Tag: BDSM

  • I have some pretty mixed feelings about maintenance spankings.

    I’m not a fan of punishing, or being punished, without there being a good reason. My mind and my heart are the most relaxed and comfortable when the world is more clearly black and white, where good deeds are recorded and bad things are punished.

    Maintenance spankings should definitely be a part of that.

    Ideally, a sub or a slave should to be spanked because it has done an acceptable job. But the reality of the world mean that it will inevitably make mistakes, whether the slave is aware of it or not.

    So I “enjoy” maintenance spankings. In my mind, it is important to have a regular avenue for the punishing and forgiving of the guilt that I feel, even if I can’t remember them. It’s for things like not holding the door for others, or accidentally saying the wrong things, or maybe having the wrong kind of thoughts.

  • pup owner

    The greatest joy and reward of being a pup — especially being @LifestyleOwner’s pup — is the deep sense of belonging and ownership. I finally began to feel it a few days ago, when I woke up one morning and realized that, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel lonely. Even though I had woken up alone, as I often am, I no longer felt lonely.

    Even though rationally I knew that I was in Chicago and he in Houston, it felt like he was only in the other room, and all I needed to do was to get up and wander over and I’d see him there.

    My owner is not only my owner and my Dominant, but he is my best friend and the center of my universe. In pup space, he is the partner of cuddles, the giver of treats, and the source of scritches. He is all things good and happy; he is my owner, and I am his pup, and I am so much better because of it.

  • Connor had been serving Master Kyle for a little under a year. They had first began communicating online; Connor had read his Master’s profile and found the description to be quite alluring.

    He couldn’t remember who had messaged first, but it was probably him, since his Master was usually far too busy for such things. But their conversations quickly turned both sexual and sensational — Connor soon felt some deep connection, some primal instinct that just seemed to lure him to this man.

    It wasn’t just that Master Kyle’s desires and fantasies seemed so hot, so sexual, so perfect for him. The man seemed to understand him in a way that no one else ever had. For the first time, Connor felt seen. It made him excited and afraid. It made him feel powerful and vulnerable.

    At first, their dynamic was slow, gentle, limited by what little time they had to chat and whatever was possible through the medium. Connor would get little orders throughout the day.

    Do ten pushups, now, wherever you are. Find a spot that’s out of the way but where you’re clearly visible to everyone out and about, strip off your shirt, and take a picture. The next time you need to pee, go into the stall, and hold it for a full five minutes before you let go.

    Connor loved every second of it.


    It had been a few months before their relationship took a turn. Connor returned home one day to find a small package sitting in front of his door. There was no mailing label, no sticker, no markings. Just a brown box sealed with a strip of tape.

    His phone had run as soon as he picked it up — the shrill ping that signaled this wasn’t just another notification, but one from Master Kyle. Got my present, boy?

    I found an unmarked box at my door. Is that what you mean, Sir?

    Yes. It’s a gift and a proposition. If it’s what you want, this is the next step to ownership. Let me know what you think after you’ve opened it.

    Moments later, there it was, sitting on Connor’s dining table: a chastity cage. The first of what would be a series of cages he’d wear. Master Kyle had included a lock in the box, but no key.

    Connor had thought about it for hours. For a while, he just sat there, staring at the cage, picking it up and running his fingers over the smoothed edges and the polished black surface. He remembering putting the pieces together to see how it would fit, and then letting the cage come apart again so he could ponder his decision.

    He had seen cages like these before, and he knew that he could get himself out of them if he was soft enough and willing to put up with a little bit of twisting.

    But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t the question that had been posed to Connor. It was about the commitment, the determination, the question posed by then-Sir Kyle about what Connor wanted from him, from the relationship. Was he willing to surrender?

    Yes, Connor had known his answer from the moment he saw the cage. But admitting that it was true — that it was what he really wanted — took a lot longer. He had to settle down the voices in his head warning him that this was a huge risk. That it was dangerous. That he could get hurt. That, perhaps, this surrender of power, of control, was something he wasn’t ready for.

    It was four hours before he picked up his phone again.

    I think yes. I’m ready.

    The reply was immediate. Then put on the cage, boy. From now on, you’re to refer to me as Master. Got it?

  • Connor was washing a small plate when he heard the whirring. The sound of the garage door opening was unmistakable. His Master was home.

    He quickly dried his hands on the dish towel and scurried over to the door. He only had a few seconds to get into position. Master never rushed to get out of the car, but the garage was only so big and being unprepared when his Master opened the door was not an option.

    The boy made it to the door in record time, and let himself fall onto the ground, knees crashing into the gray-blue tile. Owwww. In the next few seconds, Connor assumed the position. Shoulders back. Chest forwards. Eyes on the ground. Hands behind, just by the hips. Kneeling. Presenting. Just as his Master ordered. Just the way Master liked it.

    Then, he waited.

    It might have been less than a minute before the door actually opened, but to Connor it felt like an eternity. Every moment seemed to drag on forever, time slushing from one second to the next, as Connor waited for his Master to open the door. The deafening silence of the house did little to drown out the noises in Connor’s head. Master is back. Master is home. Master is safe. Master is —

    “Boy,” his Master growled, his voice slicing through Connor’s thoughts.

    Connor said nothing. He knew better from his training. He just stayed there, kneeling on the floor, letting the cold air from the garage rush over his naked body. The chill caused the hairs on the boy’s arms and neck to prick up, staying taunt and upright even as his Master ran his callused hands over the skin.

    After a few moments, his Master stepped back, his tall figure towering over the much-smaller boy.

    “Good. Now get to it, slave.”

    Connor didn’t need to be told twice. In the blink of an eye, he was crouched over his Master’s dress shoes, licking every surface until it was spotless. Connor did the left shoe first, ensuring he got as much dirt off as possible — not that there was much dirt to begin with — before moving onto the right. He used his tongue to spread a bit of the saliva over the top of each shoe, so the water could gleam in the light. Just as his Master liked it.

    The foot pulled away. Connor’s job was done. He sat back up, still silent, careful to keep this eyes on the floor and avoiding catching his Master’s gaze.

    “Report, boy,” his Master thundered.

    “The laundry’s all done, folded, and put away, Master,” said Connor, crisply. “The kitchen and bathroom floors have been vacuumed and mopped; the living room dusted; and most of the dishes are drying in the dishwasher. It was just washing the hand-wash-only items when you returned, Master.”

    His Master didn’t reply immediately. In the silence that followed, Connor couldn’t tell if his Master was pleased or disappointed. The boy hoped that his Master would be satisfied with that amount of work. But you couldn’t be sure. Master had high standards, and Connor knew he would raise them as soon as he felt his slave houseboy was getting complacent.

    Was he going to be praised? Punished? Or just ignored? Connor’s heart was beating with so much anxiety that the boy swore it was going to break out of his chest.

    Then: “Good job, slave boy. Get back to it.”

    Connor scurried back to the kitchen in a flash. “Yes, Master!”

    Praised. Definitely praised.


  • Ownership

    own (2 of 3), verb
    owned; owning; owns
    transitive verb

    1)
    a) to have or hold as property : POSSESS
    b) to have power or mastery over
    2)
    to acknowledge to be true, valid, or as claimed : ADMIT

    I think I’ve always been lonely. Or, rather, I can’t think of a memory in which I didn’t feel alone in some way.

    The idea that there will be someone — that there will always be someone — who wants to spend time with me, to hang out with me, to celebrate with me and to just be with me is… incredibly foreign.

    So I’m pretty sure that’s why the concept of ownership appeals to me so much. Here is someone, an Owner, who has consciously and deliberately chosen to own me; to take control, yes, but also to take responsibility, to share in the successes and to ground the failures.

    In a nutshell, by Him being in my life, I am no longer as alone.

    I imagine that I could emphasize with other pups, assuming we could converse. I love that moment when a dog realizes that they’ve been adopted — that they’re joining a loving family which will feed them well, keep them warm, give them pets and hugs, throw a ball for them to fetch and hook on a leash for them to walk.

    I envy that moment. I yearn for that moment.

    A power exchange dynamic like Master/slave, Handler/pet, or Owner/object, might seem incredibly one-sided from an outside perspective — or several perspectives, really. After all, the Dominant has so much power. And a more extreme dynamic might mean that the sub’s entire identity is subsumed into that of the Dominant: there is no independent personhood, just being the Dom’s “thing”Insert appropriate submissive role/position/identity here.

    But the truth is, my Owner would be mine as much as I would be His.

    He’s the one whose orders I obey above all else. He’s the one I know I can trust more than anybody else. He’s the one who feeds me well, keeps me warm, gives me pets and hugs, throws a ball for me to fetch and hooks on a leash for me to walk.

    For he is the Owner. My Owner.