In Belgium No One Can Hear You Scream

My Good Boy My boy and I had a weekend away. Now as this was a trip abroad it was filled with sightseeing and adventure but even so we found some time to play together.

We had a sense of freedom, of being anonymous and that enabled us to be far more relaxed than might otherwise be the case.

My boy went out in his collar, the tag peeking through the neck of his shirt, unafraid of who might see (not many people, it was cold and we were wrapped up warmly).

In the hotel I found time to have my boy on his knees, sucking my cock, enjoying the size of it and the anticipation. Then I chose to rape my boy; with no need to be quiet he could surrender to the moment and I could use him without restraint. In return I could demand his cock and I could sing out my pleasure freely (and loudly).

Hotel rules meant that my Boy stayed naked. That he could serve me. It meant he took whatever pain and pleasure I chose and for once I delighted in giving him pleasure. Leaving him shaking and trembling with its intensity (yes, I am a smug Domme and with good reason).

We shared our freedom, our pleasure and our love. My boy, truly mine, for a few precious days.

Sucking My Cock

Time To Be Ourselves

Mat and I were invited to a party. It was an invitation which would at any point have been a thrill and a delight but this one was even more special for me. It was my first opportunity to play in public as a Domme.

The party started, as all parties do in the kitchen. There were drinks, food, social chit-chat. On the surface it might have appeared utterly vanilla and yet looking around, each couple’s D/s dynamic was faintly visible, subtle but present and yet unremarkable. My initial nerves began to subside aided admittedly by a gin and tonic.

The party moved to the lounge. I sat on the sofa and Mat arranged himself at my feet. I ran my hands through his hair. I looked at him and saw him utterly relaxed, I think he saw the same in me. Like the first breath after unlacing a corset, when you draw the air down to your diaphragm and expand your lungs fully, he and I simply were.

He was my submissive boy, my bitch, for the first time in public, where our relationship needed neither explanation or concealment.

Then, a simple thing and yet very intimate, I fetched his lead and slipped it over his head as he knelt at my feet. The first time I had done so in public, the first time anyone else had seen that moment. That in itself felt very intense.

The girl next to me on the sofa admired his lead (I think every girl commented on it at some point, it is very pink) but added, “he loves wearing it”. I had to agree; Mat was more content than I had ever seen him, a contentment I shared. I had never felt so completely and confidently his Domme.

The evening was not only special for us, however. The party included a collaring ceremony. It was, of course, the first time I had witnessed such a thing. I had had some idea what to expect but was completely blown away by the sheer emotion I saw. It was an intensely romantic ceremony and I felt incredibly privileged and honoured to have been witness to such a loving moment.

The evening continued as couples began to play. I felt unprepared to be observed but was happy to watch the activities around me, noting similarities and differences in play. The atmosphere was relaxed and accepting, intimate and warm.

Eventually I felt ready to quietly pull my boy onto the sofa and simply put him over my knee and spank him. I was still aware of people around me, afraid that I was being observed and criticised, but I focused my attention where it was needed, on Mat. His reactions, his pleasure, watching him lost in what we were doing, reassured my insecurities somewhat. This was us playing, our way.

I can’t begin to describe the intensity, the emotion that flowed all evening and I’m not even going to try to describe everything that happened; it was simply a wonderful party with wonderful people. We stayed up all night, never bored, never tired, enjoying the freedom and the atmosphere.

It was a delight simply to be ourselves.

Holding His Lead

For once we had a house full of people. I took advantage of this opportunity to have my boy sleep on the floor beside my bed. I’d made him up a comfy bed of his own there and it seemed very natural to have him sleep there wearing his lead. The end of the lead looped up onto the bed, and I held it though the night.

For many people a collar is a symbol of submission. I even have two of my own, a play collar and a public collar, both worn as signs of submission to Perrin.

Mat doesn’t have a collar as such; instead he has his lead. a beautiful length of pink rope which loops over his head and acts as a choke collar with a small loop at the other end for my hand to slip through and hold.

When Mat wears his lead, when the rope encircles his neck, then that same rope snakes around my wrist. Binding us together. Submission and dominance woven from the same stuff.

Although many submissives wear collars I’ve never seen any discussion of a similar symbol for dominants. A bracelet to encircle their wrist perhaps?
That seems to me, in one sense, to be a surprising omission. Where once only a woman would be expected to wear a wedding ring these days it is now commonly expected that both parties will wear some token of their union. A mutual sign of commitment.

D/s relationships are certainly a form of commitment. A relationship which requires nurturing and attention, mutual (if somewhat disparate) give and take. They are more than mere play. They define a place and an identity for each party. It is a relationship with possessives; he is my boy; I am his Domme.
When my boy wears his lead I am there holding it; even in my sleep.


So somebody wrote a blog post about our girlfriend, Amy. The post was a fantasy, largely imaginary but rooted in some real life events and portraying real people, all of whom I know.

One part of that story upset me very much. In it the protagonist removes  Amy’s collar. I was honestly surprised at the sheer emotional depth of my response.

I am very aware that the author of the blog does not really understand D/s and I would like to think that they were unaware of the upset that writing would cause.  Still it made me wonder, why did that image upset me so much.

Perhaps the best analogy I can use is to compare the collar to a wedding ring. Both are symbols of a relationship. Indeed reading about a burglary in which a widow has had her wedding ring taken from her fingers, the outrage we feel is not caused by the financial value of the theft but rather by the emotional pain caused. Similarly if in a story one character removed another’s wedding ring we, the readers, would take it to show that they did not respect that married relationship (as for instance if they were having an affair).

Our collars have another similarity to a wedding ring, in that removing them is significant. It is Perrin who determines when they are removed, whether in person or by giving explicit permission. A little thing, and yet a symbol of so much.

I think that is why I felt so hurt. I feel as though that relationship has been insulted. And as I wear a matching collar, it is a relationship that I have a share in, which makes it all the harder to read such a story.

While the offence caused was accidental, it certainly highlights how much symbols mean to me. Symbols give me a physical representation of something intangible, and a link to someone precious.