Master's Words

Master's Words

Wednesday, 4 November 2015

Staying safe on the first meeting

For a first contact the following guidelines are what many experienced people involved in epe/bdsm suggest. Most are common sense - but that's exactly the first thing some people seem to lose when they're about to begin an erotic power exchange encounter.

  If you respond to a personal ad, try writing or phoning a couple of times first and use a post office box when corresponding. You don't want strange people ringing your doorbell unexpectedly.

  When you intend to meet somebody in person who you've met on the Net or through a personal ad, phone chat box or dateline, make sure you know something verifiable about him or her.

Monday, 2 November 2015

Written tasks for a #submissive

What is a Task or assignment?

Tasks or assignments should always have a purpose - to help improve a submissive in a particular way.

This list of six general purposes of a given assignments posted by |X|C|BDSM|, originally taken from a handout at Beyond Leather in Ft. Lauderdale, FL in April of 2013.


For their Growth / Education

  • Reading List
  • Cultural Exposure, such as going to a play or museum
  • Doing something creative, like writing a story or drawing a picture
  • Taking a class or learning a new skill

Saturday, 24 October 2015

An Actual Submissive on What 'Fifty Shades of Grey' Got Wrong

MANY THANKS TO: JEN DOLL - THE WIRE

Since its release in the United States, that initially self-published little trilogy called Fifty Shades of Grey has sold more than 30 million copies. It's dominated the best-seller lists all summer. (Just today came the news that it had been bumped by Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl in e-book sales. Don't worry,Fifty Shades still has an overall lock on things.) But with popularity, and/or hype, comes plenty of reaction, including our own here at The Atlantic Wire. Along with all the opinions, there have been numerous books with similar themes, similar covers, similar plots. There have been purposeful parodies and the cases of mistaken identity, books that have gotten a sales pick-me-up based on Shades without ever meaning to. There have been a spate of articles attempting to codify what this all means for women. Now, there's the true-life memoir, Diary of a Submissive, out today from Penguin, by the pseudonymou Sophie Morgan. The book is being called "the 'real' Fifty Shades of Grey": "a memoir that offers the real story of what it means to be a submissive, following Sophie's story as she progresses from her early erotic experiences through to experimenting with her newfound, awakened sexuality." It's certainly not the only true-life tale of BDSM, but it's a comparison the rare publisher could resist given the market. After all, Random House has reportedly seen a 20 percent increase in revenue with the trilogy.
But what does it mean to have written the "real" Fifty Shades? We spoke to Sophie Morgan, about the inevitable Fifty Shades comparisons and criticisms, and what she hopes to accomplish with Diary of a Submissive.
Jen Doll: You've read Fifty Shades of Grey, of course. What do you think about it?
Sophie Morgan: I think any book that encourages women to be open about their fantasies and experiment sexually should definitely be welcomed. The book itself is pure escapism, as much about the opulent gifts and squillionaire lifestyle as it is about the kinky sex, a Mills and Boon with lots more spanking (yes, Mills and Boon does spanking nowadays too). It's a great thing. The disappointment comes that despite millions of people now knowing about safe words and jiggle balls, is that it hasn't done much to improve how people perceive BDSM sex, and in many ways has cemented a lot of misconceptions.
How does being "a submissive" fit into the overall category of "BDSM"?
Dominance and submission is just one part of BDSM. It encompasses a wider spectrum including bondage, discipline, sadism, and masochism as well. Generally for me the terminology is interchangeable, but some people might identify more closely with one aspect or another.
What does Fifty Shades get wrong?
The problem is that the dynamic of the relationship between dominant Christian and submissive Ana, even allowing for the caveats of it being fictional and somewhat based on the Edward/Bella Twilight romance, is nothing like any relationship I've had with a dominant. And while I'm not doing surveys of every kinkster I meet, I'd argue it's very different to most relationships based on this kind of power play. The kind of high-handedness that Christian shows is actually more a sign of a potentially abusive relationship that most women would and should run for the hills to avoid than signs he's her Prince Charming—helipad and penthouse apartment or not.
Bits of it are definitely realistic (although I maintain the sex contract is filler and about as sexy as Sheldon Cooper's Roommate Agreement, despite people disagreeing with me on Twitter about it), and the characters are interesting enough that even at my grumpiest I still wanted to find out what happened to them, but overall I was a bit disappointed. That said, I'm aware I'm in the minority and my view is just one out of millions who did enjoy it. To each their own!
How did you end up writing your book? Why do you think it's valuable to present your story as a memoir?
Initially I started by writing a now defunct blog. It wasn't really for anyone other than me. I wasn't promoting it or looking for people to read it, but I found writing about what I was experiencing sexually after I'd tried new things was fun, and also helped me get to grips with what had just happened. Particularly early on, my mind took a little while to catch up with my body (for example, in the moment I'd be thinking 'why the hell am I letting him do THIS?' even while my body's reactions were showing that I was really into it), and it was something that surprised me a lot, and I found it interesting and cathartic to write about afterwards.
I think my story is interesting as another viewpoint on BDSM, one perhaps more realistic of people who indulge in dominant/submissive [relationships] as part of their lives but aren't in a 24/7 lifestyle type scenario. When I first started reading erotica I read lots of hot things but nothing that really encapsulated my life, where BDSM is part of the whole but not the whole thing, and where my lovelife and relationships fit together around it rather than being utterly consumed by it. I think the realism makes it interesting.
Who are you?
Sophie Morgan is a pseudonym. I'm 33 and a full-time working journalist at a newspaper in England.
What do you want in a relationship?
Ultimately what I want in a relationship is the same as everyone else. I want someone to love me, make me laugh, enjoy doing the same kind of fun things I do, care about a lot of the same things I care about, put up with my foibles, spend my life with. I just also want them to hurt and humiliate me sometimes in consensual, hot ways. And occasionally do the washing up.
Is the book completely true?
The timeline and a few people/experiences have been amalgamated together both to ensure that they're not identifiable and to make the narrative structure of the book flow better—I'm not sure anyone's life could fit the template of a book without a little bit of juggling. But the emotional responses and reactions in the situations are all true and honest. Even the post-break up baking, much to my shame.
What do you think people don't understand about the power dynamic you describe?
There's a few things. I think the main misconception is that somehow submissives (and indeed dominants) are somehow broken. This is most definitely not true—there's no trauma in my childhood, no psychological issues that mean I enjoy what I enjoy sexually. I just do, in the same way I fancy Damian Lewis and people in geeky glasses. Another assumption is that submissives are submissive to everyone—that they're meek, woolly headed doormats. No submissive I've met has ever been like that, the fact is the power we give away is earned, it doesn't go to just anyone. Also, the fact is that even when we submit fundamentally the power of the dynamic remains with us. We can choose whether to stop—whether that's to stop what's happening in a particular sexual scenario, or to stop a relationship we're unhappy with.
In the book you mention that you're a feminist. How, would you say, can a person be a feminist and also a submissive?
Despite what I like to do in bed I consider myself a feminist and find it very depressing that because of my informed sexual choices there are women who'd want to wave "down with this sort of thing" placards in my direction. Don't get me wrong, I understand that what I enjoy is, in a different context which is the key, potentially another woman's worst nightmare. It's not something everyone might indulge in, but should I wish to, within safe, sane and consensual circumstances and in privacy with my trusted partner, I'm very uncomfortable with anyone telling me I can't or I shouldn't. The sexual aspect of my relationship is completely separate from other aspects of it. I am in control of my finances, my reproductive health, my career, my social life and all the other things that feminism has fought for. I genuinely believe it's the fundamental misunderstanding of what BDSM is that contributes a lot to feminists' opposition to Dominant/submissive relationships, and this misunderstanding is perpetuated in epic fashion by Fifty Shades of Grey.
What would you say to accusations that you're trying to capitalize on the popularity of Fifty Shades?

With the explosion of discussion around Fifty Shades of Grey, I can understand why some people might assume that I am jumping on the bandwagon with Diary of a Submissive. What I'd like to point out is that I'm not doing that, so much as running alongside the bandwagon, waving my arms and shouting “let me show you what BDSM is really like, sexually and romantically, and what I get out of it. And no, my boyfriend doesn't have a red room of pain...”

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

Sensuous Caning. SETUP, WARM-UP TECHNIQUE. #SensualCaning

Author: Conrad Hodson
© 1997, 1998

INTRODUCTION

Canes have a deserved reputation as The Victorian Terror Weapon.  To most submissives, they mean severe punishment; to sensation-seeking S/M bottoms, overload.  If we have care and patience, however, canes can be used in a loving and sensuous way.  The very stiffness of a good cane, that makes a hard stroke so intense, allows the lightest taps to be given with perfect control.  And a light canestroke is easy to aim, unlike a flexible whip that sags and flops at low power.  In the kind of sensuous play I'm describing here, light strokes are far more prevalent and important than heavy ones.


This style is a matter of trust, patience, and finesse.  If you can't gain, maintain, and deserve the bottom's trust, the whole thing is probably going to fail, or fall far short of what it could be.  As for patience, don't even start a scene like this unless you have at least an hour available, and two is better.  Finesse?  Well, on two occasions bottoms have gone to sleep while I was caning them.  They woke up black and blue, and giggling.  That's finesse.

I'm not bragging, and I'm not saying I'm some kind of Caning God.  It's learnable.  That's why I'm writing this.


CANING TECHNIQUE

A single cane can deliver an entire symphony of sensation.  A snappy blow that is pulled back a bit just before impact will emphasize surface sting. The same sort of blow carried past the moment of impact, with follow-through, will have much more thud and penetration.

The greatest intensity is delivered by the outer third or so of the cane's length.  This is the portion that leaves marks, in a hard blow.  In a light blow, this part of the cane will have a relatively stingy feel. Closer to the top's hand, the cane moves much more slowly, and the sensation will be more thuddy or even massage-like.  This allows a good way of maintaining rhythm and atmosphere while giving some relief to a bottom who is showing signs of overload.

The very tip of a cane can be used on many targets that a full-length blow might harm, or be unable to even reach.  Tip shots can work the inside of the sweet spot, the bottoms of the feet, the muscles between the spine and the shoulder blades.  A traditional cane stroke in any of these areas would cross bony areas, causing bone bruises and pain that is not at all erotic; a hard one might chip bones or crush nerves, and cause truly harmful damage.  DON'T try for these with any force until you are utterly sure of your aim!  Lighter tip shots are much safer, and feel much like percussion massage.


SETUP

I prefer to have the bottom lying flat.  When a person goes as deeply into bottom space as I hope to send them, the mere act of keeping their balance will be a distraction.  Having them lie on a table is easiest on the top's back in these long scenes; massage tables are ideal, and cafeteria-type tables are sturdy and about the right height.  Arrange padding if the table doesn't already have it; I usually bring a single-bed sheet and a roll of foam to parties and demos.

Second choice is ground level; on a mattress or futon, or the foam pad. Here the bottom will be laying prone and the top will sit or kneel beside them.  On table or floor, it's nice to have three or four feet clear on either side of the bottom, so that you can switch sides.  Since the tip of the cane always hits the hardest, switching sides will help to keep the caning symmetrical.  Also, it allows the top's other hand to rove over a different part of the bottom's body.  From one side, you can stroke,
massage, caress, and collect feedback from feet, legs, and buttocks, and play with their crotch if it's that kind of scene.  From the other, you caress their face, massage their back, grab hair or the back of their neck, play trust games with your finger between their teeth as you cane them...

A caning can be an awkward thing to deliver when the bottom is standing, especially if the top is taller.  There is a strong tendency for strokes to land too high, on the bony upper half of the butt, when the bottom is standing up.  Also, the sweet spot is hard to reach from this position. Going to one knee may help.  Occasionally a play space may have a stage or platform of some kind, with bondage facilities near the edge of it.  If you have the gear and knowhow to do it safely, suspension may also offer a way to get the bottom a foot or two higher.

I try to avoid the traditional bent positions for caning, where the recipient crouches or bends over a chair.  For one thing, this stretched skin is much more sensitive.  Victorian punishers wanted overload; for a sensuous caning we want to avoid it.  For another, the tailbone comes up into harm's way when one bends over, and a hard canestroke is quite capable of chipping it and inflicting a painful lifetime disability. Damaged tailbones don't heal!  There is a lot of perfectly good buttock area that is hard to work safely from these positions; when the bottom's body is straight, much more of the tailbone is protected.  When in doubt, run your finger down the spine, all the way into the crack of their ass; you can feel how far the tailbone goes. Check this each time;  the length varies surprisingly among different people.


WARM-UP TECHNIQUE

The best precondition for a trip to Endorphin Heaven is for the bottom to be deeply relaxed, trusting, not anticipating the next stroke but rather accepting.  Going too hard or too fast will drop them out of their bottom space (that warm, accepting state of trust) at just the time when you should be building it up.  Their hindbrain will take charge, and its ancient survival reflexes will start screaming "We're taking damage! Get us the hell out of here!"  A good bottom wants the scene to go well, and will be working to control panic and nervousness.  For this particular style of scene, the top must build the intensity so smoothly that the bottom is supported rather than challenged in their efforts to stay cantered and accepting.

Of course, some people warm up much faster than others.  "Smooth" is one thing; boring is quite another.  In initial negotiations, I mention this, and if we are using the "traffic light" safe words I point out that "green" is also a colour, and that they can always call for a speedup if they want one.

As we begin, I like to promise that I will escalate the intensity very gradually - something like "no stroke will be more than a third harder than I've already given you".  This helps them relax.  You need to keep this promise, too; surprises will tense them up for a long while afterwards.  Resist the temptation to tease them or fake them out, for the same reason.

I often begin with an ordinary massage.  I explore the muscles of the back, buttocks, and legs, checking for tense spots and taking whatever time is needed to relax them and establish an expectation of pleasure from my touch.  Massage is itself an endorphin releaser, and very non-threatening.  When a bottom is new to this technique, their delighted surprise can relax them, build a lot of trust early on, and give them confidence that there are rewards to be had in exploring with you.

After achieving relaxation of any tense spots, do a little fingertip percussion on the muscled areas of the bottom's body.  (Fingertip percussion is what a pianist does to strike several close keys all at once.)  The fingers of one or both hands are crooked, and struck down in to the target area.  Work the upper back, to either side of the spine, this way for a while.  Do the same to the lower part of the buttocks, and down the backs of the legs.  This sort of sensation is a perfect bridge between massage and flagellation; it's especially good for introducing beginners.

Now begin with the cane, tapping very lightly over the areas that had the percussion warm-up.  Don't tap any bony areas; this is a good time to develop the habit of avoiding them.  Use the cane tip to reach areas that have bone close alongside.  The blows should have less force than your fingertips did; the cane is hard and stingy, and the idea is to introduce the cane without breaking the relaxed and trusting glow of your warm-up.

Along with ordinary light taps, mix in a few that are feather-light; with practice you can deliver a flutter as light as the landing of a flock of butterflies.  This is a wonderful contrast to harder strokes; as endorphins build up such a light flutter will often bring on a fit of giggles.

As you work, do single taps, double taps, quick flutters of various intensities.  Your goal here is twofold.  You are trying to teach the bottom that they cannot predict your strokes, but that it doesn't matter because they won't be harmed.  It is a non-verbal trust-building exercise..  Done with care, you can give the bottom that wonderful open acceptance of whatever happens, the key to the very best bottom space.

Another key to good bottom space is breathing.  Deep, careful breathing controls panic, and this is vital as intensity builds.  Panic is really the unpleasant portion of pain; take panic away and what's left is just strong sensations.  All kinds of wonderful things can be done with strong sensations...

If your bottom has ever done yoga, meditation, natural childbirth training, or anything like that, remind them that deep, slow breathing is important here, too.  If they have never had such training, coach them as you go.  If their breathing becomes short and choppy, ease up and remind them to relax and breathe deeply (unless they're coming, of course; that's to be encouraged, not interrupted with good advice!)

If your other hand keeps up a steady contact with caresses and massage, not only will it relax and comfort the bottom but you will be able to detect twitches, tension, or relaxation.  Especially with bottoms who aren't very verbal or vocal, this is the best feedback you can have.

If they are vocalizing, watch out for a sharp edge to their tone.  It warns of gradually building tension - if you continue to hear it, something isn't working, the bottom space is eroding.  The muscles under your other hand should be more and more relaxed as the caning proceeds; if not, it's also a sign that your build-up is not succeeding.  This sign is apparent even in a silent bottom.

As you gradually build the intensity, one useful trick is to follow a harder blow with a quick light rain of flutter strokes, right into the same area.  These will distract the bottom from any overload (within reason) and take them back to the bottom space that has just been successfully processing light stuff.  However, the harder blow will have done its work of moving the whole scene to a slightly higher level.


FURTHER CANING TECHNIQUE

If your warm-up has opened the way for more powerful strokes, care must be taken.  Canes may seem stiff, but a hard stroke can bend them ninety degrees and more, and a wraparound with a cane can be downright dangerous. Wraps are most common when a top goes to full power, after a well-aimed series of warm-up or measuring strokes.  The problem is in the top's body dynamics: the momentum of the arm goes up exponentially with increased speed, so the whole body is pulled forward as a heavier stroke is delivered.  The full-power stroke automatically reaches several inches further than the lighter stroke that was supposed to "gauge the distance".

It's physics; you can't keep it from happening, any more than you can walk on the ceiling. What you can do is allow for it, and train yourself to compensate.  You can ease your feet back a bit, or pull your elbow or shoulder back as part of the swing.  Or you can do as Mistress Nan Burrows recommends, and take your aiming stroke so that the cane tip lands in the middle of the far cheek, no further.  This aiming point will land a full-power stroke that safely spans the full width of the buttocks and no further.

If you do wish to play with harder strokes, practice!  Learn to pay close attention to where your cane is landing; this is how you learn to correct your aim.  Mistress Nan advises a lot of practice on a cushion.  There is a certain kind of upholstery that shows the stroke, but each blow shakes the surface and erases the trace of the preceding blow.  Perfect feedback! The upholstery looks to be a kind of heavy-duty velvet; check thrift stores.

When you are ready to try powerful strokes on a human partner, try putting a cushion or blanket roll on the far side of them.  This will catch a wraparound harmlessly.  Be sure to confine hard strokes to the buttocks below the tailbone and the upper half of the thighs.


CANING AND OTHER PLEASURES

Sexual connections: perhaps a quarter of women, and a very few men, can actually get orgasms from the cane.  I think this is incredibly hot, and it makes me very jealous!  There will be others who may not actually climax, but get extremely turned on, which can offer a pleasant answer to the question of "what do we do next?"

The shock waves made by a cane are directional - they tend to continue through the target in the general direction the cane was moving when it hit.  In fact, if you slide a hand under your partner's thigh or belly, you can feel the shock of a medium cane stroke go right through them.  The "sweet spot" in the lower butt, to either side of the crack, is sweet for this reason; blows here can send waves up into a whole complex of muscles, nerves, and engorged tissue that is directly involved with sexual excitement.  Many bottoms will enjoy a steady rhythm of light or medium blows on the sweet spot - especially if they are angled to send their shock waves up and forward.  At least one lady I know has called the effect a "rattan vibrator".

One good sign of this sexual connection is a face-down bottom whose hips begin to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.  You might try matching that rhythm, with light or medium strokes.  Or use your other hand to massage the nerve points around the pelvic dimples and to either side of the last few inches of the spine.


POWER AND ROLE-PLAY

Often when I do this, the scene is "pure S/M", sensation for sensation's sake.  No role-play, and no more power exchange than a massage.  The concern for smoothness, the bottom's comfort and welfare, and cooperation is difficult to reconcile with many of the traditional roles and scenarios, where the top and bottom play as adversaries.  However, there are a few roles possible wherein the person who hits you is not an enemy!

Mentor/Ritualist: The top is a trainer, preparing and coaching the bottom for some ritual ordeal.  Or passing on the secrets of mind control, wherein pain becomes ecstasy.  Or trying to send the bottom on an astral observation of whatever, or a spirit journey, etc.

Comrade: Who is preparing an agent, or coaching a fellow prisoner, to resist/survive an interrogation.  (Of course, the interrogation can follow later, with the top moving into a new role, or new tops coming in for that part.)

Science Fiction: The aliens whose ship crashed think they can recharge the damaged drive crystals, but only by tapping the energy mobilized in what turns out to be this scene.

Some of these may sound hokey, but role-play always sounds hokey to anyone who is not motivated toward that particular scenario.  Find a script that works for you, and suspension of disbelief will come much more easily.

Also, endorphins can lead many bottoms into a profound submissive space. If you enjoy serious D/S or role play, you may find this endorphin-oriented warm-up offers a startlingly good beginning to a more psychological sort of scene.


MAKING YOUR OWN TOYS

Traditional canes are made of rattan, a woody reed from the East Indies. It has a jointed stem that resembles bamboo, but is not hollow.  Rattan is very tough and strong, and makes the most durable natural canes I know. Like bamboo, it comes in all sorts of diameters; traditional canes are about 8mm, but thicker and thinner ones are also useful.

Rattan can sometimes be found at craft stores or Oriental basketwork shops.  It is used to make wicker furniture, so a repairer of that might have a stock of it as well.  Unfortunately, most of the cane-sized rattan that comes into this country has been bent into coils, which warps and sometimes cracks it.

If you must deal with the coiled stuff, it should first be cut to length with a fine-toothed saw.  Coping saws and hacksaws work well.  A dressmaker's tape is a handy way to measure along the coils.  Obviously, you should not include cracked places in your layout.

Less obviously, your canes will be much more durable if the tip includes one of the joints of the stem.  The convoluted grain in each joint resists splitting, as opposed to the very straight grain that runs for the foot or so between joints.  A lot of the coiled rattan has been peeled and sanded, but the joints are still noticeable if you look and feel carefully.  Cut the stem about a stem diameter to one side of the joint; this will become the tip of the cane.  (The ends without joints included are fine for handles - the tips are what take the shock and strain.)

You can make the canes any length you like; I prefer 20-30 inches (50-80cm) as they are easier to aim and more convenient in close quarters. Long ones have more power, but can be awkward.  The natural variations in your coil will probably give you several choices.

Each tip needs to be rounded off; any kind of edge here will break skin far too easily.  Coarse sandpaper works well, especially in a power sander of some kind.  Hand sanding will also do, as will a fairly coarse metal file.  Whatever you use, try for a smoothly rounded end.  Now hand-sand the whole length of each cane with medium paper; try to remove the stray fibers you find sticking up from the wood.  They are a nuisance during varnishing.

The cut pieces will have to be soaked and steamed to straighten them without breaking.  I soak mind in the bathtub for a day or two, but any water will do.  Don't let them dry out.  After soaking comes steaming and straightening.  You will need some way of keeping the canes straight as they dry; I lay them in a series of grooves I routed into a plank, and then clamp another plank on top of them.  You can also try shoving each one down a length of pipe; plastic water pipe won't rust and stain the canes.

When you have your straightening rig set up, boil a big kettle of water. Wrap the canes in a towel or two, lay them in the (drained) tub and pour some boiling water over them.  Dose them every minute or so for a few minutes, and then unwrap them; the scalding will make them limp and easy to uncurl.  (Dishwashing gloves help keep your fingers from scalding, too.)  Quickly, before they can cool, bend them straight and put them in the jig.  Put the jig in a dry place with good ventilation for five days (10 if you're metric).  :-)

Remove the canes and hang them up for air drying; I use clothespins on cords.  After one day of air drying, brush them thoroughly with a coat of spar varnish; Varathane works well.  Give each cane at least three coats; let each coat dry enough that you can sand off any lumps.  Some newspapers on the floor under them will be a good ideas, since at least one of them will drip no matter how careful you are.

The handle end of each cane can be left as is, or a grip can be added for comfort or appearance.  You can dip the handle ends in plastic tool dip - it will take several coats, and you can hang them from the same setup you used in the varnishing.  The fumes of this stuff are truly nasty; be sure you have good ventilation.  Less toxically, you can wrap the grips with cord or leather lacing, sew a scrap of leather or cloth around them, or cover them with tape.  Bicycle handlebar tape makes a fine grip.

You can of course prepare other kinds of wooden rods this way - and avoid all the straightening hassle by picking ones that are straight to begin with.  Bamboo is cheap and widely available, and also stiffer than rattan, which makes aiming easier.  Bamboo, of course, is hollow and the tip must be made at a joint, just as described for rattan.  Bamboo works fine for light to medium blows; heavy blows with it can be dangerous.  Bamboo can split without warning, and the splits have edges like razors!  Hardwood dowels from the hardware store can have the same problems.  Avoid either of these materials for heavy canings.

Many other plants have cane like shoots.  Forsythia is a very popular ornamental, and the older branches from the inside of the bush can make quite a reasonable cane.  Prepare as you would rattan.  They aren't as durable, but the price is right, especially if rattan is hard to buy where you live.  Apple trees develop suckers each year, especially upward from the top branches.  These grow straight, to about the right length, and are pruned off in great numbers every year.  They are quite tough and durable. The buds make rough little bumps along the shoot;  they can be sanded off if they seem too harsh.

Some twigs, such as birch or willow, are fine for scenes but far too flexible to be considered or used as canes.  Handling them is a whole different topic.

There are also synthetic canes, mostly plastics.  Plastics are much denser than wood, so they hit harder and the stroke is more penetrating.  They are very easy to clean, which is a good thing because the thinner ones break skin quite easily.


There are shops in most large and medium cities that sell plastic supplies.  There can be a confusing variety of materials there: Delrin, Lexan, and fibreglass are three kinds of rod that are tough enough to make good canes.  Acrylic is not tough enough; I have broken several. If the clear look appeals to you, get Lexan.  Sora, from San Francisco, makes some very nice Lexan canes, if you want to buy ready-made.  If you prepare your own, you won't need to varnish them, but be sure to remember to round and smooth the tip!


Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Full List of Paraphilias - #bdsm #Master #bdsm101


Abasiophilia: love of (or sexual attraction to) people who use leg braces or other orthopaedic appliances

Acousticophilia: sexual arousal from certain sounds

Acrotomophilia: love of (or sexual attraction to) amputees

Agalmatophilia: sexual attraction to statues or mannequins or immobility

Algolagnia: sexual pleasure from pain

Amaurophilia: sexual arousal by a partner whom one is unable to see due to artificial means, such as being blindfolded or having sex in total darkness. (See: sensory deprivation)

Andromimetophilia: love of women dressed as men

Apodysophilia: desire to undress, see also nudism

Apotemnophilia: desire to have (or sexual arousal from having) a healthy appendage (limb, digit, or male genitals) amputated

Aquaphilia: arousal from water and/or in watery environments, including bathtubs or swimming pools

Aretifism: sexual attraction to people who are without footwear, in contrast to retifism

Asphyxiophilia: sexual attraction to asphyxia; also called breath control play; including autoerotic asphyxiation; see medical warnings

Autogynephilia: love of oneself as a woman (also see Blanchard, Bailey, and Lawrence theory for discussion on controversy)

Biastophilia: sexual pleasure from committing rape

Celebriphilia: pathological desire to have sex with a celebrity.

Coprophilia: sexual attraction to (or pleasure from) feces

Crush fetish: sexual arousal from seeing small creatures being crushed by members of the opposite sex, or being crushed oneself

Dacryphilia: sexual pleasure in eliciting tears from others or oneself

Dendrophilia: sexual attraction to trees and other large plants, popularized by the movie "Superstar" with Molly Shannon

Diaper fetishism: sexual arousal from diapers

Emetophilia (a.k.a. vomerophilia): sexual attraction to vomit

Ephebophilia (a.k.a. hebephilia): sexual attraction towards adolescents

Eproctophilia: sexual attraction to flatulence

Exhibitionism: sexual arousal through sexual behavior in view of third parties (also includes the recurrent urge or behavior to expose one's genitals to an unsuspecting person, known as indecent exposure)

Faunoiphilia: sexual arousal from watching animals mate

Monday, 19 October 2015

BDSM A - Z: An introduction.... #worship #sextoys #roleplay

Anal Play
Acts in which the anus is involved.

Beating (General)
Acts in which one partner is beaten.

Beating - Canes
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a cane.

Beating - Crops
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a crop.

Beating - Floggers
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a flogger.

Beating - Hairbrushes
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a hairbrush.

Beating - Hard
Acts in which one partner is beaten hard.

Beating - Paddles
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a paddle.

Beating - Soft
Acts in which one partner is beaten softly.

Beating - Spanking
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a hand.

Beating - Straps
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a strap.

Beating - Whips
Acts in which one partner is beaten with a whip.

Beating Location - Back
Beating based acts that focus on the back as a target.

Thursday, 15 October 2015

Are You Cut Out to Be Submissive?


Are You Cut Out to Be Submissive?

Not everyone is capable of being submissive. It is even possible that you are not really cut out for it. We all have different thresholds for what we can and can’t do, but realizing we can’t be submissive isn’t the end of the world.

Great, so how do you know if you can be submissive or not?

First, let me say that the type of submissive I’m talking about here is a relationship submissive; someone who is subordinate in everyday things. A bedroom submissive or a kinky bottom is something entirely different. Anyone, and I mean this, anyone can be a bottom for a short period of time. You can be submissive for weekends or set amounts of time. I’m not going to cover this form of submission in this article.

What I am going to cover is submission on a personality or character level. Submissives all over are going to agree or disagree with this, but as this is my newsletter, you are going to be subjected to my opinion. At the end of this article I will invite you to share your own thoughts with me.

People develop specific personality traits, that then define if they can be submissive or not. There are a few, however, that don’t lend themselves to being a vital part of submission and can in fact cause a lot of strife. If these can not be curbed it is likely you are not cut out to be submissive.

Wednesday, 14 October 2015

How to Interview a Dom/Master Prospect

THANK YOU TO: http://thejourneyofwill.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/how-to-interview-dommaster-prospect.html

Your prince is out there, seeking you, hungering for you, wondering where you are. But crouching between you and him are dozens of frogs and trolls. A few of these are even handsome and well-spoken. And you must wade through them, trying not to get slimed or bitten, before reaching your eventual partner.

Just how are you to discern a poser from a dependable, balanced dominant gentleman? A man with the qualities described in What to Look For ...? You can't see into the past, or read minds, so you have one method of discrimination before you take the risk of investing trust in a prospect: inquisition—you ask him a ton of questions.

It's one of the hardest chores for many submissive women. After encountering a gent she feels intrigued by, she must—although her sub side may already desire his direction—play detective.

Many single subs overlook this phase, and expose themselves to unsavory characters claiming BDSM expertise after a brief online correspondence or phone conversation. Single sub friends of mine have had bad experiences that they might have avoided had they vetted dom candidates more carefully. One was physically mistreated on a first date, another was stalked and had her car ransacked. Thankfully I don't hear such stories that often.

Here then are some tips on the art of investigation...

Friday, 11 September 2015

Good Girl - #BDSM #femsub #erotic story

byMissRileySapphire


"You're going to be a good girl and do as I say tonight, aren't you?" His voice melts into me, low and calm.

"Yes" I whisper.

"Yes, Sir" He corrects, His tone unwavering and firm.

"Yes, Sir," I repeat just as He finishes, too loud but still sincere.

"Good girl."

I blush, because I always blush when those words, those words I ache for, grace His lips, so beautiful and affirming. Yes, I am His good girl and I will earn those words again before the night is over.

The strap of His riding crop meets the hollow of my neck and glides up, pulling my chin upwards with it. My eyes flutter open to meet His and, for a moment, I forget myself. I am lost in the shimmery blue of His gaze as it pierces me, staring too intensely and for too long...But not really. Sir's heavy stare is just intense enough and never long enough. I want to drink it in forever. I don't even realize that I've slid off of my knees until a sharp "thwack" stings my right thigh.

"Ow!" I complain, reality coming into focus as I shift back up onto my knees and spread them apart, quickly and almost instinctively. A few light taps on the sore spot confirm that I've effectively corrected my position.

Sir kneels downs onto one knee; His left leg is parallel to my spine and one boot lands so close to my sex I can almost feel it. A shiver runs through me and my breath hastens. He knows that I love His boots, and He wants me to notice that He's worn them for me. But I noticed the moment He put them on, of course; how could I not? I am constantly noticing all of Him, lingering on all of the shapes and colors of Him, memorizing His smells and sounds.

He has captured my eyes again and it is like I am dreaming of Him. Even kneeling, He is still above me and I tilt my chin up and purse my lips into a smile for Him. Perhaps He thinks I'm being cheeky or coy, and perhaps I am just a bit, but above all I am happy. Posed before Him, I find myself flooded with feelings of contentment, comfort, and even relief.

"I love you like this, little one," He compliments, His face light and sincere.

He brushes a hand down my cheek and my hands float up to His calf in response. Through His jeans, I reach of the muscles just above His boot, grasping Him and hugging His leg toward my chest eagerly, as if He might float away.

"You are small. You are safe. You are mine," He continues. His voice is steady and sure but also hypnotic. His unquestioning assuredness makes me feel incredibly small and undoubtedly safe. I believe the things He says and I close my eyes as I weave them into my mind, willing His thoughts to become my own.

In the darkness, I feel His thumb trace my lips and I pull them into a kiss around it. He pushes into my mouth and I intake a shaky breath as His thumb hooks behind my teeth. He curls a finger firmly under my chin and forces me to bite softly on His knuckle, my mouth Held open ever so slightly. My Heart beats frantically and I feel a hungry ache between my legs .My breath hitches through my mouth as He pulls my Head up and nestles His own into my neck. I feel His breath, hot in my ear and I tremble with excitement.

"You want pain, don't you?"

His words are short and savory and my face lights up pink with heat as I feel the muscles in my hands begin to quiver. I know He can feel it against His leg and I return my hands to my knees in a feigned attempt at composure. He is right; I do want pain, we both know it. It was easy to talk about before but here, in this moment, I can't find the words to agree with Him, so I nod.

"Thwack." It is harder this time, against my left thigh. The thud of His hand stays with me longer than the riding crop did and I let out a moan over His thumb, still fixed between my lips.

"I've already corrected you once tonight, little girl, don't make me punish you."

I shake my Head as fervently as I can around Him and manage, "Yes, Sir."

I suck His thumb as it slides from my mouth and lingers for just a moment before that same strong hand is petting my hair ever so gently.

I cast my eyes downward and smile to myself, waiting for Him to continue.

"And you know what I am capable of doing to your beautiful-," He lingers on the word, tracing fingers across my jaw "body? The ways I can make you suffer?"

My smile is stolen by another hitch in my breath and I nod, remembering this time to address Him properly.

Both hands are on the curve of my jawline now, as He cups my face and pulls my gaze back to Himself. His eyes have shifted; they are lit with something I've never seen, or noticed before. He inhales a deep breathe.

"You know I would never harm you. But I will hurt you. I'm not afraid to give you what you need. Do you understand?"

"I do, Sir"

His hands are strong and firm and oh so deliciously close to my neck. He squeezes my face once before releasing me and I sigh into Him, begging His hands to stay. He rises and moves behind me, leaving me on my knees on the floor, listening carefully to His movements and the clanking of whatever He is rummaging through. I think, for a moment, that I'd like to look behind me and steal a glimpse of it but I decide not to. He didn't say so, but I'm sure that Sir would prefer me to keep my position and...I'm also sure I'll find out what He has before long.

I'm proven correct as He stands before me, holding a purple blanket and a toy I've never seen before. It is a large, flesh colored thing, with a base around the bottom as if to suction itself on to the wall or floor. He is watching my reactions to it, as I take in the size of it, which is above average but not too unrealistic, and try to predict He will do next. He seems amused with me and I feel my face flush.

Sir takes a few steps backward, watching me constantly as I follow His boots with my gaze, and positions the dildo onto the sleek wooden floor. He swirls the blanket around the base of it so it circles the cock like a Christmas tree. I smile both because the idea is funny and because I feel clever for having figured out His plan.

"I want you in that same position, except over Here, with that cock inside of you."

I pause, waiting for further instruction, but His eyes beckon me to stand and move, so I do.

Trying to kneel myself and get the toy into position is clumsy and difficult but I try my best to be poised. Finally, with one knee on the ground and the other up, I manage to move myself right onto the tip, just barely kissing it like I had Sir's thumb. The size of it is suddenly urgent and I realize that I haven't had something so big inside of me in such a long time. I ease myself downward and urge my muscles to relax, but the stretching pain intensifies as I try to edge downward and I wince.

Sir sees me, and takes me by the shoulders, stopping my decent.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Is it too big?"

Embarrassed, and not wanting to seem weak, I look away from Him and chew on my lip. He rubs my shoulders, patiently waiting for my response. I decide to be honest,

"A little, Sir."

"I can help with that," He says calmly, without the slightest hint of anger or dissatisfaction in His voice, "get up."

A tingle of relief and then curiosity rushes down my spine and I obey. He leads me on to the bed and guides me to bend over it, face down. My arms fold neatly above my Head and I nestle my Head into the blanket.

"Stand up on your tip toes and spread your legs like a good girl," He instructs and I comply instantly. I am silence, with my Head buried into my hair. I adore when He talks to me like this, but it's as if my own words flit from my grasp.

"Yes, I would love to, Sir. Anything you want, Sir." I imagine myself speaking, but I am silent.

The words are lost though the feeling is not, and so obedience becomes my language. I close my eyes and spread my legs, pulling each muscle in my thighs taut and curving my ass towards Him. I hope He can see my effort, my enthusiasm, and can read in my movements those words I can't quite reach.

When I've formed a position I think He'll find pleasing, I arch my back and relax into the softness of the bed. I stand stiff and obedient, letting the cool air drift over my pussy. The feeling is soon replaced by His hand, warm and large. He covers my sex with His palm and His fingers dance across my clit. My hips roll with His movements and I let myself breathe and sign audibly into my hair.

My sounds spark something within Him and I bite my lip as He sighs back at me, deep like a growl.

I feel His hand pivoting against me, rolling and then sliding, wet. He tempts the opening with one then two fingers and, with a gasp of breath, He is inside of me. His wrist rolls His fingers within me and my hips rock with Him.

There is a hot tension in the air that we are beginning to pierce. We could be hot, hungry, and feral with one another, but we are not. Sir is restrained and purposeful now and it is somehow all the more arousing. Sir plays my body like an instrument, becoming more skilled with each stroke, and I surrender to Him, both body and mind. I am focused on Him and the pleasure my submission gives Him and, now, He is focused on me; we are balanced in beautiful harmony.

Sir has been rocking, relentless, within me without changing His pace and yet the intensity is steadily dropping. I realize that my pussy is relaxing with every roll of His wrist; each thrust of His fingers is less intense. He is stretching me so I can better accommodate the dildo jutting from the floor. Suddenly, His rhythmic movements increase drastically in pressure and I gasp again before pressing my face down into the blanket.

Three fingers feel like they are slamming within me, the pulsing perfectly steady and I feel a shift in my lower body. It's as if the rough thrusting is now not nearly intense enough. I am no longer fighting it sensation but leaning into it my pussy aching for more, harder, faster.

"Mmm," I moan into the bed, as Sir keeps pulsing within me.

My world is tinted in swirling shades of turquoise blue. He can't stop. He must not stop or I'm sure I will die right now.

"Please don't stop. Please don't slow down. Please don't speed up. Please God don't stop. You can't stop. Please Sir," My mind is racing, but all I'm producing is muffled moans into the bed. But I have to ask. I always have to ask before I'm allowed to -

"Please-" I mumble.

And my world is ripped apart, not by an orgasm, but by the empty absence of His hand from my pussy. Turquoise turns to black and I scream into the bed, frustrated, angry, crazed, so fucking close. I kick my legs and roll over, throwing myself up onto my feet towards Him, bumping inelegantly into His chest and staring up at Him like a defiant child. I am reckless, separate somehow from the emotion bursting through me.

"No! Fuck! No!" I scream in a frazzled panic. I am shaking and flailing with uncontrolled fervor, so worked up I almost feel that I could cry. I push my palms hard into his chest. "Why would you-"

I am silenced. His hand has cupped my mouth and jaw so firmly that I can only breathe through my nose. His other hand is behind my neck and pulling me forward so I can't back away. His hands are so large around my Head that they almost touch each other.

I lower my eyebrows and continue to stare up into His eyes, I want Him to know that I'm unhappy, that I was so close and He ripped His hand away I squint up at Him, but His eyes are gentle, kind even. I let out a long grunt or scream into His hand, grasping His unmoving wrist with both hands and stomping my feet like a toddler. I feel like throwing nothing short of a tantrum at Him, but I'm caught between His strong hands. I stomp and pull until I am tired and my breathing becomes fast and shallow. Exhausted I lower my hands and my eyes and feel just two small, frustrated tears slide from my eyes.

"Shh," He coos, still grasping my Head firmly.

My breathing slows, and I'm finally able to compose myself and look up at Him, defeated and drained of my defiant anger. It's as if I'd formerly lost myself and just now remembered that I am to be submissive to Him.

"You're going to go back to the blanket, on your knees, with that cock inside you now. Do you understand?" He lets go of my Head, but I find myself instantly missing the hot pressure of His hands around me.

"Yes, Sir," I say, but remain still until He points His finger.

I fold onto my knees and position the dildo as I did before. It slides in, slick and almost effortlessly this time. But I am so full and, once I am in my kneeling position with my legs spread, I realize that I am quite locked into place. My breathing picks up at the both the bondage and my muscles pulsing with need around the cock. Sir's hands on my shoulder surprise me slightly, but in the same breath I am craning my neck back to snuggle my Head into His hip. He is warm and, even though His pants, I can smell Him. I know that He is aroused and it makes me aroused, too. I can feel wetness escaping down the shaft of the cock, tickling my skin.

Something hard and cold shocks my wrist but Sir catches it before reflex can jerk it away. I feel, but don't see, the handcuffs wrap around my wrists, locking them behind my back. I roll my shoulders and try to make my hands comfortable, straightening my back and sticking out my chest. The cock feels as if it is spearing straight up from the floor and into me and, if I didn't know better, I'd swear it were the one throbbing and hot. But that feeling is coming from my own pussy, which seems to be edging itself back in the direction of orgasm at its own will...No, at Sir's will. I bite my lip and smile, almost floating at the thought of it. I am so exquisitely trapped.

Sir crosses in front me and presents a second surprise, a tin piled full with wooden clothespins. My body is hot with a mix of anticipation, arousal, and fear. I look up to see Sir staring down on me with a look of adoration. I blush at His gaze but don't release it. I feel locked into His eyes as I Hear Him rummage through the tin. I still am swimming in their ocean when I feel the smooth wood touch my left side. Somehow, my eyes don't flit to the source of the stinging pinch Sir leaves behind as He draws His hand away.

Pain just under the side of my breast demands my attention, but isn't strong enough to draw my eyes away from Sir until the second clothespin secures itself, just under its twin. The two demanding pins are too much and I squint my eyes clothes, just in time to feel a third added.

With each addition, the pain increases, along with this hazy and confused feeling. There are too many pressure points attacking my senses. It's as if my body doesn't know which to respond to first, and is instead whirl winding them all together. How many are there, now? Six? Seven? I'm losing count, and my mind is busy melting purples into blues. Everything is foggy.

"Are you okay, my girl?" Sir asks, His tone sweet and concerned.

Am I okay? Sure. Yes, of course. I feel cool water on my forehead; I've broken a sweat but I don't think I've made a sound. My eyes flutter open and I examine Him, His face is gentle. Then I strain to look down at my left side, which is pinching in one hundred places, even though there are only twelve clothespins in a neat, curved line.

"Yes, Sir," I breathe. I Hear my voice come out low and breathy, less pitchy and controlled than it normally is.

My eyes widen at the only thing that could distract me from the pain radiating down my side. Sir unravels few feet of Hemp string and kneels down beside me. The clothespins each pull at my skin in turn as He purposefully threads the Hemp through each one.

"Fuck," I grunt, pressing my eyes closed again. Fear overrides pain as a struggle to breathe deep and calm my racing Heart. I know. I know exactly what He is planning.

Sir seems unbothered by my panicking. He just continues dutifully until the clothespins are strung together in one long line. As He finishes, the pain melts into one vague feeling and it is bearable again. With a slight roll of my hips, it almost melts into the pleasure of the cock pushing against my g spot. I calm my breathing and open my eyes. Sir steps forward; the budge between His legs is so close to my face that I can touch it with my nose, so I do. He pets my hair softly.

"You are such a good girl," He hums, and I let my face press closer against Him, moaning a little.

I swell with pride at His words, and straighten my body.

Sir lets down His pants releases His cock towards me, already so erect. I feel the clothespins tug as I shift my mouth on to Him, warm and smooth. I purse my lips around the tip of Him and savor the salty sweet flavor that is pulsing through Him and into me. I imagine that this pinching, aching pain I am enduring for Him has made Him so aroused. The thought fills me with Heat and pleasure and the pain at my side is suddenly pleasure too. I adore Him this way, lost in His own sadism and toying with my senses. He uses my body and I simply feel as if I am His. His to be used. His to be toyed with. His.

Sir shifts and His cock is suddenly rocking deeper in my mouth, sliding against my tongue from front to back. His hands are laced in my hair and I find myself wishing He would grab a fistful and pull. I open my lips and my throat so I won't gag and relax my body, allowing Him to guide my Head by my hair and enter me at His own pace. Each movement seems a bit stronger and a bit deeper. His grip in my hair is tightening and He begins rocking me so forcefully that I can feel the dildo push up within me with each thrust. I moan around Him which makes me cough, but His pace never slows. Tears stain down my cheeks. He is too deep now, but somehow not deep enough. I shift my hands, longing to grasp at His legs, but they are still Held secure behind my back. I am stuck. I am His. Everything, pleasure and pain and emotion, is intensifying and melting into one sensation. I feel as if I will fly away. We are shades of red, glittering with passion and intensity, glowing harder with every movement of His body and every allowance of mine.

"You may cum" He offers, as if He can read me, and He reaches for the string at my side.

Before I can process what He will do, the clothespins rip from me in a one quick burst. The pain is sharp and strong and, in a burst of light, my world goes white. I cum and I hurt and I shake and I scream onto His cock. Everything overwhelms me and I am sure I have died for at least a moment. I am a floating blur of feeling. I see myself crying out small sounds around Him, mumbling His name and the word 'fuck' over and over again. My mind re-enters my body and reality slowly and Sir's movements have stopped. The tip of His cock still touches my lips and I suck gently, instinctively, on it. I am a beautiful mess, shaking, limp, and wet all over, but I am His and nothing else matters.

I feel as if I am still slowly waking up as Sir removes my handcuffs and lifts me off of the floor and on to the bed. I find His eyes again and they are alive with emotion, as blue as ever. His smile draws out my own and He lies beside me. I roll and cuddle into His chest, closing my eyes and savoring the feeling on His strong hands stroking my back. My pussy and the line where the clothespins had been ache together and I feel a wave of satisfaction and exhaustion. I listen to Sir's Heartbeat, which is fast but slowing just like mine. He pulls me closer and kisses the top of my Head.

"What about you?" I ask, bringing my fingers to His cock, still swollen.

"We're just taking a break, little one," He laughs. "There is still plenty of time for you to tend to my needs, alright?"

"Alright, Sir" I smile and wrap my arms around His chest, and nothing but Him exists in all of the world.

"Good girl."

Thursday, 10 September 2015

Punishing Melody - #bdsm #femsub #story


We hadn't seen each other in months and the sexual frustration was palpable as we rushed through the airport in search of the exit for hotel shuttles. We undressed each other with our eyes and held a lengthy, silent conversation that said we each had plans for how the night would unfold; I was quite certain that our thoughts ran in similar tracks.

He'd gotten into the city before I did so he checked us into the hotel already, anticipating our mutual desperation. Thankfully, he'd had the foresight to reserve a room at the hotel nearest the airport, so ours was the first shuttle stop once we'd left the airport. Hopping off the shuttle, we tipped the driver and grabbed my bags, then rushed inside. We had the elevator to ourselves and took advantage of the opportunity to get each other pre-heated on the way up to the 8th floor. To be honest, I'm not sure if it would have mattered if we'd had to share the elevator with others, that's how badly we needed each other.

Racing down the hallway, he hurriedly unlocked the door on which he'd already hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign (I loved this man and his ability to think ahead!), then slammed it shut behind us. Not bothering to lock the door beyond its self-locking deadbolt, he pushed me toward the bed, face down. Without a word, he lifted my skirt and ripped off my panties. In the next second, I heard him unzip his pants, rip open a condom package and roll it on his massively hard cock. Less than a minute from opening the door and he was sinking his thick cock into my drenched pussy. Fully sheathed within my moist heat, he paused for just a moment to enjoy the sensation and emitted a loud growl of pleasure. And then he was moving.

This was no gentle lovemaking. It was a hard, desperate, and almost brutal fucking; in other words, just what I needed. I was just as horny as he was and for every thrust he gave me, I responded in kind. He slammed his cock deep and hard into my pussy, battering my cervix with every thrust and letting me feel his balls slapping against my engorged clitoris. I squeeze Master's cock tightly, keeping him buried deep within me as we ride each other, use each other's bodies for our mutual pleasure.

Normally, my Master is a man of extreme self-control who can fuck for a good hour before needing to release, and he'll get me off at least six or seven times before even thinking about his own orgasm. Not tonight though. I was so sure that I had plenty of time to let that first orgasm build into something of epic proportions that I wasn't even close to it when I could feel him tensing behind me. When he stiffened like that, I knew it meant that his orgasm was imminent. He thrust faster and harder, using my soaked pussy like it was little more than a living masturbation sleeve.

With a loud grunt, followed by an even louder scream of triumph, Steve thrust his final thrust and released a heavy load of cum into his condom. Pulling out of me, he tore off the condom, flipped me over, and placed his still-hard cock at my lips. "Clean it," he ordered gently. He was my Master, but his orders were usually worded gently because that's the kind of man he is.

"But I ..." I began, starting to complain that I hadn't reached orgasm yet. "You think I don't know when my slut does and doesn't cum?" he asked me, and his tone was no longer gentle. "Clean my cock like a good slut and then we'll talk."

Obediently, I cleaned his cock while my pussy and clit ached. Was he upset with me? He's never treated me like this before. I spent a couple minutes carefully cleaning his cock with my tongue, encouraged by the fact that it was only semi-flaccid. Eventually, he pulled back and tucked his cock back into his trousers, then zipped himself up and sat down on the bed next to me.

Turning toward me, he took my hands in his, looked in my eyes and asked me very quietly: "Who owns you?"

Eyes widening, I looked at him with surprise. We hadn't had this conversation in a long time and I couldn't understand why he'd be bringing it up now. I must have done something to upset him, but I had no idea what it was. "Y-you do, Master."

"That's right," he responded. "I do." His left hand still held mine, but his right hand reached for my wet pussy and grabbed it. "And whose is this?" he asked.

"Y-yours, Master," I answered nervously.

"Good girl," he said. "So far you're two for two. Let's see if you can make it three for three," he said, and suddenly I knew what was wrong. Or at least part of what was wrong. "You don't have many rules, slut, but I do expect the ones I give you to be followed. What are the rules for MY pussy?"

Lowering my head slightly, because I was too ashamed to look into his eyes, I answer: "Your pussy must always be shaved and must never be covered." The problem is, it had been a couple months since we'd seen each other and since his rules only apply when we're together ... well, I forgot.

"Good girl," he said again, a bit condescendingly. "You do know the rules, yet you chose to disregard them. That is why you will not have the opportunity to cum until tomorrow, when you will have had a chance to earn it. A slut is only entitled to what her Master allows her," he reminded me. I nodded my head and murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry, Master," I said quietly, afraid that I would begin crying at any minute. I was ashamed at having forgotten, and always hated to disappoint him. He released my other hand and patted my thigh in acceptance of my apology.

"I know you are, slut," he said, and both his words and tone were gentle again. "But it doesn't obviate your punishment." I knew that without his saying it, but hearing it made my head drop even further. "Go stand in the corner while I take my shower. We'll deal with your punishment after I've showered and then we'll start this trip with a clean slate. Deal?" I didn't really have a choice, but I nodded my head as if it weren't a rhetorical question.

"Thank you, Master," I said simply, then moved to the corner he'd indicated. I'd been sent to the corner enough times to know what he expected of me, and I would make sure I didn't fail him again tonight.

I stood in the corner with my legs spread wide, the toes of each foot touching separate walls. My shoulders were straight and my head was held high with my nose buried into the corner. My hands were crossed behind my back and holding my skirt up at my waist, leaving my ass bare.

"A little wider please, dear," he said, referring to the spread of my legs. I spread my legs wider and this forced my nose deeper into the corner. "And thrust out your hips a bit better. Mmm. Yes, just like that, my lovely slut," he said, coming closer and running a hand down my back. He rubbed his hands over my ass cheeks, tugged at the plug that was nestled between them to make sure it was secure, then slid a finger down toward my pussy. With my hips thrust out like this, he could see not only my ass but my pussy. With my legs spread wide, I could feel the cool air rushing over my clit and labia and I knew however long he spent in the shower, it would seem like much longer.

"Good girl," he cooed, rubbing his thumb over my clitoris. He stroked it fast and hard, the way I love the most, and only stopped when he knew I was seconds from orgasm. "Tut," he said, clicking his tongue. "None of that until tomorrow. Now hold your pose and I'll be right back out." This was going to be the longest I'd ever stood in the corner.

Normally, Master showers fast, but not tonight. When he returned for me after about 15 minutes, my libido had cooled, as he'd known it would. He led me from the corner toward the straight back chair at the desk. I mentally groaned, but didn't complain. I'm short, so chairs like this pose a problem for me. Standing behind the chair, Master tells me to bend over it and make myself comfortable. It's not possible to be comfortable, of course, because in order to bend over it I'm forced to stand on my tiptoes the entire time. My large breasts heave over the top of the back and my legs arch from how I have to stand. I grab hold of the sides of the chair, near its seat, and spread my legs the way I know Master wants.

"Are you comfortable, slut?" he asks me.

My head hangs low but there is nowhere for it to rest. "Yes, Master," I tell him, letting him hear the contrition that's already seeped into me, as if hoping that will encourage him to be lenient even though we both know it won't; besides, there's a secret part of me that would be disappointed if he was.

"There will be no wiggling once I start. If you wiggle, I'll add more strokes. Do you understand, little girl?" He says the same thing every time. I haven't been a little girl in a very long time but it's how he refers to me at punishment time.

"Yes, Master," I answer. "I understand." Next he'll tell me what my punishment is to be, even though I already know it.

"It will be 20 strokes for each infraction. For each stroke you don't count, you will receive another. Do you understand?" Twenty strokes! I mentally screamed. I must have hesitated too long before responding because he prodded me. "Yes, little one. I reminded you last time that if I had to punish you again for the same thing, I'd be adding an extra five to the total." I'd forgotten that too.

"Y-yes, Master," I say quietly. "Twenty strokes for wearing panties, another twenty for not shaving, and I must count them. I understand."

He held his leather belt in his right hand and gently rubbed my ass with his left for a good minute, calming me. He waited until he could tell that I was mentally prepared before he started. My Master was a kind and gentle man most of the time, but he knew how to wield a belt. When the leather first cracked against my tender skin, I wanted to flail and holler; instead, I cried out a solid "One, sir!" The next four strokes came very fast and hard, leaving me no time to think about anything other than counting out their numbers, and making sure they were loud enough that he could hear me.

But to be effective, a good punishment must be memorable. After the fifth stroke, Master paused to rub my ass, soothing out the sting a little bit. You'd think he was doing me a kindness, soothing away the sting, but really that made it worse when he picked up the belt again. He wasn't gentle, but he knew what he was doing; moreover, he knew how much I could withstand. I kept counting, not missing so much as a stroke, but by the time he got to the first set of twenty, my voice was a higher pitch than usual, which meant that I was nearly in tears. I knew that my ass was bright red and welted, and that I would bear bruises from this beating for at least a week. Still, I gripped that chair tightly and continued to count. As we moved past twenty, I remembered to begin breathing deeply. Somewhere around stroke twenty-five, the burning of my ass had become a warm glow that settled around me like a comforting friend. When the last stroke fell, I realized that I'd been crying through at least the last fifteen strokes.

Master dropped his belt to the floor, helped me stand, then led me by the hand over to the bed. He pulled me into his arms and cradled me, stroking my hair and back, dropping tender kisses on my head, and telling me what a brave, good girl I'd been. I continued to sob for many minutes, releasing all of the stress I'd been feeling for the past few months, until I finally ran out of tears. I gave a quiet hiccough, then turned my head up to look at my Master with blood-shot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. I knew my face was blotchy, because it always is after a long cry, but he never seemed to mind. I gave him a tremulous smile and then thanked him. He never insisted on a show of gratitude after a punishment, but I always felt compelled to give it.

"Feel better now, baby?" he asked me tenderly, his voice full of love.

I gave a quick nod of my head, widened my smile, and answered, just as lovingly. "Mmm. Yes, Master."


Our vacation was off to a fabulous start.

Punishing Melody