It’s a rainy Sunday in the South and I am sitting on my front porch thinking about yesterday. And smiling. Grinning actually.

See, yesterday was just a Saturday like any other Saturday. We had chores to do and I had some errands to run – with closing up the estate of my parents it seems I always have errands to run – but the boy’s number one (his kid) had a camp, so he was able to spend the day with us. While this happens a lot, it still always feels like a special day when he is here. We spent the early part of the morning all over the city and the second half digging about the backyard before just being wiped out. The day was thick and with rain looming, it was one of those four shower days that If you have ever lived or visited down here, you’d understand why we say that as any movement outside makes you feel just gross.

After lunch, Ax was off doing his thing and I needed to so some work, so I decided it was time to store the boy away for a bit so I could work on some writing I was doing. I was feeling it was a hog tie day, so I had him get the massage table out so he would have a cradle for his face and then proceeded to use just very simple leather restraints to hog tie him while still being able to put him down for his “nap”. I went downstairs to get the laptop so I could just sit on the couch in the bedroom and work while being able to always keep an eye on him. Of course, deciding that I didn’t want him to have an eye on anything, I blindfolded him and, also realizing I enjoyed the quiet, I picked out a rather large leather O ring gag to keep him quiet while still allowing me to stick things in his mouth from under the table should I think I needed a place for my fingers or, if the two yoga classes I once took suddenly kicked in, my dick. Since I had to work, the gag also solved one of the cutest things my boy does – talk. I am not sure I have ever shared this, but jack is as country as a biscuit and nary a day goes by when a story doesn’t start with something akin to “when I was 8, my granddaddy put me on the tractor and said “boy, you need to go tend to those beans and feed the cows.” It’s adorably cute and one of the things that makes him who is he is, but it is not conducive to me writing, so the gag worked just perfectly. Of course, the other beauty of the county biscuit thing is you should hear the way his voice says “hey Daddy” when he sees Axel. Fuck. That is sexy. (I may have to record that).

Anyway, as I watched him relax, I started thinking about the week and the last post I had posted about how we had simply just “installed” him into our lives (and vice versa). Overall, the feedback was great and there were some very interesting comments, but there were three that stuck with me and made me do some thinking which has led me to discuss it more. I should specify that none were negative, per se, but they were certainly not positive either. So, selecting one out of the three, the following stands for all of them..

“I think it’s great what you have, but I feel sorry for the slave, though I understand this is something he enjoys so I am not judging. I just could never do what he is doing in serving a married couple because, in the end he loses”

Now, I know the guy who sent this and I know he didn’t mean it as negative as it sounded, but I thought I should say something again to clarify. We have never made any secrets about the fact that the slave is my number two and always will be. As of now, I am his number two as his child will forever be number one – but what I am not sure I have ever said here is that I hope to one day be number three – IF that is what the slave wants. See, I know I have the comfort and the security of marriage and all the acceptance and financial and social safety nets that brings, and I would like nothing more than for the slave to have that too. If he meets the right person along the way and IF and only IF he wants that then I want him to have it. I don’t worry that the right man for him would have to understand his desires and place in this current triad, but we will cross that St. Andrew’s Cross when we get there. As the slave installation was starting to take place, we talked about this a lot and, at that time, he did not want anyone else and didn’t expect to ever want it, so we went forward. As for the protections and the like, we are still a bit early for everything to fall into place, but he will always be protected in the future should something happen to me and Axel, and he is already included in my ADT Alarm Family Emergency Call List (if you are reading this, jack, and finding this out now, don’t be getting all big headed). So, while my friend “could never serve someone married” I get it, but I also want him to know that the things that cause his concern have been addressed and not taken lightly.

So, after thinking about all of that, and then seeing a bottle of Mr S silicone lube in the bathroom, I decided that I was done with the serious side of the day and had a little fun, followed by Axel having a bit of fun, followed by me allowing the slave to either spend another hour as he was before being untied OR giving him an hour to play with my dick however he wanted in and out of wherever he wanted (my actual dick, not his that I own. It’s not Christmas) in exchange for having to carry the largest plug we have for 24 hours, something that still pushes his limits.

He smiled, knowing the choice he had to make was hard, but as my dick waved in his now un-blindfolded, yet still gagged face, he looked at me and chose…

Someone, in fact, three someones asked me about how I met my slave and how we seemed to have just “dropped him into our lives” the other day. While I did answer them, I also detected a sense of something I didn’t like about the way they were asking me, so I didn’t go into much detail. That made me start thinking and I thought I would share a more genuine update on the state of the state of the DD household based on the following general questions mixed inside a longer post:

What does summer look like in your house this year and how has enslaving the boy helped or hurt?

This week, I am supposed to be relaxing. I am supposed to be resting. I am supposed to be playing. But, in truth, I am having a hard week because those things don’t come easily to me. Never did. I think I was a six year old with a briefcase for my Legos.

Anyway, I am on a three week “forced vacation” because I have enough saved time and my company is making me use it. Well, they are not really making me and I need the time to get organized and refocused after the last year, but I still feel forced to relax. For those who don’t know, my husband and I each lost our parents during the last 13 months and lost our dog, Stella, a few weeks ago, so life is ever-evolving. By the way, this isn’t a pity post, I have had far enough of that, but this is just simply setting the scene about where I am in life and the fact I now have time to help merge three extra households (one set of parents were divorced) into one. The beauty of clutter, for me, is the fact that it actually makes me less sentimental and it’s super easy to toss Axel’s Dad’s things without nary a care – kidding, but seriously, things I cared so much for that I had to box and cart them to my home actually do feel out of place here and it’s a great way to purge and start fresh in some cases.

I am not sure why I said all of that except to give more of a peek into where things stand and how things evolve. The last 12 months have sucked in so many ways, but meeting and enslaving the boy has been one of the biggest blessings to help counter all the bad. In a weird, kinky, beyond life way, I think my Mother, who you might remember was quite the character herself in her quest to see if I was fucking Thumper, sent him to me and Axel in some weird way because, as we have noted, he is exactly what we needed and he showed up exactly when we needed him. Yes, I know it’s odd to think one’s dead mother sent them a slave as a parting gift (though she did always love beautiful ginger men) so, for the record, I don’t really think he was just vaporized here out of the blue, but I do think we sometimes put out an energy, of sorts, that, if received by the right person at the right time, can help bring people into our lives. The fact that mine ticked so many muggle and fetish boxes is a coincidence. However, the fact he is a former fireman and a nurse which did help a ton in taking care of Dad was just icing on cage.

Did you know you would own jack as soon as you met him? And, did you give him any choice? Did he fight slavery?

As I read the above I am already making fun of myself as it sounds like I need to go bury some crystals under the house for good things, but I said it as a way of helping understand how this man just dropped into mine and Axel’s life and how, within a matter of days, we had this sexual top, single parent, fireman, nurse, deep voiced Southern gentleman naked, collared, and bolted to our wall while I locked away his penis away. It was fast. It was right. And, it was amazing.

It was also disappointing because it was NOTHING like all of the porn I had read about how Masters and slaves come together and live their lives. I so want to tell you a story about leaving a trail of cock rings in the hospital parking lot, him following and then me locking him away for days, welding a collar on him, forcing him to be fucked by everyone who rang the doorbell – especially UPS men – it seems they are very popular in porn – but I am coming to the realization that it may never happen like that to me. THAT is why I am asking the boy to post more about what it is like for him and I plan to do the same on my side of the puzzle.

Now I know I may have a lot of people screaming at me about how a slave is property, has no rights, should not be loved, etc – I have Master friends who feel this way and that is okay (for them), but I could not own a man that way. I love my slave and, in fact. We have been through this and while it’s different than how I love Axel, it’s still love. That said, that love and my ownership doesn’t mean that he gets to keep all his rights because, I mean, he is a slave after all. When he walks in the door here, he strips, he brings me his wallet, his keys, his phone, and his inside collar and I put three of those things away in a place he doesn’t have access to and lock one on him. As much as possible, I strip him from his outside world and take away his rights when he is here, though he knows he can always ask for them back, with good reason – something he never has done. In fact, I think he would actually like me to take away more of them. He thrives like this and I found I do too. As the years ahead move forward we will grow this more and more.

Your boy often mentions a collar but it can’t be seen?

Oh yeah, he wears a collar that has not come off of his body since September but it’s not typical and there is a good reason you don’t see it. If you look closely at his right wrist you will see it, but it’s an ID typically used by runners and bikers as a way of identifying themselves and who to call for help should they have a crash. In this case, I do have it registered to me as emergency contact, but you don’t see it because the plate contains all of his private information and those are things we don’t share. The metal clasp was superglued shut and now it’s just part of him (it’s a latex band; however, and can easily be cut off it needed).

So, with that, it’s almost time for him to stop by on his way home from work and take his place under my desk. More soon.

DD

Another post by boy Jack.

Today was a great Sunday. We spent the day at home – well, at Drew and Axel’s home, but they have told me to think of it as mine too. The three of us had breakfast together and worked on a few chores around the house. Then, at Drew’s whim, I spent some time tightly bound to a perfectly sized chair from IKEA bought specifically for this purpose (it’s spins, it has rails, it’s not very comfortable, you know, IKEA). Admittedly, my Master prefers faster methods of securing me, but circumstances of the day allowed the time for ropes and knots.  Also, he knows my particular affinity for ropes and indulges this slave from time to time. I like the slower pace of the ropes at times. It is as if I slowly give up control. I enjoy seeing the look on my Master‘a face as he takes more and more of that control from me. He has a look in his eye and a change in his demeanor as he contemplates where each rope should go and how it should be placed. As it happens, my titanium dick nearly explodes at times. Did I mention his grin?  Goddamn, it is beautiful. I enjoy seeing this until the blindfold covers my eyes, at least. After a few hours spent stored as an object on display in the front office and actually in the front window, we had lunch and finished a few more chores to clean up from last nights rainstorms. 

My ass returned to white a few days ago and none of us like that, so I needed a little touching up because, well, we all  needed it for multiple reasons. Honestly, I enjoy the pain, to a degree. Other times, I crave it. Today was one of those days that I craved it. I got every bit that I could handle. Spent physically with my senses heightened, I could feel my straining titanium still pulsing with each rapid beat of my heart. I had a familiar tingling of an orgasm in parts of me that haven’t experienced that in quite some time now.  If I could have willed an orgasm without any direct stimulation in my Steelwerks, today would have been that day. A full body shaking explosion of an orgasm…at least that what I feel like would have happened, if it had happened. But, it didn’t. Today is not Christmas.

Something about being an owned slave with a dick that doesn’t belong to me anymore is that the orgasms of my Master are that much more important to me. I, in a sense, feel his orgasms as an extension of my own, in some amazing yet denied way. I know the feel of his body, the pace of his breathing, the increase in his body’s heat production, the difference in his rhythm, and change in his smell and taste as he nears closer to climax. My brain always enjoys this. My body always enjoys it as well. It is as if I’m nearing my own orgasm, except not, as he nears HIS orgasm.  I love it. Today was that multiplied a hundred times. As he orgasmed and I tasted the familiar taste of my Master’s satisfaction, I was as close to an orgasm as I’ve ever been from his orgasm. He knew it, too. Goddamn, it is good to be owned. I’ve never been a big leaker, but I leaked today. I still have that on edge feeling contained inside my titanium cage. Although I had a bit of him inside me as I went back to my regularly scheduled duties, I still can’t manage to get physically close enough to him. This is a discussion we have had continually since we met. He lets me close to him. I get to touch him more than all but one other person in this world, but it never seems to be close enough. I’m thankful he lets me try, though. I’m thankful for the best orgasm I never had today, too. It’s good to be owned by him. Thank you, Sir. 

Drew’s note: Another post from boy Jack.

This isn’t a post about where in the house the slave resides, it is about finding home with those who love you, grow you, protect you, care for you, and yes even do all kinds of kinky BDSM and sex things to you, for you and with you. In my day to day role of keeping up with an athletic preteen and ALL the practices, games, and parental activities that go with that makes making time for my kink family difficult at times, to say the least. My job in trauma surgery on paper sounds amazing. In reality it takes a fine balance of focus, a clean diet, cinnamon rolls, lots of water, a bit of correctly timed coffee, and an even more importantly timed diet cherry coke in between patients, dad duties, family duties, and Sir duties on a daily basis.  Those are real world things that have to be balanced. But I also have to be able to sleep at some point. 

Tonight was nothing less than an average weeknight.  Well, except that my time with my Master and Daddy are still rarely typical or average. I had some time because the babysitter was with my kid, so we had the usual what do you want for dinner conversation and finally settling on a new pizza place to be delivered. At some point, we picked the next episode of a marvel saga to watch while we ate. Typical. Average. Whatever.

I was allowed on the couch for dinner by Axel and, while Drew would have me naked eating from a bowl chained to the deck, Axel prefers that I am dressed and sitting with the family. We ate dinner. We talked. Average. I gathered everyone’s dishes, helped clean up and I sat back down on the couch. Before I knew it, I was out. Sound asleep out. As much as I adore Drew and Axel, I couldn’t help but feel like I had wasted precious time just being with them. That being said, I do sleep much better with them , either between them in the bed, in the sleep sack, or even in the cage. I’m just that comfortable with these two to trust them so much. It’s funny, I never thought in slavery I would find unconditional acceptance and love, but I have and it still amazes me at times. These two feel like home to me in a way my actual homes have never felt. That feeling is in the the acceptance of me and my perverted dog/slave/boy/object/friend/worker, well, all of me, which, of course, includes my professional and real life duties, my overworked (at times) self.

It was amazing sleep. It was probably no more than 20 minutes, but it was the best sleep I’ve had in the past few weeks. It was the sleep of being at home and comfortable and safe in knowing I’m owned and that these two take care of me like I take care of them (even if I just wear less clothing). It just so happens the care I needed right then was a little bit of much needed sleep and they let it happen even though I so didn’t want to waste that time. My initial thoughts were that I felt guilty for not using every precious moment to spend with my Sir and my Daddy. To which each of them responded that they are excited that I feel such a part of them that snoring on the couch during a movie was acceptable. (Maybe not those exact words)(Drew’s exact words were something like “I should spank you for saying that”). I smiled.

On the drive home I was thinking more about this and every inner thought just told me that they are my home – at least in mental form. Regardless of my current situation, kinky looking or not, those two are home to me. Simply put, wherever they are is home for an owned slave like me. That is the biggest compliment I can think of for the amazing rest and renewal I get from them…my Master and my Daddy.

Who knew slavery could be so fulfilling just by a nap?

Jack

As I sit here cramped into an airport gate, I am smiling because it’s like old times and I am so happy.

Anyway, a few days ago when I was sitting at home with my dick once again encased in titanium I got a few questions from the Twitter about “how can you be locked and have a locked boy? that can’t work”. I usually smirk and move on, but thought I would address it a bit more formally now.

For me, It feels right, though my “right” is admittedly significantly different from men like Thumper, Doc, Andy, etc. I have always represented the other side of Chastity – the locked top version and, as it has turned out, often, the locked dom. What does that mean? Well, simply put, my own sex drive is increased when I am locked. So much so that my husband likes me locked and often insists that I stay that way. I like that too because at my age and stress level, whatever sex drive boost I can get is very needed.

However, the other side of chastity I am talking about now is the denial of others aspect. Something I am not sure I have seen discussed.

In our situation, my boy, like countless others (HA!), likes my dick. It’s not that special of a penis in reality, but he likes the look and, like that glass shoe in Cinderella, the size just fits him perfectly. I see him multiple times a week and when he is under my desk he generally has full owner access, but sometimes I surprise him. When that happens, the look on his face when his nose hits metal is always fun. It’s like I took away his candy and tripled his own sexual frustration AT THE SAME TIME.

His eyes.

His muscles.

His breathing.

His intensity.

All of them suddenly focus and suddenly increase as he knows that that day will not be his day to touch, feel, envelope or mount. I take away his toy to train him, make him stronger, increase his service and, well, just cause it’s fun for me. THAT is the other side of chastity as I see it.

Also, few know this, but two locked dicks, especially in beautiful cages like Steelwerks, are amazing to look at. As a benefit, it makes Axel quite happy too and, for all the same reasons, then we all benefit.

Changing topics, I hope you are enjoying his posts. They will continue and possibly increase as well because, I know the boy inside and out, but every single time he writes it makes me better, stronger, and more connected to him. That inside baseball knowledge is so incredibly, well, incredible.

I admit, I do like to hurt him and every single time we walk/crawl away stronger.

Thanks for reading.

DD

Drew’s Note: another post from the boy

There are three grins, in particular, on this planet that make me happy unlike anything else ever I’ve ever encountered. These grins belong to my Sir (Drew) and my Daddy (Axel).  This past week has been oddly stressful for a number of reasons, and it left me in a particular funk that had me mentally drained. I like to make a plan and stick to it. Easy…this is what I’m going to do…Done.  I know myself well enough to realize that a character flaw of mine is that when my plans don’t go, well, as planned, I get an edgy irritability/grumpiness that sometimes isn’t evident. Sometimes, it is extremely evident. (Drew’s Note again: it’s VERY evident, we are working on this)

Back to the grins. I needed to see my Sir’s grin last weekend. I needed to see it like I had planned because we are both out of town this week. It didn’t happen as planned, and I was stressed and a little grumpy. Add on a last minute surgery for the dog that was more involved than I expected it to be, and my mentality was, at times, the level of a pissed off toddler who didn’t get the cookie he wanted at snack time.  

My Sir knew exactly what was I needed. I needed alone time.

He fixed this with time on all fours, posture collar locked in place, chained and locked in my cage, locked in my titanium (which should just be assumed a permanent part of my body at this point if you were wondering if it really needed mentioning), plugged with my tail, and stored away for a while. Although I didn’t actually take a nap as I was intended to during this time, I rested.  Mentally, I rested. It was much needed rest. My Master—Sir and Master sound exactly the same in my brain with Drew. There isn’t a one or the other, they are exactly interchangeable in my mind.  He is both my Master and my Sir and my best friend, among other things to me— came in to check on me after a while had passed. He wanted to know how I was doing. I don’t think he had to ask. He could see the rest on my face, and sense my demeanor had improved a bit. 

When the time had come, I was taken from my cage and led to be chained in position for my spanking. It started with a riding crop, alternating with a leather paddle (which Daddy had gotten out) and a barehanded spanking.  There may have been a few other things that happened besides just the spanking, as well. Of note, the most intimate things about our spankings for me are not the sexy stuff that happens during these, but that grin and those beautiful eyes of his. Goddamnit, they make me melt. There is a look in those eyes of his that lets me know taking his pain has made him proud of me. That grin of his shows his approval and his leaking cock isn’t a bad indicator, either. His eyes, they have a look that lets me see into him in a way I am not sure many have ever seen.

After the spanking was over he asked, “What is that grin about on your face during your spanking?”  Apparently it is there despite the physical pain. That grin is about knowing he is proud of me for taking his pain. It is also about knowing he enjoys hurting me (without harming me). It is also just a grin because I see that certain look in his eyes, they do make me swoon. That grin is about seeing his grin. It just makes me happy. That grin on my face is about hearing those words, “good boy,” “good slave,” and all the other words he uses in reference to owning every part of me.  My grin is there because he knows me well enough to know what I need, even at times when I don’t know really what it is that I need.  My grin is there because I like the hurt. My grin is there because I’m owned, cared for, loved, and worth owning to him. My grin is there because I’m a pervert and he knows it.  My grin is there because of him. I suppose my response would be “Why wouldn’t I be grinning?”

We are both out of town this the week.  I’m grinning right now as I right this. I can still feel the soreness from the pain I took from him, and I can see the marks he left for me to remember him by….enough to remember I’m owned and enough to know he loves me, enough to remember those things for the whole week we are apart.  That’s why I’ve got this grin on my face. 

Drew’s Note: Another post by the best boy.

If you have followed any of my journey on either my Twitter feed or that of my Sir, you have no doubt seen his point of view from the top of the desk as I spend time beneath it while he works. I do, on occasion, get a place on top of the desk, but I have yet to actually see the view from up there as those times usually involve a hood that prohibits sight. That’s okay. I hear it is nice. I’m not concerned that I’m missing out on anything. I need that time under the desk, and I’m pretty sure he prefers me there. 

So why do I need to be under the desk, and how does it feel?  There are lots of reasons. First of all, I’m owned. My Sir wants me there, so I should be there. At times I’m his object, a footrest. Other times, I’m there to massage his legs and provide him comfort and relief. Other times, I’m his pet, a dog, licking my Master like a good dog does. Regardless of the specific role, I serve him. 

Sir asked me to write about how I feel there while I am serving? It depends on the day and the time. My time spent there, is a time for me to serve, to unwind, to clear my mind, to be the owned pervert I am. Just writing those things make the titanium in my short shorts strain. 

Back to what I feel under the desk…usually when I come home straight from work, I do my chores outside first. Once inside, I change into my uniform. My uniform in these hot southern summers consists of my collar, and sometimes he lets me wear socks.  Sir is already at his desk, where he has been all day, and I take my place under the desk. We usually discuss the day, unless he is already involved a conference call or Zoom meeting (I think we both enjoy how I sneak in away from cameras and mirrors). 

As I take my place, my sub side begins to take over. The stresses and anxieties of the day fade, as I focus on massaging my Sir’s body from underneath the desk. As I submit to him, I can feel his tense muscles begin to relax. I hear his grunts and sounds that he makes that let me know I am doing a good job. Fuck, my mind relaxes even more. I smell my Sir…smell is the sense most linked to memory, if you were wondering. Most times, I can tell you what he showered with earlier. Almost like a trigger, the feel of his body, his smell, and his sounds of pleasure carry me deeper into my submission. And that smile of his….fuck. When I’m not hooded or blindfolded under there, seeing that smirk of happiness or that smirk that lets me know he’s proud of me, and sometimes that smirk when I know I’m doing such a good job that he is a little distracted from work, it melts me. The best is when the people on the other side of his screen thinks he is smiling at them! The day’s stressors disappear at some point while I’m under that desk. It is good for me. It is good for my Sir. 

Time under the desk let’s me know my Sir’s body….it is fucking amazing. For starters, I can tell you where his scars are located, find that knot in his calf, and the sore spot from one of his surgeries, all without looking. I can trace his tattoos without looking, too. Besides the physical connection, we get to know each other on a deeper level when I spend time under the desk. We talk without talking. As an aside, he often quizzes me, when blindfolded, asking me to tell him how many scars he has and where, where his tattoos are by touch, and what body wash he may have used that day. Every time I miss, well, let’s just say my ass gets more red.

I look forward to this time. I need this time. He needs this time. This is only a small glimpse into what it feels like under the desk. I’m not sure that I have the words to describe it all accurately. Even writing this, I feel a sense of security, a sense of relaxation, and a more intense connection to my Sir. He gets this pervert unlike anybody I’ve ever known. Under that desk is where I need to be, for him and for me. 

His travel begins soon. I need to learn how to fit in a suitcase.

I have very much enjoyed allowing the boy to write lately as it’s taken some of the pressure off of me (perceived pressure, only in my head I know) and has allowed his experiences to shine through. Plus, he’s good and I enjoy reading his thoughts. Should we make it more regular?

Anyway, I think it’s clear that the boy has fit into our lives in ways Axel and I never expected. I fell in love with him fast and knew we’d be testing the polyamory theories left and right. You know what, it’s okay and damn near perfect. There is not pressure to be felt about next steps because there are none. I/we are his number two until his number one graduates high school and we get him into a great college far far away, this is how it will be and that’s simply just that. In the future, Axel will be retiring in the next 3-4 years (I hate him since he’s younger than me) but that will allow us the ability to go anywhere now that my family is gone. So we have options. That feels good too.

I plan to use these years to turn him into the absolute best slave that I can make him. It’s funny, we were good with boy, then sub, but as things move forward the slave term is something we are both drawn to and it just fits him. Now, what that will look like I can guarantee won’t look typical, but, when I have done anything typically?

Someone asked me about what I was most surprised about in training jack and starting his dominant top to slave transformation. At first, that question caught me off guard. Then, my immediate answer really caught me off guard. It was that a slave can also be s best friend. Now this is not shocking in many ways, especially because how many people call their spouse a best friend, myself included, so why can’t someone who has given themselves to you be that too? It’s fun as he can be the BFF one minute and simply an object the next and, the best part, I am finding that we have no issues in making that switch.

I realized this when, of all times, at my father’s funeral when I looked down the lunch table and jack was sitting with, entertaining, and genuinely liking hanging out with my extended family. It was just like he was one of the gang that just fit perfectly and naturally. Even though he had on clothes he was serving. In fact, what he was doing was helping me tremendously by making my day easier. I kinda laughed to myself thinking that Ax and I were the only two, besides himself, that knew that just 48 hours earlier he’d been locked in a dog cage while being made to fuck himself on a giant plug, but just THAT made his devolution into my family that much more special. As we have continued to spend weekends closing my parent’s lives, he’s been such part of the process that his service is just as natural as it is expected and appreciated. I did have a laugh when one of the neighbors said “Now, who is this jack? I mean, I know he’s your gorgeous buddy with the six pack abs, but does he have a brother? I mean, he’s just so helpful and will do anything you ask doesn’t he?” – I swooned bit with pride at that moment and just talked about how he’s out great friend as I felt suburbia wasn’t ready for the whole story just yet.

Now, let’s talk about pain. I have heard so much that if you fall in love with a sub or start to respect a sub, etc, that you won’t be able to hurt him. I am here to tell you that is bullshit. We have happened upon a flogger and lots of riding crops (happened upon them in my parents’ closet – but that’s another post at another time) and I have enjoyed the absolute fuck out of learning how to strike just the balance of more pain than pleasure for him. I don’t have my placement 100% correct yet and gave him some bruises on the sides of hips accidentally, but we will get that right soon.  However, in using these implements, my inner sadist has been screaming with joy as my boy screams in pain (in his head, remember I don’t allow him to make noise). It’s an absolute turn on and such a fucking fantasy actually happening.

As a for instance, Saturday I tied him to a bar in the doorframe of mine and Axel’s bedroom. I teased him with the flogger as I dangled the leather all over his naked stretched self and then, as if surprising him, I lit into his ass. For 30 minutes he endured a beating that varied from severe to gentle and from gentle to severe. There were some, consensual,  boundaries crossed that afternoon and I was so proud of him. In fact, in that switch of sadism to to aftercare, I took him down, laid him on his stomach on the big fluffy bed, and then I spent shout 45 minutes drinking ice water and literally licking his wounds while helping take the heat from his body. It was so fucking amazing and that led to another 45 minutes of amazing fucking. Go figure. Pain is sexy. And he really does like the way I hurt him.

Anyway, that’s where we stand. It’s odd that In a year of emotional pain, physical pain has made me happy again (kinda sorta since I am not the one in pain). I am very excited to watch jack grow this way and just wanted to officially state my pride for him and how absolute happy I am that he is allowing me to take him on this journey.

NOTE FROM DREW: Another amazing post by boy jack.

The very first time….

Naked, restrained, arms secured above my head, legs spread, titanium that I’m certain is about to stretch, that anxious, excited, anticipation triggered release of endorphins and pheromones hanging in the air….the scene of the very first time I was flogged. 

My mind, focused only on my Sir, as it should be. I’ve talked about what taking his pain means before. I want to take his pain. I’m not anxious about the hurt. I know it will hurt, but I won’t be harmed.

There is safety amidst the anticipation. I feel completely comfortable and safe in my Master’s hands. So I don’t worry. I anticipate. 

The flogging begins with some light impact. I love it. It feels amazing on my skin. The intensity grows. It hurts. it feels good. It feels amazing. As the leather tails sting the different areas of my body, a pattern develops and I descend deeper into a new level of sub space. I’m a slave that needs to take my Sir’s pain. The sensations stop as I feel the leather being lightly dragged across my skin. The heat from the previous impacts feels the almost cold feeling of the leather. I’m sure I have goose bumps at this point, only heightening the sensation. 

Another hard impact lands across my back. As the flogging continues, I enter a meditative state of pain and pleasure. At some point I lock eyes with my Sir. That look in his eyes – they are a beautiful bright yet deep green – makes me melt. I can’t explain it in words, but I know that look. His look. He’s proud. He’s happy. He’s mine as much as I am his. The flogging continues and I know from those eyes, it will only get more intense.  You’d have to ask him, but I’m pretty sure he can read me when we have that eye contact. He senses my limits, knows how far he can take me past them without harming me. When he looks directly in my eyes, that man feels my soul.

“Here , hold this,” he orders me as the flogger grip is put in my mouth. I know from the look his eyes that this is not over. He approaches me from behind and inspects the object who has endured the first part of today’s flogging session.  I hear him go downstairs. I hear fosters coming back up the stairs, as both he and Axel return. I am put through another session of flogging for Daddy’s approval. I don’t know if Sir was showing off his skill, but I think he was showing off my ability to take the pain and impact. Either way, I’m proud of myself. 

Following this, Sir took me outside to his patio, placed me on all fours on a coffee table, and he showed Axel that he had learned that when he puts a few fingers inside my ass, I apparently unknowingly smile. He left me there while they went about whatever they were doing. I was their object, their statue, their whatever, so I happily stayed.

Of note, there are times that I enter an almost meditative like state during these sessions. There are times later that I think about them and remember things that I didn’t immediately remember afterwards. Kind of like that dream you had last night. As the morning goes on, you remember bits and pieces that you didn’t remember right when you woke up. I say that to say this, I’m pretty sure Daddy (Axel) used the flogger on me at one point as well. I was in that state (turns out he didn’t).

I think I’ve found a new favorite impact implement. As I admired the marks on my skin afterwards and throughout the following day, I think they look beautiful. A testament to the bond we have. A testament of safety, security, and welcomed perversion (the good kind). I love watching the marks as they change. It reminds me of my Sir. It reminds me of our connection. I need that right now. His work travel has returned, and I knew it would. It is not a bad thing. His travel is part of what makes him so amazing to me – my Sir who has been everywhere. I’ll admit it has been tougher on me than I thought it would be, and I’m only taking a week at a time. You can roll your eyes, but I’m ok with being a sap. A friend with a knack for making amazing titanium art work (aka Mr. Steelwerks) told me that being sappy beats being superficial. 

“Be real man and be real. Feel what you feel”  

So I’m being real. I’m a sap. The lingering marks are comforting to me. A piece of my Sir that I carry with me while he is away. Of course, this is in addition to the other things I carry with me (two that are locked on me) of his on a daily basis. 

I’m sure there is some profound wisdom to be learned here. But in short, I fucking loved it. It grew the bond that the three of us have. It was the best Monday I’ve ever had since the last best Monday I ever had, and I can’t wait until the next best Monday ever. 

jack

A GUEST POST MY BOY, JACK.

I often think that those of us of a certain age and perverse persuasion grin whenever a that John Cougar Mellencamp song comes on the radio or through the speakers of our streaming device of choice.  You know the one I’m talking about. I can only speak for myself, but I do enjoy pushing limits, pushing boundaries, and trying to find that edge of what hurts and what hurts so good. Often this makes me wonder what it means to take my Sir’s pain. 

The past couple weeks have been emotionally and mentally tough for all three of us for a number reasons. Today, while at Sir’s, I completed my usual tasks, discussed a new project, and completed a few other tasks for the day. Fast forward through the day, and Drew gave me that look he gives when I know I am about to be reminded of my place. So, as ordered, I went upstairs, entered the passcode into the keypad on the lock of the door that stands between the rest of the house and a collection of gear that would bring a particular grin and an increased blood flow to the shaft of most any pervert that I know. I understand that I am going to be hurting soon and later. Yet, the titanium cage in my pants is already straining as the beep from each digit is entered into the keypad. I listen and smile as I hear the mechanical whirring of the lock as it opens. 

A while later, I’m writhing on the bed, my ass red and stinging from the riding crop and paddle, my steelwerks cage is under pressure to the point that I’m convinced titanium will begin to stretch at any moment, and my nipples are being worked over. They hurt (and still do). My dick is leaking, and I am focused on one thing….taking my Sir’s pain. Why? First of all, I enjoy it. Most importantly, my Sir enjoys it. I can tell by the grin on his face (it is an amazing grin, by the way) and the increasing resistance as I’m restrained to the bed by his massive hands. 

So what does taking my Sir’s pain mean to me? 

Taking his pain is a release for me and my Sir. The change in his face and the look in his eyes as we maintain eye contact, signals all of this to me. I am quite good at processing this pain/pleasure gradient. Today, I processed it quite amazingly, if I do say so myself, though I did lose eye contact for 21 seconds, a failure that will be dealt with later in the week according to Drew. Knowing that he is proud that I, his sub, takes his pain pushes me further along the edge. I’m fucking owned, every part of me. At this very moment I feel it, and I know it with every part of my being. 

Today, my mind found a new sub space I didn’t know I had. A space where I wasn’t just enjoying the hurt of the pain, but my body was intensely begging for more. I haven’t had an orgasm since Christmas 2020, and my dick has been locked for that same amount of time except for when absolutely necessary and under constant watch of my Sir. As my mind reveled in this newly found sub space, I felt a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time.  I was on the edge of something very close to an orgasm, and it was amazing. Physically, it felt amazing. Mentally, it was even better…..Back to the point I was trying to make….Taking his pain, shows my submission to him and his dominance over me.  Taking his pain is a release for him and for me. Taking his pain pushes my limits. It very literally pushes me to the edge of climax. Taking his pain solidifies our bond and trust even more deeply.  Plainly put, letting myself be totally submissive to my Sir’s pain grows our relationship.

I mean, how am I supposed to know he loves me, if he doesn’t hurt me while not harming me?  

Jack