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. :-)

bracelet

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.

 

 

Polite

IMG_6105She told me one evening “I think I’m sometimes too polite to you, pup”. I smiled. “It’s hard to let go of good habits like being polite. But I think, since you’re my slave, I should be a little meaner. A little more direct.”

“That’s your prerogative, of course” I replied.

“It is, isn’t it.”

And here I was the previous night thinking “I wonder if she might try being a little meaner in the future.” But I never told her that. Well, not until she reads this post, that is.

At risk of falling in

I know I still haven’t written about all the wonderful things that camp had to offer, but camp is still with me. And on top of that, my denial continues. And my submission to Chloe continues. And it’s not stopped. And that’s unusual for us. Usually we take a bit of a break. This year, perhaps because we are living together 24/7 and living a much more FLR, we haven’t taken a break. Even with me having my children for weeks at a time, I am still Chloe’s boy. And she’s continued to run with it.

And that’s where I find myself at risk of falling in too deeply. I can, sometimes, fall very deeply into my submission to her. Into that place where I will do anything for her. And I trust her completely, which is good, but damn, I could be at some serious risk here. And it’s not like I’m going to jump off a bridge for her, but the primary risk is that of losing myself – my “John-ness” which attracts her to me – in favor of my submissiveness. I suppose the easiest way to describe it is that I could turn from that nice strong guy she loves to be around (and loves to torture) into the doormat slave that goes into the “Yes, Mistress” to all the queries she makes. And that doormat kind of submissive is not what either of us find sexy. And yet, I’m at risk of being there.

At risk of falling very deep with no escape

At risk of falling very deep with no escape

I think that, after the kids head back to their mother and I can get a break for a few days, I’ll be okay. Once I can get some of the writing out of my brain and into the screen, I’ll have purged some of the deeper submissiveness and made room for that John guy.

In the meantime, I have made my more dominant side make an appearance or two, which is heartening. And I think that if I were not as switchy as I am, I would definitely slip into being a very submissive slave and into the doormat world of slaves. And while that may be okay for some, it’s certainly not our kink. I just have to see where we are evolving in our kink and how we both fit into it.

Okay, so more writing to come, including more Dude in Distress and clothespins and pee and more teasing and denial than you can shake a cane at!

Soft, what gasp through yonder window breaks…

It is the Mistress… waking early. Rising slowly. Realizing she cannot return to slumber. And her hand is upon her mons, rubbing, then upon her clit, focused. Slave, roused, is exhorted to lick a nipple. Then to tug on one. Then both.

She picks up her pace. Quickened, she breaths deeply. Her legs rise, the slave assumes the most comfortable sex position in the world. She moans. He gently and slowly fills her, she rubs. A big, slow, gradual orgasm awaits Mistress as she walks down this sleepy path. She finally comes out from the wood into a field of sunshine, she smiles, gasps, runs wonderfully through the field and enjoys the orgasm that brings her here.

The slave, having been used is pushed aside as she rises for the day. He sleeps, scattered on the bed like one of the pillows or sheets, perhaps like a woman might toss aside a favorite vibrator. He lays there as she putters in the morning.


 

I feel so soft and squishy and so beautifully used. I’ve not felt more slave-like in some time and while it makes me quiet, I hope it stays with me for some time, in the background, washing over me. I have been well used as her toy, her slave and not word one or concern one was made of me having orgasm. It was all her, all the time, and she stopped when she was done. If I could talk about perfect sex, it would (some of the time) be like this.

Awake now, I have to drive hours from her, then back again, but it was a beautiful ride, nonetheless. I am so filled with love and service and joy in my heart right now. I feel like I’m glowing from the joy that’s within me.

My slutty dungeon boy

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Please, ask john about the dungeon…..

So, my boy has been back for well over a week, and he has yet to blog about his trip away.

He went away for a week. Had all sorts of sexy adventures. Did you all know that??

He went south, DC area.

To a kinky event that holds thousands of kinky people.

He was in service to another Mistress there. A Lady, actually. A very fine Lady, if I don’t say so Myself.

He helped build a dungeon. A really really cool dungeon.

And sex spaces! Lots of sexy sex spaces. He helped build those too.

He got to be a bottom that took orders, dropped to his knees, and did what he was told.

He got to wrestle naked with a naked woman. The only reason they were naked was because they started fully clothed. The object of the wrestling was to wrestle one another naked. He did that. Did you know he did that?? Probably not, because he has not written about it. Bad dog. You should ask him who won. Go ahead, ask my dog john.

He got to cane a pussy. He got to cane a man made of military steel. He got caned himself. He had all sorts of adventures, but hasn’t shared by writing about it. Bad boy.

How should he be punished for this neglect?? What’s the point of an alternative kinky blog called Exquisite Dungeon if he isn’t going to blog about being in one of the biggest and best dungeons we have on the east coast? Doesn’t that sound like a very Exquisite thing to blog about??

Comments welcome. Verrrrry welcome. And if there are some good ones, I’ll blog about the results of those suggestions.

:-)

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