The True Awakening

It has been approximately 18 months since this blog has last seen use.

That is changing. As is the true meaning of 'awakening'.

Oh, first let me start by explaining why this post is not coming from Mistress K.

She has had an awakening to be certain. She now finds herself wearing my collar. Kneeling before me. Doing as I command.

Since we last visited you we had continued our journeys in BDSM and Male Chastity. I even went a full six weeks without an orgasm. It was quite an experience.

We were planning to dive head first back into the lifestyle come January 1st. I finally had a career that allowed me to wear a Chastity device at work with no issues. I had tested it and come January 1st I was going to be chaste for, at minimum 6 months.

You probably find yourself asking what happened. To be quite honest so do I.

All that I can tell everyone is that she currently serves my will. She cums when I allow it. She is teased more every single time, finding her limits and pushing them.

Entering the world of BDSM was a true awakening. It awoke a need inside my wife. Inside my Mistress. Inside my slave.

I don't know for how long she will want to be the slave in the relationship but what I do know is that while she is I will get inside her mind. I will get inside her soul. And I will take charge of every fiber of her being.

Stay tuned. I guarantee it will be exciting.

Particularly when the 180 feet of dyed red rope arrives for some Shibari.

And Begging for Caging

My slave always comes up with the most devious ideas for me. I barely need to think of ways to torment him; arouse him just a bit, and he’ll end up telling me exactly what he fears and hopes I’m about to do.

That was the case yesterday as we prepared to finally order our Queen’s Keep.

Slave (who works nights and sleeps days) had left me a not-so-humble message requesting that I awaken him that afternoon by “jumping his bones.” I wasn’t particularly in the mood for that, for a variety of reasons, so I decided that I would give him everything he wanted except the orgasm. It seemed a fitting way to start the day we planned to buy our first metal cage.

As I slid naked between the silky sheets and wrapped my hand around his cock, slave immediately woke up as if he’d been eagerly anticipating the bone-jumping in his sleep. He didn’t know yet what was in store. 

“Good morning, love,” I whispered in the playfully dominant tone that he would have recognized as dangerous if he’d been fully awake. The curtains were still drawn and the room dark. His eyes were sleepy and half-aware as I pressed small kisses against his face and ear, my hand quickly teasing his penis upright. “So you want me to jump your bones this morning, hmm?” 

“Mmm, yes.” He reached for my nipples, and I let him touch briefly before deciding that wasn’t what I wanted. Instead of indulging his touch, I pulled my hand away from his cock and pressed my face against his chest, biting his nipple and kissing downward just a few inches. He gasped sharply in expectation, recognizing my usual signal that I am going to continue down his body and suck him. 

As his body tightened in readiness for my mouth, I abruptly moved back up to look him in the eyes.

“Oh, did you think I was going to suck you?” My hand brushed just the edge of the base of his erection. “Did you think I was about to move down here?”

“Yes,” he whimpered with the dawning realization that I was not in a generous mood. Suddenly, he gave me the perfect focus for the afternoon: “You’re going to make me beg to buy the cage, aren’t you?” 

I love it when slave’s innermost desires make themselves known like that. He claims he doesn’t do it on purpose, but it happens so often.

“What a good idea…” I said thoughtfully. “Yes, now that you mention it, I think I will!”

I spent half an hour extending my slow progression of licking and kisses and sucking down his chest, over his stomach, and finally to his pelvis, only to pass it by and suck hard on his inner thigh. Each time I paused to kiss him deeply on the lips before slowly starting my journey again at his nipples, my right hand always trailing down to almost touch his hardness as I kissed. If his hand ever moved toward his cock, I halted, removing it but not bothering to restrain him, starting over again from the top.

When he was breathing hard and gasping at my smallest touch, I finally, unceremoniously took him into my mouth, tightening my lips like the entrance to my pussy, sliding down in one smooth movement to take him fully inside. His balls instantly tightened in my hand, but I sucked hard for a few more seconds before drawing back to work the head with my tongue. He started begging—but not the right way.

“Oh pleeeease, let me cum, please Mistress….”

I sat up and raised an eyebrow. “Cum? Isn’t there something else you’d like to beg for instead?”

As usual, his silence did not last much longer after I applied myself to his rock-hard cock again. 

“Please…Mistress…slave wants to buy the cage…slave wants to be locked up all the time.”

I paused again—not the reaction he’d been hoping for. I released the cock and straddled him, pressing my chest to his and enjoying the intimate contact as I smiled into his eyes. “So you want to be locked up, do you, slave? That’s going to be fun.” 

“Please….” His hips were rotating against me. I was a little wet after all this teasing, and I decided to test the waters, though I doubted I’d let him cum inside me. I sat up and eased him into me slowly, drawing pained gasps from him as I withdrew over and over until he was comfortably inside. “Please…it would be fitting for me to cum inside you on this day that I begged to be caged…” he begged.

“Would it?” I asked skeptically. “I think it would be more fitting if I didn’t let you cum on this day. Don’t you agree?”

His eyes widened as he moaned a bit and shook his head. He touched me and tried to spark my full arousal, but I simply wasn’t in the right mood to follow that path. I teased him a bit more with my wetness, rotating on top of him, clenching around him. And then, with no warning, I withdrew. “Not today, slave.”

His desperate whining and thrusting into the air convinced me to finish him off quickly with a subpar orgasm that would allow him to focus on the other household affairs I wanted to discuss before he left for work. I gave him a quick and fairly unsatisfying hand job to take the edge off his horniness, and we soon proceeded to the Mature Metal website. I was gripping his still-hard cock as I clicked the mouse to finally confirm our purchase of a Queen's Keep.

A note on the purchase, for the curious: Our decision was between the Jail Bird and the Queen’s Keep. He’d favored the Queen’s Keep originally, but we considered the JB because so many people cited it as the most popular. Ultimately, we went with the QK for these reasons: my slave found it aesthetically more pleasing, and we were able to order a security screw. This would allow him to be less self-conscious about a padlock clinking inside his pants, and it would provide insurance that he couldn’t make a copy of the key. (I don’t particularly think he ever would, since this is not truly forced chastity, but it still seems to arouse him to know that he can’t.)

Besides, I must say I like the name of the Queen’s Keep better. It keeps the focus where it belongs: on me, the holder of the key.

Mistress K

Measurements

I came home from work today to find my slave finally measuring himself for a Mature Metal cage. As soon as I came in, it became a bit too…hard for him continue, of course, but we are almost there! 

We’ve had a lot of time to reflect on our continued desire for a Mistress/slave relationship and long-term chastity. My father-in-law passed away a few weeks ago, which is why I have not posted recently. Aside from the logistics that always follow death, our sexual activity has been less playful, more intimate, and simply not suited for blog posting! Fortunately, today’s measurement session seems to have sparked us both!

It has been interesting to see that in spite of emotional upheaval my dominant tendencies have stayed strong, and J’s desire to submit and be controlled are just as important to him as ever. We aren’t going forward with domination and chastity to give him an outlet for his upset emotions—that wouldn’t be a very healthy reason. It just happens to be a good side effect. We’re continuing because through it all, that has aroused us and appealed to us and been our instinctive desire.

We discussed this matter of the motives for beginning chastity even before these events, when our measuring rings arrived. I noticed that my husband was hesitant, and possibly more nervous than aroused as it drew nearer. Somehow, through one of the deep episodes of communication I think are so necessary to this lifestyle, we realized that I have been a bit afraid of penetrative sex, and that this was influencing my desire to start chastity. 

To give an abbreviated explanation for this: Mistress K has a tight pussy (read: really damn small), we had few opportunities for sex in the past due to a lengthy long-distance relationship, and neither of us is experienced at all. This has led to about as many physically uncomfortable sexual encounters as pleasurable ones for me. This is normal, of course, but in the stress of dealing with family illness, the anxiety of worrying about whether it would be great or uncomfortable this time was outweighing my enjoyment of having a cock inside me. This obviously needed to be addressed thoroughly before we went any further. 

The solution was simple, really. I will have to thoroughly train him to pleasure me well with his cock before we begin really long periods of denial. Now that it’s framed in this way, with the proper mindset, it doesn’t seem difficult at all. Very importantly, there will be no sense that we’re missing out on a part of our sexual relationship due to fear, or that we chose the path of chastity because of any latent feelings that might lead to dissatisfaction later. 

I’ve ordered my slave to begin wearing his collar around the apartment again tomorrow, and he hasn’t been allowed to cum without permission for a week now. We are back on track. And back online.

Mistress K

Games

Why expend effort to torment my slave when I can force him to torment himself, instead?

A few nights ago my slave asked very nicely if there was any chance he might cum in the morning when he arrived home from work.

My slave knows that I’m not a morning person. At 7 am I want bacon, tea, and a hot shower. I do not want to pay attention to my slave’s puny cock. Nor do I want him just cumming without me, gaining pleasure without thoughts of me at the front of his mind.

Still, I was feeling benevolent, and I wanted to try out some ideas inspired by the internet. As you may have deduced from “Choices,” I’m a fan of letting my slave cum but tormenting him in the process.

“Yes, you may cum tomorrow,” I said, “Here are your rules: You may not cum until leave for work. If you start jerking before then, you must keep going, non-stop, until I’m gone. If you cum too soon, or if you stop jerking once you’ve started, you will not cum for at least one week.

“Finally, you must cum in your pink panties, and you will put them on as soon as you get home.”

I knew that sissy wouldn’t be able to resist stroking himself as soon as those satiny panties went on. I knew he would get home a good hour before I left for work. In other words, I knew I would go about my morning routine undisturbed while my slave lay on the bed whimpering and gingerly stroking my property, trying not to explode until I was gone.

I was hoping he’d hold out, but I admit I did not make it easy. I paraded my dripping body in front of him after my shower. Whenever I passed by the bed I trailed my fingers along the panties, listening to him gasp and groan as I tweaked his nipples.

Finally, when his whole body was shaking and he was barely moving his hand for fear of cumming, I was ready to go. “You may cum now, sissy,” I said as I strolled from the room. I paused and glanced back, deciding I rather wanted to watch him cum in his panties for the first time.

Noticing that I was still there, he gasped, “Now?!” his eyes widening in panic.

“Yes, now. You won’t be penalized for cumming before I go.”

“Ahhhhhh!” I watched as he finally let himself go, moaning as hot cum spurted into his panties. Being a spur-of-the-moment kind of gal, I snatched up his phone and snapped a close-up picture.

“Do what you want with that,” I said, tossing the phone back on the bed. “Have a nice day, love.”

Mistress K

Topping from the Bottom

Being a dominatrix does not mean I should miss out on the pleasures of handcuffs and blindfolds.

Although I’m growing into my role as Mistress, I have no objections to ceding control once in a while…to an extent. I find that sensory deprivation heightens my arousal just as much as it does my slave’s. With my eyes covered it is even easier to focus on the sensations in my body and casually neglect the living toy between my legs. There is no obligation to touch him or acknowledge him—I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Part of the motivation for orgasm control is the intensification of the long-awaited orgasm (among many other more complex motivations, I know). Why should only my slave experience that intensity? I want to be teased, licked and toyed with for hours, brought to the edge over and over until I’m panting and trembling and my muscles ache with the tension. I deserve to be denied until I cannot stand anymore and I’m begging for the perfect, blinding release.

I find there is an interesting mixture of powerlessness and command when the Mistress allows herself to be tied up. Though it may seem she is at the mercy of her slave, the opposite is true. When I order my slave to tease and deny me and not to enter me until I am begging for it—or better yet, when I lock his cock in a cage and hide the key until I can’t restrain myself from telling him where to find it—I am manipulating my own climax. I am ensuring my own pleasure. Slave might be torturously aroused after days of denial and an hour spent between his Mistress’s thighs, but he does not choose the moment. With my resolution not to plead until the need forces the words from my throat with my whimpers, I choose the moment.

It’s simply who we are. I might be tied down on my back, but we all know who comes—and cums—first.

Mistress K       

Her Pleasure

Let’s backtrack a little. I want to talk about chastity and orgasm control.

The first BDSM concept my husband introduced, besides your generically kinky light bondage, was chastity. I’m simply a very open-minded person, so I wasn’t automatically put off by the idea, but I certainly didn’t fully understand it at first either. We were in a long-distance relationship at the time, and I suppose I thought it was just a good way to make the lack of sexual contact seem purposeful and fun.

A few years later, denying my slave orgasm is one of my favorite ways to get off.

Sometimes we use a cage and lock up my property. Other times I take it on faith that he’ll only jerk off at my command. (Sometimes that strategy results in punishment.) We haven’t invested in a really good, custom-fitted cock cage yet, so I don’t want to make him wear one all the time. Regardless, it’s the mindset that’s important. It’s the mindset that has helped me recover my sexual desire.

I’m a pretty stressed-out person. I don’t know about you, but when I’m stressed out I have a hard time wanting sex. Even if my body is “arousable” (as my slave calls it), my mind often can’t be turned off enough to enjoy. In the past this led to some feelings of guilt and pressure as I worried about not being able to give my husband sexual release when he wants it—and he is a young man in the prime years of male sexuality, frequently stressed out himself and looking for relief. I would end up unable to let go, stopping him in the middle of foreplay, and feeling like I’d failed. This seemed particularly tragic because we both knew I was a highly sexual person. Unlike many women (or so I’ve been told), I instinctively learned to masturbate before anyone hinted to me that it might be taboo, and throughout my teen years I frequently reached orgasm every day. And they were good orgasms, too. I pleasured myself well and often. Why was that unabashed desire eluding me now?

With orgasm denial, the weight of expectations is lifted.

If my slave doesn’t cum, that’s fine.

If my slave spends half an hour playing with my nipples and licking my pussy, grinding his hard, leaking cock against the sheets, and never even enters me, that’s fine. In fact, he would consider it an unexpected privilege to do so. I don’t have to wonder whether I’m quite wet enough to take him comfortably. I don’t have to worry that pausing to switch positions will kill the momentum and my orgasm won’t be as great after all that build-up. I don’t have to worry that my slave (who is very out of shape and losing weight at my command—but that’s another story) will get a cramp in his abdomen and have to stop thrusting before he can cum, and we’ll both end up frustrated.

In erotic fiction, sex is always fabulous; in the real world, these are all valid concerns. But if my slave expects no orgasm, it doesn’t matter! I can revel in my approaching orgasm, feeling all my muscles tightening, feeling the heat start to concentrate in my clit, feeling the slippery warmth of his hand and tongue against my wet flesh, and I don’t have to wonder anything, worry anything, gauge anything….I just have to enjoy the all-consuming climax that comes from focusing on nothing at all except my own body and its pleasure.

Watching my slave squirm against me, looking up at me with big pleading eyes, whimpering in wordless desperation? That gives me no guilt. I feel no pressure. I am sated.

I’ll worry about him tomorrow.

Maybe.

Until tomorrow, then.

Mistress K