Strange plea

August 13, 2017

I undressed him and put him on his knees.

Once in bed he was told to remove my bra and I laid down. I didn’t feel as nervous as I thought I might, so I asked him to worship my tits…. At first he attacked the nipples with feverish sucking. I smiled and made him slow down…there wasn’t any shyness as I told him what I wanted and how I liked to be kissed. I liked making him take his time around the nipples with gentle kissing and licking. I even asked him to bite them and pulled his head off when I’d had enough.

It felt good to be greedy.

After awhile I held out my hand, palm up, and he filled it with lube. I let him fuck my hand with his desperate hips as he continued his licking and sucking job. As his humping got a bit more intense he lost focus on my breasts and I guided him back with soothing words and giggles.

Eventually, I let him climb on top of me. His treat was humping my leg with my lubed hand holding his cock tight against my bare thigh. It was like we were fucking. He said his body was confused. He needed to feel my cunt. His hips worked against my body. My hips involuntarily moved up. Wanting to meet his too.

He asked defeatedly for penetration knowing the “no” was coming before the question left his mouth. I made him ask again and again. I savoured each sweet, “no.” I can’t describe having that much power escape my lips. I love owning my boundaries and knowing they’ll be utterly respected…even adored.

Eventually, frustrated, he asked if he could get back on his side again and I let him. He fucked my hand a bit more and we talked fantasies. I teased him for needing me to talk dirty. He wanted my thoughts and I kept them all to myself like a greedy little girl. My head felt empty and swimmy with power. My denial made him a little soft so I turned on my belly and let him stroke my ass. He wanted to kiss it, but instead he was told ‘Rub yourself’. I wanted him hard.

With that revelation I remembered something we had discussed earlier in the week. I got up and put him on his back. That week while I was doing my hair and texting him I had teased him that the hair clips would make excellent torture devices. He replied with how much he’d like to experience that, so while I had him waiting and stroking himself, I pulled the bowl from my vanity and placed it on his thighs.

“Remember these?” I giggled before placing clothespins on his nipples and hair clips on his cock and balls. He continued to rub where he could. He was getting harder and harder. His cock was swollen and thick.

That’s when I pulled out a particularly nasty clip. One that looks like little plastic jaws. I asked if he thought he could take it. He said he’d like to try so it went on the head of his cock (his suggestion, of course).

He kept rubbing. I smiled and watched him flinch as I flicked and pinched randomly.

Eventually he asked for the nasty clip to be removed so I bent over, my mouth hovering over him, and placed my lips on it. He moaned in what sounded like half fear. I giggled and bit the clip off (safely so it didn’t pull or clamp back down on him, but enough to torture the fuck out of him).

That’s when he was told his cock would never be inside me. That I didn’t need it. That I’d never need it…

I love his sad, wimpy whines.

To drive my point home, I held out my tongue close to his cock as he rubbed and told him that under no circumstances was my tongue ever to touch his dick. I asked if he remembered one of our first conversations when he had asked if I’d ever had my throat fucked. That was when our roles had yet to be so concretely defined.

I got closer with my tongue causing him to squirm and move it away from my face as he rubbed.

“It’s never touching my tongue.“

More whines.

I continued toying with him in that way. With my mouth hovering over him. I made him watch. I made him keep his eyes open and watch my face achingly close to his hard dick.

He asked to cum and I told him he could cum if he barked for me again. Like a puppy. My puppy. I made him practice. I wanted it to be a loud bark. We worked on it until it was satisfactory, and I started the countdown for his release.

Kitty Casey

29th July

It’s a time to pause and think. No one is coming to rescue you from this –

You think this is as bad as it can get?

You’re wrong, trust me. The pain has become you, hasn’t it? Anymore and you’ll break in pieces? Yet this is only the beginning –

Yeah, wade through that red sea of pain, feel yourself fuelled by it – feel your head enter a different place, that place of foggy mornings and stillness which touches your soul. Yes, you may burn – burn out. But you know you’ll come back, you always do, reborn out of the flames –

Breath in –

Breath out –

Effortless…well, just a little ragged, perhaps. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Take pleasure in it. And when she tightens the clamp and the metal teeth bite deeper, smile. Eat the freaking pain whole, master it, and ask for more –

You are like a tree standing against gale-force winds: you might bend but you will not break. You can smell the earth after a fall of rain, and the musty scent of old books which you love. You think of long conversations that go on through the night, and afternoons spent listening to music, or the sound of owls hunting in the darkness when you’re alone. You think too of the word: the ‘SAFE WORD’ that can end this torment –

But you know you will never use it –

You are drifting away from reality. Your body is a piano on which is played this music of pain, but you have slipped away. There, yet not there. Real, yet unreal. A tiny splinter of living agony, only partly aware…

#

I dreamed I was in the old house. All the mirrors had been covered with white sheeting. Nothing could be reflected. I could not see myself –

People used to do that when someone died, didn’t they? Close the drapes and cover the mirrors. Very fitting. Most apt.

I was in the old house but my dogs were not. My beautiful shaggy dogs had finally abandoned me to my fate.

I felt very sad.

#

Morning. Sky the colour of a three day old bruise. Body all aches and pains, the penalty of too much consensual abuse –

H C asking about my work last night. ‘It’s general themes are about our isolation in a hostile world,’ says I, in my most poncey voice. ‘We all of us exist in a capricious, deceptive, threatening world – a world full of corruption. I, as a writer, manipulate coincidence and show how close to the edge we all really are. Our commonplace fears are as nothing compared to the arbitrary and incomprehensible menace usually surrounding us -’

‘Oh, really?’

It’s pointless saying anything else. The concepts are beyond H C’s comprehension and semi-detached, rural life. Instead I recite:

The storm came across the coast
To the rolling moor
And the rain tasted of so much
Bitterness…

pretty little bitch boy

July 15, 2017

So last night I had a nasty game with him. ‘Are you my pretty little bitch boy?’ I asked him. But he couldn’t speak or move due to the gag in his mouth and being tied down to the mattress with a vibrating egg deep in his bum and me pumping a fleshlight on his ultra-stiff cock as he moaned incoherently round that expandable penis gag. It was fucking ace.

The Confessions of Virgina T

She could use her cigarette as a weapon. She would touch the glowing tip to the most sensitive, intimate parts of a naked body – male or female made no matter to her. Smiling as she tapped ash into an ashtray. She took such delight in her victims tears, their writhing as she touched the cigarette to smooth skin, and to the wildness she witnessed in their eyes. It was as if she inhabited a cave of forgotten wonder. Here, she saw restrained bodies in turmoil and pain, and could indulge herself for as long as she wished. Beyond the casement window a pale topaz sky above wind-swept moorland. The tip of her cigarette hovering, she could feel her own crises growing within – like a wave, a Tsunami of pleasure that would leave her ruined, broken. She crushed the cigarette against tender flesh, surrendering herself to the great tidal wave and the shrill scream of her victim –

Submissive men, men who desire to serve as consensual slaves, are on one of the most difficult journeys in the world today, because they have rejected patriarchal privilege and embraced their own heart’s calling instead.

TammyJo Eckhart
At Her Feet: Powering Your Femdom Relationship

21st May

Reality is multi-faceted. We inhabit this world and often describe it with words – but if you know the correct combination of words…well, then you can make this world whatever you want it to be. That’s magic, you see. And magic and words is all you’ll ever need.

#

I can’t help but enjoy her helpless pleading. It’s a silly game we play, I know, but when she cries:

‘No, not there, please….pleeeasssseee.’

And I force it to fit, and see the expression on her face in the mirror on the far wall. That moment feels so erotically charged.

#

Last summer seven of us around Dave and Mary’s swimming pool. Sophia and Vic arguing, then wrestling between a pair of sunbeds, like truculent children. Vic yowling when Sophia twists his cock. She has it out of his trunks, semi-erect, gripping it in her small fist. He is red-faced, sweating…We watch Vic forced gradually to his knees, breathing noisily, unable to free himself or counter Sophia’s vice-like hold.

‘Stop struggling.’ She orders. ‘Stop now or I’ll tear it out by the root.’

‘Alright, alright.’

His sister Babs calls out vaguely obscene acts Sophia might force him to comply with, and Vic yells out:

‘Whose side are you on, Sis?’

Sophia’s eyes are bright with this unexpected victory and the sense of power she has over him. She is on one knee beside him. The knuckles griping his twisted cock are white with the effort, while her other hand has now captured his exposed balls. His shorts are down round his thighs. One of his hands is pressed to the ground supporting his weight, the other is wrapped loosely round Sophia’s right wrist. He can’t tug at her because she twists harder, both balls and cock.

‘Come on,’ he says ‘Enough is enough. Let go now – ’

‘Make him suck Kenny’s cock,’ Babs’ suggests. She is quite intoxicated by sun and vodka. ‘Let’s see him do that…We could all use a laugh.’

Ken B rolls on his side on the bright orange sunbed. Using his thumbs he works his trunks over his hips. Fat, meaty cock standing to attention.

‘Bring it on,’ he cries. Removing his sunglasses, he gives Vic a nasty wink.

‘Come on, I’m not doing that,’ says Vic. ‘Not for anyone – ’

And he moans in pain as Sophia twists harder, her conquering smile at his shoulder.

‘You’ll do exactly as I say.’ She says this with such passion. ‘Now up you get, slave boy, and over to Kenny. You’re going to do a bit of sucking – ’

‘He can do me, when he’s finished with Ken,’ Mary calls. She props herself up on her sunbed, both tits exposed and glowing. ‘Like to lap at my cup Vic? I’ve been in the pool so it’s all washed for you.’

General laughter and applause round the pool as Vic is forced to his knees beside Kenny’s sunbed. Head forward, face brushing Ken’s cock before Vic finally takes it reluctantly into his mouth.

‘There’s a good boy,’ says Sophia. ‘You take to that like a duck to water. A baby with its pacifier.’

The sight of his bobbing head produces laughter all around. Kenny gives this slightly obscene wriggle when he cums in Vic’s mouth. The hateful expression on Vic’s face as he straightens up causes yet more laughter.

‘Me next,’ cries Mary. Dave tells her to behave herself, but she’s unknotted her bikini bottom, and raised one leg into the air. To open herself wider, she draws the folds of skin apart with her fingers. ‘Here you are. All ready for you.’

And within seconds Vic is on his knees and feverishly pressing his lips to this small pink conch shell. More enthusiasm in his movements now. Her thighs press to his ears. He licks at the growing wetness, face flushed, breathing loudly. Again applause around the pool at the climax of this vulgar ritual. Her long body shuddering in the throes of joy…

Sophia finally releases him.

Vic pulls up his trunks.

And everyone applauds the fine performance.

Gradually, I began to enjoy it (BDSM). When Frank was there, he would train me in doing whatever he wanted me to do, including cooking, cleaning the loft or servicing him sexually. When he wasn’t there, I was left instructions on what to do, like meditation or even just stretching exercises. Rapidly, I lost track of time and Frank insisted that this was his goal. He wanted me to fully rely on him for all information. I realized that sometimes, a Wednesday would follow a Thursday, but I was expected to just accept it and soon enough, I stopped asking or caring about which day it was.

Today, I realize he was almost brainwashing me, but I didn’t see any alternatives. I was warm, I was secure, I was loved and the few times I was hit I actually welcomed and enjoyed it as it was usually followed by some of the best sex I ever had.

Several times, he invited friends over and no, I was not allowed to dress. I remained nude. Most of the people were friends I knew from the dungeon, but I was usually expected to play a certain role, like remain silent for the evening and simply serve food for everyone or even just remain on all four and serve as a human footrest for the whole evening.

Only twice did someone else had sex with me, thought in one of the cases, I have no idea if it was really someone else as I was blindfolded.

Confession of a fulltime Bondage Slave
Marilyn X

Right then, let’s straighten this shit out.

If you’re a submissive man, you’re saddled with a shitton of stereotypes. Most of them damaging. I like to rage against the stereotypes. It’s like Rage Against the Machine but with less power chords.

Yes, I am a submissive man. No, I am not weak. I find your correlation of “submissive male” and “weakness” disturbing (and furthermore the association of submission in general!).

No, I am not a cuckold. No, I am not pathetic, nor am I snivelling, a worm, or any other value-decreasing adjective, and I refuse with enthusiasm the conjecture that these are requirements for male submission. The entire point of me and my submission is that I have fucking value. How else am I appealing? I have strength. I’m comfortable in my masculinity and in my submission, and boy let me tell you but society had a fun time telling me the opposite to that one!

How can you have a power exchange without the power? It’s like a paraphrase without the phrase. I want to build myself up, not build myself down, and I’m writing this as a call out to others, male or female, who feel this way. There’s something seriously wrong with the popular conceptions of all of this, and I want to help change it.

I don’t want to have to sacrifice one aspect of my personality to adhere to a certain set of expectations, a sort of “twisted” rulebook quietly set up to go about our business without forcing society to actually re-evaluate what it means to be dominant, what it means to be male and/or masculine, or any gender, really, so I’m not going to.

This is me standing up and calling out. I’m a submissive man, and I’m comfortable in that. I have strength, I enjoy that strength, and I’m looking forward to the day where I find someone who enjoys it too. Until then (and even after then), I’m just gonna be here, standing up and telling those stereotypes to fuck right off. Because they’re damaging and they need to change, and if I need to demonstrate that by example, then hell yes will I do so.

User: Torthal
Fetlife