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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTE FROM DREW: Another amazing post by boy jack.

The very first time….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jack

A GUEST POST MY BOY, JACK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack

This weekend I will bury my father. 

This is not said for sympathy or any reaction other than what it is, but it has brought up so many questions to me about defining being a man, who a man is, what is the right role, or do any of those things matter at all? It’s an odd reaction for someone over 50, but in some ways, for the first time, I feel like my own “manhood” needs to stand more than ever because I am now the one representing the legacy of the man who made and shaped me. I am now looking back at actions, conversations, and thoughts of my past to see if any merit a corrigendum, but I suspect that will really not have to be entered into my brain either. And that is a good thing in that no regrets type place.

For me, on the dom side of my switch-ness, I have been surprised at how my sexual thoughts have staged through the periods of grief. With my boy, I have found my dominance, or at least my feeling about it, has grown stronger. I feel more protective, more in charge and even more ready to be engaged in his daily life. 

For my sub side of the switch-ness, I am craving control more than ever. It’s a feeling of that need to please someone, that need to be structured, that need to worry about crossing a line. If I didn’t have these feelings for most of my life in addition to the dom ones, I would swear this would just be called Daddy-issues or be relegated to some corner of a grieving mind, but deep down I know it is more than that. I think.

It is true that there is some of that in grief and in the fact that I no longer need “approval” for things that I actually didn’t need his approval on anyway – at least in the last 30 years. But, whenever it was time to buy a car, hire a repair person, make a life decision, I always asked – even when his mind wasn’t there any longer, I still asked, that’s what I did. That, I will miss but am careful not to confuse these things with the feelings of submission.

The one constant in these feelings is, oddly, the normalcy of domination and submission and the kinky play in general that is now in my mind. In fact, these feelings are positively pellucid in their clarity versus a few years ago and that makes me quite happy. As in all my other thoughts, none of these “what is a man” thoughts place a weaker man in a submissive spot, something I agree to disagree on with a few friends. This isn’t about that really. For me, this is just one new level of adulthood that didn’t arrive until after middle age. 

Go figure.

Note from Drew: Below is a second post from boy Jack explaining more about his side of submission.

Worth Owning

Total submission has been a major erection inducing kink of mine for quite some time. At least some version of it. The problem with that is I always envisioned there would be another man tonguing my boots or legs or whatever it was I wanted licked at the moment. If you’ve followed my Twitter (@southernswitch1), you probably noticed that my page title now indicates that I’m owned – though that’s just the equivalent of making it Facebook official since I have been owned for quite a while now. In fact, it almost instant when I met my Sir – though I may not have realized it at the time.

So what has made me so comfortable with being owned, every part of me?  

Simply put: I am a better man.

Though it really isn’t a simple answer or necessarily one that would make sense to anybody else. The quick answer it has made me better in all parts of my life. I’ll spare you the boring details, but I had pretty much  resigned myself to a lonely single dad, past the age of prime. Definitely past the age of continuing to explore some of my kink interests.  Years of second guessing myself and trying to make up for being who I am had brought me to one boring, dull, very “content” life.  I had a great life, it was just missing something more. The stars aligned or some universal force put Drew and Axel in my life.

So here I am, successful at my job, and by all accounts of the street view on Google maps doing just fine. But, now, now I am a different man – mentally, physically, emotionally. I had enough years of self degradation under my belt. I didn’t need a Master to do that for me. In fact, I would not thrive on that as a slave. If you need to degrade somebody, I’m not your man. I can do that on my own. I have a Master who has never once degraded me or tried to do such. That is very different from being put in my place or a punishment delivered when needed. Very different from being an object, I’d argue. Even an object has a purpose, worth, value. As my submission has grown deeper, I’ve come to understand that I, an owned slave, have purpose, worth, and value. 

So again, why am I so comfortable being owned?  It is simple. I’m worth owning.

Perfect by no means, but worthy of it none the less. I have a Master and a Daddy who remind me every day that I’m worth owning. It may not be in word always (or words that others would recognize as such), but it often is shown in deed and time. Those things sometimes include guidance about something going on in life or at work. Sometimes that guidance comes in the form of spanking or time spent bound on the dining room table, time encased in rubber, restricted in the sleep sack, locked in my collar, or serving as an object, for example. Yes it is service to my Master and Daddy. It is also a time for me to reflect. Other times my worth is validated by talking with my Master or Daddy about decisions I need to make. Not always given a direct do this or do that, but I’m guided through questions and scenarios that help me arrive at my own decisions.  While I may be an owned, I’m also cared for. In short being owned has resulted in my betterment and those closest to me. I’m proud to be owned. I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve grown because of it. Because of that support and resulting growth, I’m in a better position to fully submit to total ownership.  So I’m worthy of being owned and worthy of submission to a very worthy Master and an equally worthy Daddy. 

If you have read the previous post by jack, you will have seen a lot of truth about our relationship from his eyes. I was so incredibly proud of him when he showed me that and I immediately posted it before it could allow him to second guess things or edit and edit and edit again.

He was very honest and, if you follow our tweets, all are genuine and reflect the feelings we have between the three of us. However, something I said from the very beginning is that we have to always tell the reality and, while we are doing just that, I believe we are dangerously close to painting this as a picture perfect “how to start a kinky triad with sunshine and lollipops” and I want to make sure we have an equal showing to avoid the the type thing as in all social media where I would show you the amazing picture of me in front of something amazing, but did not show you the 4 canceled flights, the last minute window seat, or the $123 12 block cab ride to get there. It’s about the impression at those times and I want to make sure that we show that this is, indeed, a process and, in many ways, like building a puzzle.

So, here is more of the story.

2020 about broke Axel and me. Not us as a couple, but just as people. As I have mentioned we each lost parents and now each of us have the second parent at the end of life. We lost friends and family, both of our jobs changed drastically (fyi -he’s back to mostly normal, I’m still grounded) – though we were both able to save things with not too much loss , we gained two puppies, we gained pounds, and, unspoken of on here, I gained seven (pretty cool) scars and 15 months in a boot from three surgeries for my broken foot/ankle and two surgeries on and in my throat for some breathing difficulty I was having because of a windpipe issue. Even without Covid, it was a hell of a fucked up year.

However, smack in the middle of that we met jack. You know all about Jack by now, and, while it really did “just work”, we have put a fucking LOT of time into making it “just work” that we don’t really discuss here for some reason. I mean we have established the whole he’s my number two and I am his number two and we are absolutely okay with that. Those things fell into place rather smoothly. He has been an amazing addition to our family, and now even more so the extended family members like Jeep and Steelwerks, as I am watching budding friendships taking place there which makes me super happy too.

What we have not talked about are the times we have all gotten in each other’s way, the times one of us forgot to communicate something to the other leading to hurt feelings, the times when a neighbor or friend stops by and wonders who is this guy who is always at your house who we offer no explanation for, the times when his duty as a Dad fucks with his mind which usually happens on the day’s my job or year is NOT fucking with mine, etc, etc, etc.

We also had to establish some rules and boundaries. Jack is my boy, my slave, my whatever it is I want him to be that day. There is no confusion on that. With Axel, he is in a daddy role with jack and, while he knows what I do to him, knows why is ass is beaten or bruised, or knows that jack spent the day attached to a point under my desk for my comfort and not his, he still doesn’t really THINK that way. For Axel, jack is a submissive who he likes to use to have his dick sucked. or to rub his shoulders, etc. In addition, the Daddy side of Ax also always wants to make jack comfortable. These two differences in our treatment of jack, in my mind, make it more hot, but rules have to be made and, in these cases, I have had to overrule Axel which is not something I would like to do. If Axel had his way, jack would unlock more. That is absolutely not happening and we had to establish that too.

One example of this was a day a few months ago when the boy had pissed me off about something (minor as I don’t remember what) and I was going to lay into his ass later when I finished what I was working on work wise. Jack knew it too. When I was done I came out of my office and jack and Ax were nowhere to be found. Channeling my inner Nancy Drew, I followed the distinctive clues up the stairs and discovered Ax had jack on the massage table and was giving him a full massage. I was neither mad or hurt, but had some feeling in between, because in that case boy made one parent mad while the other comforted him. How was I going to make my point about whatever it was while he was all relaxed and oily? I was more upset with Axel because he knew my plans for jack but didn’t think about the fact one awaiting punishment doesn’t need pleasure. We talked. We were fine. It was a growing step.

Another time jack and I were upstairs having really good sex – something that is FULLY endorsed by Axel – when suddenly the alarm chime on the garage door chimed and, I’ll be damned, Axel came home early without telling us. I felt like I was in one of those Desperate Housewives shows were I was throwing clothes at the boy, was getting dressed, and was getting ready to make him jump out the second story window when I realized that it was okay. It was fine. Axel did not come upstairs but we didn’t finish either and I think we all went to dinner without making any eye contact. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but it felt like there SHOULD BE, so that is a weird adjustment to factor in. It’s happened in reverse too and while it’s sort of an unintentional cuckholding, it does feel weird letting them finish while I load the dishwasher. Yes, we each could have joined, but talk about inviting yourself to the party already in progress. While my mother never used this particular situation as an example, I do believe she would have been appalled.

So, I have tons more stories and examples and every single one of them was worth it to get to have what I have but I will not go through them now. The point I wanted to make on this was to be who you are, create a relationship that reflects on that, but don’t expect it to be easy.

This is a continuing story and I expect to have jack write more as well. Stay tuned.

Note from Drew: The following is a guest post by my boy, jack. I haven’t written a ton about the relationship for multiple reasons, but asked jack to write about how he came to be owned by me and my husband and what that means to him. So, meet jack.

_________________________________________________________

How one goes from “Thanks for the cruise” to being completely owned is something I’ve pondered from time to time. I have a high stress job and real life responsibilities. Couple that with a tightly wound and often controlling personality when it comes to my responsibilities at work and my family, I never truly found myself looking to be owned. Sure, I had dabbled in both Dom and sub roles, enjoying both.  I liked both the feeling of total control and the lack thereof. 

Fast forward six months into a global pandemic and I was isolated, just like everyone else on the planet. My covid bubble consisted of those I worked with and my pre-teen child. The few kink connections I had were long distance and non-physical. After working the front lines in a triage tent in the height of the pandemic, the last thing I was looking for was to meet someone. A conversation online with a screen name “DualDrew” that started with “Thanks for the cruise” progressed to a date with sweet potato fries followed bymaking out while looking at the most amazing titanium clad cock I had ever seen.  Then I met his husband, Axel.

I knew I had found something amazing. I just didn’t know the extent of amazing at the time.

Being a pervert by nature (I use that term with love), I quickly connected Drew who now owns me, every fucking part of me. Likewise the connection with Axel, who watches over us both, was growing just as strong and intense. The appeal of bondage and submission has always been strong. The trust needed to allow someone to totally own me came so easily, and in contrast to anything before. For someone who doesn’t easily trust anyone, I’m a little amazed at how, just a few months later, I was nearly in tears to be locked with a Steelwerks lock/collar around my neck telling the world I am owned. Also of note, inscribed on the inside is probably the sweetest fucking name anybody has ever called me. I like knowing it is there behind the cover of the lock. As far as I know, my Master, my Daddy (Axel) and the genius that is Steelwerks are the only ones who have laid eyes on this inscription.  Looking back at things, I wasn’t ever expecting to be owned. It wasn’t because it had never crossed my mind. I never expected to find the right person that could bring that out of me. Laughingly, I have thought on occasion that I was accidentally owned, but no part of me believes it was an accident. 

So what does being owned look like and feel like for me?  It goes something like this… We both shared our big kinks (and our deep dark kinks) with each other.  No surprise that they lined up pretty damned spot on. I had seen these guys with their cocks locked in various cages, but I never really craved it for myself. That is until I saw that beautiful shiny titanium encasing the cock of a man I never knew would mean so much to me. After some discussion, I bought a decent “let’s give this a try” device. I was hooked quicker than I’d like to admit. I loved showing that my dick was locked as instructed. After some time in that cage and discussion about getting my dick pierced for a PA locking cage from Steelwerks, we were on a trip getting my dick pierced. 

As quickly as my healing titanium impaled dick would allow, I had gauged my piercing up to the 2 gauge that would allow for my cock to be locked in a custom fitted titanium work of art. I dipped into my savings account and in a few weeks, my new metal dick soon arrived much to the pleasure of my Sir.

If you’ve seen my Twitter posts, you know I’m a bit of a sap. I digress….the cage and piercing are just an objective display of something so much more meaningful than metal. It represents a trust I have with Drew and Axel.  It represents to me an acceptance of me that I never thought I’d find anywhere else. I may be an owned fucker, but I’m cared for in ways that nobody else has ever cared for me…see I’m a sap, guilty as charged. 

So what does it feel like to me?  Well, I belong to a sadist of sorts..a warm, reddened, bruised and plugged ass are often the visible results of that – almost every day. Mentally, these acts that result in such visible evidence provide a release for us all. Specifically, for me, it lets me let go of all my stressors in life and connect with another pervert on a level that I never thought possible. What it also means is that I don’t have to face anything alone. Changes in jobs responsibilities, and parenting often have left me in quite an anxious state. In what most would call my “normal” (I hate that word) life, most of my stress and anxiety comes from a lack of control or perceived lack of control. However, I’ve learned that through my submission I don’t have to worry about that lack of control. I’ve learned to use that to decrease my stress and anxiety. I’ve learned to channel that sub space to make that part of my life that is visible to the boring world less stressful and less a source of distraction. 

I am very goal driven. I have probably too many degrees. Too many trips to the physical therapist because I was driven to train for marathons despite increasing pain. Why is that pertinent?  Well a slave isn’t just some useless worthless being. I’m useful, I’m driven. Ask my Master. I do enjoy a task that requires me to work towards a goal. Nothing worth doing or having ever comes easily, is a saying that I either picked up or made up over the years. The same applies here. Currently working on some physical goals that not only make me happy, but my Master and Daddy, as well. 

So what about that dom side of me?  Well…it is less of a part of me than it has ever been. Is it still there?  Of course. Does it get attention?  Of course. I do have the best Master. I’m alpha to one very eager slave. His slave hole has been outsourced to me. Thank you, Sir. You know my needs and take care of them all. 

There is so much more that I could talk about forever. This is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. I have found my true kink family. Family, that at times might take an organizational chart to describe to some. Through my submission I have found more than just a titanium impaled and encased dick. I have found acceptance and family. I have been the recipient of being cared for that I didn’t know I was either capable of receiving or deserving to receive. Likewise I could only hope that my Master and Daddy feel that I give the same to them. It’s a big part of what makes this kinky fucker tick. 

I will post a full update on the trials and tribulations of switch life with a husband and boy soon, but right now I want to focus on the, or mine, mechanics of the chastity cage.

As you know, I am a Steelwerks Extreme groupie. I know they are not for everyone for a variety of reasons, but they are something I chose to invest in a few years ago and have absolutely zero regrets. I have two cages from them, the Crucible and the Tiffany and they are both great. Me being me, I specifically liked one thing about one and another thing about the other so, luckily, I just got them combined.

I was happy that my Tiffany came with one of the first new base rings that SW is now making that has an exposed flange on top allowing for multiple items to be added or interchanged. When I say this, I envision it being like an erector set, legos, or similar where you can add, take away, etc, etc. I think they really mean it so that guys can use different cages without having to take off the ring for the quick fly chastity change, the mid week three-minute deep clean, or even for things like metal detectors (because a ring around a set of balls is likely not really anything that would cause attention nor is it really that embarrassing should you get searched.) For me, I liked the idea of it making travel much easier (you know, assuming if I ever travel again) and that mid-week cleaning thing will be incredible.

I said I think that is the intention with the interchangeable base ring, but the sadist in me likes the idea of screwed on ball stretchers, wands, or, even my idea to torment my boy by having some locked on bells that I can use to torment my boy when he walks or moves until I give him his key back.

Anyway, I digressed there, what does this mean?

It means I sent my Crucible back to have a matching flange added to the top so I can wear it now as a traditional cage with the titanium shaped penis OR I can wear it just as it was meant to be attached by the PA with no ring or cage. I love the “freeballing” feel of no ring, but it’s harder to hide when your metal dick slinks down your leg, so at times pulling tight is just what is needed.

There are a few pics on Twitter and I am happy to send if you’d like – but due to all the recent crackdowns on NSFW things I am just trying to keep it off of WordPress.

Stay tuned, part two coming soon.

I have always allowed myself to believe in just a little bit of fiction until it is proven otherwise. It’s not something that breaks my heart when a story is proven untrue, but I never look at things in the same way because being the type A fellow I am, I tend to then start planning and analyzing and thinking of all the things that are not mentioned.

An example of this was Santa Clause, I remember being 8 or 9 and realizing the truth about that fat man and his abilities to truly go around the world and the fact that we didn’t have a chimney and lived in the South where there was no snow for the sleigh. My mother told me quickly when I asked, but I think I spent the next 15 years thinking about all the practical things in the lies we made kids believe.

That said, I do the same thing with television and movies. I LOVE TV. Always have. I know things are made up and that fires are not really put out in 15 minutes so that the steamy fire people can go back to the house to fuck in the common shower as if nobody else was dirty. But, when I have the chance to prove something, I do it.

A few years ago when Axel had one of his post injury surgeries, he was in the hospital four nights and, at the time, I needed to stay with him at least the first two nights. Having watched a lot of Gray’s Anatomy, I was pretty excited. I thought we would have hours with the nice, hot doctors who would always be in our rooms in teams of two discussing his new parts, but sadly, I am not sure we saw anyone an hour total in four days. Also, I couldn’t sleep at night so I would wander and watch the nurses stations to try to decide which of the hot nurses and even hotter interns were fucking in the supply closet. Sadly, what I discovered was a bunch of overworked, stressed, tired people just counting the hours until they could go home. I mean, fuck, the people on TV never go home and, get this, nobody was hot. Not a single one. Apparently hot people need to sleep at night. I was devastated.

Anyway, my last hope was to own a boy because, according to all the porn I have seen and read, having a naked, collared servant around to do everything AND provide me constant sexual gratification was exactly what it was like. So, now that I have the owned boy, guess what? Yup, you guess it, he doesn’t do windows while also sucking my dick. I mean, that’s how it was supposed to work, right? I was laughing about this yesterday because he and I spent about 7 hours together and I didn’t see him naked but once during his maintenance spanking. We had things to do and, what I love about him, is he wants to do all the home improvement projects I love that Axel hates, so we spent all day at two Lowes, one Home Depot, Target, Kroger, and two more tile stores gathering things for upcoming projects. I mean, I can make him do them, but it is more fun when he does it with me both as a feeling of service and helpfulness.

I see the boy at least three days a week and, as the relationship has deepened, the sexual acts have waned a bit, but the intensity of the time together continues to increase – both with me and Axel. Don’t get me wrong, I still own his dick, he is still in second place in my life, I abuse him every time I can, and more, however we can’t live like a constant BDSMLR feed, even as much as one might want to (or do they?).

No real lessons or stories here aside from just a post to say hello. As the world goes, at noon on the 20th I realized I breathed and the world felt hopeful, for the first time in four years. COVID 19 has been and continues to be cruel and as someone who has felt tremendous losses due to it I fight being bitter and angry. The good news is the vaccine will get everywhere soon. As a first responder, the boy has had both doses, I have had the first dose and have the second in two more weeks, and Axel gets his first shot tomorrow (where we live is 65+ or 18+ with co-factors and, the sad thing is, only 42% of the eligible first round took it so there were extra). To those who may be afraid of it, don’t be. My arm was sore and two Advil fixed that right up.

There is hope and it is coming.