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

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.

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

Waiting, Watching, Wanting, Willing

He had arrived early, walked around the lobby, familiarized himself with the layout of the space. The hotel lobby was nice and open, furnished with conversation nooks opposite the front desk. He sat down in one of the big chairs, where he could see the elevator foyer, where she would see him when she came out of the elevator and walked toward the front desk.

He envisioned her walking slowly across the lobby, approaching him, and putting out her hands. He would take hold of them and help her maintain her balance as she placed each knee between the outside of his thigh and the arm of the chair. Then, settle back and place her weight on his knees, sliding up closer against him, knees slipping deeper into the cushions, alongside his hips.

However, as he saw her approach he pushed that image up off his lap and out of his mind. He got up from the chair, and fell in stride beside her, taking hold of her hand and smiled down at her, locked in a gaze with those eyes he had imagined for so long, now so real, no longer flat images in photographs. She smiled back at him; he caught his breath in his throat and silently led her down the corridor of gift shops, toward the meeting rooms and the walkway to the parking garage.

Turning a corner they started up the stairway to the meeting rooms, as she took one step up, he pulled her hand back to spin her around. She turned to face him, standing one step up on the stairs, partially equalizing the height difference between them. He stood before her, looking squarely into her eyes and said, "I cannot believe you are really here." He reached out his hand and tenderly touched her cheek, and his hand slid back across her cheek, over her ear and pushed his fingers into her hair and took a firm grip. Her free hand moved up and hooked hold of the bend in his elbow.

They stood there still, her eyes locked onto his, and he heard her breathing deepen and falter. His body just barely touched hers, and as he held tight onto that grip of her hair, he pulled her head over to the side. 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. Steadily he sucked breath from her, and he felt her tongue start dancing against his, slowly, tentatively at first.

He let go of her hand and placed his on her hip, slip up under her shirt, and felt the soft warm curve of her waist. He pulled her closer, and moved his hand around across the muscles in the small of her back. He wrapped his arm around her back to the other side of her waist and pulled her firmly up against his stomach and chest.

He re-tightened his grip on her hair, pulled her head back slightly and forced his mouth harder onto and over hers, moving his tongue back and forth across her lips and teeth. As he pulled her even closer against him, he felt her pushing her pelvis forward, pressed hard against his hip, moving from side to side rubbing herself against him. He held her against him imagining they would blend into one.

Fighting against his building passion, and the immediacy of his desires, he pulled back from the kiss. He leaned back slightly, removed his hand from her hair, and moved it to her throat, pushed up and lifted her gaze, and stared into her eyes. Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Come with me sweetheart." and he led her up the stairs.

Continued at Part 2

One Foot in Each World

I discovered this blogosphere realm from a dominants site, I was Googling for some information and found a particularly good blog and it led me to a couple of blogs that attracted my further interest and attention, I read them for a while, and was inspired to begin my own. More and more my reading expanded, and over time I began to recognize a couple of distinctly different styles of blogs. I originally thought of them as the sex blogs and the BDSM blogs, although I don't know that those generalizations are wholly accurate. I guess I will just use the styles set by Love Boudoir to avoid making up my own semantics, Erotica and Kink. What follows are generalizations:

Erotica, featuring straight, vanilla, sometime edgy, but always delicious erotic pleasure..., I think these folks generally refer to themselves as sex bloggers, generally have a very open attitude toward sexual encounters, in fact the majority of their posts are centered on real or imagined/fantasized sexual encounters. Their posts are beautifully written prose or poetry describing the events, their feelings about them, and both their physical and emotional responses during and after those encounters. They are very sexy, very sensual and very erotic. The nature of the relationships ranged from married couples, to lovers, to casual encounters with total strangers, to even phone or Internet chat sex play.

Kink, gratification is just one fetish away, lust dances with a master and his slave, and pleasure stings like a whip..., often as not written by submissives describing their relationships and service with their master, owner(s) or play dominants. Their posts are also beautifully written and appear to be roughly a 50-50 mix of sensual descriptions of "scenes" or encounters, and discussions of the joys or tribulations of their service and submission. The nature of the relationships range from Master/slave couplings, to marriages with kink, to submissives collared to dominants, to dom/sub in long distance relationships.

I don't remember exactly how it was that I found myself in the sex blogger realm, most likely I followed the profile link of a commenter, and followed a link on their page and then another and then another. Sometimes I forgot to follow the bread crumbs back and lost my way. Slowly I got to widening my range of sites further and further, and went off on tangents that took me to a number of (what I would call) bizarre fetish blogs, like diapers, and baby bottles and other less than mainstream interests. Most often I followed the bread crumb trails back from there.

But also, the more I read some of the erotic/sex blogs I discovered some very strong submissive themes to the exploits being discussed. Some, who probably started out just exploring their sexuality, happened across some kink along the way and recognized a submissive interest, or a submissiveness within themselves that had been dormant or simply unobserved. There seems to be an undercurrent of sex bloggers who have a tendency toward bottoming, but still to a larger audience of partners.

Interestingly though, I do not find the same degree of cross over from the submissive blogs, no corresponding interest in exploring a variety of partners through a variety of sexual encounters. There are a number of slave/subs who find pleasure in being shared, or are positioned by their dominant or master where their sexuality is displayed or available to others. However, there does seem to be a greater tendency toward fidelity/commitment to one partner.

For the past couple weeks I have been paying particular attention to the blog rolls when I visit someone's page and find there is usually a pretty fair mix of links offered for others to explore. There does seem to be the 80-20 rule in effect though. I suppose that is as expected, although the other 20% of the links offers a surprising insight into their other interests, the amount of cross over seems to be growing, or is it just that my perception has changed?

I can certainly understand why a dominant/submissive would enjoy reading the blogs of sexually promiscuous/adventurous women with submissive tendencies, and vice verse. And why sexually adventurous women would enjoy the intensity of some of the kink they read on those others blogs. As a dominant I certainly enjoy reading the blog of a sexually adventurous women with submissive tendencies.

If you have gotten this far, and don't want to make any comment, I would appreciate it if you would take a minute to answer the poll over in the right side bar - if for no other reason than to assuage my curiosity about the kind of people that pass by. Thank you.

And thank you for taking part in my poll:

Total Votes 24
Erotica 2 (8%)
Kink 8 (34%)
Erotically Kinky 11 (47%)
Dominant 0 (0%) I didn't vote
Just Visiting 3 (13%)

Hand Controls

'What? you think you're some kind of Jedi? Waving your hand around like that?' ~ Watto to Qui-Gon, The Phantom Menace

It was a very busy Saturday night and I was sitting at the final seat at the blackjack table, another man next to me and then seat 4 was empty, the barstool like seat pushed up against the rail, and the other 3 seats were occupied as well. The pit area at the Suncoast casino was busy; there was nearly a row of people behind the players watching the action. It was jovial night, everyone was having a good time, the cards were generally going the player’s way, and everyone was up a little bit.

As we played I began to notice the man next to me kept looking to his right, not paying the attention he had been, seeming distracted. I also noticed that the blackjack dealer seemed to have his attention drawn as well. After a few minutes, I leaned forward to see what was distracting them so. A player had stepped up to the vacant seat and placed chips on the edge of the table, waiting to get into the next round of play.

Standing behind the vacant fourth seat was a quite attractive, fairly tall Asian girl, typical long straight black hair and pretty oval eyes. Then I noticed what had been distracting the other men (and now me) at the table. This attractive 20-something girl was wearing a short black flip skirt and a cream colored button up V-neck sweater, unbuttoned nearly down to her navel. The edges of the sweater were taut, just barely covered the nipples on her small conical breasts. Like many Asian girls she had very small breasts, probably barely A cups, and seemed to be fidgety about the way the sweater barely covered them.

She held a drink in her left hand and played cards with her right, and between hands she would fuss with the edges of the sweater, alternately covering more of her breasts and then moving it back to where it just barely covered her nipples again, all done in a nervous sort of way.

As I alternated between watching and leering, I noticed she would glance back over her left shoulder frequently, as if she might be expecting someone to come walking up at any minute. I looked around a couple times and finally notice a nice looking late 30s man standing about 10 feet back from the table, leaning against the end of a bank of slot machines. He was nicely dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, and was watching the girl, very intently, with no expression on his face.

Just about then the girl adjusted the right edge of the sweater so that it was now lying outside of her right breast, so that it was completely uncovered. It was quite a sight in a crowded casino, a lovely girl with bare breast showing in the midst of crowd. I looked back at the man and notice he was making a hand gesture, waving it slightly to the right, indicating the same direction she had moved the sweater. As I watched him he then moved his hand in a pushing forward manner and the girl moved in closer to the table and leaned forward, making herself even more visible to the people on either side of her. Over the half-hour or so, she moved the sweater edge off of and back on and then off again from her breasts probably a half dozen times, mostly leaving them and her erase-like nipples open and exposed, responding to the gestures of the man behind her.

Every time he would give her another gesture, she would grimace slightly but comply. Her gaze was always on the man, or the cards in front of her, but never to one side or the other, acutely aware that she was being watched, the blackjack dealer directly in front of her and also some half dozen people on either side of her. People would come and go, not sure of what they were seeing, or leave out of embarrassment, except for those of us engaged in the game, sitting at the table, caught up in the play.

I am fairly confident that I am the only one who saw the man and his hand signals, and understood the control being exerted over her. Clearly she was acting as directed within a previously scripted scenario. She was embarrassed in that very shy, demure and quiet way that Asian girls can react, but was obviously enjoying the control and exhibition as evidenced by her skin flushing and arousal. Then as quietly and unobtrusively as she had arrived, with a come hither gesture, she turned and walked away, placed her hand on his arm and they walked off into the crowd.

It was a very interesting convergence of domination/control, exhibition and voyeurism, if only for a fleeting few minutes.

Humiliation, the good, the bad, the ugly

We’d had this conversation a while ago, but I had forgotten, and I asked:

“Would you think about something for me?”
“Of course.”
“We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“OK.”
“Humiliation, is it good or bad? Not a politically or kink correct answer, but a gut feel. In the sense of ‘I was totally humiliated.’ your attitude about it, not feelings.”
“I think this is a hard question for me to understand, given the limitations, but I'll try and make sense out of it.”
“Okay, then forget the limitations, I did not mean it to be limiting, just the whole range of those things call humiliation; you are right, that is better and a more fair question.”
"'I was totally humiliated' - I'll think about what that statement brings up for me... is that what you mean, more or less?"
"Yes that is what I mean, not to your submission particularly, just as a person."
"Yes, OK."

And the next day:

"I thought about humiliation."
"Oh yes?"
"I should email, I think."
"Okay, I would love to have your feelings on it."

And then the email:

I think you've made a case that humiliating and humbling are the same. I can't say I see it that way.

If I say humiliated, I mean embarrassed and brought down to a point below ones true worth. Where humbled, I see as settling to one's proper place.

Humiliation is an experience of shame.

Does this answer?

Yes, it did, so, there is one perspective on the matter of Humiliation and Humbling/Humility, and on the other hand:

"it was humiliating. But i didn't resist . . . moving my body into a rhythm . . . i felt aroused by the stimulation, and aroused by the humiliation. i felt my little place so acutely... it felt so right that i should be in this space of humility; . . . it felt right that we all acknowledged that it was part of my place to have lower status and higher humility."

A third perspective is:

I feel that some humiliation is necessary to reduce me to that deep submissive state I long to be in. Humiliation, as in wearing a collar or leash, submitting to an inspection, being made to crawl, etc., helps to put my mind into the "powerless" state and allows me to "feel" the authority that my Dom/Dad/Master has over me. I do not, however, much enjoy the more extreme forms of humiliation such as being urinated on......that, to me, is overkill.

So, these three have differing opinions, perhaps a Dominant has it figured out:

Humiliation. "The word itself can cause even hard-core players to recoil. In the BDSM community, where consensual, well-intentioned humiliation games are commonly practiced, players routinely disavow participation. I myself would vehemently declare that if a Sub wanted humiliation, then find another, I simply was not into that. Why would I want to dominate someone I didn't respect?
That was how I saw humiliation. Disrespectful. Degrading. Debasing. Insulting. As abuse, pure and simple. The idea of what I perceived as emotional cruelty. The idea of verbally harming my Submissives nauseated me."

So, then perhaps we turn to the dictionaries and definitions, to get some clarity, to find the essential relationship between Humiliation and Humility.

Definitions of Humiliation:

• state of disgrace or loss of self-respect
• chagrin: strong feelings of embarrassment
• an instance in which you are caused to lose your prestige or self-respect; "he had to undergo one humiliation after another"
• depriving one of self-esteem
  wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Humiliation is bad . . .

Definitions of humility:

• a disposition to be humble; a lack of false pride; "not everyone regards humility as a virtue"
• a humble feeling; "he was filled with humility at the sight of the Pope"
  wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

Humility is good, being humble . . .

From Wikipedia: Humiliation is the abasement of pride; mortification. The state of being humbled or reduced to lowliness or submission. It is thus the process of being made humble. It can be brought about through bullying, intimidation, physical or mental mistreatment or trickery and embarrassment.

Humiliation is being humble, humility, which is good . . .

No wonder everyone is confused and afraid.

So, perhaps it is all just semantics, which I would agree with, an unimportant distinction, except I think there are many submissives that miss out on opportunities for growth, arousal, bonding and excitement, a chance to truly move forward because they are afraid of being humiliated and embarrassed, demeaned?

They are afraid of being embarrassed and brought down to a point below ones true worth.

They do not find humiliation as settling to one's proper place.

Clearly humiliation is used for a variety of reasons.

There are those dominants that use humiliation to totally debase a submissive, tear her down, belittle her, strip her of any self esteem or self respect to build her back up "his way".

Others use humiliation to overcome excess pride, to make their submissive more humble, to create a sense of self worth in their submission, subordinate to the dominant, respectful.

There does not seem to be a hard and fast result from humiliation, let alone a common perception of what it really constitutes.

Service-oriented Submission/Submissive

This post has been sitting as a Pending post since mid-March; I drag it out and think about it, make some notes, but have never been able to bring it forward into the light of day. Over the weekend a convergence of recent reading and discussions with a girl online seems to have been the lightening bolt that finally helped me focus when she said, "Please don't be confused, I am not a masochist, I was trained as a service-oriented submissive."

Some of that material includes:

• Persephone’s discussion of her new tea party style of submission
• Alice talked about This thing that we do
• MJ's slave nik, who is all about service, writes about it on a very regular basis, check her label, slaves musings.

In this sector of the blog realm, so often the quality of dominance is tied to the degree of sadism/physicality involved/exhibited, and it is much less common to find discussions of the mental aspects of control, in ways that incorporate all aspects of the submissive’s daily lives. But in fact, the essence of dominance is control; it is not hard, but perhaps not likely, to imagine a D/s relationship where there are no sexual or sadistic components, but pure and straight forward control. This control can be exerted over every aspect of the submissive’s daily life; how she dresses, when she sleeps and awakens, what she eats and when, how she conducts herself in interactions with other people. Clearly, in many relationships, while there are heavy levels of BDSM and S&M, there is also a more broad reaching control, perhaps with the exception of sexual submissives, or bedroom submissives.

In Persephone's recent post about tea party, she talks about her owner wanting “. . . light and enjoyable interactions between us . . . he prefers the twee 'tea party' to describe what he envisions . . . really different because of its absence of most-- if not all-- of the usual bdsm trappings.”

A Google search for “service-oriented submissive” includes a Wikipedia reference:

Service-oriented (sexuality)

In human sexuality, Service-oriented is a term used in the BDSM community to refer relationship dynamic.

In a service-oriented relationship, the focus is on how the submissive can contribute resources to the dominant partner, provide for some of their needs or advance their goals. These relationships may or may not also include romantic feelings.

A common example of such a relationship would be one in which the submissive and dominant were romantically attracted and the submissive is collared to the dominant, indicating that they are "in service" to that dominant. The collar may well be predicated on certain performance levels or the usefulness of that submissive in specific areas. If those things were to change or dissipate the couple may remain romantically linked but often the collar will be removed.

For the submissive in such a relationship, the collar is seen as a status symbol signifying the approval and acknowledgement of a person they wish to serve. They often take great pleasure and pride in their status and relationship.

For the dominant, the benefits are practical as well as emotional. Many take great pleasure in being 'served' in this manner, and of course having the additional resources available is of immense utility.

Categories: Sex stubs BDSM Human sexuality

While this Wikipedia article is titled Service-oriented (sexuality), the content sounds like a domestic arrangement, or an administrator or secretary, perhaps they were not willing to delve into the deeper inter-personal aspects.

It occurs to me that the Daddy dom/little girl dynamic may very well be a clear example of this service-oriented D/s relationship. Another flavor is Domestic Discipline, a special form of dominance and submission. And I am reminded of The Submissive Wife Project that I stumbled across last year. I am sure there are others.

There seems to be so much more depth in the nature of D/s or service-oriented submission than just BDSM, but so often it is all wrapped in the same blanket.

Ten Pretty Good Rules

These rules have no specific purpose, but will serve you well as humor, and are not a bad perspective to use when dealing with the vagaries of daily life.

1. Never wrestle with a pig; you both get dirty and the pig likes it.
2. Never argue with an idiot; people watching may not be able to tell the difference.
3. Observe everything; admire nothing.
4. It's easier to obtain forgiveness than it is permission.
5. Rarely resist the opportunity to keep your mouth shut.
6. Don't ask the question if you cannot live with the answer.
7. If you want a new idea, read an old book.
8. If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there.
9. Never have a philosophy which supports a lack of courage.
10. Never look back unless you intend to go that way.

More on Ignoring

Ignoring in the context of the previous question about submission is not intended to be the kind of ignoring as you would a precocious child, or shunning.

In the original statement is the phrase "her desires unimportant - being ignored", meaning her desires being ignored, not her. Actively ignored, knowing exactly what she wants, at that moment, more than anything else, and withholding it. Some times there are incidences that are a response to bad or shady behavior, which she employs specifically to draw a reaction. Perhaps she is being sassy to provoke discipline, punishment, or a spanking. Active ignoring might well respond to that desire for a spanking with a much less palpable activity, such as prolonged corner time. But this is not the kind of ignoring that raised the initial question.

I think the way I posted the question was unclear. There's a stated question in the text, but that's not really the question that was asked. The question was more about needs being ignored overall, rather than about incidences involving purposeful ignoring. A submissive being told she is an object, her desires unimportant versus the intense attention and care that many dominants clearly give.

As she says in the question, she is, ". . . drawn to D/s by the quality of attention described. Punishments or pleasure given with care, responses noted" and notes that clearly the dominant knowing what she wants, and is giving it to her, but perhaps on his own terms, and in his own fashion? But so often she reads in the blogs the dominant saying, "what you want doesn't matter, your needs don't matter," but it's a thing that's said to have an effect, in some ways true, but also not at all.

This is the disconnect that appears to create the confusion, and hence the question.

Perhaps the clarification is embodied in, "The needs of my Master are more important than my own, because I trust my Master to meet and care for my needs, that leaves me free to focus on his needs."

Do you have an inclination for BDSM? - a quiz

You scored as a Dominant
Sex is about power and you like to be powerful. It's nice to be in charge and get what you want. And being in a position where people will do what you say is exciting.

93% - Dominant
64% - Experimental
57% - Sadist
46% - Exhibitionist/Voyeur
25% - Switch
21% - Bondage
18% - Degradation Lover

14% - Vanilla
7% - Submissive
7% - Masochist

Take me to the Quiz

(Note from the quiz author: This quiz doesn't cover all aspects of BDSM due to the length that such a comprehensive quiz would be. It is sex-based because the psychological reasons behind fetishes are complex and different for everyone to some degree.)

Questions about submission

We have been talking about her growing awareness of her submissive desires, how more and more, she feels like something is missing. I suggested a blog to read.

After some reading, she said: "It brought back to mind one of my key questions . . . not so clearly a question really . . . I'm drawn to D/s by the quality of attention described. Punishments or pleasure given with care, responses noted, limits noticed and pushed. And then the contrasting idea - a sub being an object, her desires unimportant - being ignored. (Being purposefully ignored by someone who knows how you respond to that neglect - is that really being ignored?)"

"These things confuse me."

It occurs to me, that as a dominant, I will provide my point of view on this, but I think it would be worthwhile to hear something other than a man's point of view.

Experiencing her submissiveness

Marie had noticed men who looked at her "that way", who recognized the way she responds to their gaze, transfixed. These are not just horny men looking at a pretty girl; they knew something about her she barely knew herself, they were those men.

She had come to recognize her submissive nature, but still was conflicted at times because that feeling and desire in her is so vastly different from how she acts in her day to day life.

We talked for a long time about her feelings, and the unsettled feeling she had about what had happened, not that she was traumatized by being forced but how the sex of it had felt, and how she felt about the sex. She talked about wanting to have those feelings again, how she wanted to please men, to feel them in her like that. But she didn't know anyone she could have that kind of a relationship with, and how it was so outside of her “real life”.

However, there were men, there was Brad who operates a custom upholstery shop, Tony who runs the T-Shirt shop, and the man at the gas station/snack shop - - all of them were men she noticed looking at her “that way”. After a time, I suggested that if she wanted to pursue this that Brad seemed the best choice from everything she had said about them.

She developed a sexual submissive relationship with Brad over the next several months. She would stop and spend an hour or two with him, once or twice a week, and he led her deeper and deeper into her submission. One of her favorite things was being leaned over the back of a low couch, and having her wrists attached to restraints positioned down between the back cushion and seat. In this position she could barely move, was nearly impossible to see behind herself and was totally vulnerable. At first he blindfolded her, but eventually simply forbid her to look back, to keep her face buried between the cushions.

One day we were discussing her feelings about all of this and she commented on how erotic it was, amazed at his staying power, being able to engage her 4 and 5 and 6 times - - I expressed skepticism. She swore it was in fact what was happening. I began to ask more probing questions and suggested to her that it would be an amazing, if not super, man who could perform that way. To make a long story short, the next time she was there, she forced herself to look back and it was not Brad, but Tony. This was a total violation of her trust. She freed herself and left. She stopped in and spoke to him a couple times, expressing her outrage, but that was it. Bravo for her – clearly a violation of the trust and nature of their relationship.

Over the next year, she had fleeting relationships with others, young men closer to her own age, but they did not treat her the way she had become accustomed to with Brad. After long periods of consternation and discussions, she told me she was going to start seeing Brad again. She went and had a long discussion with him about how he has violated her trust in the past. They started up again and she enjoyed the time she spent with him. He is the only dominant man she has been able to establish that connection with.

Lately she had been talking about what happened with the two of them having her. She talked about how she missed that feeling and how she wanted it again. She decided that if she knew, in advance, and agreed to what was happening it would be okay.

Last week, she did again. She said, "But it is really a little scary, how it makes me feel." I didn't understand and asked what she meant? She said, "I just really like how it makes me feel. Not just how it feels, but how i feel letting them. Just being there to let them, because it feels so good. But it does scare me that I like how I feel. You don’t hear how my friends talk about other girls they think are sluts, but I am a total slut."