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

An Uncertain Domme

I’m not a very good Domme. I’m too nervous, too uncertain, too easily discouraged. I lose confidence when I am unable to win my Boy over to my mind and unable to discern his. I’m a novice in so many things and yet I fear practising risks failing and losing what little confidence my Boy has in me.

Mostly I sail between these problems, being the best Domme I know how to be. Taking joy from each successful moment, enjoying the challenge of building the relationship, and my Boy’s pleasure, in all the ways he needs. Loving the freedom and the expression that being his Domme gives me. Flying high on a wave of passion and emotion that almost nothing else can equal.

Sometimes though I lose my way. When that happens, when I lose my nerve, when I am paralysed by uncertainty, unable to truly be a Domme, I wonder does my Boy know or notice? Does he wonder why I do not act? Is he frustrated or relieved?
I dare not ask him but I can’t help but wonder.

Yet I’m not looking for sympathy here or reassurance. My challenges are my own. I may never be a super confident Domme but as long as I have my Boy I can live with my uncertainties.

Do I Need A Safe Word?

My boy has a safe word. Its purpose is to give him a guaranteed way of calling a halt, or just slowing down, anything he has a problem with.
Most of the time he doesn’t need to use it but I feel better for knowing he has the option. It provides a more graceful response than merely dropping out of role and somehow keeps me closer to him through something which otherwise would be a severe disruption to our play.

I have realised though, that as a Domme I have no such option. There is no subtle way for me to express discomfort with a situation. You might think that a Domme has no need of a safe word, after all they are the one in control aren’t they?
Yet I have found situations in which I have felt uncomfortable. I have been fortunate so far in that they have been ones in which I can simply walk away and that Mat has been sympathetic to my feelings. Still, I can imagine scenarios in which I need to call a halt, in which I need comforting and reassuring. Currently I have nothing I can say to signal this.

I guess that doesn’t sound very Domme-ly but I figure even Dommes have a right to feel safe, to have limits and sometimes even get cuddles and cake.
That’s OK right? Or is it just me?

Keeping My Boy In The Dark

Mat is mine; my boy, my bitch and I am training him to be my whore. His body is mine to use how I please and I may use him to give pleasure to others if I wish. I wanted to see him do just that.

We got into the car and I told Mat to drive to the railway station. He looked uncertain. “There are lots of places you can go on the train”. I nodded. He didn’t need to know where we were going.

On the train his discomfort increased. He had no idea where we were going or what might be expected of him. He fidgeted nervously but assured me that he would be my good boy. I knew he would.

Our destination wasn’t far from the station, a small hotel where we walked straight in. I headed for the lift. I had been texted directions and I knew where we were going. In the hallway I paused and produced a blindfold. I fastened it over Mat’s eyes; this was after all to be a surprise for him. I knocked on the hotel room door.

A beautiful lady answered it and ushered us both in. I guided Mat into the room. It was dimly lit and a naked man similarly blindfolded lay on the bed. I grinned and helped Mat strip down to his frilly panties, laying his clothes neatly to one side.

I guided him up onto the bed and then the woman guided his mouth towards her partner’s cock. My boy began his work without hesitation. I sat back and watched the two blindfolded men, one pleasuring the other. The lady and I grinned at one another, this was hot to watch. In the dim light, we bent our heads to the boys and whispered encouragement at them. Mat was working hard, his hands and his mouth used to good effect. The woman removed the blindfold from her partner and he looked down to watch my boy sucking his cock before throwing his head back again in pleasure. As he grew closer to the edge I told my boy to take him all the way, I wanted to see spunk in his mouth. I heard the man asking his lover if she wanted him to cum and so she did. Urged thus my boy took him all the way and sat up at last rolling spunk on his tongue for me to see until I told him to swallow it down.

I asked the woman if she required any more services from my boy and she requested that he eat her too, so I guided him forward again until he could bury his face between her thighs. He lapped eagerly at her and she responded with pleasure. Held and kissed by her lover and I, a very sexy lady having a very sexy time. My boy in darkness, blindly using his mouth and hands guided only by her cries of delight.

I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed; watching, taking it all in. I was thrilled to see my boy giving pleasure, trusting in me to direct him and protect him. What I was seeing was hot and sexy and Mat was doing it for me. I realised I was smiling only because my cheeks actually hurt from doing so.
I smiled again when I thought how unsympathetic Mat would be of such discomfort.

My boy came to lick me also, letting me join in with the pleasure of the moment. For a while I was the centre of attention and loving it. Still we were not yet finished. My boy was hungry for more and went back to both the man and the woman to use his mouth yet again to give them pleasure before we were done.

Finally I helped him dress, still blindfolded and led him out into the corridor, leaving our hosts to enjoy the rest of their evening. I took my boy away, so proud and happy and full of smiles.

I hope I can make Mat do that again one day.
Anyone want a blow job?

Being A Domme

So you want to be a Domme? You think it’ll be lovely; a submissive to serve you, to pleasure you, to take whatever pain or pleasure you wish. Here’s what they don’t tell you.

  • You will spend hours organising your time and his. As Domme it’s your responsibility to organise play dates and to arrange to take him to events.
  • You will need a packing list. Not only will you be packing toys (Flogger? Rope? Cuffs?) but also clothes for you both and all manner of other essentials.
  • You will end up carrying heavy bags of toys. Sure, he’s your submissive, he could do it but when he’s tied over some piece of equipment or blindfolded in a dungeon, trust me, you’ll be carrying your own kit. Plus do you really want to give him a chance to find out which toys you packed?
  • You will be providing cake. Find out what your submissive prefers because it’ll be your job to supply it after a play session or whenever they need it. Believe me, subs get fractious if they don’t get enough cake.

Given all this you might wonder why anyone would bother, why take on such a responsibility? Because, when your boy looks up at you with a mixture of love and pain, when he says “thank you Mistress” after each and every stroke. When he kneels gratefully at your feet with his head in your lap, then, oh yes, you’ll hold him tight and willingly do it all again.

Of course, your submissive may have a slightly different view of things.

Turning Into A Sadist

I don’t usually think of myself as sadistic. I’m perfectly happy whipping my boy gently, even leaving some light marks but I rarely want to cause pain.

Sometimes, I even find myself on the edge of tears as I whip him, overwhelmed by the love he gives me as he allows me to hurt him. I know then that I need that love, need to accept it, to give him the chance to give it and yet I don’t want to hurt him. In response to that love I want to hold him, to wrap him up safely and warm but this love is expressed through pain so I continue, loved and loving, despite the contradiction.

Then I took Mat out to play one night, and was introduced to the ‘spit roast’. A long thin bench to which a submissive can be strapped and which can be rotated at a variety of speeds.

Initially I fastened Mat to it with the leather straps provided but although they held him firmly he was in some discomfort as he turned, I noted the need for extra fastenings and let him go.

A little later in the evening though and I couldn’t resist trying again. Mat was blindfolded and I helped him onto the bench, smiling as I watched him realise where he was. I strapped him on and then used two lengths of rope to wrap around him spreading the load.

This time he was clearly more comfortable as I rotated him through 360 degrees. I decided to make it a little more interesting. I took the clover clamps and fastened them to Mat’s nipples. He winced as they closed on his flesh. Slowly I restarted the machine. I watched as Mat’s body stared to tip. He groaned as he realised what would happen next. As he turned, his body hung sideways and the clamps swung free and then gravity pulled them down. He yelped in pain as the weight of the clamps and the chain tugged at him.
He continued to turn until his body moved under the clips and he sighed with relief as the pressure eased and as he approached a horizontal position once again.
He breathed out his tension and the table turned until he reached the apex of his rotation…and continued to turn.
“Oh no”, he whimpered, “not again”.
I watched as the clamps swung down again and Mat groaned in pain.

As I stood watching, bent slightly over the controls, I was aware suddenly of how turned on I was, how close to cumming. I wanted then to leave Mat bound, spinning slowly, where he was; to prolong this torture indefinitely.

I have never felt like a sadist before but this time I really did. I fed on his anticipation, his fear and his pain; I loved it, needed it, wanted to make it last.

He wondered aloud what it would be like to have his cock sucked. I crouched down, taking him in my mouth as he passed through the upward part of his circle. I wanted him to enjoy it, wanted to increase his tolerance, because I wasn’t ready to stop.

In the end though I did have mercy on him. I needed to end it gently, before he had taken too much. I wanted him to be a willing victim the next time I felt like strapping him to that contraption. I wanted to be sure he would lie down willingly for me again.
I want to torture him again.

Writing About My Characters

I was writing a fantasy, one I intended for eventual publication here and I was getting increasingly turned on by the scenario I was describing.

Then as I was contemplating my writing I realised something about the way I write fantasies.

When I’m writing, my characters are real to me. It feels as though they have a separate existence which I have a window on. My writing forces them to live through those experiences and I not only control what happens to them I also control how they feel about it.

As I go over a scene, refining my mental image of it, they can be forced to live though it several different ways until I have found the most satisfactory outcome (interestingly the beginning of the ‘Story of O‘ effectively uses this as an opening gambit). Often the final outcome depends on how the characters behave in my mind. Their reactions influence my writing (I said they were real to me).

In many ways this is the ultimate Domme trip. I can torture them or delight them again and again. I can abuse them, humiliate them and force them to willingly do anything I wish.
Best of all I can get just the reaction I want. I can make them love it or hate it or better still desire it with a mingling of shame and embarrassment that puts them firmly in their place.

My characters are my bitches and I get off on playing with them.
No wonder I can’t stop writing.