It hasn’t been that long since my Dad moved away to his next phase of life, whatever that may be. Now that the business of death is done, I miss him more than I ever thought possible. This is not a thirsty call for comments, but just a simple fact that any of you who have lost a parent, or like me, parents, just learn to accept, use as growth, and do everything you can do to continue to make them proud despite the fact it no longer affects your allowance.

Anyway, as a tribute to my Dad, this week I bought these two new Nasty Pig caps and gave him a bit of a shout/snout out, While this may seem incredibly strange to most of you, tenured readers of this blog will remember me writing about the day I was traveling that my elderly father had come to my house to do something and called me to say he forgot his hat and was going to borrow one of mine. I thought nothing of it as I usually have somewhere between 77- 203 ball caps within arms reach of the door and went on about my life.

A week or so later was the next time I saw my Dad and as he rounded the corner of Cracker Barrel where I was meeting him and my Mom for breakfast. I noticed the gray and bright red Nasty Pig on his head and immediately laughed as THAT was the cap he had borrowed, out of all those hats. I had no idea how to bring up the fact I wanted it back as I was not going to tell him what it was, but he pre-empted that by THANKING me for the hat and telling me that it was the best he’d ever worn. Then, my Mom said it was “stylish” and he swooned. It was never coming off of his head whether deep down he was a nasty pig or not.

From that day forward the Nasty Pig went with him to the barber shop, country club, grocery store, and anywhere else he would go. In fact, I believe I remember a conversation Axel had with him about that he could not wear it to my Mom’s funeral and he agreed that he would save it for his one day, a sly suggestion Ax had to win the argument.

Turns out, it was only a few months later when he would have had the chance at his funeral, but in the time in between he had a series of minor falls that, to an old man on blood thinners, looked like the aftermath of the Red Wedding each and every time, Ultimately, there was not enough Tide or Woolite in the world to save that pig and, at the end of the day, it became yet another casualty of 2021. I actually think he forgot about it rather quickly, but I didn’t as it still makes me smirk when I think about it every single time.

So, Dad, while you may never have known the background of that cap, know that I will never be without one (though, unlike you, only in the proper venues).

Here’s to you, Dad, from your pervert son who you made so proud with your acceptance, love, and apparently inner pig.

I was given some options and a choice to make. This isn’t something most owned slaves are allowed, but I’d go as far to say that I’m not most owned slaves and that my owners are definitely not average by any stretch of the imagination. I went a full year without an actual orgasm. Christmas 2021 was supposed to be the big day for my 2021 orgasmic release. However, Drew and Axel were traveling, so we moved my scheduled orgasm day to New Year’s Eve/Day far in advance so I knew the days would be shifted and, at that point, one extra week would not kill me. However, as a result of the latest craze in games of chance, a turn on “Is it Cold, Flu, or Covid: The Third Edition” put a less than fun kink in our planned ringing in of the New Year (and, fyi, it was not Covid).

We had an impromptu celebration of New Years the day after where I was given the option to orgasm, but I just wasn’t mentally prepared for it. I’m sure that it would have been amazing, and I’m sure it would have registered on the Richter scale. But, there’s a lot of emotion tied to giving control of your orgasms to someone else, well two someone else’s, that I am absolutely unconditionally in love with. The holidays had been increasingly difficult for me mentally the last several years, and this year was no exception. As odd as it sounds to 99.9% of males out there, I just wasn’t mentally prepared for an orgasm. So, I chose to forgo it that day. However, I did get flogged, paddled with my Master’s favorite (read pain inflicting) leather paddle, and the heavy steel paddle. I was happy, and it was probably one of my more intense impact sessions to date. That was followed by being shared by my Master and Daddy. I think all three of us got just exactly what we needed. 

After some discussion, I was given the option to choose to cum any day until January 31st as long as they were each present or wait until New Years Day 2023. The choice was mine and mine alone. I can be quite an objective slave at times, so I made a list of pros and cons. Depending on the day, my mood and the volume of girth in my tube, each list carried more weight than the other at any given time. It isn’t even half way through January, and, today, I made my decision. 

Today, I had the day off of work, so I spent it with my Daddy and Master. I’m an early riser, so I was up at my usual time (around 3:30am). I made it home to find Daddy already up and about. I greeted him and the pups. He was busy getting ready for work as he had a full schedule with patients already on the books. He felt me and I felt him. We loved each other and I went upstairs to nap with my Master until his alarm went off. I asked permission to get on the bed, and it was granted. I’m not particularly good at sleeping, but I rest truly soundly and deeply in that particular bed. I slept in the deepest part of my sleep so close but I never truly feel like I can get close enough to my Master. As we woke, I massaged my Master’s body as my cage strained as hard as it ever does. I truly worshipped my Master’s body as his owned slave. As he had meetings starting, I was given orders for the day, a list of tasks, and a different uniform from my daily uniform protocols. As he showered, I put on the day’s uniform. A heavy chain padlocked around my neck, leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles, and my new leather harness. 

I met my Master with a towel as he exited the shower. I dried his body. Today, I was to be below the level of his waist in the room with him. I could not speak without permission or being directly spoken to. I was to be within three feet of him at all times except for the scheduled times to complete my daily chores. His slave was in slave Heaven. 

Daddy left breakfast for us in the oven before leaving for the office. Master fed me mine as I sat on the kitchen floor kneeling with my hands behind my back. I am the best treated slave I know. My shiny titanium still trying to stretch. At some point during the day I was trying to remember how long an erection should last before it becomes an emergency, despite not having taken any of  the medications that carry such a warning. 

As my Master started his meetings, I served under the desk until it was time for my chores to be done. After they were complete and Master’s morning meetings were done he had our lunch delivered. Of course, mine was ordered for me. After lunch I completed my chores for the day. I showered off the day’s dirt and my Master and I spent time together as I massaged his body. We discussed the upcoming year as I tried to get close enough to him. Despite every part of my body that I could possibly get to make contact with his close enough continued to elude. We discussed physical goals for the year, as we as a family have individual health goals. I am growing my muscles to better please him this year. We discussed my progress there. We discussed our relationship with a depth and candor most vanilla relationships probably only dream of. Two is company and three is a family with unconditional love, right?

As the conversation continued, I made a decision. I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Master, I have made my decision not to cum. I don’t need to wait until the 31st.”  He smiled his beautiful smile that makes my knees weak. He asked if I was sure, but he knew that I was. If my full cage and purple balls weren’t a dead give away, I answered a confident, “I am, Master.” I like to think this made him swoon a little bit, but his Mind knows me quite well. More than likely, he knew it already. 

So why delay my orgasm another year? Well, bragging rights are always nice. The pride of my Master. My pride in being owned. Honestly, I like my titanium dick better than the one I was born with. Neither are anything to be ashamed of. My titanium cage represents more to me than I could possibly list. The short version is that it is a constant reminder of unconditional love given by two men to me. It reminds me that I am worthy of being owned by them. It reminds me that the three of us always have support in an unusually fucked-up-at-times world. It is real fucking love, or at minimum a tangible representation of that. They would love me the same if it weren’t there. 

Finally, I’m spending another year locked in a cage because I’m a pervert and a sexual being. We visited friends that were consider family not too long ago. We had an amazing time. I loved being shown off by my Master and making him proud. That night after some time in their dungeon, my Master and I spent time together. That night I experienced something that I had never had before. The best way I can describe it is a physical and mental orgasm without any actual ejaculation. Fuck! It was amazing. I’ve never had such an amazing no orgasm orgasm. I want that again and again. 

Some may not get our dynamics, and that’s okay. I’m still going another year with a locked dick as an unconditionally loved slave in search of another amazing year with  more no orgasm, orgasms to be had. 

Over the last few weeks I have been asked why I, Jack, and various others use the #lockedinwerks hashtag when we tweet pictures of our Steelwerks cages. The implication of the questions were more judgmental than informative and one went as far as stated that labeling the pics made the person who posted look like an “elitist jackass” because of a type cage that is locked on his dick or even that we were promoting a secret brotherhood of locked fellows. The second part is rather funny because it is a brotherhood in many ways, but if it were truly secret, would we have a hashtag? And, as far as the bragging, I would think a screenful of a beautifully crafted titanium cage would brag a bit more than a few letters and a numbers sign, don’t you?

I think I was the one who started that hashtag years ago and, for me, it was and it is a way of showing pride. It’s a product a I proud to own, proud to wear, and proud to lock my boy in. It’s a product that brings me happiness, peace, and joy. And, it’s a product that is made by kinksters for kinksters and giving money to a fellow pervert for something they make that I benefit from brings me great satisfaction. On the same front, I have recently noticed a #lockedinbarz hashtag for the Behind Barz products made in the U.K. I am thrilled to see their customers stand behind them and show off their amazing products the same way. In full transparency, I know nothing about Behind Barz but I get the impression they are also kinksters for kinksters and, for that, they should be supported as well.

I think the reason this hit me in such a negative way was having just seen a hollow PA barbell on Twitter that is the EXACT replica of my original hollow PA barbell that Steelwerks made for me years ago. It was a forward and I don’t know the guy but he was really proud that he had bought it as a knockoff made in China and paid almost nothing for it. He thought that, since it looked as good as the original, it had to be as good. Right? From the posts, he really was enjoying that barbell and was trying to get it to fit in a Holy Trainer or, well, in something that looked like a Holy Trainer, I suspect. He’s happy with his bargain and, I guess, good for him, but at what cost did he get it? Will it be a bargain if it slices his dick or his penis falls off? That will be an interesting tweet.

See, the reason he got his bargain is that years ago Steelwerks did the work. They put in the time, the energy, and the craftsmanship while, for this particular design, I put in the money. In the consumer world, nothing is sacred, I know, and designs and ideas are copied all the time. Even more often, companies blatantly aspire to be as good as the best – I mean, anyone who drives a C Class knows it will never be a 3 Series, but I digress…

All that said to go backwards a bit and say that if there wasn’t a demand, they wouldn’t be made. There are probably 1,007 reasons why cheap devices need to exist and why men need to buy them, but I just wish it would not be celebrated as a win over the small business who created it – regardless of who they are.

How does this all swing back to the hashtag? I guess it is about penile pride at a base, but it’s about small businesses at the core, ownership of design, and recognition for those who created something great enough someone else wants to copy. That’s a lot of shit for one hashtag, but I think it’s also why we don’t see #lockedinDHgate or #lockedbyebay. So, for now, #lockedinwerks and quite proud.

Growing up my family’s tradition, like most families, was to go around the room at Thanksgiving and say what we thankful for. It was the anti-festivus which, you know, is for the rest of us. In my family, we wrote our lists (did I ever mention my mother was an English professor?) and would read them at the appropriate time to those in the room, As we kids became adults, that tradition stopped and I started writing somewhat of a self assessment that was meant only for my eyes which did expand a bit as social media grew. However, for the last few years I have not done anything as, in my mind, life was testing me in ways that I never expected and I wasn’t sure how to be thankful for anything, or if I was. I am not going to go into the story because I vowed to not take this blog that direction, but let’s just say I went to a lot of funerals, have about six new scars on my body, pandemic-ally changed just about every aspect of my career by force, gained weight, lost weight, lost friends, gained friends, but I have lived to tell about it.

However, reading the above paragraph actually just makes me smile because, frankly, despite those things, I couldn’t be more happy. I met my slave/boy during this time too and he continues to make me swoon. In addition to all of the validation he has given me in owning more and more kinks, he honestly has helped me build an even stronger bond with my husband in ways I never expected. Axel and I used to talk about growing old together and, looking at a recent picture of us together, we both kinda laughed and said “fuck, dammit we HAVE grown old together”. We were in our late 20’s with sweeping hair and 32″ waists when we met and now, in our early 50’s, the skinny pants went away right after the hair did. There are so many factors in being middle aged that we didn’t plan on, but, again, we ARE doing okay, but damn I wasn’t prepared. In a marriage like ours, things change but, if you work hard, both of you can change with it. Physically and mentally we are so different, but we keep going. Things that once drove us, like sex, friends, careers, have all changed. As an example, for us, sex is important, but luckily it is not THE driving bond between us because when you add one stressful career (me) to one, often incredibly dark, mentally taxing, stressful career (him) add in health, money, and retirement one day, you get a pair that no longer get the instant erections of yesteryear because there is always something that either mentally or physically competes. Or we are just sleepy. But, THIS is an example of how things adapt and grow. They don’t stop, They shift. Sometimes, I worry that I should worry about this more, but I love that man so much in so many ways that I don’t. His support of my kinky mind, which is about 227% more kinky than his, has been such a blessing that I can honestly never say thank you enough. But, to watch his own kinky mind develop and grow has been nothing but a joy to see and I hope it continues. Adding the slave to the mix, a slave that was intended to just be a play toy for me at first, created this thruple effect of love and support that just kinda sealed all the good things in place.

So, to keep the theme, I am thankful to Axel.

Also, I am thankful for jack.

I have called jack a unicorn so many times that he might think he is one, but it’s true in so many ways. This boy has done so much for me and Axel that I can’t even begin to list the things. Again, even with a slave, the sex is not the dominant factor. He has come into our worlds and integrated himself into our lives in so many more ways than sex. I have said it so many times, but for me, slaves (or ones who think like jack) are equal in some ways, thought vastly unequal in others. When I think of him, I actually have two images in my head that each counter the other. The first is him in his natural naked state, dick locked away, ass plugged, ass bruised, collared, doing anything and everything he can to make us happy. THIS, I so love. However, the other picture of him in my head is him in his scrubs holding my father’s hand the night before he died going over every single medicine and protocol in his chart making sure he had the most pain free, dignified death he could have. I can’t describe what that meant to me, but to him, he was just doing his duty to make me happy. He was no less a slave that night, to me, but his ability to take his gift of service to us and mold it to whatever we need is just something I honestly never thought a BDSM relationship could have. I see it clearly now, and hope those who get to know us through these posts can see it too, but I think this whole notion of submission equals nothingness likely means that so many people may miss meeting the one who can either hold or wear their leash. Does that make any sense at all? As for the unicorn bit, well, he’s smart, he’s more kinky than me, he has a deep voice with a polished southern drawl, he looks good with his cock locked away, and, well, he’s both adorable and hot. So, yes, jack, I am both thankful to and for you.

Going down my kinky thankful list, we have Chris and Mrs. Steelwerks. Yes, these two started as a business relationship and, unlike most of my friends, that have touched my penis, but, somewhere in all of this I fell in love with them as people, kinky as fuck people, but people who whether or not they know it, have helped shape who I have become in the kink world and the muggle world through their friendship, These two people have so much love and acceptance for each other and for those in their immediate circles that they just make me smile when I think about them and don’t we all want friends who make us smile? So, to mr. and Mrs. Steelwerks (see what I did there?), I am, indeed thankful to you too.

My thankful list starts with Thumper who opened all of this to me and, even though he never calls or writes anymore (insert ho hum music here), he’s still one of my favorites who I value and treasure. I am also thankful for my Australian girlfriend, Ferns. I never thought I’d be able to say that phrase generally, but especially knowing that she is a beautiful, Dominant, soul who probably rivals all of the above people in her kinky mind still kinda puts me in awe that we know each other. Though the world hasn’t put me in her hemisphere in awhile, I still treasure every moment when she didn’t feed me.

Finally, to I am thankful to twitter and those of you who put it all out there for the world to see. I am not a face pic posting guy (I just can’t be professionally), but for those of you who are and who are out showing the world everything you are and want to be – thank you.

So, with that, happy thanksgiving 2021 and thanks for reading this year.


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.

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.


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.

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.