MY Master

One thing you will never hear Izrina say is:  My Master is awesome!  He’s just the best Master ever!  She is never going to ever say that.

It’s not that I am not amazing and awesome.. I am.  It’s just that she doesn’t use the word “my” very often.  She might say,  The Master I serve is awesome!  He’s the best Master ever!

It may sound weird, this addiction I have for words.  Understand that this is a thing that runs deeper than just playing with how we say a thing.  It cuts to the core of something she can never think.  She can not think that I am her’s.  She can not think that she has some leverage over me.  She can have no expectation of control over my wants or desires. I am not hers on any level.  Even my Domination is not hers.. it is MY gift, to her.

She is MY property.  She is there to serve and please me. If I stay late at a Dungeon as I often do, and she needs sleep because she must rise early to be at the barn, I might send her to the car to nap.  I get chatting, and I love being in the center stage, so it can become hard to leave.  I see her need for sleep though, and her need comes before what I want.  IF I can manage both her need and my wants, I will.  If you have not heard this before, these are the priorities of Ds in order

  1. The needs of the slave
  2. The needs of the Master
  3. The wants of the Master
  4. The wants of the slave

And what happens when a slave doesn’t like another slave and thinks that slave is cutting in on her territory?   Let’s examine that question, shall we?   Starting with “her territory”.  I don’t have to go any further do I?   You can see already where I would go with this.  IF there is no.. “MY Master”, then there is no “my territory”.  Izrina has jokingly said she’ll scratch the eyes out of any bitch who tries to cut in on the Master she serves, but she knows better than to say that in a serious tone.  It amuses me.. as a joke..

I have a “thing” for playing with Raven Pup.  It happened at the North East Power Exchange Competitions.   Raven and I had a wonderful scene and the scene that Izrina was promised didn’t happen.  There was drama afterward.  It wasn’t jealousy per se.   I won’t go into it but I am sure you can imagine where I stood on this.

Izrina gets it. She knows its my pleasure first.   She knows that I am “the Master she serves”..   She would never dream of saying “My Master”…. hmmmm unless her SAM side broke out and she was looking for a beating (SAM = Smart Ass Masochist).   Izrina is sisters with Raven.  We talk from time to time about how she feels about Raven in my life.   On the surface there appears to be no issues, but there is something else we must always be aware of.

A sidebar story about Izrina being a SAM:  On one evening Izrina was giving me a little lip as she sometimes does when her SAM side breaks out.  So I was all Dominant and having heard just about enough lip from her, I demanded in my most Dommly Dom voice..”Get your ass in the car now!”  So she did… she turned around bent over and just stuck her ass in the car door.  HA ha!  I am fairly sure that every time she bounced in the saddle of her horse for the next week, she went.. chuckle..ow…chuckle.. ow!  Bruises are a lovely way to remember the one you love!

When you DO find someone special and your life is freaking wonderful when you are with them, you can develop a fear of losing them.  We know that living a life in the shadow of fear is self destructive but we often do it anyway.  Fear has a way of creeping in, of convincing us that we are fools if we do not nurse fear.  Fear is the dark whisper that calls you to the shadows and you know you should not go, but you sometimes do anyway.

The idea of love being limited and a commodity to be fiercely guarded is a concept that I don’t understand. ~ Slave_Shylah

When we live without fear, when we allow ourselves to love someone more than we need them, when we act as conduits for the endless love that can pour through us…  then and only then can we an live up to this quote.  It is easier to say than to do but it is also worth fighting to achieve.  It starts with knowing that the person you are with truly loves you, that they will place no other above you, and that they are worthy of the trust you place in them.

Carpe Diem my friends.. Go be someone’s great day!

Metaphorically speaking… and fire play

I read this on a T-shirt recently…

Your use of literally makes me figuratively insane

Ha!  Funny!  Speaking of funny, you know in the beginning, way back on blog one, I said:

My thought is to make a public diary, a stream of observations as they come to me, and not put any ego into its success.. ( ha! – speaking of ideas doomed to failure).

Metaphorically speaking, I think I may have turned a lovely afternoon stroll into structured, classroom field trip. You, my dear readers, who came along to share this journey with me, I wonder, are we still just walking and stopping to notice the birds and trees?   Or have I turned this into yet another lecture as I so often do?

Now class, this beautiful specimen is is a woody perennial flowering plant of the genus Rosa, in the family Rosaceae, more commonly known as a rose.. come sample its fragrance..

Yeah, I do that – but today I will not. Let’s get back, metaphorically speaking to our stroll in the woods.  We now return you to our regular blog, already in progress…


My original goal was to be more of a diary, than a diatribe.  Today, let’s return to the diary part of this shall we?   I was asked yesterday for my thoughts on a training collar, and I am going to post on that, but not today. For my blog today, let’s go back to the diary format.. where we can wander for a while, viewing what its like, living with X.


AN EVENING OF FUN!!!

We talked about going to Feel Me Breath yesterday.   Now, since my daughter went to College,  splurging on a bag of chips and some dip is a celebration.  Things are freakin tight, financially speaking.  So I didn’t really didn’t want to spend the money, especially after we had just blown big bucks on the North East Power exchange.  It has however, been quite a while since we left home with its paper walls and sounds of neighbors living their normal lives.  It would be nice, I thought, to get into a really nice scene.  Oh, I give the occasional smack on the butt, or swat with a belt, but a really nice drawn out scene with all the sounds of leather and moans is something I would rather do in a Dungeon.

So, since we would be up late, I chose to snuggle and nap a couple hours, and then it was up for a quick dinner.  Its important to have a little energy and digestion in place before we deplete the body of all its loverly chemicals.

Izrina wanted to go full on, floggers, single tail, and then fire on top of it.  It  been a while since I got really sadistic, and I was worried that when I put the alcohol over fresh single tail marks, and then set her on fire, well, I had no doubt she’d go under but was she ready for that much sadism?   She assured me that she was..

So we negotiated with FMB for a space in the dungeon where I could set up a fire station right next to the back side of a double Saint Andrews cross, and a table for my fire source and fuel.  In effect, my own little section, ready for this intense scene we had planned.  I planned to take my time.. we had all night.  I figured two hours of play, two hours of aftercare..  I could feed her sugar laden cookies afterward to rebuild her strength.

A WONDERFUL SCENE

My slave stripped, revealing plenty o flesh for me to work my sadist pleasures upon. I drew leather cuffs snug over her wrists.. just tight enough that should she collapse, she would not drop to the floor, but loose enough to allow circulation.

I led her by a handful of hair to the cross, and pushed her roughly, face first into it.  Scratches down her back, light slaps to her ass. Reaching around from behind, breath on her neck, pinches to her nipples.

I presented my flogger, the instrument of her pain and pleasure.  She kissed it, blessing it for her submission, and so it began.  A soft low growl of a whisper in her ear, Master assuring her that she belonged to me, and I would have my way with my property.  That she would give herself to me completely, submitting her pain as a sacrifice, a testament of her loyalty and devotion to my will.  Yes Master! she replied and the first fall of the flogger kissed her bare back in return.

One strike followed another, my focus a laser on that which extended from my hand.  Right hand, swinging from the left, target is the left shoulder blade, a natural back hand swing, contact area tight, no straying towards the arm or spine, contact good.. my swing proceeds in the natural figure eight of a traditional flogger swing.. down and around and back up for a down stroke on the right shoulder blade.

Now my focus is stronger, a momentary glance at the muscles in her neck.. is she tense?  Harder or stronger this time?  Right hand, swing from the right, less time to correct my strike area, VERY focused.  It is more difficult to control the strike area than with a back-hand from the other side… flogger completes the figure eight circle, its many leather tails whistling through the air now in a downward stroke towards her right shoulder using my right hand..and makes good contact.. good speed, tight impact box, no stray towards the spine or arm…

Now is when the crowd melts away.  It is just me, the flogger, and she who is my canvas.  And I paint her.  I paint in in soft pinks, her back and ass showing the first color of this scene.  I paused.. a moment to touch her back, to connect..to FEEL her.  I need to sense what she is feeling.. and to draw my nails down her warm and now very sensitive back.  THUNK, my heavy flogger with the fat, soft tails has had his way with her and now it is Sting’s turn.

Again the focus, the desire to create just the sensations I plan, with precise hits of a speed and force that I think she is ready for.  It’s the endorphin ladder, the stairway to heaven, the method that triggers the body’s chemicals until your charge isn’t just in subspace, they a gone.. completely and totally gone.. they are flying.

Now it was the quirt.  A quirt is two leather straps at the end of a whip like handle that curve in the throw, and uncoiling about the same, but the sound is not like the crack of a single tail.  Its leather on leather on flesh.  The first strap strikes flesh and stops, then the second strap slaps into the first with a wonderful snapping noise – the sound of two pieces of leather coming together quite suddenly.  The sound is as terrifying as is the potential for long lasting bruises, but I go slow, light, enjoying the sound more than the potential, because I know we still have the single tail to bring forth.

I was anxious to get to the single tail.  They are something to not be trifled with.  All of the focus you bring to a flogger is nothing compared to the single tail.  With a tail, you are not just focused on the two dimensions, the strike zone, but also on the third dimension, the depth of your strike.   Strike too close and you can strike higher than expected.  Strike from too far away and it can crack without touching, that loud scary crack it makes when the popper breaks the sound barrier. Get a single tail wrong and you can open a wound that requires stitches to close.  Knowing this, I picked up the tail and drew my nails down her back which was now quite red.

Her back was a mottle of pink and bright red.  Her irritated skin had small spots of red, where pores protested the abuse.  I started the single tail in a light horizontal stroke. The popper grazing lightly across her back, from left to right and then right to left.  Now when I say lightly, there is nothing light about a single tail.  Each light graze leaves lines in the skin, a temporary indication of where it has been.

Now I tested a light vertical strike to the shoulder blade, Izrina shuttered, I continued.  Horizontal again, another vertical strike.  The vertical strikes are vicious.. the tail like a snake uncoils all of its fury  into that sound that breaks the sound barrier. The terrifying crack of that flimsy popper moving at tremendous speed is a real world demonstration of science.

The Kinetic energy that I deliver to my slave is the mass of the popper times the velocity squared.  Since the speed is higher than the sound barrier, and the factor of speed is squared, the damage potential is enormous.  Izrina shuttered, her eyes watering, I took mercy and shifted back to the flogger, reminding myself she asked for this.

To fly, a top must not back off.. but a top must also know when a slave has had enough.  I alternated between the single tail and the flogger, pushing her, looking for the signs that she was gone.. and then I called it.. the end of the impact portion of our scene..

I decided that what we could not achieve on the Saint Andrews, we would on the fire station.  We would talk later and she would tell me that she was almost there when I took her down.. Hind sight..So we could have achieved flying on the cross.. damn!

It is OK though.. I knew I would get her there.. She was like a rag doll.. with the help of another Dom, we moved her to the fire station I had set up next to the Saint Andrews.  She lay a bit on her side, not fully flat.  When the fire hit her it was like a switch.  She went from slightly curled up to a puddle of happy.  She fairly flowed out flat, arms drooping over the sides of the table. The leather of the table had been covered in cotton and padding to protect it from fire drips.   I now covered Izrina in alcohol and fire.

Fire play can be like a warm massage or and evil fucking torture.  It depends on what you want to do with it.  Tonight, since I needed to push her over the edge, and she had not gone yet, I started with it like a gentle massage of heat. Once a person is flying, I swear you could take a chainsaw to them and they wouldn’t care.

I slapped the burning wand soaked in fuel onto my hand.. setting my own hand of fire, then wiped that fire across her back, the secondary warmth rubbing into to tender flesh and muscles..

I took an unlit wand, soaked in fuel and laid a trail of alcohol across her back.  Alcohol in air evaporates nearly instantly.  Evaporation is a cooling process. I blew on the raw fuel, speeding the process, creating zones of intense cold.  Cautious as always to be sure no fuel remained, I returned with the fire.. heat on cold.. and she was totally and completely gone.. NOW I could do anything.  She was beyond nearly any pain I could bring. and my sadist side relaxed and played with the flesh before me.

I drew an “X” on her back in raw fuel and set it on fire.  The “X” emblazoned ever so briefly on her back in orange and blue flames.  My logo danced briefly before I wiped across it with my free hand, starving the fire of air and putting it out.  Nothing.. not a single muscle tightened, no shutter.. she was gone.

I played perhaps another half hour, drawing in her skin, warming and chilling it until I drew bored.. It’s nice when someone flys. but when they are gone.. they might as well be a rock for all the reaction you get.  I put out the candle.. my fire source.. and tightly closed the fuel jar.. my fuel source.. so there could be no accidents while I was away from my play station. The aspiring Dominant I spoke with last night at the munch was there, and I called him over for help moving her to a couch.

If she was difficult to move from the Saint Andrews, she was twice as difficult moving from the fire station.  She swam up from her fog, just enough to keep her legs under her.  I, with my arms under her left and he holding her up on the right, we half walked, half carried her to the couch where she collapsed.  I drew a soft warm blanket around her, grabbed water and snacks for the long wait of aftercare, and then drew her head into my lap.

Izrina is slow to come up out of it.  She likes to stay where she goes for long periods of time.  I have had people walk up to me 30 minutes later and ask if she is ok.  I like to joke that people sometimes poke her with a stick to see if she is still alive.  I chatted while she flew.

Now if you are wondering how the hell you can put someone on fire and not have serious burns, let me share the science while we wait for Izrina to return to us.

The alcohol is mixed with water.  It is not the liquid alcohol that burns but the fumes.  At the end of a long evening of fire play, my wands are soaked with the water that is left behind and can actually become difficult to light as a result of that.  Back when I was the carnival ride, I often had to wring out the wands, to get the water out, before continuing.

Now when I run a wand over a back, I can press down leaving some fuel behind and that fuel leaves a burning trail on the flesh.  But an odd thing happens if there is hair.. the hair only burns down to stubble.  You would expect the skin to be smooth after burning off hair but it is not and the reason is also the reason why we can do this at all.

You seen the alcohol forms a thin film on the skin but the alcohol itself is not burning, the vapors above it are.  So, if we drew a diagram, you would have layers.. the skin, then the thin film of fuel, then the vapors, and then the fire.  Between the fire and the skin is a thin film of liquid.. and it is this thin film that lets us briefly touch fire without being burned.  If you want all the gory details, go here to my fire play 101.  Fire play is also known as “fire fleshing”, because there are many kinds of ways to play with fire, besides putting it on flesh.

Izrina in due course returned to us in the land of the living and we talked about the scene.  I mentioned that I regretted not giving her a mark with the quirt.  So before we left, I gave her three. Two on purpose and one by mistake..

I marched her to the center of the dungeon and had her bend over, drop her skirt, and move her panties out of the way.  NOW I was ready to use the quirt in all that potential glory I mentioned earlier.

First her left butt check.  The aim was true and the speed and force all the I could manage and the mark was perfectly placed.. a one inch high strap mark around five inches long perfectly aligned across her ass on the left.    That swing is easy because its back hand.

Now the right butt cheek.. I was feeling cocky and sure of myself and just swung for it.  Fuck!  I was low .  I left a mark across the back of her thigh well below my target.. Damn… that’s going to be rough when she is back to work and riding horses.. Well nothing for it but another try.  I took two practice swings.. getting my stroke, speed and arch perfectly aligned and then let the real one go with all the speed and focus I could.  Perfect!  She had another perfect mark on the other cheek.  The two were so well aligned it almost looked like I had struck them both in one blow… very nice.. I admired my work, before letting her dress again.

For at least the better part of the next week, every time she sits she will have a reminder of this week end.  She’ll send me a text with just this.. WEM!.. which stands for “wicked evil man” and I’ll smile.  I’ll smile because I know she just sat wrong and got that sudden rush of reminder..  yeah.. its what we do.. and it pleases us both.  As she was crawling into bed, her ass was presented to me, and I had to stop her so that I could admire my work one more time.  I hope they color up nicely. That would please me immensely.

I’ve said it before and its true.. my main kink is power exchange. This sadism stuff is almost like the movie Secretary.. I am serving her needs more than mine.. Oh!, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it.. but being addressed as “Sir”, or “Master” is what really gets me hard.   Carpe Diem my friends.. Go be someone’s great day.

Knives on New Years Eve

The room was dimly lit. The sound and heat of a crackling fire warmed her.  She could hear, but not see, blindfolded and chained to a Saint Andrews Cross as she was, in the center of the room.  The sound of him drawing his knife from its sheath reached her ears, and then came the touch.  Cold steel on bare flesh and she shuttered.  Fear, tempered by trust gripped her as he drew it to her throat.


 

For New Years Eve, we enjoyed the company of friends and fine food at a house party. Its a lovely way to bring in the New Year.  Surrounded by good people, your own kind, where people gather in the kitchen and the conversation can range over a broad spectrum of subjects.  This year we avoided politics.  Frequent jokes and laughter.  I am grinning now, at one point someone told a joke that took a bit too long to tell, and there was polite laughter.  Then in the silence that followed someone said: The juice wasn’t worth the squeeze.. a slave taking a sip at that moment gagged and spit her drink, then still coughing, excused herself.. We checked on her, concerned she could breath, chuckling but concerned.  Sometimes a thing is funny in the moment and later you can’t explain exactly why.  The juice wasn’t worth the squeeze.. I like that one.  It was a warm evening.

A few hours before midnight, the play started.  I had brought a dress shirt to cut off Izrina.  I had planned to also do impact and fire, but space was limited so we just did edge play.. or knife play.

Edge Play – When I have played with knives in the past, this was called edge play..playing with the sharp edges of knives.  Somewhere in recent history, edge play also began to be used to describe playing at the edge of a RACK ( Risk Aware Consensual Kink).. playing in a way that pushes consent and risk.  Knife play can do that..  but you have to know how people are using the term.. edge play.. are they using it to describe knife play.. of in the other way?

Izrina, when she goes into subspace, goes in hard.  I often joke that people will “poke her with a stick” to see if she is still alive.  I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to get her up for the champagne toast at midnight.  I could tell you in story form, all of the delicious things that I did to her, to drive her down so deep.  That would be quite titillating.. kind of like the way I started this blog.  Instead today I want to be more clinical.  I would like to share with you some techniques that you may want to borrow during your next play session.


KNIVES – A PRIMER

Playing with knives is not for everyone because when you play with knives, you are playing with the critical foundation of all M/s relations – trust!   For it to be effective, there must be real fear.  A masochist knows you will hurt them, but you won’t harm them.  Therein lies the keys to playing the mind of your bottom with a knife.  The fear isn’t cutting into trust. In fact, playing with knives deepens your trust. No, the fear you instill is about how much pain will be created without harm.. and if a mistake will cause harm.  and if you the Master, can correctly judge pain thresholds.  So, how do we do this thing with knives?   First, let’s start with the knowledge necessary for playing with knives:

Two things that cut – Knives cut because of two things… speed and pressure.  Knives cut when you are moving the knife quickly or with pressure or both.  The sharper the knife, the less speed and pressure are required to cut.  When we know this, we are armed with the knowledge necessary to play with them.

Speed is easy to control.  The faster you move the knife the less predictable will be the effect of the blade.  Pressure can be controlled easily when a slave is horizontal on a table.  Less easily when they are upright on a cross.  This is because gravity is the easiest way to control knife pressure.  If you hold your knife at the balance point, no pressure is applied to the skin.  If you hold it just back of the balance point, the  weight tilts the knife down, creating pressure to cut.  If you allow the balance point and the weight of the knife to create the cutting pressure, you have a very fine level of control.  This works best when your subject is horizontal, like the blade.

Techniques for creating fear with knives – Fear is mostly about the unknown.  So a blindfold can be very helpful in creating fear of the unknown.  Blindfolds reduce the experience to sound and touch.  Use a sharpening stone with the blindfold so they can hear the steel dragged across stone.  The sick sound of steel scraping against stone is so much worse when its in preparation of a knife to be used on you.  For added fun, make them hold the stone blindfolded and play with the fingers that hold it, while you are sharpening.  Touch is next.  Knives in cold water or ice create almost painful sudden sensations.  If you have a violet wand with a body probe, the right setting of electrical stimulant added to a knife can make it feel like you are cutting, even when you actually are not. All people are different but certain parts of the body create greater fear than others.  Izrina is most sensitive to the blade on her breasts, throat, and wrists.  The tip of the blade creates gasps on nipples, palms, earlobes and finger tips.  You have to find those sweet spots, where either the blade or the tip create gasps.  Talking is a personal thing too.   Silence, punctured by a whisper, or low growl is going to be your personal touch..as well as what to say.  I personally like to say things like:  You are mine, this body is mine, I  will take my pleasures from it … with my knife tonight..


A PRIMER ON CUTTING CLOTHING

In porn when you see someone cutting clothing, they always cut holes for the nipples.. Bah!  amateurs!   Cutting clothing can be a fast thing, tearing to get at what is underneath, or it can be a slow thing that heightens the sense of helplessness combined with the delicious sensations of things against skin.

I wear dress shirts and eventually they get old.  When a shirt’s fabric begins to show it’s weave, or a hole appears, or a stain can’t be removed, its time to save it for an evening of pleasure.  If you are into this kind of thing, always keep an eye out for the next piece of clothing to be sacrificed in this way.

I love a girl in a dress shirt and little else.  There is something very sexy about how short it is, how the tail in the front and back just barely covers the naughty bits.  When I cut a shirt from Izrina, I like to use a gutting knife.   Its a nasty little bit of hardware, with finger holes like brass knuckles and a curved blade that is designed to dig into an animal and split it open for gutting.  A good tug on that curved blade shreds clothing into nice ragged strips. and that is exactly what I want.

The first two shreds I want to make are in the heavy fabric on either side of the buttons, if shredded from just below the breast, down to the bottom, it forms two strips that can be then later crossed under the breasts, and around to her back where they can be tied off.  Subsequent rips from the shoulders down, create more strips  that hang loosely over breasts. A lovely sight. These can be used then to create some stunning breast bondage.  Use your imagination.  A shirt or dress shredded just so, with forethought and planning, changes from tatters to a bondage garb.  Add some nipple clamps and the combination of fear, trust, touch, sound, pain, and pleasure are quite satisfying.


 

A wonderful start to a new year – The edge play, and her reactions, were a lovely end to the year.  She was still a bit groggy as we toasted in the new year in the company of good people.  It was a great start to the year to come.  I hope my primers give you some wicked ideas you want to try soon.  Carpe Diem my friends, go be someone’s great day!