like eating leftovers edition - TMI Tuesday

TMI Tuesday for 5-29-2012

Which superhero puts a bee in your bonnet?

1. If your lover was turned on by forced feminization would you participate (giving or receiving)?
I'd not be a good candidate myself for feminization, it would be pretty laughable IMHO.  I am what I am, and that's not feminine, I don't think there's a force in the world going to change that . . .  With that said, if Serafina wished to practice forced  feminization upon another male, I'd gladly be a willing collaborator, as I think it would be exciting as a dominant to take control of another individual to the point of enforcing a gender identity.

2. When you have sexual dreams or fantasies that are aggressive or cruel, does it worry you?
When I was young it worried me a lot.  It was always easier for me to write stories from the perspective of submission, as it would seem to be the more compelling and relate-able role for a main character, and I think at least in part, that was due to guilt I felt about being a dominant and a sexual sadist.  But, now that I'm in my 40's, I've embraced my own nature, So I am blissfully without worries of that sort . . .

3. Tell us your hottest filthiest fantasy, right now, in 100 words or less. 
This is the fantasy about your desires that you probably never share, maybe they even go against your morals, or are societal taboos.
It might be said that I'm truly living THE DREAM, as my hottest fantasy is to have my wife as my sex slave, only that's my reality today too, so it's a rather unsatisfying answer, I know.
If you want to know my most extreme and perverted fantasy, it would be a non-consensual abduction involving my daughter-in-law, a soundproof cabin deep in the wilderness, and long term enforced slavery upon said unwilling female captive.  The fantasy was probably inspired by a 1970's book by Irving Wallace called "The Fan Club", but it's also rooted in personal animosity with the subject.  This isn't my original answer because it's far more nasty than hot, and seems to be more about aggression and revenge than it would be about lust.  There is a backstory --- Not long after my slave/wife and I met, Serafina's own daughter assaulted Serafina, a violent attack that ended with her breaking one finger so badly Serafina's hand had to be put back together with pins by a plastic surgeon.  To this day the daughter refuses to even acknowledge the assault, let alone apologize for it,.  The daughter has caused her Mother great physical and emotional pain. she's a cold and haughty lady, but she has her Mother's good looks, and could easily have modeled for a living had she lived life with ambition to be anything more than a petty thug.  What else you going to do with that kind of girl but teach her a lesson she'd never forget?  At least that's how the fantasy would go . . .

Obviously, those kinds of fantasy go against how I practice BDSM, not to mention most every moral fiber in my being, not to mention civil law and every human taboo I can imagine.  Guess that's what I get for reading filthy fiction like The Fan Club as an impressionable young teen! ;)  Now, I can give you another pretty nasty one which I can imagine subjecting upon my ex wife, but you only asked for 1!!!

4. Which super hero would you like to have sex with? Why?
a. Aquaman
b. Superman
c. Wonder Woman
d. She-Ra
Wonder Woman carries a magic rope, so I'd go all Shibari on her sweet superhero ass.

5. Knowing there’s a hot young couple in the adjoining hotel room, would you press your ear against the wall to hear the action on the other side?
Hell yes!

6. Do you think the lure to live out sexual fantasies or have sex frequently is amplified by technology? Briefly explain.
Absolutely.  The WWWeb has brought so many fetish items and ideas to my life.  Without computer technology, I never would have found my dungeon bed!

Bonus: Describe your fantasy life in three (3) words.
Livin' the dream!

jump in, the water's nice . . .

I'd like to endeavor to live the rest of my life without regrets . . .

In the world of BDSM, as with many things in life, the most important step is actually the first . . .

Don't wait for tomorrow  . . .

Do it today!

IML2012 - picking up a Dungeon Bed

It's no secret that Serafina and I recently invested in a beautiful piece of BDSM furniture, the Dore Alley bed from DungeonBeds.  The bed's been a dream of mine for quite a while, so when I discovered DungeonBeds.com offering a significant discount for the bed that would be displayed at IML2012 in Chicago, we found a way to make the purchase happen.  The bed was available for pick-up from the DungeonBeds display at the IML Marketplace at the event's end late Monday afternoon, so we spent our Memorial Day in a very unique fashion.

Also making the day unique was our company, as we were joined by another local couple who live a M/s lifestyle.  We very much enjoyed their company.  Although this was just the second time we've ever managed to meet up in person, conversation rolled along as if we'd been lifelong friends, making the entire day a little richer for their presence.

And, at the end of the day, we couldn't have brought the bed into our home without their help, as the headboard is so heavy that it was a little bit of a struggle for us to bring it into our home with three of us lifting and pushing.  I'm feeling the effects of the workout still today!

The day started in a Ryder MetroVan, an absolute necessity because the headboard is a single solid piece.  It's big, it's heavy, and it wouldn't have fit inside a pick-up truck's bed well enough to satisfy me for a multi-hour drive home.  

Sure, it might have worked and saved me the rental cost, but when I'm spending several thousand dollars on a bed, I'm not going to get cheap on transportation and risk bashing up my investment.

For a big moving van, the Ryder wasn't too bad at all to drive.  We raced down the Illinois Tollway in it making good time, with Master's up front, and our slave's lounging together in the back on futon mattresses.

On the trip, Serafina got to show off her massage and Reiki skills, helping to partially relieve Master Dream's precious treasure's migraine headache.  Seemingly, before we knew it, we were looking up at the former Sear's Tower in downtown Chicago.  

Without any traffic drama or navigation difficulties, we drove down the urban canyons of downtown, just a block over from Michigan Avenue's 'Miracle Mile', and arrived at the Hyatt Regency Chicago on East Wacker Drive.

Parking looked to be a challenge, and I found myself circling the Hyatt Regency much as some dog's circle before laying down to sleep.  On the first two passes around our destination, I simply couldn't discern any parking opportunities, I couldn't even seem to find one of downtown Chicago's ubiquitous underground ramps.  Doing my best Clark "Sparky" Griswold impression, I called back to the girls, "Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament . . . "

Then, turning around at an odd dead end turnaround facing out toward's Lake Michigan, I found something that was absolutely priceless for someone driving a huge bulky moving van in Chicago's congested downtown area, wide open on-street parking where I had plenty of room to maneuver and park the big beast.  Good fortune was already smiling down upon us!

the view from where we parked

looking from where we parked towards Lake Michigan - I think the Ferris wheel on the horizon is on Chicago's Navy Pier

It wasn't much more than a block to walk from where we parked to our destination, so as soon as I'd figured out how to work Chicago's self pay parking meter (with the help of a cute little fellow who was obviously also an IML partier - I could tell by the slave tags around his neck) we trekked off to our destination.

The signs inside the front door that said - Hotel Closed for Private Event - assured that we were in the right place, as did our first sighting of a man wearing little more than a jock and a collar.  We'd arrived.

Our guests for the day had been to IML2011, so they were able to quickly guide us all down a pair of escalators, thru a registration area where we paid and were given our IML2012 wrist bands, and on down another level to the vending area.  The room was massive, with long rows of displays by more BDSM gear vendors than I'd ever imagined existed.

Wow!

IML 2012 - something exciting was happening at every turn

Although I've been living a BDSM lifestyle for many years, I'd never managed to ever attend an event of this sort.  My ex-submissive Blissful Torment was always too uptight to attend anything of this kind, after all these aren't the kind of stories she could have told her co-workers when they talked about their weekend's activities . . . 

Prior to this year, Serafina and I had been too busy with caregiver responsibilities to even get away for a day, so everything about IML was brand new to me.  It was a little overwhelming.  The room was so vast, with row upon row of gear displays, it was a bit hard to know even where to begin. 

inside IML2012's vending area

Lacking a complete plan, we simply dove in and started browsing.  Before long, I started shopping.

I've never hid my love of floggers. I'm to the point where I consider myself more than just an aficionado, I'm perhaps approaching the level of becoming a flogger connoisseur.  As I told one of the vendors, not only do I expect a flogger to be functional, I also consider them to be works of art.  At the end of the day, I found and purchased two more floggers for my collection.

The first is a big, long, and heavy, suede leather mop.  It's without a doubt now the heaviest flogger in my collection.  I didn't count (yet) for myself, but the vendor told me there were just over 100 total falls, and to my eye, at a glance, that looks correct.  It's very impressive looking, all black leather, so it will nicely match my all black floggers in both Elk and Goatskin.  

I've already lost the vendor information for this flogger.  Although I took their card, I took cards from a variety of vendors, and they are all mixed together.  Fortunately, I'm sure Master Dream remembers, as they were (I think) a company from which he'd made a previous purchase.

The other flogger was Serafina's pick, and it's easily the softest and most sensuous flogger we now own.  It was made by Heartwood Whips from a deerskin suede that is an absolute delight to touch, so very soft.  I'm positive Serafina will adore it when used on her breasts, and between her legs.

And then I found myself a beautiful leather motorcycle jacket for just $50!  I've never owned a black leather jacket, but I've always wanted one.  Scratch that one off my to-get list!  This one fits me beautifully, and looks pretty darn good on me, if I dare to say so myself. 

Then I saw the DungeonBed's display, at the end of the third or fourth row of aisles we navigated.  I felt a little bit like a child again, there was a bit of an urge to break into a run towards my bed.  That's right, MY BED!  Ah, so close, but yet so far . . . 

I did my best not to hurry our friends through the remaining displays on that aisle.  I'm sure they felt my excitement, and by that point, I think my enthusiasm was at least a little bit infectious, because moments later we were there at the DungeonBeds display.  

And there it was, my bed!.

thousands of leathermen (and leatherwomen) ogled my bed this weekend wishing for one of their own

I waited as politely as I could for to introduce myself, then stuck out my hand to one of the gentlemen manning the display, and said with a huge grin, "Hi, my name's Michael, and that's my bed!"

With a kind smile, indulging my enthusiastic greeting, he said, "Yes, it is!" and introduced himself as Jeff.  I think that I spoke with Jens (Jeff and Jens are the DungeonBed guys) when I called about my order, so now I'd introduced myself to the other half of the team.

I'd looked at some pretty sweet St Andrew's crosses, cages, and spanking benches as we'd wandered through the displays, but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind, my bed was the "best of show".  Nothing else at the show even compared . . . 

Master Dream's precious treasure tries out the under bed cage!

Yes, there was plenty more to see.  

No, I really don't remember much of it at all.  Eventually, after seeing my bed, getting over that burst of excitement, everything became like a dream.

It was very much like everything had become a little bit fuzzy around the edges . . . 

after the bed, everything's a blur

No, I wasn't really dreaming . . . To be very honest, I think my bloodsugar was getting kinda low at that point.  

So, we retired upstairs to the hotel's bistro, where we shared a nice lunch with our new friends.  And then it was time to pick up the bed.  

While our slave/wives returned to the vending area to watch our bed get disassembled and packed for the ride home, the Master's retrieved the moving van and (eventually) found the loading dock deep in the bowels of Chicago's under-city.

The fine gentlemen from DungeonBed's disassembled the bed with Serafina watching and taking photos. so we'd feel extremely well prepared to put things back together when we arrived home.  Everything was packaged carefully, wrapped in foam and shrink wrapped, before being leaded into the van.

the bed is disassembled for the ride home

Within little more than an hour of the show's closing, our new bed was secured, strapped down inside the van, and we were homeward bound.  

IML2012 was great fun.  I very much look forward to attending the event in future years.  

But, as good as that gets, I look forward even more to getting my Serafina restrained to my new bed, not to mention setting her in the sling at the bed's end . . . 

Now you bring her back to us . . .

Serafina and I had a lovely surprise waiting for us this morning from our dear friend Becca, a wonderful short story to be shared with our readers!  I don't know that there's anything more to say, other than that we hope you enjoy Becca's story as muc as we did . . . 

A Journey of Firsts (could be more parts?) by Becca



It was my first, scratch that, our first night in New York City. He had been many times, but this was my first time in this amazing place. It was going to be a night of firsts. The time had come, and that was that. I was excited and nervous and the jazz bar, full of hipsters of all ages, seemed perfect. We walked in, His warm large hand on the exposed part of my lower back, immediately calming me and making me warm all over. And wet, so wet already. I looked around at all the attractive, well dressed people in pockets of conversation in the softly lit, cozy ambiance of the club. We wandered over to the bar.

 

"I'll have a scotch, the Laphroaig please. And the lady will have...", and he looked at me expectantly,

"A Hendricks martini please. Thank you." I wanted something I was going to sip. He ordered from the bartender. Smiling and feeling playful, he took my face in his hand, leaned down and kissed me softly. Then, biting my earlobe whispered, "You will find her here, I can feel it. There are already eyes on you, beautiful girl."

 

I nuzzled my face against his, feeling empowered from his attention. The bartender placed our drinks beside us and he passed me mine. We clinked glasses. I noticed an empty booth and pressed into him to point it out. As we meandered through the crowd I smiled and made eye contact with the groups, looking for just the right girl. The booth was perfect and gave us both an excellent view of the room. As we sat down he asked if I had seen any that had caught my eye, the sparkle in his eyes making me wish I had her beside me already.

 

We talked for a bit and then I noticed her, shoulder length red streaky hair, some piercings and a tattoo that peeked over her breasts. She was laughing, and there was just... something about her. I pointed her out to him, it was hard to tell if he was surprised at my choice, or if she was what he thought I would be attracted to. He just smiled indulgently at me and kept stroking my leg, up under my  dress and never... quite.. touching... my aching naked pussy. Teasing me until I groaned.

 

"Now you bring her back to us." He said, kissing me on the nose and scooting me out of our comfy booth. Now I was truly doing this. On my way over, I slipped up to the bar and had another drink sent over to him.

 

I wiggled my way through the crowd over to her, and smiling made eye contact. "Hey!" I managed waving a little, "I just had to tell you that you remind me so much of an old friend of mine, and well, I just had to say hello. Also, those may be the best shoes in here. My name is Becca."

 

"You are just too sweet! Thank you! I'm Jani!" and before I knew it we were talking all kinds of girly stuff, showing and talking tattoos.

 

"Come over and meet my boyfriend, we've got a fabulous booth and I'll buy you a drink - I have got to hear more about your art studio!" I said, the bar's noise making it so we had to lean into each other with our lips practically on each others ears. She took grabbed my hand and told me to lead the way.

 

Getting back to the booth, I saw he had gotten his drink, he looked up from his iphone and waved us in. I got in the middle, hoping to put her at ease. He was charming and funny and things were getting flirty, with Jani and I touching and leaning into each other giggling.

 

"I've totally got to freshen up, girls trip?" I said, noticing she hadn't let go of my hand.

 

"Of course!" she responded. Jani looked down and noticed his hand having bunched my skirt up and she got a little pink, but didn't let go.

 

"Off you go, ladies... don't have too much fun without me." He said smiling at the two of us. I felt flush - warm all over from the touching and flirting. When we got to the bathroom, the place was packed. When a stall came up, I told her to squeeze in with me.

 

"You go first." I told her. She was a bit taller that me, and I wanted to try my own dominant voice out. Small ways. See if she would respond to me. She did, immediately doing as I said. Ooh, I kind of liked that. "Here. Take this wipe," I said taking one out of my purse, "and make sure you are nice and clean." Jani looked at me for a brief moment, with a look I'm not even sure how to explain, and said thank you, got all blushy, pulled up her pants, flushed and then took my hand, smiling shyly at me. She would be perfect. Before I could stop my self, I said "Good girl." and when she squeezed my hand I felt light headed.

 

Getting back out into the throng, we made or way back and I let Jani sit in the middle this time. He just raised an eyebrow and me and I smiled at Him, looking forward to when I could tell him what happened in the bathroom.

 

The energy had gone from fun to very sexual. And that's where the conversation jumped to.

 

"Jani, have you ever kissed a girl?" He playfully asked.

 

"Oh yeah, I did the whole college thing. Who didn't?" She laughed, looking at me and biting her lip.

 

"Poor little Becca never has, if you can believe that..." now it was my turn to be a little pink. It felt like the room had disappeared, contracted, and it was just the three of us in this intimate warm space.

 

"What?! No way! Well, I would have kissed you!" Jani said laughing and playing with my fingers, then looked at me and said quietly, leaning in to say close to my ear, our breasts touching through our close, "I'd kiss you now." And I turned my face so we were nose to nose, feeling her warm, sweet breath on me - I kissed her tentatively. Her lips were so unbelievably soft. I opened my eyes and looked over at him, I could feel his heated stare  right to my soul. I wanted to touch him, touch her, be touched by both of them. We had to leave, it was like I was burning up with my need to rub myself all over this soft creature.

 

When my mouth opened and our tongues met, I moaned into her mouth "Come with us." in between kisses. He had scootched up behind her and was reaching around and stroking my hair smiling at me. Jani smiled and I cupped her face as he had done to me earlier. Tonight I chose her.

 

We made it back to the hotel, the mood had lightened in the cab, were we had been giggling and kissing. At one point we had both crawled onto his lap and were kissing him, then kissing each other, hands over clothes, rubbing and pinching. I loved the feeling of being pressed up against her breasts. No wonder men loved that!

 

In the hotel room, he had set firm rule - I was to immediately assume my submissive role with him, naked and kneeling. But I wanted Jani to be Mine. My pet. So as he was opening the door, I found my baby Dom voice again. "Jani." I said firmly making eye contact "When we go in the room, there will be rules. You will do as I ask and you will call me Miss. Do you understand?"

 

Jani got that funny look on  her face, and then answered back, "Yes, Miss."

 

"Good girl." I said (loving the sound of it more) stepping closer and letting her lean down and kiss me. She mewed into my mouth.

 

He held the door and we went inside.

 

"You girls get each other undressed and get comfortable on the bed. I'll put some music on." he told us.

 

As the soft sensual music floated through the room, we slowly enjoyed taking off each others clothes. As each piece exposed more flesh, we gently kissed, stroked and rubbed each new part. She was so soft, so different. When we were naked, we climbed up on the bed and naturally laid down pressed up against each other, kissing.

 

He had watched the whole process, still clothed but with his cock pulled out and rock hard from watching and stroking himself.

 

"May we undress you?" I asked him, so wanting -needing - to touch him. And then I knew. Before we took anything off of him, what I wanted my pet and I to do. Turning to Jani, I said "You and I are going to suck and lick his cock until he cums. *If* you get any of His cum in your mouth,  you are *not* to swallow but feed it back to me. Understood?"

 

"Yes Miss." Jani said smiling, kissing me and rubbing her naked breasts over mine. Something in our shared smile, eye contact, made me certain that she and I were both looking forward to tasting him.

 

Down on our knees in front of Him, we started licking, kissing and sucking each side of His cock, and when reaching the tip circling our tongue around the head, and each other's tongues and kissing and taking turns swallowing him. He was groaning and rocking his hips - I could feel his was close. We were both mouthing the tip when he started to come and then he grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth hard, letting me swallow almost all his delicious load. He had cum just a little bit on our lips before he had grabbed me. Jani, knowing what I wanted wiped the cum off my chin and brought it to my lips and then presented her lips and cheek so I could lick it off of her. I think he enjoyed watching our exchange because he was already starting to get hard again.

 

"I want you to eat Jani's pussy. Jani, get on the bed and lay back for your Miss." He said, taking control of the room.

 

"Yes Sir," Jani replied crawling up and spreading her legs wide. It was my first real look at another woman in the flesh.

 

"Get up there, be my good girl and make her cum. That's it... I want your ass up in the air so i can fuck it while you taste your first pussy. That's my good girl... " He coos to me spreading my cum all  over my asshole. I lean in, I can see how wet she is, I try to think of how I like it as i take my first teasing lick. It's amazing. The soft flesh, the warm earthy smell and taste. I'm exploring. Licking, sucking short strokes, looong licks. He starts to ease in and I push myself back onto him, groaning into her pussy. My face is covered in her cum. She's got one hand wrapped in my hair and he is digging into my hips. My cunt is throbbing. Lapping at Jani's pussy, she is starting to buck and he, reaches and around and rubs my clit, making me double my efforts and fuck myself frantically on his cock. Jani tenses and cry's out putting me in a head lock and I cum, lost in the sensations and can feel him ram deeply into me also shouting out his release, feeling his hot cum shooting into me. God, nothing feels like he does.

 

I crawl up beside Jani and kiss her on the mouth, and she licks and kisses and sucks her own cum from my lips and face. He curls up behind me and hugs us all close. I have decided I love being in the middle. After a lovely cuddle, Jani sits up and gives us both a kiss.

Going Somewhere?

We're off to IML2012 to pick up our dungeon bed and peruse perverted play-tool purveyors.

So, do you have any exciting travel plans for Memorial Day weekend?

True Love

Some days are just a bit more mellow than others.  I was cruising my Facebook Page today and came across a very sweet pic that was being passed around so I just had to share it with our readers, seeing in general BDSMers are perceived as strange, odd or perverted. . we are!

life's soundtrack . . .

just a poignant lyric fragment from a heartfelt performance of an exceptional composition . . .

 it took me took me 20 years just to find myself a pen
for to write down all the words
just to scratch them out again
oh I could use another 20 years
just to fix the last 15 

EDIT - I had to add another . . . He's really that good!

about this morning

My darling slave/wife wrote this morning about seeing a glance of disapproval as I left the house earlier today.  I'd be the first to admit it was there, but not for the reason she might have thought . . .  

My darling Serafina,

I hope that by now you realize I wasn't upset with you earlier today.  I was simply "off put" for a moment, and, rather than being mad at you, I was upset with myself for having failed to give better instructions.

I do cherish our normal rituals in the morning, the goodbye kiss as I go out the door, the wave I get from you as I put the car in drive.  I should simply have asked you to delay hopping in the tub for 5 minutes until our ritual was complete.  There was plenty of hot water available to make up for the minor cooling the tub would experience in that time . . .  

I failed to think ahead to realize that giving you permission to hop in the tub immediately, I was depriving myself of the joy of our normal rituals.  That is always a sacrifice, not seeing your face at the door as I leave, but some days it's more of a sacrifice than others.  Today, that kiss at the door, that wave goodbye, would have been priceless.

But, the fact that I didn't get everything I wanted this morning, was in no way a failing on your part, instead it was a lack of foresight and planning on my part.  My leadership failed, not your service.  My mind was already off thinking about my work partners, thinking about this afternoon's meeting.

I trust you so implicitly, that when I'm distracted like that, you might be asking anything from a request for cash to cover household expenses to permission to put a pool in the back yard, I just say yes and don't even think another thought.

I know I preach mindfulness to you, and today I was not mindful.  The best leaders lead by example, and in that I failed us both today.  That was my realization upon seeing you reclined in the soothing warm water as I rushed off to my work.  Top that off with the fact that I suddenly realized I wasn't getting my expected goodbye, and you can fully well understand why you saw a grimace rather than a grin.

In the end, none of that is vitally important, it's all only a single moment, now past . . .

Servitude

Kinda like attitude with a servant's heart.

This morning it feels like I have seriously offended Master. I feel a void as well.

Almost without ever missing a beat I enjoy attending to Master as he is getting ready to get to work at the office. I get him his drink, ensure that we take our allergenic meds, make breakfast, and run his bath.

Quite often as he is having his bath I may just stand, or sit near him and we chat. Often there is a bit of fussing with the laundry. (The bath area and laundry area occupy the same area.)

Today was no exception. Some days there is plenty of hot water. Many days it is only acceptable. We have had many discussions with this hot-water heater. It does whatever it wants anyway!

Today was a really bracing warmth offering. We have been putting in laminate flooring for our bedroom. The first few rows are hell. But, it does get easier. Last evening we had made significant progress, but in return we got really sore. So sore and tired that I didn't have my shower before bed and instead I washed my face and arms.


This morning the bath sounded SOOOO GOOD! I asked Master to leave the bath so I could hop in after he was done. he cordially agreed and when he was done I slipped into that warm encompassing delicious hot water.

I knew that Master would need clean socks and underwear, and had them laid out where he always dresses. Master was on his own and probably felt a bit of pressure to get going, and I wasn't there for him. He returned to where I was in the tub and hastily said he had to get going. I asked for a kiss and he barely had time for that.

I feel bad now for taking that bath, because it put stress on Master and I feel like I missed out, because I so enjoy serving and looking out for Master. I feel like Master was less than happy, and I put the underwear and socks back into the drawer again, and I feel like a wind sock. I allowed me to indulge myself and it costs me. . it really does.

I took a bath this morning, and my muscles are very grateful.  Unfortunately I feel just a bit empty .

feeling yuck again . . . still muddlin' thru somehow

It's a bad season for asthma here, leaving me wiped out something terrible, and having to resort to medicine I haven't used in years.

I shook the bronchitis that was bothering me earlier in the month, but my asthma has flared up and is leaving me with no energy to write or, do much besides my absolute necessities . . .

In theory reality I have more than just asthma, I really also have emphysema in one lobe of my lungs.  I usually manage my lung health well enough that my own doctor of more than a decade has forgotten I have emphysema, requiring me to remind him once a year ot two ago, necessitating a look back thru the charts to a MRI from 2000.

It's not something I like to discuss or admit, and it is a legacy of smoking cigarettes for part of the 1980's and all of the '90's.  It was a stupid disgusting habit, and I have no one to blame but myself for the fact that I have the disease.

I suppose one reason I hesitate to discuss emphysema more openly, is the fact that it's usually an old person's disease.  I consider myself to be solidly ensconced in middle age, not old age.  Yet, it's also true that I have degenerative disc disease and moderate osteoarthritis in my lower back, also diseases of the aged.

I also have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, which is far more common with women, one reason I rarely discuss that condition either.  It's not a masterly thing from which to suffer.  I suppose emphysema and arthritis aren't real masterly either, so maybe that has something to do with my hesitance to advertise those diseases.

But hell's bells folks, I feel like a semi-wreck right now, I've not felt well enough to write anything really good for weeks now (my apologies to the postings I've just disparaged but you are what you are, and are perhaps not my absolute best work IMHO. . . )

I guess it's time to break down and see my Doc about some prednisone or a Medrol pack.  Damn, I hate taking those, but I'm to the point where there's no choice.

I'd like to leave this post on a high note, so I'll point out that a pair of new floggers I commissioned from Snake Pit Leather Works are completed and should be on their way here as we speak.  So, for that I'm certainly excited.  And there's the road trip to Chicago with some friends planned for this weekend, lookiing forward to that too . . .

Tough Descisions

photo by Serafina Samadhi

The toughest decision I ever had to make was around mother's day or Easter when my X had enlisted my children after a number of seasons of undermining me with our kids; I was given an ultimatum and I was told to choose between them and Master Samadhi.


At first I thought my only option was to to stay, but then I knew my existence would empty and void. I realized that to live the rest of my life that way was not what I wanted. So I asked Master for another chance with him, and he replied he would wait for as long as I needed to come and be with him.


Well the rest is history as they say and even with all kinds of tumult going on around us we became us today. I am convinced I made the correct choice.

IML 2012 Vendor List

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keeping her quiet - cleanliness is next to godliness edition

Dirty Mouth?

I said a bad word once, and I actually did get my mouth washed out with soap. 
    ~ Ashlee Simpson

Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 11) - Soap Gag

Welcome to yet another installment in an ongoing series of posts about gags and gagging in BDSM.  Other postings in this series (so far) include:

1. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 1) - Duct Tape Gags
2. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 2) - Introduction to Gags
3. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 3) - Variations on a Gag
4. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 4) - Wiffle Gag
5. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 5) - Serafina's Assignment
6. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 6) - Hand Gag
7. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 7) - Drooling!
8. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 8) - Gag Maker Extraordinaire
9. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 9) - Panty Gags
10. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 10) - Fetish Gags
11. Keeping Her Quiet (pt. 11) - Soap Gag

I'd like to take a moment to remind my readers that the series title is not intended to be chauvinistic of sexist.   Instead, it's entirely a reflection of my 30 years of experience exploring BDSM as a heterosexual dominant.

You are who you are, and I am who I am, and that is all good.  Isn't it marvelous that we all aren't the same in our personal wants, needs, and desires?  Instead of being offended or put-off by any references I might make to sexual orientations that are different from your own, I simply ask that you to simply change an occasional pronoun in your mind in order to bring my essay into line with your own orientation and/or world view.

Soap and education are not as sudden as a massacre, but they are more deadly in the long run.

    -  Mark Twain

Many of us, as children, when caught using foul language by a parent or other authority figure, were threatened with having our mouth washed out with soap.  It's a classic threat, although I'm not sure how effective it is in preventing cursing, for most of us all it did was perhaps encourage us to be a little careful when and where we used such colorful language.

It should come as no great surprise then, that the threat of similar treatment for a foul mouthed submissive is not unknown.  From there, it's not a giant leap to today's topic, the soap gag.

This isn't a common gag, it could easily have fit with the previous post in this series, Fetish Gags.  In all honesty, today's post was almost entirely inspired by a single image I encountered on tumblr this morning.  When I showed the picture to my slave/wife Serafina, she immediately asked . . . 

"Is that soap?"

When I nodded an affirmative, her immediate response was, "Ewwwwwwww!!!!"

I'm guessing that the threat of having one's mouth washed out with soap is going to be more effective with your average submissive than it was with your average insolent child, at least that's my line of thinking.  Let me make it clear, though, that's not a theory I've tested extensively, it's just some personal speculation.

When I asked Serafina if she'd ever been threatened as a child with having her mouth washed out with soap, her reply wasn't exactly what I expected.  "Well Master," she said to me, "Mennonite parents don't bother with that sort of thing, if they don't like your language, you get spanked."    OK . . . I'll spare you, dear reader, my reaction, as I don't believe in spanking children, and my language might be a poor example in a post about dirty mouths!

While on the topic of of discipline, I will say that while I believe the threat of washing a swearing submissive's mouth out with soap might be a valid part of a dominant's arsenal, I don't believe it's a threat to make to a child, and in some venues the act might be considered a form of child abuse.  I do know of an instance where a couple was charged with a crime when it was discovered they had placed a bar of soap in thier child's mouth for ten minutes.

I'm not planning on using a soap gag on Serafina anytime soon, and I'm not suggesting it as an addition to the average dominant's bag of tricks, I'm simply acknowledging that I've encountered the use of soap gags in my travels across the world wide web.  

If you are planning on using a soap gag, I have no experience from which to advise, and can only give some general common sense suggestions.  As with anything I'd put into a submissive's mouth, I'd want to know the ingredients so as to avoid unnecessary exposure to unhealthy chemicals.  I'd follow the same general advice used for folks who like to use some soap in an enema; avoid detergents, fragrances, and other chemicals that can irritate or be absorbed through a mucus membrane.  

I'd also remind any submissive actually experiencing a soap gag, that gags and drooling go together like dogs and stink. Soaps are made from lye and fat, not exactly what I'm looking to have my submissive consume.  I'd suggest swallowing nothing but your pride, as any swallowed soap can be an irritant in the stomach.  

In the case of  the couple who were arrested for placing a bar of soap in a child's mouth, they were actually reported to law enforcement by emergency room personnel, they had taken their child to the emergency room for vomiting caused by their version of what might be considered a soap gag.  

I'm sure soap could be a terrible irritant if inhaled, and surfactants found in some soaps could significantly impair lung function.  I'd avoid circumstance and conditions where my submissive might end up inhaling soap at all costs.

boobs a lot

Earlier this week I posted a paean to natural breasts, which was generally well received (notwithstanding a pair of surgical alteration advocates who somehow tried to turn my personal preference into a statement about society's ill will towards all women who don't look like a fashion model) - that is except for the part where I forgot to mention mouse traps (if you have to ask you haven't been reading comments) . . .

Now, everywhere I look, I see breasts!!!  I don't know if I was catching on to some kind of trend with my subconscious, or if there's just something in the air, but it seems that everywhere I look since then, I see boobs!  It turns out, they are everywhere!

First I was written by my dear friend Cherub, who thanked me for the post, saying it was a nice consolation for the constant looks her own chest seems to attract.  Since I don't have a cast of characters kind of post describing my current (or past) relationship status with the individuals I mention here, I'll just briefly mention that Cherub was a friend, play partner, and girlfriend to Blissful Torment and myself in a tempestuous relationship that lasted the better part of a decade.

With that said, I believe I can (at some small risk) editorialize about Cherub's personal endowments, and say that the glances and stares that she endures are well deserved.  Obviously, I thought she was attractive when we were lovers, and it's my opinion that she's cuter still today.  And, describing her chest, I'd choose to use that now classic Sienfeldian quote . . . "They're real, and they're spectacular."

Cherub knows it too.  Once when breaking up (I did say our relationship was tempestuous didn't I?), sitting on a secluded stairwell with a vast view over the Mississippi River and Davenport, she pulled her shirt down revealing a fancy brassiere cradling her bountiful breasts, and said to me, point blank, "I'll bet you are going to miss these."

I remember looking at her cleavage, glancing up into her eyes, then looking again at the breasts.  I replied by saying a simple, "Yeah" - and then turned back towards the river.  What the fuck else could I say?  It's not like I was could lie . . .

Moving on with my story, after responding to Cherub's note, I opened up Facebook, where I was greeted by an NPR story devoted to . . . Yes, you guessed it, Boobies!

The link on Facebook led me to an article named - Just What's Inside Those Breasts? - a troubling story on how breasts and breast milk reveal the depths of a woman's lifetime exposure to a number of man-made chemicals that are toxic, carcinogenic, and/or endocrine disruptive.  Please go read the article or (better still) listen to the associated 41 minute interview with Florence Williams, author of Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History.

Sadly, one of the nasties found concentrated in breasts and breast milk is the old villain, phthalates.  I've written about the dangers of pthalates in sex toys, as have many other sex bloggers.  When Ms Williams discusses her inability to reduce her body's load of phthalates despite adapting a vegan diet and a whole host of other lifestyle changes, I can't help myself from wondering if she's aware of, and avoiding, potential phthalate exposure from adult toys . . .

Finally, when opening up tumblr just moments ago, I found the large Boobies are Beautiful illustration that initiates this post.

Yes indeed, I'm not the only one with breasts on my mind . . .

stalker (deux)

Returning to my frightening tale of spectres and returns from the grave . . .

The story of Serafina's and my wedding, our non-honeymoon (caregiver responsibilities precluded our going away together even for a single night) and other related activities deserve their own postings, which I'll get to as time and inspiration allow.  Simply said, it was a beautiful and wonderful day, perhaps the best day of my life, if only because it cemented my relationship with Serafina.  It allowed us to get on with the pesky process of immigration, and it made legal what had been in our hearts from almost the first . . .

The important thing to tell you, my dear reader, for the development of this particular tale, is that exactly one week to the day after we were married, I got a fateful message on Facebook . . .

The note wasn't from a familiar name, at least it didn't seem to be so at first glance.  I nearly deleted the message without thought.  Then, just as I was about to trash it, I recognized the name.  It was a note from none other than my first girlfriend from back in the 1970's, the one that I'd been told was dead . . .

Balloon Head was alive!

The message I got from my former girlfriend included the first in a string of what would become a rather odd pattern of happenings and coincidences that followed my first girlfriend around like a literal shadow.  She told the story of how, on the day Serafina and I were wed, while driving along the Mississippi River with her nephew, she had noticed a sign on the side of the road with my last name.

The sign itself has it's own entertaining aside, as it had been decorated by my blushing bride.  There were several balloons attached, so yes, I must admit to you, my dear reader, that one (coincidentally) even had a "balloon head" replete with it's own artistically drawn smiley face.  All courtesy of a Sharpie pen and a bride with nervous energy.

The funny thing is, the sign announcing our wedding, was itself an afterthought; something we'd thrown together to help a couple of directionally challenged friends, hoping they'd actually find our festivities.  Without thinking, we'd also managed to include our own balloon head in the wedding.

Recognizing my name, motivated by fond remembrances of youthful times together, the lady called Balloon Head couldn't help but try to look me up.  She'd hunted for me online, found my Facebook presence (among others) and sent me the message I was currently reading.

To say that I'd made myself easy to find was an understatement.  I'd been considering a run for political office, so my website was located at the hopeful politico's classic web address - my name plus a dot-com.  I probably don't need to tell you that my site was complete with photos of myself at work and play, it's own detailed biographical page, and a number of political and patriotic writings.  There were even listings of public events and parades I planned to attend.

I only realized in retrospect that in striving to make myself the model of a trustworthy, transparent and totally available public servant, I was also creating a gigantic billboard styled advertisement for a potential stalker.  You can't draw a better road map to a person's life than the web presence of a politico in today's age of social networking.  I was seeking exposure, and believe me, I got it . . .

To say that I was surprised to her from Ms Balloon Head would be more than a little understatement, I was floored. As you might remember, for more than 30 years I'd believed her to be dead.  Somebody somewhere had some 'splainin' to do!

we are the world (to some)

bound breasts from Sex and Submission

A good friend of mine who just had a baby arrive a few days ago was talking with me about watching his newborn dream the other day.  His one great conclusion?  That his son must be dreaming about breasts!

My friend's observation surprised me a little, as he's not sexist and he's rarely heard discussing anything even remotely sexual.  But his logic was seemingly inescapable, he simply reasoned that breasts were a week old baby's entire world.  At an older age it's likely that a newborn would have other dreams, their world having enlarged to include brightly colored mobile objects dancing above their cribs and a world of other sights and sensations.  But, at a week of age or less, boobies are all they've got!

I suppose there's little wonder that some of us never outgrow our fixation with breasts, they are marvelous and beautiful objects worthy of desire and obsession.  With all of that said, it's my opinion that far too many cosmetic surgeries are done to enhance and/or alter women's breasts.

My favorite breasts on the planet are my slave/wife's, making me one hell of a lucky guy.  Her breasts aren't what a surgeon would consider perfect, but that's probably true of most every other woman out there too, plastic surgeons like to create their own versions of beauty, rather than accepting nature's.

To me (I'm not a surgeon by the way,) my Serafina's chest is not only beautiful, her breasts are perfect.  My slave/wife has had 4 children, and she's been on the planet for five full decades, so I'm sure a plastic surgeon would find things to improve.  I however, do not.

With all of that said, this post wasn't meant to be a paean to my slave's breasts, instead it is to express my personal preference for unaltered anatomy.  If you absolutely want or need cosmetic surgery on your breasts, I won't hold it against you socially or personally, but I won't hold you against me sexually.  It's just not my thing.

I endeavor to always be sex positive, that's also something I strongly encourage in Serafina.  I don't care to become onto an individual who is judgmental of other's kink or play style.  I endeavor to be an "anything goes between consenting adults" kind of fellow, accepting of other's kink even if it's not my own.

But, that doesn't mean I don't have personal preferences.

And, personally, I don't care for the telltale signs of a plastic surgeon's work.  It doesn't turn me on to see perfectly shaped breasts with a scars around the areola, rather, it has the opposite effect.

As we were splitting up, my ex had a boob reduction, and I’ll never forget her whipping them out from under the pressure bandages to show me.  I guess she thought that smaller breasts would win me back, or perhaps she was trying to taunt me with what I wasn't going to have if she left.  The thing is, she showed me while there were still bloody stitches surrounding her nipples.  I don’t believe she intended that to be the way I remember her breasts, but that image is now burned into my memory.

And, in it's own way, that's a good reminder of something I've learned about the human condition.  It's difficult (if not impossible) to choose how other's will perceive us, it's not practical to believe we can choose how other's will remember us.  And, in the end, it's not how we look that will be remembered most, it's how we act.

Looks are really important for first impressions only, and that's not reason enough to submit one's self to the surgeon's knife.  A soft mouth and a talented tongue will peak my interest far more than a pair of bee stung lips.

I openly admit those are my personal preferences, not everyone will agree that natural beauty is more attractive than the kind of physical "perfection" that can be attained through surgery, and that's ok.  Heck, it's a good thing!  I mean somebody's got to love women like my ex . . . just not me~!

Thank You! (and a close call)

I'd like to thank everyone who commented with well wishes in response to my recent post about not feeling the best.  I'd like to think that your well wishes, kind regards, and healing thoughts and prayers have made a difference, as I am feeling much better today, and can say with certainty that I am on the mend.  Thank you!

Anyone who's suffered from asthma knows that lungs don't just get better overnight, especially when they've been hit by bronchitis.  While it's true that there's still more than a little residual inflammation, I'm breathing much more freely, and I'm no longer running a fever.  With just a little time, and some help from my friend Advair, I'll be back to normal.

I'm usually very good at managing my own health.  In theory, I have Emphysema in one lobe of my lungs, but my own Doctor of 15+ years even tends to forget that fact.  It's a legacy of smoking cigarettes, but that's far in my past, I've not had a drag or a puff of tobacco smoke since 2000.  I'll probably never be a distance runner again, but normal life is absolutely unaffected, and my sexual stamina is better than ever (I think that's normal for guys in their 40's in that we might not be able to fuck 6 times a night, but we more than make up for it in staying power.)

In theory I also have Fibromyalgia, as well as degenerative disc disease in my lower back.  My darling slave/wife Serafina also suffers from those same health issues, that's a part of how we met and why we are a good match for each other.  But once again, we don't let those conditions have much effect on our lives, and their effect on our sexual desires and play are almost totally negligible.  Upon occasion, Serafina will comment about how she couldn't sustain a particular bondage pose because she's getting older, and I always respond with a laugh, and the reminder that a lot of 20 year old women can't do those extreme poses anyway.

And, in the end, it's not that important to me that Serafina be able to bend herself into the shape of a pretzel, specific poses and particular ties aren't what attracted me to bondage and BDSM anyway.  I love so many different aspects of BDSM, there are so many different things about playing with dominance and submission that excite, I'd like to think it's pretty hard to disappoint me.

I saw that Serafina also commented on a close call I had while driving earlier this week.  I encountered some kind of speed jockey who was driving in a manner that caught me by total surprise.  I was entering an interstate highway via a poorly designed old on ramp where exiting traffic and entering traffic have a short lane they share as each merges in opposite directions.

As I came around my cloverleaf, I noticed there was heavy traffic, so I prepared for quick acceleration, as there's not much space on those kind of raps to get up to highway speed.  As I came to the actual intersection, both lanes of the interstate were full, a gray Chevy in the closest lane, and a white Mustang zipping by the in far lane of the highway, apparently in the act of passing the Chevy.

The gray car signaled and exited the interstate in front of me, slowing down rapidly, I had to tap my brakes to avoid the Chevy, but then in order to merge quickly to my left, I was forced to accelerate hard, pressed forward by fast moving traffic coming from behind.  It's like this almost every day as I begin my drive home.

Just as I finished my merge, with perhaps no more than a few car lengths remaining, a white streak flashed in front of my bumper.  I'm still not sure how the car cleared my bumper, I had to get out and look for a paint mark when I got home, to make sure there wasn't some kind of incidental contact, it was really that close.  There was no time to react, my right foot was fully down on the accelerator, and by the time I'd switched to the brake, everything was already just a scene flashing in front of my eyes.

Apparently, the idiot in the white Mustang was trying to blow past the gray Chevy on his way into the off-ramp.  All I know for sure is that as soon as he cleared my bumper, the Mustang began sliding sideways, and then sliding almost backwards as it's rear end skidded across the pavement in an oversteer styled response from the driver's desperate maneuvering.

I thought for a moment that the Mustang was going to roll.  Then, I thought the Chevy was going to be unable to avoid the Mustang flashing by sideways across the ramp.  In the end, great tragedy was avoided, as the only car that appeared to be worse for wear from the incident was the Mustang, sitting in the grassy cloverleaf.  In my rear view mirror, I eventually saw him restart his car and head back onto pavement.

Photo by Serafina Samadhi- I74 Bridge over the Mississippi River

 

It all happened so fast, there wasn't even time for my heart to start racing.

feeling blech!

Please excuse the sparceness of recent postings . . .

We worked hard on home improvements over the weekend, starting the room remodel necessary to feature our Dore Alley bed in a proper setting to do it justice . . .

Unfortunately, I worked hard enough to make myself sick . . .

Because I have pretty severe asthma, I've always been prone to catching bronchitis, and today's no different.  My biggest allergy problems stem from house dust and mold, just the kind of things that tearing up old carpet will stir up and put into the air . . .

I felt progressively worse each day over the weekend, and worse still yesterday.  Simple asthma attacks, wen ignored, almost always progress to some kind of infection.  I'm running a fever and my lungs were bad enough yesterday that I required a nebulizer treatement . . .

With a deadline for the arrival of our new bed hanging over our heads, I can say with absolute certainty that this couldn't have come on at a worse time . . .

Please send well wishes and healing energy, and know that once I'm feeling just a bit better that I'll be back to complete the stories I have in progress as well as delivering yet another installment in my ongoing series about gags . . .

Michael

stalker . . .

Come close my dear reader, gather around the campfire, as I tell the haunting story of a spectre who returned from the dead to crash my wedding . . .

I'm not screwing around here either, this is no mere invented horror story, I'm deadly serious.  With Serafina as my witness, I proclaim that the events I'm about to recount did truly occur in the State of Illinois and Township of M*****, on the 23rd day in the month of July, the 2010th Year of Our Lord.

My tale actually begins much earlier, all the way back in 1978, at a small private school, where a pair of social outcasts befriended each other, eventually becoming intimate.  She'd tell you that I was her first lover, and I'd have to admit that she was my first love.  We dated for two years, attending Homecoming and Prom as a couple while underclassmen.

Standing almost equal to my 6' height, she was a tall girl, with a particularly strong oval shape to her face.  She was called "Balloon Head", a name that made me wince every time I heard it used.  I was just a poor boy at a rich kid's paradise, attending by the grace of an academic scholarship.  One of my classmates occasionally drove his Father's brand new 1979 Porsche to school, I drove my deceased Grandfather's 1966 Plymouth Fury, and was grateful for having transportation.

At the time, I didn't consider us to be sexually adventurous, and compared to what I hear and read about kids today, we'd be perhaps a bit behind the curve, perhaps not.  I know that at the age of 16 I thought about sex most every waking moment, not to mention dreaming about it at night, so it seemed rather normal to me when we'd try to always find a way to sneak off from a crowd to fool around.

I don't intend to be too graphic about our young lust, technically it's borderline kiddie porn, we were both just 16 at the time we started having sex.  But, I have to admit, the venues we found for lovemaking were unique.  I suppose it could be argued that my start with "Spiritual Sex" occurred with Balloon Head, as I did accept oral ministrations from her while inside the chapel of a Church.  Without being too sacrilegious, I'll admit that was the only part of attending Luther League I honestly enjoyed.

Being an honors student helped me evade too much of any teacher's ire when we managed to disappear on the occasional Friday afternoon, when the school had non traditional scheduling and classes.  Being "responsible" by using condoms I'd stolen from a local pharmacy was my way of showing that I cared.  Being intimate meant that she told me her "secrets" - that she suffered from leukemia, and that she was adopted.

I suppose those things bound me closer to her, I felt somehow gallant for having this tragic love for a sick girl.  I always saw her parents treating her just a little differently than her two sisters, and having a father of my own who'd been adopted, I felt very protective of my young girlfriend.  I felt betrayed when upon confiding her secrets to my parents, that they told me it wasn't true, couldn't be true, and tsk tsk'd me for being so naive and gullible.

When she stopped returning my calls, a friend told me that she'd been pressured to do so by her Mother, a seemingly hateful old crone.  The story was that her Mother knew I was planning on attending Medical School, seeing no immediate future I could offer a sick young lady, she insisted instead on her adopted daughter finding a more suitable and immediately available future mate.

Her loss hit me hard, and I was despondent for a while.  I didn't date again for several months.  Inevitably, I did move on with my life, I was married at age 18 and divorced at 21.  While going through my divorce, a school friend and I were playing basketball together, and out of the blue he brought up the topic of Balloon Head.

My friend asked me if I knew she'd passed away . . .

He explained that my classmates had been informed of her leukemia by a teacher, who knowing my feelings for the girl, choose to tell the class on a day I was absent.  He went on to say that Balloon Head had passed away during the second year of my marriage, and that no one had wanted to tell me about it around my wife.

I was stunned . . . shocked . . . I strongly felt the injustice and impermanence of life, I questioned whether there really could be a merciful God who could allow such a thing to happen to such a precious girl, a girl I felt had suffered injustice and injury with every turn.

Again, I moved on with my life, but I know the loss was felt deeply, it changed me.  For the longest time I swore it was also my destiny to live fast, die young, and leave behind a moderately good looking corpse, for there was no meaning, no justice . . .

I took refuge in backpacking, in the wilderness.  I disappeared one day myself, with nary a word to old friends, off to the Grand Canyon where I trained to become a chef.  From there it was on to become an activist, community organizer, etc.

Flock of geese on our wedding day

Eventually I meet Serafina, and we fast forward to our wedding in 2010.  We were married on an absolutely gorgeous summer day.  I swear that the day was perfect, the deep blue prairie sky overhead, my wife and I being wed along the banks of the mighty Mississippi river.  Just as the ceremony began, a nearby flock of Canadian Geese took off, skimming across the tops of the river's waves, a seeming tribute to my fair bride's Canadian heritage.  You can't script that kind of stuff, it's just something magical that happened.

The only thing that wasn't perfect was the presence of a pair of idiots on jet skis who seemed intent on watching our ceremony from the river, noisily gunning the annoying little craft's motors to fight the strong river
current . . .

(to be continued)