Discipline vs Punishment

November 27th, in brutal cold that froze guns and men alike,  120,000 Chinese troops began an offensive to kill 30,000 men that were part of the United Nations troops in the Chosin reservoir area.  The year was 1950.  The country was Korea.

American solders who had fought in World war II had seen their fair share of brutal conditions.  Now they faced a seemingly hopeless battle as the Chinese sought to encircle and kill them to the last man.

If the Chinese didn’t kill these men than the cold surely would.  The cold turned gun grease to jell, receivers jammed, guns didn’t fire, batteries failed, vehicles stopped working, artillery froze, in short, the men would fight the elements and their equipment as much as they would fight the enemy.  In the battles that followed there were many acts of bravery but somehow against overwhelming odds these men would inflict crippling losses on the Chinese while retreating under heavy fire. A lesson here is that retreat and a temporary loss can be part of a larger strategy that turns the final outcome.

What makes some men run into danger when others would run away?  Why would a man stand up in the middle of a hail of bullets so that mortar rounds can get a proper bead on the enemy?  What makes a man run through a killing field to his wounded comrades and bring them to safety?

Military training certainly is part of this.  It transforms teenagers into soldiers.  Certainly there is the sense in trust between men that fight side by side.  But that training also instills in them something they may not have had before: discipline.

When you think of the word Discipline, don’t think of punishment.  Think of the athlete who does one more lap around the track even though their  body is begging to stop.  Think of smoker who fights every day the urge to smoke and yet does not.  Think of the soldiers who faced fear and death but still moved forward.  Discipline is what makes us get the job done, its what makes us get up the next day, it makes us complete the task we would rather not, and keeps us from procrastinating.

When you think of BDSM and you think of Discipline, don’t think of paddles or spanking.  Think of the boring things that are expected to be completed, the things you might not have done if were not for discipline. Discipline is what keeps excuses at bay, it ensures that every inspection goes smoothly, it means that there will be no lapse in the protocol, rules, or structure of the house.  It means the rule of your law is a constant, never wavering absolute that can be depended upon.

You know what punishment is. Punishment might be used to create discipline, but don’t think of the two as one. True, they are related, but they are very different things.

You may be punished for a lack of discipline. But if you HAVE discipline, you won’t need to be punished. What is confusing is that sometimes punishment for a lack of discipline is referred to as “being disciplined”.  If you are being “disciplined” it doesn’t mean you are punished, it means that this quality that keeps you on track is being instilled in you.  Punishment is just one way of creating disciplined people.

To keep it easy to remember, just remember the discipline of an athlete, or the discipline of a soldier.  The internal fortitude they show is discipline.  You WANT to acquire discipline.  Something to keep in mind is that we who would be Masters must discipline ourselves before we can hope to teach discipline to another. If you would be a good Master, try to eliminate procrastination, and build your self discipline.

Carpe Diem my friends.. Now show some discipline, get going, get out there, and be someone’s great day!

White is the color of darkness

It snowed.. and snowed.. and snowed.. We had white out.  For a while we were getting three inches an hour.  I’m glad for Izrina’s safety, she got to the ranch after picking up some clothes and then slept there last night.  I really hate when this happens.

In the morning, I  got to work myself, but it was at just a little over half my my normal speed..  I am surprised they didn’t close the local interstates..  They were pretty slippery.  I had the whole building to myself… no one else showed up for work…. hmm,  until quite late when some of the evening crew showed up.

I don’t like when she stays at the ranch…I hate it.. but I allow it.  I hate the idea of her driving in terrible weather even more.   This is the second time this year that white powder has darkened my life by stealing my slave…. Freakin snow!

Have I mentioned in an earlier blog, that home is divided into five sections… one for each day of the week.  She is to pickup, clean, and dust each section on its appointed day.. and then I inspect it afterward.  That way it never gets too far behind.  I like schedules and plans.  Today was the kitchen area.  So when she got home.. finally….  I was torn between keeping to the schedule, and making up for the time I lost to the snow.. but I did the right thing..

Have you ever been on an exercise program or diet and one day you break it… just for that one day?.. and then the second day you are like  I’ll restart tomorrow?   Sometimes you put things off so long its hard to start again.  The thing is, you absolutely must stick to these things or procrastination takes over..  So when I said I did the right thing, what I meant was that even though I really really wanted to make up for time the snow stole from me, I shoved that in a box, let her finish her tasks, and then did my inspection.  If I didn’t and the schedule started to lapse, I would have no one but myself to blame.   Freakin snow!

The rest of the evening was lovely.. I am thinking ahead now to Valentines day.. The girl does love her chocolate.. Oh.. and then I shoveled some more before bed… Freakin snow!

Manipulation and inspiration

Leaders inspire people to follow them.  Leaders have followers. That’s it, nothing more.  A leader doesn’t need a title or the gravity of authority to get people to follow them.  They can be high on the chain of command or low.  Often a leader IS someone lower in rank, a person working for someone in charge, but because that person is a leader, people follow, they do, for the leader.  It happens in the military and business, its a thing that at first blush may seem hard to pin down, but its really not as complicated as you might think.

There are only two ways to motivate people.. manipulation and inspiration.  If you want to be a leader, speak last, listen, compliment people, give credit for contribution and great ideas.  Hording all the credit for yourself doesn’t inspire people, but being selfless as you bring together all of the talents in a room. THAT inspires people.  They feel like they contributed to something that had meaning, that they achieved something on a personal level, because of the way the leader made them feel about their contribution.  We all want to feel like we accomplished something.  How many days did you work all day and feel like you accomplished nothing?   That sucks, right?

I am inspired.  Work has been satisfying.. because I lead, and because MY leaders recognized that, they left me with the feeling that my leadership, had value.  Even leaders need to feel inspired.  We all prefer inspiration over manipulation.  Life has been crazy busy but satisfying.. Its not how hard you work, its how satisfied you are afterward.


We are supposed to get between six and ten inches of snow over the next twenty four hours..  Damn… that’s a lot of snow.  I am not looking forward to shoveling that.  Izrina slept at the ranch again because of it.  I hate when that happens.  Time to put on a happy face and make the best of it.  I feel like an actor..  What’s my motivation?


And what does this have to do with BDSM?  Everything.  A slave is like the worker who needs a leader..so the Dominant must inspire.. they must craft their language and project a sense that what the slave does has meaning..  And the slave needs to do that same.. a slave needs to craft their language and project a sense that what the Dominant does has meaning.  Izrina often says.. A pleasure to serve.  I made myself some crackers and cream cheese tonight as Izrina soaked in the tub after a long day at work..  I thought about it for a moment, then brought her a small plate.  Hers had strawberry.. mine had jalapeno.  She smiled..I couldn’t use her line.. it just didn’t fit.  What was it I said?  Ah Yes, it was: A pleasure to bring happiness, to the one who serves.  Hey!  I’m a Master.. I can do whatever the hell I want to do!

Creative Writing – knife play

Written some time ago, I present this is semi-fictional, a collection of things I’ve done with sharp pointy things, but not all together with the same person, as presented here. The term tanto, along with other interesting knife terms can be found at one of my favorite knife sites:
Knife Anatomy by Jay Fisher

Edge Play
A semi-fictional story by Xtac (pronounced Ecstasy)
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There was something undeniably irresistible about him from the very first time she saw him. Where other men had tried to rule her life, he just did; as if it was his birthright. He commanded her as easily as breathing, grasping her firmly, taking her breath away, and then dismissing her, as a “vanilla”.

He was infuriating and insufferable but mysterious and so she stayed, probing, asking questions until at last he explained about the life he lead, and how she could not be a part of it.

Dark secrets, both hers and his were exchanged, each bringing them closer to a world that both could share. It was all new to her and yet the excitement she felt to be in his command, to have the pain she needed, to have it administered by another, to have this burden of guilty painful pleasure lifted and placed in the hands of another; placed in the hands of this man which she now trusted completely with all her being and soul, was too delicious, too incredibly powerful a force to deny.

He brought his bag of “toys” in from the car, with her in tow. A small group of friends they had made at the local munch, gathered in the living room, anxious for the show, for the scene they would offer. He walked her to the center of the room and took the “scene collar” he always wore, from around his neck offering it to her. They had played out this scene before, she knew it well.

Will you, he asked, take this collar for the duration of this scene, and to the best of your abilities, strive to be my slave as long as you wear it? Will you obey my commands, attempt to anticipate my wants, and will you trust me to act in your best interests and needs? Yes Sir, she answered meekly, eyes down. She held her hair up, as the coldness of the precious metal encircled her neck. Precious; yes precious, she thought. Not because it is silver, but because he gives it to me, even if only temporarily for this scene, because he wants me, and offers me this chance to be his. As long as I wear this, I get to call him Master instead of Sir. Yes, this is precious, she thought.

He finished clasping the toggle of the scene collar and placed a hand at her chest, between her breasts, pushing her back silently up against the bed room door which was closed. He left her there, ignoring her while he laid out his toys in neat rows. She watched, nervously, wanting to fidget, but wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. She wanted to finger the collar, touch it but decided it was better to do nothing until ordered, so she watched and waited for him to finish. She stole a glance around the room. Doms and subs sat comfortably, silently watching this scene play out. She swallowed nervously. He knew that she used to cut herself. She had professed to be turned on by the idea of edge play. Hell when he talked about it, she had turned soaking wet, but this, now it was happening, this was real.

Out of the toy bag came floggers and rope, leather restraints and metal hardware, and now, a particularly nasty collection of knives. One was curved like an eagle’s talons. Another was oddly shaped, like a small samurai sword. Sir had shown this one to her before. He called it a tanto knife. All gleamed with the steel of razors. She found her knees going weak, and a tremble shook her body, a wake of fear, doubt, and the undeniable wetness of excitement flooded her being.

He pulled her forward away from the door, opened it, threw a pair of temporary suspension hooks over the top and then closed they door. He placed his hand again to her chest, fingered the silver collar and smiled, then pushed her back into the door. The wood was firm, hard against her back. He placed his hands on either shoulder, fingers up the sides of her neck, thumbs under her chin.

Cupping her face in his hands, he looked deeply into her in the eyes, and smiled saying, “It’s going to be OK”. She forced a weak smile, but her stomach turned in flip-flops and her panties soaked. So odd, she thought, how he commands me, how I respond, how I stay. She closed her eyes and waves of red hot sexual energy coursed over her clit and up her spine. His hands traveled slowly down again. She tremble again, under his touch. He stopped at her cleavage, and turned to the toys. It was like a break in continuity, to not have him touch her. It was an absence, a longing, she wished he would continue.

He fastened a leather shackle around her wrist, pulling it tightly until encircled and squeezed. The leather squeaked, that familiar pleasant sound that leather makes when it moves. As he placed the tongue of the buckle into its hole, the pressure released ever so slightly. He commanded her to take off her shirt and she did so hesitantly, not used to doing so with others in the room. She handed him the shirt and he folded it neatly and placed it with the toys, then guided her shackled wrist up, over her head and snapped it into the restraint at the top of the door.

She wanted to bring her free hand over her breasts, but he grabbed this one now, and after placing a shackle on it as well, bound her second wrist up over her head. She stood there, exposed, deep breaths making her chest rise and fall. She wanted to cover, to fidget, and a half dozen other things she could not while bound like this. She felt panic, at the fringes of her being, a reaction, that she suppressed. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply and slowly.

He reached over to his toys and selected a rectangle piece of stone, a whetstone, used for sharpening knives, and placed it in her right hand. Hold that, is all he said. She looked out over the room, attempting to keep her calm. The stone was heavy and rough, with hard corners. She turned it slowly in her hand, being very, very careful not to drop it.

Next he selected a small but wicked looking knife and raised it slowly, holding it directly in front of her face. See how sharp this is, my pet, he cooed in a low voice? Yes Master, she replied simply. I want you, he said, to hold this in your hand, by the blade, and be very, very careful not to run your finger over the edge. Do not squeeze it too hard or you will cut yourself. Yes Master she replied again.

He turned the knife and placed the flat of blade against the palm of her opened left hand. He paused, the steel lightly touching, as he placed his other hand at her chin, looking deeply into her eyes with a wicked smile, and said. If there is any cutting, I’ll do it, is that understood? Yes Master, again she intoned, but in her mind, the message was clear, he was testing her. By giving her the blade to hold, he was risking that she might cut herself, and daring her, taunting her, challenging her, not to do it. Her finger closed slowly, carefully around the razor edges, as she stared back into his eyes. His smile disappeared for a fraction of a second and his voice was a thousand whips, cutting his command into her, “Don’t disappoint me” is all he said.

While she carefully held the two objects her master had entrusted to her, he turned back to the guests and their host, completely ignoring her. I need something with ice in it, he said, preferably a bucket or small saucepan. Do you think we can rustle up such an item? Oh!, and everyone? He said, Now would be a great time to get a drink.

The group got up, milled around and he disappeared into the kitchen with the host. They came back with a small metal saucepan, filled with ice cubes and placed it next to the toys. She felt his intent, to put her on display, to give her time with the knife in her hand. She closed her eyes, and the room went away. If guests were staring at her, that was easy to block out, but the knife, damn the knife was there. The weight of it pressed against the pad of her thumb, against her fingers. If she moved it to a better balance so it wouldn’t be so heavy. But how could she move it without cutting herself. I must not let it cut me, I must not let it cut me, she thought over and over.

Time dragged on. Slow torturous time. Less pressure, lighter grip, don’t let the knife fall, over and over, until time stood still and it was only her and the knife, eyes closed, focused on this one task. She barely noticed as the guests filtered back into their seats, drinks in hands, and all eyes were on her, the slave, chained to the door, eyes tightly closed, holding the knife by its sinister sharp blade.

She was suddenly aware of his return, as he gently grasped her wrist. First, I’ll take this, he said. He grasped the handle and very carefully, slowly unwrapped her fingers from it. He thrust the knife into the ice bucket, and left it there. He took her hand and carefully inspected it for cuts, but she had been very careful, very delicate with the long grip on the blade. He kissed her hand, and then trailed his touch down her arm to her ear, well done my pet, he cooed.

Next he took a small blindfold from his toy bag, and approached her. Panic welled up in her throat, and she squeezed the whetstone hard. Ready? Is all he asked. “yes Master” she weakly replied. The blindfold slid over her head, and darkness fell. The room disappeared. She felt the blackness engulf her, and she clung now to the sounds of the room.

At first, she heard only the whispering of guests, but as she adjusted, she began to notice the sounds of traffic outside, and the occasional odd noises that we never notice, usually. He stepped close, very close and the smell of him was wonderful. He grasped her right arm, unhooking and lowering it. His breath was on her neck, his body so close, then came his deep voice at her ear. Edge play, my pet, is all he said.

The whetstone was still in her free hand as he took hold of this arm, pushing her elbow back into the door. I want you, he said, to keep your elbow at the door, and your arm against your side. He grasp her hand with the stone. Hold it like this, he said, and positioned her fingers in a circle around the stone. Now, he said in a low voice, don’t move. Hold the stone perfectly still. I am going to sharpen this knife, and I don’t want you to lose a finger.

She could feel the stone heavy in her hand and now it felt that much heavier. She heard the rustle of ice as he took the knife from the bucket. He placed his hand under hers. His knee slid between her legs and braced both of them against the door. His arm was just under her breasts, as he laid the knife against the stone. He slid the knife against the stone, the scary sound of steel against something harder. It scraped and the sound went through her. He leaned close. The edge can slide against your fingers, he said, but only one side cuts. As if to make the point a cold edge came in contact with her first finger. Now, he said, if I slide this against your finger fast, you won’t feel anything until the sting sets in, or he added with an evil chuckle, doesn’t sting, depending on what side I use.

Her mind reeled. Yes Master escaped her lips like a gasp. She wished now, that both hands were tied again so that she could collapse. The tremble in her knees gently shook her whole body. She struggled to hold the stone steady, to stop the trembling. Fast, he said simply. and then, before she could prepare herself, completely without warning it was over before she realize it started. He drew the blade quickly, lightly, over her upturned finger. By the time she realized what was happening, it was already over. He took the finger quickly and sucked on it, then bit her so hard she winced. Pain from the bite made it hard to tell if he had cut her or if he had teased her. Her senses stretched to every nerve in her finger, but still, from the darkness of her blindfold, she wasn’t sure.

He began to draw the blade slowly over the stone again, going back and forth, the sick sound of scraping, filling her ears. Her finger throbbed and still she could not be sure what had happened. She felt it then again, this thing she felt for this man, the man that did these things to her. She felt it like a need, like love, but somehow deeper, stronger, more powerful a pull than she had ever know a man could make her feel. It didn’t fit with anything she ever knew, but it was there, this need for him use her.

You have three more perfectly good finger tips sticking up, he chuckled, as he worked with the stone. Yes Master, again she found herself saying. What more could she say? What more should she say? Should she tell him that he owned her? That he could take her body however he pleased? Should she beg him to mark her, claim her? What more could she say, that he did not already know? He knew that he owned her. He had know that he would from the first day she met him.

He finished sharpening the knife without further incident, or so she assumed when the sound of scrapping stopped and she heard him place it in the ice. She took a deep breath, and realized that she been barely breathing. The sound of sloshing and ice bumping around the knife told her that, for now, the steel was sheathed. He took the stone from her hand, and she realized that her hand was trembling, or at least it was, until he took hold of it, and kissed it.

Slowly, deliberately, he kissed each finger tip, sucking it, and then placed his teeth at the root of her cuticle, that tender pressure point that he loved to tease in public, and bit hard, sending wave after wave of pain up her arm. Wave followed wave, one for each finger, until he reached the one in question. This finger he simple kissed and then curled back, closing her hand into a fist.

He grabbed her suddenly, by both hips and spun her, facing the door. A spank at her bottom sent a warm red tingle through her, and was following by the familiar sound of leather whistling through the air. He draped the flogger over her shoulder and trailed it slowly down her back, letting her feel the leather before it sang. It was soft, warm, and sent shivers down her back as she anticipated the pain to come.

The whistle again, this time near her ears, he was teasing her, tensing her up for the first blow and when it came, full of heavy thunk, slapping down on her shoulder blades, it was almost a relief. The first was followed by another and another, and another, coming harder and faster so that the pain spread over her, and through her. She ceased to be, she became. She was alive and the sound retreated as master applied the leather that colored her back in pink, then deeper hues. He alternate left, then right, the leather flailing over skin that grew ever more sensitive, and occasionally he threw in a wicked and skillfully designed shot that sent the tails wrapping around her ribcage to kiss the sides of her breasts and tease her nipples. He drove her deeper and deeper, her mind retreating into that place where pain turns to sparks. The sparks all collected with evil glee on her clit; a weird, warm, sexual pleasure that she could not deny.

It stopped suddenly, and she fought like someone who has jumped into deep water, looking for the surface. Without the constant stimulus, there was nothing, no room, no Master, nothing. She struggled to remember what it was she was doing. Before she could come up, he yanked her bra up over her breasts. The touch, the firmness, was familiar. Sir! She felt she must cry, not for pain, but for his touch.

Her pendulant breasts fell free. The fact that there was an audience did not exist in her mind. There was only Sir and she, whoever she was. No, she existed, yes! She existed because of Sir. His hands were on her breasts, but then came pain. He applied one, then two nipple clamps. She sucked in, the pain sending new bolts down her spine. A metal chain between them dangle near her rib cage. She trembled, with only one hand still tied, strapped overhead.

Perhaps sensing she could take little more, he turn her around again slowly, and took her free hand, the one that had held the stone, back over her head. She was grateful now for the support and let some of her weight down, let herself hang a bit by her arms. He stood close, his knee once again between her legs again. She wiggle a bit, enjoying the feeling of her pussy slide against Sir, now her Master. She wanted, so much to cum. For Sir, her orgasm was a gift given to him. She wanted this, to give Sir her sign of pleasure, to cum, to feel the release, the explosion of the passion and energy that he was frothing into her. As if reading her mind, or maybe because she was practically dry humping him, he said in a low whisper in her ear, You will NOT cum without permission my pet. Yes Master, she replied, but the pleading in her voice was unmistakable.

She heard the rustle of ice as the blade was once again lifted free, her pulse quickened; she reached out with her senses, trying to feel where he was. A single cold droplet of water splashed suddenly against chest and dribbled slowly down into her cleavage. He leaned up against her, his chest, near hers, his breath on her neck, and he whispered again.. Only I can cut. The knife was again in his hands, the words themselves cut.

She started to say Yes S….. But was cut short. A searing feeling stung against her left breast. Unexpected; it was like a burn, then a pain, then cold as her mind rolled though possibilities, trying to pin down what was happening. She realized he had pressed the flat of that ice chilled blade against her and she breathed again.

She had stopped breathing. Inside her blindfold, it was dark but the feeling of this flat, cold pressure on her breast was clear. As she processed these thoughts she could feel him turn the blade in his grasp, slowly, from flat side to edge. The edge of the blade was now against her breast, his hot breath on her neck, and he said it again: Only I can cut.

A feeling not quite panic or fear washed, a feeling strong and exciting swept over her and her knees buckled. She began to buck against the knee between her legs. She wanted something inside her. The desire to cum welled up as he pulled the knife to a point and drew it slowly down her front, scratching her as he went. She felt its tip, its malevolent edge, run slowly over her exposed breast. He lightly traced the nipples. She could feel everything so clearly thanks to the extreme cold of the blade. He turned the flat to her once more and brought it under the clamps. She had nearly forgotten the clamps and it sent new courses through her as she rediscovered the pain in her nipples.

With the flat of the blade he pulled back the blade and every so lightly slapped her breast with the flat of the blade. The clamps bounced, tugging at her nipple. She bit her lower lip, relishing the fear, the pain, the feeling. He took the blade from under the clamp and slapped her breasts again and again with the flat of the blade, each a small pain, a small terror, and a delicious torment. She wondered if the edge could cut this way? As of to answer her thoughts, he turned the blade to its edge again, and then to the point. With his other hand, he took the chain from the nipple clamps and put it to her lips. Understanding instantly, she opened her mouth and accepted the reigns to her pain.

Her bra up over her breasts, her nipples pulled high by the chain in her mouth, the tip of the knife at her breast, she leaned her head back, pulling her nipples up. As she pulled her breasts up, they slid up from under the tip of the knife. Very well done my pet, he said in approving tones. The pain of the nipples, and the thought of the knife, sent more shivers though her and she bucked uncontrollably, wanting so very much to cum. She pressed her clit against his knee. I would be so easy to cum now, with just a few rubs. Only master’s command kept her at bay. The torment was delicious, then painful, an aching need that could not be denied, but must be, but couldn’t.

But Sir was not done tormenting her yet. He trailed the scratching edge of the blade over one breast then the other. He scratched down, down, over her belly to her snapped jeans. He pulled the knife away and then something hard, maybe the handle, maybe the blade itself pressed up into the folds of her jeans. She rubbed against it anyway, not caring. She needed release. “Pleassssee Master”, escaped her lips.

He tucked the handle of the knife into her panties and she no longer cared what he cut. Sir unfastened her belt and pulled it through the loops of her jeans, then began to whip her thighs with it. She danced under the blows, the knife bouncing and jiggling against her. He pulled the knife back out from where he had tucked it, and unsnapped her jeans. The invasion caused only a moments panic but was driven away quickly by another repeat of the belt whippings.

Her body screamed to orgasm, for something to buck up against, something inside her, something, something. Something snapped inside her. He was there then, with the knife, and his body, pressed against hers. He trailed the knife down her body again, and whispered once more in her ear. “I want you”, he said, “to cum for me”. “Yes Master, OH God, yes please Master” she begged.

He turned the knife and pressed against her jeans, against her clit. As if her body had a mind of its own, without regard for safety, she began to buck, humping the hard object, and as soon as she did, it was pulled away quickly, a cold thin metal line at her neck, and a whisper in her ear. Slowly my pet, he said , Slowly. Give our hosts a good show.

Yes Master, oh God, yes Master, let me cum she begged. He pressed the handle against her again and she began to move her hips, sliding her clit back and forth over it. It was cruel to ask her to hold back, driven to the edge as she was, but she did her best to obey.

Slowly, deliberately, she rolled her clit back and forth over the handle. Her body screamed for release. Her spine was a river of sexual energy coursing through her. Her knees buckled but the sturdy straps held her, pulling at her arms. She convulsed; wild uncontrolled undulations that shook her whole body. Oh Master! She screamed, as waves became violent vibrations. Like a jack-hammer she vibrated, a long low guttural scream escaping the lips of a woman cuming as she had never cum before. Oh! Oh! Oh! She ejaculated against the knife, hot wet stickiness that flooded her panties and ran down her legs. Oh God Sir, OH! Master! She bucked uncontrollably and now Sir was there, holding her, keeping her upright, riding out the waves with her. The room was silent for a very long time.

Can I get a hand here? He asked and instantly there was a Dom at either side of her, unfastening her arms. Freed, she wrapped them around him, still quivering with the after-shocks and minor tremors of her orgasm in retreat. With help from the others, she was lead to a place on the floor, at the feet of her beloved Sir, and she hugged his legs, thankful for this man. The thought came to her, in due time and she timidly checked. Yes, he was as hard as a rock still. The excitement was still in him.

2011

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!

Anger

If you didn’t read my previous post, please do first.  Its here.

Now.  Some might think I  wasn’t strong because I didn’t blow up, that I didn’t show that asshole the Master and Dominant that I am.  Others may think that if you are not angry at injustice, then the injustice may not be real.  In court, if you show no emotion, its a bad thing for the jury.  Trust me, there was plenty violence and aggression hurled my way and it could very easily have turned into ugly uncontrolled rage.. on his part. Not mine.  But why not? you may ask.

If any of that previous blog sounded weak, I am writing this now to correct your terrible understanding of how a person in control really works.

In retrospect, I am extremely pleased with my performance.  There is a thing that happens sometimes, when you are completely reasonable with an  unreasonable person, and it makes them angrier.  Obviously when that happens, they were trying to provoke you.  That didn’t happen though.

I kept my voice stead, I fought back the screaming voice inside of me, I addressed the gentleman as “Sir”, and did my level best to keep the tone civil.  In short, he was out of control, and from a thinking person’s perspective, that is an opportunity for YOU to be more fully in control.  It is as if they have placed themselves blindfolded on a narrow board and with the most gentle of touch you can cause them to sway this way or that.  You MUST have control of yourself first, before you can see and leverage a position like that.

A great Dominant will be like that.  They are annoyingly calm, slow to anger, but you can still tell when you have displeased them, because the intensity and focus goes way up.  When that happens, you just know you are in trouble with them and at that point, if you haven’t gotten control of yourself, that Dominant is going to manipulate you like a marionette.

Anger my friends is a tool.  Sometimes we pull it out of box and we show it to people to get their attention.  But anger should never be worn.  It must be something that is displayed but not allowed to be part of yourself.  Not sure how I can explain this better.  It is like you become an actor, and you use the anger you should be feeling, to create the perfect scene for that moment in your life.

When as a Dominant should you show anger?  Almost never.  It might be misunderstood for a lack of control.  When you cannot control yourself, everyone knows that you are weak.  But there are times when you have not been able to achieve a certain level of focus from someone, and they need to know they have gone so far as to create a situation where you will actually be angry.  For a person that knows you, this can be a very scary moment.  All the more reason to have yourself under control.

Fear and intimidation can be useful tools.  Never turn away a tool.  Every thing has its time and place.  But of all the tools in your Domination toolbox, these are the ones that should be left to rust.

So yes, in retrospect I am very pleased with my performance.  I will tell you that afterward, after I was away from mister angry, I had my own moments of pent up rage.  I wanted to smash walls, and break things with a bat, but I kept it bottled up until it passed.  Oh I felt it alright, but I was better than that, and I am proud of it.  That opportunity for anger is now in the past and the pride I feel at the control I managed over him and myself, won’t allow me to even come close to being angry now.  Don’t think that control is easy.  It is not.  Nor is it easy to hide when you are controlling yourself.  You have to control yourself without looking like you are trying.  Never let them see your cards.  Hope that gave you something worthy to think about.  Carpe Diem my friends!  Go be someone’s great day!

 

Related

No Excuses

I say this all the time but it bears repeating.. its the little things that are such a huge part of my satisfaction with my Master slave relation.

A gentleman hit my car recently, then proceeded to direct a lot of hostility towards me.  For me, this was an unwillingness to accept responsibility, a desire to blame someone or something else.

Serendipity happens. I often wonder why the people I come into contact with, were presented in that time and place. How will this weave into the fabric that will become the lessons of this life? ~ X Quote

When you screw up, sometimes you have to fall on your sword.  In other words, you have to be willing to accept your failure, and any pain and suffering that comes with owning up to it.  I become very unhappy with persons who present excuses and likewise, I am very forgiving for a person who shows they can own their actions.

So, X, you are probably wondering: Where are you going with this meandering? eh?

Well first, I could be upset about this mess my car is in.  It will be a major inconvenience, and a reduction in resale value and certainly cost me time and money I don’t want to spend on it.. but I would rather be happy.. so I choose to be.  Instead I am loving the simple interactions with my slave. Tonight, a simple thing is pleasing me immensely, especially after my run in with the afore mentioned hostility. Where we focus, plays a huge role in our happiness.

In public, my slave is very good with her protocols.  One protocol requires that as soon as I finish a plate of food, she take the plate away and put it under hers.   If you sit at a table with me, you will find I am always taking table real estate.. pushing salt, pepper and napkin holders back, to clear a larger area for myself.  It is just one more of my little Domination quirks.  And of course my protocols support that.  So tonight, after finishing a meal at home, a plate was not removed.  It was turkey tetrazzini by the way.. I do love that meal.  I would recommend you try the Stoffers brand and if you like it, then try a scratch made version.

So I asked Izrina:  Do you think that the protocols you do in public, you should also do at home?   She had finished sooner and now looked up from a suduko puzzle she was working on.  She looked around, trying to figure out what she had missed.  It took her only a second to realize where I was headed with this.  The empty plate quickly vanished.

No excuses made, just a quick acceptance of the way we are.  No anger at herself, that might be redirected at me.  Just Master and slave, doing their thing.  I love that she attends to me, and is fast to respond to my desires. Was I angry that a protocol had to be reminded?  Of course not.  I was enough that she sheeplishly, and submissively corrected the oversight.  She fell on her sword, and hoped for the best outcome.. and got it.

And she?  Does she love this?  Hmmm.  Yes.  It makes family uncomfortable when I order her, use her, but her eyes light up, and she fairly purrs afterward, when its time to curl up at Master’s feet.  Equity of exchange.  The trust she offers is exactly the right thing to exchange for my gift of Domination.  I wonder sometimes what jems I could offer to help others find this happiness?

Is it just finding the right person, or is it a philosophy and way of life that facilitates this, or maybe its a little of both?  Both I think.  Opportunity is nothing without the will and ability to capitalize, and visa-versa.   I wish more people could have this, feel this.   I understand that a TPE or CNC life is not for everyone, but it certainly is the key to MY happiness.. and to that of my slave.  Life is truly good my friends, Carpe Diem!

A strong will

Jian Ghomeshi won his appeal.  His lawyer, a woman, is now being threatened with losing speaking engagements.  Her presence is a little too strong.. After reading a few news articles, I wrote this:

If you advocate change, you do it by changing laws, and you start preparing to change laws by listening to your opponents. Insisting opposing views be silenced and going to counselors for therapy if things don’t go your way, is counter productive to your desired outcome.

I explained all that, because if I just came out with that quote, you might think I was speaking of the US election.  I was not.. but the same holds true.

This is very much why some religious folks turn me off.. the idea that everything that God said in a religious text is true and they have an absolute moral imperative to hate on the non-believers, is part of what is destroying us from within.  What started as a hippy-counter culture-movement to greater love and appreciation for the dignity of our fellow men is devolving.

Being sensitive does not entitle you to hate on the insensitive. ~ Xtac Quote!!

Love and peace is great until we start to feel a level of moral superiority and then the slippery slope to absolute evil and suppression starts.  The very notion of “hate crimes” scares the hell out of me.  We can now pass judgement on a persons thoughts and prosecute for that?  Shouldn’t their actions be the only reason to prosecute?

Think about it.. Free people just want to be left alone and want to leave you alone as well.  The philosophy is, your business is your business.  The more we muck around in other people’s thinking, the more entitlements and evil we insist on “for the common good”. Action my friends, is the only truth.  Prosecute people for what they do to you, not for what they think or didn’t do for you.  Freedom is nothing, and yet it opens your world to every possibility.  That’s a scary proposition, but one any Dominant will embrace.  Wow!

Just wow… I think in my kicking around this sticking point, I just hit on a problem vexing the world forever.   Maybe Aristotle had it right after all.  Part of society is comprised of Dominants that want total control over all aspects of their life without intervention and part of society is comprised of persons that want to be shielded and cared for, and that is the basis for all of our basic conflicts in fundamental thinking regarding the ideal form of government.  Democracy puts these two basic needs in conflict.  So we experiment with fascism and representational government.  Now there is a thought to chew on.  My mind is on fire.


I was getting ready to head out and Izrina began to put on her coat.  Her car was parked a bit away and she was clearly thinking that if I was leaving, I could drop her at her car.

I simply HATE topping from the bottom, and I hate when my slave assumes that I will do something before she has asked.  Here is why.

AFTER she has put her coat on, if she THEN asks if I’ll take her, the good guy in me has this feeling like I have no choice but to make her happy.  But the Master in me wants to prove I am in charge and is inclined to say no, even if I might have been happy to do this favor.  For the Master in me, now it has become less about what I would do and more about showing that I will make the decisions. I simply won’t be topped from the bottom.

So I said, you appear to think I will drop you off at your car.  And she said, “Do what ever pleases you Master.”

Have I mentioned I love this girl?   I thought about it for a moment.  It WOULD please me to drop her off.  It would please me to open the car door for her, and to see her safely to her car.  Now I was only a little frustrated.  I needed to convey that I wouldn’t be topped from the bottom.  But she clearly would accept  any decision I made.  How can you fight with that?  You can’t.  Take a note.. Always getting your way can sometimes cause a short circuit in your brain.

So I explained the turmoil she created by putting on her coat before asking, and I explained how she defused it by the way she replied, and I made it clear that she should not expect to get every thing she asks for.  The only frustration remaining was that her reply told me she already knew this.  That of course leads me right back to testing if she really would accept any decision “because it pleased me”.  And why should I have to do what doesn’t please me, just to test if she accepts the decision?  Better if we skip these things and never imply an outcome is anticipated – but – that really was a good reply.

The little minx knows me too well. I think she is starting to anticipate and read me as well as I have read her all these years.  We are becoming like a well oiled machine whose gears mesh perfectly, each complimenting the other in pleasing ways.

So there you have it dear readers, some insight into a very brief but deep exchange that is all just a moment in the 24×7 existence that can be yours, if you make the dream reality. I suppressed the desire to spank her on the spot and showed her to the car. That Ds quickie just made me horny.   Life is truly good.  Carpe Diem my friends…. go make a great day!

Manipulation, trust & slave happiness

A psychologist would probably be horrified at the emotional manipulations I put my slave through, but it works for us. I wrote of trust, and how sometimes I might combine my sadist side with my gentleman side.  In a similar way, I sometimes appear to be mean to my slave, but I am in fact manipulating her emotional state into a different place, a better place, a better outcome, if you will.  I am not fond of calling this manipulation, as this conjures up all sorts of negatives but I don’t have a better word at this moment. What follows is a semi-fictional accounting of how this might work.


ANGRY – The door opened and my slave entered, tossing her keys in a way that told me she was clearly not in the best of moods.  A long day at work had resulted in this ugliness.  The energy coming from her was intense, negative, and poisonous.  She was ready to unload all of the anger and hurt that she had saved up from a tough day at work.

UPSET- Instead of consoling her I emotionally slap her.  Instead of agreeing that she had good reason to be angry, I disregarding her feelings entirely.   I order her to kneel in front of me and suck my cock.  As an obedient slave  with a lot on her mind, what choice does she have?  Upset, she must now shift gears from serving those who pay her, to serving the one she would have Dominate her.

UNHAPPY – This was not the greeting she expected, or wanted.  How could Master be so calloused, so uncaring, as to think only of himself when she needed to be comforted?  Best to perform this oral service and get it out of the way, then perhaps retreat into a hot shower followed by a  glass of wine.

DISTRACTED – Her heart is not in this service, as I knew it would not be.  Now I point this out to her, that she is not joyful in this task.  A handful of hair and I force her to stop.  Now comes the guilt, the sense that she has failed.  Perhaps a slight sense its my fault for not caring.  I send her to shower and to fresh up.

DISGRACED – I follow her to the bathroom, making sure she feels this strongly.  I remind her that a slave finds happiness in service.  I am driving home her sense of shame, her disappointment in herself. Indirectly, I am questioning if she is a slave.  I listen, poke, prod, until I know she wants to beat herself up.  But I won’t let her.  She may not punish herself.  That is my right and providence.  I just need her to want to punish herself.

HUMBLE – I leave her to finish her shower, and reflect on things.  I pour a glass of wine, set it beside me, and wait.  She emerges from the shower, steam rolling from the warm wetness of the room.  Her eyes turned down, she is humbled just a bit, uncertain where I will lead her next. There are lessons that run all through what I do.

REBORN – Again I have her kneel before me, I hand her the glass, command her to take a sip, then put it back down, and pat the couch indicating she should come sit beside me.  The person who walked in minutes ago, filled with anger and ugliness is gone.

HAPPINESS – Now finally she is in a frame of mind to come and be held, to feel protected, and let the day’s frustrations drop away.  I’ve manipulated her feelings up and down a roll coaster ride, and she has come to the end of it exhausted but ready at last to just let it all pass.  At times I may feel badly for what I put her through, but I do it for what is achieved.  In my arms she can now rest and be at peace.  I run my fingers through her hair and she stirs under my touch.  Gone is the anger, the negativity, the pain, and frustration.  We will discover tonight a deeper level of submission, a stronger bond, a more loving relation, in a home that is a shelter from the troubles of the world.  We will rediscover what is so easily forgotten in the drama of this world, that our happiness is found in the simple pleasures of this life.  If this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

 

Slavery during personal tragedy

When you are the proud owner of a consensual slave, you will find yourself at some point dealing with a person who has suffered a tragic loss.  Now tragedies come in all sizes, large and small.  When a person loses a loved one, this is one of those large tragedies.  Even if we have a spiritual perspective on these things: that eternal life is ours and that we can not be separated forever by death, there is still the loss of your loved ones comforting voice, their laugh, and their warm embrace.  It brings into focus the question – what is real?  Too often, pain seems more real than joy.

The single most important thing I teach, is how to be happy. I insist on speaking of this to those close around me.  I desire that those in close proximity to me, be pleasant, happy, and fulfilled.  The two greatest things you can learn are “How to be happy”, and “How to make good decisions”.  Nothing else you learn is as important as these.  You would think every formal education system would include this in their curriculum.  Happiness no doubt eludes even you, my dear reader, from time to time.  For all my wisdom, it eludes me as well, when I lose my way.  As fulfilled as I am, there are times I lose my way, forget what I know, and what I have learned.

Happiness is always just a change in perspective away.  Saying this is much easier than being this. I keep a sports car, a convertible, for pleasant drives on summer days.  One particularly bad winter, the shelter in which it is kept partially collapsed.  My daughter was greatly concerned for how I would handle this.  I like to think that I rose to the challenge, and demonstrated back to those around me, what I preach.  Granted, losing a beloved possession is not the same as losing a loved one, but neither is it a simple thing to find our happiness when faced with these kinds of things.  It helps to think of these things as a challenge to prove that we can walk the walk.  Hmmm – losing a beloved possession.  That phrase takes on special meaning when you are a slave owner – but I digress.

My slave has had losses recently.  She is a person who values her privacy.  She doesn’t like when I share tidbits from her life, but I do it anyway.  I reason, that if I own her, I own it all.. I own her body, her mind, and her will.  All are mine to do with as I please, and we need to get past any point where this is contested.  It needs to be accepted with trust and simple humility.  But this slavery is also consensual and mutual happiness is the goal, so I balance her desire for privacy – to some degree – with my desire to share with others what I have learned.  Having said all that, I will tell you now that my slave has suffered both large and small tragedies in recent months.  You need to know that much, for me to explain how I dealt with it, and how the lessons learned might apply to you if you have a similar situation arise.

Immediately after her loss, her life was thrown into disarray.  I saw two ways to bring her through this valley of darkness.  One way was to impose greater structure and control onto her life.  This way would be appropriate if she needed to bury her pain, and shelve it for moments when she could deal with it by herself, in small doses, at appropriate times.  Much like returning to work right after a funeral, busy hands and minds are often the best medicine for grief.

The other way was to loosen the control and structure over her life, allowing her to be less of a slave and more of person who could come to me seeking understanding and comfort.  The latter choice, to walk away from my dynamic, troubles me deeply but I also recognize that no one plan fits all slaves.  Inside the complex mix of desires, needs, wants, philosophies, understandings, beliefs, and all the other things that makes up a personality, each slave has their own perfect buttons that unlocks who and what they are.

I will tell you that some protocols slipped.  Sometimes she was irritable with me.  These are things I would normally never tolerate.  Yet I knew, deep inside that she was in that valley of the shadow of death, and I knew what she needed, and when.  This is all rather vague instruction on how to fix the problem, I will grant you, but as I observe often, you must direct the mind of a slave not the body.  You must Master the tools of observation, of patience, and of calculated and artistic manipulations that bring about in your property, your canvas, your great achievement:  The creation of a slave who is perfect for you, and who in turn is as mutually happy with the result.

In time, the protocols all came back stronger than before, the slave at my feet more sure of who and what she was, and what she wanted.  I like to think that two faced as one, this challenge.

Why now?  Why do I suddenly want to write of this now?  Because a minor tragedy is faced.  A small trinket of great sentimental value was lost.  I will use this loss as yet an opportunity, to speak of being pleasant, and of being responsible for our own happiness.  I will use this as a chance to teach that which is easy to say and hard to do.. that happiness is always just a change in perspective away.

Life is not static, there are no dependable constants in all of the things around us that most consider to be real and valuable.  But when we consider that things that CAN be constant, we touch on things that are harder to hold up as real.  When we place our trust in uncommon currencies, like the exchange of love for example, or the value of satisfaction in honest labor, these are things that ARE constant.  We can always have them.    When we pour out love into the world, it comes back to us in surprising ways.

Because life is not static, neither is blind devotion to an inflexible dynamic a good thing.  This needs to be a flexible thing. Yes, your protocols need to be consistent, and you will need to be an irresistible force,  but the times in which you bring to bear the full force of that indomitable spirit, must be flexible.  I have spoken on this many times before. No matter where your slave’s mindset is at the moment, there needs to be knowledge that while Master may be gentle, Master is always there waiting to take possession, to control what is his through consent.

I can not tell you exactly how to bring YOUR slave back from a tragedy, but I can tell you that if they truly consent to giving all that they are to you, and desire this deeply, and if you stay in your sacred role, and have the intelligence, patience and compassion to deal with their needs, you can not only help them through, but also make stronger your slave’s understanding that they have chosen wisely, the Master to serve.

Carpe Diem!