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

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

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

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       

Choices

My slave is waiting for a punishment.

I gave him a nearly impossible decision last night. It was diabolical, really. Cum, and be punished. Don’t cum, and don’t be punished. (But I’m not promising you’ll have even the chance to cum again anytime soon. Think carefully.)

What would you do, slave readers? I’ll give you some context so you can make your choice….

My slave and I cuddled on the couch a bit last night. As usual, I lounged in some comfortable pajamas while he sat naked except for his two-inch-thick black leather collar, which for the last few weeks he has been commanded to wear whenever at home.

I was very engrossed in rereading Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, and I wasn’t sure I was much interested in sex that evening. But, naturally, with my slave’s warm body cuddled up beside me, my free hand did wander over to stroke now and then. My slave shaves himself, as I’ve mentioned before, and while I read I simply started sliding my fingers along that bare skin more and more. I wasn’t paying attention to it, really. Just petting. Enjoying the smooth skin over his pelvis. Scooping his balls into my palm and lightly squeezing. Trailing my fingertips up his slightly hardening shaft, feeling it jerk and twitch. Encircling the head tightly with my index finger and thumb, stroking down as the cock lengthened between my fingers. Slapping and tapping at it as it rose and bobbed higher into the air.

I didn’t look at it much. I didn’t look at him much. He sat there trembling, occasionally gasping a bit, his eyes focused on the floor or on my hand. He didn’t presume to try to attract my attention. He knew that I was focused elsewhere. My slave does not impose upon me when I’m enjoying myself.

Around the time my slave started whimpering, I came to the end of a pivotal chapter. I knew it was time to pause in my reading, but I wasn’t quite ready for sleep. My body had enjoyed the slow, gentle arousal of sitting next to my naked slave, registering his incredible horniness in a distant part of my mind. My pussy was soft and a little moist; my nipples were getting tight against my soft cotton shirt. I smiled the cat-that-ate-the-canary smile that always frightens and excites my slave, and I said, “Meet me in the bedroom, slave. And bring me a glass of water.”

A whimper escaped him, and he stood up immediately, his head down, responding, “Yes, Mistress,” in that hushed tone he uses when feeling submissive.

By the time he reached the bedroom, I lay naked against our satiny golden sheets, my hand between my thighs spreading the dampness around, circling my clit, testing the waters.

“Bring me the vibrator and come lie next to me. Play with my nipples,” I commanded simply. He placed the vibrator within easy reach and lay down alongside me, careful not touch me in any way I had not requested.

My slave knew how I liked my nipples touched. I had taught him myself, very clearly. I did not worry about insulting him or hurting his feelings by insinuating that he didn’t do it well enough himself. He wants to please me, and I want maximum pleasure. When I explicitly teach him what pleases me, we both win.

I continued touching myself, dipping into the moisture welling from my pussy, slicking it up to my sensitive clit, while he began to play. He brought the soft, cool sheet over my chest and brushed both my nipples with his fingers at the same time, the sensation drawing a gasp from me as a surge of pleasure shot through my clit. He stroked my breasts through the cloth for a few moments, and then, as I drew out the vibrator, he removed it so I could feel his hands against my bare skin.

I delved between my lips with the vibrator, quickly ramping up the setting since I was already highly aroused and ready for stimulation. My slave’s cock was probably hard; his hips were rhythmically grinding against the air. I cannot say exactly what he was doing or thinking. I wasn’t paying attention. I was getting so close.

His fingers circled my breasts until my body was reaching toward him, begging for that touch. The vibrator was in the perfect spot, my clit about to ignite, my every muscle tensing in anticipation. I heard myself begin whimpering too, small noises deep in my throat, aching, pleading noises. Finally, when I was about to command it, when I was poised to explode, his fingers pinched my nipples, hard but perfect, and I came hard, screaming, moaning, my body arching off the bed, the vibrator still pressed against my clit.

Slowly the tremors slowed, contentment spread throughout my body, and my awareness grew. My slave’s hands stroked away from my nipples, down my abdomen, pressing against me lightly but hopefully. I sighed in satisfaction and turned my face toward him, nuzzling his chest below the collar, biting his nipple gently. I noticed his whimpering, his grinding, his eyes moving back and forth between my face to my cunny.

“Mmm,” I sighed again. “Not tonight, slave. I’m so content.”

He whined loudly in protest, his hips thrusting hard in disappointed reaction.

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“But Mistress, when may slave cum again?”

I took a moment to consider. We have ventured only so far into orgasm denial territory yet, and I didn’t want to press him too hard. But neither did I want to give in simply because he was horny. I was pleased with the night’s work.

“You have a choice to make, slave. After I go to sleep, you will stroke yourself to the edge. You can then either cum or not cum. If you cum, you will be punished. I will tie you face down to the bed, your legs spread wide, your ass in the air, completely vulnerable to me. I will crop you, hard, fifty times. And then you will lie there and wonder whether I am going to get the vibrator and use it to fuck your ass.”

He lay there groaning, his hand already fastened to the hard cock, moving up and down.

“If you don’t cum,” I continued, “you will not be punished. But I don’t know when you’ll cum again. And you may still incur punishment for something else in the next few days. Who knows?”

“But Mistress, this is an impossible decision!”

“You have your orders, slave.”

With that, I turned off the lamp, curled up on my side, and drifted off to sleep.

As I said, my slave is waiting for a punishment today. I guess you know what he chose. Can you blame him?

Mistress K