Writing used to be easy. When the slave was new, or back when I first thumped Thumper, all of those things were just so exciting that I felt like I could not wait to get to my MacBook and type the story for the world to see. It was as if I was standing on a rooftop shouting that “I just spanked my boyfriend!!!!” And while that is a neighborhood I think I would want to live in, sometimes the urge to scream is lessened by the comfort of time. I am absolutely no less excited about anything we do, but as it’s more the norm than not, the writing is not the first thing I want to do because, to me, now, owning a boy like jack is one of the most natural things I have ever done. However, sometimes things happen and it is like “fuck, I want to go write that” but life just seems busier than it was ten years ago so pardon the delay.
If you follow us on Twitter (I refuse to say X until either I or Elon dies, whichever comes first), you will know that the boy and I went to Montreal last weekend to see our favorite Canadians, Mr. and Mrs. Steelwerks, though in reality it should be Mrs. and mr. Steelwerks, but my cotillion teacher Miss Beverly would roll in her grave if I actually addressed them in the reverse. These two people are more than friends to us and are the charters members of our kink family, a phrase that really confused the Canadian customs officer when she asked why I was there and who was I visiting. It was an amazing few days for so many reasons that don’t involve bondage and beatings and I am still sitting here smiling.
We had one afternoon in their below ground, hidden dungeon but it was not designed as a modeling session and, in fact, Mrs. S. had better things to do (something I will give her grief aboot for years) and wasn’t there. So it was just us and, as jack and I looked in all the nooks and crannies to see where @patrickdoppel might have been stored, we discovered a new side of each other in the process before later being joined by Mr. S who manned my iPhone so we could have some fun memories documented in the cloud.
What I mean by the new side was not really new in most ways, but the rarity of being in a situation where it was just us, Master and slave, shut in an amazing smelling leathery place without my work phone or his kid phone where I could tie and torture him to my heart’s delight. And tie and torture did I do. He went to pain places he had never been to and stayed there longer, harder, and deeper than ever before. He was put in uncomfortable positions, places, and cages that delighted me to no end. While I know he enjoyed those things, him watching me smile as he endured it was like catnip to him and he craved more, asked for more, and physically needed more than he had ever needed. I was in heaven knowing parts of him were in hell, just for me. Apparently, my inner sadist needed that weekend more than I ever knew, but, because of that, we grew, yet again. That growth is something that excites me because we are only starting our fourth year together and I can get so aroused thinking about the places we will mentally go in years 10, 17, and, 20, if I live that long.
But, something Mr. S. captured so well this time was the emotional intimacy of our Master and slave world, something we often don’t realize ourselves much less truly show the world. There are some amazing pictures that were captured we can never share because they show faces, but even in the ones that don’t, you can still see it. There is one picture that was shared earlier on Twitter of me holding a hooded jack. It may look like a hug to most, but the story behind that was he was in a tight canvas straightjacket and I fitted a very soft, very tight, eyeless hood over his head. He did not react well to that at first and I could feel his breathing and hear his sounds that told me a mild panic was about to happen. So, I gave him the “docking signal” – his docking place (aka safe space) is in my lap with his legs wrapped around me while I am on my knees – and helped guide him down into the proper position where I simply held him and talked him through it by reminding him why he was there, what he was to me, and how I had never been more proud of him. We may have been there for 7-8 minutes, but he melted and I could just feel that hood becoming part of him. He was ready and, I think, wore that hood for 2-3 hours following that never once having as issue with it again.
The second favorite shareable pic is the one included in this post. If I were to name it I would call it “Aftercare” because that slave endured for me and, when I was all over and I had determined he had had enough, we released him from everything aside from the straightjacket and, again, he docked. I held him again. I told him how proud of him I was again. I reminded him that nobody else in this world could do what he did for me. And, I held him. And I held him even tighter. That slave needed a nap and I promised him I would let him have one when we got back to the hotel – though note that I didn’t promise where.
But, all this, to me, showed the intimate submission that so much of the world does not get to see in relationships like ours nor do many ever even want to see. I know that even most Masters who call their slaves names and treat them like doormats most often do that because it’s what they both need, and I have no doubt that, in private times, there is some sort of similar emotion. But, it’s not our business if they do not want to share that so I feel honored that we are often able to show this side as well as it truly is a factor in almost every facet of our relationship.
The rest of the weekend? Well, there will be pictures. Maybe.
Also, just an fyi, he did get the nap and he slept amazingly well considering he was tied to the coffee table inside the closet.
Service is exhausting.
