow yourself to be abused, be it emotionally, physically, or psychologically.

Forgive yourself and your partner for mistakes.

Ask your partner for help when you need it.

Expect respect from your partner. Respect your partner.

Be appreciative of the gift of Domination that your partner gives to you.

Take pride and strive for excellence in your submission as you do in everyday life.
Take pride in your appearance.

It is your responsibility to be of good health and to advise your partner of any change in that regard.

Listen to your partner and His/Her needs and desires.

Be willing to consider, with an open mind, what your partner suggests or requests.

Understand that it takes two to make a partnership work. Be willing to accept your share of the blame when things go wrong.

Remember that before D/s, basic humanness comes first. Know when it is time to set aside D/s and be a helper, friend, lover, husband, mother, wife or whatever.

Be patient. Growth takes time.

One Day Visit - Breakfast

Continued from Gather/Contain

Reluctant and shy, she walked along at his side, mostly comfortable with his grip firmly on her wrist, but embarrassed by with the glances from passersby, as he led her up the stairs to the main doors to the hotel. He opened the first set of doors for her, and moved his hand to the small of her back to guide her through the doorway. She waited while he moved to open the second set of doors. Again he ushered her through, and she stopped to wait for him. He caught up with her, took hold of her again and they walked down the short flight of stairs to the main floor of the Gold Coast hotel/casino, toward the back to the restaurant. As the turned the corner, they were confronted by construction barriers and a sign, the restaurant was being remodeled.

He walked back to the bar and asked the bartender if there wasn't a place to have breakfast? The bartender said the restaurant was temporarily relocated to the other side of the casino. They walked across the open space, weaving their way through the various gaming tables and slot machines. They drew more curious glances from people who noticed how he held her and guided her along, as she seemed to walk a half step behind him, appearing to almost being pulled along, but not.

When they got to the restaurant and the hostess greeted them, he asked for the location of the ladies room. He turned to the girl and said, "I will wait here for you." He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her, a small satin bag. He took her purse, and she headed off in the indicated direction. The hostess started to leave but he said, "She will be right back, wait here with me", and made small talk about the construction as they waited. Momentarily she came back across the open space and he indicated to the hostess that they were ready to be seated, and placed his hand in the small of her back to guide her. As they walked, she handed him back the bag, empty.

Once seated, he placed her purse aside and the hostess offered her a menu, which he took hold of, with a surprised glance from the hostess. She offered the second menu to the girl and he said, "One is all we will need, thank you." The hostess glanced at the girl and she simply smiled back and said, "Thank you", and the hostess left. As he looked over the menu, the waitress arrived, and he ordered coffee for her, with cream and sugar, and orange juice for himself. He noticed the girl was fidgeting occasionally, and moving around, adjusting how she was sitting, but he could not hear the hum of the vibrator. "Low?" he asked, and she smiled sheepishly, and nodded her head.

When the drinks arrived, he asked, "How many sugars?" "Two," she answered. He challenged her, "I beg your pardon?" She replied, "Two Sir, two sugars please." "And cream?" he asked, "Yes, Thank you." He prepared her coffee, and set the spoon aside. As she took the cup of coffee, he reached across the table, opened her napkin for her and she placed it on her lap. They talked about what they were hungry for, and he found selections on the menu.

When the waitress arrived to take their orders, she said, "Oh, you don't have a menu." "She does not need one, thank you. She will have the fruit bowl, with yogurt and an English muffin, toasted, with butter." The waitress turned to her wanting to confirm the order, but the girl did not look up or respond. He spoke, and drew back the waitress's attention, "And I will have the same. Thank you, and more coffee please." The waitress glanced at her again, but then turned and left the table.

They made plans for the rest of the day while they waited for the food to arrive. At one point the busy boy brought a refill for the coffee, and then later he came again and freshened up their water glasses. She said she would like to see the old downtown area and then would like to get out away from the city at some point, and see some of the surrounding hills. He said they would head downtown after breakfast, and visit a couple of the old casinos. Then later drive out to Red Rock Park, which offered a wonderful view of the city, and was a beautiful place to see the stark contrasts of the desert landscape. Each time one of the wait people approached the table, she fell silent and cast her glance down toward her lap, shivering slightly. As they talked he reached across the table, gathered up her silverware, and set it aside.

The waitress brought the food, placed it in front of each of them, and asked if there would be anything else? She noticed the girl had no silverware and asked if there was a problem, he said, "Nothing is wrong, we are fine, thank you," and she left. The girl started to reach for her spoon, for the fruit salad and yogurt, and he quietly said, "No." He picked up the silverware and alternately offered her spoonfuls, which she leaned forward and ate. Between bites, when he was eating his own breakfast, she would sip on her coffee and eat the muffin. They ate in silence; as she finished each portion offered, and drank some coffee, he would give her more.

On a couple of occasions the waitress checked back to see how everything was, and would look at her with some bewilderment as they ate, but he assured her that everything was fine, exactly as it should be, and thanked her. When they finished eating, they finalized their plans for the rest of the day, and just enjoyed sitting and talking while the waitress settled the check. She seemed embarrassed at having been fed and was still nervous and slightly on edge. She appeared particularly uncomfortable when the waitress or busboy would stop by the table for something, and attempt to address her in some way.

When they were finished and about to get up and leave, he handed the empty satin bag back to her, and she left for the ladies room. When she returned, she stood at the end of the table, sat the bag down and said, "Sir?" He glanced at her, smiled, and returned the bag to his pocket. He finished his juice, got up, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her deeply. He felt her stiffen and shake, then shudder, almost trembling, and he pulled back and gave her a concerned look. She smiled back at him, and said, "Oh yes, I am fine, thank you". He stared for a moment to be sure, then took hold of her arm and they walked out of the hotel and out to the car . . .

One Day Visit - Gather/Contain

He had driven down to the strip early to find a meeting place, near to the Wynn hotel. The Fashion Show Mall is directly across from the hotel and offered a convenient valet stand at the north-east corner. Having extra time, he decided to drive down the strip and wait for her phone call. Just as he was reaching the south end of the strip, his phone rang, it was her. She asked if he was familiar with the valet stand at the north-east corner of the mall; he smiled to himself, and said he would be there in 10 minutes.

When he pulled in, she came walking in his direction, a nervous smile on her face. He got out of the car, went around and opened the passenger door, took her hand and eased her down into the passenger seat. She was shorter than he had expected, prettier and younger looking, with a sweet girlish smile he could not have imagined. He leaned down on one knee, reached in and fastened her seat belt; carefully making sure the belt was comfortable between her breasts. He put his hand on her shoulder, his forearm pressed across her chest, and gave her a soft, slow, welcoming kiss, to help melt away any formality or discomfort. He reached under the seat for the rope he had place there earlier, and slowly wrapped it around her ankles, pulling them together and cinching a quick knot.

He turned his head back and looked into her eyes, noticing a small bit of concern/worry, overshadowed by a sardonic twinkle. He took the other piece of rope and slipped the prepared loop around her wrist, and moved her arm around the back of the seat, "Hold that there." He leaned in and covered her mouth with his again; feeling her tongue, tentatively move toward his, lightly moving across the back of his lips. He let the kiss linger this time, stealing her breath. Finally, he broke off the kiss, got up, closed the door and went back around to the driver’s seat, and settled in. He took her free arm and moved it around the back of the seat also, and slipped the other rope loop around her wrist and cinched up the slack. "Comfortable?" she nodded her head and smiled. He placed his hand on her knee and moved it up her thigh, moving the hem of her dress up her leg, feeling her tender flesh of her inner thigh. He couldn't help but smile as he felt her shiver.

He reached under his seat and pulled out the spring loaded spreader bar and pressed it between her knees, pushing them apart nearly from the console to the door. He sat back and admired his handiwork, noticed her smile, and said, "Let's go find some breakfast." As he drove, they talked about her visit so far, and how she was enjoying the shopping, gambling, and shows. She seemed completely at ease even though she was bound and trussed, by this man; who was both a stranger and a close friend. He was flattered and aroused by her innate level of trust in him.

When they pulled into the parking garage at the hotel for breakfast, he removed the spreader bar, and released her arms from behind the seat. While she bent down and untied her ankles, he combed his fingers through her hair, feeling the shape and texture of the back of her had. She handed him the rope, and reached across and embraced him as best she could in the uncomfortable seating of the car. He got out, came around and opened her door. He gave her his hand and helped her out of the car. Then, taking hold of her wrist, he led her toward the hotel in search of breakfast . . .

366 days, 8800 hours, half a million minutes

While I have been browsing around online services and the Internet for more than a dozen years, this past year blogging has been the most enriching and satisfying year ever. I have gotten to know many new and interesting people. A few have come and gone, but certainly are not forgotten. Some have retired, others have found other direction in their lives. They will be missed, I am better for having met them, and shared a small slice of life.

When I started a year ago, I had really only intended to recapture a list of links to other blogs that I had been reading from a source that had disappeared. I could not have imagined how this would turn out.

I have been visited by readers from all around the world, literally, very humbling. In just the last month, Australia, Austria, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Egypt, France, Germany, India, Ireland, Korea, Mexico, Netherlands, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Sweden, Switzerland, Tanzania, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, and 36 of the United States.

The statistics counter shows well over 20,000 visits, it boggles my mind.

I have received wonderful and supportive feedback from so many people. In the middle of the year I decided to try something different, and seem to have stumbled onto an interest in writing fiction, or imagineering. I had never tried that before, and frankly have been startled by the acceptance and response.

It has been a wonderful year.

Thank you all, thank you very much.

The Gift, the Giver, and the Stranger

I was searching for an old and "gone" web page in the Way Back Machine yesterday. I came across this old parable, perhaps an overly romanticized notion of the "gift of submission", but it brought back fond memories, I have not seen it in many years, and now share it.

The Gift, the Giver, the Rebel, the Thief, and the Stranger and his Glue

author unknown

The Giver was alone, and the Gift unused: the Giver felt lonely, and sought to find someone worthy of the Gift.

The Rebel came along and saw the Gift the Giver possessed, and desired the Gift for himself. Rather than ask the Giver for the Gift, or ask what the Giver wanted for the Gift, the Rebel decided that social rules did not apply to him, and simply said "Give me the gift."

The Giver knew that the Gift was fragile and would be destroyed if mistreated, and did not trust the Rebel; for how many of those who are impolite are also delicate? But the Giver did not wish to offend, and so said to the Rebel "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else."

The Rebel grew angry and blustered "But I deserve the Gift. I am special and I deserve that things be given to me."

The Giver, glad to have trusted her first instinct, merely repeated: "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else." And the Rebel, still complaining, went his way.

The Giver sat under a willow tree, contemplating the Gift and wondering about the qualities needed to really appreciate the Gift; as she was sitting there the sun and the breeze and the sound of the creek below lulled her into a doze.

The Thief, who had overheard the Rebel and the Giver, was waiting for just this moment. Dashing out from behind a nearby bush, he made a grab for the Gift; grasping it he started to run away. However, the Giver was awakened by this and reached out to stop the Thief.

"Give that back!" cried the Giver. "It is not yours! You have no right!" So saying, she reached out, trying to retrieve the Gift.

The Thief said "I do not care if it was not mine, I have possession of it so it is now my property." And so saying, he pulled again at the Gift, hoping to wrench it from the Giver.

In the ensuing struggle, the Gift was fouled, battered, and broken. The Thief, deciding he did not want a damaged Gift, finally let go and said "You keep it; it is now worthless."

The Giver cried at the state of the Gift, which she had hoped to find someone worthy of; it was dirty, pieces were missing and scattered in the grass around her, and the intact parts were bent and dented. She began to believe the Thief's assessment of the Gift: perhaps it no longer mattered who it belonged to, worthless as it was.

But then she noticed that her tears made clean streaks on the Gift as they fell, and she thought that perhaps if some of it could be cleaned, all of it could; perhaps she could make her Gift have worth once again. She took the Gift and its broken pieces to the creek, where she began to wash them.

The Gift was easy to clean, but in trying to wash the pieces that had been broken from it, the Giver lost one. She began to lose hope again. Yet she was still determined to try to repair the Gift.

Hours passed as she fit pieces back together where they would stay. Some pieces she could not make stay, however. From behind her, a voice: "Perhaps this Glue could help you mend your Gift". She turned to see a Stranger, holding a small tube of Glue. She took the Glue and thanked the Stranger, then finished repairing her Gift with the Stranger's Glue.

When she turned to give the Glue back to the Stranger, he was gone. She thought to herself that this Stranger had thought her Gift worthy enough to donate his Glue, and not even demand payment, nor even ask for the Glue to be returned. Perhaps her Gift had worth after all.

And as she sat and contemplated her Gift, she realized that the Stranger was the type of person who would neither ask nor demand a Gift, nor would he take, but rather he would give. And she thought to herself that the Stranger was a Giver too. And who better to appreciate a Gift but a Giver?

So she sought out the Stranger, and when she found him, she tried to return the Glue to him. He thanked her, but said that she should keep the Glue, in case the Gift should break again.

And the Giver said "In that case, you should accept the Glue, for I wish to give the Gift to you." And so saying, she placed the Gift in the Stranger's hands.

The Stranger looked at the Gift, and said "This is too precious; I do not know if I can take care of this Gift." The Giver said "I believe that you can, and I will stay with you and help you care for the Gift when you falter."

So the Stranger and the Giver took the Gift together, sharing in it and sharing it, and held it as an example for all to see.

Allowing Submissives to Vote

There is a web blog called "The Thinking Dominant, Growth Through Mental Exercise" that offers up thought provoking questions from time to time, I have come to think of them as sort of Dom-me-me's. In fact their About says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...."

They recently asked about Voting.

Their entry was posted on Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 at Noon and is filed under Relationships.

I am just getting around to responding because frankly, I initially thought it was a pretty silly question. But the more I thought about it, I decided to give it some attention, perhaps because while I am astonished by the question, if they are asking the question, then there might actually be people who thought this way. Or, perhaps that is part of what a Master/slave commitment might include? I would argue against such a defaulting.

Here are their questions, and my answers.

The right to vote, a privilege to everyone in the US. To those in a D/s relationship, it may have been gifted along with the submissive.

Will you be voting today?

Actually, I voted within two hours of the start of early voting here in Nevada, on October 20th.

Do you allow your submissive to vote?

In the context of this post/question, if I had "owned property" I would insist that she studied the issues, the candidates and participated in the process as an informed active voter. I think of voting much more as a duty for every citizen, not just a privilege, and my direction would be to exercise that duty or right.

Are they able to vote for themselves or do you tell them who to vote for?

I would provide my thinking as part of the study and understanding process; however, I would expect that she decide for herself. I suppose that choosing not to vote would be a possibility, but I would be insistent on a knowledgeable and informed decision. And would counsel vehemently for voting.

Why do you feel this is a sensitive topic amongst the community?

I did not realize it was a sensitive topic in the community but can imagine it might be if the perspective offered by even asking the question has any legs. I see my role as a dominant as providing for her betterment, and for me that is enhancing her abilities in intellectual matters, not substituting mine for hers.

Later That Morning

Continued from here
He collapsed forward, holding himself hovering over her, supporting his torso with his hands on either side of her hips, still in her mouth. She had relaxed into a quiet daze, moving her tongue around, back and forth, rolling him from cheek to cheek. He hooked his hand under her left knee and pulled it up close, kissing and licking her inner thigh, gently teasing the soft smooth flesh of her inner leg. They both were slow and woozy.

Finally he pushed himself up to a standing position, leaving her prone on the bed, and pulled his pants up and fastened them. He seated himself next to her head and smoothed her hair back, wiping the dampness from her forehead and brow, smiling at the look of contentment on her face. But he also noticed that smirk on her face as she took hold of his hand and took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it again. Rather than take the chance she might bite him again, he pried her jaw open and removed his thumb, he said, "No, if you are going to bite, it is not going to be my thumb this time." He reached over into the pile of implements and pulled out the piece of hardwood dowel, one inch in diameter and five inches long. He rolled it around in his hand, loving the feel of the smooth finished texture, imagining how it would feel with her tooth marks in it. "Open wide sweetheart", as he pushed it into the back of her mouth, stretching her cheeks back slightly and lodging it between her molars. "Hold it tightly".

Once he was assured the gag was in place and she was settled, he told her to stay exactly where she was, on the bed, while he went down to Starbucks for their morning coffee. He took the elevator to the parking garage, went out to the car to get the second bag of implements, and then he took a leisurely walk around the casino. Then, he proceeded to Starbucks for coffee and orange juice.

When he returned to the room she was as he had left her, although she had moved back up onto the bed, resting, with her head on a single pillow and all of the bedding pushed back off to the side. She was stretched out with her arms just over the top of her head, left wrist crossed over her right, as if they were bound, but weren't. Her head was turned slightly to the left, tucked against her arm. She was stretched out, completely uncovered and naked, completely exposed to him. Her breasts heaved with her breathing, floating above her ribcage, nipples erect. He looked down her body, past her ribcage, her smooth stomach and navel, and noticed that her hips were twisted just slightly to her right, and for all of her nakedness and openness, her left thigh and knee was just over her right, not crossed, but enough to provide the smallest bit of modesty. She had the slightest smile on her face, looking content, despite the discomfort of the bit gag in her mouth.

He took hold of both wrists in his left hand and took the bit gag out of her mouth. She sighed and moved her mouth around, trying to get her lips and cheeks limbered back up. He had brought a towel, and used it to wipe drool from the side of her mouth, cheek and neck, roughly but baby talking her and teasing her about the mess. She took the teasing with good nature.

Then suddenly he let go of her wrists and placed his hand so it completely covered her mouth. His hand covered her mouth so she could not breathe or speak, and so that the heel of his palm was also blocking both of her nostrils. He looked intently into her eyes and could see the first signs of concern reflecting back as she realized she was not able to breathe and that he was not moving to let her. He kept his hand in place as she took hold of his arm and tried to move his hand. As she started to squirm more, he lifted his hand and she sucked in a large breath, and looked at him questioningly. After she took a couple deep breaths, he pushed his hand back down over her mouth and nostrils again, holding it there. He maintained strong eye contact, holding the smothering posture to a point just beyond "please stop". And he released his hand again.

Again she took deep breathes, and it appeared her trust in him might be faltering. For a third time, he moved his hand into place, and she immediately started to squirm and wiggle, and he grabbed tight onto right nipple, holding on tightly and keeping his hand over her mouth. And then, he lifted his hand off her mouth, let go her nipple, and sat back and let her catch her breath. She had a look in her eyes that was a mixture of startled, scared and very, very aroused. He smiled down at her to reassure her and his palm cupped the side of her face and his thumb roughly traced her lips, telling her, "Relax, it is okay." She was not sure that she believed him, but she trusted him.

He lifted her up into a sitting position and gave her the coffee. She sipped it and relaxed, calming herself, resting her head against his chest. They talked about her impending departure, confirmed her flight time, and held each other, hugging, knowing that their time would soon be over. She assured him that she was packed and had set the alarm for the time he would have to take her to the airport. They both avoided the words neither of them wanted to hear.

When she finished her coffee he took the cup and put it back on the nightstand, and told her to lie back down again. He climbed up onto the bed, and squatting above her, her head between his thighs, his knees at her shoulders. He reached into the bag he had brought and put the leather cuffs onto her wrists, holding her head snuggly between his thighs. He pulled her arms up to his sides and hooked the clips of the cuffs to his belt loops on each side of his jeans. He playfully and leisurely began swatting her breast with his hand, and then a little harder, and then more, watching her face for reaction. He again tightly gripped her right nipple; modulate her responsiveness by his intensity on the nipple and the slow but firm pace of swatting her breast. He finally could see in her eyes and breathing that she was worked up to the degree of arousal he was hoping for. He caressed her chest and rubbed his hands down to her stomach, rubbing her and feeling the warmth of her skin.

Again he reached into the bag and took out the small suede flogger, and saw her eyes light up. He started to slowly swish in back and forth across her breasts, first just grazing her nipples, working back and forth across her chest. She made small whimpering sounds, and her breathing began to deepen. Steadily he increased the force and lowered his aim, striking more and more of her breasts as he continued working the flogger back and forth across her chest. Slowly he worked his way down from her breasts onto her ribcage and changed from a side to side stroke to a circular swatting motion, moving from one side of her torso to the other and back. He worked his way down her body, watching her breathing and listening to the noises she made, judging when she was reaching her tolerance for each area. As he worked down from her chest, to her ribs, across her stomach, to her hips, her breathing was becoming more and more sharp, and her growing arousal was more and more obvious. Her responses to his words of reassurance were becoming more and more staccato and less coherent. She pulled her arms, trying to move them but the cuffs attached to his belt loops kept her arms in place and up out of the way.

As he worked the flogger across her hips and lower stomach, she reflexively opened her thighs more and more. He began to strike her inner thighs on each pass, and moved to striking her mound between her thighs. She began to writhe from side to side as the intensity rose within her. "Open", he repeated each time her reflexes tended to pull her thighs together and he continued to work her closer and closer to the edge, until her legs stiffened straight out, and she cried out, so loudly he placed his hand over her mouth this time, but did not obstruct her breathing and continued to steadily but more gently play the flogger onto her as she quivered deeper and deeper into her release.

And then she went completely limp, and he laid the flogger down over her so that the strands both covered her and still continued to touch her as she shivered and twitched her way down through the orgasm. He unhooked the cuffs from her wrists, letting her arms loose and lifted her up and hugged her, kissed her and let her breath. As her breathing began to settle, as her body started to relax and release the accumulated tension, they were both startled and jumped as the clock radio alarm rang out so loud and interrupted the quiet of the moment. He reached over and pressed the off button to silence the alarm. They laid there staring at each other, sadly, knowing that the visit was at its end.

Eventually, he gathered her bags, took her out to his car, and drove her to the airport for her journey back to reality.

Also mentoring?

Previously, I talked about Mentoring (with a capital M) and the traditional rules and practices relative to the Dominants who Mentor and the submissives they teach. Several comments revolved around the formality of the relationship and the defined separation between the Mentor and the student/mentee/protégé, and rightly so. That is, that there should be no intimacy and/or play between the Mentor and the submissive, and the construct of the Mentoring relationship was discussed.

There are certainly unscrupulous people who will take advantage of a girl in such a "mentoring" situation, to wit:
"I now have a mentor/protector the trouble is i feel He is treating me more like a sub. He asked me to shave myself, i just trimmed it, then He wanted photos. (he is supposedly an on line so called mentor) I've not taken these yet. The thing that worries me most is He asked me to go without panties for seven days. This terrifies me as i may be soon working in an area of child care. I emailed Him with these concerns and still haven't heard. I thought a mentor was meant to guide and support someone and not set tasks that i believe are too much for me."

This sounds like an example of exactly what I was talking about when I said, these rules are intended to create a sense of safety for the submissive, which "the community" deemed as perhaps young, and naive, and inexperienced, and susceptible to undue or unethical influence. In other words, the rule was created to protect the submissive from the Dominant. But perhaps the act of defining such roles and structures leads to the confusion and expectations this girl felt; that she would even question if it was possibly proper, if there were not some construct in place that suggested this man might have some sort of power over her. I cannot believe that any of the women I know would fall for this sort of treatment.

I think there are different constructs within the formality of these "communities", and the relationships that are formed within those communities or groups, can be different than the relationships that are formed between individuals. In general discussions, the terms, "mentor" and "mentoring" are used rather loosely to describe a wide range of roles and activities, and so the words have come to mean different things to different people. The formality of the role of Mentor in the leather community is a different than the role I, as a dominant, might fulfill answering questions from a submissive that reads my blog and sends me an email with questions, although she might very well consider it mentoring. And, if that correspondence continues on an ongoing basis, I might well be considered a mentor (with a small m), but that is certainly different from a Mentor.

And as that relationship develops, and she continues to think of him as her mentor, there is a likelihood that some affection and caring might develop, some intimacy. As many of you said, it seems that intimacy is inherent in the development and growth of the relationship. That the term mentor is used to describe the dominant in this kind of fledgling relationship might be a misnomer, but it is the word used by many people when forming a relationship. These submissives have not said, I want to go out and learn things from a teacher, I am going to find a mentor.

Perhaps the notion that a dominant/mentor that plays with a submissive is automatically being inappropriate is incorrect. And worse, I think it can be interpreted as insulting by implying that the submissive is too fragile or ignorant to be able to tell the difference between a learning experience and an experience of more emotional depth. I think it also paints the dominant as predatory and self-serving. Some people may be all those things, but I think making that general assumption is incorrect. In many cases it is just the natural evolution of a dominant and submissive relationship.

Every time I try to write about this I think I get stuck between the formal BDSM-D/s that is what communities are formed around, and the informal BDSM-D/s that is the personal thing that many of us feel is part and parcel of how we relate to a partner, as part of our routine day to day interactions, as part of foreplay and sex play, part of our emotional make-up.

I certainly appreciate the comments everyone provided previously, thank you all very much. I think both perspectives were well represented; the formal community-based notion that a Mentor is a teacher with limitations and boundaries constricting their role, and the more personal notion of a forming a relationship with a dominant who will be teaching them things about themselves and about BDSM-D/s, who they identify as a mentor.

There seems to be a lot of discussion of this topic out there in "the cloud", or perhaps it is just that since I have been thinking about it, I have somehow figuratively, stepped into the conversation stream.

Mentoring

The topic of being a Mentor, or Mentorship, comes up from time to time, and I always struggle with the answer. When I first became aware of BDSM and D/s, I also discovered that there were actual "communities" and the first thing you find out about communities is that they have rules, there were rituals, routines, laws, protocols and established practices that people are expected to abide by. That is true for both online communities and real life local communities or clubs, all having rules.

One of the cardinal rules that I learned early on from these communities, both online and local, had to do with Mentors. My understanding of a Mentor was that is was a Dominant who took a submissive(s) under his wing and was essentially a teacher or advisor. He was someone the submissive could turn to when she had questions, an authority, who got to know her and could provide proper perspective. Perhaps it was a question about protocol, or relationships, or BDSM techniques, anything really. But the cardinal rule was, there was to be no intimacy between the Mentor and the charge.

I am sure this rule is intended to create a sense of safety for the submissive, which "the community" deemed as perhaps young, and naive, and inexperienced, and susceptible to undue or unethical influence. In other words, the rule was created to protect the submissive from the Dominant. This has always been the definition of Mentor that I had always recognized, and accepted.

However, having never really "joined up" with any communities, it really didn't matter much to me, one way or the other, and acceptance of that definition seemed fine. And then I started this blog, and people started asking me questions. So, in an effort to be smart(er) I undertook to research the matter, and sure enough, those communities are out there still, and they still have their rules. And what I found was, everyone's rules are different, not really surprising.

----------------------------

In read through many message boards and discussions groups, and I found that most who considered themselves "old guard" or "old school" had strict prohibitions about intimacy with a Mentor.

However, in searching through "published" sources, this was more typical:

"The submissive petitions the Dominant Mentor to train them while they are searching for the Dominant that they will serve the rest of their lives with. The submissive should be treated as if collared by the Dominant for life, until they are released to their formal Dominant. Usually if this type of training has taken place, the Dominant Mentor will assist the submissive in searching out and accepting the formal Dominant that they will serve." - Vixen Rose, Collars and Traditions

To her credit, her article says, "Includes: A special concern about the dilution of old traditions."

So, according to this definition, not only can the Mentor play with the submissive, he should essentially treat her as his collared submissive. That is certainly a dilution of the old tradition I learned.

----------------------------

Another source I turned to is a woman I have known for over a decade, someone who is considered an Elder in the greater Leather community. From an FAQ she published:

Q. What about intimacy (physical, sexual, emotional, etc.) in the mentoring relationship? Do mentor's and mentee's work SM together? Is sex OK between mentor and mentee?

A. To play or not to play? is a question that the mentor and mentee will discuss when they set the ground rules for the mentoring relationship.

So, I thought, it seems that the old rule I learned has pretty much been turned on its head, but then:

Q. Are there limits on a mentor's control?

A. An SM mentoring relationship is not an SM relationship per se, that is, power exchange and role-play is not appropriate in the mentoring relationship. The mentor and mentee are equals, one is not dominant and the other submissive in the relationship. Both are equals, sharing a common leather journey together.

Clearly, this kind of relationship is in a completely different ballpark.

----------------------------

And the deeper I dug, the more I kept running into varying definitions. Frankly it only led to even greater confusion on my part. So, I tucked all this research away for a while and thought about it, and forgot about it, and then thought some more, and have come to the following conclusion:

I do not agree that the Mentor's charge should be considered collared or owned by him, but I do agree that intimacy is okay between them if they agree to it. The thing that bothers me about the Vixen Rose definition is that seems to imply that if she accepts the mentorship, then she accepts the play/sex permission quid pro quo as well. That is the part I do not agree with.

In fact, I was talking to someone about this recently, and I said, it sounds like a friendship thing, almost "mentor with benefits". She said, "That doesn't sound that different from many relationships in this scene (blogosphere) that i've heard about? i mean, that's kind of what it's like in my life".

----------------------------

I am coming to think that intimacy between a Mentor and his charge is not as uncommon as I once thought, particularly for those who are not in a Master/slave, collared or owned situation. And I think that is a good thing, it seems an aftificial and unnecessary barrier beween two people who are sharing a powerful and growing experience together. Perhaps I was stuck in those old community rules and roles learned so long ago.

Good Night, Good Bye, Paul Newman

A wonderful man passed today, he was 83 years old. He was simply a man, an actor, a race car driver, philanthropist, father, husband, a caring being, the kind of dominant man I aspire to be. I had the good fortune to spend time in his company on three occasions, at car race weekends; I knew people who knew him.

I will simply affirm what two others have said about him - Robert Redford, "My life - and this country - is better for his being in it." And, George Clooney, "He set the bar too high for the rest of us. Not just actors, but all of us. He will be greatly missed."

The Next Morning - Morning Wood

derived from

Eventually she stopped shuddering, and relaxed, and he untied her ankles and wrists. They left the meeting room and went out into the day. They went down the stairs and onto the main casino floor to the early morning Starbucks for a coffee and orange juice. He took her out to a sitting area in a little plaza and they sat and talked, and looked at each other, finally, really for the first time. Another hour passed all too quickly and they had to part, and return to their respective lives.


The next morning, very early, he walked into the hotel, through the lobby to the elevator foyer and rode up to the 23rd floor. He walked down the hall, clicked the card key and let himself into the room where she was sleeping. He sat the small bag he was carrying on the foot of the bed. He sat down, and reached across her body, put his hand on her cheek, and brushed the hair back off her face. Finally she stirred a bit and began to wake up. Seeing him there, she pulled herself closer and pressed her face against his leg. She smiled and whispered softly, "Good morning." He smiled back at her, and sunk his fingers deep into her hair.

He pulled her head up off the bed. She closed her eyes, smiled, and made a soft noise. He leaned forward, placed his mouth over hers, both of their mouths opened to the other. He felt her tongue start dancing against his, slowly, tentatively at first. He forced his mouth harder onto hers, moving his tongue back and forth against hers. As he pulled her even closer against him, he felt her body pressing hard against the side of his leg. The kiss lingered on and on, so long desired, not wanting to end it. Finally, overwhelmed with passion and desire, he pulled back.

He stood up, fingers still tightly tangled in her hair; he pulled and guided her around, crosswise. She was kicking with her feet to help spin around, until she was lying across the width of the bed. She had her knees bent, feet up on the bed. She was stretched across the bed, head against his legs. He let go of her hair, and looked down the length of her naked body, thanking god for the inadequacy of hotel A/C in the summer, it had been so warm she had been comfortable sleeping naked as he had instructed.

He moved his hand along her jaw bone and chin, put his thumb against her lips. She opened her mouth and let it in, licking slowly with her tongue, and closed her lips around it. She sucked harder on his thumb, moved it slightly in and out of her mouth, he pushed it deeper into her mouth against the corner of her mouth, and she gripping it with her teeth. His other hand he moved across her breasts feeling the slight dampness of perspiration on her cool skin, brushing repeatedly over her swelling nipples, teasing them, feeling them stiffen. He toyed with them, bending and pushing them, listening to the sound of her sucking on his thumb and moaning in response to his touch.

Suddenly, she took hold above the knuckle and bit down. "No!" he said. He took hold of a nipple hard between his thumb and the side of his index finger and twisted when she did not respond to his voice. Still she did not respond and in fact it felt like her bite tightened even more. He let go her nipple and gave her a startling slap on the cheek, and moved his hand to her forehead. Her eyes flashed open, showing some shock and puzzlement.

With his hand on her forehead, he curled his fingers under her chin, gripped and pried her jaw open just enough to break her concentration and she loosened her bite on his thumb. He repeated, "No!" She let go her grip, got a coy smile in her eyes, and returned to caressing his thumb with her tongue, closed her eyes and returned to sucking in earnest. "Good girl".

While she continued, he reached over and picked up the bag he had dropped on the foot of the bed earlier, and dumped out it contents. They made a clattering sound as they fell into a heap on the bed. He told her to keep her eyes closed and that he was going to remove his thumb from her mouth, she mumbled a little grumble, kept her eyes closed and relaxed her mouth as he pulled his thumb out.

"Relax and be still". He rummaged through the items and picked up the sleeping mask and placed it over her eyes, and pulled the elastic around the back of her had. "Do you trust me baby?" and she nodded again, and a smile covered her face. "Good girl."

He reached back into the pile and took up a long handled wooden kitchen spoon. He leaned forward and repeatedly tapped the inside of her thighs with the cupped part of the spoon. The harder he struck it the louder was the popping sound the cup of the spoon made as it slapped against her thighs. She winced a little, and reached up and took a grip on the legs of his pants, squeezing handfuls of the denim, to help her steady herself. She started making a murmuring sound punctuated with little gasps of air as the implement would strike her tender inner thighs.

She continued to make gasping noises, and he continued to smack her. He would stop for a few moments, watch her face to be sure she was okay, and seeing her nod, would resume, a little more firmly each time. He smiled, knowing she was enjoying the sensations. Then he would stop and check again. After several cycles of this, he let the spoon slide down between her thighs, rubbing the back side of the spoon over her swollen lips, noticing how smoothly it slide up and down over her growing wetness. He pressed down more firmly, and she shivered. He slowly moved it up and down, noticing her hips move, lifting up, and pressing back against the sensations. Then he stopped and laid the cup of the spoon on the bed below her hips, and positioned it so that the long wooden handle lay against her swollen mound, and left it there.

He reached down and caressed her cheeks, noticed her breathing was more relaxed, and saw her smile as he touched her. He tried to remove her hands from their grip on the legs of his pants, but she held her grip and shook her head. Clearly she wanted to continue holding onto the denim, he assumed to help her steady herself.

He ran his hand up and down the front of her torso, feeling more perspiration on her skin; no longer as cool as it had been when he started. He reached into the pile and took a wooden clothespin, and clamped it on her nipple. Her body stiffened and she took a sharp breath, then whimpered softly and worked at steadying her breathing. As she settled into the sensation, he picked up the second clothespin and placed it onto her other nipple. Again she whimpered and it took a couple minutes for her breathing to settle back down again. He had become accustomed to hearing those wonderfully sexy, achy sounds she made when she was pinned like that. He leaned forward over her body, and rubbed and caressed her stomach, helping her calm down and feel more centered in her body.

She started pushing with her feet and sliding herself on the bed more, scooting up a bit on the sheets until her head was slightly tilted off the edge of the bed. She reached up and fumbled with his button and zipper, got them undone and pulled down on his pants, and they slide down off his hips and fell to a puddle around his ankles. She reached for his boxers and realized he was not wearing any, and laughed. She reached up and took a hold and moved him into her mouth. He was still leaning forward, rubbing her stomach. Balancing himself with one hand on the bed at her hip, he reached down and took hold of the wooden spoon and pulled it up across her and set it aside in the heap of implements. She continued to suck on him as he moved about. He was responding and growing harder and harder in her mouth.

He rubbed his fingers over her swollen mound, feeling her heat and dampness, and feeling her arousal. He reached over to the pile, picked up a third clothespin, and clamped it well up onto her hood. She shook with the sensation of the pressure but her attention was concentrated elsewhere. He picked up the wooden handled, stiff bristled pastry brush and began stroking it up and down across her clit. Her body started to shiver as if she was cold, and he knew she was close. He moved the brush faster and faster, increasing the pressure, and could feel her reaction in her mouth, as she drove him closer and closer to the edge, right along with her.

Her whole body stiffened and her back arched. He grabbed hold of the clothespin and pulled it off of her hood, her neck straining back. He yanked the pins off of her nipples and her head shook. Her legs stiffened and stretched out straight. He let loose his own orgasm, and growled, "Oh Yes. Now baby. Now."

and finally, the ending

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

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):

Master/Dominant
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.

slave/submissive
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 . . .

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.

"Three."

"Two."

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.

"One."

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

Resumed anew