JT Stockroom

Monday, May 26, 2014

BDSM Play 12: The Dance I Know

My slave was into ballet when she was younger, but she knows many forms of dance.  What little I've known of dance, I've forgotten, and I certainly didn't know much in that regard.  We were being playful in the bathroom, with her showing me different dances.  She started with the tango, then the waltz.  I was rather awkward, but we were laughing and having fun.  As we prepared for our shower, she told me how in gym class, she led boys in learning how to waltz.  When she finished, she was naked.  I shoved her up against the bathroom door and said, "This is where I lead."  I kissed her, my hand at her throat, not squeezing hard, but just there, threatening, making her hot.  "This is the dance I know."  I continued to kiss her, one hand at her throat, the other roaming her body.  It found her clit, and I rubbed it until she begged permission to cum.  "Yes, cum for me, little slut," I whispered in her ear.  I released her throat and put an arm around her back to support her as she came, so she wouldn't lose balance.

Being hot from making out and having her orgasm against the bathroom door, we had a more intimate and erotic shower than normal, paying more attention to erogenous zones than normal, kissing more than usual.  The dance I know.  Seduction.  Domination.  Painful pleasure.  It was all coming, and she knew it.  We both knew.

We finished our shower and went to the bedroom.  I laid her on her back, grabbed her by her hair, and began to bite her.  Biting has become as much a part of our play as asphyxiation.  She always needs roughness to orgasm, but certain types of pain get her there more quickly than anything.  Biting ranks close to asphyxiation for her.  If I'm rubbing her clit hard, she will come from the rough handling of it, but if I sink teeth into her flesh, she'll cum much more quickly, and with more intensity.  It's the best time to edge her and build her up to a very intense orgasm.  I bit her all over as I denied her orgasm after orgasm, covering her tits, her flat, sexy abdomen, and her legs in marks.

When I finally wanted her to cum, I took her clit into my mouth, draped it over my bottom teeth, and rolled it over them with my tongue, then flicking it, then sucking it in and nibbling it.  I bit it, as well, and that's when she asked, "Master, may I please cum?"

I held her clit between my teeth and growled, "Yes, cum for me, whore."

She exploded in pleasure.  She went rigid, arched her back, and held her breath through it.  I kept at it, prompting more begging for orgasmic release, and she came again and again.  Finally, she said, "Master, I'm weak."

I went to the toy bag and got out the studded belt.  I made her lay face down on the bed, and I whipped her ass hard with it, ruthlessly alternating from cheek to cheek.  After her ass was good and red, I said, "I think your pussy needs some abuse.  Turn over and spread your legs."

She complied, and I hit her pussy with the studded belt over and over until I heard, "Master, I'm weak."  As soon as I heard the safe phrase, I bound her thighs together with the belt.  I went to the toy bag again and brought out the shrink wrap.  I made her fold her arms in front of her, and I wrapped the shrink wrap around them so she couldn't break free.  I proceeded then to wrap it around her head, leaving only her mouth free.  I kissed her.

"Are you ready, little slut?"

"No, Master."

"Does it matter if you are?"

"No, Master."

"You're right, little slut, it doesn't matter.  Your will doesn't matter.  Mine does."  I wrapped her head the rest of the way, covering her mouth.  After she could no longer draw breath, she began to struggle, then panic.  My hand moved to her pussy.  I found her wetness, coated my finger, then began to rub her clit as she writhed and gave muffled, desperate cries.  She finally made three short sounds that indicated she couldn't take more.  I poked an opening into the shrink wrap at her mouth, allowing her to take in air again.  I kissed her briefly between breaths, then I let the rhythm of her breathing go back to normal.  When she calmed down, I took more shrink wrap and covered her mouth again, rubbing her clit as well.  She came hard, her panic ceasing for the duration of the orgasm.  I pulled the shrink wrap away and let her breathe again.

The writhing her panic caused, in addition to her cries, made my cock so hard.  I pushed her legs up against her chest, and I pushed my cock inside of her, causing her to moan with pain.  The abuse from before left her swollen and sensitive.  I fucked her hard, holding her bound arms above her head and against the mattress.  I covered her mouth with my hand, causing her to struggle against me.  I felt her squirt as she came.  I took the belt off of her, spread her legs, and continued to fuck her hard and deep.  When she caught her breath, I wrapped my hands around her neck and choked her as I fucked her.

When I released her, I could tell she was struggling for air and was hot.  I unwrapped her head.  With the plastic wrap out of the way, I could see her pretty blue eyes, full of fear and desperation and pleasure.  I was turned on even more, and began slamming my cock into her.  Sweat began pouring from me.  I wiped my forehead, then I wiped the sweat on her face.

"You like that, little whore?  Does it make you feel like a dirty little slut?"

"Yes, Master.  I like being your dirty little whore."

I took the plastic off her arms so she could cool off, then I held her arms down.  As I fucked her and got more sweaty, I wiped more away and rubbed it on her face.  I choked her a few more times before I came.  I rolled off, pulled her across the mattress toward the wall so she could stretch her legs, and stroked her hair until she was ready to go clean herself.

"Did you enjoy the dance, baby?"

"Mmmmm...yes, Master.  I love it when you lead."

Sunday, May 25, 2014

BDSM Play 11: Bondage, Studded Belt, Biting, Knife Play

We got out of the wedding reception early, so my slave and I had time to play at the hotel.

It wasn't lost on me that she wore a 1950s-style dress to the reception, and that her look received a lot of positive attention there.  She's into the 1950s housewife role, so the dress kept with the theme of that era, when women were expected to be subservient to their husbands, and didn't have a choice when it came to their wifely duties. The attention she received made me proud as a Master.  She did well, making herself alluring, and I felt respected and loved during the reception.  She did not leave my side; although it was her family, and I was a stranger there, I felt very much a part of the reception, and not at all like an outsider.

When we returned to the hotel, she stripped, and I laid her down on the bed, face-down.  I spanked her ass hard for a bit, then I got the studded belt out and whipped her ass with that until it was bright red.

I tied her wrists together and secured them to the bed frame.  I tied each ankle to an opposite corner of the frame, so her legs were spread apart.  All of the pale, vulnerable flesh of the back of her was exposed to me, available to mark in any way I chose.  Of course, tied this way, her slave mark remained in full view; seeing my mark of ownership on her always turns me on.

I laid partially on her.  My left hand found her clit, my right, her throat.  I leaned down and bit her between her neck and shoulder.  She moaned in pain and ecstasy as I rubbed her clit hard with my right hand.  It wasn't long before I heard, "Master, may I please cum?  Please?"  I denied her.  I let go of her flesh with my teeth, stopped rubbing her clit, then sank my teeth into her flesh on a different spot on her back.  Her upper back is so sensitive, but she knew that her pain reactions pleased me, so she took the pain of the bites to her back.  I fully expected to elicit her safe phrase, but at no point did I hear, "Master, I'm weak."  I started rubbing her clit again, and again, she begged my permission to let her cum.

"No, little slut, not yet."

"Please, Master?  Please let me cum?"

"Not until I'm ready."

I bit her again, and again, and the growl, the sound I unconsciously make as I'm biting into her flesh, accompanied each sampling of her flesh.  I left marks all over her upper back, and I denied her orgasm again and again.  After many bites and several denials, I let her have her pleasure.  She came with intensity, thrusting her ass in the air as she went rigid, her breath stopping for the duration.  She squirted on the bed.

I untied her ankles, but left her wrists tied.  I turned her over and climbed on top of her, wrapping my hands around her throat and choking her as I entered and began to thrust.  Choking always turns her on, and it makes me so hot.  She struggled to free her wrists, and having slack, was finally able to loosen her bonds.  Not that it made a difference to her situation; she still lay helplessly underneath me.  I bent her arms and held them close to the elbows, and she was as helpless as she was when she was tied.  I let go of them to choke her again.  She tried to pull my hands away, but to no avail.  She never taps out of choking.  When her arms started to go limp, I let her go and put her arms back where I wanted them.

I pulled the knife out of its sheath, which lay nearby.  I lay the cold steel against her neck, the dull side pushing into her flesh.  I fucked her harder, and her wetness grew with the threat of the knife present.  I threw the knife aside, out of her reach, to choke her again, and when I released her, I grabbed it again and returned it to her neck.  I menaced her with the blade side while it was in her view, but when it was out of her sight, I turned it so the dull side was against her neck again.  I fucked her hard and came inside of her.

Article Review: "A Loving Introduction to BDSM" from Psychology Today

The article is from 2012, but since it appeared in the BDSM group my slave and I admin online, I thought I would give it a review.


The article starts out saying that BDSM is similar to the child's game, "Trust Me", where one person stands behind the other, the person in front falls, and that person has to trust that the person standing behind will catch him or her.  I don't want to nitpick, and this isn't really a criticism of the article (more of a side note), but I've only seen this game appear in sitcoms, where a "trust exercise" appeared in a motivational seminar or work-related meeting. Anyway, the article isn't wrong: there is an element of danger, and one person has to trust the other to keep her or him safe, even when they're playing dangerously.

I applaud the article for saying BDSM is not abusive, which it does right off the bat.  It elaborates into something my slave and I have said to each other, but I've heard from many in the BDSM community: there is a special bond in lifestyle BDSM, because the rules are laid down in advance of play, and there's always explicit communication about the most intimate details.  We've called our bond "stronger than marriage," and we firmly assert that it's the case: we have a commitment based on complete trust, where she has given herself to me completely, mind and body.  Not every BDSM relationship is between a loving, committed couple, however; the sexual relationship is based on trust if it's done correctly, but not all BDSM involves 24/7 observance of rules and roles.  People get together for one-time encounters.  They have casual partners.  They bring in a third in their couple's play.  There are all kinds of ways to do BDSM, but whatever the case, there should be up-front negotiation of limits and rules.  Whether that negotiation leads to the kind of commitment described in the article depends on whether the relationship extends beyond sex.

The article briefly touches on the history of BDSM, but really only touches on sadomasochism's origins, not domination and submission.  A D/s relationship does not necessarily involve pain, so only mentioning sadomasochism narrows the focus of BDSM play to eroticism that involves a sadist and a masochist.  A day interacting with people in the lifestyle reveals that it's not the full picture. My relationship involves a sadistic Master and a masochistic slave, but our way isn't the only way to play--not by a long shot.  Domination also involves seduction, forcefulness, firmness, tone, confidence, and nurturing, and not all punishments for rule-breaking involve pain, either.  Isolation, performance of tasks, humiliation, and special favors outside of the norm can be punishment.

The author proceeds to tell us about the prevalence of BDSM, saying two to three percent play with the lifestyle.  I agree with that number.  Some say that it's become mainstream, but I think that's only because more people are coming into it with unrealistic expectations that come from a popular book series, not because people are truly entering the lifestyle permanently.

I have a bone of contention with the ideas given as examples of how "..BDSM imagery pervades society."  Political and economic power do not involve trust; they are more in line with examples of abusive relationships.  They involve manipulation and malfeasance sometimes, as well as a show of force with a lack of consent.  A true example would be representative government; the people give power over to representatives, whom they trust to handle the running of society.  Elections represent the safe word, along with special elections and impeachment.  The desire to control doesn't represent BDSM in any true sense; the gift of power and the ability to influence the will of the people without betraying their trust is a far better ideal, I think, and a far more accurate representative of the lifestyle as it exists today.

Enough of my political soapbox; let's move on to the idea that BDSM is never abusive, an idea that the article addresses well.  It's true that a BDSM relationship necessitates consent, if limits and safe words are observed, but to say that BDSM is more theatrical than real strikes me as a bit odd.  The sensations are very real.  The seduction: real.  The control: real.  It's not just an act; it's sex, and the role of submissive and dominant are not just parts played by 24/7 lifestyle couples.  The submissive lives to please her dominant, and the dominant has a responsibility to keep her safe during play and care for her afterwards.

I wish the next part didn't appear in the article, because it's been positive toward BDSM overall--but this statement told me that the author definitely doesn't participate in BDSM and didn't observe it very well.  It reiterates the statement, "BDSM is more theatrical than real," then goes on to say that "...participants carefully choreograph their moves in advance."  This "choreography" might occur with some scene players, but it's certainly not true of me and my slave, nor are we a rare exception.  I could see professionals doing it for their submissive clients, or porn actors doing it on film, but in a relationship?  No.  What we do often unfolds organically.  I think constant choreography of scenes would seem forced and contrived.

The article starts going wildly off the mark at this point, unfortunately, but with a common misconception that persists even in the BDSM community.  The notion that subs are ultimately in charge of play because of the use of safe words both ignores what would happen if a safe word gets abused and sweeps aside the skill, knowledge, and confidence of the dominant.  A submissive abusing a safe word betrays trust, too, and if it's used flippantly, the sub destroys the relationship.  Also, a good dominant knows how to persuade, how to push soft limits, and how to read the body language of the submissive.  He knows how to maintain control and flow of play.  The safe word does not exist to control play, but only to stop sensation that goes beyond the limit the submissive can take.  To say that this puts the submissive in charge not only ignores that fact that submissives (unless they're topping from the bottom) are eager to please the dominant, but also reveals ignorance of how domination works.  Most submissives will not simply submit to anyone; dominants must seduce them into it.  They must make activity that might be unpleasant under normal circumstances  reasonable, pleasurable, and desirable to the submissive (of course, masochists enjoy the pain--but it's still about context, as the article points out).

I don't disagree with how the article suggests getting into BDSM; I've given similar advice, and it's far better than the advice the professional dominatrix gave in the article I reviewed several weeks ago.  However, in the next section, there's some woefully inadequate information on how to begin playing.   I literally face-palmed at "If the latter, blindfolding the sub can be fun," in relation to B&D.  Discipline is the "D" in "B&D", which implies that some sort of discipline is involved in the play.  What could qualify as discipline...oh, I don't know...maybe spanking?  Anyway, take the advice in the "Learning the Ropes" section: visit websites, clubs, or classes.  Read a book--not fiction!  Fiction is great for fantasy, but artistic license or ignorance of the lifestyle can lead a person new to it down an unsafe path.  In any case, while you are learning about how people play, figure out what sounds hot to you, and start with those things.

The article ends on a reasonable and positive note, making a case for BDSM necessitating intimacy, which is healthy for relationships.  I definitely agree.  Although the author has limited understanding of how people play and how BDSM relationships work, his understand was good enough to recognize that it's not abuse, it's built on trust, it's not dehumanizing, and that it is fulfilling, intimate, and healthy.   Although I have some disagreements with the author, the article is a positive for BDSM overall.  It counteracts outdated notions about how mental disorders are responsible for why people participate in this kind of play.  It separates cruelty from the sadism that exists in the lifestyle.  Finally, it's nice to see someone who is clearly an outsider recognize that strong, loving bonds exist in the BDSM community, and that it's the nature of BDSM that is--at least partially-responsible.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Toy Review: Bondage Mittens

*Picture from Stockroom.com.  This product is available here.  

When I asked my slave what toy she liked the most out of the ones we currently have, she said, "I really like the bondage mittens."  I purchased these leather mittens on Stockroom.com.  They fit over her hands, then there are strings that draw them tight, and leather straps that adjust over a metal ring.  It did not come with locks; I purchased the locks I use with them.  They are one-size-fits all; my slave is skinny, so I have to tighten the straps most of the way for them to be secure, but they will open for larger wrists, fitting all subs, female or male.  

They make her feel helpless.  My little slave is an escape artist, so if she's left with her long, slender fingers free, she uses her flexibility and dexterity to untie herself.  With the bondage mittens, she's severely limited, so they make her feel far more vulnerable--and that's a huge turn-on for her.  For me, it keeps her hands out of the way when I put the pillow or shrink wrap over her face for our asphyxiation play, as well as when I choke her.  She can't grab my arms to try to pull them off.  She has had some success with pulling my hand off of her mouth long enough to take a breath when she's able to use both hands while I'm covering her mouth and nose with one hand, but with these mittens, she has no choice.  My hand is in place till she makes her safe sound or taps out.  

These mittens also have rings on the end, so they can easily be tied to something else, raising her arms overhead or spreading them apart to make her seem even more exposed and vulnerable.  We both love these mittens, and recommend them highly.  

Monday, May 19, 2014

Dark Fantasy 4: Blood on her lips

I had my slave tied to the bed, her wrists together, bound to the center bar in the head, her legs spread, tied to either side of the wrought-iron foot.  Her blond hair flowed out and around her head.  Her unmarked, pale skin represented a bare canvas that I would soon paint, from her graceful neck, to her small breasts with the perfect pink nipples, to her flat belly, the curve of her hips, her well-toned thighs.  I moved onto the bed, moved in close to her ear, and said, softly, firmly: "Have you ever been bitten hard enough that it broke skin?"

She gasped.  Blood was a hard limit, but she was used to threats.  Threats turned her on, and I never followed through on them.  I honored the hard limits, the safe words.  I often pushed the soft limits, though, and she would hold on as long as she possibly could before saying, "Master, I'm weak."  She didn't want to say she was weak.  She wasn't weak--not really, but her safe phrase ensured that she pushed herself as far as she could go, and it excited both of us. 

Tonight, though...tonight was different.  I felt primal.  Savage.  I wanted to mark her...differently.  So I moved to the flesh just above her collarbone and bit into it.  She moaned in pain.  I moved my hand to rub her clit, as I often did when I bit her.  Biting turned her on so much, especially when I growled.  I barely knew I was growling; it came naturally.  Tasting her flesh in my mouth, I wanted more.  I wanted blood.  Needed blood.  I bit harder.  

"Master, it hurts!" she cried, writhing and starting to take rapid, shallow breaths.  I bit harder.  I broke skin.  Tasted blood.  

No safe phrase.  

I let the blood trickle into my mouth, savoring the metallic flavor of it, then I released her flesh and kissed her, so she could share in the experience.  She parted her lips and our tongues slid over each other, both of us tasting and savoring her blood.  It clearly--and unexpectedly--turned her on. 

I moved to bite her again on the other side of her collarbone.  Again, she cried out in pain.  Again, her blood slowly filled my mouth, and again, I kissed her passionately.  I slid my finger from her clit into her pussy.  She was so wet.  My finger coated in her juices, I rubbed her clit hard.  In less than a minute, I heard, "Master, my I please cum?  Please?"  She was so sexy when she begged.  

I stopped rubbing her, denying her the pleasure.  It wasn't time yet.  I wanted it to be more intense when it happened.  She was clearly turned on by this play as much as her favorite things--breath play with shrink wrap or the pillow over her face, consensual non-consent, knife play (the threat; no blood)--so edging her would almost certainly make her squirt, as she did with the most intense orgasms.  

I bit her again, moving down from the first bite on her right side, repeating the kiss after the blood flowed into my mouth.  I kept the symmetry going, bite for bite, in vertical lines down each side of her body.  I bit her tits, her abdomen, her thighs.  As I bit my way down her body, blood trickling from each wound, I edged her.  I denied her each time.  I bit her labia, but I did not draw blood there.  I bit her clit, held it in my teeth, and I flicked it with my tongue.  She begged: "Master, may I please cum?  Please?  I want to cum so badly.  Please?"  I let her beg for a bit, then I said, "Cum for me, whore."

She came for me, arching her back, writhing, trying to pull away from my mouth, unable to with my hand holding her ass to keep her in place.  She came hard, fluid gushing from her in a stream, hitting the sheet to form a spreading wet spot, hitting my chin to soak my goatee.  I did not relent.  I kept my mouth on her through several orgasms, until it became too painful for her, and she said, "Master, I'm weak."  

I pulled away then, licked a wound on her thigh where blood was still trickling, then moved up to kiss her, blood and her juices mixed together in our mouths.  We kissed for awhile, one hand roaming her body, the other behind her head.  I smeared blood over her pale flesh, so where there weren't wounds, there was still red.  So beautiful.  So helpless.  So much more flesh to taste...but I wanted to enter her.  I wanted to fuck her while she was coated in her blood.

I untied her ankles, then tied her legs together, pushed them up, and entered her sensitive, soaking-wet pussy.  She moaned.  I thrust savagely, biting her ankles, putting my hands around her throat, squeezing.  She turned purple as she began to slip into unconsciousness.  I released her, shoved her head to the side, and grabbed her hair.  She recovered as I continued to thrust.  I choked her again, and this time, she squirted.  I felt the fluid hit my groin, soaking it.  I slammed into her, fucking her as hard as I could, faster.  When she recovered again, I put my hands around her throat for the last time.  As she turned purple, I came inside of her.  

I rolled off, untied her legs, and laid beside her as I untied her wrists.  I kissed her again.  Caressed her hair.  "I love you, my little slave."

"I love you, too, Master.  But...blood.  You drew blood."

I caressed her hair and said nothing.  I pulled her close and continued to caress her, continuing to say nothing.  We got out of bed and cleaned up, cleaning each of her wounds with antiseptic, then showering.  We went back to bed, and I simply held her close.  We never said a word about the blood again.  

Friday, May 16, 2014

The Master/slave dynamic

Recently, I touched on the various titles people use for themselves in BDSM relationships, but I did not go into a lot of detail.  It has become apparent that elaboration could be useful for those who don't understand what it means to be a Master or a slave, since people who are on the outside looking in believe it's all about misogyny and inequality, rather than an agreement entered with both consent and responsibility, not to mention trust and complete knowledge of what it meant.

First, not long after we first started talking, we established that not only was I completely dominant and she, completely submissive, but she also wanted to be a slave.  She wanted to submit 24/7 and relinquish control to someone capable of dominating her--someone who knew what he was doing, whom she could trust completely.  She wanted rules.  We read through a list of rules, and the idea of them turned her on, but not all of them were a good fit for us.  They were obviously written for a lifestyle philosophy that wasn't to our taste.  I did borrow from them; some of them were solid.  I also made up my own.  I came up with a list of fifty she is required to follow, and I am responsible for enforcing.  I drew up a contract, as well, that spelled out hard limits and my responsibilities.  Everything about signing the contract was voluntary, including the agreement to enter into permanent service, which she did on February 8, 2014.  At no point was she coerced.  We joke a lot about Stockholm Syndrome, but her relinquishing control of her body, of adopting my will over her own, was something she not only agreed to, but wanted wholeheartedly.

Secondly, there is no legal obligation here.  This ownership is symbolic, and based on her willingness to do what I say, when I say it.  She is allowed to leave my service whenever she wants, because there is nothing legal binding her to me.  No, there is nothing legal, but there is a strong emotional bond between us.  We've connected on so many levels, and we love each other.  Now, not every Master/slave relationship involves love, and there are people in the lifestyle who say that love destroys the Master/slave relationship.  They believe that love makes the Master reluctant to enforce rules...but I disagree, at least for my part.  I enforce rules because I love her, and because she loves me, she very rarely breaks them.  She has every desire to please me, and if she breaks a rule--which she rarely does--she expects to be punished.  Living by the rules means so much to her, that if I didn't enforce them, she'd wonder if I lost interest.  She'd think I don't care about her anymore.

Finally, even though there is a requirement to obey, I observe hard and soft limits.  I never cross the hard limits, and I honor her safe phrase if her soft limits get pushed to the point where she can't take more sensation (usually pain).  Some would say the power is hers as a result, but I disagree with this notion.  I say it's about consent, not power.  I still control the play and where it goes; the safe phrase is in place to ensure that I don't go beyond the point where the pain ceases to be pleasurable.  The safe phrase itself helps to push limits: "Master, I'm weak."  She doesn't want to say those words.  She isn't a a weak person, so when she acknowledges that she is weak before me, I know she's taken herself as far as she can possibly go, and it pleases me.

I want to elaboration more on this whole idea that is floating around out there about the submissive having all of the power.  The submissive must consent, or any play you have is rape.  However, dominance is all about the art of seducing a submissive into doing what you want, of bending her to your will.  Dominance is about persuasion, about eroticism, about finding out what makes her tick, reading the signs that she's turned on, and using it all to your advantage.  Domination, when done correctly, may be done in harsh tones or in a whisper.  It's about showing her (or him, but I will use "her" as the generic here) your strength, your confidence, your skill, and your knowledge.  It's about earning her respect and trusting what you do with her.  When we first started playing, I got her safe word often, because I was testing her limits.  Now, if I get it, I'm trying to get it on purpose; I know where her limits are and when I'm approaching them.

The flip side of the "power in submission" idea is the notion that she can say her safe phrase whenever she wants.  Yes, she can.  However, using the safe word flippantly is something she knows would displease me, and I have the option of telling her, "You can take more," to which she can reply with the safe phrase again, or she can use her hard stop safe word instead.  I've never heard her say "migraine".  In any case, the idea that the safe phrase will be abused as a stop to play because she just doesn't feel like it ignores the dynamic entirely.  She agreed to be ready for use whenever I like.  She agreed not to have a choice.  To use the safe phrase to stop play for no good reason would violate our rules, and violation of rules would merit punishment. The safe phrase is not there to stop my will.

We don't necessarily play how others do with the Master/slave dynamic.  For some, it's about complete objectification--which is hot during sex, but not practical when interacting with other members of the family.  For some, love is off limits, but that's obviously a different dynamic than ours.  Some consider slaves to be tradable property, but I consider her a priceless treasure, not to be shared or traded with anyone.  That's where our monogamy comes in; I am selfish when it comes to her.  I'm not insecure; rather, I value her so much, I don't want her touched by anyone else.  I also find the idea of multiple slaves undesirable and impractical, given how insatiable she is and how in love we are.  I'd neglect an additional slave, if I had one, I'm certain.

There are many types of slaves.  Mine is a sex slave and a domestic servant.  She is mine to use in any sexual manner I choose, and she is also there to tend to my household.  Think 1950s housewife.  She is into that idea completely.  She wants to clean, cook, do laundry, do the dishes--everything a the stereotypical 1950s housewife was expected to do.  She even likes the idea of dressing the part.  In private, she is required to be naked, or wear whatever clothing or accessories I want her to wear.  She is required to be available for any sexual act I choose, whether it is a spanking, a whipping, a paddling, forced orgasm, or penetration of any orifice.  She absolutely wants this life.  The more used and helpless she feels, the better.  The harder and rougher the use, the wetter she gets.  Her reactions feed my needs.  This life is definitely about both of us--not just me, and not just her.  We entered into it knowing what we wanted, knowing what our roles would be, and wanting them completely.  I didn't buy her.  I didn't coerce her.  I showed her my dominance, and she signed away her will and body as a result.  She gave herself as a gift to me, to enter forever into my service.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Squirting During BDSM Play

Several of the stories I've written here are true.  Every one of the BDSM Story entries are from nights my slave and I actually spent together.  Within those stories, I've mentioned her squirting here and there. It seems that there is some confusion and misinformation floating around about female ejaculation.  I want to clear up one of those myths, and I want to give circumstances under which my slave squirts to help those who may be able to do the same.

First of all, several people believe that the fluid women who squirt produce is actually urine.  Researchers have pointed to the Skene's gland as being responsible for production of the fluid.  In any case, the fluid itself has been tested, and it is clear that the fluid is not urine.   Some information on female ejaculation, including the fact that it's not urine, may be found here.

Secondly, there is some debate over whether or not all women can squirt.  It is quite possible that not all women can, but research on the subject remains elusive.  The article at the above link explains why, but to summarize, laboratory conditions make it difficult to reproduce the conditions under which women report they ejaculate during orgasm.  Given that compilations of the research show the numbers to range between ten and fifty percent of women who are able to ejaculate during orgasm, it's clear that more research needs to be done to determine just how many women have the ability and why.

Finally, the most common way women report that they ejaculate appears in many articles: g-spot stimulation.  Not every woman is aware of where the g-spot is, let alone whether they can squirt from its stimulation.  There is even some debate among researchers whether or not all women have a g-spot--a fact I found surprising.  If you stick a finger or toy in the vagina and press along the front wall (anterior), it will be a bit above where the clitoris is located on the outside.  At least, that's where it is on my slave, and on other women who report that they give themselves g-spot orgasm, or get them from their partners.  Still, researchers debate whether all women have this spot.  Again, it goes back to scarcity of research and, possibly, inadequate methods.

Researchers may continue to debate until they develop consistent methods to figure out whether all women have g-spots and whether they can squirt, but it is clear that my slave has both a g-spot and the ability to ejaculate during orgasm.  She told me that squirting was random with her before me, but I can get her to squirt pretty consistently.  The following are conditions under which she squirts during orgasm:

  • G-spot stimulation:  The first time I got my little slut to squirt, it was through g-spot stimulation.  She actually showed me to her g-spot, and I used the knowledge of it to bring her to more intense orgasms...but whether or not she squirted was random.  As it turned out, however, g-spot orgasm was not necessary, and certainly wasn't the most certain way to get her to squirt.
  • Edging:  I explained edging and how I use it in another article.  Briefly, edging is a method of making orgasms more intense by denying them a few times or perhaps several times, then following through with the orgasm.  She usually squirts on that first orgasm after edging, but if she doesn't, she will on the subsequent one.  It's very rare for her not to squirt under these circumstances.  
  • Multiple orgasms:  My slave is most definitely multi-orgasmic, and giving her orgasms relentlessly will almost guarantee squirting.  When I give her oral, she always squirts whenever I continue to stimulate her through several orgasms.  I've learned to shut my eyes and either exhale or hold my breath when she cums, because she has squirted directly into my eyes and my nostrils before.  
  • Intense play:  Breath play, choking, consensual non-consent, knife play, and biting combined with stimulation have all caused my slave to squirt, and it's been pretty consistent.  The more intense the play, the more likely she is to squirt.  
So...why make her squirt?  It's clear that when she ejaculates during orgasm, she is having an intense one, and when she has intense orgasms, her reactions are exquisite to me as a sadist.  The sadist in me loves that they strongly resemble pain reactions...and with enough orgasms, there is pain.  I've gotten her safe phrase from giving her many orgasms in a row, especially from oral stimulation.  As her Master and lover, I enjoy that she experiences intense pleasure, as well as pain in most cases, which feeds the masochist in her.  

Sunday, May 11, 2014

BDSM relationship dynamics

When a person first enters the BDSM lifestyle and begins to explore the various relationship dynamics, it can be confusing and daunting.  So many people use titles in different ways, play in different ways, mean different things when they use the same words, that it's difficult to discern with clarity where people stand and how they play.  The best policy is to never assume, but to listen and try to understand.  There are some general combinations where the titles will give away who is dominant and who is submissive, but the lines can be blurred when people switch or top from the bottom.  In any case, I will attempt to talk about the titles and what they mean to different people.

Master/Mistress:  Usually, the titles, "Master" and "Mistress", will be combined with "slave" as "Master/slave" or "Mistress/slave", but it's not necessarily the case.  Some people assume that "Master" and "Mistress" are what people in the lifestyle use if they're dominant, so they adopt the title, simply on the premise that they desire to be dominant, or that they think they like the idea of dominance.  It's difficult to fault them; if someone likes a title, and it fulfills them to hear it from a partner's lips, who can say that they're wrong to do it?

These titles, however, mean something completely different to people who have been in the lifestyle for years, and follow particular protocols based on certain philosophies.  Some philosophies require certain levels of training and experience in order for someone to earn them.  Some titles come automatically when someone enters a certain lifestyle and determines whether he or she is dominant or submissive.  Many try the titles on for size as they hear them from their partners.  I am in the latter category.  My slave offered up the title of Master, and it sounded natural, coming from her.  It never really had before, and I had trouble using it when so many people took it lightly among people I knew in the past.  I embrace it now.  I own it now.

I should note that I have a friend who uses "Master" in a completely different way, and it's completely valid, of course.  His partner is not a slave, not a submissive, but something else entirely.  Once again, it's best not to assume.  However, the vast majority of the time, "Master" and "Mistress" mean that the person is a dominant, whatever way they live the lifestyle.

Sir/Ma'am:  It is usually safe to assume that someone who prefers to be called "Sir" or "Ma'am" is a dominant in the lifestyle.  There are few exceptions I can think of, other than switches who have entered into a relationships with partners who have assumed the role of submissive, at least most of the time.  What the submissive is called in the relationship will vary with each person.  There's no assumption that may be made there.

Some people who use "Sir" or "Ma'am" use it to distinguish themselves from people who have more experience in the lifestyle.  Some people simply prefer these titles because they sound more natural.

Dom/Domme/Domina:  These are simply titles for male and female dominants.  Their submissives will often call them by other titles during play, however.  People call themselves "Dom" or "Domme" to make it abundantly clear that they are BDSM dominants.

Sadist/masochist:  Sadists and masochists are people who get off on pain.  People often--surprisingly, at least to me--confuse the two.  To be clear, a sadist is the person who inflicts pain, whether physical or psychological or both; the masochist is on the receiving end.  It would seem to some that the sadist is the dominant and the masochist is the submissive, but this is not a safe assumption.  They could be completely equal, as far as they're concerned.  A masochist--or a sadist, for that matter, although I find it to be rare--can top from the bottom in order to feed his or her desire to receive pain.  I happen to be a sadistic dominant, but I have had one sexual relationship where my masochist wasn't truly a submissive.  I strongly prefer submission, though I often seek women who normally assume the dominant role and dominate them, just for the challenge.  Though not every dominant woman has a secret desire to be submissive--not by a long shot--I have met several who do, but simply couldn't find a man who was up to the challenge.  My slave--the woman I love and plan to marry--never assumed the dominant role in the BDSM lifestyle, but displays dominance in other aspects of her life (so do many other submissives, actually).

Switch/switch:  Some switches find each other and trade off the roles.  One might be more dominant than the other, and they'll play accordingly.  Some will very occasionally switch; some will switch often.  Some will find a dominant or submissive, and switch with yet another person.  That's one thing about the lifestyle: it's not limited to monogamous couples.  People have open relationship..  People can be polyamorous.

Daddy/little girl/babygirl:  I will start out by saying that I don't allow this particular dynamic in my secret group on Facebook.  Most people there aren't into it, and when posts from people who adopted this dynamic basically took over the group's feed, participation dropped off from people who either weren't into it, or found it downright distasteful.  If group participation hadn't fallen off from other people, I would have continued to tolerate it, because whatever happens between consenting adults is their business, right?  But the threat was there of me and my slave becoming the admins of a DD/lg and DD/bg group.  We weren't having that.  It makes my slave's skin crawl, because she had someone try to push it on her, when she said several times that it wasn't her thing and didn't feel right.  I had a submissive beg me to let her call me by the title, and I refused.  I have a daughter who calls me "Daddy", and I'm not taking the innocence of that away by having a sexual partner refer to me as such.  We did a purge of this dynamic, and group participation increased.  My personal feelings did not come into play here.  Group cohesion was my concern.

I will not pretend to understand why people choose this dynamic.  My observation is that it's not always about incest play or age play.  In some cases, the "Daddy" is simply a nurturing dominant who takes care of the submissive (who is not always called a "little" or "babygirl") in every way, as a father might for a daughter.  In some cases, incest fantasy is involved.  Age play is involved.  Littles and babygirls talk about "regressing" to certain ages.  Whatever the case, it's not my kink, and my honest opinion is that it's distasteful to use a parental nickname for a sexual partner.  There, I said it.

The many ways people play: The ways people live out their dynamics vary as much as the titles they use for themselves.  Some people just assume roles as dominants and submissives in general ways.  Some verbally agree to rules, or make them up as they go along.  Some are far more formal, and will write them down, even signing contracts after negotiating their kinks.  Some have mentors and go through training for years, whatever role they choose.  Some live out roles according to their fandoms.

What's the best way to play?  Whatever works for you.  The only rule I think should apply to everyone is that play be between consenting adults.

Dark Fantasy 3: Middle of Nowhere

Everything was in place for the special weekend with my slave.  I confirmed that the land in southern Ohio my cousin owned was available.  I had installed the restraints in the trunk, on the lid of it, so she would be suspended from it for the trip.  I loaded the BDSM  and camping equipment into the trunk, made sure my slave had her bathroom needs taken care of, stripped her, then restrained her under the trunk lid.  Once I secured her, I gave her a kiss, and said, "Once I close this trunk, you will not be able to say a word for the entire weekend, unless I ask you to speak.  Do you have anything to say, little slut?"

"I love you, Master.", she said, looking into my eyes.  I knew she meant it.  I closed the trunk. 

I got into the driver's seat and began the trip, thinking about my naked slave in the trunk, about what I would be doing to her when we got to the woods in the middle of nowhere.  I felt myself stiffening, and it was all I could do not to speed.  Speeding would be a mistake.  If I got pulled over, and my slave coughed or cleared her throat, or made any noise audible outside of the trunk, I would have some serious explaining to do.  I took a deep breath, exhaled, and put my mind elsewhere for the rest of the trip.

It took two hours to get to the destination, and as I got closer, I let my mind wander back to the possibilities involved in having my naked slave in a place where there were no people for miles around, where no one could hear her scream or cry out, where I could do absolutely anything to her with no consequences.  Fantasizing, I arrived at the site, parked, popped the trunk, and savored the sight of my willing victim.  Blond hair, blue eyes, sexy lips, graceful neck, slender body, small breasts, curvy hips, rounded little ass, long legs with excellent muscle tone.  Beautiful.  Sexy.  Mine.  

I undid the straps that secured her body in place, then unlocked her restraints.  As instructed, she didn't say a word as I stood her up, caressed her face, then grabbed her hair.  Holding onto her hair, I opened the equipment bag, took out a metal collar and leash, put the collar around her neck, locked it, and attached the leash.  I instructed her to get down on her hands and knees, then I led her by the leash to the area where I would put the tent.  I wrapped the chain around a nearby tree, took a lock from my pocket, and used it on the chain.  I left her there while I searched around for a proper switch to use on her ass and thighs.  Once I had it cut and prepared, I went back to her and swung it hard through the air, so she could hear the sound it made.  Her eyes widened a bit as she looked at the switch, then she bowed her head.  

I grabbed her by the hair and stood her up, made her hug the tree to which she was bound, wrapped my arm around her waist, and pulled her so she fully presented her ass and legs.  

I swung at her ass hard.  She let out a small moan, and her breathing became audible.  I swung again.  A sharp intake of breath followed the connection of the switch with her ass, along with a cry of pain.  Again, I swung.  Another cry, and her breathing became rapid.  Again.  Again.  Again.  Her ass reddened, and welts raised on her ass cheeks where the blows landed.  I alternated cheeks with each stroke of the switch.  When her ass was covered with horizontal red stripes, I moved to her thighs and raised welts there, as well.  Her cries became louder then, and I knew she was approaching her limit.  I had instructed her not to say a word unless I required it of her, so she had to trust me to know when to stop.  A few more strokes, and I threw the switch down.  

I rubbed her ass and thighs.  Wherever I touched a raised part of her skin, I heard a small, sharp intake of breath that gave away her pain.  I rubbed her for awhile, then I moved to her back.   I left her hugging the tree, and I went to retrieve all of the equipment--camping gear and BDSM equipment alike.  I set up camp, placing the tent close enough that she could sleep in it while still chained to the tree.  When I built the fire, I let her lie down by the tree to wait while I cooked us a meal.   

I made her lay across my lap, and I used her back as a table to place my food.  I ate it off of her flesh, washed it clean with water from one of the many jugs I brought, then fed her my cock.  She was not getting food till she swallowed my load.  I forced her down on my cock, pushing it to the back of her throat, then pulling her back up.  I bobbed her up and down on my cock roughly, then shoved her all the way down to cut off her breath.  I held her there, waiting for the panic that would inevitably come.  She did not disappoint.  She began to struggle, tried to lift her head in vain, tried to pull my hand away with hers.  She writhed enticingly, then finally, she gave a few short, muffled cries--her safe sound.  I let her up to breathe, but only far enough that she was forced to breathe around my cock.  Once she caught her breath, I continued to force her up and down my shaft for awhile, then I cut her breath off again.  After repeatedly forcing her to take my cock in her throat and stop breathing several time, I came in her throat, then took my hand away.  She came up slowly, making sure not to waste a drop of her Master's cum.  

"Good girl," I said.  "Now, you may eat."  I prepared more food for her, then I made her kneel with her hands behind her back as I fed her.  A reward.  Normally, she would eat from a bowl at my feet, but she'd been such a good little slave, I let her take the meat from a fork, rather than using only her mouth.  

When she was done eating, I removed her collar.  Then, I shoved her down onto her back, straddled her so my crotch was over her face, and commanded her to spread her legs.  I grabbed the nearby switch and began to abuse her pussy with it, stroke after stroke bringing moans and cries from her.  Every time I took a break--every ten strokes--I lowered myself onto her face, so my testicles covered her mouth and nose.  Her breath cut off, she writhed around.  I loved the way she arched her back and raised her hips off the ground every time she struggled for breath.  I mercilessly abused her pussy, but I was not satisfied with simply making the outside sore.  

I threw the switch aside and shoved a finger into her pussy, then two, then three, then four.  As narrow as she was, four fingers side by side forced her flesh to rub against bone, causing her pain and ensuring soreness when I finally entered her.  She cried out, clearly in pain, as I fucked her wet pussy with my four fingers.  I lowered my crotch onto her face to cut her breath off again, and she came, squirting as she did.  She was so well-lubricated, I knew I could get my whole hand inside.  I slid my thumb into her, and she resisted, but it was futile.  I forced my whole hand inside her.  She gave a desperate cry, then a scream.  I fisted her, cutting off her breath every few minutes to get her to panic.  I knew she'd be incredibly sore when I fucked her, and that thought made my cock stiffen and throb.  I pulled my hand out of her pussy, slapped the outside of it twice, then turned around to caress her face, grab her hair, caress her again, shove her head to the side and hold her cheek to the ground.  I wanted to give her pussy a chance to contract, its tissue to swell.  

I leaned down to bite her left breast.  I released her flesh, moved a bit, and bit her again.  I moved down her chest to abdomen, biting my way down, leaving marks as I went.  I got down to her thigh, bit down her right, back up her left, then started biting on her labia.  I finally sucked her clit into my mouth and nibbled it.  I pulled it over my teeth, held it there with my tongue, and moved it back and forth rapidly.  She tried to pull away as she came, so I grabbed hold of her and held her in place.  I continued to give her clit attention with my tongue and teeth through one orgasm after another, till she gave three short cries, indicating that she couldn't stand it anymore.  

I moved to put myself between her legs, and I entered her sore pussy.  She moaned in pain.  I gave a hard thrust, then another, then more.  I started fucking her hard, enjoying her cries of anguish.  I put my hands around her throat and fucked her while I chocked her.  Her face turned purple as she approached unconsciousness, and her hands, which had gripped my wrists when I started choking her, began to release me and go limp.  I let go of her throat, put my hand on her forehead, and shook her head from side to side, bringing her back to consciousness.  She began to moan and cry out again with my thrusts.  I fucked her for several more minutes, then choked her out again.   I felt her squirt against me with an orgasm she probably didn't even know she had.  I brought her back to consciousness and continued to fuck. 

I decided to use the one hole I hadn't yet, so I flipped her face-down, grabbed the knife from its sheath on the back of my belt, and held it to her throat as I entered her ass, my cock lubricated with her pussy juice.  It was almost a reward for her.  She loved anal, and her pussy was so sore, she was nearly in tears with that pain.  As much as she loved her sore pussy being fucked, my cock in her ass brought her both pleasure and relief...and the knife at her throat made her hot.  Threats, danger, fear--the thrill made her incredibly wet.  

I came in her ass, kept thrusting for awhile, then rolled off of her, sweaty, temporarily drained.  I laid beside her and stroked her hair, rubbed her back, drew her close.  We laid there by the warmth of the fire, satisfied in each other.  We rested, not speaking a word, flesh against flesh.  I had more in store for her.  So much more.  But it would wait till the next day.

I had her wash me off, then I washed her, and I put the collar back onto her.  I led her into the tent by her hair, laid her down so her head was close to the opening, zipped it shut so there was only enough of an opening for the chain, and slept next to her.  She had difficulty getting comfortable, but the life of a slave was not about comfort.  I fell asleep with a hand on her breast.  

When I awoke, I found that she had managed to fall asleep, but I was horny, so it would not last.  I shoved her legs apart and entered her pussy dry.  She was so sore, it woke her immediately and she cried out.  I fucked her hard and fast, but I did not cum quickly.  I worked up a dripping sweat fucking her sore pussy.  I did not cut off her breath this time; this was about use, and painful use at that.  I finally came after an undetermined length of time.  It had been dark when I began, and the sun was rising when I finished inside of her.  I did not bother cleaning up this time.  I simply fell asleep next to her.  

I woke again, and had her wash me.  I washed her again, as well.  It was always an important ritual with us.  

I went to the equipment bag and pulled out several lengths of rope.  I searched the area for a strong branch placed low on the tree, and I found one not far away.  I took off her collar and grabbed her hair, marching her to the tree I'd found.  I began tying her in a suspension so her pussy was at the height of my cock, and her mouth could also receive it, if I so desired--and I did.  I fucked her pussy for awhile, then I moved around her to fuck her mouth with her juices and my cum from the morning sex mixed.  I spanked her already-sore and bruised ass hard with my bare hand.  She came as I thrust myself hard into her pussy, and I kept on fucking her.  I didn't allow myself to cum yet; I just stopped fucking her when I came close.  I was inadvertently edging myself, but that was fine; I wanted the torture and use to last as long as I could.  

I let her down from the suspension, put her on her stomach again, but this time, I entered her pussy from behind.  I hit her g-spot in this way, and I fucked her hard and fast, not stopping this time.  It still took a long time to cum, and she had a few orgasms from my cock rubbing her g-spot.  She was in so much pain and ecstasy as I continued to fuck her savagely.  I pulled out this time to cum, and I shot all over her back.  I made her stay there, lying on the ground face-down, covered in cum, while I built another fire.  Then, I brought her near the fire and washed her first this time, then had her wash me.  I prepared food and ate it off of her stomach, so she could watch me.  Then I fed her again with her arms behind her back in the kneeling position. 

I took her back to the low branch again and tied her with her arms stretched out along the branch's length.  I then tied her ankles together.  I left her to get a bullwhip out of the equipment bag, then came back and started to give her lashes on her legs.  She screamed and struggled, lifting her legs to try to avoid each lash.  I simply let her tire and drop her legs each time before I lashed her again.  I left several stripes on her body before I let her down.  She did well.  She took all of the pain without giving her safe sound. 

I took her back to the tent, laid her inside, took some lotion out of a smaller back, and started rubbing it all over her.  After I was done, I laid down beside her and stroked her hair and her face.  She would sleep without the collar this time, and when she woke, she could speak again.  

Saturday, May 10, 2014

What being a Master means to me

So many people use the title, "Master", so lightly, I actively distanced myself from it until I met my current slave, and she called me, "Master.".  It felt so natural, coming from her lips, but before her, I associated it with posers who wanted to impose a dominant's title on people from whom they have not yet earned submission.

I think the major problem came from the online scene, where anyone can pretend.   Men who wanted to be dominants added "Master" to their names flippantly.  I used to make fun of them when they were clearly fake: "Yes, you're a 'Master', all right; you're the Master of your own hand."  They couldn't dominate Terri Schiavo (too soon?). 

Here's what being a Master means to me.  Take it for what it's worth:
  • I am skilled, and my slave recognizes those skills.  I can dominate her with a look, with a whisper, by touching her the right way.  I can make her orgasm at will, and she obeys because she has given her mind and body to me in recognition of my skills.
  • I listen and observe well.  I know what my slave's strengths and weaknesses are.  I know what she enjoys and what she doesn't.  I know her hard and soft limits, and if we haven't explored something, I know how to find her limits and not simply work within them, but to push them to the edge.
  • I have confidence in my abilities.  I do not enter into play nervously or awkwardly.
  • I have experience and knowledge.  I know what I know because I've had practice at it.  I have explored various kinks and know about them.  I know about equipment.  I know about safety.  I've made mistakes and I've learned from them.  I've watched, read about, and learned from others.  
  • I have established the rules and I enforce them.  I have given my slave a framework from which she can find fulfillment in pleasing me.  Her following the rules works out best for both of us, and they are tailored to us, our needs, our desires.   
  • I am everything I say I am.  I have not and will not misrepresent myself.  What you see is what you get.  When I say that I am a sadistic dominant who will go as far as any masochist's limits will allow, I mean this absolutely.  
Of course, the word, "master", itself has various meanings, and people can play with those meanings all they want.  I live as a Master, and this is what I mean when I say it.  I earned this title; she called be by it of her own free will, then gave that will over to me.  

Pain as control and controlling pain

As a sadist, I get pleasure out of inflicting pain, and I have always preferred to play with masochists, who gain pleasure from receiving it.  My slave is a masochist...but even masochists have their limits when it comes to pain.  Many people will say that pain is not a way to punish a masochistic slave, but when you know the soft limits and know how to push them, it can still be quite an effective means of control.

There are alternatives, and I should stress them for those who might have trouble distinguishing punishment from play, because let's face it: the pain reactions can be addictive, and a sadist could be tempted to make up reasons to punish a sub/slave, just as an excuse to do something out of the ordinary.  Let's be clear: making up reasons to punish a sub/slave is abuse.  When you punish, you're expressing your displeasure and/or disappointment in the actions of your partner.  If that person takes submission seriously, it's going to cause real emotional pain as feelings of remorse set in, whether they are justified or not.  That said, expressing displeasure and disappointment verbally can be punishment enough.  The submissive or slave lives to please you; the submissive mind finds fulfillment in pleasing the dominant.  Remorse and guilt can weigh heavily on a submissive.

Other alternatives include confinement, isolation, or taking away privileges.  Humiliation can be punishment for the submissive who is not into it as a kink.  There are a variety of options that do not involve pain.  For minor infractions, the submissive could be made to write an essay or do a task, such as cleaning the floor with a toothbrush.  For major infractions, ignoring a slave for a day will suffice.  You could make the slave sleep at your feet or on the floor, if you don't already.  Get creative, and tailor it to your own submissive/slave.

Getting back to pain, I use it in a number of ways.  Since my slave's nipples are incredibly sensitive, I tend to use them as the target when I have need to punish her (which is very, very rare).  I don't usually give her a high number of lashes, since knowing she did wrong truly makes her feel terrible.  The punishment is pretty much symbolic, because it's really the disappointment and displeasure that hurts her.  However, following through with the punishment is necessary, because it lets her know I mean business, and that I am truly displeased.

I don't just use pain for punishment, though; I use it to control my slave in play.  I know, for example, that I can control her by her hair, because she is hesitant to endure the pain of pulling away.  In one recent session, I never let go of her hair.  Not once.  I led her by it, made her change positions by turning her head the right way; it was intense and she loved it, but the key there was that pulling away was too much for her to bear.

During consensual non-consent play, I tend to twist and pinch her nipples to get her to submit to my will, knowing that they are weak spots.  It's cheating at the game, I know, but what kind of dominant would I be if I didn't stack the odds in my favor every time?  In any case, whenever I want her to repeat something or do something she doesn't want to say or do, respectively, I use her nipples as a means of control.

Now, there is another side to this coin: there are ways for the slave to control pain.  One of these methods is through breathing.  Anyone who has been through birthing classes knows that rapid breaths increase oxygen in the blood, and that increase helps endorphin production.  Using your own body's natural painkillers helps tremendously.

Another thing the receiver of painful attention can do to prevent things from getting too intense too quickly is relax completely.  Don't tense up; it will only hurt more.  Also, move as little as possible.  You can react to the blow, but don't flinch or fidget in anticipation of each blow.  An experienced dominant will wait for you to stay still, command you to do so, or rub the affected area until you are still again, but if you do your part, you are less likely to have a blow land accidentally on a much more sensitive--and possibly unsafe--spot.

Gripping something and/or biting down on something helps.  Taking your mind elsewhere can distract you from the pain, as well.

For us, pain is pleasure, but with the application of enough pain in the right way, it can still be used to control my masochist.

BDSM Play 10: Tears, brutal spanking, and biting

My slave came over for five days last time, and for ten days the time before.  During the five days, we had two nights of very intense play.  We had fun the other nights, as well, both visits, but these two nights stood out.


I had to leave the room for around twenty minutes, close to bedtime.  When I came back, my slave had fallen asleep under the electric blanket.  I took off my clothes, took my shirt, climbed on top of her, and wrapped my shirt around her head.  She woke up immediately and started to claw at the shirt, screaming, "I can't breathe!"

I moved my head in close to hers, so my mouth was near her ear, and said, "You're my little slut now, and you'll do exactly what I want.  You have no choice."  I flipped her around so her head was at the other end of the bed.  She managed to get the shirt off her head, so I grabbed her by her hair and said, "You've seen my face now, whore, so I can't let you go."

"You could have just taken me to dinner.  I would have fucked you, just like all of the other guys."

"Dinner?  Is that all it takes?  You are a little whore.  But I'm not like other men.  I take what I want."

"You're not special.  You're just like every other man."

"Oh?  We'll see about that."  I put one hand around her throat, and while she tried to get the hand away with both of hers, I shoved the other between her thighs, found her pussy, found her wet.  Very wet.  I used some of that wetness to lubricate her clit, and I rubbed it roughly, rapidly, while she couldn't breathe.  She came, squirting as she did.

I took my hand away and said, "Am I like the other guys?  Really?  Somehow, I don't think the other guys make your crotch so wet, or make you squirt when you cum.  Do they?" I yanked her roughly by her hair and made her look into my eyes.


"Do things my way, and you'll have pain, but you'll have intense pleasure, as well.  Now play with my cock, whore."  I led her down my body by her hair, and she began to play with my cock.  She put her mouth on it, but as she put her hand around it, one of her nails scratched me.  I yanked her back up by her hair as I growled, "You want to scratch my cock, whore?"

"I didn't mean to!"

"You want to scratch my cock?  Huh?  You scratch me again, and I'll pull out every one of your nails with pliers.  Do you understand me?  Check for blood."  I yanked her toward my crotch again and shoved her face down for a closer look.

"I didn't mean to!  I won't do it again."  That's when the tears started.

"Are those tears?"  I wiped one away with my thumb and licked it.  "Mmmmmm...the taste of your fear.  Makes my cock so hard.  I'm going to enter you, but I'm going to make it hurt as much as possible first.  I'll give you more reason to cry."

I flipped her onto her back, forced her legs apart, one with my body, one with my arm, and I spanked her pussy mercilessly.  I pinched her labia.  Spanked some more.  Rubbed her clit.  Spanked some more.  Rubbed her clit again; spanked again.  Rubbed her clit to orgasm this time.  Spanked her some more.  I moved up to enter her.

"It hurts!  My pussy hurts," she moaned.

"I want it to hurt."

She moaned in reply, and with each thrust, she cried out in pain.  Tears continued to stream down her face, but it was clear that she enjoyed it; her wetness betrayed her pleasure.  I fucked her hard, fast, enjoying every cry that came with each thrust.  I put my hands around her throat and choked her as I fucked her, and she grew even wetter than before.  I released her, then I felt myself getting ready to cum, so I fucked her even harder and faster than before.  I came inside of her.

I laid down beside her, wiped away her tears, moved in close, and said, "You did well, little slave.  I love you."

"I love you too, Master."

The aftercare began, the tenderness that always comes after our play.

Brutal Spanking And Biting

The next evening, my slave came over to me after work and presented her bare ass.  It's in the rules for her to act in a sexual manner to entice me.  I spanked her ass hard.  Harder.  I asked her, "Do you want full strength?"

"Yes, Master."

I  gave her everything then, swinging my arm as hard as I could and connecting with loud smacks that stung her and me both.  I did ten at a time, alternating cheeks each time I completed the count.  Her ass became very red, and the first signs of bruising began to show.

We took a break.  She kneeled and put her head on my thigh.  I stroked her hair for a bit, then I grabbed her by it and led her to the bed, making her crawl up onto it.  I continued to hold her by her hair as I began to spank her again, hard, as hard as I could.  She was taking rapid breaths.  She loves a hard spanking, but the pain was clearly intense.  She was taking it well, and enjoying it.  I kept at it until my hand hurt and both cheeks had red skin and bruises forming.  I stopped, took a picture, and showed her.

I flipped her onto her back, began to kiss her, then I bit her lip as I fingered her clit.  I edged her.  I moved to her neck, bit her, and edged her.  I moved to her right breast and bit it as I edged her again.  She was begging to cum at this point.  She's so sexy when she begs.

"Cum for me, little whore," I said, as I sunk my teeth into her flesh again.  She came with intensity.  I began biting up and down her body, growling, biting, attacking her like a hungry animal.  She cried out in pain, but she was getting so hot.  So was I.  I was relentless, leaving marks all over her chest, abdomen, and thighs.

I grabbed some rope from the bag at the side of the bed, and I tied her ankles together, then her thighs.  Her pussy was sore from the past couple nights of abuse, so when I entered her, she moaned loudly.  It made me feel even more primal than I did with the biting.  I fucked her like a savage animal, hard, fast, relentless, intoxicated by her moans and cries.  Then I moved so her hips were raised and her legs nearly touched her head, fucking her in a way that gravity helped my downward thrusts.

"OH, that hurts even more!" she moaned, and she continued to moan and cry more loudly as I fucked her brutally.  I went for a long time, covered in sweat, growling, grunting, thrusting hard and fast.  I finally came inside of her, rolled off, starting to untie her.  I was exhausted.  It felt so good.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Dark Fantasy 2: Hooks and Blood

****DISCLAIMER: This story is not meant to be an accurate depiction of BDSM lifestyle activity.  It is just a representation of the dark places my mind goes when I write fiction.

Driving down a rural highway, I saw her, standing outside of her sweltering car, her hood raised.  I stopped, got out of my car, and asked her, "What seems to be the trouble?"

"I don't know," she said desperately.  "It just died.  No warning, nothing.  Do you have a phone I can use?"

Standing closer to her, I got a better look.  She had a slender body, blonde hair, curvy hips, sexy lips, and blue eyes.  Yes, I had a phone, but I wasn't telling her about the cell I had on me. 

"Yes," I said, "but I'm a little old-fashioned--it's down the road, at my house.  I don't carry a cell phone.  Probably should in these parts.  Have to walk a couple miles to get to the nearest house, then you don't know who you'll run into out here.  Some crazy person could persuade you to get off the property with a shotgun or something.  You want a ride?  I'm not far.  You can call who you need to call and wait there."

Her eyes widened when I mentioned crazy people with shotguns.  I stifled a chuckle, given what I had in store for her.  She got into the car willingly, but with trepidation.  Understandably so.  People trust me easily--too easily, to tell the truth--but they shouldn't.  She was clearly smarter than most of them, or at least wiser.  
We got to my house and walked inside.  "Sit there at the table while I go get the phone," I said, pointing to a chair in my kitchen.  I walked into my bedroom and opened the chest at the foot of the bed.  Inside, I had implements of all kinds: restraints, whips, blades--a whole variety of things to capture and torture a pretty little thing like the one in my kitchen.  I took out a pair of police-issue handcuffs, a black spandex hood, and a survival knife.  I put the cuffs in my pocket, the knife in its sheath in my waistband, and left the hood out, in my hand.  I was ready. 

I entered the kitchen quickly, behind her, slipping the hood over her head.  She began to struggle and scream instantly, but I wasn't deterred; I became even more aggressive.  I wrestled her to the floor, face down, pulled her arms behind her back, held them there with my knee, and put the cuffs on her.  I then took the knife, laid down partially on her body, partially next to her, and held the blade at her throat.  "You're helpless now, little whore.  You'll do what I say, or this blade will cut deep into your flesh."

"I'm not a whore!" she protested  "Let me go!  What are you going to do to me?  Don't touch me!  LET ME GO!"

I put my arm around her throat, applied some pressure, and held the blade against her cheek.  I had my mouth against her ear as I said, "You are a whore.  You travel alone, looking all sexy, in a car that clearly isn't maintained?  You're just asking for someone to come along and rape you, little slut." 


"No, little whore.  No; you'll be fucked soon, but not the way you think.  I have so much fun in store for you.  And if you're thinking screaming is going to help you, or struggling, just remember this: no one can hear you in here. No one is around to help.  All you're going to do by screaming is turn me on more, and all you're going to do by struggling is make my cock hard.  So go ahead, scream, squirm, writhe, and fight.  I want you to."

Whenever I've given this talk to captives, they've responded in one of two ways: they have panicked completely, screamed hysterically, and fought like wild women, turning me on to the point of intoxication, or they've gone completely silent, thinking I might get bored and leave them alone.  This one was the latter type.  The latter type are more of a challenge, and I love a challenge.  In the end, they always scream.  They always panic.  But, if they don't scream and fight right away, it's much easier to move them and get them into an even more hopeless situation.  

I slung her over my shoulders in a fireman's carry, then I walked down the stairs with her, carrying her into the room where I did most of my torture.   When I plan on letting a woman go, she never sees my basement.  I have everything I need in the trunk at the foot of my bed to torment the willing ones.  They come and go.  I get bored with them.  I have to feed the darker needs now and again.  

She was blinded by the hood, so she didn't see the walls, the shelves, the chains with the hooks, the cranks that raised and lowered them.  If she had, she would surely panic.  I had my special whips here--the ones with barbs on the end that tear into flesh.  I had a variety of blades, surgical equipment, electrical gear--in short, everything I needed to make a victim scream her little lungs out, and make me happy. 

I laid her on a table and put the spreader bar on her, wrapping the restraints around her ankles, locking them in place.  Then, I lowered two of the hooks, handled by a single crank, until I had enough slack to reach her.  They had sharp points that I drove into her wrists.  She panicked then.  She began to scream and flail.  I jumped on top of her and held her still long enough to unlock the cuffs, then I let her fall to the floor from the table, breaking her fall somewhat with my arms and my knee, then I went to the crank and began raising the hooks.  Slowly, inexorably, the chains attached to the hooks raised her arms above her head and apart from each other.  

She wouldn't stop screaming, and she was struggling as much as she could in her restraints.  Blood flowed from her wrists, beautiful, sticky, hot blood.  I licked some of it off of her, then I took her hood off, grabbed her by the hair, and quickly licked her lips.  She licked them instinctively, tasting her own blood.  She gagged.  She didn't vomit, though.  

"LET ME GO!  LET ME GO!  LET ME GO!"  She screamed it, over and over.  I ran my left hand over her body, then I bent down and held each ankle as I attached the ring on each end of the spreader bar to a ring bolted to the floor with a padlock.  When her feet were secured to the floor, I reached up between her legs and began to rub her crotch through her jeans.  Her clothes needed to go.  I needed her flesh.  She began to come through the hysterics finally, and her screams weren't as loud or frequent.  She was sobbing uncontrollably, though.  

Tears.  Sweet, delicious tears.  Oh, they taste salty, but the sight of them, the sound of her sobs, the look of her face as they streamed down all made me mad with desire and drunk on her agony.  I took the knife and cut away her clothing with it, first her shirt, then her jeans.  She was naked before me.  Naked and sobbing.  Naked and screaming.  

I took several leather strands with hooks on the end of each, all coming together into a handle with a hook on the end, and I attached it to a chain.  I took its twin and attached it to another chain, so they dangled.  She screamed again, tried to pull away from her restraints, straining against the hooks in her wrists, clearly in agony.  Delicious agony.  I brought the hooks on the right side to her back, and I inserted the first one through her skin.  There were barbed; they were not coming out without ripping her flesh or cutting through the metal.  I inserted them in a vertical line down her back, ten in all, on the right side.  I took the strands on the left side and made another vertical line.  Then, I went to the crank on the right side, and she screamed more.  

"STOP!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  Please, I'll do anything you want!  PLEASE!"

"This is what I want, whore."  I began to crank.  


I cranked until the strands were taut, then I cranked some more, so the hooks pulled at her flesh.  I went to the other crank and did the same.  Now, each line of hooks pulled her flesh in two directions, and I had a target in the middle of her back for my whip.  One of my special whips.  

I drew it from the wall in full view, and she went wild, but to no avail.  There was nothing she could do, nowhere she could go.  She couldn't avoid the first lash, which left a long gash across her back, or the second, or the third, or any of the thirty lashes I gave her with my whip.  Blood flowed freely down her back.  When I was done whipping, I stood close to her, smearing every inch of flesh that wasn't covered with blood on the back of her with the red, sticky fluid.  I tasted her.  Licked it off.  Smeared it over her more.  

It was time for the front.  I drew another set of hooked leather strands from the table, attached it to a chain, but this time, I did not do a vertical line down her body.  The chain was directly over her, and I hooked the strands in a circular pattern on each breast.  I took another pair, attached it to another chain in front of her, and hooked her labia.  I cranked each, pulling at her tits and her pussy.  I then whipped her abdomen, leaving gashes all over the front of her.  I smeared the blood all over her, leaving her pussy for last.  I used blood as lubrication to rub her clit, but I doubt she felt it the way she should, given her agony.  It didn't matter.  Her pleasure wasn't my goal.  

The bloody, sobbing mess of her had my cock raging, throbbing, ready to enter her.  I detached the hooks in her labia from their leather strands.  I went over to the table, grabbed loose hooks, and attached them to the hooks in her flesh, one by one.  I then ran the new hooks into the flesh on either side of her labia, spreading them as I went.  I wanted her wide open.  When I finished, I unlocked the spreader bar from the rings on the floor, then lowered new chains and locked them to the bar's rings instead.  I cranked, raising her off the floor until she was the level where my cock could enter her blood-soaked pussy easily.

I trusted inside of her, covering my cock first in her blood.  Each thrust pulled at the hooks in her flesh, and she cried out in anguish.  I held her hips and thrust deep inside of her, hard, fast, knowing I wouldn't last long, couldn't last long with this much blood, this much screaming, so many tears.  I rammed myself into her over and over, drawing fresh cries each time.  I felt myself building up, building up, cumming inside of her.  Protection didn't matter; she wouldn't be around long enough for conception.  She'd seen my face, after all; her life was over.  Perhaps she knew, perhaps not; all that mattered was the agony in the moment, I suspect...which is appropriate, because that's all that mattered to me: the agony, the ecstasy.  

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Answering some questions about domination, submission, and switching

Someone from a group on Facebook had some questions for dominants, submissives, and switches that I would like to address:

For those who like to dominate:
Q: Do you enjoy dominating others in other aspects of your life?

A: In the BDSM lifestyle, nobody can speak for everyone else in any role, because some people live very different lives than they do in their relationships and sexual activities.  However, my observation is that more dominants tend to be either dominant in their daily lives, or they are so reserved, you wouldn't be able to tell how they were in the bedroom.  For me, it tends to happen naturally.  People tend to look to others who have confidence and intelligence for direction.  I do not want to rule people; I'd rather inspire, motivate, and persuade.  There's no art to being a bully; being an inspiration, a role model, and a leader takes thought, effort, and skill.

Q: Do you dominate your partner outside of sexual role play?

A: I live a 24/7 Master/slave relationship, so yes.  However, not everyone in the lifestyle does.  Some people are only scene dominants or dominants in the bedroom only.  I've been in a sexual relationship with a masochist who wasn't submissive, really, but the nature of our sexual play made her submission natural.  Outside of that, she wasn't submissive at all, and we spoke and acted on equal terms.   In my current relationship, however, she gave herself to me willingly, mind and body, with the rules and limits well-defined.  She must show me respect at all times and defer to me at all times--and she wants it that way.  It's fulfilling for her, and it's a great responsibility for me, as well as being fulfilling.  

Q: Were you dominated or abused growing up?

A:  I wasn't dominated, sexually speaking, and I only had one instance of sexual abuse.  By some definitions, I was abused otherwise, because corporal punishment was the standard in my home for discipline.  It's a gray area, because my parents (my dad, specifically) did not do it for enjoyment or out of cruelty; he did it for what he perceived were things we did wrong.  I don't think anyone should hit children, and there are better forms of discipline for child-rearing.  Not everyone in the lifestyle even received corporal punishment growing up, let alone abuse.  I see abuse--clearly-defined abuse--as doing things to children out of pure cruelty (adults can be abused, too, of course).  I think a lot of people who engage in corporal punishment in child-rearing just don't know a better way. 

Q: Do you see society as a world where there are two basic kinds of people: those who are strong, and those who are weak?

A:  People range all over the spectrum with their confidence levels, assertiveness, aggressiveness, modesty, humility, timidness, shyness, and any other characteristics people traditionally view as "weak" or "strong".  I think "weak" and "strong" are not clearly defined terms, really; people see altruism and love as weak, after all, and I strongly disagree with that assessment.  I think people show confidence and leadership in certain situations, and in others, they are reserved and modest.  I think some people do great on their own, but try to hide when they are in groups.  

In short, no, I don't think there are two types of people in the world.  Not by a long shot.

For the submissives (answered with my slave):
Q: Are you submissive in other parts of your life?

A:  Many submissives are not at all submissive outside of sex.  My slave, for example, is only submissive to me.  She was dominant at work, she was dominant in her marriage, and she is authoritative when it comes to her kids and mine.  

Q: Are you submissive to your partner outside of sexual role play?  

A:  As a 24/7 slave, she is submissive in private, and respectful in front of family.  Where she can't refer to me as "Master", she still defers to me and treats me with with respect...and she gave that up willingly.  When we were talking about the lifestyle, she offered up the slave role for herself, and I accepted it.  

Not all submissives are submissive to their partners outside of sexual role play.  Some submissives are submissive all the time, to all dominants who are proven in the role.  It's a matter of preference, though.  

Q: Were you dominated or abused growing up?

A: No, my slave was not dominated or abused growing up, and you will find a mixture of people who have been abused and who have not been abused among those in the BDSM lifestyle, just as you will with people who are not into kink at all.

Q: Do you see society as a place where there are basically the weak or the strong?

A: First of all, my slave is not weak.  Submission takes a lot of emotional strength, and her life outside of the lifestyle play requires her to be strong.  She handles herself well.  Submission should never be mistaken for weakness. Submission does not mean submission to everyone at all times.  

Friday, May 2, 2014

Dark Fantasy 1: The Faceless Slave

The suspended slaves hung from the line overhead, tied in a kneeling position with white hoods over their heads, each wearing white, translucent pants, each bare from waist to neck.  I walked along the line of them, inspecting each, fondling each, enjoying the anonymity of them.  They were objects, each prepared for my use, no say in the matter. 

All were desirable, but the one that caught my eye was very slender, had small breasts, and a beautifully-rounded ass.  She'd have been called "skinny" by most, or "too skinny" by some, but she wasn't a stick.  The curve of her hips was perfect.  I could not see her face...but that was part of the allure.  Seeing her face--especially her eyes--would make it personal, and this choice was all about which body I would use for my pleasure that evening.

I took her down and set her on her knees, making sure she kept her balance, then gave the order to have the rest go back to the cages.  I watched them disappear into the opening in the wall, then I turned to the slender slave who knelt at my feet.  I cupped the back of her head with my right hand, leaned in close, and said, "Not a word, little slut.  You will utter no words in my presence.  To me, you are just three holes to stick my cock in, and not one of them will speak.  The one you use for speech will only open to receive what I want to put into it.  Nod if you understand."

She nodded, then bowed her head.  

"You may scream.  You may moan.  You may cry out.  But you must not express a thought in any way that suggests you are sentient.  You are, at most, a pet I own for my pleasure.  Understood?"

She nodded again.  

I carefully folded the hood up until her mouth showed, then I smacked her across the right cheek and said, "Open!"  She opened her mouth, and I fucked it, smacking first one cheek, then the other, and repeating until she was clearly crying.  Her tears made me enjoy it even more, so I continued to slap her face as I shoved my cock into her throat, making her gag and struggle for breath.  She tried to pull away, so I pulled out, grabbed her by the chin, leaned in close to her ear, and said, "You try to pull away from my cock again, and I will flay the skin from your back,"  She complied.  No matter how much she gagged or how little I let her breath, she did not pull away...not that I gave her much opportunity.  I shoved her against the wall and wrapped my leg around her head.  She had no choice but to take my thrusts.  

"I"m going to cum in your throat little whore."

She gave a little desperate cry as I thrust deep, ensuring that her breath was completely cut off, and I fucked her throat for another full minute or so before I shot my load into her.  I pulled back a little so she could take a breath after she swallowed, then I shoved her down on the floor.

"Wait there.  I'm not done using your body," I said.  She lay crying, from the face-smacking or the rough oral treatment, I couldn't say--and didn't care.  Her tears were a drug to me, feeding my sadistic desires, making them want to flow more.  She was going to hurt for me, bleed for me, and I was prepared to savor every moment.

I grabbed a long knife from the workbench, came back over to her, laid over her chest, and whispered in her ear, "I'm cutting these pants away, and then I'm cutting you.  She whimpered and sobbed, then began trembling.  Knowing she was in fear, that she had no choice but to obey, that she was under my control completely turned me on like few things could.  I cut her pants away, starting at the waist, cutting a slit down the middle, then cutting around the legs.  I pulled the material away from her flesh, and tasted her shaven, pink pussy, nibbling her clit, then biting it.  She squealed.  I bit her labia.  Her thigh.  I left marks with my teeth that would surely bruise.  

"Before I enter that little cunt, I want it nice and sore," I said.  I smacked it with my bare hand, hard.  Again.  And again.  I smacked it repeatedly, mercilessly, hearing her cry out, relishing it, intoxicated by it.  I wasn't done, though.  The hand was the beginning,  I grabbed her by the ankles and took her over to the wall, where there were rings bolted to it.  I took some rope from the workbench and made quick work of tying her ankles to the rings, so her legs were spread and her pussy was completely exposed.  I took a single-tail whip and hit my target.  Exhilarated by her screams, I let the whip lick her thighs, her ass, and her pussy alternately, over and again, delighting in her futile struggle against her restraints.  

"That takes care of the outside.  Now..."  I shoved two fingers into her, then three, then four, then forced my thumb inside.  I worked my fingers and thumb in her till I could get my whole hand in, and I fisted her.  She was so slender, I was sliding her skin across her bone with every thrust of my hand, and she was screaming endlessly.  I knew she'd be sore inside and out when my cock entered her, and that though was making me stiff.  I stopped fisting, waited for her pussy to close up, gave it time to swell.  In the meantime, I pinched and twisted her nipples.  They turned out to be quite sensitive, so I pinched them harder and twisted them more, enjoying the sight of her writhing in agony, listening to her squeal and moan in a pleading way.  Still no words, though.  

Obedient little toy.

I mounted her, forced my cock in between her swollen, sore labia, and inside of her.   She sobbed, moaned, cried out...and then I wrapped my hands around her throat, cutting off her breath and blood to her brain.  I fucked her hard in that sore pussy, knowing from her reactions that the pain was exquisite.  I released her throat when she started to show signs of going unconscious, but continued to fuck her hard.  I let her catch her breath, then I squeezed her throat again.  "Your life is in my hands, little whore.  I can use you or I can discard you.  Right now, it's more fun to use you."  I let her throat go, but as I did, she squirted.  She came with intensity, arching her back and holding her breath as the pleasure took her against her will.  I smacked her in the face again.  "I'm glad you're enjoying the rough treatment, little slave.  You're going to get it again and again."

I continued to thrust, and as I did, I untied her legs.  After she was no longer bound, I flipped her onto her stomach and entered her little ass forcefully.  I pulled her arms up, hooked them under the elbows, grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and started thrusting.  I let go of one arm to grab it with the other, and I began smacking her face ass I sodomized her.  She breathed heavily and moaned desperately as my well-lubricated cock thrust deep inside her.  I let go of her arms and her hair.  She wasn't going anywhere anyway, and I wanted my hands free to use the knife.  I grabbed it, still inside of her, and I yanked her head back by the hair.  I put the steel to her throat and said, "I"m going to cut you, little slut."

I drew the knife away from her throat and made a cut on her back, across her shoulder blade.  The blood welled up, and the sight of it made me thrust harder.  I ran my finger along it, licked it off, coated it in her blood again, and ran my finger up under her hood to make her taste it.  She obliged.  It clearly turned her on, fear or no fear...or because of fear.  I cut her across her other shoulder blade and repeated the tasting of her blood, first me, then her.  I kept thrusting my cock deep inside of her ass as I did.  I let her bleed, watching it run down her sides and underneath her in red rivulets.  I made a third cut, then a fourth, and the blood was flowing.  I smeared it all over her back, on her hood, all over her arms.  The sight of it brought me to orgasm, and I finished inside of her.  

I dismounted, then I picked her up and carried her to the line where she was brought in.   I tied her back up in the kneeling position, then lifted her to hang on the steel hook.  I yelled the order to take away, and watched my used, bleeding little toy disappear into the wall.