As you may have already read, I had a shit week this past week. It was one of those weeks that brought back a lot of old feelings that, frankly, I didn’t think I would have to deal with in such a manner. My heart was hurting. I just wanted to retreat from everybody, but I wasn’t given that choice. So instead of telling all about that, I thought I’d share what unconditional love looks like for us. 

Drew was away all week, Daddy (Axel) was busy with a full schedule that was busier than his usual overfilled schedule. I did manage a counseling session of sorts with Axel that was good for me. My chosen Canadian family talked with me, as well. What I wanted more than anything was to touch my Master and to serve the two men who are probably the only two people in the world who have given me such unconditional love. 

You see, service to these two has become a means for helping me center. They both realize that, and are all too eager to oblige at times. Friday’s schedule got screwed up and I was not able to see Drew until Saturday morning. It was beyond my control and I know it sounds unhealthy, but it threw me and I got to the point where mentally, any forward progress I had made during the week was about to all go to shit because Drew was home and a dinner for us had been planned.

My Master has a beautiful mind. He knows what I want and what I need, even before I do at times. I was better by the time I actually got to touch him on Saturday, but he knew his slave just wasn’t right. I arrived at our home (while not a full time resident there, Drew and Axel’s home is also my home) and put on my uniform. I went through the required 15 minutes of greetings the puppies (bio, you perves). Although I was trying to cut it down to 3 minutes or less, they weren’t having it. They are small, beautiful, and so fucking happy that you stop what you are doing right then and there and not even Drew can beat the happy greeting.

Finally, sufficient kissy faces with the newest puppy and a sufficient amount of rubbing the right spot with the other, more reserved, puppy I was allowed access past the front door. My Master sat waiting for me. He asked how I was as I assumed my position in the floor. I muttered something like “I’m fine.” I just wanted to serve him, to get to that centering place. He knew that would require a little more than I realized. He wanted me to talk about it. In fact, he ordered me to talk. I tried. I cried. He held me. His touch, his embrace, his physical presence, his voice, he gave me all he had in that act of holding me. It is no surprise that he owns every part of me, but I don’t think that I have mentally and physically ever given anybody so much of me as I have in that moment. He knew what I needed more than I did, and that was just the beginning of how unconditional love was shown to me this weekend. 

He knew the answer before it was asked, but my Master asked what I needed. Of course my answer was to serve. I spent time locked in my kennel outside. I had the best sleep I’ve had all week in that kennel. I’m sure I was grinning ear to ear as I slept. I was an object in a cage. An object that needed recharging.

You may have seen a recent Twitter post or two about some new cuffs Chris at Steelwerks crafted for me. Well, they were used in a variety of ways this weekend. As I was cuffed hanging on display in the kitchen while Daddy did that magic he does in the kitchen, I was teased a bit by my Master. I strained in my cage as I tried to taste his lips against mine, and he smiled that grin that makes me legs weak. Daddy stole a few kisses from me and the twinkle in his dark brown eyes was bright as these two men made out in front of me. I craved them both more. 

My Master came close to me, as I strained the limits of the chains holding me in place. He grabbed me tongue in his mouth. His teeth held my tongue tightly. It hurt, it felt good. He pulled me tighter in the chains with just his teeth pulling my tongue. I felt pain and pleasure, and unconditional love. My straining cage leaked. Fuck…I am loved. I knew it before, but sometimes a slave needs to be reminded. 

Unconditional love looks like a slave put away in a kennel, an object on display, a leaking titanium cage, sore painful nipples that remind me of this, a plugged hole, and a still red and burning ass. I can weather any storm with the unconditional love of my chosen family. 

To come full circle, the issue from last weekend is something that will be fine with a bit more time. Being a gay, single Dad isn’t easy on a good day. Add in being kinky as fuck plus a dash of in living in one of the least educated, least open, least LGBT supported states it multiplies that from time to time into a concoction nobody would eat. Frankly, I had let my guard down, so the incident we do not speak of anymore knocked me down more than I wanted, but I am a resilient slave and I have a Master to serve and a kid to raise so I will be just fine. Especially as unconditionally supported as I now feel.

Good afternoon from a beautiful autumn day in the South. I am sitting in the back yard writing this, Axel is napping, and Jack is safely stored away in his dog kennel on the other side of the yard where I can see him, but he can’t see me. I let him keep his phone so Twitter might be full of wire bar’d images before I even finish this, but his being there today was an absolute necessity.

See, to phrase it lightly, he’s had a shit week. While I do own “every bit of him”, as he states a lot on Twitter and wears on occasion on a special tag Steelwerks made, I could tell you about his week, but I won’t. If he chooses to write about it he can, but let’s just say that he had the kind of week that reminds you that being gay, especially in the Southern Bible Belt full of God loving Christians who judge in the name of God, is still often tough and still hurts a lot at times. Of course, while we know that the people that spit the vile are a lot of the same people who will tell you about the “sins of gay” before getting a beer to go, picking up their mistress or whatever on the side, and then heading to the casino for the buffet, BBQ and banana pudding, it still just makes you want to scream sometimes as we as a group have come so far until we are reminded that we really haven’t.

This week, I write about this as the bond we have as the household of Daddy, Master and slave withstood it’s first test of anything emotional having to do with a core factor of what makes us, well, us. Of course, if you know my year and Axel’s and about the nine close people we lost, you know we have dealt with things, but this was the first instance where one of us could have said “enough is enough, the outside pressure means we need to pull away, etc” and, when it started, I worried a minute bit about that happening. That said, that worry only lasted minutes before I was assured Jack would be fine and, that, together, we would get through this. For Jack, the child of very religious, Sunday go to church special clothes wearing Bible thumping parents, he has always had to deal with the “we love you but we will miss you in heaven” tractor-set crowd and has done remarkably well, but this week marked the first time he ever had a chosen family – us, our Canadian friends, and a few others who were going to support and love him un-fucking-conditionally and, well, he struggled with that. The week was particularly bad as well because I was far away for work, Dr. Ax had a packed client schedule, and our puppy doesn’t talk yet, so it was a bad week to need someone when he could stop by our house. He did fine and each day was a bit better, but today is our first time together since the incident so it has been phenomenally good to be together and help heal in person.

The best part of this for me; however, is that I could look into his eyes and know that TODAY he needed to be controlled, hence the cage in the yard as I type. I am allowing him very little choice at all today and he could not be happier. After lunch, he asked if he could talk about some of his fears around what had happened and, of course, I let him. However, he maybe got seven words out before he started crying. so he just let me hold him for a while after that. While I knew the answer. I asked him what he needed and he said “to serve, Sir” so I got the cage out while Ax made a chore list.

I wish I could show you how he is smiling in the cage now, but we have that no face thing happening, but through his submission, the boy has found peace and comfort. I am proud to say that we have trained him that way and wish everyone could find inner peace in whatever BDSM role they choose (or biologically have chosen for them) – myself included many times. This storm will pass and those left in the clean air that will follow will be better for it.

Yesterday I posted a picture on Twitter of jack in a singlet that I had gotten him as a new, alternative house uniform, The joke was I got it for when company comes over, but I really got it because I thought he’d look fucking amazing in it and it turns out he did. Another beautiful part of this pic is that it showed off the bruises on his ass that have come from multiple discipline sessions this week. He wears those bruises with such pride that it makes me happy to see them as well.

Anyway, a comment was made about why the boy must always be so bad to need so much punishment. I got a little defensive at first because I took it as a “you better control your boy more” thing and then laughed it off as a general comment which is exactly what it was intended to be. However, it made me start thinking about the distinct difference in my mind, at least, about discipline versus punishment.

For me, it goes back to discipline being a word that actually has three facets, preventative, supportive, and corrective, We spend a lot of time on the first two. Preventative has been what we have worked on since Day One – the establishment of boundaries, the setting of goals, the creation of rules, defining protocols, etc. Jack has done really well with those and, in most ways, I would consider him well disciplined in the context of preventative discipline. The second, supportive, is how I teach, how I reinforce, and how I guide him to always do what is expected of him (with a bit extra too) in order to keep that title of well disciplined. In fact, contrary to what most people think, the supportive discipline category is where I would place the spankings and floggings that the boy often gets. Jack loves the pain and we use that pain, and those times, to remind him what is expected of him and how he needs to behave that particular week. In fact, we have found that the supportive discipline actually centers him and being reminded of his rules and protocols often send him into a comfortable place of peace that, well, centers and grounds him. Because the rules are a bit different for each of us, sometimes Axel recognizes the need for a spanking and will often tell jack he needs to come ask me to beat him. It’s so romantic – ha, though I do find it hot when he volunteers for pain.

Punishment is something entirely different for me and I have designed punishments that will hurt, though not physically since that is enjoyed. That said, jack is a damn good boy and he has not been punished in over a year, a trend I hope to see continue. It may be that he is just well trained and good or fearful of what I will dole out because, to him, it’s apparently a nightmare based on his face when I told him what it would be like if he fucked up one day. See, for me, I will take punishment straight to the brain, but I have to be careful in some ways to not punish myself in the process. Meaning, if I ever really, really wanted to punish him I would ban him from communicating with me for a certain period of time. That would crush him and I know he would never repeat that mistake again, but, you know what, it would also crush me too so I won’t do that (as a for instance, I once gave a no talking rule while he and I were alone in a hotel room. In theory it is hot, but in reality it just felt like he was mad at me and was giving me a cold shoulder, and I felt punished, so that will not be repeated.) So we stick with the idea of educational-ish punishments – for instance, should he ever fuck up and deserve a punishment, I am much more likely to make him watch two episodes of the Real Housewives of Orange County and then write a report about each housewife and their feelings (if he was awful it would be Atlanta). Two hours of that and I am willing to bet the action will never be repeated.

So, to bring this back full circle, if you see my boy and he has a bruised ass, don’t pity him. He’s thrilled. I am thrilled. And, regardless of how you really define it, he is well disciplined.

Welcome to Part Two – the sexy part.

I would like to preface this part of the post. I am owned completely by Drew. We have a trust and a love that is not shared with anyone else. When we were discussing our trip, he asked what I wanted. Of the many things we discussed, I told him that I wanted to be known as belonging to him as his completely owned slave, every part of me, by people he trusted. At some point later he asked if I trusted him completely…which he already knew the answer to. That was months ago, but I can’t help think that it was part of the setup for this trip and the fact that we were going to spend a lot of time with two other people who knew every single thing about our relationship.

Drew already mentioned our arrival at  the House of Werks and you know about Mrs. S meeting a naked me in leather, etc – lol. The reality of that is so far from that point I laugh, but having fallen in love with them the night before, we arrived to the dungeon and spoke with friends about all the things friends talk about, discussed some new project ideas, shined up a few of our pieces, Chris and I talked kink and, I think, Mrs. S and Drew spent an inordinate amount of time talking about appliances. Through this, friendships grew stronger. This was the best part of the day and the highlight of the trip – at that point.

Of course, the playspace is what you all are interested in but, before we go there, I want to reiterate, while I say things about touching, etc – this was not sex. This was me having the privilege to show off myself, my cage and my Master’s training of me while also being a chance for them to have new gear pictures for marketing – or masturbating if they are into that kind of thing. Yes, I got touched, fluffed and bruised, but in my head, at least, that is a random Thursday.

Now, back to the narrative, as Mr. and Mrs. S, along with my Master, restrained me, I felt a sense of calm come over me. Being bound and restrained does that to me. Suspended in leather, hooded, and gagged, every part of me was owned and, at that moment, by three people in a way, but by Drew in all ways. That’s no news, but our friends now saw it first hand. They knew it, too. My master turned me over to the hand of Mrs. S. And, as innocent as she may appear, she is a force to be reckoned with – and that is so fucking sexy. She has this amazing dominant force that enjoys handling a slave like myself. My newly shined cage was installed again by my Master. The touch of him, the feel of him, the smell of him and his voice were all making it very fucking difficult to get the cage installed again. At some point I was released from suspension and flogged and whipped, and I’m pretty sure caned by everyone in the room. Fuck it was nice.

It was time to switch hoods and Drew stopped everything and said, “I want to show off your training, boy.” They looked questionable but I knew what he meant. You see, Drew doesn’t like noise or expression when he is hurting me, so I have trained very hard to keep smiling and not reacting, even when the pain is fucking intense. After he said that, he then bit my nipples hard, and did again, then he asked Mrs. S. to do something with them which he did something to my ass that hurt. But, I made no face and from the look in his blue eyes, his grin he tried to hide, and the fact that I think he was hard – I made him proud and I think impressed them too. 

I was “hurt” in multiple ways again and proved to be as well trained as my Master said I was. What an amazing feeling to know that I lived up to the expectations of my Master and our friends. For the record, I was not actually harmed ( you know my drill here) but damn I was hurt so good to the point that I was reminded that he loves me for days after.

At that moment, there was a wave and, goddamn, it felt so good to be owned. 

Next up: Latex. As I was put into my rubber catsuit and a thick, non eyed hood, the suspended bondage table came out. I was bound, gagged, teased, tortured, and photographed so many times, but do you know what? – I fucking fell asleep it was so peaceful. I only woke up later when my hood was unzipped and Drew and Mrs. S were talking about anxiety and depression, rugs that can be washed, and skincare to stay younger – fuck we are an eclectic group. 

But, these intimate moments shared between a Master and his slave and with friends I’d consider family, were the bomb. I honestly never knew I could be loved and accepted like I had been that day. Sitting there naked, covered in lube and sweat, while Mrs. S sprayed Clorox around me was, well, fucking insane.

I got dressed and as we all shared in aftercare and discussed the normal things such amazing perverts discuss, we cleaned gear, made plans for the next couple of days and, for lack of a better way to describe it, we had the purest form of togetherness I think people are capable of. As expected, I was in a dumbfounded state of bliss for the rest of the day and night. 

That night at the hotel was amazing, for about 45 minutes and then exhaustion set in. However, the next morning is a different story and, we will save that for Part Three.

Finally, a note about the pic – Drew teases me for taking a lot of selfies, so apparently I was set up for this shot while in a blackout hood.

Our trip had been planned for months. Meeting the requirements to get into and out of another country during a pandemic was a checklist that was checked and rechecked prior to our departure. A late night packing, repacking and document uploads were completed. It looked like we were actually going to make it out of the country as planned. As usual, Drew got us the best seats and I chuckled when the lady at the club said, “3 million miles, you are with the Master of travel” as she checked me in- yes I was, but IF she really only knew. The plane lifted off and landed, a quick layover and before we knew it we were in the land of maple syrup, shiny metal cages, poutine, and amazing people. 

Rules for the room were that I be naked, collared, and on all fours within four feet, well, meters here, when inside the hotel room. Luckily for me, my Master had requested a room with floor to ceiling windows so that I could see the city from my place in the floor (fyi, reality check, yes that’s hot but it’s not practical all the time – we are real you know). Without fail, my cage strained at the thought and remained that way almost constantly the entire trip. We met Mr. and Mrs. Steelwerks for dinner that night and a bit of a surprise that I had been planning for months. 

I should start with the fact that Drew absolutely hates surprises…this was quite tricky. After months of deciding how to surprise him, we took a last minute let’s just see what happens kind of approach. We arrived for dinner almost late. It seems that our Uber driver was stuck in traffic on the way to pick us up (Uber is so not the same these days). Drinks, dinner, and the friendships were amazing. After more than a year of semi-isolation, I think we all needed it. It’s funny, I watched Drew relax in a way I had not seen before when he saw his two friends. In the almost two years since he had seen them, he had dealt with so much loss, so much pain, so many health things that, though he swears they didn’t, had to take a toll. I have been with him for some of that, but the “business guy taking care of business no matter how much it hurts” is the Master I am used to, so when he looked at them, he immediately relaxed in the most happy, tidal wave-ish way that I made me almost wanted to cry. He loves those two people as they do in return and, fuck, it was fun to see and just made my world better.

ANYWAY, back to the surprise. We planned to lock the new gift on me under the table, but it didn’t seem to be as viable of an option as we had hoped because the table was wide and Chris and I are both small men with limited arm span. So, being that my Master has a thing for the internet and social media, we decided that I would make a vague post about the surprise with a picture of the cuffs- oh yeah, the surprise was a custom set of Steelwerks cuffs with a specially made engraved plate….and lots of parts that lock or could be used as anchor attachment points. Then, I’d present him with the key to the locks. I posted while we ate. Told Drew to look at the post…”something about dinner with Mr. and Mrs. S always held a surprise“. He read the post. He smiled. He put his phone down and had NO FUCKING REACTION. Later, I found out he didn’t actually look at the picture, he just saw the words, hit like and went back to smiling at Mrs. S.

So, on to plan B.

I handed him a Steelwerks velvet bag (anyone who has bought from them knows this bag as it is fucking special) with a key in it and told him to look inside. He was surprised, as much as he shows surprise. After a discussion of what the key went to, the cuffs were locked onto my wrists at the table there in the restaurant – patrons and wait staff be damned (I felt so owned). That is how I remained for the rest of dessert and I’m quite sure the straining cage in my pants was bordering on the edge of obscene at that point. Dinner was over, and I was secured via the cuffs in the back of Mrs. S’s car for the ride home. Damn that woman has some sway.

That evening, I was allowed to bathe Sir in the tub back at the hotel room and help with his grooming (ie: shaving his head and face), something that I quite enjoy. This was followed by me spending an hour or so in the closet while Drew watched TV. However, as you can see by the picture at the top of the post, I was quite content and, well, it was a really nice closet!

The following morning was filled with anticipation and excitement. We were on our way to do a Steelwerks photo shoot and I was going to be the gimp.

Fuck, what a day it would be.

Part two about THE DAY coming soon…

Bonjour from Montreal. Home of THE Steelwerks (yes yes, the one with the e).

In setting up the trip, we knew we all wanted better pictures and so we blocked a whole day to visit the Steelwerk’s Private Playroom where Mrs. Steelwerks runs the roost. They knew what shots they wanted, so I literally handed the boy over to her while I sat in the corner and watched this magic unfold. That said, as a note, I want to make it clear that this day happened only because we are friends, we knew limits and boundaries without even having to discuss them, and while it was super sexual and sexy it was equally not sexy and sexual as it was just a great day between friends. I actually laughed because if one could have heard the conversations about my dead parents, health woes, and the 10,002 reasons why they should start watching Ted Lasso while she and I each spanked his ass to make it a better shade of red (you know, JUST for the photos), they likely would have turned off the porn immediately. Again, I said it before, but this visit and the photos from it are derived solely from friendship and incredible trust. These are not an added package to our cages and/or because we were customers.

That out of the way, it is good to be back on the other side of the border as it was so past time for this trip. Jack had never been to Canada, I missed my friends terribly, Jack has a custom titanium penis, I wanted to show off my boy, and, most importantly, I had a coupon.

There is so much to say about the day and there are so many pictures that are surely going to infiltrate the Twitter over the next week or two that it’s impossible to say other than something rather trite like “stay tuned fuckers, you are in for a treat” that I almost don’t know what to say. However, I think that since we all know Chris, me and Jack fairly well, it’s time to expose the kinkiest of the kinky, Mrs. Steelwerks. <Da Da DUM.>

What does one say about Mrs. S aside from “fuck she’s hot”?

I think one of my favorite ways to describe her is as a tiny woman who casts a really big shadow. She’s beautiful, she’s caring, and she’s got amazing hair. When we arrived at the play space Jack rang the bell, stripped naked and sat on the front stoop until she opened the door dressed in black leather and wearing some bright red Jimmy Choo stilettos that were so fucking hot. She snapped her whip and Jack melted it was so..okay, okay, anyone really believe that? The truth is that when we got there she did what all Mom’s do, offered us anything in the house (food wise – sad cause I have my eye on some shelving), showed Jack around, and apologized for a scuffed wall and some dog hair on the couch. I had to think hard about whether I wanted to turn my boy over to a lady who would allow a scuff on her wall and threatened to expose her to the world as a scuffed wall, non 24/7 stiletto wearing, flawed human, but, yet again, her charm won me over and I decided against that.

The rest of this post is about her, the human. We met maybe five years ago and I fell in love immediately. She and I each met at a point in our lives where we had both decided to embrace our kink world and were each about to venture on two similar yet very different paths toward it. In many ways one could say she had the advantage living around metal penises and vagina, um things. In other ways one could say I had it easier, constant travel, no children, etc so we set a race without actually racing. In my mind she won, but maybe in hers I did, you know, since I did arrive with an owned slave and stuff – but, NONE of that matters at all, because, fuck, that woman made it. She accepted the challenge to her kink self and she stepped over it like she was five and a half feet tall. It’s been fun to hear about but even more fun to watch and has proven to me that muggle life and kink life can will live together. I say every bit of that with a giant smile as I am just so proud of her, my friend.

I am going to include one of many pics here, but stay tuned. The NSFW ones will be posting soon.

\

Disclaimer: No slaves were harmed in the making of this blog post. I hurt a lot and I loved it, but I was not harmed. Consequently, I am closer and more enamored with my Master each day, if that is such a thing.

I’ve posted before about pain. Pain is subjective. What hurts to one pervert may be the most pleasurable experience to the next pervert in line. I guess what I’m getting at is pain isn’t anything special in and of itself, but how that pain is used and interpreted and taken or given can be a beautiful thing. If you have read my pain posts or seen my bright red ass on twitter, then you know I’m a fan, mostly. Well, even when I don’t like it, I like it, if I am being honest.

There are two sides to pain and both sides make the titanium that encases this owned dick attached to me stretch, or at least feel like the titanium is stretching. Part of pain is giving – Part of pain is taking. I like both. (though, admittedly, that part of me about giving it is locked away behind my collar until Sir lets me have my own boy). I like pushing my limits. It is supposed to hurt. Maybe I have a wire crossed or the brain wiring guy was hungover the day my brain was wired. I do know one thing that makes my cage strain is pain. Maybe that was why marathon training was like a drug to me. It hurt, but I fucking loved it.

This weekend, Drew wanted to hurt me (insert disclaimer about the difference between hurt and harm. I may hurt a lot and quite often, but I have never and will never be harmed by my Master). My nipples are quite sensitive, and he knows it. I had been pushed close to my limit and I wanted more. He looks at me and says something I don’t truly remember. The next thing I know, I am offering him my nipple to bite. As my Master’s teeth deliver the pain I had volunteered for, my nipple aches, my teeth clench, my sense receptors are telling my body to pull away from the pain. As he requires, I am silent except for a noticeable change in the force of my breathing.  All that noise people tend to make when they are in pain tends to kind of take away from the shared experience, at least in the world Drew and I share of pain.  That isn’t to say I never make a sound. Attempting to contain that sound just does something for me and it does for my Master, as well (I think the same wiring guy was on duty the day he was wired, as well).  At the same time, my titanium tube is as full as it ever gets and pointing like a street sign indicating there is a sharp left turn ahead.

The pain stops as my Master releases the grip his teeth have on my nipple.  My mind comes back closer to the present time and that fogginess clears some.  As Drew looks at me with those dreamy eyes he nods his head towards my left. Instinctively I offer my left nipple to his beautiful white teeth. GODDAMNIT! I just volunteered twice, basically begged for my Master’s pain. Something about volunteering to take his pain just…I can’t describe it. It brings us closer each time, but I just can’t seem to get close enough to him. Strange as it may be, I want to be closer and closer, but I don’t ever really think I want to be close enough. The truth is, I like trying to get close enough. It is fucking fun. Trying involves things like volunteering to take my Master’s pain and seeing the energy and pride in his demeanor, his eyes, his smile as he hurts me. Also of note, it makes me leak..historically, I have not been much of a leaker, so it excites me.

Here’s the thing, I don’t think I meant to be a Master. Yes, I am super kinky and, yes, I have some amazingly devious thoughts on how to train a slave, but that was just that. I was and still am, a switch. The sub or slave role is something my fantasies always said I needed to play, but time and time again, my body and brain would tell me otherwise. It would tell me it was okay to be dominant and to enjoy the experience, but don’t get too used to it – or something similar. It happened with strangers years and years ago, it happened when I met Thumper six years ago (fyi, can anyone believe it was six years ago?) and with a few friends after that – which were almost always just a play or adventure. But, when I met Jack, it fucking slammed me and as he has fallen more and more into his submissive state, my desire to dominate, protect, and nurture him has been through the roof. I will admit to fighting it at first, but giving in and allowing myself to own that Master side, has been incredibly good for all three of us here.

As you likely know too, I like to keep this kinky side in a little box on the side of my other life. Now the walls of that box have been deteriorating through the years and the paint has gone from the dark black of “you can’t see in here” to a mostly clear glass, though some is still rather frosted too. This box is just there and, even if some can see in, I am and will not be comfortable with breaking down those walls any time soon. If you were to walk into our house, you would know I own Jack. Easy. No guessing even needed. But if you were to see us out in the world, while you might think couple, or even triad if Axel is with us, you do not see power lines, structure, or anything else. Jack is short and ten years younger so at a distance you might think son, but nobody would think slave or power exchange.

So we thought.

Last week, I went with Jack to buy a new car – one of my favorite things to do. Jack doesn’t really need a new car as his is only two years old, but with the market being what it is for trades and with him having unexpected equity, it made sense. Plus, I wanted him to have a new one as the one he has is lacking some of the passive safety systems and creature comforts that he avoided on the options list when he apparently went to the dealership in 2020 and said “show me something in blue.” Well, that day didn’t really work out because we didn’t like the car (and there are so few on the lots) so I have since found him one out of town we will go get this weekend. However, the funny thing about that is that the salesman, who Jack had made contact with, talked to, made appointment with, etc was THE guy, but, what was funny is that when we got there he wasn’t. I was. It was odd in a sense because this guy assumed he and I were a couple and didn’t blink about it at all, something that used to terrify me. In this case, he could have cared less and that spoke wonders about people of now. We did not correct him on the couple thing as it was easier to do that than try to explain the thruple, gay, dominant, married, submissive, locked, shaved and plugged thing to a complete stranger, you know. But, apparently the salesman had an intuition or something because he spoke to me about the car and, pretty much, only me. Having come from work, Jack was still wearing surgical scrubs, had already shown his firefighter ID for the BMW discount, and was strutting around talking in his deep drawl. By all accounts, he is more masculine than me, but the salesman just knew I was the one in charge. In fact, I got swept up into it and started doing the dealing, the dealing of Jack’s money, negotiating his trade, his credit and even what he would put down money wise. I was just doing what I do and then, about halfway in, I realized that this is not a part of him I would consider “mine” as he has his own life, bank accounts, etc and those are not my business (maybe later in our D/s life, but not yet). He’s not my object at times like this.

So, I asked the sales guy to step out and I asked him Jack if he was okay that I was doing this and even pseudo apologized for just jumping in. His response to me was not anything I expected. He said “Sir, I don’t know if I have ever been so aroused with clothes on.”

I was thrilled and, from that moment on, I took it over. In fact, that deal didn’t work, but we did better on a car we will go get this weekend while having a fun round trip road trip and a night of slave service in a cheap hotel.

Back to the not meant to be a Master thing. Maybe not. But I am enjoying trying even when it doesn’t show.

A few topics are on my mind as I write this. A punishment of sorts involving denial- more than the usual, car shopping, and the mind of my Master. Damn, his mind is so complex and so ahead of my game most times that it should be a post on its own. So I guess it will be. But, these three things are interlaced, but an extra dose of denial is what I have finally landed on here. In a way, denial is a cornerstone of our relationship.  It isn’t THE cornerstone, but my dick (technically it is his, but it is attached to me, which is his, you get the idea) locked in a cage represents a lot to perverts like us.

So, on to the double denial dose of discipline. 

Not long after I wrote a post on my uniform and what all it means to me and represents, I came in from work, stripped, and immediately took my place under Drew’s desk while he finished leading what was probably his 17th zoom meeting of the day. In my zeal to get to my place at my Master’s feet, I had forgotten an important part of my uniform. When his hands touched my neck, my heart sank. I had forgotten my collar. My chest tightened. My eyes even watered. It was not out of fear of punishment, but it was a feeling of disappointment in myself. There was no excuse for it, I just forgot. He saw all of that in my eyes and my demeanor and a swear he smirked.  We both knew there would be punishment and, dammit, my titanium attempted to stretch again.

Fast forward to the punishment part. Drew never mentioned my collar but an hour or two later I was instructed to get my cuffs, the posture collar, and some locks. I had always noticed that he has a U-shaped piece of iron bolted to the floor on his side of the bed, but never gave it too much thought because I know that it is there to prevent a giant, 8’ tall heavy mirror that leans against the wall from sliding. Funny, I had never given that piece of iron much thought, however, that soon changed as I found the D-ring from the now locked posture collar locked directly to said iron piece, leaving my face planted against the hardwood floor. He then locked my hands behind my back and cuffed each of my ankles together. It was a stress position like I had never been in before and, frankly, it hurt as much as it made me hard. I had no choice other than to rest the weight of my body against my face on the floor while Drew reminded me why I was going to be there for an extended period of time. Then, he left me to think. I really didn’t know how long he meant, but I also knew that I had no choice as I did have a price to pay. I should clarify for the sake of safety,  I said he left me, but he’s always very aware of safe play and would actually never do that. Instead, he took a shower, climbed into bed, and watched some TV and did some writing while essentially ignoring me.

It. Felt. Like. Fucking. Forever (and I was so turned on by this new aspect of my slavery).

Finally, Drew got off the bed and went into the upstairs office where I soon heard the digital lock on the closet door opening. Then, I heard chain. I like chain. Drew came in, unlocked my collar from the floor and then promptly padlocked one end of about 4’ of chain to the floor bolt and the other end to the locked posture collar. My hands were still bound behind me and my ankles locked, but I had some freedom as I could walk on my knees as far as the chain would let me. 

As it turns out, Drew made sure that the chain would let me stretch to about 2 inches away from his hard, dripping dick. It was dripping like it does, but it was just out of reach of my mouth. I struggled and strained and stretched to taste my Master. This was fucking denial on steroids and I struggled to wonder whether the bondage or the denial were my punishment. That’s the thing about my Master, his mind knew I would be struggling to decide which I liked better and that is so hot to me. It reminded me that I love not only his mind, his body, his eyes, his smile, but also his taste. I WANTED to taste him, to taste his pre cum, his cock, his body.  I needed it and, god damn, I then fucking begged for it.

It was like a bad boxing match. Drew bobbed and weaved, move left, right, up and down and never once let me taste his dick but I continued to dance as if I could. I fought against the chain holding me in place, my cage protruded and pointed left, as it does, my tongue trying to extend a foot away from my body. Drew was loving this and probably for the first time that I really remember, being denied the taste of cock was a form of punishment I never expected. I just KNEW he would give in and let me taste and touch and then he stepped away and grabbed the key from the table where he laid it. I was seconds away from that taste I wanted. He unlocked my hands and ankles and, as I felt his heavy hand grab my neck and felt the key enter the lock, I almost vibrated off the floor with the anticipation of that dick. That taste. Fuck that taste.

Finally, finally, I felt and heard the lock click and, as he drew near me I felt the heat from his dick coming right at me. He was so close I could almost taste and was so ready when suddenly, I heard his deep, southern growl say “slave, put your toys away, take a shower, then meet us downstairs. You need to drive us to dinner.”

Fuck. I am a lucky slave.

Yesterday was a holiday in the US and, unlike most similar days, we didn’t do anything – which was amazing. Yesterday was also a year since I met and collared the boy, so it was a nice day of sorts. Ax grilled and I did things around the yard while Jack spent most of the day attached to the deck and/or locked into steel spreader bars from Mr. S that I absolutely adore. One of my favorite pictures was taken by Axel yesterday of me rocking Jack on his knees while I literally held his head keeping him from crashing face first down. I thought it was a cool picture, but when I stopped to think a bit more about that, the trust that is shown I that one image, the strength he had, it blew me away. I knew the boy trusted me, I knew that I could be trusted, I knew he’d do anything for me, but it did’t really occur to me that I was saying “fall into me” and that he was doing it without a micro-second of doubt. It was everything I think about all just within one shot and, I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I swooned a bit.

So, bondage trust games aside, I also had a conversation with the boy about what he has learned in a year, what he likes, doesn’t like, regrets, etc. I am big believer in questions like “now remind me again, why I am I giving you this spanking?” and the like to help engrain a message and to, well, make me harder.

His answered surprised me because, out of all of the questions, none of the answers really had anything to do with sex or BDSM, they had to do with life, with him, with his growth, with his future. When I asked him to tell me things about how being trained as a slave has changed him and what he’s most proud of, he said he was proud of his comfort with himself, his ability to find self worth in his fetishes, his ability to please others, his ability to be more focused, and, his ability to be a better dad. He said all of those things were things that he never thought about when he used to fantasize about being a slave, but that they were absolutely some of the best side effects he could think about having been a result. The fact that he said them while being bolted to a deck and unable to move at all was just gravy on top of the biscuit.

I could list paragraph after paragraph about the practical things he has learned is serving, in training, and in submission. Things like how he takes more and more pain every single session. How he can endure tighter, stronger, more severe bondage at my whim. How he knows when to strip, when to plug, where to shave, and where to touch me for the best result. All those things could be a rather long list, but I don’t see them as having as much importance as what he did list.

So, I think I will just leave it at that.