Asserting Control

Dominating my slave is the surest way to lift my mood and reset my entire emotional landscape. I can go from feeling anxious, guilty, and uncertain to feeling confident, positive, and assertive just by looking down into his submissive eyes, cropping him, and stating categorically that I'll be denying him. This is true even if my anxieties had nothing to do with sex or our relationship.

Sometimes I can't imagine not being dominant anymore, even though it started out as a way to indulge my husband. Why, then, do I sometimes resist it?! These episodes are coming less frequently these days, but each time they occur, I question everything from the healthiness of a femdom relationship to my husband's happiness to whether BDSM is really classified as a mental illness.

A few days ago I reasserted my control a bit forcefully.

Before his father got so sick, J had some rules that I was beginning to enforce regularly regarding his personal health habits and his cock. I had relaxed these rules for a bit, but I decided it was time to reintroduce them this week, and I sensed that he was ready as well...but feeling rebellious.

The rules I speak of are these:
1. That he exercise four times per week for half an hour minimum;
2. That he absolutely avoid fast food; and
3. That he not play with my property without my permission, even if it is only to tease himself.

The first two exist for his health and my pleasure. I want my slave not only to look physically fit and appealing, but also to have the stamina to please me at length without tiring or cramping. And I want him around to serve me for many years to come, of course. Before we implemented these rules we discussed his feelings on my use of sex to control his eating and exercise habits. He confirmed that he didn't find it demeaning and could think of no better, more enjoyable way for keeping fit.

The third rule is to ensure that submission is always on his mind. He can't even touch himself without asking my permission. And I often say no.

This weekend I told J that these rules were effective immediately, when he'd thought he had another week or two of relative freedom. He protested. Strongly. He whined. He said, "But I thought I had until next week!" When I responded, "But why wait? I want you to start this week," he did not take this hint. He whined more.

I was displeased.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back, as I had already been irritated with him for persisting in his horny attempts to arouse me when I had flat-out told him I did not intend for us to have sex today, that I wasn't in the mood to be pleasured, and that I wanted to spend some quality time together out of bed.

Finally I brought out the crop. And I cropped him hard. And I explained forcefully, each sentence punctuated by a strike, that these rules are not about what he thinks or he wants. He is the slave. I am the Mistress. I made these rules for his own benefit, and I made these rules because they please me, and that should be his only concern: that they please me. And when Mistress says no to a horny slave, that means no.

If life were logical, I would have felt bad for cropping and scolding him. Instead, I felt much better. I felt back in control. He began to exhibit the proper submissive behavior. I no longer felt guilty about denying him sex. Much (not all, but much) was right with the world.

Acting dominant makes me feel more dominant, just as acting confident or sexy makes one feel so. Now I just have to figure out how to motivate myself to act this way when I am simply not feeling it at all. Slave helps by provoking me to punish him when he sees I'm feeling down, but sometimes this backfires and makes me feel guilty for wanting to punish him instead.

Perhaps as I get more used to this lifestyle, this will happen more naturally.

Your continuously learning Mistress K

Begging for Plugging

My slave is lying next to me spread-eagled, blindfolded, collared, gagged, and plugged. This is fast becoming one of my favorite ways to write a blog post.

I woke up this morning knowing it was a day for teasing. With our conflicting work schedules, we rarely have a lazy day to spend on drawn-out sex play. I was not about to be rushed into a morning quickie with the whole 4^th of July day ahead of us. 

Feeling his erection poking into my back, I turned around and cuddled against him, running my hand down his body and whispering my plans to him as he woke up fully. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve been tied and gagged,” I said. “I want you collared and preparing my computer while I eat breakfast. Then I’m going to cuff you, gag you, blindfold you, tease you with my mouth, and leave you lying there while I write my next blog post. After that, I’ll ride you. And you’ll probably cum.” 

Needless to say, he woke up quickly at that.

After a leisurely breakfast with my collared slave gently massaging my shoulders and my nipples, I ordered him to the bedroom to get everything ready. As I thought about the toys, I mused, “Maybe this time I’ll slip the vibrator in your ass before I leave you there…but then I won’t have it to use for myself!”

“There’s always the butt plugs, Mistress,” he reminded me meekly. I’d forgotten those! We’d bought them about a month ago, just before the events that paused our play for a while. 

My slave is so obedient and giving, always making sure I have all the right tools at hand, even when he knows it might not bode well for him. 

Soon he was in place and I was cropping his thighs—lightly, since he’d been quite good this morning—and rubbing my pussy against his skin—along his thigh, along his stomach, anywhere but the cock that wanted it most. He wasn’t gagged just yet, and I took advantage, positioning my nipple in front of his mouth. “You may worship,” I breathed against his ear, pulling his earlobe between my teeth and grinding my moistening sex against him as he licked and lightly sucked my breast. I didn’t want to cum yet myself, and when I’d had enough of that, I moved back down and set to work bringing him to the brink with my mouth. Soon he was moaning and thrusting his hips (as much as he could, with his ankles tied to the legs of the bed—so not much). I knew these were the noises of a slave afraid he would cum without permission soon. Now was the time.

“Do you want to cum today?” I asked as I slid my body up his, punctuating the question with a sharp bite to his nipple. 

“Yes!” he gasped. 

“Then you’re going to beg for me to put the plug in your ass.”

That shut him up. He whimpered a few times, not in the tone of a man who thinks he might not cum, but in the tone of a man who knows he is about to be voluntarily emasculated just a little bit more.

I knew it wouldn’t be long, but I had no intention of drawing it out. We both knew he’d be begging soon. I closed my mouth back over his cock, pressed my fingers against the base, and started sucking hard, rubbing my tongue against his glans. Within seconds, I heard, “Please.” 

I paused to tweak his nipples hard. “Please what?” I sucked again, but it wasn’t necessary. He was already whimpering, “Please use the plug!” 

I gave him a few more seconds of stimulation as reward. “Well, since you asked….”

I had become much more comfortable with his ass since we first started anal play, and it was quite satisfying to slide the plug—the medium sized plug from the “beginner” set, which hadn’t been used yet—watching his ass resist slightly and then lovingly grip it inside. 

I gagged him, covered his ears with headphones blasting our usual bondage soundtrack, and settled in to write.

It’s quite inspiring to sit here with the vibrator between my legs listening to him groan, watching him squirm as much as he can against his ties. We had to remove the plug about halfway through once it got uncomfortable, but it was quite thrilling to pause my typing to suck him into my mouth and know that with every small thrust of his hips he was stimulated unbearably at both ends. I’ve brought him to the edge about five times now.

Time to wrap up. I want to cum. 

Happy Independence Day. Especially for those of you who’ve given up a few particular freedoms to a deserving goddess ;)

Until next time,

Mistress K

Community

Before sitting down to write this post I cropped my slave. I bent him over the bed in his light pink panties and I smacked his ass hard and fast without counting. I didn’t crop him because he needed to be punished. I cropped him because I was anxious. I cropped him to relieve my own tension. I cropped him because I can, and because he reminded me that I can.

As I cropped my slave, my reasons for starting this blog multiplied exponentially in my mind. Five days ago I’d barely ever considered the extent of the online femdom community. I figured we would be lucky if anyone at all ever read my posts. I had read books of encouraging advice about becoming a Mistress, but I never imagined actually personally interacting with other women like me or other couples like us.

Suddenly I have followers. People literally around the world have read about my intimate relationship with my husband. It seems like that should scare me. My sense of self-worth as a wife, as a Mistress, and as a writer is now tied to what I’ve posted here. People will have expectations of me, will be disappointed in some of my thoughts and feelings, in what I do and do not write or tweet or comment about. More importantly, my husband is now interacting with this community as he has never done before, and I am seeing a different side of him. We have always moved slowly, growing into our roles of Domme and sub at my pace. Now he has nameless faces encouraging him, cheering him, and handing him suggestions and photos and links.

This is a bit overwhelming, but my excitement outweighs my nerves. As I channeled all my worry into cropping my sissy slave, I realized: I would write about this cropping. And people would understand it. With complete nonchalance and approval they would accept that my husband and I both desired that little exchange of pain—something I still struggle with. Many of them would also empathize with my conflicted feelings. They might comment and tell me that they’d been through the same thing as novice Mistresses, or that they still feel that way now, or that they (as slaves themselves) can reassure me that my slave enjoys it as much as he claims.

In any case, this blog is clearly accomplishing one of its primary goals already: to help us explore this facet of our relationship more deeply. To keep him from bombarding me with new ideas too quickly, I have ordered my slave to keep a notebook of thoughts and desires inspired by his online interactions. I can look at them at leisure when I’m ready and indulge his desires in my own time. I have no doubt we’ll both be emboldened to try new things on a regular basis. Furthermore, I will feel more fulfilled as an individual using my writing talent in an honest and passionate medium; my slave will have an outlet and a support community for the desires he’s always experienced alone; and we will learn to trust each other more implicitly than ever.

I thank you, very sincerely, for reading and for sharing.

Mistress K

Guest Blog: A Love Letter to Mistress K from sub J

Dear Mistress,

I am writing this letter in response to your desire for a guest blog. The one suggestion we received was for a love letter to you. So, without further ado, here goes nothing!

I love you with all of my heart, mind, and soul! I knew when I married you that you completed me, but boy, I did not realize just how much you completed me! This last month or so has been exquisite in the depth to which you have gone to truly take me over as your slave.  

I love the way you look into my eyes and say, “Not today, slave” while I rest between your thighs, tongue gently lapping at your clit, finger making circles against your g-spot. 

I love the way you tie me to the bed, music playing in my headphones, unable to talk or see while you run your hands along my body, along your cock. It makes me shiver just writing it!

I love the way that you crop me while I am gagged so you don’t have to hear my whimpers and groans from the pain. I know it makes it easier for you to punish your slave harder if you can’t hear him.

I love the way you leave me tied spread eagle on my stomach. Will you toy with my anus? You know it is awkward for me and at the same time highly arousing. You know just what pushes my buttons.

I love the way you bought me my first pair of panties, and even when I was scared and nervous about wearing them out, you replaced my boxers with pink satin panties while I was showering. It was an exquisite day.

I am sure that as we grow old together as Husband and Wife, we will grow into a permanent Mistress & slave/sissy life as well.

                                                                                                                                       In Loving Slavery,

 

                                                                                                                                            slave

The Day My Slave Shaved

Things changed when I made my slave shave his pubic hair.

My husband and I don’t always live as Mistress and slave. Before we married we mostly played at D/s. Since moving in together, we’ve had more chance to explore long-term chastity and servitude, and we tend to have a few weeks at a time of serious Mistress/slave play before taking a break. J has made it clear to me that he wants to be my slave all the time, but he’s afraid. Maybe to some Mistresses that wouldn’t matter, and they would know how to simply take command and demand their due at all times. However, I am growing into my role as Mistress because my husband wants it. I find it more and more attractive as time goes on, and I’m certainly not doing something I don’t want to do…but I did not read BDSM erotica throughout my teen years as my husband did. I don’t always know how it’s supposed to work. The idea that he wants to be controlled or hurt or humiliated started out pretty foreign to me, and I’ve had to get used to it, moving slowly to be sure I’m not crossing his real boundaries. This is a theme you will see often in my stories.

Three weeks ago, quite unexpectedly, my husband suddenly became very submissive (not unusual, certainly; it happens periodically) and suggested that Mistress might want him to shave himself. Does slave want to shave himself? I asked, needing more explicit guidance, as I often do. Slave wishes to please Mistress, he answered predictably. If Mistress wants him to shave, he will.

I understood this to mean that, yes, this was part of some fantasy of his, that I wouldn’t truly be hurting him by making him shave, and that he wanted to be commanded to do it. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why. I thought it might make giving head a little easier, but I wasn’t sure I’d like it—what if he didn’t seem as manly without the hair?

If you are more experienced than I was, you may have already realized: That was the point.

I came home from work that night and found him naked and waiting for my examination.

I looked at his bald pelvic area for a long while. I fondled his bare cock and balls, feeling the smoothness left by body lotion and the small prickly patches that weren’t fully clear of hair. Did I like it? I still wasn’t sure, but I did know that my eyes kept returning to it. As we stood in the kitchen or sat talking on the sofa, I stared. My gaze would move up to his magnificent, broad, hairy chest, and then back down to that nude little penis, and my hand would idly reach over to stroke lightly all around it, enjoying a texture I had never felt on a man before.

Eventually the truth crystallized in my mind. I was hesitant to say it at first, because it sounded selfish, almost vindictive, and perhaps humiliating to him. Yet something inside me hinted that maybe this was his goal…so I said it aloud.

It’s bare like a woman’s pussy. I like it…because you had to do what I have to do all the time. You had to feel the irritation of the razor, you had to spend extra time in the shower, you had to painstakingly move a blade across your most sensitive areas, and you had to do it just so that your sex would appeal to the sexual, objectifying gaze of your lover. You had to do what society automatically demands from a woman. And I made you do it. I like it.

I had read similar sentiments before in books about being a Mistress—books my husband gave me to read in hopes they would help me internalize the fully dominant mindset. Women are superior, they suggested. Make your man do the things society demands of you. Make him do chores, make him indulge your sexual desires before his own, make him cater to your demands out of bed as he should by right. I agreed with these suggestions to some extent, but I had not quite taken them to heart. After all, I am the woman. As liberated as America has become, most of the people around me—in-laws, friends, even my own parents—truly would have these latent expectations of me as the woman. Of course I needed to cook and clean up for my husband if he was going through a troublesome time and had little time at home. Of course I should provide him the comfort of sexual release and sexual intimacy when he’d had a hard day. Surely that was my job, not as a woman but as a lover. Yet those other mistresses whose books I’d read said otherwise. And my husband—my slave—wanted me to think otherwise.

This is a complex issue I will undoubtedly turn over and over in my head over the years. Later, I will tell you how this simple command to shave quickly turned into our first clear encounter with sissification, how it led to my slave wearing pink satin panties under his clothing right now, and how we’re learning to incorporate this into our usual chastity and bondage play.

For now, it is enough simply to state: I like my husband’s shaven pubis, and I will demand that it stay that way.

Except, next time, I think I’ll make him wax.

Mistress K