I was thinking about a post to write while locked under Master’s desk yesterday just as he, the voice from above, asked me what my favorite things about being a slave are. I told him a few and thought I would write it out as well. So, here we go.

I’ll start with the obvious. I don’t own my dick anymore, but the cage attached to it, around it, through it, encasing it. That part belongs to me. It is a daily reminder that I’m owned, loved, hurt (not harmed), part of a family, and truly fucking cared for- all unconditionally. Try finding that in a “ normal” relationship and see if you’d smile like I do. I doubt you’d find one growing stronger and deeper every day despite knowing how much of an actual pervert (again I use that term with nothing but love) and sexual deviants (again, said with love and no judgement) all three members of the relationship truly are.

I find pure joy in the fact that my Master (Drew) owns me, every fucking part of me, mentally and physically. He knows my mood, what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. He reads it on my face, my body language, the tone of my voice (when I am allowed to speak). He uses those things to help me deal with things that are within my control and even things that I seemingly don’t truly have much control over. It is fucking amazing to be known so well by someone, well two someones. Daddy (Axel) picks up on these things as well. Quite often the solution each offers is quite different than from the other. My Master seems to be able to use my kinks and his ownership of every bit of me to adjust his slave or my mind set, depending on the particular situation. Daddy, being in the field of work he is in, often has some sort of psychiatric insight, exercise, coping mechanism, or just being the best fucking listener a slave could have. I guess what I’m saying is that our kinks give me the benefit of support in ways I’ve never gotten it. In turn, we all seem to grow. Fuck…I’m cared for, but I am cared for in a way that all of my needs (well except an orgasm) are met in the most amazing ways.

I get to be a pervert. I real fucking service slave, a bound piece of art on display, a hole for various uses, an outlet for receiving my Master’s pain, even an outlet for Daddy’s pain and control on occasion. I get to lick, worship, massage the most amazing legs I’ve ever seen on a man. The don’t belong to me, but they’re mine…well MY Master’s. I’ve been allowed to safely explore and push limits that I would have never ever allowed to happen. The best part is, I don’t have that choice to make. My Master owns that, too

Something I think everyone needs to understand is that slavery, like mine, is not like in porn and takes all shapes, sizes, and structures. I used to think a slave should not love his Master or that a Master should never say thank you, but I was wrong in the way we define it at least. I get to be a best friend, a boyfriend, a slave, a beast, an animal. I get to be every part of a very complex pervert. I get to be used for whatever my Master and Daddy need me for. Sometimes that involves building a deck outside with Master and some questionable electrician work by me (man, I will feel bad if the house burns down – especially since I am a fireman). Sometimes it involves me wrapping a bandage, getting them a drink, or cleaning my Master’s office (something I love doing). It evolves and I love that.

I get to be the person I am, the slave my Master trains me to be. I get to share love with two amazing men and see how our differences and similarities meld us together and make us better.

And I love all the pervert stuff, too. I love the smell of the leather harness, the collar that is chosen for me to wear at home, the daily wear collar that is passable in a muggle world and allows me to continue to perform my job without any hinderances, and the plug I carry every single day to always know my Master is inside of me (more subs should do this). I like be used to bring Master and Daddy a sexual gratification, that gives me that same gratification, sans orgasm. I love the feel of my Master, the look of him, the smell of him, how he taste, how he relaxes when I do things that I KNOW relax him (not many people get the privilege of seeing him truly relaxed). I guess what I’m saying is that I get to share parts of me that are meant only for them. In turn, I get to see parts of them that are only allowed to be experienced by an owned slave like myself.

This sounds kind of rambling and a bit less kinky that you may have expected. I love that my dick is pierced and locked in titanium. I love that my Master allows me to take his pain. I love how he has an orgasm and somehow you’d think I’d had one, too. The lack of an ejaculation can be just as intense and I might argue better than an orgasm of the regular variety.

So my most favorite things about being enslaved is that the man that owns me loves me, cares for me, hurts me, is one of the best people you would ever have the privilege to meet. Daddy is the same way, minus the giving me pain quite as much, but he knows me well enough to know that I NEED it from time to time. One last try, my favorite thing about being an owned slave is the unconditional love that we share and the growth it brings to us all in the muggle world and the fuck me senseless and use me like the slave that is no longer capable of making such choices as which huge plug to carry each day under the uniform he no longer need to bother with choosing for himself that day. One day, maybe I’ll write a book called “The Perverts Guide to the Muggle World” that outlines all the day to day things that those around us see but can’t comprehend these things show I’m my Master’s slave and my Daddy’s beast. Maybe a few real life stories where I’ve given just a little more of a hint than usual to one of the muggles hoping they will pick up on it. One day, I hope to be able to board the plane harnessed and attached to my Master via my shackles and chain, walk across the hotel lobby as he leads me on all fours by my harness and leash. Until then, I’ll think about all the favorite things that go along with being enslaved by the most amazing Master a man could have the privilege to serve, to love, and to be a part of a kinky, loving, sappy, perverted family.

Biological denial isn’t nearly as sexy as it sounds

You know I am a bit of pervert. Denial, whether it be a 2 inch rule in effect, a shiny titanium Steelwerks piece of art encasing an owned dick, or just being restrained, is sexy. Craving something you can’t have. Wanting something that is so close but just out of reach…. Damn, it turns me on.

So earlier this week, I woke up feeling bad before work. Master had been traveling for a while and had a cold when he got back. I thought nothing of it. Needless to say, the social distancing involved after his return was less than six feet. He mentioned taking a covid test to be sure (it was negative). Being the good nurse that I am, I didn’t have a working thermometer and the only covid test I had was expired. Remembering that Master had been traveling, I thought it prudent to test, just to be sure. Of the two tests, one was negative and one was positive. I was out of tests. I needed to be sure it wasn’t covid before going to work and potentially exposing the surgery patients to covid.

I went to Master and Daddy’s house because they had some tests and it’s on my way to work. It was about 4:30am and I let myself in and found the tests As soon as I swabbed and dropped the mixture onto the testing cassette, two lines showed up almost immediately. Fuck! I’ll do another test, just to be sure. Same results. I was just pondering what the latest protocols for quarantine were, thinking about maintaining distances from Daddy and Master as I left the house. About that time, my Master appeared in the doorway (he looked super hot standing in the doorway in his glasses first thing in the morning) Damnit, I didn’t want to wake him. I saw him standing there and my heart melted. I wanted to wrap myself around him, get close to him, feel him, lick him, just all the things a slave wants to do in general for his Master, but I couldn’t.

Goddamnit! I can’t do that. It isn’t safe. I felt my heart sink more. The more I realized how potentially serious it could be for me to do all those things to him, the more I wanted it….and the less I wanted to want it. No part of me wanted to risk giving covid to Master or Daddy. We talked from across the room. Daddy came through and I wanted to get close to him, too. My heart continued to sink as we talked.

Well, I needed to go isolate and let work know I wouldn’t be coming in and try to figure out what the latest guidelines are for healthcare workers. I told them both I loved them and got my keys and left. I have never been at that home and not touched either of them, kissed them, held them, or just even laid my head in my Master’s lap. I probably told them I loved them a million more times on my way out the door. I got in my car, and as I watched the garage door close my heart broke. I hoped that I hadn’t exposed them. It would kill me to know I had brought any harm to them. I cried (just a little) because even though denial is a central theme in our relationship, we didn’t control this. The worst possible punishment scenario I could ever think of would be total isolation from these two, and here I was living it out. It wasn’t because I needed a severe punishment. It wasn’t because I had been stored away. It was fucking biology. As I sit in quarantine still, I have talked and face timed with my Master daily. Zoom is a wonderful thing, but it does not compare to actual physical touch. Physical denial, giving over control and ownership of every part of my to a Master I couldn’t adore more is something that is beautiful and grows our love and relationship stronger. Physical separation because of some virus is hard. I feel so alone and so far away from my Master, it hurts (not the good kind, you perverts). I’m happy to quarantine to keep Master and Daddy from getting sick, but fuck you covid! Biological denial is the absolute worst.

I am thankful that we have all three managed to stay relatively unscathed by this pandemic, compared to others. I’m thankful that we’re not required to have the longer periods of quarantine we once were. The isolation has given me some time to remember just how truly amazing my Master and Daddy are to me, how good they are for a slave like me, and that my Master truly owns every fucking part of me, His slave. Master, I can’t wait to touch you and all kinds of other things as soon as it is safe to do so. Daddy, you should be forewarned, as well. I’ve got some lost time to make up for soon. Ya’ll make me better, and my world is better with you two in it rather than out of it. I’ll be there to serve as you see fit in a few more days. The house will shine, and I plan on getting as close as possible to you. I just don’t think I will be close enough.

Two years ago today I met the short, muscle bound, hairy, sweeping ginger topped man with a deeeeeeeep Southern drawl I now call my slave for the first time in person. As most of you know, we had talked a bit and when we met, we met as friends as he was a “dominant top” himself and had a few boys whose asses he liked to blister every so often when time allowed.

We went to lunch at one of those local restaurants every city has where it’s a dive with inside and outside seating and the trendy staff with lots of tats and piercings who like to pretend that they don’t give a fuck you are there and we had a great time. I can actually put my finger on the precise moment I knew he would be my slave and it was within the first 3 minutes of sitting at the table. There was a vibe, and a moment, and I knew. I think he knew too, though I am not sure he realized that two years later he would be sitting in the same place having lunch with me with not a hair on his body, a titanium penis he doesn’t own anymore, and steel up his ass that very rarely leaves all while dressed in clothes I picked out for him.

I think one of the ways I know was that I had a broken foot when we met and was in a cast and his service side immediately kicked in It wasn’t just a Southern boy with a good manners, it was a submissive boy who aimed to please. A week later I had surgery and he was glued to me like a perfect service animal would be and we both just knew, that boy would be collared soon. Ironically, two years later, I type this while also in a cast for the same foot as surgery number five happened last week and, once again, the boy was and is here. And, as an aside, a pro-tip for the youngsters, don’t break a bone after 50 – especially one that carries your weight – one fix creates new issues and that fix creates others. That said, my whole foot should be titanium soon so maybe I can get some super powers or something.

Anyway, back to jack. I cannot tell you how proud I am of him and how he found something inside himself that not only had been awakened, but something that he let bloom and grow. Every. Single, Day. While some like to think slaves are not men or less than men, you all know I do not, and being a slave has MADE him a man. His confidence, his demeanor, his parenting skills, and his ability to deal with the uber religious world he grew up in are all 100 times stronger than they were two years ago. Yes, we have a hierarchy, and he’s at the bottom, but I fully believe that is just who he is and how he gains his strength for the real world.

This is my anniversary letter to him, MY boy who I own every fucking part of. I love you jack, and Axel and I can’t wait to grow old with you in our service.

Finally, just a note to remind readers that it’s not all sunshine every day. I had a message on twitter that said “you have the perfect life” and that bothered me. Yes, I have a pretty great one that is based on hard work, good genes, good education, good healthcare and a LOT of fucking luck. BUT, it’s not perfect, nor is anyone else’s life. Just a reminder, we talk about the perfect parts here, we tweet pictures with good lighting, we tell you about the good and I do that because there is too much bad in the world. None of it is false or embellished (aside from names) but I just want to say there are damn, dark and scary days too. There are days when I think jack would rather be a boyfriend than a slave and I have to remind him. There are days I’d rather him be a boyfriend than a slave and then I have to remind myself. There are days I want him, but his child comes first and there are days I think he’d sell his child to gypsies just to come get fucked, BUT, real life ALWAYS steps in and applies before anything. We do not share about those days because, why? Our aim is to show you that a Master/slave relationship can be fulfilling in so many ways and not abusive or degrading, unless both parties want and consent to that, so please do not compare most of what we say 1:1 because it fits us and your perfect will likely be different. Be you and find what fits YOU.

Master was out of town this week. Work kept us all quite busy. I miss him when he is out of town because of all the normal sappy reasons you miss someone you love when they are away. I miss him because of other things, too. I’d be willing to bet he misses me for some of the same reasons. Maybe.

My job is busy, my mind is running from the time I walk through the door until I leave. Stressful at times, often due to reasons I can’t control (and yes, I generally am a bit of a control freak when it comes to certain things). All of this to say that I miss my Master when he travels because time spent under the desk not only allows me to serve him and submit to him and help him relax. It also helps me to turn off the day and focus on making him proud. 

But, he always comes back.

After work yesterday, I greeted Master and Daddy as I changed into my uniform. I held my Master. I felt the stress of the week leaving my mind and the tension in my body ease. I held my Master tighter, closer. I rubbed my scruff against his. I felt his breath on me. No words were exchanged as our bodies communicated. I got under the desk and rested my head in his lap. I felt his tight muscles and knew exactly where to massage to relieve his work week’s tension. As his breathing communicates when I get just the right spot. I heard a heavy breath as tension started to leave his body. My cage strained. 

Master motioned for me to stand up. I stood. He inspected his property with his hands. He turned me around and bent me over. He delivered a few slaps to his slave’s ass that left a little redness and a sting but only made his slave crave more. The Njoy plug I was carrying has a handle on the base. I know he likes it because it is easy to grab, twist, and makes ease of using a hole I no longer own. 

“How does that make you feel?” We’re the first words spoken between the two of us since I got home, as the plug was being twisted and worked in and out of his property’s hole. A switch flipped on inside of me. As I leaned into the plug entering this body. I was horny the moment I touched him, but it just doubled.

It felt good. I enjoyed being his property. I enjoyed knowing his dick was hard. I was proud. “Hopeful that it makes you proud,” was my answer. 

“You always make me proud,” he replied. That level of horny multiplied by ten this time. “Always?” I thought to myself, but apparently it came out loud. He shoved the Njoy back inside and turned me around. 

“Always, boy.”

I melted. He asked if my nipples were sore still as he pinched and twisted them. I shook my head no as I offered him the right nipple. As he bit down and twisted, it hurt. I squeezed the plug inside me as I held onto my Master. By this point I was sitting in his lap facing him and holding onto him again. My head rested against his as he allowed me to take his pain. I’m sure my cage bounced with my heartbeat   He released the nipple and I offered the other one. “Does it make you proud to give me your pain Master,” I asked.  

“Always slave,” he said through his teeth as he bit down hard on my nipple. I knew they’d be sore later, and I was proud. I held him, rubbed him, kissed his body, licked him as I breathed deeply processing his pain. I could feel the wet spot saturating his shorts as I took in and processed his pain. I held him closer. 

I felt a wave of pure lust, love, horniness, pride, submission, and sappiness all at once. He sensed it. He stopped, well because we’re perverts and the whole denial thing. 

He turned me around, sat me in his lap and held me closely and tightly. I may have been grinding the plug against him. I just wanted to feel close enough to him, which I am convinced is not possible but a task worth trying to accomplish, regardless. 

We talked about growth and progress in general and In the relationship. I felt his face against my head and I melted again. His body feels so amazing, every bit of it. 

I felt his dick pressed hard against me I reached for it because I love how his girth feels. I could feel the wetness of his leaking and my pride grew stronger as skin protruded from the vents on the head of my cage. 

We discussed the fact that I voluntarily gave up my chance to have an orgasm for 2022. He doesn’t see a true need for me to have one again, but says we will discuss 2023 in 2023. He knows I’ve already been thinking about it. I told him so. He wouldn’t let me give him my answer, but I told him I already made my decision. Waiting, thinking on it. The denial runs deep in our relationship on many levels and only grows us closer and stronger. 

I had a realization that I love for my Master to cum, to orgasm. Through my denial his orgasm is in a way mine, too. I bring him that amazing feeling. I bring him that release. I take that inside of my body. I feel the energy as he climaxes and I feel an amazing feeling. I get that same post orgasm high that I vaguely remember at this point. That makes me proud. It makes my Master proud. It makes us closer. It builds us stronger, and it only makes me all the more his, every fucking part of me. It just makes me more determined hear those words “You make me proud,” even more. 

The making of this alpha slave.

I met a man in a bar a few years ago. Really, it was a deli/dive kind of joint (but that doesn’t fit with the tune of the country song playing in my head right now). We had been talking online for a while and decided to meet for lunch. As a proclaimed dom-top with a switchy side, our conversations had been filled with details of what I was going to do with him and vice versa. There were also conversations about how I would be sub to him at times. I had no idea that I would be absolutely in love with this man and his husband and about to start a third year together with them. Most importantly, I had no idea that from that lunch forward, I was destined to be owned, every fucking part of me.

We had lunch. I wanted to be closer to him. We finished lunch and we went for a drive. He drove and we went east without a real destination in mind before winding up at a park. Now, I see this as the show of his dominance it truly was meant to be and I willingly got in. He says he knew I would be his slave the minute I asked what was good on the menu and what type of fries I should get. He said he saw in in my eyes that I needed him to choose without knowing it. He chose sweet potato, They were amazing. 

Back to the ride to the park part. He drove and I first saw his amazing titanium encased dick in the sexy as fuck black on black on black German SUV that had an engine sound that was even dominant in tone as it purred my submission to me in some sense. I mentioned the leather smell was enticing and for some reason I asked to see his steelwerks cage that he has worn since we were both, of course, kinky switches at that point and I had actually never seen an encased dick in real life before. He teased me with it and put it away, and that was the first time I saw that sadistic grin he has when he is denying me something. Fuck, something was switching in my head. Fuck it was, well, nice. A few minutes later, I first kissed the man I would come to proudly call Master. I felt his hand touch my leg the first time that day. We enjoyed each other like we had known each other forever. We talked about family and relationships and kink family and about some of the life issues that were changing everything. That one day in the SUV (he recently traded it to go electric and I think both of us cried a little bit seeing that car go away). Now, even though our family doesn’t look like what I pictured it would look like now, I would have it no other way. This once supposed dom-top is now, and I guess always ways, a full and proud slave who serves his Master in any way I can and at any whim he has.

A few weeks later, after some metal had been added to my dick and the titanium cage he designed for me was installed, I still had the Dom thoughts in my head, but never in front of my Master. He knew this, of course, and his idea was that, once I was trained, I could have my own slave or submissive, a beta slave, if you will. He encouraged me to seek out a slave of my own, with stipulations of course. I had to earn it through my training and then I had to tell him I was ready. It was very similar to a kid asking for a puppy. I know that if I had a slave it needs to be watered, fed, taken outside to use the bathroom, and properly trained, as well. To even consider this, Master had to know that I am responsible enough. Likewise, it had to be an ownership approved by my Master. Ultimately, my beta slave will be of service to me and will be my responsibility to grown him like my Master has grown me. That said, Master always will dictate over both and my slave and his rule will always stand above mine. My beta will likely never see me orgasm, which will be fine, mostly his days doing that would be over too, likely for years at a minimum.

After some discussion and a few chance, well maybe not, encounters. I have found said puppy and, ironically it is someone Master already knew. He fits the bill and we have invited him into the family – whatever that will mean, we will see.

This is that part where I usually tell you just how fucking amazing my Master is, but it goes without saying.  He is my number two, as you know (number one at times – you know, when the kid is with his Mom), and I absolutely fucking adore him. If it can get better than that, he wants me to be completely me and every part of me. That includes a new beta slave to train for myself and ultimately service to my Master even more completely. He owns me, every part. That makes me proud to call him My Master, my boyfriend, my best friend. It makes me swoon, it makes me hurt (the good kind). It makes me proud to say he owns this slave. I hope that my Master is proud of the training he has given me. In turn, I hope he is proud to see how is training is guiding me to train another slave for service.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I waited as ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a good Friday night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I promise.