“Mouth!”

This morning, I quipped something to Madame while I sat at the table, sipping my coffee and doing my typical morning wake up routine.

“Okay, mouth!” was her equally terse reply.

And that was it.

But then, my mind went elsewhere. In my mind, it continued more like this.

Madame soon returned into the dining room and stood in front of me. I looked up. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. In fact, it has. Up! Now!” She pulled me by my robe to get me up, then moved her grip to the tip of my cock, squeezing it tightly and pulling me to follow her. My robe fluttered open and loose as she walked me, her feet stomping, into the bedroom. Releasing her grip on my cock she grabbed the back of my head, pushed me against the bed and bent me over. “Down there. Don’t fucking move.”

She walked out of the room for a minute and then returned, locking the door behind her. I stayed in position, bent over the bed at the waist, my head turned to the right as my left cheek rested on the covers. Her hand grabbed my hair roughly. “Open!” she barked. I opened and into my mouth went a bar of soap. “I can’t believe you need to be reminded so soon. Didn’t I just beat you for your mouth a few days ago? Did you learn nothing? I don’t have time to be correcting you every time. And the roommates sure as hell don’t need to hear this so you’re going to keep quiet. Don’t you dare scream, even if you want to. And don’t you dare move.”

She walked behind me and left me on the bed, the soap between my teeth. I knew she was grabbing a cane from the little niche behind the dresser.

She spoke quietly but sternly as she reminded me “You keep quiet. I don’t want to hear anything from you. And I don’t have time for this, so I’m just going to cane you as much as I damn well think is appropriate.” I whimpered.

Normally our canings are slow and steady, giving one’s body time to react to each of the strokes as they reverberate through the body. But this time, she would give me no such rest. She beat me, hard, and just whipped at my ass incessantly. I couldn’t even count as the fire of the cane went through my ass, I tried to grit my teeth but only got more soap for my efforts. I wanted to cry out, but could not. 10, 20, 30 swats, she just kept at it. I really lost track but I think she laid down 40 or so strokes to my ass. She did nothing to spread them out, they all landed solidly in the middle of my ass, all overlapping and raising some proud welts immediately.

She had finished, my ass was on fire, drool dripped onto the bed from the end of the bar of soap. She grabbed my hair and pulled me up off the bed, but only far enough to put me on my knees in front of the bed. She wrenched my head back. I coughed and sputtered with the soap in my mouth as the drool tried to slide into my throat. “Cry if you want, pup, but do not yell. Do not dare to touch your ass. Crawl over to wall, put your forehead against it and you just kneel there until I come back. And don’t drop that soap.” As I weakly crawled across the floor, she stripped me of the robe as I moved, leaving me naked and kneeling in front of the wall.

 

Okay, so that’s a fantasy, perhaps I came up with more as I wrote it, but the basic premise of her not putting up with my being mouthy is what was in my head. And whipping my ass rapidly with a cane, demanding my quiet due to roommates, and putting me “in the corner” or against the wall, was the end point. At the table with my thoughts, my cock swelled. But in the fantasy, up against the wall, my cock retreated, no signs of arousal. This was a punishment and minutes later, the fire in my ass would feel exactly like a punishment.

The reality is that we are getting ready to have time apart in the coming week. And we DO have roommates who have to be considered. And one of the roommates was in the bathroom, so the soap would have been an issue. And even being quiet, with the bathroom right next to our room, that would be an issue too. So we have these limits. But I wouldn’t begrudge her the idea of punishing me for being tart with her. Perhaps, reading this, she might see it and want to enact such a punishment in future infractions. Of course, I also don’t want to be her petulant child! Just her pet. ;) So, maybe we just talk more about it later. And maybe, the next time I’m short with her, I’ll find myself with a mouthful.

Incentive and a partner’s role

I’m looking to see how we might leverage our FLM toward influencing me to lose weight. Yeah, I know. I know. If I’m not motivated to do it, I won’t do it, no matter what a woman in my life tells me. And no matter what incentive she uses. And it’s unfair of me to expect my partner to do such a thing. And it’ll create havoc in my relationship as we both become bitter with each other expecting too much and getting too little. And that’s not good.

So, I know the bad part of it.

But, let me make a sideways move from there. So far, Chloe and I have played with chastity a lot. On again, off again. And it’s come down lately to points where I will lock myself up and let her know and she’ll always approve. And then I’ll hope she’ll unlock me that evening or the next morning. It’s worked well. It’s a more casual method of using chastity and it’s been working. And yes, there are times when I wish she’d just say “You should be locked up today…” and have her make sure I am. I think it’s hot. (Yes, if I were really about service, it would not matter if I thought it was hot)

So, how about if I set myself my own goals, include my own “punishments” and Chloe can be involved as she wants, but she can also be in the backseat as well, just watching me “deal” with things? Well, here are the problems with that.

  • I can’t beat myself. If I’m really going to take a beating as a punishment, I can’t do it myself. That inflicts my punishment on Chloe.
  • She likes my cock. No, she loves my cock. If I’m locked up and she wants me to fuck her, I’ll inflict my punishment on her.
  • It’s feeeeeeeeels better if she does it. But honestly, I know I have to motivate myself and it’s not about how I “feeeeeeeel” about it, but it’s about motivating myself to exercise, lose weight and be more fit and like myself more. And in turn, Chloe may like my new shaped body more.

So, I think, what I need to do is…

Come up with some incentives to myself. I get “this” if I am on track. I get “that” if I am not on track. If I reach a goal, I would like “THIS” and I have until X to reach the goal. If I fail that goal, I don’t get the reward. But I don’t think punishment should take over if I fail that goal… We’ll have to see.

I know, absolutely, that I need to talk more with Chloe about this. I think expressing this kind of thing offer a little bit of “confessional debugging” – wherein the confession is what leads to the possible solution. And that has worked for me rather well, for some time.

Battling it out…

Today is going to be a quiet day in terms of posting.

john and I are battling.

John and i are battling.

It is a beautiful Sunday, and we are home for a large part of it. A lazy Sunday of sorts, as our plan is to drift through cooking and some cleaning….perhaps digging out holiday decorations. Perhaps not.

Except we are not getting as much done as I’d like.

Because we keep going at it with one another.

We are fighting.

With each other.

All four of us, swatting, pulling, grabbing, hammering, pawing, clawing, grasping at one another.

One house, and it’s me, Me, john and John.

Top vs bottom, Dominance vs submission.

John keeps pushing me into the bedroom, thrusting himself deep inside me, knowing I can’t talk when he does that. He is big. I’ll just say that. And when he really hammers it inside of me, I can’t get past it that easily.

And that is exactly what he is doing. Smiling the entire time he hammers into me. I don’t know how I know he is smiling, because my eyes are closed, because I can’t open them, because the hammering can be that hard.

I love it. I hate it. I love it.

I love it.

Hate it.

Love it.

Love it.

It can be uncomfortable, which is why he is smiling, I think. That, and the fact that he knows I love it far more than I hate it.

He stops either when he has had enough for the round he is in, or, because I have managed to push him off of me with my foot. Or, something like that.

And then it’s my turn. As soon as the fucking is done, the caning begins.

Boots and a santa hat

Boots and santa hat, is anything more needed?

Because, if he’s gonna play, he’s gonna pay.

Because despite everything, I am the boss, the leader of this household, and that trumps everything, all the time, for every reason.

It’s not even noon, and I think I have caned him 100 times. And the bastard keeps coming back for more.

We can’t stop laughing today. We are both wearing hats in the house. His is a Santa hat, mine is an Elf hat. He is naked and collared and he’s wearing a Santa hat. I am still in my pajamas, in my hat.

If we get too close to one another, either one of a few things is going to happen; a fucking or a caning.

Or a deep, lingering kiss. That leads to the bedroom. That leads to a fucking. That results in a caning.

It’s a beautiful fucking day. Literally.

Punishment

So, I imagine that many of our readers are wondering “Just what kind of punishment was meted out by the lovely Chloe to the inattentive slave last night? He had it coming! It must have been severe!”

You’d think that, and you’d be sort of right. Last night was a little bit of recovery for me from a rough day and some other items that were pressing upon me from work to family to personal. See my post last night for a little touch more info.

Last night there was writing and phone calls around the country and emails to back up the phone calls and a bit of a sigh of relief from me as I think, as long as we get through to next weekend as is, we’ll be good. Sorry, a little bit of vagueness, but I don’t need to air all the dirty laundry here (just the soiled panties).

She loves caning him

This lovely woman has more than a Mona Lisa smile on her face as she poses beside her work – having just laid down beautiful lines of cane upon her victim’s bottom. This picture has always spoken to me. She’s just so beautiful, smiling the way she is after inflicting such perfect lines.

In the end, we looked up at the clock and it was late and Mistress and I lay in bed and talked. Then she took me into her and I fucked her well and she had a nice big beautiful cum while not even allowing me to beg to cum. I did manage to sneak in more than one request to be allowed to beg, which she didn’t seem to be too upset with – perhaps she was more focused on the orgasm she was giving herself. When done, she rolled over, had me perform some cleanup duties and then squeezed her cock and balls possessively. Some additional words were said… very delicious words… and combined with the squeezing of her full balls so near and dear to this very turgid cock, elicited a small orgasm from her boy, yet he still didn’t spill. This ended up being more frustrating than not, however, which I’m sure makes the lovely Mistress smile. Still, it was good to feel some kind of pleasure. I calmed a bit, pet her back, shoulders and ass until she fell asleep and then drifted off after her.

This morning, however, she did not let a sleeping dog lie and I was awakened by the feel of her hand on my bottom. She started gently, moved gradually harder, invoked the cane AND the hair brush and I found myself in a beautiful little commuter flight length sub space journey, through which she caned me rather hard and consistently. I landed from that sub space flight through her thorough rapid caning of my ass, which she later told me induced a very hard cock, although I was very oblivious to that fact at the time.

Sadly, my ass has been well tanned on many an occasion before and the marks don’t keep as long as she might like them to, so the pictures we took would not do it justice. Instead I offer another person’s misfortune as visual stimulation.

So, I was well chastised for my disobedience yesterday morning and have brought my attention to caring for Mistress and her clothing back into keener focus, even if I am distracted by other issues. That’s about as salacious as this report is going to get, but I hope that the readers enjoyed hearing that I am not Mr perfect slave or anything like that, but indeed, am as fallible as the next.

The comfort of our kink

There is definitely something to be said for the comfort within a kinky relationship.

I remain confident in several things.

I will come home, turn the heat up, strip and put on my collar. Because that’s what she expects. It’s a bonus that it’s what I enjoy.

I will expect to receive punishment for my failing to put away her clothes this morning. Some of these routine items I am still getting used to. I cannot be perfect and while I strive for it, I’m not able to achieve it all the time. (Really, she sometimes has to nit pick deep to find failures – this makes me smile).

I know that, despite any punishment, despite any treatment, despite the fact that I might even have to spend the night on the floor, she will welcome me back to the bed. She will miss me not being in the bed. She would rather I be in the bed.

 

So…

 

Despite the shitty facebook posts from people who have opinions I cannot reconcile…
Despite work being busier than I can reasonably handle…
Despite work deadlines slipping to months delayed (not completely my fault)…
Despite family pressures that hurt me because I feel so entirely helpless and 2100 miles away (that’s the length of the Appalachian Trail, you know!)…
Despite shitty weather…
Despite frustrations with my volunteering efforts…

I can rely on the above positive things in my relationship with my Mistress.

I can expect her to blister my ass and make me suffer tonight. I failed in my regular duties and deserve punishment. I can expect her to love me and hold me if I cry. I can expect that my skin will be tended to should it break. And I can expect the consistency of being the one to take care of the kitchen in the morning despite tonight’s punishments.

I can count on my Mistress to love me, even if she hurts me. I can expect her to hold me when I whimper and cry. I can expect her to hold me to high standards. And I can absolutely count on her to love me, regardless of any of the crap that life has beating on me. I love serving her and loving her. I am happy to be her toy and slave.

And that’s worth so very much. When the rest is falling apart, I have something consistent to fall back on.

I am not pleased.

Dear pup of mine….
I find your service to be lacking this morning. I went into the bedroom to get dressed after you had already left for work and found my clothes from yesterday still on the floor. Bra, panties, top…all of it, on the floor.

I know I asked you for a few minutes of technical help this morning, and you were a good boy for providing it. But this does not exempt you from you duties and chores. Leaving my clothing on the floor is not permitted, and you are going to be punished for it when you get home tonight.

This might be unfortunate for you, for I am feeling especially sadistic these days.

I am going to have to start getting you up a bit earlier than I usually do if you are struggling to meet your morning obligations to me. Tending to me for a part of each morning is expected.

Do not make me remind you of this again.

Do you understand me??

 

Mme.

Bruised

Yesterday was a very busy day, as I’ve mentioned. Madame was getting ready for her weekend away with friends off doing all that voodoo that they do so well*. In the morning, I went into our bathroom to get ready for my day and also add the “A ring” to my cock, as she had already indicated the day before that I’d be locked up in her absence. So, I’m putting the a-ring on and notice these bruises on my cock and remember “Yes, that’s right, she caned my cock!” The one large bruise near the bottom looked as though it was cause by the chastity a-ring, but I know it was not. It was caused by her caning me as a punishment. I’ll put the picture of it behind this jump, as anybody who doesn’t want to see my junk should not have to see my junk, especially BRUISED junk. Click on to read the rest.

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My scarlet letter, my stripes

Madame is right, there is a scarlet letter to be shared. In a previous post, she indicated that I should be a good boy and not snoop around. Well, I’m a curious one, sometimes too curious.

And last night, she caught me, absolutely, no doubt. She indicated she hadn’t received a lot of response to the ad she placed and inquired “Should I post it on $OTHERSITE?”. She had already started writing something there and had me come over. “Why don’t you cut and paste?” I asked as I looked at her first two paragraphs. “You don’t think it’s too long for $OTHERSITE, do you?” “No. Not at all.”

She smiled. I think she laughed too. I had actually started walking back toward the kitchen, as I was preparing dinner, so I couldn’t see if she was laughing at me for walking right into it.

And she had me. “So, you read it?”

I had. I had read it. I was sneaky and I broke her trust with my snooping. I perused the first site, which is not normally unusual, as we both keep our eyes on it from time to time. But I wasn’t casually looking there, I was deliberately looking for her post. I was snooping. I was being bad.

She later came up behind me and pulled my hair, whispering into my ear “The only thing that’s saving you right now is a roommate. If I had my way right now, I don’t care if you ruined dinner from it, but I would be whipping you so hard you’d be in tears on the kitchen floor.” And she would have. And I’d have completely deserved it.

He's caned, she laughs. I think I've seen this film before.

He’s caned, she laughs. I think I’ve seen this film before.

Instead of a whipping then and there, I received a caning when she returned from her evening event, as our roommate was out for a bit. She beat my backside, my shoulders, my thighs and even had me sit on the dining room table’s bench, spread my thighs and cane directly across the tops of my thighs and cock. She positioned it just right so that the end of the cane landed directly across my flaccid cock. Excruciating pain ensued.

This morning, while waking, I wondered to myself “I know I have that spot at my belt line that’s been giving me grief, but what’s with this spot on my thigh?” Then I looked beneath my robe to see the tell tale stripes of a caning. One of those marks is what was reminding me of what I did. My scarlet letter – there on my thigh. There are other scarlet letters on my chest, back and buttocks, but this one on my thigh was severe. I’m unsure if there are marks on my cock, to be honest, it’s been such a busy day, I haven’t looked. I better take a look soon, as I’m quite sure that while she is away, I won’t have the luxury to look at my cock as steel tubing is not transparent.

I think I might have been set up and while I don’t think she’s really upset in this, it does show a violation of her trust on my part and for that, I am guilty and I am sorry. I do want her to be able to trust me and I’m not sure I presented my best side to her in this. I am normally a far better man than that. And a better slave.

Constructing Tales

My boy has become accustomed to me telling him stories. Often, when we are fucking, I will whisper tales to him that are more or less fantasies we both individually and collectively share. Sometimes I will let stories unfold, vividly painting him in the picture, setting the stage, and adding enough detail so that he can envision the imagines created in my mind.

Other times, I will delve straight into the heart of the matter, surpassing all of the background and backstory, and I will put my energies into portraying him as the main character, the sexual slave who is at the complete will and mercy of a roomful of strangers who have gathered for the soul purpose of using my boy for their sexual pleasure.

I will be riding my boy, grinding down upon his cock, my hips slightly swaying so that I might swallow every possible inch of him, and I will start to talk. My voice ends up being more throaty than usual because I speak in hushed tones, wanting him to concentrate on hearing me, forcing him to remain quiet so he won’t miss any of the details. I will talk about his training, how one day there will be another in our lives who will exist for the exclusive purpose of helping me train my boy.

I envision this man……and yes, more often than not, the fantasy is of another man…..as a dominant counterpart who is more than happy to be aggressive and assertive with my boy as he instructs him on how to  pleasure and please. Sometimes my fantasies are of another submissive male that I have acquired, one who is dominant to my boy, but submissive to me. I will use them both as players for my fantasies and training objectives. Or, I will use one as punishment for another.

My boy has spilled his seed many times over the months, without consent, without permission. At times, he has been unable to control himself, and ends up spilling his mess despite strict orders not to. Training is required. Punishment must be summoned. And I thoroughly delight in the idea that another will be invited in to assist with those two things.

We are finally at the point where those fantasies have a real shot at becoming realities. Soon…..very soon…..the personal ad I have been constructing in my mind will become a reality, and I will begin my search for  the ideal confidant

7563557368_a16438f66b_zwho will be more than delighted to be an occasional but regular visitor in our home. This man will show up after work, in winter darkness, and will do as instructed. He will use my boy, his holes, his service, and he will be an instrumental part of the rewards and punishments. The stories that once thrived only in my mind will become realities, and they will breed new stories, real stories, and more fodder from which my boy will feed.

When I straddle my boy, and ride him as I did yesterday, and I instruct him to keep is mouth wide open (his cunt, as I call it), it is for a reason. Because that WILL happen one day. One day…..one night, really….I will be using my boy. He will be on his back, and I will be atop of him, taking my pleasure, and another will be using him mouth to take their pleasure too. My boy will be in service to me, never forgetting the hierarchy of whom he belongs, but servicing us both.

It begins to feel different when fantasy begins to become reality. I am a fairly monogamous person by nature, and I do not wish to change that. My love is for my boy. But that doesn’t mean that training and intimacies with others won’t take place. We have the opportunity to make the private whisperings of sexual utopias real, and I think that makes us lucky.

And so the careful search begins. I will not settle for less than what I want. The right person is out there…..I feel certain of this. It’s just a matter of finding them.

 

The heat is on

I got the call from the propane company that the driver was on his way so I drove home – a benefit of the new place – it’s less than ten minutes from the office, sometimes as little as six!

To my surprise, Mistress was home, having dropped in to change and shower before an appointment. It seems that all the warm clothes she was wearing became too much when it turned into a gorgeous fall day!

Having met with the “gas man” (snicker!) and confirmed that the heater was working, I went back inside to tell Mistress the good news. She was happy it was done and happy that things were finally set up properly. But it was obvious she had not been happy Monday morning. Or this morning.

“You know what’s next, pup?”

“Ma’am?”

“You failed me pup. I’m upset that you failed me and our roommate. Put away those clothes on the floor and I’ll be right back.”

I put away her morning clothes as she finished some post shower items and returned to the bedroom.

“Drop your pants.” I did.

“Lay on the bed.” I did, my thighs, cock and balls laying upon the heavy wool blanket – the blanket I had to put there because I failed to attend to the propane tank – the reason I was in the doghouse.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her slide the sjambok from the toy bag. “Oh, fuck!” She stood to the side of the bed and after a few strokes to calibrate her distance and the weight of the stroke, she lit into me with a few zingers. I grabbed a pillow and yelled into it. She hit me again. I yelled again. She hit me a few more times, thighs, ass, wherever she wanted.

She then found a cane and started striking me with that. Lighter, yes, but it felt as though the cane was slicing into my flesh, the thin rattan stick able to cut such a fine line across my ass and thighs.

He is caned

He is caned

 

She tried to take a picture but the light of the room didn’t let it happen. “Turn over!” she barked. “Keep that leg flat!” I covered up my cock and balls to protect them “Put those down”, she said as she struck my hand with the cane. I forced my leg down to flatten it out and she came down with a cane stroke, right across my right thigh and my balls. I squealed out in pain and collapsed my body into a fetal position. I swear I heard her smile.

And then we both heard the house door open and close. Our roommate was home for a lunch break.

“You’re lucky… ” she said in a quieter tone as she motioned to me to start putting myself back together.

“Yes Ma’am, I know.” And I am.

As I left the bedroom our roommate greeted me with a smile “So, a little afternoon delight?” she laughed.

“Something like that, sure!” I smiled. “The heat is fixed!” I deflected. And vanilla conversation ensued.

Mistress promises more beatings. And not just for punishment, but because she wants to. Hey, roommate, any chance you can leave the country a week or three earlier?