This week I walked into an empty house. I sat alone at my second home. No Drew. No Axel. No dogs (you know what I mean). Multiple aspects of my personality like structure and control. One side can’t fathom the thought of giving up control. The other thrives on giving it all away. 

Everyone is out of town but me. I’m on my own at this home. I know I have chores that are expected do be done, but this slave was given no other instruction besides “just do whatever needs to be done.” 

When I got home from work, I got the things done first that required actual clothes. However, clothes are quite bothersome and uncomfortable, so I decided only my shorts and shoes would be necessary for the chores that needing doing on the street facing section of the yard. Once out of street view and behind the gates, shoes and my uniform were all that was necessary. I was proud to be in my uniform. Honestly, I’m more comfortable in my uniform than clothes. 

I finished the work needing done in the back yard and went inside. No pets greeted me. No Master working at the desk. No Daddy wrapping up patient files for the day in his usual spot. They’ve been gone less than 24 hours, and I miss them horribly. 

I sat in the floor and texted them to see how they were and make sure they were safely where they were going and send a picture of myself in uniform. I felt sad for a moment. I thought about many ways my Master has trained me and made me better. I grinned and squeezed the plug I was carrying a little tighter because he feels it when I do that, despite any distance. My phone chimes in reply to my text and he told me how good the squeeze felt to him. I swooned. I began to do my regular chores. 

I looked around satisfied with the job I had done with my daily chores and my titanium strained, filling with the dick I no longer own. I know my service in such daily things is kind of boring, but it makes my Master and Daddy happy.

I grabbed the kettlebell that is often shackled to my ankle. I carried it with me, as my Master wasn’t there to lock it around my ankle. I started upstairs, dusting, cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry (and remembering that the custom tailored dress shirts only air dry- I’ll be damned if that didn’t turn me on even more or if I ever make that mistake again). I vacuumed. I made the bed. I washed the dishes. I even cleaned the stainless appliances and the trash cans. 

I loved every fucking minute of this service. It gives me a purpose, a task, something to be proud of. The thought of greeting two of the most amazing men in the world as they returned home to a clean home, a home that smelled like the leather scented room spray we all love, a fully Diet Coke stocked fridge, a clean office, and freshly shaved slave on his knees and in uniform made me grin (and it turns out it did them too). I squeezed the plug and leaked a bit from my titanium tube. The service itself brought me mentally closer to my Master, despite the geographical distance. In retrospect, I could feel his presence as if he were there. 

Service is not a means of degrading me. It is my way of showing love, thanks, growing, learning, and strengthening our family bond and love.

When everyone returned home this weekend, I asked my Master if the clean house made him proud of me. His reply was that “no, it made him happy”. He then said he is ALWAYS proud of me, to own me, and to tell others that I belong to him. As I still feel the lingering pain of the reward he gave me for a job well done, I know that service is a source of pride, belonging, and growing all of us stronger.

Between you and me, it allows me to show them every day how I love them even more than yesterday. 

Last week’s post from the boy about double denial was fun to read. While it was more fun to do, he wrote this amazingly hot piece about how I pushed him through his limits for pain while still denying him his dick, and for most of the session, mine too. As you all know from years of these posts, orgasm to me is a hit or miss thing as I am just not one who is drawn by the need to ejaculate (even in my 20’s.) Since I own a slave who really wants me, his master, to replace all of his denied orgasms with mine, I mentally thrive on the fact that I am double denying him access to either one of the cocks I own. Sucks for him, but thus is the life of a slave.

Post that post, someone asked me how I knew that, on that day, I could take him past his limits and why I did not ask him first. Well, first, I do not have to ask, he has given me every permission that I need to do whatever I want to his body as that is part of our agreement. Now, that came with trust and the kind of trust that is built from years of service, not just answering an ad. This is something I think more and more submissive’s need to think about when they are out there stating what they will and will not do. In order for me to know that the day had come, it wasn’t just a decision driven by my dick, but was the fact that it was a Friday and any lingering soreness I caused had time to go away before work, it was a day when he did not have immediate childcare duties, and, most importantly, it was a day that I really wanted to do it. But, how did I know that despite all of the above that he was ready? Well, he told me without even knowing he did so,

By that I mean that, when you own a slave or are in charge of a submissive, one of your duties is to learn how to read their body often better than they can. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I learned it from a bisexual bunny boyfriend eight years ago (fuck, eight years?) as he helped me learn how to not be afraid of his pain as he wanted more and more. I realize now that I was the one with limits then as I was not ready to take him to the place he really needed to be, nor did I have the skill to get him there without marking him up in some way, something that was not allowed in my sublease agreement with his wife. I look back at it now and, at times, think “Fuck, I want to hurt Thumper” and then smile and go about my day (or text him to make sure he knows and hope that it makes him twitch a bit.) It’s not a “I miss him” thing as much as a “look at me now” thing where I can show him how I took the submissiveness he gave me, and turned it into something far greater for my future by using it to learn, to grow, and to know when “ouch” or “fuck that hurts” is not a safe word. He mentored me from the bottom as much as I did him from the top. The beauty of this is that I can and will show off this skill to him soon, as we never closed that door, and I cannot wait to hurt him badly in all those good ways again and even have this fantasy of a reality show type thing where the rabbit is pitted against the slave to see who can make me most proud, though logistics and waiver forms will be troublesome for that.

However, back to the day, the day that jack went almost double past his limits. His ass was full, as it always is and always should be. His dick was locked, as it also always is and always should be. And, his mouth was full of a locking 5″ penis gag that I wish it often was and one day might be, and he was mine for the taking. I did not intend to take him to that place, but when he brought me the paddles he chose, I knew he was craving more than just a red ass so I locked his hands behind him, locked his ankles to a nice, discrete anchor point I had added to the floor to keep the giant and very heavy mirror from sliding, and then placed him facing himself in the aforementioned giant mirror. When I did that, his cage jumped. That fucker was turned on by the vision of himself so helpless and that fueled me like seven red bulls mixed with Cialis. So, I started spanking him hard. I am usually very much about a heavy impact anyway and he can take it better than anyone I have ever seen (especially having zero fat on his ass) but on that day I was overly heavy handed. Usually I will take one paddle and go cheek to cheek giving one a break, but this day I focused on the impact place and went 30 times in a row on the exact same place I had been before. I did this on both sides, switched to a heavy leather paddle that will cover his whole ass in one hit and think I went about 100 times that way, to the point that my arm was sore. Also, with that paddle I make sure I strike the base of his plug, so that it will send the vibration all the way through him over and over again. He had not had a break and I asked him, as I always do, “do you need more, boy?” and without thinking he nodded yes. I told him “you are going to get more than what you have had, do you realize that?” and his eyes got big, but I knew from reading his body that he wanted it, so I repeated the exact same paddling and then followed it all up with about 100 slices of a riding crop, my particular favorite. I know when his skin is getting too much in one place (the ginger reading the ginger) so I always make sure to not push past that as I feel no need to make him bleed to prove anything to me or anyone else. At that point, I released his ankles, sat on the edge of the bed and put him over my knee. I told him how proud of him I was, how taking my pain makes him the best slave and that is because he is a strong, strong man, and that allowing me to take him there was such a great honor. As I said this, he started shaking, like a shivering. He does that when his emotions reach the same adrenaline level of his body and it’s like an orgasm but not. My words triggered him which was made worse by my constant “I bet you wish you could come, huh?” questioning which was always followed by “but you gave up that right when you agreed be owned as your dick has no use in this relationship. What a pity.” – he shivered more.

I left him there to bask in the moment a bit and went and retrieved this 10′ plastic coated cable that is THICK and heavy and I have no idea how, when or why it wound up in my house years ago (I think it was left by a contractor during some renovations). I rolled him over so he could see me attach one end to the floor mount and then he held up his ankle, the normal attachment point, and looked a bit confused as I went past it and straight to his mouth. I was able to run it through the buckle on the gag effectively locking him to the floor by his tongue, which is incredibly hot. I gave him some time to adjust and to move around as much as he could, and then I said, “it’s time to break even more records. You ready?” and, with that, I started a full on absolute assault on his nipples. I would squeeze and hold them as say “bark through your gag what number the pain scale this is” he’d respond with seven garbled barks and I would say “Seven?” to which he’d nod his head while squirming a bit with the pain. I’d say “okay, that’s seven now, but, fucker, seven is the new two – got that? THIS is almost your baseline pain now, boy, do you trust me, are you ready to show me?” to which I would get a “yes Master, it’s a two” garbled through the penis locked in his mouth. We did this for about an hour until he was spent and I was tired, but we got to the “new nine” which the day before would have likely been a 27 or 28.”

I was so fucking proud of him. I unlocked his mouth, moved his hands back to the front, sat him on the couch while I sat on the floor between his legs telling him all those things from above and more. I listed off personal things that, when he is in doubt. he should channel this moment, this time, and this fact that he was over and above his threshold to prove to himself he can do anything, ANYTHING he sets his mind to and can get through those mundane chores of life and ex-spouses. This boy amazed me that day and I meant every word I said.

However, I started with the “go ahead and come, you can do it” – as he has permission to come in his cage hands free if ever possible and then taunted him so more while he shook and cried a bit. Knowing that was the end, I just held him for who knows how long before it was “hit the shower, boy, oh, and clean it while you are in there” followed by “then meet us downstairs so Daddy (aka Axel) can comfort you”

It was a good day. He is a good slave. He is also an amazing MAN.

Love doesn’t have to hurt but it sure is nice when it (consensually) does.

For the past week, my nipples have burned and throbbed each time my scrubs, the bed sheets, or anything else rubbed them.  Hell, they would burn and throb even if nothing at all was touching them. The rest of my body vibrates as I still mentally see my master’s smile, his dreamy eyes filled with pride and excitement, the feel of taking his pain, the denial of many things, and still the feel of his body pressing against mine.  That night he said he was going to push past my limits and I knew he would deliver on his promise. I just had no idea that we would push past those limits quite so easily. We’re on the same mental wavelength, and I trust him with every part of me, as I know he likes to take excellent care of his property. 

Last weekend my Master needed to give me his pain, and I needed it. Hell, I craved it. He instructed me to go upstairs and pick out three implements which is nothing unusual. I chose the leather paddle, the metal paddle, and the spiked paddle…I think. To be honest, the intensity of some of our time together (whether or not kink is involved) causes my brain to not retain some of those smaller details. I find that to be an interesting phenomenon.

So I did as instructed and waited upstairs on all fours. After a short time I heard my Master come up the stairs, causing my already straining titanium dick to pulse with each heartbeat. I heard the lock on the door to the gear room open and the rattling of chains and other gear as he was looking for something. Finally he entered the room with the posture collar, a few locks, a front locking gag, spreader bar, and a thick braided cable. He motioned for me to get on the bed. As I did, he locked the collar around my neck and the gag in my mouth. The spreader bar was locked to the cuffs already locked around my ankles. The cuffs around my wrists were locked together behind my back. I was essentially helpless. I was under complete control of my Master. My mind relaxed. My titanium strained. My body vibrated, and I thought, “Fuck, I didn’t know it was even possible to love my Master more.”

He inspected my body. Noted the results of the training he has me doing and looked for any hair I may have missed when keeping my body hair shaved. He held me and told me how he was going to hurt me tonight, and he promised he would push me past my limits. He asked, “Are you sure you can handle this slave? It will be more than you have had before.”

I mumbled through the gag, “Yes Master. I love to take your pain.” Of course it was muffled, so I nodded yes as I relaxed all of my body weight against my masters chest as a sign of acceptance. He warmed up with a series of paddling my ass, switching implements from time to time. I could feel the red heat radiating from my skin. It hurt, it felt amazing, I squeezed the gag tighter between my teeth, and I became closer to my Master as I take his pain and his pleasure making it my pain and my pleasure. As I begin to feel my skin turning white hot, the paddling stops. I feel a bit of relief and enjoy the momentary pause. He whispers “We’re nowhere near done yet, slave” in my left ear. The warmth of his closeness and the sound of his voice makes me crave him even more. I was beginning to think I couldn’t take much more, but that was all it took to make me certain that I could take ALL of his pain in that moment.

The thick cable had been locked to the anchor point on the floor in front of the mirror.  As he pointed to a spot on the floor next to him, I knelt beside him. He looks me in the eyes and tells me how proud he is of me because he knows that I will take more. The free end of the cable is then locked to the gag and I want nothing more than to feel every bit of my Master in contact with every bit of me. My master stepped just out of reach as I tried to touch him with any part of me. The cable quickly pulled tight, turning my head away from him. FUCK!! I was being denied physical contact with him, being denied his pain, being denied his massive, throbbing, leaking cock. I never knew not getting the physical things I wanted more than anything at that very moment could only make me love him and want him more, love him more. 

He told me I would have to work for it if I really wanted it and there would, of course, be a price to pay. I nodded that I understood as I pulled against the cable, still fighting to reach my Master. He stood me up and positioned me in front of the mirror. I could see my face in the mirror.  I could see him in the mirror.  Even though I saw it coming, the first hit with the metal paddle shocked my brain as the pain stung deeply. I focused on the reflection of my Master and the look on his face only made me proud to take his pain and proud to love his pain and prouder still to want more. It suffices to say that my limits were pushed. The skin on my ass was white hot and at the breaking point yet again.  My Master pulled me closer to him with the cable and wrapped his strong arm around my neck as he pulled me closer to him.

He told me he was proud of the slave that I am, the property that I am, and the man that I am. (He helps make me better at all of those, the best of everything that I am). He told me he was proud that I was about to take so much more. I was all sappy and still not really processing as I felt intense pain shoot through my nipples.  My body tightened as did his pinching grip on my tits. The shock of taking his pain stung for a few minutes as my brain caught up. The pain registered as pleasure from my Master and I would have had an explosive orgasm at that moment, but I am not allowed. My nipples are so sensitive. As I gave into the pain, he turned me to face him (fuck I love to look at him I’m not sure if I actually grinned, but it felt like I did). 

Once again, he promised to give me his pain and that my limits would be surpassed. As he pinched my nipples he pulled me forward to the point that the cable was taught. He asked med to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10. Through some nonverbal communication I gave the pain a 7.  He said we will do better than that. He pinched tighter. I bit down on the gag harder. “A 10 yet?” He asked.

I shook my head, and he pinched and pulled harder. We were at a 10. My limit was reached. He let go, and my nipples burned. He pointed to my right nipple, and I offered it to him. I felt his teeth clamp down and twist. We were way past 10. I felt him breathing, smiling, biting harder. I moaned. It fucking hurt. It felt so fucking good! I leaned into the the pain. He then pointed at the left nipple as he released his teeth.  Of course it was offered to him, too.

We surpassed my perceived pain threshold. I was physically spent and mentally euphoric. As he slowly and methodically brought the pain level back down, I felt every bit of my body ache and throb and crave more. He ordered me to my knees and offered his cock. I wanted it in my mouth so badly.  Despite the gag and cable holding me 2 inches away from his leaking cock, I tried. I pulled.  I strained. As he stood above me, he leaked. I felt its warmth trickle down my face. I tried harder. I begged with my eyes, and every part of my body, but my Master was beyond reach.

He told me to stand and removed the gag. I tried to kiss him and he backed away. I heard him say “two inches slave.” Goddamn! It isn’t a physical restraint, but the command means I have to stay two inches away from him.  At two inches away, it tried to kiss him anyway. He pulled me onto the bed and on top of him. I pressed against him and leaned in to kiss him.  He turned away and reminded me, “two inches.” As he leaned in to kiss me I pulled back.  I hated it and loved it at the same time, but I had to maintain my two inch distance. Fucking two inches is a lot of space.

As the two inch command remained in place a dance of denial between the two of us ensued. I wanted to cum. I wanted him inside me. I wanted contact with every square inch of him. We talked.  We gave each other after care. My Master allowed me a kiss. It was the best kiss ever in every way. He allowed me to have his cock. He allowed me to be me. Our bond is deeper and stronger every day because of a million reasons, but being ourselves with each other and those around us creates a deeper, stronger bond between us.

I took his pain, more than I thought was possible. We passed limits we haven’t passed before. It only makes me crave it and want it more. It makes me proud to take his pain. Fuck, I love the way he hurts me.

I got home from work on Friday and spent time doing my usual chores in the usual “uniform”. I worked up a sweat outside and my Master told me to get a shower and bring down the cuffs and my posture collar. I did as instructed and then I was ordered to put on the cuffs and collar and to go retrieve the largest anal hook and the lube, “if I wasn’t feeling bold and wanted to try it without the lube.”

Then, he told me he had a few calls to make and to stand there and wait (he knows that kills me but I am adjusting.)

I waited as ordered.

As Master approached me from behind, I heard the amazing sound of chain rattling and this slave’s already filled tube pulsed even more. As my Master inspected his property, I enjoyed the feeling of his hands feeling for any hairs that might have been missed when I shaved. A swoon inducing approval from my Master was followed by the feeling of being opened as the anal hook entered my body in one hefty thrust which was followed by my wrists being attached behind my back to the attachment point at the end of the hook, my titanium tube pulsed in rhythm with each beat of my heart, my new tail pulsed every time I moved a finger. The pulse was soon increased to four and only strengthened as two big clamps – made for wood and bought at Home Depot – tightened onto my nipples locking themselves in place for the remainder of my afternoon.

Master positioned me so that the hook pulled deeply inside of me. The chain now attached to the D ring on the front of the posture collar was pulled. This slaved followed. Communication with no spoken word is all that is needed at times. In fact, at times like these I am forbidden to talk unless asked a direct question and, even then, I have developed an almost animal like ability to answer with sounds, gestures, and slight, southern growls.

Master wasn’t done with work for the day, but instead of leaving me standing, he decided to work from the couch in his office. As he sat, he positioned his slave’s head between his thighs and then proceeded to set up the laptop across my shoulders. It turns out I make quite an acceptable desk top for finishing out the day’s work. The chain was attached around my Master’s thigh, ensuring his new desk remained in place. Goddamn. I was attached to one of the most amazing men on the planet, serving as an object. Somehow that centers me, brings us closer, and builds on every bit of trust, affection and service I give to that man. 

After about two hours, work was nearing being finished, Daddy came home from a long day which was caused by what were apparently some pretty rough clients/patients. He made a comment about the new desk, how it would be amazing yet too distracting for him, and molested me for a few minutes before going to the office to finish up his notes/charts for the day (Master did not miss a beat typing).

From between his thighs, I grinned. Now both of the two most amazing men in the world were home. 

Soon after, Daddy started dinner and I was “displayed” in the kitchen for a bit to “enhance the decor” while Daddy worked on the food prep (there is a nice attachment point high in the doorway leftover from something when the house was built 150 years ago). He figured I needed some time upstairs as the last few days of work had me a little stressed, despite orders to have the best work week ever, so Daddy released me and sent me to Master.  

Master led me upstairs by the chain attached to my collar. When we got upstairs, my wrists were released from the anal hook and reattached to the steel bar above the doorway (note: we have sliding barn style doors upstairs – not just random steel bars attached to the walls – YET). I strained to reach my Master, to touch him with every part of my body. He was just out of reach. I tried and tried harder. My still pulsing tube showed just how badly I wanted contact with my Master. Concerned that I wasn’t trying hard enough, he offered encouragement by means of twisting and pulling the big clamps on my nipples. While it drive me wild, I could not reach him. He loves denying me in as many ways possible.

Standing chained just out of reach, I could see his thick cock dripping. I knew he was proud of my effort to reach him and proud of my ability to take his pain, every bit, more and more. 

As I craved my Master more and more, his lips touched mine. As he held my face, he asked what I was thinking, as he often does. My reply was I wanted him closer (and goddamn, his eyes are beautiful and goddamn I love him and goddamn why is he so fucking far away). He told me how proud he was of his slave. How proud he was to see me take his pain, how proud he was of the man I am and continue to become. He reminded me that I am never alone in anything that I do. He even reminded me how he is coming around to the idea that he might like me as much as I really fucking like him a whole lot. He reminded me that love I get is forever and unconditional as is my service to him. I think about this and know that I’ve never loved someone like this. I’ve never trusted someone like this. No need for me to play the lotto at this point in life, he is standing right in front of me while the other one is down cooking in the kitchen (an area Daddy does not let either me or Drew meddle in.)

I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer to me. I try to kiss him. He pulls away. He asked how long I was willing to wear the clamps for? Or what is the price you will pay for this kiss? Some bartering led to a two hour payment and 300 licks with the paddle I will pay for later this week. But, once the price was settled, it was the best, deep kiss and I savored every second of it having achieved that at such a bargain price. 

I don’t talk much about my life prior to this, but I can summarize by saying I was taught love was conditional, God was vengeful, and happiness appeared to just be a concept. When I was left as a single dad with a six week old baby, I saw unconditional love in those tiny eyes, but I didn’t know if it could last or if I would be capable of providing it. Through my Master and my kinks, I now know it is possible and have begun to further grasp the concept that unconditional, forever love is possible for me, his slave, and for anyone I allow myself to love in the future. While in a fully muggle way, I am learning the same when I look at my now nearly driving age kid and I never miss an opportunity to tell him that too. I can see that, just like with my Master, we make each other better too. I never thought by simply spending an afternoon hanging in a doorway I would emerge a better Dad, man and slave, but I did and do. I still grasp for the words to describe it because it seems they are just out of reach most of the time.

Regardless, words aren’t always necessary to show that kind of love and relationship and sometimes too much thinking is too much thinking. Back to the doorway, I was quickly reminded that by a not so subtle jerk of the chain attached to my collar, a pulsing cage, and a tightening of the leather restraints.

It was a good Friday night.

I have often stated that the organization of many gay bdsm families required the kink equivalent of a corporate org chart. I say this because it’s not that uncommon to have a conversation with a new friend that goes something like, “hi, my name is Josh, but my Sir, Joshua, calls me j, I am submissive to him, but we are both submissive to Daddy Chris who is owned by Master Chris who is married to another dominant named Sir Josh who has three boys, alpha Josh, beta Chris and gimp Bob. Alpha Chris owns two pups, mike and mike, not including beta jay who has one dominant brother, Bobby. All of us are submissive to Super Master B, who himself, and by extension the rest of us, submit to Super Duper Master Chris. It’s all very simple.” Yes, I have exaggerated a bit, but come on, we all have had similar conversations.

Currently, my definition of our family is only three people, but, as I have said many times, I always hope that the boy, who I call slave, boy, jack, boyfriend, and sometimes, dog, interchangeably, will have his own slave but for now, unless I use the myriad of names for the same person, we are generally pretty easy to define. Now.

But, back to my corporate analogy for two reasons. This week, at work, I had an employee who, at the ripe old age of 25, zoom with me to demand more money. Now, being that times are different, she at 25 makes now what I made at 40, told me that she had been doing some research (we have open salary ranges) and that there are some people with a “similar” title making six figures and that she felt she deserved that. I have to say that I admired her moxy to come to me like that, but my admiration quickly went away as she continued to talk because she clearly didn’t do her research, her math, or even look at Glassdoor, because the people she was referring to were ten or more years older than her and that “similar” title, for them, included words like “senior” or “director” or other key signifiers to prove that they had done their time, done their work, and deserved the pay they were making. I was very kind and, while pointing out that she had clearly not made any of her KPI’s or metrics last year and was really behind this year, that I would in no way consider this and that, if she was unhappy, that the job market is quite healthy for a young double degreed elite university graduate and that I’d certainly understand if she needed to go elsewhere. That did not go the way she thought it would and she, on the edge of tears, decided that we should finish our call later (by the way, if you ever work for me, please don’t cry. I try, really hard, to be empathetic but something about that makes me giggle and, though I try, again, really hard, to not show it, I can’t stop giggling. I do that at funerals too. I am not a bastard but…).

Fast forward about four hours and we had another call. This time, she seemed to have done some soul searching and she started talking about how she just wanted to not be at the new kid and be at the level of her more senior peers because “they seem to always have an answer, have respect from colleagues, and they make a lot of money and I am ready to have things they have in life and, I deserve it.” I remember feeling that way too. Fuck, I am the senior peer now and I still feel like that at times and, I told her that. We talked for over an hour about paying her dues and putting in the time (and, fwiw, I did not shatter her dream about the definition of “a lot of money” is) and I explained to her that she is not looking at all the work THEY put in, and that she deserves nothing at this point because she hasn’t proven anything, that she doesn’t see all the struggles they had at her age and the even more struggles they have now because they don’t talk about such things with those young enough to still have a dream. I also added that, if they are anything like me, the more money they make the less they enjoy their job because money and titles come with expectations and expectations come with stress. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’d not change a single thing (well, a few) but she.has to just have her eyes open now and be willing to adjust, be molded, and grow (with me or elsewhere.)

Now, what the fuck does this have to do with kinky families? A lot in my mind, especially after I had that conversation, Where I am going with this is I have a pretty damn good thing going with my little triad, especially the Master/slave duo within it. However, that did not happen overnight and many of the above things on growing in your career come close to matching this. I was thinking about this because at least three or four times a week I get a request to “join us/join the family/step in to come play/use the slave, etc” (this does not count friends who seemingly joke, okay friends?). These are absolute strangers who, in the above situation, would be currently making $20K a year and expecting me to hire them at $100K because “those guys doing the job I want free about my age, have the same interest career wise, and it would be cool.” In all honesty, I don’t know if I ever want to add to our family in the way we are now but, if I did, the corporate rules of earning their place would apply. Anybody we might invite in has a lot of tests to pass, work to do, and trust to build. Right now, I have no interest in going through all of that, but I have also learned to never say never. I could and would love to one day have an extended family, like great friends treated as brothers, cousins, etc for the bonding and awkward Thanksgiving dinners, but who knows what reality will bring on such things, but even those guys would have a probation period.

Speaking of that probation, it’s an absolute. The idea of someone just dropping in to join us at a level we are now is indeed impossible because they have not gone through the hiring process, orientation, probation, and it will be years until they are fully vested. And, even though I did have a full strategic plan in place, what we have now doesn’t match it because the parties involved are much different than who I intended to hire. We have worked hard to make the plan flexible and put a lot of time to make it work and I do not think anyone could, despite their impressive resume, just drop in. They might intern, but that’s a whole other ballgame.

I am not meaning this to come away as cold as I welcome anyone and everyone to have a conversation with us, but, to those guys, please just don’t assume that returning a text is the same as an invitation. I am more writing this to the, in theory, young kinksters who want it all to tell them that they can have it all, but it will take work, it will take time, and it will take some heartbreak at times too. As Walt Disney once said, “All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them.” So, “kids,” have courage and pursue away but be realistic. Remember, just like ANY job description you may get in the muggle world, the real work in a kink relationship will often be glaringly different than described and those guaranteed benefits often change. That’s okay. You can get to a place of happiness in time.

I promise.

By Jack.

Two inches may not seem like much, but it’s huge. It may as well be the size of the span of the earth when all you want is to touch every part of your body against the man who owns it. You are craving maximum surface area contact, but, per his instruction, you can’t get any closer than two inches from the Master that owns you, the body that physically attracts you like no other, the mind that is just as attractive and knows his slave mentally and physically inside and out. Two inches that buzzes with the electricity and anticipation of an entire universe, close but so fucking far away. Two fucking inches, but I am a good boy and I follow the rules.

As Master gets ready for another work trip, I want to save up enough contact with him, enough pain, enough lingering bruises to last until he gets back home. Plugged and collared, cuffs, and chains keep me displayed as an object for my Master’s service on the bed next to where he is packing. He places his clothes for the coming trip on me, stacking them as if I was just a warm table there to use. As he comes near me, I smell him. I try to rub my scruff against his leg as he stands near me. My tongue reaches out, trying to taste whatever part of his body comes near me. He sees this and immediately gags me with a red rubber ball gag to further frustrate me. Worse, my straining titanium tube gives away how hot I find that. How much I want to be free. But, it’s not my choice and I know that. I

Once I am released he leaves me to finish packing his bag, I make sure everything is properly folded and packed away neatly. I carry the suitcase downstairs and put it in the SUV to make sure it is ready for the airport, almost involuntarily cleaning out any trash I see in the SUV while doing this.

Master said to meet him upstairs when I am finished. 

I finish and go back upstairs and meet my Master. The flogger, pain stick and leather paddle are on the bed, still warm from where I had been bound for hours before that. There are now chains there and I know these are the ones that will be used to attach my cuffs to my collar in a hogtie position when Master orders me on the bed. I hate that position, but I also fucking love it too.

He chains me and I struggle to get on the bed. He inspects me. I feel the weight and warmth of his hands move over every bit of his slave’s hairless body, designed by him. He grabs the dick now filling its titanium casing. Multiple fingers slide inside past the plug in this slave’s ass, further expanding me in ways I didn’t know possible. All this slave can think about is getting closer to Master. I want to be so close. Fucking chains.

“Do you need to take my pain?” He asks. 

“Yes Master. Your slave needs to take your pain. He needs to be hurt.”

As Master gives me every ounce of his pain, I crave nothing more than every fucking bit of him. The pain stick leaves distinct marks on my ass. It burns and stings like hell, and my cage fills full as my balls turn from blue to purple. 

Master asks if I need more. “Please, Master,” I beg. As he reaches to get the leather paddle, I feel his leaking cock press against me, and it sends shivers down my spine. I press against him, but I am pushed back down on the bed. The pain of the leather paddle snaps me back into that headspace that craves Master’s pain. When I think I can’t take more, it stops. 

“You need more, slave?”

“Yes Master. I need more of your pain.”

He instructs me to get closer to the edge of the bed, though he knows I can’t so he pulls me. He then asks, “Are you sure?”  I nod and mouth yes Master. 

He unchains the hogtie and I soon feel the flogger sting across my back, my ass, my thighs, my calf muscles, my sides. I writhe but make no sound. My cage is wet and leaking now. Taking my Master’s pain just drives me to need him and want him more. 

Master lays down next to me on the bed. He asks how I am. He checks in on me. He holds me close and tight to his body. I feel his pride for taking so much of his pain and wanting, needing more. 

He pulls me on top of him and I feel his pulsing cock between our bodies. Both leaking and wanting release, but I remember it is still 2022. I have given up an orgasm for the year. I gave it to my Master. He controls it. He owns it and every fucking part of me, Master’s slave. 

He releases my hands and allows me to touch, rub, and massage his body. I happily do it. I see him relax. I see him smile. I hear him moan and grunt as I loosen tight muscles. I feel him beneath me so very close. I lick his body and grind my plug against his leaking cock. I rub my face against his. He leans in to kiss me but pulls my hands behind my back and positions me two inches from his face, and he gives me the command to hold that pose. My legs wrapped underneath his, all of my weight is being held up with my legs using Master as leverage. I still try to kiss him.

As I try and try to get close to Master, he tells me I may get no closer than two inches. I still try to get closer, but he doesn’t allow it.  He reminds me of the two inches. That two inches of mental bondage is stronger than all of the chains as I just want to please him, NEED to please him. I an filled with so much emotion, feeling, unconditional love…GOD.DAMN! Our bodies vibrate together. Another form of denying his slave, and we’re both on fire. 

Master shoves me down and impales his cock in the back of my throat. He holds his slave’s head there. I struggle to breathe, but I want my Master more than air. He uses his slave’s throat, just an object that brings him pleasure. I feel his body get tense, his breathing change rhythm, his thighs shake like they do. I take my Master in my throat, on my face. His body still tense and shaking and breathing hard…my body shakes, I squeeze the plug deeper and tighter. I feel a sensation I can barely describe flow through my body. I get hot and cold and feel goosebumps on my skin. It’s not an orgasm, but fuck it is so close. 

Master pulls me close. He kisses me. He tells me how proud he is to own me and my orgasm and every fucking bit of me. I thank him. We talk. We rest. We get closer physically, mentally, emotionally. Our bond grows deeper and stronger. I’m ready to miss him after he leaves, just so I can show him how much when he returns. 

Two inches may not seem like much, but it is huge to me. 

As I sit in a hot bath filled with foaming Epsom salts, I’m forced to face a fact about aging that I’m not quite sure I’m ready to accept. My mind does find some ease as I watch my full titanium tube bob in the water like some beautifully perverse fishing tackle because with each bob, I ponder the realization why my muscles ache. Mostly, it’s because this body isn’t nearly as flexible as it once was back in my days at the Fire Academy. However, the best reason why is because I had the best day with my Master.

The past week was long, but the long weeks make the time spent with the Master I adore even more exceptional (if more exceptionally exceptional is even really a thing). This time of year is one I enjoy. Coming out from under the cold grip of winter, the yard starts to come to life. My Master’s legs are now visible more often than not in shorts as the temperatures warm (they are fucking amazing legs). Quite honestly, I’m cold natured and I’m glad that the weather is now warmer. The three of us enjoy working in the backyard together, and it just gives me a feeling of family that I can’t exactly describe.

Back to the hurting part…. 

After completing my chores in the yard and taking a shower, Master sent me to the gear closet for a list of items as he showered. After drying my Master, he came in and put me in a very tight hog tie on the bed. Earlier, I took Master’s pain. And, while I was bound on the bed I could see into a mirror and loved that my ass bears the marks of several implements that allowed me the honor of taking said pain. My nipples still burned, too. Master left me there for what seemed like hours just to contemplate about myself, my role, and on how to take what we did and will do this weekend and use it in my muggle life this week to be better, be stronger, and to make him proud.

Out of nowhere, he appeared and held me, flipped my on my back and redid the cuffs on the wrist and ankles and then, also out of the blue, another lock was connected to the posture collar restricting my movement even more as he hooked my ankles and wrists to my neck, thus effectively turning me into ball.  I’m convinced one day I’ll be writing about how an owned dick really can bend titanium as I swear I think I was so excited and so turned on that heat would have radiated from my body.

Then, we played a game. He knows I like to be close to him and, as I tried my best to get close to my Master, he gave me the word that triggers me to get even closer to him as he moved his naked body around and on the bed, JUST out of my tongue’s reach. I struggled like a turtle flipped on his back on a thick memory foam bed. I think I used every muscle but I just couldn’t get close enough.

I tried with my arms, my legs, my feet, my face, my tongue, my mouth. I struggled until I was exhausted. My neck hurt from the posture collar. I was a sweaty mess. My body was exhausted and yet I still wanted nothing more than to get every part of this body in contact with every part of his. He gave me the word to get closer to him again. A struggle between my body and mind ensued and my aching body was close to winning. My Master sensed this, I am certain and he settled me and held me while I calmed down.

While I was still bound (though ankles were removed from my neck), my Master asked what I wanted most at that moment, at that time, and then pointed out he was feeling generous as, at this stage, it is never about my needs (nor should it be). Of course the answer was to get closer to him but I also really needed to sit up to be able to breathe, the second part of my answer. Spring time in the southern U.S. is basically breathing air yellowed by the pollen of the blooming plants and trees which leads to a less than perfect BDSM experience at times.

Of course, I was repositioned again and now being able to breathe, I got closer to my Master. 

Finally.

As he worked his way closer to climax, I felt his body, his breath, his being, his vibrations. I was able to talk in his ear as this was the first time that was allowed. I told him how proud I am to be owned by him, how proud I am to call him MY Master. I also told him how he makes me better. I told him how he feels to touch, how he makes me feel when touched, how physically and mentally he makes me a better man and a most gracious trained slave.

Soon after, he was done hearing me and literally just pushed my head down to where it belongs at times like that. I tasted him and ultimately swallowed him. I wished I was allowed an orgasm too, but I know that’s my my place. However, in moments like this of pure truth, unconditional love, pure being, I know that is far better than one meager orgasm.

Tomorrow I will ache. Tomorrow I will smile.

I have been thinking about the dichotomy between our kinky selves and our muggle selves and how, sometimes, it’s true that the separate lives most of us lead actually, often, make us better in both worlds.

It’s no secret that I limit the amount of muggle me that I let into this blog or Twitter because my professional and family worlds are not two worlds that can ever FULLY mix. However, I made myself a vow years ago that when I could mix elements of them I would and, as a for instance, sometimes I channel my Dom energy to work with a client, though I often have to channel my inner masochist to sit through a meeting for just an hour. In my head I find this entertaining because I have labeled it, but everyone likely does it without thinking.

I find myself fascinated by this and love watching it in the people I have gotten the pleasure to know on both sides of the collar, so to speak. This is not a post about shaming myself or others about keeping these lines separate, because there is a need. I had email from a 22 year old “pup” who bought his mask, named himself, and is 100% out and about being a pup at home, at work, and with friends. He was attempting to shame me for not showing up at a meeting in a harness or being more open so I pushed him. He’s 22, he works in a leather bar, and he lives with six friends he met at IML. He scripted his kink world, but is it real? He said if his world was able to accept his kinks than all worlds should. Isn’t that cute? I hope he’s right and I hope, for him, that he continues to live in that if it is what he wanted. This is different than being yourself and being out and gay, because kink is such a private thing different to all that do we really want to live in a society where mixing the worlds is just a given? Now, do NOT get me wrong, I wish we lived in a more accepting society about kink and a more understanding one at that, but I do think there always needs to be a line, at least professionally. As a for instance, do you really want to be treated by a naked doctor who is locked in a hood because that is “just who he is and this is what his Dominant wanted” or be in a plane where the pilot toddles in in diapers sucking on a pacifier? I mean, I know most of us are are never going to be “who we are” and, for me, that’s okay. For the record, if the doctor or the pilot told me that they were a slave or an infant at home, I’d be very cool with that, but I don’t need to see it in action (unless both were really hot but that is so another story).

Where my fascination really is in watching how the two sides of the people I know diverge and then come together all at the same time. I was thinking this a few weeks ago when my slave and I were sitting and talking and he was asking me for permission to take a shower and then for me to give him his list that showed what scrubs, underwear and plug he was to be in each work day. He was genuinely waiting on this and would be really out of sorts in the morning if he had to pick out his own clothes because that is just not a decision he has to make anymore. However, once those scrubs are on, this man with a locked dick and metal up his ass who was not even allowed to choose his outfit might be standing next to your hospital bed giving you meds, he chose, that might save your life. While he has no ability to control his own penis, he has full ability to save a life or guard a life all at the same time. When we have discussed it, he says that the mind space that he now has free and the peace he now has in not worrying actually makes him be a better at work, makes him more free because he knows that he has me for the small things if that makes sense and can focus on care and safety while at work.

Another time was actually a few days ago when I was talking to a very good, very in the know, friend and he was complaining about customer service and cleanliness at a national retailer he was doing business with. He didn’t know this, but I happen to know the exec vp of customer service for the chain and I happen to also know that he is owned by his husband and would be locked chastity sitting on a giant plug while running this extremely large part of the company. I told him I knew someone and could let him know about the experience, but knowing this couple, I knew the appropriate path would be that I told the exec vp’s Master that a friend had had this experience under his slave’s watch so that he would “be aware”. The next day there was a full letter of apology sent to my friend on behalf of his team and his Master told me that he would now be conducting an audit of how the situation happened and that, while that audit was taking place, he doubted he would be able to sit down at any point along the way. Now, I know this is just a one off situation and just HAPPENS to be how this couple operates, but I do love the fact that a spanked slave might mean that they rest of us no longer have to jump through two hoops and give a drop of blood just to pick up a package.

In this situation, my friend’s Master, who, for the record is a meek elementary school teacher, thanked me for taking that path as he found some self confidence in the power of being able to discipline for a third party infractions and, you know that stirred all sorts of thoughts in my head in good ways.

But, in all of this, there are likely hundreds more stories of how Doms and subs take their private kink to be better in public and I just absolutely love this. I do hope they recognize this as well.

Finally, to my 22 year old friend, I think the whole point of me writing this is to tell you that, yes, as you grow up you are likely going to have to lose the pup mask and work, but you don’t have to ever lose the pup in you. You will learn to channel that energy, obedience, or whatever it is that drives you to make you a better person, employee, parent, whatever. Please don’t think that if you move forward in life you will become boring and slow because you can’t be a 24/7 pup – trust me, you will become boring and slow anyway so enjoy it where and when you can.

It’s been awhile since I really wrote about me. Me. Me. And more, Me.

I stopped writing a great deal when it got too personal, when life got in the way of my kink. I felt I was in danger of turning a kink outlet into a personal diary and, since this ain’t fucking Facebook, I just withdrew a bit. Lately, it has really felt like outside forces had formed to try their best to throw me off my game that I have been in a constant fight to keep winning. During all of this, I met the boy and that boy is who I give a lot of credit for helping me stay in the game and keep things moving forward in kink and muggle life in many ways without a hitch, at least on the surface. Yes, I give Axel credit too and he’s been absolutely amazing, but he is right in the middle of most of the mud with me, so he needed his own propping up as well. The good Dr. Ax is amazing with solving other people’s problems, but that super power is often diluted when closer to home and I also know that it’s not fair for me to expect him to solve my issues either.

I have written about it some on here and it’s been no secret that we have had some personal losses which total 12 people very close to us who left this life for the next, but within that 12, last week we lost the fifth, and final, parent (four parents and one step parent total) all within 22 months, something that broke me a lot more than I admitted at the time. Losing a parent is hard enough, but losing a parent who did not remember you even being born when they died can sometimes be haunting.

And, as the icing on that funeral cake is another life fun that has not been discussed. Three days ago I had my 13th surgery in 15 months for a weird breathing issue I have that is caused by the biology of my neck (9 of 13) that I did not and will not discuss in detail here. Also, the broken foot I had discussed (4 of 13) previously, as I had to show those sexy wearing a jock with a casted/booted leg pics plagued me.  I THINK last week was the final, literal, cut and that the issues have now been resolved through some implanted jumper cords/stimulators in my throat, breathing sensors in my ribs, and batteries inside a tiny computer living just beneath the surface of my chest, but we will see how this plays out in time. As these happened, I didn’t mention these things because they are not relevant to the kink world and, well, fuck, I was afraid Lifetime would call and want to do a weird kink based movie about grief as seen through titanium dicks, bone plates and joints and/or that I would turn on all the drone/robot fetishists out there as I am now closer to that in reality than they are. We do not want a jealous robot uprising this year, friends. I simply do not have the energy for that at the moment.

Oddly, I feel like the people who read this blog are my friends and I felt I owed an explanation of my absence and, perhaps, my change in tone.  We all have flaws but I wanted to hide the fact that I know have new scars, both physical and mental. They had to heal awhile before I was ready to discuss my thoughts on teaching, training and growing a man into a slave while also trying to figure out who the fuck oneself is when he now finds himself in a newly decorated body, in a changed world, with a changed career, without a family while at a very small Easter brunch where there is a slave leashed to the table. It’s all so different and as someone who doesn’t like risk in life and who is worried about what color rental car I will get Tuesday afternoon in New York, change like all this shit is, well, to put it bluntly, hard.

However, not a fucking day goes by that don’t think about ALL of the above without telling myself I am better because of it in some many ways. The self reflection has been huge and good, and over the next few posts about just ME we will go through some of them with the biggest being an upcoming announcement, spoiler alert, that my switchy scale has radically shifted to the right (fyi, that’s okay, but should you ever hear me describe myself with that phrase not directly related to kink- something is wrong, send help)

As for the scars, I will take a step with this post, but actual scars are quite sexy and, when healed, I will show them off with pride. Emotional scars are not as sexy and sweet little silicone patches do not cover them quite as easily, but when they are healed, I will fucking show those off too. It’s just a matter of time for both and as much as I have recently honed my dominant skills, I know my own strength and cannot demand that that go faster.

Finally, this really long post has not been written in any way as a ploy to play a sympathy card as I don’t need that nor do I want that (and, honestly, please don’t). As I said at the start, this was all about me and the simple act of sitting down and writing this out has started something inside of me that feels a bit like healing, a bit like momentum, and a bit like normalcy. 

So, that said, let’s talk about my slave’s titanium dick and the plug he carries for me every day…

A death, whether anticipated or not is an experience unique to a culture, community, family, and individual. The southern part of the U.S. is no exception. I attended the visitation (that’s southern for wake) for someone recently who I felt I needed to pay my respects to, as she was always so good to my number one. Despite working in healthcare, I had a little covid-related anxiety about going. I could see the headlines about a super spreader event traced back to a small town nobody has ever heard of outside of the state. 

I made my way through the receiving line, and have survived the expected incubation period without any symptoms. As I talked with Drew later about the experience, I told my Master about my anxiety and strange feelings I had beyond the covid stuff. He was not surprised. In fact, he hit the nail on the head when he said it was just a reminder of my old life. 

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but it was the truth. Here I was, an owned slave, titanium encased, plugged, and proud of it. The experience was a reminder of a time when that was not the case. It was a reminder of a time that was filled with anxiety, insecurity, and fear at times. I hate those feelings. To say I hated that time in my life would be a lie. Without those experiences, I wouldn’t be who I am today. 

I talked with my Master about this in detail after I thought about it in depth. After listening, he brought tears to my eyes (the pain did that later in the day too, but this was different). He told me that I was worthy of being owned, not owned by just anyone but by him. He is proud of the man (and slave) that I am and have become. A man (and slave) that is confident and strong. A man (and slave) that is loved. A man (and slave) that he owns. I’m my opinion, a man (and slave) that he has helped make proud and confident and strong. Not only does he make me better, but we both see it. Axel, my Daddy, sees it, too.

Imagine this…a love where you can be truly yourself. An unconditional love, even if you happen to be a pervert who craves the feeling of your Master’s pain, his hands inside your (well, technically it is His) ass. That’s what my Master and Daddy give to this slave. I couldn’t be more proud to be owned. I couldn’t be more proud for others to know that Drew is MY Master and Axel is MY Daddy. The next time you see me at a wake, there may just be a grin on my face. It’s a grin because I will be making a list of reasons why I’m glad I have a new perspective on life and reasons why I’m worthy of such a Master and the reason’s I make him proud.

Damn, what an amazing life this slave has!