You can't spell Buddhism without B, D, S, and M...

    -- donebutwitherrorsonpage (from tumblr)

angel on a shoulder - devil on the other

whore of unknown origin (photo source not known)

Last night, as we lay in bed, I was tormenting Serafina’s nipples.

She has a standing pledge to have them pierced at my discretion. She actually wants them pierced.  But, I’ve never taken advantage of the offer because I wanted her to enjoy plenty of nipple torture au natural first.

We were discussing the actual piercing, as we lay in bed together. OK, I guess that the term "discussing" might be a bit of a misnomer. I was whispering thoughts into her ear. Talking about where we might have the piercings done, and then sketching out nasty scenarios.  For instance, threatening to make her give me head in the parking lot just before going in for the piercings.

I was digging the side/edge of a fingernail into one of her nipples, to simulate the feel of the piercing needle just before it cuts into flesh, when I was struck by odd inspiration. I added that I’d was going to be sorely tempted to write something nasty on her chest too.

Sera’s not into humiliation, so that thought was a little too much for her to bear. It wasn’t long after that she broke into tears from the frustration (I’d been playing with her nipples and body for hours without giving her permission to orgasm) and thought of being forced to do something too humiliating.

I held her close, and assured her that I’d never require more from her than I knew she was capable of delivering, and suddenly everything was fine. It wasn’t so much the thought of the actual humiliation that was bothering her, she told me, it was more the fear that I’d actually act on the threat, and that she’d then be unable to bring herself to complete the task.

It’s very revealing that her real fear isn’t the pain, or the humiliation. The fear my Serafina finds devastating is the simple fear that she won’t be able to please me. Her worst fear is that I might ask something of her and she fail to fulfill my desire.

I know that some dominants enjoy occasionally setting a submissive up to fail. Heck, I know folks who are entirely vanilla in the bedroom, yet I see them relish the failure of a rival, or other individual they do not like. To me that kind of behavior smacks of real sadism, the destructive kind, and as such it is of no real interest to me. In fact, it’s rather appalling.

Yes, I identify as both a dominant, and as a bit of a sadist. I love to play with the boundary, along the edge, of pleasure and pain. But, the “sadism” I practice is one of sensation, not of true cruelty, devastation, or destruction.

Last night I reduced my slave/wife to a mass of quivering muscle and almost agonizingly sensitive nerve endings. My very proud wife, the woman who wouldn’t dream of begging for anything under different circumstance, was reduced to begging for my cock. Reduced to gasping and moaning and writhing in hopes she could use the allure of her naked glistening body to get me to give in and fuck her.

I did take some pity on her, I let her suck me for a few minutes. But that was it, I pulled up my pants before she could even get the satisfaction of pleasing me. It all was raw and primal, and I didn’t have to use anything other than my fingers to reduce her to begging.

I told her that there was an angel on one of my shoulders and a devil on the other. I told her one wanted me to stuff my cock in her cute bottom. One voice was saying to me - “Fuck her ass! It’s so tight and she whimpers so beautifully with the fullness. Grease it up, and fuck her. You know you want to!”

Believe it or not, that was the voice of the angel.

The angel was the compassionate voice that wanted to fill her need. Funny how the mind works at 5 am after 3 hours of running my hands over every inch of her body.  I needed her just as badly as she needed me.  But, such a need is easier to bear when you control it's release.

The devil on my other shoulder said quite the opposite. ”Make her beg,” the voice beckoned to me. So I did. Sera begged, she pleaded.  She got on her knees and spread herself wide, inviting me to satisfy myself, to use her like a whore.

When she finally cried, the sadist was partially sated by the salty tears.  At that point even the evil voice on my should relented. He too wanted me to plunge into Serafina’s ass.

I don’t listen too much to imps, so we’ve only now taken a break to grab some breakfast, and write this note.

She’s still waiting. And I know that when I start again, she’ll be reduced to begging even faster the 2nd time around.

So, this picture is simply here to remind Serafina of the torturous sensations I delivered last night. And, it doesn’t hurt that it will remind her of my threat too!

Christmas Quote

The ancient dream: a cold, clear night made brilliant by a glorious star, the smell of incense, shepherds and wise men falling to their knees in adoration of the sweet baby, the incarnation of perfect love.


    -- Lucinda Franks

In addition to the writing you find here at SpiritualBDSM.com, Serafina and I also have a modest quote blog called BDSM Quote of the Day.

It's not a terribly exciting blog.  As might be expected form the title, there's a new quote added daily, and that's about it.

A number of the quotes featured at the blog have a direct BDSM context.  However, many were never intended in that way, I've selected them because they have relevance to individuals living a BDSM lifestyle.  On some rare occasions, like today, a special Holiday or similar occasion, may elicit a quote with little context for BDSM.

After all, many of us living a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle have religious occasions and observances like Christmas, Easter, Hanukkah, or perhaps Ramadan (holiday selection reflects my Judeo-Christian background not any bias against the holidays of other religions with which I'm simply not familiar.)   No matter how inventive we may be at incorporating our lifestyle and our other lives together, some things may not easily be incorporated into a sexual or BDSM context.

That's OK.  Our lives being what they are, we can't exist on sexual energy alone.  We need time to sleep, eat, and perhaps even pray.  As a Tantric, I consider lovemaking a form of prayer, but that doesn't mean there aren't other devotions and observances necessary to nurture the spiritual side of my nature.

Of course, all that doesn't mean Serafina and I will be sitting around roasting chestnuts and singing carols tonight.  With all the wonderful energy available in the Christmas season, I'm not about to waste tonight, or tomorrow, eating too much in the company of relatives I'm not normally partial to being around.

In honor of the season, I'm going to strip Serafina naked and shave her as bare as a baby tonight.  Perhaps a schoolmaster's cane can substitute for a Shepard's crook.  There will be folks on their knees, the smell of incense, and I will spend the night in adoration of my sweet baby.   It will be an incarnation of perfect love.

I'm mixing the sacred and the pagan, but then I'm going to dress up in red woolens and a red winter cap.  That's about it for costuming, as my beard is already white.

 It won't be a sleigh I'll be riding tonight, but ride I will.  And yes, I will be chortling while I ride, and saying, "Hoe, hoe, hoe."

 So, Merry Christmas to all . . . and to all a good night!

cane break

Insomnia leads us to interesting places, or so I tell myself . . .

This short post is based around an interesting quote I ran across about holly sticks.   Whether it's also of interest to you will depend greatly on your interest in the discipline element of BDSM, and whether, like me, you enjoy odd and exotic snips about exotic punishment tools.

While not as famous or well known as their cousin, the so called "English Cane" or "School Masters Cane" made of rattan, the holly stick, or holly whip as it's also called in this quote, is a somewhat less commonly used instrument of discipline found in the BDSM parlor or dungeon.

    The breaking of hollies is a constant source of annoyance, more so perhaps to the manufacturer who only gets grumbled at than to the saddler who can charge for the repair. An unsound stick may occasionally escape detection, but the amount of trying that the sticks get during dressing and thronging is so considerable that very few rotten or weak sticks can get passed, the only defect that is likely to get missed is what is called an "open knot" that is one going very deep into the wood and such may occasionally overlooked, as the whip may be smacked in every direc-tion but one and stand it all right, but if smacked in that one direction, the knot may open, and the stick will break.
   It is really astonishing how often, according to the user's account, the stick broke "the first time I smacked it." It will be found more often than not, when holly sticks are brought back broken, that the end of the thong is squeezed and grease-marked, shewing that it has been caught round the wheel or axle; or that the thong is scored and marked where it is quilled up, shewing that it has been against the top of the coach-house door or into some low hanging boughs in a lane, rather than that there was any real fault in the stick itself. We know that the saddler very frequently dare not point out such factors, but he may remind a customer that the top of a holly whip is not as thick as a lead pencil, and consequently, although it will stand fair, it will not stand rough, usage.


    -- excerpted from Whips and Whip Making by W.G. Ashford, Birmingham England 1893

I suppose the quote is just as much about human nature as it is about breaking punishment canes.

"It broke the first time I used it," has to rate right up with, "The dog ate my homework," for self-serving phrases uttered to avoid responsibility for one's own actions.

As a dominant, I can't complain really.  I have benefited from this quirk of human nature on more than one occasion in the past.

You see, for some, the act of submission is simply another way to avoid feeling responsible for the nasty things they dream of having done to them.

When a scene is over and they are flying on endorphins, there's a built in excuse for them too . . .

"Master made me do it!"

Yes I did.

But, I didn't eat your homework.

last day

The bulk of this essay is a re-posting of "The last day together" - writing of a young new friend from tumblr.  It's a cautionary tale really, an example of exactly how a naive young person should not be introduced to the world of BDSM.


The whole story (and backstory) here is, from my perspective, both exciting and disturbing. 


If this is pure fantasy, it's great writing, hot.  There are a few details that lead me to suspect it's might be a fabrication, yet the author insists it is true, and it's not totally beyond belief.


It's the story of an odious dominant.  If "The last day together" is a true reflection of the "reality" Mr Jackson (I won't honor a gameplayer of his sort with the name "Master") offers a submissive, his behavior is so damn rotten as to qualify as criminal.  


I honestly believe the author was exploring in one manner or another her fantasy of being controlled, of being exhibited and admired, and of being used.  I guess if the fantasy is to be treated like a whore, then the author got what she wanted.


Rather than being treated like a whore, I believe the author was looking for some kind of entry level experience, an exciting exploration.  If that was the goal, it's still unfulfilled, she'll need to look elsewhere. 


Maybe it's not this way in every relationship, but I live in a world where submissives are truly respected and cherished just the same as they are teased, tormented and controlled.  I know there are differing opinions regarding consent, but I don't see anything in this story as consensual, rather it's a descent into abuse.

bigirlfantasy:

The last day together

So this my last night and day as being owned, I’ve been avoiding the word slave but tonight changed all that I guess, I know I’m not. Master Jackson sent me a package with a LBD, as I said very little black dress, 4 inch black pumps from Cole Haan with the strap around the ankle. Those are now the most comfortable heels I own. Also, there was a black lace thong, his favorite I know, and leather cuffs with steel bands on the outside for both ankle and wrists with little Master Locks and no key of course. I had to think about it, I know his games once on only he can take off….but there isn’t much I can do about if I want the adventure. He had instructions in the package as to what he wanted, a little dark almost gothic and I got dressed, a text came over and said I had 10 minutes. I was take nothing with me, no cell, no purse, no makeup, nothing. I picked the ankle cuff and placed it and set the lock on it. I finally clicked it closed and now I knew there was no going back, the cuffs had a steel band around them so there was no cutting it off. The rest were easy, I guess I knew that now I was committed when I saw a black limo pull up.
I went to the limo and the driver opened the door for me, Master Jackson and Lissa were in the car….she was dressed like me including the shoes. I know she doesn’t really care for me so that must have killed her, but no Sandy. I sat down and he looked at me and said “inspection”, I lifted my dress and showed what I had on and he gave me this evil smile.
“Tonight only this girl is owned,” he brushed my hair back, “this girl will fulfill several of her fantasies. Tonight they become reality, the girl will experience what she has been exploring.” I knew he meant the Tumblr, he had been monitoring it. He pulled me close and kissed me on the lips, a first, then told me to close my eyes. I felt a collar around my neck and then heard the click, at that point I wanted run but there was no where to go. He had champagne in the car and drank as much as I could as fast as I could…that helped.
We went though a gate to what seemed to be a huge home, he handed both Lissa and I dark sunglasses and we both just put them on without a word said, he places a leash on both of us and driver opened he door. We walked to the main door and into the house and thats when my heart dropped…it was a PARTY! A cocktail party! Not what I had experienced him before, it was a regular party. Lissa and I were the only ones in our situation. I felt naked as everyone stared at us, I was a pet. I could feel the sweat building as petite woman walked up the Master Jackson and said, “You always have the best toys.” I wanted to run, I wanted to cry, I wanted to present myself as his toy, too many emotions to count, I just stood there. He walked us around and I felt on display, a mannequin at a clothing store. Men stared at my legs and breasts, the dress was a little low cut an with no bra I tried to avoid any cold drafts. I now knew what Master Jackson was talking about, he was making my exhibitionist fantasies a reality in a way I had never suspected. After about an hour I became more comfortable with situation and everyone there became used to us, Lissa seemed to as ease the whole time and later told me it wasn’t her first rodeo.
Still…I was told to go make Master Jackson a Manhattan, he knew I had bartended in college and I went to the back of the bar making his drink, he left Lissa on a couch came behind the bar with me. I was making the drink and set it on the bar when I felt him behind me, it was dark there so it didn’t worry me much when he lifted my dress from behind and grabbed my butt cheeks, then something new. I felt him pull my underwear to the side and I must have more excited than I thought because then he penetrated me with ease. I was in a room with at least 250 people being fucked by Master Jackson for the first time. I had to act normal and hoped no one wanted a drink. After a couple of minutes I realized the woman that had made the toy comment was staring at us, watching me. She walked over and sat at the bar right in front of me took of the glasses and looked into my eyes, it was like the only people in the room was the three of us. She started drinking the Manhattan I had made still looking in eyes, then she bit the cherry in half then dipping it the drink…she then put it to my lips so I could taste the bourbon. I’m pretty much of a screamer but here I couldn’t make a sound I just rolled my eyes back in head and almost passed out again. The woman just sat there and smiled at me with her body shielding from the crowed a bit and said, “If he puts you up for sale I’m buying you.” I felt his warmness ejaculate inside me, felt so good like I had been given a gift…He then told to go clean up and get ready to go. I excused myself to the ladies room and realized that I had shaky legs still, it so intense but in the bathroom another woman brought me back to reality as she walked past me and said “whore” just loud enough for me to hear. I thought what a sad life she must live.
Master Jackson placed my leash back on and I could tell Lissa was upset, I think there is more there than I was led to believe and I’m a threat. Sandy isn’t but I must be thats why shes not here.
We went to a fairly well know club next and as we left car Master Jackson looked at Lissa with a hand out, she reached up and slid her panties down then handed them to hm. Then he looked at me and I did the same, at the point really didn’t care who saw what. The funny part was here was a man I barely knew and yet we had all this non-verbal communication. In the club we danced and fooled around in a corner booth, I let Lissa take the lead all the time, we got stared at a lot for obvious reasons but it only made me more excited, at that club this was all most normal. Lissa announced she had to pee and I knew I had to…Master Jackson took our leashes and walked us to the mens room, another fun surprise. It was a typical club bathroom and had lots of people moving around, she and I were walked over to a stall and Master Jackson held the door open for all to see her pee. Couple of guys clapped when she was done and I really had to pee at that point and was drunk enough with all that happened durning the night I didn’t really didn’t care who saw me. I got done and was grabbing toilet paper when the applause began so I stood up and took a bow much the amusement of both Lissa and Master Jackson.
We left the club and drove into a parking garage where the driver helped us to an elevator that led to a loft I hadn’t been yet. I know we had sex and I know I finally passed out from exhaustion.
When I woke up the sun was coming up, his late night must be hard him to, took me a few minutes to figure out where I was and what was what. I was nude except for the anklet, the cuffs and collar were gone and I was alone. On the table was a backpack purse from Ralph Laurent, and I had to laugh again. He did everything like this, I opened the bag and the cuffs and collar were inside with a $10 bill and a Christmas present. There was a posted note, “Money for coffee and do not open till Christmas.” I found my dress and shoes grabbed the bag and realized that I had no idea where I was. I took the elevator down and there was a Starbucks next building over, figured out I was about eight blocks from home.
I walked into the Starbucks and reality set in, I’ve had a few morning after walk of shames wearing the same clothes from the night before, but this was going to be my longest and coldest. I had my $10 in hand and asked the barista how much a Venti coffee scone and breakfast sandwich would be and he just smiled and knew I needed help. He took care of me for the $10 and even made me a skinny latte. He knew I had come from quite a night and I’m sure he’s seen worse. I sat down in a corner being very careful to cross my legs because I’m sure Master Jackson took the panties as a souvenir…the night before I was showing my chochie to anyone that would look and now I had a sudden attack of the shy’s. The Starbucks guy knew I’d been bad and maybe saw me as an opportunity…not really sure but I wasn’t in the mood to show what I had unlike just 12 hours before. I felt so much better after eating, the walk home took forever, I had to wear the heels because it was cold and I was naked more of less. A hot shower and 6 hours of sleep changes perspective, I learned a lot about myself over the last two weeks and have lots of souvenirs of my own in the form of shoes and clothes. I look at the fact he gave a Christmas present as a sign that he doesn’t expect me back and maybe he knows it’s for the best. The Starbucks guy gave me his number before I left, more than likely just trying to get laid, maybe right now I need normal for a few days.
I can have no contact till December 4^th so I have to just think about what I want.  

Once again, if this was pure fantasy, then well done . . .


If it's reality, then we really need to talk a lot more thean we already have.


I wouldn't sit around waiting to hear back from a rapist dear.  The morning after, my counsel would have been to take a cab to a rape crisis center.  


It's probably too late for that, but not too late for understanding.

Darkness looms 

There's nothing consensual about the way this man played.  His games are a road map for everything a new-found submissive should avoid.  


His behavior is straight out of a fantasy book, but has nothing to do with how real human beings with feelings and emotions can be treated.


A good dominant is hard to find, but so is a good partner.  Ultimately, neither one is worth the risks portrayed in this story, no matter how heart racing they seem on paper.


Like they always say on TV - "Don't try this at home."

Alyssa says "Tie Me Up & Worship Me"

I'm a geek.  I admit it.

One of the geeky things I enjoy is TED: Ideas Worth Sharing - a really neat site with the tagline:

Riveting talks by remarkable people, free to the world.

I like that a lot of the presentations, the so called "talks", get me to think.  I do enjoy a good think.

So I was delighted to learn that recent TED presenter (Ask & Tell: Alyssa Speaks at TEDx) Alyssa Royse is into BDSM.  She's written a great piece called Tie Me Up & Worship Me that I enjoyed so much that I felt motivated to share and discuss a few excerpts.

Here goes:

Whenever I speak – or write – about women’s sexuality in the context of empowerment, some very well-meaning person (usually a woman) will want to chat, with that knowing wink-wink nod-nod that assumes we will agree, about BDSM play. Invariably, they want me to agree with them that images of women tied up, bound, gagged and slapped are demeaning to women. They are waiting for me to validate their pent up indignation that anyone could do that to a woman. 

And I can’t do that. Because lots of women, myself included, are hard-wired to be submissive sexually. I am one of those women that likes a man who can man-handle me right up to the edge of my boundaries. And I can almost explain why.

I almost want to stand up and cry out - Huzzah!  Huzzah!  Huzzah!

Any professional woman willing to stand up against the pent up indignation of the stuffed shirts and sexually repressed has earned my respect.  Finally, an intelligent and secure professional lady willing to swim against the tide, a real woman who not only realizes, but isn't afraid to say, that submission isn't weakness.

Lest you think Ms Royse is some kind of pushover, let's look at the continuation of her piece:

I am a strong woman, no doubt about it. I demand to be treated as an equal, to be respected, to be heard and valued in all of my relationships. In general, I will only form relationships of any kind with people who I trust to always act with integrity and respect. All of those things go double (at least) in my romantic and sexual relationships.

Well said!  She describes herself the same way I see my slave/wife Serafina.

Sera's also a lady who by nature demands respect and integrity, to be treated with equality, and to be valued within her submission.  I have to admit watching a proud woman who is my equal kiss my boots is a far greater charge of excitement for me than were it done by a woman who was kissing them not out of honor, respect and devotion, but instead was slavishly attending my boots because she felt inferior.

Meh, sorry, being served by the downtrodden is no charge at all.  Nobody can give me proper respect if they have none for themselves.  I can't have any fun reducing someone to writhing like an animal, begging for pleasure, and then begging for the same pleasure to stop, if they are already surviving like an animal.

If a slave is somebody who has been totally devalued, I'd not want to command them, I'd want to shelter and protect them until they felt valued and human.  My style of domination isn't depersonalizing, in fact quite the opposite, it's expressed by continually pushing for growth, empowerment, and enlightenment within the rituals and devotions of submission.

In all of those things, with all of my heart, Alyssa Royse's essay struck a chord.  It's a wonderful piece, and I can't suggest strongly enough that you go check it out for yourself.

She concludes the essay by saying:

My tastes are quite vanilla in the grand spectrum of things. But I will still stand strong and proud with the legions of people who bravely explore their own boundaries and the strength of true intimacy between lovers. And I will do it as an empowered feminist who believes that people are their most powerful when they are not bound by external expectations, rather they are unbound by true intimacy.

And, with that as her conclusion, I will myself stand up and shout - Huzzah!  Huzzah!  Huzzah! For she's a jolly good fellow!

BTW - Alyssa writes some interesting stuff about porn too - Why Porn Sucks (And Not Well.)  I too once suggested folks simply turn off the volume when watching most porn, or watch something like Andrew Blake where there's often little dialogue, just kinky beautiful sex in lush settings with slightly above average soundtrack music rather than layers of overdubbed fake moans.

I have my own issues with most porn productions.  Even if my complaints don't perfectly mirror Alyssa's sentiments, I too know there's a vast gulf between what I'd like to see, and what's actually available.

At least that was the case until I discovered Kink.com - now I'm in fetish heaven.  I don't know if the work I enjoy over at Kink.com would meet Ms Royse's standards, probably not.  But it's the best porn I've ever watched, at least so far . . .

On the Eve of Winter Solstice - xmas letter to first girlfriend

I'm not really going to share any of the context behind this letter.  Only that there was an uninvited guest from my past who witnessed my wedding to Serafina last year, my first girlfriend who I hadn't heard from for 30 years.

This is a slightly edited version of the Christmas greeting she was just sent.

Merry Christmas to you and yours,
It's almost impossible to explain what happened before in my life, revisiting the past isn't really my cup of tea, and old unresolved feelings don't always lead to good night's sleep.
You showing up caused me emotional turmoil, and that's not what I needed then, or now.
I'm not going to accept any friends requests from old friends, especially old girlfriends. But I will give you this one single letter, so you won't think I hate you, or something silly.
It's not personal, it's just the way I'm coping with my past, not to mention my present.
I'm not giving second chances or third chances to people who have hurt me, life is just to short.  Mistakes were made, people were hurt.  Just because you came to me with apologies, confessions, and testimonials thirty years after the fact, doesn't make scars go away.   I thought those scars had faded, but somehow they look red again now because of your appearance.
The life I lead seems quiet and mild on the surface, but I've always been different than the Michael Samadhi you knew. That is at least part of why revisiting the past isn't my thing, there's nothing from 1979, or 1989, or even 1999 that's important to me anymore, I've moved on and I don't look back much at all.
And the person I am now isn't anyone you know . . .
I'm into Tantra and BDSM. I'm into bondage and discipline, I dig leather and latex and pvc and other fetish wear. I like to use bondage and restraint to make my partner helpless before I ravage her for hours. I'm as good at wielding a flogger as anyone around, although I haven't yet mastered the single tailed whip, that's one of the few BDSM skills I haven't studied and trained to master.  I captivate women, enslave them, use their sexual desires and needs as a leverage to turn them into sex slaves.  Then I fucking blog about it!
So I'm not exactly a "nice guy", in fact most church going folk like yourself usually go a bit pale at the thought of the stuff folk like me do in the bedroom. I'm not going to apologize for who I am, and it's not something I was going to tell people until I was ready.
And playing music - argh - it's definitely NOT my thing at all. Serafina is a musician, she's a drummer with the whole kit to play rock music. But me? It's different.
You see the guy that gave me piano lessons when I was a child, even up through the time I knew you, was a bad man. I was sexually abused by him from the age of 12 to the age of 16 when I grew old and brave enough to stop him.
Yes I know that time directly overlaps when I knew you. I didn't tell anyone then, you are one of only three, now four people I've told since.
So I hope you find peace in your life. Know that you touched my life, that you hold a fond place in my heart, and that I certainly remember some of our youthful escapades.  If I ever wrote memoirs, you'd deserve a whole chapter.
Also know just as surely that this is the last time I'll write. I owed you this much. After all these confessions, I feel any past debt to be fulfilled. I'm a new and different man now, you don't know me at all, and it's probably best to leave it at that . . .
Michael Samadhi
12/21/2011 - On the Eve of Winter Solstice