Hooked

My boy left last night to head north for the weekend. He is off to spend time with his family- his boys and their mom. For the sake of this post, and privacy, I’ll call her Adina. Pup left when the rest of the housemates were all home, enjoying a make shift happy hour, celebrating the return of our roommate. He made us a round of Manhattans and then hit the road. We all stayed in last night, ordered take out and placed dice games until bedtime.

I happily leapt into bed, sleepy and satiated. I took a moment to look at our nest before settling in. One of the requirements of my pet is that he makes the bed every day which he does. Without fail. Lovingly, carefully, nicely. It takes a few moments to pull off all of the pillows we don’t use, to arrange all of the sleeping things I like and love.

I got into bed and noticed right away that my boy had left behind his favorite pillow, his pajama bottoms, his collar. The biggest thing that was still here was his steel cage that he is typically locked into when he leaves. The other things he left behind were over-sites on his part.  The cage, however, was my bad. I had had a really intense day at work- the kind of day that leaves your brain going, “Wow. W O W ! ! !  Did that really just happen??!!”. Admittedly, I was distracted and my boy left without being locked up. After a decade of being together, stuff like that is going to happen from time to time.

It felt very strange to me to have all of his things here and him gone. It felt to me as though he was sent away naked. I didn’t send him away, and he certainly didn’t pull out of the driveway with no clothes on, but that is how it felt. I don’t know why, but when I conjured up thoughts of him, I saw him in my mind as naked slave, which goes beyond collared boy.

I am able to separate him in my mind. I know he headed north to be dad and ex partner to his awesome ex partner. And this brings me joy. He is an awesome dad, and I know how much he loves to be around his boys. His ex wife is a bit different for me, thought. And what I’m about to share is very personal. No matter where he goes in life, he is my property, my boy, my possession. This we know. But for some reason, when he heads north to be with his family (and yes, his ex is very much his family), I picture him being two things at once: the dad that he is, and a slave when he is  up there. Why do I view it that way? Because I want him to work hard when he is up there. Because Adina works her ass off and probably needs and appreciates the help. Here’s where it could feel sticky if I let it (which I don’t, to be honest):

My private thoughts are that my boy is a slave to all women. Her especially included. I think it feels sticky because she doesn’t know that I feel this way, and because I involve her in the private wanderings of my overactive mind, I almost feel that my thinking violates her consent. I know that thoughts are okay and that behaviors are limited, which is why I allow my thoughts to wander in these ways. And I do. I allow them.  I want him to be up there and I want him to do all sorts of things and stuff for her. For them. I want him working hard for a woman who works hard. I want him to quietly and diligently go about his days and hours in silent service. I want him to do tasks. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, heavy lifting, organizing. If he was wearing a collar, even discreetly, it would feel as though he was wearing MY collar, and therefore, I would be marking MY property. But when he heads up there with nothing…..no collar, no cage, no trappings, he becomes universal slave. Because, the point is, he is always slave. I use the word ‘boy’ more often than not, but truly, we live this way 24/7 with a range of volume associated with it, but he never gets to ‘take off’ the invisible collar that marks him as property. He is tattooed with my mark and wears a 24/7 collar (bracelet) that he never takes off.  This is enough at time. And this weekend, as he spends time with his family, it is plenty.

The image below is the every day collar my boy wears. I have spend consistent time throughout my life in the Caribbean, and I love it there. By wearing this as he does, with the hook pointed towards his heart, it means he is taken. It represents that I am his owner. It represents that he is taken. It is a part of me and my past and love of the sea, and I gave it to him. I have one too. We have hooked each other. :-)

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Some folklore states, with the open end of the hook pointed up toward your heart, you are taken. With the open end of the hook worn down, away from your heart, your love is free or a subtle sign that you are unattached or single. Other folklore, with the hook worn up, keeps your luck with you, worn down you will bring in good luck when in need. One of the most accurate accounts of folklore that  was when the men of a village would set out to sea, the men would leave to fish or deliver goods to other islands sometimes for weeks on end in order to make a living for their families. Their wives would wear the hook down with the open end of the hook pointed away from their heart, down their out stretched arms sending love and faith as they waved good bye to their men embarking on a long and dangerous journey on the high seas. When the men were due to return and their ship was spotted their wives would turn the hook up toward their heart symbolizing the safe return of their men from the dangers of the Caribbean.

 

 

Locked in Regret

 

IMG_7036-1My boy had a rough evening this past Sunday. Nothing to do with us, nothing that he won’t get past, but it was an incident that left him feeling shaky and uncertain, one where in the aftermath, he was left with the uncomfortable consequence of questioning himself and his decisions. I know that feeling, because I have been there too. It was the kind of thing where self comfort and self care can be hard to administer because you’re engaged in a private, temporary war with the inner parts of self.

I had mild cause to be upset with my boy because he made a brief but poor decision. This is not his standard fare, and I knew that he needed no tongue lashing from me. I wanted to be a place of support and encouragement, but I also knew he needed to sit with himself and assess. We didn’t talk much that Sunday night, but cocooned ourselves in our nest of bed and blankets. It was the exact womb he wanted and needed to crawl into this night.

The next morning I was at work early, gone before he had risen for the day. I got a text message from him. He was asking permission to lock himself in chastity. It was a simple text, yet I could feel the intensity about it. “May I lock up your cock today? I feel the urge to  locked…..please”.

What I felt most immediately grateful for was the realization that I didn’t feel mildly irritated by this request. At no point did I think, “Wow…..you just made a regrettable mistake, and you’re thinking about sex??”. This feels important to me because it is my belief is that a lot of partners could have taken this approach. It would be understandable. But I knew immediately that is was nothing sexual. It was purely emotional.

My boy has asked to be locked up many, many times in the past because he simply likes it. Because it is part of his submission to me. Because it is kinky. Because he is owned by me and this is what we do. But this time, I immediately sensed it was different. His cage is another cocoon. It is a place….a thing….that can act as a barrier to outside touches and influences. It can be used as punishment and pleasure as the two are often synonymous and interchangeable. I think he just simply wanted to feel it on his skin. We have talked often how his chastity device is a fist of sorts, how he can feel me squeezing him throughout the day and night. It is pleasurable for him. I think this time is was for the sake of comfort and proximity. He needs to feel close. I am sensing this. I am grateful that he is not the sort of guy who withdraws completely when he experiences trouble with self. And again, in the scope of all things related, this is a hiccup. Just a disappointing one.

The power of a cage can be mighty, and I do appreciate how this event has expanded the use, purpose and function of a steel cage. I gave him permission to lock up and get to work. He was instructed to place the key in my panty drawer, which he did. We had a quiet but good night last night and slept entangled as we do.

And, as is often the case,  I woke early and fumbled through the dark to put on pajamas and start the coffee. As I was quietly getting dressed in the dark, I could see my shadowy boy slip out of bed to the floor, where he knelt as he draped the upper part of his body against the bed.  I know for certain he is not even close to fully awake when this happens. He does this in order to subdued his erection. It was morning wood, which is a part of his natural state.

And it struck me that seeking comfort through a steel cage is part of his natural state too. It grounds and centers him. I know it is not needed, but it is desired. It is something that helps him. It is something he can and does use to help himself.

I am appreciative. Of him, of the devise, of the experience. His cage will accompany him on this personal journey, I think. It is the exact right companion.

 

Caribbean Dungeon

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The Caribbean island of St. Croix was wonderful. Parts were still obviously ravaged from the hurricanes but signs of rebirth and regrowth were everywhere. My best friend and I were visiting friends, and slept in the guest house of friends of these friends….two wonderful men who offered up their extra nest during our stay.

We spent a good part of each day sitting lazily underneath their deep, wide patio, covered in deep shade, which was needed as the sun was strong. Before us was a sweeping view of the sea, and we were lucky enough to be able to look out over the bluest of blue parts of that long stretch of island coast. Usually, we spent morning and late night hours on the patio talking and drinking coffee or other spirits. Early in our stay, we were told a story that I find myself thinking about a lot. Here it is:

We were told that the guest house we were staying in was once a dungeon. The former owner of the house had build the guest house as a place to keep her male slaves. After quickly determining that these were consensual slaves, the story became much sexier to me, and I was curious to learn more without seeming toooo interested. They know I’m kinky, and live a FLR with my boy, but I keep the details vague around the vanillas.

It seems that this Mistress lived happily on the island and was well known and liked by the locals. She built her dungeon to fit in, so from the outside, it gleamed no additional attention. But the inside was a vastly different story. I wasn’t able to get too many details, as our friends didn’t really know her personally, but the stories proceeded her.

I laid in bed during those mornings, the french doors wide open overlooking the sea, and would lounge in sleepy daydreams about this woman, wondering what her world was like. I looked around at the brightly colored, stucco walls, speculating what it must have looked like as a dungeon. The guest house wasn’t a large space, but it was certainly a creative space. The main living area was two stories, with a bedroom loft area off to the side.  Sturdy beans once held chains and bondage devices. Steel rings were built into the walls that now held local art, but once upon a time, they held local males, locked in shackles that confined them to this space.

I was told that these boys….men, toys, slaves…..would work nearly naked on the property, working the lawns, gardens, patio areas. I could picture them in my imagination, making a beautiful place more beautiful, their tanned skin glistening in the hot sun, the vibrant sea blue as the backdrop.  I would then picture them at night,  serving their Mistress, her friends, stepping into the night shadows when their service wasn’t immediately required.

Everything about this property seemed happy, joyous. It just had that energy about it. Everything about it flowed. The inside of the main house transitioned seamlessly to the outside spaces when the shudders and sliding doors were open wide. The patio encompassed the house, and a short path lead to the slave quarters. Everything was open and connected. Lush greenery created a natural fence affording all the necessary privacy. Twinkling lights and large candles cast soft lighting. Magical, to say the least.

I came home after that trip and shared the tale with my boy. But it was a hard story to share, because most of what I could tell about that dungeon was what I created in my own imagination. I find myself drifting off in fantasy about this place, about what it might be like to live like that. And in many ways, I DO live like that Mistress. I live in a sweet place, with a lovely slave. He serves me, he serves friends, he works the yard. I know from private messages I get that others are curious about us, about the way we live, and express a harmless jealousy that my boy and I get to do the things we do.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. Especially when it is built on real life pillars. Now, if I could only have that Caribbean blue outside my front door….

 

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Whipped

I literally….4 minutes ago….departed from our bedroom where I left a naked, thrashing, screaming slave naked on the bed.

Well, screaming as best one can do when you’re not allowed to make noise. His pillow, I am certain, holds the echos of a thousand guttural sobs that he was not allowed to emit. The mattress bares the imprints of his fists as he pounded its quilted folds, in his desperate attempts to transfer his writhing to some place that he could deem appropriate.

While I appreciate those transferred attempts of anguish so that they are not directed at his abuser, I am feeling disapproval that he did not seem to recognize that this was punishment. Indeed, it was meant to be exactly that. No warm up, no slow rising from slumber to Sunday. Nothing of the sort. I entered the room silently, put on an acoustic playlist to camouflage the noise, picked up the thickest cane I could find, pulled the covers to the floor, and started beating him. No warm up, no gentle touches bringing him softly out of sleep. This was punishment. Punishment for once again breaking the same exact rule he got in trouble for only yesterday.

It displeases me more than I can express to have to punish him like this. If there is going to be such a level of correction, I want free reign, no limits on sound, all the space we need to afford ourselves for such an experience, such an encounter. I want him to know that he takes away pleasure from me when I am forced to met out something like this for a reason such as this.

Interestingly, we are going away next weekend with another couple, Ms. J and her boy lucky. Ms. J had assigned my boy the task of writing her 5 stories in a six week period. He has shared what he has written with me, and I have read his tales. The recent one I read was about punishment. Harsh punishment, where he was the subject of that punishment. I know it appeals to him on some levels. I know that when fantasy has no limits, and when he is free to create, he really enjoys it. And in his story, he has created the lovely illusion of his captors enjoying the punishing too. And this is good. I get the appeal, I see the sexiness when good, caring people engage with one another on such levels. After all, each and every one of us is consenting to a structured power exchange. I get it. I get ‘us’.

But I also hope that my boy understands that I do not particularly enjoy mornings like such as this. I like how I am the early riser an he is the sleeping in kind. I much prefer to rouse him softly, slowly, sexily. I love watching him yawn, stretch, smile. I love the stiff cock he presents me with each morning. Watching him punch and scream is not what I enjoy.

I am not finished punishing him. Not in the least. His punishment will continue until I feel certain he understands that a rule is a rule, and it is not created to be broken.

Some of my Sunday morning joy was taken from me. I am being punished too, and I dislike.

What I do like is how he came out of the bedroom, full of remorse and softness. He knelt by my side, kissed the top of my foot, pawed at my thigh, looked up at me and apologized. I accepted. I am not displeased with him as much as I am with his behavior. I expect better, because HE Is better. He has proven this 10,000 times in 10+ years.

canes on bed

 

Collars

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I have two dogs. Aka, two boys. Two playthings. Two submissive men. One is John, my 24/7 boy. We live together. We’ve been together playing for over 10 years.  If you read the blog on even somewhat of a irregular basis, you know of our years and our adventures.

Not that long ago, Troy came sailing into our lives, a most pleasant addition. Troy is new to power exchanges, to kinky dynamics. He is lovely, sweet, funny, warm, loyal, smart, easy to be around. But my word….that boy is not as leash trained as he needs to be. That toy named troy is a slippery fellow. Not at all maliciously so, for I truly do not believe he resists the feel of a collar. Or the tug of a leash. Instead, he is the kind of pet that you’ll leave loosely tied up outside of a local shop on Main Street as you dash inside to get a cup of coffee. What happens when that happens? Well…

I’ll head into that figurative coffee shop, leaving outside my two dogs. Both tied lightly to a post outside the door. The pet named john will contently lay down. Head on paws, relaxed. He knows well this routine, and he has a wonderful strategy to occupy himself while his Mistress is indoors. My pup (john) knows that with his head resting on paws, and his eyes looking up, he’ll get to see lots of skirts, lots of legs, lots of high heels passing him by. He’ll often find people stopping to pet him, to admire him and his obedience. Most often he lays there, tail wagging, not a worry in the world. He knows I will return from my errand and will delight in seeing him there, waiting obediently.

Pet troy, on the other hand, is a different dog. He is younger, impish, distracted. He is just as happy, just as cute. But he has a knack for slipping out of that collar and away from the rope that secures him. He doesn’t go far, he doesn’t bother anyone. But he’ll wander up and down that sidewalk, nose to the pavement, distracted by the scent of a hot dog vendor, or he’ll follow a pretty lady, not realizing how far he is drifting. His tail wags steadily, he hasn’t quite figured out that a leash is a silent sort of instruction. He knows all the basic commands. “Sit”, “Shake”, “Beg”, “Heel”. He is even getting good at “Bend over”, “Present”. But “Stay” isn’t one he has quiet mastered yet.

And no, I am not at all referring to him cheating. Or being dishonest or disloyal. I am simply talking about a pet that slips off his leash because I don’t think he quiet feels he knows his place yet. To be fair to him, I don’t have him full time, so troy has to be in many different worlds in a week. Perhaps the adjustment is hard for him, I’m not sure. He is not yet taking My commands as gospel. When I say to him on a Monday “Stay. Wait for Me. Good boy.”, he’ll stay in the neighborhood, but he won’t always be at the spot where I expect him to be. I’ll whistle, and he’ll come running back, tail wagging, mud on his nose from the exploring, but not at all realizing that I anticipated him to be where I told him to be. I scowl at this, but smile too. He is lucky he is cute and inexperienced. I don’t feel angry at this. But I am realizing he needs more training. Perhaps not quantity, but rather quality. Quality training for my quality pet. He needs to learn that when I have him with me on the days I have him, his obedience needs to be complete. I will need to tie him tighter, make the collar snugger. My orders will have to be more stern, more direct.

I wonder if he knows I have a shock collar for such training needs. I don’t use it often, because it’s a rather intense form of instruction. But I’m thinking it’s time to break it out of it’s case, charge up the batteries, and give it a test or two.

Troy will respond well to this, I think. He might not like it, but he’ll learn from it. I feel rather certain of this.smile dog

 

Save

Unwrapping the weekend

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Breakfast served by naked and collared

What a lovely few days it has been. John was off to far away lands where he was able to ‘slave’ and play and be in service around thousands of other dominants and submissives. More on those details in the near future, but suffice it to say, I am glad he is home after a lousy 10 hour drive from the DC area.  While he was away, I got to spend several lovely days with toy troy who although wasn’t feeling 100%, put a lot of effort into his service and submission.

The picture in this post is the breakfast I woke up to on Friday morning. I don’t know that I can recall having had a candle-lit breakfast! I generally don’t eat much in the morning, but this was too beautiful to pass up. Troy was naked, in his collar, and seems magically at home in the kitchen. He is a good cook and I got to be the beneficiary of that. Several times, actually.

My vanilla girlfriend and I did go down to the Fetish Flea this weekend. That too was an event that held thousands of kinky people. She had never been before so it was fun to watch her watching all of the latex clad lovelies stroll around the enormous hotel complex. There was lots and lots of shopping and looking. Many, many vendors selling all sorts of anything dastardly and sexy you can imagine.

We were treated well. Troy had created a picnic for us that was insanely amazing. A dozen containers of meticulously packed foods, all beautifully thought out and packaged. Smoked meats and cheeses, nuts, fruits, jams, olives, pickles, slices of spiral ham separated with orange slices. We had croissants. Fig jam.  We had ceramic plates and cloth place mats and napkins, even a baggie with candles and matches. We drank wine and finished with chocolate. My girlfriend declared it was too beautiful to eat, and she was nearly correct.

I loved picturing troy at home doing all of this prep work. I know he really likes my friend and thinks she is wonderful and sexy (she is!). I think it made troy feel happy to be serving both of us in a way. I love the attention to details, the beauty of what he created. It made me feel proud of him when we shared this bounty with many others; he got an A++ for such efforts, and was rewarded with a few hand crafted toys of his own that I purchased for him from the flea.

One of my highlights of that trip was the unexpected encounter we had at a local restaurant after the flea had ended for the day. My girlfriend and I had gone to a steak house that was incredibly crowded. It was a two hour wait for a table. Thanks, but no thanks. Just as we were about to leave, two seats opened up at the bar, and we nabbed them as no reservations were needed and no one seemed to be waiting for them.

There was a very sexy couple sitting to my right. We didn’t talk for most of the meal, but they looked sharp and dressed and ready for something other than a steak house. I started chatting with them towards the end of the meal, making some comment about how crowded the restaurant was, etc. They asked if we were local, and I said no. They asked what brought us down to Rhode Island.

I smiled, and asked, “Do you really want to know??”

They looked at one another, looked back at me, and said, “Yes, sure. Of course”.

“I am here for the Fetish Flea”. I said, smiling, knowing where this would go.

“The what???“, they asked in unison.

“The Fetish Flea. Fetish flea market.”, I again said, smiling.

“What’s that??” they asked with widening eyes and open faces.

Again……“Do you really want to know??”

Emphatic head bobbing confirmed that they did indeed want to know.

I proceeded to tell them, with my girlfriend leaning over and chiming in on the conversation. We told them about the 50 or so classes they could take on kink and power exchange. About the demonstrations.  About the shopping. About rules of the hotel and how people could walk around in various states of dress or undress, as long as your pretty parts were covered. We told them an overview of the entire event, that it went on all weekend, and they were shocked. “We have been living in this town for 25 years and we had no idea this was going on a mile from our house!!!”. They went on to say, “We have been looking for something like this for years! Oh my god, we are going tomorrow. We can’t wait. We are amazed….how did we not know??”

I don’t recall seeing two people leave a restaurant so quickly, practically pulling each other out the front door. The woman stopped, ran back to the bar in her fur coat and high heels, and grabbed both me and my friend, pulling us tightly to her perfumed bosom, thanking us for telling them, and dashed off to be with her man.  It was a fun moment. A sexy moment. With total strangers. How lovely to say to someone, “Do you really want to know??” and have them say “Yes!!”.

Valentines Day was lovely. Insanely cold (twenty below!!!). We woke, had coffee, napped, woke, napped, showered, went out for a lobster lunch, did a little shopping and then to a local bar. I got to meet many of troy’s friends, and that was really nice. All excellent people who seemed very curious about me. Troy said to be honest about how we met, so Craigslist was the truthful answer. Everyone seems to think that Craigslist is junk these days. It is not, we assured them, smiling.

John is back. We spent last night cuddled in bed, fucking and talking. We were under the covers by 7pm, asleep by 9, I think. My boy is not feeling well either; its the month of colds, it seems. More on some of his stories over the next few days. Lots of good stories. He came back exhausted and happy. I haven’t looked over his body enough to see if there are bruises or marks. I am still figuring out if he gave more or received more….seems to be a good amount of both. It was fun for us to recount for one another our adventures. If we couldn’t be together, then we we will do our best when apart. I think we all got an A++ this round. Stuff like this makes the dead of winter survivable.

 

 

 

 

Waving and welcoming

 

 

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I like the two chains; one for each boy.

Well, my pup has hit the road late last night. South he goes, headed to the winter kink event that packs thousands of people in one big hotel for a long weekend. He is driving about 10 hours south of Maine and yet the weather is supposed to be frigid. He works the weekend (ok, volunteers is a more accurate word). I don’t envy him when it is this cold. I know what it is like. For many years, we have done and worked this event together, but not this time. My job gets in the way this year, so he goes as our representative. I will miss him and miss all the kinky delights that I know will take place. But, I am working on my delights, so there is definitely that to look forward to.

John will play as both top and bottom, and I like that he will get to do both. The lovely southern area ‘Lady” will help look after him for Me, and he will spend part of the weekend in perfect service to Her. I like hearing the stories when he serves her. I think she holds him to a very high standard, which I like. And she can be a bit of a sadist. Which I love.

My boy is going with a bit of a new look. Normally, I would consider him a very well manicured man. Right now, he is still that way, with a bit of “Sons of Anarchy” thrown in. I will be curious to learn if his looks influence his play in any way. I grin thinking about it.

I was a little verklempt  seeing him packing up all the toys, though. I would have loved to have gone with him, bringing with us my toy troy (yes, he officially has a name). I think it would have blown troy’s mind to be there, in a good way. I had fantasies about that. I am hoping that troy can accompany us for the summer event we will be going to.

Speaking of troy, I am spending our first significant chunk of time with him this coming week. He opted not to go away on a guys weekend this weekend, so I get V-day with one of the two boys, and that is very nice.  I am not a big Hallmark holiday kind of person, but still, it will nice to not spend it alone. At least the ‘breakfast in bed’ part. :-)

I am really, really looking forward to this time with him. It will include training, yes. I want him to know what I like, how I like it, etc. But I also want hang out time with him. Exploring time with him. I want to continue to learn about his body and his mind. I want to groom him in this service that I love. And I really like the idea of being at his place. I know he will be most comfortable there, and I want that for him. I think he will feel more confident this way, and that will work nicely as I perhaps put him through a few paces that make him nervous. In the best of ways, of course.

Saturday has me going to the Fetish Flea with a vanilla girlfriend who knows all about our lives, all about what we enjoy. I am most excited for this! She is an absolute treasure of a friend, and I know she will love the experience, if not for the shoes and shopping alone! Troy is providing a lovely service for us. I asked him to create a road trip cooler for us, as the last time I went to his event, it took nearly 3 hours at the hotel bar to get a simple burger. This year, I am being smarter and from what troy tells me, he is doing a fabulous job of creating something simple and elegant for us….just the way I like it.

So, that’s the update for now. Lots going on despite the cold and dark that keeps most indoors. Time for me to go pack up a few things I will need for the days I am with troy. I’ll start with all things leather and steel first……

 

Once upon an abduction… Part 2

This post is part four of a week long series entitled “Looking Back”. They are a few pages from our ‘photo albums’ that I wanted to write about as john and I celebrate 10 years of living in a kinky power exchange. We hope you enjoy, and as always, thanks so much for reading and for sharing your comments with us.

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Again…..

What.

The.

Fuck.

I’m about to tangle with a grand inquisitor and I am aroused?

And so it began. German guy wanted the numbers and I told him to go fuck himself. I heard his heavily laden sigh, and he mentioned something about feeling regret that this was my answer, but he has been prepared for such a response. There was a moment of still. Of quiet. I was left with my own anticipation, and it built to heights I didn’t know were possible.

I don’t know exactly how long the torture went on, but I do know it was many hours. Back and forth it went…..the inquisitor playing both good cop and bad cop. I resisted. For hours, I resisted. The thought of giving that bastard anything that John trusted me with broke my soul.

Others helped too. The hands that abused were many. I remember crying deeply at times….my tears and snot covering my face beneath the hood. Occasionally a straw was pushed up to my mouth where I could suck in water, which I did. Sometimes I hungrily swallowed that water, and other times I tried to spit it at them through the hood.

Other times I yelled, defiant and deeply angry.

GO FUCK YOURSELF, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!”

I would sob…..You are not getting jack shit from me!

But that is hard to maintain when your naked thighs are tied open to a wooden chair, and you are caned so often, so precisely, you start to tremble on top of your trembles.

I think it was the nipple torture that eventually did me in. It was such a small part of my body, so sensitive and sweet….and it was enduring things I had never even imagined.

I gave some of the numbers. I gave fake numbers to that account. The German would leave and check those numbers, determining quickly that I was lying.  I would be badly beaten for those lies.

And so it cycled.

Eventually, I just couldn’t do it any more.

What I remember so vividly was that my brain told me when it was enough. I felt it. My body shook from the abuse. I could both feel and tell that others were checking on me….more water, hands and feet being examined,  ropes adjusted. But it was my brain that waved a white flag. It was looking out for me. It said that I was done. My body was aching in every possible way, my mind had been distorted and tested, but in the end, it provided.

I gave the numbers. One by one, I recited those numbers. By the end of that series, I was crying with every ounce of heart. I was so broken to give those away. I felt as though I was giving away trust. I was breaking that inner circle he had let me into. I was not strong enough to protect his Swiss secret. I could no longer lift my head off my own chest, my collapse was complete.

“Good girl”, I heard in soft, tender German.

And that was that. Within seconds, all those hands untied me. The hood was left in place, but I was guided tenderly to a big bed that was very nearby, and naked, I was laid upon it. Bodies immediately were pressed against mine as a blanket covered us all.

Slowly, the hood was removed, my eyes blinking, my skin flinching. I opened my eyes as slowly as I could. In front of me was John’s beaming face….his eyes searching my own with joy and pride and pleasure.

I looked around me, and all I could see was a wall of smiling people. My abductors. My captors. My torturers. My friends.

“Happy Birthday!”, they said. “Happy, happy birthday, Chloe!”

I cried and smiled and laughed and then the abduction crew went upstairs for cocktails while John touched me, hugged me, tended to my many bruises and then fucked me beautifully. I fell asleep in his arms still hearing his German accent echo in my head “Good girl, Chloe. Good girl.”


The guy at the bar? The one who sat near us, the one I thought was checking us out? Yeah, he was in on it too. He was the one who took the parking garage pass from John in order to move and hide John’s car. I never did find out who he was.

About 9 months before this abduction took place, John and I negotiated an abduction and had me sign a release. It was a kinky release, he explained, in case a scene we were doing ever went wrong. Each abductor carried a copy of the release “just in case”. It was a consent form, basically, so that no one would get arrested. That is how long this abduction had been in the works.

Oh, and there is no Swiss bank account. He is not secretly rich. But as my birthday slowly approaches he keeps talking about his “Cayman Island” paperwork.

Affirmation

Let me just clarify the living situation to make things clear. We moved at the end of August into a new place. Owned by $ROOMMATE1, already occupied by her and $ROOMMATE2, Mistress and I moved in. We painted the bedroom, had carpet installed, set up our space in the smallest bedroom and are part of the house. $ROOMMATE1 is the owner of the house and plans to sell in the spring. She had shitty tenants last year and is thrilled to have us in to watch the house while she works out of country through the winter. $ROOMMATE2 will be leaving for work out of country this winter as well, leaving us alone together in the house.

IMG_9856 $ROOMMATE1 has left already leaving just the three adults in the house. Mistress has ramped up the BDSM side of our relationship already. After my weekend away from the house, I returned to a Mistress who was not just missing me, but very hungry, as hungry as I was after 18 days of no ejaculating. We fucked hard. I was able to keep up with her and give her the exact fucking she needed. It was hard at times, hard enough to keep her from being able to speak. And yet, she took me into her and used me. In the end, it was she who took me into her, used my cock for her pleasure, had a thunderous orgasm and let me be, still hard, still pulsing and filling her beautiful pussy with my hard cock, I fell asleep while inside her, until she finally ended up turning to her side and sliding me out of her.

And last night, she used the crop on me, she also used me again, teased me, rode me, put me to bed without relief and then woke me again in the morning this morning by pulling my collar and leading me to the edge of the bed where her ass and pussy awaited my oral attentions. She used me again, riding her cock, filling her up, giving her pleasure and then she slid off of me, got dressed for her day while I held a pillow close to me, wondering if I dreamed the whole thing in the tIMG_9765wilight of my evening’s sleep. I knew it was real when I woke and smelled her on my face.

It’s been only a few days since the roommate count was cut in half and she has really ramped up her demands. Even tonight, with just a couple family guests, I received a text from her upset that I didn’t offer to her to make a cocktail, while I, myself held a cocktail in my hand. She is right. I didn’t interrupt her conversation to ask and for that I deserve correction.

It’s been a short time, but I look forward to serving her further, serving her more deeply, being her boy… her dog. I hope to post more and give more information about it all

This week hasn’t been great due to some family issues, but her dog is being put in his place and he welcomes it.