#submissive only follows text commands

TNG Submissive Only Follows Text Commands

"Daddy Dom" creepy but not criminal

Court Finds "Daddy Dom" to be Creepy But Not Criminal

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."

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

by Selenite

Total Power Exchange

The phrase "Total Power Exchange"

"Total Power Exchange" was coined in the newsgroup alt.sex.bondage during debates with Jon Jacobs and his opponents in the mid 1990's.

In 1997 Davis gave this definition, in bold, along with a lot of asides (in brackets):

A TPE (Total Power Exchange) relationship, sometimes described as an absolute lifestyle d&s relationship (that such relationships can actually be neither "total" or "absolute" is agreed; these are ideal states to be worked towards but which will not be achieved, which is why TPE may be better seen as a process or goal than as a state), is a relationship in which no impediment to the exercise of the owner's power is accepted (some may, of course, exist, and what prudent owners do is to avoid direct collisions with these impediments, while working to overcome those that can be overcome (since the laws of gravity can't be overcome, a sane owner isn't going to ask a slave to fly (w/o appropriate equipment, of course), nor will a sensible owner try push a slave into things that are hard limits for hir (but the owner might push a slave up against what the slave thinks are hard limits but which sie can in fact overcome)). Such things as safewords, contracts, negotiated limits, and anything else which recognizes / acknowledges / formalizes limits on the owner's power are inimical to TPE.

"Internal Enslavement" and "Total Power Exchange" cover much of the same ground. However, we feel that there are some marked problems with the term TPE.

First, "total" power over anything is never achievable due to the presence of external contraints and immutable attitudes (see Davis' example of the laws of gravity above.) This means that people talking about TPE relationships can find themselves continually qualifying the word "Total" in the face of "but what if he told you to shoot your children?" objections.

Secondly, the common thread in most of these relationships is that the dominant acquires authority not just "power". That is, the dominant's control of the submissive is acknowledged as being rightfully his. Furthermore, he may retain authority over some aspect of the submissive even when she is showing resistance and he does not have power over it at the time.

Finally, power or authority is not "exchanged". It is unilaterally taken by the dominant from the submissive. Even if we wish to say that the submissive does gain some form of "power", this does not come from the dominant (it is not part of his power) even if he enables the submissive to achieve it. For example: if the submissive acquires the power to accept his decisions gracefully. Consequently, power is transferred in one direction, rather than exchanged both ways.

However, terminological purity aside, people pursuing M/s relationships usually know what is meant by "Total Power Exchange" even if it's ambiguous when taken literally.

28 January 2001.- http://www.enslavement.org.uk/tpe