Discipline from the top to the bottom

In the course of your D/s relationship, there will be high points. Very high points. They will likely outnumber the difficult times. These, however, will be part of the journey. As a matter of this course, you as the Dominant will have to carefully weigh the many factors involved in offering guidance and a strong hand, tempered with the sometimes difficult responsibility of doling out discipline and at hopefully fewer intervals, punishment. I am interested to hear from both tops and bottoms with regard to personal experiences. As a top, is it difficult to offer corrections, institute rules, and punish when absolutely necessary? As a sub, how do you respond emotionally to such?

I recently came across a list of favorites at a Thinking Dominant's Blog for a Dom to consider, particularly in the context of what they have to bring to a D/s relationship. I found that type of information to be quite helpful to inspire and energize the discussion going on in my own head, for I relate to being a thinking dom. Thanks for that.

Real Housewives of Orange County: In Need of Training

While the real pleasure of celebrity slave training may lie in the level of celebrities in need of strict discipline, there are often those whose celebrity is unwarranted, and I feel almost ashamed to offer any attention to the true D-listers. But give yourself ten minutes to watch the Real Housewives of Orange County, and you will quickly see that here are a group of strumpets truly in need of some real discipline. I won't waste time giving each of these shallow tramps a separate entry, as their names will never be remembered, but rather the only inkling of celebrity is the offensive brand created by Bravo. Each of these harlots should be subject to a special regime of cruelty and rigorous re-training.

Here are women who are so affected by the horrid county in which they live, where most are generally frankensteinian monsters imbued with the most ugly of human traits. Vanity, selfishness, greed, arrogance, entitlement and delusion drive these disgusting trollops, and I can't fault them, but rather the entire culture born of their community. That is why I feel they are at least deserving of a strict program designed to free them of the bondage of their delusions.

We could begin with the one that a friend of mine calls the horse-faced woman, although I can't ever tell which one she's really talking about, because they are all rather equine looking. I have never before observed the phenomenon that the effects of too much plastic surgery create the contemporary horse visage, but here is a gaggle of them. You might think you know where I am going in terms of the custom-tailored training program, but pony-play is not what I would personally recommend for these women. The only one that might make a proper pony girl was booted off the show when her rich benefactor dumped her and I gather she was forced to move into a townhouse in Whittier or somewhere beyond the enclave of Coto .

The best likely location for the training would be in their own homes. While there is some advantage to removing these whores from their natural environment, it might be best if they were subject to the humiliation of their own materialism— rubbed in their faces like a dog that had shit the living room carpet. A quick look at the blogs of horse-face #1 (although I still can't tell which horse is which) reveals her photo diary, which contains nothing but photographs of her handbags and shoes. This one should be first bound spread-eagle to the posts of her bed, and we would taunt her with the contents of her closet, perhaps shredding some of her favorite fashion accessories with a bowie knife as she is gagged and helpless to protest. All of her clothes and such would be spread around her while she would be taunted about the ugliness of her facades. Once she has calmed down a bit, we would parade all of her old lovers in the room, where she would be subject to their own brands of vengeance, which would hopefully involve the beginnings of her own acknowledgment of the superiority of the phallus in some form. After a period of high-intensity sexual submission, horse-face #1 would be dressed in a latex suit with hood and leash trained with a short crop to control her posture and movements. She would also be trained in basic speech protocols, learning to say only 'Yes Sir' and 'No Sir.' If she responded positively to her training, she would perhaps become viable property for a patient Dom, and we would consider auctioning her off to the highest bidder. All proceeds would be donated to some local charity.

The second real housewife (although it appears as though none of these women are actually married) who is a candidate for the slave training academy is Quinn, a relative newcomer to the scene. She is eligible for our program because she of her attempts to manipulate her suitor into marriage and/or commitment with the promise of more raunchy sex. She claimed that she needed such a commitment in order for her to really release the sexual beast she felt lived within her. She also held out hopes that she would convince this suitor to convert to Christianity for the same prize. For her misguided conception of human relationships and her manipulations, this one would be trained to release this secreted sexual persona at all times and for anyone interested in it. She would be bound to a cross and flogged daily while her sex would be monitored for signs of wetness or any other sexual response. Upon such response she would be used by our staff indiscriminately. She would be trained to cum for anyone, learning the idea that her pleasure is not for her but rather for the men she serves. To accomplish this (in tandem with the aforementioned regime), she would be forced to orgasm beyond the point of her own tolerance, until she accepted that she is a vehicle for pleasure as opposed to her inverted notion that men are objects for her own pleasure-seeking. As with the others, she would learn protocols and particular attention would be paid to her verbal skills.

As for the rest of these so-called wives, I would continue to describe how they might be trained to be proper ladies, but I am already bored with them. This is not to say that the rest are not in need of rigorous training, as they truly are despicable specimens of femininity—but I shall leave their behavior to those who care enough to try to train them.

Amy Winehouse: In Need of Training

Leave it to the notorious to offer themselves up at just the right time... I was contemplating a new section to indulge my sadism, and I came up with Celebrity Slave Training. Herein I would offer readers the pleasure of seeing who, in my own view, would benefit from a customized program of rigorous training and discipline. A note to celebrity readers: if you haven't made an appearance on the list, you may inquire within, and of course I will develop a method of breaking you custom suited to your particular brand of wantonness and depravity.

So, just as I was creating the perfect programs for the likes of the obvious, who should appear in the headlines but our first candidate, Amy Winehouse. Amy is a perfect specimen for discipline, and now that she has finally succumbed to the notion that she will, in fact, go to rehab, she will be our first visitor to Rough Writer's Slave Training Academy.

First off, we must have sufficient cause to enslave any given celebrity, and Winehouse has earned a scholarship for her wild lifestyle, her delusions about her addictions, her rebelliousness and her complete lack of humility and remorse. She thumbs her nose at the wisdom proffered her that was designed to help her, and she certainly could use a strong guiding hand to enhance her creative capabilities, ensure her personal longevity, and just generally keep her in line. You can see in this photograph (courtesy of britishmusicscene.com) that she wears her cockiness on her sleeve, which is seen to unsuccessfully mask her personal suffering.

The program best suited for her would begin with an intervention, obviously. This would involve some sort of abduction, where she would be grabbed and tossed in the academy van to be held captive by our staff. Upon arrival at the facility (an industrial building), she would be subject to isolation and confinement in the form of a hogtie, where she would be gagged and left alone on a dirty mattress to think about what she's done. Every four hours she would be visited by the staff and interrogated. After she accepted that she was truly in need of the sort of discipline offered at the academy, she would be thoroughly invaded by a series of long glass crack pipes. These would be left in her for long periods, and upon removal she would be whipped every hour as she was bound to the cement wall in her cell.

As she progressed, she would be allowed to walk the grounds on all fours, leashed and collared. She would be required to keep a journal of her training experiences, and she would accept the counsel of our staff at the end of each day. You can see by the video below (hopefully before it's pulled from YouTube) that the days leading up to her final concession show her to be insane, and in dire need of some form of behavior modification.

People in Need of a Proper Spanking

I was looking around the blogosphere for like-minded people (read weird sadistic people with a warm heart), and I came across a blog known as the Spanking Spot. There is a section over there with a decent list of people in desperate need of a spanking, and I loved the idea so much I feel like stealing it with both hands. There is nothing like the feeling that comes when you see a woman who is so out of control that you can feel your hand on that bare ass, and you know her objections would only make it more desirable. This list contains the obvious (Paris, Britney, etc.), but I was inspired by the likes of Ann Coulter on that list. And mind you, the blogger has gone to the trouble of offering readers a rather thoughtful explanation of what each person has done to warrant their presence on the list. I could not top it, but I was so tempted to try. I might consider doing something similar, but perhaps I would offer a complete regime for the reformation of people in dire need of complete behavior modification as proffered by a cruel sadist. I could develop a five-day program tailor made for women who never had proper discipline. I could change the world one strumpet at a time. Check back next month and see if I followed through with it.

Humiliation Daze

Items Needed

Sharpie Pen, lipstick, or similar
Timer
Pen and paper
Sex Toys (optional for Day 3)

This is a task to help explore humiliation. Humiliation is a very subjective and personal experience – different for everyone – what might be humiliation to some is not to others. Also, some find the experience to be arousing while others do not. This task is set up to help a submissive discover their own experience with humiliation, and I hope you find it useful. The task will take place over three consecutive days, so when you accept or request the assignment, be sure you can complete it within seven days and you are able to perform for three consecutive days.

Rules:
You must be honest, both about what you choose as your humiliating phrase/words, but also as you keep your record. Any masturbation must be done manually. No toys, vibrators, etc. allowed., except on Day 3. If you feel you are likely to forget your body writing during the course of the day, you may wear a ribbon around your wrist to help remind you. That is optional, of course.

Task:
The first thing you should do is think about what, at the present moment, is the most humiliating thing you could be called by someone else. This should be something that doesn’t hit a limit of yours, but that is something you find to be humiliating and hopefully oddly arousing. Obviously this will differ between individuals. Got it? OK, we’re going to be writing it down…

Day 1:
First thing in the morning, you will kneel naked in the Nadu position for 15 minutes, contemplating the task ahead and the phrase you have selected. You will then write the phrase or words you have chosen on your abdomen with the sharpie pen or lipstick. When you have finished, you will lie on your back with your legs spread wide apart and you will masturbate (manual only, no toys!) to full climax. As you do so, you will also continuously utter the phrase written on your body as you masturbate as if you are speaking to your dominant, saying, “I am your ________ ” etc. Have fun with it and see how many ways you can enjoy what you are for your dominant as you pleasure yourself for them. Pay attention to your feelings as you mark yourself and as you experience the pleasure of your orgasm after you have written your personal humiliation on your body. After you have climaxed, you will not wash yourself, but you will dress and go about your day. As you go through your day, you will keep with you a pen and paper and you will record whenever your thoughts turn to the task or the phrase written on your body. If you think about it all day, that only counts as one time, so be honest with your record. Whenever your mind returns from your daily life to the task or your humiliation, make note and keep track. At the end of the day, you will tally the number of times you have thought about it. Prior to going to sleep, you will again kneel in Nadu position for 15 minutes and you will contemplate your experience during the day. After 15 minutes, you will lie on your back with your legs spread wide and you will masturbate for only as long as your tally. You will also utter the phrase out loud in the same manner as before, again enjoying what you are for your dominant’s pleasure. You may orgasm, but only if you can accomplish that within the time you earned. When your time is up, you will wash your body clean of your writing, and then you will write your report. Your report should include your feelings about the task and the feelings you experienced as you went through the act of writing on yourself, the masturbation and the thoughts you had during the day.

Day 2:
You will perform the task as on Day 1, except today you will NOT masturbate after you have written your phrase on your body. You will again keep track of the number of times your thoughts turned to the task or the writing on your body. Just prior to retiring for the night, you will kneel in Nadu position for 15 minutes, then you will lie on your back with legs spread wide and you will masturbate for only as long as the day’s tally. You will again utter the phrase out loud as on Day 1 while you masturbate. The same rules apply – you may climax if that is accomplished within the time period designated by the tally. Again, wash your body clean and then write your report. How was today different from Day 1?

Day 3:
This time you will kneel in Nadu position for 15 minutes and you will neither write the phrase nor will you masturbate. You will, however, continue to maintain your record of the number of times your thoughts turn to the task and/or the phrase or words you have chosen. At the end of the day you will kneel in Nadu position for 15 minutes, then you will write the phrase on your body. Then you will masturbate as before, crying out the phrase as before. You are permitted to climax as many times as the tally for Day 3. Can you meet the challenge? It is your reward as well as a way to engage in the pleasure of your own Humiliation Daze! I hope you had fun and I look forward to your reports.

Special Info:
Nadu:
The submissive kneels before his/her Master/Mistress, head up, chin straight, eyes lowered, knees spread wide open, shoulders back keeping back straight (or arched slightly), breasts thrust outward. Hands lie on her thighs, palms facing upward.

Reports:
Reports for this task are to be made daily (minimum 300 words), as the last act of the day. Reports should detail your feelings throughout the day during all parts of the task. Pay close attention to, and attempt to describe in your report the sensation of humiliation and arousal. Photos are encouraged and desired if you would like to share them.

Safety Considerations:
When kneeling, you can do so on a soft surface, but if you have knee problems you might avoid the task or modify your pose. Also, in keeping your tally throughout the day, obviously you won’t want to do it while driving, so be safe!

017-622-6369, Part II

The plane landed on time in Los Angeles, and Lea’s heart pounded as the passengers fumbled to deplane. She was told to meet a driver at the baggage claim, and she would be driven to her new home. She walked the passageway from the arrival gate to baggage claim, breathing easier as L.A. breathed its life into her, bringing her the promise of her new life. She scanned the line of chauffeurs holding signs for their passengers. She saw a tall, round man with a black suit holding a sign that read, ‘017-622-6369,’ and her feet felt weak under her. She approached the man. As their eyes met, she said to him, “I am your cargo,” as she was told to say.

He gestured wordlessly to the exit of the terminal and led her to a black town car. He reached for the door handle and her blood flowed, heart beating faster. He seemed to sense her nervousness, and he said, “Sir is not here. He will greet you later,” and opened the car door for her. She sighed and slipped into the back seat of the vehicle as the driver took hold of the wheel and pulled out into the flow of L.A. traffic.

The driver didn’t speak during the drive from the airport. Lea sat watching the road whiz by, reading billboards and watching the faces of the people in passing cars. They exited the freeway and began to ride through surface streets, winding their way into a residential area, and Lea grew more nervous in anticipation of her arrival. Each home she saw from the car window promised to be the place where she would live.

Finally the driver pulled into a circular driveway, and Lea surveyed the property. It was a modern home with cold angles. The driver stopped in front of the house, as Lea looked at the large, stainless steel double doors that led into the home. The driver got out first, walking around to the rear passenger door, opening it and offering a hand to guide Lea out of the car. As she stirred, her bladder revolted with her movement, and she clenched her pelvic muscles to contain it. The driver led her up the steps and opened the door to the house. The front entry was floored in marble, short steps down opened into a large living room with arched entries into other rooms. At the far end of the living room, floor to ceiling windows looking out to a pool in back. She paused in the entry way as the driver spoke.

“You will be down to the right at the end of the hallway,” he told her, gesturing to a corridor beyond the entryway to the right.
She walked down the corridor, passing some doors on her left. She reached the end of the hallway and an open door led to a bedroom.

“That is where you will stay,” said the driver. “Go in and wait. Catherine will be in shortly.”

Lea nodded and stepped inside the room. The driver closed the door behind her and she heard his footsteps return back down the hallway and out the front door. The room was bright, as windows on the far wall looked out the side of the house, while a sliding glass door on the left led out to the back of the house. To the right was a large bathroom, beyond a walk-in closet full of erotic outfits—PVC bodysuits, bustiers of leather and fabric, various corsets—an entire wardrobe of finely crafted fetishwear. Under the clothing racks were wooden wardrobe drawers encircling the closet. At the far end was a vanity with a black acrylic chair with a throne-like back. In the middle of the bedroom was a bed with leather-upholstered headboard. In the center of the headboard was mounted a large iron ring, with two smaller ones framing it from either side. On each side of the bed were sleek black night tables. On one rested a silver service tray with a forged steel collar with padlock. On the other side of the bad was a small palette with a thin mattress and tiny pillow. Beside that there was a chamber pot. In the corner of the room there was an umbrella stand. In it were various whips, crops, floggers and canes.

Weary from her travels, Lea walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. She sighed, wanting so much to lie down on the bed and sleep. She wanted to pee. The clicking of heels in the hallway startled her. She froze for a moment, realizing they were heading towards the door. She quickly stood up, not sure what to do. The door opened and a tall, blonde woman in a tight, black PVC suit stood in the doorway. Her hair was platinum, flowing down over her shoulders. The PVC suit hugged every curve of her perfect body. Her breasts were buxom, round and shining in the tight suit. She angled to one side in her black patent leather boots, revealing the roundness of her ass. In her hand was a short leather leash attached to a choker chain looped at one end, which she held in her hand. She stared at Lea, who was trembling now. She thought she would wet herself right there if the woman stared any longer.

“Well, aren’t you a sight, cunt,” Catherine said. “I knew you would be rough around the edges, but I had no idea you would be so untamed. But he does so love them like you.” She approached Lea, raising the choker in her hand. Not sure of herself, Lea delayed and Catherine struck her on the cheek, an audible slap reverberating in her head. “Head down, cunt!” she exclaimed. Lea lowered her head as Catherine spread her hand open and let the choke chain fall onto Lea’s head, her spreading fingers giving spring to the chain, which gently fell over her face and down into the nape of her neck below her tucked chin. “Down, cunt!” she commanded as she yanked downward on the leash a bit. Lea didn’t hesitate to get on the floor on her hands and knees, but as she did she experienced a strange sensation that she’d never felt before. It was reluctance, surprise, humiliation, fear and obedience as a single reaction—a new phenomenon, as strange as the sensation of a first kiss—so many confusing, strong emotions all at once.

Catherine jerked the leash with a tug, leading Lea over to the side of the bed. “Does the cunt need to go potty?”

Lea froze momentarily. Her pride, her beliefs about who she was, her preconceptions about her agreement to be enslaved, her very being—it all collided with this sense of reluctance—that this treatment came as such a surprise and with a feeling of pure outrage, and a part of her wanted to stand up and say no, to abandon this fantasy immediately. But another part of her was oddly determined to explore these new sensations, and as she silently acquiesced she felt a subtle power wash over her—a freedom she had never felt before.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Lea said, disbelieving her own words until she heard them come forth from her throat.

“Well, be quick about it. I haven’t all day.” Catherine tugged again on the leash, leading Lea forward to the chamber pot. Catherine stood over Lea in a stance that was both austere and oddly erotic—her fit body contoured perfectly by the tight PVC bodysuit and leather boots, which glistened along the arcs of her calves, angled sharply into the stern pose of her heels, the impatience patterned by the clicking of her stilettos as she posed while waiting for Lea to use the chamber pot.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Lea said again, as she straddled the chamber pot on all fours, then lifted her body so her weight rested on her haunches—her tiny beige micro-skirt rose in front automatically with her movement, and her thighs closed around the rim of the chamber pot. She unclipped the garters in the rear and they fell to the sides of the backs of her thighs. She relaxed a bit, and began to relieve herself. The audible stream hitting the empty vessel was so strange in that moment—the humiliation had taken on this haunting, audible, perhaps orchestral aspect as the vessel filled and the sounds morphed from an eerie tinkle to drops to the full sounds of water flowing into water.

“Now it will be your responsibility to keep your pot clean,” said Catherine as she handed Lea a tissue pulled from the nightstand. Lea accepted it and wiped clean her salted lips. Catherine reached down and took hold of Lea’s chin with her flat hand, raising her head toward her. “Now stand up,” she said.

Lea stood in front of Catherine, conscious of her posture—she held her arms in front of her, palms out. She arched her back, her heels clumsily clicking as she fought to gain her footing.

Catherine laughed cruelly. “Let’s get these tawdry clothes off you,” she said as she reached into the drawer in the nightstand, taking out a knife. Catherine teased her indifferently with the cold steel of the blade, running it weakly along the front of her halter top, down into her navel. She reached in and took a bit of the fabric from the seam of the halter top at the bottom and quickly inserted the knife into the taut fabric held between her fingers and cut it enough to begin to pull the splitting fabric in two. She tore both pieces, the tear ran up the middle of her torso, freeing her round breasts from the tight top. She did the same with her micro-skirt, tearing it in two pieces that split right along the crack of her lips, revealing her cleanly waxed pubis. Lea’s crotchless garter belt hung around her hips, and Catherine took the knife and placed it vertically into the waist of the garter belt. The steel blade pinched her skin below her navel as she cut through the cheap lace, freeing it from her body in a single stroke of the blade. Catherine unhooked the garters on the front of her thigh high stockings, and cut them away with the same deliberation she’d freed Lea from her garter belt. The knife pinched her ankles as Catherine mercilessly cut the strap of her high heels.

“Now step out of those horrid shoes,” Catherine said. Lea obeyed, as Catherine pulled on her stockings, discarding them in the shredded pile of the only clothes she had brought with her. Catherine stood over her menacingly as Lea stepped out of her heels, losing four inches of her height. “Let me see you,” said Catherine as her green eyes scanned her exposed front.

Catherine traced her body with her left hand fingers as indifferently as she had wielded the knife moments before. She ran her index finger from her chin to her sternum, then over her left breast, tracing her round aureola and teasing Lea’s nipple as she dug her nail into the flesh under her heaving breast. She continued across her chest to the underside of her right breast, cupping it with her open fingers, then took hold of her nipple in her thumb and forefinger. She pinched the nipple firmly and lifted her breast up, releasing it when it had been stretched as far as it would go. As she let her breast fall, her other hand thrust between her legs, her open palm landing a surprisingly striking blow to her full lips. Lea shuddered, and felt her own wetness kiss Catherine’s hand.

Catherine tugged again on the leash, urging her to turn as she paced behind Lea in the opposite direction. The hand between Lea’s legs slid up to her belly, then around her hips. As Lea pirhouetted to meet Catherine, her moistened hand caressed the cheek of her buttocks and grazed up her lower back, along her spine and up to the nape of her neck. She jerked back the leash while her hand traveled along her cheeks to Lea’s waiting mouth. Lea understood. She licked Catherine’s wet palm, tasting her wetness—the briny, oceanic taste of her sex.

Catherine jerked the leash again, her intentions becoming clear with Catherine’s reigning of her with the leash. “Get on the bed, slave. Face the wall on all fours. Place your hands together in front of you, head down.” Catherine said. Lea obeyed, kneeling on the bed, leaning toward the wall, and resting her head on top of her clasped hands. Her ass raised in the air as Catherine began to caress it.

“That’s a good girl,” Catherine whispered, stroking Lea’s round cheeks as she took the leash and placed the looped handle in Lea’s mouth. Lea bit down on the leash and Catherine stroked Lea’s cheeks with the back of her palm. Lea enjoyed the moment of tenderness finally coaxed from Catherine. Catherine then grabbed a fistful of Lea’s hair at the crown of her head, yanking deliberately upwards, Lea’s head responding in kind, raising her to attention. Catherine pressed slightly on Lea’s buttocks, using it to pivot as she stepped off to the side of the bed and walked into the closet. Lea heard the sound of a drawer opening, then Catherine returned to Lea’s side.

Catherine had a strapon harness, which she cinched to her waist, the gleaming black appendage standing erect between her latex clad legs. Catherine slowly got up on the bed on her knees in front of Lea, her back to the wall. Her green eyes peered down into Lea’s, which were gazing up at the vision of Catherine holding the black dildo as if it were merely a natural extension of her loins. Catherine reached for the back of Lea’s head, her palm slowly taking hold of her, urging her into the cock now held in her other hand. Catherine directed the cock into Lea’s pursed lips, taunting the outside of her lips. Catherine teased her with the dildo, gently spreading Lea’s lips with the head of it. She toyed with her by pulling her lower lip down, folding it with the head of her moistened dildo, running it around in circles inside Lea’s lips, running it along her tongue. Then she thrust it deeper into Lea’s mouth, touching the back of her throat. She began to drive Lea’s head up and down its shaft by pushing and pulling on the tuft of hair she clenched in her closed fist, driving Lea’s skull into the cock. Catherine did this as a joke, mocking the act itself, using Lea like a rag doll. She laughed that cruel laugh as she did so.

“Your mouth will be used often enough like this, so you’d better get used to it,” Catherine said, still handling Lea’s head like a doll as she spoke. She held Lea’s head still on a thrust upwards, and with her other hand took the dildo out of Lea’s mouth. “You will enjoy having your mouth used like that, won’t you?” Catherine asked.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lea said, a silky thread of saliva drooping from her lips to the head of the dildo catching the light as she spoke.

“Good girl,” said Catherine, as she got off the bed and stepped over to the foot of the bed, taking Lea’s ass cheeks into her hands. She squeezed Lea’s cheeks tightly, spreading out her ass to expose her sex further. She rubbed the cheeks with her hand, warming it with the friction of her caresses. Then she raised her hand and spanked Lea on the outside of her round buttocks, the sound echoing in the room. Lea shuddered, then gasped a bit. Another slap came down on the upper portion of her ass. Catherine soothed the reddened skin with a light trace of her nails, then spanked the hot area again, and then another time. Lea began to moan with every slap, every caress. Catherine’s nails tickled over Lea’s pink ass, soothing them a bit. Lea let out a sigh of pleasure, then Catherine clawed in deeper this time, waking Lea’s senses. Then Catherine slapped down on her ass with both hands, grabbing hold of her cheeks tightly, spreading her ass open wide. She stepped in closer. The head of her strapon grazed above Lea’s anus, pushing up along the base of her spine. Catherine pressed Lea’s ass cheeks together, sandwiching the shaft of the dildo in the mass of flesh. The she spread Lea’s cheeks again, sliding the head of the dildo down to the gates of her sex.

“You will learn to beg for it, slave,” said Catherine, the tip of the dildo pressed slightly between her lips.

“Ma’am, please—“ uttered Lea.

“Please what, slut?” retorted Catherine.

“Please fuck me, Ma’am,” Lea managed.

“Please fuck what, slave?”

“Please fuck my pussy,” Lea cried.

“With what, slave?”

“Please fuck my pussy with your black dildo,” Lea said.

“Better. Try again. Put them all together now.”

“Ma’am, please fuck my pussy with your big black dildo, Ma’am.”

“You can put a proper sentence together after all,” declared Catherine.

Vampire Stripper

I know Jenna Jameson’s production company was producing a script called Vampire Strippers, or perhaps I fabricated this, I don’t know. But I had my own run-in with a real vampire stripper the other day, and I thought I would share with the class.

I will confess I do frequent a particular gentleman’s club, and many of the dancers there are aware of my leaning toward dominant play. Many are accommodating. Vampire Stripper is one of them, but she has told me of her conflicting desires to both dominate and submit. In the same conversation she mentioned with some exuberance her fetish for vampirism. On my last visit to her workplace, she showed me her prosthetic vampire fangs, and my curiosity was piqued. She bared her teeth and hissed at me in a rather sultry manner, and the combination of her teeth and the black light in the club drove me to the backroom for a taste of whatever would lay in store.

I spent some time simply freaking out at the sight of this petite brunette who would pass for girl next door with these rather real prosthetic vampire fangs. As she rubbed her naked body cat-like against me—her eyes (clear blue with vampire written all over them) looking at me, her hissing sound as she pursed her lips to give me a perfect glimpse at a vampire nymph—I began to get into the idea of the whole vampire thing, which I will also confess is alluring but definitely not my kink. I began to grab her hair and pull her up and down my stomach so I could see her fangs search for me, teasing her hunger. I asked her to show me what she was, namely a Vampire Stripper Slut. I don’t think she quite got my drift, so I offered her my neck a little and pulled her into it.

The problem here was that she was really trying to control me, and while I was into the adventure of Vampire Stripper, I was not necessarily digging the idea of her getting the best of me, so the whole thing became a rather weird struggle. She began to bite my neck, and I asked her if she wanted to drink my blood (I was trying to get into it). She apparently did wish to do so, but I wasn’t about to let Vampire Stripper draw blood. I asked her to make me immortal with three bites. She liked that idea. I asked her to tell me again what she was. “Tell me what you are,” I said. “I am a Vampire,” she moaned. She reacted to my attempts to command her to do anything by pinning me down and screaming at me. She went all rage. She barked something like, “What the fuck do you think you are? You want me to suck your blood, don’t you you little freak?” And we’re done. She noticed I wasn’t responsive, so she mocked at submission. “What would you like from me then, Master,” she said, all mocking.

We talked for a little while afterwards, where she told me she’d never roleplayed like that before, so she didn’t know much about what to do, and so on. I found that quite cute, really. She asked if I wouldn’t purchase a set of fangs for next time.

Figging for Pleasure

This task is basically an exercise designed to allow a submissive to experience some basic obedience (obviously) and the sensation of identifying as a slave, as well as to push themselves with the sensation of figging.

Task: Shopping for Pleasure

Elements:
Kneeling less than 15 min.
Collar public
Anal plug, less than 1 hour
Body writing
Figging

Items Required to Complete the Task
• collar
• anal plug
• sharpie pen
• ginger, 1 hand

Instructions:
You will strip naked in a space reserved in your bedroom and you will put on your collar. You will kneel for 15 minutes and contemplate what comes to your mind.

After 15 minutes you will dress for a trip to the store. Taking the sharpie pen, you will write the word ‘SLAVE’ on your belly. You will then lube and insert an anal plug into your anus.

You may then dress for your trip to your local grocery store. At the store you will visit the produce section and select a hand of ginger. You will then wait in the checkout line and purchase the ginger, and you will return home. You will prepare the longest finger of ginger, which you should remove from the hand, peeling the skin away with a peeler, and you may carve a portion of the hand at the top of the finger as a stopper.

You will return to your bedroom where you will again strip. You will remove the anal plug. Then you will lie on your back and slowly insert the ginger finger into your anus. Lie still with the ginger piece for a period no shorter than 20 minutes. When you must remove the ginger (after at least 20 minutes), you may remove your collar.

You will report your experience, your feelings about the task, what you contemplated while keeling, as well as the duration you were able to maintain the ginger inside you. Your report should be a minimum of 300 words.

017-622-6369

The flight was non-eventful, but the anxiety mounted from the moment she left her home and built in waves of nausea and adrenaline as her voyage drew closer to her arrival in California. Her bladder was constantly under pressure, but she was told she could not relieve herself, and despite her discomfort, she knew she had to obey. She preyed she wouldn’t arrive having already wet herself, but she considered briefly that would please him somehow.

They met on the internet, in a bondage chat room. She knew not what drew him to her, nor she to him, but there was something pulling them together like celestial bodies. She had joined the alternative lifestyle sites on a whim, thinking somehow that her life could become something other than what it was. He had begun to close his vice around her from afar, and she was taken by it—washed away in his control over her life. At first it was just silly things he told her to do—the very first she merely pretended to do, lying to him over the ether of the internet, where truth is malleable and fantasy reigns supreme. But he even explained to her that there was no real pleasure in mere fantasy. She would either do as he said in ‘real-time’ or he would not play with her at all. Then she began to do the things he commanded even he could neither verify nor refute. But she knew he knew. She followed his dictates faithfully, and something began to change in her. She lived now with purpose, oddly granted her through her obedience to his command. This went on for a while, but she began to crave more. And he applied pressure gradually, until they both knew it would come to this.

In the days leading up to her departure from home, arrangements were made at his request. She gave her notice at work. He rented a storage facility where all of her possessions would be stored for the term of her service. She was to arrive with nothing more than the clothes she was instructed to wear—a beige miniskirt that barely covered her ass, thigh-high stockings with intricate lace tops, garters that reached visibly down from that tiny skirt for all to see, a halter top that was tight enough to display her firm nipples at all times, black boots and a black choker with stones around it. And the mark. She’d had to go to a bizarre body piercing place in Red Bank where he’d arranged for her slave registry number to be permanently inked onto her ass cheek. 017-622-6369.

There were contracts he’d sent via FedEx for her to read and sign. He’d made the point that these documents were completely non-binding and would never hold any legal weight, but they were to be considered to be absolutely binding in the world she was about to enter. They outlined the terms of her slavery to him. She was basically agreeing to become his property for a term of one year. His dominion over her was absolute. She would sign over her body, mind and spirit to him, giving him the authority to do everything for her in return for her service to him. Oddly, he could do anything he wished to her and yet she could terminate the agreement at any time. It was a typical contract for slavery such as this. She also signed papers surrendering her bank account to lawyers who would hold her life savings, a mere $322.23, in escrow until her term was over. He’d also placed a larger sum in another account, which would become hers with interest after her year was up. The sum for her term was $50,000. Other slaves fetched more or less, really, depending on the circles they played in, and the level of training they had received. Lea was untrained, and she was lucky her Master was generous enough to consider her worth anything.

Teacher's Apple

The school was quiet after three. Most of the teachers were gone after classes were let out, but Lea was waiting anxiously. She knew he would walk into her classroom any minute, and part of her was nervous—scared, really. She wanted to be perfect, and she worried he’d see something out of place, something she had forgotten. Part of her was excited, too. She sensed the heated moisture welling between her legs, which was exposed under her skirt because he’d told her she was not to wear panties today.She heard the deliberate clicking of heels outside the classroom. He was coming up the hallway. The adrenaline surged as the moment was upon her. She didn’t dare look up from her paperwork, which she’d been pretending to study for what seemed like hours. Then, the door creaked open quickly. He stood in the doorway, that tall man whose mysteriousness never ceased to enthrall her, to play with her mind as if he’d created the puzzle in her head about him to simply and cruelly toy with her.“Teacher, might I have a moment,” his voice boomed. God, it still made her wet, the sound of his voice. She turned to face him from her paperwork.“Sir?—“ she uttered, barely. This was it. It was happening, just like he’d told her it would.He stood at the desk now, his ashen hair flowing wildly. His black pants streamlined his legs, tapering down to his polished black shoes. He looked so tall as he stood looking down at her. “I am here from the School District. It’s come to our attention that your class is not in adherence to the approved curriculum. I am here to discuss this with you. Do you have a moment?” he said.“Certainly, Sir. I wasn’t aware that…” she stammered a bit, but he’d already interrupted.“Stand up!” he barked. She immediately thrust her body upward, pushing her chair back behind her.“Yes, Sir,” she said. He handed her a bright, shiny red delicious apple, which she took curiously.“I have brought what your favorite student might give you, but it is not to praise you. Put it in your mouth and keep it there,” he told her.“Yes, Sir,” she replied, taking the apple and opening her mouth to place it between her teeth.“Now don’t damage any more than the skin of it, or you’ll pay dearly,” he told her. As she acquiesced with her eyes, he crossed around the side of her desk, approaching her from behind. He sauntered behind her, lingering a bit to savor the moment. And to cause her to be watchful, attentive, scared even. She waited what seemed like an eternity, and then she felt his hands on her. His hand slid up from her back to the nape of her neck, and he quickly, forcefully grabbed a tuft of her hair at the base of her neck and pressed her head down. His foot slid in between her legs and he kicked out so she would spread her legs for him, as he pressed her arms out flat on the surface of the desk.He lifted her skirt over her lower back, revealing her bare ass and her shaved pussy gleamed slightly under the fresh moisture between her supple legs. He reached behind him, grabbing a wooden yardstick from the chalkboard. The first blow landed on the crotch of her upper thighs, where her fine silken legs met the round ass splayed out before him. She winced slightly, not daring to utter a sound. The next blow came before she had time to calculate its arrival, landing above the burning of his first blow. This one nipped the lips of her swollen pussy lips, causing a shudder in her deep in her soul. She closed her eyes and pushed back tears, but she knew that was useless. She would cry before this was over, she knew. She would cry and cum and cum and cry. But she was determined not to damage the apple held in her mouth.The next blows were delivered with precision and accuracy, both to mark her ass and to slap her juicing cunt. Her mouth oozed saliva. Her cunt simmered under the sting of the ruler. He continued to whip her with the ruler, working the same area over and over until her ass felt on fire. His lashes were so strong, she thought. So much stronger that her, she knew. As she received his lashing, she knew that with each blow she was becoming better. Better for him. Better for knowing her sins are somehow being cleansed by her Master. Then, just as he hit her again with it, she came. The surge of orgasm jolted her, or was it the beating she was taking? Tears flowed silently down her cheeks. He marked her again. She was his now. Any resistance or fear or self awareness that had previously distracted her slipped away through her cum, her tears, her burning ass.He calmly set the ruler back on the gutter of the chalkboard. She heard his zipper. Then he was inside her. His swollen cock bursting from his work with the ruler thrust into her quickly, forcefully and with utter command. His hands grabbed at her burning ass. His cock slid in and out of her. His loins slamming against her ass as he parried his cock in and out of her hungry, ravaged cunt. She began to move to meet him, as he fucked her there in that classroom, her reddened ass bucking to engage his cock more. He filled her with his cum with a final deep thrust, and she knew his orgasm was his punctuation mark. She had served his cock, and she felt satisfied, happy. And there was not a mark on that gorgeous, red delicious apple.