Happy New Year. I am now proud to say that I did not ejaculate once in 2021. Something I never thought I would never say. What’s more, something I would never have thought anyone would say.
So, I suppose a little reflection about this year is warranted.
In 2020, I met an amazing, sexy, man for lunch. We had an instant connection and somewhere, deep down, I suspected this man would own me one day. He made me melt. I mean, have you seen his eyes? A week or so later I met his husband who is equally as amazing. Then, within a few weeks I had my first chastity cage, and I was head over heels for these two men. A month later, I had my PA installed, a bonafide start to the badass metal dick club. By the time I had healed and gauged up and healed again, I had a shiny new titanium cage. A cage that I had not seen. A cage that I had no input in designing. Little did I know, my Master and the mastermind at Steelwerks had designed a perfect cage for me. The first time I actually saw it, it was already locked on my dick. It was fucking beautiful.
At some point the rules were decided. I could ask to come twice a year and my request would likely be granted, although for some reason this year I did not ask. I’d be allowed to come at Christmas, just over a year from being locked. Today is one week after Christmas and I still have not cum and my dick is still locked. My Master and Daddy traveled for the holidays, so we knew in advance that it wouldn’t actually be Christmas, but after they returned a series of unfortunate events involving my family and the “is it covid or is it a cold?” factor factored in and it still hasn’t happened. It will happen. Just not today.
That said, to be honest, there is a part of me that isn’t really one hundred percent convinced I want to do the deed although every other part of me says that I want to 120 percent. I’m a little nervous about it as well. I mean, fuck, there’s a lot of pressure to perform, you know?
For me, in addition to the denial and generally kinkiness, this titanium cage has represented the one true time in my adult life that I have ever had true unconditional love and support. It represents that love and support despite the fact that I’m a kinky pervert, despite the fact that I don’t always feel deserving of it, despite the fact that I’m not always the easiest person to love. But there it is, my dick locked in a titanium cage, my owned dick, a reminder that despite my imperfections, I’m loved without condition.
I’ve actually woken up in the middle of the night with the most stupid thought of should I just say no and go another year? I mean, as every day that goes by my desire to be indefinitely chaste gets a bit stronger because of the shiny reminder of unconditional love securely locked where it belongs. I guess what I’m saying is that I enjoy the tangible reminder that I’m owned and with that comes unconditional love. I’m excited about “Christmas Orgasm,” but I’m just as happy whether or not Christmas 2021 actually will come this year or whether I will decide, with the guidance of my Master and Daddy, to just call it a year and go for two?
My Master and I have discussed hypnosis before, and it is something that stirs both of our cages. While I wouldn’t really say we’ve achieved any sort of level of hypnosis, we’ve definitely developed a system of triggering words to help redirect my focus. There are actually five words, to date, but it started as three. They only work when they come from my Master and there is one word programmed to work from Daddy, as well. I’d love to tell them to you, but I cannot. However I will tell you about their effect on me. As I start thinking about them, my cage starts to strain a bit. In addition, I am not really allowed to show the emotion they cause when I am not right in front of either, so I tend to go a bit blank. So, if run into me and suddenly I go blank, check my cage, it will likely be expanding. Now, back to the words.
The first word triggers a response of pain. When my Master speaks it or sends it via text, all of my pain receptors fire. I feel every bit of pain he has given me. It puts me in that place that I go when I take my Master’s pain. It is a place of disconnected connectedness. I focus on the sensation. I focus on my Master. I focus on making him happy. Inevitably, I think about his amazing eyes, his amazing grin, and a particular look of satisfaction and pride when I’m taking intense pain from him. As the word is repeated, the sensation of pain grows stronger and more intense.
The second word causes the sensation of being filled with an inflatable plug while taking my Master’s cock down my throat. Every time the word is repeated, the plug grows bigger and his cock goes deeper and deeper down my throat. It is a mental spit roasting of sorts, I suppose. All I know is that it makes me more eager than I already am to have my Master closer to me and deeper inside of me, if wanting, needing, craving that is more possible than the current level of craving. Beyond this increased need to be closer and have him deeper inside of me, I often have that mental feeling of being empty and my hole wrecked, despite no physical penetration having actually occurred. If you have ever been opened up with one of those pig hole toys, it is something akin to the feeling you would have after it comes out.
The third word is more of a word that turns me into a physical object. When my Master gives me the word, I hold the pose that I am in at the moment. Turns out, I inadvertently have been holding my mindset at that given moment. That’s just an amazing added extra that happened to come along with this particular word.
The fourth word is a recent addition. In fact, it hasn’t been tested yet. However, when I’m given this word, I am supposed to go into a head space that lets me separate from my self. It lets me enter an almost animalistic slave mindset. It is a space of submission, on all fours. It is a space where I want nothing more than to serve, be near, and just protect my Master. The protection part wasn’t really part of the programming, but it is just there. Think guard dog, and you are somewhere in the ballpark for this word.
The fifth word was programmed for Daddy. When he gives me this word, all I can think about doing is absolutely with all I have physically show him just how much I fucking want him. Use your imagination, but it is basically my usual lustful thoughts amplified and put into action.
Sir, as usual, has my safety at the top of his agenda so he promised to never use these when he knows I am driving, with a patient,
There is a list of words we plan to program for this slave. One thing I know, is that each and every time we use them, I’m reminded how much I’m unconditionally loved. I remember that I’ve never allowed anyone inside my mind like this. I’m reminded that the level of trust in our relationship is nothing I ever expected to find. I’d say I probably didn’t really want someone to know me so well at a past point in time. That’s all changed because of Drew and Axel. I’m proud of who and what they have done for me and the person I’ve become because their acceptance of every part of me. I’d venture to say most will never find this on the same level, but I hope that you do. Its worth trying to find. It’s fucking amazing, and I think I’m better because of it.
This year marked my fortieth trip around the sun. This year has been my best year yet, for numerous reasons. Two of those reasons are at the very top of the list…one named Drew and the other Axel. This post isn’t about that but if you need a list about those two and what they do for my life, just message me. I am the best I’ve ever been because of these two, and it just keeps getting better.
Of course this year’s milestone birthday wouldn’t have been complete without the customary birthday spanking. So, let’s discuss that.
Somewhere, somehow we (or maybe He) pre-calculated a rate of 10 swats, hits, or whatever word you like to call it per year. I knew that gave me at least 400 – reasonable enough. That made my titanium clad dick strain and I knew my mental limits would be pushed. Of course, that made the titanium strain more.
At some point that evening I asked my Master to hurt me to tell him I was ready (He loves when I ask for or volunteer for taking his pain). After getting the clearance from Daddy that I was done with whatever chores he had given me, I was instructed to get four things from the gear closet.
I entered the combination in the lock on the door to the gear room. As the door opened, I remembered what I was instructed to get. A steel paddle, a steel rod(think steel version of a cane), the big, heavy leather paddle, and the paddle I call the tenderizer in my head. It is a small wooden paddle. One side is smooth, and the other side looks like a meat tenderizer.
I closed and locked the gear room and went to the bedroom as instructed. I placed the four implements on the bed. My straining cage gave away my excitement as I kneeled on the floor waiting for my Master. He likes to make me wait for a bit. During this time my mind does different things. I think about looking into his eyes while he hurts me. I think about the beautiful grin on his face. I think about how I love to make him proud of me and how loved those words “good boy” make me feel. I use this time to clear my mind and go to a space that centers me. Of course, my balls have usually turned a purplish blue color by this point.
I hear my Master coming up the stairs. As his footsteps steps get closer, my cage pulses with my heartbeat. As he walks through the door, I look up and our eyes meet. There is a glint of something that I don’t know how to describe, but it makes me just want to get closer to him. The trouble is that I can’t ever get close enough. Despite that, I plan on always trying to find close enough, but hoping I never really get enough.
He asks me if I need this tonight. Of course I do, but he needs my reason. My reason is that I had a hard week with him traveling and let it get to me. I didn’t communicate that well at first, but it had been corrected.
In my uniform (naked with just my collar), I was ordered to get on the couch on all fours. “Yes Master,” I replied as I assumed the position. As the steel rod made contact with my ass, I felt the thuddy deep burn that let me know I’m going to feel this one for a few days. One hit after another, I entered a space in my mind that allows me to take my Master’s pain. It is good for both of us. I look over my shoulder and see that grin of his and beautiful eyes, a look of pride, a look of determination, a look of kinky unconditional love mixed with a little bit of sadist. Fuck, I’m hurting, swooning, and maybe even leaking. The deep burn of the impact hitting a quite sensitive spot brings my attention back to the spanking. My Master stops to admire the results, the ass he owns is starting to warm and redden a bit. He feels the warmth of this slave’s smooth ass and makes some remark about just getting warmed up.
He switches to the steel paddle. The first strike hits hard and deep. I feel a burning sensation run down my leg. My teeth grit, but I make no noise. My Master doesn’t like a loud slave. Each impact gets a little harder and more intense than the last. I feel proud. I want to take more of his pain. I want my limits pushed. I want to remember this when I sit for the days to come. I feel my ass start to burn with warmth, and I grin.
He stops for a minute, admiring his work. He reminds me that I need this and tells me I will take more. The sound of his voice makes my caged cock press against the titanium with even more force I’m in a zone of pure submission at this point. I’m mentally begging for more. My physical senses are heightened and I feel in the feeling of pain, pleasure, and pride that I am taking his pain.
The tenderizer is my Master’s next choice. The feeling of the spikes on my ass sends a different sensation than the steel implements. It stings with a quick burning, tingling sensation. A rapid succession of hits makes me writhe. My Master grabs the back of my collar, and it helps center me again. I feel the very specific pattern it leaves forming on my almost white hot ass. I know that feeling, and I know I will feel it tomorrow.
My Master switches to the big leather paddle. It is heavy. The first impact on my ass hits with a combination of a heavy thud with the sting of a lighter paddle. The best of both worlds, maybe? This combination along with the fact that I can be hit harder with this particular paddle makes it the one that hurts the most, in the best possible way. I know it hurts, and he knows it hurts. I feel a sense of pride as I take his pain. I can see his pride in me, too. It is written all over his face. He stops. He feels the heat coming off of my bright red ass. My mind is in a place that is hard to describe. I’m near my limits. He knows it. I want more and he knows it. He also knows me well enough that I will push my limits. I trust my Master with every part of my being. This means that he often can sense my limits before I do.
“Do you need more?” He asks with this swoony southern drawl, already knowing my answer.
“Yes Master. I need more.”
“Twenty,” I answered. Not totally sure that I could take twenty more at this point, but I also wanted to make him proud. Again, he knows my limits better than I do most times. The other side of that is he knows how far he can push those limits. Damn, it is good to be owned!
“I think you can take forty,” he says as my dick strains in the cage. I’m more than willing to let him push my limits and responded with a strong “Yes Master”. He asked which paddle hurts the worst. Him knowing that it is the leather paddle and me knowing it is his favorite one, this question didn’t really need to be asked. We both knew it would be the leather paddle.
He instructed me to go into the bathroom and bend over the tub. I did as instructed and waited. My ass burned and I could feel the heat coming from it. I could also feel a stirring in my cage. The first hit with the leather paddle burned deeply. I started to count in my head, and at some point decided that I don’t like the counting, so I quit. It does things with my head and takes me out of the moment. I don’t need anymore numbers beyond 1 and 2 for the most important things important in my world anyway. As I kept taking my Master’s pain, it hurt and I loved every second of it in some perverse mix of pleasure, pain, and pride. It was amazing, and I one we had pushed a new limit. My body was shaking. My breathing was telling I was at a new limit. My cage was giving me away. All exposing my feelings to my Master without speaking a word. He stopped and held me. “You took sixty,” he said with that amazing grin. He held me close. I felt protected, loved, and an amazing bond growing deeper. For the record 400 turned into 700+.
Following this, and every spanking, he will normally allow me on the bed where he can literally wrap almost all of me in his arms and we just wait there until I settle. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we make out. All times, I feel protected, safe and fucking proud. Then, of course, I am sent to put up my toys.
I feel, my words seem to fail to appropriately express what our spankings mean to me. Even better yet, to us. They are more than just a physical act. As I go throughout the following days and sit or my clothes hit just the right sensitive spot, I grin. These feelings of pain (not harm) remind of that moment of being held, loved unconditionally, bringing pride to my Master, and feeling safe in knowing every fucking part of me is owned.
A year can bring a lot of changes. Actually, it’s been about 14 months, but it wasn’t as catchy a title. Anyway, those changes, like life, tended to be good, bad, and indifferent. I’ll try to get my sappy part out of the way early. My first year as a locked, collared slave has taught me a lot. Paramount of all is that I’m loved, unconditionally despite maybe not being quite lovable at times and, despite my new status, I am more of a man than I have ever been – now I am just a naked one.
This year has been amazing. I have two men who have shown me what unconditional love is, accepted me for my perversions (and helped add a few more), and shown me just how amazing life can be when you allow it.
I spent a lot of time under a certain desk and in service of some fashion or another. I have chores, uniforms, protocols. I’ve been to places I’ve never been (physically and mentally), flown first class, and I’ve gained a whole new family in addition to Drew and Axel and our blended family of terriers.
One thing that continues to amaze me is my Master’s mind. We tend to think a lot alike, but he seems to almost know what I’m thinking at times. Well, a lot of the time. He knows when I’ve had a bad day and am trying to hide it. He knows when I need to be hurt (not harmed). He knows I want to make Him and Axel proud. And He knows just how far to push my limits, even better than I do at times. He pushes me out of my comfort zone and doesn’t allow me to retreat when I’d rather just not deal with adversity and hatred of others.
My Master and my Daddy care for me in a way that nobody ever has even down to birthday party with my favorite cake and gifts….more than I think I deserve. I’ve learned that others may see ability in me than I ever have myself credit for. I’ve learned what real unconditional love is and I’ve learned more about giving that type of love, too.
On a kinky side, I’ve experienced things for the first time. I’ve lived out fantasies. I’ve gained a load of new toys, and I’ve had parts of my body stretched and hurt in the most amazing ways. And I have not touched my dick in over a year.
My slave side has grown deeper. I don’t even pick my own clothes, at least without some guidance from my Master. He chose my new car, my computer, what shoes I wear, and, in a case like the car, seeing my Master deal with the salesman made my titanium tube full. It was amazing and I felt protected.
So what I’ve learned in a year has been that I’m worthy of submission to my Master and my Daddy. While we may not follow the path others follow, it works for us. I’ve learned to communicate better, at times. I’ve become a better person because of support from two men who support me like nobody else in my life ever has. I’m proud to be owned. One of my most favorite things in this world is to see the smile on the face of my Master and my Daddy. They make me swoon. They hurt me in just the right ways. Oh yeah, and I have a beautiful titanium cock. That’s pretty amazing, too. I guess my point is that there is a lot of amazing kinky stuff, but that isn’t even the top of the proverbial iceberg when it comes to what is amazing about Drew and Axel.
Finally, a note to those who seek this style life, GO FOR IT. I will never regret finally opening up my mind to seek what I wanted and, though I really doubted it would be, it turns out it was out there – literally down the highway. Don’t feel like who and what you find has to look like me and my Master, or the Master on BDSMLR, or the slave on Twitter. Design your path
As you may have already read, I had a shit week this past week. It was one of those weeks that brought back a lot of old feelings that, frankly, I didn’t think I would have to deal with in such a manner. My heart was hurting. I just wanted to retreat from everybody, but I wasn’t given that choice. So instead of telling all about that, I thought I’d share what unconditional love looks like for us.
Drew was away all week, Daddy (Axel) was busy with a full schedule that was busier than his usual overfilled schedule. I did manage a counseling session of sorts with Axel that was good for me. My chosen Canadian family talked with me, as well. What I wanted more than anything was to touch my Master and to serve the two men who are probably the only two people in the world who have given me such unconditional love.
You see, service to these two has become a means for helping me center. They both realize that, and are all too eager to oblige at times. Friday’s schedule got screwed up and I was not able to see Drew until Saturday morning. It was beyond my control and I know it sounds unhealthy, but it threw me and I got to the point where mentally, any forward progress I had made during the week was about to all go to shit because Drew was home and a dinner for us had been planned.
My Master has a beautiful mind. He knows what I want and what I need, even before I do at times. I was better by the time I actually got to touch him on Saturday, but he knew his slave just wasn’t right. I arrived at our home (while not a full time resident there, Drew and Axel’s home is also my home) and put on my uniform. I went through the required 15 minutes of greetings the puppies (bio, you perves). Although I was trying to cut it down to 3 minutes or less, they weren’t having it. They are small, beautiful, and so fucking happy that you stop what you are doing right then and there and not even Drew can beat the happy greeting.
Finally, sufficient kissy faces with the newest puppy and a sufficient amount of rubbing the right spot with the other, more reserved, puppy I was allowed access past the front door. My Master sat waiting for me. He asked how I was as I assumed my position in the floor. I muttered something like “I’m fine.” I just wanted to serve him, to get to that centering place. He knew that would require a little more than I realized. He wanted me to talk about it. In fact, he ordered me to talk. I tried. I cried. He held me. His touch, his embrace, his physical presence, his voice, he gave me all he had in that act of holding me. It is no surprise that he owns every part of me, but I don’t think that I have mentally and physically ever given anybody so much of me as I have in that moment. He knew what I needed more than I did, and that was just the beginning of how unconditional love was shown to me this weekend.
He knew the answer before it was asked, but my Master asked what I needed. Of course my answer was to serve. I spent time locked in my kennel outside. I had the best sleep I’ve had all week in that kennel. I’m sure I was grinning ear to ear as I slept. I was an object in a cage. An object that needed recharging.
You may have seen a recent Twitter post or two about some new cuffs Chris at Steelwerks crafted for me. Well, they were used in a variety of ways this weekend. As I was cuffed hanging on display in the kitchen while Daddy did that magic he does in the kitchen, I was teased a bit by my Master. I strained in my cage as I tried to taste his lips against mine, and he smiled that grin that makes me legs weak. Daddy stole a few kisses from me and the twinkle in his dark brown eyes was bright as these two men made out in front of me. I craved them both more.
My Master came close to me, as I strained the limits of the chains holding me in place. He grabbed me tongue in his mouth. His teeth held my tongue tightly. It hurt, it felt good. He pulled me tighter in the chains with just his teeth pulling my tongue. I felt pain and pleasure, and unconditional love. My straining cage leaked. Fuck…I am loved. I knew it before, but sometimes a slave needs to be reminded.
Unconditional love looks like a slave put away in a kennel, an object on display, a leaking titanium cage, sore painful nipples that remind me of this, a plugged hole, and a still red and burning ass. I can weather any storm with the unconditional love of my chosen family.
To come full circle, the issue from last weekend is something that will be fine with a bit more time. Being a gay, single Dad isn’t easy on a good day. Add in being kinky as fuck plus a dash of in living in one of the least educated, least open, least LGBT supported states it multiplies that from time to time into a concoction nobody would eat. Frankly, I had let my guard down, so the incident we do not speak of anymore knocked me down more than I wanted, but I am a resilient slave and I have a Master to serve and a kid to raise so I will be just fine. Especially as unconditionally supported as I now feel.
I would like to preface this part of the post. I am owned completely by Drew. We have a trust and a love that is not shared with anyone else. When we were discussing our trip, he asked what I wanted. Of the many things we discussed, I told him that I wanted to be known as belonging to him as his completely owned slave, every part of me, by people he trusted. At some point later he asked if I trusted him completely…which he already knew the answer to. That was months ago, but I can’t help think that it was part of the setup for this trip and the fact that we were going to spend a lot of time with two other people who knew every single thing about our relationship.
Drew already mentioned our arrival at the House of Werks and you know about Mrs. S meeting a naked me in leather, etc – lol. The reality of that is so far from that point I laugh, but having fallen in love with them the night before, we arrived to the dungeon and spoke with friends about all the things friends talk about, discussed some new project ideas, shined up a few of our pieces, Chris and I talked kink and, I think, Mrs. S and Drew spent an inordinate amount of time talking about appliances. Through this, friendships grew stronger. This was the best part of the day and the highlight of the trip – at that point.
Of course, the playspace is what you all are interested in but, before we go there, I want to reiterate, while I say things about touching, etc – this was not sex. This was me having the privilege to show off myself, my cage and my Master’s training of me while also being a chance for them to have new gear pictures for marketing – or masturbating if they are into that kind of thing. Yes, I got touched, fluffed and bruised, but in my head, at least, that is a random Thursday.
Now, back to the narrative, as Mr. and Mrs. S, along with my Master, restrained me, I felt a sense of calm come over me. Being bound and restrained does that to me. Suspended in leather, hooded, and gagged, every part of me was owned and, at that moment, by three people in a way, but by Drew in all ways. That’s no news, but our friends now saw it first hand. They knew it, too. My master turned me over to the hand of Mrs. S. And, as innocent as she may appear, she is a force to be reckoned with – and that is so fucking sexy. She has this amazing dominant force that enjoys handling a slave like myself. My newly shined cage was installed again by my Master. The touch of him, the feel of him, the smell of him and his voice were all making it very fucking difficult to get the cage installed again. At some point I was released from suspension and flogged and whipped, and I’m pretty sure caned by everyone in the room. Fuck it was nice.
It was time to switch hoods and Drew stopped everything and said, “I want to show off your training, boy.” They looked questionable but I knew what he meant. You see, Drew doesn’t like noise or expression when he is hurting me, so I have trained very hard to keep smiling and not reacting, even when the pain is fucking intense. After he said that, he then bit my nipples hard, and did again, then he asked Mrs. S. to do something with them which he did something to my ass that hurt. But, I made no face and from the look in his blue eyes, his grin he tried to hide, and the fact that I think he was hard – I made him proud and I think impressed them too.
I was “hurt” in multiple ways again and proved to be as well trained as my Master said I was. What an amazing feeling to know that I lived up to the expectations of my Master and our friends. For the record, I was not actually harmed ( you know my drill here) but damn I was hurt so good to the point that I was reminded that he loves me for days after.
At that moment, there was a wave and, goddamn, it felt so good to be owned.
Next up: Latex. As I was put into my rubber catsuit and a thick, non eyed hood, the suspended bondage table came out. I was bound, gagged, teased, tortured, and photographed so many times, but do you know what? – I fucking fell asleep it was so peaceful. I only woke up later when my hood was unzipped and Drew and Mrs. S were talking about anxiety and depression, rugs that can be washed, and skincare to stay younger – fuck we are an eclectic group.
But, these intimate moments shared between a Master and his slave and with friends I’d consider family, were the bomb. I honestly never knew I could be loved and accepted like I had been that day. Sitting there naked, covered in lube and sweat, while Mrs. S sprayed Clorox around me was, well, fucking insane.
I got dressed and as we all shared in aftercare and discussed the normal things such amazing perverts discuss, we cleaned gear, made plans for the next couple of days and, for lack of a better way to describe it, we had the purest form of togetherness I think people are capable of. As expected, I was in a dumbfounded state of bliss for the rest of the day and night.
That night at the hotel was amazing, for about 45 minutes and then exhaustion set in. However, the next morning is a different story and, we will save that for Part Three.
Finally, a note about the pic – Drew teases me for taking a lot of selfies, so apparently I was set up for this shot while in a blackout hood.
Disclaimer: No slaves were harmed in the making of this blog post. I hurt a lot and I loved it, but I was not harmed. Consequently, I am closer and more enamored with my Master each day, if that is such a thing.
I’ve posted before about pain. Pain is subjective. What hurts to one pervert may be the most pleasurable experience to the next pervert in line. I guess what I’m getting at is pain isn’t anything special in and of itself, but how that pain is used and interpreted and taken or given can be a beautiful thing. If you have read my pain posts or seen my bright red ass on twitter, then you know I’m a fan, mostly. Well, even when I don’t like it, I like it, if I am being honest.
There are two sides to pain and both sides make the titanium that encases this owned dick attached to me stretch, or at least feel like the titanium is stretching. Part of pain is giving – Part of pain is taking. I like both. (though, admittedly, that part of me about giving it is locked away behind my collar until Sir lets me have my own boy). I like pushing my limits. It is supposed to hurt. Maybe I have a wire crossed or the brain wiring guy was hungover the day my brain was wired. I do know one thing that makes my cage strain is pain. Maybe that was why marathon training was like a drug to me. It hurt, but I fucking loved it.
This weekend, Drew wanted to hurt me (insert disclaimer about the difference between hurt and harm. I may hurt a lot and quite often, but I have never and will never be harmed by my Master). My nipples are quite sensitive, and he knows it. I had been pushed close to my limit and I wanted more. He looks at me and says something I don’t truly remember. The next thing I know, I am offering him my nipple to bite. As my Master’s teeth deliver the pain I had volunteered for, my nipple aches, my teeth clench, my sense receptors are telling my body to pull away from the pain. As he requires, I am silent except for a noticeable change in the force of my breathing. All that noise people tend to make when they are in pain tends to kind of take away from the shared experience, at least in the world Drew and I share of pain. That isn’t to say I never make a sound. Attempting to contain that sound just does something for me and it does for my Master, as well (I think the same wiring guy was on duty the day he was wired, as well). At the same time, my titanium tube is as full as it ever gets and pointing like a street sign indicating there is a sharp left turn ahead.
The pain stops as my Master releases the grip his teeth have on my nipple. My mind comes back closer to the present time and that fogginess clears some. As Drew looks at me with those dreamy eyes he nods his head towards my left. Instinctively I offer my left nipple to his beautiful white teeth. GODDAMNIT! I just volunteered twice, basically begged for my Master’s pain. Something about volunteering to take his pain just…I can’t describe it. It brings us closer each time, but I just can’t seem to get close enough to him. Strange as it may be, I want to be closer and closer, but I don’t ever really think I want to be close enough. The truth is, I like trying to get close enough. It is fucking fun. Trying involves things like volunteering to take my Master’s pain and seeing the energy and pride in his demeanor, his eyes, his smile as he hurts me. Also of note, it makes me leak..historically, I have not been much of a leaker, so it excites me.
A few topics are on my mind as I write this. A punishment of sorts involving denial- more than the usual, car shopping, and the mind of my Master. Damn, his mind is so complex and so ahead of my game most times that it should be a post on its own. So I guess it will be. But, these three things are interlaced, but an extra dose of denial is what I have finally landed on here. In a way, denial is a cornerstone of our relationship. It isn’t THE cornerstone, but my dick (technically it is his, but it is attached to me, which is his, you get the idea) locked in a cage represents a lot to perverts like us.
So, on to the double denial dose of discipline.
Not long after I wrote a post on my uniform and what all it means to me and represents, I came in from work, stripped, and immediately took my place under Drew’s desk while he finished leading what was probably his 17th zoom meeting of the day. In my zeal to get to my place at my Master’s feet, I had forgotten an important part of my uniform. When his hands touched my neck, my heart sank. I had forgotten my collar. My chest tightened. My eyes even watered. It was not out of fear of punishment, but it was a feeling of disappointment in myself. There was no excuse for it, I just forgot. He saw all of that in my eyes and my demeanor and a swear he smirked. We both knew there would be punishment and, dammit, my titanium attempted to stretch again.
Fast forward to the punishment part. Drew never mentioned my collar but an hour or two later I was instructed to get my cuffs, the posture collar, and some locks. I had always noticed that he has a U-shaped piece of iron bolted to the floor on his side of the bed, but never gave it too much thought because I know that it is there to prevent a giant, 8’ tall heavy mirror that leans against the wall from sliding. Funny, I had never given that piece of iron much thought, however, that soon changed as I found the D-ring from the now locked posture collar locked directly to said iron piece, leaving my face planted against the hardwood floor. He then locked my hands behind my back and cuffed each of my ankles together. It was a stress position like I had never been in before and, frankly, it hurt as much as it made me hard. I had no choice other than to rest the weight of my body against my face on the floor while Drew reminded me why I was going to be there for an extended period of time. Then, he left me to think. I really didn’t know how long he meant, but I also knew that I had no choice as I did have a price to pay. I should clarify for the sake of safety, I said he left me, but he’s always very aware of safe play and would actually never do that. Instead, he took a shower, climbed into bed, and watched some TV and did some writing while essentially ignoring me.
It. Felt. Like. Fucking. Forever (and I was so turned on by this new aspect of my slavery).
Finally, Drew got off the bed and went into the upstairs office where I soon heard the digital lock on the closet door opening. Then, I heard chain. I like chain. Drew came in, unlocked my collar from the floor and then promptly padlocked one end of about 4’ of chain to the floor bolt and the other end to the locked posture collar. My hands were still bound behind me and my ankles locked, but I had some freedom as I could walk on my knees as far as the chain would let me.
As it turns out, Drew made sure that the chain would let me stretch to about 2 inches away from his hard, dripping dick. It was dripping like it does, but it was just out of reach of my mouth. I struggled and strained and stretched to taste my Master. This was fucking denial on steroids and I struggled to wonder whether the bondage or the denial were my punishment. That’s the thing about my Master, his mind knew I would be struggling to decide which I liked better and that is so hot to me. It reminded me that I love not only his mind, his body, his eyes, his smile, but also his taste. I WANTED to taste him, to taste his pre cum, his cock, his body. I needed it and, god damn, I then fucking begged for it.
It was like a bad boxing match. Drew bobbed and weaved, move left, right, up and down and never once let me taste his dick but I continued to dance as if I could. I fought against the chain holding me in place, my cage protruded and pointed left, as it does, my tongue trying to extend a foot away from my body. Drew was loving this and probably for the first time that I really remember, being denied the taste of cock was a form of punishment I never expected. I just KNEW he would give in and let me taste and touch and then he stepped away and grabbed the key from the table where he laid it. I was seconds away from that taste I wanted. He unlocked my hands and ankles and, as I felt his heavy hand grab my neck and felt the key enter the lock, I almost vibrated off the floor with the anticipation of that dick. That taste. Fuck that taste.
Finally, finally, I felt and heard the lock click and, as he drew near me I felt the heat from his dick coming right at me. He was so close I could almost taste and was so ready when suddenly, I heard his deep, southern growl say “slave, put your toys away, take a shower, then meet us downstairs. You need to drive us to dinner.”
People always talk about how good a man looks in uniform, but I’d be willing to guess the uniform they speak of pretty much consists of some sort of actual clothing.
But, I’ve got rules, you see. Those rules address my appearance – that is my state of dress or undress, in this case. I’ve had people ask about my uniform. So today I talk about my uniform and what it all means.
My uniform has a few variations. It consists of a collar, my cage, and nothing else during the summer months and skin tight underarmour in the winter. So first, the collar or collars…I have three that identify me. I have a daily wear collar that most people would not notice. It is one of those Road ID bands that runners and other athletes wear. If you know how to decode the inscription it tells you that I belong to Drew. It also lists his contact information in the event I actually am in an emergency and need assistance. Not only does it mark me as owned, but it reminds me he is always with me and looking out for my best interest. It has not been off my wrist in a year. I do have a “going out collar.” It is made by Steelwerks and indicates that I am owned. It is bright and shiny like and I like to think it makes my eyes sparkle a little when I wear it. It is fancy looking and I love to wear it, but my those proprietary S screws make it less than ideal for taking on and off quickly, so it’s reserved for special times as I cannot wear it with most muggles. The third collar I have has my name on it and contact information for my owner (it is also a Road ID product, a dog collar to be exact). It is the one I am in for most days that require my uniform. It is easy to put on when I walk through the door and take off my clothes. Of course, depending on what tasks we are doing that day, shoes may or may not be needed.
There are rules regarding my uniform. If I am to be at the house for more than 15 minutes, I am to be in uniform. Just inside the door, is a rug. I am to be in uniform if I come off of the rug. Basically my uniform is a collar and me naked, cage included as that is now “just me”. While I have been told that I look amazing by some, we are our own worst critics. There are things about my body that I like and things about my body that I do not like. Fortunately, my Master chooses my uniform, so I don’t have to worry about those things.
For me being naked serves several purposes. It is pretty damned comfortable and not nearly as itchy as wearing clothes. It is also a signal to my submissive brain as soon as I walk in the door. As I shed my clothes for my proper uniform, I also shed my days stresses. I can focus on what is important, and it helps me to be truly present with the man who means so much to me. Being naked and in my collar has helped me to be a better man, slave, boy, boyfriend, and, well, even a dad. It helps me to accept me for me. It reminds me that I am owned. It is good for me, and it makes my Master happy. Being a man in uniform consisting of nothing but a collar and a permanent grin is a happy place for me. I’ve come to grow more and more comfortable being naked, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Now I have been asked a few questions and here are my responses:
Are there times you wish you had clothes on and couldn’t?
I’m pretty comfortable being without clothes. I have sunblock and blankets as needed.
Have others outside of Drew and Axel seen you naked and collared? How was it? If not, what would you think about it if it did happen?
The answer is yes and no. There are plenty of pictures on my social media which show me naked and collared. So yes, people have seen me. Generally speaking, most of those people I don’t know. The ones that I do know, well they are in the know, you know? Again, I’m pretty comfortable with being naked. I don’t have a problem with others seeing me that way. So when it happens in real life, I don’t foresee it being an issue. That being said, the house is a fortress along with the back yard. If anybody sees me naked outside of Axel and Drew there, it isn’t an accident.
I see you are often plugged. Is that part of your uniform?
The plug isn’t part of my uniform. However, I am plugged at some point each day.
Before being owned, were you naked much?
Before being owned, I was naked some. I mean everybody sleeps naked, don’t they? I wasn’t parading around the house naked for the most part, but there is always room for growth.
Pull out your diagrams and organizational charts. Axel is Drew’s number one. I’m number two to Drew. He’s my number two, and my teen is my number one. I suppose I’m not really anybody’s number one, though I hope I am my teen’s number one, but I am definitely a number two and a number three. It sounds much more confusing than it is but the whole summation of this is that I am quite okay with being the third in this relationship. In fact, I love it.
So there have been questions about what it is like being the person who is the third person in an already committed marriage. It’s different than any other relationship I’ve had before. Drew and Axel just celebrated 23 years together and, within days, it will have been year since I met a man for lunch. A man with a beautiful titanium encased dick and those eyes we have talked about. A man who, at the time, I had no idea I would call Master.
Shortly thereafter I met his husband. His handsome husband with the deep brown hair and equally deep brown eyes that look at you like you can tell him any secret without worry. While I did meet this man while naked and bound by Drew – a gift wrap of sorts for Axel – it felt right and soon I would call him Daddy, as he is just such a Daddy in all the right ways.
This past year, despite everything that is wrong with the world, has been personally been my best one yet.
What these two have given me is acceptance beyond anything I have ever had before. What they have taught me is that it is okay to be me. I have not one, but two amazing men who are always there for me. As it just so happens, if one isn’t available the other usually is. They have shown me unconditional love. They have given me the gift of knowing that being me, truly me, is fucking amazing. I have two fucking amazing men to share that with.
See, it is perfectly imperfect and far from perfectly smooth.
There was one time I remember when I was deserving of a punishment and Axel was giving me a rubdown on the massage table because that is what Daddy does. Drew wasn’t thrilled.
Then, there was once an issue about where I sit to eat my dinner or how I was dressed (or not) for dinner, once or twice (Axel doesn’t love naked dining).
I still wonder how to introduce them to people. Most wouldn’t understand that this is my Master and my Daddy. Friends, is the word I use for the boring world- which in some way pisses me off these two are so much more than friends. Drew calls me his best friend. I do the same. Luckily in a locked down world we don’t see many people. Ha.
On the other hand, I spent the day with them today. We did some necessary things around the house. Drew and I made the weekend Target and Costco runs. I spent part of the day between the two of them. Spanked, paddled, flogged by both. A mixture of pain and pleasure and the three of us just being who we truly are. That’s a freedom that most people will never experience. It’s incredible sex without actual sex.
My attempt at a more traditional relationship was probably the most miserable I’ve ever been. I got my teen from it, but that’s about all. I think if you knew me before this past year you’d notice the difference these two have made in my life. People have, It is more than just a shiny metal dick and amazing sex. It is the weekend Target runs and discussions about the merits of different toilet tissues. It is the knowing that I am never alone in anything. Ever.
So being the third seems like the best place for me. Drew is the number two best thing that has ever happened to me. Turns out being his number two is way better than being anybody’s number one, in my opinion.
Being number three is in no way being third place. Trust me.
(Drew has indicated that he is going to post from his side of this soon – so stay tuned).