Barrister's Experiences

From dss

2010-11-26T21:16:00.001-05:00

This is the email I was writing when I lied to my husband....

He wanted to have sex Saturday night and I asked him to go down on me. While he was eating me I laid back with my knees up and legs spread wide. While he was doing his thing I got lost in fantasy.

It went something like this. I was tightly bound in the position I was in; on my back feet to my ass, legs wide open. You put a clear plastic bag over my head. You wanted to see my face while you controlled whether I was breathing or not. Another man was at work on my clit and pussy. Using a dildo and vibrator he would bring me close to orgasm. The two of you worked together. Just as my body wanted to come, you would turn off the air and panic would set in. Just as my mind and body has learned to associate pain with pleasure, you were teaching me to do the same with lack of air. Your cock was hard as you watched my face react to the power you had over me. If I was going to come it was your decision, if I was going to breath mylast breath if was your decision.

I came hard and my poor husband thought it was all him.

dss

Long Absence

2010-11-26T19:55:00.003-05:00

Is over. I'm back.

I'M BACK

2009-10-18T13:16:00.000-05:00

I am back. New posting soon!

For dss

2008-11-03T21:49:00.001-05:00

After months of emails and communication, it has come down to this. dss has read and reread my emailed set of instructions, memorized them and now signals with her right blinker as she moves from the middle lane to the far right lane in anticipation of the upcoming exit.

Earlier in the day she deposited her husband and children on the noon flight to Florida. As dusk settles in she has already received the call telling her they've arrived safely in Orlando and she now nervously considers what she is about to undertake and experience over the next few days. Of immediate concern is the weather. While the temperature is in the mid forties, she is wearing only her Burberry trench coat and her best single strand set of pearls. The hand cuffs and blacked out sunglasses are on the seat beside her. She checks her appearance in the mirror for the seventh time. Her dark hair is piled high on her head, the lipstick blood red and heavy eye make up accentuating the color of her eyes.

She exits and waits for the left turn arrow to signal a break in the traffic so she can enter the park and ride off 91 north. Lost in thought and anticipation, the horn behind brings her back from her day dreaming and she accelerates quickly into the lot and parks under the lone light close to the bus shelter nose of the car head in.

She exits the car and surveys the the commuter lot in the darkening afternoon. There is no movement. She hits the lock button of the fob twice-the car locks popping into place, the lights flashing and the horn signaling that her vehicle is secure. She moves into the shelter, faces the bus schedule, places the blacked out sunglasses on, and though rendered sightless she poses as if she's reading the route schedule. She recognizes that if she takes the next step, there will be no turning back. She sighs, hesitates and them withdraws both arms from the sleeves of her Burberry. She places the hand cuff on her left wrist and closes it. She places the left underneath the trench coat behind her back, struggles to place her right behind her back and latches that closed as well. The right closes-latching loudly with a metallic clink. Her stomach flips. She knows what lies in front of her just as surely as she knows there is no turning back now.

The sheltered from the wind she feels the temperature drop and the late afternoon darkens. The wind swirls around her ankles and the chill can be felt through the soles of her black stiletto's. Blinded by the darkened sunglasses, she hears the commuter bus enter the lot circle and hears the hiss of the air brakes outside the shelter. dss can hear muffled good nights, foot steps leading away from the bus and the sound of cars starting and leaving the lot. She hears the valves in the bus' diesel clacking as the engine's rpms increase and it pulls out of the lot leaving her again in silence.

"dss!"

Startled, she turns to face toward the direction of my voice.

I move to her side, take her arm and instruct her to accompany me.

Stumbling in her heels, we move the open rear of my SUV. I strip the trench coat from her body, sweep her up in both arms and throw her into the back of the truck onto a goose down comforter. "On your knees slut.-head down-ass up dss." I spread the cheeks of her ass, smear a generous amount of ben gay onto a hard rubber plug and unflinchingly force the plug into her ass until her sphincter closes around the base. She moans. I throw a second comforter over her, extend the privacy cover over her, close the back and leave her in the dark. I pop the locks and head north for a three hour drive to my dungeon in the mountains bordering the Green Mountain National Park.

Breath Play and dss

2008-09-29T21:53:00.002-05:00

A big thing for dss has always been eyes, so when I thrust her against the wall and wrapped my right hand around her throat, I could read her eyes right away. She was taking pleasure, not giving it. And I loved her for knowing that that was what she needed.

Her face didn't give any emotion away; if I didn't know her so well, it would have been easy to believe that she wasn't even turned on by what I was doing. The feeling of not being able to take a breath is different from the feeling of not getting air when you do. It leaves your body feeling empty, void not just of air, but of ability. It leaves you feeling like a shell, merely the casing of what you once were. Human, alive. It is such a perfect feeling for my slut.

Her hands fluttered when she felt she could go on no longer without air, when the world in the corners of her eyes became first blurry, then black- her ability to see, her sense of sight, slowly disappearing, slipping into nothingness. There is no better feeling than completely giving yourself over to a degree such that someone else controls even your senses.

I didn't let go right away. I held fast, staring into her eyes as she struggled to make sound and found (though I had already known) that she could not. Her tongue tried to form words, but with a lack of air, her vocal chords were of no help. Her arms quivered and her body began to shake. I knew that she had orgasmed.

When I let her go, she collapsed into me. Ruffling her hair, I smiled and held her close. "Was that what you needed?" I hadn't asked her for anything, simply took it and yet she had known. She knew that I knew, too. It all happened much faster than she could ever express.

After sometime, we found ourselves wandering the city, I took her to a secluded part of the subway platform, behind the a stairwell where no one could see us and we could hear people coming.

This time, I pressed my entire body against her. She shuddered, knowing full well what my intentions were. I traced my fingers around her neck and asked her if she was scared. It's hard to explain how she feel in these situations. She is frightened, scared out of her mind. But then, it is what she wants: to be scared, to be hurt, to be used.

She only ever meet my eyes when my hand is around her throat. I never instructed her to do so. In these situations, she feels less than me, less than human. I grabbed the front of her neck between thumb and the side of my forefinger and pressed. This was new. It was new and wonderful. In some ways, it was less controlling than usual, but in other ways, it showed how little power I had to exert to put her in her place. It was godly, and it made her shake. She cried out softly when I did so. "Good," I spoke, expressionless as always, "my fuckslut should be always afraid." She can never stop her eyes pleading for pleading for me to let go. My eyes respond with mirth.

The only reason I let her go was a man come around the stairs to await the train. I held her arms against the wall above her head and leaned forward, softly kissing her. It was a show for the man -- the strength in my hands never let her forget what was really going on. I put one hand under her chin, my fingers behind her jaw. I applied more and more pressure, forcing her jaw to jut forward, and stare into my eyes. She knew the threat that was there. The man got on the train and disappeared, looking, somewhat strangely, back at us. Her pleasurable hell resumed again.

I thrust my hips hard into her-- so hard I could feel it in my bones. I told her I was going to use her. She begged. I told her that all I wanted her for was to abuse her for my pleasure. I could see it this time. Her face flickered with feeling for a moment, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I could cum from torturing you." I took her hand and led her to the next train.

B Responds to dss

2008-09-29T21:13:00.000-05:00

dss,

No doubt you do enjoy giving head and probably are quite proficient at it as well. After all, you are in control and most men can easily be manipulated by lips and a warm mouth engulfing their cock. Does your husband fit that characterization?

In the alternative, sodomizing your mouth is a totally different experience. The control is gone. The eyes and mascara run, the sinuses drain and the true mouth whore struggles to catch her breath and fights the gag reflex. It is a high for the top-your involuntary whimpering, the moan (music to my ears) and your throat constricting around the cock is definitely an enhancement. Add to that the ignoring of pleading and begging (another high-in fact the more you suffer the more you beg) feeds the sexual sadist in me. Heaving is a plus-especially before I climax. The humiliation of it combined with the verbal critiquing of you inability to give a blow job even a $20 whore can accomplish pushes your further down the path. It's call skull fucking. Have you mastered this ability since then?

The attorney reference is with respect to the seemingly endless questions we ask. The detailed answers we seek. I have lots of questions and will pose them as long as you respond. I hope you will continue. I enjoy your emails as well.

I will post your response but not include your email address. I prefer to keep as much attention as you can provide all mine.

B

Q & A with dss

2008-09-25T21:10:00.000-05:00

dss

As an observation, my sense is, and correct me if I am wrong, that you are what I would characterize as being a bucket dumper. That is not pejorative but simply means that your bdsm appetite builds slowly until it is full and then once that "bucket is full" you than seek to empty. The analogy to a bucket simply is that it fills slowly, drop by drop until it reaches the point of over flowing and then you empty not slowly to prevent over flowing but rather by turning it up side down, emptying it fully so the pressure is totally relieved and then it begins to fill again slowly?

On the deep throating-tell me more. Were there issues in breathing? Was it a form of breath play that you had difficulty handling or was it it the gagging and fear of regurgitation or was it something else? Personally speaking, breath play is something that I truly enjoy in all of is its various forms (bagging, mummification, water submersion, asphyxiation) and the fear factor.

Shall I compose and post a fantasy piece about you?

While I did not know the term, your analogy is a good one. Desire, needs, build and then I do act on them. Sometimes the actions are well planed and reasonable. At other times they are stupid and risky. Then the guilt comes and I run away.

It wasn't the fear of not being able to breath. It had to do more with the force of it regardless to my reaction to it and the gagging and being on the verge of throwing up. In fact he kept telling me to breath through my nose to help me get through it. He didn't care that I was crying and begging him to stop. He was going to do it and I had no control over it. Don't get me wrong I do enjoy giving head, but this was totally different.

dss

dss responds to a question

2008-09-24T16:33:00.002-05:00

Someone posted a comment about what dss disliked most about her meeting. Here is her response.

I tried answering one of the questions on the blog, but apparently it didn't work, so I will do so here. It's easy to answer what I didn't like the most. It brought me to tears and had me gagging and spitting up. While bound in the chair, Jeff used a rubber dildo to force deep throat me. I begged him to stop, but only did after I pleaded with him to do just one more.

Denouement

2008-09-19T06:53:00.000-05:00

On the way home from the airport, I was told to stop at the po box. There was a registered letter there for me. It was from Kevin. Opening it I found seven one hundred dollar bills. The day was a waste for me. My nerves kept me from being able to do much.

At this point I was questioning everything I was doing. For some strange reason I felt I was going to be killed. So much so, I left all types of evidence laying around the house before I left.

I was told not to bring a purse or my cell phone. I was to call my family just before I left and tell them I was going to a movie and I would check in with them in the morning. Kevin had said I need not worry about a thing and I had to trust him on this.

A driver picked me up at 7 and took me to the side entrance of the Goodwyn Hotel in Hartford. I was to meet them at the America's bar in the hotel. Walking in the three of them greeted me. I kissed Kevin and Jeff on the check and I was introduced to Paul. Taking my coat from me Kevin gave it to the host, telling her to have it put in his room.

They told me a looked great. The dress was a scoop neck A line dress that buttoned down the front. It had a floral pattern to it that covered up the sheerness of it. If you looked hard enough or the light was just right, you could see through it. I was aware that they were looking at my breasts. The shoes were very nice heeled sandals.

Paul was a very average looking man. I was told he was a NYC cop. As it turned out he was also a rope bondage specialist. Japanese rope bondage, which at the time I didn't know anything about. He didn't say much.

Kevin said we were going to have diner. He asked if I received my letter and I told him I did. Several times during the night I was asked if I was there on my own free will. Often it was in front of others that were not part of the four of us. I clearly understood what that was all about.

Once we got to the table, several times they had me get up and walk in. They said I needed to walk with more confidence. It was clear the wanted others to witness me doing things they ask of me. I was aware my tits bounced was I walked and I am sure that was part of it. Dinner, mine was lite. Two glasses of wine help with my nerves.

Conversation was just like any other dinner I have had with other couples. At the end of dinner, an awkward moment happened. The asked the waiter if he would like to see my tits. Looking at me Kevin asked me if I wanted to show him. Hesitating I said yes, but the waiter who was very good, declined the offer. With that Kevin said it was time to get going.

He had rented a suite. It was nice with a living area and a separate bedroom.

They walked in and sat on the couch and chairs. I was told to remain standing. I am not sure how I was able to. My knees were shaking like mad. Kevin sensed my anxiety and walked up behind me. Standing very close to me he started talking to me so only I could hear him. He basically reassured me and told me everything was going to be alright. He then said it was time to begin and had me close my eyes.

He started by rubbing his hands up and down my body. My sides, my thighs, my breasts, my ass. I felt my body begin to react to his touches. He hands then went to my buttons and he started to undo them. With my eyes still closed I leaned back onto his chest. I was now exposed to them. Kevin pulled the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He had me step out of it.

He started to cup my breasts and pinch my nipples. It was like it was a direct on line switch to my pussy. While I was sure he knew it, having been through this before, I knew I was not going to be hiding this from him. He had my clasp my hands behind my head. He slide a hand to my panty covered pussy and felt how wet the cotton had become.

No longer talking to me, he announced to Jeff and Paul then he knew I would be this way. By eyes were now open and I could see them smiling and looking at me. Kevin the produced a knife from his pocket and cut the panties from me. He toss them to the others. Walking away from me, I stood there with my hands behind my head completely nude.

Kevin was gone but a second and when he returned he said we were going to play a game of hide and seek. He put a leather hood over my head and secured it in the back. I had never wore a hood before. There was panic and the overwhelming smell of leather. His words shocked me back to what was happening. I will never forget them. "Can you guys smell this whores cunt?" Those were significant words to me. He knew what they meant to me. They were like trigger words I had told him about in our correspondence. He knew the effect it would have to call a "whore" and referred to as a "cunt". They made me feel dirty, objectified.

Kevin back away from me and told me to get on my hands and knees. They then told me I had fifteen minutes to sniff out my smelly cunt soaked panties. They seemed to enjoy my frustrations as I crawled around the room bumping into things in my effort to find the panties. In the end I was told I lost the game.

It was now Paul's turn with me. Standing again, he had me put my arms behind my back parallel to my waist. I felt the ruff rope binding me. While it was comfortable, I knew it was secure. My arms were secured to my sides and my breasts were also incorporated into the tie. I was to remain bound in some form for the rest of the night.

Once he was done with my arms he started on my breasts. Using a smaller rope or cord he wrapped around each breast. His touch was rough and swift. He had to have done this many times before. In the end my tits felt so tight. Almost like they were going to pop. It was a very un natural feeling.

He then put me to the floor and with equal speed my legs were bound. My legs were bent at the knee so my feet touched my ass. The same rough feeling rope was used to secure my ankles to my upper thighs. I was then picked up and put on a chair. Because my arms were behind my back, they forced my hips foreword in the chair. My feet still rested on the seat, but my crotch was right at the edge of the chair as I was leaning back into the chair.

I wasn't expecting the first hit. It was a sharp snap to my bound tit. I screamed at that first smack. I think my voice shocked us all. I felt I needed to be quite so what we were doing wouldn't be discovered. I was told this was my punishment for losing the game. Endorphins were soon running. At the end of this the hood was removed and I was able to see how they had bound me and I got to look at the welts and bruises on my tits.

It was then that I was told we were going to move on and I would now find out about another skill of Paul's. The cord binding my tits was removed. I watched was the took their natural shape and color. Metal clamps were attached to my now normal looking nipples. They didn't have the pinch of the weighted clamps had put on me in the boat, but they were secure. Next a metal plug was slid into my drenched pussy. Leads were attached it and to the clamps on my nipples.

I was told I was going to be interrogated and judging on my sincerity of my answers I would be rewarded or made to tell the truth. The questions were wide ranging. It was clear all of my correspondence had been turned over to Paul. My reluctance to answer questions about my family were met with the most intense shocks. I was made to answer questions about my kids, about my husband, about secret moments between my husband and I. I was forced to tell them honest truths about how he often doesn't satisfy me during sex. How I use fantasy while we make love so I can come. They went into my sexual past. About my lovers, about my adolescent bondage play. They explored my sexual fantasies and the type of masturbation technics I use. I felt ashamed to some of my answers. Telling them about my fantasies of being humiliated to the point of degradation and admitting I enjoyed the bondage and pain were the greatest.

Shocks of pain followed every answer. Sometimes it was just my nipples, other times just my cunt. On answers they didn't like the most resulted in shocks in both areas. Sometime during this something very special happen. It was like everything went into slow motion. The pain was something that I no longer feared. It was like after the shock of pain, I would ride the wave of the sensation as it left my body. Everything changed. My voice answered the questions with a calmness. I could see, but I saw nothing. It no longer mattered that admitted I wanted them to be doing this to me, that I wanted to lick their ass holes or ask them to pee on me, that my husband was a sissy to me. I was someplace I have never been before or since. They ended the interrogation by using a vibrator on my clit. They brought me to several orgasms. Cuming for the was just as embarrassing for me as was answering their questions. It made me feel or admit to myself I was all these things they had me say I was.

The rest of the evening was spent in bondage and being caned, whipped, and clamped. No part of my body was spared including the soles of my feet. They all had sex with me in some form or another. I did give the rim jobs. I was fucked with dildos and cocks. Come was left on my face, tits, and bush.

I was walked to the bath tub and I lay in it. Both Jeff and Paul peed on me. Kevin came in after they were done. He ran a bath for bubble bath for me and bathed me. I broke down and cried. I cried from the shame of what I did. I cried because I liked some of the things they did to me. Kevin was very good at helping me through this period. He dressed me...put my dress and shoes on. He call for the his driver and he walked me down through the lobby and to the car. He got in the back with me and got me home and into bed, before he left me.

dss

More from dss

2008-09-17T21:17:00.003-05:00

I received a second email from dss. It is posted below. With her permission, I posted an edited email from dss previously.

The edits were to obfuscate her true identity. At her request, I am reposting unedited versions. Enjoy. More to come.

The Making of a Whore

Back on my own boat I sat and cried. What had just happen, what had I just done? The question that was bothering me the most was what had I just found out about myself. My ass was sore and bruised and for the next several days it would remind me of what I did do. Some how I was able to pull it together and get thought the rest of the day without letting my family know anything.

Of course my husband had invited Kevin and Jeff over for cocktails and snacks like we had done the two days before. It was clear Kevin had told Jeff about what had happen. I had a hard time looking both of them in the eyes. I felt so guilty. Before leaving Kevin found a moment to ask to me to make time to come see him and Jeff the next afternoon. Kevin now had no reservations about grabbing my breasts or patting my ass.

That night I remember giving my husband a blow job. It was done more out of guilt than love. I also convinced him we should leave the next day and we did.

That was how I spent the 4th of July that year. My ass stayed sore for the better part of a week. It was a reminder of what had happen. In many ways I was running emotionally away from that experience. It wasn't until the first week in August when the phone rang when all this came crashing back. Picking up our home phone one morning, I heard Kevin's voice on the other end. My husband had given them our number.

Over the next seven months through phone calls and emails Kevin got me to open up to him about my sexual feelings, fantasies, and desires. He got me to understand that the feeling I had and how I reacted to what happen were very normal and not some deranged persons feelings. He had me open up a PO box and little gifts, including copies of the magazine I had seen, would arrive. To this day my husband does not know any of this. In fact for him, Kevin and Jeff were never heard from again.

I knew they both worked in the city as bankers or hedge fund people. At the time I didn't realize it but the only way I would contact him was by email. Yet he knew my phone number as well as where I lived. Kevin also had a way of getting information out of me and then using it to his advantage. I have relived this so many times in my head over the years. And I realize how good he was at this game we play.

One of the things that I had given up over the months was what I thought at the time was an innocent statement about being a prosecute. It was a statement about separating love and sex and that I thought money made it easier. It was the whole men find it easier to separate sex and love than women do argument.

I also had told him that every year during February break my husband would take the kids to see his parents in Florida. Well now things come around to bite me. One morning I get a call from Kevin. He tells me he has a proposition for me. He will give me $500 to come to New York to see him and he would make all the travel arrangements. Joking around with him I said no and he comes back with how much would it take. And I blurt out 700. Deal he says. Now I am like, are you serious, he was. I protest, I can't come to New York, fine we will come to you. That is how the following events happen on a Saturday night in the week of February.

In the two weeks leading up to the date money arrives in the PO box. I am to buy a dress, shoes, and new panties. The dress was to have a button down front and be a fine quality. The shoes were to be comfortable heels. The panties french cut black. That was all I was to wear, except an outer coat. No jewelry, including my wedding ring.

That morning I dropped my family at the airport and drove home. I was in some zombie zone. Most recently I saw a TV program called "Locked up abroad" where they reenact people getting arrested and thrown in jail in other countries. A large part of the program is spent on the day of the incident and how the people talk about how they didn't really think this was happening. As I watched the show, I was shocked into recalling that Saturday and how I felt all during it.

This is getting way too long. While it feels good to write it all down and over the years I have come to grips with this, it is too late and I don't need to be rising any suspicions from my husband. Plus I am tired and don't even think I will proof read this and just let it be the stream of conscientious that it was.

dss

As a teaser as I think they call it...I also find out there will be a third man there that night.

The Making of a Masochist

2008-09-17T21:17:00.001-05:00

I recently received this from dss-more to follow.

It's time to tell you a little about myself. Not necessarily what I am seeking, but how I got to where I am today.

I always knew I liked to get tied up. At a young age, I must have been in 5th grade, my next door neighbor (he was an older boy in maybe 7th or 8th grade) and I use to take turns tying each other up. Him being older always seem to do a better job than I. I loved the feeling of struggling to get out. I loved the feeling of just laying there letting him put the ropes around me. This was our little secret and few know of it. Even my husband doesn't know the roots of my passion. In fact, much of what I will tell you today my husband doesn't know about.

We moved away in the summer of my rising to the 7th grade and my bondage games ended. My interest in it did not. Having no outlet and not really knowing anything about BDSM things moved inside me. By the time I found out about masturbation and fantasy things were in place that would carry me through college and well into adulthood.

It was easy being submissive with my lovers, but not submissive as we both know it. Over the years some of them would tie my hands or spank me, but again nothing like we know how it can be done. [side note: I married a man that likes to be submissive to females]

Fast foreword to a family sailing trip in the summer of '98. We used to own a sailboat and we were in the process of sailing around Long Island when we developed engine problems. We had to put in at Port Jefferson for repairs. It was a holiday and the boatyard's mechanics were off so we stuck there for several days. During that time we were befriended by two guys on another boat and they helped my husband make repairs. Kevin and Jeff, I will never forget them.

Now as then, I go braless as much as I wear a bra. Being on the boat usually meant tank top and shorts. Anyway I caught Kevin looking down my top. He didn't try to hide the fact that I caught him and I quietly moved my eyes from his. Some may call this a "defining moment." There was a subtle attention going on from him. It wasn't flirting on either of our parts, just a knowing. The two of them were moored close to us and as I say my husband befriended them so they were always around.

As it turned out Kevin ended up giving me a ride back to my boat as my family stayed ashore. I wanted to go back to nap and they wanted to spend time in town. So Kevin was heading back to his boat and offered to give me lift. Having not yet seen his boat he asked if a wanted to check it out or have a gin and tonic. I said sure.

During the tour of his boat I noticed a magazine called "something guardian". It was more a "rag" but it turned out to be a well written S&M mag. He picked up on me noticing it. And asked if I was interested in it. I still remember him asking me if I liked to get tied up during sex. It was like a lifetime of fantasy and masturbation filled my head and my pussy. My panties were drenched. He read it in my face. And the question for me by saying "you do!".

It was the first time since those early days that I let a man tie me up, without asking him to do it. The bondage was as simple as it gets. Just my hands were tied to the hand rails in the ceiling of the cabin. My hips were braced against a folded down center line table. I was basically standing straight up, but then slightly bent at the waist (I was reaching across to the other side of the cabin).

Once tied, he put his hand in my pants and found out what I already knew. He brought his fingers to his nose and smelled my scent for the first time. He then went to my tits, cupping and pinching. he pulled up my pulled it over my head, but not my arms so it rested on my shoulders. He produced weighted nipple clamps and attached them. Once on, the movement of the boat made them produce random tugs and pulls. Not knowing at the time what it was called, I was clearly in sub space. My shorts and panties were removed. Since that time I don't think I have ever dripped down my thighs as I was that day. He told me he was going to spank me and asked if that was OK. Starting with his hand, he moved to a leather paddle. Through a mixture of spanks, touches, and words I came for the first time from the direct result of pain.

I never thought it was possible. I felt my body reacting in ways I didn't know it was capable of. After I came twice, he put on a condom and fucked me from behind. I came again from his fucking. After he came, he untied my hands and had my lay down on the bench seats. He removed the clamps from and nipple and I cried out. I went to rub my nipples but he stopped me. Removing his condom, he emptied in on my sore nipples. I was then permitted to rub them.

I was a mess. Not only did I just cheat on my husband, but in a very dirty way.... the story will continue.

dss

EL Continued

2008-09-06T16:33:00.001-05:00

Her laugher was both from relief that he had not done what she had feared, and from glee that he had recalled her depillation fantasy told to him six years ago! She was absolutely certain that her initial mistrust and subsequent laughter had hurt, insulted and angered him.

He lit another cigarette from across the room. His breath sounds were distant, but she smelled smoke. She knew his breath noises, his urgent panting when he held her head and thrust himself into her mouth, his deep sighs before he struck her bottom, his moans when she straddled him..This breathing was calculating. She shuddered.

Having 7 to 10 minutes before the cigarette was through, she relaxed a bit. She felt terribly vulnerable and alone in the dark..abandoned. He wouldn't...or would he...leave her here..no he woundn't no matter how mad he got.

"I love him" she thought to herself, but could never say it. They had both married the wrong people and had found each other tragically late. The L word was off limits. The both knew it.

He moved closer. Breathed in her ear. Kissed her hard and deep and wet, his tongue plunging into her mouth with ferocity. "Oh shit", she thought, "I've really pissed him off!" and he bit her lower lip. She inhaled to explain, to apologize to tell him (almost ) that she L'ed him, but it was too late. All that came out her was a muffled cry. "ut ah sorrr!"

He pinched her nipples to make them erect. In the dark she could not see what he was putting on them, but the sting was nearly unbearable. She hollered under the gag, but to no avail.

More from EL

2008-04-15T20:25:00.001-05:00

A post doc research fellowship with HIM! What could be more exciting? Cutting edge research on sexual predators, two books, a big research grant and he still had all of his hair and a body she had to pretend not to notice. He was driving her to the "lab" for the semester. The lab, as he called it, was an antebellum estate, a former plantation, in the deep south. Some of the out buildings had been renovated into laboratories, but much of the it had been preserved in its historical splendor and dark past.

The doc had been involved in the now infamous obedience studies which resulted in the ethical standards for treatment of human subjects. She admired his courage in that particular experiment. Nobody actually received a lethal shock, and those who thought that they were administering it deserved all the guilt that they felt. She wondered what was his role in that experiment.

She was surprised that he drove a little beemer convertible. She hadn't packed much. They rode with the top down and loud rock music playing leaving her little opportunity to inquire about the semester's project. She resigned herself to to be cool and not to fawn over him as the the other post docs did. Sure, she worshiped him, but he was never going to know it. She sat back and felt the wind in her hair and on her face, the steamy musky smell of the southern air and enjoyed the ride....

They arrived at dusk up a long horseshoe gravel drive. A stately mansion with tree trunk pillars governed the scene. The lawn was pristine with formal plantings of native perennials in the center. To one side a swimming pool had been added. Had she packed her suit? She thought so. It would be good to find some respite from the thick Louisiana air.

She declined help with her bags and was shown by a manservant to her room, a modest anteroom off the library on the main level with French doors opening toward the pool. There wold be a communal dinner in an hour. She had time for a dip and a quick shower before then.

As she gazed though the French doors it became apparent that her frantic search for a swimsuit was unnecessary. There were several swimmers of both genders enjoying the pool au natural. Shyly, with a towel she ventured out and plunged into the icy water.

I received the following...I'm looking forward to more

2007-07-19T19:23:00.000-05:00

I received the following email from a woman I'll just call El. I am so looking forward to receiving more!

He asked her to meet him for pizza in a dimly lit little resturant with greasy windows,murals of Napolian and red leathette booths. She slid in next to him wearing a full skirt and peasant blouse as he had instructed her.

He smiled hello. She took his had and broought it to her face, inhaling the tobacco smell and grazing his fingertips with her tongue. He ordered for them, gathering her skirt in his hand under the table as the waiter took his order. Anchovies yes. Are the mushrooms fresh? No, then. The skirt above her knee. Fresh mozzarella, si. Clams. Garlic. Onions...and a half carafe of dry red. As the waiter departed his hand slid under the skirt,confirming that she had complied with his instuctionsto wear no underwear. He smiled and withdrew his hand.She fluffed her skirt back to it's proper place feeling an unfailiar circulation of air around her exposed private parts. She slipped her foot out of her sandal and entwined her leg around his. She was starving, but not very hungry.

Was it perhaps Sally's or Peppe's...she wasn't paying attention to where she was or even the food. It had been eons since she felt the heat of a pizza oven. Hers was was stoked with possiblity. They had all night...She watched him eat, such an oral man he was! Watching his lusty munching inspired her nether orifice. He savored; she salivated. He chewed; her lips swelled. She inhaled deeply the smell of warm, salty, musky fresh clams. It had grown dark while they were eating. The cool night air carried a warmer moisture. It suggested an ocean nearby ( I guess it was New Haven) He led her to his car with gentle pressure on the small of her back. He lit a cigarette. With his free hand he traced her face in the darkness. She let him feel the broad smile on her face before she opened her mouth and welcomed his finger with her tongue. She inhaled deeply, brushing his forearm with her breasts as she pulled his finger deeper into her mouth. Her knees parted invitingly. He took another drag on his smoke and giggled.. "Not yet."

He parked on the street in a dodgyy part of a town she did not know. He turned and kissed her, pressing her head and torso against the seat of his classic beamer. His massive hands cupped her head. She slackened her neck and yielded completely to his kiss, Her breathing quickened and became audible.His hand probed beneath her skirt, assessing his impact. Apparently pleased with her level of arousal, he retreated to his side of the car, lit a cigarette and exited. She whimpered quietly as he retrieved a satchel from the trunk and came around to her door and opened it for her,whistling. They walked, weaving between patrons of seedy bars overflowing on to the street. They were older and better dressed than the revelers. She was not feeling safe and was about to tell him so when he stopped in front of an unlit shop and withdrew a set of keys from his pocket. He ushered her in without turning on the lights. He relocked and bolted the door. Barry opened his satchel and withdrew a length of black cotton with which he blindfolded her. She wished that she had been more attentive as they entered this place. It smelled smoky, slightly medicinal, and musty. The floor beneath her feet was wood, a tad uneven suggesting an old building. He turning on the lights. She heard the metallic switch and a fan overhead began to circulate the stale air. He removed her peasant blouse and left her standing beneath the fan wearing only a skirt. "Barry?" "Where did you go?" "Where are we?" "Shhhhh" Sound of running water. Sound of metal on glass. Rhythmic squeaking. Faint sound of music from nearby bars. Sound of Velcro?? Barry bustling in the far corner of the room. "What are you doing?"He replied with another "shhh", more demanding this time with no reassurance in his voice.

"Take off the skirt." He demanded matter of factly from across the room. She wiggled out of it and kicked it in the direction of his voice. She heard his footsteps approach her. He circled her, the only sound the creak of his shoes on the floor. She reached out for him, but he eluded her touch. He stroked her hair. She reached for his hand, but he clutched her wrist and secured to the other with velcro straps Her hands drawn tightly behind her back, she felt the need to remind him of her bad shoulder, but when she began to speak he inserted something into her mouth, something hard that kept her jaws parted, but disabled her speech. He lead her to the rear of shop, nearer, she surmised, to where he had been working. He seated her in a smooth leather chair and the noises of his business resumed without her questions.

HFA

2007-07-17T19:59:00.000-05:00

HAPPY
FUCKING
ANNIVERSARY

The Summer Flea

2007-07-08T18:55:00.000-05:00

Returns to the Boston Center for the Arts for One Day Only!Cyclorama, 539 Tremont St, Boston, Mass. Saturday, August 18, 2007Noon - 6pm.

I'll be leaving from Hartford at 9:30 A.M. If you need a ride, contact me.

The New England Leather Alliance presents the 29th Fetish Fair Fleamarket (FFF), featuring vendors and exhibitors from around the country.

100 Things About Me

2007-07-06T01:51:00.001-05:00

1. I still am a Libertarian-bet that came as a surprise?
2. I miss being in love.
3. I don't yell and I hate being ignored.
4. I tire easily of listening to others complain about their life and other people. I am non judgmental.
5. I’ve improved with age.
6. I have few regrets and seldom vocalize them.
7. I am totally literal in my thinking.
8. I have never lied to protect myself.
9. I am often conflicted about issues but never after I've made a decision.
10. I crave physical contact.
11. I’ve lied to protect someone.
12. I’ve also learned valuable lessons in honesty.
13. No matter how much you read, talk to me, communicate with me, you will never understand me..
14. If I were a criminal lawyer, I'd be for the defense.
15. I remember my first kiss like it was only yesterday.
16. I don't own an American car.
17. I am opposed to the death penalty without exception.
18. My favorite sadistic tool is my right hand.
19. The mind is a close second.
20. No one has written a story that featured me.
21. I enjoy slow and easy just as much as fast and hard. The difference is when and why.
22. Dark blue is my favorite color.
23. The only thing I've ever broken is my nose.
24. I was never abused as a child.
25. I made a choice to become the way I am today.
26. Experience has not tempered my dominant style only refined it.
27. I recommend sex in a cemetary.
28. My touch comes on like a hammer but ends in a caress.
29. I am capable of utter and heartless cruelty - even towards myself.
30. I want a woman, not a girl. I am a man, and I want the playing field level when we start.
31. I avoid people who take certain medications.
32. I believe that all pain can be managed - physical, mental, emotional - if the will is there, the determination is there, and the strength to battle your own demons is there.
33. Anal sex drives me to distraction.
34. Jealousy has never driven me over the edge. I don’t allow for it.
35. I refuse to wear leather pants, chaps or hats.
36. I hate commitment. I have made a few and rued the day.
37. I can be playful.
38. I love and hate my job.
39. I believe in honor.
40. I have never been to the symphony.
41. I believe some of the best sex can be had without any ‘extras.’
42. I enjoy reading other 100’s lists for purely informational reasons. I like the quick and easy snap shot, as opposed to hours of archives.
43. I started this blog for reasons unknown to me.
44. I believe you can never go home again.
45. My favorite food is pizza - no sauce with garlic and fresh shucked clams. I am a pizza snob.
46. I have grown to love fresh fruit.
47. I hate tomatoes but love marinara sauce.
48. Thai food - real Thai food - is another vice.
49. Between Laura Linney and Hope Davis--Hope wins.
50. At one time in my life, I thought I wanted a slave. Until I had one and became utterly disgusted with her dependence upon me.
51. I cry every time I watch "To Kill A Mockingbird."
52. I learned in college that Herman Hesse and Ayn Rand are not compatible.
53. I can be emotionally manipulated by music if I can be calm enough to listen to it.
54. I own a convertible. I drive it with the top down when it snows
55. I enjoy fishing.
56. I prefer to do the cooking.
57. While I don’t like water skiing, I do love to snow ski.
58. While rope bondage is beautiful, I don’t like it for art, I like it for being able to creatively reduce someone to carry-on luggage. There is a difference.
59. I check my email every day.
60. Tell me the truth, even if it will hurt me. I’ll respect you more for it.
61. Why something happens is just as important as the event itself.
62. A gentle rain is exquisite.
63. When I fuck, there are times I am submissive.
64. I never throw my old glasses away.
65. I find that first impressions can be quite accurate, but are subject to change.
66. I enjoy progress.
67. I am a dog person.
68. I wonder if the first girl I took her her virginity from ever thinks of me?
69. I want to sleep with Joan Baez.
70. I hate to lose but do so with humor.
71. I hate cell phones and use mine only out of need-never to just talk.
72. I call a spade a spade.
73. My humor doesn’t always come through when I write, and I refuse to make one of these….
74. I polish my shoes.
75. I know how to do my own laundry.
76. I enjoyed high school.
77. I was raised dominant. My mother was dominant and we didn’t get along well.
78. I hate religion.
79. Call me B.
80. I admire strength - personal strength.
81. Dark hair will draw my attention every time.
82. Smell is an important draw for me. I often want to bury myself in sex because it smells so fucking good.
83. I’m straight but not narrow. I like all the kinky shit, but I am not attracted to men.
84. My favorite places on a woman are her neck, her breasts, her perineum and that place on the inside of her legs where her sex meets her thigh. Dear God, It’s Heaven.
85. There are things that I cannot forgive.
86. I had a great friend who passed away too young. I miss him.
87. I’ve seen death enough times to last me for ever.
88. Everyone I ever learned anything meaningful from is dead so I cling to every second of my life and try not to waste a single drop with fear or doubt.
89. Fear does however, sometimes keep you from being stupid.
90. I’ve been stupid enough times to know that.
91. I may not speak, but I do listen.
92. My best writing is done when I am passionate; Anger sustains me when creativity fails.
93. I am manipulative. To my own ends, sometimes, and to the ends for which you want to achieve success, I’ll motivate you.
94. I do my shopping online.
95. I still feel like Atlas, supporting the world from the outside.
96. Excuses, excuses…I don’t want to hear them.
97. I’m addicted to play lists. I often will record the same song over and over by a different artists.
98. Long hair, short hair - I just want to be able to bury my face in it.
99. I love to dance.
100. Kiss me. I’ll make it all go away.

Blind

2007-05-27T19:15:00.000-05:00

La Petite Mort

2007-05-06T10:14:00.000-05:00

The French call it the small death-a term they associate with orgasm.

I don't generally endorse commercial sites but this is one that is worth a visit. There is a free sample, the free sample changes regularly. There is no nudity (except from the neck up) and it is a highly erotic site depicting people at their most vulnerable...

The link is above meaning (before I receive questions as to "Where is it?") click on the title of this posting.

Also, my apologies for being absent. Google has taken over Blogger resulting in changes to accessing my posting routines. Computer challenged as I am, hopefully I've mastered Google's protocols.

Enjoy La Petite Mort-both the web site and within your daily life...

J II

2007-03-23T17:46:00.000-05:00

There is a constant flow of customers in and out of the store and no dearth of voyeurs as we sample all the toys we've assembled in the changing room. One item that gains the most interest from me is a leather harness that includes a wide leather collar at the top and ends with a wide leather belt that encircles the waist. A strap with two harnesses to hold various plugs and dildoes goes between the bottom's legs. A wide adjustable leather straps descends from the collar portion with with leather cuffs and terminates at a wide leather waist strap. The cuff strap can be attached either in front of or behind the sub. It fits perfectly right off the rack.

J's interests focus not on the restraints but rather the whips, floggers and tawse items. After more than an hour of playful experimentation, J indicates she wants coffee. Coyly she produces a wide heavy leather strap. Her black eyes sparkle as she indicates she's going to purchase the strap. I advise her that the toy she's selected is hardly for a beginner and even in the hands of the most skilled dom, is going to produce a high level of pain no matter how gently it is used. It is the old: "Be careful of what you wish for" discussion. J remains undaunted. I take it from her and say: "This toy is on me."

Back in the Benz J hovers close to me, hanging on to one arm as we stop for a latte for her and a black coffee for me. Back at her condo J is playfully sexual. She wants to suck my cock. This leads to me on my back on the floor and she squatting over me riding my cock up and down repeatedly. She's working hard, her breathing heavy and she displays frustration at her inability to bring me to climax. She continues until she stops in total frustration.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Me?"

"Ah yes-you!"

"You're young, inexperienced. In time you'll become more adroit. Don't be too hard on your self."

She produces a wail part frustration but more touched by anger and stomps out of the living room to her bedroom. She leaves the door open and I can here her rustling the paper bag as she takes out the leather strap.

The noise stops and the only sound heard is the clicking of a clock somewhere in the condo.

More than 30 minutes go by until she emerges strap in hand.

"Don'tcha want to use this?"

"Do I have your permission?"

"Yes! "

"Into the bedroom-sweat pants off!"

She complies-sinks to the floor on her knees-ass up.

I heft the strap. It is godawful heavy-similar to a razor strop found in old time barber shops.

"Only 5 J."

I bring the strop down for the first time. The power and weight driving her down and flat to the ground. The strop drives all the air from her lungs other wise a scream would have been unavoidable. I want to go to her but resist. Gasping, she gains control and raises her self back up again in the servile position, breathing heavily but other wise silent.

In kumite, there is an execise called arm pounding designed to raise a students tolerance for pain. As part of that exercise, the hardest and most painful blows arise out of the student not using power to deliver the strike, but rather, just letting gravity and the flow of energy focused at the point of impact (the transformation from kinetic energy) as the provider of the force. The impact is far harder. I use this technique to deliver the next three heavy thuddy strops to J's ass. The strokes dive deep into her-not the sharp skin level pain of a surface whipping, but rather, strokes that go deep into the muscles-strokes that push to her core.

She's in control but barely. She is fighting hard-like its the last round of a 15 rounder and struggling just to make in through to the finish line before total collapse. I marvel at her strength. As she raises up for the last time, I replace the strop with my lighter wide leather belt and deliver a final stroke, that rather than going deep. burns like a flash fire across her ass. Expecting the strop and receiving the strap, coupled with an entirely different sensation than what she had steeled herself to against, she goes ever the edge-crying uncontrollably as if she had just witnessed the end of the world. She's prostrate-sobbing as I move to her front and left her head up.

There is defiance etched in her face.

"Someday I'll taste those tears." I murmur.

"Never!" she hisses.

I turn, leave and quietly close the door to her condo. I am sated.

J

2007-03-16T10:59:00.000-05:00

J follows up her scream with an attempt to pull away.

"Quiet! Standstill!"

The manager moves to the doors-peers over the top, surveys J and inquires: "Can I be of any assistance?"

"Not right at this moment but no doubt I'll need some assistance at some point. Do you mind if I test the merchandise?"

"Not at all. To which merchandise were you referring? If it is ours-by all means please do-it is good for business. Just remember certain items...those of a personal and intimate nature are non refundable. If it is your merchandise-feel free to test it as thoroughly as you wish."

"Well, while you're here, you might be of assistance in placing those clover leaf nipple clamps where they belong. My hands, as you can see, are otherwise engaged."

The manager smiles: "With pleasure!"

J sags a bit as I continue to stroke her clit. Her breathing becomes more like panting as I frig between her inner labia. The manager caresses first one and then the other breast. J's breathing becomes heightened.

"You may also test my merchandise. Feel free to test it as thoroughly as you wish!"

A whispered "Ohh" escapes from J. The frigging intensifies.

The manager tweaks J's nipples-and then pulls on them forcefully.

A second, louder "Ohh" escapes.

"Best to get those nipples as hard and protruding as possible." The frigging tempo increasing and now moving to a circular motion around the edges of J's clit. The fragrance of J's cunt and perfume now filling the small space.

"I agree. "

The manager now stretching each of the nipples cause J to whimper as the manager pinches them hard. She attaches the clamps and the chain to the clover leaf hangs free.

"I believe you'll need to pull on the chain to fully realize the gripping power?"

"Indeed!"

I redirect my frigging to J's clit. The manager adding tension to the chain causing the clover leafs to grip and pull J's breasts out and up. J's breathing is labored. Her knees weaken. The clamps now causing pain that blends with the pleasure from between her legs.

"Harder!"

The manager complies.

"Don't scream J!"

J begins to shake. I struggle to keep her from collapsing as her knees weaken.

"Harder!"

J's breasts are fully pulled away-the nipple tissue thin and taunt and the clamps digging hard.

The climax washes over J while all the while she struggles to keep her silent.

I nod to the manager. She drops the chain and I free my hand from her clit. wrap it around her and kiss the sweat away from the back of J's neck.

The manager and I wink at each other as if on cue.

"I'm sure I'll need more help in a few moments," I utter to the manager.

"I won't be far away."

J

2006-12-08T19:03:00.000-05:00

I enter first and hold the door open for J. I pile the gear we've selected high on the triangular sheet of plywood that serves as a seat. The cafe doors swing shut. I turn to face J. Her back is to the busy store. I open my arms and she steps into them. Her body is deceptive. She seems to be about 5'5" in my arms. In public and at a distance I would have guessed her to be 5'7" or 5'8". She possesses a hard body-solid and well muscled and I'll find out much later in the relationship that she weighs more than 150 but again my perception is off as I mentally catalogue her at about 125 pounds. We hug and for more than few minutes I'm totally satisfied and never want to stop holding her.

Over her shoulder I have a clear field of vision into the store and the check out counters on the opposite wall. We have gained the attention of the service staff, in particular a woman whom I estimate to be the head cashier or a supervisor. I wink at her and she smiles back.

I step away from J and turn her so she's facing the door. The supervisor continues to watch and I nod at her. I grasp J's sweatshirt and start to raise it. I stop midway-"Shall we stop J?" She shakes her head. "I can't hear you." "No!" she states emphatically. I raise the sweatshirt over her head and arms and drop it to the floor. My eyes remain on the supervisor as I circle J's torso and cup both of her breasts. Her breasts are ample-both full c cups-firm and the nipples hard. I handle her breasts gently as a lover. J moves back into my arms and presses her body firmly into mine. We stand and act as lovers. My caress is gentle yet at the same time relentless. She pushes harder against me enjoying the pleasure but at the same time impatient and frustrated by the vanilla aspect of the embrace. The pleasuring continues and her breathing increases. The supervisior continues to stare-her focus totally on the scene in front of her.

With my left hand I raise her left breast upwards and grasp the hard nipple with my right thumb and forefinger. I begin to pinch it hard but slowly. J gasps as I pinch very hard and begin to pull the nipple up and away from her torso. J is breathing hard now-gasping. The supervisor moves around the counter-her eyes locked on mine-her smile widening. J is breathing hard and she is close to crying out and just when I sense she can handle no more, I release the nipple. She gasps in a huge breath of air and as she relaxs, I notice for the first time how hard she has been pushing into me.

The supervisor drops her eyes but then looks up as she begins to turn to resume her oversight of the staff. I nod gently no and she returns to watching the scene. I repeat the same actions on J's right breast and nipple but this time step up the intensity to the point where J begins to raise one foot off the floor in her efforts to handle the pain. I work harder until she cannot remain silent. She moans and I can sense her struggles to manage the pain. A sheen of sweat appears on her shoulders and the supervisor is focused fully on J's reactions the pinching.

Again I drop the nipple. J is breathing hard like a woman in the delivery room. The supervisor's eyes dart to mine and I silently mouth the word "Wait." With J still leaning against me, I slip one hand down the front or her sweat pants and as my forefinger finds her clit I bite down hard on her right ear. She screams-the supervisor smiles broadly and the attention of everyone in the area focuses on the dressing room. Silence descends...

J

2006-11-24T17:20:00.000-05:00

Having declared her boredom, I tell J it is time for me to go.

She asks if I'm free in the morning and if so, would I come by her place early for coffee?

We arrange to meet at 9:00 but only after she gives me driving instructions four times. She is precise in her directions and it is only on the four attempt that I receive the land marks I've requested repeatedly.

I head out into the frigid air and cross the street to the parking lot. The diesel is slow to turnover and starts after 60 seconds of cranking. It runs rough and as I wait for the engine to smooth out and the heat to rise, I view J and her partner leave the bar. Both are dressed for the weather and are wearing long black wool capes. Arm and arm they start down the street and I'm curious about the wool capes. I have not seen seen capes in years and wonder where you purchase such clothes. I laugh to myself at the thought of some underground lesbians only clothing store known only to dykes.

I wake early the next day. It is clear-the sky cloudless but the temperature remains in the single numbers. I select jeans, black boots, a navy blue wool turtleneck, black watch scarf and a well worn leather bomber jacket.

J's directions are clear and unlike most of Boston, there is ample on street parking. Her condo is on the second floor of a large, what once was a three story single family home. She buzzs me up. Her place is deceiving from the outside. It is much larger than expected despite the size of the house. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large up to date kitchen and a huge living room crammed with comfortable furniture and plants with an unobscured view toward western MA.

She tells me she's lived here less than two years. I ask if if she'd mind telling me how much it cost her? She throws a number out and I astounded by the high price of Boston real estate. My mortgage payment must be half of hers.

J is dressed in sweat pants, a baggy sweat shirt and worn running shoes. Her hair is luminous and she smells faintly of musk and cunt.

She pours coffee, fresh ground. The taste is wonderful, not bitter and rich, unlike the ubiquitous Dunking Donuts brew. As I sip the coffee, I chuckle nervously.

"Whatcha laughing at?"

I don't want to admit I'm nervous. We're alone. The condo is silent and there is an overwhelming hesitancy on my part. I'm always hesitant to make the first move-whether it is sex or topping-I almost always need a written invitation to make the first gesture and prefer my partner initiate any activity at a first meeting. I tell J: "Did you ever notice how you can't really get much in the way of donuts at Dunking Donuts?" Coffee, bagels, cookies but they really have a limited selection of donuts."

J pours my coffee into a travel mug, grabs one for herself and grabs her wool cape.

"C'mon, we're going for a drive."

Back in the Benz, she supplies a continual stream of turn here, right at the light, left until I am hopelessly lost. Finally I see a sign, entering the town of L and I know now we're we're going.

There is a store in L that is actually three store in one. Shaped like the capital letter E, the store has one area for sex toys on the left, a second area that carries the largest collection of womens clothes for cross dressers along with dressing rooms facing a bank of cash registers in the middle area and a third area with BDSM gear on the far right. We head to the BDSM room.

The stock is high quality and there is an extensive collection. J's focus is on the corpral toys, whips, straps, floggers, canes-she handles each one judging the weight, the price and trying to estimate the feel if there were used on her body. I'm concentrating on the body harnesses, nipple and clit clamps and some other delightfully insidious items.

"We'll need to try these on to insure they fit properly," I say to her. She swallows, her shoulder's sag and with a look of resignation, she consents with a single word.

I gather a body harness, some adjustable thumb screw nipple clamps and some other items. I take her by the hand and head to the dressing rooms, situated across from the busy and crowded service area. As we head to the third of five dressing rooms, she wilts. The doors to the dressing rooms are half doors that run from knees to shoulder height. There is privacy for the torso, but little in the way of real privacy on a busy crowded saturday morning.

I'm Back.....

2006-10-31T18:36:00.000-05:00

A new car.
A new career.
A new computer.
A new pro bono client.
A new advanced Law Degree.
And most of all... a new direction in my life.

Barri is back and bottom searching!

I'm Back (almost)

2006-10-16T18:55:00.000-05:00

My apologies dear readers for my prolonged absence. I've made some significant changes in my personal and professional life and starting November 1, I'll be posting regularly. Thank you for your patience and forebearance.

Thanks and some news...

2006-08-12T15:38:00.000-05:00

Thank you to all of you who have left supportive comments here or who have emailed me. I value the friendship and support that has been offered to me. You are too kind.Shortly I expect I will be making a few changes in my life and to the original blog. A few posts will be removed. Once things settle down I will be republishing here. So pop in occasionally to see what's happening.

Burning Man

2006-08-12T12:18:00.000-05:00

The Burning Man event. You can learn more by using the link at the right.

Back to J

2006-08-11T16:46:00.000-05:00

The proverbial silence sets in.

J starts to giggle and then looking at her girlfriend slurs a loud wet: "SHHHHHHH! Leave him alone girlfriend!"

Looking back to me J says: "You know cuz I told you, more than two ounces of hard liquor and I get drunk. I am drunk!" With that she reachs across the table and takes both of my hands in hers. She flips my hands over and starts to caress the the life line, the heart line and the other lines in my palms.

Her partner stared at me.

"Look," I said: "I'm here because I was told there would not be a problem. J indicated that you needed help, mentoring, in providing you some practical experience in trying to dominant her. Giving her what you're inexperienced in to strengthen your relationship. I'm not here to be her lover, be a threat to you or act as your rival. I told J upfront that those were the ground rules and if you both are not in agreement I'll be happy to leave." Her shoulders and her stare softened.

"I don't understand why she wants this...I don't understand why I can't do what she wants. We start out ok but I just can't cause her pain. As soon as I do, I back off and we wind up fighting."

"That's not necessarily your failure. Not every person wants to submit. Those that do, do so for different reasons. For some it is a process of catharsis-emotional-psychological or both. For others it is simply an endorphin rush-the runner's high without the mileage required. For still others, it is the intensity and others sexual release. I'm not a psychiatrist and can't pretend to give you a logic base that ties it all up neatly. The corollary is also true, not everyone can be a dominant. Case in point being you and quite likely most other people in this room. Let me tell you this, I don't even have a working knowledge of why you're a lesbian. Can you tell me why?"

She starts to form a response.

"The why is not important. You prefer the company of women. You dislike the company of men. It is something in your genes. You always knew you were different in a het world and find acceptance in lesbian environment. Your chromosome count. The reasons can be endless. What is important is that you be free to fulfill your needs and be accepted. J is looking for the same thing-fulfillment and acceptance. We don't always need to understand everything. And looking from the outside in, the voyeur needs to know why. I don't need to know why or what it is that makes you a lesbian as basis to accept you and your desires. I accept you as you are without needing to justify the reasons internally or trying to either cure you or save you from yourself."

"I'm bored J" declares and moves around the table to sit next me.

Too Much to Drink

2006-07-29T14:42:00.000-05:00

I was greeted with two hard stares. The woman with the ringlets eyes were dark and she had had a stern countenance and held a long neck Budweiser. J was slouched drinking from a glass of clear iced liquor.

I smiled at J and was greeted with a: "It's rude to be late."

"My apologies. I know the streets run alphabetically but I was on the west side of Boston. It took me a while...Boston is screwy any way, why do they call the south end the south end when it is really the north side of Boston?"

"It shows no respect to either of us, or yourself for that matter, to be late. I am always on time for every meeting no matter what delays the traffic or the weather may create." J clearly was not buying my best little boy lost aren't I cute you'll forgive me routine.

"I also ran late with IW" trying a different approach-hoping I could change topics.

"If you can't get around-get a street map!"

I diverted my attention to J's partner: "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is J's -not mine-I feel colder to you than the treatment you're getting from J."

"It is a cold night."

"And she's drunk! Fuck her and me for ever agreeing to meet with you."

"Ok then."

A T Girl stopped to taking drink orders.

I asked for Magic Hat and settled for a Molson Golden. J wanted a double Stoli on the rocks and her partner asked for another Bud.

I thought your limit was one hard drink or you were drunk?"

"Your ears don't flop over Bugs Bunny-I said she was fucking drunk" yelled J's girlfriend!

Groups at other tables stopped, turned and stared at us. Actually I felt like everyone in the place was staring at me and wishing me gone at the same time. This was not going well at all.

Meeting J

2006-03-11T11:23:00.000-05:00

As I moved in place behind IW I noticed the time for the first time since the scene had started.

We had been at for over an hour and I was now late for my meeting with J.

"We're done IW!"

"Oh Mother Mary and all the saints...thank God!"

I released her from the bondage (thank goodness for roller buckles) and moved quickly to dress.

IW moved slowly.

"You ok?"

"Indeed-oh my God that was wonderful. You know that was my first experience?"

"Yes, I kinda discerned that" not interested in prolonged conversation and terribly late now.

Back in the parking garage, I held the door for her as she settled back into the Benz. IW navigated back to her place. I promised her that while this may have been her first R/t, she did remarkably well and it would not be the last time.

I headed back down town but quickly realized I was uncertain of where I was heading. I knew that the east and west streets in Boston went in alphabetical order but the gay bar I was supposed to meet J at were not one of those streets but was somewhere in the Back Bay.

I made a number of miss turns and became hopelessly late. I finally parked in the private and expensive lot across from the bar and workout center. Giving the keys and the twenty to the attendant, I was suddenly breathless from the painfully cold temperatures and moist air in the Back Bay. I was also a bit hesitant since this was to be my first entrance into a gay bar.

The doorman stopped me. He was a big man, rolls of fat, dressed in a bright orange dress shirt and lime colored cords. His head was shaved. He wanted another twenty as a cover charge. I explained I was only looking to meet someone and that I was very late. Could I just look? He was adamant-no cover-no entry!

I opened my topcoat to get my wallet and he gushed: "Oh baby I love your tie!" I looked down and realized I had on my French blue Versace with the orange umbrellas.

"Tell you what. Let me in and if the woman I'm looking for is not here, the tie is yours. If she is, and I'm more than ten minutes I will pay the cover."

"That's not much of a deal, sweetie."

"Seems a win win to me. This is a Versace. If she's not here, the tie is yours. If she is and I'm more than ten minutes, you still get the cover."

"Honey this is a gay bar. The only woman inside are dykes and lipstick lesbians. You are straighter than rails on a track in Arizona. The woman in there will throw you out faster than a sneeze."

"See-a win win!"

"You got the twenty?"

"Yes"

"Go for it!"

I pushed past him. The bar was dark-most of the light was coming up from the glass floor and the illuminated work out gym below. The men exercising were buff-nude and I was suddenly hit with pangs of jealousy for their muscular bodies compared to mine and more than some small amount of insecurity over my out of shape torso. I felt like I was nine years and waiting to be choosen for a pick up game-knowing full well i would be one of the last kids picked.

The music was deafening-I could feel the bass in my chest and noticed the video of naked women singing and dancing on the TV over the bar.

I wandered and felt the eyes of all the men and women in the place evaluating and ultimately rejecting me.

I finally found J at a long table in a back room. She was sitting next to a short woman with dark ringlets and a black leather bikers jacket.

A Plug or Two

2006-02-25T09:59:00.000-05:00

Ready to have that little item in your ass?"

"Oh NO! Nope, no!" she said realizing too late what I intended, not that it would have mattered of course.

"Barri, not now, not yet, please!"

"Look IW" I growled, "stop arguing with me. It's time to stretch that asshole the next step unless you want to get split open with my cock. And if you don't start behaving a little better, I'm going to use that crop on your ass now. In fact I might just anyway, so stop angering me."

I placed the lube and plug on the dresser. I firmly grasped the base of the plug in my right hand and told her to relax and grip the dresser firmly. She did as instructed, relaxing as best she could. I took the tube of lubricant and using my fingers worked some in and around her tight asshole. Then I actually squirted some up her rectum. Lastly I lathered the plug with it until it was literally dripping. This was going to be an effort to insert and I wanted it to go as smoothly as possible.

I marveled at the size of the thing, but it wasn't as big as me and I knew she could handle it.

I waited for her to really relax."Take a couple of deep breaths and relax as much as you can, I'll be a gentle as possible, honest."She did exactly that, and I did as promised. I exerted a steady firm pressure on the base of the thing, but pushed it in very slowly. It was pretty erotic watching the black cone stretch her sphincter muscle wider and wider. By the time it was about 3/4 of the way in she was grunting and gasping, still doing her best to relax. I pushed a little harder."Almost there, just a little bit more" I encouraged as the thing stretched her wider still.

"OH, OW, OH FUCK!" she started to pant. It was nearly there and then with a final extra push the widest part was at her opening and it popped the rest of the way in. She gave a loud grunt.

"Fuck! God it hurts!"

"You'll get used to it in a minute. Just think what it would have been like if I have tried to fuck your ass without doing this!"She just grunted and panted some more, still bent over, trying to adjust to the hugeness she was feeling.

"Stand up when you're ready" I said and leaving her to decide on her own.

She stood on place until I figured that the plug had loosened her up as much as possible. I was hard at the thought of sodomizing her ass. "Okay IW, it's time."

She knew what I meant, but didn't say anything or move, just looked at me waiting for instructions."Over the chair!"

She delicately got back in position and didn't realize I had a couple of surprises in store. First I took some stretchy Velcro straps and fastened her ankles to the chair legs, this spread her legs nice and wide and made sure she wouldn't be able to move much. Next I attached the wrist cuffs and bent her over so her ass was the perfect height and well exposed. I stretched her forward and attached the cuffs via a piece of rope to the front legs.She was complete exposed and vulnerable and her torso was hanging over the chair seat. I wasn't done. I went and got the ball gag and without letting her see them, the adjustable nipple clamps and a couple of the heavier weights for them.The first thing I did was gag her. Then I stopped and standing behind her I started to finger her pussy, playing frequently with her clit. Almost immediately she was flooding my hand with her juices. Even knowing what was coming she was an insatiable little slut. She was squirming and moaning into the gag and wiggling around trying to maximize the stimulation. I let her build very close to cumming before I stopped. I could tell she was groaning into the gag and probably begging for more.I went in front of the chair and finally let her see the clamps. Her eyes went wide and she started to violently shake her head from side to side. I knew her nipples would be extremely sore and sensitive, so I didn't tighten the clamps as much as before, but plenty tight enough to be felt, especially after I hung the weights on them, which I did. As soon as the weights were in place she tried to hold as still as possible because as much as they hurt just hanging there if she moved the tore sadistically at her tender flesh. I knew she wouldn't be able to hold still long however. By now I was rock hard. Now normally a cock is going to give some and make anal a little easier than a plug or dildo does, but I swear that to me at least, my cock felt like steel. I stripped off my clothes and stood in front of her."Take a good look at what you're about to feel bitch" I mocked. I moved back behind her again and though impatient, took the time to finger her some more.

Again I pushed her right to the edge, though it took longer because as she started to squirm her nipples were feeling exquisite pain. Still, when I stopped I could tell she was groaning in frustration.At last it was time. I really had to pull hard to get the plug out, but out it came. I just stared for a moment at her obscenely gapping hole. Much to my pleasure it didn't close up, but looked like a small tunnel. I squirted some lube inside and much as I had with the plug I covered my massive cock with it too. As I place the head against the opening I could hear her muffled screams of anticipation. "Quiet IW, I haven't even started yet!"I couldn't resist. I slapped her ass hard with my right hand, catching the end of a welt. The scream that came out even through the gag was unbelievable.

IW AGAIN

2006-01-26T17:43:00.000-05:00

"IW, Come out here!"

The door opens, she steps out sheepishly-eyes down.

You are incorrigible! You have done something that now angers me and you still haven't learn to accept punishment when you do wrong," I advise her.

"Yes sir," she replys.

"On the bed!"

"Oh God no-not again-please-oh please."

"On the bed! Now!!!!"

I turn and walk to the bed, ordering her to crawl after me. She follows on hands and knees, when she reachs and stays on her hands and knees waiting for me to tell her what her punishment will be. "Stand up and over my knees your ass exposed." She sags as she realizes what is going to take place. "I can't hear you..."

"Yes sir," she responds as she pulls her panties down so her bare ass is exposed.

I massage her red round ass cheeks and feel her shiver in excitement and anticipation.

Again I raise my hand and this time with a thick leather belt started smacking her cheeks.
She gasps and the tears start again with each crack of the leather.

I continue to punish her while she whimpers, crys and gasps. Curious I insert one finger in her exposed pussy to see if she is wet. She moans and nearly climaxs yet again as I thrust the finger slick and creamy- rotating the digit inside of her. She is now alternating whimpering with moaning and crys of pleasure. I spread her legs more and pushed deep inside of her while still spanking. I insert another finger, then another until all four are inside her. I order her to stand up and pull down her panties to her ankles. She does as ordered, moving slowly because of her sore ass. I order her to bend over and hold her ankles with her legs spread apart as far as her panties would allow so that her pussy is gaping from behind.

Once in position I tell her to hold completely still. I want to test her control. I tell her to rise up halfway and place her hands on the dresser in front of her so she could see her reflection in the mirror while seeing me behind her.

"Your ass!"

"Noooooooooooo-please no!"

Spanking the Irish Woman

2006-01-23T18:56:00.000-05:00

The Irish Woman (IW) steps from behind the door of the bathroom. She wears white full cotton panties.

"So IW. I've discussed your situation with the Head Master and your father, and it seems to all of us that you are really quite a naughty young lady. Isn't that right?" My voice is stern.

"Yes, sir" she stammers.

"Well, there is really only one sure way to cure bad behavior. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at me when I am speaking to you, IW!"

She lifts her head. "Yes, sir"

"And what is it that bad little girl like you needs?"

"A spanking" she whisperes.

"I can't hear you IW !"

"I need a spanking, sir."

"Yes you do. Kneel on the bed!"

"Just the place for a naughty girl" I say , swatting the center of her bottom.

She groans and I bring the flat of my hand down hard. She jerks, gasps trys to raise up and I firmly pushed her back down.

"Stay put, IW, you aren't going anywhere for a while" as I slip my fingers in the waist of her panties and yank them down to the middle of her thighs. I begin to spank her in earnest. The first smack lands low on her right side and sends a wave of stinging heat right through her. Her faces reddens-"Ow!"

The second hits the other side, and she feels the full impact for a split second before the wave of pain overtakes her. My hand begins a steady rhythm against her flesh, and after a minute or two, her grunts begin keeping time with the slaps. The individual spanks became less distinct, each one landing before the impact of the last fades and though she's squirming, she's accepting the pain and knows she can manage.

I read her thoughts, step to the other side and pull her body tight against mine. I wrap my right arm firmly around her waist. With my fresh hand and arm I commence spanking her much harder now and she can no longer control her reactions. Her scent is now everywhere in the room and her legs kick wildly. Tears are running down her cheeks in response to the pain and she begins bawling uncontrollably. Suddenly, expectedly, I feel her body shudder as she orgasms. She collapses on the bed. I hand her tissues and the scent from her cunt is redolent in the air.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Go!"

She runs to the bathroom, locks the door and wails repeatedly as she masturbates to a series of climaxes behind the closed door.

The Report Card

2005-12-30T21:18:00.000-05:00

I pick up the Irish Woman promptly at 5:30. She's bundled up in a large dark wool coat with a black knit watch cap.

"Did you bring the report card?"

"Yes." She laughs nervously.

We head downtown in silence from Brighton and I am fortunate to locate a parking space in the lower level of the Hilton close to the elevators. During the entire ride she plays non stop with her hands-clasping-unclasping and continually rubbing them to together.

My room is on the twelve floor and the elevator is empty and a non stop express. She pauses at the door to my suite-hesitating. "Your father asked me to assist in trying to straighten you out. He's at his wits end. This is for your own good."

She whines and falls into the character of the recalcitrant student. "I'll be good, I promise." Please tell him I'll do so much better."

"It is too late. You've been warned. You knew it was going to come to this and just have refused to behave and study. You dad doesn't ask much of you. You've been spoiled and things will change lady-starting tonight! Into the room. Kneel on the bed!

She enters and sees the paddle, leather strap and flogger arranged on the bed. Her breathing sppeds up and she's gasping for breath.

"I'll take your coat," slipping it of her shouders and placing it carefully on the desk I tell her to kneel on the bed.

"Nooooo."

"On the bed!"

She acquieces and gets on all fours.

"We have two issues we need to deal with. The first are your grades and the second is your in school behavior. Let's start with the latter first. Your father tells me that the school master says you been in the coat room with your knickers down showing everything to the boys?"

She gasps.

"Is that true?"

"I'm asking you again and you better be quick to answer. Is that true?"

She whispers: "Yes."

"Good enough. Remove your slacks!"

"Noooooo."

"Modest?"

"I can't...not in front of you."

"Simple-into the bathroom and remove the slacks. There is a hanger on the door. Be sure to hang them carefully. Those are lined tweed slacks and I'm sure they were expensive. Stop dwaddling."

She sprints to the water closet. Closes the door and latches it behind her.

Fast Forward to Now

2005-11-05T08:57:00.000-05:00

Fast forward to the current environment. Aury was counter to the then era of political correctness in some ways e.g. a woman addressing her sexuality in ways theretofore limited to the male voice while in other ways mirroring the societal thinking of the female as submissive to the male. She took to the issues of submission to the extreme by utilizing the D/s conceit and in so doing, confronted all genders. She held a magnifying mirror to the face of society and like all pioneering individuals, moved society forward by standing it on its head.

I'm not saying she pioneered the feminist movement. I'm also not suggesting she advanced D/s but it cannot be denied that she did both by placing the spotlight on the issues.

I wonder, if she were still with us, what she would think or say about the chat rooms of today, the web sites of self annoited experts of D/s and even the BDSM activist groups who demand equal treatment under the law as they seek acceptance of their own sexual proclivities. I don't have any conclusions-in truth I am a bit conflicted. What are your thoughts?

It is time to focus back on my experiences...

I went to a movie last night-"Writer of O"

2005-07-23T07:30:00.000-05:00

I went to RAW last night to see "Writer of O" -a truly wonderful film. Here's the synopsis from Yahoo:

As a child growing up in New York, director Pola Rapaport recalls her teenage sister ardently trying to get her hands on a copy of of French author Pauline Reage's fiery, newly translated 1954 novel of erotica, THE STORY OF O, after reading a review of it in the newspaper. When Rapaport was old enough to read it, she became captivated by its violent sexuality--which she had difficulty believing to be the creation of a woman's imagination. In 1994, author Reage revealed herself to be Dominique Aury, an editor and translator at France's respected Gallimard publishing house--and a noted feminist--who composed O at the age of 47 in order to excite her married lover, literary giant Jean Paulhan--her senior by 20 years. Then, in 1998, during a trip to Paris, Rapaport's curiosity about this fascinating woman prompted her to contact Aury and arrange a visit. Their conversation was the inspiration for this personal documentary, which attempts to explain the evolving popularity of the book through a series of interviews, dramatizations of events from Aury's life, and softcore enactments of passages from the novel. The result is a touching look at a literary puzzle, with a little skin thrown in for the interest of the less literary minded.

This film has provoked a number of thoughts and reactions.

As a starting point, there are parallels (dangerous ones from my perspective) between the eras in which "The History of O" was first published and current time. The dichotomy between the US and the UK and the non anglo world (Canada excluded) are similar and striking. In the 50's and early 60's both in the US and the UK censorship was prevalent. Books were seized in both countries, burned and condemned as immoral and labeled dangerous to the fabric of our moral character (not my moral character-but then again much of the US present day citizenry would label me as immoral).

Irving Klaw was prosecuted for his "pornography" while books such as "Lolita" and "Tropic of Cancer" were siezed and burned by US Customs. Meantime, the rest of the world, led by yes, the French through Olympia and Gallimard were publishing Andre Gide, Burroughs, Reage, Nabokov and DeSade. Can an analogy be made to that form of cenorship then and present day censorship of the internet via 18 USC 2257? Have the Spanish, Italians and even the Canadians legalized same sex marriages while the US Catholic hierarchy and the Bushian lemmings attack a woman's freedom of choice over the control of her body while attempting to outlaw same sex unions? Um er ah, I think the answer is yes? So there's that!

On another level, the film is in some ways akin to reality TV. Here however, the reality is gripping. This is not about fat folk looking to lose weight but the story of a woman, a pioneering feminist who, had she gone public then, would have been castigated by whatever equivalent of the 50's NOW moral majority then existed. That reality grips me...

We're also introduced to a woman, a beautiful woman at the age of ninety, who, when a stinging commentary from the 50's moral majority is read to her by the interviewer labeling her writing as immoral responds simply: "War is immoral." Aury, quite simply was a courageous woman torn by her own yings and yangs who never viewed herself as a heroine.

Imagine the time and place. Aury was the only woman who was part of a powerful group of French intelligensia that included such figures as Camus (her office was only steps from his) and raised as a devout Catholic, supported her parents, lived at home and pursued an affair for decades with the powerful and much older Paulhan- a serial philander of beautiful women all over the continent.

More thoughts to come...

The Irish Woman

2005-06-05T14:07:00.000-05:00

I double book.

I'll be meeting J a bit after eight so I call the Irish woman. I ask if she's available for her "remedial session" at five thirty. She says her room mate is in all evening and wants to know if I have a place since her apartment is off limits with her room mate around.

I tell her yes-the Head Master is always prepared to deal with a recalcitrant student and tell her to be ready at five thirty. I also tell her to bring a blank report card since I'll be grading her progress since the beginning of the term. I tell her that the session will last an hour.

Calling...

2005-05-24T18:16:00.000-05:00

The precipitation continues well into the next day. It is mid winter but feels more like a cold November rain.

Late in the afternoon I call J.

"Tufts University Hospital Psychiatry Department. This is J, how may I help you?"

Without hesitation I ask: "Are you a provider or a patient?"

She laughs and responds: "I'm definitely not a patient and you are good at improvising one liners. It is getting late, I was afraid you wouldn't call."

"It's been a busy day. The first free moment I've had to relax. Do you have to go soon?"

"Unfortunately yes! I have a meeting this evening and traffic getting to Commonwealth Ave will be a bitch tonight."

"Board?"

"Yes, I'm spokesperson for the International Organization of the Rights of Women. We meet monthly."

"Is that where you met C?"

She laughs: "God no! C is so apolitical. Be the way I told her you drove a Mercedes. We fought over it."

"I don't understand. Because its a German car and you're Jewish?"

"Nope. She was convinced that you were a liar and made up the fact you drive a Benz-I think in part she was initially trying persuade me not to meet with you. Now that you are what you say you are, she feels even more threatened."

"And no doubt the excitement you shared with her about meeting a real top who didn't try to jump your bones had nothing to do with her discomfort."

"You do speak you mind. Direct. Listen, C made plans to go to the Club Cafe tomorrow evening. Wanna meet us there for a drink around 8?"

"Is that the gay and lesbian bar with the glass floor? The place where you can look between your knees and see the men working out?"

"Afraid to go?"

"Merde. Non!"

"Sheesh French too. Okay we'll be there after 8. You can meet C. I have to warn you I'm not much of a drinker. My limit is one Stoli so please don't be late!"

More...

2005-05-23T19:40:00.000-05:00

"No, I can't say as though she approves, but she does know we're meeting."

"Is she dominant?"

"C has a strong personality. She rides her own Harley-is very butch. I've tried to get her to dominate me physically. She is hesitant. She can't bring her self to actually cause pain. She's tried to spank me but can't actually proceed to any level of pain. The real issue is that even if she could, there's no control-no danger-no fear-I can control her. It just doesn't work."

"So even me mentoring her would not solve the problem."

"No. I can't see that it would."

"Do you mind if I talk with her?"

"Um, no...as long as I'm part of the conversation. She's a Dyke-you're in many ways the epitome
of many of the things she finds, I guess you could say, unsettling for her as a woman. You also have to understand that you're threatening to her. She seeks monogamy-exclusivity and she is perhaps fearful about sharing me with another physically and emotionally and perhaps losing me totally. There is jealousy and fear on her part."

"I need to assuage her fears."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't know what if anything may develop between us. I do not however, strike that, I will not be the cause of the two of you splitting up. I need to tell her that if she tells me, or you tell me, that I need to go away-end our potential relationship, I will."

From there we talk for hours. It is a cold, rainy and windy day and at the end we venture out into a driving rain. The diesel is smoothing out when she pops into the front seat. "Here's my number at work. Call me tomorrow!"

I'm Back

2005-05-13T17:48:00.000-05:00

My apologies dear readers-a bad case of the flu-it would just never quite go away-a week in the Keys-final exams at law school and an interview in Charlotte for an Associate General Counsel position. Surprise, I turned them down!

Whew!

Glad to be back in town and ready to start posting again.

Stay tuned...

Coffee with J

2005-03-25T19:23:00.000-05:00

"Black with two splendas."

"I'm buying."

J moves to the counter and orders from the barista. I stand behind her and I take a few steps back to get a better sense of her. She's wearing a long dark wool cape-mid calf with mid height black heels. Expensive good quality shoes. I am no foot fetishist but I am attracted to women who wear sensible high quality shoes.

Her calf muscles are well defined, her legs dark in the midst of a fading winter. She is about 5'5" and weighs about 145. She carries her weight well and through a lot of hours at the gym creates the appearance of weighing 20 lbs less.

She turns, hands me a venti and searches for a private table.

"Here" dropping her blacks eyes demurely she moves to a chair with its back to the door.

I move to slide her chair out.

"Thank you!"

As she sits she attempts to move her cape off her shoulders. With one hand I sweep her hair aside. It is black, thick, dense, heavy. I assist her in the removal of the coat and with the same hand, sweep her hair back into place.

Taking a seat across from her, I place my coffee on the table with both hands encircling it.

"Hot?"

"Yes!"

"Thanks!"

"I meant the coffee J." I grin and try to put on my best boyish smile.

She reaches across and takes my hands into hers. Her grip is strong.

"Do you really own a Mercedes?"

"Yes. You can see it on the way out. Why do you ask?"

"C. My partner is of the opinion that you don't own a Mercedes and among other things-that you frequent prostitutes."

"Your partner...you're bi...um no I don't frequent prostitutes. In the first place, this is not about sex, in the second place-do I look like a man who needs to use escorts? To answer your question or at least respond to C, I have never paid for sex and quite honestly, I'd rather date my right hand. Besides, it knows it's way around my cock better than any woman. Does C know you're meeting me? She doesn't approve?"

Meeting J

2005-03-07T19:06:00.000-05:00

J's voice mail greeting is unchanged, her sultry voice asking: "Hello is this J, tell me what you want?"

We trade voice mails back and forth without ever hooking up. Her last voice mail includes her work number. I call J at the new number, her voice mail greeting at this number reveals she is employed by the psychiatric division of one of two of the best medical schools in New England.

When she picks up after the third ring I hear: "This is J, how may I help you?"

"J, this is B."

"Finally."

"I've gotta ask you J, are you a patient or a provider?"

She laughs and we exchange information about employers, locations etc. J is intelligent and though not an attorney, employs words with the exactness of a lawyer. There is also a preciseness in her direct answers to my questions. I'm intrigued and pleased by my successful attempt at humor.

We agree to meet. J spends one day a week working at a location not far from me. She selects a local Barnes and Noble and arrange for a Thursday noontime meeting.

Thursday is a cold rainy February day, too warm to snow but damp-cold and chillier than twenty degrees colder with snow. It rains hard.

I arrive early. What I believe is J arrives promptly on time. Her hair is dark, bluish black and descending down to the small of her back. Her mane is luxurious. Her eyes are dark-again nearly black. She appears to be about 5'4" and well built. By that I mean she is around 145 pounds but clearly wears the weight as if she were 30 pounds lighter. Her build reflects a fair amount time spent exercising and in the gym. Her skin is dark, perhaps from her recent vacation but more likely because of her middle east genes. Overall, she reminds of a young but far more attractive Cher.

I follow her through the doors and say: "Hello J!"

She whirls, hugs me and leads me to the coffee counter.

"Let's have coffee, how do you like it?"

J

2005-03-06T15:24:00.000-05:00

I called J following her message that she had returned from vacation.

Discovery

2005-03-05T09:51:00.000-05:00

"V?"

I repeat myself-again and again.

"V?"

"V?"

"V?"

Nothing...

I move to the front of her. V's eyes are open-unseeing. I move my hand quickly across her field of vision-she doesn't blink. Her body is rigid-she appears catatonic. She's in the room physically but her mind is not in the moment. Tears are welling-no sobbing just a pairs of tears, mournfully trailing down each cheek.

I reach for the bottled water, the French brand-more expensive per bottle than my favorite micro brew and spray her face with the water.

She blinks repeatedly-her breaths increasing in frequency. She's comimg back-slowly but returning to the moment.

I release her from the wrist cuffs and the spreader bar and she sinks, slowly to the mattress. I place a pillow under her head, lay next to her and hold her close-tenderly stroking her back for long moments.

"I'm sorry B."

"Were you abused as a child?"

"Yes."

I wait-not speaking-knowing that at some point she'll need to fill the silence.

"My father was, no, still is a doctor. A powerful man. I tried to please him. I became a competitive swimmer, at one point the best in the state on the high school level."

I say nothing-continuing to hold her.

The silence remains-after nearly twenty minutes I ask her if I can remove the plug? I add more lube and gently withdraw it.

The dam breaks-the tears return-sobbing she tells me how he used to avoid her cunt and preferred forcing his cock into her ass, forcing his body onto hers-so heavy at times she was unable to breathe, her swimming training allowing her to grab air at various times and preventing her from passing out.

The scene is over.

"I'm so sorry V."

I dress her slowly. She reacts to my sliding her sweats back on like a docile four year old. I gather everything back into the gear bag as she lays in the fetal position on the bed. I open the door to the room, propping it open so I can place the bag back in the trunk of the car and at the same time, remaining in eye contact with her at all times. I start the car, open the door on the passenger side and let it warm up as I return to take her in my arms and place her in the warm leather bucket seat.

We drive off into the night, she cuddling against me as I process what has just occurred and what it is we'll need to talk about...

2005-02-23T22:03:00.000-05:00

"Please?"

"Please, please Daddy..."

I am frozen in place, as immovable as Lot's wife after she turned back to look at Sodom. A chill comes over me-goose bumps rising on arms and thighs.

"V?"

No response. Nothing.

Spanking V

2005-02-21T18:42:00.000-05:00

Bewildered, V asks why I won't spank her.

I explain to her that anal penetration is an act of intimacy between us that demands a more personal form of corporal than the use of a flogger.

I kneel on her left side. I lift her slowly and slide my knees beneath her. She rests on both of my thighs, her body rising and falling as she breathes deeply. My left arm circles her body and I pull her close as my right palm gently rubs first her left and then her right cheek. She releases a big sigh and I feel her nipples rise and fall on my legs.

"Stay still, just like this. If you move or squirm, I'll only spank you harder."

My hand caresses her cheeks, down to her thighs and back up again.

"How does that feel?"

"Good," she concedes.

"Get ready, I'm about to start."

Her body tenses, after what must seem like an eternity, I start slowly-softly. On her ass, down her thighs and into the inner sighs. She relaxes as my hand brushes her cunt.

"You're drenched," I whisper.

"It feels good," she tells me.

Two or three more light slaps. "Did those hurt?"

"No."

"These will!"

Before her mind can even grasp the two words, my hand descends with a hard thwack on her right cheek. She yells and begins to fall forward.

"That hurt!"

"Of course, it was supposed to V. That was just the first of many you'll receive tonight."

I proceed, slowly, alternating between her right and left ass cheek. As I reach twenty, the tears begin, coupled with sobs, her tears roll off her face onto the sheet. She's hurting. Every inch of her ass is red and burns and pulses. I continue, with each hard slap she moans or yelps. Her sobs grow in frequency at the same time the aroma from her cunts begins to permeate the room.

She loses track of the number as the pressure in her clit begins to peak and her cunt quivers. She spaces and doesn't realize I've stopped. Minutes pass, her sobbing stops and she utters one word: "Please?"

Spanking V

2005-02-20T11:58:00.000-05:00

"No V!"

"Huh?"

"You've heard the joke about the sadist and the masochist?"

"No."

"Said the masochist to the sadist: 'Beat me.' Said the sadist to the masochist: 'No.' "

More V

2005-02-14T20:36:00.000-05:00

"Take a deep breath V, exhale completely, force all the air out of your lungs, take one more deep deep breath and then let it out slowly."

She takes a cleansing breath, one more and then as she is slowly exhaling, I gently forge ahead with the plug. As the widest part slides past her sphincter, she groans and sucks the rest of the anal plug into her ass til it stops at the barrier that prevents it from being lost totally into her rectum.

My cock is totally erect as the plug reaches the complete four inches of insertion. You can fuck a bottom's mouth or vagina but there is no greater degree of domination over a botom than anal sodomy. The feminist movement (long overdue), NOW and portions of the equal rights movement (again long overedue) give power to the cunt. A woman's vagina, even when her legs are spread and her cunt is filled, still retains power and control over the man filling it with his penis or the woman who slides her hand inside it. The cunt has strength, aggressiveness in its use and is designed to be a two way street. The asshole is passive. The act of sodomizing it is at its core, an act of total domination.

Her breathing is coming now in great gulping gasps of air. I pick up the elk flogger and caress her back softly with the straps. She pauses, her breathing frozen while all her senses focus on the leather caressing her back bone. I move the light whip down to dance over her cheeks.

"You need to breath V! Relax, I have all the control-go with it."

She is frozen in place-taking short shallow breaths through her mouth.

Whipping is an art form. Each type of whip requires a technique specific to it and some require a mastery (the single tail) and constant, no near daily practice. The elk flooger is perhaps the lightest of all whips and floggers and requires three different basic strokes. The first is a light but pace with most of the action stemming from a suble wrist resulting in a near whirl wind motion of repeated fast but light strokes barely coming in contact with the bottom's skin producing a rapid series of starburst over the dermis.

The second is a more traditional whipping stroke involving either just the wrist or the entire arm and wrist resulting in a heavier, almost thuddy impact on the body. There is little stinging on the surface but more of a impact below the surface. Little pain is involved in either of the two motions and the flooger is generally a precursor to heavier play.

The third stroke involves a fast motion of the arm and wrist but the sensation of pain is generated by centrifigal force. The energy really derives from the strands of the flogger wrapping around a bottoms torso, arm or leg. As the strand wraps, the tip of the flogger picks up speed and typically generates the greatest response.

The flogger is also the choice of corporal play not only as a warm up, but also because the impact is light enough and the pain low enough, that it can be used on a bottoms more sensitive areas such as the inner thighs, breasts and labia.

"Shall I flog you V?"

"Yes."

The E-mail String Ends Here

2005-02-08T18:34:00.000-05:00

B
Hi.We haven't talked in a few days. That's fine. I'm sureyou're busy. But it's beginning to feel as if you'reavoiding me, which is strange and awkward. If you'dlike me to back off, I will. I'd just prefer to betold than ignored.Thanks.--L

l,
Not at all-this is a labor intensive process.

I have not heard from d in weeks. I hope she is safe.

An E-Mail String

2005-02-04T18:31:00.000-05:00

I received an e-mail. The string follows:

I have questions.I suppose a purist might say that a sub doesn't get to ask questions, but I'm a novice, and I have questions,and I'm ready to ask anyone who might have answers.I'm not "in the scene." I've never been with anyonewho is. I don't want anything 24/7. I have my ownlife. But I want my playtime. Vanilla isn't enough. Ataste for control games grew into a taste for roughsex, and I don't know what that's become. I'msubmissive. I'm not into degradation. I get off onpower play and fear and some pain. I don't know mylimits.I am definitely afraid of meeting strangers. I'm notthe girl you're looking for: I don't haveclearly-defined boundaries yet, except thatwatersports are off-limits. I don't want to wind up inthe hands of someone clueless or psychotic. I'm a small woman trying not to become a statistic.Do you have any advice?--L

L

Indeed I have advice. Perhaps I have some answers...

I don't know what a purist is. I'm not fond of labels and try my best to avoid them. This stems from my position of not agreeing to have others define me.

I avoid any woman who doesn't have questions, is fearless in meeting and doesn't ask (communicate) what it is she wants. I believe in safety (mine and the bottom's) and a partner who doesn't communicate what she seeks (if only in general terms) and her limits places herself in danger and in turn places me in danger. I must have safety and that begins with the bottom's well being. If she doesn't care about herself, she'll not care about my safety. I like to think I am good, but I do know I am not clarvoyant. Were I prescient, I'd have won the lottery by now.
Ask questions, define what it is you want and ask for it. If your potential partner is not agreeable, move on. This is as much about you as it is about them. The relationship is symbiotic and must supply each what they need and a balance maintained.

I do not want 24/7. My reasons are simple. It is too much work and I prefer intelligence, a partnership if you will, that is in part based upon what's above the shoulders.

I dialogue with someone who is intelligent and can say "no!" when it comes to what she doesn't want.

I am not "in the lifestyle" per se. There was a time I was "out" and an activist but that was a while ago. I am a professional (an attorney-please don't hold that against me) and somewhat of a public persona.

What are you looking for?

The only other advice is weigh carefully what I say or what others may say. The internet has resulted in a large number of clueless "experts."

I hope I hear from you again. Whatever you do, play safe.

B

Thank you for your reply. Your candid, direct opinions are interesting and a bit of a relief.You talked about communication and the importance ofyour partner knowing what she wanted and didnt want.My immediate question: how does a sub avoid what shereally doesn't want without, well, being in charge? How do you handle that? I have never had anal sex. I've never been with anyonewho cared enough to work at it.

L

If candid means truthful, I am always candid and truthful. Bear in mind however, that they are opinions and I feel they have some validity. I have been doing this for a while and are based on experience and being "out" in the scene.

As to what a sub wants or doesn't want...let me try to use you as an example. You have said you are not interested in "Golden Showers." That to me is a hard limit. That means, we would never engage in that activity unless at some point you were to say that you wanted to experience it. I would respect you, your choices and never engage in that activity. Your communication of a hard limit is part of the communication paradigm. Trust exsts and builds over time, in part on my respecting your communication and never breaching that boundary. Those are the easy ones.

The real question, since you haven't done this, is: "What about the stuff I don't know about?"

The answer in part is exploration. Let's say spanking is ok e.g. not a hard limit for you. That to me means two things-what are your hard limits within spanking? Communication enters in again. Do you want pain? Is redness ok? Are temporary marks ok? Do you want to be spanked to tears? Is the spanking part of the pain pleasure equation (personally I prefer the two combined)? Do you seek spanking for punishment purposes? Do you seek spanking to satisfy some masochistic yearnings? Do you seek spanking as a validation of my control over you? In part, all the acceptable practices become a play within a play.

Let's say we do that communication and spankings are something you want to experience. My role, again based on the trust you impart to me, is to spank you in such a way as to make the spanking activity real for you. If you want pain, you will receive it. The skill of a good top is to put you on the edge, keep you on that tightrope where i bring you to your limits, keep you balanced there and not push you over the edge. You'll have of course a safe word if it becomes too intense. Having said that however, the trick I master is to put that safe word on your lips and never have you utter it. That is a skill a really good top has (I am a really good top) and it creates the tension within you.

By the way, it is damn hard to do. I need to always be sensitive to where you are. You're (we all are) in a different place every day. What may be a mild spanking in one encounter, may be off the charts the next time we meet. You have stuff in your life, you're in good or bad places depending on work, health, hormones whatever. My skill is to be in touch with you and where you are within a scene and keep you on that edge. Does that help?

I know it may be clinical, but I do prefer a questionnaire approach. I'm sure you've seen these questionnaires, but if not I'd be happy to send you one. It is invaluable as a tool for communication.

Ultimately, you are in charge. You can always end a scene with the safe word. my experince is that bottoms fight never to use the safe word-not because they'd disappoint me, but rather in failing themselves. Bear in mind there is a lot of multi tasking going on in a scene.

What "type" do I seek? I seek intelligence and maturity. Intelligence is not measured by education nor is maturity measured by age. Clearly you're intelligent. It also seems to me that you are mature as measured by your questions. Physical is of minor importance. No health problems is first-physical or psychological. No heart problems-breathing problems etc. I once met a bottom who claimed no health problems (again the safety issue) but early into a mild scene was short of breath etc. I ended the scene and after some questioning the bottom admitted to heart problems. Needless to say, she wasn't honest, didn't communicate, violated her obligations to me and we never scened again. Other than that, mordbid obesity is out. Joint problems I can always work around.

I'd rather work with someone inexperienced. There is so much more to explore, so much more to work with and there is the joy of watching someone on their voyage of self discovery.

As to anal sex...it is something (like all activities) that you work with and into.One finger before two. Two fingers before my penis. A small plug before a medium plugs. It is about growth, exploration and movement. bear in mind I am of only average endowment. I'm six inches-maybe 6 and 1/2 on a good day LOL! I'll not gag you nor stretch you beyond your ability to accept my cock anywhere.

B

Interesting. May I ask some questions?1. You asked V. if she wanted to be sodomized by you.What would you have done had she said no, or that shedidn't know?2. I've read several first-time stories. The sub is always trembling to please and instantly orgasmic. Ican't see myself in these women. I don't give myself up easily and like to be dominated. Then I can let goand become submissive. I feel very different when I'mlike that, and I don't get there just by taking off myclothes. I'm also slow to orgasm, especially with anew partner. The result is that these first-time stories are making me uneasy and a bit insecure. Is V.the ideal or the norm? Are other women like me?Thanks.--L

Ask me anything.

Had she said no, I would not sodomize her. I would simply respect her hard limit.

Had she said I don't know-my response would have been-we'll see. Explore her anus, some stroking-lotsa lube-my pinkie finger pressing in to gauge her responses. A journey of exploration always measured by her tolerance and verbal and non-verbal acceptance of what's going on.

If yes was more than she could handle, I'd stop and re-visit at another time. Talked about it after the scene ended. Debriefing is always important.

You havent read all, I have so much more to write. That you don't give up easily is alluring. Honest Tops don't top doormats. We seek to dominate. This is about "taking" you not you simply spreading your legs. V is V. V is not you.

There are many like V. There are many like you. Many bottoms have insecurities-hell I have my own insecurities. I recognize your insecurity and prefer to promote your self awareness and your ability to grow and overcome your insecurity. This is not about breaking you-it is about mentoring and assisting you in overcoming your own demons.

I prefer a woman who does orgasm-it makes the trip so much more meaningful and enjoyable. Besides my orgasms move forward at the speed of a glacier. Do you have the stamina?

B,This is so trite, but it's bugging me: are youclean-shaven or do you have facial hair? My mind keepsputting a face on you, however impossible that is, andI really want to know.I wouldn't ask for personal information without givingany in exchange: I'm a natural redhead.curious,--d

p.s. At some point I may have to send you a picture. Fantasies must be happening-might be nice to put a face on them.

L.

Currently I am clean shaven. In the past I've had a beard or a Zapata type mustache, but currently I am w/o facial hair.

Red heads have always been so alluring to me.I lost my oral virginity to a natural red head-one of my most memorable sexual encounters-perhaps because of my young age or perhaps because it was the first time for both of us-regardless I've always loved red haired womyn.

Red heads tend to have fair skin-do you bruise easily?

B

L.

What do you do with someone who feels compelled tofight, who wants to be subdued?

I subdue them...

There is of course the old SSC dictum. In your case, signal clearly your consent and I proceed to subjugation. Fight all you want against the subjugation, the rougher the better, but resistance ultimately is futile-the ropes or the leather restraints-this is about control-the power exchange and my dominion over you and your will and your body.

Your freedom resides in your lack of control. Once you're in my control, I'll force you to go into yourself and the recognition that you possess no control allows you the freedom to experience all the tactile and psychological sensations.

It works this way, signal your consent and the rest is up to me. Fight or don't fight-resist or acquiesce-regardless-you're in my power and control, the ying and yang of freedom in bondage. Quite honestly, I don't care a fig for your attempts to please me. My pleasure is found in my control over you-not your subservience. You'll perform-willingly or not.

L, it's about breaking the control I have on myself by taking it away from me. Indeed it is, sometimes great minds do think alike.

My first bottom was a lesbian (later it turned out bisexual) who had never experienced an orgasm. Intelligent-on staff at Harvard Med-totally compartmentalized and woman always in control of all things. An activist in NOW-willful-an orthodox Jew-a virtual pro type for the woman in control.
She consented-gave up control and found the freedom you're talking about.I will write about her at length in the blog-but I share this with you if only to let you know I have a sense of what you're talking about-that tension within you if you will. In some ways I became her shrink (she already had two both of which she played one against the other) and we both experienced many personal epiphanies as a result of the relationship.

Needless to say she experienced her first of many orgasms and reached the point of becoming multi orgasmic (I've yet to find the woman who resist either my tongue or an eroscillator) and became a slut for orgasms. Despite having the control taken from her-she fought every second in every way ot re-establish control.
If nothing else, please understand you're not alone in this desire or search. You are unique-the conundrum you're dealing with is not.
B

B,I stayed in tonight to think about and answer youre-mail. How do you like them apples?Another interesting message. I like yourself-confidence. I like your honesty ("... it is damnhard to do"). I have to ask: what do you get out ofit? From everything I know so far, and not just fromyou, being a good top is hard work. Why do you do it?Why do you love it?You're right; I do have some hard limits. But whileglancing over a checklist, I noticed that some of myreplies would be question marks or maybes. So littlehas been done to me. How can I know my limits?You used spanking as an example. It's not a no for meat all, but my only experiences have been playing withvanilla types trying kinky for the evening, if youfollow me. I don't know how much I can take. I knowthat a man once cracked me one with a belt much harderthan he intended and my knees buckled; for a moment myvision darkened and I thought I would pass out. Whenmy eyes cleared, my head was just... somewhere else.Wow. So apparently that works. I don't know why,though.What do you do with all those question marks and allthose maybes?I'm interested to note that joint problems get theirown category. You must have met a lot of people withjoint problems. I'm another.

It's nothing I can't workaround.

It's nothing I can't work around.thoughtful,--L

My Messenger says you're still online, but I imagineyou've gone on to whatever you need to do beforetomorrow morning, including sleep. Something must bewrong with Messenger. It's a shame. I was enjoying ourconversation.This was a particularly hot message. The idea of a mantaking me down not in anger but as a means to an end,not caring how I feel about it, gives me a chill, andfear, as I've mentioned, turns me on. Are you willingto ignore words like no and only stop a scene onhearing a safeword?

Of course. Only the safe word stops the scene. Bear in mind however, that once you use the safe word, the scene stops totally. You can't use a safe word to take a break and then restart the scene. There are reasons for that.
1. It breaks the flow, the momentum and the space we're in
2. If you can escape at any time and then think you can start again, it puts you too much in control.
3. It forces you to go into you-push your limits-go further at times than you think you can.

How rough do you play?

How rough do you want me to be? Again-communicate-define your limits. Remember also what I said before, I am the top-I am experienced. It is about the edge. Rougher than you think you can handle but never rougher than you can handle. And always-never rougher than will cause harm. That's my role-remember?Before Yahoo so rudely cut us off, we talked aboutsomething you said: "You'll perform-willingly or not."I'm still curious about what constitutes performing.
You spoke about the gag reflex-you'll struggle but not gag. You may think you won't ever catch your breath but you will. I insure that you do. You're questions indicate a fear that you'll be able to do what I direct. Reluctance will be met with the judicious application of pain and or fear. The fear, the fear of failure, the fear of pain the fear of the consequences will push you to perform and succeed.
What would I do, aside from what we already discussed?
That requires so much more communication. You never responded to the questionnaire. There is much to explore and discuss there. medical scenes-strict bondage-enemas-sounds-forced repeated orgasms-clamps-I could go on and on.And what we already discussed scares me,
It is supposed to scare you-if it didn't it would be meaningless.
although ofcourse I knew it was coming (oh, I'm funny when I'mscared). It would be an issue with any top. My mouthis small and my gag reflex ferocious.
Remember I am not hung like a horse. I control the depth of penetration-the speed. I may force you to simply adore my cock-lick it-keep just the head in your mouth-have you digitally massage my prostate-train you in oral sodomy way beyond what you have done in the past. If I desire 60 minutes of you sucking-licking and stroking-it'll be 60 minutes. Perhaps I want to get off in 10 minutes. You can do anything you like-if you fail-you'll be spanked or whipped for 10 minutes. Perhaps an ice cold shower as punishment. The variations are endless.

I have neverdeep throated and never swallowed. Self-doubt? youasked before we were cut off. Absolutely. I'mterrified that I'll throw up on your sheets.
You'll clean it up...after you've been forced to lie in. I have the control-not you-remember?No, seriously. The gag reflex is called a reflex for areason.
Indeed.I'm afraid. Not just of failure, but of suffocation,of injury or death.
Me too-which is exactly why that would never happen. You'll recall that I'm not safe if you're not safe. I am not a serial killer and place your safety as is the first and only priority. I want a bottom with limits-remember. I was with a bottom once who had no limits. She scared the merde out of me. I had to walk away-she wanted to go far further than I could go and had no regard for safety. Thanks but no thanks. I have also chastised other tops for putting their bottoms in situations that compromised the bottoms safety.
This is my face, my mouth andnose, in question. Please tell me about silent signalsfrom a bound person.

We pre-establish silent hand signals-plus I am always checking in on you-asking-probing if you're ok.

Please tell me you've seennovices like me who became perfectly proficient.

Every bottom I have ever been with becomes proficient to their level of capability. It is about you-growth etc. Not ever person can run a mile in under 4 minutes. it is about being the best that you can be.You may start with a snowplow put will progress to black diamond slopes and moguls.

Crawl before you walk-walk before you run etc.

Please remember that I'm not unwilling to learn.You'll force me to go into myself. An interestingphrase.Is it safe to assume that tears don't bother you?

Not at all. I cam lick them away or laugh at them or hold you in my arms so you feel nothing else matters because you're surrounded by my strength and comfort. Loving domination is not an oxymoron.

And I have to admit that I Googled "eroscillator."

It will render you multi orgasmic.

Part II

2004-12-09T21:32:00.000-05:00

"There is a private room in the back V. Do you want to scene?"

"Yes."

I lead the way to the private dungeon.

I open my gear bags and lay everything out. I replace the scarf with the padded leather blindfold. The lamb’s wool ankle and wrist restraints are attached to the spreader bar I place between her ankles. I softly caress her body and in a low soft voice repeatedly tell her how vulnerable and open she is to me.

I kneel on the bed and push my groin and erection against her left hip. I whisper in her ear that she is totally helpless and that I'm free to do anything I want to her and will. I move behind her and drag my nails slowly down the sides of her rib cage to her hips. She quivers and then stiffens and holds her breath as I grind my leather covered cock into the opening between her cheeks.
I tell her that I'm going to place every item in my bags on her back and that I want her to visualize each thing and how it will be used on her. I instruct her to move outside her body and in her mind's eye witness and imagine the sensation each will inflict upon her.

I move away from her. A sheen of perspiration covers her back. The body harness is first. I lay it between her shoulder blades. The chill of the cold metal rings raise Goosebumps on her body. I reach underneath and discover that her nipples are erect. I move the harness down her back to her ass and thighs. She cannot identify what it is.

"V?"

"Yes."

"This is a body harness. A leather strap goes over each shoulder and attaches to metal rings front and back. The wide leather strap runs down between your cheeks and separates them for spanking and terminates at another ring at your cunt. The narrow leather strap descends from the ring between your breasts, separates your labia and attaches to the vaginal ring. The harness can be adapted to hold as many as two plugs of various sizes at the time"
I remove the harness and place it in her hands. While she worries the harness I tell her that any item she is agreeable to me using on her tonight should be grasped firmly by her when I attempt to remove them from her hands. If she is not amenable, she should drop the item immediately.

Her fists tighten on the harness and subsequently the collar I place in her hands.
The leather hood is unidentifiable. I explain what it is-how it laces tightly up the back and how the blindfold attaches with Velcro. I place her fingers through the holes for the nostrils and the breathing hole in the detachable penis gag. I tell her that I always employ earplugs to heighten the effect of sensory deprivation in an attempt to have the bottom focus on themselves.
I tell her that it is hot inside the hood. The darkness is absolute and there is a sense of total isolation. Once laced up, there is just her and the tactile sensations. Her grasp on the leather hood tightens. I am not satisfied with her acceptance. I need to take control by generating resistance. I do this by telling her that the hood serves as a mask. It depersonalizes her not only by objectifying her but also by rendering her no different from any other sub that has worn the hood. She gasps and attempts to throw the hood to the side. I pick it up and put it back in her hands. She drops it again.

"In time," I say. "In time."

We spend the next hour in this pre-scene tango.
The items she drops she does so reluctantly. The number is surprisingly small. Back into the gear bag go the scalpels (mind fuck), piercing needles, electrical toys, catheters, rat traps, enema bag, Ben Gay, wurtenberg wheel, ivory shoe horn, sparklers, canes, knotted and braided cats, taws, dog training collar and cattle prod.

I ask if she wants water. She passes. I ask if she wants to move forward. She says yes. I have her repeat her safe words and gestures twice. I ask if I have her permission. Again she says yes.
I rub her back between the shoulder blades. Her muscles are taunt. Her hair is matted with sweat. I tell her to relax and save all of her strength and energy for what is to come. I take her hand. She squeezes mine and refuses to let go. She tells me that she doesn't know if she can do this. I respond by telling her that every sub I've ever known doubts themselves and is terrified more by the fear of failure than by the fear of pain. I try to reassure her by telling her that she is not alone-that in twenty years no bottom has ever failed nor will she now.
I tell her that it's the beginning of a great adventure and that I will be her guide until she decides otherwise. She says she doesn't have the strength. I tell her she does-that I would not have chosen her if I didn't believe in her courage and stamina. I tell her to use her chi-her life force as support. I move to caress her face. I stroke her skin lovingly in an effort to calm her. I grasp her face in both hands, remove the blindfold and kiss her. Her eyes close and then open as I draw my lips away. I stare into eyes and ask again if I have her permission. She lowers her eyes and nods.

I replace the blindfold. On the table next to the bed I arrange paper bags, udder balm, ice, a pair of bandage scissors, smelling salts, water and the rest of my emergency medical kit along with lube, latex gloves, surgical gloves, condoms and the balance of my safe sex kit.
I slip on the latex gloves and finish with a flourishing snap. She turns her head in my direction. I place a tube of lube on her back and stroke her ass with my right hand. My left hand goes to her neck and while circling the rim of her anus with my right I take her vital signs.
"V?"
"Yes," B.

"Have you ever been sodomizied?"

"No."

"I will sodomize you. Do you want to be sodomizied by me?"

She stutters: "Yes!"
."
I begin again.

I open the lube and grease the fingers of my right hand and the head of the black medium butt plug. She gasps when I place it in her hand. I order to her to spread the lube completely over the plug. Her breathing quickens and deepens. I grab the plug and her body stiffens.
"Relax. It'll be easier if you relax. We're only at the beginning."

I trace her crack down, the plug hard and cold causes the small fine hairs of her back to stand. I reach the point of penetration and she gasps, taking in a lung full of air preparing herself for the imperilment. Quickly with the other hand I spread her labia. She is dripping with arousal, her thighs wet. Her clit is a hard bright turgid nub, engorged-red-shining with her wetness within her glistening lips. Instinctively I recognize that she is multi orgasmic. I am immediately overcome with knowledge that I am the possession of a sub that is quickly becoming precious to me.

I blow on her mons and she moans as her pubic hairs tease her clit. I take a finger tip and proceed to softly circle her tumescence causing her to moan more and more loudly. She struggles-moving-trying vainly to bring her clit into direct contact with my finger and push herself over the edge. More recognition. I know now that direct and repeated manual clitoral stimulation will cause her to climax and that each climax will build on the one proceeding. Her gyrations increase as I continue the circular teasing. She’s now moaning and keening.

"I’m in charge V. I control the intensity."

Her breath catches on my words and she begins to sag. Before she wilts in frustration I move my thumb into direct contact with her clit and massage her furiously. She stiffens-screams and is wracked by repeated grand mal climaxes. She cums like a man, hard-fast-direct, both screaming out the name of the almighty while focusing only on her pleasure.

I’m ecstatic-if she submits as well as she climaxes I have something truly extra ordinary. I become relentless now-determined to bring her over again. Her clit is now between my first and second fingers. Both fingers are parallel to her labia and move in unison. She’s building again-more verbal than before-louder-recognizing where it is I am taking her-where it is I am determined to go. She repeatedly screams: "No." Her shaking and moans render her objections moot. I press forward with the plug simultaneously.

"Oh God! Oh God-Jesus!" The plug is at its widest now and she’s seconds away. My fingers stop.

"Push!"

"Submit V."

First Scene

2004-11-07T18:32:00.000-05:00

It takes us about 35 minutes to make our way from V's house to L.C. During the ride, V leans into me, holding my hand throughout the entire trip.

"Have you ever been to a BDSM Club V?"

"No, I seldom go out. Mostly to the store, my doctor, errands, my job."

"Are you free to travel? I'd love to take you to the Fetish Flea Market in Boston next month. There's also the Folsom Street Fair in San Fransisco, the Vault in New York, Bondage-A-Go Go, the Ram Rod and Boston Dungeon also in Boston. You can meet others, scene publicly, attend demos or just mingle and soak up the Karma."

"I'm happy just be with you-but yea, I'm free to travel."

Despite the early hours, the parking lot at L.C. is nearly full. Because we're a couple, admission is at a reduced rate. V is in black slacks with a matching black turtle neck. Entering through the bar, J the owner stops me and asks what were drinking tonight? V asks for a Bailey's and I ask for a double Stoli in a wineglass with a tonic and a lime twist. J wants to know when I can give another lecture on BDSM and the Law? January I tell him: "Put me on the calendar."

J grabs our drinks and shows us to our table. The L.C. is a combination bar and performance area. It is fully equiped with a hoist for suspension scenes, two wooden horses, a St. John's Cross, a spanking kneeler, a medical examing table, stocks and a gyno chair. The walls carry a variety of whips, cats, floogers, ropes and wrist and ankle cuffs. The place is dark with only the stage and the accroutements in the spotlights. On stage a thin woman is nude in the stocks with her partner giving her a mild whipping. Het face is set in a grimace and crys out each time the flogger lands.

"That doesn't look so bad. Isn't it supposed to hurt a little bit," V asks?

"Um yea V! The man is using an elk skin flogger. The strands are about as a heavy as some strips of cotton. It is sorta the equivalent of of being spanked with duster," I laugh.

The scene goes on until the woman feigns collapse. Two women rush to assist her as the man releases her from the stocks. Bent over groaning, the woman takes a seat at a table in the main area as her friends fawn over her.

"B there's a woman at the bar staring at us."

I turn and lock eyes with a woman I had previously scened with staring at us. I feel the heat of her hatred across the space between us. That's D I tell V. I relate my past experience with her and will save the telling of that story for another time and post dear reader. Eyes remaining locked, I smile at D as I massage V's neck.

2004-11-06T13:24:00.000-05:00

I left an hour early for the 10:00 A.M. meeting and cruised her house a half dozen times before she left. She made three false starts, returning home each time to change her clothes. After I was confident that she was in route, I cut through some sides streets to reach the bookstore in advance of her arrival. I parked back in against a high wall on one end of the B & N store.

She parked in the middle of the lot, locked her car and chain smoked three Marlboro's before entering B & N. In her mid thirties V was blond, 5'4" with a lean swimmer's build. Her skin was porcelain, almost translucent with brown eyes. She wore a Bean fleece, dark blue with grey tweed slacks and Ecco ties. No make up ( I prefer the natural look) and no jewelry. She gave the appearance of a W.H. soccer mom (I have no desire to Top Goth girls) and was to me quite attractive.

I entered directly behind her stopping to browse at the current fiction release. B & N as you know dear readers, typically is large store with a coffee bar and racks of magazines with the majority of the books grouped by category. She wandered searching for the erotica section but spent just as much time appraising the men in the store-hoping to perhaps identify me before locating the right section.

"Screw the Roses-Give me the Thorns" is an oversized book and maintained on the top shelf. She struggled to reach it as I walked up behind her. "A wise choice to begin your exploration with V. Wait I can reach it for you." She froze in place and with one hand the middle of her back, I reached up, secured the book and handed it to her. Up close she was even more attractive than from a distance. Her face was devoid of expression and took not only the book but both of my hands with a strong grip. She stared at me, saying nothing. We were face to face-inches apart both silent-staring into each other's eyes.

I long ago learned the value of silence. She squeezed harder and finally said: "I can't believe you're here."

"Disappointed V?"

"Goodness no. Why would you think that?"

"Just checking."

With the silence broken, we spent the next twenty minutes looking at books. V kept hold of at least one of my hands during the entire time I selected three books for her reading. Molly Devon of course, Laura Antoniou (essays) and a Pat Califia collection of short stories. I bought two coffees (both black) and a double chocolate brownie for V. I later learned dear reader that V subsisted on black coffee, chocolate frosted chocolate donuts and little else in large part due to financial limitations(she was on Medicare disability for her bi-polarism and her ex kept her in financial bondage-routinely failing to pay her court order alimony-I changed all that but I am getting ahead of myself) and collected bottles for cigarettes, gas, coffee and donuts.

We eventually retreated to the front seat of her Pontiac. For the most part she was silent and clung to me-refusing to let go. I stroked the back of her neck, at times with enough strength to make anyone wince. She however pushed into my ministrations, sighing at times in pleasure and fixated on some point outside the car. My hands roamed across her shoulders and could find no bra straps. She finally stripped herself of the fleece revealing a purple Henley and erect nipples. Free of the fleece, she devoured the brownie.

I told her to release the seat back into the horizontal and place her arms over the seat and grasp the head restraint. She gasp, knowing I believe what was coming. By then, the day had grown dark gray and rainy and despite the busy parking lot we had total privacy.

I ranged under her Henley-my fingers playing with either side of her chest-lightly-as soft as a gentle summer breeze-at other times barely brushing her nipples. She trembled, goose bumps appearing everywhere and shuddered and moaned from my soft touch. I went below the waist line of her slacks-stopping just at the start of her pubic line-gentle slow and with a purposeful avoidance of any direct contact to either her nipples or her labia. The smell of her sex was pervasive. At times she mewed, arching her back she sought more direct contact. I frustrated her attempts and after nearly forty minutes with drew my hands recognizing she was close to climax.

"Enough for now V."

"No" she screamed, "you can't leave."

"We'll meet again-we've only just begun."

"When?"

"Saturday night at seven. I'll pick you up at your house, I'll take you to a club on the B Turnpike called L.C. It's a BDSM club. We can watch the people and after you've read these books and watched and you've learned, if you want, we can do a scene."

"Ok" said so reluctantly she looked liked she was on her way to her execution, "you promise?"

"Yes" as I exited the car.

I stood in the freezing rain and watched her drive off-never asking me how I knew where to pick her up.

2004-11-02T20:25:00.000-05:00

We talk for hours. At times her breathing is shallow and punctuated with gasps and moans-at other times there is silence and not even static can be heard through the receiver. I describe everything in the gear bag and their use-dildoes and plugs-inflatable plugs-floggers-paddles-whips-clamps-straps-TENs unit-vibes-sterile needles-tawes-wurtenberg-gags-O rings-canes-rods-sounds-sparklers-spreader bars-chains-pinions-clothes pins-lubes-plumber's candles-hemostats-rubber bands and even the contents of my safety kit-paper bags-bandage scissors-benadryl etc. At the end she's breathless but relentless in demanding to know when we can meet so she can bottom for me.

I tell V that despite her enthusiasm, it is prudent that we first meet in a public place. She doesn't know me-know anything about me and can't even be sure I won't harm her or even that I'm not a serial killer. I also explain to her the need to establish a safe call system. I also lecture her on the need for safety (even to the extent that if she's not safe-I'm not safe and that I do so love my safety) and that recklessness on the part of my partner gives me reason to pause.

We make a date to meet at a local Border and Books in the erotica section for 10:00 A.M. the next day. I instruct her to pick up a copy of "Screw the Roses Give Me the Thorns" and that I'll know it's her.

A word about safety dear readers. I am an attorney by trade and once V had given me her phone number, I had the keys to her kingdom. A reverse directory look up gave me her name and address. From there a search of public records revealed her license plate number and the make and model of the car she drove. I uncovered her mortgage, the date of her divorce-school records-that she was unemployed and owned a Jack Russell terrier. I also established who her husband was-the business he owned-the identity of his new wife-his court records and even that her father had been a well known physician in the metro area.

Bear in mind that I gathered all this information for my own safety. Were I a stalker or that serial killer I had lectured her about-I could have amassed the same personal information and used it for my own purposes. During the telephone call and the resulting comparison of public information, it was also clear that V failed to be truthful about her real identity, her employment status and the town she lived in. Armed with the information I did have however, I planned to "stake" her out an hour before she would reasonably be expected to leave for our meeting at 10.

2004-10-15T19:12:00.000-05:00

"Are you wet V?"

"God yes!"

"Hold that thought," I laugh. "I have more in the gear bag. A black leather hood that encases the entire head. The fur lined blindfold attaches with velcro. I also have a a variety of gags that also attach-O rings-penis gags and even an inflatable gag for when I'm not using your mouth for my pleasure."

"How do I breath B?"

"There are nostril holes and a mouth hole for breathing. There is a wide leather collar at the bottom and the hood locks on. Once you're in it, it can only be removed with a key to the lock. I generally use ear plugs as well. It heightens the isolation and intensity of all the tactile stimulations. The blackness and the silence drive you deep into your emotions-your isolation and the experience of the pain and pleasure of the scene. The hood also serves to de-personalize you-it makes you almost a blank canvas-not a person but a body for me to play and pleasure and create an individualized tableau of sounds, sensations and at times a mark or two. It is a wonderous thing. Every bottom I've known would rather be whipped with a single tail then first put on the hood. It begins every scene and putting it on is the supreme moment of submission."

It amazes me that bottoms that I have only talked to but never met will place themselves in such a position of vulnerability. The paradigm is based upon total trust and while we have always talked at length, at times even completed and reviewed questionnaires, it is nonetheless a first meeting, in private and with the bottom in a place of total helplessness. The scenes always take place in a private home where the women lives alone or in a hotel or motel where I can arrange for the rental and monitor her arrival to insure that she's alone. Part of what a bottoms seeks when they enter into a relationship with a top is not just the authority figure but also a structured relationship that is based upon control by the top. Yea ok! You reader are not doubt thinking well sure B but why state the obvious. Well it may be obvious to you and to me, but these first time bottoms haven't even given thought to the concept. Things like collars and and cuff and ankle restraints are the physical manifestations of the paradigm of control but this first encounter establishes the top's control without those physical manifestations.

The First Scene

2004-10-11T07:40:00.000-05:00

I tell V the first scene always begins the same. I enter through a door left closed but unlocked. By previous instuction the bottom is nude, kneeling on a bed in a cool room, legs spread slightly, head down, arms straight out, flat on the bed and wrists crossed lightly. The pose is similar to a Muslim at prayer or a Yoga practioner in the relaxed puppy posture. I place my gear bag on the bed.

"What's a gear bag?"

"It contains everything needed for a scene."

"Yes but what's in it?"

"Lotsa of stuff."

"Yea but WHAT?"

"Easy V, easy. I'm the top-things progress at my pace. Rule one," I chuckle.

"There are many things in my gear bag and of course evert top's gear bag contains different things. Let me start with the leather toys. First it contains a black leather body harness. It forms a Y over the shoulders front and back. Both end at a large metal O ring front and back. An adjustable two inch leather strap attaches at the O ring and that passes between the labia and ass cheeks. I also have two leather harness' that that attach to the labia/ass strap."

"What are those for B?"

"Those hold any number of things. For example, I have a series of butt and vaginal plugs and dildoes of varying sizes that fit into the harnesses. I can insert them into a bottom's ass or vagina or both simultaneously and once attached to the body harness, they're held in place until I release them. The harnesses are also designed to hold vibrators in place or anything else I may wish to fill you with."

"V...?"

Nearly two minutes pass in silence.

"I'm here B. Just thinking, no actually I'm aroused. Go on...please?"

"Have you ever been spanked V?"

"Um, no."

"The harness is perfect for that V. The strap between your cheeks separates them nicely and creates a nice tension and firmness in your ass. With a plug deep in your ass, the power of my strokes is not only on the surface of the skin, put deep into your body."

"Oh Jesus!"

"The next item is a bit more complex V. It's a leather collar-three inches wide-with three metal rings attached. A wide adjustable strap attaches at the collar and extends down to a wider leather belt that encircles the waist. The descending strap includes a set of fur lined leather cuffs for your wrists. I can place it on you V to immobilize your wrists either in front of you or behind you back and with the adjustable strap, I can pull your wrists high up your back forcing your breasts and nipples up and out."

Her breathing on the phone is labored now.

"Will you put it on me?"

"Indeed, but not until I've stripped you. And V? Once in it, you'll be forced to your knees."

"I'll suck your cock B!"

"No. My cock will be in your mouth, but you'll not be in control. "I'll sodomize your mouth V! I'll pump your mouth as quickly or as slowly as I want. I'll force my penis deep to the back of your throat or just hold it motionless for minutes on end. I contol my own orgasm V and I'll fuck your mouth for over an hour before I decide to plunge deep and force you not to pull away and swallow everything as I climax."

She moans.

Calling V-Part I

2004-10-10T20:00:00.000-05:00

The phone is answered before the first ring has ended.

"Hello V, this is B. How are you?"

"Hello B. I, um I'm good. Nervous but good."

"Why are you nervous?"

"I've never done this before. I'm not sure what it is I'm supposed to do.?

"Never done what V? Talk on the phone? For a first timer you're doing pretty well."

She laughs and says: "No, you know, never answered an ad before."

"Why did you answer mine?"

She hesitates momentarily and then says: "Well there was something about your voice, very powerful and very commanding. I've read the Story of O and kept imaging me as O and your voice as the voice of Stephen. I get wet just listening to your phone message."

"Are you wet now V?"

"Yes, I have been thinking about you calling and the anticipation was enough and now that we're really talking..."

"What would you like to talk about V? Are you experienced, have you scened before, are you playing with yourself right now?"

"Yes, I am-what's a scene?"

"V, a scene is when a top and bottom meet and participate in a BDSM session. You know what BDSM is?"

"Yes, I know what BDSM is. What happens in a scene. Can I be in a scene? Can I be in a scene with you B?"

"You didn't answer my question. Are you experienced V? Have you done this before?"

"No." Chuckling" "You're relentless. I haven't done this before, no, but I want to do it with you."

I laugh lightly and tell her I'll need to bring my gear bag.

"What's in a gear bag B?"

"Shall I tell you a scene V? Tell you whats in my gear bag? Would you like that V?"

Yes she tells me and I tell her to settle back, strip and order her to play with herself as I tell her of the first scene I always have with a new bottom.

V

2004-10-08T18:58:00.000-05:00

The next number of posts readers will focus on a bottom named V.

I start with her but not because she was my first bottom. Far from that. She was however the first individual to respond in a manner that combined the openly sexual with the power paradigm. Additionally, my relationship with her ended abruptly, unexpectedly and tragically-in part because of my failure to understand both the nature and impact of her bi polar condition and in part her because of her ability to hide the severity of her illness. Sadly, the last conversation I had with her occurred when she was institutionalized, heavily medicated and guarded by care givers 24/7 because of her attempts at suicide. She was inescably caught in (I cannot convey just how total) a state of hopeless and irreversible despair.

I'm at the endgame-let me digress to the beginning.

I posted earlier that her was response was sexual. She responded by saying my voice, its power and cadence and the fantasies it created in her made her wet. She did not demonstrate a specific fetish or desired activity-only that the thought of being in the total control and power of another person aroused her to the point of orgasm. That single sexual approach drew her to me.

She had left a call back number which I responded to. I connected with her machine and left a message that was lengthy, slow, measured in its cadence and one that reflected aurally, the power and control I would place her in. She had a machine that allowed me to record and replay before actually sending the message. I recorded and re-recorded a number of times until I had it right- a message which instilled even in me a sense of power and control. At the end of this message I told her when I would call again and warned her that if we didn't connect at that time-I would move on to others...

2004-10-05T18:35:00.000-05:00

I need to update you my readers on the other responses I've received. Aside from the Irish woman, I've also received one call from a woman in W who tells me she is an RN snd needs to be spanked. She sounds intelligent and I arrange to meet with her for lunch at an Indian Restaurant in W. The second call is from a nurse (what is it with nurses?). Her message is that she's not a submissive but is a masochist. Okay then...not sure what to do with her! I keep the number for future reference but pass on calling her back-at least for now.

The next call was from one a bit more mysterious-her message is brief: "What will you do with me?" She leaves a B number. Her machine is brief-again a bit unusual, Hi, this J, tell me what you want me to do." I leave my call back number and ask her to return my call. The fifth is from a man-pound 3 and he's gone.

The last call is intriguing. "Hi this V. I just keep listening to your message. It is brief but so intense. It makes me wet-call me. This last one will be the subject of a longer post in the not to distant future. For now my readers-be patient.

2004-10-04T19:15:00.000-05:00

So I've called the Irish woman and arrange to meet her in B for Chinese food at a Kosher restaurant. She actually gives directions to her house and we arrange for me to pick her up at the end of her street on Friday.

The conversation with her is rambling. She is a fan of Marty Robbins and the fact that I know the lyrics to El Paso and can recite "Out in the west Texas town of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican maid" has endeared me to her. I'm also given to pause since she seems to have spent her last vacation on a bus visiting his grave site somewhere half way across the country. I also sing-No-strike that I know the lyrics to a "White Sport Coat and A Pink Carnation" and I can tell she warming up to me.

Toward the end of the conversation I get into the role play and take on the persona of the stern school master and berate her about her poor grades and lack of behavior at school. I'm amazed at how quickly I can get into the role but more amazed at her response. She really becomes quite child like, begging for another chance to do better. Without thinking about it I'm into alternatives-"I need to speak with your mother"-which starts her wailing and crying. I settle with perhaps a spanking across her BUTT TOCKS should teach her a lesson and perhaps this time I won't call her father or mother if she agrees to a thorough spanking.

I am amazed by the transformation. In her she has become totally child like-in me I'm struggling to stop from bursting out in laughter while at the same time I'm on a roll I can't, nor do I want to end, and am totally swept up into the character I've become. I arrange to call her the next evening and already sense I will get into the advance details of the spanking I'm going to administer to her. I also know intuitively she will be aroused by the details and will no doubt masturbate during or right after the next call. I'm beginning to think I might have a real knack at this top/dom thing.

I did not post this immediately after drafting. The site is not working correctly and that failure allowed me distance to reflect. I apologize to you dear reader for not capturing the intensity of the conversation. That aside I've come to some realizations after some analysis:
1. I understand, intuitively, this BDSM thing and the role of a top.
2. I recognize how easy it is to get swept up into the top role and recognize the need to always know where you and where your bottom are at all times.
3. The top bears all the responsibility.
4. This is as much about me and as much as it is about the bottom-maybe more about the bottom.
5. The mind is one powerful organ and I continue to under estimate its role.
6. This is fun and erotic as hell.
7. I know, again intuitively, that I can and will meld the physical with the psychological.

2004-10-01T20:03:00.000-05:00

So I have received a number of responses. I'll go through all of them, but the first is from an Irish woman. She claims to be in her early 50's with a heavy brogue. She tells me in her message that she works for 2 physicians in N while she lives in B. Her fantasy is based upon humiliation scenes. She wants to be spanked-fully clothed and needs to chastized verbally. She actually leaves 3 messages-most of her time is spent on explaining about her bad grades or her misbehavior in school. She actually creates in the little time allowed detailed scenes and asks if I could fill in her grades and write up her behavior report.

It starts me thinking about humiliation and role playing. The role playing I love. It is after all about theater. I can't help to think however that humiliation is akin to degradation

Could it be that somehere along the line while I was holding on to safe, sane and consensual as the only things that mattered, I let slip self-respect?

Outsiders would find it hard to understand how BDSM can have anything to do with self-respect. The shocking thing (especially where female submission is concerned) for many is the idea that the sub wants to be spanked, flogged, led around on a lead or whatever. Yet, it seems that even within the ‘scene’ a little variation from the typical BDSM activities brings howls of protest. You want to do a ‘rape’ scene – no, you can’t and *it doesn’t even matter if the woman has consented to it (preferably planned it in some detail too)*. The same is now true of humiliation – no, you can’t do it, even if you enjoy being humiliated.

I find that the humiliation debate has a lot in common with the rape debate. Once again, we are dealing with smoke and mirrors. Rape is a horrific crime and bears no relation to the ‘rape’ scenes that go on as part of BDSM. Humiliation in terms of putting someone down and making them hate themselves is bullying and is nothing to do with the consensual humiliation that goes on in a scene. It is back to the same old problem – you expect everyone to accept that hitting your partner with a flogger isn’t domestic violence, but you go crazy if someone wants to call their lover a slut? You negotiated the flogging, why do you assume they have not negotiated the name-calling?

I have had little experience in humiliation. I am ambivalent about it. It took a long time to get into because I was always careful to check where my subs limits were and sometimes she took to it more than other times. I have often worried that BDSM might negatively affect her self-esteem but the combined effect of observing her after BDSM and giving her a great deal of love, care and affection have convinced me that I shouldn’t worry.

However, pick up ‘Screw the Roses’ and you find Molly Devon saying how terrible it is that a man would want to call a woman a slut. Great one Molly, strike one up for tolerance of other people’s tastes! Some people like that – men are supposed to like being insulted more than women but I wonder sometimes if that is a reluctance on the part of women to admit it.

Possibly, like with rape, it is playing with a very sensitive part of the mind.

Some people like humiliation. It is different to the humiliation you see every day in the supermarket or the pub and the key is self-esteem. People who enjoy humiliation find it sexually exciting and therefore build their self-esteem through it (sex is a good thing, right?). There really does need to be a point where instead of turning on the things that other people do that we don’t understand, we start looking at their motives for doing them.

Well, listen up – people play kinky games they are good if they are safe, if they are sane and if they are consensual. If you do these things out of love and self-respect for yourself and your partner then everything else is detail. Chains, ropes, cross-dressing, peeing, flogging, partly-clothed, rough, any orifice used, rape play, humiliation, electric toys … it is all just detail.

What we have in common is the love we have for our partners and ourselves, we all express it differently.

A busy week...

2004-09-23T20:02:00.000-05:00

Too much to do at work and class ran very late Wednesday night. Couple that with the fact that W was traveling on her own audits and it has been a long week. Nonetheless I found time to place the ad. Simple and no so veiled..."Sir Stephen seeks his O. Serious only." The ad and voice mail are free- I'll keep you posted on what develops since it was published today.

2004-09-17T17:47:00.000-05:00

It is a measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick environment...

9/17/04 Starting with Some Original Fiction Or Is It?

2004-09-17T16:46:00.000-05:00

At first glance, we knew we’d changed. She had some wrinkles and I was graying. Her hair was shorter-red; mine thinning. She was a state provided widower, while I was ending a mid life crisis. Life had made her tough as nails while I, somehow, had maintained my sensitivity. As we embraced, our bodies provided confirmation, we’d grown fleshy. Though we had changed-the intentions hadn’t.
I removed my glasses. My tongue slipped into her mouth. She met it with hers-thrusting-darting-playing tag. I was stunned and enflamed to find her kiss was still the same and that old familiarity was still capable of producing the heat of attraction. I didn’t know if old loves or old lusts died harder.
I reached for her breast, cupped it, caressed it. It was a softer, fleshier thing, no longer pert and perky, time having done its work well. What her breast lacked in lift had been replaced with substance but lacked the pendulous appearance of a National Geographic photo shoot.
I moved to her back, shoulders and down to the small of her back. I wondered if that lovely spot still existed. It did but had lost little definition. Good. That evened things up. I buried myself in dedicated kissing, losing myself in arousal, striving to be free of the burden of aging.
I pinched her nipple lightly with two fingers. “You can still go bra less.” I said pulling away from her kiss. “At the beach you used to drive me nuts when your nipples got hard. You know, the way your nipples would show through.”
She giggled: “Womanly badges.”
I started nibbling on her ear. “And still arresting!”
I prayed that with age came wisdom once our clothes were off.
A jolt between my legs told me to stop worrying and start enjoying. A jolt like that had started it all, years ago in younger days. I was in the front seat with her, our friends in the back seat, cruising, she driving, and, as we turned a corner, I leaned into her. I put my hand on her knee, as if to balance myself. An electric touch, it had forced me to a decision, lose the girlfriend and make myself available to her.
The touch was still electric enough to make me available yet again.
We shed our tops and our torsos pressed the flesh. Her warmth and the now exposed skin were familiarity, renewed. We rubbed our bodies together-petting body slams-and my hands strayed to her breasts. Fingers tugged at both nipples while my mouth travailed downward for follow up. I recalled, rightly so, that my mouth upon her nipples would flare the fuel between both our legs.
She went for the belt buckle, then the zipper, to free me. My cock firm and ready, and her hand grasping and eager, raced to meet each other. She remembered the spire I was, the girth that had satisfied, and as she caressed the length, I realized I’d forgotten the actual feel of her-soft with a volcanic inner core. I moaned, she still sucking. I swayed backwards onto the bed, wanting her to explore more of me, me wanting to reclaim what I’d once known so well.
Letting go of each other, I helped her shimmy from her Dolce and Gabbana, surprised to find her pantiless and shaved.
“No bush,” I smiled, bringing my fingers to her mons, touching, exploring, examining the crevices as if I had never seen them before.
“You remember the time I mixed Summer Blonde with sea water and tried to bleach your hair, don’t you?”
“Yeah ,” I said. “But I thought you were being weird and I thought it was a sacrifice on my part. Of course years later , I realized I was the weird one.”
“No, no you weren’t. I was the weird one. Still am.”
“So you claim.”
“Ah, your old habit of self effacement!” The volcanic core in another form.
Aware of her subtle attitude, I smiled gently, focused on her pussy, examining her. I placed a finger on her clit , imperceptible movements making her groan.
“I understand how to work this better,” I told her, gazing into her eyes briefly, returning to her clit. My finger again began to circle it, rubbing, the build up slow, never any direct contact, working her arousal. But I was also intent on exploring her nuances and folds and I spread her with my other hand. There I found a surprise.
“Whoa!”
“Labia rings…”
“I see.”
“Go ahead, touch them. You can even tug on them.”
I was tentative in my approach, in that initial touch, so like a new lover with a virgin, showing her the ropes of her pleasure.
She demonstrated, tugging, rotating the rings, then directing my fingers back into place. I laughed, softly but sensitively.
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do that stuff. Make love to me the old way and I’ll be more than satisfied.”
I smiled and went down on her. My tongue knowing more now than then, so much so that it forced me to stop comparing the past and present.
I concentrated on her clit, swirling, pressing, lips gently nipping now and then for added effect. Fingers wandering, playing with the rings then finding their way into her. Wet, hot, she accepting them greedily. I remembered how sometimes I would eat her to such arousal that I feared her screams would bring others as rescuers. How she cater to my craving, accepting three fingers to the knuckles. How we had been too inexperienced to know we were toying with fisting.
Now, imagining the possibility of completing that play, her every little twitch became a warning to her orgasm, the thought of taking her, imagining all of that, while my tongue and fingers played with her, she came.
A new eagerness exploded with that orgasm. “Let me suck you,” she begged.
I pulled away from her. Shedding my pants completely. “No,” she said as I hovered over her. “My way. I need the control!”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Say yes.”
“Yes!”
I sank my length into her. “I want you,” I said by way of explanation. I started moving and said: “You’re wetter than I remember.”
“Things change,” she managed to gasp before caving to my fullness.
“Good, you feel incredible. Just right.”
I took a nipple, making it go the motions.
“And you taste delicious, you know that?”
She kissed me to prove it.
I knew how to mix just so, deep strokes, long and succulent; drawing the head to the edges of the labia, teasing, shallow; swift ones to test her, wear her down. She neared. She knew I knew she was close. I plunged into her, bottoming out.
“Grab my ass,” she begged me. “Please.”
I did and she cried out, bucking at the feel of my fingers grabbing her cheeks, digging into her flesh. I lowered my head, taking her nipple in, first sucking then nipping. She exploded around me. I deep within, her clutches, spasming, my own lightheadedness as the bed rocked and creaked its complaints. She went limp beneath me but retained her grip. I watched as she rested and returned to lucidity, me slowly but relentlessly thrusting the whole time, as if it was some minor habit.
“Roll over,” I said, withdrawing.
She did and uttered, “Good God.”
I gasped and knew why she cried out when I had grabbed her ass. Bruises. Compliments of a recent spanking.
I touched her gingerly and, though she flinched fully and suddenly, she also moaned with the same passion she had expressed with my other touches. I knew now but still waxed serious, the past catching up with me.
“I did this to you,” I said remorseful. “I made you a masochist.”
“Your love made me a masochist,” she declared firmly, sparing me the reproach. “Forget the details, come on, forget it. Take me!”
She backed into me and pressed me into her. I took aim and entered. She gave ground grudgingly but welcomed the penetration. I felt reluctant.
“You can’t hurt me,” she counseled. “Just do me.”
I took her by the hips and slowly worked her. She became noisy. Stroke by stroke, I convinced myself that I could not hurt her. I relented and indulged myself by plundering her. She upped the decibels, begging me to work harder, to tear her up, to rut her, to never stop.
In times past that would have sent me over and I would’ve come. Maybe it was the poor choice of words. Tear me up, only works on a sadist.
“Roll over.”
She did. I draped her legs over my shoulders, her ass angled upwards. I resumed the sodomy. I played with her nipples, pinching and pulling. An old trick, my failsafe. She started shaking head to toe. She was nearing, again, just like old times but me in a new venue.
“Oh God.” The signal was the same, timeless.
I slammed into her, repeatedly, relentlessly-finally groaning, shivering, remorseless as I became rigid so I could better feel each ejaculation. Wet warmth flooding her leaving me shivering, chilled and guilt ridden.
Just like old times. . .
//
Downtime followed. Lying there we resumed looking at each other’s bodies. Memorizing them. Our skins were softer, our bodies fuller in spots, yet my cock and her cunt looked essentially the same. And they spoke to each other in the same way as long ago.
But we weren’t just cock and cunt. Our entireties had changed, bodily in countless little ways, our essence in ways profound.
I looked at her now wanting to revel in the body before me but too perplexed. Happiness couldn’t be had here. The gulf between us too large for anything but solace and love.
You can’t go home I wanted to tell her but words failed me so I drew her head to my chest, held her, caressed her hair.
She sighed and started, “I wish. . .”
“Shhh. I know. I wish too.”
Long ago though, I learned that wishes don’t sustain: dreams do. And, laying there, with her in my arms, I realized the harshness of the world had dashed both our dreams and those dreams that came after didn’t include her because I was incapable of embracing them. Because, years ago, after her, I had abandoned my own singular chance at sustenance and gypsied my way through life, forever too skittish to trust again in dreams, forever avoiding them.
And, despite my own longing to have her and have her often, I could live with the limitations of her being with another. Love had indeed made her a masochist and me a sadist. A good one at that. The only problem from where I sat is the realization that I was a sadist didn’t make me flinch.