Drew’s note: Another post from boy Jack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes.

His muscles.

His breathing.

His intensity.

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

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

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

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

Thanks for reading.

DD

Drew’s Note: another post from the boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTE FROM DREW: Another amazing post by boy jack.

The very first time….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jack

A GUEST POST MY BOY, JACK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack

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.