Merry Christmass

A Merry Kinky Christmass my friends… because everything is better when it ends with some “ass”. Especially a red ass.

During the Holidays, I like to sit and watch those schmaltzy Christmas movies.  It puts me in a frame of mind that believes there is hope for the whole world.

We are supposed to be full of Christmas cheer now, right?  I want to share words of inspiration, but then I think.. Its a Christian Holiday.  What do Jews or Muslims think of this whole “Christ-Mass” thing?  And I think of the terror attacks that will be planned around mass gatherings.   And I think of the snarls of traffic with frantic people rushing to get a gift that may be returned, or thrown out.. and I wonder.. is Christmas really so different from any other day?  Perhaps it shouldn’t be.  In 2014, I wrote this on Thanksgiving:

I am thankful for beautiful skies, my inner guide, and the universe through which I offer myself as a conduit. I am thankful for my canvas, she with whom I practice serving those who serve. I am thankful for that which gives meaning to my life. I am thankful for those who have shared moments with me, letting me be part of their life, as I am part of theirs. ~ Xtac Quote, Thanksgiving 2014

So today is Christmas.  Some will spend it alone.  Some will tear open gifts and sit in piles of wrapping paper.  Some will be thankful its over.  Some will get in cars and make trips to family members they may or may not want to see.  Me, I will spend it with people that are important to me, and I will do nothing special, which will make it extra special.  My daughter and my mother will get together and bake a new cake recipe.  And my daughter will make memories that will make her cry when Grandma has passed on.  Life always ends.

We often go about our Christmas “to do” list like good soldiers following orders.  We often do these things with eyes closed, not sure why we do them. Let me tell you why.  Yes, Christmas is commercial, and Yes, Christmas is in large part about gifts.  It IS a time of gift giving.  So let’s think more about giving, shall we?  When you give, you can give of your money, or time, or talent.  Of the three, time is the most precious gift.

Sometimes we give because we can’t wait to see the smiles our gift will bring.  And sometimes we give for the joy we hope it will bring.  Sometimes we give for the warm, smug feeling that tells us what good people we are for giving.

There was a homeless gentleman I passed every day on the way to work, and I would pick up a carrot cake, or some other packaged food, so he could tell I had not messed with it, and hand it to him as I passed. Some days, I included a few dollars. I could easily have fallen into the trap of feeling smug about this.  Giving, if we do it for the wrong reasons, can be a bad thing.

If we look at what we have, and what others have, and what stuff we want to move from our pile to another’s, we are looking at gifts as a cold truth with a closed heart.  When you give, what you gave is no longer yours.  It belongs to someone else now.  You should have no expectations of control over the thing that is no longer yours. The truth is, most of us expect something in return for a gift.  We hope the gift brings joy, or finds a place in their home.  We hope for an equitable exchange, warm feelings in return for our generosity.  Often, we have expectations of an immediate return on our gift, even if we don’t consciously express it or think about it.

Ask yourself, why WOULD you give if your gift was just thrown away?  Why would you give if no appreciation was expressed?  Ah, now we get to the heart of Christmas!

Christmas and giving are NOT about the joy you create, or what happens with your gifts.  When you give, you have become a conduit for the light of the universe.  What you give, you receive back three fold.  Not from the person that you gave to, but from the boundless love that you have made yourself a conduit for.

When you are selfless, as any slave knows, you have tapped into something bigger than you or the person you have served.  You are a mystic, a shaman, a priest of the universe.  Not in some intangible way, but in a way that fills you with light and lightness.  Your heart is free, you are warmed with an irresistible urge to smile,  you like scrooge are happy beyond measure and you can’t explain it.  But you know it is real because you feel it.

You can’t bottle it, you can’t sell it, and you can’t give it to someone else.  When you experience being a conduit for love, this is your personal gift from somewhere beyond.  You can’t make people believe in it.  Nor can you make people experience it, even if they give.  A person who refuses to open their heart can give, and then sit unhappy that giving was a miserable experience.  No, you must open your heart to the experience, to feel love pouring through you.

So as you go to visit, as you sit with friends, as you watch gifts unwrapped, open your heart to a bigger picture.  This IS a time when the hope of the whole world rests in our hands.  It is a time when we can peel back the veil and see the what happens when we think beyond our own little lives.  We can FEEL the reality that can’t be shared.  We can feel the experience that is open to any who allow it.  It is a time when we can help others to see that there is more to life than collecting a pile of stuff.

We have only so much time in this life.  Every second is a gift.  We can not create for ourselves, one more second of time than we will have.  We own nothing.  Not even our bodies.  These too shall return to the earth.  We own only one thing, my friends.  Our decisions.  This Christmas, I encourage you to look at your decisions and make good ones, especially with your time.  Spend it with people who matter.  Give and hold nothing back.  Let yourself be free of your worries.   Be a conduit for all the good this world deserves, and if you should find yourself weeping, it will probably be for joy.  Joy for the smallest moments that are so huge.  Carpe Diem!   Merry Christmas!  Go be someone’s great day!

Domination on Blogs, the quirks

I have to tell you that part of my control has to do with timing.  I will reveal information when it has the most use and impact.  If you read yesterday’s blog, you know that Monday I was unhappy but doubled down on the things I wanted addressed and yesterday was better.  I kind of released that information early though, before it had a conclusion.  I ended like this:

This evening was nice.  Tomorrow, if my expectations are met, they will be better still.  Or they might be worse.  I expect better though.

So I telegraphed my thoughts.  Problem is, my slave reads this blog too.  There is every likelihood that by those words, she might alter her behavior.  I don’t want that.   I would prefer to wait and see what kind of response I get from earlier interaction.  How else can I judge the effectiveness of my corrective application?

I am a Dominant that is very much into the pleasure of understanding my slave, and finding her buttons, and knowing how to to push them to get the results I want.   Having a blog can work both ways.  It can be a method of praise, or embarrassment.  What I write here, can influence in a very real way our relation.  I am always cognizant of this when I write here.

It is one of the quirks of having a public blog, that it work for or against your plans.  Worse, the written word is fraught with misunderstandings that just don’t as easily exist when you can see and hear a person.  A simple written: I love “this”, can cause a person to wonder:  Did I do “this” without realizing?  Was it a good thing?  Was it a bad thing ?  Is “this” a hint?  Am I supposed to be doing something?  Do I do this “thing” enough?  Do I do it too much?  Yeah, a blog can be a quirky thing, for a Ds relation.


 

For my blog followers who are wondering how this drama concluded tonight: The area I wanted corrected was handled far better than my expectations.  I am a very happy M tonight.  Even more so, because she was too busy to get to the blog to read.  Which means the things that influenced that behavior were in no way related to this blog.  Double bonus points!   Yep, I am very happy indeed.

I’m not ready to brag about what a good girl she is, or mention how pleased I am to have such an obedient and pleasurable slave, nope.  No such puffery here for her to read.  There is always time for back sliding and this particular area I am addressing is important.  If it stays attended to well, and for a period of time, THEN maybe I’ll make such comments.

OK.. maybe one little praise.  Tonight’s dinner was steak and veggies.  I pretended to be gaming while she prepared my plate.  I enjoyed the busy little dance back and forth, some pepper on this, a bottle of olive oil to add a splash to that… just back and forth attending to the plate with great care and attention to my preferences… and there it was… that love you feel that just overwhelms you.  The sense that your life is absolutely perfect, and before you is a person that completes that life, who in ever fiber of your being, just feels right for who and what you are.

Better to live in those magic small moments when nothing important happens, than to live for any imagined, great future.  Living for the future is a terrible waste of the present.  Tonight I am just incredibly pleased, and that is enough.  Carpe Diem my friends.  Go MAKE a great day!

Ending on a high note

First, I must mention that my slave asked me to not mention a certain something from this weekend, and she reads my blog, so naturally I am starting off by hinting that I might mention it, just to torture her.  Its the WEM in me.

This weekend is an odd one.  In most respects its normal, but a member of the community who has been battling cancer is not expected to make it much longer. Maybe a day or two more.  The reality of that life, and the ones around it are so different from that of my slave and I.  We share our worlds, but we do not live in other peoples worlds.  

To cap off this weekend, I took Izrina out on the motorcycle, which is on road-off road. We stopped at a subway, picked up a sandwich and drinks, and headed back onto a trail.  I had never gone this way before, so out of caution, when we came to gullies and such, I had her get off before I gunned the bike through or over an obstacle.  On the way back, knowing already what I was facing, there was much less of that.  Our objective was to reach a park tower, set on the edge of a vast swamp, a sea of greenery growing up around channels of fresh water running through, and every kind of wild life you might expect in such a rural setting.

As strange as this may sound, I am happy for Lenny, the Master battling cancer, because I know that as much as he is loved here, the love that awaits him is so much greater.  I am equally sorry for his slave, who he will leave behind.  Even if she believes that he is in a better place, there will be a void where his voice used to be, and his touch, and his command.  It is OK, to be sorry for ourselves when someone passes to the next life.  We who are left behind must learn to live without the comfort of those simple things we have come to cherish.

The trails were marked blue and green and by sticking to the blue, we were able to find the tower.  Its old, and rotted in some places, while in other places, new wood reinforcement is quite obvious.  It sits at the top of large bank, rising from a sandy opening in the channels, and breaks out of the trees that ring the miles and miles of habitat.  We climbed to the top, and there among the upper branches of nearby trees, the view is quite beautiful.  To my surprise, we were not alone.

A number of leather family members have posted their love in an outpouring on Fetlife.  I feel like I should be doing something.  I don’t want to sit by a man’s bed, waiting for his death, but neither do I want to do nothing.  I joined others in commenting on Fetlife, but it seems so hollow.  I am sure he has things he still wants to do here, in this life, with his slave.  Its hard sometimes to understand why we can’t have more time in this life.

A mother and her daughter had kayaked in to the beach from the channels, something I too enjoy.  They were standing on the sand just below, and were fishing in this secluded spot.  Izrina perched up on a railing and began to unpack her sandwich to eat.  I asked her to move from the center of the board, since I didn’t trust it. I was worried for my property’s safety.  The sandwich was gone is short order and a pair of cookies was next.  I offered mine to the mother and daughter but they assured me they had snacks.

I gave Lenny’s slave my cell phone number and urged her to call me, or write me if there was anything she needed to say.   I know that she will shortly have a burden that can be lightened only by working through it.  Sometimes just having someone to listen, or hold you and say nothing, is all you need.

We finished our trip into the woods, and drove home, my slave hugging me fiercely, as if she hoped the ride might never end.  Somewhere tonight there is another slave with the same need. 

 

 

Sweet Evenings

When you dedicate your life to happiness.. you can annoy the hell out of everyone around you!  Woo Hoo!

This is really a continuation of my last blog: sweet mornings. If you haven’t read it, you may want to go to page one first.  THIS blog is mostly about two things:  meals and dishes.  And happiness of course.  Its always about finding our happy place.  I don’t have to find her happy spot, I think I know where that is (wink wink).


So I finished work and today it was my turn to be in a foul mood when I came in the door.  Diner was in progress, dvd was queued up, and drink ready.  I drew a bath to unwind, drink was served ( in perfect protocol fashion I might add ), and between trips to the kitchen, my slave listened dutifully as I explained my frustrations.  I ended  my narration with, and now I need to do what I teach, practice what I preach, and let it go.

Since my frustrations were all based on assumptions with the way plans would go, it was easy to just concentrate on what was in front of me, here and now, and enjoy how perfect this moment was, if I just let go of the future and plans.  Sometimes finding your happy place takes effort.  Not so tonight.  Even I was amazed at how easily I went from frustration, to happiness, just by shifting my focus to the evening and how wonderful my slave was striving to make it.  And that brings us to meals and dishes.


Dishes first.  This morning as mentioned, there was a small infraction made with regard to my standing commands regarding dishes.  This is where I get to say for the first time in this blog what a good girl she was tonight.  As I sat to enjoy the movie we would share tonight, she asked if she might get up to clear away the dishes used so far in the preparation of tonight’s meal.  I was pleased.  So much so, I had to take a peak.  The sink had maybe a dish or two, which when you hear about the meal is no small feat.  I was very pleased indeed.  Such a good girl.  I decided since she was trying so hard to make amends, it would not be necessary to continue this mornings discussions with a punishment. Score one for a great evening for both of us.


Meal next.  Tonight she served “bacon wrapped chicken cordon bleu” with “scalloped potatoes”, and for desert: “key lime pie”, all made from scratch.  As delicious as this meal was, the pleasures of this fine meal don’t begin to cover all the service behind it.  First, where a meal is concerned, I don’t like to pick my next meal.  I like to be surprised, but in a way that will please me.  You see the problem?  Any slave worth their salt will be horrified by the command to “please me but I wont tell you how”.   The desire to please, combined with the fear of failure, and the complete lack of direction is just about a slave’s worst nightmare.  I know this.  Chalk it up to just another of my traits as a WEM (wicked evil man).

Now my property is clever.  Maybe too damn clever for her own good.  Oh yes, it does get her into trouble at times, but we are working on that.  Just the same, it makes her especially valuable property and she rose to this particular challenge.  She has poured over cookbooks, notebook in hand, and had me categorize every imaginable meal into categories of frequency.  As I sat otherwise distracted she would nudge me.. “potatoes au gratin”, she asks, is this something you would eat anytime, once in a while, hardly ever, never?  I consider my answers carefully, knowing it will be a lifetime decision.  “Potatoes”, I believe I might have said, “is something I like in nearly any form.. mashed, baked, fries, sometimes as a soup”.  She cocks an eyebrow.  “So that is anytime?” she asks.  And so it goes in the notes.

So you see, this clever girl has done the impossible.  She keeps me surprised with exceptional anticipatory service that never fails to please me.  And she had the dishes cleared before desert..lets not forget that.  And that brings us to the meal.  The chicken, cheese, and bacon was perfect. Crispy, gooey, juicy, such succulent morsels that combined into one heavenly combination.  The potatoes were warm, not hot, a slight miscalculation in timing but this combo was her first try and they were delicious.  The pie is something I had not tried before.  Key lime pie sounded good but I think it got a question mark in her little book of Master’s pleasures.  It was simply delicious.   And she made enough for left overs of everything.  I am soooooooo getting into that meal a second time!

It has been said that the way into a man’s heart is through his stomach.  I understand.  Food is certainly a sensory garden worthy of indulgence in quality, not quantity.  Again, its about the small things, the taste and the textures that one can indulge in.   Its about culture and refinement over barbarian excess.  Not that I don’t enjoy camping, hiking, or kayaking.  I’m as happy on a my motorcycle, as I am at an elegant social or and executive conference.  Its not the sophistication of simple things, its the simple things themselves.

So, with the meal finished, we settled in to watch the rest of tonight’s installment of a series we are going through.  I had none of that terrible bloated feeling that you get when you ate too much.  Rather, the portions were just the right amount.  My taste buds are still singing the praise of this gustatory indulgence.   All of which brings me to my second opportunity to say what a good girl she is, but then, we know that don’t we?

Now comes the best part of the evening.  The work done, the dishes cleared, and my property under my arm, both of us are happy and content. I simply love when she is curled up at my feet, or under my arm, purring in response to Master’s touch.   And  what of tomorrow’s worries?  The ones I walked in with?  Not a problem  We are brilliant.  We’ll figure it out.  Carpe Diem!

 

Sweet mornings

One thing I can not abide is dishes left in a sink.  Any time my slave does this, she can fully expect me to say something about it.  Now I will never say, “That makes me mad”.  I don’t believe in letting anything “make you” anything.  I will decide what “makes me”.  What I will say is: “That does not please me.  Now I’ll have to work at finding my happy place”.  I might also ask a question:  “Shouldn’t you be trying to make it easier for me to be a happy person?”

Language is a funny thing.  Where our words go so do our thoughts and visa-versa.  When we invest emotion into our thoughts it shifts our focus and much of our reality, so I work hard at words.

So I chastised her this morning.  She gave the worst possible answer: “I didn’t think you’d check.”  I’m chuckling now.  Wrong answer!  So I said in my most evil Master voice, “Expect the unexpected” and pounced on to her, and attacked her neck.  Which of course lead to squeals and giggles.  And so I left her this morning with a smile on her face.

As I drove into work, the thought of her smiling in bed, warmed me.  Don’t get me wrong.  This misbehavior thing is not done yet, but it is for now and the thought of her happy and relaxed on her day off pleases me.  The WEM will rise again!

 

 

Respect

I wrote to a slave yesterday and as is my way, I asked if I needed to obtain permission from her Master to speak with her, or if she did.  She replied:  “Sir – to talk … requires only respect on my part.”   I have strong convictions about the subject, so let’s talk about that tonight… even though there is a storm brewing that I want to dig into.  I want to collect more information about the recent decision in the US that we have no constitution right to engage in consensual BDSM sex, before commenting.  So on to the topic of respect.

I like to imagine that if royalty, say a Queen, were speaking with a dirty, half clothed, person with low intelligence and poor hygiene, she would be gracious and respectful.  Not because they are on equal stations – they are not.  Not because the person deserved respect, the Queen could hardly know this.  The Queen would should show respect because this is what civilized people do.  Showing respect is not a measure of the person it is shown to, it is a measure of yourself, of the culture and refinement that YOU possess.

I have often heard of Dominants demanding respect from slaves after identifying themselves as a Dominant.  I don’t have a problem with that.  I don’t have a problem with a slave demanding respect either.  We all walk in as equals.  To place ourselves above or below another is something we consent to.  But respect has nothing to do with power or consent.

I need to go back to the Dominants who make demands.  If a Dominant demands submission, or trust, or recognition of authority, that is an entirely different matter.   I think sometimes people say: This person demanded that I respect them, when what they meant was, this person demanded that I recognize their title and authority.  Those are two entirely different matters.  If  you have read or heard me much, you can anticipate the quote that is coming next:

The only titles of value are those acquired thru recognition by others. One claims that title by exercising that recognition, not asserting it. ~Xtac Quote

I do not believe in asserting that you are a Master.  If you own property, you are THEIR Master. If people choose to call you a Master, then you have achieved a new level of respect.  Which means that there is respect that we give because of who we are, and respect we give because someone has demonstrated to us their worthiness to be respected.  It think the distinction is important.  When we respect another, it is good to consciously consider which one we are giving.

There was a person who came into the local community some time ago, and though they were new, they declared themselves to be a Master in the dungeon I frequented at the time.   There was a stairwell, not far from the play space, and asked him aside for a private conversation. I explained what I thought… direct as always..

I suggested that perhaps later might be a better time to project himself as a Master.  But this person was insistent that they were worthy, and would prove themselves.

The person of whom I speak, ran afoul of the local community later, not for the Master thing but consent violation charges.  This kind of thing tends to pull a community apart.   I relate this because I believe that to be worthy of a title like Master, you must also have a certain degree of humility, a willingness to earn recognition.  I will always assert this concept.

Respect should be something we give, until it is lost.   But we can also have new found respect, a deeper and more genuine respect that is earned.  Don’t say respect, when you mean authority, it confuses things.  Authority is consented to.  Anyone attempting to assert authority based on their perceived title should lose your respect.

Honesty is the building blocks of a BDSM relation.  Since it is what people do that reveals their honesty, it takes time to build trust.  Trust is earned through the demonstration of honesty.   These are the basic values we should understand and apply.  On a side note, because I know these things, it is why I promote the concept of three collars, and a collaring ceremony.  This process allows time for trust to be built, and stages at which a person can choose to move to a deeper commitment, or back out.

Respect is not always desirable.  For a person who seeks humiliation and objectification, respect would be poisonous.   For such a person, once you learn of their need and have acquired consent, you would want to drop any hint of respect.

What role does respect play in BDSM?  Since respect given is a reflection of the grace, culture, and sophistication of the person who gives it, I would say that when you observe it in a prospective partner, mentor, or friend, it is a good sign.  A sign that says, investigate this person more thoroughly.

Old men in parking lots

It was a cool night long ago in the parking lot of a diner not far from a dungeon that no longer exists. Why were we there and why isn’t the dungeon there now? Well both are stories worth telling. Maybe in another blog I talk more about all the clubs and places to place that have been unfairly squeezed out of existence, but not tonight.

Suffice to say that this wonderful play space we were at that night was unable to stay open. Sometime we fight against those who misunderstand us and sometimes not but we are rarely left unmolested or allowed to stay in a public way. That is an unhappy subject and it makes me feel a certain degree of anger that we are so often misunderstood, so often driven from the communities we live in. So that unhappy topic we’ll leave for another time.

The misunderstood part has a part to play in the other story, why we were there. Many evenings after playing, our slaves resplendent with lovely new marks to wear proudly.. we would get together at this diner for a late night snack. It was a chance to replenish our fluids, and have some sustenance.

That sustenance was food, but also it was the company of people that share a like mind, an appreciation of each other.  This is something of great worth. So we gathered for just a little more time together. I love the times after play when tender places give sudden reminders of the evening.  Sometimes what comes after the after care is fun too.  On that note, let me add that my slave spends a lot of time on horseback, and many a next day the saddle has triggered that strange combination of love and curse words. So this evening we gathered to be a bit longer with our slaves and friends.  We gathered to be a bit longer where we are not misunderstood.

On the evening of this story, as we prepared to leave, we gathered in the parking lot to say our final goodbyes. There was an elderly gentlemen with us, who had followed from the dungeon. I didn’t know him. I can’t remember now his face, or how grey his hair was, but I remember vividly what he wanted to say, what he needed to say to us that night. I want to say that he was in his sixties. There was a happy sadness in his voice.  When he spoke there was that cracking of the voice that comes when a person is overcome with emotion.

He told us how happy he was to meet us. And then he told us something of the evening and of his life. He had never been to a dungeon before. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it has surpassed his wildest expectations.  He had spent time on the floor of the dungeon, and at the couches where people sat and chatted during aftercare, watching the scenes unfold like some incredible show.   He had felt at ease in a way he never expected.  He had felt at home.   He had eagerly accepted the offer to come to the diner with us.

Then as he had sat there at the diner, with the Masters speaking of their property as Dominants do, and the slaves all being themselves, and as the conversation turned from this subject or that, the experience had washed over him.  He felt a release, as if a great weight had been lifted.

He said that he had spent his life thinking these strange, terrible thoughts. He had tried to dismiss them. He had told himself that there was something wrong with these thoughts, that somehow his character must be deeply flawed. He had struggled his whole life, through his lost youth, his middle years, and now finally after all this time he had found himself.

He was in the company of people who didn’t understand why he would struggle against his desires. Here were people that didn’t sit silently disapproving, No!, we encouraged such desires and embraced them openly as a natural extension of who we are. Here at last he was among his own kind.  The silent incredible power of being in the company of such people filled him with so much joy that he could barely contain himself. Nor is this man a lone example.

I have seen this story repeat itself. Wonderful loving people who can’t explain why they need to dominate or be dominated. Why their sadistic side needs to be fed or they crave such a person. These are the silent observers who wait for the chance to be set free, to embrace the desires, to openly self-identify as the person they are keeping under lock and key deep down inside. This is why we were in that parking lot. We were there to connect, to breath, to be.

I will always remember that man, the sadness I felt when I thought of all the years that he lost looking for his own kind.  I truly believe that the Ds lifestyle, if executed honorably, is a home for the heart like no other. If founded with honesty, and built with trust, and entered into with a sincere desire to serve each other, each according to their sacred role, no nilla relationship can compare.  So howl my friends, find yourself and your kind.  The rewards are greater than you can possibly imagine.

She who cannot howl will not find her pack. – unknown

My smoking jacket & pipe

I am the Master of my property.  This is a TPE or CNC relationship.  A long time ago, I started to be amused when my slave’s behavior needed correction but that’s a blog for another time.  On this particular day, while she was working she checked in as ordered.  I announced I was thinking of going to a movie this evening.

There is a line of thinking that a slave is not a slave unless they do the things they are told but don’t like, as well as the things they do like, AND that you should test this once in a while. She was thinking that the movie might also include dinner too that evening, but I had decided that the movie would no longer please me.

Now in a vanilla relation, you would talk first, see how the other feels about this offer being taken back off the table.  That’s not how we work.  Our priorities go like this:

  1. Slave’s needs
  2. Master’s needs
  3. Master’s wants
  4. Slave’s wants

It’s not that I don’t consider her wants, I just won’t do it if it conflicts with what I want. By days end, I just wasn’t feeling like going out anymore.  Events had made me more inclined for some Chinese food and a cultured evening in with my smoking jacket and my pipe.. yes I’m kidding but more on that later in this blog.

So after she had a shower and had dressed in something appealing to me, I announced that I had changed my mind and it would please me if she ordered Chinese, spicy for me, and ran out to get it. That matter was taken care of and she came back presently with the little containers of take out which she dutifully transferred to real china and served in the appropriate manner based on her protocols.. meaning she held the food for me in structured way, while waiting patiently for me to take it from her.

Since my change in plans had gone so smoothly, with absolutely no sign of regret or resistance I felt compelled to test her further that evening.  As she stood there holding the food I took my time to acknowledge her presence and when I did, rather than take the food, I looked straight into her eyes.    They were sparkling and a broad grin broke out on her face.  The bitch not only saw I was provoking her, she was looking forward to what sadistic test I might torment her with next.  This canvas on which I do my great creation of slave thought process has come so very far!

I took the food and motioned for her to join me.  We then went through our little “dining protocol” .  This is a matter in which she receives permission to start eating in such a way that is so subtle that I can and often do torture her with it in public.  Partly for the psychological sadism of denying her permission to start, and partly for the amusement that we are doing this BDSM thing in plain sight of folks who have no clue as to the drama going one before them.

Afterward, satisfied and pleased beyond words with my canvas, my property,  I settled in for a cultured evening with my smoking jacket and pipe.  Or at least my version of it.  She lay down with her head in my lap to read yet another chapter of the book we are sharing, while I got out the Xbox controller and listened with deep interest as I occupied a small part of my attention on some mindless fun.  It is strange how these little moments, like that brief sparkle in her eye, or the simple joy of a book shared, bring such deep joy.  Time for a quote:

It is strange to a Nilla, that in bondage, a slave finds freedom. But in keeping boundaries, these same people create a prison from which their hearts are never truly free. This is a sadness that pains and frustrates me. I wish they could see, what I see. ~Xtac quote