Lessons

obedience

The words on the note I’ve passed to you are unmistakable, yet they seem so out of touch with the reality you’ve immersed yourself in that, contrary to your nature, or at least to your already considerable experience, you blush.

Yet your hand is already on its way to do as my note bid. Obedience is no longer a matter of choice, of reflection of any consideration of the consequences of what you are made to do.

One part of you may well be considering the implications of the order. You are bound to be working at the fact that around our dinner table are friends who you thought knew nothing of what you are. They are people with whom you have interacted like a person with choices and a right to modesty.

Yet no matter how inappropriate it may seem your fingers have already slipped under your pants and your underwear. I smile across the table. I already know the state your fingers will find you in when they reach your folds and you so, obviously and inconcealably in front of the table of civililized persons who must surely have thought you a civilized girl.

dignity

You can see glances are exchanged. Some of them are shocked, scandalized. You must be looking like some idiot completely without inhibitions, let alone table manners, so obviously masturbating in the middle of the entre.

You can see the way you are being looked at changing… not just to shock but to hunger – lust. You can see how you are changing in the eyes of the people around you from a person to an object of either indignation, desire or most likely a little of both. By what must seem like your own initiative, your own lack of the inhibitions that are part of what it is to be a person, you’ve been reduced to an something quite obviously not worthy of the dignity or restraint afforded a person.

There is both a shame and a pride in the fact that you do not even consider the consequences. It’s been long since obedience was a matter of choice to you. You may think of the consequences of your actions but you do not stop to think; you can only reflect on what must be the consequences of the things that you will inevitably do because you are ordered to do them. It’s as if you are watching a movie or a play that just happens to have you as both the protagonist and the powerless observer.

Even as your cheeks burn and you realize this is going to be a harsh night, a part of you relaxes and feels relief. You know now that the amount of autonomy I have entrusted you with is soon to be suspended and you are likely to spend the night surrendered to whatever I might have planned for you. There is a great peace in that, even though you will have anything but peace tonight. And a freedom, even though you have no choice and no power over what is to happen.

shredding

Her fingers are more dexterous, more agile than the others as they examine you, your need all the more obvious. And your girl friend is forcing you to look her into the eyes as she is doing so, she still fully dressed in skirt and a top while your pants are down your thighs and someone pushed up your top to expose your breasts.

One of the men, mean-while have produced a pair of cuffs from somewhere and draw your arms behind your back, cuffing your wrists to make your exposure, your lack of control, even more complete. It’s not as if you’d need cuffing, being ordered about, seeing me showing, that I approve of their control of you is more than enough to keep your hands submissively out of the way. Yet the cuffs reinforce your status, and in a way as soon as they close you feel yourself relaxing into them; one less part of you to control, one more way in which you will only follow now.

Your friend makes a joke that it was no wonder you had to be such a slut to be masturbating with the amount of juices you’ve accumulated. You know she’s right, you know your cunt is gushing fluids although you are pretty sure it has much more to do with the situation than any kind of masturbation. Though the fact that you are in such a state that you helplessly grind yourself against her probing fingers make it clear to anyone that you belong like this.

Then the man who was cuffing you grabs you. He was a stranger to you before tonight. Soon, you expect he will be no stranger to any part of your body. The man eagerly gropes your exposed breasts, hurting you a little. Then he forces his fingers up deep in you, one-upping your friend that “such a slut can’t wait for a chance to let go of any decency”.

He is both right and wrong. One part of you could very well wait and would have wished to hold on to that decency, hold on to that façade of normalness you have always needed and had to maintain. One part of you still feels attached to that identity.

Yet another part of you, the part that is taking over, revels in the fact that now you don’t need to keep any part of what you are back from them anymore. You have no control so you have no responsibility. You are given no modesty so you have no dignity to protect. You can freely feel whatever you feel and be the sexual creature you are. You neither may nor can hide your nature, and there is a great freedom in that.

breaking

You retch again and then, as the guy yanks your head by the hair against his crotch, painfully forcing his cock down your throat you’re unable to hold back and the first course comes out over the cock and down the front of the drewly mess your top has already become.

Sucking cock or taking it in your throat is far from new to you. But it’s obvious that what’s happening right now is not about allowing you to remain in control, to perform well within or at the limits of what you can make your body do. You are being used.

You are given only a moment, where you gasp for breath the man yanks your hair, slapping you harshly across the face for not offering your mouth right at the moment he wants it. Then he jams himself inside of you, hurting the already aching back of your throat. You feel how he’s been spurred on by the fact that he made you throw up. You’re becoming a teary slobbering mess, and it’s in that that the men are taking pleasure. It’s in your lack of control. In your lack of capacity to handle the use they are subjecting you to.

In their brutality the men who are using you know what they are doing. They aren’t just mindlessly getting so carried away that you cannot control yourself as they assault your throat. Rather they consciously reducing an excellent cock-sucker, a beautiful sexy creature who knows what she’s doing with your body to a drawling, dirty mess being passed around.

The man empties down your throat and you are forced to swallow. His cock draws a strand of cum puke and saliva as he pulls free, passing you on to his friend before he falls into a chair, reaching for a glass of wine.

Giving head involves agency, a level of control. None of those has been allowed you since you were ordered to start masturbating.

use

You can feel her pleasure. You feel her fingers tightening around your head as she draws your face against her folds, using you for her pleasure. She moans, but it is in his kiss, somewhere above you, you know, her eyes locked with her lovers.

Although you are buried underneath your friend’s skirt, and she is obviously feeling every move of your tongue on her privates, you are merely used as a vessel for her pleasure. You are a toy, shared between her and her lover who is taking you from behind while kissing his love.

It’s not about you. Your gasping for air through the sensation you are giving as you desperately lick her is not about you.  His taking you from the behind is not about you.The plug nestled deep in your ass is only about your tightness and his pleasure. Not about you.

Then you realize that as he fucks you she’s feeling his growing urgency, translating to your breathless service to your friend. And as you feel her bucking against you and straining in her orgasm you realize you’re convulsing around her lover in time with her climax. Though he is fucking you and she is being serviced by your mouth, they are making love and sharing their passions through you.

You have no control. It’s not even about you. You are a vessel of their pleasure. But you are of use.

pride

My warmth envelops you as you sit on my lap. I have my arms wrapped around you and I kiss your forehead again. You’re still shivering somewhat from the harshness of your night of use, but your mind is melting away onto a soft cloud of content as you can now rest with no demands, no more assaults on your control and no more need to control anything.

You know I’m proud of you and you realize you’re proud of yourself too. You are proud even though you have been a filthy hole for me tonight. Or rather you are proud because of it.

Our guests have left a while ago and as they left each one praised your use. Not in the manner of thanking you of course – how could a girl give herself to others when she is already owned property. And not just what happened after you started masturbating.

Even though most everyone at the table was making you feel pathetically helpless and not worthy of dignity you were earlier, everyone who was part of tonight made sure to tell you that you could take pride in what you did. And they made sure to show you, that they respect you. You realize that I would never have allowed anyone who wasn’t able to respect you after it to use you like you have been used.

Your friend made a point of praising your work on the entre almost in the same sentence as how beautiful you were tonight and that she looked forward to seeing you for tea the coming week. You needed to know, she seemed to think, that the fact that you are a helpless fucktoy did not make the things you do in the outside world a lie.

Your pride is not in seeming like a free person. You wear clothes, you take decisions, you are afforded control over who touches you and who uses your body. But those are all necessary means to travel the world of normalcy. But it is the way you are of use and worthwhile, as a friend, as a helpless hole, as a young professional or as a paintoy that you pride of.

Your ability to obey and let go of any inhibitions make you useful as a slut and you are proud of that. Just as you are proud of the achievements that require that you pass for a free autonomous person much of the time. Neither part of your life makes the other untrue. Both are equally part of your service as an owned girl.

entwined

”I want you, my slut”. My voice, breath both tickling and warming the lope of your ear, is the first indication that I’m awake as well and must have noticed you laying against me for a while now; our bodies close, your breath, and the altered rhythm of it, of you, as intimate to me as our entwined nakedness.

My cock is already squeezing into the cleft of your buttocks. By accident; common nocturnal excitement in our spooning… or by the plans for you brewing in my half-slumber?

My hand is clutching your breast now, fingers half-digging into its softness, finding and catching a stiffening nipple. Applying pressure until I hear the whimper I know will come and I pull my slut from for the use I intend for her.

…

“Such a sloppy cunt already” I whisper into your ear as I make you slide down onto my cock without raising or sitting up, your body sliding intimately onto mine. Your tight folds are spreading slickly around my hardness, your warmth enveloping me slowly, deeply, nudged on so I feel you taking all of me with a small moan.

I am content keeping you like that for quite a long time, enjoying the absolute nearness of you, the way whatever goes on with my girl goes from your cunt to my cock. My fingers are slowly playing with a bit of hair over your shoulder, a fingernail teasing you ever so slightly. My lips brush yours, lightly, giving you only the taste of the kiss I know my slut is longing for before my free hand pulls your hair, making you lift your head, your torso.

“Hurt for me, my sweet slut” I hotly groan in the darkness, my fingers finding your breast, your nipple, catching, pinching, twisting viciously. I enjoy the feeling of your body shivering against mine, your cunt both contracting and creaming with your pain. “My beautiful masochist” I breathe out, fingers nudging you to make you slowly grind your way up and down my cock, your slick tightness almost letting go of me before sinking in deeper, my fingers still tormenting your nipple, relieving the pressure only briefly before pinching and twisting again.

We fuck and you hurt for hours in the dark.

ready

I smile at your pain as I run my fingers over one of the red stripes I painted over the paleness of your inner thigh. The cane is now lying in my lap. I notice the tremor at the pain – or the intimacy? - of my caressing your welts so close to your core. My eyes rise to yours from the deliciousness of your thighs and the spread puffiness of your femininity that you present to me so openly.

I love the way your eyes look up at me at times like this. I love the mixture of pleading, anxiety and lust you emit when you know that I know that I can do anything. When you’ve given and you know I’m going to take. I run my hand over the pussy that is presented to me, my fingers spreading your blood-engorged labia and pushing softly into your moistness; I feel your cunt rising to my caress and I smile into your eyes as I know both of us noticed.

“Ready to hurt for me again already, slut?” I smile, my fingers lingering against your sensitive core as I smile, watching your eyes as I lift the palm of my hand from your cunt before I bring it down harshly.

Distinctions regarding obedience

Obedience involving choice (conscious obedience)

Types of obedience not limiting freedom

Obedience of inclination: You obey because you are asked something that you actually want. You are turned on, yearn to feel a cock in you and you are asked to take a cock in you. Obedience is something you choose and you are doing what you would have done anyway.

Obedience of inspiration: You obey because you realize that you want what you are ordered as you are so ordered. The order, and the hotness of the non-negotiable, may make you want things you would not otherwise as easily want; you might find yourself instantly turned on and ready for sexual use as you are ordered to make yourself available. But obedience is still a choice, and an easy one, because you now want exactly what you are ordered to.

Obedience of facilitation: It may be easier to do something you want, but would otherwise be inhibited in doing because you are so ordered. The fact that there’s someone ordering you makes it easier to do things that you want, but that are pushing it a little for you. In addition dominance, being given orders, might in itself excite you in a way that makes you ready to do more than you would otherwise. Obedience is something you choose, and you are enabled to choose something that you want, but that would not have been possible without you having been ordered to.

Types of obedience limiting freedom

Obedience of compulsion: You obey because there’s a consequence in disobedience. You know that if you don’t do what is said you’ll be punished or otherwise sanctioned. You choose to obey because you need to avoid the discipline you will face if you don’t.

Obedience of commitment to your dominant: You obey because you have chosen that you want to submit to your dominant. You have given someone that power, and he may ask something that you don’t really want but that you chose to do because it’s important to you to honor your choice and the submission you have given him. You choose to obey because you feel you are would otherwise betray your commitment to your dominant.

Obedience of commitment to your submission: Similarly to the above you obey because you have committed to submit. You have given up power and it is deep in you that you want to submit and to do it well, and you have to live up to that – for your own sake. It is a more impersonal commitment that has less to do with your relationship to your dominant and more to do with your own personal growth and identity and how you see yourself. Your submission is a sort of institution that you need to uphold by being obedient. You choose today because you would otherwise betray your commitment to yourself.

Obedience not involving choice (subconscious obedience)

Obedience of instinct: You obey because you’re so used to obeying that you think before you act. Think of military drill or extensive position training and the way you are so used to instant obedience that your body reacts before your mind. Obedience is not an (active) choice because you will already be in the process of obeying when you start to consider whether you actually want to obey. It’s still possible that you might actively choose to disobey and literally ‘stop yourself’ from obeying.

Obedience of scope of action: You obey because your instructions shape the way you are thinking. Disobedience is simply unthinkable, not because you reason that you must or because you are committed to the choice of submission, but because not obeying is unthinkable… it violates something in you on a very deep level that’s not as concrete as the above. Obedience is not a choice because there does not seem to be a choice to you. To be free not to obey would take extensive work, as it would take re-programming parts of your subconscious or at the very least active support in recognizing and realizing options other than obedience.

Combinations

Some of all of the above: You may obey, because it’s something you’d probably do anyway and definitely want and need now that you are inspired by your order. The ordering may at the same time lesson your inhibitions making it even easier to say ‘yes Master’. In addition you may know you’d be punished if you did not obey and you wouldn’t want to let down neither your dominant nor your own commitment to be a great sub. Finally you might already be in the process of obeying, out of instinct, when you start considering the whether to obey, or you might not perceive there being an alternative to obedience at all.

… To varying degrees: In many instances obedience may be a mixture of many of the above-mentioned factors and they may play varying roles. You may both feel inspired to want the play that your dominant is ordering but also feel compelled by the threat of punishment (which might just further inspire you). Or your willingness to do something really hard might stem from a combination of your commitment and the threat of punishment. Or you may in part not really consider disobedience and option but this may also because you don’t ‘go there’ because you are so committed to your choice of submission.

Conclusion

Realizing that obedience is not one single thing, but a mixture of a number of different kind of motivations makes  it easy to understand how no two D/s relationships are alike. Subs or slaves are motivated by different factors of obedience and different dominants may inspire different sorts of obedience. I can also attest that the kind of obedience I as a dominant would want from my sub may vary with the girl I am with.

Further it is an important point that obedience is a dynamic concept that may well change from situation to situation and evolve during a relationship. Especially the latter forms of obedience – commitment to dominant, instinct and scope – are something built over time. I have myself felt the motivations of a sweet girl switching from the less limiting to the more limiting forms of obedience and even seen girls slip into the realm of instinct and scope.

Further I think there are grounds to warn against considering one form of obedience better or higher than the other. Making these distinctions may give inspiration to where one might want to go, but do not commit to the fallacy of considering one thing true kink and another not. Kink is true when it’s sexy, consensual and healthy, whatever it is that moves you.

My home is your home

You do not know much about our guest. And that is only one of the things, which are unusual about tonight.

You know it is someone I've found in the community. You know I trust this person. And you sense that tonight is special.

Tonight I've dressed you. That is unusual as well. It is far from the first time, you've been dressed as I instructed. And it’s not the first time that you are among others dressed as I please. But previously it was only strangers, random passers-by and walk-ons in the background of the game that took place between the two of us. When we've been with my or your friends, people we knew, you've always dressed yourself.

You've already discovered the difference it makes being able to choose how you’re dressed, what parts of you, you show and to be dressed by me. Tonight whatever can be seen of you is what I choose should be visible. When I've chosen to show your legs the exposure, as well as the way your heels show off your ankle and lengthen your legs, it is no longer something that is in your power. The power you used to have through dressing, through your control of what I and others could see is now submitted, transformed into my power to expose or cover as much, or as little, as I please. I and our guest see precisely the parts of my girl that I want us to see.

You’re dressed nice, but not exactly for an evening with guests. The short, loose skirt and the cute, covering but tight, top you’re wearing is more a sweet little girl than an elegant hostess.  More like you, or I, would dress you for my pleasure, than you would have dressed for anyone else. Perhaps it’s because this guest is part of the community. Perhaps it’s because it’s acceptable, perhaps even preferably, that he can sense that you are mine, and that you have been dressed by me and not yourself. Perhaps that is why you’re also wearing the anklet that signifies your being mine…

You've sensed my excitement for hours. I've kept you naked  until after we had our dinner. You helped me cook. You often do so. Only this time you did so wearing only an apron that barely covered the front of you and left your ass naked and exposed to my pleasure, my pats and my caresses.

The apron was so that you wouldn't get dirty or burned. That was my explanation at least. But you know that it's just as much because I love to dress you to feel more naked than you would had you not worn a thing.

After dinner I dressed you. And then we waited. It's unusual that we have guests without sharing a meal. Perhaps we're going out? That would be slightly worrying, as your skirt is fairly short and your panties not really much to speak of – I haven't taken you out among strangers that exposed before.

Now is it. We hear the doorbell and I ask you to let our gust in. When you move into the hall you can see a man through the glass door. He's tall, perhaps a few years my senior, otherwise fairly ordinary.

“So that’s the girl, I've heard so much about” he smiles as you open. You know the moment he looks at you that this night is definitely out of the ordinary. His eyes are dark and very excited. He looks over your body without hiding it. It feels weird that he's breaking the norms of how you look at someone like this as he otherwise seems very decent and polite.

When you move into the living room you can see that I notice him looking at you. I'm beaming. I shake hands with the guest only the moment before my free hand slides up over the back of your thigh, wholly visible for our guest and conscious of the way I'm lifting your skirt.

“My home is your home”, I cheerfully announce to my guest while I give your lower back a small push so you're directed forward, leaning against the dining table. Like this there's no way your skirt will keep you decent. “And what's mine is yours” I add while me and my guest examine your exposed ass and  the excitement that is visibly showing in your panties.

fuckhole

I grin, my cock twitching in your throat as you gag. My eyes are shining down into yours lustfully, while you hurt as  force your face into my crotch by your hair, your nose squashed against me so you can feel my cock-hair teasing it.

I love the way you look up at me at times like this. Your eyes simultaneously seem to beg me both for mercy and the opposite. I grin at the need I see growing in my barely dressed and fully exposed fucktoy. Your hands are caught behind your back in those pretty little pink cuffs and are moving helplessly in a futile attempt to somehow reach the visibly creaming cunt displayed to me between lewdly spread legs.

“Purr for me, pretty little she-animal” I order, grinning with the pleasure of knowing how even though it will spend precious air my perfect whore will eagerly do so anyway. The moment after I’m groaning, my head going back against my chair, my crotch pushed even a bit more into your face, my fingers tightening in your hair, hurting.

“God you’re such a pathetic little fuckhole” I groan, my voice thick with pleasure and sharp with the truth of what I’m pointing out. The moment after I’m pulling your hair painfully, jerking your face up and down my cock making you gag again and again as I bring myself off on you, pulling you painfully against me as I shoot deep in your throat once more pointing out what a beautiful little cum-chute you happen to be.

I allow you to keep on sucking and teasing my limpening tool while I go back to my reading, your own need saved for when I’m once more inspired to make you hurt. 

Slavery and Trust

On to slavery and murky waters filled with taboos and quarrels about definitions. A quick google search on the difference between subs and slaves will yield loads of results. The first ones my search yielded were people lamenting how slavery is watered down with everyone calling themselves slaves. In relation to such statements I can’t help but point to the fact, that any form of slavery not watered down would involve involuntary capture, enslavement and trade of human beings who would definitely not be asked their consent.

In other words: considering slavery within a BDSM-context in any sensible way must water down the term considerably. The next solution might be a minimal understanding of consensual slavery as something as close to the historical meaning of slavery as possible; irrevocable ownership, but with the (initial) consent of the slave. One must still respect that kink is a marriage between fantasy and practical reality, so there will be compromise. Inevitably the disagreement on how much you must compromise with the pure idea of slavery, what forms of slavery that are too compromised to be considered 'real', or too uncompromising to be considered consensual or responsible - even among those, with whom I disagree, who want to ‘protect’ terms such as master and slave against being watered down by those who are not hard core as they are.

Secondly, slavery is an extremely charged word. It’s almost taboo, which makes it a great attraction to some and revolts others. Some may have a fetish for slavery, they may enjoy playing at it without making it their lifestyle. Others may see so strong negative connotations with the term, they may be revolted by it even though they may wish for something that others would consider lifestyle-slavery. I don’t see why, if we see BDSM as a project of emancipation, something meant to set people free to enjoy their kink, we should limit the ability to enjoy slavery as a fetish or form of roleplay, just because some purists find that it waters down their lifestyle.  For that reason I’d genuinely like to come up with a more neutral term that can capture modern lifestyle slavery, so that we may free the word ‘slavery’ to be used by those who like using it, and talk about the lifestyle in a way that’s not so charged.

Some might argue the term for it is TPE, total power exchange. If you go for the minimal definition of slavery it is indeed a fairly precise solution. You might then make the distinction TPE-slavery as a total transfer of power on the one hand and fetish-slavery as playing with the slave role within a continuously negotiated relationship (whether that’s 24/7, between regular partners or just a scene). I believe, however, that TPE covers something more comprehensive than lifestyle-slavery needs to be, in that it has to be a total exchange of power. It becomes a quantitative definition: TPE is the point, where you control everything, where there is nothing left to give up control over. I prefer a qualitative definition; I see ownership and slavery as something inherently different than ‘simply’ obeying the will of someone else.

In the minimal definition above, the difference, other than the transfer of all power to the master, is the irrevocability of slavery. This is something that pops up in my search as well. It is pointed out that the submissive continuously chooses to submit; that while the submission might be in an established relationship under established rules it is still something you do because you want to submit – and that you would stop the moment you do not. Slavery, in this understanding, is something only chosen once. This leads those articles to point to those things, that make submission a choice, as those that define submission as something different than slavery. Slavery doesn’t have contracts with conditions in them, doesn’t have limits, doesn’t have safe words etc.  because all of those are tools for the submissive to have the ultimate control about what is allowed to happen. If this definition is accepted a lot of people who are attracted to slavery will at most be fetish-slaves.

There is a qualitative difference between submission and slavery in my opinion and I think that it does lie in how power is transferred. For me the core, and fascination, of slavery is irrevocability. That you are in a situation where you are no longer in a position to say no or make demands about what is given. A submissive chooses to follow her dominant every step of the way. It may well be that a person enjoys submission so much, or has such a great need to serve, that she will go further in her submission, than what she would actively have wanted for herself. It may well be that she enjoys that she is ‘forced’ to do this or that (within her limits) because the dominant wants it. But in both cases the submissive still chooses to follow, because she enjoys the feeling of giving herself or of feeling forced. It may also well be that the submissive may lose the ability to say ‘no’ because of the intensity of the scene, subspace or an endorphin high that makes her ready to do things in the heat of play, that are not otherwise ok with her. But in those cases it’s still part of the deal that the dom will try to make contact with the submissive, or that he remembers what she has agreed to, and that he considers what she would agree to if she had the full use of her mental capacities. As I see it the difference for a slave is that she is seeking a situation where she no longer chooses; where there is no longer a choice for her, where whatever is chosen for her is a given to her, something outside of her power.

But this leads me to another important distinction, something pointed out by those who work with the idea of ‘internal enslavement’: It may well be that a slave chooses to give up all power over herself, but that choice is only binding in the extent that she is bound to it. Since slavery (thankfully) has no legal validity in our society, it is ultimately for the slave to make slavery valid. If it’s only the master that considers the slavery valid, then his only power over her is physical force, which (once again thankfully) is not legal in our society. External slavery is thankfully a thing of the past. Internal enslavement, on the other hand, is the idea of forging  chains, as strong as external enslavement, within the slave herself by gradually training her to find anything but obedience impossible, installing obedience deeply, that she loses the ability to take back the control she initially gave up.

The slave may very deeply have given herself to her master, and she may obey him perfectly, and in a way very much like a slave. But she is only doing so, because she wants the slavery so much that she’ll do most anything; she is bound by her own wish for her slavery, not ultimately by anything holding her to her status. She is continuously choosing her slavery, like a submissive would continuously choose her submission (that is not to say, that the ideal that would hold her to her slavery is not a very strong thing). Slavery, as something irrevocable, then, is not something that can be achieved over night, but rather something that builds on a very long process of instilling obedience until it becomes ownership. In that understanding, where slavery is something where you not only want inescapable ownership, but where it has been achieved, I will dare to claim that there are extremely few slaves or masters out there. But exactly because there is a qualitative difference to what slaves want – in their wish to be owned, to have choice taken away – I do not find it sufficient just to call those, who seek a condition of slavery, submissives or fetishists. I do not think it is meaningful either to believe that a slave will wake up from one day to the other and suddenly be without the power to escape her master. It is a gradual process where for a long while you want to lose control over what you give, and you keep on giving it again and again until the point where it is not something you are giving any longer, but where it is actually his – a given, so to speak.

In my understanding to submit is to give because you enjoy giving and because you choose to give to the one who is receiving or taking it. Slavery, in the D/s context, is to give because you want to be a slave, want the ideal and, gradually, because you no longer have that choice. It’s a way of submission where you seek to work submission and dominance into the psyche of the slave. The slave seeks to be owned, to lose her independence to one extent or another. To reduce slavery to just being a very intense form of dominance and submission, is to lose an important qualitative difference within the realm of dominance and submission. On the other hand I see no reason to make quantitative criteria for slavery. It might be that you enjoy slavery within certain spheres of your life, like your sexuality or your life at home, but not within others; just like D/s can involve all of your life or just a small space within it. As I see slavery, what makes it different from submission is that you fundamentally surrender, or seek to surrender, control of what you have given; that with time it is something you could hardly take back or cannot take back at all.

For me there is something very beautiful about giving without conditions. The fact that she entrusts herself to me like that makes me give myself to the task of caring for her as her master unconditionally as well. I believe in a slavery built on trust and love, in reaching the point where we know each other so well that there is no longer a choice for her, because she could no longer contemplate me wanting something that is not good for both of us. I am not sure if that is irrevocable slavery. I’m not sure such chains might survive if I were to betray her trust; but I have no need to bind a girl in a way so as to give me power to abuse her. I see great beauty in trust, but no beauty in trust being betrayed. I hope one day I find a girl to trust me in that way, in the way that will also be a way of giving herself to me, but that will only be because we can trust me to use that power for what is best for both of us.

hurt

I smile as your hand falls from mine limply. your impulse to stop me, to avoid that additional turn at the tiny nub tightening the clamp already biting your nipple unbearably, suspended in your submission. I look into your eyes for a moment upon that gesture of pure surrender, my sweet slut giving up her natural and healthy inclination to stop me from hurting her to her sweet need to please, to hurt, to forsake comfort for my sadistic pleasure. In our entwined nearness I feel your shivering anticipation, your need, and although my cock twitches deep inside of your slippery wetness, although you see the lust shining in my blue eyes, the look in them tell you more than anything that I love you.

I turn the nub a full round more, feeling my toy as white pain courses through her body. your nipple bitten as if by some greedy, lusty, animal emitting sharp waves of pain all over your being, all the way to your toes and your fingertips, and to the cunt which is franctically contracting around  my hardness. I half groan half laugh as my pathetic fuckanimal, as the bitch that I love, buck wildly, frantically, in the pain that she is giving me, her movement trusting my cock just the tiny bit deeper into her, as I am owning her.

24/7 to me

In the next few essays I’ll go a little more into what certain aspects of BDSM means to me. I’ve been in this long enough to have a pretty clear idea about what kind of relationships I want. But also long enough to know that relationships, and the definitions one uses about them are fluid, and that kink is something going on as much between two people (or more, I guess, if that’s one’s inclination) as within each person. What I like has a lot to do with who I am with and what she inspires in me. I’ve been confused and ambivalent about some of the things I’ve been attracted to, like 24/7, because it brought me in a category with some, whose approach to BDSM involved compromise that would not be right for me. In this essay I’m trying to get to the bottom of what 24/7 is in an attempt to find out what it is about 24/7 that I’m attracted to, and how 24/7 I really am.

I’m a dominant whether inside or outside the bedroom. I’ve always been attracted to relationships, where my dominance does not stop at the scene, at the bedroom door or at the transition to everyday life. I’ve never been in relationships, where we’ve been completely explicit about when we were playing, when my dominance was ‘activated’ and when it was not. Neither have I been in a relationship, where we haven’t spoken together as equals, and where I’ve been in a position where she hasn’t been able to tell me when I was doing something wrong, or something needed to be changed.

For me dominance and submission has always been something fluid, something organic. Not something that I could put into a box and say, at this time I’m dominant with my partner and at this time I’m not. I’ve always enjoyed the excitement of having an undercurrent of dominance and submission throughout my relationships.

I’m not sure if this makes me a ‘lifestyle’ dominant or not. In many ways my dominance is a lifestyle, but on the other hand it’s always been my ambition that neither my life nor my partner’s life should be build around our sexuality, but rather that our sexuality should be integrated into our lives in a healthy way.

If I classify myself as 24/7 I’m sure there’s some who’d say that I’m not really 24/7. I’m also sure that there are some, who do not consider themselves ‘lifestyle’, who have the same enjoyment of an undercurrent of D/s in otherwise vanilla circumstances that I do. I also believe that many who do not identify as 24/7 enjoy slipping in and out of ‘roles’ and play in the same fluid way as I enjoy. Negotiation is dealt with ahead of spontaneously initiated play, subtle signals are developed over time and sent to decode whether this is a time for play – just as I’d read and ‘test’ my sub before going too far into role with her to be able to back down gracefully if this is not the time.

As said it’s my opinion that definitions are fluid in real life, and it’s important to allow that they are unique to people’s inherently unique relationships. There’s no ‘real 24/7’, no ‘real SM’, no ‘real slavery’. Of course definitions lose their meaning if they contain everything, but the idea of ‘realness’ is unhealthy, as it suggests that BDSM should be about something other than making people free to live their kinks in whatever way is right for them. Of course it’s practical to know, that we are talking about the same things, when we interact with others, but then rather than modifying or constricting our relationships to fit the definitions, it’s better to modify and qualify our definitions so that they correlate with real world relationships. The only thing worth defining ‘out’ of BDSM, the only ‘wrong’ kind of SM, is the non-consensual and abusive kind.

The thing that we do is essentially about discovering not what definition we fit into, but rather to learn from the knowledge and definitions and styles out there in order to define our own individual kink. What makes it worthwhile to talk about whether I’m into 24/7 or even slavery under the right conditions, is that it’s got a unique meaning and attraction beyond normal play for me and others who identify as wanting 24/7. I hope talking about what it means to me makes it easier for others, as well as myself, to understand what 24/7 might mean and whether it’s part of their kink.  Others might have another understanding of that, on which they build their relationships, and that does not make their relationships right or wrong.

For me 24/7 is a question simply of whether you want the power-relationship to go on beyond the bedroom. 24/7 is an ideal beyond just being able to slip in and out of play-mode more fluently than within a set ‘scene-space’ or ‘scene-time’. In 24/7 that the game of power stays simmering beneath the surface even when you’re not ‘playing’, because it is always something that can be brought into play. Some people who are not -24/7-couples may enjoy spontaneous scenes: they may enjoy the not-to-serious quarrel ending up in a neither-too-serious spanking – as long as it happens within agreed-upon boundaries and etiquette. For me the difference is that in the non24/7-relationship, where spontaneous play is enjoyed, the spontaneity is a way to enhance the scene: It’s nice and liberating, that SM can take place ‘informally’ like that. For the 24/7-couple the ability to take control is a way to enhance the relationship: not just when she is punished, or he takes controls, but also in everything else that goes on, because there is always that possibility of one taking control.

Changes and updates

So I'm going to make a change for this blog, and update it a bit more regularly.

I have a two part essay coming, that I will be posting over the coming time, and there will be some more stories coming up, that I found around and found publishable. So I will add these drip-wise and try to update once every one or two weeks for the next while.

The second change is that with the blog growing I have decided to put the Danish versions of my writings on a blog of their own. So in the future anything smut- or kink-related that I write in Danish will go onto this blog's sister-blog which will be AnderledesElskov.blogspot.com - I am also going to use this as an occasion to get the things that has been exclusively English translated as well (the bi-lingual writings so far have been originally Danish btw.)

I hope you all enjoy, and that my fellow danes don't feel excluded.

Stay safe and kinky out there!

Deprivation

It is interesting how taking one thing away seems to enhance the rest, I muse as I watch your lips brushing carefully, tentatively, against the inside of my knee. It seems that both of us are simultaneously realizing the intricacies of my anatomy because you have to feel your way with your mouth, the silk fold I put over your eyes shielding them from our world, making all your other senses so much more important, so much more acute.

It is quite obvious how taking away your hands, so neatly cuffed behind your back, enhances the rest of your senses. Interesting how the use of hands, the feeling our way around, the support, the guidance afforded by them, is so intimately connected to what makes us feel ‘human’. Without the use of them you seem so much more like a pretty little animal, nudging and leaning your way towards your goal. Your whole body, your being, is involved in every movement, rather than the disconnect of reaching out, had your hands been free, as you feel your way up along my inner thigh. My rock-hard cock brushes against your temple, some pre-cum attaching itself to your hair, before you turn your head to make me feel your lips over my length.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair, the motion pushing my cock into your face. Even the fact that you are without clothes seems to give another quality to you, apart from the obvious pleasure of seeing all of you. You hold your body differently when unclothed and being seen, every part of you more aware of itself, more taut than if it was hidden behind clothes. There is a gracefulness to someone nude, a heightened awareness of each little part of your body. A way of feeling every motion, every posture, knowing that it is given to me, and that I demand nothing but the unfiltered unsheathed you as I look at you, that makes my slut seem so much more in her body.

And, I think to myself, groaning as you take me into your mouth completely, your throat pulsing around me for a moment as it protests the intrusion, my hand gently sliding up in your hair, enjoying its silkiness and my control over you, there is so much more that you become when I take away your freedom.

When fantasy meets reality

I see kink as a way of setting ourselves free by restraint. We limit ourselves through negotiation, safewords and concepts such as Risk Aware Consensual Kink or Safe Sane and Consensual. The reason we do so is to be able to undertake things that in themselves could not and should not be accepted by us, society or our own conscience. By so restraining ourselves we’re free to hurt, humiliate, force, bind and so on exactly because we force ourselves to reflect and make sure that we never end up doing something that is really bad. By making our fantasies reciprocal, pleasurable and ultimately healthy for both parties, we can make something beautiful out of impulses and fantasies that might not be so beautiful in their raw form.

Kink, in other words, is a marriage between responsibility and emancipation and between what is ugly and what is beautiful. But it is also marrying the hottest fantasies and the daily grind most of us also have to navigate – where relationships, careers and all sorts of other things have to fit together with our Kink. Being kinky, we do not believe in limiting imagination or perversion, but we live in reality.

Finding out that the side of me that is attracted to seeing women suffer and lose control could become something beautiful is one of the best things that have happened to me in my life. Whether or not I actually live my dominance and sadism, I’m significantly happier and more comfortable being me having accepted this part of me, and found it something good. Like so many other movements of its kind, the emancipation in Kink is very personal at its first step: it starts with us, not anyone else. Freedom starts with accepting that it’s ok to be me; finding out how to have fun with it comes second.

Ironically it’s when we get to all those fun parts that things get complicated. At least for me it is. I’ve been more of a whole person and have had a much higher self-esteem throughout the nearly five years I’ve owned up to this part of me. But finding that balance between fantasy and reality remains a challenge – and may well be so for the rest of my life.

To me kink is not being without limits, but taking control and responsibility for my limits. It’s liberation, but with freedom comes responsibility.  It’s not a chance to make someone hurt without consequence, but sadism with a conscience. It means that I don’t have to be ashamed of my darker fantasies, but there still are many of those that I could not live with a clear conscience. It also means that I am confronted again and again, with people who have other limits to how far they can and should live their kink than I; that I keep meeting the opportunity of going a little longer in pursuit of pleasure. BDSM might in many ways be about saying ‘yes’, it is also often an exercise in saying ‘no’.

It is often not an easy compromise to make. There are times when I’m ‘sexed’ and feel myself attracted to the most uncompromising fantasies, even some that I couldn’t condone anyone living out. Even though Kink emancipates us, there will always be a distance between those things that have to work in the real world of boring everyday life and the world of fantasies. The grass will always, or at least often, seem greener on the other side of the fence, whichever way we end up balancing fantasy and reality in our lives. And I must admit that I have never been in a relationship without now and then dreaming about something that was a little more out there, purer, less tainted by compromise and with less resistance to worry about as a dominant. I am thankful that I have at least one time experienced letting go of that dream of that ‘something more’, knowing that what I had was what I really wanted, and that all the rest would pale after the first excitement and the first cum.

 I don’t know how far I will end up going in my kink. I don’t know how far I and my partner will go in the compromise between our sexual and kinky life, and all the rest that is also important and valuable in our lives. That depends a whole lot on me, my partner, and also where we are in our lives. What I do know is what I don’t want. I know that there is a lot more to me than my kink, and that the girls I’ve loved I loved for so much more than their kink – even though I do tend to love the girls I hurt. I know that I am humane before I am sadistic, that meeting another person and seeing what is beautiful in her, and embracing that and building something beautiful together is fundamental to me. Kink is a medium; a way of being together, that makes me able to see things that are beautiful in my love, and between us, that would have otherwise been hidden. But it is still a medium; a way of loving, not love itself.

I’ve spent too long letting myself be limited by labels. Of seeing a Master/slave-relationship as this or that thing, that I on the one hand couldn’t live, but still longed for – or thinking that I had to be in one certain way in my relationship, because we chose to bind ourselves to the label of her being slave. Relationships are living things and, while we build on shared fantasies and ideals, like she being owned, ideals without compromise become oppressive and fantasies that do not allow for us to grow, and sometimes change, may become nightmares. The idea that you have to be in any other way than what feels right for you and your partner, in order to live up to some kind of label or lifestyle is only to the loss of those preaching and trying to live it, instead of living their own lives and their own kink.

From now on my resolution will be to deny absolutes and embrace the fact that Kink is about compromise. And that there shall be no one preaching to neither me, nor my love, what our relationship should be about (apart from consensual, healthy fun with a good dose of communication, reflection and responsibility) no matter what we choose to call ourselves.

Sometimes I feel rather thick-sculled when I think about how much time, thinking and confusion it sometimes takes me to reach such simple points. Yet I hope some of you out there in some way benefit from my writing about my confusion.

/ I 

Hands

I turn around to see you after I let the leash attached to your collar fall. The end of it now hangs somewhere between your legs. It's the only thing partially covering your naked smooth sex.

Even though your eyes are covered by the blindfold, I can see your nervousness when I let the leash fall and break the connection between us. Suddenly you are alone, even more blinded and helpless than before.

I put my hand on your shoulder. Your skin is soft, smooth, warm with the situation, with your exposedness, with your need. I feel the relief of once more being connected with me, when I touch you - but also the shivering excitement right beneath your surface, and then the humiliation when I order you to spread your legs to let yourself be seen. My order confirm to you what you must already have sensed: that here are others in the room.  The moment you realize that I sense the sweet humiliation - the moment of resistance and 'this cannot be true' melting away as you resign yourself to being exhibited, embrace the fact that you're exhibited, powerless - that goes through you as a slight shaking from your core and all the way to the tips of your toes.

‘Much better’, I smile - even though you can only hear the smile in my voice. I caress you slowly with the side of my finger, I let it run over the softness of your skin along your upper arm while I enjoy the look of how your slender figure is enhanced and displayed by the dark corset, by the collar that makes you mine, by the nipples that are lifted above the corset, presented, naked and rock hard.

You sense the men in the room around you, their nearness, warmth, breath and then... after a nod of me, your owner, hands all over your body.

Love comes in the strangest forms

I do not know what I enjoy the most: The creamy soft feeling of the inside of your thigh or the look, the redness and humiliation painted on your face as I violate what used to be your most private place.

Although I love you, I am not making love to you now. Even so you might say that the way, that I reach my hand up under your skirt, is an act of love. That the way my hand brushes up your thigh, My girl’s thigh, is ultimately because I love you. You may also say that the way you first, reflectively, start closing your legs just a bit and then open them to me, the way you submit to my violating caress, is an act of love too; that your need to feel, to be, owned, is love more than anything. Love comes in the strangest forms.

The laughter in my eyes, the delight with the situation and the power you give me, that we share, transform to a chuckle as my fingers grace My slut's cunt, finding it both naked and drenched even though you have just been among strangers. Somehow it is abundantly clear to us both that – even though you are naked under your skirt on my instigation, even though I have not exactly shielded you from things to make your cream your cunt – it is you who is the slut; it is the most natural thing in the world that it is only you who is blushing with sweet guilt. Perhaps it is the unfairness of it, of My putting My poor love in such a predicament, or perhaps it is rather the opposite, the fact that we both know I’m right to make you become what you already are, that makes it so delicious.

“Fuck my fingers… I know you want to” I smile, enjoying the utter humiliation on My whore’s face as my fingers have already found her opening greeting my finger with the need to be filled. And it is filled, and you only realize just how wantom you have been bearing down on me, after I am inside of you to my knuckles as you are already bending your knees to fuck my hand – not even allowed a cock, a caress, anything more than my fingers acting a surrogate for the throbbing bulge in my pants, to take care of your need. Yet we both know already that they will do just that; that you will have to bite your lips in your orgasm in an attempt to remain quiet, flushing in humiliation and the fear of being heard, while your greedy hole spasms around my fingers in orgasm.

After that I think my slut will have to serve my need with her mouth. After all it is she who got me so hard and it would be undignified going out in public with such a hard on. I think I will have my slut kneel on the floor while I empty in her throat and make her lick my fingers clean of her juices. I will be leaving her thighs covered in her juices though, leaving her marked with what she is, her cunt bare and seeping under her skirt as I open the door from the public bathroom and discretely lead you out, back in the crowd, your identity as slut secret – or perhaps now not quite as secret – among normal people.

Roles and nakedness

Submission is often seen as accepting a ‘role’; the role as a slave, a submissive, a little one a pet. The wish to submit oneself is sometimes, especially from those for whom pleasing is among their greatest wishes, accompanied with the wish to become ‘just what Master desires’. In more sexually driven wishes of submission the transformation is often central; often a submissive might wish to become a whore, a slut, a fucktoy and so on. Seldom do you find a submissive wishing to submit to ‘just be herself’.

On the other hand, as a dominant, I could never really dominate, nor love (for me really two sides of the same coin), my girl for something different than the one she is. Of course we change, and to say that you will not find ‘flaw’ in the one you love, that you won’t find stuff that you would rather be without, seems to me to be something either said when much in love or a mild lie.

To make ourselves into a Pygmalion and create what we love, not from ivory but from a human being, seems to me like an act of violence to what is human. To love one for being exactly what one longs for is to love the projection of something in oneself. Being in love may well be ‘finding’ that bit that one longs for in someone else; but loving a person is what comes after the projection, it is when one discovers that she is not the picture of one’s longing, but finds that one loves her for just what she is. Pygmalion, like Narcissus, loves nothing but the echo of himself, just like a dominant never will reach beyond narcissism – the submissive never beyond self-annihilation – if dominance is about creating the slave in the image of the Master.

Nonetheless submission is a transformation. Submission is not about roles, but about nakedness. What I am striving for as a dominant, is not that my girl becomes something diffeferent for me, but that she becomes herself for me. Submission is the stripping of the submissive, the constant insistence on not to let anything be between me and her. If she pretends to be something that she is not, or to like something that she does not, she holds part of herself from me and offers me a picture of what she imagines I want instead. To love is to accept everything about another, my domination is insisting on having it all.

Transformation lies in the stripping. The new lies not in holding a new mask up between her and me, but in letting all the masks fall and thus allowing her to be something new, something different, that is also her. Those new things can seem like many new roles (and this is from where the misunderstanding of roles comes from), but the point is that they are not; that the newness of submission is not in taking on new roles but exploring all the things that one can also be when one allows the common mask to fall.

What I love about being dominant is ironically the ability to set free; the ability to – through the insistence of stripping away control, to play roles, to pretend – to release something that is beautiful, unique and completely mine as well as hers.