"The amount of time and effort she has put into it all – for me, for us – is a declarative, Dominant love statement of the highest order."
I love how clearly you see that.
I love how clearly you see that.
It all started with a podcast
- Thread starter Now Alexandra
- Start date
Thanks. She always says “priorities dictate actions.” Clearly I’m the priority and the dynamic is the priority. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to guess on the amount of thought that goes into it all, but it has to be substantial. Makes me feel very loved.
That makes me and others happy for you Alexandra. Sometimes it might seem dark, but the underlying truth is that there IS that love that you and all humans need.
What a wild comment. Made me laugh. Bad news and good news:
The bad news is, it doesn’t work that way. It’s not “choose your own adventure.”
The good news is, there’s more of Ryan to come.
Curiously enough, when you search for CYOA porn, the first author to come up is named Ryan.
Coincidence? You decide...
263.
It was Saturday night. Our other “date night”. In this case, a three-way date night. Ryan would be coming out with us. I had just finished wiping down the sink and waiting for my wife to finish showering so I could hop in when she was done. She came out of our bedroom smiling and naked. “I wanted to let you know,” she said, “if tonight goes well, I’m going to have Ryan sleep over.”
Since my mid-level meltdown, my wife had surprisingly been a little softer towards me. As much as being a brat tends to make life harder on myself, I think she saw that I was in a headspace where critical mass had been temporarily reached and she needed to be a bit more discerning with her Dominance. And I’m not naïve: our house – her house – has rules on rules on rules. It’s a Dominant machine that doesn’t need much maintenance from her unless I’m spiraling off the reservation. She rarely has to go full bitch; I’m as meek as a field mouse.
My wife had “made good” on her two-day pledge to require me to kneel and be silent whenever she came around. It was awful. No one is harder on us than ourselves. So, I slept on the floor for two nights. I cleaned the kitchen boards on my hands and knees that night after she let me worship her pussy. I gathered up the rice too. I didn’t like it, but I admit that I loved she followed through. (Like there was ever a doubt). Since then, it had been smooth sailing. I intended for it to remain that way.
It was nice of her to let me know her plans about Ryan. It made me feel more connected to her and the night ahead. I wanted to ask her intentions for who would be in the bed. But it really didn’t matter when I thought about it. My recent punishment notwithstanding, she’d always ensured I was next to her at bedtime, even when she was with a lover.
I understood her interest in Ryan. The guy is objectively easy on the eyes. Thick, tousled black hair (not the only thing that’s thick), beautiful blue eyes, sharp jaw, athletic body. I don’t even find guys attractive, but I know when one is. And he is.
But, as I stepped into the shower, the ramifications of what she was planning hit me. He’d be entering our world. Seeing where we sleep, eat, play and work. Our home is my safe space. I wanted it to all go well and not have that violated. And where was this all leading? Because with Ryan here, he was likely to be her focus. It was one thing to have her focused on him when we were someplace else. It was quite another to have her focused on him … here.
It was arousing too. I think she told me so I’d have to sit and stew in it.
__
So, we went for drinks. And the drinks went down well. And Ryan did all the good “Ryan things” and before I knew it, I was following the two of them back to our house. And that’s when the anticipation and uncertainty really kicked in. She was obviously going to fuck him. Would we hang out for a little bit first or would they get right to it? Would it happen in our bed or someplace else?
Just do your part and stop getting worked up.
It turned out that we hung for a long while. It was almost midnight by the time we went to bed. And that’s when the rest of my questions were answered. She was in the middle. Ryan was to her left. I was to her right. They didn’t just fuck. They fucked with me less than three inches away in the same bed. That immediacy put me into emotional overload. I could see it, hear it, feel the bed moving … her leg touched mine several times, his arm did too and, at times, his thrusting into her pushed her into me. The connection to it all was mind-blowing. At one point she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight and I swooned so deeply.
That’s the person I love … right there.
It was impossible not to compare bodies. Ryan, decidedly male and strong. Me, decidedly female and soft. It was all very raw. I didn’t have a role other than being there. That made it difficult. All I know is, I couldn’t look away. As hard as parts of it were to see and as emotional as it was to have her lover in our bed and feel their energy, I was also grateful that I was included. At one point, he had rolled off of her and I rolled onto her and kissed her sweetly and feeling their sweat on her body remains one of the most intimate submissive moments I have ever experienced. The warmth. The wetness. I’m getting horny just writing about it.
We had crossed a boundary together. Everything was changing and ramping and we were doing all of it without a net. It brought on a feeling of submissive closeness that was different and better than it had ever felt before.
It was Saturday night. Our other “date night”. In this case, a three-way date night. Ryan would be coming out with us. I had just finished wiping down the sink and waiting for my wife to finish showering so I could hop in when she was done. She came out of our bedroom smiling and naked. “I wanted to let you know,” she said, “if tonight goes well, I’m going to have Ryan sleep over.”
Since my mid-level meltdown, my wife had surprisingly been a little softer towards me. As much as being a brat tends to make life harder on myself, I think she saw that I was in a headspace where critical mass had been temporarily reached and she needed to be a bit more discerning with her Dominance. And I’m not naïve: our house – her house – has rules on rules on rules. It’s a Dominant machine that doesn’t need much maintenance from her unless I’m spiraling off the reservation. She rarely has to go full bitch; I’m as meek as a field mouse.
My wife had “made good” on her two-day pledge to require me to kneel and be silent whenever she came around. It was awful. No one is harder on us than ourselves. So, I slept on the floor for two nights. I cleaned the kitchen boards on my hands and knees that night after she let me worship her pussy. I gathered up the rice too. I didn’t like it, but I admit that I loved she followed through. (Like there was ever a doubt). Since then, it had been smooth sailing. I intended for it to remain that way.
It was nice of her to let me know her plans about Ryan. It made me feel more connected to her and the night ahead. I wanted to ask her intentions for who would be in the bed. But it really didn’t matter when I thought about it. My recent punishment notwithstanding, she’d always ensured I was next to her at bedtime, even when she was with a lover.
I understood her interest in Ryan. The guy is objectively easy on the eyes. Thick, tousled black hair (not the only thing that’s thick), beautiful blue eyes, sharp jaw, athletic body. I don’t even find guys attractive, but I know when one is. And he is.
But, as I stepped into the shower, the ramifications of what she was planning hit me. He’d be entering our world. Seeing where we sleep, eat, play and work. Our home is my safe space. I wanted it to all go well and not have that violated. And where was this all leading? Because with Ryan here, he was likely to be her focus. It was one thing to have her focused on him when we were someplace else. It was quite another to have her focused on him … here.
It was arousing too. I think she told me so I’d have to sit and stew in it.
__
So, we went for drinks. And the drinks went down well. And Ryan did all the good “Ryan things” and before I knew it, I was following the two of them back to our house. And that’s when the anticipation and uncertainty really kicked in. She was obviously going to fuck him. Would we hang out for a little bit first or would they get right to it? Would it happen in our bed or someplace else?
Just do your part and stop getting worked up.
It turned out that we hung for a long while. It was almost midnight by the time we went to bed. And that’s when the rest of my questions were answered. She was in the middle. Ryan was to her left. I was to her right. They didn’t just fuck. They fucked with me less than three inches away in the same bed. That immediacy put me into emotional overload. I could see it, hear it, feel the bed moving … her leg touched mine several times, his arm did too and, at times, his thrusting into her pushed her into me. The connection to it all was mind-blowing. At one point she grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight and I swooned so deeply.
That’s the person I love … right there.
It was impossible not to compare bodies. Ryan, decidedly male and strong. Me, decidedly female and soft. It was all very raw. I didn’t have a role other than being there. That made it difficult. All I know is, I couldn’t look away. As hard as parts of it were to see and as emotional as it was to have her lover in our bed and feel their energy, I was also grateful that I was included. At one point, he had rolled off of her and I rolled onto her and kissed her sweetly and feeling their sweat on her body remains one of the most intimate submissive moments I have ever experienced. The warmth. The wetness. I’m getting horny just writing about it.
We had crossed a boundary together. Everything was changing and ramping and we were doing all of it without a net. It brought on a feeling of submissive closeness that was different and better than it had ever felt before.
Top to bottom... jesus... I know this is not that forum, and I know this makes me sound dumb... but top to bottom when dusting...Because I clean top-to-bottom so that dust can’t resettle and I check what I clean under direct light so there’s no missed spots, uneven areas or streaks.
He works great for all those high chores: crown molding, lighting, the tops of the fridge, the top shelves of our closets and our hutch. Stuff like that. I named him Larry … because ladder. He’s a good friend.
264.
She’d left the note on the kitchen island and I found it just after 8AM. Session anticipation can be so powerful. I must have read the note ten times and I was turned on all day to the point I had trouble concentrating while I was working.
I switched off my computer just after five-o-clock. I went into our closet and undressed. I debated keeping my nude thigh-highs on and decided to change it up, electing go with black fishnet stockings and 5-inch heels with ankle straps. I unclasped my bra and put it in the laundry. Then I walked into our playroom, took note of my favorite dildo on our fucking machine, dropped to my knees and shuffled into my open cage to wait for my wife.
I heard her before I saw her. High heels on hardwood are not subtle and I felt my submissive intensity ramping as her steps came closer.
“Good girl,” she said, when she turned into the playroom and saw me waiting in my crate. “How many times did you read it?”
“At least ten,” I admitted.
“Obsession,” she said. I could hear her smile.
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
“Out,” she ordered. I backed my way out of the cage and into my humble pose. She reached for me and took a handful of hair, tilting my eyes to her and then cupping my chin. “You look so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Up,” she said. “Chaise.”
I got up and moved carefully over to our chaise. I felt her hand grab a handful of my hair as she guided my head to the dildo and lifted the head slightly. "Kiss," she ordered. Then I climbed into position, my body draped over the chaise, my limbs ready for restraint, my ass exposed, awaiting whatever she had planned. She tightened my wrists first and then locked in my ankles just above the straps of my heels. Each limb she tightened down pulled me deeper into the submissive headspace I desperately crave. She goes slower now, because she knows the effect the anticipation has on me.
“You are never more beautiful than you are when you’re helpless,” she said.
“I never feel more beautiful than I do when I’m like this,” I flirted.
“Good,” she said, matter-of-factly.
The first taps from the crop were luxurious. It was clear I needed this session. Everything felt heightened. Taps turned to light slaps and then into hits. She’d be marking me now and I was crying out with each impact. Every so often she would stop and run her hand up my thighs, finding my chastity cage, caressing my tiny sac and teasing my hole.
I heard her move our Maestro fucking machine, aka “Trevor”, into position and felt the lube on my bottom. In one consistent, firm motion she pushed the dildo inside of me. I felt the white heat course through me as my first ring processed the expansion and my body reacted. I had training that morning, so accommodating a larger dildo didn’t require much warm up, even with the size of the knot in the middle of it. “You take it so easy now,” she commented. I did. I usually have something in my ass every day. I love the feeling. I felt her apply more lube and then she switched the machine on, low and slow. I moaned.
“Stay with me now,” she teased. “I want you right here.”
“I am,” I breathed.
“Good,” she said. “Tonight is ‘truth night’ – we’ll see how well you do on the lie detector.”
We had played this game before, but it had been a long time. Back when my tiny, useless thing still worked and edging was the focus, she would repeatedly bring me to the brink of orgasm and extract all manner of dirty confessions and declarations from me. It was the ultimate carrot-and-stick and it progressed so much of our dynamic – feminization or otherwise – with increased speed. If she planned on doing the same using the fucking machine, this was going to be a long, unforgettable night.
“Tell me something true,” she ordered, increasing the speed of the machine slightly.
“I love you,” I said.
“That’s an easy one. I love you too. What else?” she asked.
“I belong to you.”
“Yes, you do.”
We must have played like this for five minutes. Easy truths. A little sass. And then she upped the ante. Instead of putting me in the obedience chair, she switched my position on the chaise so I was lying on my back with support underneath my lower back, upturning my bottom. It’s my favorite position because whatever is fucking me hits me just right. She knows it too and took her time adjusting me, the support and the machine. It was so luxurious and sexy to just lie back and let her position and restrain me. I felt so open and ready and relaxed, which is how she wants me to always feel.
“Dressed up, locked down and very horny,” she teased.
Then she re-lubed and put Trevor back inside me. Heaven. The nipple clamps came next and I cried out with each application. She didn’t stop there. Instead, she climbed on top of me and put the machine remote on my stomach. Then she positioned herself over my face, her panties enticingly close to my mouth and nose.
“How bad do you want it?” she teased.
“So bad,” I said.
“Why should I give it to you?”
“Because you love me.”
She increased the speed on the machine. The way she had me positioned, it all felt so right, the knot of the dildo rubbing my cum-button with each thrust and return. It didn’t take long before I began to feel the familiar warmth starting in my groin.
For me, anal sex sensations start with my hole, but slowly migrate forward. For a period, everything is a bit blurry. I can feel sensation in both places. By the time I near the point of orgasm, while the thrusting is still coming from the back, my entire pleasure center is in front. I have to focus on the thrusting to even know it is still happening. If I don’t, which is typical, all I feel is building in my groin. As that dials in tighter and tighter, I can feel my orgasm rising, and when those feelings are laser-focused I go over the edge.
She slid her panties to the side and positioned her pussy two inches from my mouth. “Beg me for it.”
“Please,” I pleaded.
“Again.”
“Please, Mistress.”
She dipped down and I felt her slick, velvety folds. I began to worship her with my tongue, but she lifted herself away.
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
She dipped again and lifted away, taking a moment to adjust the speed again. She was turning up the volume on me ever-so-slowly - the fucking machine was still moving at a leisurely pace.
“I’m going to wring that hungry little pussy out,” she said.
And she did. She would tease me and then pull away and inch-up the machine speed. Then she’d do it again. I could feel the increasing warmth. This particular Bad Dragon dildo she was using is, as she likes to call it, the “slut-maker.” It’s a fitting name, because it feels so good that I never want it to stop fucking me. It’s large and taking the knot took practice, but now when it’s inside me I feel so blissfully full. It’s almost like the size touches everything and the knot hits perfectly. I love it. I could feel the stirrings of my orgasm beginning and I let out a soft moan.
“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I love watching you take cock for me.”
I just nodded my head. Subspace was beginning to take me and my entire being was focused on the thrust and return of my tormenting, slut-making, dildo God. She dipped her pussy onto me again. This time she left it there, ramping my excitement higher. There’s something so erotic about her when she’s over me like that. I can’t move and she’s in total control and above me where she belongs. It’s the strict definition of pussy-worship.
“Pray to it,” she whispered.
I was lost inside her and she began to run her hands up my inner thighs from my knees to my cage. It felt like she was coaxing my orgasm. She pressed into me harder.
For a long time, anal orgasms were a fleeting occurrence. I was capable of having them, but months could pass before I would have another one. I would always get close, but struggled to go over the edge. Through consistent training over the course of years, I had flipped the ratio to the point I was capable of having a semi-consistent orgasm if I had the time. This session was proving to have more than enough of it. She was going to push me over the edge and give me the waves of pleasure I craved.
Anal cums are far stronger than penile ones. The peak is as intense as those first two seconds of penile eruption, but the sensation cascades throughout my entire body in waves and can last for the better part of two minutes with aftershocks happening long after. Said another way, picture how intense it feels to be jerking off and reaching the point of orgasm and eruption, expand that feeling from your head to your toes and ride that full-body intensity for an entire television commercial break. That’s how good an anal orgasm feels. I’m on a different planet when I go through it. I’m completely out of control.
And she had me right there. She knew it too. She lifted off me and slowed the speed. I was tantalizingly close … and now she was playing with me.
“No,” I cried out.
“Yes,” she teased.
She turned up the intensity again and pressed her now soaking wet pussy back onto my face.
“Should I let you cum for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Beg me.”
“Please.” I was so close. She pulled away again and slowed the speed. “No!” I pleaded.
She turned the fucking machine back up and sat back down on me, caressing my thighs again. I felt so open. Eager. I was reaching overload and she knew it. Each time I got close she slowed it all down and brought me back from the edge. Then she’d turn it back up and press her cunt to my face. I couldn’t take much more.
“Oh, baby,” she cooed. “I own that ass, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I pleaded.
“Tell me how much you need cock.”
“I need cock.”
“You want it every day.”
“Every day.”
Every couple of questions she’d press her pussy into me for a few seconds and then pull it away.
“You love serving me.”
“I love serving you.”
“You love being a maid, don’t you?”
“I love it.”
“You live to serve me, don’t you?
“I live to serve you.”
She pressed down and pulled away again. My face was soaked.
“Should I get you another uniform?”
“Yes, please.”
“Leave no doubt what you are?” she teased.
“Yes.”
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
“You’re just a dirty, fucking whore.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m just a dirty, fucking whore.”
“You’re my bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it,” she ordered.
“I’m your bitch.”
“Anything I want?”
“Anything.”
“Beg me to cum.”
“Please let me cum.”
“Here you go, baby,” she said. She turned up the volume, knowing I love it really hard and fast to get me over the edge. She pressed her pussy into my face and grinded on me. That put me into overload. She came first, which was heaven, crying out as I felt her weight on top of me. I pressed into her as hard as I could, desperate for her sweetness. A few moments later I felt the laser focus as the thrust and return of the dildo continued its erotic assault on my button.
“Ooooooh. Ooooooh!” I was involuntarily trying to wave my arms as my orgasm exploded and my body convulsed. The restraints held strong, but the sensation was the same. I was swimming, deep in subspace and completely wrecked, my body undulating as the erotic charge coursed through me.
She had cum intensely too and was reveling in it so there was no one to switch off the machine. I was moaning and crying out, my entire body bucking against the restraints as Trevor continued to pound me into deep, orgasmic submission.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I repeated. I never wanted it to end. Eventually it had to. My wife – wobbly – reached over and switched off the machine, Trevor still inside of me. I was a gasping, gaping mess. Eventually, my wife covered me with a blanket and snuggled into me, both of us consumed by the afterglow. I was still tied and would have been happy if she left me like that for the next week.
The concessions I had made minutes earlier were not lost on me. It bothered me none. She was capable of making me feel things I never thought possible and I swooned to the realization that we’d be together forever. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was also a realist: if she could edge me anally – and clearly she just had proven she could – some new maid uniforms were likely the first little baby steps in a new game of carrot-and-stick. A game I would most decidedly “lose” and one that would potentially open the floodgates on the next phase of our journey.
It doesn’t happen often, but I knew at that moment we were both thinking the exact same thing:
Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, bitch.
My love, be ready for me tonight. – Mistress
She’d left the note on the kitchen island and I found it just after 8AM. Session anticipation can be so powerful. I must have read the note ten times and I was turned on all day to the point I had trouble concentrating while I was working.
I switched off my computer just after five-o-clock. I went into our closet and undressed. I debated keeping my nude thigh-highs on and decided to change it up, electing go with black fishnet stockings and 5-inch heels with ankle straps. I unclasped my bra and put it in the laundry. Then I walked into our playroom, took note of my favorite dildo on our fucking machine, dropped to my knees and shuffled into my open cage to wait for my wife.
I heard her before I saw her. High heels on hardwood are not subtle and I felt my submissive intensity ramping as her steps came closer.
“Good girl,” she said, when she turned into the playroom and saw me waiting in my crate. “How many times did you read it?”
“At least ten,” I admitted.
“Obsession,” she said. I could hear her smile.
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
“Out,” she ordered. I backed my way out of the cage and into my humble pose. She reached for me and took a handful of hair, tilting my eyes to her and then cupping my chin. “You look so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Up,” she said. “Chaise.”
I got up and moved carefully over to our chaise. I felt her hand grab a handful of my hair as she guided my head to the dildo and lifted the head slightly. "Kiss," she ordered. Then I climbed into position, my body draped over the chaise, my limbs ready for restraint, my ass exposed, awaiting whatever she had planned. She tightened my wrists first and then locked in my ankles just above the straps of my heels. Each limb she tightened down pulled me deeper into the submissive headspace I desperately crave. She goes slower now, because she knows the effect the anticipation has on me.
“You are never more beautiful than you are when you’re helpless,” she said.
“I never feel more beautiful than I do when I’m like this,” I flirted.
“Good,” she said, matter-of-factly.
The first taps from the crop were luxurious. It was clear I needed this session. Everything felt heightened. Taps turned to light slaps and then into hits. She’d be marking me now and I was crying out with each impact. Every so often she would stop and run her hand up my thighs, finding my chastity cage, caressing my tiny sac and teasing my hole.
I heard her move our Maestro fucking machine, aka “Trevor”, into position and felt the lube on my bottom. In one consistent, firm motion she pushed the dildo inside of me. I felt the white heat course through me as my first ring processed the expansion and my body reacted. I had training that morning, so accommodating a larger dildo didn’t require much warm up, even with the size of the knot in the middle of it. “You take it so easy now,” she commented. I did. I usually have something in my ass every day. I love the feeling. I felt her apply more lube and then she switched the machine on, low and slow. I moaned.
“Stay with me now,” she teased. “I want you right here.”
“I am,” I breathed.
“Good,” she said. “Tonight is ‘truth night’ – we’ll see how well you do on the lie detector.”
We had played this game before, but it had been a long time. Back when my tiny, useless thing still worked and edging was the focus, she would repeatedly bring me to the brink of orgasm and extract all manner of dirty confessions and declarations from me. It was the ultimate carrot-and-stick and it progressed so much of our dynamic – feminization or otherwise – with increased speed. If she planned on doing the same using the fucking machine, this was going to be a long, unforgettable night.
“Tell me something true,” she ordered, increasing the speed of the machine slightly.
“I love you,” I said.
“That’s an easy one. I love you too. What else?” she asked.
“I belong to you.”
“Yes, you do.”
We must have played like this for five minutes. Easy truths. A little sass. And then she upped the ante. Instead of putting me in the obedience chair, she switched my position on the chaise so I was lying on my back with support underneath my lower back, upturning my bottom. It’s my favorite position because whatever is fucking me hits me just right. She knows it too and took her time adjusting me, the support and the machine. It was so luxurious and sexy to just lie back and let her position and restrain me. I felt so open and ready and relaxed, which is how she wants me to always feel.
“Dressed up, locked down and very horny,” she teased.
Then she re-lubed and put Trevor back inside me. Heaven. The nipple clamps came next and I cried out with each application. She didn’t stop there. Instead, she climbed on top of me and put the machine remote on my stomach. Then she positioned herself over my face, her panties enticingly close to my mouth and nose.
“How bad do you want it?” she teased.
“So bad,” I said.
“Why should I give it to you?”
“Because you love me.”
She increased the speed on the machine. The way she had me positioned, it all felt so right, the knot of the dildo rubbing my cum-button with each thrust and return. It didn’t take long before I began to feel the familiar warmth starting in my groin.
For me, anal sex sensations start with my hole, but slowly migrate forward. For a period, everything is a bit blurry. I can feel sensation in both places. By the time I near the point of orgasm, while the thrusting is still coming from the back, my entire pleasure center is in front. I have to focus on the thrusting to even know it is still happening. If I don’t, which is typical, all I feel is building in my groin. As that dials in tighter and tighter, I can feel my orgasm rising, and when those feelings are laser-focused I go over the edge.
She slid her panties to the side and positioned her pussy two inches from my mouth. “Beg me for it.”
“Please,” I pleaded.
“Again.”
“Please, Mistress.”
She dipped down and I felt her slick, velvety folds. I began to worship her with my tongue, but she lifted herself away.
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
She dipped again and lifted away, taking a moment to adjust the speed again. She was turning up the volume on me ever-so-slowly - the fucking machine was still moving at a leisurely pace.
“I’m going to wring that hungry little pussy out,” she said.
And she did. She would tease me and then pull away and inch-up the machine speed. Then she’d do it again. I could feel the increasing warmth. This particular Bad Dragon dildo she was using is, as she likes to call it, the “slut-maker.” It’s a fitting name, because it feels so good that I never want it to stop fucking me. It’s large and taking the knot took practice, but now when it’s inside me I feel so blissfully full. It’s almost like the size touches everything and the knot hits perfectly. I love it. I could feel the stirrings of my orgasm beginning and I let out a soft moan.
“Feels so good, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I love watching you take cock for me.”
I just nodded my head. Subspace was beginning to take me and my entire being was focused on the thrust and return of my tormenting, slut-making, dildo God. She dipped her pussy onto me again. This time she left it there, ramping my excitement higher. There’s something so erotic about her when she’s over me like that. I can’t move and she’s in total control and above me where she belongs. It’s the strict definition of pussy-worship.
“Pray to it,” she whispered.
I was lost inside her and she began to run her hands up my inner thighs from my knees to my cage. It felt like she was coaxing my orgasm. She pressed into me harder.
For a long time, anal orgasms were a fleeting occurrence. I was capable of having them, but months could pass before I would have another one. I would always get close, but struggled to go over the edge. Through consistent training over the course of years, I had flipped the ratio to the point I was capable of having a semi-consistent orgasm if I had the time. This session was proving to have more than enough of it. She was going to push me over the edge and give me the waves of pleasure I craved.
Anal cums are far stronger than penile ones. The peak is as intense as those first two seconds of penile eruption, but the sensation cascades throughout my entire body in waves and can last for the better part of two minutes with aftershocks happening long after. Said another way, picture how intense it feels to be jerking off and reaching the point of orgasm and eruption, expand that feeling from your head to your toes and ride that full-body intensity for an entire television commercial break. That’s how good an anal orgasm feels. I’m on a different planet when I go through it. I’m completely out of control.
And she had me right there. She knew it too. She lifted off me and slowed the speed. I was tantalizingly close … and now she was playing with me.
“No,” I cried out.
“Yes,” she teased.
She turned up the intensity again and pressed her now soaking wet pussy back onto my face.
“Should I let you cum for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Beg me.”
“Please.” I was so close. She pulled away again and slowed the speed. “No!” I pleaded.
She turned the fucking machine back up and sat back down on me, caressing my thighs again. I felt so open. Eager. I was reaching overload and she knew it. Each time I got close she slowed it all down and brought me back from the edge. Then she’d turn it back up and press her cunt to my face. I couldn’t take much more.
“Oh, baby,” she cooed. “I own that ass, don’t I?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”
“Yes,” I pleaded.
“Tell me how much you need cock.”
“I need cock.”
“You want it every day.”
“Every day.”
Every couple of questions she’d press her pussy into me for a few seconds and then pull it away.
“You love serving me.”
“I love serving you.”
“You love being a maid, don’t you?”
“I love it.”
“You live to serve me, don’t you?
“I live to serve you.”
She pressed down and pulled away again. My face was soaked.
“Should I get you another uniform?”
“Yes, please.”
“Leave no doubt what you are?” she teased.
“Yes.”
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
“You’re just a dirty, fucking whore.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m just a dirty, fucking whore.”
“You’re my bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it,” she ordered.
“I’m your bitch.”
“Anything I want?”
“Anything.”
“Beg me to cum.”
“Please let me cum.”
“Here you go, baby,” she said. She turned up the volume, knowing I love it really hard and fast to get me over the edge. She pressed her pussy into my face and grinded on me. That put me into overload. She came first, which was heaven, crying out as I felt her weight on top of me. I pressed into her as hard as I could, desperate for her sweetness. A few moments later I felt the laser focus as the thrust and return of the dildo continued its erotic assault on my button.
“Ooooooh. Ooooooh!” I was involuntarily trying to wave my arms as my orgasm exploded and my body convulsed. The restraints held strong, but the sensation was the same. I was swimming, deep in subspace and completely wrecked, my body undulating as the erotic charge coursed through me.
She had cum intensely too and was reveling in it so there was no one to switch off the machine. I was moaning and crying out, my entire body bucking against the restraints as Trevor continued to pound me into deep, orgasmic submission.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” I repeated. I never wanted it to end. Eventually it had to. My wife – wobbly – reached over and switched off the machine, Trevor still inside of me. I was a gasping, gaping mess. Eventually, my wife covered me with a blanket and snuggled into me, both of us consumed by the afterglow. I was still tied and would have been happy if she left me like that for the next week.
The concessions I had made minutes earlier were not lost on me. It bothered me none. She was capable of making me feel things I never thought possible and I swooned to the realization that we’d be together forever. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I was also a realist: if she could edge me anally – and clearly she just had proven she could – some new maid uniforms were likely the first little baby steps in a new game of carrot-and-stick. A game I would most decidedly “lose” and one that would potentially open the floodgates on the next phase of our journey.
It doesn’t happen often, but I knew at that moment we were both thinking the exact same thing:
Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, bitch.
I get the fully fledged FLR you are living in, but I was wondering whether you think this could still have been achieved if you hadn’t transitioned? Given the idea of becoming female wasn’t something you had ever considered before the idea was initiated by your wife, could the lifestyle and dom/sub scenes like this still happen with you as a male?
Hi. Thanks for asking. I think this particular session and certainly many others (not just ours) are genderless when you boil down the physical: Tied up, impact play, tease play, etc.
For us/me, the mental and emotional part wouldn’t be the same, however. I obviously don’t know how the “old” me would think and feel. It’s all still in there, but how I experience life - and sessions - is very different now. The sensations are different. The vulnerabilities too.
The feminization “stuff” has lost all its power. Before, being dominated in thigh highs and heels had physical elements - how I looked - as well as the intense mental and emotional parts of all that came with it. Now those are foundational elements of what I wear every day. There’s no “humiliation” in it. It’s just what I wear. I have drawers and a closet full of lingerie. “Nice panties, you little bitch,” doesn’t make me blush. It makes me say “thank you.”
So she’s had to evolve her Dominance - including sessions - as well.
It’s a great question. Made me think. Thanks again.
Can’t wait to see pictures of you in your new maid costume。You are definitely gorgeous!
265.
“We are seeing Ryan again Friday. I’m planning to have him spend the weekend,” she said.
The weekend?
For a moment, I wanted to protest, but I stopped myself.
Let her do her. Let her be her.
We were in the sitting room recapping our day. I had news too. She hadn’t told me to stop vetting new guys, so I kept at it … and I had found one.
“He’s local,” I said. “Almost too local – like 8 minutes. He’s been ‘the third’ in a hotwife relationship before. He’s asking to meet for drinks and has no problem booking the hotel from there if it goes well.”
Alas, what seemed acceptable to me wasn’t acceptable to her. “No book-book, no nook-nook,” she said, using our in-house slang for weeding guys out.
“I’ll let him know and report back,” I said. “Assuming he agrees, do you want to FaceTime with him?”
“Yup.”
“Consider it done,” I said. I wanted to ask about Ryan and how someone new would fit, but didn’t.
__
It turned out that RJ, the ‘new guy’, viewed me as a pushover. This was a bit of an ego hit. Having been in sales for my adult life, I knew the importance of holding the line or saying ‘no’ in a negotiation. But I accepted his suggestion of meeting for drinks, which is off-script for us, and I also let him talk me into putting my wife on FaceTime before he agreed to the hotel. “Let me talk to her,” he said. So I did. My wife wasn’t happy about it, but she did do the call and when she pushed back on the hotel – “baby, it’s the only way I’ll know you’re serious” – he ultimately agreed to book and send us the confirmation. Seeing my wife “in the flesh” can have that effect. When his booking arrived via email forward a few minutes later, she scolded: “Be soft with me. Not with anyone else.” She wasn’t wrong.
So, she set up RJ for Thursday night and had Ryan coming over for the weekend. Busy little bee.
When she “wins,” like she did with RJ in getting him to book the hotel when I couldn’t, she tends to press her advantage with me. In this case, she came right back around to “my house, my rules, my bitch.”
“We’ll go out Friday. You’ll be on maid duty Saturday and Sunday,” she said. “Nothing changes just because Ryan is here. I think it’s important for him to see it.”
“We are seeing Ryan again Friday. I’m planning to have him spend the weekend,” she said.
The weekend?
For a moment, I wanted to protest, but I stopped myself.
Let her do her. Let her be her.
We were in the sitting room recapping our day. I had news too. She hadn’t told me to stop vetting new guys, so I kept at it … and I had found one.
“He’s local,” I said. “Almost too local – like 8 minutes. He’s been ‘the third’ in a hotwife relationship before. He’s asking to meet for drinks and has no problem booking the hotel from there if it goes well.”
Alas, what seemed acceptable to me wasn’t acceptable to her. “No book-book, no nook-nook,” she said, using our in-house slang for weeding guys out.
“I’ll let him know and report back,” I said. “Assuming he agrees, do you want to FaceTime with him?”
“Yup.”
“Consider it done,” I said. I wanted to ask about Ryan and how someone new would fit, but didn’t.
__
It turned out that RJ, the ‘new guy’, viewed me as a pushover. This was a bit of an ego hit. Having been in sales for my adult life, I knew the importance of holding the line or saying ‘no’ in a negotiation. But I accepted his suggestion of meeting for drinks, which is off-script for us, and I also let him talk me into putting my wife on FaceTime before he agreed to the hotel. “Let me talk to her,” he said. So I did. My wife wasn’t happy about it, but she did do the call and when she pushed back on the hotel – “baby, it’s the only way I’ll know you’re serious” – he ultimately agreed to book and send us the confirmation. Seeing my wife “in the flesh” can have that effect. When his booking arrived via email forward a few minutes later, she scolded: “Be soft with me. Not with anyone else.” She wasn’t wrong.
So, she set up RJ for Thursday night and had Ryan coming over for the weekend. Busy little bee.
When she “wins,” like she did with RJ in getting him to book the hotel when I couldn’t, she tends to press her advantage with me. In this case, she came right back around to “my house, my rules, my bitch.”
“We’ll go out Friday. You’ll be on maid duty Saturday and Sunday,” she said. “Nothing changes just because Ryan is here. I think it’s important for him to see it.”
266.
Right or wrong, some sexual hang-ups won’t quit. In my experience here at Chastity Mansion, one of the heartiest and peskiest is the idea that, in an FLR, if your female partner would like/asks/suggests “you” have some sexual involvement with another person, that can create complicated, very sticky labels of who “you” are.
I am of the belief that those labels are rubbish.
Worse, there seems to be a double standard, where directed sexual involvement – for a male sub – with another female is “OK” but with another male is “not OK.” I find this problematic, and at least here at CM, it prompts lots of “alpha absolutes” along the lines of “being in an FLR doesn’t make you bisexual,” which is quite true. However, upon further examination, that statement doesn’t make any sense. Being in an FLR doesn’t make you a tennis racket either.
“But wait,” some would argue, “it’s not the FLR, it’s the act.” To which I would retort, “then say what you mean,” and, more importantly, I’d argue that statement is completely wrong as well.
I’ve thought a lot about this. My situation might be viewed differently by some and not by others depending on your view of trans women. No matter. As someone who is attracted to women but has had sex with men (and seen the videos), I realized it was initially creating a lot of internal dissonance. When I watched myself suck cock or get fucked, I was like “that’s me on the screen, but it doesn’t map to who I am or experience myself to be.” I struggled with it, because pesky labels.
But I’ve come to understand myself better and I’ve realized these feelings were based on the same closed-minded beliefs that create these alpha absolutes. Sexual activity with anyone doesn’t change my identity in the slightest, nor do I feel any shame participating in it. It just means my lived sexual experiences within our D/s relationship are broader than my core orientation. My guess is, yours are too. I think most of us would agree that in our own power exchange dynamic (assuming we have one), we sometimes engage in acts that aren’t an expression of our base attraction, but serve an important psychological role instead. A good example of this would be a person who doesn’t enjoy impact play, but their partner does and “sometimes she spanks me to reinforce the roles in our relationship.” Reasonable.
For those of us in an FLR, there’s also the Dominant dynamic and authorship of the moment. These sexual directions and resulting videos of me aren’t generic or neutral. They were created by my wife within a situation she directed. She figuratively (in one case, literally) positioned me in front of the camera while I had a dick inside me and filmed it. In that film she is actively giving instructions. Watching it creates a mix of arousal and vulnerability. Am I the subject or an object? Am I choosing this or has it been chosen for me?
For many trans women, being desired by men is ultra-affirming. It is for me as well, even though I don’t reciprocate their desire. And yet, I think most guys, if another man found them attractive, wouldn’t see it as the compliment it is – someone finds me appealing and potentially “wants” me – but would instead rebel against it or run for the hills. Why is that, guys - what’s the hang-up?
For me, seeing myself engaging in acts that go against my core attractions represents surrender, devotion and a loss of control. It’s the same as any number of the daily things she asks of me. It doesn’t change a thing.
I think this is where a lot of posters on CM may lose the plot. There’s this masculine need in so many here to be seen as absolutely straight and anything that is perceived as threatening that straightness is automatically dismissed as “being in an FLR doesn’t make you bi” and shooed away, never to be heard from again.
“My God, imagine if I accidently touched that dick? I’d never recover.” I find that mindset so peculiar that it doubles as hilarious.
If someone is feeling that way, it likely means they’re ashamed. Because shame would look at that accidental dick touch and would not say “this doesn’t seem to fit me.” Shame would instead say “what is wrong with me?”– which is bananas because we’re all just people. Shame doesn’t focus on behavior. It turns it into a judgment about identity – and it can be very harmful.
I know when I first watched myself on video, I used to feel uncomfortable. I wanted to look away. I was turned on, but felt exposed and powerless, and I felt critical of myself all at once.
This is why I did a deep dive on it and learned a lot about myself in the process. What I came to discover is that my attraction and what triggers my arousal aren’t the same thing. If you’re reading this, your attraction and what triggers your arousal likely aren’t the same either. And that is perfectly okay.
I can be fundamentally attracted to women – emotionally, romantically, sexually – and still be aroused by power, submission and humiliation dynamics. In my case, the men themselves aren’t the primary draw. They’re just a prop in the structure that creates the buzz for me. My wife has the authority over where my body goes, how it’s used and what role I play. That’s the erotic engine for me. That’s the sexy buzz.
I think it might be for many others here too. The core idea isn’t “I want men,” it’s “I’m being placed in a position by my Dominant” and that makes it erotic. The position can be anything from mild to wild. Doesn’t matter. It’s the fact she wants it and when there is a disconnect – “this isn’t who I normally am” – it can often create the most intense experience for the submissive – me - because I’m out of my comfort zone and it’s all about her will. It's intoxicating. I’d urge anyone reading this to try it sometime.
After a lot of thoughts around this, I came to the following conclusion: I am a woman attracted to women. My deepest arousal comes from my wife exerting strict control over me, including my sexuality at times, even if that involves men.
That, to me, feels quite right.
Because when I imagine the same encounters without her control, I don’t feel any arousal. That tells me everything. It’s not the men, it’s the power exchange.
Right or wrong, some sexual hang-ups won’t quit. In my experience here at Chastity Mansion, one of the heartiest and peskiest is the idea that, in an FLR, if your female partner would like/asks/suggests “you” have some sexual involvement with another person, that can create complicated, very sticky labels of who “you” are.
I am of the belief that those labels are rubbish.
Worse, there seems to be a double standard, where directed sexual involvement – for a male sub – with another female is “OK” but with another male is “not OK.” I find this problematic, and at least here at CM, it prompts lots of “alpha absolutes” along the lines of “being in an FLR doesn’t make you bisexual,” which is quite true. However, upon further examination, that statement doesn’t make any sense. Being in an FLR doesn’t make you a tennis racket either.
“But wait,” some would argue, “it’s not the FLR, it’s the act.” To which I would retort, “then say what you mean,” and, more importantly, I’d argue that statement is completely wrong as well.
I’ve thought a lot about this. My situation might be viewed differently by some and not by others depending on your view of trans women. No matter. As someone who is attracted to women but has had sex with men (and seen the videos), I realized it was initially creating a lot of internal dissonance. When I watched myself suck cock or get fucked, I was like “that’s me on the screen, but it doesn’t map to who I am or experience myself to be.” I struggled with it, because pesky labels.
But I’ve come to understand myself better and I’ve realized these feelings were based on the same closed-minded beliefs that create these alpha absolutes. Sexual activity with anyone doesn’t change my identity in the slightest, nor do I feel any shame participating in it. It just means my lived sexual experiences within our D/s relationship are broader than my core orientation. My guess is, yours are too. I think most of us would agree that in our own power exchange dynamic (assuming we have one), we sometimes engage in acts that aren’t an expression of our base attraction, but serve an important psychological role instead. A good example of this would be a person who doesn’t enjoy impact play, but their partner does and “sometimes she spanks me to reinforce the roles in our relationship.” Reasonable.
For those of us in an FLR, there’s also the Dominant dynamic and authorship of the moment. These sexual directions and resulting videos of me aren’t generic or neutral. They were created by my wife within a situation she directed. She figuratively (in one case, literally) positioned me in front of the camera while I had a dick inside me and filmed it. In that film she is actively giving instructions. Watching it creates a mix of arousal and vulnerability. Am I the subject or an object? Am I choosing this or has it been chosen for me?
For many trans women, being desired by men is ultra-affirming. It is for me as well, even though I don’t reciprocate their desire. And yet, I think most guys, if another man found them attractive, wouldn’t see it as the compliment it is – someone finds me appealing and potentially “wants” me – but would instead rebel against it or run for the hills. Why is that, guys - what’s the hang-up?
For me, seeing myself engaging in acts that go against my core attractions represents surrender, devotion and a loss of control. It’s the same as any number of the daily things she asks of me. It doesn’t change a thing.
I think this is where a lot of posters on CM may lose the plot. There’s this masculine need in so many here to be seen as absolutely straight and anything that is perceived as threatening that straightness is automatically dismissed as “being in an FLR doesn’t make you bi” and shooed away, never to be heard from again.
“My God, imagine if I accidently touched that dick? I’d never recover.” I find that mindset so peculiar that it doubles as hilarious.
If someone is feeling that way, it likely means they’re ashamed. Because shame would look at that accidental dick touch and would not say “this doesn’t seem to fit me.” Shame would instead say “what is wrong with me?”– which is bananas because we’re all just people. Shame doesn’t focus on behavior. It turns it into a judgment about identity – and it can be very harmful.
I know when I first watched myself on video, I used to feel uncomfortable. I wanted to look away. I was turned on, but felt exposed and powerless, and I felt critical of myself all at once.
This is why I did a deep dive on it and learned a lot about myself in the process. What I came to discover is that my attraction and what triggers my arousal aren’t the same thing. If you’re reading this, your attraction and what triggers your arousal likely aren’t the same either. And that is perfectly okay.
I can be fundamentally attracted to women – emotionally, romantically, sexually – and still be aroused by power, submission and humiliation dynamics. In my case, the men themselves aren’t the primary draw. They’re just a prop in the structure that creates the buzz for me. My wife has the authority over where my body goes, how it’s used and what role I play. That’s the erotic engine for me. That’s the sexy buzz.
I think it might be for many others here too. The core idea isn’t “I want men,” it’s “I’m being placed in a position by my Dominant” and that makes it erotic. The position can be anything from mild to wild. Doesn’t matter. It’s the fact she wants it and when there is a disconnect – “this isn’t who I normally am” – it can often create the most intense experience for the submissive – me - because I’m out of my comfort zone and it’s all about her will. It's intoxicating. I’d urge anyone reading this to try it sometime.
After a lot of thoughts around this, I came to the following conclusion: I am a woman attracted to women. My deepest arousal comes from my wife exerting strict control over me, including my sexuality at times, even if that involves men.
That, to me, feels quite right.
Because when I imagine the same encounters without her control, I don’t feel any arousal. That tells me everything. It’s not the men, it’s the power exchange.
Can’t like this enough!!
You have put it a lot better that I could ever think of doing.
I am NOT attracted to men.
Not being judgmental here but watching commercials of two guys kissing kind of freaks me (and the wife) out.
Born and raised in Iowa so it just wasn’t a normal part of our life.
Not sure if that makes any difference but the thought of being romantic with another man DOES NOT turn me on at all.
I love women. The touch, the look, the smell. Everything about the female body.
The thought of HAVING to submit and do what ever another man wants is a HUGE turn on for my wife and I.
It’s the “Forced” part that really trips our triggers!
Ps: I love your story and journal, You are an absolutely fantastic writer.
You should write a book.
And yet, not being at all submissive, I still love being fucked hard by a guy. I have no attraction to men, just to the the feeling that the act brings me.
I used to refer to men as "self-propelled dildos" but realized that disrespect was uncalled for, even though it encapsulated how I felt about them.
I do like the fact that some men find me attractive and yes, it is empowering, but given the choice between a man or a woman with a strap-on, and the woman wins every time.
Woman are the focus of my attraction, desire, and romantic interests. Men are soley for the mechanical act.
I realize that this is a different perspective than most here. I fuck guys because I want to and they are designed to provide sensations that I crave. And I've been remaking my body into one that men want to interact with.
But curl up on a couch and find an emotional connection? That requires the feminine touch.
I used to refer to men as "self-propelled dildos" but realized that disrespect was uncalled for, even though it encapsulated how I felt about them.
I do like the fact that some men find me attractive and yes, it is empowering, but given the choice between a man or a woman with a strap-on, and the woman wins every time.
Woman are the focus of my attraction, desire, and romantic interests. Men are soley for the mechanical act.
I realize that this is a different perspective than most here. I fuck guys because I want to and they are designed to provide sensations that I crave. And I've been remaking my body into one that men want to interact with.
But curl up on a couch and find an emotional connection? That requires the feminine touch.
I was going to pick some quotes from your post, but there are too many golden nuggets there. I wholeheartedly agree with your thoughts!
To me, it seems that many men do not realize that these are different things: Emotional attraction, lust, having sex, forming a relationship, curiousity after trying something new. There are interactions, obviously, but a man can easily identify himself as a heterosexual men and still have sex with another man. Because it feels good. Or he doesn't get enough sex with his wife. Or the opportunity just popped up. They are not (necessarily) emotionally attracted by men or want to enter into a same-sex relationship, they just want the nice feelings of having someone care for their dick. And because so many men feel that way, it is very easy to find another man and have a quick no-strings-attached blowjob or fuck with him.
As you wrote: "my attraction and what triggers my arousal aren’t the same thing".
The problem mostly lies with our cultural hangups about same-sex carnal activity, and our preference for putting people into neatly labelled boxes: Heterosexual. Gay. Faithful. Promiscuous. "I am of the belief that those labels are rubbish." YES! Exactly.
Most people never realize this. It is only when we are forced to confront ourselves with the "who am I really? what do I like? Why?" questions, that you start to figure it out. If you dare. Admitting to yourself that maybe your sexual identity is not what you thought will trigger those questions. But it is so liberating when you realize how unimportant those labels are, and the adventures that become possible when you stop trying to fit into a little box someone else has designed.
I had to ask myself those questions when coming out to my family and friends as gay, I was lucky to have a boyfriend (now husband) and his support. Alexandra has her Dragon Domme. Congratulations!
It’s really great to read these comments and “see” people nodding their heads and agreeing. It was obviously a “departure from the norm” type of entry for me.
The original basis was in response to the many posts here at CM - “there’s no forced this or that,” “being in an FLR doesn’t make you …”
So many judge-y labels and absolutes when there’s a million ways to do “this” and each way is just as right as any other.
But it became more than just that base discussion as I worked through it. So it was therapeutic for me in a lot of ways. That “who am I?” that @nohair referenced.
Keep em coming.
The original basis was in response to the many posts here at CM - “there’s no forced this or that,” “being in an FLR doesn’t make you …”
So many judge-y labels and absolutes when there’s a million ways to do “this” and each way is just as right as any other.
But it became more than just that base discussion as I worked through it. So it was therapeutic for me in a lot of ways. That “who am I?” that @nohair referenced.
Keep em coming.
I really enjoyed the reflections in this wonderful departure. I wholeheartedly agree.
While I am strictly an amateur, I do think those of us who top are in the transformation "business". At least (I dare say) if you want the sub to continue unchanged, unmolded, unmodified, if you yourself are not transformed by the process, then what are you actually doing? Where is the creativity?
People who become "addicted" to a fixed identity quickly become trapped in double binds. A good Domme knows how to leverage those binds to force a creative step in the sub (and —whisper it— in herself).. Shifts of identity represent liberation from those binds.
Alexandra's journal is packed full of examples. In a nutshell:
"I can't do this because I am X... But I must because I am Y, therefore the only way I can maintain Y is I if become something other than X".
Pardoxically, the maintenance itself is a transformation.
Not that having an identity is necessarily a bad thing, but to lock it down and guard it jealously until death is to trap onesself, to run in loops.
Perhaps there are those that want to rehearse and reiterate the same roleplay in an endless loop, like a costumed character in a theme park, and perhaps that's enough for some. It's not for me. I want to see progress, growth and development, and that makes this journal (and this entry in particular) very special indeed.
Thank you Alexandra,
I sometimes say that the obsession with labels, especially in the kink community, does nothing but limit people's perceptions. Whether it be someone trying to live up to the role that they allow the label to define for them, or someone who is trying to broaden their horizons without realizing that the label they use to define themselves is the problem, labels, or rather the way most people apply them, are often a problem, not the benefit some folks presume them to be.
Well said. Thank you. The “endless loop” comment is a good one. I think many of us do want to evolve whatever we are; Domme, sub, switch, etc. because there’s not a lot of sense in the same routine if we’re going to outgrow it. I’m also of the belief that anything worth doing is worth doing well. I want to be a good submissive. I owe her that reciprocal effort. I want her to be proud of me.
As we’ve slowly opened our dynamic to other people - select friends, her lovers - a few have made the comment “she is so well trained.” That means the world to me. And I know it does to her too. She’s proud of me. I’m proud of her.
Where there’s a whip, there’s a way.
Where there’s a whip, there’s a way.
I'm stealing that and getting a t-shirt made for my wife.
I think this is the crux of it. Try to be the best example of whatever it is that you are. Making her proud of you brings the best feeling to you there is. You want to do ANYTHING to not let her down. It’s not the fear of punishment. It’s the fear of disappointing her. You do a terrific job Alexandra.Well said. Thank you. The “endless loop” comment is a good one. I think many of us do want to evolve whatever we are; Domme, sub, switch, etc. because there’s not a lot of sense in the same routine if we’re going to outgrow it. I’m also of the belief that anything worth doing is worth doing well. I want to be a good submissive. I owe her that reciprocal effort. I want her to be proud of me.
As we’ve slowly opened our dynamic to other people - select friends, her lovers - a few have made the comment “she is so well trained.” That means the world to me. And I know it does to her too. She’s proud of me. I’m proud of her.
Where there’s a whip, there’s a way.