Bus Seat

The Consensual Stalker

She got up from the bus stop bench and boarded the bus. As they walked down the aisle he encouraged her to the row of seats just in front of the full width bench seat at the back. She slipped into the window seat on the sidewalk side of the bus, and he slipped into the seat immediately behind her. She could hear his breathing as he leaned forward, immediately behind her the back of her head. "Relax, and make yourself comfortable, settle yourself into the comfort and contour of the seat, and lean back." As she settled in her seat, she felt him put his face into her hair, and take deep breaths of her freshly washed hair, knowing he was appreciating the apricot fragrance of the shampoo he had instructed her to buy, and use this very morning.

She had always hated the seats on the city buses, the semi-contoured bare fiberglass, with no cushioning. It was not a comfortable seat at all, it was hard, and cold, and unforgiving. She moved and squirmed into the seat, "Now, adjust your skirt so it is out from under your legs, so that your bare skin is against the seat, and gather it up around your hips." It was such a short skirt it did not take much effort to hike it up out from under her bottom, and she felt the cold fiberglass pressed against the backs of her thighs, and through her little bikinis panties. The chill of it made her shiver.

As she sensed him right behind her; she recalled how he had reached around her in the produce market, and the way he had manhandled her at the book store. Her mind raced ahead, fearing some similar exposure, wondering if he would be so bold and touch her that way in this broad daylight, passing public, open aired venue. She shivered at the thought, and felt her embarrassment rising, she wondered if he would have the audacity to do that again. Even as she was imagining what he might do, she felt his hand in back of her neck, combing his fingers through her hair, like he was reacquainting himself, and reconditioning her. He gripped tighter, she winced and stiffened.

His hands pushed her hair up on her neck and moved her hair aside. He pushed on the back of her head and she was forced to tilt her head down, and forward, in response to the pressure. He held her head still like that and she heard rustling sounds, then a mechanical click, and felt something on the back of her neck, a pressure, a coldness, just below her hairline. It made her shiver, and she felt a rush of fear. Was it a knife, or blade of some kind? In a soft, shaky voice she asked, "What, what was that? What did you do to my neck?" His reply, "It is just a mark, nothing to be concerned about." He spread her hair aside further and rubbed his fingers around and over the spot. "See, it is fine, not to worry." She felt no pain or discomfort, it seemed she would just have to "trust" that this "mark" was really nothing serious, she hoped not.

He continued rubbing the back of her neck, down to her shoulder, with firm pressure, nearly like a massage. She felt that her muscles very tense. Then, in a deep, heavy voice, whispering into her ear, she felt his hot breath, "Relax, everything is fine. Let go of that tension; yes, good girl." She closed her eyes and felt the relaxing massage on the back and side of her neck. She did relax, some, but was still apprehensive about what lay ahead, surely this was not the end of it. And, what was this mark on the back of her neck about?

Then, his fingers spread through her hair again, moving to the right side of her head away from the view of other passengers. She felt him tracing all around the outer edges of her ear and then around the back of it, then tugging slightly at her ear lobe, seemingly just bothering at her ear. It felt good she decided, relaxing some, letting herself feel the attention, feeling the sensuality of it, no longer fearful. And then his finger was dancing around her ear, in slight brushing touches, and all over her ear, and then onto it, lightly probing the folds of her ear. Then he took hold of her whole outer ear in his hand and gently rubbed and caressed it. Her breathing was becoming shallower, no longer relaxed. He told her to let the tension out of her body, to cross her ankles and tuck her feet back under the seat, to relax her legs.

He let go of her ear, and moved his hand down to her jaw, and leaned forward so that his head was along side of hers, pressing his cheek against the side of her head, and murmured into her hair. As he pressed his face against the side of her head, his hand slide down her jaw, to her chin, and then down under her chin to her throat. His hand pushed up under her throat, lift her jaw, tilting her head back slightly, and he kissed the side of her cheek. His palm brushed across the side of her face, over her forehead, her nose, cheeks, and moved up and covered her eyes. She felt his lips and breath at her ear, "Remember how I touched you in the store? And in the book shelves at Borders?" He moved his hand down off of her eyes, slowly down over her nose, her lips, her chin, and suddenly he was unbuttoning the top button of her shirt. She stiffened and said, "No, please, don't do this." She heard him make a slight chuckle and snort, and his hand returned to her neck. "How are you feeling?"

She thought about it and realized how tense she was again, her legs were stiffened again but also she felt the dampness, and again cursed the bare fiberglass seats. She squirmed but there was no way to escape her growing wetness. He seemed to sense her reaction and said, almost under his breath, "Ahh, yes, very good sweetheart, very nice." His heavy dark whispering in her ear, and his warm breath, was forcing her recollection of the way he had made her climax during their previous encounters. He moved his hand up from her neck and was rubbing his fingers across her mouth, her tongue tried to moisten her lips but she just ended up licking his fingers and he spread them across her lips. And then he pressed his fingers in and forcing her to open her lips, slipping his fingers into the corner of her mouth, rubbing his fingertips along the inside of her cheek. She moved her tongue around and over his fingers, drawing them into her mouth even further, and then she was sucking on them.

And then he was saying, "Good girl, think about how you have touched yourself, laying in bed at night, on your side, curled up with your hands tucked between your thighs. Remember the suggestions I have given you, and how you have responded to them." She sucked on his fingers and recalled the way he had told her to lay curled up at night, how she would lightly touch herself and drift off. The recollections combined with his probing fingers were causing her chest to heave, her breathing to quicken and she struggled to calm herself. And then he asking her, "Are you ready?" Telling her, "Let go of your inhibitions." whispering, "Do you feel it building?" pushing her onward, "Are you ready now?" She was tense, starting to shake.

Then she felt his hand between her shoulders, pushing her forward, "Lean forward now, tuck your head down behind the seat in front of you, clench your thighs together, tightly, wrap your arms completely around under your thighs, squeeze hard together. Let yourself go . . . Now!"

next in the series . . .

Just Let Me Dance You, Give Yourself Over

He gestured to her to get up, and join him out on the dance floor. He offered her his right hand, palm up, open, in front of her and she placed her left hand, fingers, onto his open palm. He tilted his hand slightly so that her fingers were hooked over the edge of his hand. He looked over at her and saw some apprehension in her eyes, he stared into her eyes for a moment, smiled at her, and stepped forward, beginning to pull her along by her accepted hand. She walked forward with him, but about a half step back, almost reluctantly, but also excited by the prospect of something they had talked about off and on, for months. She was finally going to be danced, he was going to dance her.

She had danced with others, sure, many times, but she knew this was not about them dancing with each other, she was going to give herself over to this, she knew he was very clearly going to lead her, take her where he wanted, and she would follow. He had told her there would be no skills problem, he would lead, she would follow, it was not something she needed to know how to do, all she had to do was feel him against her, and follow. She feared she would make false steps, embarrass herself, and him, not show grace. He had told her it would be easy; even so, she was reluctant and apprehensive, but could not wait to be taken by him in this way.

As they reached the edge of the dance floor, he lead her around in front of him while he moved forward taking a partial step, turning to his right, positioned directly in front of her, further away than she had imagined he would be. The open space between their bodies was like an unanswered invitation. Then, he took her left hand and moved it to his side, holding it so that her fingers slipped through his belt loop and her thumb hooked over the waist band of his jeans. Once her hand was in place, he slowly slid his hand up her wrist, thumb on top, pressing down firmly, and fingers lightly tracing over her skin on the underside of her arm; up along her forearm to her elbow, around the bend of her elbow and up the back of her upper arm; and onto her shoulder. But his hand did not stop at her shoulder, it moved across her shoulder and around to the back of her neck, up under her shoulder length hair and rested there, with the heel of his palm on the side of her neck, fingers curled around to the nape of her neck. His thumb pressed gently on her jaw bone, tilting her head up slightly and looking into his eyes.

He held up his left hand, palm up, invitingly; just as he had with his right hand earlier; and looked down at her. She knew to place her other hand in his and he held it loosely, with their elbows bent slightly, his thumb pressed down and secured her fingers in place, holding her hand now. First with his left foot, he stepped forward as his body approached her, pressed up to hers, and then his right foot came forward, and she felt his knee pressing between her thighs. The open space gone, the invitation offered, accepted and taken. At the same time, his hand slipped down off the back of her neck, and pressed wide open between her shoulder blades, encouraging her forward up against him. As their feet moved toward each other, his right knee slipped deeper between her thighs and she felt herself pressed against his leg above his knee.

And then, the music started -

I'm Sittin' on Top of the World - Willie Nelson & Asleep at the Wheel

. . . and he began to sway with the music, taking small tentative steps, infusing the rhythmic movement to both of them. Slightly moving his upper body to and fro, side to side, pressed against hers, back and forth, and moving his leg, moving hers to the same rhythm, controlling the movement of both their bodies, close together, moving, becoming one . . .

You don't have to think, just follow me,
feel the feeling let your body be,
We'll just be moving, so don't worry,
We're dancing in our own little world.

We're just out here, on the dance floor,
step to the right, pause, then once more,
we'll just move slowly, so don't worry,
simply move slowly, follow my lead.

Just let me dance you, and romance you,
you don't have to think, nothing to do,
slow, sultry, swaying, soft persuading,
just let me dance you, give yourself over.

Bus Stop

The Consensual Stalker

He had told her she might be "seeing" him today. Now, there she was, sitting at the bus stop, reading a magazine, seeming completely engrossed. He wondered if she was with the other woman sitting on the bench, obviously older, perhaps her mother, or aunt? He took the bus schedule out of his pocket, looked at his watch, and noted he had about five minutes until the bus arrived.

He stood behind her for a minute, just observing, looking like just another person waiting for the bus, but very busy observing his surroundings, the other people around, the traffic, pedestrians. Yes, this was as good a setting as any other for today's adventure. He leaned forward slightly and spoke her name, no response.

"Hello, how are you today?" Still no reaction. He leaned slightly to the right and noticed the wires running from her purse up to her head, ahhh, probably an iPod. A very busy girl, reading, listening, to music? No movement, no bench dancing, perhaps an audio book. Obviously it was loud enough that she was oblivious to noise around her. He leaned down behind her ear, put his hand on top of her head, and spoke firmly into her ear, "Be still, it is me." He felt her startled reaction, but she seemed to understand and raised her head from her attention to the magazine.

His large hand gripped her head and held her steady as he removed the right ear bud. "Better." he said. "It is good to see you, I have missed you." No reaction, stunned silence? He moved his hand on her head, stroking her hair, tangling his fingers in her curls.

"Are you ready for your next lesson?" He felt more than saw her nod her head, and also felt a slight tensing, and maybe a change in her breathing. "Good girl."

Her hair had grown since they were last together and was falling down over her shoulders, obscuring his view. He combed his fingers through her hair and tucked it back behind her ear, improving his view over her shoulder, down the front of her body. Now he could see her breasts heaving, long, deep, slow breaths. He could see her swollen and erect nipple pressing against her shirt, so large and responsive that even her bra could not restrain it.

He placed his mouth close to her ear, "I am surprised you are wearing a skirt today, but it is lovely. You have very nice legs. Knowing you would see me today, did you choose that skirt for me?"

She nodded her head, yes.

"It is quite short, and revealing. Cross your legs for me." She moved to cross them, but he said, "The other way, left over right." She shuffled and moved her legs as he instructed.

"I can nearly see your panties when your legs are crossed like that. You are wearing panties?"

She nodded her head again.

"I hope they are lace fringed bikinis like you wore in the book store?"

Yes, she nodded.

"The same pair, especially for me?" She nodded, and sighed a deep breath. He smiled to himself, recognizing how thoroughly she was responding to him, consciously dressing to appeal, charming.

"Clench your thighs, and rock your upper leg." and she did. he could hear her breathing change after a minute of this.

"Feels good doesn't it?"

He saw her head nod, but also heard a small squeak.

"Squeeze tighter." She gasped again. Her breath was now obviously deeper, quicker. "Snug your leg over even tighter." More indistinguishable noises.

"When the bus arrives, go ahead and get on, and walk to a seat near the back, but keep your gaze down. I am going to sit behind you, and we will continue. When you sit down, adjust your skirt up but do not cross your legs again."

"Here is the bus. Get up, and let's go." And they got onto the bus.

A previous encounter

Authenticity

The Thinking Dominant, offers up thought provoking questions from time to time. Their subtext says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...." I say, Amen to that.

They recently asked about Authenticity.

• What are your thoughts regarding those who primarily are attracted to BDSM because of its “transgressive” nature?
• Are dominants who embrace BDSM more as a fun, taboo way to explore sexuality any less authentic than those who have committed to the philosophy of BDSM/ base their relationships on power exchange regardless of the sexual elements?

Is an ethical Top less Authentic than an ethical Dominant? I don't think so. The notion seems to imply a kind of elitism, "my dominance is better because it fits into some predefined framework". After all, the definitions even tend to suggest that:

authenticity - the truthfulness of origins, attributions, commitments, sincerity, devotion, and intentions.

authentic - entitled to acceptance or belief because of agreement with known facts or experience.

There are any number of forums, particularly across the width and breadth of the Internet that seek to define peoples roles and kinks into finer and finer layers. I think that if people are truthful with themselves and their partners - then it doesn't really matter which side of the coin the Dominant falls on. At some point we get into too much parsing of roles and characteristics.

As in many other venues in life, people ought to celebrate their similarities, not their differences. Think of the differences as the flavorings, or toppings, or decorations on the lovely cakes that we all are.

It is certainly my personal opinion that developing a strong and deep and abiding relationship with someone I do such intimate things with is far more fulfilling and intense than just doing a scene on a stage for others to watch. However, I think that is true of nearly every connection with another human being, regardless of the activity.

Friday Fiction: Meal: Mango and Sticky Rice

Friday Fiction: Meal - - Write a brief bit of fiction involving a meal.








I would love to feed it to you, by hand, my hand; not yours, not permitted.

1. Four portions for each mango slice, first bite the end off, chewed thirteen times, swallow.
2. Then turned, and bite the other end off, chewed thirteen times again, and swallow, show me your mouth is clean.
3. Break the remaining center in half and place one piece in your mouth, behind your lower teeth, chew and swallow.
4. Use my fingers to mash/squish the final piece and let you take it off my fingers with your lips, and then clean the juice off my fingers, chew and swallow.
5. Repeat 1. through 4. for a second slice.
6. Pour a sip of water into the palm of my hand for you to drink.
7. Use my fingers to wipe the corners of your mouth and across your lips.
8. Then I scoop up a nice sized bite of sticky rice between my fingers and thumb, placing it in your mouth, wiping my fingers clean on your lower lip.
9. Then a smaller bite of rice, on two fingers, placed behind your lower teeth, and your lips clean my fingers.
10. Repeat 1. through 9. until full, or . . .
    

Inspiration compliments of The One-Minute Writer

Book Store and Brussels Sprouts

The Consensual Stalker

She was looking through the racks of old novels when suddenly she felt someone pressed up behind her, leaning against her shoulders, and then, hands on her waist. "It's nice to see you again". When she heard his voice, she knew, and she stiffened. He had told her she would be "seeing him again soon", though she had never actually seen him. Her only contact with him had been on Yahoo chat, off and on for the past few months, and that first and only encounter at the vegetable market while shopping for Thanksgiving dinner last November. She had come to think that all they would ever do again was chat. She felt him lean forward and whisper into her ear, "It is so nice to see you, and feel you, and smell you." As he talked, she flashed back to their one other encounter.

She had been standing at the produce counter picking out Brussels sprouts, when she'd felt a man come up from behind and press himself against her. She heard, "Be still", from above her head. By the voice and angle, she knew it was that tall man she had been chatting with; he had said he would be around soon. She stirred and he said, "Stay, close your eyes."

He'd reached around and put his hand on her throat up under her chin, pushing her head back against his shoulder. He whispered into her ear, in that soft deep guttural voice, "When I let go of your throat, keep your eyes closed, stand up straight, and make no attempt to interfere."

While still holding her neck, he'd used his other hand and reached up under the waist of her sweater, and loosened the buckle of her belt. Then he had undone the button of her jeans, and lowered the zipper.

Then he'd released her neck and she stood passively in front of the bins, and her whole body tensed as she felt his hand slipping down the back of her jeans, sliding across her skin, down into the slack space he had created, his hand had slipped deeper into the back of her jeans. His finger tips were pressed into her cleft, further and further down as his fingers parted her cheeks.

Just then she felt him once again wrapping his arms around her, lifting her t-shirt and unbuckling her belt, deja vu. And then, he undid her jean's button and zipper. As he was ministering to her jeans, she had the strangest sense of, almost, comfort. She felt strangely at ease with the feel of him leaning against her back, being pulled back against him, feeling very short and fragile, seemingly surrounded by him, wrapped in his height and size, and long arms and big hands, impossibly close. She felt herself relaxing.

Then, as if reading her mind, he said, "This makes you feel very small and submissive, doesn't it? Being enveloped by a man, not a known lover, but a man who understands that he can do whatever he wants with you, and you will acquiesce." She knew he was right, but felt her head shaking, denying what he said, but remaining absolutely still as he had instructed.

While she realized he had undone her jeans, she had been so preoccupied with her conflicting thoughts, she was barely conscious of him slowly rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, gently caressing her from her navel to the fringe of her pubic area, realizing she had worn a very skimpy pair of bikini panties. She instinctively moved her hand and put it on top of his, wanting to stop him, but also wanting to press his hand more firmly against her skin. But just as she was taking hold of his hand, he removed it, and took hold of each of her wrists and moved her hands around behind her, stuffing them down between the slack of her leather belt and the denim of her jeans. Once her wrists were inside the belt, he leaned forward to trap her hands in place, reached around and fastened her belt again, very tight, pinning her wrists against her back with the tightening of the belt, binding her so tightly she could not pull her hands out. She suddenly felt very much trapped. And then she felt the scarf being placed over her eyes and tied at the back of her head.

She felt him leaning harder against her back again; felt his growing arousal pressed against her wrists and his jeans filling the palms and fingers of her trapped hands. She heard his rough, raspy breathing in her ear, his hot breath, his faint guttural whisper, "Holding you like this, my nose buried in your hair, smelling you, I can sense your surrender to my touch and control, you are so lovely. Holding you this way, drinking you in, feeling your breathing grow longer and deeper, your surrender and submission is intoxicating. I'm glad we met." She shivered, struggling to steady her breathing.

Then, his hand was back on her stomach, sliding up under her t-shirt, pushing her bra up, his hand surrounded her breast, squeezing, massaging, pulling, pinching, grasping. And just as she was about to speak, to ask him to stop (did she really want him to stop?) his other hand moved to cover her mouth, and she heard someone walk by a couple of aisles over. He held tightly, and they were both completely still, except for his slightest movement, steadily working her breast and nipple. After the person passed, she expected his hand over her mouth to move, but instead she felt him slowly, methodically, sensually tracing her lips with the faintest touch of his fingertips. And then, his hand was clamped over her mouth, firmly. He was holding her in such a way that she could not breathe and she feared a lack of oxygen. But his grip over her mouth loosened and she was able to take several long, deep gulps of air, catching her breath as he continued fondling and groping her breast, pinching and rolling her nipple so roughly, almost painfully.

Suddenly she felt his hand move away from her mouth, and almost feared what might come next, he was continuing to roll and pinch her nipple, making her arch her back and squirm. But she was worried; she remembered where he had moved his hand last time. Moments later, she was almost relieved when she felt his fingers on her neck; he was pulling her hair back, and brushing his fingers across the side of your neck and jaw, tilting her head to the side as he did. And then she felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, sensed his head moving down toward her, then a kiss at the base of her neck. In combination with her aching stiff nipple, the pressure of his mouth on her neck and shoulder made her shrink aside and try to move away, but he grasped her more tightly and held her in place. She began again to ask him to stop, but could not draw the breath to speak the words. Still she felt herself instinctively trying to shrink away from his grip, but her arousal was overpowering her resistance.

She felt his kiss open more and more, his teeth scrapping across her neck, and then the pressure of him slowly but deliberately biting down, and the movement of his tongue, working her skin between them. As he is moving his teeth up her neck, his tongue is moving rapidly. And then his teeth were clenching down on her neck, just below her ear. Hard, hot, tight, his mouth closed down on her neck, and still, his fingers were incessantly working her tender, aching hard nipple. Her back arched and again she reacted by shrinking down, moving away from his mouth. His hand grabbed her neck from the side and pushed her back up against his mouth, harder.

The quiet struggle was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors and hurried foot steps. She felt his grip loosen, his mouth relax and pull back, and his hand withdraw from under her shirt. Still the sound of footsteps somewhere on the floor and she is suddenly afraid of being discovered, like this, restrained and blindfolded, in the clutches of this stranger.

His hands moved, firmly gripping her biceps just above her elbows as he whispered to her to walk forward, after several steps he slowed her down, and she felt her shoulders bump up against something solid. He pushed her forward even more and she felt almost wedged in. He let go of her arms and she felt his hand on the back of her neck, fingers pushing up into her hair, and her head leaned forward until it felt something solid on both sides also. She guessed he had placed her facing into a corner, with her head leaned forward against the wall, his hand pushed firmly forward, fingers laced in her hair. Then suddenly his hand was gone, and she felt suddenly alone, still and quiet. Wondering if she should move, she started to straighten up, but immediately there was a finger pressing her head forward, so her forehead was pinned back into the corner, "Be still, stay right there", he said.

And then she could felt his arms around her sides as he reached around and unbuckled her belt, and she could feel the tension being relieved around her waist and her wrists at her back. Then again, his touch was gone, but she could hear his breathing behind her. "Count down from 10." She counted slowly down from 10, to 1, and then stood there, in the quiet. She stood up straight tentatively, and there was no reaction. She pulled her hands out from under her belt, no reprimand. She pulled the scarf down off her eyes, turned around slowly, and she was alone, in the corner, alone in the room.

And then, some time in the future . . .

grand Father's Day

It was a Father's Day, 13 or 14 years ago, and most of the family and friends had come by, with a barbecue planned for later in the day. I remember I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, some kind of auto race. Tracy's husband was sitting with me, he was an auto racing fan also. Krista, Tracy's daughter, and her cousin Leslie were running around and playing, like 5 or 6 year old kids would do. Krista was always rambunctious and energetic, often seen as hard to handle, willfulness was a term used often. However, she was always calm and attentive when she would hang out with me, always helpful and cooperative.

On that particular day, from time to time, Tracy would come out of the kitchen and tell Krista, "Be quiet." "Settle down." "Go play in the family room.", and other various attempts at trying to create calm and quiet. Finally, after too long, with little or no result, I called Krista over to me, and said, "Krista, you and Leslie go back and play in the family room unless you want to sit down here and be quiet." Her response was simply, "Okay. Leslie, let's go."

As she was walking out of the room, her mother stopped her and asked, "Why is it that when I ask you to do something, you argue, or ignore me, and go right back to doing what you were doing, as if I hadn't even said anything? But when Grandpa asks you to do something, you just go do it?" Krista looked at me, smiled, and then back at her mother, and answered, "Because when poo-paw says it, he means it." Then, she and Leslie took off down the hall toward the family room.

It had nothing to do with punishment or consequences; it was always about intention, and consistency, and purpose. Her connection to me was very different from others in the family.

W I I F M

What is it about being a dominant that satisfies and fulfills?

If it was a six word meme, my answers would be; closeness, affection, trust, respect, pride, appreciation

The relationship between a dominant and a submissive is first and foremost, simply, a relationship between two people. It has all of those feelings of affection, friendship, closeness, loving and caring, in both directions, as does any other relationship. Creating a safe space for a submissive girl to be herself, recognizing the depths of a girls feelings, you will likely bring out sadness, fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and shame, all of these feelings that are often hidden away and considered negative, you open up a huge vulnerability. But, when you acknowledge those feelings, make it okay to have those feelings, it is liberating. Creating a safe place to explore how they can fit in her life, to let her know that it really is absolutely OK to be needy and lonely and afraid, and to have the light of that realization and it's comfort shine back on you, how can you not get something out of that?

There is an affection that is returned that can have an overwhelming intensity and depth. I receive a great deal of satisfaction from being able to make a positive contribution in someones life. I relish the respect and appreciation that I am given in return for the guidance, direction and support. Here I am, a man who has recognized a girl's special needs/desires and not only do I not think she is crazy, I nurture and feed those new feelings, making her feel all the more special. This only magnifies her affection and passion for him.

I think it is that connection to the core of submissiveness within her and there is a greater appreciation and affection returned, there is a feeling of power at having unleashed those intense inner feelings within her, recognizing their acceptability, and having that glow directed back onto me. It is overwhelming in intensity at times; breathtaking, awe-inspiring and humbling all at the same time.

Providing the structure and control - routines that address positive changes, and routines that provide reinforcement and connection throughout her day, to know that I am there in her life, in her daily activities and that I am an ongoing influence, available, active, present and caring. An overwhelming gratitude spills back onto me for having unlocked and found, or notice and nurtured, those feelings she has never been allowed to expose and cultivate, and there is a joy to seeing the warm glow in her eyes, to hear it in her words and to feel it in her touch.

I recognize, sometimes just in flashes, the depth and wealth of what I have given to her, and what I get back from it are feelings of thankfulness, of affection, of joy and pleasure, of admiration, of loving and caring, that makes my heart float. Frankly, there are times that the glow back is overwhelming, frightening, and magnificent. Then, I stop and recognize that I have opened up something very special in her. And, I recognize that I am different, that I do evoke an emotional, psychological and even physical response in her that few ever have, and from her feedback, I am pleased, touched, and humbled.

That's what's in it for me.

Mother's Day - 2009

For all of you out there, who day in and day out, offer the love, and care, and affection only a mother can to her children; please know, there are little boys in all of us, of all ages, that can never do or say enough to share back the love, and affection, and care you have, and do, provide to us.

Bless you all.

On this Mother's Day, I am reminded of a post that gave me a new insight on mothers. It is not specifically about Mother's Day, but it struck me in a profound way. I think it is a wonderful statement about what mothers mean to daughters, and their children in general.

Since I first read this, it has become increasingly meaningful to me.

She used to say, when she was quite little, that she and I were the same person. “I am you, mama,” she would say, tiny hands on my cheeks. When she was a little older she began to self-correct that statement: “well, I am – I am like you, mama.”

Now she laughs a bit, “Remember when I used to think I was you?” and she shrugs, as if embarrassed. “Of course, I know we’re not the same person, mama.”

Under a Daughter's Gaze

Happy Mother's Day

2009

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?

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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.